Z-Burbia 5: The Bleeding Heartland (11 page)

“Rafe,” Rafe says, and offers his hand. His left hand, not his right. “And you should refrain from calling me a child. It lowers you to the level of a Z.”

“Maury,” Kelvin says quietly then turns his back on Rafe as Maury hurries forward and cracks Rafe over the head with his shotgun.

Rafe crumples to the coal dusted dirt. Greta cries out, and I start to move towards him, but the barrel end of Maury’s shotgun is up my nose before I can take a single step.

“Get the kid out of here,” Maury says. “His first night is in the pit.”

A couple men hesitate, then sling their shotguns and pick up the kid. They drag him by the arms across the compound and are soon lost from sight inside the Tomb.

“If he is deserving, then he will rise again,” Kelvin says. A loud work whistle pierces the air. “Lunch time. Perfect. I would be honored if you and your daughter would join me for the midday meal, Jace. It will give us a chance to talk more and get to know each other. With your handicap, I’m not sure you are situated for the Tomb. Perhaps you can convince me to place you elsewhere in our little slice of Eden. Come.”

“Okey doke,” I reply as Kelvin turns on his heels and starts to do that bounding thing towards the far cluster of trailers.

“Move,” Maury says. “We don’t keep Kelvin waiting.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing we don’t,” I say as I take Greta’s hand and follow the bounding Reptile Jesus.

***

So, Reptile Jesus likes velour. Lik
e
reall
y
likes velour.

Velour covers the upholstery of the chairs and couches that fill the trailer we are led into. Red velour, green velour, purple velour, you name it. And, in the center of it all is a chase lounge covered in black velour. Yep. Black velour.

That’s where Reptile Jesus plops down. On a black velour chase lounge.

It is so fitting since velour is the trailer trash version of velvet. And who doesn’t want to see Reptile Jesus on black velvet? I know I do!

“Sit, sit,” Kelvin says as he stretches out on his velour lounge throne thing. He claps his hands. “Tea and biscuits!”

Oh, yeah, this is gonna be great. Reptile Jesus just clapped his hands for tea and biscuits. I’m pretty sure I caught the hint of a faux British accent for a split second. Who the fuck is this guy?

“Daddy, you’re mumbling,” Greta says as she sits down on a red velour couch and pulls me next to her. “Please try to stay quiet.”

“I’ll try,” I say. “No promises.”

“Maury has informed me that you may be in need of medical attention besides your leg,” Kelvin says. “Something to do with your head? I hope it wasn’t because of our treatment.”

“Well, there may have been an extra knock I could have done without,” I say. “But the problem started before I met you fine folks.”

“Fine folks,” Kelvin grins. “Yes, we are, aren’t we? Very fine folks. Very fine indeed.”

“Super fine,” I say. “The finest of fine. Finetastic. Finaliscious.”

“Daddy, stop,” Greta says.

“Stopping,” I smile, then tap my head. “The apocalypse hasn’t been so kind to my brainpan.”

“The apocalypse?” Kelvin asks. “Oh, no, Jace, we are not in the apocalypse. This is merely a test of our faith in Him. If it was truly the apocalypse, then the signs of the End of Days would be at hand. The Anti-Christ would call his forces to Armageddon, and the battle for our souls would begin. This, Jace, is not that.”

“That’s debatable,” I reply. “But I’m not a religious man, so I have zero desire to debate it. Apocalypse, no apocalypse, whatever. Doesn’t matter to me what we call it, it all sucks balls in the end.”

“Yes, how colorful,” Kelvin says. “While technically not a curse, it does border on one so I will ask you not to use that turn of phrase again, please.”

“What turn of phrase?” I ask. “Suck balls?”

“Yes, that phrase,” Kelvin says.

“You don’t want me to say suck balls?” I ask again.

“Yes, I have made that clear,” Kelvin replies.

“Okay, fair enough,” I nod. “No more saying suck balls. I promise, from this moment forward to stop using the phrase suck balls. Suck balls has been wiped from my lexicon. If I say suck balls one more time, then God Himself is more than free to strike me down with a bolt of lightning. Or a plague of frogs. Or is it a rain of frogs? A frog storm? Doesn’t matter, the point is I will no longer say those two words ever again. Scout’s honor.”

