The Devil's Road: Devil Dog Book 2 (Out Of The Dark) Page 9

  “We’ll see how our friend is,” I said and stepped over the row to follow close behind the pastor, turning for a brief moment to see that Courtney was following behind the townsfolk.

  8

  “Luis?” Courtney asked.

  A man was kneeling in front of him. Luis was sitting on a folding chair, and it was evident he’d been beaten, but he was in no way half dead. His right eye was swollen almost shut, and stitches ran from his eyebrow to the bottom of the socket on the outside edge. His jaw on both sides was already bruising where he’d been punched and kicked, and his nose had small bits of blood dried around it, but it wasn’t swollen, so not broken. His guard was a young man with a deer gun who sat at a folding table further back with the group’s confiscated guns.

  “Hey,” he said. Luis stood up, making the man doctoring him cuss, and the guard look to the pastor, who just motioned for him to sit down.

  “Sit down, I’m not done, and I’m not sure your ribs are ok,” the doc sputtered, and Luis ignored him, walking gingerly over to hug Courtney and give her a deep kiss.

  “It seems you’re not as injured as I was told,” I said, looking to David, who gave me a sheepish look in return.

  “When I saw they were going to keep stomping me, I pretended to be unconscious,” he told them. “The beating stopped.”

  “Good thinking,” I said. “Why are you just now seeing him?” I was not happy.

  “We were treating our own first,” the pastor said, and Luis returned to where the man who had to be the veterinarian was.

  He started cleaning up Luis again, an old leather bag open beside him. Inside I could see bandages, gauze, suture kits in sterilized packets, and a ton of different wound-cleaning supplies. Hydrogen peroxide, Betadine, iodine…

  “Now hold still and I’ll check your nose,” the doc grumbled.

  “You see, we’re not monsters here,” the pastor said.

  “They been treating you ok?” I asked him.

  “Yeah. Don’t be pissed at them about this,” he said, pointing to his face. “There were four guys Doc here had to treat first. Be pissed about the fuckwads who are forcing them to run the roadblock.”

  “You seem awfully proud of hurting several of our people,” the doc grumbled.

  “‘Do not envy a man of violence, and do not choose any of his ways’,” Pastor Horton said.

  “You want to quote Proverbs at me, Pastor?” I asked. “How about this one? ‘Draw also the spear and the battle-axe to meet those who pursue me; say to my soul, I am your salvation’,” I spat in a bitter tone.

  “You know your verse?” the pastor asked.

  “Yes, and here’s one more… and it leads into the discussion we’re going to have: ‘The violence of the wicked will drag them away because they refuse to act with justice.’”

  The pastor hung his head.

  “You’re talking about the tithe that runs across the roadway,” he muttered.

  I nodded.

  “He should be good. I’m going to have Amy come and wrap his ribs. I think it’s just a bruise, I can’t find any breaks,” the doc said, standing up, obviously ignoring our banter.

  Luis stood up as well, grunting in pain.

  “You good?” I asked him. He nodded and walked over to put an arm around Courtney, who handed the knife back to me so she could give him another dose of love. After a moment, the pastor grunted, and they broke off the kiss.

  “Where’s our supplies?” I asked him. “Where’s our bikes? Obviously, I see our guns.”

  “We set it aside for the tithe,” the pastor said quietly. “If you wish to have your guns back, you may take them with the promise of not harming us.”

  I had expected as much now that I realized what had been going on. It was a fucked-up kind of Robin Hood stupidity that I could barely stand. They were stealing from folks to pay for those who had so much more. It was like paying for protection to corrupt cops or gangs. It worked, but at a price. In this case, the price was literally life and death. Part of me wanted to just get our stuff and go, but these folks needed help. My first inclination was to go in guns a-blazing and let God sort them out, but the situation was far, far different from what I was expecting.

  “Have you ever tried to fight back?” I asked them - the doc, the pastor, and David’s family.

