The Wicked (The Righteous)

by Michael Wallace

  But still. David had a cast and bruised ribs to remind him of the attack outside his house. He could see their grim expressions, remember the chilling silence as they’d kicked him half to death. If Jacob had seen the attack, would he have let Eliza go?

  They came upon the compound, a double-wide and two silver teardrop trailers. It was a filthy place, surrounded by the refuse of an illegal dump in the desert: wrecked and rusting cars, appliances, old mattresses, hundreds of empty water bottles, old clothing. And piles of tires everywhere. They covered the roofs of the trailers and lay stacked in and around the compound.

  The fire came from two of the largest tire mounds, side-by-side and each at least ten feet tall and twenty, maybe thirty feet across. The flames met in the middle and became a single roaring column, the pillar of fire and smoke that had guided them to the compound. A dozen young men and women stood in front of the trailers, watching the tires burn. They were close enough they had to feel the heat roiling off the fire, had to be choking on the fumes. Even in the car, enough came through the air conditioning system to coat David’s mouth with the oily, bitter taste of burning rubber. The car pulled to a stop, but few turned to look their way. The rest seemed mesmerized by the fire.

  “And you sent her here?” David muttered. But the words sounded hollow in his ears.

  You did it too. You knew what they were capable of and you let Eliza follow them into the desert.

  Right, because anyone could stop Eliza, once she’d set her mind to something. As he stared at that twisting column of smoke and fire, it was the only thing that gave him hope. They wouldn’t take her without a hell of a fight.

  #

  Eliza stared at the Disciple with cold fury. “You’re only one person. There are three of us.” She gave a sharp look to the others. “If he comes at us, we charge him. Together. Go for his eyes. Bite, kick. Whoever gets that metal bar hit him until he doesn’t move again.”

  He smiled. “You’re wrong, Eliza. You’re only one person. These two aren’t with you. I’ll show you. Benita!”

  “Leave her alone!”

  “The time has come,” he said. “Go join the others.”

  Benita stiffened. Eliza grabbed her wrist. “Don’t listen to him.”

  “I speak for God! Do not deny it or you will burn in hell this very day. Look! The fire is here. Wormwood is falling from the heavens. Find the others. Join them now. Do not stay with the wicked while the Lord cleanses the earth.”

  Benita made to leave and Eliza wrestled with her arm. The woman’s face was a mask, slack and dead. Eliza read despair and self-loathing in her eyes. It was the same thing she’d heard in Madeline’s voice in the pit.

  “Don’t listen to him, please, wait. Madeline, help me.” The other woman stood frozen while Eliza struggled to hold Benita.

  “And you!” the Disciple roared. “Madeline Caliari, you have been weak, but there is still time. Time to obey God, to stand with the Chosen Ones. If not, you shall surely be destroyed. The fires of hell shall burn you for time and all eternity. Go, quickly.”

  And now it was Madeline who was abandoning Eliza. She stiffened, just like Benita had. Eliza let go of Benita and grabbed Madeline instead. “Don’t do this.”

  The Disciple watched with a look of grim satisfaction. He didn’t look happy, not really. Did a man like that ever enjoy happiness, even of the fleeting variety? It was a look of confirmation, of a man so immersed in his own righteousness that he permitted himself a small moment to see his belief confirmed.

  Madeline hesitated. She stared after her friend, who disappeared toward the fire raging a few dozen yards away. The air shimmered with heat. It had to be a hundred degrees here already, and with every step, she had to feel the power of the flames, an insatiable hunger to devour anything in its way.

  “He’s not a prophet, he’s a madman. Madeline, you’re strong, remember. You got out of the pit, you beat Christopher.”

  “You can’t stop her,” the Disciple said. “You’re nothing, you’re nobody. So you’ve got a few twisted words and a way of sowing doubt, but you’re still just a girl. Madeline!” His voice was blunt and hard, like a hammer. “Go, hurry.”

