Riley thought about Anthony.
“We’ve all lost people, Bishop,” Carrie said. “I know how it hurts. We understand your pain. I’m sorry.”
Fred looked up at the group. “I’m not talking of pain, here. I’m speaking of miracles. What else is birth? Think about it—from nothing, something. Have you ever watched a child born?”
“I have.” Tris sounded unimpressed. “I squeezed ‘em out. That shit hurts like fuck.”
“A miracle brought you,” Fred was looking to Riley, “brought you here to us. Do you understand how many wheels had to have been set in motion for this moment to pass? Mickey finds you, you find us. Here we are. And some would dismiss this as coincidence?”
“My brother died, horribly.” Riley disagreed with him. “My friends are probably dead. I don’t think it’s some kind of miracle.”
“But don’t you see?” Fred insisted. “Their deaths meant something!”
“Oh yeah, what?” Dee rested a hand on Riley’s arm immediately after she’d asked it.
Fred looked not the least perturbed. “I am a Knight of Faith. Have you ever heard that term before?”
“Weren’t you guys the secret society that supposedly ran everything?” Bruce asked.
“No,” Kevin answered him. “That was the Masons.”
“Let me tell you a story,” Fred stood up. “God wanted to test Abraham…” As he spoke, he used his hands to emphasize certain parts of his tale. “So He told him to go to the land of Moriah with his son, Isaac. The Lord told Abraham that he was to sacrifice Isaac. And Abraham did not question his god. He took Isaac—making the boy carry the wood for his own sacrifice—and together they journeyed for three days.”
“Isaac have any idea what was going on?” asked Tris.
“None.” Fred held up a finger. “Isaac even turned to his father on the way and said, ‘Dad, we’ve got the coals and the wood, but where’s the lamb for our sacrifice?’ And Abraham told his son not to worry, that God would provide them with one.
“When they got where they were going, Abraham built an altar, tied Isaac up, put him on the wood, and raised his arms.” Fred clasped his hands and raised his own arms. “In his hand, he held a knife, ready to kill his son. And just like that…” Fred lowered his arms and unclasped them. “…The Lord appeared and commanded Abraham not to kill Isaac. ‘I know you honor and obey me, Abraham,’ God told Isaac’s father, ‘because you have not kept back your only son from me.’”
“And then what?” Victor looked expectant.
“And then Abraham untied Isaac and they went back home.”
“They went home?” Victor was disappointed. “That’s it?”
“And they all lived happily ever after? That—” declared Tris “—is a fucked up story.”
“Parents are supposed to sacrifice themselves for their children,” Bruce pointed out, “not sacrifice their children.”
“And just exactly what’s the moral of your story supposed to be?” Riley looked aghast.
“Oh, it’s not my story…” Fred looked at Riley as if she had misunderstood him.
“Just another sordid tale of child abuse from the Good Book,” Tris said disdainfully. “May it rest in motherfucking pieces.”
“I mean, what does that have to do with me, with my brother, Anthony, dying?”
“I wasn’t thinking of you and your brother—may his soul rest in peace.” Fred crossed himself. “I was thinking of my son, John. I was thinking of Soren Kierkegaard—have you heard of him? Any of you?”
None had.
“He was a Danish philosopher who lived a long time ago.” As Fred spoke, Tris exhaled and looked away. “Kierkegaard wrestled with Abraham’s act, and Kierkegaard argued that Abraham, in his willingness to sacrifice his only son, was transgressing the ethical.”
“And that means…?” Bruce invited clarification.
“Abraham’s entire life was structured along a very simple injunction. A rule. A law, if you will. That a father should love his son, the way God loved him. Like you said, Bruce. Abraham’s society said the same thing: A parent should sacrifice himself for his child, never the other way around. But here he was…Abraham, asked by this very God, who he knew loved him, asked to kill his boy.”
“So if a motherfucking voice in your head tells you to do it,” Tris was disgusted, “then its okay?”
