Blood Cult (17 page)

The sound of blood spattering into the bucket filled the hush, the fires
amidst the crowd crackling and a flight of fading embers lifting into the night
from the nearest. I waited until the flow had faded into a few drips and then
indicated for Clive to step out of the way. Once he was clear, I released the
woman’s body and let it fall to the ground by the float.

I turned and nodded to Dodge, who retrieved the golden chalice from the
speakers at the far end and strode across the stage, holding it up so the
audience could see it.

‘This is the cup of Christ,’ I announced as he handed it to me. ‘Invested
with the power to heal and transform.’

Clive held the bucket up to me and I bent to fill the cup. I raised it
high in the air. A drop of blood made its way down the side and I felt its
warmth against my fingers.

‘Duncan,’ I said, taking up his free hand and placing the cup to his
palm. ‘Don’t disappoint me,’ I whispered.

His fingers slowly closed about the stem.

‘Now you shall have your proof.’

He lifted the cup to his lips, nostrils flaring as he caught the metallic
scent of the contents. His hand stilled, the chalice a breath away from his
lips, his Adam’s apple rising and falling as he swallowed hard.

‘Do it,’ I whispered insistently.

Duncan raised it and drank, downing the contents with a grimace.

‘Now you’ll see how his faith is rewarded,’ I stated to the crowd. ‘You
will see the glory of God.’

‘How long does it take?’ asked the hawkish man.

‘About ten minutes,’ responded Mark from nearby. ‘I was one of the first
people to be shown the light.’

A few people turned to him.

‘You don’t look so hot,’ commented a woman in her late fifties, her skin
tight over high cheekbones, the hollowness of her eye sockets highlighted by
the firelight.

‘He hasn’t drunk enough,’ I stated. ‘You need to drink enough that its
purity overcomes the taint within each of you.’

‘What if we eat them?’ asked the woman. ‘Would that cure us?’

I thought a moment, both surprised by her question and intrigued by the
avenue that was opened up by the possibility of eating the pure bloods. ‘It may
do, but these people are not truly pure. Though they show no effects of
radiation sickness yet, it is still lurking within them. We need truly pure
blood, pure bodies, and there’s only one place to find that.’

‘Montreal,’ said the hawkish man.

‘Montreal,’ I echoed loudly.

‘It’s working!’ exclaimed Duncan as if receiving divine revelation.

Everyone turned to him. His expression had softened and his posture had
straightened. The curative effects were clear for all to see.

‘Give me the cup,’ called the man, reaching out towards me with
desperation in his eyes. ‘I’ll drink the blood.’

A ripple of agreement passed through the crowd.

I moved along to the next captive and nodded down to Clive, who
positioned the bucket before them. Taking the man by the scruff of his blue
shirt, I held him over it and readied the knife.

‘You’ll all get to drink once these people have made the sacrifice that
God desires,’ I stated, slicing open the man’s neck, the sound of his blood
spurting into the bucket making me tingle with satisfaction.

The sounds died away and Clive stepped aside before I let the body drop
to the field. I moved to the next in line as an elderly couple came forward
through the crowd, holding hands and looking nervous.

‘My wife and I won’t drink the blood of others,’ stated the man, beady
eyes regarding me from behind the thick lenses of his black-rimmed glasses.

‘We’re Jehovah’s Witnesses,’ explained the woman, her face like the full
moon, blusher applied unevenly to her rounded cheeks. ‘We don’t believe in
blood transfusions of any kind.’

‘This isn’t a blood transfusion. This is the new Holy Communion,’ I
replied.

‘We won’t drink their blood,’ insisted the husband weakly, barely able to
hold my gaze as he wiped his clammy palms on his brown corduroys.

‘I understand,’ I nodded, slowly and carefully wiping the blade of the
knife on the green sweatshirt of the young man kneeling before me and then
tucking it into my vestments.

The couple glanced at each other questioningly.

‘So we’re free to go?’ asked the wife.

‘Sure.’

I withdrew the handgun and fired two quick shots into the woman. Her
expression became one of pained shock as she looked down at the blood spreading
through the cotton of the blouse that covered her large bosom.

I turned the gun to her husband as she sank to her knees and then toppled
to the side. He turned to run and I fired a couple more shots, the impacts
sending him stumbling forward. He sprawled on the ground and his body fell
still.

There was a stunned silence as the crowd about the couple stared down at
their bodies.

‘You told them they could go,’ said the hawkish man in a hushed voice,
turning to me.

‘And they’ve gone,’ I stated, my hands held out in a gesture of
innocence, the pistol smoking in the right. ‘They were unbelievers, preferring
ignorance to knowledge. Besides, I’ve put them out of their misery. If I hadn’t
shot them they would have suffered a prolonged and painful death.’

The people glanced at each other apprehensively.

