The Devil's Pact Pt. 34

I looked one last time at Master, drinking in his form. Then he was gone, vanishing down into the alley, the soldiers giving chase. "Please, be safe, Master. Be safe."

My heart thudded in terror. Tears fell down my cheeks. Behind me, gunfire erupted. I shrieked. "Please be okay, Master. Please!"

I pumped my legs as hard as I could, my lungs burning with exertion. I had never run so hard, so fast, in my life. I gasped for breath. Everything burned. I pushed through it, forcing myself to keep going.

But I couldn't keep it up. After running six blocks my legs felt like solid lead and my sides ached. I just had to stop. I bent over, grabbing my knees while I tried to catch my breath. Sweat poured off my forehead, stinging my eyes. I wiped it away with the back of my hand.

"We have to keep moving, Violet!" Desiree panted. I jumped, glancing behind me. I didn't even realize that my sister-slut had been running with me. "They're coming!"

I glanced behind me and saw soldiers in brown camo running down the street. They were still two blocks away but covering the distance between us fast. We were in a residential neighborhood. Sixty- or seventy-year old houses, most looking rundown, crowded the street while the residents stood on their porches, watching both us and the soldiers in confused amusement.

"Popo's coming for you, White girls," a Black woman yelled from her porch. "Get 'em!"

"There!" Desiree pointed at a barely-paved alleyway and took off sprinting.

Fear gave me a second wind, and I chased after her. She crashed through a gate in a chain-link fence, the metal rattling. I was right on her tail. We ran down the side of a house and came out on the next street up. There was a loud, crashing sound of metal splintering wood off in the distance where Master ran.

Stay safe, Master, I prayed. Please stay safe!

We cut across the street towards a faded-yellow house with a white picket fence around it. We ran through the gate, the paint peeling, exposing grayish wood. I panted as we ran down the side of the house into the backyard. My sides were killing me, and I felt like throwing up. My thin top was wet with sweat, sticking to my boobs.

Desiree marched up to a clothesline and ripped down a dress.

"We need to change," Desiree panted, her nut-brown skin flushed with exertion. "We stand out too much dressed like this."

I flushed. The tube-top I was wearing was so tight, it was practically a second skin, and my sweat made the red material slightly transparent exposing my nipples and areolas completely. I took the dress from Desiree and pulled it over my head. It was too big for me, the skirt fell down way past my knees. It was so loose and baggy I felt like I wore a tent. It was so unlike the tight clothes I had grown used to wearing since I met Master.

There was a crashing sound, and I turned to see two soldiers walking down the side of the house, aiming their big rifles. Desiree froze for a moment, a second dress in her hand. She glanced once at me, smiled, then took off running towards the other side of the house, shouting loudly, her exposed tits bouncing. The soldiers cursed and chased after her, leaving me frozen in the backyard.

They must have thought I lived here.

"You need to move, Violet," I hissed at myself as I stood rooted in place, fear gripping my entire body. "She drew them off so you could escape. So keep moving! Find someplace to hide."

My head whipped back and forth, searching for anything. There was a back gate. I ran through it into another alley. I scanned it, trying to regain my breath. I heard booted footsteps and ducked behind an olive-green, plastic trash can, trembling against it. I curled up into a ball, sobbing silently. My muscles were cramping, and I started to shake.

This could not be happening.

This was worse than when the SWAT team attacked us last June. I just wanted to stay where I was, hiding behind the trash can. I didn't ever want to leave. I didn't care that it smelled bad, or that the gravel was sharp and poked my side. It was safe. I was safe.

"Save me, Master," I whispered, clutching at the choker about my neck. "Please come save me, Master."

Gravel crunched. I flinched. Someone was approaching.

I curled up as tight as I could, taking only the shallowest of breaths. My heart was hammering loudly in my chest. They would hear my heart thundering away, I realized. It was so loud. Fresh terror surged through me, driving my heart to beat louder and louder. Please stop beating so loudly. But my heart ignored me and kept hammering away.

The footsteps drew closer. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to see what was coming. More gravel scraped and crunched as they drew closer. The soldiers were almost to my hiding spot. I would be captured. My heart was beating so hard I thought it was going to burst right out of my chest. The crunching footsteps were right next to me. I was found. They had caught me. I tensed, waiting for the blow to be struck, the bullet to be fired.

Instead, it was the lightest of touch.

