Messiahs

by Matt Rogers

  King raised the M4 over the heads of the disciples and shot her in the chest.

  106

  Two bullets smashed through her vital organs, but she didn’t go down.

  She rocked back on her heels, almost toppling, but she managed to right herself and stayed just lucid enough to look down at her chest and see the blood billowing from the entry wounds, spreading across the front of the farm dress, darkening the peach colour. Her mouth went agape. King knew she was deep in shock, feeling no pain, and she probably thought it was due to her invincibility.

  She looked up at King and smiled. Her mouth twisted as she tried to speak, to lend power to her followers. She was about to let them know she couldn’t be stopped.

  Bullets are worthless against the power of—

  Her body gave out and she crumbled, collapsing first at the waist.

  She pitched forward, falling head-first.

  Her shoulder hit the top step and her frame splayed as she tumbled down the short flight.

  She came to rest in the dirt.

  The front of her dress was soaked now, and her skin was white as a sheet. Her mouth flapped uselessly. She couldn’t get the words out.

  She rolled to her side and lay still.

  The air seemed to thicken. The wave of disciples slowed. A couple of them looked over their shoulders, which started a chain reaction. The rest followed, their focus torn from the enemy. Some of them screamed. Most of them fell silent. One man at the very front turned back to King, his eyes bloodshot, his face ghoulish. He was red-haired and broad-chested, with a ruddy complexion and a squashed nose. He carried a bat spiked with barbed wire, and he still had every intention of using it.

  King realised everything would come down to a spark.

  If one of the disciples became a kamikaze, the rest would follow. It turned his stomach end over end. There was nothing he wanted more than to leave these people alone. They had their own crises to grapple with now, the horrific disillusionment of realising everything they’d been fed was a lie. They didn’t have to pay with their lives.

  Unless…

  The red-haired, red-faced man screamed, ‘She lives!’

  He charged at King.

  King willed himself to raise the carbine again, but he couldn’t. Something was different. This man was aiming all his dark rage at King, but King was frozen by the fact that he knew the anger was misplaced. In the past, he’d willingly taken the life of anyone who tried to take his own. Simple self-defence. But here it was so obvious the guy was brainwashed, so clear he wasn’t in control of his own actions, that King couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Even though one hit from that spiked bat would permanently maim or cripple him, and the follow-up shots would kill him.

  Violetta said, ‘I’ll do it if you won’t.’

  By then it was too late.

  The guy was on them.

  He swung the bat, looking to take King’s head off with the first swing.

  King went from a statue to a berserker in a split second.

  The bat swung through empty air that he no longer stood in, and then he was right beside the man. The guy only had time to tense up for the punch he knew was coming, but it didn’t help him. King had already dropped the gun to free his hands, and he threw an elbow so fast it was barely visible to the human eye. It separated the guy from consciousness with a rare brutality. His head snapped sideways and ricocheted off his shoulder and he went down like he was dead.

  He wasn’t, but he might as well have been.

  Cognitively, he might never be the same.

  The price you pay.

  King retrieved the M4, planted a foot on top of the guy’s motionless form, and stared hard at the rest of the procession.

  ‘You’re human,’ he said, filling the silence. ‘You’ll get what he got. Walk away.’

  They didn’t disperse.

  But no one charged.

  A couple of the followers sat down hard in the dirt, their morale crushed, their worlds turned upside-down. It seemed to kickstart the next chain reaction, in which the entire procession let their deepest emotions come to the surface. Most turned back to face Maeve’s crumpled form, her dress now more crimson than peach. A couple whispered incantations under their breath, but the large majority stared in silence. A few outliers walked away into the twilight. They dropped their bats and clubs and didn’t look back. They were either headed to other outbuildings, or they were simply walking with no destination, rendered useless by sensory overload. They might keep walking until they dropped of exhaustion or stumbled upon a town.

  King didn’t have the energy to stop them.

  Violetta said, ‘She’s alive.’

  ‘What?’

  King looked through the crowd and saw Maeve’s lips fluttering. It wasn’t a miraculous reincarnation. She was on death’s door. She had maybe a minute left.

  Violetta said, ‘I need to speak to her.’

  King said, ‘No.’

  Violetta said, ‘There’s no threat. Look at them.’

  The disciples were catatonic. Half of them were still standing, but eventually the ones still milling around the house would all sit in the dirt, reconsidering everything. King had no idea whether they’d double down on their beliefs or shirk them. He wasn’t about to hang around to find out. He wasn’t a counsellor. He was an operator.

  Violetta walked forward and moved through the crowd.

  No one stopped her.

  King stayed where he was.

  If Maeve had anything to say, he didn’t need to hear it.

  107

  For the first time, Maeve looked human.

  Probably because she was so vulnerable.

  Violetta knelt down beside her. Maeve was curled into the foetal position, her face pressed to the pool of blood that had formed from the excess fluid running down her back. The exit wounds had bled far worse than the entry wounds.

  Her eyes were half-open.

  Violetta had no idea whether she’d get a response or not, but she said, ‘Do you know what’s happening to you?’

