Nailgun Messiah (Micah Reed Book 1)

by Jim Heskett

  Lilah leaned in close, about to get to the good part. “And one of them took a swing at the other, but this long-haired guy jumped in between them and took the punch in his chest. Then he spread his arms out, wouldn’t let them get at each other. They kept at it, and even though Cyrus looked skinny, he was strong enough to keep the two men from attacking each other.

  “Cyrus took a punch to get them to stop. And he just talked, in that soothing way he has. Asked them to think about what hitting each other was going to accomplish. In less than a minute, both of the drivers were shaking hands and going their separate ways.”

  “That’s incredible,” Rodney said, mouth full of eggs and cheese. Everyone else at the table seemed to be having the same reaction.

  Lilah nodded. “I knew then that he was different. That he could make real change in the world, if he only had the right way to get his voice out.”

  Micah forked some omelet into his mouth as Lilah smiled at him, and he raised his eyebrows, trying to look impressed by the story.

  ***

  The hardware store owner sat across from Micah, his eyes flicking over Micah’s application. His name tag read Walter.

  “You live on Caribou Road?” he said. Walter had a military-square haircut and thick glasses, the kind that magnified his eyes into cartoonish orbs.

  Micah actually lived in a condo in the LoDo area of downtown Denver, but for the purposes of what he needed to do here in Nederland, he nodded. He didn’t like lying to this man, but he had to remind himself that there was a greater purpose: leaving as little paper trail as possible.

  “With Hannah and Magda,” Walter said, musing, not as a question. There was a tinge of skepticism in his voice. Were the inhabitants of that house some kind of local phenomenon? Lilah was such an imposing figure in her beautiful and scary way that she’d certainly make an impression on anyone whose path she crossed.

  “Magda is my sister,” Micah said, and hoped Walter wouldn’t question him too deeply about their mismatched last names.

  Walter went on interrogating Micah about his work history, most of it fabricated. Micah had actually worked at a hardware store in high school during the summer between junior and senior year, but he’d been fired for drinking on the job. Everyone got sauced on the job at that hardware store, but Micah was the only one who’d drunkenly tried to drive a pallet loader down a narrow aisle and knocked over a rack of mini fridges. Probably couldn’t count on that job to supply a useful reference.

  While Walter gave him the third degree about his strengths, weaknesses, and his most embarrassing moment and what he learned from it, Micah stole a glance at the phone on Walter’s desk. He needed to call Frank, but he also needed privacy, and his cell phone was now in Lilah’s possession. Didn’t seem that Walter the hardware store manager would be willing to leave Micah alone in his office to use the phone, even if he got the job.

  “We’re hiring for the early shift right now. Six to three. Can you make it in before six every morning?”

  Micah stifled a groan. Being an early riser was not his specialty, but he figured he might be here a week, maybe two. However long it took him to convince Magda to get the hell out of town. What to do after that was a mystery to solve later.

  “Sure, I can do that.”

  “We don’t tolerate lateness,” Walter said, and although he didn’t wag his finger, Micah could tell he wanted to. Walter was stern but kind-faced, like a high school guidance counselor.

  He went on to explain in detail the company’s core principles of integrity and honesty and blah blah blah, and Micah tuned out almost immediately. His thoughts drifted back to the Bible reading he’d done last night, since it was the only book in the house, and he hadn’t turned one of those ultra-thin pages since he’d been a teenager. He’d been amused to discover there was a book of Micah, and he recalled reading a verse about “treading sin underfoot.” He didn’t know what it meant, but he liked the sound of it.

  Walter finished his speech, and they shook hands as Micah’s new boss instructed him to come back and start tomorrow. Micah eyed that phone one last time, but didn’t want to push his luck. He hadn’t seen any pay phones on the way to the hardware store, so he was going to have to come up with a better solution.

  Micah left the office, and a few of the store employees with their green vests gave him welcoming smiles. Like it or not, he was part of their tribe now. He almost laughed, realizing that he had a regular, civilian-type job again, for the first time in years. Working as a skip tracer at Frank’s office in Denver wasn’t quite the same thing.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a phone anchored to a wall, near the plumbing section. Black cord coiled underneath it, hanging in space.

  Micah checked on Walter, who was scribbling in a notebook, still at his desk.

  He casually strolled across the hardware store, taking long looks up and down the aisles of power tools and gardening equipment, pretending to take stock of his new workplace. Smaller than a big chain hardware store, maybe twenty aisles total and only two checkout lanes, with every spare inch of wall space and shelving stacked to the ceiling.

  Even though he appeared to be wandering, his path took him directly to that phone.

  He snuck up next to it, and with a last check around to make sure no one was giving him the eye, he lifted it from the receiver. Dialed the number while casting glances around.

  “Frank?”

  “Micah? What’s this number you’re calling me from?”

  “I’m up in Ned and I don’t have my cellphone. It’s a long story and I don’t have a good grasp on it right now.”

  “What are you grasping?” Frank said. “I don’t follow.”

  “Take my word for it that things are more complicated than I first thought. I might need to be here a week or two.”

  “No problem, kid. How about you give me the CliffsNotes version?”