Cautiously, I cracked my eyes open to see a young woman smiling down at me with warm, blue eyes and a friendly smile. She held out her hand and relief flooded through me. I wasn't caught. I hesitantly uncurled, grasped her hand, and she gently helped me to my feet. I hugged her gratefully, tears running down my face.

I wasn't caught.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I whispered over and over.

She just held me for a moment, not answering, then led me into her house.

* * *

Mary Glassner

I'm captured, Mare, Mark sent me. Keep going. The Nextels are going to be compromised now. Keep going. Be safe! I love you.

"No, no, no!" I groaned. This couldn't be happening. I'll save you, somehow! I thought back. We're racing to the airport. Just hang in there. I love you!

"47," I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Mark is captured. The Nextels are compromised."

"I understand, ma'am," 47 replied. Her hand shook as she picked up her Nextel. "47 to all units, communications no longer secure. I repeat, communications not secure."

Then she tossed her Nextel out the window as we raced down the freeway.

Mark was captured. My mom wrapped her arms around me, holding me to her. Suddenly, all my emotions were pouring out of me as I sobbed into her breast. She stroked my hair and rocked me gently, just like she did when I was a child.

"Oh, Mom, what am I going to do?" I cried.

"I don't know," she whispered. "We will figure it out."

In thirty minutes, we reached Boeing field. I sobbed the entire way. We passed through the security gates and raced to the hangar. Our flight crew was waiting. Once we bought this plane, we moved our pilots, Joslyn and Lydia, here just in case we had to flee to our bolthole.

Lydia was waiting outside for us. "Miss," she greeted, her face pale with fright. Like all our close employees, Joslyn and Lydia were bound to Mark with the Zimmah ritual. "What is going on?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but more tears leaked out of my eyes. I couldn't bring myself to say what happened. Mark was captured. What was I going to do? I just climbed on board the plane and sat down in First Class, pressing my face to the cold window.

I love you, Mark, I thought to him. Stay strong! I will find a way to save you. I just wished I believed myself.

Love you, Mark sent back. I could feel his fear.

Everyone else was boarding. Mark's mom Sandy squeezed my shoulder before she found a seat next to Betty, her girlfriend. My dad and mom sat next to each other. Mom was still naked from our lovemaking. Hell, I was too. There hadn't been time to get dressed. All I had on was my wedding ring, my locket, and my protective amulet.

"It'll be all right," Missy, my younger sister, promised. She grabbed my hand, squeezed it, and kissed me on the forehead. Then she sat down next to her boyfriend Damien, who looked so young, his face so pale.

Mark's sister Antsy and her girlfriend Via were the last of our family to board. Only Shannon and her fiance were missing. But they were in Chicago attending a conference for George's job. The sluts boarded next. Lillian sat next to me, her arm going around my shoulder.

"It will be okay, Mistress," she whispered. I wished I could believe her.

We waited for Squad E to arrive. They managed to get clear of Thun Field ahead of those soldiers and arrived ten minutes after we did, piling into the plane. Lydia closed and sealed the plane's door. Then she sat down in the cockpit, its door left open. I could see inside as the pilots turned knobs and pressed buttons.

The plane lurched backward, and then we were taxiing to the runway. We had to wait for other planes to take off before our turn. My stomach twisted, fearing that any moment the military would show up. When the engines revved and roared louder and louder as the pilots throttled up for takeoff, I let out a sigh of relief.

We had made it.

Then I was shoved back into my seat, and my stomach sank as the plane raced down the runway and leaped into the air.

We're in the air, Mark, I sent to him. Your mom and Antsy are with me.

Good! I could feel the relief in his thought. He was worried about me. I wanted to cry again. Why should he be worried? I wasn't the one captured by our enemy.

The plane banked, turning to take us to Kansas and the decommissioned missile silo that was our emergency bunker.

Chapter Four

There can be no doubt that she fled in the wake of Brandon Fitzsimmons attack. The supposed "goddess" ran like a coward, abandoning her husband to his torment.

—excerpt from The History of the Tyrants' Theocracy, by Tina Allard

Mark Glassner - Tacoma, WA

A soothing, cold wave of relief washed through me. Mary and my family were safe. That was one less thing to worry about.

