The Absolver: Rome (Saint Michael Thriller Series Book 1)

by Gavin Reese

  Barely four months had passed since Michael had first trudged down Mother Mary with his classmates. Just about sixteen weeks, one college semester, and so much has happened, even though I don’t know any more about what I’m doing here and where I’m headed next than I did on Day One. Everything’s different, and nothing’s changed.

  Michael’s thoughts returned to the run, and he noticed Sergio had only a few steps on him at the moment. He’d fought hard to catch up to his friend’s fitness levels and, as they started up a slight hill, Michael decided to pass Sergio, if only for a little while. He’s gonna make me earn this!

  Sergio looked over as Michael pulled alongside.

  “GO!” Michael sprinted as hard as he could up the hill ahead of Sergio. With the element of surprise gone, his leaner friend required only a few seconds to catch him. As they summitted the low hill, Sergio had regained the lead and Michael’s legs were spent.

  Michael breathed deep and slowed his pace just as the old, abandoned horse stables came into view below them. He slowed further in surprise when he saw John standing next to the isolated building. He’s out there waiting for us. What’s going on???

  “Hey, shake a leg,” Sergio called out to the group behind him, “the boss’s out here!”

  “What, the hell,” Z replied between gasps, “didn’t see anything, on the program, for more, mandatory fun, this mornin’!”

  “Party on, Wayne,” Phillip offered. “Ain’t no fun, like mandatory fun! You can bet, he’s not alone.”

  Sergio increased his pace toward John, so Michael and most of the other trainees did the same. Wanna finish strong, especially now that we’ve got an audience. They soon slowed and stood in front of John, who offered no visible indication of what was to come.

  “Take a few to catch your breath,” John commanded. “I’m gonna talk to y’all together here once the Molasses Brigade finally rolls in. Not sure which is the cause and which is the effect, but they’re thick and slow, either way. Anyone that won’t run a six-minute mile’s just a bitch where I came from.”

  “Where’s that again, John?” Sergio’s jovial inflection showed he didn’t actually expect to catch the man off-guard.

  “That was when I worked for the N-Y-G-B.”

  “I don’t remember that one. New York Garbanzo Brigade, or what?”

  “Not Your Goddamned Business,” John explained, still as dry as burnt toast. “Far as you’re concerned, I spent my whole career there. In fact, Jude,” he called out Sergio’s pseudonym, “I’m still on their payroll, so stop tryin’ to sneak shit outta me.”

  Thomas and Matthew caught up to the stationary group and now gasped for air while the others stepped aside to make room for them.

  “Herd of goddamned elephants, I tell you what,” John surmised. “Good thing for most of you assholes no one lets me keep real strict fitness standards here. Whole bunch of you sum-bitches’d be looking for new jobs. You can go be fat Episcopalians for all I care, eat all the ice cream ya want and preach that Catholic-light bullshit. Obese priests make my heart hurt.”

  Animal noises unexpectedly emanated from the abandoned stables, and John looked back at the building for a few seconds as though he heard them, as well. Difference is, Michael realized, he doesn’t look surprised.

  “Now that we’re all finally here together,” John offered, “we can start with today’s lesson.” As he spoke, Tex and Jane stepped out of the abandoned structure. Jane held the door open for Tex, who carried out a medium, black plastic storage tub with a bright yellow, plastic lid. He grimaced as he walked toward them. “Y’all boys’ve learned a lot of new skills since ya been here, and, maybe, a few things you didn’t know you picked up along the way.”

  Tex roughly set the box down on the ground in front of John, and Michael heard metallic tinks as he did so. The man looked at John, nodded, and unceremoniously walked back toward Jane and the doorway.

  “We’ve talked around the purpose of your training,” John continued, “offered a few potential glimpses of what your future with the Church might hold, and it seems to me that all y’alls been fine with that, at least those of you remaining. We lost a couple of your cohorts in the past few months that realized they wasn’t up to the potential of what they might be someday asked to do. To that end, before you waste any more time here, and I waste any more time bestowing the hard-earned expertise of me and my instructors, I wanna know who’s gonna be here for the duration.” John paused and examined the men gathered before him.

