Messiahs

by Matt Rogers

Alexis paused.

  Brandon shrugged the gun away from his temple, knowing she wouldn’t shoot. He took a couple of steps forward and pummelled the messy-haired disciple until the man was unconscious. Punches, kicks, knees. They were devoid of competent technique, but Brandon had natural power. When he was finished, he stood over the unconscious man and spat on him.

  From the sacristy entranceway, Addison said, ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  He looked like a deer caught in headlights. ‘They were going to kill me.’

  Addison pointed to Alexis. ‘You were going to kill her.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘How is it different?’

  He went quiet.

  Slater leapt down from the altar.

  96

  Addison stammered, ‘What’s going on?’

  Alexis quickly turned to the girl. ‘It’s okay. He’s with me.’

  Eyes bloodshot and cheeks streaked with tears, the girl put her head in her hands and sobbed with relief.

  Slater gripped Alexis’ hand. He didn’t pull her into a hug — she was still aiming the Beretta at Brandon.

  She stared Slater in the face.

  He looked ten years older. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin was plastered in dried sweat, and his forehead was etched with deep stress lines.

  She said, ‘What the hell happened to you?’

  ‘Later,’ Slater muttered. ‘What are you doing with these two?’

  ‘He held me at gunpoint. She saved me.’

  ‘Was he going to kill you?’

  ‘No,’ Brandon said.

  Slater got in his face. ‘Did I say you could fucking speak? You aimed a gun at her?’

  ‘You two … were pretending you didn’t know each other?’

  He was putting it together. Slowly.

  ‘Yeah,’ Slater said. ‘You’re lucky you’re not dead.’

  ‘Why haven’t you done it yet?’

  Groans and whimpers floated softly through the church as the search party clawed their way unsteadily back to their feet. No one else arrived. It made sense for now. There were roughly two hundred disciples, but almost half of them were women, and more than half the men were weak and timid, with no combat experience. They’d cower and cry if they were antagonised. Mother Libertas’ philosophy coupled with Maeve’s persuasiveness was slowly honing them into servitude, but they weren’t there yet. There were maybe forty men in the commune with the size and strength to be able to handle adversity, and not all of them had the fight in them.

  These five had been ready to fight.

  They’d be useless for a few hours, minimum.

  The odds were getting better.

  Slater looked at Brandon. ‘Because we’re not like you.’

  ‘I told you I wasn’t going to kill her.’

  Slater grabbed him by the collar and hurled him toward the sacristy. ‘I don’t give a shit.’

  Alexis and Slater led them down a windowless hallway and into Maeve’s office, complete with robes she donned on special occasions. Slater forced Brandon down to his knees and used all the robes to practically mummify him, tying them tight around his frame. They pinned his arms to his sides, pinned his legs together. Stretched out prone, he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Now they were in the safety of privacy, Alexis stepped right up to Slater and whispered, ‘What happened to you?’

  Slater muttered, ‘Three hits of Bodhi,’ into her ear.

  Her eyes went wide. She held him at arm’s length and stared into his eyes, probably checking whether he was still all there. He looked back at her, let her make her conclusions, because honestly he wasn’t sure himself.

  She said, ‘You look okay. Holy shit. Three? My whole mood changed off a microdose, which was probably a fifth of one dose.’

  Slater said, ‘It’s been a crazy night.’

  ‘Why on earth did you do it?’

  Slater stared at her. ‘You think it was my choice?’

  Silence.

  She said, ‘Dane?’

  Slater nodded. ‘He spiked the water. Six doses. I drank half of it before I realised. I can’t imagine what would have happened if I drank it all.’

  They realised they weren’t keeping their voices down.

  From across the room, Addison said, ‘You had three hits of Bodhi?’

  Slater looked at her. ‘Who are you?’

  Alexis said, ‘This is Addison.’

  ‘I’ve seen her around,’ Slater said. ‘She’s one of them.’

  ‘She’s not,’ Alexis said. She jerked a thumb at Brandon on the floor. ‘He is.’

  Slater looked from one to the other. ‘You two related?’

  Addison nodded. ‘My brother.’

  Slater turned to Alexis. ‘Where’s King?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Alexis’ eyes were taut with stress and fatigue. ‘This is chaos.’

  ‘Maybe not. Maybe the tide’s turned. Elias isn’t a problem anymore.’

  Alexis froze. ‘He found you?’

  ‘Unfortunately for him.’

  Addison seemed to get the message. ‘That wasn’t Elias, then.’

  ‘Yes it was, kid.’

  ‘Did you shoot him?’

  Slater said, ‘I beat him to death, if you really want to know.’

  A long pause elapsed. Addison didn’t have the strength to respond immediately.

  She said, ‘No you didn’t. Elias is a Wing Chun master. You wouldn’t have been able to touch him.’

  Alexis whispered in Slater’s ear. ‘She’s had a change of heart but she’s still indoctrinated. Don’t judge her. She’s nineteen.’

  Slater ignored Addison and said, ‘We need to find King and Violetta. Now.’

  Alexis nodded. ‘I don’t know what to do about—’

  Slater finally turned his gaze to Addison. ‘Kid, are you going to untie your brother?’

