by Al Ewing
Cade moved.
There was a snapping sound as he yanked the finger backwards and broke it. Then he moved with his left, wincing slightly as the fist slammed hard between Jurgen's thighs, smashing against the steroid-shrivelled bits of flesh he kept there. The punch sent a wave of molten lava up the nerves in Cade's arm. Hurt a hell of a lot.
There was some consolation in knowing it hurt Jorgen a hell of a lot more. He doubled over, making a high-pitched whining sound as his eyes bulged, at which point Cade let go of the man's finger and pulled back his right.
Jurgen tried to straighten up, but he couldn't make it before Cade's fist slammed into his jaw. Cade didn't get angry as a rule, but he'd been nailed to the street for three days, putting up with Fuel-Air of all people, and that didn't do much to ease a man's temper. There was a fair amount of anger in that punch, and a hell of a lot of power, and the lead knuckleduster he'd slipped out of his pocket besides.
The impact tore the jawbone off Jurgen's face, sending a gout of blood spattering over Cade and onto the floor, the flesh of the face torn to strips as the jawbone dangled by a thread of muscle. Jurgen's eyes bulged, and he raised his hands to his face.
Cade's hands got there first, closing about the dangling jaw and tearing it free. Then he swung it around, smashing it into Jurgen's temple, sending him crashing down to the ground. The Pastor nodded approvingly.
"With the jawbone of an ass, he will slay his thousands. The Lord was right about you, brother, yes he was."
Cade nodded. "You need a new General."
The Pastor smiled. "Why? The old one's still alive."
Cade tossed the jawbone aside as Jurgen raised his head, scrabbling helplessly with his remaining fingers at what was left of his face, his tongue flapping uselessly as blood and drool mingled on the cold tile floor. Cade brought his fist down once, crashing the lead weight of the knuckleduster into the back of Jurgen's head, smashing the skull into fragments.
Jurgen slumped forward, deader than hell. He hadn't thrown a single punch. A couple of the children started to cry.
The Pastor turned, raising his hands to the crowd. "Be not afraid! For even the angel of death himself was but a noble soldier in the army of the Lord! Brother - name?"
"Cade." said Cade.
"Brother Cade is here to do the will of the Lord and pro-mote his glory! Brother Jurgen was weak! The Devil was in him! Brother Cade is a strong right arm for the Lord, a man who will do works of greatness in his name! Do you not believe in the Lord? Do you not love your Lord? If you love your God, do not fear! Only the godless need fear! The hippies! The pre-verts! Satan's own!"
The children had stopped crying. They were looking at Cade, mesmerised. If they'd seen a monster standing there before, they were seeing something else now. A biblical hero, ready to slay his weight in unbelievers.
Cade suddenly realised there wasn't a toy in the place.
The kids didn't have toys. He'd figured the adults weren't allowed books, but there wasn't even a magazine or an old newspaper. There wasn't anything that wasn't food or water or a place to sleep. Or a bible. He already knew nobody drank, but that was the tip of the iceberg - the Pastor had taken everything from these people except the chance to kneel and pray to his Lord.
Cade was almost impressed. The man knew how to put a cult together.
One by one, the men and women stood, bowing their heads and saying their amens. Cade leaned forward and muttered. "We should talk."
"In the morning, Brother Cade." The Pastor smiled, walking into the crowd, laying on hands. Cade followed a pace or two behind. He wasn't in the habit of feeling good about himself, and he felt a mite ambivalent now, but he had to admit he'd played this one pretty well. He had a home base now, while he was in San Francisco - somewhere he could lick his wounds, get food supplies and hopefully medical care, if the Pastor allowed things like band-aids and stitches in his handmade heaven.
He was going to need to kill the Pastor, of course. That went without saying. Probably he'd need to kill a good load of the rest of these fools into the bargain.
But he figured that could wait.
At least until the morning.
Chapter Eleven
The Walk
Morning came soon enough.
Cade had managed to get some sleep and a little food - pork and beans out of a can - and now he was in the Duty Manager's Office, looking at a map of the city the Pastor kept there. The thin old man stuck one bony finger out, drawing a line across the map, marking the edge of his territory.