  Michael felt renewed, and justified, apprehension about the unknown task before them. He might call this a ‘lesson,’ but it’s clearly something we’re gonna hafta demonstrate, instead of understand. A lump formed in his stomach. They’re gonna make us shoot whatever animals are inside.

  John grimaced slightly, as though himself displeased with the imminent events. “I need to see who among you is ready for the kinda work that we’ve gotta offer out here on the ranch. Inside this stable’s a buncha stalls, used to keep draft horses here, so they ain’t tiny. Each of you men gets a stall. In that stall, a single hog awaits you. Each of em’s about 150 L-Bs, and you might not think that’s much, but, considering their low center of gravity and generally motivated demeanor, you’ll find that’s more’n enough to fuck you up.” John reached down and urgently popped the yellow lid from the black tub, as though ripping a bandage from a nasty wound. Twelve identical unsheathed, black-bladed KaBar knives waited inside.

  Oh, my God, Michael thought, this is gonna be worse than I thought...

  “You’re gonna give your hog the easiest and most peaceful transition you can muster. You’ll recall from the Silat and edged weapons classes that pig skin and tissue is damned close to human flesh, so this could be a warm-up for whatever work may potentially lay beyond my property. A gut-check, if you will, to ensure that you have the intestinal fortitude for what God may, or may not, eventually put before you.

  “Couple things y’all need to know first,” John explained as he retrieved a single KaBar from the bin. “The hogs in there’s already been condemned to death. We got ‘em rounded up after the neighbor’s place went tits up last week. The commodities market turned on him, and now he’s bankrupt. He couldn’t sell the hogs, and couldn’t afford to pay a butcher to slaughter a buncha animals for meat he couldn't store and freeze. He couldn’t afford to keep the farm or keep feedin’ ‘em. Worst of all, he also didn’t have the spine to do what was necessary and owed to them hogs, so that chickenshit just abandoned ‘em. Left ‘em penned up to starve or dehydrate, or get mauled to death once the coyotes figured out they’s not guarded anymore. They would-a suffered a terrible death in those pens, all the while havin’ to hear their neighbors and friends meetin’ their own terrible fates for days or weeks from now. The end of their lives will be miserable and prolonged if no one steps in to end their suffering and ease their certain and inevitable transition.”

  John paused and scanned the group. Michael thought he saw genuine concern and sympathy on his face. Not sure if it’s for the animals, for what’s about to happen to them, or for us and what we’re about to have to do. Maybe both.

  “I may be a lot of things,” John explained, “but I can’t abide sufferin’. Death is a natural and necessary part of life on this Earth, but sufferin’ ain’t gotta be. Even though we’re commanded by scripture to use God’s animal kingdom for our benefit, this wasn’t no way to leave a group of sentient beings. Even those pigs got a soul, and emotions, fears, and pain. What they don’t got, unfortunately for them, is another way to pay for their own room and board. So, it’s been left to us to do right by them. When I found out what my neighbor had done, I thought this’d be an excellent training opportunity for y’all to demonstrate the value of our continued investment in you.

  “Just like everything else we do here,” he continued, “this is all voluntary. You can leave at any time, includin’ right now. If you wanna get a free bus ride instead, that’s no problem. If you wanna sta
y, though, you’re gonna stay in there until the work is done, however long it takes and whatever that means. Burning daylight. Pick a blade, pick a pig, and get to work. Given the training you’ve all had, you should require no further instruction, so, we’re all just waiting around on you people.”

  For a moment, they all stood in place and looked at the tub of large, fixed-blade weapons before them. I can’t argue with John’s explanation of the necessity of killing these pigs, and I’m sure he does want to see that we’ll justifiably take a life. He immediately realized how different this felt than getting into a back-alley fight in Silver City, or killing his would-be murderer in Bogotá. I didn’t have time to think about defending myself in Bogotá, even though I intentionally created that circumstance. I reacted to a threat in that instant. These hogs didn’t do anything to me. They’re just the unfortunate focus of an ordered mercy killing. As soon as Sergio stepped forward and retrieved his knife of choice, Michael and the remaining trainees followed.

