A sense of urgency overtook them. Their hearts started pumping blood at a rapid rate, pushing it through their body, waking their numb extremities. Once away from the cliff edge they could stand, finally. They began running. The route was steep in places. Holding their longarms out in one hand for balance, with the other they grabbed at passing tree trunks, slowing their decent. In lurching jumps they moved down the hill, tree to tree.
The woods moved by in a flash of brown and green, and the sound of tearing bracken.
It took them fifteen minutes to reach the vehicle. They removed Wentworth’s cam-net from the truck’s superstructure, then Raxx went through a quick vehicle-check while his partner packed their equipment. They finished within seconds of each other, tossing their weapons into the bed. He keyed the ignition as Wentworth slammed his door shut. The truck roared to life. He pulled forward through the branches of the willow, over a ditch, and onto the road. A quick fishtail, then the wheels grabbed traction.
Wentworth pulled his pistol out from his side holster, cocking the upper receiver, and engaging the safety. “Alright, this son of a bitch shouldn’t have an escort, and I doubt he has any weapons on him, but we’re gambling that Slayer won’t hear us drive past — hell, I think that might have been the entrance just now. Our sidearms will do the job, but we need to do it fast.”
Raxx nodded, a scowl on his face as he accelerated down the torn-up road. Wentworth re-holstered his pistol and reached around to the backseats. Grabbing the handle of his duffle bag he pulled it over and began rummaging around.
“What are you doing?” asked Raxx.
“Getting a blindfold and some zap-straps for when we nab him. Plastic Handcuffs.”
“Gotcha. I think that’s him there.”
They crested a rise. Down the road was a thin, shredded looking figure. As they neared the details came into focus — Jenkins was pedalling on an ornate bicycle. A sudden movement might have been him turning to look back at the approaching vehicle. The sun was behind them, near the horizon. The truck was lit up with a halo of silver fire. The engine roared as Raxx shifted to low gear, the truck ran down the hill with a predator’s suppressed growl. Jenkins’ figure got off his bicycle and stood to its side.
The brakes squealed as Raxx slowed to a stop. He tore at the parking break, as Wentworth exited. He followed suit, pulling back the hammer on his revolver. Weapons raised, they moved towards the priest.
“Get the fuck down right now!”
“Gents,” said Jenkins, surprised recognition showing in his eyes as he assumed his priestly veneer, “I thought that when I spoke with you I had said—”
“Shut the fuck up!” bellowed Wentworth, “Get on the fucking ground! Now!” To the priest, the nine millimetre was a cruel cyclopean eye.
Jenkins raised his hands, “I told you both that this is our land that we steward—”
“He said get on the goddamned ground!” As the priest continued to stammer Raxx stepped forward. Wentworth shifted right to keep a clear arc of fire. Raxx placed his boot on the centre priest’s chest and pushed hard, knocking him to the ground and winding him, “Stay on the fucking ground!”
“Stay down! Stay down!”
Unused to violence, the kick had launched Jenkins into a primal terror; his mind was going through sensory overload. Prostrate on his back next to his fallen bicycle his speech turned into nonsensical babbling. A stray lock of hair ran across his face, caught in his beard. His hands clawed at the air.
“Get him onto his stomach for me!” said Wentworth. Raxx hooked a toe under his shoulder and rolled him over, none too gently, then backed up several paces. “Cover me!” Wentworth holstered his weapon and moved forward, planting his knee on the priest’s kidney. “Stay still! Stay still!” he yelled, “Get your hands behind you!” Grabbing his flailing arms, Wentworth forced them through the zap-strap loops, drawing them tight. Jenkins stopped struggling as the pain from Wentworth’s knee registered. He pulled the bandanna of his pocket and wrapped it around Jenkins eyes. “Keep your mouth shut and we won’t put a gag on you. Raxx! You grab his bike, we can’t just leave it here.”
“Right.” Wentworth remained kneeling on Jenkins back, hand on his holstered pistol to keep it secure. Raxx secured the bike, then returned with his pistol drawn, “I’ve got him covered,” he said.
With both hands Wentworth grabbed Jenkins by the shoulder and the elbow, flipping him over and forcing him onto his feet. Then, gripping the back of his neck and forcing his head down, he marched him towards the vehicle’s backseat, forcing him in.
“Keep covering him, I’m going around!” He circled the truck, and slid into the backseat next to the priest. He did up the man’s seatbelt, then pulled out his pistol with his off hand. “Alright, let’s get the hell out of here in case Slayer decides to go patrolling.”