“Everything Abraham knew and felt,” Fred continued, undaunted, “everything told him that murdering his son was wrong. But faith urged Abraham to ignore what he knew about human morality. Do you want to know how Kierkegaard defined faith? He said that faith is the paradox that a lone individual can be higher than the universal. Do you understand?”
No one answered. Riley wasn’t sure who the question was meant for so she did. “No.”
“Kierkegaard argued that Abraham could never justify killing Isaac in terms any human being would understand or agree with—”
“He got that right,” Tris interjected.
“—but it’s the very faith Abraham clings to that will see him through his task, that will see that his son is not taken from him. That will allow the father to transcend the universal moral norm against parents hurting their children. Abraham made a leap of faith. He went against everything he knew to be true, because he knew his Lord would not allow his effort to be in vain.”
“There is so much wrong with that story,” Tris looked up from the ground, “…and that you can’t see it, Bishop, frankly scares me. You know Isaac wasn’t Abraham’s only son, right?”
“I don’t expect you to understand me,” Fred conceded.
“Why would an all-powerful god ask its follower to do something like that?” Tris shook her head. “If it wanted to know if Abraham was faithful, couldn’t it have figured it out with some other hoodoo?”
“Hey Bishop,” Bruce asked, “how’d Isaac get along with his father after that?”
“Abraham walked the narrow road of faith—as Kierkegaard put it—with no one to advise him. With no one to understand him.”
“Let me tell you about another true-believing motherfucker who walked your narrow-assed road of faith.” Tris did not attempt to mask her disgust. “This cat’s road took him from Egypt and Germany to an Accelerated Pilot Program in Florida. From there to Logan International Airport and a first class seat on American Airlines Flight 11. Remember American Airlines Flight 11? That was the first plane to hit the World Trade Center on September Eleventh. You remember that, Bishop? Cat’s name was Mohamed Atta, and the motherfucker is lucky he died that day.”
“Who can forget those assholes…” Kevin muttered gruffly.
“That’s the problem with faiths like Abraham’s and Atta’s.” The look Tris gave Fred could best be described as hostile. “Anything is justifiable. Everything is justifiable. Ask any religiously-inspired suicide bomber. I really don’t think we need to worship these people.” Tris licked her upper teeth under her lip. “Yeah, Bishop, I liked you better when you was quiet.”
“I don’t know why God took my son away from me.” Fred turned to Riley, “HheI don’t know why He took all of my family from me, or your brother and your friends away from you.” He addressed the larger group. “I just know I’m glad I got to be with John, with all of them, for as long as I was able to. And now, I believe I will be seeing them again—John, all of them—when I shrug off this mortal coil.” He looked to Riley once more. “I don’t know why God led you to us. But just because I don’t understand it yet—or ever—that doesn’t mean there is no reason.”
“Hallelujah,” muttered Tris.
“No offense, Fred,” Riley said quietly. “But no god led me here. It was a guide named Krieger. And he fell off a cliff.”
“I lost sight for nearly twenty years…and then today, my Damascus. How many people ever get that second chance?”
“I’d just like my brother back,” Riley whispered morosely. “But that isn’t going to happen.”
“Think I’ll go and chec
k things out on the perimeter,” announced Victor.
“You keep your little monkey ass safe,” Tris told him. Victor smiled at her as he walked away.
* * *
“Hey, Bishop,” Bruce’s gravelly voice grated. “Let me ask you a question.”
Fred looked at the other man expectantly.
“All those years you were quiet, you hear a word we were saying to you?”
“Yes.”
“You heard everything?”
“I heard everything.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Riley wondered if it hurt Bruce to speak. It sounded like it did.
“What was I going to say? Tell you how the zombies ate my sons? Ate my daughter? My wife and my dog?”
“They got your dog too, huh?”
“They did. By the way,” Fred raised the stuffed cat. “Who’s idea was Mr. Vittles here?”
“The cat? Kevin’s.”
“Nice touch. Very Natty Bumppo-ish.”
