Moonlight crusade moonli.., p.1
Moonlight Crusade (Moonlight Chronicles Book 1), page 1
Moonlight Crusade
Scott Kinkade
No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced without the expressed written consent of the copyright holder, except in the context of a review.
Moonlight Crusade
Copyright © 2021 by Scott Kinkade. All rights reserved.
The author has received no payment or endorsements for the copyrighted materials referenced in this work.
“Breathe Fire” font courtesy of Chequered Ink Ltd.
Used with permission.
Bible verses are taken from King James Bible.
Special thanks to Cathy Lopez for once again powering through the drivel I write to make it not quite so drivel-y. Best editor ever!
1
Kyle struggled futilely against his chains. Locked up in the auto garage; held prisoner by a madman; abandoned by God; his friends murdered; constantly on the verge of puking; possibly no longer human; how could things get any worse?
The albino girl picked to watch him said nothing. She just sat there reading her trashy romance novel. She looked ridiculous in her red cult robe, but he could not laugh at these monsters. They had taken everything from him tonight, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
* * *
December 1. Twelve hours earlier.
The plane touched down with a thump before speeding down the LaGuardia runway. It came to a stop, the G-forces easing up on him. Kyle Falconer breathed a sigh of relief. “Whew! We made it.” He could attest to being somewhat uncomfortable. Despite the winter weather outside, cold air from the nozzle thingy above him hit with its cold breath. In addition, the plane was packed to the gills with humanity; not one seat sat unoccupied, and some of the people sported hefty girths. This was America, after all.
Next to him, Mike Miller stretched nonchalantly. “Of course we did. You think God would let us die when we’re doing his will?” At six-three, Mike was a good six inches taller than Kyle. A well-built college football player, he was known as “The Oklahoma Tim Tebow.” He might have been the only person still Tebowing, but that was to his credit.
Treia leaned over Kyle’s seat from behind him. “I want to see the Statue of Liberty!” Her short, auburn hair hung down as she tilted her head down to address them.
“That’s great,” Kyle said. “But remember the real reason we’re here.”
Their branch of Campus Christians had come here, along with dozens of other branches, to attend the Empire State Christian Conference. Of course, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t get some sightseeing in.
The plane taxied up to the gate and, within minutes, people began disembarking. They all met up in the terminal in front of the gate.
Their leader for this trip was Tom Hill, a lanky, middle-aged African American with thinning hair but an undying passion for Christ. “All right, everyone. We have to pick up our luggage from Carousel Sixteen. Remember to be patient and give all the other passengers room to get their stuff off the belt. Now, come on—I’m Moses and I’m leading my people out of the terminal!” This elicited a light chuckle from the group.
After retrieving their luggage, they went up to the pickup area. The sky was a dreary gray. The bitter New York winter cold blasted them and they happily piled into shuttles that would take them to their hotel in Manhattan. Along the way, they passed through Queens. Kyle noted the rustic, humbled look of the place; there were probably great opportunities to minister here. The grandeur of Manhattan was nowhere to be found. And yet, there was a certain blue-collar appeal about it.
They soon passed over the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge. Now, they could all see the magnificence of New York City. Towering buildings clustered closely together one after another; advertisements aplenty; food trucks/carts everywhere; countless theater productions. They drank it all in.
“Look at all those skyscrapers!” Treia marveled next to Kyle.
Sitting behind them, Tom said, “Actually, they aren’t all skyscrapers. A skyscraper is made primarily of steel.”
“Cool,” Mike said. He sat next to Tom.
“We’re now over Roosevelt Island,” Tom said.
Their driver turned on the radio which had a news program going on. “There has been another series of killings in New York today. Attendees at a Maghrib prayer service at Islamic Devotion Society were brutally murdered during the service. Police describe the scene as a house of horrors. The Christian extremist group David’s Purge has claimed responsibility. They’ve been calling for the annihilation of Muslims the world over.
“On the other end, the Islamic extremist group Ealim al’Ahlam, led by cleric Yousef Al-Bakir, has condemned the killings and promised a holy war if there are any more atrocities like this.”
“How could anyone do that?” Treia said.
“I don’t know,” Kyle said sadly. “But I know one thing for sure: Those aren’t real Christians. We’d never do such a thing. I’m getting sick at the very thought of it.”
“It’s horrible, but they’ll soon be exposed for the frauds they are,” Tom said. Despite his apparent confidence, there was a far-away look in his eyes.
“Stay positive, people,” Mike added.
Kyle had to wonder at mankind’s capacity for evil. Sometimes he secretly questioned why God kept them around. In such cases, he didn’t hesitate to chastise himself. You gotta have faith. Nothing happens without a reason. Even all this is the Father’s plan.
“In other news, the BBC recently reported another killing by the international assassin known only as Le Faucon—The Hawk. So named because of his precision and mobility, he killed his sixth high-profile target yesterday when he assassinated the Venezuelan ambassador to Great Britain in broad daylight.”
The news report ended and Tom Paar’s “St. Elmo’s Fire” began playing. He sang about how his nemesis broke the boy in him, but they wouldn’t break the man.
