Messiahs

by Matt Rogers

  Slater looked over his shoulder out of paranoia, checking for eavesdroppers. Satisfied, he turned back. ‘You what?’

  ‘That man who wormed his way between us in church,’ King said. ‘He tried to stab me in the middle of the fucking sermon.’

  Slater became aware of a familiar sensation.

  Crippling uncertainty.

  Who was coming for them? Why? Was their cover intact? Did Maeve suspect something? Did she know something? Was it simply a random, disgruntled disciple?

  He forced the questions aside and fixated on what was in his locus of control. ‘Where’s the body?’

  ‘Supply closet in one of the bunkhouses. I think Dane found it.’

  Slater’s stomach dropped.

  King said, ‘Yeah, I know…’

  ‘Why haven’t we been outed yet?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean he found it?’

  King said, ‘He sprung me in the hallway as I was closing the door. We had a bullshit conversation, and he lingered. I had to leave. To do otherwise would have been suspicious. But all he had to do was open the door and have a look once I was gone.’

  ‘Why did you let him do that?’

  ‘You wanted me to kill him?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Slater said, clenching his fists one by one, rolling his neck. ‘That’s exactly what I fucking expected. Now we have one more person to worry about when this all goes haywire.’

  King said, ‘Do we pull out?’

  Slater stared at him.

  King raised an eyebrow. ‘Do we?’

  Slater said, ‘When have we ever retreated?’

  ‘When it’s tactically sound to do so,’ King said. ‘I have. Plenty of times.’

  ‘This commune is unarmed nutcases,’ Slater said. ‘You really want to run?’

  ‘Two hundred bodies is two hundred bodies. Trained, untrained, armed, unarmed. It doesn’t matter. They all sink a vial of Bodhi and come after us, we’re fucked. Even if we got our hands on weapons, we’d run out of bullets.’

  ‘So we make sure it doesn’t come to that.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘If you’re so sure Dane found the body,’ Slater said, ‘then he hasn’t sounded the alarm. Deliberately. He doesn’t want this powder keg to blow, just like us.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Some of the disciples might not be all the way in. It’s a fairly new movement. They probably don’t want to put everyone to the test so soon. They don’t need their devotion questioned. They need to be coddled, further indoctrinated. You know they do.’

  King thought about it. ‘So you go to dinner?’

  ‘I’ll see what happens,’ Slater said. ‘I’ll take part in whatever conversation he’s planning to have with me. If I see a window of opportunity, I’ll take it.’

  ‘What opportunity?’

  Slater spoke softer, so it was barely a mutter. ‘You know.’

  ‘Are we prepared for that?’

  ‘We have to be.’

  King had deliberately tested the plan with incessant questions, but now he nodded, jumping on board. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to get my hands on weapons before then. They’ll be locked up somewhere safe. Possibly in the depths of the farmhouse.’

  Slater shook his head. ‘We won’t need them. We take out Maeve, Dane, and Elias … then the Judas goats are gone.’

  King raised a questioning eyebrow.

  Slater said, ‘The goat that leads the sheep to slaughter. Without them, the sheep don’t know what to do with themselves. Don’t know where to go. They’re rendered useless.’

  The sun melted away, but the sky stayed gold.

  Rapidly fading to dark.

  King said, ‘So it’s go time?’

  Slater nodded.

  King said, ‘Enjoy your dinner.’

  He walked away, heading for the mess hall.

  69

  The bell tolled twice, signifying the workday had come to a close and it was time to eat.

  King moved through the small clusters of disciples heading for the mess hall, and found Violetta and Alexis loitering in front of the entrance.

  A big young man stood beside them. His build was tall and lanky, but he had big hands and feet that offset his thin limbs. His nose was squashed, adding to the flatness of his face, and his hair was already receding. He was an ugly guy with an intense stare that he wasn’t smart enough to recognise as confronting.

  King nodded to Violetta as he approached, which drew the ire of the young man.

  King looked into her eyes.

