The Savage(94)
Alcorn sat listening as Angus steel-eyed the Methodist. “You saying the world went to shit and now it’s gonna be rekindled by a mean-ass Mexican, a man not much different than you and me?”
“No, you and I are plenty different, I am a Christian man, your beliefs are uncertain to me, but what I know is the world became unshelved with the help of the devil and his adversaries banking too many lies, and too many hardworking folk put up with this leprosy until it was too late.”
“Bandages can be changed, wounds can heal. Unless the wound isn’t cared for, then it’ll find infection and rot is soon to follow.”
The Methodist nodded. “Shit rolls downhill. But what I am saying is, this man is a hunter. He’s murdering everyone that’s not part of his network. Cotto was on his way here when the fall of the dollar and the loss of power came; those were coincidental to his plan. My belief is he’d pay a hefty sum to have your head placed on a halberd.”
A rain of disgust cloaked Angus as he told the Methodist, “That it, you’re gonna trade my being for unknown salvation? Very Christian of you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve no intentions of bartering you to any man. I’ve seen this devil’s work. Where I’ve amassed many of my children from Cotto, my adolescent soldiers, I’ve rehabilitated them to do God’s work.”
Angus felt anger bubble inside him. “I was minding my own when those three fucks who followed the creed of we’re-killing-in-the-name-of-Jesus attacked me for wanting to rest my eyes. I want no part of what you’re creating. You can either let me go or pay the price when I find my opening.”
“Watch your tongue. I could place a bullet between your eyes as we speak.”
“But you will not or you’ll lose whatever it is you’ve pyramided here thanks to men like me.”
Smirking, the Methodist said to Angus, “Truth falls from your tongue, and that’s why you’ll fight for me, that is how men now earn real salvation for other men.”
“Through enslavement, battle, bloodshed, and biblical words twisted into end-time prophecies? Sounds like terrorism to me. You got a wall of virgins hidden beneath that robe. Funny how you take the laws of the land away from men and they forget where they came from, forget everything it took for their ancestors to build something that they always seem to destroy.”
“You seem awfully wise for a man who once cooked crank to earn his way.”
“I have my moments.”
Angus wanted to wrap the chains that bound him to the flooring around the Methodist’s neck. Watch his lookers bat. His mouth froth and his throat snap. Angus needed his hands free. The chains removed from his neck. But what would he gain by murdering this man, what did the removal of another person’s life really accomplish in the end? Other than quiet, nothing. He inhaled deep and pondered on a saying, Assist people, but do not attempt to control them. Teachings of Lao Tzu, principles taught to Angus by Fu. Question is, was old Lao Tzu ever taken prisoner and forced to fight to earn another day’s breath? The Methodist paused, then continued with “You speak like you fight, not a wasted movement nor word. I shall help you find God.”
It’d be interesting to watch you gasp your final breath, Angus thought, and he asked the Methodist, “Who says I ain’t already found Him?”
“You speak as though—”
“I speak as I speak. Never said I’d a loss of faith in a higher power. Only testing your beliefs of your placing words in another’s mouth.”
Slapping his knee, the Methodist said, “It shall be entertaining to see you battle again. What do you think, Alcorn, has your tongue been swallowed?”
Alcorn’s posture was silent.
Angus postured a question. “And when would that be?”
The Methodist grinned. “Within the hour, we meet another clan who travels to here, my reconnaissance tells me their fighter is strong-willed and eager.”
*
Hunkered down behind outgrowth. The denting pulse of shoulder pain, the buzz and hum of fly and gnat that swarmed about Dorn’s blackening wound. A hint of rot was not far from the thorn and honeysuckle from which he and Sheldon sat hidden. The squawk of blue jay fell with the sweat from humidity that moistened their bodies as the hound panted.
They’d watched the encampment around the church. Men and women, armed with rifles or shotguns. Some sat sharpening knives. Cleaning their weapons. Others read from hymns. Looking up every so often, keeping eyes peeled for movement. Sometimes the blast of gunfire rimmed through the surrounding forest from an odd direction. Moments would pass. Then came the tread of foot. Crunch of vegetation, an outline of human gripping the weight of muscle covered by pelt, the killing of wild game for feeding.
Dorn dozed and tremored in his sleep off and on until evening. The Sheldon girl whispered, “We must get that wound cleansed. Bandaged ’fore infection sets in.”
Dorn waved a hand. “Soon.”
In his mind things were sporadic. Mad. The ache of fiber. Feverish visions of Cotto hunting him with his tribe of doped-up killer kids. His chest tightened. Nose ran with mucus. Thoughts of roller-coastering down an unending decline and he awoke. Sheldon stared at him. He rolled to his stomach. Leaves mashed. He glanced to the church. Lights were flamed around the encampment of campers, outbuildings, and the road lit up when the rumble of sound came from engines. Tires knobbed and the jaunt of men armed to the teeth with automatic weapons came slow. One was leading by poke and butt of rifle to a man bound by rope. From stomach to knees Dorn came. Reaching. From his pack he pulled binoculars. The Sheldon girl queried, “What is it you view?”