Crucifixion - 02 (15 page)

“That’s a nice blade you have there.”  The deep voice startled
me as I hadn’t detected anyone else.  Stepping forward I held the Kukri out at
my side, ready to defend or attack.  The man that stepped out a couple of trees
away was massive and had a long blade held in his right hand as well.  “Why
don’t you put that blade down and let’s have a chat?”

“Why don’t you come over here and try to take it away from
me?”  I suggested, shuffling sideways to make sure I had room behind and on
both sides to move.  That was the last thing I remember doing as a heavy object
slammed into the back of my head and everything went black.

When I woke up the sun was hot on my skin and my entire body
ached, but the pain in my hands and shoulders was excruciating.  My eyes didn’t
want to open and when I was able to force them they felt like they were full of
sand and ground glass.  My mouth was so dry my tongue was stuck to the roof of
my mouth and I was having a hard time breathing.  Gathering myself I squinted
in the bright light and saw a large, primitive camp.  Numerous large canvas
tents were set up not too far in front of me and beyond them was a sea of small
camping tents in all different colors, shapes and sizes.  Realizing I was
looking at the camp from an elevated position I let out a string of low curses
when I saw a small forest of human heads impaled on stakes like I’d seen on the
road just before the ambush.  Taking stock of my situation I just stared when I
realized what they had done to me.

I had been crucified.  I was up on a cross.  A rough rope
circled my wrists which were tightly bound to the horizontal arm of the cross
and all of my body weight was being held up by these two ropes.  I groaned when
I tried to flex my hands, cranking my head around to see what was causing so
much pain.  I just stared in shock when I saw the nail head protruding from my
right palm.  After a long moment I checked my left hand and saw another nail.  In
a near panic I checked my feet but they hadn’t been nailed.  I didn’t
understand why but I wasn’t about to look the gift horse in the mouth.  It took
me a few minutes to resolve myself to what had happened to me and start
assessing the rest of my body.  I had been stripped naked before being nailed
to the cross and as I took inventory of my injuries I could feel the sunburn
across my body.  Looking up at the sun I guessed it was mid-afternoon which
meant I’d been hanging in the hot summer sun for at least eight or nine hours. 

“You’re awake.”  I looked down and saw a young woman dressed
in a simple white shift and sandals looking up at me.  She held a small bucket
and a long pole and was constantly flipping her head to keep her long hair out
of her eyes.

“Where am I?”  I croaked.

“You’re a guest of The Reverend,” she answered.  “Praise
God.  Praise The Reverend.”

I just stared at her.  The Reverend?  Great.  I’d rather
fight an army of infected and a whole city full of anarchists then mess with
religious zealots.  There’s a level of crazy in the world and I’d always found
the craziest of the crazy used religion to justify themselves and control their
equally crazy followers.  Just fucking wonderful.

“Water?”  She asked, sitting the bucket on the ground.  She
maneuvered the long pole which had a ladle taped to the end of it and after
dipping it into the bucket she raised the ladle to my mouth.  Tilting my head
forward I greedily drank the water, then two more ladles, stopping only because
my stomach started cramping.  I didn’t want to throw up the water I’d been able
to drink.  I was severely dehydrated and needed to get some fluids in me so I
could figure a way out of the mess I was in.

“Thank you, Sister Carla.”  A loud, deep voice boomed out as
a very large man emerged from the tent closest to me.  From my uncomfortable
perspective he looked to be a good deal taller and larger than me.  I’m no
slouch in the muscle department, but he was huge.  Arms and chest swollen from
many hours in the gym and perhaps a little chemical assistance as well.  His
hair was long and spilled down his back, held in a lose pony tail by a simple
band of leather.  But despite his size the feature that grabbed and held my
attention was his eyes.  They were the eyes of a fanatic and reminded me of
some of the Muslim fanatics I’d encountered in my day. 

