Blood Cult (26 page)

I stood to the
rear of the stage as Shane moved to the microphone. Those whose blood was going
to be spilled were lined up on the southern side of bridge beside the float,
around twenty in total, all with their wrists tied and mouths gagged. I’d
already passed along the line and injected the last of the morphine capsules
into them, finding myself three short. All that remained were a couple of
packets of tablets, which I was holding for myself.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I introduce to you the shepherd of
our flock, the man who brought many of us safely north. He’s the one and only,
the holiest of holies. It’s the Voice of God, Reverend Peterson.’

Cheering and applause arose from those who were part of the convoy as the
large crowd stood on the interstate below my position.
You’re the Voice
began
to play from the speakers as I slowly made my way forward, raising my arms in
the air and filled with an intoxicating sense of power.

I was lord of all I surveyed, my flock in their rightful place beneath me.
The off and on ramps were like arms embracing the mass of humanity packed onto
the interstate, staring up at me with faces tainted by the sickness. Those
unable to stand were seated on the banked verges to the sides and most of the
people still held cups or bowls, the orange dregs of soup visible within.

‘You’re the voice, try and understand it, make a noise and make it
clear,’ I sang, taking the mic from its stand and holding it out above the
crowd, who sang the ‘ohs’ back to me.

‘We’re not gonna sit in silence, we’re not going to live with fear.’ I
held the microphone out again and they responded with greater enthusiasm, the
collective sound of their cries resounding in the hollow before the bridge.

I turned and nodded at David, who gently faded the song out, an expectant
silence taking its place.

‘Those of you who were camped along the highway, please move to the
front,’ I stated, watching as small streams of people made their way through
the crowd and gathered below.

‘You were promised the cure,’ I continued as the last stragglers moved
forward, ‘and the cure shall be given by the grace of God, for it’s written,
“there will be no more crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed
away”,’ I paraphrased.

‘I tell you now, the old order has passed and you all know this to be
true. By the might of the Lord the world is being cleansed.’ I walked over to
the speakers and took up the chalice.

‘We drink the blood of those unaffected by God’s divine judgement, those
who find protection under the leathered wings of Satan,’ I stated when I went
back to the microphone, holding the chalice up. ‘We take his wickedness and
make it good. We take his darkness and make it light. We work in God’s name to
bring about a new dawn.’

There was cheering and whooping from some of those from the convoy, others
clapping with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

‘Now drink and find your pain and suffering relieved by the Lord, for
that’s the proof that He works through me, that our quest is blessed by His
presence.’

I nodded to Wade and Morgan in turn as they stood at either end of the
sacrificial line of pure bloods. They each moved to the nearest captive as the
disco lights began to flash. A gutsy guitar riff issued from the speakers and
was soon joined by drums as the first throats were slit and the victims were
shoved over the side of the bridge, their ankles bound and the other end of the
ropes tied to the barrier.

‘
Last night a little dancer came dancin’ to my door, last night a
little angel came pumpin’ on my floor
,’ sang Billy Idol as the bodies swung
wildly beneath the bridge, spraying blood all over the crowd beneath.

‘
She said, “come on baby, I got a license for love, and if it expires,
pray help from above
.’

I grabbed the microphone. ‘In the midnight hour, she cried “more, more, more.”
With a rebel yell, she cried “more, more, more.” In the midnight hour, babe, “more, more, more.” With a rebel yell, “more, more, more”,’ I sung with an Idol
snarl as more bodies swung down.

People from the convoy began to rush forward as the newcomers bore a
mixture of shocked and bemused expressions. My faithful raised their arms and
opened their mouths as the line of lambs standing on the bridge steadily
diminished, new bodies joining those already swinging feet first below.

The throats of the final pair of victims standing before the stage were
slit with the quick passing of knives. Their bodies were pushed over the
barrier and their blood sprayed in glorious arcs, spattering the already
stained crowd below as the newcomers began to join in.

There was wild dancing, howling, people dropping to their knees beneath
the bodies, arms raised as if in worship as they stretched their mouths wide
and drank down the drops still falling.