Maury’s eyes, the two shotgun guards’ standing in the corner eyes, and Reptile Jesus’s eyes are locked on me. They aren’t happy eyes.

“I believe I have been hospitable up to this point, Jace,” Kelvin says, his voice matching his sliminess a little more than the forced joviality. “Do not test me. Tea and biscuits are not offered to all that arrive here. Your friends were not offered tea and biscuits.”

Uh-oh.

My friends?

“Yes, your friends,” Kelvin grins, picking up instantly on the fact I did not intend those words to be spoken out loud. “Did Maury not tell you that our scouts brought in some of your friends earlier?”

“Scouts? Oh, right, the snowmobile brigade,” I say. “And where are my friends?”

“They are safe,” Kelvin says. “Very safe. The impertinent young man that accompanied you will be joining them shortly.”

“The pit?” I ask. “You have Stuart and Critter in the pit? Who else do you have?”

“Are those their names?” Kelvin asks. “They haven’t exactly been forthcoming with the personal information. My followers have used every means they can think of, short of mutilation, to extract information, but those two are obviously cut from a wicked cloth.”

Reptile Jesus leans forward, and I struggle not to shiver.

“The question is whether you are cut from that same cloth, Jace?”

“Is that the question?” I ask. “Because I can say I am cut from the same cloth as Stuart and Critter. It’s not fancy cloth like all this velour, but I wouldn’t call it wicked.”

I smile at Reptile Jesus. He smiles back. I wait for his tongue to flick out at me. It doesn’t. I’m a little disappointed.

A door opens and a young woman carries in a tray holding a teapot, cups, and a pile of cookies. Cookies, not biscuits. Unless you’re British, then they’d be called biscuits. Reptile Jesus is not British. So what the fuck is up with calling them biscuits? The apocalypse is so fucking annoying. Does everyone have to recreate themselves?

Kelvin eyes me again, and I’m worried I’m talking out loud, but Greta doesn’t nudge me, so I just smile and nod. I probably look like a nodding idiot, but who fucking cares at this point?

“Please serve my guests first, Tara,” Kelvin says.

“Yes, sir,” the young woman replies, her eyes cast down and away from Reptile Jesus. “Thank you, sir.”

“Tara has been with us since the very first day we found our sanctuary,” Kelvin says. “She was a teeny little thing, just a speck in God’s eye, but hasn’t she grown up to be such a beautiful young woman? Just like your daughter here. I believe I will have Tara show your daughter the ways of our world. That way I know she will be led from the darkness and towards the light.”

“Yeah, you’ve sort of used that line already,” I say as Tara hands me a cup of tea. “Away from the darkness, go towards the light, Carol Anne.”

“Carol Anne?” Kelvin asks, watching Greta closely as Tara hands her a cup of tea. “I’m sorry, but are you quoting Poltergeist?”

“It was a play on words,” I say.

“I don’t think that would be considered a play on words, as much as just a movie reference,” Kelvin says. “I would know, as I am trained in the art of words.”

“They have an art of words class in messiah school?” I ask as I sip my tea. Bitter, needs milk and sugar. My eyes watch Kelvin carefully. “Or did you learn the art in the drama program at your local community college?”

Kelvin’s eyes narrow, then blink a few times before he turns them on Tara as she hands him his tea. “Thank you, my love,” he says. “I’ll call you back soon to take these, and Miss Stanford, once we are done. You may wait in the back until then; no need to return to the kitchens.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tara says, and bows her head as she sets the tray down on a small table, then hurries from the room and back through the door.

All the men’s eyes are on her ass as the door slowly closes behind her.

“I’m sure you can believe me when I say there is quite the line waiting to ask that young woman’s hand in matrimony once she is of age,” Kelvin says. “That is not going to be an easy decision to make.”

“I can only bet,” I say as I take another sip of the bitter, really needs milk and sugar tea. “These guys all look like such great catches. How will she ever decide?”

“She won’t, Jace,” Kelvin says. “I will. It is my place to make sure the perfect unions are created here. God did not put me in charge to just let the carnal whims of my followers rule who we are to be fruitful with. It takes careful consideration to ensure the future of the human race and the power of the worship given unto Him.”

