Dawn Over Doomsday ac-4

by Jaspre Bark

  "You didn't expect he'd let them live did ya?"

  "S'pose not."

  Fitch pulled up and jumped out. The other two vehicles were just pulling up when the volunteers spotted them. The troops climbed out of the carriers. Thirty men armed to the teeth.

  The whole crowd ran towards them with their arms out. Some of them bawled tears of joy. Fitch thought they might fall down and kiss his feet. They swarmed round him, the women tugging at his clothes while their scrawny ass kids screamed. Everyone was talking at once. Fitch pulled out his pistol and fired it into the air.

  "Alright," he hollered. "That's enough, I can't make out a word you're saying. You," Fitch said pointing to a tall, thin man who had hold of a corpse by the ankles. "What the fuck was that explosion we heard?"

  "That was the tower," said the man. "The Indians blew it up. Had dynamite and everything." The man tilted his head at the corpse he was carrying. "Killed this one and nine others."

  "Anyone else dead?" said Fitch. "Apart from our men?"

  "Couple I think. Few of us are wounded too. Do you have a first aid kit with you?"

  "Oh we got just what you need. Don't you worry 'bout that none."

  The troops formed themselves into a line spanning the road, guns at the ready.

  "How bad's the damage to the tower?" Fitch said. "There any chance of repairing it?"

  The man shook his head. "We'll have to start again from scratch. The whole thing's destroyed. Set light to our things too. All we got is the clothes on our back."

  "You won't need nothing where you're going," said Golding.

  The volunteers started to look nervous. A few of them began backing up the road or slinking into the trees. "You guys are here to help us aren't you?" said the tall man. "We're gonna finish off the work on the tower ain't we? So the Prophet can get his word out."

  "We're gonna finish off the tower," said Fitch. "But first we gotta finish up what them Injuns left undone."

  "Listen," said the man. "I don't quite follow what you're saying. You need to send us some place we can get seen to."

  "We're going to send you some place alright. Some place the angels can see to you."

  The troops raised their weapons, semi automatics primed and loaded. "Wait a minute! We're on your side. Sweet Lord Jesus -"

  "Tell him I said hi," said Fitch and opened fire. The rest of the men followed suite.

  The roar of the gunfire nearly drowned the screams of pain and fear. Wave upon wave of bullets ripped into the men, women and children as they tried to flee. Their bodies jerked and flailed. It put Fitch in mind of the raptures they went into at their prayer meetings. Waving their hands in the air, speaking in tongues and falling to the floor. Except there was a lot more blood and they weren't getting up again.

  Fitch and his men stepped over the first lot of corpses as they advanced on the rest of the volunteers trying to escape. Their boots were sticky from all the blood. Fitch's weapon was red hot from the constant firing and his arms were sore from tensing against the recoil.

  With the majority of them dead, Fitch sent five men on down the road to catch the few bastards who'd gotten away and four more into the trees to flush out any stragglers there. The rest of the men kicked their way through the bodies on the road, using their pistols to finish off the wounded.

  When he was satisfied that the job was done he called out to Golding: "You got them bow and arrows to hand?" Golding pulled five bows and three quivers out the back of the jeep. He tossed a bow to Fitch who then fired an arrow into one of the corpses. Golding handed out bows to some of the other men.

  "Sir, I don't understand," said one of the soldiers. "We already finished 'em off. Why turn 'em into pin cushions?"

  "'Cos people have to see it was them Injuns did this. They have to know what kinda filthy savages they are."

  When they were done Fitch turned to Dwight, six-foot four of red headed, red necked, good ol' Southern boy. "You got that Polaroid?"

  Dwight held up an instant camera. It would have been a relic even before The Cull. "Sure have. Got it off a scav who pulled it out of an old retirement home, place was a gold mine he said."

  "Does it still work?"

  "Fired off a few test shots to be sure," said Dwight. "Even got spare film."