  A shudder worked its way through Madeline’s body. She looked again toward the fire, which consumed the east side of the dump, and had spread to another pile of tires. It roared like a desert sandstorm. Flaming pieces of paper climbed the column of smoke, and ash and cinders dusted down on their heads. It looked as though a crack had split in the skin of the world and the very fires of hell forced themselves to the surface as the infernal realm tried to devour the earth. Eliza couldn’t shake these thoughts from her mind, even as she knew that Caleb Kimball was responsible for the fire. What was he doing?

  She tightened her grip on Madeline’s arm, but the other woman shook free. Grim satisfaction spread across the Disciple’s face. “You see. You’re done, you’re alone.”

  “No,” Madeline said. It was only a whisper, but a moment later, it came out stronger. “No, she’s not.”

  “Madeline,” the Disciple said, his tone sharp.

  Madeline suddenly screamed. “Shut up! Get out of my head. You’re nothing, you’re not a prophet, or a man of God. You’re a monster, a twisted, horrible thing and I should have never listened to you, and when you took me into the back room and made the others watch, I should have taken a knife and shoved it through your throat. There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m not a wicked sinner, I don’t need to be purified or sanctified, the only mistake I made was listening to you. Do you hear me, you’re nothing, nothing!”

  “If that’s the way it will be,” the Disciple said, “then so be it. May Satan consume your souls.”

  He came at them suddenly, the rebar pulled back over his shoulder to swing.

  #

  David, Jacob, and Miriam tumbled out of the car and headed toward the trailers. David wished he had Jacob’s calm, purposeful stride, or the way that Miriam carried herself as if she were still an FBI agent, the prairie dress belying the catlike way she moved, the gun that appeared in her hand. Inside, he wondered, did their hearts pound and their knees shake in fear? Or was he the only coward in the group?

  The people watching the fire started to file toward the larger trailer. A few of them turned as the newcomers approached and David recognized faces from the attack outside his house. The faces that had encircled him in silence, while boots laid into his face, ribs, and head.

  One of them was the man he’d come across spilling out of the back of the co-op truck. He’d given some silent signal to the others and they’d attacked at once. He stood between David, Jacob, and Miriam and the rest of the group. One arm dangled by his side and burns stained his forehead and one cheek, as if he’d splashed himself with cooking oil. Two young men lay at his feet, face down in the dirt, and a young woman sprawled a few feet away, neck twisted at a strange angle. Her face was such a gruesome mess that David had to look away before he got sick.

  The man with the injured arm held something in his good hand, but it was hard to pick out through the swirling black smoke that poured off the tire fires to their left. Heat cooked the desert air around them.

  David looked through the crowd and stopped. Benita. She met his gaze and his heart raced at the unexpected contact.

  What he saw in her eyes terrified him. It was the look she’d had on the roof of the residential tower that night they’d slipped away from the party. They’d overlooked the glitter of the Strip, and she’d climbed to the edge and leaned over, her eyes a dazed, nihilistic stare like the one she wore now. Drop me, that look said. Let go of my waist and watch me fly.

  “Benita, please. It’s me, David. Whatever you’re doing, stop. Come with me, we’ll talk it out.”

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Benita, no.”

  But as he tried to get closer, the man with the injured arm stepped between them and it was too late anyway, she was climbing the cinder block steps and entering the trailer
to join the others. The door closed.

  As soon as it was shut, the remaining man gave a glance further into the dump and a frown crossed his face, as if he’d expected one more person. He lifted his good hand and David saw that he held a butane lighter with a long tip. He touched it to one of the tires stacked outside the door of the trailer. It burst into flame so quickly it must have been doused in lighter fluid or gasoline. Jacob, Miriam, and David started toward the trailer.

  The man squared his body to block their path. Already, the fire was spreading along the tires that surrounded the trailer, although the building itself hadn’t yet caught. “You’ll have to get past me, first,” the man said. “There are three of you and I’m injured, but I’ll put up a fight. It will be too late.”

