What Would Satan Do? (35 page)

“Shut up.”

They waited and listened to the sound of men walking up the adjacent hallway.

“I think we ought to beat the crap out of him before we take him back,” said one of the men.  His name was Danny Ray.

“I don’t think we should do that,” said his friend, whose name was Cletus.  “Mr. Cadmon said we’re just supposed to get rid of him.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind if we beat him up a little bit first.”

“They’re coming this way,” said Liam.  “Get ready.”  He reached into his backpack and pulled out the gun.

“Get ready?  What the fuck does that mean?” hissed Festus.  Liam waved the gun at Festus to hush him up.

“I don’t know.  I mean, you can’t just beat the crap out of Jesus,” said Cletus.  “That’d be wrong.”

“I told you already!” said Danny Ray.  “He ain’t Jesus.”

“He looks like Jesus.”

“He ain’t!  That’s the whole point, doofus.  That’s why we’re supposed to get ridda him.”  And the soldiers lapsed into silence. 

“They’ve stopped,” whispered Liam.  He tilted his head and squinted, which accomplished little other than to indicate that he was listening real hard.  “Sounded like there are at least three of them.  Maybe four.”  He stole a peek around the corner, and whipped his head back.  “They’re right there.”  He pointed over his shoulder, through the wall, toward a spot just a few feet away.

“They just stopped?  What’s – what are they doing?” asked Festus.

Liam shrugged.

“I don’t know.  It just don’t seem right somehow,” said Cletus.

“Hey,” said a third man, whose name was Buford.  “How do you know that, when he said, ‘Get rid of him,’ he didn’t mean ‘Rub him out’?”

“What the hell?” asked Danny Ray.  “Are you queer?”

“What?”

“I ain’t rubbin’ nobody.”

“No!”  Buford smacked Danny Ray.

“We should jus’ crucify him,” said an extra large cowboy who’d been standing off to the side.  He let the last part of the word ‘crucify’ linger until it was about four syllables long.  His name was Bubba, and pretty much everybody was afraid of him.  Rightly so, because he was giant, and actually had guns in holsters on his belt.  He leaned up against a wall, a sneer on his face. 

“Okay, let’s go,” said Liam.

“What?” asked Festus.

“We’ll have the element of surprise on our side.”

“Element of surprise?  Fuck the element of surprise!  I prefer the element of continuing to be hidden.”

Liam stepped out into the hall, gun in hand.  Festus stayed put until Liam glanced back and gave him a nasty look.

“Holy shit,” said Cletus.  “It’s Jesus.”

“Hi, guys,” said Liam.

“Are you Jesus’ friend?” asked Cletus.

“Um, yes,” said Liam.  “As a matter of fact, I am.  And you guys need to stand aside now so that we can leave.”

“What?” asked Cletus.

Liam smacked his Messianic friend.  “Uh, yes!” coughed Festus.  “Verily, I say unto thee, get the hell out of the way!”  He blessed them each with little cross gestures.

“Well,” said Cletus, backing up, “I guess we oughta—”

“No, you idjit,” said Danny Ray.  “He’s an imposter.  We’re supposed to kick his ass.”

“Are you sure?” asked Cletus.  “I mean, he really looks like Jesus.  Maybe he’s reincarnated Jesus.”

“That’s not how it works, dumbass,” said Buford.

Cletus ignored his critics.  “Mr. Jesus, do you feel like you can perform a miracle?”  He looked around for miracle-performing opportunities.  “Is there a pond nearby?  Somebody get this man some water.”

“Okay…” said Liam.  “Let’s go.”  He started to push his way past the militia men.

“Yeah,” said Festus, “let’s get away from these ass hats.”

And just like that, Cletus was no longer on their side.  “Did Jesus just call us... ass hats?” 

“That’s what I heard,” said Danny Ray.  “And I don’t like bein’ called an ass… hat.”  There were several grunts confirming that this sentiment was shared by the rest of the men.

“Look, guys,” said Liam.  “We—” 

Nobody heard whatever it was that Liam said next, because at that moment, Bubba stepped forward, tore the gun out of Liam’s hand, and buried his fist in Liam’s gut.  Liam doubled over, and staggered around for a few steps.  Then he stood up straight and put his hands behind his head as he tried to catch his breath. 

Most of the militia men stepped back, content just to watch Bubba do his thing.  Bubba stepped toward Liam and gave him a shove.  Liam staggered again, but caught himself quickly.  He turned, breathing heavily.

