Virus

Twenty Seven

My final vengeance came when Mick Holler finally gave up.

"There is no...no trick. The virus is weakening," he gasped. "Don't kill me. Not yet. I need to tell my men to stand down. I surrender."

Girida brought in a microphone what was connected to every Butterfly base, or camp across the west.

"This is Mick Holler," he said weakly into the mic. "Stand down. This war is over."

Then Girida pulled the mic away and set it on the tunnel. Now there was nothing standing in the way of Holler, and the pistol in my hand.

His eyes were as icy blue-gray as in my vision. They were weaker than I saw in Topeka. They were afraid. Hollers forming empire was caving in and it was crushing his soul.

I raised the pistol at him. He was too weak to care.

The cameras began rolling, broadcasting this moment all across Washington Fortress.

All the faces of the people I lost in this war flashed before my eyes. Hal was the one that gripped onto my soul. Hal was the real reason why this man would die.

The moment had to happen fast. It has to be quick. As much as I hated this man, as much as the wrath of the United States needed to be seen and felt, this man deserved to die quickly.

He stared at me. "You cause this country a whole lot of trouble," I said to his eyes. They were the only part of him that seemed alive.

Then I fired. The bullet passed through his skull and into the wall behind him, splattering the rosewood with blood. His body slumped against the wall, making his shackles jingle.

Even his eyes seemed dead now. The war was over. Or so we thought.