The girl bowed her head and quickly picked up the water
bucket and scurried away.  The man, I was sure he was The Reverend that the
girl had mentioned, walked over to me.  He strode with confidence and the aura
of absolute certainty and authority.  Taking up position in front of me he
stood with his feet spread well apart, massive arms crossed across his equally
massive chest, and tilted his head back to look me in the eye.

“You’re quite something,” he said.  “You killed over 30 of
my disciples last night, including four Marines and a SEAL.  They were all good
men and didn’t deserve to die, but God and I praise their sacrifice.”

“They weren’t that good or they wouldn’t be dead,” I
answered, my smart mouth speaking before I thought about what I was saying.

If I had expected anger as a response I would have been disappointed. 
The Reverend thought about what I said for a moment then laughed a deep,
rumbling laugh.  All things considered I would have preferred anger.

“Oh yes, you are going to be fun.”  He said, turned and
strode back to the tent where he disappeared inside.  Even after he was out of
sight I could still hear his rumbling laughter.  Oh shit.

The afternoon wore on and I drifted in and out of
consciousness.  The pain in my hands was a constant, but I had determined that
the nails had been driven in between the bones.  Again I didn’t understand the
care that had been taken to not seriously cripple me.  Not that this helped
much at the moment, but if I survived at least I shouldn’t have permanent
damage.  That was all well and good but the first order of business was to
survive.  During one of my more lucid moments I analyzed my situation. 

I didn’t know where I was, but suspected I wasn’t far from
where the original ambush had occurred on the road.  I was injured, nothing immediately
life threatening unless they left me hanging up here in the sun without water
for a few more days, but I was still in relatively good shape.  On the negative
side I was naked and unarmed.  All things considered it could have been worse,
much worse, but I needed to be thinking about how to escape and not focus on
the negatives.  I had tested each of the nails that were piercing my hands but
they were solidly embedded into the wood.  The heads on the nails weren’t very
big and I believed if I had to I could tear my hands lose, but that would get
me nothing as my wrists would still be tightly bound to the cross.  The amount
of damage that would cause and the probable accompanying blood loss was also something
I needed to avoid if at all possible. 

Besides, I was something of a curiosity to the people in the
camp and it was rare that there weren’t at least half a dozen people standing
below and staring up at me.  No one offered me any more water and my body had
quickly consumed all that Sister Carla had given me earlier.  I felt weak and
light headed, whether from dehydration or blood loss I couldn’t tell, but while
I didn’t have any illusions that I’d be able to rip my hands free, untying the
ropes binding me and hopping to the ground to fight my way out of the camp was
a pipe dream.  Conserving my energy I tried and finally succeeded in putting
myself in a partial meditative state.  This didn’t get me any closer to
freedom, but it did help me compartmentalize the pain and discomfort and shut
my racing mind down to rest for a while.

The sound of a tool box being dropped on the ground snapped
me back to reality sometime later.  The sun had dipped below the forested hills
and it was dusk in the camp.  Fires dotted the landscape and the smell of game
cooking caused my stomach to growl loudly in protest.  My hands screamed in
pain when two burly men started doing something at the base of the cross that
caused it to shake violently, then it was falling backwards with me still
nailed and tied to it.  When the impact with the ground came I bit my lip to
keep from screaming.  I wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction.

They walked up to my right hand first, one of them placing a
knee on my wrist while the other one used a claw hammer to extract the nail. 
To say the pain was from a realm I’ve never experienced would be an
understatement.  Bolts of white hot fire shot up my arm and I drew blood as I
bit harder on my lip.  A few moments later the process was repeated on my left
hand and I nearly lost consciousness, my vision narrowing to a dark tunnel and
my hearing limited to my own pounding heartbeat.  When I came back from the
edge they had already cut all the ropes holding me to the cross and each had
grabbed an arm and lifted me to my feet.  After all the hours on the cross my
legs weren’t functioning and I would have collapsed if they hadn’t held me up.

