Mer Rouge (Part 19)

The priest stomped back into the shed with his head a-buzzin. He couldn’t help but gnaw on his fingers as he tried to figure what the police knew. While lost in the fog of his own mind, Oren initially paid him little attention. But as panic mounted, the priest’s belly rumbled. First he ransacked the small cupboard of goods, littering more crap and much needed food onto the already cluttered floor. Then he turned his eyes toward Oren and barked. “GIMME THEM GODDAMN PEANUTS!”

Oren looked up from his nearly depleted cup. “But I almost ate them all!”

“Just give em to me!”

The priest yanked the cup from his hand, fork and all, and frantically chowed down. Oren was vexed. The ceaseless slurping and moaning wasn’t helping either. When the priest finished the last of the peanuts, he threw the cup over his shoulder and released a hellish fart. “Much better,” he said. Then he uncorked a jug of moonshine and gulped down.

Oren scratched his head. “So I take it that wasn’t the cops that chased us last night?”

“Nope,” he said and then loudly belched.

“Then who were they?”

“It was the West Carroll Sheriff.”

“And?”

“He was asking me about your truck explodin. He had to have gone to the Moorhouse Parish Sheriff but I don’t reckon they told him shit.”

“Was he lookin for me?”

“Yeah he was lookin for ya.”

“Is there a warrant or something?”

“No. But I wouldn’t trust these fuckers as far as you can throw em. So don’t go runnin to the West Carroll sheriff for help! Ya hear?”

“I know that. But how the hell am I gonna get my brother out of jail?”

“Just shut the fuck up. I’m thinkin.” The priest took another gulp of shine. And then another. He didn’t have the courtesy to offer some to Oren. Finally, after drinking nearly half a jug, he sat it down on the frail wooden table and lifted his leg. A second passed and then a tiny, pitiful fart eeked out of his asshole and he leaned forward while clutching his stomach. “Oof. Peanuts and shine are kickin in. Just a moment,” he uttered. Then he stood up, arms still wrapped over his belly, and he stormed out the back of the shed. After about five maddening minutes, the priest came back inside fully refreshed. “Goddamn,” he kept repeating. Then he sat back down at the rickety ass table and pulled out a cigarette, this time offering one to Oren. “Okay son,” he began, “better start drinkin this shine because you ain’t gonna believe what I’m fixin to tell ya.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 18)

The priest waddled nonchalantly across the unkempt yard. His eyes ogled the dilapidated church. When DuPont saw him, he stepped out of the cruiser and rested his hands on top of the opened door. He watched the priest. The West Carroll sheriff had presumed that this man of God noticed his squad car roll up. He had presumed wrong. The priest seemed oblivious. He was mindlessly gawking off into nothing with his thumb up his ass. The sheriff loudly cleared his throat.

“Oh, forgive me! I didn’t see you there!” the priest lied. “What can I do for you, officer?”

DuPont removed his Stetson and extended his hand. “I reckon I should introduce myself. I’m Sheriff DuPont.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Ya know, I’m ashamed to admit this, but I didn’t know we had a Greek Orthodox Church until someone pointed it out to me the other day.”

“That’s quite alright, sheriff. The diocese just sent me out here. This church hasn’t been used in years, so I’m just wandering around trying to figure out what bullshit needs to be done to fix the place up.”

“I see,” said the sheriff. “Well I won’t keep you long. But there was an incident last night involving an explosion. It occurred about half a mile away from here. Off Kurtzy Road. Did you happen to see anything? Hear anything?”

“No sir. Don’t believe so.”

“Are you certain? The incident occurred about that-a-way,” the sheriff pointed towards the northwest. “It would have been a very loud explosion. You certainly would have heard it from this distance.”

“No sir, didn’t hear nuthin. What time did this happen?”

“Couldn’t say at this point. Probably before midnight.”

The priest squinted his eyes and stroked his long, grey beard. “Hmm. Well I went to bed quite early last night. And I’m a pretty sound sleeper.”

“What time did you lay down?”

“Oh I couldn’t say. Round eight.”

The sheriff nodded. “I see.” Then he placed the Stetson back on his head. “Well if you hear anything, please let my office know.”

“Yes sir. I will.”