  Maeve’s eyes opened a millimetre further. She tried to focus unsuccessfully, but she seemed to sense the blurry blond hair kneeling over her and half-smiled in recognition.

  Violetta said, ‘Did you hear me? You’re going to die. Do you understand?’

  She didn’t know why she was saying anything. Maybe she wanted to see under the mask, and this would be her only opportunity. Would Maeve die delusional, or would she finally see the truth?

  Maeve’s voice was barely a whisper. She mumbled something.

  Violetta bent down. ‘What?’

  Maeve muttered, ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  Silence.

  Violetta said, ‘It should matter. You thought you were invincible.’

  ‘Oh, well. It’s … not about me.’

  A rare statement for a destructive charismatic.

  Violetta said, ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘Bodhi,’ Maeve whispered, her dying eyes now alive. ‘It’ll outlast all of this. Just watch. We’re flesh and blood. It’s everlasting.’

  ‘It’s a bundle of drugs.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you acknowledge it’s not the key to enlightenment?’

  ‘When … did I say that?’

  Violetta said, ‘It’s dex, MDMA, and benzos.’

  Maeve’s hazy gaze finally settled on Violetta, and she managed to focus for a single moment. ‘You’ve seen what it does. You think it matters what it is?’

  She let go, and died.

  Violetta stayed crouched over the body for a long time, stewing over the words. It was hard to accept that Maeve was right. So long as someone had access to the compound and knew a smattering of persuasions, the dream of Mother Libertas was alive. The Riordans were the founders, but cults don’t die with their creators.

  Ideas live on.

  She knew what she needed to do.

  She couldn’t change what Bodhi did, but
she could change what those who took it understood about it.

  She stood up and turned around.

  Those who were left watched silently. They were harmless, anaesthetised by despair.

  Violetta said, ‘You were all taking Bodhi to reach enlightenment. What you never knew is what it really is. It’s a mixture of three powerful chemicals. Dextroamphetamine, found in Dexedrine; MDMA, also known as molly or ecstasy; and benzodiazepines. That’s why you felt the way you did. Just because it’s not mystical doesn’t make the feeling any less incredible, but I want you all to know exactly what it is they were doing to you. You were drugged without your consent or knowledge. If some of you have more of the stuff, there’s nothing stopping you taking it. But understand the cognitive dissonance. Think about what it is and why you’re dependent on it. There is no cause. There is no creed. The mantras were false and empty and only existed to keep you loyal to the Riordans. You were slaves.’

  The disciples stared back. A handful understood. The rest had vacant expressions on their faces.

  Violetta said, ‘There’s nothing more I can say. What you do now is entirely up to you. Hopefully at some point it hits you what happened here. If not…’

  She didn’t finish.

  She walked back through them, and again no one stopped her. The animosity was gone, snuffed out with Maeve’s life. Any followers that were still enraged were keeping it suppressed after seeing what King had done to the red-haired man.

  Violetta joined King on the other side of the crowd.

  It wasn’t much of a crowd anymore.

  She counted eight people left standing. Maybe a dozen sitting down. The rest had dispersed.

  King said, ‘What do we do now?’

  Violetta said, ‘Nothing. We’re done here.’

  They walked away to find Slater.

  108

  Alexis heard the gunshots.

  She stood up, lifted the binoculars to her eyes, and stared out the window.

  Took in the scene.

  When she lowered them, she found Brandon and Addison on their feet. The hallway was still empty, unpopulated. The remaining disciples were all over the commune — running, hiding, walking away. Some maybe mustering the courage to fight. But whatever resistance they could manage would be futile after what Alexis had seen.

  Brandon said, ‘What is it?’

  Alexis aimed her Beretta at his chest.

  Addison muttered, ‘No. Please.’

  Alexis lifted the aim to his head.

  Addison screamed.

  Alexis waited for the echo to fade, dissipating from a screech to a whisper as it bounced off the distant walls and the roof far over their heads.

  In the following quiet, she said, ‘I’m not going to kill you. But I need to make sure you don’t try to kill me.’

  Brandon said, ‘Why?’

  ‘Maeve is dead.’

  His eyes burned. His tongue lolled in his mouth. His cheeks went bright red and his brow furrowed, like someone had flipped his entire world on its head. In the sacristy he’d been anaesthetised by fatigue, impartial to what came next, but now the foundations of his belief system were shattering.

  Addison’s frown turned to a relieved smile.

  Alexis said, ‘Do you understand, Brandon?’

  ‘It’s impossible,’ he spat. ‘She’s—’

  ‘She’s a dumb bitch,’ Addison said, finally letting out what had been trapped within for months. ‘Don’t you see that?’

  Brandon wheeled, his face twisted in disgust at hearing blasphemy, and started for his sister.

  Alexis said, ‘You lay a finger on her and I’ll blow your brains out.’

  He stopped in his tracks.

  He was angry, confused, destroyed … but that didn’t mean he wanted to die.

  He turned back to Alexis, his bottom lip quivering. ‘Who … who killed her?’

  ‘My friends.’

  Brandon’s eyes went wide. ‘The woman! Violetta! The one with the baby. You know what this means? She’s the chosen one. No one but her and her unborn child could kill our messiah. Don’t you see? She can lead us into a new futu—’

  ‘Brandon,’ Alexis interrupted. ‘Shut up.’

