Chapter 12

A strapping man in his late 20s, boasting a sculpted physique reminiscent of dedicated gym-goers, emerged from the left side of the crowd. In his left hand, he held a Bible aloft, and the surrounding followers erupted in fervent cries of "Savior, Savior, Guide Us."

Daniel watched the unfolding spectacle, his shock and bewilderment growing at the extent to which people had abandoned reason. He couldn't fault them, recognizing that he, too, might have succumbed to such delusions were it not for the driving force of reuniting with his family that kept him tethered to sanity.

"What the hell is this right now?" shouted the old man beside Daniel, his voice quivering as he surveyed the unsettling scene.

The false prophet, adjusting his tie with an air of confidence, strolled forward, his eyes fixed on the group before him. "They are sinners," he declared, his tone oddly soothing given the circumstances. "Lost wanderers in this apocalyptic world. We may not understand what led them astray from the Lord's will, but remember, the Lord is a forgiving God. Let's offer them a chance to repent from their sins."

"The two lost lambs right before us," he continued, addressing the bewildered pair. "Lower your weapons and seek redemption for your crimes. Pray to the Lord, beseech Him to cleanse your souls of sin. May you be blessed to join the ranks of the Lord's disciples or His people." The false prophet's words hung in the tense air, promising both salvation and an eerie uncertainty in this desolate wasteland.

"I don't believe in religion or any false God," said the old man, his wrinkled hands trembling as he slowly revealed a grenade hidden beneath his tattered clothes.

"You false prophet or what they call you, drop the Bible, don't think we will fall for that kinda shit," he spat out, his fingers gripping the grenade's trigger tightly.

Surrounded by dilapidated buildings, the scene was bathed in the dim light of a fading sun, casting long shadows on the abandoned streets. The air was heavy with tension, and a few scavenging rats scurried for cover.

The old man's voice trembled with anger and resolve as he continued, "I admire your skills that you got all those people around you to act like your slaves, but don't think I will believe your bullshit. I have no intention of joining you and your crew of psychopaths."

The leader's followers watched in silence, their faces reflecting uncertainty and fear, torn between loyalty and the unsettling presence of the grenade.

The old man, his weathered face etched with wrinkles, extended the grenade cautiously in front of them. "Let's pretend we don't see each other to prevent unnecessary bloodshed," he urged, his voice trembling with tension, "what do you say, fake prophet?"

The fake prophet's silence hung in the air, the veins on his furious face pulsating with anger. After a few agonizing seconds, he finally spoke, his voice dripping with malice. "These sinners have no hope for redemption. Kill them."

As the priest's ominous command echoed, the people behind him surged forward, brandishing an array of crude weapons, their expressions twisted with fanaticism. Their collective aggression bore down upon Daniel and the old man, leaving the two of them stunned and bewildered.

The old man's attempt to intimidate them by revealing the grenade had backfired. Both Daniel and the old man understood that their only recourse was to fight their way out. But it was a desperate gamble, a coin toss for survival. With each passing moment, the odds of making it out alive teetered on a razor's edge.

Losing all hope as the false prophet believers closed in, their movement came to an abrupt stop as a gunshot pierced the air. One of the believers at the front fell to the ground, lifeless. Panic and uncertainty gripped the crowd, their wide eyes now fixed on the source of the gunshot.

Amidst the tension, there she stood Helen. Daniel couldn't contain his joy at her unexpected appearance. But their survival was paramount in this dire situation, and Daniel knew he had to act fast.

Helen, perched confidently on top of a van, unleashed a fierce scream, her voice cutting through the uncertainty. "If you so much as twitch, you'll be the next to fall," she warned, her tone filled with determination.

The scene was chaotic, a mixture of fear and relief. The setting was an urban wasteland, where decaying buildings formed a grim backdrop. The believers, cloaked in tattered robes, clutched their mysterious totems, their expressions marked by fanatic zeal.

Helen's fiery eyes blazed with determination as she held a weapon, the only thing keeping the believers at bay. The wind stirred the dust on the desolate streets, creating an eerie atmosphere.

With Helen's brave intervention, the tension was momentarily diffused, but the question of how they would survive this ordeal loomed heavily in Daniel's mind.

"Helen," said Daniel, his eyes wide with surprise at the unexpected turn of events. He couldn't believe that Helen, with her usual demeanor, could be capable of taking someone's life.

The old man, his weathered face etched with years of experience, turned to Daniel. He locked eyes with him and gruffly asked, "Is that woman the one you're looking for? She's got more guts than you."

With a perplexed expression, Daniel scratched his head, struggling to process the shocking revelation. "The thing is, sir," he began, his voice tinged with confusion, "I can't fathom how Helen could land a lethal shot on someone or kill someone."

"Like I said, the apocalypse can change someone's personality," said the old man.

The air was thick with tension as the followers of the fake priest stood in eerie silence. A desolate landscape stretched out before them, a barren wasteland with crumbling buildings and ashen skies.

One follower, ignoring Helen's orders, took a hesitant step forward. The ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet, but before he could proceed any further, a deafening warning shot echoed through the air. The bullet landed with a sharp thud in the dusty ground just inches from his boots. Fear gripped him, and his face turned ashen as he stumbled backward.

"Now, this is your last warning," Helen's voice rang out, cutting through the stillness. Her eyes were steely, her resolve unshaken. "Anyone that steps forward dies. You all better get lost, or you all die."

The followers exchanged nervous glances, torn between their loyalty to the fake priest and the very real threat before them.