Free The Seventh Seal by J. Thorn Page B

did
the same thing with Nationalism in Nazi Germany.  It’s all I can figure.  The
hardcore Born Agains have been frothing at the mouth to launch a final Holy
War.  Imagine all the nut jobs out there with guns and ammo.  From where I sit,
it looks like our own government has been compromised, but it’s possible that
these soldiers we see are part of a paramilitary force being controlled by the
church.  They could be hired guns in army camo.”
    “Dude,” said Alex, “I never thought it would go down like
this.  Global warming, dirty bomb, maybe.  But never did I think men of God
would gun down people in their homes.”
    Alex wiped at both eyes and suppressed his hitching chest.
    “Let’s get off of 480 and see who’s playing at the Jigsaw
tonight.”
    John took the ramp and turned left onto State Road.  Like
all the neighborhoods they drove past, everything stood in darkness.  The saw
the flames as soon as they made the turn: a raging fire consumed a dozen
vehicles on a used-car lot.  Spastic flames leapt from the showroom windows,
illuminating the cold neon signs above.
    In the next block, smashed tables and chairs lay in
splinters on the road.  The storefront windows of a mom and pop furniture
dealer sat in pieces on the littered sidewalk.  To the right, a convenience
store was bathed in blood-red pentagrams.  The men looked at each other with
raised eyebrows and low whistles.
    “Home of the resistance?” Alex asked.
    John nodded in agreement.
    “Something went down here.”
    “Isn’t the Jigsaw up ahead?”
    John nodded again and guided the truck into the right lane. 
Streetlights stretched across the road a foot or two above the ground.
    “I think this is as far as we can take the truck,” John
said.
    “Yeah, whether it’s planned or not, we’re not getting past
those.”
    John pulled the truck over and killed the engine.  The
lights died and cast the street back into orange, flickering shadows coming
from the auto-dealership inferno.  The air smelled of burning fuel and
plastic.  Alex grabbed a rifle from the back of the truck and jumped back.  The
breakout and subsequent escape had tossed their dead passenger about like a
ragdoll, leaving the man’s limbs pointed at various grotesque angles. Alex
suppressed the urge to vomit.
    The two men exited the vehicle and dropped low to the ground
as they hurdled fallen light posts.  John saw the vertical “Jigsaw” sign a
block down the street.  Glass crunched under their boots as another blast threw
debris in their direction from the car lot.  Alex stopped and ducked behind the
side of a pharmacy.
    “If we approach in camo and with guns, they might fire on
us,” said Alex.
    “Shit, you’re right. Do you think anyone is in there?”
    “Do you think those light posts fell like that on their
own?  Yeah, they’re in there, and I’ll bet they’ve already seen us.”
    Alex hesitated for a moment.
    “You still have that radio?”
    John rummaged through the bag on his shoulder.  The force of
the collision with the minivan had thrown it into a much harder object. Plastic
shards of radio fell through John’s fingers to the sidewalk.
    “That ain’t gonna help us,” said Alex.
    “What if we yell something that will distinguish us from the
Covenant?”
    Alex nodded, and stepped out from behind the wall.  He took
a few steps toward the Jigsaw, to a point where he knew he would be heard.
    “I hear Sleep is reuniting for a show,” Alex yelled.
    A light hit the pavement in front of John.  Bouncing red
dots found their mark on the forehead of each man. Then a booming voice.
    “Drop your weapons and walk towards the side door where the
bands load in.  If you so much as step on a crack, we’ll shoot you.  Consider
yourselves lucky that we didn’t blast your ass for wearing camo out here, you
dumb fucks.”
    John dropped his weapon to the pavement, as did Alex.  They
walked side by side toward the door, the red points dancing lively