Eve of Redemption (30 page)

“Yeah, boss?”

Tiny’s eyes never left Martinez. “Your voice telling you anything?”

“Pigs, boss,” Josiah replied. He pointed at Martinez. “This one for sure. The other…” He held his hand up and rocked it back and forth, indicating Burke. “This one’s different.”

“Different how?”

“Man on a mission, boss. Man on a mission.” Josiah looked up into Burke’s eyes. He seemed to be looking inside of him—the way Katrina had. It unsettled Burke.

“Whose side?” Tiny asked.

Again the smaller man looked hard at Burke. “Interesting. I don’t think he even knows whose side he’s on.” Burke noticed a slight lilt in the man’s speech—Scottish or Irish, maybe. He wondered what the man was doing out here in the middle of nowhere.

“Time to powwow,” Tiny said before turning and stomping away.

POWWOW THEY DID, until well into the night, while Burke and Martinez waited, locked inside one of the cabins. As they were shoved through the door, Burke had noticed the words on the backs of the gang’s leather jackets—Lord’s Rebels. He wasn’t sure if that name boded good or bad.
Probably bad,
he reflected. They sat in the cabin alone for the better part of the day. Martinez was silent. Once, Burke thought he heard the man sobbing, but he left him to himself, not wanting to interfere with his mourning. Finally, the door opened, and two of the bikers gestured for them to come out.

“Tiny’s ready for you.”

A large bonfire had been built near the lake, and most of the gang gathered there. Burke tried to count their numbers as he and Martinez were led into the mass of leather-clad people. There were twelve men and women wearing the Lord’s Rebels colors, and he suspected at least a couple more were watching the perimeter of the camp. The rural areas were dangerous, and Burke doubted the Lord’s Rebels were the only gang around.

Burke and Martinez approached the fire and saw that five of the gang members sat around it on logs. Tiny and Josiah were among the group, which included two other men and one woman. The woman gave them a dark stare. Tiny motioned for them to sit on one of the logs. He gazed into the fire as though gleaning answers to all his questions.

“Jesus had an inner circle. Did you know that?” the gang leader asked. Burke didn’t know if they were expected to answer or not, so he followed Martinez’s lead and remained silent. “Jesus had twelve apostles, but he had three he really trusted.” Tiny sat up straight and spread his arms wide. “I have four. I trust them with my life, and they trust me with theirs. Tell me, do you trust each other with your lives?”

Burke and Martinez looked at one another.
That’s a good question
, Burke thought. He guessed Martinez was probably thinking the same thing. Burke sighed and turned to the gang leader. “We really don’t know each other that well, but I would say I trust Dave with my life. Have already, for that matter.”

Tiny raised one shaggy eyebrow and looked at Martinez. “And you?”

Martinez shrugged his massive shoulders. “Like he said, we don’t know each other all that well.”

The curt answer stung. Burke had hoped to have gained the trust of his companion, but looking back, he knew he had been the cause of too much pain. He wouldn’t be surprised if Martinez abandoned him at the first opportunity. Burke slumped on the log. Never had he been so tired, nor felt so alone.

“My friend Josiah here says you’re special.” Tiny nodded to Burke. “What’s your name?”

Burke saw no reason to hide it. “John Burke.”

“You don’t look like much, John Burke. But then, neither does Josiah, does he?” Burke saw the small bald man break into a huge grin. Tiny leaned his elbows onto his thighs and clasped his hands together in front of him. The firelight caused red-orange flecks to dance in his eyes. “They say Jesus didn’t look like much,” Tiny continued, “that he was an ordinary-looking man. But he was far from ordinary, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Martinez said. “Jesus was far from ordinary.”

Here we go,
Burke thought.
This nut case is going to start boasting about being the next coming of Jesus.

“I will never be close to being Jesus,” Tiny said, still staring into the fire, “but I will do my best with what he has given me. Jesus taught mercy for one’s enemies, and I will admit, I find that hard. My enemies have shown no mercy to me or mine. You know who my enemies are, gentlemen?”

Burke had a good guess, but kept it to himself.

“Pigs are my enemies.”

The gang leader pointed a sausage-sized finger at Martinez. “You, my big friend, are a pig, aren’t you?”

Martinez nodded. “I was. Not anymore.”

“That’s what she said.”

Burke jerked up. “What who said?”

Josiah smiled. “Why, your little friend. Cute little bugger, she is.”

“You can see her? You can see Red?”

Tiny’s laugh sounded genuine, as did Josiah’s. “Only Josiah can see her, and I was skeptical of that.”

“So was she,” Josiah said. “I surprised her, I did. Who is she, then?”

“I don’t know. I just know my life has been a complete disaster since she showed up.”

