The Zona (19 page)

Terence threw off his tarp, grabbed the soldier by his collar, and yanked him off of Lead.  The soldier whirled around, pulling the cord of his Van Cleef.  Terence caught his wrist and pressed the barrels of his gun against the young man’s nose.

“Let that Cleef hang, Crusader,” Terence said.

The young Crusader dropped his cord.

“Raise your hands and turn around,” Terence commanded.

Terence spun the soldier and pressed his gun against the back of his head.  Clapping sounded from the darkness.

“Congratulations,” Elipaz said from cover.  “My assistant assumed Lead would have put up the better fight.  He doesn’t understand, when attacking two marks you must spend more time assessing the situation.  Lead, though younger, was obviously asleep until a minute ago Terence, though older, was obviously faking sleep and waiting to ambush us.  The older man was craftier, and thus should have been taken first.”

Eliphaz strode into the edge of light.  He was dressed simply in a flak vest and camouflage pants. Both hands gripped a Browning Hi-Power.  Terence turned his hostage to face the Crusader.

“I’m willing to barter if you are, Crusader.”  Terence said from behind the assistant.

“I do not want to shoot your man, but I will.”

The Eliphaz pointed his gun at Lead, who was on the ground clutching the gash over his eyes, blinded by blood.

“I don’t want to kill your man either, old Preacher,” Eliphaz said.  There was joy in his voice, Eliphaz relished confrontation.

“We’re at a stand-off. One man gets to shooting and none us of will live,” Terence said.  “You turn back, everyone here lives.”

“You assume too much, old Preacher,” Eliphaz replied.  “I see things differently.  I’m holding a Browning loaded with armor piercing shells.  You’re holding an Engholm four-pipe.  Assuming your gun is not a toy replica, they haven’t made one of those since the eighteen hundreds.  You might shoot my assistant in the head, or you might blow up your hand, or you might misfire.  Even if you’ve taken care of that gun, and it was in firing condition, I’d be shocked if it was even loaded.”

Eliphaz took one hand off of his pistol and reached into his backpack.  He pulled out a blanket and threw it on the ground.  He then pulled a bundle of yellow nylon rope and tossed it next to the blanket.

“You know the routine.  I present the question to both of you, blanket or rope?  I’ll see you to Purgatory or I’ll see you to your grave.”

“It doesn’t have to…” Terence started when Eliphaz fired his gun at the assistant.

Two rounds tore completely through the young man and pierced Terence’s stomach and chest.  The assistant yelped in confusion and collapsed on the road.  Lead jumped to his feet at the sound of pistol fire.  He pulled the knife out of his jacket and lunged for Eliphaz.  The Crusader twisted into a fighter’s stance.  Lead drove his knife into Eliphaz’s forearm.  The Crusader hissed and clubbed Lead in the face with his pistol.  Lead fell to all fours.  Eliphaz clubbed Lead again.  He collapsed in a heap.

Before blacking out, Lead looked into Terence’s yellow-blue eyes.  They showed the embers of the dying campfire.  Terence’s breath was short and labored, his lips streaked red.  His hands clutched wounds that bled out into the dirt and sand and road.  Eliphaz put his knee on Lead’s back and pulled his arms behind him; rough nylon rope wrapped around Lead’s hands and wrists.

“Like I said, old man.  You assumed too much.”

Eliphaz pulled Lead’s knots tight.  Terence struggled to breath.  Blood roared in his ears like waves against rocks.  Terence closed his eyes and saw things that were not there, or perhaps had always been.  On the Highway Nineteen, outside of New Pueblo, Terence Wood took his last breath.

“You shot me!” the assistant screamed in panic.  His hands gripped his wounds, his fatigues showed dark and wet with blood.

“Boo hoo,” Eliphaz said sarcastically.  “Maybe if you’d done a better job, I wouldn’t have had to shoot you!”

Eliphaz gagged Lead with rope.