  “My sister is involved with some people. There’s something going on with them. They’re some kind of movement, like a religion or some super-serious group like that. I don’t know much, but I know I need to get her out of there. It’s not safe.”

  “I see,” Frank said. “Do whatever you need to do with that. She’s your sister, so you know best. By the way, I’ve been looking into that coke dealer Seth, and he’s on the warpath for you. Looks like getting out of town was the smart play, since avoiding the cops is your top priority.”

  “He coming after you?”

  Frank scoffed. “Don’t worry about me. You handle your business up in Hippie Town, and get in touch with me when you can.”

  Magda emerged from an aisle fifty feet down, and Micah realized if she looked this way, he’d be caught on the phone. Lilah had told him no cellphones, but personal calls at work were also probably against the rules.

  “Frank, I gotta go.”

  “Sure, kid. Make sure you get to some meetings up there. I know they have AA even up in those mountains. Go too long without a meeting, and you’re playing with fire.”

  “Okay,” Micah said, and hung up the phone. Magda caught a glimpse of him as he nestled the receiver into the cradle, and she frowned.

  He marched in a straight line toward her as she unloaded an armful of paint cans onto a shelf. Enough of this silent treatment. He was going to figure out what the hell was going on around here, and get some answers.

  When Magda noticed him hurtling toward her, she spun on her heels and disappeared back into the aisle. When Micah rounded the steel rack stacked with paint and varnish, she was bent on one knee, separating rolls of duct tape by color.

  “Magda. Will you talk to me?”

  She shook her head.

  “What is up with you? You live in this crazy house with all these rules, you let that woman hit you, and you’re not going to do anything about it?”

  Magda kept her focus on the duct tape as she finished organizing the pile, but her lip trembled. “We can talk about work, or we can talk about truth. Anything else is
pointless.”

  With that, she brushed past him, toward the front of the store. Magda had been mad at him since high school, but she had never given him this kind of cold shoulder before.

  His little sister had always been the impressionable type, often joining social and political movements with sudden and fierce passion, but not like this. He’d never known her to get so deep into something before. And now he didn’t know how to deal with it.

  Was she brainwashed by this Lilah person?

  Micah had no choice but to leave her alone for now. He couldn’t talk to her at the house, and he couldn’t speak to her at work, but there had to be some other way to get through to her.

  To his left, little blonde Hannah appeared, passing between two aisles, and Micah hurried through to catch up with her. “Hannah,” he said as he navigated into the next aisle. She was holding a nailgun in both hands, which she slipped onto a rack on the shelf. She had to strain up on her tiptoes to reach it.

  When she was done with that, she turned to walk away from him.

  “Wait, stop,” he said.

  She paused, but didn’t face him.

  “Will you talk to me, please? What is going on with my sister? Can you tell me that, at least?”

  She craned her neck around to meet his gaze, and her sad baby blue eyes held his for a few seconds. Then, she shook her head and walked away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  18 DAYS UNTIL

  After his first day of work, Micah drove back to the house with a sour feeling rumbling in his stomach because he’d lied on the W4 and I-9 paperwork. He hadn’t wanted the paper trail. Maybe switching a couple digits of his social security number was a little white lie, but those kinds of lies could sometimes lead to bigger ones, which could lead to a drink. He’d have to make amends later.

  He parked at the house on Caribou to find a gathering of cars in the front yard. As many as fifteen people were in the den, kitchen, and dining room. Talking, eating finger foods. The house regulars Lilah, Rodney, Magda, Hannah, and Garrett were present, mixed in with all these strangers.

  Micah shed his green work vest from the hardware store and hung it on a hook next to the front door, then stomped his snowy boots on the rug in front of the door. The leg injury caused by Seth’s screwdriver pulsed, even though it had felt better today compared to the last few days.

  A few of the strangers’ heads turned to him. Wide-eyed and curious. Rodney locked on and weaved through the den’s inhabitants to greet him.

  “How was your first day at work?” Rodney said, flashing that toothy and charming smile.

  “Fine, I guess. Mostly learning what stuff goes on what aisle.” Micah wanted to add and trying to get these two mute women to speak to me with no luck, but he didn’t trust Rodney enough to mention that yet. Rodney seemed like a nice and solid guy, if not a little guarded.

  Micah had to be careful with everyone.

  He was about to ask Rodney why there were so many strangers in the house when he noticed that several of them were carrying black books with a cross on the cover. This was Bible study night. He’d wanted to duck out and see if there was a library in town where he could access the internet, but the house rules required that he attend Bible study. And apparently, Bible study was open to the public.

  Who were these people that would come here to listen to Lilah preach? As Garrett cruised through the hall, holding a tray of chocolate chip cookies, Micah wondered if people weren’t here just for Lilah’s baking skills.

  A bell chimed from the den, and Micah glimpsed Lilah, standing on a chair, jingling a brass bell as she held her hand up to get everyone’s attention. She was so tall that her hand nearly scraped the ceiling.

  Conversations hushed and everyone congregated in an arc around her, taking spots on the massive rug. Micah kept to the back, as far from Lilah as possible.