‘In the midnight hour, she cried…’ I held out the mic.

‘More, more, more,’ answered the crowd.

‘With a rebel yell, she cried…’

‘More, more, more.’

‘In the midnight hour, babe.’

‘MORE, MORE, MORE!’ they yelled.

‘With a rebel yell.’

‘MORE, MORE, MORE!

I rocked on stage, jumping and bounding as one of the members of the
audience climbed on the shoulders of another, clawing up one of the bodies with
a knife in her hands. She hung on and cut the rope, falling back to the crowd
with the corpse.

People surged towards it, diving on it, ripping away the clothes and
devouring. Others followed the woman’s example and soon all the bodies had been
brought down to the desperate barbarity, the need to feed.

‘I give you all and have none babe, just to, just to, just to have you
here by me,’ I roared, releasing the mic stand and closing my eyes as I held my
arms out to the sides and praised the glory of God, filled with His divine
light.

We ran through
the trees my legs aching after the sprint to the car and my arms beginning to
tire under the increasing burden of Chrissie. Jasmine was at the head, rushing
on with her mother close behind despite the packs upon their backs.

I heard the pickup draw to a stop on the highway behind us and pushed on,
knowing that those seated in the rear would be climbing out and beginning their
pursuit. Every sound we made increased my tension as we hastened west.

‘This way,’ stated Stormy when we entered a small clearing, Jasmine
slowing as her mother veered to the north.

We headed through the thick grasses, making for the cover of the
tree-line.

A branch snapped in the trees to the south of the clearing and I glanced
over my shoulder. Seeing no sign of anyone amidst the shadows, I stumbled as
the undergrowth sought to trip me, regaining my balance as I continued ahead.

Crows cried out in alarm and I glanced back again, my eyes widening when
I caught sight of the figure riding out from the trees. He looked for all the
world like Clint Eastwood in
The Good, The Bad and The Ugly
, poncho
draped over his shoulders and the brim of his hat casting a faint shadow over
his face in the dullness. One thing set him apart from the Man with no Name.
There was gas mask covering his face and the ghoulish sight sent a shiver along
my spine.

I turned to look at Stormy’s back as she ran into the trees. I wanted to
ask if she could see him too, thinking that maybe my weary mind was playing
tricks on me, but daren’t call out for fear those from the pickup would hear.

I looked back again when I reached the tree-line a moment later, the man
sitting calmly upon his pale horse as it walked at an easy pace across the
clearing. Shaking my head, I concentrated on making my way between the trunks
as painful fire slowly built in my arms and shoulders.

The crows circled over the wood as I stumbled again. My legs were heavy
and steps laboured as I slowed.

‘Stormy,’ I called as she and Jasmine continued through the deep shadows
of the pines.

She turned as she ran. ‘We can’t stop yet.’

I shook my head. ‘I can’t go on.’

I sank to my knees, glancing down at Chrissie’s face and finding her eyes
closed. Tears of frustration began to gather as I lay her on the ground before
me.

Stormy jogged back and came to a halt before me. ‘I’ll carry her,’ she
offered, bending to pick her up as Jasmine waited twenty yards ahead, glancing
around fearfully as she looked for any sign of our pursuers.

I shook my head again. ‘No. We’ll stay,’ I stated, knowing that we were
slowing them down and that the increased burden would only weaken Stormy and
make it more likely that we’d all be captured.

Her brow became furrowed with concern. ‘I can’t leave you here.’

‘You must, it’s the only way.’ I held her gaze, my eyes speaking volumes.

She stared at me a moment and then nodded. Moving forward as sounds of movement
arose in the woods to the east, she set the carryall down beside me and gave me
a brief hug of parting.

‘Good luck,’ she stated as she straightened.

‘You too.’

‘You never know…,’ she said, leaving the thought unfinished.

I nodded. ‘You never know.’

‘Here.’ Stormy pulled a small penknife from her pocket and handed it to
me.