  Addison shook her head. ‘I held him at gunpoint to save Alexis. She’ll tell you.’

  Slater looked at Alexis.

  Who nodded.

  Slater said, ‘Can you make sure he doesn’t go anywhere? We need to leave for a while.’

  Addison shrugged. ‘I’m in too deep, aren’t I?’

  ‘Who knows? Slater said.

  Alexis gave him a dark look.

  Addison said, ‘If you’re asking me whether I’ll let my brother go, the answer is definitely not. He would have killed me for the cause. I saw it in his eyes.’

  Slater glanced down at Brandon.

  He was conscious, staring vacantly into space, oblivious to any and all criticism.

  Protected by the belief system in his head.

  Slater believed Addison.

  He said, ‘Okay. Let’s go.’

  97

  Before they left, Alexis combed through the drawers. It didn’t take her long to find an identical Beretta tucked under a pile of papers. She took a brief look at the documents. They were new speeches, ready for delivery at the next congregation, handwritten by Maeve in cursive.

  She read the first page.

  Imagine life without guilt.

  Without doubt.

  Without fear.

  Now close your eyes, my children. That’s it. I want slow, deep breathing. I want you to harness the power of your mind. Recognise its connection to the universe. Understand that your limitations are mere perceptions. You have the power within you, right this moment, to strip yourself of all your inhibitions. Live like Mother commands you to.

  Live free.

  Open your eyes. Breathe the air.

  Where has this power been all your life?

  Inside you.

  Everything you ever wanted … Mother has always been within. Awaken her.

  On paper, the words were empty.

  Self-improvement shlock.

  Out of Maeve’s lips, they would be powerful. Alexis had seen it first hand. She imagined Maeve reading the pages, commanding devotion from her followers. It would be easy for a lost soul to pledge
allegiance. Maeve had those qualities she described in the speech — lack of guilt, doubt, fear, empathy — because she was a psychopath. In times of turmoil, psychopaths are appealing. They provide clear direction in the face of uncertainty, because they’re not burdened by the emotions that cripple most of us.

  Alexis saw it clearly.

  She put the pages down and handed the spare gun to Addison. ‘Make sure he stays put.’

  Addison said, ‘Will you come back for me?’

  Tears welled in her eyes. She’d been promised things before.

  The world had let her down every time.

  Alexis said, ‘I promise.’

  She tried to convey how much she meant it.

  Addison seemed to understand. ‘Okay. I’ll stay here.’

  It sounded like she was reassuring herself.

  They couldn’t loiter any longer. Each extra minute the Riordans spent pumping their followers full of their doctrine was a minute they couldn’t afford. Alexis handed Slater her Beretta. He was a better shot, and denying that was counter-productive.

  Together they moved out of Maeve’s office and closed the door behind them, leaving Addison standing over her restrained brother, shaking involuntarily.

  98

  Across the mess hall, Violetta said, ‘Your tank’s empty, isn’t it?’

  King couldn’t respond.

  He had to double over as fatigue hit him. As soon as the threat of death is nullified, your brain catches up to your body. He could barely lift his arms. He’d maintained his maximum heart rate for the entire length of the brawl, and now he was paying the price. Between deep gulping breaths, he lifted his head and said, ‘Yeah.’

  Already, three of the disciples were on their feet.

  They were no threat.

  Blood streamed from noses, mouths, foreheads. They wobbled on shaky legs, their balance disrupted as their brains spun in their skulls, searching for an equilibrium they wouldn’t find for hours. Like walking zombies, just without the groaning and raised arms. They were silent as they worked their way to their feet. Bodhi couldn’t override cognitive damage.

  They’d be okay tomorrow, aside from superficial injuries, but tomorrow was a long way away.

  They trundled for the exits, struggling for each step.

  King walked back to Violetta. His legs burned from the effort required with the kicks and the explosive movements, the lunges across tables and the exertion of hurling the disciples’ bodyweight around.

  Violetta’s face was overcast when he reached her. She got her shoulder into his armpit, supporting his weight so he could take a load off his legs.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not,’ she said. ‘And now the cover’s gone.’

  ‘It was already gone.’

  Across the room, one of the disciples reached the exit in the right-hand corner. He took one step into the darkness, his limbs still shaky, and a fist shot out of the shadows and cracked him across the jaw, knocking him out all over again.

  He collapsed.

  Slater stepped into the mess hall, a Beretta in his hand.

  King had never been so happy to see a gun.

  Across the hall, Slater cast wide eyes over the mayhem.

  ‘What’d I miss?’ he yelled.

  Violetta shouted, ‘We’re okay. We’re not hurt.’

  Striding fast across the space, ignoring the disciples all around, Slater watched King like a combat sports referee keeping a keen eye on a compromised fighter. He took in King’s behaviour and said, ‘He’s not okay.’

  King realised his face had paled. ‘I’m fine. Pushed myself too hard.’

  ‘Did you get hit?’

  ‘No,’ King said, then caught the withering glare from Violetta and reconsidered. ‘Once. At the start. But I’m all there.’