‘Which way would you prefer to die?’ I asked pointedly. ‘They made the
choice of death over life when they decided not to drink the pure blood. That’s
the key to life, the key offered by God. He wants to relieve your suffering,
wants you to survive rather than slowly diminish into the shadows, vomiting,
aching, becoming a living ghost of who you were until you finally curl up in a
corner, unable to rise through weakness, unable to fight on, just fading to
nothing in the misery of your pain. IS THAT WHAT YOU FUCKING WANT?’

A few of the people in crowd jumped at the sudden volume of my words.

‘It’s not what God wants,’ I finished with a warm and calm tone. ‘He
wants you to live.’

I stared out at the people, moving my steady gaze from face to face. ‘I
want you to live.’

Standing for a moment, I then tucked the gun away and took out the knife
once again, taking the back of the young man’s jacket and leaning him out over
the side of the float before slitting his throat. The sound of splashing blood
rose into the hush as the shock of the crowd faded and their wish to survive
overcame any reservations that had arisen in response to my violent actions.

They began to push forward a little as I moved to the next captive, all
expectant of the cure, all wanting to be the first to drink from the cup. I
smiled to myself. If only they knew they’d want a quick death too. It wouldn’t
be long until they envied the old couple lying still on the flattened corn. They
thought they’d live when in truth they were the walking dead.

‘As long as they last till Montreal,’ I mumbled to myself as the sound of
blood splashing into the bucket arose once more.

I woke with a
start, sitting bolt upright in the bed. Something had woken me, but what it was
I couldn’t say as silence pressed in upon my eardrums, the rain having ceased
while I slept.

‘You okay, Mommy?’ Chrissie’s groggy question arose in the darkness of
the room.

‘Shh,’ I responded, the nape of my neck tingling.

The sound of steps on the porch caused me to stiffen.

‘Who’s that?’ whispered Chrissie.

The front door opened.

‘Ma? Pa? We’ve finally made it. Daryl came too.’ Footsteps moved into the
house. ‘Whose car is that…?’

The young man’s voice fell momentarily silent.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘Get dressed,’ I instructed in a sharp whisper.

‘Now don’t get all bent out of shape,’ responded Tyreese.

Chrissie slipped out of the far side of the bed as I swung my legs over
the side and groped around for the clothes I’d discarded, grateful that I
hadn’t got fully undressed.

‘Answer the fucking question.’

‘I’m just holding up here for the night?’

‘Ma and Pa know you’re here?’

I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, bending to slip on my sneakers.

‘There’s a note,’ came Tyreese’s response.

‘A note?’

‘I’m dressed,’ said Chrissie from somewhere near the foot of the bed.

I moved to her, my right hand to the frame as guidance in the blackness
of the room. I bumped into her as she felt around on the floorboards.

‘We need to leave.’

‘I can find Ollie.’

‘There was a note on the kitchen table,’ said Tyreese.

‘Where the fuck are my parents?’

‘You have to leave him, Honey.’

‘I can’t leave him,’ whined Chrissie.

‘Put down the gun and I’ll tell you what I know.’

‘Says the man with a shotgun pointed at my chest.’

I took Chrissie’s hand and drew her towards the door, a faint light just
about visible through the slight gap.

‘If you don’t spill what you know I’ll be spilling your guts real soon.’

‘Chrissie!’ I hissed back at her with annoyance as she attempted to
resist my guidance. ‘We have to go and we have to do it right now.’ The last
two words were said with insistent firmness.

‘They’re in the barn.’

‘In the barn? What the hell are you talking about? What have you done to
them?’

Chrissie began to quietly sob as I gently opened the door and leant out
to peer along the landing. Candlelight was softly rising up the stairs.

My grip remaining tight on her hand, I led Chrissie to the top of the
stairs and we began to creep down, my eyes wide and heart pounding.

‘Look, just lower the gun.’

‘You first.’

A step creaked under my weight. I became motionless, Chrissie nearly
bumping into me. My body trembled with adrenalin. Every muscle was taut as I
stared down to the hall and listened for any sign that our descent had been
detected.

‘They ended it,’ stated Tyreese.

‘Ended it?’

‘Hung themselves. Your sister too.’

I moved us down the stairs once again with as much speed as I dare. We
reached the foot and I stared across the hall into the sitting room, seeing the
back of two young men who were stood staring towards the settee on the left.

We moved quickly to the front door. Leaving it open, I dragged Chrissie
from the farmhouse and down the porch steps. We rushed towards the Falcon,
another pickup now parked ten yards behind.

My expression changed to one of dismay and I brought us to an abrupt
halt.

‘The keys,’ I stated in horror, turning to look back at the door.

A memory suddenly arose and I patted the front right pocket of my
sweatpants. A rush of relief filled me as I felt their presence and withdrew
them, Tyreese having given them to me before first approaching the house.

‘Quick,’ I stated, taking us to the car.

Chrissie ran to the passenger door and climbed in as I rushed around the
hood. Reaching the driver’s side, I leapt in and slipped the key in the
ignition before closing the door as quietly as possible.