  "Good," said Fitch. "I want a lot of shots of this. People are gonna see these photos and they're gonna want blood."

  "Neo-Clergy's making a comeback boys," said Golding as Dwight snapped away. "Neo-Clergy's making a comeback."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They didn't look like killers, thought the Prophet. Just a lot of tired, scared Native Americans. That was the thing about evil though, it always hid in the least likely places. In the hearts of the most ordinary people. Just one of Satan's many subtleties.

  As a little kid he'd always rooted for the Indians whenever he watched a western on TV. In the old movies they were always the bad guys. That's not how he'd seen them. They were noble warriors who stood up to the white man. If you saw a black man in one of those films he was usually some Stepin-Fetchit played for laughs. But the Indians terrified the white men. They had power.

  All that was before he discovered they were Godless pagans. It hadn't mattered to him much back then. Church was something he went to with his momma and his brothers. It didn't affect the rest of his life. God had yet to reach down, pluck his soul from his body and carry it to Heaven. He'd seen a lot of things differently after that.

  The Prophet was standing in the middle of Lame Deer on a cold and overcast day. The residents had been rounded up and marched at gunpoint into the centre of the town by the two hundred strong army of Neo-Clergy soldiers that Colt had arrived with. Many of them recent recruits, eager to see action.

  They'd made the Native Americans kneel together with their hands on their heads in the middle of a vacant lot near the centre of Lame Deer. Lame Duck the soldiers had nicknamed it and the Prophet could see why. It was more of a trailer park than a real town, with a few decaying artefacts obviously erected for the benefit of tourists, back when there was such a thing as tourism.

  They were a far cry from his childhood ideals of the noble savage. Ironically, what made the Prophet admire the Native American, so much as a child, their ability to terrify the white man, was what saddened him now.

  It was also what had brought so many volunteers flocking to the Neo-Clergy and given Colt the new recruits he had needed to mount this occupation. It pained the Prophet to think that it was fear and not the love of Jesus that had inspired so many to rejoin the Apostolic Church of the Rediscovered Dawn. But at least they were back in the fold and could now be redeemed. As could Colt.

  Colt had seemed genuinely moved when he showed the Prophet the photos. It was the first time the Prophet had seen him let his guard down and it gave him hope. It was the one tiny measure of good that he could salvage from the whole massacre, and he clung to it.

  The photos had made the Prophet weep. He had known so many of the victims. Had laughed with them, prayed with them and rejoiced when their children arrived. To see them lying there, riddled with so many arrows just about tore his heart to pieces.

  The photos had the same effect on thousands of others. Word of the atrocity spread throughout the Mid-West, along with copies of the pictures. Every conceivable means of reproducing the photos had been used. Any photocopier that could be hooked up to a working battery or generator, or any printing press that could be ground into life had been put to the task. The images were deemed too important by all not to be seen.

  There had been a huge outcry of indignation and a demand for action. So Colt had seized the initiative. The moment had demanded a man and he had stepped forward to fill the role. Thousands had heeded Colt's call and the Prophet had never seen a time when he was so needed at Colt's side

  Colt had mobilised an army and marched on the reservation in Montana. The Prophet had prayed privately with him the night before he left Colorado. He had taken Matthew 5:43-45 for his insp
iration. '"Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, and persecute you."'

  The soldiers were muttering amongst themselves and kicking the odd Native American who complained of stiffness or arthritis. They fell silent as Colt walked into the lot with Simon Peter and several other men, one of whom placed a box on the ground so Colt could stand on it.

  Colt held up a quiver he had with him and removed an arrow. It was stained brown with dried blood. "After a thorough search of your homes my men found these arrows and this explosive hidden in your meeting hall." Colt pointed to a reinforced steel box two of his men were carrying.

  The Native Americans looked shocked, no doubt surprised to have been found out. Some of them shook their heads, others called out "No!' and "It's a lie!"

