The Wolf’s Den

Day 24 – Prisoner of War

The chains were unnecessary.

Father Gabriel Royce wasn’t a fighter.

He wasn’t a soldier.

And yet, his wrists were bound with rusted iron, his ankles shackled, his body shoved into the back of a military truck like a caged animal.

The air was thick with the smell of gasoline, sweat, and blood.

Outside, through the small window slit in the truck’s reinforced walls, he saw rows of tents, floodlights casting an eerie glow across the muddy ground.

This wasn’t just a camp.

It was a fortress.

And he was inside it now.

Inside Calloway’s domain.

The truck lurched to a stop.

Gabriel’s body jerked forward, his head banging against the steel wall.

Boots thumped against the ground outside.

A voice—sharp and commanding—barked orders.

Then, the doors swung open, and a floodlight blinded him.

"Move."

Rough hands hauled him out, dragging him onto the damp earth.

Gabriel squinted as his vision adjusted.

They had brought him to a repurposed industrial site, surrounded by barbed wire and makeshift watchtowers.

At least fifty armed men moved through the area, dressed in patched-together military fatigues, their weapons well-maintained.

These weren’t just survivors.

They were building something.

A nation of killers.

And Lucas Calloway was their king.

Calloway stood near the center of camp, watching as Gabriel was dragged toward him.

The militia leader’s expression was unreadable, his hands folded behind his back.

"Father," he greeted smoothly. "Welcome to New Dawn."

Gabriel exhaled slowly. "That what you’re calling this place?"

Calloway’s smirk widened. "Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?"

Gabriel didn’t answer.

Because he already understood what this was.

Calloway wasn’t just hoarding supplies.

He was conquering.

Expanding.

Turning the apocalypse into his own damn empire.

Calloway tilted his head. "You don’t seem impressed."

Gabriel met his gaze. "I’ve seen men like you before."

Calloway chuckled. "No, Father. You’ve seen wannabes. Low-life raiders, mindless thugs. But me?"

He gestured to the organized camp behind him.

"I’m building something better."

Calloway’s smile faded.

"You’re a resourceful man, Father. You kept your people alive longer than most. That’s why I didn’t put a bullet in you back at the church."

Gabriel’s stomach tightened.

Because he knew what was coming next.

"You’ve got two options," Calloway continued. "Join us. Help us bring order to the chaos."

His eyes darkened.

"Or die resisting it."

Gabriel’s jaw clenched.

He could see the truth now.

This wasn’t a choice.

This was a test.

One Calloway expected him to fail.

Gabriel inhaled sharply.

Then—

He smiled.

And whispered, "Go to hell."

Calloway sighed, shaking his head. "I figured you’d say that."

Then, before Gabriel could react—

A fist slammed into his gut.

Pain exploded through his ribs, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping.

Boots pressed against his back, forcing him into the mud.

Calloway crouched beside him, voice casual.

"Here’s the problem, Father."

He gripped Gabriel’s jaw, forcing him to look up.

"Faith isn’t real. Not anymore. You keep clinging to it, thinking it’ll save you."

His fingers tightened.

"But I’m the only god left in this world."

Gabriel’s vision swam, but he forced out a ragged breath.

"Then you’re just another false prophet."

Calloway’s expression didn’t change.

But his eyes—

For the first time, Gabriel saw real anger there.

Calloway exhaled through his nose.

"Put him in the pit."

Gabriel’s stomach dropped.

The pit?

He didn’t have time to ask.

Because rough hands grabbed him again, dragging him toward the edge of camp—

Toward something worse than death.

Gabriel hit the cold ground hard, rolling onto his side.

He pushed himself up, disoriented.

The pit was deep, the dirt walls impossible to climb.

Then—

He saw them.

Other prisoners.

Some sat in the shadows, staring blankly.

Some were wounded.

One looked barely conscious.

Gabriel exhaled, shaking the dizziness from his head.

They weren’t just holding him.

They were collecting prisoners.

And if Calloway had a use for them—

It meant something far worse was coming.

Gabriel clenched his fists.

If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to fight back—

He needed to get out of this pit.

And soon.