“If you say so,” I smile.

“I do,” Kelvin smiles back and nods his head. “How do you like your tea?”

“It’s great,” I reply. “Why? Did you drug it? Am I going to pass out and wake up in some torture chamber?”

“Drug your tea? That would defeat the purpose of inviting you for tea,” Kelvin says, and takes a long, loud, exaggerated sip from his cup. “See? Mine was poured from the same pot.”

“You could have drugged the cups,” I say.

“You are a very suspicious man, Jace,” Kelvin says. “It must be hard being you out there in the wicked world.”

“What makes the world out there more wicked than in here?” I ask.

“Do you really need to ask that question?” Kelvin responds.

“Uh, yeah, I do,” I say. “Because I haven’t exactly seen the picture of piety and compassion here at Reptile Jesus headquarters.”

“I’m sorry? Did you say Reptile Jesus?” Kelvin asks. “I’m not following. What does that mean?”

Huh, even when I mean to say things out loud I still stick my foot in my mouth. Story of my life, folks. Story of my life.

Kelvin looks about. “Who are you talking to, Jace? Are you addressing me? Am I the folks? And what story? You know, there is only one story, and that is the greatest story ever told.”

I set the tea down and slap my leg. My bad leg. I have to bite my tongue to keep from crying.

“Are you alright?” Kelvin asks.

“Dandy,” I say, and take a deep breath. “Okay, Kelvin, how about we cut to the chase?”

“Again, I’m not following you,” Kelvin replies.

“I’m just a guy trying to survive out in the world,” I say. “Same as you. Except I have friends and family, and you have a cult. But, in the end, we’re alike in lots of ways.”

“Daddy,” Greta warns, sounding a lot like her mother. I should heed her warning, but I don’t and press on.

“We have people that depend on us,” I continue. “You brainwash yours into following you because of some myth about being a leader and talking to God and all that mumbo jumbo. Whereas I have proven myself time and time again by getting our band of survivors out of one deadly situation after another. Sure, I blew up our subdivision, and, yes, I may have started a war with a powerful group of old world movers and shakers known as the Consortium, but hey, what’s a guy gonna do in the apocalypse, right?”

Kelvin leans forward and suddenly the reptile side of Reptile Jesus is the complete and totally dominant personality. The man is all viper and predator, his eyes boring into mine.

“Did you say the Consortium, Jace?” he asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” I reply, waving him off. Then I point my finger at him. “You know what? It does matter. Yes, I said the Consortium. We’re running our asses off from those whackjobs, and the last thing we need is to deal with a minor whackjob like you. They have dirty bombs and tanks and bulldozers and helicopters and herds of Zs. What do you have? Tea and biscuits. Oh, and they’re called cookies, dipshit! Cookies! This isn’t London, dude. This is bumfuck Illinois. Cookies!”

I stop and take a breath and think I’m done, which would be the smart thing to be. But, I’m not.

“And, by the fucking way, w
e
ar
e
smack dab in the middle of the apocalypse, okay? Your little End of Days manual is wrong. This is how the world ends, and there’s no reaping of souls or Rapture happening to take the worthy up to Heaven. Just a bunch of dead people walking around looking for a munchy or two. Apocalypse, dude. Apocalypse.”

“Jesus, Daddy,” Greta sighs. “I wish Mom was here.”

“I’ll forgive your daughter’s blasphemy since yours is so much greater, Jace,” Kelvin says, those snake eyes of his watching my every move. “I’ll also forgive her blasphemy if you tell me more about the Consortium. In fact, Jace, how about you tell me everything you know about that organization? You do that, and I think I can make things very comfortable for you here.”

“That’s the thing, Kelvin old pal,” I smile. “I don’t want things to be comfortable here. I don’t want to be here at all. I want our RVs, and I want my friends, and I want to get the fuck out of this shithole. Because that’s what it is—a shithole. You have taken a hole in the ground and shit in it by creating some throwback to Biblical slave times. I mean, what the fuck, man? You think you are the new messiah, and that gives you the right to force people to mine your coal so you can have all this?”