Destroyer 029 by The Final Death

Author:The Final Death
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

The leader calmly explained what they had to do.

The leader calmly explained that the attack had not failed, it had succeeded.

The leader coughed three times, hacked once, and spit a hunk of phlegm into the

garbage can of the eighteenth-floor suite of the Houston, Texas, Sheraton.

"But we lost three of our best men," said a voice in Chinese.

"We have gained knowledge," was the leader's reply. "We have gained

understanding." The leader weighed the two in his mind. "It is regrettable," he said at

"We have gained knowledge," was the leader's reply. "We have gained

understanding." The leader weighed the two in his mind. "It is regrettable," he said at

last. "But it was necessary. Tell me, what have we learned?"

The young Chinese voice told the old man about the attack at Meatamation and how the

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white man leveled three of the Creed's best fighters. Then the voice spoke of the yellow

man who had been waiting outside Meatama-tion.

"The yellow man," whispered the leader, raising his right hand toward his eye. His right forefinger

stopped at his left breast but his eight-inch fingernail rested just below his left eye. "Were his eyes the color

of steel?"

"Yes," was the answer.

"It is as I feared," said the leader. "He has come. He has finally come." The leader dropped his hand to his

lap and bent his head in silent prayer. He remained that way for a minute and a half, then his ancient head

rose.

"Have you paid the others?"

"The marchers? Yes."

"Do they know of our creed?"

"No."

"Have you replenished our ranks?"

"Hired some new men? Yes."

"Call the others," said the leader. "The time approaches. We must do it. Now."

After the young person had left the room, the leader raised himself from his chair.

His rise was slow as were his movements and speech. He finally got to his standing

height of four feet eleven, then shuffled across the nylon-pile hotel carpet to the drawn

curtains.

A shaking left hand gripped the heavy green material and wrenched it open. Hard, hot

sunlight poured over the leader into the room. Houston hung in space, shiny gray, as if

some hand had smeared Vaseline over it.

Big cars, each looking newly painted, jock-

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eyed with the dirty, tan hulks of the tractor trailer trucks for 10 clear yards of road space. Work crews

were pulling off the red-and-green decorations from the streets, heralding the passing of the new year. Stores

were ending their post-Christmas sales.

And it was hot in Texas. It was always hot. That's why the leader liked it here better

than Connecticut. It was hot. That was all the leader cared about. That was all he felt.

That was all he saw.

Because the leader's eyes were bright blue, but the pupils were dark, smoky white.

The leader was completely blind.

He heard the door open. The others had returned.

"Sit down, please," said the leader in Chinese.

"Sit down," said another, translating in English.

The leader waited until he heard two bodies settle into the suite's chairs, then he closed

the curtain, and shuffled back to his chair, secure in the knowledge that no outstretched

leg or upright body would obstruct his path.

The leader lowered

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