Free Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men by Regan Wolfrom

expected more twenties.
    “The keycards work on the back gate?” I asked.
    “They should,” Tiara said.
    We hurried along the rutted dirt road that ran from the stables to the trees behind the paddocks. Fallon was with us; I wasn’t about to shoot him.
    I glanced back and saw a wave of men running in our direction, rushing out of the stable doors. They ran in formation, like a zombie civil war reenactment. They were completely silent, most grasping machetes, a few with what appeared to be rifles.
    It was unnerving. They were on their way to kill us, but they didn’t seem to feel anything about it one way or the other. No angry screams, no hesitation... just a line of macoutes moving swiftly toward us.
    “They’ve definitely seen us,” I said.
    I turned and aimed my gun. I pulled the trigger and it fired. I almost tripped.
    “Don’t waste bullets,” Julia said. “You’re not going to hit them from this far away.”
    “There aren’t enough bullets either way,” Fallon said. “You won’t get a chance to reload.”
    We reached the back gate, wide enough for a horse trailer and just as tall as the rest of the wall. There was a small box mounted on a steel pole, along with a heavy chain and a heavier padlock.
    Behind the gate were two pickup trucks, parked just outside like they were meant for something.
    “Tell me you brought the key for that lock,” I said.
    “That’s not our lock,” Fallon said. “Or our trucks.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “That’s not our lock,” Tiara said. “They’ve locked us in.”
    “I know what this is now,” Fallon said. “It’s a killing pen. No way out. They’re going to see just how well this army can kill.”
    “Not much of a test,” I said. “A few dozen zombies against five girls and two handguns.”
    “I don’t think that’s the test they’re running,” Tiara said.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Six-man squads each spend three months mucking stalls. Testing to see if the chemicals are holding. Then off to the barracks for basic training. Then this, I guess... the last piece, to see just how suggestible they are.”
    “How suggestible?”
    “Whether or not they’re willing to kill a bunch of defenseless girls, and just how viciously they’ll do it. That’s the real test of an army, seeing how far they’ll go to follow orders.”
    “But we’re not defenseless,” Julia said.
    “I think they meant us to be,” I said. “Too bad for Kathleen that she won’t get to see the result.”
    The passengers’ side door opened on one of the pickup trucks.
    Kathleen climbed out.
    Her left eye was missing; the left side of her face was pocked and shredded like she’d fallen asleep in a food processor.
    She should have been dead. She probably was dead.
    But she was looking at us with the eye she had left. Looking right at me.
    And with binoculars hanging from her neck. She was here for the show.
    “You were supposed to be unarmed,” she said.
    “You were supposed to be dead,” I said.
    “Not the first time. Where is Pouchon?”
    “He’s dead,” Fallon said.
    “I didn’t ask you for your medical opinion. I asked where he is.”
    “Come on in here and I’ll help you find him.” He turned to me. “Just shoot her, already.”
    I pointed the gun, following the sight marks along the top; I was pointing it right at her.
    “Don’t waste your bullets,” Kathleen said. “Do I look like I’m easy to kill?”
    A man walked up behind her. He was carrying an assault rifle.
    “Drop the handguns,” Kathleen said. “Don’t mess up our test.”
    I put down my gun.
    Julia didn’t move.
    “Come on,” Kathleen said, “drop it.”
    “Julia...” I said.
    Kathleen turned to the man behind her. “Take her down,” she said.
    The man with the assault rifle took a shot.
    Julia fell to the ground.
    I wasn’t the only one who screamed. I ran over to Julia.
    She’d been hit in the leg.
    “Not bad,” Kathleen said. “We’ll see if they’ll kill a wounded girl.