  She eased into her grand chair, facing the group. Her scowl evened out, not quite into a smile, but into something not so scary. “Thank you for coming to study with us this evening. Bible study is always open to all, so if you know anyone who might like to attend, please share what you learn here this evening.”

  Some attendants on the floor were cracking open their Bibles, flipping pages, getting out highlighters.

  Lilah opened the Bible but didn’t look down at it. “In the sixth seal, angels appeared to God and pleaded with him not to end the world until the hundred and forty-four thousand were marked with a sign for salvation. It was the lamb’s job to offer them protection. This is why we are here, because the lamb wants to judge if we are worthy.”

  Micah checked the reaction of people around the room. Some were listening with rapt anticipation, and some were staring off into space. Some had their eyes closed, as if they were meditating on the words.

  “In Babylon,” Lilah said, “there is a lack of spiritual dimension. A lack of consistency between what they say and what they do. If your values conflict with what they preach, they will turn on you, regardless of whether or not that follows their own laws and edicts. And that’s why we need the lamb. He alone has the key to unlocking and understanding the words in this book.” She held up the Bible to demonstrate. “The narrative in this is coded, and only the lamb has they key to unlock it, which will allow the hundred forty-four thousand to receive the marking and bring about their protection.”

  A man across the room cleared his throat. He had dark brown skin and all-black clothing, with silky black hair down to his shoulders. Pockmarks all over his face and broad features. Native American. So this was probably Eagle, the only house resident—besides Cyrus—Micah hadn’t yet met.

  Eagle stood up and disappeared to the rear of the seated crowd, as silent as air whisking across a field of grass. Micah had noticed a couple others coming and going, off to the bathroom or returning with more snacks from the kitchen.

  With a glance at Lilah to make sure she was occupied, Micah scooted back and stood, then ventured into the kitchen to find Eagle. Rodney’s eyes tracked Micah as he left the room, but Micah pretended not to notice. Just going off to pee, nothing to see here.

  Eagle wasn’t in the kitchen. But Micah caught a whiff of black clothing exiting the back of the kitchen into a hallway. Micah hadn’t been down that hallway yet, so he slinked forward and paused at the turn. From the den, Lilah still droned on with her religious prattle about seals and Babylon and something about the hypocrisy of mainstream Adventism.

  The more she talked, the more animated she became. Hard not to feel affected by the rhythm of the way she spoke. Micah had known people in the cartel who spoke that way, but they used their charisma to incite others to violence. Whatever passion Lilah wanted to spark in people, Micah didn’t yet know.

  He peered around the doorframe and into the hallway. Eagle was there, standing in front of a door, fiddling with a set of keys. He unlocked the door and slipped through it. Before he disappeared, he swept his eyes around behind him, and Micah swung back to keep out of sight.

  Then Micah eased forward again as the door shut. Eagle locked the door behind him, and Micah crept through the hallway. He could hear footsteps descending creaky wooden stairs. A basement.

  What was Eagle keeping down there?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  17 DAYS UNTIL

  Father Thomas Benedict knelt in the first row pew of Sacred Heart church, gazing up at the crucifix on the wall. The sculpted homage to Jesus’ suffering was a stiff reminder to be humble, whenever Benedict felt the yearning to drift into self-pity. He didn’t have to worry about anyone driving nails through his hands. He didn’t have to inspire millions, only a few dozen who regularly came to his masses.

  He tried to clear his mind to pray, but his thoughts drifted to Sunday’s homily, the one he had yet to compose. The language of the right words had failed him for the last three days. He could always reuse the text from the last time he’d given this same homily in Boise. This small mountain town congregation would never know.

  But
he would know. And that was enough to make it a roadblock.

  He stood, smoothed a few wrinkles on his sleeves, and then straightened his purple stole. His back ached as he stretched, another reminder that he was almost forty. He hadn’t thought he would dread this birthday as he had when he’d turned thirty, but these increasing aches and pains in his body weren’t helping. Regular exercise wouldn’t hurt, but who has the time?

  A glance at the back row of pews indicated six people awaiting confession. Could be a long morning. He slid into the confessional and took a rosary from a hook, then gripped it in his right hand. The feeling of the beads resting in his knuckle grooves came as a small comfort.

  A minute later, someone appeared through the curtain on the other side of the confessional booth. He slid back the cover, revealing a thick grate between him and the confessor. Benedict preferred face to face confession. This sort of booth was old-fashioned, but the parishioners here seemed to like it, so he’d kept it around.

  Even through the grate, he could see a mass of curly blonde hair, thrust forward and clouding the face of the woman on the other side.

  “Bless me father, for I have sinned,” said a high-pitched and young female voice. “It’s been—I don’t know—maybe five years since my last confession.”

  “Why so long?” Benedict said. He didn’t usually ask something like that, but it had slipped out, for some reason.

  “I don’t know, really. I mean, I know why I haven’t been since moving to Ned, but I don’t know why I didn’t go for years before that.”

  “You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

  The girl paused. “I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m on my lunch break, but it’s still not a good idea. If they found out, they wouldn’t be happy.”