I lay face down on the street, a soldier's boot pressed into the back of my neck, the cold barrel of his M16 touching my cheek. My hands were zip-tied behind my back. A soldier shoved a disgusting rag into my mouth and tied it in place by a strip of cloth. 51 lay next to me, the butt of a rifle had slammed into her face, opening a gash across her forehead.

"Up!" a soldier shouted. The one standing on my neck released me and hauled me to my feet.

Several tan Humvees rolled up. I saw 27 in the backseat of one of the Humvees. Desiree sat next to her. But I didn't see Violet or Leah. Maybe they got away? Unless they were dead. I pushed that thought away as they forced me into the second Humvee. 51 was pushed in after me, her body leaning up against mine. Her eyes were dazed, unfocused. Blood trickled down her face

The Humvee drove back down to the courthouse. We passed columns of big, bulky armored vehicles bristling with weapons. Strykers, I think they were called, carrying infantry. More soldiers were guarding every intersection in teams of three. One would be manning a .50 machine gun while two more stood by holding M16s. In minutes, we passed the wreckage of the firefight in front of the courthouse. Some of the soldiers were clearing away the shot-up police cruisers, while others carried bodies to a waiting truck. And it wasn't only dead police officers they carried, but civilians who were attending the gun buyback and were caught in the crossfire.

More civilians sat on their hands in the square before the courthouse, watched over by dozens of soldiers. Some of the crowd looked scared, others were bewildered. They couldn't believe that US soldiers would attack them. That didn't happen in America. That happened overseas in some despotic country like Syria or North Korea. Not here. Not in America. A few had defiant looks on their faces, staring angrily at the soldiers. Off to the side, the media were guarded by more soldiers, but they were being allowed to continue reporting. I could see all the cameras pointing at the convoy of Humvees, ready to broadcast my humiliation to the world.

A bleak thought struck me: they would broadcast my execution, too.

The Humvees stopped in front of the courthouse, the door opened, and a soldier hauled me out. I saw his face. He was young, maybe eighteen, his eyes bright blue. There was a hard cast to his youthful features, his grip iron on my arm as he pushed me forward. I stood up straight as the eyes of the captured civilians fell on me. Shock and horror filled the faces of those who believed I was a god. Then despair filled their eyes.

Guilt filled me. I had let them down. I wasn't strong enough to protect them. But what could I do against an army? My greatest power was nullified by the Zimmah ritual. How could a Warlock put so many under his power? Every soldier I saw had their black aura fringed with a trace of red, the sign that they were bound by the spell. What could I do? What could Mary do? Despair crashed through my soul.

How was I getting out of this?

As we approached the courthouse, the glass doors opened and a short, fat man in an expensive, charcoal-gray, Italian suit stepped out. He was balding, his remaining hair gray. He had a burning look of triumph in his eyes.

Brandon Fitzsimmons.

How the hell had Brandon bound anyone with the Zimmah spell? His mother was dead. A male Warlock needed his mother to perform the spell.

Brandon wasn't alone. Flanking him were two women, scantily clad, who could be Mary's long-lost sisters. They were twins, with auburn hair, green eyes, and Mary's heart-shaped face. Other beautiful women, those who had vanished in the Midwest over the summer, lurked in the background. Brandon had his own harem of sluts.

At least I didn't kill their families or the ones who didn't please me enough.

"Kneel before your god!" the soldier leading me barked. Then he kicked me in the back of the knee. My leg folded out from under me, and I fell painfully to my knees.

Brandon stepped up to the microphone. "I am Brandon Fitzsimmons!" his voice boomed through the speakers. "I have defeated the false God, Mark Glassner!" He paused, his words echoing through the air. "I am your god and king! Worship me! Obey me!"

I could hear the crowd behind me change as his commands sank in. I glanced behind me to see all the fear, the despair, the anger melt away, replaced by peace. They all had black auras, and I could just make out a fringe of red. It was even worse than I could have imagined. He somehow was binding people to him without using the Zimmah spell. He did it just by speaking.

I was immune to his powers, one of the benefits of the Gift of the Holy Spirit Tiffany gave me. But Mary wasn't immune. She wasn't bound by the Zimmah spell to me or warded by Heavenly powers. She was vulnerable.

Mary, the Warlock is Brandon Fitzsimmons. Do not listen to anything he says. You cannot afford to fall under his power. His words bind people with the Zimmah spell.