"Pass this line, and you're outside my reach, Brother Cade. All you have is the Lord at your back, and you must trust, you must trust and believe, in the mercy of the Lord and the power of the Lord to shield you from the evils of the Devil..."
That suited Cade just fine. He didn't trust the Pastor further than he could piss, and he had a feeling it was mutual. They were using each other - or at the very least, not killing each other - but no more than that. Cade needed a base, and the Pastor needed some eyes. Everything else was window dressing.
Of course, that meant the Pastor figured he needed a pair of eyes that could take being staked down on the tarmac for three days and then get up and kill near seven feet of solid muscle without thinking twice. That was a hell of a pair of eyes.
Made a man wonder what might be waiting out there.
"Ain't the first."
The Pastor drew back, surprised and slightly confused. Cade looked at him, that look he took on when people didn't catch his meaning right away, and the light dawned on the Pastor's face. "Ah... no, I have sent men out before. I have to know, you see - what he's doing. But nobody ever comes back."
Cade shrugged. "Converts, maybe."
Folks not coming back didn't necessarily mean they were dying. Could be that they took one look at the hippie setup - which probably included decent fresh vegetables, books and a toy or two - and decided they'd just as soon stay there forever as head back to the Pastor. If Cade had been the kind of man to have a sense of humour, he'd have said they'd been tempted into the ways of sin.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying the Pastor carefully. "Who's 'he'?"
The Pastor hissed, crunching the paper of the map in a bony fist. "The Devil! Devil among devils, prince of demons! How many souls did he condemn, oh Lord, how many souls did he send with his own hands into the eternal fire?"
Cade frowned. "Couldn't tell you. Who is he?"
"Doctor Leonard Clearly!" the Pastor spat the words, his eyes narrowing, the lines on his brow turning into deep, furrowed trenches. "A botanist and bio-chemist - they called him, the media, the liberal apologists. He wasn't anything but a pusher! A dealer who spoke with the forked and hissing tongue of Satan! The teacher of worldly pleasure! I knew the man, before the Lord brought his wrath upon this land. I... I debated him. In a lecture hall. A special event." He spat. "Hah! A setup by the liberal elite! They ambushed me with their questions, their science! As if their science knew better than the voice of God!" The Pastor turned his eyes to Cade's, and there was pain in them, all of a sudden - an old humiliation. "He called me a lunatic! Can you imagine, Brother Cade? He said I should be taken to the booby hatch and locked away with the nuts - his exact words! Because I dared stand up and tell him that happiness came from your soul! From the glory of the Lord! Not a pill-bottle!"
The Pastor sank into his chair, releasing the map from his grip. He raised his hands to his head. Cade leaned forward a little. This was the first time he'd seen the Pastor rattled, and he couldn't help but get curious.
The Pastor exhaled a long, shaken breath. "They laughed at me. A whole roomful of young people. Students. Just young. They weren't real hippies then, you see. They weren't tools of the Devil. Not then." He shook his head. "But they didn't hear me. Wouldn't listen to the holy word, no... and all the time, he was talking about - about mind alteration. And... open sexuality. We know what that means, don't we, Brother Cade? You can dress it up all you like, with y
our words, your fancy liberal words, but you can't hide from the Lord with words, no you can't, you cannot conceal your sins from His gaze..."
He raised his head, and there was pure hatred in those ice-grey eyes. "Free love." He let out a harsh, barking laugh, bitter and poisoned. "We know where that leads! Oh yes! Freedom to love - love, they call it! There's only one love, yes indeed, and that's the love provided by the Lord! That's right, the Lord in his glory and his purity and his... his chastity..." The Pastor let out a sob, covering his eyes.
Cade didn't say anything. There wasn't much to say.
The Pastor swallowed. "Free love leads to sins that cannot be forgiven. Profane lusts - evil and heathen perversions! It's not me that says so, oh no! No sir! It's the Bible! Those crimes are outlined for all to see in the very written word of the Lord!" He pounded his fist into his palm. "They're crimes against nature and God, crimes that gotta be paid for, yes sir, paid for in blood! The blood of a sinner! You got to see that!" His tone changed suddenly, as he leant forward, his hands out in supplication. "You - you see that, don't you? You gotta! You do - you do see that? Don't you? Don't you see? Don't you see I was right?" He was almost begging.