“We’re leaving now,” he said. 

“The hell you are, pussy.”  Bubba – behemoth of broad shoulders and beer-guttedness that he was – made his best mean face, and leaned over a little, his right hand hovering by his side as if he were about to draw.  The other patriots stood back, watching for the ass-whuppin’ they expected Bubba to deliver.

Liam regarded Bubba almost entirely impassively – he let a tiny hint of a smirk escape his lips. 

“You want a piece of me?” asked Bubba.

“Not really.  No,” said Liam.

Now it was Bubba’s turn to smirk and scoff.  “Didn’t think s—”  He failed to finish his taunt, having been interrupted by Liam’s delivery of three quick punches to his nose, ear, and throat.  These seemed to startle and confuse Bubba, at least inasmuch as he appeared incapable of deciding whether to grab his neck, his face, or the side of his head.  He hunched over, trying to do all three, and putting his head within range of Liam’s knee. 

Liam did not hesitate to take advantage of this.  He grabbed Bubba’s head, forcing it downward as he brought his knee upward.  There was a nasty snapping sound, and Bubba flopped back, crashing into the wall behind him.

Festus backed Liam up with a karate chop to the air and a victory grunt.

The other soldiers were stunned by the sight of Bubba going down, and failed entirely to notice as Liam grabbed Danny Ray’s rifle, smashing it into the man’s chest.  Danny Ray made a high-pitched chirping sound as all the air was expelled from his lungs.

Liam tore the gun out of Danny Ray’s grip, spun, and swung it like a club, clocking Danny Ray in the noggin.  The man collapsed in slow motion, like a dynamited building.  Before he had even hit the ground, Liam had aimed the butt of the gun at Cletus’ neck.  Cletus stood wide-eyed, and held his hands up in the air as he aimed a startled look down his nose at his attacker.  Liam hesitated for an instant, but then decided that having one less soldier to deal with was a good thing.  He jabbed the butt of the gun up, causing the Cletus’ head to smack backwards into the wall.  Liam pulled the gun back, and the man slid down the wall.

“Liam,” croaked Festus.  Liam turned and saw that Buford had Festus in a head lock, a hand gun pointed at the side of Festus’ head. 

“Put that gun down,” said Buford.  He tightened his grip on Festus’ throat.

“Ack!” said Festus.

Liam let his hand fall, so that the gun pointed at the ground.  But he did not let go.  Instead he sighed, and shook his head.  He closed his eyes and rolled his neck and took a deep breath.

“Put do—”  Buford did not finish his sentence, having decided, apparently, that his breath would be better spent on a high-pitched scream.  He let go of Festus, and ran around in little circles, which may have had something to do with the fact that his head was on fire. 

Liam gave Buford a good crack in the gourd with the butt of the rifle.  Buford’s legs went out from underneath him, and the man collapsed.  Liam tore off his shirt, and used it to smother the flames on Buford’s head. 

“Holy crap!” said Festus.  “That was amazing!  How—?”  He gestured at Buford, who smoldered on the floor.

“Come on,” said Liam.  “Let’s go.”  He tossed the rifle aside, and headed for the exit, trying to look casual.  Festus scrambled after him.

The morass of soldiers and patriots and trucks outside the church had expanded, and now included a lot of naked guys, most of whom seemed to be flocking together close to where Liam and Festus exited the church. 

“What the hell, Liam?  How did you—?  Whoa!”  Festus stopped and pointed.  “That’s disgusting!”

Liam ignored Festus, and kept walking.

“Hey!  Liam!  Stop!”  Liam finally turned to see what Festus was going on about.  “It’s Lola.  In the middle of …
that
.”

There are times when it is necessary to give a voice to your thoughts; times when you cannot just think a thing – you must say it.

“What the fuck?” said Liam. 

Chapter 45.
          
Lola and the Men Who Love Her

Liam and Festus goggled, gaped, and stared (Festus goggled and gaped; Liam stared) at a swarm of naked guys.  There were at least fifty of them, huddling together in what appeared to be a free-love rugby scrum, less than twenty yards from the delivery entrance of the Driftwood Fellowship Church.  Lola stood in the middle, a flash of red and purple and blonde in the middle of a whole lot of pale hairiness, looking very much as if she did not want to be there.  A few groups of soldiers hovered around the edges of the throng, looking vaguely disgusted and mounting desultory forays into the naked horde, which the nude guys fended off with ease.

“What do we do?” asked Festus.