DuPont sauntered back to his cruiser and the priest resumed gawking at the church. But as the sheriff opened the door, he spoke up once more. “One other thing, padre.”

This Priest bit his tongue.

“We don’t get too many new faces around here,” the sheriff said. “But you’re always welcome to stop by the sheriff’s office. We like to work closely with the faith leaders in our community. And besides, we need a new chaplain. I encourage you to apply.”

The priest smiled and waved. “I may do that, sheriff!”

DuPont returned the wave and planted himself in the driver’s seat. The priest turned around and walked back toward the church. But before the sheriff started the engine, he called out again. “Also, father!”

The Priest concealed his annoyance.

“There’s a gentleman we’re on the look out for,” DuPont shouted. “A black fella, about five foot eight. His name is Oren Waits. He’s not in any trouble, at least not with us, but if you see him, tell him I want to talk to him.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 14)

The inmates piled out of the old army truck with the urgency of a platoon going into battle. Everyone knew right where they were supposed to be. All except for Hutch. When his feet hit the ground, his instinct was to follow Moses. But a deputy lowered his shotgun to block his path. “Not so fast there bucko.” The officer’s face was as cold as granite, his eyes glaring a fiery red from underneath his leather brim. “Stand over there.”

So Hutch stood over there.

Upon closer inspection, the sprawling ranch land did not consist of St. Augustine and Bermuda grasses but of a polyethylene blend found only on shitty ball fields. It was fake grass as far as the eye could see. All the inmates lined up along the dirt road and dragged their tools across the rocks to kick up dust. Hutch raised an eyebrow. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Hush! The judge will see you in a moment!” the deputy shouted.

Hutch stood off to the side with shovel in hand and scratched his ass. He gazed upon his fellow prisoners and pondered. They had the look of determination plastered over their faces as if they were doing actual work. It made no goddamn sense. Meanwhile, one deputy rested the butt of his shotgun on his hip. The other lazily jogged from the ominous mansion back to the truck while Hutch watched his man tits bounce to and fro. When he arrived, the deputy wheezed and leaned forward as if to puke. “The judge is ready to see you,” he managed to utter between laborious breaths. The other officer grabbed Hutch by the arm and handed off his shotgun. First, they traversed across phony grass before stepping onto brick underneath an exotic covered breezeway. This led them to right up to an ornate, if not garish, rustic double door and the deputy knocked. An English butler opened the door. “Yes suh?”

The deputy spat a wad of tobacco on the bricked porch. “We’re here for the judge.”

“Name, suh?”

“Deputy Iverson. Jesus Christ! Deputy Thumb was just in here! Did he not tell you we were comin?”

“And his name?”

The deputy nudged Hutch. “Tell him yur name.”

“Thomas Jefferson Waites. They call me Hutch.”

“One moment, gentlemen.” Then the butler shut the door.

“Jesus fuckin Christ!” the deputy cursed.

Twenty minutes and three cigarettes later, the butler opened the door and bowed. “The Honorable Judge Castor will see you now.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 13)

Midday. Outside of the tool crib under the lingering sun, Fornier shoved a shovel into Hutch’s chest. Hutch gripped the handle and raised an eyebrow and voiced his concern. “The fuck is this?” he asked. The sheriff chewed his loose leaf tobacco and spat. “You ain’t never seen a shovel before?”

“I mean, I have. But I don’t know what I need it for.”

The inmates behind Hutch grew pissy as sweat poured down their brows. Before agitation could reach a boiling point, Moses spoke up. “It’s for yardwork you dolt!”

“Yardwork?” said Hutch. “I’m a prisoner. I don’t know anything about yardwork!”

Fornier shook his head. “Boy, you are a special kind of dumbass.”

“Just take the goddamn shovel and get in the truck!” Moses shouted.

Hutch did as he said and took his seat in the open air convoy truck. Other inmates poured in behind him. When the bed was filled, two deputies donning their pump action shotguns climbed in and took their seats. No words were spoken and the truck roared southward into the green lush bayou. The skies were clear. For the moment, the midday breeze provided a reprieve from the scorched sun. Hutch’s mind began to wander. He knew not if Oren was dead or alive. Then remorse sank in. If only he had ate more fiber, then that toilet in Arkansas would have never been clogged and they’d probably be in Florida by now. But the wheels underneath him kept spinning. It took him further and further away. Then the truck turned down yet another dirt road. Dry dust kicked up and the inmates covered their faces. The deputies lifted rags over their noses. When they arrived, it was a sprawling plantation stretching out onto the flat horizon. The only elevation in sight was a gentle sloping hill on which a colonial, almost gaudy, mansion sat. The deputies climbed out and opened the bed.