I took it and she hesitated before turning and heading off through the
trees. Jasmine gave a brief wave and the two of them disappeared between the
trunks, swallowed by the darkness gathered there.

I looked around, seeing the root bowl of a pine that had been torn from
the ground ten yards away, the tree fallen and bare beyond. I took a breath to
gather my strength and lifted Chrissie once more, struggling to carry her even
the short distant, my arms weak and body shaky.

I placed her in the hollow of dark earth, a few straggly roots hanging
about her head and shoulders like the pale fingers of death seeking to claim
her. I drew the hood of her coat over her hair and she moaned softly, looking
to me with hooded eyes.

I held my finger to my lips as I crouched beside her. Gunshots sounded
from the direction in which Stormy and Jasmine had departed and I looked off
through the woodland as I heard a woman’s brief scream, fearing the worst.

Silence crept between the trees. Time slowed and was measured out in the
slowing beat of my heart. The wind passed through the upper boughs and a few
needles were loosed, tumbling to the woodland floor with small sounds of
demise.

The flutter of a bird’s wings drew my attention to the right and I stared
into the gloom, carefully pulling the blade from the penknife, its length no
more than my index finger. It was little by way of protection, but at least it
was something.

A small deer walked calmly into sight, almost serene as it grazed the
patches of yellowed grass that struggled to exist beneath the shadows of the
pines.

There were sounds of movement from the south, back towards the clearing.
The creature raised its head and its nostrils flared as it turned to the
disturbance.

A moment later the deer flinched and its fur rippled before it bounded
off between the trunks and quickly vanished from sight.

I leant against the root bowl at my right shoulder, the rustle of my
waterproof seeming incredibly loud and the strong scent of earth filling me as
I peered into the woodland, my shadow falling across Chrissie’s still form. I
heard no more evidence of approach, but my pulse was elevated once again. I was
stiff with tension, knife gripped tightly as I kept low, imagining someone
lurking on the other side, drawing closer along the length of the dead tree.

A male voice lifted into the air from the direction of the highway. It sounded
like it was issuing through some kind of public address system, having the same
qualities as an announcement at a train station. I tried to hear what he was
saying, but most of his words were indistinct. He seemed to be making some kind
of speech as I waited in quaking readiness for our pursuers to appear.

I lowered my
arms as the song came to an end, surveying my flock with a sense of
omnipotence. I was the conduit of God’s might, the vessel that He had filled
with His light and His guidance.

‘This is wrong,’ called a man in casual clothes as he stood on the fringes
of the crowd to the right.

His young wife nodded her agreement, greasy blonde hair tied back and
cheeks sunken.

Before I could utter a single word, members of the audience rushed the
couple with snarls and shouts of anger. I saw one of the people pull a knife
from his belt, lunging at the man, grabbing him by the shoulder and stabbing it
into his chest again and again in a frenzied attack.

His wife screamed as blood sprayed over the group. A woman jumped upon
her, grasping her hair as they fell to the grass at the side of the highway.
Teeth bit savagely into her neck, ripping the skin away as she stared up at me
in horror. Within moments she was hidden from sight, others diving upon her and
feasting on her flesh.

Her husband collapsed to the ground nearby. His clothes were torn away by
countless desperate hands before teeth sank into his body, the couple consumed
in the heat of the blood lust.

‘To your vehicles!’ I called, deciding to grasp the frantic and crazed
bull by the horns and channel the crowd’s energy towards a higher purpose.

All faces lifted to me.

‘It’s time to take the border,’ I stated. ‘Take down anyone that stands
in your way.’

There were cheers and hollers of approval.

‘Tonight we feast in Montreal.’

The crowd went wild with excitement, their eyes darkened by dilated
pupils as they began to hurriedly disperse, eager to hit the road, to press on
through the crossing and on to our final destination. Most of those who were
part of the convoy knew to hang back, to let the newcomers rush the border
behind the tanker, and I felt sure we would overcome the soldiers posted there
with relative ease.

‘The Lord is with us,’ I called, my voice booming from the speakers and
my bones trembling with the truth of my statement.