Night has fallen as the Jeep speeds down a lonely, desert road. David is driving as Connor sits in the passenger seat, sharpening his knife. Johnson has once again fallen asleep in the back seat, his legs dangling out of the open window. The wind rushes through the cabin, adding a small chill to the interior of the vehicle.

"We’re here," David says.

Connor glances up. A short distance ahead of them, he can see their destination: Black Rock City.

In reality, though they call it a city, Black Rock is more of a shanty town. Makeshift walls stand thirty or so feet surrounding the city. They are made from sheet metal, wood, destroyed vehicles and anything else that can be nailed, screwed, or welded together. Spaced evenly along these walls are towers, made from similar materials, that rise another fifteen feet. They are each equipped with a spotlight and manned by two men: a sniper and a spotter. The entrance to the city, a large slab of metal that has been repurposed into a gate, is flanked by two of the towers. An extra sniper sits atop them.

“You think the General will help us?” David says.

Connor shrugs. “I don’t know. But if he doesn’t, I’m going after her myself.”

“Not by yourself,” David says.

Connor looks at him and nods his gratitude.

David slows the Jeep as they make their approach. A hundred yards out, they pass a large wooden sign that has the words ’WELCOME TO BLACK ROCK’ painted on it. Underneath the words, spray painted in a shoddier fashion, is the symbol for the Human League: the letters ’HL’ over a clenched fist. As they pass the sign, Connor glances back to see that someone wrote ’COME HOME SAFE’ on the other side of the sign; a child, judging by the sloppy writing and the smiley face under the words.

Thirty yards out, slew of obstacles block the road, forcing David to slow down to navigate them. There are cement barriers, barbed wire, broken down vehicles, and wood posts. Driving passed the obstacles, David brings the Jeep to a stop as the towers turn on their spotlights on the vehicle. A few moments pass before the gate slides open on its track. A dozen armed men, wearing the symbol of the Human League, stand just inside the gate. One of them waves David through as the gate opens.

“Better wake him up,” David says.

Connor turns in his seat and slaps Johnson awake.

Johnson sits up groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Man, I was having a good dream.”

“The blonde again?” David says.

Johnson shakes his head and grins. “Red head.”

The Jeep rolls through and the gate slides closed once again. As they pass, Connor nods to the man who waved them through and receives a nod in return. David continues driving through the city.

“What did the General say again?” David says.

“He said we were right to call him and come in,” Johnson says.

They pass a mix of huts, shacks, tents, and other buildings made out of whatever material was available. David takes the Jeep through narrow streets. They pass only a handful of other men and women.

Connor turns to look at Johnson. “Did he sound surprised?”

“If he was he hid it well,” Johnson says.

The Jeep rounds a corner and comes upon a lot where many other vehicles are parked. They range from simple cars and vans to more military style trucks and Humvees. Most bear the symbol of the Human League. David finds a spot between an old, paint-chipped Ford Taurus and a dark blue lifted truck.

"So, the General knows about people being taken?" David says as the three men exit the Jeep.

"That would be my guess," Johnson says.

"Why wouldn’t he have told us?"

"Let’s ask him ourselves," Connor says, nodding toward an approaching group of people.

Eight members of the group are dressed in military garb, complete with flak jackets and combat boots, and are moving in a clear defensive formation around the ninth. In the middle of the eight is General Wilson, a man with a military buzz-cut and a meticulously trimmed beard. There is more gray in both than his natural black. He walks with a limp and leans on a cane of simple, polished wood.

"Boys," Wilson says with a wide grin, "welcome home." He greets each of the three with a warm smile and a friendly handshake.

"How are you, General?" Johnson says.

"Can’t complain, my boy, can’t complain." Wilson slaps Johnson on the back.

"Let’s talk in private, Wilson," Connor says.

The General regards Connor for a moment. "Let’s go to my tent, then."

"Got any more of that scotch?" Johnson says as the two groups head out.

Wilson laughs.

The walk to the General’s tent takes the group into the heart of the city. As they walk the streets, Connor notices eyes peeping through windows and heads peeking out of windows. They follow them through the entirety of their ten-minute walk. Soon, they come to a wide clearing where no other building stands except a tent that is about thirty feet in diameter.

