Paint It All Red (Mindf*ck Series Book 5)
Paint It All Red: Chapter 11

They say miracles are past.

—William Shakespeare

Twenty minutes after the broadcast, people were fleeing town. Just as predicted, Logan and his team are already gone. The video will replace them soon—the same video we just shared with the entire fucked up town.

Our original plan was to have Jake handle that little fun part, but it’d be easier to have someone inside the FBI to do it.

“At least they’re fleeing,” Jake says as we watch from the distance, our eyes on the phone screen that has the sheriff all but imploding.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sheriff Cannon barks, slapping his hand on the driver’s side window of a car.

The man cracks the window an inch. “I’m getting my family out of this damn town before you drag us all to hell for what you’ve done.”

My lips twitch. They’re abandoning their captain.

“Looks like they’re more scared of us than the sheriff now,” Jake gloats. “Finally standing up to him.”

“By comparison, the sheriff now seems insignificant to a monster who sees all, hears all, and knows all.”

“It’s just one fucking person! Stay and defend this town!” the sheriff snaps to the guy.

We knew they’d abandon him. They’ve heard it all, but until today, they’ve never seen it.

Jake nudges me with his elbow, and I look at his phone’s screen which is diagonal from the sheriff’s location. On the back of the old gym’s wall, a message appears as though Jake timed this all too perfectly.

One person cannot change the world. But one person can strike terror into multitudes.

—Robert Evans

The man in the car sees the message, probably thinking something supernatural is going on, giving the timeliness of the message’s appearance. He gasses the car, driving away from the sheriff, and almost sideswiping another vehicle in the process.

“Find that fucker now!” the sheriff barks, giving up his endeavor of stopping the rats who are fleeing the sinking ship.

“Heat signatures have a flurry of motion right now, but we still need to up the game if we’re going to get everyone out,” Jake says as more and more messages start to appear throughout the town.

With everyone distracted with Logan’s team and our little special broadcast, we ran around town, hurriedly painting the messages with the faster paint. Jake painted some last night with the slower paint.

I’m still wearing my damn harness from all the drop-downs I did to paint the messages high, making them as visible as possible.

You can do a lot in forty minutes when you have a plan and a goal.

On the church, a massive message appears.

Any demon is capable of cruelty, but only an angel is majestic enough to rain down vengeance for the innocent.

—Marcus Evans

Jake smirks as people running by stumble over their own feet, seeing that message appear like magic. They were actually inside the church when I painted that earlier.

Jake swipes his screen, letting me see the newest one appear on the side of the school.

Little eyes see. Little eyes learn. Be a good example for all the little eyes watching you. They’re everywhere.

—Jasmine Evans

Out of context and written in red paint, that message is creepy.

More people panic, more people abandon the town, taking only the essentials before locking their families in the car. I even see some people sprinkling salt in their vehicles as though it’ll keep the devil away during their trip ahead.

I flip my screen, letting Jake look on with me as another message appears on the side of the town hall.

The wicked can fake nobility, just as the damned can fake innocence. But only the truth will rise from the ashes when we all start to burn.

—Victoria Evans

More panic. More fleeing.

Jake pops up his app, showing me all the heat signatures still in town.

“Turn on the broadcasting system and cut screens to all the chaos; show the messages too.”

He smirks, and he starts doing just that, streaming the footage live through the channel. I love hearing the sheriff demand that station be cut off. We’ve already taken all precautions to halt that action. Well, Jake has. I’m an idiot with tech stuff.

My role is to slaughter; his role is to do all the geek stuff.

Killer and geek seems like an odd combination, but the screams we’ve composed from the town make an intoxicating melody.

Several messages appear, all of them sliding up and down the town. People try to read them while running, unable to stop themselves from seeing what we have to say, ironically enough.

A wise man knows when the war is lost, and will understand retreat is the only way to save lives. A foolish man will condemn all his followers to death because of his pride.

—Robert Evans

Everyone knows that’s geared toward the sheriff, and let’s face it, no one but his deputies are willing to die for him. The few strays that will join his side will be the ones he’s used on the side to keep people in line without tying it to the department—just like with Cheyenne last night.

I’m not going to discriminate and leave them out of the slaughter if they so choose to join him now.

If hatred didn’t exist, love wouldn’t either, for one is formed by the other. I love and hate this town.

—Marcus Evans

I believe the souls of the wrongfully persecuted often haunt our world, bringing the same grief they feel from beyond the grave.

