Cold water poured slowly over Denton's face. The slight trickle washed over his cheek and dribbled off of his mouth and chin. The chill helped to relieve the pain. Occasionally, he took a sip as it passed over his lips. His thirst was no longer as demanding as it first was when he had gulped desperately from the faucet.

To get his head into the tiny porcelain sink, he had to bend at nearly a ninety degree angle, his hip pressed tight up against the wall of the confined space.

He had only asked to use the bathroom to buy a little time. He never thought they would actually let him go. When they had untied the ropes holding him to the chair, he was as surprised as he was relieved.

Without a doubt, the last hour had been the strangest and most desperate of his entire life.

After the boys—the killers had introduced themselves in that strange comic-book fashion, Freckles said, "Okay, no more fooling around. Eddie, get out the painting. Time for the test."

The words seemed to make no sense, and Denton didn't even want to know what they meant. A stubborn defiance was beginning to build inside of him. But despite himself, he couldn't help being curious when Eddie walked to the other side of the room. He seemed to move extra slowly, his feet dragging out each step. His blurry figure stopped and lifted something from the other side of the sofa. Even with his hazy vision, Denton understood immediately that he had a canvas in his hands.

As he brought it up to Denton, the other two stepped back. The picture was held so close to his face that even without his glasses, he could see it clearly.

"It's one of your mother's," he said automatically.

But wait, was it? It was the same star and moon motif as the last two paintings she had worked on, but it was hyper-realistic. It could have been a photograph. He could see solar flares shooting beyond the radiant glow of the sun. The moon had an atmosphere. Clouds of gas roiled like a sea, with currents and eddies.

Denton thought back to the studio: a painting sitting on an easel and one leaning against the leg of the other. Had this painting sat on that empty stand? Was this the last one she did before she died? Before these kids killed her?

"Okay put it away," Freckles said. "What was that about?" Denton asked.

"Good news. You passed. We don't have to burn you now." The way Freckles said it left no doubt the only thing they weren't going to do to him was set him on fire.

They still might be planning to kill him, but to them there was a logic to it. Whatever pathological delusions these bastards were operating under, they had defined a set of rules. They were good. The people they killed were bad. There was a test. Failure resulted in fire. If he could learn their rules, perhaps he could use it against them.

"So is that how you good guys do it. Kill innocent people." He fought to keep his voice from quivering. If he wanted to have any chance, he couldn't be seen as a victim. He needed to keep his voice calm and steady. His voice had to maintain a tone of authority and stay in the lower registers. Even if he couldn't see their eyes clearly, he had to make unwavering eye contact and let them believe he had no fear. It was the same as maintaining order in the classroom. You kept control by convincing the students you were in control.

"Don't you watch the news," Freckles said. "It's called collateral damage. Happens in war all the time. It's nothing personal. We just can't have you screwing things up. There's too much at stake."

"I don't know," Eddie said. "This seems wrong. The others made sense, but he's not infected. We're supposed to be saving people like him."

Infected? Infected with what?

"Yeah, and where do you think he goes if we let him go? Straight to the fuckin' police," Big Red said. "I say we stop wasting time and see what the Winchester does to the back of his head."

"I couldn't have said it better myself. Let's get him on his feet."

Big Red started untying his restraints. Think, think, Denton creamed at his brain.

"I'm not infected." A desperate ploy began to form in his head. "But I've been following someone who is. He led me here."

He shot a nervous glance at one of the windows, as though he was expecting to see a face there. It was only a black blur to him, but they didn't know that.

The fingers on the knots stopped moving.

Freckles hand went to the grip of the revolver sticking out of his waistband, and his eyes searched the night outside the window.

Denton had only acted once in his entire life, during a play in fourth grade. He played a shopkeeper in the Christmas pageant. He had been terrified and said his one line with robotic precision. With the thought of having his brains splattered all over the snow, he had found the motivation to give an Oscar-worthy performance.

"Eddie, watch him. We'll check it out. If he tries anything, kill him." They hastily threw back on their coats and boots and picked up hunting rifles from a rack by the door. When they were gone,

Denton asked, "You're going to kill me anyway, aren't you?"

Eddie stood just to the side of his chair and gazed out one of the larger windows.