Cade thought about the skeletons on the crosses. He just stared. He wasn't about to give the Pastor absolution - he didn't figure he could if he wanted to.
And he didn't much want to.
Some crimes can't be forgiven, all right.
Eventually, the Pastor stood, shaking his head. "Oh, he was a devil, that Doc Clearly. A fiend! He corrupted hundreds, thousands, yes he did... Too many to count! His words were a poison that blanketed this city and inflamed sin within all they fell on! He preached Satan's word! Condoned psychedelics to muddy the mind and doom the soul - why, he even created some! Things the law didn't cover! Drugs to chain the mind and heart so it might be brought quicker to the Devil's grip!" He slammed his hand down on the map, as if trying to crush the man he hated under his palm.
He stood like that a moment, shaking his head... then he sighed, and his body seemed to wilt a little, held up by his hand pressing on the map.
"Then the end came."
Cade just watched.
"The end came, and billions died, and Doctor Clearly... he wasn't one of them. No. The Lord... the Lord must test a man. Only the worthy can enter His kingdom. He sets us challenges..." He looked up suddenly and jabbed a bony finger at Cade. "That's why I put those iron spikes through your hands, you see? That wasn't my idea. I didn't think of that. It wasn't my test to give you. The Lord spoke in my ear, whispered it. He said to me that you could do great service..." He blinked, shaking his head - then reached into the desk, pulling out the knife, still coated with dried blood, and the length of chain. "So, then. Do great service now, Brother Cade. Bring me word of Doctor Clearly, or if you can, bring to me his head that I might offer it in sacrament to the Lord..."
Cade reached for them both, slotting them into their proper places. "Obliged. Now I just need my truck."
The Pastor smiled. "Our need is greater, Brother Cade. We have a use for your vehicle - it will be the chariot that will carry our... gift." He chuckled like a dusty mirror cracking in a haunted castle. "Judgement as a gift. I like that. Walk south and west, Brother Cade - towards Alamo Square. Take Lombard Street and Divisadero... don't walk down Van Ness Avenue."
"Sure." Cade muttered, locking the padlock on the chain. Lombard and Divisadero was the direct route. He wasn't planning on walking Van Ness anyhow - that'd take him far out of his way, and there was no reason for it that Cade could see.
Except there was a reason the Pastor could see. Might prove interesting to see what that was.
The Pastor shook his head, as if to clear it, then brought the topic back where he'd left it. "Clearly... he's a persuasive Devil. He has a silver tongue. I don't think you'll be fooled easy by his words... but so many have been. So, so many. I don't know if you'll return to us."
"I will." murmured Cade. He stood, checking his gear. He'd be back soon enough, all right.
The Pastor grinned. "He is the burner, Brother Cade. The force of chaos. He's the one you're looking for, the one who took the torch to Sousalito, yes he is... the Devil is a man of fire." He chuckled, like a knife dragged down a sheet of glass, then raised a bony hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. "Kill him, or find his weakness, and then we'll talk. The Lord is a powerful friend, Brother Cade. The Lord provides for many needs..."
Cade nodded, once, and walked out.
His hands still itched, and they shot fire every time he moved them. For a moment, as he walked through the supermarket, between the mattresses, listening to the soft singing and praying of the people there, he wondered if he was going to walk out and find a big crowd with railroad spikes in their hands... but when the doors opened, all there was was a parking lot and a sunny day.
In fact, it was the most beautiful morning Cade had seen in a while.
That's some eerie shit, dog. Fuckin' surreal is what it is.
"Don't have a need for you now, Fuel-Air." Cade said, walking past the thin figure in the utility gear, chewing dip and grinning that fuck-you grin of his. "Get lost."
You'll need me later. Guaren-fuckin'-tee it. And you got me now anyway.
He laughed, a caffeinated little giggle.
I'm gonna keep an eye on you, Cade.
Cade didn't bother to reply. When he looked back around, Fuel-Air was gone.