“Everyone out!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 11)

Hutch’s dream was interrupted by a warm and repugnant stream trickling down his face. His eyes opened to see a penis shoved between two bars and dangling over him. It was releasing a heavy torrent of piss. Instinctively, Hutch reached up to grab the drooping pecker. But the pecker’s keeper, a lowly sheriff’s deputy, jumped backwards and left a trail of urine in front of him. Cackling, the backwater lawman placed his member back into his pants and waved his finger. “Goddamn. Almost got it buddy!”

From across the jail cell, Moses climbed out of his bunk to admonish the odious turnkey. “Why you always floodin us with your piss, man!?”

The deputy reached for his baton and banged it against the metal bars. “Cuz yous nuthin but a toilet!,” he cried. Then he reholstered the baton and screeched a number of slurs at the inmate. Moses returned the shouting with equal fervor. “Man, you disgusting! Get the fuck outta here!”. The deputy spat a tobacco stained loogie onto the grimy jail floor and then flashed his yellowed smile. “Yard duty at noon” he beamed. “Right in the thick of day.”

“Shit, man.”

The deputy chuckled and made an about face. His laughter intensified as his footsteps echoed down the corridor. Once out of earshot, Moses tossed Hutch a towel. “Man, don’t be grabbin no peckers around here! Folks might be gettin the wrong idea. And another thing. Don’t be sleepin with your head against the bars!”

Hutch took the towel and dried his face. Then he looked at the cloth and sat it beside him. “How long have I been here?”

“They threw you in here round midnight. And you was stinkin of some nasty ass shit. Luckily they hosed you down and put you in a jumpsuit.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Shit. At least a year.”

“For what?”

“Stealin some cigarettes.”

“They locked you up for a year for stealing cigarettes?”

Moses cocked his head. “Do you know where you at?”

“Louisiana.”

“That’s correct. I’m a black man in Louisiana.”

“But don’t we have to go in front of a judge at some point?”

“You ain’t seeing this judge.”

“Why not?”

“You must not be from around here.”

“I’m from Utah.”

“Well that explains why you don’t know shit. The judge of this county is Judge Castor. He’ll see you when he’s damn well ready.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

kingdom of god 24

Telas gawked at the old man as mounds of apple sauce were shoved into his mouth while nurses shuffled in and out of the sterile and cold penthouse overlooking the sprawling megalopolis. It was nestled safely thousands of miles away from the war ravaged Nain. Bill Wilcox, the aide de camp, was at the Shepherd’s beside. Hundreds of tubes and wires were connected to the old man’s decrepit body and they interpreted signals from his brain. Bill was there to elucidate every word to Telas, who along with the commandant of the Nain territory, Brigadier Hilas Philemon, was there to receive the latest decree from the Shepherd. Wilcox looked up from his interface to receive them.

“The Shepherd would like to thank you for being here,” the aide de camp explained. The old man looked motionless and infirm towards the high plafond seemingly unaware of the bustle surrounding him. Wilcox continued. “The Shepherd and the Chancellor commend you both for your service. You have both performed remarkably.”

“Thank you, sir,” the stern Brigadier responded. But the High Priest said nothing.

“The good news is the lands south of the Sianna have been cleared,” Wilcox declared. “But General, have you made any progress in clearing the Yorkin Pass?”

“It’s rough terrain sir,” Hilas explained. “The group occupying the pass have been harassing the operating posts south of Nisan and then retreating back into the Urbanas. It will take some time to flush them out.”

“You need to do it quickly,” Wilcox warned. “Contractors will be in the Nain basin within a month.”

“Aye sir.”

“The political situation with the Chancellor has changed. While his constituency might find a degree of loss of life acceptable, too much may be unbearable. Please handle this situation delicately and discreetly. The people of Nain must find safe passage to the south.”

“Of course sir.”

“You are dismissed.”