  She was intensely uncomfortable.

  So was Alexis.

  Both of them were squared away, trying to face as far away from the man as they could without being impolite. It was likely he couldn’t take social cues, but more probable that he’d been put up to the task of sticking with them.

  King came to a stop in front of the trio and looked at the young guy. ‘Hey. I’m Jason.’

  ‘Brandon,’ the guy said. ‘You know them?’

  He jabbed a finger at the two women.

  King said, ‘I do.’

  ‘That’s cool.’

  King turned to Violetta. ‘How are you holding up?’

  ‘Just fine,’ she said with a smile and a look in her eyes that revealed she was far from fine.

  Brandon said, ‘What else you got to say?’

  King turned slowly. The differences between them were obvious. King had forty more pounds of muscle, twenty less pounds of puppy fat, and stood around three inches taller. On top of his physical attributes, he looked like he could tear a phonebook in half with his bare hands. That took something more than physical prowess. It required experience and confidence and a vibe that was subdued yet unhinged.

  But Brandon’s pupils were swollen with Bodhi. Maeve had allowed the young man more than a microdose, stripping him of all his inhibitions. He would pick a fight with anyone she asked him to without regard for his own safety.

  And she’d tasked him with making sure no one bothered the new girls.

  Whether they wanted him there or not.

  King said, ‘I’m just asking some questions to my friend.’

  Brandon said, ‘You rudely interrupted. That’s what you did. She was talking to me.’

  ‘No she wasn’t.’

  ‘Take a hike.’

  ‘Where to?’ King said, looking around. ‘I’m waiting for dinner just like everyone else.’

  ‘Away from us. You’re not welcome here.’

  King said nothing.

  Brandon got a smug look on his face. ‘This is above your pay grade, buddy.’

  ‘Is it?’

  Violetta gave King a look that said, Not here.

  King knew why. There were close to a hundred people around them, talking amongst themselves but ready to fight for Maeve until their dying breath. If King flattened Brandon, and the Riordans disapproved, it’d spell disaster.

  King turned and walked away.

  Brandon laughed at his back.

  King could feel Violetta and Alexis stewing, intensely uncomfortable. He was more worried about Alexis. Seasoned operators can put aside their egos, ignore the insidious emotions that can make them abandon their cover, but civilians can’t. You insult a civilian to their face and nine times out of ten they’ll absorb the negativity rather than letting it brush off them.

  Across the crowd, King turned back and looked at Alexis.

  She was seething, but she had the wherewithal to turn her face away from Brandon, pretending the disgusting man wasn’t there.

  She looked out across the commune with her teeth clenched.

  She’d make a damn fine operative.

  70

  Dane led Slater on foot to an old-school log cabin nearly a mile away, tucked in the crook of a slight rise in the grassland.

  It was deliberately separated from the commune. It gave Slater a dark premonition about what went on here, away from prying eyes. The cabin itse
lf sported a renovated interior with central heating and LEDs instead of relying on a fireplace and candlelight. It had been prepared in advance for the occasion, the central table set with cutlery and bowls of food covered with lids.

  This time of year it got dark early, and by six p.m. the sky was a royal blue, turning the trees scattered across the plains to spectres. Slater couldn’t shake the sensation of vast emptiness, complete isolation. It accentuated Dane’s movements, like all his gestures were more notable in the silence.

  They sat down.

  Dane poured some red wine out of an aged bottle, brought his glass to his lips and sipped from it. Slater had a thin cylindrical glass with lemon-scented water in place of a wine glass. He’d already informed Dane he didn’t drink.

  Dane said, ‘Did you ever?’

  ‘Ever what?’

  ‘Drink.’

  Slater smirked. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Bet you didn’t look like that when you were drinking.’

  Dane tilted his chin, gesturing to the musculature beneath Slater’s beige corduroy jacket and white shirt.