  “I’m sorry,” Miriam said. “We don’t have time for that.” She lifted her gun. “Move, or die.”

  “And you’re going to shoot an unarmed man? I don’t think so.” He smiled. “The problem with threats is you have to be prepared to carry them out, and not just bluff. I can see on your face that you’re bluffing.”

  “Boy, are you a bad judge of character,” Miriam said. Her gun barked twice in succession, and the man fell backward, good hand flying to his chest. A look of surprise crossed his face, even as the blood burbled out of his mouth.

  David gaped. Beside him, Jacob started toward the man, rolling up his sleeves, as if forced by his medical training to intervene. Miriam grabbed his arm and he looked up at her, blinked, and then he was in control again. He nodded, looked away with a grim expression. Already, David could see the light fading in the man’s eyes as his spirit slipped from his body, speeding toward its eternal reward. Or punishment.

  “Don’t just stand there like a pair of idiots,” Miriam told them. “Eliza might be in there. You have to get them out.” She turned to cover the dump with her gun, while Jacob and David ran toward the burning trailer.

  Chapter Twenty-six:

  The Disciple swung the iron bar. The women stood side-by-side, Eliza still holding Madeline’s wrist. Eliza ducked backward and pulled Madeline, who didn’t move as quickly. The bar struck her a glancing blow across the side of her head and she fell with a cry.

  The momentum of the swing and the partial miss turned the Disciple at an awkward angle, and Eliza rushed forward and shoved him. He stumbled backward, but didn’t lose his balance. He brought the rebar around again, like a backhand in tennis. Eliza tried to jump back a second time, and he didn’t have as much force to the swing, but it hit her on the shoulder. She fell.

  He came at her again. Madeline lay on the ground, moaning and clutching the side of her head. Eliza scrambled away on all fours and when he was over her, ready to swing down, she gave him a mule kick with her right leg and he fell back. She turned, grabbed him around the legs while he was still unbalanced. The two of them tumbled to the ground. He wore a surprised expression, like he hadn’t expected her to fight back. The rebar flew out of his hands and landed to one side.

  Eliza only had the advantage for an instant. He recovered quickly, flipped her onto her back. He was too strong. He held her with one arm and got the other one free, then slammed his fist into her temple. Pain exploded in her head.

  “Madeline!” she cried.

  The other woman had rolled over. A trickle of blood ran down the side of her face, but she hadn’t caught the same kind of blow that had killed Kirk in front of the trailer. She looked up, blinking, and crawled toward Eliza and the Disciple.

  Eliza fought for her life. He beat her about the face, and some of the blows landed. She got her knee up into his groin, then a forearm across his throat, and for a moment, pulled free, tried to crawl away. He dragged her back down.

  Madeline reached Eliza and handed her something heavy. It felt solid in Eliza’s fist. She brought it around with a cry. It crushed him in the nose and he fell back with blood spurting from his face.

  Eliza tried to get to her feet, but she felt shaky and sick. Her head ached and she was bleeding from her ear. She looked down at the object in her hand. It was a piece of concrete the size of her fist, a jagged, aged chunk, like something torn up from an old patio before being dumped in the desert.

  The air was so thick with smoke that she had a hard time catching her breath. Her eyes watered. A wave of black smoke rolled down over the Disciple and he coughed as he rose to his feet. He groped around on the ground and found the rebar.

  “Caleb Kimball!” she shouted. “In the name of the Lord, I command thee to stop.”

  He drew back. A moment of confusion crossed his face. “No, you can’t. You don’t—”

  “I do.” She regained her feet, kept the block of concrete in her hand. “The Lord sent me to bring you back to Blister Creek.”

  One hand gripped the rebar and the other went to his nose, now streaming blood. He looked down at his hand, then anger flashed over his face and he met her gaze. “You liar.”

  “Did you know I killed your brother?”

  “What?”

  “Gideon Kimball. The Lord told me to kill him.”

  “What? That was you?”