The shuttle eventually arrived at their hotel on Lexington Avenue. “Here we are,” Tom said. “The Lexington Excelsior Hotel.”
It wasn’t a particularly large hotel, maybe ten stories. It had a plain brown façade like a lot of the buildings around here. However, the interior was another story.
“Whoa! A freaking fountain!” Mike exclaimed as they entered. Indeed, there was a two-story fountain in the lobby.
“It’s beautiful,” Treia said.
They checked in.
* * *
That evening, Kyle, Treia, and Mike sat on one of the beds in Kyle and Mike’s room playing Trivial Pursuit: Bible Edition.
Kyle landed on yellow. Treia picked up the corresponding card and read it. “‘To which tribe of Israel was Saul a part of?’”
“Too easy,” Kyle said. “The tribe of Benjamin.”
“Correct!” Treia said, high-fiving him.
Mike began singing to the tune of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody.” “You’re a show-off. Anyone can seeeeeeee.”
Kyle sang back, “This ain’t fantasy.”
Treia burst into uncontrollable laughter.
When the game ended, they held hands on the bed and prayed. Treia led. “Our Heavenly Father, we thank you for bringing the three of us together in middle school. You have blessed us greatly and we are forever indebted to you. Please watch over us and those we love. We are yours. Forever and ever. Amen.”
“Amen,” Kyle and Mike said.
They got off the bed. “Guess I’ll be heading back to my room,” Treia said. She hugged them and left.
“We’d better turn in. It’s getting late,” Mike said.
“I’m with you on that one. It was a long flight from Oklahoma,” Kyle said.
And, so, they went to bed. The conference wouldn’t begin for a few days, but they had come early to do some sightseeing, and they would be getting up early.
God willing, of course.
* * *
Kyle woke later that night. The clock on the nightstand read 2:15. Strangely, the door to the room was slightly ajar. Dim light from the hallway seeped in.
He got up and walked by Mike’s bed to close the door. It was then he noticed Mike was gone. Must’ve gone to get ice or something and didn’t close the door all the way.
However, his feet abruptly stepped in something warm. Turning on the lights, he discovered the floor was covered in a red liquid. Alarmed, he rushed outside. The lighting had mostly failed in the corridor. He headed straight to Tom’s room, only to find his door was ajar, too. Lord, please let everything be all right.
“Tom!” he yelled as he rushed into the dark room. “I think something’s happened to Mike!” There was a suffocating, putrid smell that struck him like a cannonball.
He hit the lights. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight awaiting him.
The mutilated bodies of his friends lay stacked in piles throughout the room. Some had limbs missing, some had eyes missing, and others could not be identified.
Treia and Mike were placed together on one of the beds. His throat had been ripped out. Her head was between his legs.
He almost screamed, but then something strange smelling was placed over his mouth and darkness overtook him.
2
Kyle opened his eyes, though not without a struggle. His head spun like a Tilt-A-Whirl. His stoma
He was on the floor of a long-since-abandoned auto garage. Carts with cobwebbed toolboxes lay here and there along with hydraulic lifts that allowed mechanics to see the undersides of vehicles.
A dozen figures stood around him, each of them hooded in red robes, save for the man in the center. Tall, bronzed, maybe six-six, he had long black hair and an equally black, trimmed beard. He looked to be in his forties. “So, boy,” he said. “You believe in God?” He looked Middle Eastern and stood resolute with his arms to the side as he stared down at his victim. His teeth were sharp, like fangs.
A terrified Kyle noted with horror he was talking to him. Kyle didn’t know what answer the man expected to hear, so he decided to be honest. “Y-Yes.” He then added, “Please don’t hurt me.”
“Oh?” The man stared at him. “Won’t God protect you?”
“Well… yes.” But God hadn’t protected any of the others, had he?
Kyle closed his eyes. Oh, Heavenly Father, I know you’re testing me, but please, let this be over quickly.
The man continued. “Christians. The people who love the Bible are the people who don’t understand it. It is not a book of love and compassion. It is a book of rage and oppression. ‘For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son.’ But what everyone forgets is the amount of carnage he inflicted on anyone who committed even the slightest mistake in the Old Testament. Chloe!”
A much smaller figure to the man’s left lethargically pulled back their hood to reveal a beautiful albino face. She looked to be no older than Kyle himself. Her white hair and pale complexion stood in stark contrast to the man’s. “Yes… Lord… ungh… Kyrios,” she said in a voice so quiet Kyle barely heard her. So, the psycho’s name was Kyrios. That would be useful information if Kyle managed to get away and contact the police. And this Chloe was his accomplice. Still, it was small comfort now, and he doubted these people had been nice enough to grab his cell phone for him.
She handed Kyrios an intimately familiar book. “Let’s see how loving God really is,” he said and opened the Bible. “Exodus 20: verse 5: ‘Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me.’
“Exodus 31: verse 14: ‘Ye shall keep the sabbath therefore; for it is holy unto you: every one that defileth it shall surely be put to death: for whoever doeth any work therein, that soul shall be cut off from among his people.’
