Satan’s Lambs

by Lynn Hightower

  “Take the radio,” Lena said. “You might want to tune in, see what’s up.”

  “Okay. Be back.”

  The priest held the skull of a goat, and raised it over his head. He swayed and turned, making his way around the altar.

  Must need drugs, Lena thought, to appreciate this stuff.

  There was movement near the edge of the circle near the children. Two more slipped in, herded by the robed woman. She wore black tennis shoes.

  The crowd hushed suddenly.

  The priest held his arms high. Two robed figures moved into the firelight, tugging a rope. A naked man, bound around the wrists, neck, and waist, stumbled into the circle.

  Hayes.

  Lena felt the breath go out of her lungs.

  She felt oddly embarrassed and more afraid, as if his vulnerability magnified her own. The urge to sneak away in the darkness warred with the urge to watch.

  She knew now why Hayes hadn’t met her to ransom Charlie, why there had been no more nasty reminders on the answering machine, no intruders in the house. He had lost the power struggle and become a danger to the group. They’d taken care of Archie Valetta, and it hadn’t fazed him. Now they would take care of him.

  Lena began to understand what it meant to come to the attention of Mr. Enoch.

  Hayes sagged against the man who held his rope. His hair was growing back in dark prickles, like a five o’clock shadow on his scalp. His head lolled to one side, and he opened and closed his eyes, squinting, seeming confused.

  The two robed men helped him gently onto the altar. One of the children, the one who had pulled off his hood, covered his eyes with his fingers. The black-robed woman pulled his hands away. Lena could not see, but she knew, from the way his shoulders hunched forward, that the little boy was crying.

  A hand rested firmly on her shoulder, and Lena jumped.

  “It’s me,” Moberly said, sliding in on his belly.

  “What’d you find?”

  “The kids were just sitting by themselves under some trees. Quiet, not making a sound. This woman comes and gets them, two of them. I scouted around, see if I could find any more. Didn’t, though. But something funny’s going on.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I mean the sentries. They’re gone.”

  Lena looked at Moberly. He was sweating. She was too.

  “Behold,” the priest said loudly.

  “That’s Hayes they’ve got,” Lena said, looking back to the circle.

  “Behold, a lost lamb.” The priest rested his palm on Hayes’s forehead. “Here is one who would betray you, betray our communion, betray our service to the dark. He has been brought back penitent, and ready to perform the ultimate service to the dark lord. Redemption, my lambs. Redemption and punishment, love and hate, pain and pleasure. All are one.”

  One of the men stepped forward, offering a wooden box. The priest removed a dagger, and held it high.

  “They’re going to kill him,” Moberly said. “We better stop it.”

  “Nothing we can do, Moberly. There’s more of them than us. I’m not going to risk my neck to save Hayes.”

  Moberly looked at her. “You want him dead.”

  Lena watched the priest. He lowered the knife in a deft, swooping motion. Hayes lifted his head, then rolled it to one side. There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd, and someone moaned. Blood welled up in a black line that swept from Hayes’s groin, veered to the rib cage and stopped just under the left nipple.

  “God,” Lena said.

  “Superficial,” Moberly muttered. “But the next will be a go.”

  The priest smeared blood on his fingers, dabbing streaks on the right shoulder of his robe and then on Hayes’s forehead.

  “You want those kids to see this?” Moberly’s whisper was fierce.

  The watchers began to chant. The priest held the dagger over his head and swayed from side to side.

  “Everybody stay where you are.” The voice was amplified through a bullhorn, loud and distorted. Metallic. Police officers in caps and flak jackets rushed forward, shining spotlights. People screamed and scattered and someone fired a shot.

  “This is the police, you are surrounded, stay right where you are.”

  Some of the children did not run. The boy with the dark curls pulled the hood over his head and hunkered close to the ground. Lena heard laughter and saw a woman dance sideways, then sit down suddenly.

  Enoch was bending over Hayes. Lena saw, in the flicker of firelight, that Enoch’s hands were dark with blood. She stood up. Moberly grabbed her leg and pulled her to the ground. Gunfire split the air.

  “Cops can be dangerous too,” Moberly said.