  Slater drank down a third of the water. It tasted faintly of lemon, too, and he wasn’t sure if he approved or not. It was a courtesy in formal settings to tinge plain water with various fruits, but he’d always preferred to keep things simple and unblemished.

  He said, ‘Actually, I did. I was very good at balancing my obsessions.’

  ‘How’s a man with that sort of dedication end up out here?’

  ‘What do those two things have to do with each other?’

  Dane’s fingertips were touching in a gesture resembling prayer, but now he separated them, asking a question with his open palms. ‘You and your friend are … what did you say ... wandering?’

  Slater nodded. ‘Call it a personal revolution.’

  Dane smiled and sipped at his wine. ‘“Personal revolution.” I like that. And now you want to join our revolution.’

  Stick to the cover, Slater thought. There’s a chance he didn’t find the body.

  ‘I like what you’re doing here,’ Slater said. ‘I want on board.’

  Dane’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. ‘On board?’

  Slater sipped more water. ‘You heard me.’

  ‘I was under the impression you were here seeking enlightenment. Truth is an elusive gift, and we only offer it to the souls we think are prepared to bear the burden. It can be … confronting.’

  Slater said, ‘Did you forget that back in Gillette Maeve offered us jobs? I think you’ve already put it together that me and my companion are a little more switched on than your average convert who comes wandering in.’

  ‘Don’t patronise the disciples.’

  Slater said, ‘We’re not just ex-military. We’re ex-SF. I waited to tell you that because I didn’t want you to get your back up. But I think if you drink a little more wine you might get more creative, and I’m sure you could come up with a number of ways to put the two of us to use.’

  Dane said, ‘What makes you think we need two soldiers working for us?’

  ‘The fact that Maeve told us she did.’

  ‘We might have been bluffing. To get you out here. To get you to see the light.’

  ‘You need to protect the interests of the cause.’

  Slater’s words were veiled in sarcasm.

  Dane’s smirk shifted slightly. It was no longer co-conspiratorial; now it was as if Slater was a true outsider, his words falling pathetically on deaf ears.

  Dane said, ‘I think your ego is in the way.’

  Slater paused. ‘What?’

  ‘You think because you’ve got some combat experience you deserve more than your fellow disciples. You think you should be put on a pedestal, maybe armed with weapons, allowed to lord over the peasants as the right-hand-man to myself and Maeve. You think the privileges that come with your manipulation of Mother Libertas royalty are fully deserved. But I suggest otherwise. I suggest you are lost, adrift in this beautiful country with no fixed purpose. You have a collection of jigsaw pieces in your hands but no idea how to assemble them into anything resembling a cohesive narrative. So this is what I propose. We will not recruit you as equals. You do not deserve to go unenlightened. What we shall do instead is convert you, and then you’ll provide those services to the cause with no expectation of reward or recognition. Because the success of the cause is the ultimate reward, and its spread across this planet is enough recognition for a million lifetimes.’

  Slater saw, up close and personal, how rhetoric could be used by a master wordsmith to give them a biblical aura. He saw right through each of Dane’s thinly veiled persuasions, and didn’t lend the shtick any weight.

  But he had to get this conversation back on track, or all their work would be for nothing.

  Slater said, ‘Cut the shit. I’m not some hillbilly you feed a few fairytales to and expect them to slave away for you. I have very particular skills and they come with a price. Same goes with my friend. So either we enter negotiations or the two of us pack up shop and hike out of here.’

  Dane said, ‘If you came with the assumption of negotiation I’m afraid you’ll leave empty-handed.’

  His eyes blazed now, alight with splendour.

  Slater shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘You taste the honey?’ Dane said.

  Slater looked down at his glass, and suddenly it seemed radioactive. ‘What?’

  ‘The water,’ Dane said. ‘It’s scented.’

  ‘I tasted lemon instead of honey.’

  Dane shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter either way. It’s time for your awakening, brother.’

  Slater sat deathly still.