‘Aren’t we going?’ asked Chrissie.

‘We’ve got to wait for Tyreese,’ I replied as I stared out of the
windshield at the front of the house, willing him to appear safely at the open
door.

I looked to the sitting room window, soft light visible beyond the pale
curtains and one of the young men’s vague shadows cast upon them. ‘Come on, Ty,’
I said under my breath.

‘You could have waited while I found Ollie,’ she moaned, beginning to
sob.

‘We might still be able to go back in if Tyreese calms things down,’ I
said with a quick glance.

The sound of a shotgun blast filled the night and I stared at the front
window, seeing indistinct shadows playing across the curtains.

‘Motherfucker!’ shouted one of the young men and I automatically winced,
conscious of Chrissie sitting beside me.

The sound of running drew my gaze to the front door. Tyreese appeared,
gun in his hands as he sprinted from the house.

The crack of another shot rang out. He stumbled, his expression
tightening with pain as his back arched.

‘GO!’ he yelled as his legs gave way and he fell to his knees.

Another shot sounded and I saw the back of his head burst outward with
the impact of the bullet. He slumped forward, thumping into the sodden ground.

I started the engine as one of the young men walked into view and turned
to the sound of the V8. ‘Get down!’ I said urgently, putting the stick in
reverse as the man pointed his pistol at the Falcon.

The gunshot tore through the night as I slammed my foot on the
accelerator and the wheels spun momentarily. The bullet pierced the windshield
and passed through the interior only inches in front of my face, exiting
through the driver’s side window, cracks like lightening issuing from the holes
left in its wake.

The tyres found purchase. The car roared backward. I stamped on the brake
and we skidded, the Falcon’s trunk ramming into the bumper of the pickup
behind. Chrissie let out a fearful cry as I shifted the car into first.

Another shot shattered the weakened windshield. There was a dull thud
beside my right ear, the bullet embedding in the headrest.

I pressed the pedal to the floor and the engine roared. I violently
turned the wheel to the left as the car accelerated and we neared the other
pickup ahead. The rear tyres spun as the back slid round and we made a rapid
u-turn, sprays of mud sent into the air behind.

A shot ricocheted off the trunk as we made our way to the highway and I
turned the headlights on. Not daring to slow, I took to the left turn onto the
asphalt at high speed, struggling to keep control as the car weaved,
threatening to veer off the road thanks to the muddied tyres.

Chrissie yelled again as I fought with the Falcon. I gritted my teeth,
the wheel whipping to the right as the wheels caught on the grass verge.

Pain flared in my wrists. I let out a cry of anguish and frustration,
putting every effort into getting all four wheels back on the highway.

The car calmed and stabilised. I took a breath, feeling the throbbing in
my wrists as I tried to relax my jaw.

I glanced in the rear-view as headlights appeared on the road behind us.
There was no doubt in my mind who it was and I pressed harder on the pedal,
concentrating on the unfamiliar road ahead and knowing that the Falcon would be
able to outrun the pickup as long as the highway remained clear and was reasonably
easy to navigate.

Glancing to my side, I saw Chrissie’s shadowy form curled in the footwell
of the passenger seat. ‘Are you okay, Honey?’ I asked as I turned my attention
back to the road.

There was no answer, but I could just about make out her crying above the
sound of the V8 as we sped through the night. A sign ahead announced our
arrival at the small town of Jericho and my brow furrowed in response. Tyreese
had been wrong and we were further east and south than expected, the place
having caught my eye as we’d both looked at the map, the thought that the walls
had truly come tumbling down coming to mind.

The Falcon passed through without slowing and we entered the darkness of
the open country once again. I had no idea where we were going, just wanted to
escape the headlights that kept appearing behind us each time we hit a
straight. They were persistent sons of bitches and I became increasingly
fearful that they wouldn’t give up, that there would be no end to the chase
until they finally caught up with us.

I took a tight bend, the tyres screeching on the road as I wrestled with
the wheel and the image of the skull and crossbones harvester came to mind. If
we came across anything like that again there would be no way to a void a
collision.

The road came to an end at an intersection and we joined a larger
highway, going left and my foot pressing down when the headlights in the
rear-view were lost from sight, hoping to put some distance between them and
us. Trees loomed darkly and I thought I could make out the presence of a river
over to the right, the highway following its course.

A long straight came into view after we took a bend. I gunned the Falcon.
The V8 growled and roared as we motored along the highway, soon taking another
bend, the headlights behind only just appearing in the distance behind us as we
reached it.

A glimmer of hope added weight to my foot and the needle crept up
further. We would make it.

Taking more turns, the signs at the side of the highway were merely
passing blurs in the night as I fought to keep the car on the road. I
concentrated on the way head as we rushed through the darkened landscape,
finally finding that we were on Route Seven. I had no idea which direction we
were heading, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was I hadn’t seen the
headlights in the mirrors for at least ten minutes. It looked like we’d lost
them. It looked like we were safe.