  “No, most of us… I mean, we’ve never had to shoot anybody, and I don’t know if I ever could,” David said honestly.

  “Violence begets violence,” Pastor Horton said. “God’s justice will be visited on these miscreants.”

  “There’s not enough of us to fight them,” the doc said. “We’re not the fighting kind.”

  “Break the arm of the wicked and evildoer; call his wickedness to account till you find none,” I said, quoting another favorite Psalm. “And as far as not being the fighting type of men and women, you better get over that shit quick.”

  “Why is that?” Pastor Horton asked, shaken.

  “You are now, or this is going to be another remake of High Plains Drifter where the subdivision gets painted red. Only it won’t be paint, it’ll be in the blood of the innocent. Maybe not this time, but it will happen when they’ve had enough of you mewling fools. It’s fight or die time.”

  Everyone turned to look at me in shock.

  The pastor rang the church bell to signal a community meeting. We had four hours until the raiders showed up. It was a calculated move, because I didn’t know if they had forward observers or even spies within the community. If I were them, a meeting like this would have put me on edge. Since I wasn’t, I had to hope for the best. Surprisingly, the gear minus the food was returned to us immediately. I was pissed about that, but after a long argument with the peace-loving pastor, he gave up the argument with me.

  Either his folks lived, or they died. We may have been living in the Book of Revelation once again, but how a band of twelve to twenty had cowed a small community of a couple hundred was beyond me. From everything I could tell, the prepper part of the pastor’s plan had worked beyond his wildest dreams, and if they didn’t get robbed on a weekly basis, they should be better off than most. The biggest hole in his plan was security - or lack thereof. The reason that Jamie, Luis, and Courtney had been taken by such a large number of people was the motorcycle that had roared past. Many of the men that night had thought the raiders were attacking the toll spot, and had come to support or help repel them until their friends could get away safely. That was the first thing they did right, but it hadn’t been enough. As it was, the pastor took to the center of the room. His voice was loud and carried well, the way a good public speaker’s normally would, and he began to speak.

  “We have called you here today to ask you a question, one that I have no answer for. You all know of the man and women who were taken at the road, at first thought to be a part of the raiding party because of how they were armed and fought?”

  There were affirmative murmurs, and another piece of the puzzle clicked into place for me.

  “They were not a part of that bunch, and I’ve been speaking with their leader, one Dick Pershing,” he paused to point at me, “and he brings up a dilemma that he wants to speak to you of. I can neither approve nor condone the actions, and I wish you to pray and decide on a course of action and quickly. Dick, the floor is yours.”

  I stepped out of the side and onto the center of the altar and paused as the rear doors opened. Kevin, David, Jamie, and Mel walked in, loaded for bear. Mel hadn’t given up the AK, nor had she taken off the goggles. It gave her a paramilitary look that made me grin. It was like the time Maggie had put on some of my battle rattle when I was home for a while. My vest on her came down to her ankles. I shook my head as if to clear the cobwebs, but it was the memories I was shaking off.

  Waiting for Mel to walk down the middle with the AK held confidently and her mom with the .45 pointing loosely at the floor beside her, the crowd whispered and stared. Both of them stepped up to the podium where I was and gave me a qu
ick hug and then went off to my right to sit next to Luis and Courtney.

  “I am not a part of the group that’s been killing and stealing from your community, nor are my friends. I’m frankly disgusted that you degenerate, no-good, lousy-assed pieces of monkey shit haven’t all been killed off for your stupidity.”

  My words echoed out, and Luis coughed a word that suspiciously sounded like “asshole”. I ignored him and watched the crowd’s reaction. Shock, anger, fear. Good.

  “You walk in the way of the Lord, yet you steal from his children to appease a conqueror because you don’t have the balls to stand up?!” I was laying it on thick, straining all I could of doctrine and summers of vacation Bible school.

  The murmur to this was louder, so I had to almost shout the next.