“Natty-who?” Tris looked up.
“He wasn’t talking to you,” Bruce remarked off handedly. “He didn’t say nappy.”
“Oh, you too cute, froggy.”
Riley would have smiled, but she was unsettled by Fred Turner.
“All those times I came and talked to you…” Bruce’s scratchy voice didn’t match the serious look on his face. “…You heard me?”
“Every word.”
“Every word?”
“Let me ask you this, Bruce. If you didn’t think I was listening, why were you talking?”
Bruce nodded, conceding the man’s point. “Hey—the things I talked to you about?”
“Between you and me and God, Bruce. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Bishop.”
“Well,” Riley asked them, “what’s next?”
“Africa,” stated Kevin.
“Fuckin’ Africa,” Tris cursed.
“We should be going in the morning,” said Carrie. “Catch up to the others.”
“What about Riley?” Dee put it to the group.
“Excuse me. I’m sitting right here.”
“Your skank ass want to go to Africa?” Tris was back to her nasty self.
“No.”
“Then don’t.” Tris stood and straightened her legs. “I’m turning in. See the rest of you motherfuckers in the morning.”
“Hey, Tris,” Bruce winked at Kevin. “You want some company keep you warm?”
“If I want a real man to keep me company in bed,” Tris said as she walked away, “maybe I’ll pick me up one of those Mandingoes over in Africa.”
Stand Up to Glory
Rodriguez, Red thought, was a frigging idiot. It was not the first time she had thought so.
They’d all heard the man on the quad approaching them through the trees. They’d seen his headlight cutting through the dark. Tobias had secured one end of the rope to a tree. Rodriguez could have done the same to a trunk across the path. Rodriguez should have done the same to a trunk across the path. Instead, the idiot chose to hold the rope in both hands, hiding himself behind the tree he should have tied it to.
When the man on the quad drove past, the rope caught him in the chest and knocked him off the four-wheeler. The impact of the man hitting the rope and bouncing backwards yanked Rodriguez forward off his feet. Idiot.
The rider landed on his back and lay there, dazed. Keith and David and Frankie and the others came out of the trees and surrounded him.
“Did he break his back?” Chang asked, his own arm broken.
“He didn’t break his back,” said Gammon.
“You okay, Rodriguez?” David called over to where the man was getting up, brushing himself off.
“Almost got my arms ripped out of the sockets.”
“Idiot.” Red didn’t care that he heard what she was thinking. Gammon looked at her, though.
“Get up.” Tommy gripped the man by his shirt front and put him back on his feet. The guy stood hesitantly but on his own. Keith stepped forward and pulled the man’s pistol out of its holster on his side. Frankie was examining the assault rifle that had come off the man’s back when he’d hit the ground.
“Take that thing off.” Tommy slapped the side of the man’s helmeted head. “Good thing he was wearing it,” said Keith. The man reached up and unsnapped the clasp holding his helmet in place. His hair spiked up out of the bandana he wore around his head.
“You even think of yelling…” Tommy threatened the man with the barrel of his 12-gauge. They were close enough to the camp that, if the man screamed, he might be heard.
“What’s your name?” Gammon asked.
“Victor.”
Keith snatched the helmet out of Victor’s hands.
“Victor. Listen to me, Victor. We don’t want to hurt you—”
“Speak for yourself.” Gammon looked at Tommy when he said it. The kid wasn’t helping.
“We don’t want to hurt you—” Gammon pointed a finger at Victor. “—but if we have to, we will.”
Victor rubbed his chest with one hand. For people who didn’t mean to hurt him, they’d almost killed him getting him off the quad. The four-wheeler had crashed into a tree and rolled over, its engine still running.
“We’re after a woman,” the older man in front of him said. “You know who I mean?”
Victor didn’t see the sense in lying to these people. “Yeah. I know who you mean.”
