Cruel World(85)

The woman’s smile finally faded as she looked at Jimmy. The man pulled the door shut and flexed his fingers before balling them both into fists. He stepped forward, winding back his right arm, knuckles raw and red from their prior use.

Quinn snapped both his feet up and kicked Jimmy in the chest.

The other man’s eyes widened, and he made a squawking sound in his throat. Quinn felt his chair tip backward and tucked his hands beneath the seat as far as they could go as he fell. The chair hit the concrete floor, the impact jarring him. Wood cracked and he pulled hard against the ropes binding him. There was another loud snap and the bindings at his wrists loosened.

Quinn rolled to the side and felt the back of the chair come with him. Then Jimmy was above him, a short steel tube shining in one hand. Quinn drove a heel out and caught him in the crotch. Jimmy blanched, his knees unhinging. As he fell, Quinn whipped his foot around and connected with the other man’s chin.

Jimmy’s head rocked to the side and his eyes rolled to the whites. He crumpled backward, his skull cracking like the chair against the floor.

“Help! Demon!” the woman shrieked, and started to run across the small room toward the door. Quinn bucked his hips up and slipped his wrists past his ass, then brought his knees to his chest, threading the rope over his feet. By the time he was able to stand, the woman had escaped the room, her shrill cries like that of a wounded bird. Quinn ran to the door, banged it open and paused.

A huge, open yard spread out around him, the new grass of spring growing everywhere. Dozens of cabins lined the edges of the clearing in a circle and several massive oaks grew at its center. A long, low building to his right had a large steeple growing from its roof, a steel sculpture of Jesus hanging from its wide cross. The woman was running toward the church, glancing back every few steps, her dirty hair floating behind her. She yelped seeing him outside the structure and poured on more speed. The door of the church opened and two men stepped outside, their eyes squinting in the bright sunlight.

Quinn ran.

He pelted away, head throbbing, stomach sick with adrenaline, skin slick with sweat. A woman holding a small child opened the door to a cabin ahead of him. Her eyes bulged and she retreated, slamming the door shut. Yells grew behind him, more and more voices joining in until it sounded as if a mob were pursuing him.

He flew past the first row of cabins.

Beyond a second row was a wooden fence at least ten feet high. He would have one chance to run up it and grasp the top. He leaned forward, a high-pitched scream carrying to him from the way he’d come.

As he passed the second row of cabins and readied himself to jump, a rope snapped up from the ground, pulling tight near his ankles.

His feet hooked it and he was falling, the ground rushing up to meet him much too fast. He slammed into it, skidding forward, rocks and dirt taking bites of his skin. All the oxygen was gone from the world; there was none in his lungs. He rolled over to his side, attempting to get up.

Twin boys, no more than ten years old, watched him from a dozen yards away, their hands still gripping either end of the rope. One of them smiled at him.

A man wearing a gray, button-up shirt approached from the direction of the church followed by the woman who had been in the concrete hut. She blubbered something incoherent and sank to her knees, pulling the two twin boys to her chest as she tilted her head back.

“Praise the Lord. You boys did so good,” she said, her grin stretching across her face again.

Quinn tried to get onto his hands and knees, but the man in the gray shirt kicked him back down. Soon he was surrounded by people, so many people. Men and women and children of all ages, clustering around him in a circle, their eyes flitting to him and then away. Many of their hands were clasped, their fingers intertwined in prayer. All of them were dressed the same, the woman in full-length skirts, the men in the button-up shirts and blue jeans. The circle began to move apart at the far end and a short, stocky man with silver hair strode through the gap. His eyes were shaded behind a pair of dark sunglasses, and he wore a black shirt tucked over his significant belly. He moved without hesitation, his strides purposeful and quick. He paused near Quinn’s feet, the dark lenses reflecting his prone form in the dirt.

“And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world; he was thrown down to the earth.” The man spoke in a deep baritone that carried well within the circle and bounced off the fence. He squatted beside Quinn, his mouth curling up in a sneer. “Sleep now, demon, and soon we will have the truth.”