  The large black knife felt abnormally heavy in his hand as Michael followed Sergio past Jane and through the stable door. Probably an equal mix of reality and dread. He stepped toward the middle of the dark building, and the smell of animal feces struck his nostrils. Similar to the classroom, wide middle corridor with six stalls on opposing sides. Crushed hay and alfalfa lay strewn across the central, hard-packed dirt floor, and it seemed like no one had been inside the building in years, maybe decades.

  Tex, Big Country, and The Mouse all stood together near the middle of the interior walkway. Michael saw they examined the trainees as they entered. Looking for signs of weakness, Michael thought, or a lack of resolve. He saw something behind him caught Big Country’s attention, and he nudged Tex. Michael turned around to see what he was happening and realized that Thomas urgently strode toward the farthest stall, the KaBar held up and out in front of his body like the caricature of a stabbing suspect.

  What a nonstop shit-show, Michael thought, and put the nuisance trainee out of his mind. He chose a stall on the other side of the building from where Thomas would soon be at work and purposefully walked toward it. May as well get this over with, it’s only gonna get worse in here after everyone else starts. As he reached the stall, he opted to climb over the five-foot-wall, rather than open the gate and risk the hog bolting out past him. A faded and rusted, hand-painted metal sign hung from the wall immediately next to the stall’s entrance, and “Chrissy” could still be read on its surface.

  Michael climbed the wall and eyed his hog, which had backed itself into the far corner, away from the gate. His eyes, airway, and lungs stung slightly as he lowered himself down into the pen, likely from high levels of ammonia that now also assaulted his senses.

  The other hogs began protesting, and the large animal now facing Michael shifted his eyes and head in response. Squeals, snorts, frightened shouts, and angry grunts erupted all around. The hog sniffed the air and backed more tightly into the corner. As Michael cautiously stepped toward his hog in a wrestler’s stance with the KaBar up in his right hand, he heard banging from inside the adjacent stall to his left. They’re fighting back, trying to escape, struggling to survive. Poor fucking animals. God make my hands swift and merciful.

  “I’m truly sorry, pig,” Michael anxiously uttered, “neither of us wants this, but we both want you to get mauled to death by coyotes even less.” As he crossed the center of the stall and veered to his left, Michael thought the hog likely weighed a lot more than one-fifty. Thing’s bigger on all fours than I am! Suddenly, the animal loudly squealed as it rushed straight at his legs. Michael reflexively sidestepped left, the direction he was already going, and quickly slashed at the hog’s right shoulder as it ran past. Pulling the blade back up and ready as fast as he could, Michael saw the distractionary cut had injured the animal. It furiously shrieked in pain, protest, and fear as its shoulder joint collapsed beneath the animal’s weight. Sensing his opportunity and moral obligation to end its suffering, Michael rushed over, heavily straddled the hog’s shoulders, and mercifully dispatched the animal.

  The horrific sounds of fear, anger, and death continued unabated all around them, and Michael ignored the desperate, appalling chaos as best he could. Despite his own emotions at that moment, Michael calmly stroked the top of the felled pig’s head and did his best to offer some minor comfort to it. Even animals raised for slaughter shouldn’t ever suffer. As life rapidly drained from the animal beneath him, Michael prayed.

  Thank you, Father, for using me to end this animal’s certain and terrible suffering. I pray that you take away his pain and fear. I pray that you ease and hasten its transition into whatever awaits its soul.

  The animal shuddered once more beneath him and then lay still. Michael bent down and couldn’t hear any breathing. Nothing more that I can do for him. He stood, breathed deeply, and tried to shake off some of the adrenaline coursing through his veins. As he stumbled to the stall door, shouts and squeals continued all around him but seemed to have lessened for the moment.

  Desperate to leave, Michael tossed the stall door open. Tex saw him emerge and purposefully stepped over to the stall to inspect his work. Michael stood outside, hunched over with his hands on his knees and his eyes on the ground just in front of his feet. He didn’t watch the instructor or his inspection. I don’t ever wanna see the inside of that stall again. Tex emerged after only a few seconds, gave a slight nod of approval, and shouted over to John. “Looks like we got a winner.”

  “Send him out,” John urgently shouted back.