  “The woods are full of Satan worshipers. You’re warning me about cops?” Lena shook his hand off and crawled forward. She heard a child crying and sensed, rather than saw, Moberly move in that direction. She looked up in time to see Enoch head into the woods, away from the flashlights, away from the path.

  It was the old shell game, Lena thought, a high-stakes version. Enoch was getting away, and Jeff was bleeding to death. Which one knew where Charlie was?

  She was on her feet before she’d consciously decided, tracking the dark figure moving through the trees.

  She slipped past Hayes, close enough to touch. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, rib cage slippery with red-black blood. His bare legs looked milky-white in the flicker of flame.

  Lena moved through the trees, straining her eyes. Yes, that was him, right height, right build. She was as sure as she could be in the darkness, hunting a man in black.

  Lena heard shouting, voices harsh. Someone was crashing through the trees behind her, and she picked up her pace. She wondered exactly what she would do when she caught up to Enoch, wondered if he still had the dagger.

  There were more shots. Lena flinched but kept going. The cops were firing into the air—they wouldn’t shoot into a knot of people, not with children present, not at all. Lena hoped that Mendez was out there somewhere.

  Ahead, the dark-robed man turned suddenly, looking backward. Lena knew he could not see her face clearly, not in the dark. And yet she felt him looking at her, marking her, his gaze like a knife at her throat.

  Lena heard the heavy crunch of footsteps and fingered the sand-filled sock in her fist. Enoch darted ahead suddenly, his robe swirling, catching a clutch of leaves. Lena broke into a panicked run.

  Her side began to cramp. She put a hand to the ache, but did not slow. She was gaining on him, but she would be winded when she caught up, and whoever it was behind her was getting close. She ran faster, blindly now, hands outstretched to catch branches that whipped her face and neck. She felt the rip of thorns across her arm, felt the sting as the skin tore and bled.

  Enoch must know she was close. He would hear the pound of her running feet, the heavy gasp of her breath. His pace was steady, brisk and sure, but no match for her dead run. She was closing in, the footsteps behind her getting farther away. She put on a final burst of speed, temples slick with sweat, hands flailing wildly against the branches.

  Her right foot sank through soft moss into a depression. Her ankle wrenched sideways and she sprawled headlong in a belly flop, palms sliding on the leaf-covered dirt. The pain in her ankle made her sweat. She caught her breath, sobbed once, then rolled sideways, wrapping her arms around a tree, pressing tight to the scratchy bark and pulling herself up. Her ankle ached, but the soreness was fading. She put her weight on it carefully.

  “Nah, you don’t.”

  Something heavy knocked her forward and she slid to her knees, catching glimpses of a flak jacket and jeans. A rough hand grabbed her wrist, pressing hard. Her fingers went numb and she dropped the sand-filled sock.

  The cop grabbed the back of her shirt and she felt a knee in her spine, the muscle-straining wrench as her arms were pinned behind her back. She was vaguely aware of the cold clasp of handcuffs, and the click as they locked her wrists.

  “He’s
getting away!” She was winded, breathing hard, and she choked on the words and coughed.

  “Nice try, honey.”

  The cop was patting her down, more enthusiastically than she liked. She turned her head sideways, trying to track Enoch. Her hair was in her eyes, her forehead thick with sweat. She couldn’t see anything, much less Enoch.

  “Listen, you moron, I’m one of the good guys.” She was panting, and her voice sounded high-pitched and unconvincing, even to herself.

  “Uh huh.” The cop turned her sideways, firmly, but not rough, and pointed her downhill.

  “Look, stupid, I’m cuffed, I’m not going anywhere. He’s getting away.”

  “Who is, honey?”

  “Enoch. The guy I was following. You saw him—”

  “Guy in the black robe?”

  “Yes!”

  “Nice try, babe,” he said conversationally. “But they’re all in black robes, and I didn’t see anybody but you.”

  Lena glanced sideways at the cop’s broad, homely face and gave it up. Enoch was long gone.

  She might never get this close to finding Charlie again.

  “Move out, hon.”