I let Brandon's speech roll over me as Mary's reply came back, What am I going to do, Mark? I need you. I feel like I'm falling apart.

You have to be strong, Mare.

How?

You're the only hope we have. I need you. I love you. I know you can be strong! I believe in you! I had to believe in her. She was the only hope I had. And only if Brandon didn't immediately execute me.

Why are you comforting me? I'm the one who's safe. I should be comforting you. I could sense that she was calming down. I will find a way to save you, Mark. I promise!

The crowd hushed. I blinked and realized Brandon stood before me. I stared defiantly up at him. "You're immune to my powers, I see," Brandon grimaced, then glanced at Desiree. "And my wife, too."

"I'm not your wife any longer," Desiree snarled. The Zimmah bond chaining her soul to me protected her from another person's domination. "I dumped you for someone better."

"Quiet, woman! I'll deal with you soon enough." He motioned his hand, and a pair of female soldiers led her away. Then Brandon turned to another soldier. "Where's his wife, Lieutenant?"

"My Lord, two women escaped in the confusion, we are hunting them down," the soldier reported. "I do not think either is Mary. Both appeared to be brunettes."

"Dammit," Brandon hissed. "Did you secure that Gulfstream of his at least?"

"Yes, My Lord," an older soldier reported. He had eagles on his epaulets, so I think that made him a Colonel.

Brandon smiled, "Good, they're trapped in the State. Our troops are heading for the passes?" The soldier nodded. He must mean the passes over the Cascade Mountains to Eastern Washington. "What about his house? Did you find anyone there?"

"Empty, my Lord," the Colonel reported. "We missed everyone. The entire neighborhood was abandoned."

"Fuck! Burn the neighborhood," Brandon ordered. "And that damned tent where his worshipers meet. Kill any who resist. Find where his servants went! You'll find his wife with them."

"Yes, my Lord," the Colonel saluted.

Brandon turned to the crowd and took a microphone from one of the auburn-haired twins. "Here is your false God!"

A boo rose up from the crowd. Just an hour ago these people cheered me. I never realized just how frightening my powers were. In the hands of a monster like Brandon, a man who could so callously kill, it would be horrible. People would suffer.

Why wasn't one of the fucking Nuns trying to exorcise him? They wasted all that time with me. Who did I hurt?

A flash of Chastity and the other dead bodyguards shot through my mind.

"He is only flesh and blood! He is weak and was defeated by the merest fraction of my power!" Brandon continued. "Let me show you just how weak and human he really is!" He motioned to the soldiers.

They ripped the gag from my mouth. Two soldiers grabbed my head, prying my lips open. I fought, struggling to get free of their grasp, to close my mouth. I was strong, but so were they. A third soldier drew a knife. I struggled harder.

What were they doing?

I fought in vain to break free, to keep that glinting knife away from me. The third soldier forced his dirty fingers into my mouth, gripping my tongue. The blade flashed and blood filled my mouth.

"Master!" Desiree cried out, barely heard over the crowd's roar.

Disbelief almost drowned out the pain. They had cut my tongue off. How could I use any of my powers without my tongue? One of the soldiers held my severed tongue out to the crowd before throwing it to the ground.

I was thrown down onto my back. I grunted, choking on blood. Then the kicking started. Pain exploded in my back, my stomach, my legs. I curled up into a ball, trying to protect myself as booted foot after booted foot slammed into me.

I howled wordlessly in agony.

Over the pain, I heard Brandon's voice roar, "Mary Glassner! Your husband will be abused day and night until you turn yourself in. Submit to me and be my concubine, and your husband shall go free!"

* * *

Mary Glassner - Somewhere over Idaho

I was sitting in first class alone, save for my mom and little sister. I couldn't stand everyone looking at me so I ordered them back to coach. Mom and Missy ignored me, sitting with me and holding my hands. Back in coach, they were watching the news. I was the only one that couldn't watch it, the only one who couldn't witness what was happening to my husband. Everyone on the plane but me was bound by the Zimmah ritual. I was the only one susceptible to Brandon's power, and I could not afford to become his slave.

I needed to be strong. For Mark, for our family.

We were all dead if Mark died. My life was tied to his, our loved ones' lives tied to ours. It all rested on my shoulders. And I felt like I was about to be crushed beneath the weight. How could I bear all this responsibility? I was only twenty-one, barely an adult. My shoulders were just too slim to support this weight.