Crooked Saints

  

Ever since the Saints had fallen from Faerie, the sky was always bleeding.

    I remembered when the sky would only bleed before twilight, when the sun slept and so did the people. The blood was more like a fire that stretched from the horizon and clawed at the night, fighting it off with benevolent fingers.

    But now, it was blood. A red so thick and deep that, just looking at it, I could smell the sweet and bitter liquid, almost choking on it. And there was no night, and there was no day. Only red.

There were rumors, I have heard, about Safe Havens and Untouched Lands. I have followed these rumors with my wife and daughter. We had hope for our daughter. But we were either too late, or unfortunate enough to be there when They came.

You see, what people don't tell you about these Untouched Lands, is that they can only stay Untouched for so long. The Saints will come, and they will take everything. I know, because every city, every town, every forest, every bunker, has been exploited by Them. There is nowhere safe from Them for long.

My daughter was terrified to close her eyes. She was scared to travel on, and she was scared to stay. She rarely slept, and when she did, she cried, and only dreamt nightmares. My daughter once told me that she wanted to die, because she was too scared of living.

I finally knew I had to do something when they came and took Etters, a small town in Pennsylvania. It was safe, for about a month after we got there. But the Saints, they came, my wife and I were split up. I was lucky to still have my daughter, but I had lost the love of my life.

So now, I have stopped running, and started following. I've decided that it was time for humanity to fight back against these Saints. We were not ants to crush. We could fight.

I've acquired quite a following the last few years. Now, our rebellion against the Saints is called Vindicta Sanctorum. I have over four hundred followers and I know each and every one of their names, and they all know mine. My daughter is no longer afraid to sleep, so I know we are doing the right thing.

We kill all the Saints that we can. I have never stopped looking for my wife.

Today, we stood in the grey, Flint Hills of Kansas. We waited on the rocks, near the only accessible road that would lead the Saints to us. If They want to get to Cambridge, they have to get through us. And we are prepared.

"They're out there," Gregory, my right-hand man, said, his voice sounding hoarse. "I can feel it. It is just too quiet." But the hills stayed grey. There was no one but us and the wind.

"The calm before the storm," said the man beside me, whose name was Miguel. I would have agreed with him, if I did not know how the Saints attacked.

First, the sky rains blood. There are no clouds, and it looks as if the sky is falling. The rain is hot and thick, and you choke on it.

Second, Locusts. Biting and crawling into your ears. Their buzzing song would deafen any soldier who did not fall in the blood.

Finally, the crows. Black against the red sky. Their beaks were like claws and their claws were like knives.

It was this order, every time. I have learned it, I have lived it.

"I don't see anything," I said. I was looking at the sky, not the horizon, like everyone else. I knew more than my men. I was prepared for them. I was prepared to avenge my wife.

"There!" yelled a voice in the distance, whom I thought belonged to Campbell. I was still looking to the sky, yet there was no blood. Gregory took my arm, yanking me back to the ground.