Erik Handy (6 page)

Chapter 22

Nolan barged into the constable's office. The sleeping girl at the desk stirred. Her brother stood by the door, watching Nolan rush inside. The boy was so calm. The priest went over to the girl and soothingly rubbed her head.

"It's okay," he quietly told her. Then, to the boy, "It's okay."

If only he himself could believe it was okay.

Even in the dirty light of the office the oak gun cabinet could be seen along the wall next to the desk.

Nolan questioned whether or not he really wanted to do what he was thinking. Was he capable? He should have taken a cue from the constable and not care. But apathy just wasn't in him. He could still care and sit back and let events unfold in their own mysterious ways, God's will and all.

No. That wasn't good enough either.

Nolan tried the cabinet. The wall-length arsenal was unlocked. Why wouldn't it be?

Now what?

The priest didn't know what to pick exactly. He had had practice at a gun range before coming to town -- one of superiors suggested he should -- but neglected to bring a gun. There were no weapons at the church. Who would bring harm to a house of God? To a man of God?

Nolan realized he had been too naive up to this point in his life. Too blind in his faith. Or maybe he hid in his faith all this time so he wouldn't have to deal with real life. It was easy, too easy. He felt sick to his stomach when he also realized he was no different from Jacoby or anyone else in this town who hid in their own misery so they wouldn't have to face up to the trials every day brought.

A gun, he thought. Any of the guns would do the job. The rifles. The pistols. He reached for a rifle, then paused.

"I'm going to get myself killed," he declared.

He swallowed his doubt before selecting a rifle, a pistol, and ammo clips for both. The last item he picked was a halogen flashlight.

Outside, a vehicle's brakes squealed to a halt.

A sign from above to stop him from doing something stupid?

Nolan didn't spare that question a second's thought. Fully armed, he went outside.

***

Nolan caught sight of the soldier guarding the office walking over to the new arrivals: ten jeeps packed full of armed men. More soldiers.

One man was barking orders to the soldiers before spotting Nolan.

"So," he called out to the priest. "You're the priest." The man saw the rifle in Nolan's hands. "You're already prepared. Good!"

The man greeted Nolan with a light, friendly slap on the shoulder. "A prepared man. I like that. Constable Jacoby isn't here, I presume?"

"He's at the bar," Nolan replied.

"Of course he is," the man stated simply, neither surprised nor angry. He looked into the office behind Nolan. The grocer's son stood in the doorway. The boy casually watched the latest commotion. "The children. The storekeeper's?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

The man extended his hand. "Captain Raymond. I'm the back-up in case Captain Fleur didn't report in." He gestured to the men he brought. "And I've brought friends."

"I hope you brought enough," Nolan said. "The others were . . . wiped out."

Raymond solemnly nodded. "But now we know what to expect. I can count you in on coming with us?"

It took Nolan only a second before answering, but in this long second every conviction he had battled with his every yen to save Marie and her baby. Could he actually fire one of those guns and possibly kill someone during the course of things?

"I have to go with you."

"Good. I'll station some men here to watch the children and the town. Now, Father. Shall we gather up the constable?"

Chapter 23

Angelina trod through the jungle without missing a step. She obviously knew where she was going in the near darkness of evening.

Marie now followed her effortlessly and of her own volition, not really caring where they were headed.

She couldn't think, couldn't mourn Jean Paul. Everything was moving too fast for her to keep up. She had no choice but to go with the currents. It was all she ever did -- go with the flow without making a mark on her own life. The decisions she made, like marrying Rosalo and leaving the city to live in Hell, were her own, but they were for other people. And they usually were the wrong ones.

She used to escape Rosalo's world by imagining what her life would have been like had she not met Rosalo at a party three years ago. She would have still been miserable -- city life was a nightmare in itself -- but at least she could seek adequate help should she have needed it. Out here, despite the priest she sought, the priest who failed her, she was completely alone.

No. Not alone. Here was Angelina, someone who knew what Marie and those others were going through. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

The ladies made their way to a small clearing outlined with four tents circling a tiny dugout fire pit. There was no sense of menace here amid the chaos and death of this unforgiving country.

Two women sat around the fire. One, Anna, looked up and recognized Marie. "Marie!"

They hugged and began to cry.

"My baby," Marie lamented, burrowing her face into the other woman's shoulder. "Anna, my baby!"

"It's all right," Anna replied. "Shh. We're going to make them pay." Anna looked over at Angelina who then left the two to their tender moment. "We're going to make them pay."

Chapter 24

The ten jeeps slowly made their bumpy way up the incline. The only light came from their headlights. This light did nothing to ease the men's tension. They heard what happened to their fellow officers earlier. Even though they were secure in their notion of safety in great numbers, they remained nervous. What waited for them out here and when would the savages strike?

In the lead jeep was Raymond, a slowly sobering Jacoby, Nolan, and five other soldiers. Raymond sat in the front, Jacoby and Nolan in the middle row. Even with a soldier between them this was too close for both men's comfort.

Nolan looked over at Jacoby. The constable was looking out into the dark jungle. Nolan thought the man was perhaps flashing back to the earlier massacre and his cowardly actions. If Jacoby was any other man, Nolan would have cut him some slack for running. However, Nolan knew what kind of man he was, what kind of coward.

The constable caught Nolan's gaze. He couldn't hold his end of it and looked away.

Jacoby began to scan his side of the jungle for anyone tracking them. This helped him not to think about the priest. He couldn't believe that bastard would come along!

Jacoby chuckled.