  The chief, an old man with long silver hair woven into a plait stood up. "There has been some mistake. We are obviously as much victims here as you. I assure you, we are in no way responsible for -"

  Fitch stepped forward and smashed the butt of his gun into the chief's side. The old man fell forward with a pain filled cry. Several of the other Native Americans went to help him. The soldiers stepped in and forced them to resume kneeling at gun point, including the chief, who did so with no little discomfort.

  The Prophet could feel the anger and the hatred building in the men. This worried him. He hadn't realised it, but up until this minute, when Colt revealed the evidence they had discovered, he was still hoping there had been a mistake. That maybe a rogue group had committed the atrocity and that, working together with the Native Americans, they could bring them to justice. Yet even in the face of such irrefutable evidence, they tried to deny it. The Prophet feared for their lives. He was afraid he would be witness to another massacre. He said a silent prayer to God to impart His wisdom to Colt.

  "It doesn't surprise me that you should continue with your lies in the face of such evidence," said Colt. "As we have seen, you tried to hide your shame and your guilt where you thought it would not be found. But lies will always be found out and evil will always be uncovered by those who have God in their hearts." There was a cheer from the troops at this. Colt raised his hands for silence.

  "Those men, women and children that you brutally slaughtered had done nothing to any of you. They meant you no harm. They were good Christian people, and that's why you struck them down in such a heinous and cowardly fashion. Because the evil pagan gods you worship have filled you with such hatred for us. Hatred for our beliefs, hatred for our way of life and hatred for the freedoms we have in Jesus. Well we aren't going to sit back and take it a second longer."

  There was an even bigger cheer at this and one or two of the kneeling children burst into tears. The soldiers stopped their mothers from comforting them and quieted them with the threat of violence instead.

  "I want to introduce you to something," said Colt. He gave the quiver to Simon Peter and held up a Bible. "It has more power than all your hatred, all your weapons and all your explosives. It's called a Bible and it's changed the lives of millions of people around the world. Now it's going to change yours. Let me read you a section from Matthew Chapter Five, Verses thirty-eight to forty-one." The Prophet's heart leapt when he heard Colt say that. The Lord had answered his prayers after all.

  "'Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil… and whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain.'" These words were spoken by our saviour Lord Jesus Christ over two thousand years ago, yet they have never been more true. I know that many of you fear for your lives. But you needn't. We do not kill unarmed men, women and children and this is what puts us above you and your kind."

  There were surprised mutters amongst the soldiers. Colt silenced them with a gesture.

  "We've come to occupy your territory not only to protect our people from your murderous ways and to complete the blessed work of our Lord Jesus. We've also come to set you free. Free from your enslavement to Satan and his pagan lies. Free from your superstition and your hatred of those who would be your brothers. You've compelled us to walk many miles to come here today. Now we're going to walk those extra miles alongside you, just as our saviour commanded us. We're going to build a bigger and a better transmission tower and you're going to build it with us. In return for this and for the provisions you will share with us, we will teach of the peace and the freedom to be found in the one true God. You will be freed from Satan's grip. Freed by God's words and honest work. Work will set you free!"

  The Prophet's heart leapt and sang at these words. He clapped his hands together and shouted out "Hallelujah Brothers!" The rest of the troop followed suit, joining with the clapping and whooping. There were calls of "Praise the Lord" and a chant went round, like a call and response. "Who do we trust?"

  "In Colt we trust!"

  "Said who do we trust?"

  "In Colt we trust!"

  "Said who do trust?"

  "In Colt we trust! In Colt! In Colt! In Colt we trust!"

  The Prophet saw that the Native Americans looked baffled but relieved that their lives were no longer in danger. He said a silent prayer of thanks to God and realised he must start trusting the Lord more. He had, after all, never let the Prophet down before.