The general bowed his head and departed the penthouse then Wilcox turned towards Telas. “The Shepherd would like to speak with you alone,” he said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

kingdom of god 14

And for the next several days at moonlight, the holy man would enter their chambers and chant hymns in the tongue of Nain and place the seal of unity in ochre paints onto their heads and bless the prisoners before departing. On these nights, the priest’s eyes would turn white as lightning and his chantings were like a demonic serenade and when the ceremony was over he would wash his bear skinned cloak in the blood of an unknown creature and drape it over his shoulders.

“Blood will cleanse our land,” the holy man said to Wade.

“Who’s blood?”

“You will see.”

“Ours?”

But the priest departed and said nothing and then the Saranian girl entered the chamber and offered the men unleavened bread and meats and wine. Wade took of the wine and drank and then thanked her and asked of the ring. She heard him but said nothing.

“Do you understand me?” he asked her but she stood bewildered. “I’m Wade,” he said and thumbed his chest.

The girl nodded. “Sela,” she spoke.

“Sela,” Wade repeated. “You are beautiful.” He gestures to her face. “Very beautiful.”

The girl again faintly smiled and bowed and then swiftly left the chamber. Sitting in the back, Sheridan chuckled to himself. “You certainly have a way with the ladies,” he jested towards Wade.

“I have a plan.”

“Oh I know you have a plan. And I can see it’s working.”

“There’s a reason why they’ve kept us alive for this long.”

“Of course. They’re gonna make us a part of their blood ceremony. See? You’re not the only smart one here.”

“Do you see any other way out?”

“I don’t. So keep working your magic.”

After finishing the bread and wine, Sheridan was fast asleep and Wade laid awake listening to the ceaseless chanting and drum beats before it all faded away into the night. And minutes after it did, Sela returned to the chambers and offered him more bread and then she took the dead hermit’s ring and placed it back into his hand.

“No no,” said Wade. He took her by the left hand and slid it onto her finger. “This is for you. Something to remember me by.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

kingdom of god 13

Wade returned to the cage and women brought them meats and furred blankets for the nights ahead. Sheridan remained cowed under the coverings and caked in dried blood with his hands shaking at the faintest echo of chanting monks and the hollering of warriors. Not wanting to stay silent, Wade informed Sheridan of his visit to the prophet.

“Will he let us go?” asked the older man.

“I don’t know,” said Wade.

“Then what will happen to us?”

“I can’t say.”

Sheridan gnawed on charred deer meat and drank water while Wade stayed seated with back towards his fellow prisoner. “What is this place? What are they doing here?” Sheridan asked.

“I reckon they’re hiding from the nighthawks.”

“And what of Josea?”

“He’s a charlatan.”

“Of course he’s a charlatan! I mean what’s his angle?”

“What’s the angle of any charlatan? He claims he sees visions of Jonny. That’s what brought him up here.”

“But we can’t be far from the Nain.”

“We ain’t. It can be seen from Josea’s temple.”

“Is that what you’re aiming for? An escape?”

“What other option we got?”

Another young woman of browned skin and dark hair flowing over her exposed breasts brought the night’s food wrapped in hide cloth and she handed it to Wade. Wade took it and asked her her name but the girl meekly looked down and didn’t answer. Before she left, Wade called for her. The girl turned around and he reached into his pocket to pull out the ring taken from the hermit and he offered it to her. She cautiously approached the cage and reached out her hand. Wade placed it into her palm and he clasped her fingers into a fist and he held it. “Thank you for the food,” he told her. She briefly made eye contact and flashed a faint smile then departed.

“Where do you think she came from?” asked Wade.

“I can’t say for certain,” said Sheridan. “Possibly from the Sanalands to the west.”

“Think she speaks English?”

“Not a chance.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

kingdom of god 10

The naked warrior was on the ground with the corner of his skull blown open then Wade and Sheridan covered their noses and dragged his body out of sight. They hastily covered him with rocks and dirt and Sheridan pulled out his canteen to wash the blood from his hands. “There was a better way to handle that,” he told Wade.

“How so? By stripping naked and getting washed in the blood?”

“That’s preferable to getting hunted down. They surely heard that rifle shot.”

“Probably so. Is there another way around the pass? Perhaps along that ridge?”

