Carry the Flame by James Jaros

the tank’s flames failed to kill the demon once, and here is our witness,” he pointed to Hunt, “for he pulled the beast from blistering ash.” His Piety’s face came back to life, so flushed that Hunt saw it reddening through his beard. “Let the tank try to kill the demon again. Let them kill all the heathens and their children, too. Let them even burn the truck—if that is God’s will. But I do not believe that is so. That is not what the Lord is telling me. The Lord,” he looked at the Elders one by one, “is telling me that even if our tank kills all the fallen to get the fuel, which is their sacred duty, the demon will rise again because that is what a demon does until it meets the full force of the Lord Thy God on earth.”
    His Piety thrust the sword back into the band of sunlight and vowed to the Father and Son to burn the demon into hell forevermore.
    â€œAmen,” the Elders said.
    â€œAmen,” Hunt uttered, and then collapsed.
    T he armored tank raced at the caravan from less than a mile away, within easy striking distance with its long cannon. Jessie rushed Leisha and Kaisha to the gasoline tanker and gave them an open-air perch under the trailer, moving two more able-bodied girls to ladders up above. The twins cried out as their burns pressed against the metal grating.
    Jessie forced herself to turn from them, searching wildly for Bliss and Jaya, recalling that the morning had started with the same task. She spotted the pair bolting to their respective posts: Bliss to the top of the tanker behind the cab, and Jaya to the van to ride shotgun.
    Ananda?
    In the van, she saw, when Jaya threw open the heavily plated door.
    She wheeled around looking for Burned Fingers, and spotted the Pixie-bobs pouring down the bottom of the hill, a mass of fur as dark and wide as a mudslide. In seconds they swarmed the tank. Some were crushed but most leaped aboard, covering the camouflage paint with their writhing coats. Jessie saw in a glance there would be no protection from the cats for anyone riding on the outside of the tank or van. And there was no time to regroup.
    A brief hope that the Pixie-bobs would cut off the tank crew’s sightline—and stop the murderous vehicle—vanished when it churned on without changing course.
    She raced toward Burned Fingers, who was studying the tank’s approach, yelling, “They’ll be on us next.”
    He raised his hand. “We’ll never outrun them,” he said evenly.
    â€œWe’ll never outgun them, either,” she shouted.
    â€œNope, we won’t. It’s a straight shot for them either way.”
    Still his words came calmly. And in the midst of her most convulsive fears—of ruthless firepower and voracious cats, whose howls now pierced the air—she remembered how relaxed and cheerful he’d been during the most terrifying moments at the Army of God.
    He knows war, she told herself now as she had then. “I don’t care,” she bellowed, as if he had spoken the words in her head. “I just want to go.”
    â€œOur timing is starting to look good,” he said.
    Good? “How can you—”
    â€œTell Maul to start driving. Brindle, too. I want both of them in motion.”
    â€œOf course.” She turned to run, finally. He grabbed her arm.
    â€œBut tell Maul I don’t want this truck moving any faster than you can walk. Then I need you back here, and when I say so, you’ve got to signal him—and that’s when he’s got to find a way to make this big fat fucker move.”
    Burned Fingers pounded the back of the tanker; but she was already racing to the cab, ears ringing with the howling, engine roar, and—rising above both—the deafening screams of terrified children.

Chapter Six
    J essie veered immediately from the girls on the gasoline tanker clamoring for help. Harsh as it felt, she had no comfort or hope to offer them,