"After you," Wilson says to Connor. He gestures to his eight guards who fan out in front of the tent’s entrance; four on each side. Connor enters the tent, followed by David, Johnson, then Wilson.

Inside, directly across from the entrance, sits a plain wood desk with a simple but comfortable looking chair behind it. Two identical chairs sit in front of the desk. Various documents, files, and random objects clutter the top of the desk. A large cork board stands to the side with pictures, a map, and other miscellaneous documents tacked onto it. Beside the board is a small, well worn, bar.

Wilson leans his cane against the side of the desk and sits in the chair behind it. "If you’d be so kind," he says to Johnson, "pour us some drinks."

Johnson smiles and sets to work making drinks at the bar.

Connor takes one of the seats in front of the desk. "When were you going to tell us?" he says.

Wilson sighs. "I apologize for not telling you about the reports earlier, Connor."

“So it’s true.” Connor leans forward. "That information could have saved my sister."

"How exactly is that?" Wilson says. "We don’t even know how the targets are being chosen. There was no way we could have known your sister would have been one of them."

"You had no right to keep that information from us."

David sits in the second seat in front of the desk. "It’s not that easy, Connor."

Connor looks to David. "Are you taking his side?"

"Drinks," Johnson says as he brings over three glass tumblers filled with a light brown liquid. He hands them out before returning to the bar and drinking directly from the bottle he poured from.

"We’re all on the same side," David says. "I’m sure the General did not want to start a panic."

"Precisely," Wilson says. He takes a drink before pushing himself to his feet and walking over to the corkboard. "Now that the explanation for why I did what I did is out of the way, let’s move on to the issue at hand. Your sister was taken and you want to go save her."

"I have to," Connor says.

"And you want me to provide men to help you get her back."

"I’ll go alone if I have to."

Wilson turns to regard Connor. "And take on the angels single handedly?"

Connor stands. "Will you help me or not?" he says, growing frustrated.

"This is not how we do things," Wilson says. "You know that."

“I don’t care how we do things,” Connor says. “This is my sister.”

“I realize that but-”

"Seven years!" Connor kicks his chair away and steps to the General. "We have been at this for seven fucking years. When do we stop hiding?"

Wilson sighs and turns to Connor. "We aren’t hiding, boy," he says, "we’re surviving. If we declare war on the angels and demons, how long do you think we’d last? A few months? Less?"

"We need to stop reacting," Connor says, "and start acting. We need to take the fight to them. Sooner or later they will come for us if we don’t. I joined the Human League to fight, to stop these monsters from killing us in their war. I followed your orders this long because I figured you were biding time. Well, for me, time’s up." He steps away from Wilson and starts for the entrance.

"Get your ass back here, boy."

Connor spins around. "Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

"Then quit throwing your fucking tantrum," Wilson says. "I will not apologize for doing what I must to keep my people safe."

"And I have to do what I must to keep my sister safe."

Wilson shakes his head. "Get your head out of your ass, boy," he says. "Did you hear me say that I wouldn’t help?"

Connor is silent for a moment as he considers that statement. Finally, he says, "Will you?"

"Come here, Connor," Wilson says, motioning for Connor to approach the board. "Tell me what you see."

Connor walks back to Wilson and studies the board. Taking up most of its space is a map of the United States. Pushpins have been stuck into it in certain places, with red circles drawn around groups of them. Attached to the pushpins are pieces of colored string that run from the pins to the rest of the board.

“You’ve been monitoring their activities around the country,” Connor says. “I know that.”

“Look closer,” Wilson says.

The strings are attached to photos, notes, and documents. A few of the photos catch Connor’s eye. One shows the corpses of two demons above a note indicating it took six men to kill them. Another photo shows a destroyed convoy of Human League vehicles. The paper to the side of it claims that demons were responsible. A third photo shows an entire compound of buildings from an aerial perspective. The buildings had been destroyed, and Connor can make out bodies strewn on the ground near them. Underneath the photo is one word: ANGELS. Each photo is dated, with the oldest one being from a month ago.

