“Well,” he said, “what we got here, Zach?”
“Let me go,” she screamed. “Let me go. Oh my god, he’s burning let me go!”
“Not so fast, missy,” Zach said. He walked over and inspected her as she struggled. “She’s right pretty, Jared,” he said. “It’d be a shame if we went back home without doing anything about this trouble out here, don’t you think? How ‘bout you, Enoch?”
He turned to the boy. “You think she’s pretty enough?”
Enoch stared at Jared. He didn’t speak, and he was obviously ready to bolt.
“I asked you a question boy,” Zach said, taking a step closer. “You better root yourself there like a tree and listen to me, because if you run, I’m going to have to consider you might be thinking about talking to the wrong people, and I can’t let you do that.”
“We should go,” Enoch choked out. “They’ll be in to town, and they’ll bring Sheriff Thomas. Just let her go.”
He tried to put force behind his words. He tried to sound as if he was anything but a scared fourteen year old boy dragged off into the middle of the night against his will. He saw the terror in the girl’s eyes, and somehow he knew that, even held as she was, she wasn’t frightened for herself. Someone she knew was in that fire, someone she wanted to find, or to help.
“Let her go,” he repeated.
Zach turned to Jared and shook his head. He leaned in close, grabbed Desi’s hair and turned her so he could study her face. “Not just yet,” he said, releasing her and turning. “We’re going to spend some time getting to know her. Ain’t no reason to be in a hurry I can see.”
“Please,” she said. Her voice broke, and squirmed wildly, but Jared held her off the ground and no matter how hard she tried to kick him, or bite him, he kept just out of reach.
“See,” Jared leered, leaning down so his grizzled chin rested on her shoulder. “She’s beggin’ for it. Can’t disappoint a lady.”
The two brothers laughed, and Enoch backed a step toward the trees.
“You stand still, boy,” Zach called out. “You’re part of this, and don’t pretend like you ain’t. You think because you ran away after your uncle set that church on fire it makes you innocent? You’re stayin’, and you’re doin’ her too, or I’ll take an axe handle to the back of your head and leave you out here so we can blame the whole thing on one of the niggers, out for revenge.
While his brother talked, Jared tore at Desi’s dress. There was one wild moment when he was concentrating on tearing open the buttons and she nearly broke free. She lunged, spun, and ducked her head. Jared’s hand slipped, but an instant later, Zach had her by one arm, and the two pulled her dress in opposite directions. The fabric ripped and they tossed it away, pressing her to the ground.
“Someone will hear,” Enoch said. He was near tears, but he didn’t run. He knew the Bucks, and he knew they’d do what they said without thinking about it. His father would find him, broken and bleeding in the woods, and he’d kill every man woman and child still alive in the woods. It would never occur to him to question a white man’s word over that of a black cotton picker. He might not even care if he knew the truth.
“Ain’t no one going to hear a thing,” Jared growled, turning. His face was twisted in an expression born of warring emotions. Enoch had never seen anything quite like it, and his legs, already weak, turned to rubber.
“Get over here, boy,” Zach said. He held the girl still, and Jared turned to her, grinding his knee in between her thrashing legs. He struggled with the waistband of his pants, and lowered himself onto Desi.
Enoch watched in horrified fascination as the girl fought and spat and cursed. Nothing she did helped. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rush over and drag Jared off of her, but instead he stood and stared.
“I said get over here,” Jared repeated. Enoch took a step forward, hesitated, then took another. “Get her other arm, boy. Hold her. You’ll go after me.”
Enoch stopped. His moth went dry, and he shook like a leaf in a heavy breeze. Then he was moving again. He stepped in close, avoided the girl’s eyes, and grabbed her arm. He held her stiffly, afraid of hurting her and at the same time afraid of what the Bucks might do if he let her get away. His mind turned in on itself then, into darkness and heat. Where he held Desi’s wrist, his flesh burned. He was mesmerized, and the voices of the Bucks blurred to incomprehensible grunts and moans.
At some point, Zach grabbed the girl’s arm from him and pushed him down toward the girl’s limp form. What came next he remembered later in fits and snatches of nightmares, and moments of sudden, shamed heat. Desi’s eyes were closed, but just before he finished and rolled away, they opened, and he read the emotion, the hatred, and the questions that would sear themselves into him like a hot brand in those few seconds.
And he ran, crashing through the trees, fumbling with his pants. He slammed face first into a tree and reeled away, catching himself on a low-slung branch and running on. He had no idea which way he was running until he hit the edge of the cotton field. The sun was high, and he saw the smoke from the fire rising like an angry spirit over the trees. He ran until he hit porch of the family home, and fell at the door, sobbing.
Back in the trees, hurt and bleeding, Desi rose from the dirt and tied the remnant of her clothing over her body. Without a glance back the way she’d come, or in the direction her attackers had fled, she stumbled on toward the church – and her father – and Elijah.
* * *
She was too late. Some of the men who'd followed Bart ran for help. Others tried to find water, or to drag the trapped workers from the roaring flames, but they were all too late. Screams ripped through the night air, echoed off the trees, and died in the heavy, damp air of the swamp. There were no survivors. They dragged Desi away from the burning ruins of the building, but she broke free and escaped into the swamp.
The ruin of the church they left to rot. It clung to its roots. Gideon Swayne had built it with care, and the men and women who helped him, the souls he taught and protected, were craftsmen. They tried to rebuild it, but it was never more than a shadow of the building it had been, and God had left for brighter climes.
The bones of the faithful littered the ground beneath. The blood of Gideon Swayne soaked into the swamp. No one who visited that place ever returned. Things were heard – others were seen – skulking in the shadows. They call it the Preacher's Marsh, and one day, they say…he'll take to the road again to spread the word.
Some things can't be explained without blood, and candles, mud and the wind. In the Preacher's Marsh, the ghosts sing the gospel and the future is held in a handful of dried, whitened bone.
About the Author
David Niall Wilson has been writing since the early 1980s. His novels include This is My Blood, Deep Blue, Ancient Eyes, Star Trek Voyager #12 – Chrysalis, The Grails Covenant Trilogy, On the Third Day, Vintage Soul, and more. He has over 200 short stories in print, and has won the Bram Stoker Award for short fiction and for poetry. He lives with the love of his life, Patricia Lee Macomber, in a historic house in North Carolina with their children, dogs, fish, and dreams.
You can learn more about David at his website : http://www.davidniallwilson.com
You can always find him on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/david_n_wilson
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