unemployed accountant?”
Joni touched his arm, hard and muscled after more than three years of backbreaking field work. The touch was surprisingly gentle in the midst of the bloody carnage surrounding the man and woman. “If he doesn’t, George, then you and I will just have to move on. We’ve come through too much together to be separated now.”
The man and woman standing in the middle of grotesque death, embraced and kissed.
The screaming from the women’s slave quarters and the howling of the women from the plantation house ceased. The immediate area was strangely silent. Other men and women, all wearing tattered rags of clothing, with many still bearing the savage marks of the blacksnake whip, joined George and Joni. They were armed with everything from kitchen knives to AK-47’S and M-16’s.
“It’s over, Joni,” a woman announced. “The bastards are all dead or dying.”
“And the bitches,” a man added.
Joni stepped from George’s embrace and faced the men and women gathered around the pair. She counted the heads. Just over sixty. They had taken fearful losses in their fight for freedom. Almost a forty percent loss.
“All right, people, was Joni said, her voice firm and strong with the conviction of one who is right. “There are other slave farms. And there are schools-so-called-where young girls are taught the art of prostitution. There are many elderly people who are forced to cook and clean and perform household chores for Silver’s people. The old are beaten and humiliated and sometimes put to death because they are old. All those people must be freed, all of them, before we can even begin to think of our own well-being. I don’t know how many farms Silver has, or where they are all located, but we’ll find out. And we’ll help free those imprisoned there. With each success, we’ll grow stronger in number. For right now, let’s bury our dead, gather up all the weapons and bullets, and get organized. We’ve got a lot to do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Great jumping balls of fire!” Emil yelled. “What in the hell was that?”
Gunfire was ripping the mid-morning quiet of the cult. Emil ran to the picture window in the den, tripping on the hem of his robe only twice, and jerked open the drapes. He looked out at a motley crew of men, all heavily armed, and at his flock of followers, running in panic in all directions. Some of his people were lying on the ground, and they were not moving. Dark crimson stains were appearing on their robes, the blood leaking onto the ground.
“Worst than fucking Vietnam,” Emil muttered. “Oh, shit! What am I gonna do?”
An automatic rifle cracked, from the sound of it, Emil guessed it to be an M-16, and the window to his right erupted in a shower of broken glass and splintered wooden frames. Emil ran shrieking from the den into his bedroom. He jerked open the closet door, grabbing up his AK-47. Chambering a round, he slipped the weapon onto full automatic and ran back into the den.
Only Emil’s guards knew anything at all about guns of any type. For Emil’s was a peaceful cult. Rather perverted in many ways, but all that was
about to change. His followers smoked bunches of dope and fucked a lot, but when it came to guns, they were a bunch of schmucks. Emil remembered that word from a Jewish chick he used to ball when he sold used cars up in Chattanooga. For a few seconds, Emil wondered what had ever happened to that chick.
Emil stuck the muzzle of the AK out the broken window and pulled the trigger. Luckily for Emil, a dozen armed men were at the front of the house just as he pulled the trigger. He emptied the clip into the knot of men, knocking most of them to the ground. Emil quickly changed clips and ran out the back door of the house. He ran out into the yard, tripped over the hem of his robe, and fell on his face. It was a very good move on his part, for a hard burst of gunfire blasted over Emil’s head.
Emil jumped to his feet, leveled the AK, and chopped three more of the attackers to bloody bits. It was an awful sight.
“Yuk!” Emil said.
The sounds of hard gunfire reached Emil’s ears. That and the sounds of surrender.
“Don’t shoot no more!” a man’s voice reached Emil. “We give up.”
“Why, you son of a bitch!” Emil muttered.
Emil felt the muzzle of a weapon press coldly against the flesh of his neck. He peed on himself.
And he knew his little scam was over. No more tight, young pussies for Emil. No more young boys to entertain him. No more being waited on and pampered by his flock.
All gone.
“Git on your feet, funny man,” a hard voice told him.
Emil stood up.
“What the fuck is you people, monks?” the man asked.
A light bulb lit up in Emil’s brain. “Why, ah, yes, sir. That is exactly right. We are the, ah, Light of Life order of monks.”
The unshaven, smelly brute knocked Emil sprawling on his butt. “What you is, little man, is a liar. And what else you is,” he said with a grin, “is our prisoners.”
“Right nice spread they got here,” another man said, walking up. “Be a good place to hole up for the winter.”
“Oh, shit!” Emil muttered, from his position on the ground.
“Yeah,” another man said. He held one of Emil’s followers in his arms. The young woman could do nothing as his hands crawled over her body. “Lots of grub and lots of pussy. Some of these … whatever in the hell they is, got away, but we captured a bunch of them.” He lifted the woman’s robes, exposing her naked belly. “Jist look at the bush on this one, will ya? “Nough fuckin” material “round this place to last us all winter.”
“Father Emil!” the woman cried. “Do something. Evoke the powers of the great god, Blomm.”
“Yes!” some of the other captives cried. “Bring down curses on these barbarian’s heads. Use your mighty powers to call down the wrath of Blomm.”
Emil struggled to his hands and knees. He had a frightful headache where that brute had popped him
with the butt of his rifle. “Oh, blow it out your ear,” Emil muttered. “The game is over; the scam is through.”
“Game?” a man questioned. “Scam? Why … whatever in the world do you mean, Father Emil?”
“Father Emil!” one of the attackers said with a laugh. “Father Emil!”
Emil was jerked to his feet and held there by two brutish looking men. God! it was so embarrassing.
“Point your finger at these horrible men and slay them!” a young woman cried. “Evoke the powers of the mighty Blomm, Father Emil.”
Emil looked at her, disgust in his eyes. “Oh … fuck you, you ding-a-ling!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The morning dawned clear and cold, with patches of frost where the sunlight had not warmed and the winds of the night had not touched. Lake Chatuge, which lay in parts of what had once been known as North Carolina and Georgia, shimmered under the first rays of sunlight.
Ike and Nina stood on the crest of a hill overlooking the silver-blue waters of the lake. Using his binoculars, Ike scanned the trucks parked neatly on the west side of the lake, just off Highway 76.
“Well now,” Ike said. “Would you just take a look at that. Makes a body feel right at home.”
Nina watched as a huge smile began working its way across his face.
“You see something down there that makes you happy, Ike?”
“I sure do, honey.” He cased the binoculars and took Nina’s hand in his. “Come on. Let’s meet the gang. That’s Ben and his people down there.”
But Nina pulled back.
“What’s wrong?” Ike asked, not understanding any of this.
“I’m afraid of going down there.”
“Afraid? Afraid of what, Nina? Those are my friends down there.”
“Is Mister Raines among them?”
“I sure hope so. Is it Ben? You’re afraid of Ben?”
“Yes. For the past few years I have heard many people talk of Ben Raines. About how he is God. I have seen