Raxx got into the driver’s seat and shifted the gearbox, “Full throttle to Hope — we’ll get there before the markets close!”
As the door to the Constabulary opened, Stewart looked up from the training roster he’d been working on. “Yes, can I…” he stopped when he saw the outfit of the man the two mercenaries were holding “What is going on here?”
“We need your Captain. Now.”
“Excuse me, do you know…?”
“Listen, troop, this is above your pay grade — we need Captain O’Neil, now!”
His neck flared, but he turned towards Patricia’s office just in time to run into her on her way out.
“Captain,” he said breathlessly, “Those two mercs are here and—”
As she looked past him her eyes flared with anger. The two men Talbot had hired were standing there with one of the Mennite elders bound and blindfolded. There were two days of beard growth on Raxx’s cheeks, and both of them bore a dirty, unwashed sheen on their skin. Wentworth was wearing an old helmet, complete with bullet-groove he’d probably put there himself. They smelled of sweat and damp wool.
“What in the devil’s name do you to think you’re doing?” Her anger simmered as she stepped towards them, “That is one of the Mennite Elders, are you actively trying to ruin this town?” To the Elder she said, “Sir — what have they done to you?”
“M’lass, I am both disappointed and appalled at—”
Raxx jerked down on Jenkins’ bonds, “Shut up,” he said.
“Captain O’Neil,” said Wentworth, looking her head on, “We have a very good reason for being here with this man, and we know who he is. He should be put into a holding cell for his own safety.”
Patricia eyes flicked from one to the other. “Constable Stewart; take Mr. Jenkins to Interrogation Room A. Make sure he’s comfortable. I’ll deal with these two,” she levelled her finger at Raxx and Wentworth, “Follow me.”
They entered her office; she shut the door behind them. It had the same makeshift décor as the Mayor’s, but it was far more cluttered with file cabinets and maps. They remained standing as she went behind her desk, leaning forward and gripping the edges before speaking.
“You two had better have a damned fine explanation for hauling in a Mennite Elder. The stipulations were that this was a covert operation, that we couldn’t have the Mennites finding out that Hope was behind it. What’s your explanation?” She looked up at them with a blue-fire in her eyes.
Wentworth squeezed his left wrist, fisting the hand and scowling. “Captain, I’m sorry for springing this on you. We’re both well aware of the situation, and I’d have given you warning if I could. But events happened, and we had to act on them, or not at all.”
“And what the hell were these events?”
“That man,” he gestured with a flat hand towards the holding cells, widening his stance, “isn’t a victim. He’s not even a representative of the Mennites, not anymore — he’s complicit in the whole damn thing. We saw him sitting down with Slayer—”
“Breaking bread with them,” said Raxx.
“—encouraging them. He’s part of this, working from the inside.”
Patricia chewed her lip, but the fire in her eyes didn’t relent. She reached for a box on her desk — an intercom — and pressed a button. “Stewart, is the Elder secure?”
“Yes, Captain,” came the tinny voice, “He’s in holding cell B, the chairs are better in there.”
“Good. Secure the door, but do it quietly.” She released the button, and sat back in her chair. “Don’t think you two are off the hook,” she clenched her hands, “You’ve put me in a situation, and locking that door is the only choice I’ve got right now. You two need to tell me everything that happened, and it had better make sense. If it doesn’t, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Explain — and don’t try to pull any punches.”
Wentworth launched into a recitation of the events of the past two days. He organized the information with an amalgamation of different report structures he’d learned over the years — passing over the narrative for the sake of the relevant facts. While describing Slayer’s encampment, he handed over the logs. Patricia split her attention between him and the records. By the time Wentworth finished the blue fire had distilled to a cold steeliness.
“I don’t understand why you decided it was necessary to capture him. You had your reasons. What were they?”
Wentworth looked over at Raxx. This part was on him.
“Listen, Captain — here’s the thing — like Wentworth said, these guys ain’t something the two of us can take on. We’ve got to hit the keystone to take them down, and Jenkins is that keystone.” He took a deep breath and glanced down at his hands. “I’ve known groups like this before. I know how they think — it ain’t about profit, they’re not thinking like that, they’re not stealing just to get rich or hurting people for fun — instead they’re thinking like the other Mennites.
“Listen, it would make sense for them to have asked for your help ages ago, but they wouldn’t because of their religion. It’s not about making sense. That’s why you needed us. To break through the Mennites. And to break Slayer, we gotta break the Priest.”
