by Joe Hart
“Damn, Quinn, you’re a smart guy. I like you. I’d almost like to keep you around just to chat with. This has been really liberating for me since there’s zero people that I can speak freely with.” Archer rose from his seat and returned to the stove, banking it with another chunk of wood. “I know you didn’t cause the plague, Quinn. I’m guessing you just have some genetic disease that made you so ugly. But my congregation’s been looking for an answer, and if they don’t get it soon, I’ll be the one they blame. When I saw you, I planted the seed in their minds that you’re responsible somehow. And Helena, the woman who was questioning you, already told everyone you confessed to being a demon and promised their demise. Your fate was sealed even before we started talking. You see, we can kill the thin bastards all day long on the bridge and it won’t give the congregation what they want.”
“What are you going to do with me?” Quinn asked, trying to raise his head.
Archer prodded at the fire with a steel poker, his eyes focused on the flames.
“We’re going to burn you tonight, Quinn. That’s the answer they’re looking for.”
Without another word or glance back, Archer left the room, locking the door behind him.
~
The sun crossed the window of the room in a silent arc of time. Quinn watched it glide past when he wasn’t struggling against his restraints. Dizziness came and went, but the pain in his head was constant.
After hours alone, a woman entered the room carrying a glass of water. She was close to his age with dark red hair that hung down past her shoulders. As she approached the bed, her hand shook and some of the water slopped over the rim, spilling on the bed. Before he could say anything, she tipped the glass toward his mouth, pouring much too fast for him to drink. He choked and sputtered, turning his head away as the sheets beneath him became soaked. When the glass was empty, the woman hurried from the room, slamming the door behind her.
The room darkened further as the sun dropped below the horizon. Even though his nerves felt as though they were full of electricity, Quinn drifted off to sleep beneath the exhaustion of struggling to get free. When he awoke, the window next to the bed was a square of darkness, and the only light in the room came from the guttering fire. A sound rose moments later as he was trying to loosen the strap across his waist. It took him nearly a full minute to realize what it was.
People were singing outside the house.
The door to the room swung open, and Archer, along with half a dozen men, entered the room.
“We know that we are from God and the power of the whole world lies in the power of the evil one,” Archer said in his booming voice. “Be not afraid, brothers; the demon cannot harm you while in my presence. He may speak in lies, so do not listen, for then you shall be at the mercy of the burning evil that we fight day in and out.”
The men surrounded the bed and unstrapped the bindings across his body. As soon as they were loose, Quinn lunged sideways, bashing his fist into the nose of a scrawny man wearing a long beard. Blood poured from the man’s nose, but he merely wiped it away and helped the others grasp Quinn’s arms and legs.
“Stop! I didn’t do anything! I was just trying to cross the bridge,” Quinn said as the men stood him on his feet and held him fast by the arms.
“You were coming to destroy the last haven of the world, demon; do not lie,” Archer said, and drew the sign of the cross in the air before Quinn’s face. “Come, brothers, let us proceed before it can call its brethren.”
They dragged him from the room. He kicked and struggled but couldn’t break free of the men’s holds. Weakness pervaded his body, and each time he attempted to escape, his strength receded from him like the sun sliding behind the trees.
They hauled him out through Archer’s home and into the night. Crickets chirped. Insects hummed. But above all the other evening sounds was the singing.
The entire congregation was there, all of them holding candles. Men, women, children, young, old, their faces all danced in the glow of flames held near their chests. Quinn tried counting their number but lost track as the men holding him guided him through the watching crowd. The song they sang was something he’d never heard before, all the words Latin. He’d only learned a few phrases in the ancient language from Theresa, and the congregation was singing none of them.
They pulled him past the church, the steel Jesus looking down on him from his cross. The flickering shadows thrown by the candles changed the savior’s pain-stricken face into something malevolent and sneering as they passed by. Beyond the church was an open communal area ringed by tables and dozens of chairs. Several small fires burned in a broad circle, illuminating enough of the center for Quinn to see what waited there.