Denton waited for a reply that never came. After glancing from the boy's blank face to the empty blackness beyond the glass, a vaguely remembered quote about staring into the abyss sprung to his mind.

"Eddie?"

"Shut up. It'll be up to Danny to decide what to do with you."

Denton filed the name away. "Why? Is he your leader? Do you take orders from him?"

"No." He said it with such vehemence he might as well have answered, yes.

"Look, we are all on the same side here. I passed the test, remember? I'm not one of them." It was always the mysterious them with paranoia. In this case, the mysteriously infected them. "Like the old saying goes: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Right?"

"Shut up! You have no idea what's going on."

"Why don't you tell me what's going on, Eddie? Tell me about this war you're fighting. Why don't you start by telling me what happened with your mother."

Denton didn't even see Eddie move his hand, but the slap against his wounded cheek sent a wave of excruciating pain through him. A desperate howl burst from his lips.

"I told you to shut up."

Whatever had happened, it was still an open wound. He would have to tread carefully, but perhaps it could be used to open a wedge between Eddie and his friends.

Before Denton could think up a line of attack, the others came back in, huffing and puffing and stamping snow off of their boots.

"Nothing. The only tracks were ours and his," Danny said. Before there was a beat of silence, Denton said, "I lost his car on Angel's Pass. When I reached the cabin, I assumed he came here." There were so many turns and cut offs it was a reasonable explanation. He just hoped they wouldn't think about it enough to start picking at the flaws in his story. Like, if he thought the person he was tailing was there, what happened to his car?

"Who is he? Who were you following?"

Denton search for a plausible answer but felt the well of his imagination go dry. He needed a delay, just a few moments to come up with something.

"I'll tell you everything, but I really need to use the bathroom first." When the restraints were off, Eddie helped him to his feet. Denton's legs proved to be too cramped and stiff to move on their own, so Eddie steadied him and led him across the dining room and into the seating area.

Movement began to fill his aching limbs with warmth. He gently pulled his arm away from Eddie. "I'm okay now."

Denton felt some of the tension ease from his body. He wasn't free, but he was no longer tied up or being held. After a few hobbling steps on his own, the fear ebbed a little and anticipation filtered in.

He kept his eyes focused on the door they were leading him to. It was nothing special, a short four-panel design, painted white, with a bronze colored handle. But excitement built at the possibility of being alone for a few minutes. Maybe he could get out a window? Maybe he'd get a signal on his phone and call the police? Maybe he'd find a weapon? The door represented freedom and safety.

Denton got to enjoy about thirty seconds of hope and then he entered the bathroom.

It was a recent addition to the old lodge, jammed under the stairs. There was a sink and a toilet and an awkward space to stand in between. He'd been in bigger lavatories on planes. There was no window. A lighter patch of paint on the wall above the basin showed where a mirror used to be.

There was an overhead light. The shade had been removed leaving a bare bulb. Denton contemplated what he could do with it: remove it and... what? Electrocute himself?

He searched his pockets for his cell phone, but it wasn't there. Had he put it in one of his overcoat pockets? Or had it fallen into the snow, when that son-of-bitch redhead kid caught him outside? They hadn't worried about letting him use the bathroom, because they knew there was no salvation there. They had been careful to make sure there wasn't even any glass for their prisoner to use. Was he their first? Had they brought the others here too? Was this all just part of the drill?

Faced with no help but the sink and the toilet, he started by emptying his bladder. From the moment he had stood up, the need to go had only gotten more demanding. When he was done, he turned on the tap and began to drink greedily from the weak current.

Way out here the water would be fed from a well. Was it safe to drink? Would he live long enough to get sick from it, if it wasn't?

He glanced at the space where the mirror should have been. He stared at the wall, where his eyes should have looked back at him.

Okay Dent, keep using their paranoia against them. It's your only chance.

Denton was still running the water over his cuts and bruises when the door was yanked open.

"Okay, that's long enough," Danny said. "Time's up."

Denton eased himself out of his crouch and turned off the tap. There were no towels, so he wiped his face with his sleeve. The white cotton of his shirt came back with pink streaks of water diluted blood. He looked one last time at the space where the mirror had once been and steeled himself for what was to come.

Alvin hauled him roughly back across the room and pushed him into the chair before starting to re-knot the ropes.