  Lena stumbled on a tree root, but the cop kept her upright, grip firm on her elbow. They headed slowly to the bottom of the hill, the harsh lights, the knots of police. Lena spotted Mendez standing by a cluster of men in uniform, talking to Anita Casey and the sheriff.

  “Joel!”

  Mendez looked up. He started toward her, then looked to the sheriff and said something in a low voice, something Lena couldn’t catch. The sheriff looked at Lena, then back to Mendez.

  “You okay?” Mendez asked.

  “Enoch got away,” she said.

  Anita moved toward her. “Enoch was here? You saw him?”

  “I would have had him, but I got waylaid. You want to ask your pal here to take the cuffs off?”

  Mendez jerked his head.

  The cop fumbled with his key. “Honest mistake, folks.”

  Lena rubbed her wrists.

  “What did—”

  “Later, okay, Anita?” Mendez put an arm around Lena’s shoulders and led her off from the group. He leaned close, voice low. “The informant turned up this morning. I called, but you’d already gone.”

  “Dead?”

  Mendez nodded. “It went bad for him.”

  “What’d they do, cut him up?”

  “Black bondage hood. Ligature strangling. Wrapped in a blanket, tossed in a car trunk, and parked in the airport parking lot. We wouldn’t have found the body, but somebody went to rob the car, and called it in anonymously.”

  A twig snapped under Lena’s foot, and she jerked, and glanced over her shoulder. “So he got fed bad information to pass along to Anita, then they killed him.”

  “He was sixteen. Been stringing johns since he was twelve.”

  “She shouldn’t have been using a kid that young.”

  “It happens. If it gets out, she’ll be reprimanded. There are no parents to complain, so she may skate through.”

  “Mendez, those kids—”

  “No. No sign of Charlie. He’s not here, Lena.”

  She sagged against him. “He is here. He was here. We found Charlene Delgado’s car and I got inside. The signs were unmistakable. Charlie’d been in it.”

  “What signs?”

  “I was right about the hair appointments, wasn’t I? Trust me, Mendez, he’s here somewhere, I know it.”

  “Our best bet is to take these people in and question them. If they know where Charlie is, we’ll get it out of them.”

  “Fine. You question them. Meanwhile, let Moberly get his dog and do a search. Is Ted okay? You got him handcuffed somewhere too?”

  “No. He was rounding up the children. He’s got them gathered up in one spot.”

  One kid short, Lena thought.

  “Moberly’s dog can’t track with the woods full of people,” she said. “How fast can you get everybody out of here?”

  Mendez looked over his shoulder and grimaced. He squeezed Lena’s hand, then walked away.

  Lena watched him and chewed her bottom lip. He had a quiet word with Anita and the sheriff, then stood talking for a long moment with Moberly. Ted nodded his head, looked at Lena and raised a hand, then handed a curly-headed toddler to Mendez. Joel took the child absently, unsmiling, moving his hand automatically to pat the child’s back. She nestled into his shoulder and closed her eyes.

  “You getting Sally?” Lena asked as Moberly passed close. “You’re not taking the fishing boat?”

  “I’m taking him in the power boat.” The voice came directly behind her, and Lena turned and faced the cop who had cuffed her. “Want to come?” he asked pleasantly.

  “Not with you, hon.”

  Lena paced back and forth in the moonlight, weaving her way in and out of the trees. Mendez moved through the harsh glare of spotlights, giving quiet orders, managing not to wake the child who slept on his shoulder.

  It took well over an hour for Moberly to make it back and for Mendez to clear the woods.

  Lena was chewing the back of her knuckles when she heard a yelp and a whimper, and Moberly and Sally came up from the landing. Sally whined and strained toward her, but Moberly kept her close.

  “Kids okay?” Lena asked.

  He nodded. “Eating popcorn like there’s no tomorrow. We about clear?”

  “I think so.”

  Lena looked to Mendez, who was handing the sleeping toddler over to the sheriff. The child woke up and began to cry. Lena chewed her lip, listening to the little girl sob as the sheriff carried her down to the landing.

  Moberly nodded at Mendez. “Everybody gone?”

  “You’re clear.”

  Moberly unsnapped Sally’s leash. “Find,” he said. “Go find, Sally.”