Wade pointed to the east and Sheridan looked in that direction. He shook his head and drank from the canteen. “Maybe,” said Sheridan, “but they probably have this entire valley covered.”

Wade stood up from where he knelt and dusted away the dirt from his knees. “Well, then we should move fast. They’re likely moving in the direction of the shot. We should be out of this valley before they figure out what’s going on.”

Sheridan twisted the cap back on his canteen and they grabbed their rifles and trekked up the meager paths carved into the boulders until they were on top of the ridge overlooking the crevice below. Sheridan had the buck knife ready and attached to the end of his rifle as a bayonet while Wade held the Remington to his hip. They made a quick pace along the ridge and kept a heavy eye in all directions but no naked warrior opposed them. None appeared at all.

“Maybe they didn’t hear the shot,” Wade uttered.

Miles in and a faint echo of an ancient chant was heard. “Did you hear that?” asked Sheridan.

“I ain’t worried until I see something.”

As they descended the ridge down to the flatter plain beneath, Sheridan breathed a sigh of relief. “We’re almost out of it,” he said. Then a six foot spear flew from atop and burrowed into Sheridan’s right thigh and as he went to the ground, Wade fired a single round towards the ledge.

“Christ!” Sheridan shouted in agonizing pain.

Wade placed his foot on the spear to break and shorten it and after he did, he threw Sheridan’s arm around his shoulders. “It’s too late!” the wounded man cried. And it was. A dozen blood soaked warriors appeared before them like ghosts from the ether and had them surrounded. Wade dropped the rifle to his side and the leader approached him and looked upon him with pugnacious eyes.

“Ah psh NEE!” the warrior cried in an alien tongue and his breath reeked of a putrid grave. Two more naked warriors flanked the men on both sides and took them by the arms.

TO BE CONTINUED…

kingdom of god 6

And in the morning he stashed away his belongings under the floorboards and away from the prying eyes of the innkeeper and then he marched back down the steps and into the musty streets of Harar where overhead was heard the screaming of Nighthawk missiles as they thundered through the sky and headed northward. Minutes later Wade arrived at the old storefront which housed the local offices of Agency representative Javier Gomez where the inside remained a barren landmark of time in memoriam. The representative himself sans a robust staff scribbled on a notepad at his desk with his back turned against the window facing the northerly Urbana Mountains. Nighthawks continued roaring overhead and were barely muffled by the brick and insulation. Wade noticed Gomez’s hand shaking.

“You think it’s bad here,” he told the representative, “think about how bad it must be for the people of Nain.”

Ignoring his comment and not looking up, Gomez continued his pointless jotting. “What can I do you for Wade?”

“Milner wants to make a bid,” he said.

Gomez dropped the pen and clasped his hands on the desk. “On what?” the representative asked.

“On the lands northwest of the Siana. Just on the border of Milner’s.”

Gomez shook his head and resumed the jotting. “You’re a little late,” he said.

“Why’s that?”

“It already has a bid and I doubt you could beat it.”

“By who?”

“You know who.”

“The Shepherd?”

Gomez nodded.

“Do you know where he is? Perhaps I could discuss the matter with him.”

The representative once again looked up. “That’s not a good idea. As of lately negotiating with him hasn’t been good for one’s health.”

“Are you referring to Tollum’s land?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I passed through it on my way up.”

“Then you know exactly what I mean.”

“But you’re the agency. Can’t you facilitate some sort of arrangement?”

“It doesn’t work that way and you know it.”

“Then maybe I should go up there and take care of that problem for you.”

Gomez’s face turned a bright red and he lifted a finger towards Wade. “You listen to me goddamnit! You keep your mouth shut! I won’t have talk of killin in my offices!”

“I said nothing about killin, Javier. You did.”

“I’m not a fool! I know what Milner pays you for and I don’t like it!”

“Have you been to Tollum’s lately? Women and children dead in the streets with their bones getting picked apart by old hermits. I suppose you’ll cede that land to the Shepherd as well? What good is an agency if it can’t stop this lawlessness?”

Javier piped down and lowered his head back to the notepad. “Alright then. If you want to negotiate with the Shepherd then that’s your business. And unless a lawful agreement can be reached, I don’t want to know about it. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

TO BE CONTINUED…