A post with thick rope attached through its middle sat amongst piles of dry bramble.
Quinn dug his heels into the ground, and the men forced him along. He glanced around the clearing. Beyond the sacrificial pyre was the wooden fence, a solid gate well over twelve feet high set into its length. Two guards stood watch there, rifles cradled in the crooks of their arms, their faces impassive. Several children skipped ahead of the mass, their laughter intermingling with the constant song rising from the people. Quinn threw all his weight to one side and then the other, but the men held fast, their fingers like bands of steel digging into his flesh.
They brought him to a stop before the post and its fuel beneath. He recognized one of his own gas cans beside the dry tinder.
Quinn began to shake, tremors flowing up from his feet to his shoulders and back down again. His bladder threatened to let go, but he managed to hold it as the song gradually came to an end and faded away. The gathering encircled him and stood watching as Archer stepped forward. He held a silver cup in one hand along with something that looked like a blunted spoon inside it. Liquid glinted within.
“I condemn thee, demon, of crimes against the faithful. For burdening our beautiful world with your presence and the pestilence your kind has brought upon us. With this holy water, your flesh is cleansed.” Archer made a flicking movement with his wrist, and droplets of the liquid speckled Quinn’s arms and face.
It burned like fire.
Quinn cried out and shook his head. The places where the water had landed were like wasp stings, burrowing beneath his skin. There was a collective gasp that ran through the crowd, and Archer turned to them, holding up the silver cup.
“You see, it cannot stand the sanctity of the church, the strength of our faith! It fears us, and in good right, for now we shall send it back to the hell whence it came!”
A roar of voices erupted from the congregation. The burns where the liquid had landed still stung, but he muscled past the pain and straightened. The people before him all had their candles raised in triumph. Some swayed in place, heads tilted back to the dark sky. Others merely stared at him, the flames they held illuminating the hatred in their eyes.
Archer motioned to the men holding Quinn, and they shoved him across the pile of brush and branches to a clear place before the vertical post. In a few quick movements, they bound him to it with the rope, wrapping his arms tight to his body and knotting it on the opposite side. When he was bound, they moved away to join their loved ones, lighting candles as they turned back to watch. Archer stepped closer, his deep-set eyes dancing, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“The acetic acid was a nice touch, don’t you think?” Archer whispered, swirling the cup around in front of Quinn’s face. “Pure inspiration.” Quinn tried not to tremble and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Quinn, for your sacrifice. I know it doesn’t mean a lot, but I really do appreciate it.”
“Fuck you,” Quinn said, staring into Archer’s eyes. Archer shrugged and stepped back before placing the silver cup on the ground. He grasped the open gas can in one hand and began to douse the branches near Quinn’s feet. With a toss, Archer sloshed some gas on the ropes binding him. The smell was overwhelming and Quinn gagged, the fumes in his nose and throat. His head float
ed above his body and he coughed, blinking away the tears that flooded his eyes.
It was almost here.
The pain was going to be immense. Beyond anything he’d ever felt before. How long after the flames reached him would it take to pass out? Seconds? Minutes? He shuddered and a sob escaped him. The cries of the mob rose as Archer emptied the last of the can and tossed it away. The minister accepted a long, black candle from a woman in the crowd and turned back to him.
“You came to destroy our home, our world, our faith. You have been defeated, demon, cast out by the righteous hand of God and now destroyed by his eternal servants of salvation.” Archer moved forward, the candle flame licking at the air.
Quinn tipped his head back, found the stars above.
They’ll be waiting when it’s over. I’ll be home again.
He tried to keep his focus upward and away from everything around him, but his eyes flitted down to Archer as he stopped at the edge of the pyre.
Archer winked and lowered the candle.
There was a buzzing sound and then a wet thock as Archer’s throat exploded in a spray of blood and bone.