  “You obviously outnumber the folks who come in and raid you. You’ve all lost someone you love: friends, family, neighbors. Yet you struggle every day to meet the tithe demands this group has put forth. Somebody tell me I’m wrong here?”

  More murmurs, but nobody made a negative sound.

  “So I ask you this. If you could stop this bleeding… of men, women, children and resources, could you all have a better chance?”

  “But what are we supposed to do?” A man stood in the back on the right of the aisleway.

  “You fight. You win. You go to their camp, and you cut them down to a man.”

  “Who’s to judge them? That’s not for mortal men, but it is in the eyes of the Lord,” an overweight woman screamed from close to the front.

  “When they’re standing in front of the Pearly Gates, then they’ll be judged,” I said, almost shouting over the uproar her words caused. “How they get there is up to them. If I were you guys, I’d put in a quick-serve counter for the bastards who’ve killed your people.”

  The loudest of all uproars happened with that, and many men stood up. At first, I was waiting for them to start screaming questions or comments, but the first started clapping as the murmurs died down, and soon half the crowd was clapping and standing up.

  “I never felt good with that toll road. I’ve prayed every night for forgiveness,” a man with a face more bruised than Luis’s yelled back to me after a moment. “What can we do, because you’ve obviously got a plan?”

  “I do. How many of you are willing to stand up for your community and family?”

  More men and quite a few women stood up. I looked at Pastor Horton, who looked taken aback. After a pregnant silence, the clapping started up again.

  “Listen, I’ve talked with the pastor here. You’ve all sort of placed him in a leadership position he doesn’t want. For this operation, he’s willing to defer his position to me if you vote to go ahead with this. Will you give me your trust long enough to take back your lives?”

  The roars were deafening. They had been itching for some payback.

  The church parking lot was where the tithe goods were placed. Food was always wanted, but oftentimes it was tools, light bulbs, bikes, ATVs, or working cars that were also given up. The pastor looked white in the face, and the doctor had been staying close to him. He hadn’t realized how much his nonviolent requests were listened to without questioning… and I could only marvel at the fact that everyone fell back into step with religion, ahead of staying alive. Talking with Kevin some after the meeting had made me think of another word, one I was uncomfortable with: Cult. Sure, I was as religious as any soldier could be, but there was something else going on here.

  The pastor had almost seemed a prophet to the people when the EMP had gone off and, for the most part in the short-term, all the pre-bought food he’d collected for the community had been used as things started running out. The kitchen in the community had always had food for all. The portions may not have been large, but it was enough. The church became the center of the town, and with no TV, internet, or movies, the form of entertainment of all. Seeing an opportunity to educate the community more about self-sufficiency and inject his beliefs was a godsend for the pastor. He was a nonviolent sort, and didn’t like what they’d had to do, but he was flat-out uncomfortable and worried about how he would be judged when his time came.

  I didn’t care. He’d almost become a cult leader to them, but with a flip of a switch, he’d ceded his authority to me. I didn’t think his faith was rocked, but I believed he too was nursing a guilty conscience from the weight of the dead’s judgment on his decisions. Despite that, somehow instead of denouncing us, he’d helped me organize after the meeting broke up, and here we were.

  “Kevin,” I said, pointing to him. “Bell tower with your deer gun. Wait for the sign to open up. David, you and your wife are covering the back gate from the panel truck at the end of the cul-de-sac.” I pointed to the broken-down hulk.

  “What about us?” Luis asked.

  “You and Courtney are going to be the lid on the trap. Swing back about three hundred yards, and when the last of them come through, wait for the show to open up. You’re going to act like the hammer to our anvil. With any luck, we can keep one alive and find out where their base of operations is, or if we have to, we can try to backtrack them.”

  “But this is murder,” Pastor Horton said. “You aren’t giving them an opportunity to give up.”

  His words were for me, but they were heard by some other folks nearby. They gave both of us a glance, and I decided a small teaching opportunity had presented itself.