"Is this really necessary?" Denton asked. "I'll be helpless if he shows up here."

"Just do as you're told," Danny said. "Or you won't have to worry about that. I'll give you to Alvin here to have some fun with." Denton looked down at Big Red's face. He was grinning like an idiot at the thought. He pulled the rope around Denton's ankle with a quick jerk, prompting a wince of pain. "Could I at least have my glasses back?"

"I think they're still outside," Eddie said with a distracted tone. "Be thankful we don't blindfold you," Danny said.

"Be thankful we don't rip your eyes out of their sockets," Alvin giggled.

When he was strapped back in, Danny grabbed another chair and set it in front of him. The other two stood on either side with their arms crossed. Their eyes never left Denton's face.

"So, tell me about this guy."

He had to be careful with what he said. If he didn't do this right, he might send this little Manson family after some innocent person. "A student. Not one of mine. His name is Rob Sherman." Every year hundreds of new people came to attend Milton. It was far safer to invent someone from that vast anonymous pool than to attempt to fool them about a local. Rob Sherman was a teacher Denton had when he was an undergraduate. He was a bit of a prick and mumbled his lectures, but Denton didn't name him to send any harm his way. The man should be safe enough. He was in his sixties by now and living

in another state. No one would mistake him for a Milton student.

Danny clasped his hands together and leaned forward. "What does he look like?"

Trying to gain trust and credibility, Denton attempted to mimic the boy's body language, but the restraints made it impossible. He only ended up looking and feeling as if he were going to fall over.

He leaned back and answered, "Big—athletic." Ideally, nothing would come of this gambit, except his freedom. Hopefully after that, they'd be locked up and never have the chance to claim another victim. But if he failed, and if they went off looking for someone, better it be someone with a fighting chance.

"Six-five, two-hundred and eighty pounds, short brown hair, blue eyes, stubble on his chin, thick neck." He rattled off the details thinking about a football player whose picture was often in the papers.

"Why were you following him?"

Denton tried to think of a reason they would believe... the reason they would use. "Well, he's infected."

"And you know that how?"

"On campus, I saw him drawing eights."

Danny scowled and shot out of the chair. Irritation was reflected in every one of his movements, as he did a quick pace across the floor. "Idiots! All over the internet people are talking about Mr. 8. They have no fucking idea. And really, could they have come up with a more stupid name?"

Denton's mind raced trying and figure out what had set him off. Could it be he didn't like his crimes being attributed to a serial killer? Was there something about the nickname he found offensive? "Doesn't anybody read anymore?" With a rhetorical flourish, Danny grabbed something off the table and started waving it around. "It's all right here, but people are completely blind. That's why it's up to us to save them. If it wasn't for us, Bexhill would be overrun by now. Maybe the entire Eastern Seaboard would be lost." Denton stared at the fluttering gray blur in Danny's hand. The way the object moved, it could have only been a book. For a moment, he actually believed it was that simple. All the answers were written down in it, just waiting for him. But then he remembered Danny was insane. Could this have all happened because of this madman's interpretation of a biblical passage or something equally twisted? "We are the army of three."

Denton realized that Danny was no longer talking to him. He was sermonizing to the other two. How often did he go through these spiels to keep them in line?

"We are the light in the darkness. The sword against the demons. The world will become a wasteland, unless we stand up against the evil that is invading our home."

Denton remembered the videogame Eddie was playing the other day. Had Danny just decided to make it real? Hoping that believing hard enough in it, he could make it true? Denton didn't need to be able to see the faces of Eddie and Alvin to know it had become true for them. How much longer before there would be more of these Bexhill Guerrillas?

Danny was spreading a disease of bad ideas. A sickness that corrupted fear and turned it into hate and death. He certainly wasn't the first person to use such a ploy to gain power over others. Unfortunately, there was never a shortage of people willing to line up and swallow the poison.

Danny walked back and peered down at Denton. "And you, Mister Doctor, are just as dumb as the rest of them."

"Why's that?"

"Because they're not eights. It's two circles. It's the star and the moon." Danny spoke as though the words were distasteful to him, and he didn't want them on his tongue.

"What's the star and the moon?"

"Their symbol."

"The infected people?" 

"The aliens."