  Michael stood upright and briefly looked around the stable. A few of his peers sat fearfully “treed” on top of their stalls. Several others frantically ran around inside theirs. They went in expecting ‘Wilbur’ from ‘Charlotte’s Web’ and got ‘Napoleon’ from ‘Animal Farm’ instead. The sounds of chaos and suffering escalated as Michael walked alone toward the exit. Misery and terror reigned.

  Michael kept his focus on the door in front of him. The soundtrack was terrible enough without any further visual aids. Jane still held the door open. Their eyes briefly met as he passed, and Michael saw sorrow and regret on her face. He turned away, stared straight ahead, and hurriedly strode to the hill he’d descended to get there. Breathe, he told himself, just breathe.

  As his adrenaline subsided, Michael unexpectedly felt nausea and outrage, both toward the man who’d given the order and those who followed it.

  “Drop your knife back in the bucket and get outta here,” he heard John shout after him from the doorway. “No reason for you to hear this shit anymore.”

  Michael looked down at his bloody right hand and only then realized he still held onto the large, sticky KaBar. He stepped to the black bucket, carelessly dropped the disgusting knife, and continued on toward the hill while his nausea and anger increased. He saw motion to his left, near the back corner of the outside of the stable and looked in that direction. Big Country looked back at him, pointed to the back of the stable, and shouted. “Get over here and get cleaned up! You’ve covered in that shit!”

  Michael ignored the reasonable command and started jogging uphill to get away from the stable. Although he wanted to clean up back at the house, he only made it a few dozen steps before the nausea overcame him. Doubling-over, he expelled vomit on the hard-packed earth and scrub brush beside the running trail and collapsed to his knees. Michael gasped for air and struggled to process what he’d just done, what he’d just witnessed. Although the sounds emanating from the stable continued to lessen, the abject animal terror behind him hadn’t yet ended. This is not what I thought it would be. Why the fuck are we here?

  FORTY-FIVE

  Training Day 126, 0542 hours.

  Rural Compound. Niobrara County, Wyoming.

  Michael had already been awake for an hour. May as well get dressed. John gave us most of yesterday off for prayer and reflection on our killing, so there’s no way he’s gonna tolerate anyone being late this morning. He rose from his bunk and looked at
the two new empties, their bedding made up and pulled tight across the mattresses. Can’t blame Matthew or The Baptist for their decision. It was easier for me to kill a man than that pig yesterday. At least they realized it and quit before the first cut. Would’ve been even worse to leave the hogs injured and suffering while someone else stepped in to finish the work.

  Most of the other trainees were up and about, and no one spoke to each other. Not many words traded in the last twenty-four. As he trudged upstairs to form up for their morning workout, Michael winced at the sight of a gallon-sized Ziploc bag of raw bacon on the kitchen countertop next to the stove. Looks like one gut-check wasn’t enough for John.

  The lead instructor stood on the porch and awaited them, predictably, with a steaming mug of coffee. When Thomas finally emerged as the sixth and last trainee, he wore a Cheshire-Cat grin. That asshole was giddy all day yesterday, Michael thought, he’s been acting like some kinda serial killer.

  John cleared his throat and finally greeted them. “Good morning, shitheads. Rough day yesterday. We lost two good men who couldn’t muster the gumption you six showed, and they’ve chosen to return to their respective dioceses to seek other opportunities therein. The good news out of their departure is that they realized their personal limitations before human lives were at risk. The bad news, at least for me and my associates, is that there’s still two hogs that gotta be put down. But, that’s my problem, and y’all can rest assured that I’m not about to make it yours.

  “For your part,” John continued, “I hope you boys got all you needed from the hours of prayer and meditation. We’re back at it today, and I wanna make sure y’all got all the negativity worked outta ya before we stick you back in the classroom and expect you to focus on new material. So, today’s a group run. Y’all’re gonna run Indian Races down Mother Mary. Single file, and I want Sergio in front and Thomas at the back. Lead runner sets the pace. Last man sprints past the group. Next man in last place sprints to the front when he sees the new leader settle in and set the pace. Lather, rinse, repeat for five miles. Meet back here. Go to it.”