Connor turns to the General. "These are all recent."

Wilson nods. "All within the past couple of months. Reports have been increasing from all over the country."

"But why now?" David stands up from his seat and walks over to also examine the board.

"There are theories," Wilson says as he turns back to his desk and takes a seat once again. "But, honestly, nobody knows for sure." He picks up his glass and downs the remaining liquid in one swallow.

"The kidnappings." Everyone turns to look at Johnson who is still drinking from the bottle of scotch.

"Think about it," he continues, "the angels and demons have only recently been taking humans. Right, General?"

Wilson looks as if a light just turned on in his mind. "Shit," he says, "you’re right." He reaches to his right and opens the top drawer to pull out a file. He sets it on the desk and opens it before turning it to Connor. "These are all the reports of humans being taken by either angels or demons."

Connor sits down to examine the document. "What’s the pattern here?" he says.

Wilson shrugs. "There is none. At least none I could figure out."

David returns to his chair and takes the document from Connor. After looking it over, he says, "The ones taken are all different ages, races, backgrounds. Not even a pattern of where they were taken."

"This is why I kept the information close," Wilson says. "Because without any sort of pattern to predict who could be next, that means anybody can be taken."

"And if anybody can be taken," Johnson says, "that would just make people paranoid."

"That was my thinking, anyway," Wilson says as he holds up his glass toward Johnson.

Johnson takes the glass and refills it. "But if they’re also stepping up their attacks," he says as he hands the glass back to Wilson, "doesn’t that imply a connection?"

Connor and Wilson look to one another, at a loss for an answer.

David jumps up and walks to the board with the file. He spends a few minutes looking back and forth between the file and the board. Finally, he turns back to the others and says, "He’s right."

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," Johnson says with a self-satisfied grin.

David ignores him and continues. "The attacks do coincide with a person being taken."

"We know that,” Connor says. "When they took Elizabeth, they sure made a scene."

"No, they didn’t" David says. "At least not on the same level as these attacks." He indicates the board.

Wilson, about to take a drink of his newly filled glass, sets it down instead. "How did I miss that?"

Connor looks to Wilson. "So has there been reports of an attack?"

Wilson shakes his head. "No, not recently."

"No, there wouldn’t be," David says. "At least not yet. See, the attacks come a day or two after a person is taken."

Johnson coughs and spits out a swallow of scotch. "Holy shit," he manages to say as he gasps for air.

Connor turns to look at Johnson. "What?"

After getting the coughing fit under control, Johnson says, "Don’t you see? Since we were there when Elizabeth was taken, we were able to report it faster than normal."

Connor’s eyes go wide. "Which means we know an attack is going to happen soon."

"And we can stop it," David says. "We need to figure out where the next attack is going to be."

Wilson nods. "If we can set an ambush, we might be able to stop the attack and take a prisoner."

Connor looks to the General. "A prisoner?"

"We need to figure out why the angels are taking humans," Wilson says. "And we need to figure out where they are taking them. Then we can talk about a rescue mission."

"What happened to doing what you must to keep your people safe?"

"Seems you were right. We need to start acting, and this is just the opportunity to do so."

“We really doing this?” Johnson says.

David turns to him with a smirk. “What, are you scared?”

“Of fucking course I’m scared.” Johnson says. “Still, I’m one hundred percent on board for doing something stupid.”

Connor smiles and stands. "Then let’s show these fuckers just who they’re dealing with." He reaches his hand out to the General.

Wilson clasps his hand to Connor’s and stands. "Guess this was inevitable." He picks up his glass with his free hand. "You know there will be no going back after this right? After this, we are officially in the shit"

"I know," Connor says, picking up his glass. "But at least we’re be doing it on our own terms."

David grabs his own glass off the desk. "I guess that’s the best we can hope for, right?"

The General hold his glass up in a toast. "Well, then here’s to doing things our way."

"The human way," Connor adds.

"The only way we know how," David says.

"Here, here," Johnson finishes as he holds up his bottle and the four men drink.

Next Chapter: The Others