Mercy (The Last Army Book 1)
Page 28
Brother Tim droned on and on, preaching at the crowd with a wireless microphone in his hand, his words echoing thorough strategically placed speakers around the park. Oblivious of the Pastor’s words, I searched for Martin’s face.
I thought I’d resent him for not taking part in the battle, leaving me to face the horrors waiting for me in the company of strangers, but as the days passed, and he didn't show up in town or deliver a message by radio or even send a letter with traveling merchants, I slowly began to forgive him. All I wanted was to see him again, but he wasn’t among the crowd.
Claire poked my aching ribs. Brother Tim awaited me at other end of the stage with a glinting piece of metal attached to a bit of white ribbon. I strode toward him, my hatred brewing inside as I studied the smugness in his smile and the insincerity in his eyes. The pastor’s security team hadn’t allowed me to bring my gun, but I could bring my sword since it would add “flair” to the occasion—a dire mistake on their part.
I gripped the scabbard with my left hand when I got within striking distance, my right hand sweaty in anticipation of the kill.
I didn’t go for it. He leaned close to me and pinned the cheap trinket on my chest. His knuckles rubbed against my breast. Still I didn’t kill him.
“We should have a little talk about your future,” the pastor whispered, and offered me his hand.
I shook it… and smiled. If I’d killed him then, it would’ve been meaningless. I’d be making a martyr out of him.
No. I had to figure out just how deep his connections to the demons and raiders were, as well as the source of his prophetic knowledge. What were his motives? I swore I’d let everyone know just what a monster the pastor was.
Then I’d kill him.
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