  The dog sniffed around the dying embers of the fire, then whimpered and looked back to Moberly.

  “Go on, Sally. Sally find.”

  The dog hesitated, then bounded into the woods.

  Lena stayed behind Moberly, Mendez at her heels. The flashlights still hung in the trees, some of them dark, batteries burned out. It was getting familiar, following this dog through the woods. Sally veered left, moving uphill, leading them onto a path that widened as it went.

  Mendez moved close and touched the back of her hand.

  “If we don’t find Charlie tonight,” Lena said, “chances are we won’t.” She glanced sideways at Mendez. “That’s why you’re here, with me, instead of questioning all those fruitcakes.”

  “If you and Moberly find something, I want it official. You understand, don’t you? We’ve got next to nothing to hold these people on. Looked at in a certain light, we’re interfering with their religious freedom.”

  “Their freedom to human sacrifice?”

  “They’ll deny it.”

  “Hayes was hurt.”

  “He’ll deny it too. Loudest and longest, in the hopes they’ll let him live. Our best bet is to cut a deal, get him to testify against the others. If he doesn’t go into some kind of protective custody, he’s a dead man.”

  Sally began to speed up, weaving left and right on the trail. Moberly moved quickly, and Lena and Mendez hurried to catch up. The trail widened, intersecting with a gravel service road. Sally padded down the road, scattering gravel, and they crested a hill. Moberly flashed his light.

  Sally had found the cemetery.

  She squeezed under the splintering wood fence and meandered across the graves, head down, tail stiff.

  “Sssshit.” Moberly lurched backward. “Be careful. This one’s been dug up.”

  Mendez turned his flashlight on the grave.

  Sod and dirt were piled next to a gray headstone. Hattie Burgess. 1941–1962. Beloved Daughter of Robert and Gaye Burgess. Hattie’s coffin was open, her bones a heaped rubble at the foot of the box. Her skull was missing. A black satin pillow rested at the head of the coffin, and the cushion that lined the lid of the coffin
had been covered with black cloth.

  “Jesus,” Moberly said.

  Mendez squatted beside the grave and ran his fingers through the grass. He picked up a piece of rubber tubing and held it up. “Someone spent the night in the coffin.” He played his light along the open lid. “There. See where the hole’s been drilled through?”

  Sally whined, nose to the ground, and zigzagged out of the cemetery. Mendez wrapped the tube in a plastic bag, and followed. The woods were thinning now.

  The sound of a panel door sliding shut caught them by surprise. They rounded the ridge and stopped. A few yards away in the darkness was a van, passenger door gaping open, four men standing close.

  One of the men held an automatic rifle and he snapped it up, aiming for the dog.

  “Sally!” Moberly yelled.

  Mendez had his gun out. He fired. The man with the rifle went down without getting off a shot.

  The van’s engine caught. Moberly headed for the open door and flung himself into the front seat. Mendez collared one man, and the other ran past, colliding with Lena and knocking her backward.

  Sally snarled and leapt. Lena hit the ground sideways, going down hard under the weight of the man and the dog.

  The man screamed, arms and legs flailing. Lena saw Sally’s lips pulled back in a snarl, the white of her teeth.

  “Sally.” Moberly’s voice, breathless. “Release. Good girl. Let him up. Release.”

  Lena felt the weight come off her, felt rather than saw the dog move back. Mendez shoved the man face down in the dirt. Lena heard the click of handcuffs.

  Moberly gave her a hand up. “Okay down there?”

  “Yeah,” she said, breathless. “Yeah.”

  Sally was panting, growling deep in her throat.

  “Good girl,” Moberly said. “No, Lena, don’t touch her. Give her time to cool off.”

  Lena nodded. Her ankle ached and it was hell just to straighten up.

  Mendez bent over the wounded man, unbuttoning his shirt. He wadded his jacket into a ball and pressed it to the man’s chest, staunching the ready gush of blood. He took a radio from his belt and handed it to Moberly. “You’ll have to tell them where we are. Can they get an ambulance back here?”

  “Main worry is how long it’ll take. He’s losing blood fast.”