  “He dragged me into Witch’s Warts, was going to make me his wife. The Lord spoke to me then, Caleb. You know that, don’t you? And do you know what he said?”

  “What did he say?”

  Eliza said, “ ‘I have marked Gideon Kimball for destruction. Kill him now.’ And so I did. I took a piece of sandstone and I crushed his skull. And you know why He told me to come to Las Vegas and find you? Because you have been marked for destruction, too.”

  And with this, she charged him. He brought the rebar up, but too late. Her words had stunned him, made him doubt just long enough to get under his defenses. She hit him on the side of the head with the concrete. The blow landed hard enough to break off a corner. He went down.

  The Disciple looked up in fear and confusion as she came down for another blow. He was done, she could see it in his eyes. It was almost certain that if she spoke with that commanding voice again, he would cower and tell her to go, he wouldn’t bother her again. But Eliza was injured, Madeline, too, and somewhere out there were Christopher and the others. She couldn’t take the chance that he would regain his senses and order the other Chosen Ones to hunt her down.

  Eliza hit him again. And then again. She kept swinging until it was over.

  #

  Eliza pushed through the smoke and the air so hot it felt like it could burn her flesh. She held Madeline’s hand and the two of them ran with shirts over their mouths and coughing. They came to the trailers, now burning, surrounded by tires, also shooting up flames.

  “Stop!” a voice shouted.

  It was Sister Miriam, gun in hand. As she recognized the figures, she lowered the gun. “It’s you, thank heavens. Jacob! It’s Eliza!”

  Jacob and David were at the trailer door, trying to pry it open and they turned with a look of naked relief. She realized they’d thought she was inside, ready to burn to death.

  “Where are the others?” she shouted.

  “Inside,” David said. “We can’t get them out!”

  The people in the trailer didn’t have long, maybe seconds, before it would be too late. The entire east side of the main trailer burned, and a second trailer had just caught fire, as well. The heat from the surrounding blaze was intense and even here in the clearing, the smoke was so thick that all five of them coughed and struggled for breath.

  Dead bodies lay on the ground. Kirk, his head bashed in, another man and a woman, and finally, Christopher. Blood still trickled from his mouth and flowed from his chest to the ground.

  David and Jacob tried to kick in the door, but without success. Jacob leaned his shoulder in and rammed at the door frame. It held.

  “Benita!” David cried. “You don’t have to do this. Open the door.”

  A face appeared at the window, parting the blinds. It was Benita, staring out at them, while the fire licked around the window frame. Her face was blank, like someon
e already dead.

  Madeline let out a cry and ran from Eliza’s side to the door. She grabbed it and twisted in vain at the knob, as if she could somehow pry it open where David and Jacob had failed. She banged on the door with the flat of her hand, crying for her friend to open up. And still the face stayed at the window.

  Eliza came up to Miriam. “Can you shoot out the lock?”

  “I tried that already, it’s no good. They’ve got it latched up top and slid something in front.”

  Eliza remembered the bars installed on the trailer door. She’d wondered why they’d tried to fortify the trailer and now realized why. It was designed as much to keep people in, keep them from panicking when they saw the fires and trying to escape, as to keep people out.

  “There’s no one else behind me,” Eliza said. “Nobody alive. Put the gun away, let’s help.”

  By the time they reached the door, the fire consumed the front of the trailer. Benita stood at the window watching through the bars, coughing, arm lifted to her mouth. Fire reflected off her face. Madeline’s face was a mask of terror as she and David pounded on the door, begged Benita to open.

  Life itself is too painful to bear, Madeline had said. Sometimes, suffering feels like an escape.

  Benita was ready to leave that pain behind. They’d entered the trailer willingly, knowing they would be burned alive, convinced the fire would cleanse their sins and carry them to a tranquil place where there would be no more suffering.

  The fire forced them back one by one, first Miriam and Eliza, then Jacob, with a fist slammed against the door and a final cry of desperation. He grabbed David and pulled him back. His brother struggled. Finally, they grabbed Madeline and pulled her away.