TWD - Chapter 552: Tomorrow, Come Quickly (Patreon)

Outside, Xavier leaned against the wall, smoking. When the priest emerged, he tossed down his cigarette butt and ground it beneath his shoe. “Well?”

The priest shook his head. “It’s no use. The man’s mad.”

Xavier swore. “Then we burn him. I’ll report it to The Pope.”

The priest glanced toward the towering iron post in the distance. “Noon tomorrow, then.”

Xavier nodded. “All right.”

The priest walked away, his black robe billowing through the darkness like a great bat.

Xavier stood where he was, watching his figure disappear. Then, facing the direction of the cell, he spat. “Madman!”

Xavier left as well. Victor remained alone in the dark, wrists and ankles bound, every bone and muscle aching.

Victor stared into the darkness beyond his sight and whispered, “Gabriel.”

No one answered, but he knew that someone was aware of his plight.

The black-robed priest who had taught him that the Lord was love had promised that God was with him.

Victor closed his eyes and began to recite the prayer again: “...Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me...”

Tomorrow, they would tie him above the fire and burn him alive. But he was not afraid. The Lord was with him.

Cyrus passed the day in a daze.

Zike encountered him in the hallway and remarked casually, “They’re burning Victor tomorrow at noon. Are you going to watch?”

Cyrus stared at him, struggling to make sense of the words. “What?!”

Zike looked at him with a slightly strange expression. “Tomorrow at noon, they’re burning Victor. The Pope and Xavier decided it.”

A ringing filled Cyrus’s ears. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Zike knew Victor and Cyrus were close. He patted him on the shoulder and sighed, “Don’t overthink it. Get some sleep.”

Cyrus remained rooted to the spot before finally returning to his room. He slammed the door and, shaking all over, pulled the walkie-talkie from his chest pocket. “Tomorrow at noon, they’re going to burn Victor.”

“I know,” Calista interrupted him. “We’ll be there tomorrow.”

Cyrus could hardly think. “How... how are you getting here?”

“You don’t need to know,” Calista said. “Tonight, hide the walkie-talkie beside the fire pit and keep the transmit button held down. Then sit back and watch the show tomorrow.”

The call ended, leaving Cyrus’s thoughts in turmoil.

Tomorrow. Calista and her people were coming tomorrow.

How would they get here?

He didn’t know.

Darkness had already fallen. Men in the neighboring shipping-container dormitories were still talking about Douglas and Victor, but Cyrus barely heard them. One thought kept repeating in his head: Please, let tomorrow come quickly.

Cyrus shut his eyes and breathed deeply. No, Calista had a plan. She had told him to plant the walkie-talkie, and she had never lied to him before.

So he’d go set it up.

He opened his eyes and sat up sharply.

Go now?

Too early. Patrols and night guards were still near the fire pit. If they caught him, he was finished. He would have to wait.

With that in mind, Cyrus lay back down and began counting the minutes.

Time crawled. He felt as though someone were scraping his skin with a razor blade, a little at a time, until he could hardly bear to stay still.

He rolled onto his side to face the wall. The yellowing magazine page was still there, and the blonde, blue-eyed woman on it was still smiling.

The sight of her face suddenly made him sick. He tore down the page, crumpled it, and hurled it to the floor.

At three in the morning, Cyrus quietly pushed the door open.

The hallway was pitch black. Old Ivan snored like a thunderstorm, and an occasional sleepy mutter drifted from Dubin’s room.

Crouching low against the wall, he crept step by step toward the exit.

A faint light glowed near the workshop. Two night watchmen sat by the fire pit, huddled together and chatting quietly.

Cyrus watched from the shadows for ten minutes. Neither guard moved. They spoke to each other now and then, but otherwise stayed put.

He had no choice but to keep waiting.

Another half hour passed, and one of them stood up and headed toward the restroom.

The other remained seated, with his back to Cyrus.

His chance had come!

Cyrus crouched low and crept around from the shadows, inch by inch, closing in on the fire pit until he could see the man.

It was Samuel, the young man with acne. He sat with his head lowered, lost in thought.

Cyrus hid behind a pile of scrap, his heart pounding like a drum.

He reached into his chest pocket, pulled out his walkie-talkie, and then cautiously scanned his surroundings.

A narrow opening beside the scrap pile was just large enough to hold the radio. It would be hidden from sight, yet close enough to the fire pit for its sound to carry across the square.

Cyrus tiptoed over and slipped the walkie-talkie into the gap. He let go, and it fell in, fitting perfectly.

He wedged a small piece of charcoal against the transmit button, keeping it depressed while the radio remained concealed. Perfect.

Cyrus had barely made a sound, and Samuel seemed not to have noticed a thing. He had kept his back turned the entire time.

Once everything was set, Cyrus pulled his hand back and slowly inched backward along the scrap pile. After moving back a dozen or so meters, he stood up, crouched low, and retraced his steps, not even daring to breathe loudly the entire way.

Please, let tomorrow come quickly!

...

Fifteen kilometers away, at the Rock Fortress temporary camp.

Calista was awake as well. Moonlight filtered through the seams of her tent, casting a silver streak across her face. Her gray-blue eyes shone like stars.

Leah, Carver, Gabriel, Bossie, and Jenson were in the tent with her.

They were all looking at her.

Leah spoke first: “Is Cyrus set up?”

Calista nodded. “It’s in place.”

Leah let out a sigh of relief.

Calista stood up, walked to the tent entrance, pulled back the flap, and gazed out at the night. In the distance, the outline of the shipyard was faintly visible in the darkness.

She turned back, moonlight pouring in behind her and edging her silhouette in silver. “Noon tomorrow.”

Everyone stood up.

“Bossie, are the drones ready?”

Bossie nodded. “Ready. Fully charged, and the attractants are loaded. I’ll double-check them at 5 a.m.”

Calista turned to Carver. “Carver, what about the disruptors?”

Carver stepped out from the corner and brushed off his pants. “Five cans each, plus two extra just in case.”

Calista nodded. She turned to Jenson. “You’re in charge of The Pope and the priest tomorrow. Is that okay?”

“No problem!”

Finally, she turned to Gabriel, who was sitting in the corner wearing a clean black priest’s cassock. He held a Bible in his hands and was reading silently. “Gabriel, are you ready?”

Gabriel nodded earnestly. “I’m ready.”

Calista pursed her lips and looked at him intently. “Are you afraid?”

Gabriel smiled calmly. “No, I’m not. We have Heaven’s blessing.”

Calista smiled slightly as she looked at everyone. “The operation begins tomorrow morning. Drones will release attractants from four directions. About half an hour later, all the walkers will converge on the shipyard.”

She paused. “Gabriel, stay directly behind me. You have only one task. Make them see, and make them believe.”

Gabriel nodded.

Silence fell over the tent as everyone went about their own business.

Gabriel sat in the corner, opening his Bible. Moonlight shone on the pages, making those words glow: “Love is patient and kind.”

Calista stood motionless in the center of the tent. She closed her eyes, her mind filled with Victor’s face.

Using someone as pure-hearted as Victor came with a drawback. It left Calista with a pang of guilt.

Victor trusted Gabriel, and he believed Calista could save him. She would do everything she could. She couldn’t let either Victor or Cyrus down.

...

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