  Every minuscule sound in the cabin echoed, far more than before. If Slater’s drink had been spiked, it’d take time to kick in. Drugs don’t work instantaneously, unless he was snorting cocaine or injecting heroin directly into the bloodstream. Oral consumption took longer. He had time.

  He went for the knife beside his plate.

  ‘No,’ Dane said.

  It might have been a trick of the mind, but Slater could swear the man’s voice boomed louder than humanly possible. He said it quietly, but it somehow reverberated off the cabin walls.

  Is it kicking in already?

  He remembered the kid, Jace, almost degloving himself, his eyes swollen in frenzy.

  Was there Bodhi coursing through his own veins?

  He realised too late his hand was hovering inches off the knife. He hadn’t committed to the gesture. He figured Dane had something he needed to hear.

  Dane said, ‘I’d suggest you reconsider your decision. You could kill me, sure … I don’t doubt that. But in about fifteen minutes you’re going to get hit by a wave you’ve never felt before. All the vehicles are locked up, so you’ll have to flee on foot, and at night the grasslands are a bad place to lose your mind.’

  Slater thought he’d mastered his fears.

  Tamed his animal instincts, put himself in so many life-or-death situations that the concept of danger barely registered anymore.

  But this was a whole different beast.

  This would be a trip to the edge of insanity.

  He said, ‘Fuck you.’

  His voice quivered. It shocked him.

  He’d never lost control like this, and the drugs hadn’t hit him yet.

  Dane said, ‘Good. Let it out. You came here with rage, my brother, a deep rage in your soul, and you and I are going to get to the bottom of it tonight. This cabin is our therapy booth. And I took your story on board before we came here. I sensed your power … both you and Jason have it radiating off you. You are strong men with strong minds. It’ll take some effort to break through that barrier. That’s why I dosed your water with six hits of Bodhi. You’ve had half your glass, so that’s three full doses. One dose is enough to send a disciple into a new world. But you are prepared for this, my brother, and you will emerge a new man. We will confront your demons here tonight. We will find your truth, find you
r peace. You will emerge a fanatic of the cause. I’m sure of it.’

  Slater couldn’t speak.

  Not from the drugs crippling his motor senses; they hadn’t even hit him yet.

  The fear, the uncertainty, the endless falling sensation in his stomach…

  It was fear he’d never grappled with.

  Before he began to spiral he was already flashing through an internal kaleidoscope, watching a slideshow of all the horrors he’d witnessed throughout his life, all the terrors that made him turn to the bottle in the first place.

  He put his head in his hands and said, ‘Shit.’

  Dane smiled.

  Slater could hear the man’s lips tilting upward.

  Dane said, ‘Are you ready for the war inside your head?’

  71

  Violetta and Alexis ate in Brandon’s shadow.

  He loomed over them, taking his assigned role as their guardian very seriously. Whoever had put him up to it, they’d been serious, because he wasn’t even bothering to make it look like his presence was genuine. He chewed noisily beside Alexis, their shoulders touching, and stared daggers across the table at Violetta.

  Violetta couldn’t remember the last time she’d despised someone more.

  Finally Alexis broke, but Violetta couldn’t tell whether it was part of the cover or not.

  Alexis jerked a few inches across the bench away from Brandon, and said, ‘Could you leave us alone, please?’

  Brandon smirked through a mouthful of cajun chicken stew.

  ‘Why?’ he said with his mouth open, chunks of chicken in his teeth. ‘What’s wrong? You don’t like me?’

  ‘Not really,’ Violetta said. ‘Could you give us some space?’

  Brandon fell silent. He kept chewing, staring at her, refusing to blink.

  Alexis said, ‘Did you hear us?’

  Brandon said, ‘You’re guests here. You know what that means? It means you do what we say.’

  ‘Are you in charge?’

  ‘No,’ Brandon said, smiling. ‘But those who are in charge told me to watch you. So I’m going to watch you.’

  ‘I don’t like that,’ Alexis said. ‘It makes me want to leave.’

  Brandon didn’t take the bait. ‘Does it look like I care?’