As I Walk These Broken Roads

“Yeah.”

“Shit. So what are we gonna do then?”

“I don’t know. A direct assault would be too risky at this point. There’s still the question of Jenkins though — I want to know how he’s mixed up with these guys. Those Mennites don’t really seem the type to mix with Slayer and his men. They’re too insular.”

“I agree. They barely mix with the people in Hope, even though they’re trading. Just look at how they treated us.”

“Exactly. I want to know what that relationship’s all about before I make any decisions.”

“Hey — those guys are breaking. Looks like they’re going for lunch.”

“Maybe Jenkins will finally come out.”

* * *

A semi-circle of tables had been setup at the opening of the hangar. The band took their seats, facing inwards. There were no signs of segregation between the groups. The porters had just begun to bring out the food, when Slayer, his Second, and Jenkins appeared. They walked out of the shadows, towards the empty table at the centre of the half-circle, manned by three scavenged chairs. The ornate metal throne had disappeared.

Once the meals were delivered, and everyone was else sitting, Jenkins spoke a brief formality. The assembly responded with formalized gestures and an incoherent mutter, then started eating. Their behaviour was subdued; only the occasional elbow prod or chuckle. The meal looked warm, and Wentworth felt himself growing hungry. A groan from Raxx’s gut confirmed he wasn’t alone in this, but with Jenkins present neither dared look away.

The three men at the head of the table ate in silence. A lopsided valley — Slayer, Jenkins, and the Second. Any conversation had already finished. They ate with a grim confidence which didn’t need glances for moral support. Instead, they watched the rest of the band.

A hint of nervousness was trickling through the ranks. Any joviality seemed forced, and though it was hard to tell from the watchers perspectives, it seemed that none of the band were making eye contact with their leaders. As the meal drew to a close nervous twitches abounded — bouncing knees, tapping fingers — they no more knew what to expect than the watchers on the cliff.

Then the Second stood.

The dust seemed to settle as the band froze.

Walking casually, he approached the same hanging clutch-plate which had announced a young man’s death the night before. He picked up the cudgel which lay next to it. With a deliberate, forceful strike — the din seemed to rarify the air throughout the mine site — Jenkins stood, and his speech cut through the stilled air.

“Children,” his arms were opened lovingly, his visage full of assurance, “You have come. You have survived the filth and the tribulations. It has come time for you to no longer be the abject — for though you knew it not, you men before me are the faith. I came here this day so that you might learn the first of the mysteries.

“Your shepherd has brought you to me purified. He has guided and uplifted you from hell. But though you were uplifted, still always you saw nought but the next field of green. You sought only the harvest, not the seeds with which to sow the field. And further, the green lived on only in the presence of the shepherd — you knew not how to find it should you abandon the faith.”

His vision paused on several of the seated, the sergeants and one of the porters. “Some amongst you, I can see, have learned this vision for yourselves. And yet you remain — for you do not understand from where this vision arises.”

“You men are the children of filth and apocalypse. In a broken world, only the broken can understand.” He paused for a breath, looking vacantly at the assembly. Then a demonic fury inflamed his features, “In a world of filth, it is the filthy who are filthy no more! With my arrival the prophecy is fulfilled — it is by the seven heads that this beast shall arise, and woe unto those who seek not the new world! It is written that they shall burn, as many did, but still they shall burn again! Death has arrived — the wages of sin are of the past — now comes the hour when the blind shall be cast down!”

The band was captivated, trembling at his pronouncements. Even the men seated at his side waxed pale.

“The sodomite era is now! For we shall reap what they sow!”

“We shall reap what they sow!” shouted the body of men.

He stopped speaking. Tremors ran through the audience, jerks and twitches moving through the spine. He stayed silent, slowly his body composed itself.

“But now I must go, children. The hour draws nigh.”

Slayer’s second fell down to one knee. One by one, then en mass, the rest kicked their chairs out and mimicked his pose.

“There shall be further mysteries in times to come… think on what I have told you this day.” Abruptly he turned ninety degrees and began walking away.

“This is it! Wentworth — we need to take that guy, and the rest of it will fall apart.”

Raxx’s voice snapped Wentworth away from the gathering — for a moment he was stunned at the great distance between him and Jenkins, and the immediateness of his own environment.

“What’s ‘it’? What do we need to do with him?”

“Listen, it’s all jumping around my head still — it makes sense, I just haven’t sorted it out yet — Jenkins isn’t just the ringleader, he’s the whole thing — we gotta take him now, before he gets back to Hope. If we crack it there, the whole thing comes falling down like a house of cards. Listen, Wentworth, he’s almost gone already, I—” Raxx paused mid breath. His eyes were wide, and the gears behind them were spinning violently. “Trust me on this. We take him now, it’ll all crack. I can’t explain it.”

Wentworth stared at him. Every instinct, every knee-jerk, argued against trusting an unguarded argument. He’d see men die over that. But before this he’d always had a counter argument, or at least an educated doubt to fall back on. Today; with this man, and these locals; he was at a loss. Raxx had been raised on superstition and false promises. But he’d also learned the science of auto mechanics.

“You’re sure about this?” It was the mercenary part of him speaking. A simple cost/benefit analysis had swayed the argument.

“I’m damn near positive.”

“Then let’s get back to your truck.”

Chapter 23

A sense of urgency overtook them. Their hearts started pumping blood at a rapid rate, pushing it through their body, waking their numb extremities. Once away from the cliff edge they could stand, finally. They began running. The route was steep in places. Holding their longarms out in one hand for balance, with the other they grabbed at passing tree trunks, slowing their decent. In lurching jumps they moved down the hill, tree to tree.

The woods moved by in a flash of brown and green, and the sound of tearing bracken.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach the vehicle. They removed Wentworth’s cam-net from the truck’s superstructure, then Raxx went through a quick vehicle-check while his partner packed their equipment. They finished within seconds of each other, tossing their weapons into the bed. He keyed the ignition as Wentworth slammed his door shut. The truck roared to life. He pulled forward through the branches of the willow, over a ditch, and onto the road. A quick fishtail, then the wheels grabbed traction.

Wentworth pulled his pistol out from his side holster, cocking the upper receiver, and engaging the safety. “Alright, this son of a bitch shouldn’t have an escort, and I doubt he has any weapons on him, but we’re gambling that Slayer won’t hear us drive past — hell, I think that might have been the entrance just now. Our sidearms will do the job, but we need to do it fast.”

Raxx nodded, a scowl on his face as he accelerated down the torn-up road. Wentworth re-holstered his pistol and reached around to the backseats. Grabbing the handle of his duffle bag he pulled it over and began rummaging around.