Archer’s mouth dropped open, and he let the candle fall to the ground. It fluttered and went out as it hit the gravel. There was a silence, fathoms deep, and then a woman screamed.
Archer’s knees gave and he fell, his head tipping back to expose the open wound at his throat. It was wide and gushing blood. He brought a hand up as if to stanch it, but let it fall away. His eyes found Quinn’s, such disbelief there, and then he flopped forward onto his stomach.
Gunshots popped from the far side of the fence, and a guard near the gate fell clutching his shoulder. The congregation became a stampede of yelling people. Most ran toward the church, their cries trailing behind them as they left the circle of light. Candles fell and winked out. There was more gunfire, and Quinn squinted, trying to make out the shooter. A man with a shotgun pumped round after round into the darkness as he walked calmly toward the fence, his barrel spitting three feet of flame. He fired his last shot and waited, shoulders back, stance ready.
A muzzle flash came from twenty feet away, and his head snapped to the side, a chunk of skull spinning away like a hair-covered Frisbee. A black figure raced out of the darkness, an AR-15 swinging back and forth. There was something familiar about how the person moved.
One of the smaller fires flared, and Alice’s white face turned in his direction.
“Oh my God,” Quinn said as she neared. She wore black cargo pants, a black long-sleeve t-shirt, and black hiking boots. Alice swung her rifle around the yard once more and then leapt over the gas-soaked bramble.
“Hey. You look surprised to see me,” she said, moving past him to the back of the post. He felt a tug on the rope binding him as she began to work at the knot.
“I…I can’t…” Quinn said.
“You can’t go anywhere with this fucking pole on your back; that’s what you can’t do,” Alice replied, yanking harder. Quinn looked up, scanning the area for anyone, but it was only them and the men Alice had shot. As he watched, a bright ember floated away from the nearest fire and flew toward them. Instead of winking out, it glowed brighter and descended toward the base of the pyre.
“Shit. Alice, hurry,” he said leaning forward against the rope.
“I’m trying.”
The ember settled to the ground and out of sight.
He held his breath.
Nothing.
“Thank you,” Quinn said, all the strength going out of his body.
Fire leapt into the darkness, flowing like it was being poured into existence. It licked up through the dry tinder, tongues of flame rising higher and higher. The pressure on the ropes stopped. Quinn jerked his head to the side.
Alice was backing away, her rifle hanging from a sling around her shoulders. Her eyes were blank, hands up in a warding off gesture.
“What are you doing? Help me!”
She glanced up at him, but the glaze upon her eyes was a mile thick. She was gone.
“Alice, get the rope off me!”
The fire rose like a wave around him, the heat growing from warm to uncomfortable to searing in less than a heartbeat.
“ALICE!”
His scream was like a physical blow. She jerked and glanced around, the fire bringing her terrified features into sharp definition. Her jaw clenched, and she rushed forward, disappearing out of his line of sight. A blade of flame lanced up from his feet, and the rope across his chest began to burn. There was the immensity of the pain, a thousand needles piercing his skin, then the rope fell away and her hand was in his.
They ran to the side and leapt over the curtain of fire. Smoke threatened to choke him, but then the air was clear and clean and he sucked it in, tasting it, drinking it. Alice stood beside him, the brightness in her eyes receding again. Her hand twitched and spasmed.
“Where? Where do we go?” Quinn said, gripping her upper arm. She looked at him, and when the fogginess of her gaze didn’t clear, he slapped her hard across the face. “Where?”
“This way,” Alice said, her voice thick and groggy. She jogged forward as a gunshot cracked somewhere behind them, and Alice cried out, falling to her side in a heap.
“No,” Quinn said, dropping down beside her. Her right leg was tucked up close to her chest, and her hands were wrapped around her calf. Blood shone in the firelight. Another shot whistled past them, and Quinn yanked the AR-15 from around her shoulders, finding the outline of a man beyond the pyre.
