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The sergeant at arms was doing her duty.
Good girl.
So they were waiting. Seated restlessly in the rotting pews, anticipating his appearance, clueless as to what he was about to ask of them. Of himself.
He made his way to the pulpit. Usually, he was comfortable here, his fingers curling over the slanted edges of the lectern worn smooth by the heavy Bibles that had once been placed upon it.
Despite the semi-darkness and the sound of the wind rattling the icy windowpanes as it keened through the surrounding hills, they, within the thin walls of the cabin, were rapt. Shivering from the cold and anticipation, they sat on three benches, like parishioners on hand-hewn pews, ready to be blessed with insight and purpose. As they did each Wednesday, at midnight, regardless of the storms that raged over these secluded mountains, they congregated. Swore their allegiance. Took up arms.
They were strong. Intelligent. Burning with rebellion. On the brink of adulthood, they only had to be nurtured properly and they were ready to fight. Believers. Their eyes, dilated with the darkness, were focused on him, their ears tuned into his words as if he were a god.
They were his chosen ones. His disciples.
All were eager. Hanging on his every command.
All willing to do whatever he asked.
Without question.
They would kill for him.
And they would give up their own lives willingly.
Except one.
The female Judas.
“Someone must be sacrificed.” He said the words softly so that they were barely audible over the keening wind that rattled the window panes and seemed to tear at the remaining shingles on the roof. Yet everyone heard them; they all understood his intent. He heard the scrape of nervous feet on the cold earth floor, felt the sizzle of anticipation in the air. “We have a traitor in our midst,” he said solemnly. “Someone who infiltrated our circle.” He paused for a second and caught the scent of fear, as if each was afraid he or she would be called out. “No. It’s not someone here.” He eyed each one of them. “You all know what to do, but let’s go over it one more time before we go back to the academy. We’ll take her out tonight. “
“Her?” a girl whispered nervously.
“Yes.” The leader’s voice was tight, but fortunately didn’t betray his emotion. “Lauren. Lauren Conway.”
¤ ¤ ¤
The dorm was deathly quiet.
Though officially lights were supposed to be out at ten, sometimes there were girls in the hallway or shower room, those unafraid of the repercussions of breaking the rules. Now, as it was closing onto midnight, there was no sound other than the soft rumble of the furnace as it forced warm air through the ducts. Backpack slung over one shoulder, Lauren opened her doorway noiselessly, poked her head into the corridor and saw no one.
Good.
She’d already set her plan into motion and she couldn’t afford any glitches.
Pulse skyrocketing, she slipped into the corridor where only a red EXIT sign marked the stairway. Outside the window was the emergency fire escape.
It’s now or never!
Swallowing hard, she kept moving and silently prayed her plan would work.
¤ ¤ ¤
From the top floor of the chapel, the leader watched and waited. Dressed in black, his walkie-talkie in his pocket, his night-vision binoculars raised to his eyes, he was physically ready; if not mentally so. Through the soaring glass wall of the building, he noticed a slice of moonlight pierce the dark night, giving him an unobstructed view of the women’s dorm.
They were all in place but he would be able to watch her try to escape.
Lauren.
Beautiful seductress.
