The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(4)

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m not aiming a gun at you. And I’m asking you politely.”

I take quick stock of my situation. There are maybe a hundred idiots out there in those vehicles. My guess is that every one of them is heavily armed and eager to kill. There are more high-caliber guns mounted on other vehicles and other Hellion weapons that I don’t recognize. If everybody opens up on me at once, hoodoo or not, I’m going to look like a flank steak shooting out of a wood chipper. Plus, I don’t know where I am. I still don’t know if I’m going to stop bleeding. I’m not sure that I can do hoodoo more complicated than yanking dead things out of dirt. I’ve swallowed enough sand that I’m going to shit cinder blocks. And I stubbed my toe on Horned Toad. It really hurts.

I lower the rifle and let the burning fucker’s friends put him out.

“Thank you,” says the man on the Charger.

I point at the pickup truck.

“I want that prick’s water. And his ammo.”

After a slight hesitation, he says, “That’s fair.”

“No, it’s not,” someone shouts. I look around and spot a leather-clad woman on a tricked-out Hellion Harley. I can’t see her face, but she has her goggles pushed up to her hairline. “That’s not how things work. He’s not one of us. He obviously doesn’t know anything. Just kill him.”

Doesn’t know anything? Doesn’t know what?

She kicks her Harley to life and revs the engine. I raise the rifle again as she gets ready to charge me.

From behind her, a man riding a small hellhound cuts her off. She pulls her gun and sticks it right in his face. The man puts his hands up. Like her, he’s wearing goggles, but he also has a rag around his nose and mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing?” says the woman.

“Don’t kill him,” shouts the man. “I recognize him. He can be useful.”

I get to my feet and squint in the hellhound rider’s direction. I can’t make out a goddamn thing through his bandanna and goggles.

The man with the megaphone says, “You’ll vouch for him as a reasonable man?”

“I will,” says the rider.

I put the rifle back to my shoulder. “Reasonable? Call me that again and you’ll do it without a head.”

The rider turns to me, pushes up his goggles, and pulls down his bandanna.

I almost call out to him, but catch myself in time.

The man riding the hellhound is Father Traven.

I lower the rifle.

“Ah. So, you do know the father,” says Charger Man. “What’s your name, friend?”

I look at him.

“ZaSu Pitts.”

That gets some laughs. Traven doesn’t laugh, but he doesn’t give me away either.

I look back at Charger Man.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“He’s the Magistrate,” says Traven. “He leads the havoc.”

“Havoc? You assholes sound like more fun every minute.”

“Are there others with you?” says the Magistrate. “Back on the mountain from where you came down?”

So they could see me. They knew I was here all along. That makes them more than a pack of Hellion one-percenters. And then there’s Father Traven. He wouldn’t throw in with a useless group no matter how bad things were.

I shake my head.

“No one I know about.”

The Magistrate nods.

“Then that is where we will camp.”

“You can’t be serious,” says the woman on the Harley. “He’s killed two of us and burned another.”

“Yet Father Traven says he’s reasonable and I’m inclined to believe him.” The Magistrate glances off in the directing of the mountain. “A lone traveler out here, confronted and attacked. What would you have done, Daja? Personally, I’d like to talk to Mr. Pitts.”

Daja. Got to remember her. She backs down, but I can see it in her body language and hear it in her voice. No matter what the Magistrate says, she’s not done with me.

“Just talk?” says Daja.

“Of course. And he will be judged just like anybody else,” says the Magistrate.

“And if he’s found guilty?”

“Then his fate will be that of all the ignobles.”

Cheers. Fists pumps. It’s a goddamn pep rally. All we need are cheerleaders.

The group around the burned Hellion steps back as he dies and his body pops out of existence. They all look in my direction. That’s me. Making friends wherever I go.

The Magistrate points.

“We will camp at the base of the mountains. He said no one is there. That will be his first test.”

I raise my hand like I’m in the third grade.

“Excuse me. What if I’m not in the mood to get tested?”

I prop the rifle on my hip, but Traven calls out, “Pitts. Calm down. It’s going to be all right.”

“Is it?” I say to the Magistrate.

He opens his hands.

“I cannot guarantee that. But consider this: Father Traven has vouched for you. That means he, too, will be judged. If you are not a reasonable man, if you are a stupid man, he will die with you.”

Slowly, I let the barrel of the rifle drop so it’s pointing at the ground.