He shook his head, “I don’t completely know what their game is — but I know I can break Jenkins. That’s how we figure out where the shit lies. That’s how we figure them out.”
“Okay…” Patricia leaned into her clenched hands. She spent a moment thinking, “Okay, but what good is that? If Jenkins is betraying the rest of the Mennites for Slayer’s sake, that’s all well and good — but where does it get us?”
“If you could get the rest of the Elders here to see it…” started Wentworth.
“That would take some time… but it might be possible. If they saw what Jenkins—”
“No.” Raxx shook his head, “I need to do it now, while he’s still in shock. If we give him too long, he’ll just figure… well, he’ll figure that this is part of the prophecy, too, and there’ll be nothing for us to say.”
“What prophecy?”
“That’s the problem, I don’t know — but I know there is one. I know the patterns on how they think. It’s just a twisted version of the Mennites’ own religion.”
Patricia leaned back in her chair, rubbing her chin. Raxx looked thoughtful. Wentworth shifted his weight over to one leg, relaxing his posture. He’d never worried about political situations before, and Raxx and Patricia’s lack of solutions was annoying him. With even a half-section of the old Black-Ops unit backing him, Slayer wouldn’t have been an issue, and the politics could have been ignored. Hell, even with a half-platoon of regular troops, and radios…
“O’Neil — where’d you get that intercom?”
“What?”
“The box there, you were speaking to your Clerk on it a few minutes ago.”
The annoyed confusion accentuated her crows-feet. “I… I guess it’s always been here.”
“This was an RCMP detachment, prewar, wasn’t it?”
“Yes… I think it was.”
“Do you have any more of this old-tech? The microchip stuff. You didn’t get rid of it, did you?”
“My predecessor insisted on keeping it. There’s an old storeroom, in the back, where we’ve got it all. But what does it matter? It’s all for computers.”
Wentworth paused. For a moment he looked defensive. Then he slid the Datapad out of its pouch, and placed it on her desk. Its cursor blinked out the seconds.
“Is that…”
“O’Neil, you said it yourself: you’re in a situation, and you’ve got to trust me on this. Show me that equipment — we might have a solution on our hands.”
Jenkins stared at his clasped hands. They were still trembling. Lord, forgive me this lack of fait…, but still they trembled. The barrel of the weapon had been so thin, and the shaded eyewear a mark of cowardice — but for an instant three black eyes had seen him naked, and bored into his soul. The kick and the honest hatred in the eyes of the other had almost been a blessing.
His breath shuddered. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling. Lord, by thy knowledge, strength; and by strength — the scent of the bandanna over his eyes — by strength, wisdom; and by wisdom — the terror of the driving machine — “Lord, I am your steward! I raise a great bestiary in your name!” His elbows collapsed, and his face fell to the cold steel table.
He imagined the female law enforcer sitting across from him.
“Mr. Jenkins, I’d like to apologize for your mistreatment today. I assure you that these men do not represent the citizenry of Hope, and their harassing behaviour is a stain upon us all. They are foreigners who acted on their own. I wish to emphasize that they do not represent the policy of Hope or its government, and again I apologize profusely for the mistreatment you suffered.”
“Young lady, it grieves me that Hope associate with such men. Your apology is quite proper, but it will not be sufficient. You must understand that it is only through goodwill, and our stewardship of the land that your own town survives. We tolerate your worldly ways, for it is said that each must find their way, but that is all: we tolerate, we do not condone.”
That is what he would say — what any other Elder would say, but for them it would not affect the communities… his own imprisonment was more dire.
“Lord… I trust the justice in your ways. I pray thee; show your servant how these events endure prophecy.”
A sudden jerk — the tremors were subsiding, but not yet gone.
The door opened.
He looked up; ready to recite the prepared words, but it wasn’t the law enforcer who faced him. It was the stranger with anger in his eyes, slipping in with a surreptitious glance behind him.
“You.” The stranger’s voice sent a shiver through his spine. For a moment he was prone again, the metal-riveted face staring down at him. He felt for the Lord. He found him. The moment passed.
The eyes still simmered, but now the Lord’s fire was growing within him.
“I’m not finished with you, or your sins!” said the stranger.
The fire surfaced — impudence! — his fear was forgotten. Instead he remembered the words they’d spoken in the Church. Insight, then; he smiled as the spirit filled him. He had nothing to fear from one such as this.
“Ah, my son — and yes, I call you this now, for you are one of the children — you are one lost from the fold, are you not? You are a failed Sodomite?
The man didn’t respond, he just kept glaring at Jenkins. It was true, then. It could be seen in his eyes.