  ‘Did you do the times-table test?’ Slater said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Doesn’t always mean you’re good to go. You could be compromised.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ King repeated. ‘Just tired. As soon as I get my breath back…’

  Violetta said, ‘Where’s—?’

  She cut herself off when she looked over Slater’s shoulder and saw Alexis step in through the same doorway Slater had emerged from.

  Violetta exhaled. ‘Okay … we’re okay.’

  Slater said, ‘For now.’

  Alexis cautiously sidestepped one of the shuffling disciples, who was cradling his broken nose, walking blind. ‘What the hell happened here?’

  Slater said, ‘King happened here.’

  They rendezvoused in the middle of the hall.

  Reunited.

  There was no time for elation. They were in a death trap, probably surrounded on all sides by Mother Libertas, who the Riordans would be in the process of arming.

  But at least they had a gun.

  King said, ‘Where’d you get that?’

  ‘Long story,’ Slater said.

  King looked over his shoulder, and froze. ‘Shit. Give it here.’

  ‘What?’

  King took the Beretta out of Slater’s hands and shouldered past him.

  Five more disciples had stepped into the hall.

  99

  King fell back on his military career, recalling everything they’d drilled in basic training to steadily transform him from an emotional civilian to someone right at home amidst chaos.

  These followers — all men, all tough-looking — were still emotional civilians, no matter how badly they wanted to pretend they weren’t.

  More importantly, none of them were armed.

  King aimed the Beretta at their faces and screamed at the top of his lungs. ‘All of you get the fuck out! Now!’

  They froze in their tracks.

  The animalistic volume of the shout cut through the Bodhi that was protecting and coddling them. A couple got shaky legs right away, and looked like they were a hair’s breadth from retreating.

  King kept his voice at the same volume. ‘I will shoot you! Turn around and fuck off! Three seconds! Two! One—’

  He could see all five of them going to war in their own heads.

  All their conditioning fought to control them. The drugs, the brainwashing, the Mother Libertas creed — it all demanded they go forward, even in the face of insurmountable odds. It was better to die for the cause than retreat like a coward. But that only worked in principle. In reality they were staring at an unhinged two hundred plus pound man, armed with a semi-automatic pistol, threatening to blow their heads off if they didn’t do what he said.

  Reality won.

  The five men bled back into the shadows.

  King let the adrenaline out in a mighty exhale.

  He turned and saw Slater practically shaking, ready for a fight to the death.

  This wouldn’t stop.

  Right now the commune was in turmoil, still bleary in the early hours of the morning. The disciples would be confused, lacking clear instructions. But soon that would all change, and they would unify under the Riordans and simply overwhelm the imposters, whether they were armed or not.

  King knew it.

  He hoped Slater did too.

  He said, ‘We need to move. Now. And we stick together or we’re fucked. Force our way out of this hall, find a ride, and get out.’

  ‘Then come back for the Riordans?’ Slater said.

  ‘That’s not important right now.’

  ‘Yes it is.’

  King could see the burning desire in his eyes.

  He said, ‘Let’s go.’

  King led from the front, hustling past the incapacitated disciples within the mess hall. He reached the exterior doors and swept the outside corridor with the Beretta up, clearing every corner.

  The building was deserted.

  And the alarm had stopped.

  For the first time he recognised the eerie quiet. He didn’t like it. He made sure Slater, Alexis and Violetta were close behind him, effectively glued to his back, before
he continued. He ignored the main entrance/exit and ran down the sparsely furnished hallway until he came to a side door marked: EMERGENCY EXIT.

  He kicked it open and waited.

  Dawn light flooded in, then the horrid blast of a gunshot ruptured the silence. The bullet thwacked into the door frame, half a foot from King’s centre mass.

  He realised it was the first shot fired on the commune since they arrived.

  Distant screams rose like banshee wails. King ignored the terror now rippling through the commune’s population, waited for another shot to impact the door frame, then leant out and sized up his target in milliseconds.

  The disciple was holding a pistol with shaky hands. He was older, maybe forty, but there was no humanity left in him. He had given himself so completely to the cause that he was determined to murder these newcomers for the cult.

  That was enough for King.

  It wasn’t an easy decision, but in the end it was simple.

  Him or me.

  King shot him in the forehead before the guy could get a third round off.

  He didn’t watch the body fall to the dirt. He hated the choice, hated what the Riordans had forced him to do, but there was simply no way he could talk reason and common sense into a man firing on them. And behind King was Violetta, carrying their child. That stifled his remorse.

  He surveyed the landscape.

  There were three isolated clusters of disciples in sight. No one was armed. Half the followers were women, and the men were terrified. They were all fleeing in separate directions, startled into panic mode by the gunshots close by.

  King let them go.

  When push came to shove, Mother Libertas was timid. A few more months, maybe these people would have been stripped of their souls, completely brainwashed to ignore danger.

  Now, however, they were still human.

  Maeve hadn’t stripped them of everything yet.

  King looked across this side of the commune and spotted Dane. The tall man was empty-handed, hovering in the doorway of a low rectangular building with wooden walls.

  His face was stoically set, but there was terror behind it. King could see it even from this distance.

  King swept his aim over to centre on Dane’s chest.