The Spartans

Prologue

     7:30 P.M. The music began. Musicians checked their notes. The singing started. "Hm—Hmmm—Hm-- Holly Jolly. La. La. La. This is the time to be jolly. Hm—Hm—Hmm. Hear the bells a-ringing. Come and sing along...." 

     It was Christmas time for Baxter Baptist Church. The choir, full of two hundred trained and not-so-trained professionals, sung the typical Christmas songs, throwing in a gospel-themed song from time to time. The congregation consisting of hundreds that night, sat rapt in attention in their seats. 

     The black-robed preacher, an elderly fellow with the bible at his side, also sat enthralled in his customary chair. He surveyed the congregation from end to end. The many people present made him thoroughly happy, and who would not be? It was Christmas. A time to celebrate, so even the ones who rarely showed up were here. It was a merry time for everyone. Well, nearly everyone: there was one girl in particular who was unhappy. When the grand marching tune to the Nutcracker began, she slipped unnoticed from her seat and scurried away....

     Outside in the unlit streets, a van speeding past the posted speed limit raced down the roadway. Pedestrians, anxious to get home, dashed out of the way as it sailed past them. The driver, a forty-something aged man, smoking nervously at his cigarette, eyed the clock. He had to be there on time. The clock spelled out 7:37. He was supposed to be there at 7:20. He was going to late. He urged the van onto faster speed, ignoring the cop positioned to the side....

     7:40 p.m. The same girl, dressed lavishly in black raiment, pushed pass the door into the washroom and eyed herself with displeasure. She was missing out on the next song, but she didn't care that much. She was more concerned about the way her hand was turning inky black. 

     It was a miracle that her family hadn't noticed it. She tried washing the hand. The blackness never faded no matter how hard she tried. Soap didn't do the trick. The mutation, or whatever it was, crept up her arm like a living thing. She had to get it off. Sweat tricked down her forehead. She wasn't feeling too good....

     The van clocked seventy miles per hour as it screeched into the parking lot of the church. Fortunately, everyone was inside. The van driver dashed out and went to the back, pulling out a devious-looking machine gun. He slipped the black-faced mask over and donned the iconic look of a killer seeing red before he begins the shooting spree....

     Gasping. Breathing hard. The girl looked from her hand to the mirror. The infection had stopped but had taken over a good-sized portion of her hand. She wanted to get out of there. But the music was still harping to whatever tune was playing now. She just couldn't. The second her blackened hand touched the wooden-paneled sink, it caught fire. The tongue of fire rushed upward like a scarlet serpent, and the girl was out the room immediately. She couldn't hold back a scream.

    She was running into the sanctuary. Oh, what should she tell them all? A fire had started. That was important news. But her steps came to a screeching halt when the gunman appeared, face-to-face to her. The sanctuary was ominously quiet. There was no music playing in the backdrop. No! This couldn't be happening. She backed away. The gunman swiveled his weapon on her.

"Nothing personal, kid." He fired at point-blank range.

Blackness swam about. She was breathing. Barely. The pain went away rapidly. Soon, the girl opened her eyes. She was not in the sanctuary. Vast metallic walls opposed her. Robotic machinery was at work. A man, clad in a grey coat, stood face to face with another man. Conversing in lowered tones, the scientist examined his clipboard.

"She's alive."

"That's impossible! I shot her through. I promise that."

"Hmm...her healing rate is astonishing. She's nearly recovered. I believe this girl will make a worthy candidate for testing."

"But boss, what about my payment? I did the job as promised."

"NO! You blundering fool. You have failed me this time. Now get out of my sight!" Footsteps walking away. A sigh of relief. The scientist looked toward his patient, the newly acquired test subject. Yes, she would make a fine candidate for the operation.

"Begin the surgery." He announced. Machinery clicked online. Robots scurried about the place. It would be over in a matter of hours....