  “That goes against the commandments, though, thou shall not kill, right?” I asked him, knowing it was dicey ground.

  “Yes,” he said, and I could see the others leaning in closer.

  “What’s the Hebrew translation actually mean?” I asked him.

  “Thou shall not commit murder,” he answered immediately.

  “So what’s the difference between murder and killing somebody?” I asked.

  “We have more to worry about than a philosophical discussion,” the pastor said, and I shook my head.

  “No, we have time for this,” I told him. “Come on, Pastor, what’s the difference?”

  “Murder is to kill for gain, revenge with poor intent. To kill means to end one’s life.”

  “So to kill somebody who had the intent to murder is a lot different than just murder?” I asked.

  He started to answer and then looked at me funny.

  “You… I … were you ever a pastor or chaplain?” he asked me.

  “No, but all soldiers at some point ask these kinds of questions. I’ve killed more than most, and my conscious has weighed on me. It keeps me up at night. I’m not overly religious, but you can’t do what I do without some belief. There's some days I’ve found my peace and some days I don’t know. Most of the time I do. Helping others, that’s been what’s kept me sane. Mostly.”

  “Sane?” Jamie asked me with a snort. “If you call being a Tasmanian devil a form of sanity…”

  “It’s also gotten me shot, and friends killed,” I reminded her.

  She was trying to lighten up the mood some, but it hit a little too close to home. I knew people were going to die today, and it made me cautious. I sent a silent prayer that it wouldn’t be any of ours doing the dying. That’s why the pastor, the old man, and I were going to hang out here, by an older Buick that’d had its tires slashed to lower it to the ground. The insides had been filled with rocks and any other solid debris we could find from the floor to just over the front seats. It wasn’t much, but it should be enough.

  “Where do you want Mel and me?” Jamie asked.

  I hadn’t thought of that, and I hadn’t even factored them into my planning. Where would the safest place for them to be? Mel was basically disarmed, and Jamie had her .45 back, having returned mine after she’d gotten back with her daughter. She’d loved carrying the AK a little too much. That had caused some amusement from David when he saw who my backup squad actually consisted of, but he’d fought it down when his wife kicked him in the foot.

  “Inside the church, guard the bell tower for our shar
p shooter. Mel, I want you in the basement,” I told her.

  “Why the basement?” She was almost whining.

  “Because it’s the most secure location. The kids are hiding down there, remember?” I asked her.

  It was the truth; the community had voted to hide the kids in the church’s basement in the panic room that the pastor had put in. It was a cement structure built beneath the church, with rebar-fortified walls. It held the solar batteries and charge controllers. The room had been constructed as a box within a box. The solar setup was grounded right through the floor and tied into the rebar of the walls. Over all that, the pastor had used metal sheeting on the inside to create a Faraday cage. It was a half-assed attempt that had worked, according to the holy man, and it was enough to pump the 240-volt well pump that kept the community alive. It literally was only used for water, though I could think of other things to do with that much juice.

  “They have somebody guarding the kids,” she growled.

  I looked at her mom, but Jamie was nodding to me as if to say just get on with it. I pulled my .45, checked to make sure it was loaded, and then made sure the safety was on. I handed it to Mel, and her eyes opened up wide.

  “They have somebody guarding the kids, but they don’t have you. I need you to keep them safe for me. You remember I’ve got a soft spot for the little ones.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and she nodded after checking the gun out for herself. She knew how to use it, so I just let it go and watched as she left without another word.

  “Thank you,” Jamie said after a second.

  “For what?” I asked her, walking towards the church about twenty yards away from Mel.

  “The basement doesn’t need any more people guarding it,” she said, stopping.

  “You can join her if you want,” I told her.

  “I know the bell tower is another place that isn’t likely to see action,” she said, pausing. I stopped walking so I could talk with her. “But it’s important, nonetheless.” Then she did some shit that stripped me of all reason.