  His face fell.

  She could see him trying so hard to keep the dream alive, to keep the illusion believable.

  If he twisted the facts hard enough, it could all make sense…

  Alexis said, ‘Nothing you were told is real. They enslaved you.’

  Brandon scoffed, like she’d said something so ridiculous it couldn’t be taken seriously. But behind the curtain, everything was unscrambling. Internally he was holding on for dear life. He turned to his sister and saw her staring up at him with something close to contempt.

  That made him pause. ‘Addison? You don’t really believe this shit she’s spewing, do you?’

  Addison said, ‘I knew it was all lies before we even killed Karlie.’

  That’s what broke him.

  He’d been using Maeve’s creed and mantras to justify all the terrible things he’d done. It was the only way he could stay sane — continuing to deny the truth so he didn’t have to accept he’d dug himself a grave he could never climb out of. But here was his beloved sister, the person who meant the most to him out of anyone in the commune, accepting guilt for what she’d done, taking the blame off the conditioning of Mother Libertas and placing it squarely on her own shoulders.

  Which must have felt horrible, but what’s right often feels the worst.

  Now Alexis could see Brandon’s face quivering, but she needed Addison to keep going.

  Alexis said, ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’

  She met Addison’s eyes and a deep understanding passed between them. Addison got the message. If she wanted to bring her brother back, she had to be ruthless on herself. It was the only way to save him.

  If she led by example.

  Addison looked up at Brandon and said, ‘It was always a cult. I beat that girl to death knowing full well none of it was real. I was too scared, too weak, to protest. That’s what this place does to us. That’s what it’s doing to you, Brandon. But you know what would make me weaker? You know what would make me even more pathetic? If I pretended I believed it so I didn’t have to feel shame about what I’d done.’

  Brandon stood in thunderous silence.

  Addison said, ‘Don’t be weak, Brandon. Don’t be pathetic. You took care of me when our parents walked out. I don’t even want to call them “parents” — they were adults who never wanted us. But you were strong then. You gave us a future and it took all of your willpower and then you had nothing left when this place got into your mind. It got into mine, too.’

  He lowered his gaze and stared at the floor.

  Too ashamed to look at his sister, let alone respond.

  Addison said, ‘Let it out, Brandon. Let this place out of your head. Come back.’

  Brandon sat down on the bench, put his head in his hands and, for the first time since he’d joined the cult, he cried.

  109

  Slater reunited with Alexis, and together they went up to the farmhouse.

  They left Brandon and Addison in the mess hall, locked in an endless embrace, going through every emotion together.

  They met King and Violetta on the front porch of the farmhouse.

  There were still a few disciples scattered across the hillside, but none of them were aware of their surroundings. They were grappling with existential dread, much like Slater’s experience the previous night. But there was no Bodhi in their systems, just an overwhelming confusion at what they’d spent the last few months of their lives doing. What they’d believed. How deeply they’d become entrenched in Maeve’s web.

  They’d figure it out eventually.

  Or not.

  Slater knew some wouldn’t. It would simply be too hard, and they’d return to civilisation rambling to themselves, lost to mental illness as the burden of facing their demons proved
too much. There was nothing he could do for them.

  He looked at King. ‘What the hell do we do now? There’s two hundred people here.’

  ‘Where’s Dane?’ King said.

  Slater shook his head.

  King said, ‘Then there’s nothing left to do.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘What?’ King said. ‘What do you think we can do? Hold a service of our own in the church? Speak the truth to them? We’re not prophets. We don’t have all the answers. We just know lies when we see them.’

  Slater said, ‘Some of them will break.’

  King said, ‘I know. But you know why we can’t stay. Our names…’

  Slater understood.

  Dredging their pasts up from the files wouldn’t go unnoticed. Whoever had done it for Dane, he was deep in government black-ops. He’d trigger alerts. For all they knew, half the secret world would descend on Thunder Basin if they got a whiff that Jason King and Will Slater were out there.

  King said, ‘We can’t leave them here without resources.’

  Slater said, ‘There’s only one resource they need.’

  He left the group, went into the farmhouse, and down to the basement. It used to be an intelligence centre. A technological workstation. Now it was nothing. Slater gazed out at rows of torched hardware, drenched in lighter fluid and set alight. Whatever information had existed in the cloud was no doubt wiped.

  Maeve had known it was the end of the road.

  All her plans, all her contacts, all those people out in the real world that she’d sunk her hooks into, fed Bodhi, brainwashed…

  No evidence.

  No proof.

  Slater had to hope that the decapitated Mother Libertas wouldn’t regrow its head. With the Riordans gone, the Bodhi would stop flowing, and at least half of the disciples here in the commune were already disillusioned. The movement was shattered.

  But was it dead?

  Only time would tell.

  Slater found what he was looking for in a cabinet up the back of the basement. It was untouched by the dying flames. All around it, embers licked at melted computer towers. But when Slater opened the cabinet door he found two satellite phones intact, capable of contacting the outside world despite the lack of cell towers out here in Thunder Basin.