“Well,” said Liam, “I think we should…”  He didn’t finish.  Sometimes, when you’re staring at a hundred naked guys, and someone you know is stuck in the middle of the gymnosophic mob, it’s hard to engage in any kind of proactive decision making.  It’s like when you realize that you somehow dropped your wedding ring into the commode, and that it’s now resting among some other things you dropped.  You know, on some level, that you
want
to reach in there to get it back, but then, you really, really don’t want to do that at all.  The resulting cognitive clash can be paralyzing. 

Festus also seemed to be suffering from a mild case of rigor mortis as he regarded the naked horde.  “Seriously, what is
up
with all of the friggin’ weirdos running around without clothes today?  I have so exceeded my quota for witnessing flaccid dongs for like, the rest of my life.  Seriously.”

“You prefer turgidity?” asked Liam, still staring straight ahead. 

Festus grimaced. 

They watched through the crowd as Lola turned in slow circles, her hands held out in front of her as she plead with the men who surrounded her.  Through a fleeting gap in the Brownian throng, Liam saw that a bunch of the men toward the center of the group were either squatting or on their knees, bowing down and raising themselves up, their arms extended toward Lola. 

“Are they … worshipping her?” he asked.

“Well, she is pretty hot,” said Festus.

“We need to get her out of there,” said Liam.

A horrified look came over Festus’ face.  “What?  How do we do that?  We’d have to go in there.”

Liam nodded.

“Did it ever occur to you that she might
want
to be surrounded and worshipped by a bunch of naked guys?”

“No,” said Liam, tilting his head as if he were really pondering the question, “I don’t think she’d want that.”  He marched into the horde, shoving and elbowing his way in as he headed toward Lola.

Festus didn’t move.  Whether this was because he was not able to goggle and walk and let his jaw hang open at the same time is uncertain.  Whatever the reason, he stood perfectly still as he watched Liam enter the mass of hairy, pale flesh.

Liam continued his march into the throng.  “Um, hello,” he said to a particularly obstructive individual.  “Please get out of the way.”  The naked guy, however, appeared to be completely oblivious to Liam’s presence.  Liam shoved the man and he fell awkwardly on top of another man.  Dangly bits and bad places got together in NC-17 ways.

“Ooh, that’s not right,” said Festus, as he threaded his way through the crowd behind Liam.

“You know,” said Liam, “for an enlightened Son of God, you sure are homophobic.”

The Lola-worshippers seemed not to notice or care about Liam or Festus, even as they pushed and shoved their way toward her.  Liam would shove or give a gentle kick to a naked guy, and the naked guy would just grunt and move out of the way.

“Look,” said Festus, stepping over a guy who, apparently overcome by the whole situation, was laying on the ground doing his best impression of frying bacon.  “I like homos just as much as the next guy.  I just don’t want to have any contact with another dude’s wang.”

“Fair enough.”  Liam strong-armed another clothes-free individual.  They finally reached Lola, who was turned facing away from them, berating one of her followers.

“You will not—”

Liam tapped her on the shoulder.  “Uh, hi,” he said.

She spun.  “Oh my god!  Liam!” she said, and then added, somewhat less enthusiastically, “And Festus.”

“What are you doing?” asked Liam.  “What is this?”

“I– I don’t know,” said Lola.  “They just surrounded us.”  She waved her hand in the direction of some of her followers.

“Us?”

“Raju is here … somewhere.” 

Raju poked his head out from the headlock of one of Lola’s followers.  “Hi.”  Raju gave a perfunctory, limited-motion wave through the half-removed sleeve of his shirt.  “Help.”  His captor renewed his grip with a shake, while another man tried to pull Raju’s shirt off. 

“Are these men troubling you, Mistress?” asked one of the naked men.  His eyes were fixed on Lola, but it almost looked as if he were staring through her.

“No, no,” she said.  “They’re my friends.”

“Very good, Mistress.  Please tell them to undress.”

“What?” asked Festus.

“They want you to get naked,” said Raju, flinching as one of the men waved some hairy, dangly, unpleasant things way too close to his face. 

“Not happening,” said Liam.  “Come on.  Let’s go.”

“They won’t let us,” said Lola.

“Why not?”

One of the naked guys stood awkwardly, swaying back and forth.  He had kind of a vague smile on his lips, and kept sighing long, satisfied sighs.  Finally, he cleared his throat, held up one classically-trained, Shakespearean hand, and announced in a clear voice that rang out over the droning of the other men.  “We have found her!”