Terence cracked the door and looked upon poor ugly and marked Philip. A cross-shaped scar ran across his face vertically from forehead to chin and horizontally under the eyes. The scar dug misshapen canals into his nose. Philip held up a metal triangle.
“Be at peace sir, you know me.” Philip said.
“I never forget any who I’ve set free from the Church.” Terence slipped his gun back into his shirt. He touched Philip’s triangle.
“Whose idea was this symbol?”
“Twas Century’s, I’ve brought you one.” Philip reached into his pocket and withdrew another cobalt triangle.
“No. We shouldn’t be identified with symbols. Makes keeping secrets difficult.” Terence said.
Terence admired the triangle for its beauty and simplicity. He reluctantly handed it back to Philip.
“It didn’t help Century none. He’s dead,” Terence said.
Philip recoiled, “How?
“Preacher’s bullet, what’s your news?”
“I was at the South Parish when three strangers rode in with goodly bred horses and armored vests. One wears his Cleef out of shirt. It looked sharp, probably just pre-Storms.”
“Ah…shit.” Terence let the foul language slip out of his mouth for the first time in years. Philip winced as if struck.
“Those are Crusaders. Leave now with discretion, leave town, I’ll not have you taken by their lot.” Terence said.
Philip knew better than to question the panicked look in Terence’s eyes. He left immediately.
Terence ran through the house, checking the windows. There was no time. He returned to Lead’s room. In the distance he heard the hooves of Phillip’s horse fleeing and the gallop of more horses coming from the south.
“Shit,” he whispered.
Havasu Parish, like most of the towns in the Zona, was full of hunger and desperation. Information and morality were made cheap by despair. Crusaders paid silver notes. Terence knew their sanctuary was defiled. He hoped Philip remained untouched. He looked again at Lead.
Eliphaz the Crusader dismounted in front of the mark’s hideout. Terence’s horse stood tied to a pig iron fence. The creature whinnied and kept a suspicious eye on the Crusader. Eliphaz motioned for his men to circle the house. He thumbed the hammer of his Browning Hi-Power and looked to the weather-beaten front door. The house slanted as if the wind had tried to push it over and half succeeded. Eliphaz kicked the door open.
Terence peered through tattered curtains at the Crusaders down the street. He had moved his horse to a decoy house after Philip’s warning. Terence hefted Lead over his shoulders. His back crackled in protest. He sprinted through the back door into an overgrown cactus garden. Behind the homes of Havasu Parish a natural network of flashflood washes stood as a safeguard against monsoon rivers; a holdover from the Broken Times. The floods were all but extinct with the new scalding heat, but the washes stood as a testament to what was. Terence jumped into the ditch, the soft sand gripped his boots up to the ankles, and his knees joined his back’s protests. Terence ducked and plodded through the wash.
Eliphaz scanned each room with his Van Cleef pointed low, precise, and trained to hit sudden targets. By the second room he knew it was a ruse, an empty home, but he finished the sweep anyway. Better to be safe. Eliphaz exited the house and whistled loudly, the other Crusaders left their posts and returned to the front of the house.
“He’s not here,” Eliphaz said. “But they are or were here. Search each house up this block. Be ready for resistance.”
Eliphaz turned and shot Terence’s horse in the face. Blood painted the house’s exterior wall. The horse’s aquiline eyes showed confusion and hurt. The horse shook its head as though it were tormented by an insect both powerful and strange. The beast stepped backwards and slumped lifelessly against the iron fence.
The crack of a pistol shot echoed through the neighborhood. Terence quickened his pace. Running through loose sand with deadweight was a herculean task. His calves burned. The wash was intersected by an asphalt road. Terence broke into a run on the surer ground. Lead mumbled from his comatose state.
Terence kept out of the Crusader’s line of sight by running crouched next to houses long abandoned by humanity. He cut through streets and yards layered with sand on their return to nature.
Terence was past exhaustion by the time he laid Lead’s body down in a long abandoned mine shaft. A faded metal sign declared it BISON MINE. The shaded cavern provided cool relief. Terence took a drink from his canteen. He poured water into Lead’s mouth, over and past cracked lips. Terence leaned against the cavern wall and assessed their situation. He closed his eyes and rested. Fear warded off sleep.
Eliphaz pushed through the bat-wing doors of the Xanadu Inn. He entered alone; his companions remained in the suburbs hunting for the ex-Preacher’s trail. Conversation stopped. The iron shod heels of Eliphaz’s boots clicked against hardwood floors. He strode to a table full of men eating from a platter of hard bread and cheeses. The men abandoned their feast at the sight of the Crusader, giving him free reign of the table. Eliphaz sat and motioned to his informant. The man was small and hunched, giving the impression that he was somehow part beetle. The right nostril of his nose was missing, a wound of syphilis or combat, one as likely as the other. Eliphaz set a roll of silver notes on the table.
“He was in the neighborhood but not at the house. Thou led us to his horse and no better,” Eliphaz said.
The informant eyed the silver notes and licked his lips, he wanted to reach for them, but was unsure what the Crusader expected of him. Eliphaz drew his Browning and pointed at the informant’s face.
“Know this child, I know when lies are told to me and when sin is committed and had thee known better than what thee stated, thou’d be bleeding out on this floor.”
Eliphaz tapped the toe of his boot against the floor for emphasis. The informant did not move, his survival instincts were keen, he calculated the odds of quitting this situation alive and richer, and his mind told him to remain still, hold his breath, and for the love of God don’t look the Crusader in the eyes.
Eliphaz released the hammer. A small manic grin touched his lips. He waved his gun, beckoning the informant to come closer. The informant took a step and was suddenly grabbed and pulled by his collar. Eliphaz whispered into the informant’s ear.
“Go now child and let thy peers know more notes are to be had by those who find the marks, and a redemptive death will be claimed by those who assist marks.”
Eliphaz batted the roll of notes to the floor with his gun and released the informant. The beetle man let out the breath he’d been holding. He picked up the notes and pocketed them without counting.
“I witnessed a young boy name of Philip riding hard out east end not an hour ago. Stands to reason a boy fleeing these parts does so with reason. Good information or not I’m sure your Holiness will pay fair bounty,” the informant said.
The night winds added to the chill damp of the mine shaft. Terence dug a shallow pit and buried Lead to his neck. He could think of no other way to insulate the sick man from the cold. Lead woke in a half-conscious panic. He tried to reach for his chest but the sand prevented his arms from moving. Terence placed a hand over Lead’s mouth.
“Don’t make a sound. They’ve sent the Crusaders.” Terence kept his hand over Lead’s mouth until he ceased to struggle.
“Crusaders, the Church would not be so rash.” Lead whispered in disbelief. His mind reeled. Crusaders were the Church’s dogs of wars, sent to bring ruination on the heads of those who were too strong, too dangerous. They were the Churches arm against the armies of Satan. It must be a mistake that they’d been set to hunt this old mark. If they had, it meant that the Church had lost faith in Lead’s mission; that he too was out of favor with the Church’s holy influence. That he too might bear the Mark of Cain.