The priest had come to die.

"Look!" Raymond said.

All eyes were now on the road just ahead. It was the site of the day's skirmish between the police and rock-wielding men, or savages as some of the soldiers thought. Dead bodies, police and attackers alike, were splayed around the area along with guns, sticks, and stones. The remaining jeep sat on the side of the road, a dead cop slumped in the passenger's seat.

The caravan stopped to allow several soldiers to move the bodies out of the road. One drove the sitting jeep into the bush to be retrieved later. He tried to not let his stare linger too long on the throatless corpse on his right.

A grisly scene even in the shine of headlights. The day's heat caused some of the corpses to fester and stink. Several of the policemen could smell the dead from their jeeps a few feet away. They had a hard time keeping their bile in its place.

Jacoby tried not to stare at the scene, but found it difficult to turn away. He didn't consider that he could have perished here. He didn't mourn the dead he left behind. He just couldn't turn away from the grotesque images of lifeless eyes staring out and away or of the slick blood that didn't seem to be drying even in this heat. This was like a horror movie he would go watch in the city.

Nolan's expression was more of puzzlement than disgust or morbid curiosity. What exactly happened here? He couldn't picture the particulars of the battle. He didn't really want to.

He cinched up on his rifle, cradling it like a security blanket. Not for the first time since coming to this remote part of the world did he feel out of his element.

"We must be close!" Raymond shouted back as the caravan started up again.

Nolan leaned forward, his eyes on the dead ahead and around them. "Who attacked the constable and these men?" he asked Raymond.

"A tribe?" Raymond replied. "Maybe a religious sect?"

Jacoby nodded in agreement as if he knew in the first place. "Death cult."

Raymond shrugged. To Nolan, "Why are you here, Father?"

While Nolan searched for an answer, Raymond kept his eyes on him, patient. Jacoby also awaited the answer, but he faced forward, keeping the conversation in his periphery.

"To save the woman and her child," Nolan finally answered. It was as good an answer as any.

Raymond shook his head, smiling. "We are here for that anyway. Why are you in this god forsaken country? To bring the word of God to these people?

After all that had happened in the past day, those final straws, the priest doubted God existed. That brought on a crisis Nolan did not want to deal with right now. Besides, Raymond, and now Jacoby, waited for his answer.

Nolan stumbled for a response. Finally, "I'm here to offer hope."

Raymond let out a single laugh. "I applaud you, Father. You're not the first to come to this part of the world to offer a beacon of light. And you will not be the last. It is a foolish endeavor, but I applaud you just the same."

Raymond turned back around, leaving Nolan to his own thoughts.

Was it foolish? He came here several months ago with a mission: to offer hope and spiritual guidance. His predecessor, a burned-out shell of a man, told him that the quest may seem fruitless at first or even for years after, but that was all right. One splinter of light was enough to gnaw at the darkness just like these jeep headlights pierced the night. Right?

Jacoby wished he was back at the bar.

The men sat in silence until they arrived a little further up the road where a man blocked their passage. The black man was disheveled, his hair in several different directions at once. He had one look in his eyes, one stare for the police in the jeeps in front of him and that look was of murder. Do not attempt to pass here, it told the men.

The jeeps slowed to a stop a few yards from the man.

Raymond stood up in his jeep. "Move aside!" he yelled.

The man stood still.

"Move aside!" Raymond repeated.

The man didn't move. He simply stared ahead, not necessarily at the men or the jeeps, but ahead.

This began to unnerve each man, soldier and priest alike. Jacoby and Nolan watched the scene, enraptured.

The man reached behind himself with one arm and withdrew a machete from his waistband. He turned the dull, yet brutal blade to show that he would not be cast aside so easily.

Raymond pulled his gun and shot the man once.

The man fell on his back, dead once he hit the ground. The hole in his chest still bled out as the caravan continued over him.

Chapter 25

 Rosalo waited alone outside of the hut that held Marie. He closed his eyes. He felt a warm buzz in the air. It wasn't the heat or humidity. It was what he sensed before every sacrifice. The anticipation of death, of murder, some might call it. Rosalo didn't care much for names. It, the sacrifices, were just means to an end. Some of the people he enraptured enough to join him in his village used drugs to get high. He used death. That buzz was electric, mystical, and holy. First, the baby, his baby, the most precious sacrifice he could ever make. Then, his wife. If she still lived. He was surprised her stab wound hadn't killed her instantly. No. She deserved a slow death, especially after she sliced his hand. Impetuous bitch.

He held his hand up, eyes still closed. He couldn't feel the itchy cut, not in his rising euphoria.

A shout came from the hut behind him. Then one of his men.

"She's gone!"

Rosalo opened his eyes. He couldn't believe she'd run again. He couldn't believe she had the strength to get off the ground. By all rights, she should have been dead! He was going to drag out her suffering once she was found.

Calmly, he told the panicked villager, "Get the men. All of them."

The man ran through the village, banging on doors, rousing the males. Those in huts stepped out, some putting clothes on as they moved; their wives peeking out at them as they joined the small mob that formed in the center of the village.

No one was tired. They weren't sleeping. They knew Rosalo's sacrifice would be at dawn, a few hours away. They didn't dare sleep or indulge in other pleasures for fear of missing it.

As soon as the men formed a group around, their leader addressed them. "I do not have a speech to motivate you. Instead, I have a simple favor." He gestured to the jungle around their settlement. "My wife has fled us again. Last night I asked you to bring her back to me. Now I ask you again. Please find her. And don't be gentle."