False Prey: A Wildfire Novella (Wildfire Saga) Read Free

gaze from the priest.
    “I think it’s time for you all to leave.   Now,” said the priest, his tone softening.
    “Not without him,” said Mosby, leaning around the priest to glare at Thomas.   The man’s eyes held no mercy.   Thomas felt a shiver of fear trickle down his back.  
    “Yeah, I see you…” said Mosby quietly.
    “I didn’t do anything!” pleaded Thomas, as he took a step backwards, inching his way towards the altar at the east end of the church.   There had to be another way out of this place.   “I work in product development for my company.   I was at a conference in Lexington a couple days ago—I wasn’t even supposed to come to this—” he almost said ‘hick town’ but caught himself.   “This place.”
    “Product development,” said the priest.   “Doesn’t sound too dangerous to me.”
    “That’s a lie!”
    “It is not!” shouted Thomas.   Anger flared inside him and he began releasing the pent up frustration: “I’m just trying to get home to my wife and kids in Cincinnati!   You think I want to be stuck here in this hellhole during this flu outbreak or bio-weapon attack…or whatever the hell they’re calling it?”   Thomas took two more steps backward.   “You people are insane!”
    “You’re a liar and a spy! ” shouted Mosby, an accusatory finger pointing at Thomas.
    “Damn Korean—” muttered the the man with the bat.
    “I’m Filipino you asshole!   But no one bothered to stop and ask me that, did they?   You just said, ‘Oh, there’s a guy that looks Asian’—”  
    “Screw it—let’s get him,” said Mosby.   The man with the bat moved up next to him and the they advanced as a pair.  
    The priest raised his arms and blocked them again.   “Do not dare attempt to use violence in this church you heathens, or by God’s wrath, you will be sorry!”  
    The two men paused again, watched by their remaining handful of supporters.   Mosby glanced over his shoulder, as if seeking support.   The priest jumped on the ringleader’s hesitation.
    “You barge into this sanctuary—this House of the Lord—like a pack of Visigoths at the gates of Rome itself, then blaspheme in my presence and threaten harm to a man under my protection—”
    Mosby frowned, his face darkening.   “Outta the way, Father,” he said through clenched teeth.   He shouldered past the priest and reached for Thomas.   The old priest stumbled into a pew on Thomas’ left.   The onlookers gasped and Thomas used the distraction to run toward the altar.
    “Come on, boys,” Mosby called out.   “Let’s finish this.”
    Thomas ignored the shouts and commotion behind him and concentrated on finding a way out.   He had mere seconds before Mosby would be within striking distance.   He vaulted the altar steps and spun, searching for a vestry-way or door or window...anything that would allow him to escape back outside.
    “All right, mister, give it up.   We don’t want this to get messy,” said Mosby.   Thomas stared in horror—in one smooth motion, the man whipped out a wicked-looking knife from under his plaid shirt as he approached.
    Thomas spotted a doorway to his right, down a short hallway behind a large statue of the Blessed Virgin.   It was hidden from the pews, but up by the altar it was plain as day.   His way out.   He kicked at the large candelabra near the end of the altar and sent the huge beeswax candle falling towards Mosby.
    Thomas sprinted for the door as the candelabra clattered to the ground, the sound echoing profanely in the church.   He was sorry he had desecrated the altar, but was glad for the momentary distraction.   Mosby swore loudly and Thomas could hear heavy footfalls as the man gave chase.
    Thomas reached out mid-stride for the handle to the church’s rear door, only to have it crash open from the outside, spilling sunlight into the gloomy hallway.   A local cop, his brutish face set in a sneer that would make Al Capone