“1 Samuel 6: verse 19: ‘He smote the men of Bethshemesh, because they had peered into the ark of the Lord, even he smote of the people fifty thousand and threescore and ten men: and the people lamented, because the Lord had smitten many of the people with a great slaughter.’
“1 Chronicles 13: verse 10: ‘And the anger of the Lord was kindled against Uzza, and he smote him, because he put his hand to the ark: and there he died before God.’
“Ezekiel 24: verse 13: ‘In thy filthiness is lewdness: because I have purged thee, and thou wast not purged, thou shalt not be purged from thy filthiness any more, till I have caused my fury to rest upon thee.’
“Hosea 13: verse 16: ‘Samaria shall become desolate; for she hath rebelled against her God; they shall fall by the sword: their infants shall be dashed in pieces, and their women with child shall be ripped up.’”
On and on this went, with this madman—whom Kyle was now convinced was a cult leader—
Listing every negative thing God had ever done. The Heavenly Father killed a bunch of people for questioning Moses. He allowed Satan to torture Job and kill his whole family. He essentially mind-controlled the Pharaoh into continually disobeying him so God would have an excuse to wreak havoc on Egypt. He wiped out Sodom and Gomorrah, and even Lot’s wife, in a single night. He inflicted a plague upon Israel, killing 70,000 people. He let King Herod kill all those babies. And the list expanded with every verse Kyrios could find. And Kyrios could find a lot of them.
You didn’t think about these things as a Christian. You brushed them off as God being God, doing what he has to do to keep the peace. God is just, Kyle always told himself. But when you were hit with all of them like a Biblical machine gun, it couldn’t simply be brushed off.
“Stop!” Kyle said. Tears streamed forth, no vestige of self-control left. “You made your point! Just stop.” God was good. God had to be good, or else there was nothing to live for. Kyle was breathing so hard, probably half the air in the garage was being sucked into his lungs.
“Made my point?” Kyrios calmly shut the book. “No. I haven’t made my point. Not as long as there are still over two billion Christians in the world. In the grand scheme of things, I haven’t even uttered a whisper. Everything I do is on too small a scale. But that will soon change. Chloe.”
She advanced holding a syringe full of red liquid. “Hold him,” Kyrios commanded.
Two of the other cult members grabbed Kyle and pulled up the sleeve on his left arm.
Chloe approached, her face a pale mask. Kyle panicked, tried to resist, but these guys had him in the tightest grip he could imagine. It might as well have been a mountain holding him for all he could do against it.
She examined his arm.
“Don’t! Please!” Kyle yelled.
She stuck the needle in. There was a burning sensation as his veins lit up in a white light. A new consciousness assaulted his; someone seemed to be invading his head. He screamed and thrashed his head—the only part he could move. His lips drew back, undoubtedly exposing his teeth while threatening to peel right off his face. It was so horrible, in fact, he repeatedly bashed his head against the wall behind him to knock himself out, each slam intensifying the pain and darkening his vision.
Chloe casually grabbed his head to stop him. She stared at him with dead eyes. His stomach surrendered and he puked all over himself, the sickly beige-orange chunks splattering down his shirt and onto his lap. He barely noticed the pain of his teeth growing into fangs as that seemed inconsequential compared to everything else.
After an indeterminable amount of time passed, the voices in his head—along with the burning—subsided. He continued to suck in ragged breaths. He was too emotionally and physically spent to say anything.
Kyrios explained, “Chloe just injected you with my blood. I’m part of you now.” This revelation caused Kyle to begin uncontrollably dry-heaving as there was nothing left inside him to dispose of. Kyrios then said to his followers, “Unchain him.”
They did so. Kyle knew this was his chance, but what an absolute crappy chance it was. He was in no condition to make a run for it.
Kyrios dropped a dagger at Kyle’s feet. “Pick it up.”
“W-Why?”
“I need to illustrate a point to you.” This man had not once smiled. His demeanor remained that of icy steel.
Kyle shook his head. “‘Thou shalt not kill.’”
“If you don’t, I’ll kill you here and now.”
A tortured Kyle agonized over his choices. He desperately wanted to avoid becoming a murderer like these people. But this seemed his only chance.
He reached with a trembling hand and picked up the dagger. His whole body shook uncontrollably while he stood up on shaky legs. He leveled the blade weakly at Kyrios.
“That’s it,” Kyrios said. “Come at me.”
Kyle roared—screamed would probably have been a more accurate term—and lunged at Kyrios. However, he was abruptly overcome by an indescribable terror and dropped the dagger. He fell to his knees and cowered in a fetal position.
Kyrios said, “You understand now. You don’t, but your body does. It recognizes me as a part of itself, like a limb. You can’t kill me without being willing to cut off your own arm.” It was then Kyle understood. These guys weren’t human. For one thing, they exhibited too much strength for people of their respective sizes.
They effortlessly dragged him back and chained him up again. “What are you?” he said in a cracked voice.
“I call us shahid. You call us vampires. In the end, it makes no difference. Your kind has hunted our kind ever since the Crucifixion.”