Behind me I started hearing the voices of a crowd, growing
in quantity and volume as apparently more people arrived.  I was spun around
and frog marched across a large clearing to the center of a circle made up of
hundreds of people.  Whispers of “murderer” and “Pagan” rippled through the
crowd but they stayed where they were and seemed content to call me names and
stare at me.  Moments later they all bowed their heads as one and started chanting.

“Praise God.  Praise The Reverend.  Praise God.  Praise The
Reverend.”  The chant continued, growing neither louder nor softer, and
eventually The Reverend walked into my field of view.  He was dressed simply in
black shoes, slacks and a black dress shirt as he came to stand in front of me
and look down at me.  He was a truly massive and impressive specimen.  Night
had fallen and the people in the front row of the circle held torches to illuminate
the clearing and his fanatic’s eyes danced in the torch light.  Finally he
turned away from me and faced his followers, a large smile on his face as he
raised his hands in the air.  They immediately fell silent and all eyes were on
him as he stalked around the circle and looked into the crowd.

“Praise God!”  His voice boomed across the clearing.  “You,
my friends, are His Chosen.  You have survived the horrors and destruction
brought on our world by the Pagans, and you have done so because He chose you!”

A cheer erupted from the crowd and more chants of “Praise God
and Praise The Reverend” were shouted.

“God has also chosen me to lead you through these trying
times,” he was interrupted by more chants praising God and him and let them go
on for almost a full minute before raising his hands for silence again.

“All of you know about all of the good men that died last
night.  Good men that were simply following my instructions of what God wanted them
to do.”  He kept walking around the circle as he spoke, and he had the voice
and presence to command the full attention of the assembled people.  In fact
they looked at him with nothing less than complete love and devotion in their
eyes.  Glancing at the two men that still held my arms I could see the same
look in their eyes as they listened.  Carefully testing my legs I was happy to
find that the feeling had returned and I could stand on my own, but chose to
remain slumped in their grip for the time being.  Why let them know I was
stronger than they thought?

“This man,” The Reverend roared and whirled to point at me. 
“This Pagan.  He is responsible.”  More mumblings of “murderer” and “Pagan”
rippled through the crowd and started to grow into a chant until cut off by The
Reverend’s raised hands.  “He killed our brothers, and I have brought him here
before you to face justice.  He must answer for his crimes against God and you,
the Chosen.”  He appeared to swell in size as he stood in the center of the
circle and slowly turned as he looked to the crowd.

“Here he stands.  God has judged him guilty but asks you,
the Chosen, to pass sentence on him.  Tell me, now, here in front of God.  What
say you?”  He boomed out the last, standing stock still with his right arm
raised as he pointed a finger at the surrounding people.

“Pit!  Pit!  Pit!”  The chant was deafening, the people in the
crowd emphasizing each shout of the word with a thrust of their fist into the
air.  The Reverend spun in place, smiling and laughing while the people
chanted, eventually raising his arms.

“The Chosen have spoken!”  He roared, and as the crowd
screamed and cheered he waived several men forward into the circle and moved to
the side.  With only torch light to see I had failed to notice that in the
center of the circle was a giant, round, wooden plate lying on the ground.  The
selected men rushed up to it and started folding it back in sections, revealing
a gaping hole in the ground 30 feet across.  Cover out of the way they grabbed
torches from the crowd and stuck them into the ground around the perimeter of
the pit, casting light down into it.  I was jerked forward and drug to the edge
of the pit and got a good look.  Eight feet deep and the upper inside foot of
the walls were lined with rows of sharpened stakes pointed up at a 45 degree
angle.  Below those stakes looking up at me were three infected, two males and
a female.  Thinking there’s no time like the present I started to stand to
break free of the two men holding me, but The Reverend had circled behind me
and with a massive shove sent me flying through the air into the pit where I
landed on my face in the dirt.