“Good. See, Tommy, I can tell already this fella is gonna help us. He’s a smart one. You’re a smart one, ain’t you, Victor? Sure you are. Now, I don’t know what that woman told you and your people—Heck, I don’t know who you and your people are. But she killed some folk who were really close to us, understand?”
“She killed my dad…” Tommy was chewing on his lower lip.
“She killed Merv,” Keith added, handing Victor’s helmet to his brother.
“All we want is the woman, Victor. No harm will come to you unless you try to run or do something else stupid.”
“You’re the one making that promise, Ed.” Red stood there with all her blades strapped to her body, the Noveske Diplomat with its three hundred round drum in her hands. “I’m not.”
Gammon looked at her. All he needed was her and Tommy going off the deep end together, the two of them. “Who’s got some paper and a pen or something?”
After a minute of searching their persons and packs Tobias found he had a pen and a notebook. He tore a page out of the notebook and offered it and the pen to Gammon.
“No. You write what I tell you, all right? Write this: We have Victor. That’s your name, right? We want the girl. Meet me at—where should we meet them?”
“How about that field three miles back?” offered David.
“The one with the bomb?”
“No. That other one we went through.”
“That’s good. We’ll be able to put Frankie and Tobias with their rifles somewhere where they won’t see them. Write this, Toby: One person comes with the girl, and that’s it. We don’t want to hurt Victor but if we have to—”
“Wait—wait.” Tobias was scribbling furiously. He had the page pressed against the notebook he’d torn it from. “You’re going too fast. One person comes…with…the…girl…”
“…and that’s it,” repeated Gammon. The hum of the quad’s engine was annoying him. “Shut that thing off, will somebody?” Frankie turned the key in the ignition, silencing the four-wheeler. “We don’t want to hurt Victor but if we have to—”
“We’ll make him bleed.” Red was staring off into the trees. She didn’t like standing here like this. Victor’s friends outnumbered them and were nearby. Cosmo and his crew were no doubt equally too close for comfort.
“We’ll make him bleed?” Tobias looked up expectantly. Victor had blanched at Red’s words.
“No, don’t write that,” Gammon told Tobias. “Just put that if we have to we will.”
“…have to…we…will. T
here. Done.”
“Print my name at the bottom.”
“Shouldn’t I put my name on it, Gammon? I mean, I’m writing the note and all, after all...”
“It’s my note, Tobias. My name goes on it.”
“Why put any name at all?” Keith wondered.
“Because we got nothing to hide,” said Gammon. “Personalize it.”
“You think this is funny, don’t you, Victor?” Red looked at their prisoner coolly.
“Not one bit,” he answered truthfully.
Red was balancing her throwing axe on her palm, letting it fall and snatching it back up by the handle before it could hit the ground. “You think we’re a bunch of idiots, I bet, don’t you?”
“No.”
“What do you think, Victor?” Gammon asked.
“I think I just want to go home.”
“Like I said, smart guy, this Victor guy. Good. Let’s leave this somewhere where Victor’s friends are sure to find it.”
“Here, give me that.” Red snatched the note from Tobias’ hands. She strode over to the overturned quad and placed the page on the vehicle. She put a large rock on top of the note to hold it in place.
“Nice helmet,” complimented David. “You don’t mind if I wear it?”
“No, go ahead.”
“That’ll do,” Gammon said to Red. “Somebody tie him up. Victor, don’t take this personally, but you are our prisoner. That don’t mean we can’t all get along and all, it just means for the time being we’re gonna have to limit your freedom somewhat. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“I like this guy.” Gammon smiled approvingly. “I got a good feeling about this,” he remarked to the others, and he meant it. “I really do.”
Red was staring off into the trees again. There was that feeling once more. As Keith and David finished tying their captive’s hands behind his back, she stepped behind a tree and shuffled off a few more steps into the pines. If they noticed it, none of the men with her drew attention to her move. Only Rodriguez looked after her in the direction she’d disappeared.
“How I look, brother?” David had the visor on Victor’s helmet up.
Moriah Page 5