The Independents (37 page)

The group of men con
tinued
down the street
,
and Bishop realized they would see David and Bones in the next few minutes. It was now too late for David to move without bein
g seen. Bishop waited until the
strangers were in front of the dry cleaners and fired two intentionally high
shots
at the men.
H
e radioed David to get the hell out of there
and meet him back by the burned out gas station.

He didn’t hear the two clicks because he rose up and fired two more wild rounds in the general direction where the men had been. He was getting ready to run for the back door when the entire wall around him erupted inwards with dust, bits of concrete and lead flying through the room. Bishop dove for cover behind the cash register and could feel the rounds striking the heavy steel device. He was waiting for a lull in the fire when a large chuck of block was blown off the window frame and struck him in the shoulder. He looked up to see an entire section of the wall
falling
inward as its support had been eaten away by the volume of lead blasting through.

The last thing Bishop remembered was cov
ering his head with his arms when the wall crashed
on him. His vision went black with small white lines vibrating away into darkness.

Bishop’s hands were on fire. His brain sent the signals to pull his arms back from the
flame
, but they wouldn’t respond. He suddenly re
membered the wall caving in
and tried to jerk away, but couldn’t move. He managed to open his eyes and saw a strange face a few feet away from his
,
staring at him.

“He’s awake,” a stran
ge voice announced
.

Another voice from behind him asked, “What’s your name
,
hotshot?”

Bishop didn’t see any reason not to answer, so he responded with the truth, “Bishop.”

Bishop tried to move his hands out of the fire again
,
and
then it dawned on him he couldn’t move because his hands were bo
u
nd. Whatever was being used to tie his hands was way too tight
,
and the burning sensation was due to loss of circulation.

“Well
,
Mr.
Bishop, you look extremely well-
fed to be one of the skinnies. How long have you been with them?”

“I don’t know who the skinnies are. What are you talking about?”

A sharp blow almost knocked him out of the chair.

“Don’t bullshit me. I’m going to kill you in a few minutes whether you tell me what I want to know or not. The difference will be a quick death or a slow one. Now, how long have you been with the skinnies?”

“I have no idea who the skinnies are
,
dude. I own a ranch south of town and am trying to just pass through.”

“Bullshit!” Another blow soon followed, this time strong enough to knock over the chair Bishop wa
s sitting on. Rough hands set him
back up.

A third voice
spoke from across the room.
“Just go ahead a
nd
pop him in the head
,
and get it over with. Why do you
give a rat’s ass how long he’s
been with the skinnies?”

“I care because this dude had night vision, full
clips,
and extra food in his kit. If they
’ve
found a cache of supplies
or weapons,
I think we need to know. And i
f they are getting help from outside, I think we need to know.”

Bishop tried again.
“I’m telling y
ou
, I
’m
with nobody. I’m just trying to head north.”

“
Stop lying.
You better talk to me
,
sweetheart. Deacon Brown will be here in a bit
,
and I’m
warning
you
.
I’m a pair of warm
,
fuzzy
,
bunny
slippers compared to the Deacon. You won’t enjoy that conversation near as much as mine.”

“I’m not lying. I have no idea who the skinnies are. I’m
just
trying to get to Fort Bliss.”

“Oh
,
yeah? Well tell
me
,
Mr. Bishop, who was that with you
?
Why did they take
off in that dune buggy? That sure looked like a skinny truck to me.”

“That was my nephew. I radioed him to leave when I saw you guys.”
Thank
G
od,
David got away.

A
gain, that third voice spoke up.
“He shot at us. If he was just passing through, he wouldn’t have shot at us. Put him down
,
dude. I’m tired
and want to go to bed
.
We can divide up his stuff in the morning.
”

Bishop heard a round be chambered into a pistol behind his head.
These guys are really going to shoot me.

Bishop closed his eyes and thought of Terri. He felt the barrel of the weapon being placed on the back of his head.

A new, stro
ng female voice filled the air.
“Enough! Put that weapon away.”

Bishop opened his eyes to see a woman placing a chair direct
ly in front of his. She held a B
ible in her ha
nd. The woman placed the seat
with its back facing Bishop
, and then sat
with her arms
folded
on the
chair back
, just looking
at him.
She rested her chin on the B
ible.

With raven-
colored hair and the blackest eyes Bishop had ever seen
, s
he was stunning
ly
beautiful
.
She appeared to be about forty years old with a clear complexion and thin frame. She just sat there
,
staring at Bishop
,
for what seemed like several minutes. Finally, she held out her hand and
a giant man
came into view
and
handed her some papers. Her piercing gaze
continued to drill
into Bishop
, never wavering for even a second
.

