“Traitors!” Miss Carriage screamed as pea-sized fetuses rained from her
cannon. She wished that she’d learned the other exiles’ names. If she had
gotten to know them instead of just using them, they may have stuck
around.
Sirens wailed from every direction. Hundreds of preachers in brown-cross
riot gear stormed the streets. They struck everyone in their path.
Believers and skeptics alike.
“Nobody move!” a preacher yelled, hitting an old man with his baton.
The man fell to the ground. His head busted open, blood flowing to the
pavement.
“You moved!” another preacher yelled, striking a pregnant woman on the
back.
She fell down with her arms wrapped around her stomach, trying to save the
child within. She hit her head on the curb and then lay motionless.
The crowd scattered in panic, trampling over anything in their way. No one
wanted their head cracked open by the preachers.
“Samantha!” Luke yelled. “Get back in the church.”
She nodded, grabbed Karissa, and slipped inside. The door shut behind
them.
“So what next?” Luke asked. “Find the leader or stop the preachers?”
“You don’t even have to fucking ask,” the puppet replied, flinging Luke
into the air and slamming him onto a preacher. When that one was done, the
puppet lifted Luke into the air and aimed at another.
Miss Carriage ducked into a building to reload. Her spit-sized fetuses
were useless now. She decided to wait for the right moment to rejoin the