Rachel had kept Betty and the group of kids moving and had
covered a couple of miles from the bottom of the waterfall when she finally
called a halt.  A few minutes ago she had heard faint screams from behind and
was sure they hadn’t been the screams of infected.  Not a praying woman, she
still said a silent prayer for John’s safety.  She’d had a couple of
opportunities to contemplate trying to survive without him, most recently when
he’d been shot while rescuing her and she didn’t think she’d last long. 
Besides, not that they were a couple or ever could be, but she had to admit to
herself that she had feelings for him.  She knew she could never act on those
feelings though as he was so committed to making it to Arizona to find his
wife.  Katie was a lucky woman to have a husband who was so devoted to her. 
Rachel felt a momentary pang of jealousy but quickly pushed that emotion down
and told herself to stop being ridiculous. 

“… great tits!”  Rachel heard the very end of a whispered
comment between the two teenage boys that were behind her.  Turning she met
their eyes and held her index finger up to her lips in warning to be quiet. 
They both looked properly mortified, one of them blushing so hard that she
could see the red spots on his cheeks even in the dark.  The comment didn’t
bother her.  Boys will be boys and she knew how she looked and the effect she
had on men.

Rachel had brought the group to a halt in a large clearing
that butted up against a sheer rock face.  Heavy forest shielded them on the
other three sides and she felt this was as good a place as any to wait for John
to catch up.  She spent a few minutes getting the kids settled and admonishing
them to stay quiet.  Betty made the rounds as well, offering words of comfort
to the frightened kids.  Soon they were all sprawled out on the ground, most of
them choosing to immediately curl up and go to sleep.  Rachel was tired too,
but between worry about John and concern over letting her guard down there was
no way she could sleep.  Finding a large tree that had fallen over she settled
down with her back against it, positioned between the forest and the kids with
the rifle at the ready across her lap.  Dog stretched out in the dirt at her
feet and closed his eyes, but his ears never drooped as he too kept watch. 
After a few more minutes of checking on the kids Betty came over and lowered
herself to the ground next to Rachel with a groan.

“Are you alright?”  Rachel asked, her eyes never stopping
their scan of the forest.

“Just a little tired, dear.  When you get to be my age a
long walk through the woods isn’t as much fun as it used to be.”  Betty smiled
and leaned her head back on the fallen tree.  Moments later her breathing
deepened and Rachel could hear soft snores coming from the older woman.

“You and me, Dog.”  Rachel mumbled.  Dog thumped his tail on
the dirt a couple of times but didn’t bother to open his eyes.

Sometime later Rachel startled awake in bright sunlight,
immediately cursing herself for having fallen asleep.  Looking around she took
a quick headcount, relieved to find all of the kids still sleeping.  Next to
her Betty still snored, having slipped to the ground and curled up with her
head pillowed on her right arm.  Dog was awake and alert, sitting a few feet in
front of Rachel.  He turned his head and looked at her, then turned back to
watch the tree line.  Slowly climbing to her feet Rachel stooped to pet and hug
him before moving into the edge of the forest and finding a bush to squat
behind.  Business finished she returned to the clearing and stood looking
around.  The sun was well up and the day was already hot.  Insects buzzed in
the trees and somewhere a woodpecker went to work on a tree making a racket
that sounded too much like a machine gun.  Rachel guessed it was nearly noon. 
Where the hell was John?

Worry washed over her.  Was he ok?  Why hadn’t he caught up
with them hours ago?  When she had sat down earlier she had expected him to
show up within an hour, just appearing so suddenly and quietly that he startled
her.  But he wasn’t here and it had been hours.  Too long unless something had
gone wrong.  She remembered the faint screams she’d heard the night before,
trying to remember if they had sounded like a man screaming.  She couldn’t
remember, but she didn’t think there was anything that could make John scream
out like that.  Not that he didn’t feel pain, but he was the most
self-contained man she had ever met and she didn’t believe it had been him. 
That meant he was probably the one causing the screams.  That sounded more like
him, but then why wasn’t he sitting here with her?