  There was only one slight cloud of unease that refused to pass from his mind. It came in part from a look that passed between Golding and Fitch. While everyone else was caught up in the moment, they seemed to harbour a secret resentment and superiority. The rest of it came from the last thing Colt had said. Something about work and freedom. He was sure he had heard something similar somewhere else but he couldn't think where.

  There you go again, he told himself. Worrying away at tiny details while the miraculous takes place right in front of your eyes.

  A disaster had been averted and the souls of so many were about to be saved.

  Colt stood on the spot where, just a few weeks previously, he had looked up and admired the half finished tower. Now he surveyed its ruins.

  He took Golding and Fitch to one side. "Thought you said this Injun you had on a leash wouldn't do nothing to the site?"

  "How were we to know he was going to go apeshit with a bunch of dynamite?" said Fitch. "T'aint what we told him to do."

  "Don't matter what you told him to do, I put you in charge of a job and you didn't get it done proper. Next time you fuck up on a scale like this it'll be a picture of your mutilated corpses that they're passing round half of Kansas."

  Colt could see that Fitch wanted to give him some backchat, but Golding caught Fitch's eye and signalled for him to keep quiet. "It's a good thing Simon Peter here worked out that I planned to use the Injuns as slave labour to replace the volunteers we lost." Simon Peter bowed his head with humility at the fleeting praise. He knew how to play this game.

  "It's a good idea sir," said Golding. "That way we can work 'em twice as hard as the volunteers and feed 'em less."

  "I know it's a good idea. I don't need a fuck up like you to tell me that. Now you two half-wits have got one last chance to redeem yourselves. Are you up for it?"

  "Sure," said Fitch looking at the floor and grinding his teeth.

  "Anything you say," said Golding, trying to get back on Colt's good side. "We're your men."

  "I'll have to take your word on that. Now, this here occupation's likely to bring a reprisal from the redskins and their UTN. From what I hear their numbers are building slowly, but not enough to be a real threat to us just yet. I want you to organise sentry parties all along the borders of our current territory. Take a few experienced men and put 'em in charge of a bunch of expendable recruits. Organise a line of communication with each party that comes straight back to me here. This is where I plan to stay awhile. Tell the parties they're strictly on reconnaissance. I don't want them intervening 'less the Injuns are fucking with something of strategic importance t
o us. Like our transmission and broadcasting equipment."

  "What if they try and attack something that ain't of importance to us?" said Fitch.

  "Let 'em. The more folk are frightened of the UTN, the more they'll turn to us. It can only play to our advantage. We gotta let 'em have a few victories to keep the fear in people. It'll only strengthen us more. That was the plan in the first place."

  "Sir," said Simon Peter. "Do we order any of the scouting parties to try and capture UTN members and their sympathisers? Could be good for gathering intelligence."

  "Thinking what I'm thinking again? Good boy." Colt looked to Fitch. "Any of our boys experts in torture and interrogation?"

  "Few. Ex-pigs and veterans mainly, plus a few psychopaths we keep on a short leash."

  "Good. Post at least one with every party near a border with known UTN activity. And remember they ain't all redskins these days. Lot of race traitors sold out on their heritage and went to live like savages."

  "Sir," said Simon Peter. "We've underestimated these Injuns before, there any chance they'll try a surprise attack on us here? Throw everything they got at us, like a retribution thing?"

  "I doubt it. If they thought they had enough men to take us on and win they'd have left an army behind to protect the place or at least tried to attack us on the move. No, my way of thinking is that this suits their purposes just as much as it suits ours."

  "Start of a beautiful relationship," said Golding with a chuckle.

  "Amen to that," said Colt.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Cortez finished his first prayer of the day, bowed to Mecca and stood. Anna finished up her prayers and turned to smile at him. She had taken to joining him in his devotions every day. She prayed to Christ while he gave thanks to Allah most merciful and the Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him.

  It had become their little ritual. They had also begun to discuss one another's faiths, with a genuine willingness to learn from each other. Cortez's respect for the extraordinary young lady had grown tenfold.