—Jasmine Evans

“It’s time for the bell drop,” Jake says, almost shaking with anticipation.

He’s the master of timing, so he should be proud.

He presses a button on his phone, and a mild, contained explosion happens at the top of the church tower. The bell groans and wines before it crashes through the rock. We watch it in real time, not needing a screen to see it plummet to the street.

People screech and dive away, but he timed it to be when no one was too close.

It crashes to the ground so hard that it splits the street on impact right in front of the church. Everyone slowly approaches the mess as the front of the church reveals the last message.

Never mock or harm the passionate, for they are the fiercest with their wrath.

—Victoria Evans

More screams. They sound so pretty.

I cock my head, watching the people scatter, everyone rushing into their homes to gather their belongings. Our plan is to break the record for total town evacuation.

We also have a plan for the stragglers. Tranquilizing darts are a last resort, but we have them in spades, along with a dump truck to toss the unconscious ones into.

Nothing will stop us from finishing this.

Today.

My father would love this horror movie, because the bad guy finally wins.

“Ready for phase two?” Jake asks me.

“Where are we at on heat signatures?”

He pops up his app, showing me all the dots still in town.

“Broadcast phase two. Let the ones hiding in their homes see the show that will push them over the edge.”

“Planned on it,” he tells me with a dark grin.

My attention turns to one of the two cemeteries, the one where my parents and brother are buried. This is the part I’ve been dreading, but it’s a necessary evil. Besides, I know my brother and father would want to be involved in any way possible. I’m probably creating the illusion in my head, but I’d like to believe that if my mother had lived to see the horrors that were bestowed on her family, she’d be equally onboard.

For she was a romantic.

“Now,” I say quietly.

Though it’s in the distance, I still see with perfect clarity as the tombstones start exploding one by one. A fire starts in front of the cemetery, zipping down the line that Jake laid out.

We can hear the screams as the headstones continue to explode, and Jake presses a button on his phone that releases shadows made by light boxes. They look like souls rising.

To a town so full of guilt and religion, it’ll be like a mini-apocalypse.

Every headstone there finally explodes, and the lines of the fire finish, spelling out two words.

We’re back!

No longer is it one flesh-and-blood killer. Their worst suspicions have just come true. The spirits buried in that cemetery are back to wreak havoc on everyone here.

Jake pulls up his heat signature app, seeing more and more dots leaving their homes, fleeing to their cars to drive the spiral out of town.

One road in. One road out.

He broadcasts the second graveyard, following the same suit, the fire sparking and forming more words as the headstones explode one at a time. I idly watch the deputies running around the town, trying their best to calm everyone and convince them they’re safe.

Spirits don’t exist, after all. But their eyes tell them another story as they see the shadows emerge from the cemetery, convinced the illusion is the truth.

I love this town right now, because they’re so fucking predictable.

Cars zoom by us, getting out of here as fast as they can.

The second string of letters form more words in the fire, and Jake zooms in, broadcasting it flawlessly.

And we’re taking everyone with us back to the grave.

“Phase three,” I say, backing behind a tree as a deputy races by on foot, trying to stop a fight that has broken out in the street.

The stubborn fools who don’t want to leave may change their minds now.

The mirrors Jake stole on night one are suddenly launched from the ground where they’ve been hiding, the soil blanket being pulled back by another of Jake’s genius inventions. After all, he’s been planning each detail of this day for years.

People shriek in horror as the mirrors line up, all the varieties of them shining the reflections of the monsters hiding beneath their own flesh. Then the mirrors explode, slinging glass everywhere.

The shards get cut down so small that they merely slice a few flesh wounds. Don’t worry; no children are harmed in this act. We’re more careful than that.

One woman screams as the small cuts on her face starts to bleed, and she touches them with shaking hands, going into shock.

Weak.

Pathetic.

All of them.

But that’s what tips the scales. More and more heat signatures start disappearing or moving down the road too fast to be on foot. They’re retreating.

“I’ll handle phase four in fifteen minutes. That should be enough time for the retreaters to run,” Jake says as I unstrap the harness I’m wearing.

“Make sure you completely get everyone out,” I tell him distractedly.

“I will, Lana. Trust me.”

I smile as I push the harness to his chest. “I do trust you. With my life. Now I need to go get ready for phase five.”

He glances over at all the chaos, then he flicks his screen to the sheriff who has his hat off, running a hand over his salt and pepper hair in defeat. “You shouldn’t have to wait too long.”