An hour later, the sun directly overhead, Rachel couldn’t
take it any longer.  Good news or bad, she had to know.  No more than John
could have left her, she couldn’t go any further without finding out what had
happened to him.  Betty was awake by now but the kids still slept the way only
teenagers could.  Rachel sat down next to Betty and discussed the thoughts in
her head with the woman.  She was undecided if it was wise to take the kids
back with her to search for John.  But if she didn’t take them they would be
left completely unarmed with no way to defend themselves from infected or
worse.  After a long conversation about their options that she knew would have
driven John absolutely insane, she and Betty walked around the clearing and
woke the kids. 

It took them half an hour to get the kids up and ready to
go.  Rachel had each of them individually go into the bushes to relieve
themselves.  She sent Dog with each of them to provide protection while they
were at their most vulnerable.  Digging a couple of MREs out of her pack Rachel
prepared them and portioned them out amongst the kids so each got a few
calories into their bodies.  As a group they went to the river and drank their
fill while Rachel stood watch over them, rifle at the ready.  Finally everyone
was ready to go and they started retracing their path of the night before.

The valley seemed so much less intimidating with the sun
shining brightly.  A couple of times Rachel had to remind herself that the
infected didn’t care if it was day or night.  They were just as likely to
attack regardless of the time of day.  Fortunately they didn’t come across any,
and the kids were moving quietly and fairly quickly, mostly refreshed after the
sleep, food and water.  As they approached the pool at the base of the falls
Dog trotted ahead and Rachel saw him turn his head, nose lifted into the air. 
She brought the group to a stop and watched Dog sniff the air.  After a moment
he turned and trotted into the woods, nose to the ground.  Moving forward
Rachel reached the point where he had cut into the brush and stood watching
him.  Dog sniffed the ground some more and changed direction, trotting up to a
large tree where he found something to hold his interest.  Motioning for the
group to stay put Rachel followed him into the brush.

After a few steps she could see what held Dog’s attention. 
John’s pack lay on the ground at the base of a tree.  As she got closer she
spotted his rifle lying next to it.  Rachel’s steps faltered with fear of what
she’d find, but she gathered herself and pushed forward, stopping to examine
the abandoned pack and weapon.   Looking around she spotted a pair of legs
sticking out from behind another tree a few feet away.  With a lump in her
throat and a knot in her stomach Rachel forced herself to walk over to the
body, nearly crying from relief when it wasn’t John.  The corpse’s shirt was
soaked with blood that had dried black and already the insects were hard at work
on the body.  Choking down the bile that threatened to rise up from her
stomach, she surveyed the area and quickly moved over to a patch of ground that
was heavily disturbed. 

Three distinct sets of boot prints were visible as was an
impression in the soft soil left by a body.  Twin drag marks in the dirt looked
like they had been left by a pair of boots as a body was picked up, then two
sets of tracks headed away to the north.  One of them, which had already been
very clear because of how deep they were in the valley floor, were now
noticeably deeper as if that person had suddenly become much heavier.  Rachel
put two and two together and arrived at the conclusion that someone had been
knocked out or killed here then carried away.  She didn’t think killed, not
imagining that someone would carry away one corpse and leave another.  Staring
at the size of the prints she tried to remember how big John’s feet were and
decide if he was the one carrying someone, but while she thought the prints
were too big for him she wasn’t sure. 

An idea popping into her head she rushed back to the tree
where the pack and rifle still lay in the dirt and cast around until she was
able to identify John’s tracks.  Definitely smaller and also a different tread
pattern than the ones that exited the area.  Picking up the rifle she hustled
back to where the group was waiting and selected the largest boy.  She guessed
he was somewhere around 14 but had gotten a lot of his size early and was
nearly six feet tall with broad shoulders and thick legs.  Leading him back to
the pack she helped him lift it up and settle it on his back.