“Say a prayer for healing and another for forgiveness.  If God can find it in his heart to forgive a shitty Crusader, maybe you won’t have to die of blood loss.”

Eliphaz finished tying Lead and struck him again with his pistol.  It was unnecessary. Lead was already unconscious.

X. Lead is held captive by Eliphaz, as mentioned in the beginning

Lead woke tied across a horse.  The sand and brush bobbed up and down in his vision.  His head was numb and swollen. It felt misshapen.  His wrists burned from rubbing the ropes which held his hands and feet across the horse’s belly.  Lead look up to see Eliphaz’s boots.

“Bon Jour,” Eliphaz said.

He tugged the reigns of Lead’s horse.

“Welcome back to the world.  You are Leonard Marchez, age twenty-six, five foot nine inches, brown hair, brown eyes, medium build, and discernable scars on the left hand, right hip, left pectoral, right forearm, and chin.  You are otherwise known as Lead, which is short for Lead Group Two, number 2305, your identifying number and unit.”

Eliphaz squinted at sun.  He took a long swallow from a canteen and spat onto the sand.

“You are the only survivor of Lead Group Two or any other Lead Groups.  This earned you the distinction of salvation upon your return to the Zona, despite your lack of confirmed kills and claim to any at the Battle to Purge Las Vegas.  You were taken to Flagstaff Parish and given the post of Regular Guard, an honor for a boy out of the fugee camps.  You served with distinction, discharging your firearm on three occasions to keep the peace, though again, no confirmed kills.  Seven years of service as a Regular Guard, you were promoted twice, first to Veteran Corporal, then to Preacher, still without a kill.  Do you know why they made you a Preacher?”

Lead remained silent.  His head pounded.  Eliphaz raised his boot and kicked Lead between his shoulder blades.  Lead’s mouth opened in muted pain.

“Answer my question, Goodman.  Do you know why the Church made you a Preacher?”

Lead tried to bunch his shoulder against the pain, but his wrists were bound too far and straight.  He could not move.

“No!”  Lead spat out between gritted teeth.

Eliphaz laughed.  “Good!  I don’t know either.  You were a glorified security guard, sent to the Lord’s trusted work.  You were inexplicably promoted to Preacher and assigned to track a mark, Erin Briggs of William’s Town.  You turned the mark into a goodman in three days, the dead kind of goodman.  My report said you put five rounds in his chest.”

Eliphaz held five fingers to Lead’s face.

“Five rounds, all over the torso.  You shot the man in his shoulder, stomach, hip, and chest.  You know what that makes you, Leonard?”

Lead remained silent.  Eliphaz kicked Lead in the shoulder, heat and pain blossomed in Lead’s back.

“I don’t know,” Lead said through gritted teeth.

“I do.  I know what that makes you,” Eliphaz said.  “That makes you a nervous killer, an amateur.  I guarantee that was the first man you killed.  Five wild shots, spread out like you were shaking your gun and shooting with your eyes closed.”

Lead twisted his head towards the sun.  Past Eliphaz, the assistant lay slumped over another horse.  Dried blood covered the assistant’s hands.  A third Crusader led the injured man’s horse.

“Despite your nervous predilections, you made a passable Preacher.  In three years you converted thirty-seven marks, twenty-five by the rope, twelve by the blanket.  A decent record of service, I’ve seen better and I’ve certainly seen worse.  Things changed with mark thirty-seven, Aaron Century.  Tell me, Leonard, what was different with that one?”  Eliphaz asked.

Lead turned his head back to Eliphaz.

“I’m not sure…”

Eliphaz kicked Lead’s shoulder; Lead’s body was a nation of pain.

“Think harder!”  Eliphaz yelled.

Lead bit his lip.  Speckles flashed in his vision.  He struggled to stay conscious.

“We fought,” Lead said.

“You’re right,” Eliphaz said.  “You fought Goodman Century, receiving the aforementioned scars on your left hand, hip, left pectoral.  During your fight with Goodman Century you came pretty close to having a steak knife put through your heart.”