“Has it now?” Josiah asked, the firelight twinkling in his eyes. “And your life was all peachy before that, was it?” The little man’s smile said he already knew the answer.

Burke let it go. There really was no right answer.

T
he Serpent found himself lying on his back, staring up at the few stars that could be seen through the dense canopy of trees. Though he had been knocked senseless, he did not revive slowly, dazed and confused, as a normal human would. His eyes snapped open and his heightened senses brought instant awareness to his mind. It was night. The dogs had vanished back to wherever they had come from in answer to his call. And others had arrived. He inhaled, sucking in the scent of unwashed bodies—many of them. He also distinguished the smell of beer, both stale and fresh. Ah yes, the sounds and smells of revelry told him that the party had begun while he’d napped.

Now that wasn’t polite. Not polite at all.

The Serpent sat up, feeling no stiffness or soreness in his limbs. Seeing his proximity to the edge of the trees, he wondered at how he had not been discovered by the men or eaten by the dogs. He shrugged it off as another perk of following Lord Denizen.

Things were moving faster now and he found he liked the quicker pace. All the months of tracking Burke—worming his way into the man’s mind, learning to control him without giving himself away, driving him nearly to suicide—seemed boring compared to this.

The Serpent let his mind wander among the new inhabitants of the rotting resort. Most were about as smart as bricks, though he did pick up intelligence in a few. Nothing to write home about, but still surprising. Burke was either gone or blocked from him, which he found strange. Whatever Burke had done to break the Serpent’s spell on the dead bodies had hit the him like lightning crashing out of the storm. This game was becoming so much more than he had anticipated. He had known his growing powers were intended for some great purpose. How could they not be? The petty murders and other interesting training had all been leading up to this, whatever
this
was. He didn’t really care if he knew, as long as it kept him entertained.

The Serpent let his mind flow out until he found one that would work. Not the perfect specimen, but it would work.

Come to me.

The Serpent felt the mind react.

Come to me
.

This is almost too easy,
he thought.

He waited until he saw the shadow pass into the trees. No one else followed the lone biker. The Serpent felt power flow through him as he stepped up behind his unwary prey. A quick snap of the neck, and it was done. Quiet and clean—not his usual method, but necessary this time.

Then the pain began. The Serpent tossed his head back in a silent scream as bone and tendon reshaped. His face felt like someone had smashed it with a hammer and was now trying to put it back together. Agony like this was beyond his comprehension, but he remained silent and conscious. He was the Serpent, and this was his purpose.

It was over quicker than he thought it would be, and he found himself gasping as the last pieces slipped into place. The Serpent looked down at his new body. He didn’t need a mirror to tell him he was the spitting image of the dead biker at his feet.

“Well now, that’s different,” he muttered as he grabbed the body and pulled it deeper into the forest. A quick change into the dead biker’s clothes and he would be a new creation altogether.

JOSIAH STRODE ALONG the path from the lake. Most of the others had crashed an hour or so ago, but he had been deep in conversation with someone he was not even sure existed. The little girl had seemed so real to him at the time, but as he strolled back to the rest of the group, he had his doubts. It wasn’t just that she was a four-year-old dressed in a potato sack—though that should have been enough to tip him off—it was what she asked of him. No, not asked, demanded.

“You have to let Martinez get close to Tiny,” she had said. “Dave has knowledge that Tiny needs.”

“What kind of knowledge?”

The little girl had given him a grown-up look. “You and Tiny both love Jesus very much in your hearts, and Jesus knows that. The problem is, you don’t really know Jesus. Some of the things you are teaching your people are wrong.”

Josiah had stared at this little girl like she was a space alien. Maybe she was, for all he knew. “I’ve always been the one to help Tiny with his Bible study. God talks through me, helps me understand.”

The little girl had smiled at him, a sad smile to melt his heart. “Someone’s been talking to you, Josiah, but it isn’t God.”

“Now you don’t know what you’re saying, little miss. I know it’s God that speaks to me. He even said so.”

“Kneel down here in front of me, Josiah. Come on, I don’t bite. Not hard, anyway.” He’d done as she asked, getting down on her level. She’d put her hand against his forehead. “Just relax, Josiah, and let the voice talk to you—if it will.”

He’d listened for that voice, the voice of God. The silence in his head went on, and he willed the voice to talk to him. But nothing happened. The little girl’s hand began to feel warm, and then hot, on his forehead. He’d heard the voice then. Not the soothing words that usually filled his head with truth, but foul words in a rough, furious voice. The voice cursed everything, including God himself, before fading into a sputtering gurgle and dying away. In his mind, Josiah pictured a huge fire burning low, running out of fuel before dying. He realized tears ran down his cheeks.