“I assume you are Bishop,” she said, holding out the papers.

“Yes.”

“My name is Diana Brown. Everyone around here calls me Deacon Brown. You are an interesting man
,
Bishop. I
’ve
read the papers we found in your pack, and if I understand them correctly
,
you desperately want to get to Fort Bliss.”

Bishop had forgotten all about
the Colonel
’s papers being in his pack.
So much for my security clearance.

“I tried to tell these men I was just passing through.”

“Why did you shoot at my people
,
Bishop?”

“I didn’t shoot at them. I shot above their heads to pull them away from my nephew.
If I had been aiming at them…”

Deacon Brown thought about Bishop’s response for a little while. She eventually looked at someone standin
g behind Bishop’s chair and instructed
, “Untie him.”

A few moments later, Bishop
was rubbing his wrists and winc
ing from the pain of the blood rushing back into his hands. The large man moved closer to Deacon Brown
,
and Bishop looked the gentleman over while working on the circulation in his limbs.

He was at least six feet ten inches tall
,
and Bishop guessed he would top the scales close to four hundred
pounds. He looked to be in his early 20s
and clearly was a weightlifter. The tight t-
shirt he wore ind
icated a lot of time dedicated to
curls and bench pressing. Deacon Brown noticed Bishop checking out her companion and smiled. “Bishop, let me introduce you to my son, Atlas. He is of Russian decent. I adopted him through our church program several years ago
when he was a toddler
. I would advise you
not to threaten me or move quickly in my direction
,
as he is
naturally
very protective of his mother.
I wouldn’t want an accident or misunderstanding to occur.
He was raised in one of those Russian
orphanages
where the infants
were never held or coddled. He isn’t
blessed with many social graces.
”

Bishop heard a few of the men standing behind him snicker at Deacon Brown’s remark.

After a stern look from the woman
, all of the men behind him became
quiet. Atlas remained next to his mot
her, who eventually spoke again.
“Can you stand?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like a drink of water?”

“Oh yes
,
I would.”

The Deacon
didn’t even have to ask, and in a few
moments,
a glass of water was held in front of Bishop’s face. He started to take the liquid, but a sharp pain streaked through his head behind his eyes causing him to gasp and reach for his temples. When he touched his head, he felt dried, caked blood on one side and realized he had taken quit
e
a blow.

Deacon Brown said, “A brick wall fell on you. You were out for almost an hour. I’m not a doctor
,
but I would bet you have a mild concussion.”

Bishop looked at her and nodded, causing more pain. “Could I have my kit?”

This request required a look from the woman to the men standing behind Bishop. In a few moments, Bishop’s load vest, minus knife and pistol, was placed in his lap. He could tell his blow out bag had been searched, but it appeared everything was still intact. He found a small packet of aspirin and fumbled with it trying to get his still numb fingers to work. One
of the men behind him spoke up.
“You’re not going to let him waste those
,
are you? We’ve been out of aspirin for weeks. Why let him take those if we’re going to kill him anyway?”

Deacon Brown lo
oked at the speaker and frowned.
“His fate has not yet been determined. I remind you we are still Christians here, even though the language I heard coming from this room earlier wouldn’t prove it.”

Bishop finally managed to open the stubborn wrapper
,
and then found the tube connected to his camelback water bladder. He took a quick pull of water and then swallowed the pain pills. Two more pulls of water helped his head start to clear.

Bishop’s act of drinking from his
kit
drew a questioning look from the Deacon
. He took another drink and explained
, “I try to drink the water from home if I can. A stomach bug can ruin your vacation
,
and I was warned not to drink the water
here
.”

Deacon Brown didn’t even smile.
“You don’t have to worry about our water. We hold the springs. Water and our faith are about all
we have plenty of. Still, the L
ord provides what we need. Can you walk?”

“I think so.” Bishop tried to stand
,
but his legs were a little wobbly. The third attempt succeeded and Deacon Brown motioned for him to walk toward the door. Bishop
exited into a long hallway lit
by a candle at each end. He turned
,
waiting on his host
,
and noticed a small sign on the room he had just left that said, “3
rd
Grade Sunday School.”

Deacon Brown
and Bishop
wa
lked down the hall, Atlas
a few steps behind them. Bishop noticed the hallway walls were covered in children’s artwork. They eventually came to stairs
,
and careful to use the rail, Bishop
managed to climb without toppling over. T
hrough another
, wider
doorway
,
and
the small entourage entered
the main assembly area of the church. There were two sections of pews facing a pulpit on a raised stage. A large statue of Jesus Christ extending a hand toward a child resided behind the
choir box. Several candles illuminated
the area
,
and it was ghostly quiet.