Eliphaz held up his left forearm.  His knife wound was wrapped in a stained linen bandage.

“You were stabbed, kind of like this, but in your hip and over your heart.”

Eliphaz kicked Lead at mid spine.  Lead wheezed.  The boot drove the air from his body.

“And then what?  Church sends you to apprehend the mark Terence Wood, and you…?”

“Don’t,” Lead wheezed.

The bobbing desert floor was disorienting.  His tongue was thick and swollen with thirst.

“Correct.  You don’t apprehend.  You let your mark go free before the eyes of the Radioman Smith of Kingman.  Smith alerts the Church, I come to apprehend and find what?”  Eliphaz asked.

“I don’t know,” Lead said.

“Wrong.  You know what I find.  I find sin.  I find your sin and iniquity and incompetence.  I find Preachers who disobey that which they have sworn themselves to, and I cannot accept that.”

Eliphaz kicked Lead in the ear.

Lead woke to the assistant’s moans.  He turned his head and watched the young man clutch the reigns of his horse with hands still caked in blood.  The assistant’s lips were bluish.  Lead turned his head the other way and watched Eliphaz guide his horse around an overturned van.

“Look who’s up and squirmy,” Eliphaz said.

“Why did you kill Terence?”  Lead asked.  “He hadn’t submitted to the blanket.”

“You were there, little Preacher.  He threatened my man.”

Eliphaz gestured to the assistant, slumped over in his horse.

“He put a gun to his head. That’s about as dangerous as things can get before someone’s life is snuffed.”

Eliphaz’s voice took on a tone of mock solemnity.

“It’s unfortunate that Terence was so entrenched in sin and wrongheadedness.  He really was too good for all that.”

Elipahz recited Terence’s file from memory.

“Terence Wood, fifty-seven years old, five-foot ten, white hair, formally brown, blue eyes, medium frame, discernable scars on left calf, stomach, left and right wrists, and forehead near the hairline.  He joined the California National Guard during the first Storms with thirteen confirmed kills in the Battle for Calexico.  Of that battle he was one of the eight surviving guardsmen.  Also, he was suspected of unleashing the chloride gas cloud that rendered Calexico lifeless after the guardsmen were overtaken.  No confirmation, no admission.  His unit was absorbed by the Arizona National Guard in Yuma where they continued to repel the Mexican horde.  He was promoted to Sniper Sergeant First Class where he racked up another thirty-two confirmed kills.  When Yuma was abandoned, Goodman Wood was transferred to Flagstaff.  After the Zona Reformation, Wood was conscripted by the Church and resigned as a sniper in the National Guard.  He swore his allegiance to the Church and the Bishops and all their infinite wisdom.  He was immediately promoted to the rank of Preacher, making him one of the first.  In his first three years he converted eighty-two Marks, twenty-three by blanket, the rest by rope.  They sent him to Vegas with the forces in Bullhead, where he earned another twelve confirmed kills.  He should have been promoted to Crusader, but after the Battle to Purge Las Vegas he earned a demerit for abandoning his post after the Utah bombs dropped.  He was relegated to the first ring of Purgatory, the Hall of the Unclean, for six months.  Upon his release he was reinstated as a Preacher and sent back out to do God’s work.  His record states three-hundred eighteen conversions, two-hundred fifty by the blanket.  Unfortunately, marks that Wood had registered as deceased started appearing in other places.  The dead were walking, so to speak.  In particular, Jackson Corning aka Aaron Century, a known sinner and anarchist, was spied in Ash Fork.  You were sent to apprehend, and when it was confirmed that Goodman Century exist and fit the description of Goodman Jackson Corning, a Preacher, you, were sent to apprehend Goodman Wood.

I can see why you were swayed by him; he was obviously a man of power and resource.  Three hundred and seven confirmed kills, with maybe a few hundred unconfirmed.”