Quinn emptied the magazine in his direction, and the man dove to the side, uttering a guttural cry as he landed. He didn’t get up.
“Come on; we gotta go,” Quinn said. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and then hauled her to her feet. She grasped his arm, and they ran across the grounds to where the fence stood.
There were two boards missing along the closest section, and they darted through the gap as more gunfire shattered the night. Rounds blasted through the boards to either side of them, splinters flying like shrapnel. Ahead, the shape of a vehicle gathered, and they raced toward it.
“Ty’s inside,” Alice said through a jaw locked by pain.
When they reached the car, he realized it wasn’t the Tahoe. It was built lower to the ground and had narrower windows. Along the side of the fence was a dirt path that ran down a steep hill in one direction and up a substantial grade in the other. Quinn found the rear door handle, intent on simply getting Alice inside, when a round hummed through the air beside him and punctured the SUV’s rear tire.
“Shit,” he said, turning and pulling the trigger, but the rifle was empty. Quinn yanked the rear driver’s side door open, and Ty leapt into his arms.
“Quinn?”
“Let’s go,” Quinn said, dragging them away from the vehicle as more shots lanced its side.
“The water, the food,” Alice breathed.
“No time.”
They hobbled away into the welcoming shadows. Alice’s hand was an iron band around his arm, and he squeezed Ty’s hand so hard he had to force himself to lessen the pressure. The trail beside the fence became rockier with savage holes and channels that tried to turn their ankles as they ran. The stars brightened as they left the glow of the fires behind, and the forest to their right thickened into something primordial.
The air beside Quinn’s head heated up and then he heard the shot a moment later. Without slowing, he guided them off the trail and into the woods. A thicket of dead vine and wild raspberry cane met them, tore at their skin, as they burst through it. Ty uttered a small cry, and Quinn hoisted the boy up and over a fallen log in their way. They tore on, Alice limping beside him, Ty beginning whimper.
A hollow opened up below the side of an incline studded with mature trees. Starlight filtered through the branches, stippling the ground with dagger shadows. A darker, round shape appeared before them, and he pulled Alice and Ty behind the massive boulder, hunkering down behind its protection. He chanced a look
back the way they’d come.
A dozen flashlight beams cut the darkness, their swaths ripping across trees and ground a quarter mile away.
They were coming closer.
Quinn slid down the boulder, his breath burning as he gulped it down. When he could speak he said, “We have to get up and over this hill. Can you guys do it?”
Ty nodded in the weak light, and Alice closed her eyes, her face pale as talcum. Men’s voices floated to them, and when he glanced around the side of the stone, a long flashlight flickered in the place where they’d left the path.
“Okay, let’s go.”
He hauled them to their feet, and they set off up the hill. Twigs and leaves crackled beneath their feet, but the noise of a four-wheeler growling along the path below covered the sound. Halfway up, Alice staggered to a stop, her hand loosening on his arm. Quinn turned to her, about to ask if she needed a rest, when she tipped backward in a faint.
He managed to snag her wrist as she fell, and she crumpled at his feet instead of plummeting down the side of the hill.
“Alice,” Quinn hissed in a whisper, kneeling beside her.
“Mama?”
“It’s okay, buddy. She’s okay.”
The four-wheeler revved and crashed through a stand of brush a hundred feet below.
Quinn undid his belt and probed Alice’s pant leg until he found an entry and exit hole wet with blood. He laced the belt around the wound and gently tightened it, tucking the loose end beneath itself.
A man yelled in the hollow. Something about blood.
Quinn took two deep breaths and slung Alice over his shoulders before grasping Ty’s hand again.
They climbed.
Quinn’s legs began to ache. Then they burned. But still they climbed. The top would never come. He kept looking at the ridge, its distance seeming to multiply with each glance. He focused on his breathing. This was nothing more than hanging a hundred feet above the black rocks of the Atlantic, waiting to find the next hand or foothold. Muscles on fire, but to quit meant death.