“You are one who has forgotten his path — I see that you have forgotten it in many ways — for is it not said Slaves, obey your earthly masters with respect and fear, and with sincerity of heart? Child, you disobey both the Earthly and the Heavenly masters. You, and the other — your hatred moves you towards the wrong enemies!”
Now it was Jenkins turn to lean forward.
“Without the Lord… you have become nothing! You feel it within your breast, do you not? The loss that cannot be forgiven. Your community, your family, your truth… the emptiness where once the Spirit did reside?”
“I know what you did!” said Raxx, forcefully, “They call them altar boys where I come from. I don’t know what word you Mennites use, but it’s all the same in the end. How old was Slayer when you put him onto the path he walks now? How many have suffered because of it? How many others have you sent into perversion?”
“Hah!” Jenkins leaned back again, “Betrayer, without the Lord you have become nothing. All you have are words, words and empty actions. You cannot recognize what is holy and what is profane.
“For it is a truth that the Lord grants his servants dominion over the land, and therein all the beasts that graze, birds that fly, and fish that swim. And through this dominion which his true stewards are granted comes power. Your mistake, failed Sodomite, was two-fold. First, you mistook these people of Hope with their tech — tech devoid of the Spirit — to be the truth; you forgot that power comes from the land and the land alone.” He took on a fierce expression, “I am the source of power here. I am a Steward of This Land! This situation is such that I have controlled, and the Lord has created! No strength without the Spirit can enact change! You know that no earthly host can challenge the Lord’s Stewards!”
The Betrayer`s jaw twitched, and his eyes blazed — but no words came.
“The second mistake you made…” here he smiled again, “was one you could not have known. You thought you assaulted a mere priest, one who was but a servant of the Lord. I…” he paused, “am a prophet.”
“You are not a prophet! You aren’t even a true father.”
“Betrayer, I am one who has seen visions! Is it not written Bring the little children unto me?”
Raxx jumped back, “That… it did not mean…”
“Even now you deny the truth. But you know it to be truth. Listen! Perhaps your time has come — is it not correct that we steward our land? And is it not also correct that we should steward our people? Our children?” The Betrayer showed no signs of faith. “Slayer is a tool against the brethren who do not listen — against the people of Hope who do not obey. For those, that is, who do not walk with the Lord. A new day of stewardship is dawning. The Armageddon has come and perversion is no longer possible. All that was once profane has become holy; when one walks the righteous path, there is no more perversion. Tell me you understand, child?”
“You… no. Why are you telling me all this? I could kill you right now! You are not a prophet, you’re evil!”
“Such words from a disobedient servant… failed Sodomite, I fear not that the unenlightened would believe your words; only through faith can the truth be seen. Slayer delivers more into the fold every day — I have nothing to fear from you, you have abandoned the Lord. It shows in your eyes.” He shook his head sadly, “I tell you because I am a man of mercy. I suspect it is too late for you, Betrayer, but yet I still hold open the door. Will you enter back into the Grace of the Lord and his Prophet?”
“You… really think your perversions… the perversions of Slayer and his men… you really think that is the way of the Lord?”
“The day of judgement has come and past. Oh, lost child — it is only through such perversion that we can rediscover the lord! It is only through blood that we can heal a blood soaked Earth! Slayer is part of the prophecy, the first step in the Mennite people returning to the Lord. Tell me you see it?”
The failed Sodomite just shook his head, his skin pale.
Jenkins sighed. “Ahh… I am sorry, Betrayer, for I think you are lost… you are lost, my child.”
The other looked down at the table, taking several deep wracking breaths before speaking again. “There is one thing you’re forgetting.”
Jenkins looked across at the poor, broken soul, tears in his eyes; shoulders slumped, vision dull. “And what would that be?”
“The seventh deadly sin. The most deadly of them all. Hubris… Arrogance… Pride.”
Jenkins didn’t respond. He just stared, trying to interpret the stranger’s motive.
“If you’d been a bit more humble, maybe you would have realized that we’ve got the tech, and we can work fast. On the other side of that glass are the Elders you’ve been betraying. Behold, I will make them of the synagogue of Satan, which say they are Jews, and are not, but do lie; behold, I will make them to come and worship before thy feet, and to know that I have loved thee.” He smiled viciously at the priest, the fear Jenkins had seen earlier evaporated, and he tossed a pair of steel handcuffs at Jenkins. “Put these on and worship before mine feet, asshole. Believe me, you don’t want me putting them on for you.”