Cade scratched the back of his neck, mouth twitching a little as the pain in his hand bothered him, and then turned right, heading towards Van Ness Avenue.
The Pastor didn't want him to know what was down there, and Cade figured that was reason enough. He set to walking.
Van Ness was a walk, and then some - a couple of miles of straight road. But Cade didn't exactly mind. After what he'd been through the last couple of days, it felt good to just move - good to get one foot in front of the other. Good to just breathe. Even the garbage he was starting to see on the road was starting to look good.
Shit, man, what are you, some garbage con-o-sewer now? Fuck, that's some fucked-up American Beauty shit...
"Thought I told you to get the hell out." Cade wasn't in the mood for Fuel-Air right now. He had business to be getting on with, not to mention finding whatever the Pastor didn't want him to see on Van Ness Avenue. He was getting damn tired of being pestered by a ghost.
Fuck you, bitch. You're missing some elementary fuckin' shit here, you know? How come that garbage looks so damn good to your dumb ass?
It was a sign Cade was outside the Pastor's territory - away from all his religion, his rules and regulations, his damned crosses and the rest of his assorted bullshit. Every empty bag of corn chips blowing about the streets was like a dove with an olive branch in its mouth as far as Cade was concerned. A sign that things were getting halfway back towards normal. He didn't bother saying any of that out loud. Fuel-Air would pick it up anyhow, he figured.
Okay, so you're sentimental for the days people didn't bother picking up their shit, fine. Something's still missing, dog. Check it out.
Fuel-Air walked past him, humping his pack on his back, tin lid on his head. He pointed across the road. Cade looked - there was a converse trainer sitting on a step, another one a little further down the street.
"So?" Cade was trying to sound like he didn't see what Fuel-Air was trying to say, but he was getting a sinking feeling. He'd seen it the second Fuel-Air had pointed it out.
You got shoes over there, dog. Where the fuck are the feet?
Cade didn't say anything.
No corpses, you dumb motherfucker. You got nobody picking up the garbage and shit, but people are picking up the fuckin' bodies off the ground and burying them or some shit. Ain't a single one here. Means you got another faction operating, one the Rev didn't want to mention. You're in enemy fuckin' territory, dog. Better get your shit together.
Cade nodded. Much as he hated to admit it, Fuel-Air was right. He needed to get his shit together. He'd
been making damn fool mistakes ever since he'd reached San Francisco. He'd lost the truck, damn near lost his hands and probably lost his damn mind if a stupid kid he'd seen get blown to pieces with his own eyes was dropping hints at him from six feet in the ground. He wasn't noticing things he needed to.
Hell, maybe this was the mythical Doctor Clearly at work. If the hippies were growing food, they'd need fertiliser...
That boat don't fuckin' float and you know it, dog. Shit, man, where's your fuckin' head at?
"Shut up, Fuel-Air." Cade snapped, raising his head. Then he froze.
Fuel-Air wasn't there.
Instead, Cade saw a boy of about eight or nine, with hair down to his shoulders, covered in dirt and dust. He was barefoot, wearing a ragged T-shirt and a cut-off pair of jeans that had both seen so much assorted crap that they'd lost any colour they might have once had. The boy was holding something in his hand - Cade couldn't work out what it was at first.
Then the boy grinned with a mouthful of rotting teeth, raised it up to his mouth and bit into it, tearing off a strip and chewing. Cade watched, eyes narrowed, looking at the thing the boy was biting on like it was a strip of beef jerky.
The thing was wearing an earring.
Chapter Twelve
The Boy
Cade looked at the boy.
The boy looked at Cade, and chewed his ear. His eyes were heavy-lidded, slow-looking, a cow's eyes. Cade knew you could go crazy pretty quickly from eating human meat - it caused lesions on the brain. Affected you a little like CJD.
There was a good chance he could get to the boy before the boy made a run for it.
Whether he could answer a question would be another matter.
Cade counted to three. Then he moved.
The boy moved too - breaking right, making a bolt towards Grove Street, heading east. He was quick - fast as a whippet. Cade was a good couple of heads taller than him, but he was having some trouble closing the gap. Probably still weak from before.
