matters – that's enough of a reward.'
'Leave me now,' said Ahiga and Hastiin went.
Everything was now set in motion. An old Greek pimp had once told Ahiga that when the gods want to punish us they give us exactly what we want. The saying had always stuck with Ahiga. Fitch and Golding were going to get what they wanted. It was going to punish them more than they could possibly expect.
It was getting near dawn and Fitch was pissed. He'd been driving up and down the road bordering the reservation since he'd heard the explosion. He had no idea what kind of stunt that sick faggot Ahiga had pulled, but he was going to make him pay when he found out.
'Where are these stinking Bible bashers?' he said. 'Can't that freaking Injun get 'em to the borders of his own reservation?'
'T'aint his reservation,' said Golding, who was riding shotgun in the jeep. 'These are Cheyenne. He's a Navajo. He told me that.'
'Whatever. They're all redskins. Should've killed 'em back when we had the chance.'
'Have to make do with happy clappers for the time being.'
'Yeah, freaking Christians. Them I'll kill for free. Bug the fucking shit outta me.'
'Don't let Colt catch you saying that. He's real big into his religious shit.'
'I know. That's his problem. Christianity, that's what we push to the masses. T'aint what we swallow. First rule of dealing: don't get high on your own supply. We start believing in all this turn the other cheek, peace on earth bullshit and we're fucked.'
'Naw. Colt's more of your eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth kinda Christian. Strictly old school, old testament. He told me that.'
A horn blared behind them, from one of the two troop carriers following them. Fitch checked his mirror. The driver of the last vehicle was leaning out the window waving for them to go back.
Fitch pulled a U-turn and swore as he hit a pothole. He drove past the troop carriers, executing three point turns. Up ahead, on the right hand side of the road, about a hundred or so volunteers were coming out of a small copse of Ponderosa Pines.
'Goddamn it,' said Fitch. 'He hasn't killed a one of them. First the explosion now this, what the fuck is that cock sucking Injun playing at?'
'Wait,' said Golding. 'I see a few bodies. Our boys though, worse luck.'
'You didn't expect he'd let them live did ya?'
'S'pose not.'
Fitch pulled up and jumped out. The other two vehicles were just pulling up when the volunteers spotted them. The troops climbed out of the carriers. Thirty men armed to the teeth.
The whole crowd ran towards them with their arms out. Some of them bawled tears of joy. Fitch thought they might fall down and kiss his feet. They swarmed round him, the women tugging at his clothes while their scrawny ass kids screamed. Everyone was talking at once. Fitch pulled out his pistol and fired it into the air.
'Alright,' he hollered. 'That's enough, I can't make out a word you're saying. You,' Fitch said pointing to a tall, thin man who had hold of a corpse by the ankles. 'What the fuck was that explosion we heard?'
'That was the tower,' said the man. 'The Indians blew it up. Had dynamite and everything.' The man tilted his head at the corpse he was carrying. 'Killed this one and nine others.'
'Anyone else dead?' said Fitch. 'Apart from our men?'
'Couple I think. Few of us are wounded too. Do you have a first aid kit with you?'
'Oh we got just what you need. Don't you worry 'bout that none.'
The troops formed themselves into a line spanning the road, guns at the ready.
'How bad's the damage to the tower?' Fitch said. 'There any chance of repairing it?'
The man shook his head. 'We'll have to start again from scratch. The whole thing's destroyed. Set light to our things too. All we got is the clothes on our back.'
'You won't need nothing where you're going,' said Golding.
The volunteers started to look nervous. A few of them began backing up the road or slinking into the trees. 'You guys are here to help us aren't you?' said the tall man. 'We're gonna finish off the work on the tower ain't we? So the Prophet can get his word out.'
'We're gonna finish off the tower,' said Fitch. 'But first we gotta finish up what them Injuns left undone.'
'Listen,' said the man. 'I don't quite follow what you're saying. You need to send us some place we can get seen to.'
'We're going to send you some place alright. Some place the angels can see to you.'
The troops raised their weapons, semi automatics primed and loaded. 'Wait a minute! We're on your side. Sweet Lord Jesus -'
'Tell him I said hi,' said Fitch and opened fire. The rest of the men followed suite.
The roar of the gunfire nearly drowned the screams of pain and fear. Wave upon wave of bullets ripped into the men, women and children as they tried to flee. Their bodies jerked and flailed. It put Fitch in mind of the raptures they went into at their prayer meetings. Waving their hands in the air, speaking in tongues and falling to the floor. Except there was a lot more blood and they weren't getting up again.
Fitch and his men stepped over the first lot of corpses as they advanced on the rest of the volunteers trying to escape. Their boots were sticky from all the blood. Fitch's weapon was red hot from the constant firing and his arms were sore from tensing against the recoil.
With the majority of them dead, Fitch sent five men on down the road to catch the few bastards who'd gotten away and four more into the trees to flush out any stragglers there. The rest of the men kicked their way through the bodies on the road, using their pistols to finish off the wounded.
When he was satisfied that the job was done he called out to Golding: 'You got them bow and arrows to hand?' Golding pulled five bows and three quivers out the back of the jeep. He tossed a bow to Fitch who then fired an arrow into one of the corpses. Golding handed out bows to some of the other men.
'Sir, I don't understand,' said one of the soldiers. 'We already finished 'em off. Why turn 'em into pin cushions?'
''Cos people have to see it was them Injuns did this. They have to know what kinda filthy savages they are.'
When they were done Fitch turned to Dwight, six-foot four of red headed, red necked, good ol' Southern boy. 'You got that Polaroid?'
Dwight held up an instant camera. It would have been a relic even before The Cull. 'Sure have. Got it off a scav who pulled it out of an old retirement home, place was a gold mine he said.'
'Does it still work?'
'Fired off a few test shots to be sure,' said Dwight. 'Even got spare film.'
'Good,' said Fitch. 'I want a lot of shots of this. People are gonna see these photos and they're gonna want blood.'
'Neo-Clergy's making a comeback boys,' said Golding as Dwight snapped away. 'Neo-Clergy's making a comeback.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
They didn't look like killers, thought the Prophet. Just a lot of tired, scared Native Americans. That was the thing about evil though, it always hid in the least likely places. In the hearts of the most ordinary people. Just one of Satan's many subtleties.
As a little kid he'd always rooted for the Indians whenever he watched a western on TV. In the old movies they were always the bad guys. That's not how he'd seen them. They were noble warriors who stood up to the white man. If you saw a black man in one of those films he was usually some Stepin-Fetchit played for laughs. But the Indians terrified the white men. They had power.
All that was before he discovered they were Godless pagans. It hadn't mattered to him much back then. Church was something he went to with his momma and his brothers. It didn't affect the rest of his life. God had yet
