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The Innocent, the Weak, the Old -CHAPTER 3
The sound of boots on the tile floor had stopped, big rifles were taken out of the soldiers holsters and were then aimed at the congregation. The shots began to fire away and cries from the innocent were heard then died away. Everyone began to duck and some tried to run away off to the side but failed miserable. Francis ducked down under the podium and felt the bullet fly through his leg. He sat there under the podium and looked at his leg, the blood began to gush out and soaked the green carpet. He looked to the left of him and there lay Father Joseph with a bullet hole in his temple and his eyes lay wide open.
Gerald came out of the back room and started spraying the church with lead bullets.
“Get out of here. Go !!!!”
Francis cried out in agony and got up, he could feel himself collapse, blood lay every where. Francis fell facedown on to the floor and with all of his energy dragged himself over to the back room. Behind him he heard Gerald scream out his final breath and fall down to the floor. The bullets had stopped and the church was silent once again.
With all his might Francis opened the heavy metal door and flung himself outside landing on his face. He groaned, he could feel the asphalt in his skin, he thought about just laying there and see what they would do to him. There was no real purpose for him to live on, he had no more family, the government knew now where he was and what he was doing. Francis thought of the outcomes,
If I where to stay they would either a) kill me now, b) bring me to Government Advisory Center, torture me, brainwash me and/or kill me, or c) I run and live for as long as I can until they find me and then they have the options of a or b. …Oh F*** Me.
He got up, pieces of the asphalt on his face began to fall to the ground. His face was covered in big gashes, the blood that was running down his forehead began to form puddles in his eyes which made it difficult for Francis to see. But he moved on, stumbling and falling on the ground ever so often, every step he made was like a leap of faith. He felt as if in any minute it was going to be his last step. He was heading straight for the dark zone of the city, only two more blocks down until he would be safe, if you could call it that.
The Dark zone is the area of the city where the government did not patrol it’s streets. It is a awful place, anarchy was rule, the forbidden gangs have colonized themselves in this forsaken place. They live for heresy, for lust, for murder and for freedom. In this zone they have their own jurisdictions, in the I.T.S.(Information Thoughts System) we often have follow ups on the Dark zone’s leader Gazardiel “The Free”. The citizens are very amused by the reports of this rebellious leader, which are mainly rants about how horrible and treacherous Gazardiel is.
The Dark zone is about 15 miles in perimeter, the buildings there are broken and frigid. Thousands of poor and homeless people call this home, they shack themselves up in the buildings at night and in the day scramble over to the Main zone and beg for food, money, and drugs. It’s the same routine everyday for the rest of their pathetic lives. You will not find modern technology in the Dark zone, if you want entertainment you can find it on the streets. The buildings, the sidewalks, the streets, almost everything in the Dark zone is covered in black.
Francis was about a block away, his blood left a trail behind him but he didn’t notice, he was delusional. His eyelids began to droop down, he was now seeing through tunnel vision. Francis could feel the presence of what he thought was a spirit that was helping him to reach the end. Little voices began to echo in his head, various voices all were chanting in a whisper “The Free”. The voices did not stop, Francis fell down to his knees and cried out in pain, all he had to do was cross the street.
He then laid his hands on the ground and began to crawl slowly. Tears and blood ran off his face and on to the pavement. Francis kept hearing the voices, they began to grow louder. This then triggered Francis to crawl faster, he had finally made it off the street, he was safe. Tired, to weak, the energy and drive was gone, the agony and suffering would lead towards the end. Francis had just enough energy to bring himself up and sit on the sidewalk laying his back on the wall of the building.
It was now only one voice, a woman’s voice, his wife’s voice, “The Free”. He looked back at the bloody trail he had left on the sidewalk, then at the church which was up in flames. Everything was peaceful, Francis’ heartbeat was getting lower, everything he saw in front of him turned into a black mist. White dots began to appear out of the corner of his eyes and streaks of colors flashed right before his eyes. There were no noises, no pain, no sight or smell, no conscious thought. The sweet sense of tranquility into the state of nothing, nothing but air.