“Jesus, this thing is heavy,” he said, but didn’t offer any
other complaint.  Rachel gave him her best smile, the one she knew could make
most men melt, and was gratified to see him set his face in a stern expression
as he straightened up and hooked his thumbs into the straps to help manage the
weight.

“I believe in you,” she said with another smile and led the
way back to the group, following the tracks, the boy right behind her with a
spring in his step at the flattery.

“Betty, do you know how to shoot?”  She asked, walking up to
the older woman.

“I’ve been known to pick up a rifle from time to time.”

“Good.  Know how to use this?”  Rachel held up John’s M4.  Betty
looked at it and slowly shook her head.

“I do,” one of the girls in the group stepped forward. 
Rachel and Betty looked at her in surprise.  “My dad and brothers taught me. 
I’ve been shooting since I was eight, and I know how to use an AR.”

Rachel looked the girl up and down, still surprised.  She
was very pretty, slim and athletic with long hair that hung nearly the length
of her back and was pulled into a thick French braid.  She had an earnest look
on her face and after a few moments of Rachel’s scrutiny she cocked one hip out
to the side and held her hands out.  Hesitating a moment longer Rachel finally placed
the rifle in the girl’s waiting hands.  Smoothly, and apparently well
practiced, the girl made sure the rifle was on safe then dropped the magazine
to check the load, pulled the charging handle far enough back to see if a round
was in the chamber, releasing the handle when she saw the glint of brass,
slapped the magazine back in place, thumb checked the fire selector lever to
ensure it was on safe and looked up at Rachel with a smile.

“What’s your name?”  Rachel asked, returning the smile.

“Nora.  Nora Patterson.”  The girl answered, working the
rifle’s sling over her head and making sure her hair didn’t tangle in it.

“Nora, can you shoot another person if you have to?”

“Yes I can,” she answered without hesitation.

“I don’t mean the infected,” Rachel stepped closer to her,
looking down into the shorter girl’s eyes.  “I mean another normal, living
human being.”

“If that’s what I have to do, then that’s what I have to
do.”  Nora held Rachel’s eyes until Rachel relaxed and smiled at her.

“Let’s hope that isn’t necessary.”

Rachel rallied the group and put Nora at the rear, reminding
her to keep a close eye out for anyone or anything following, then set off on
the same path the heavy prints had taken.  They skirted around the clearing
where all of the dead infected were being feasted on by a loud and raucous
bunch of crows and started climbing the steep valley wall.  It didn’t take them
long to reach a flat, rocky outcropping that looked down on the pool and Rachel
paused to check below them.  The animals of the forest were feasting on the
dead bodies, including a small pack of coyotes and Rachel was glad they had
skirted the area.

At the far side of the outcropping a narrow trail led into
the forest and the heavy tracks were clearly visible in the dirt.  Checking to
make sure the group was staying tight and Nora was still watching their rear,
Rachel followed the tracks and headed up the path, Dog ranging ahead of her
with his nose in the air and tail straight up.  A short time later they reached
the edge of the forest, a small dirt parking area backed by a ribbon of asphalt
to their front.  Rachel brought the group to a stop and after listening and visually
checking the area for five minutes she stepped out of the trees.  The tracks
had led here, but the dirt was packed so hard they had mostly vanished once the
person making them had stepped out of the trees.  Searching the dirt Rachel
spotted tire tracks that looked fresh, slowly walking around the area with her
eyes glued to the ground. 

Rachel was by no means an experienced tracker, had never
tracked anything in her life, but she was a smart woman and after examining the
area for a bit she thought she knew what had happened here.  A vehicle had
approached from the west and pulled onto the dirt.  Faint scuffs and partial
tread patterns led from each side of the tracks directly to the path in the
forest, then came back from the path and led to a spot centered between the
tire marks, then back to each side.  She thought about it for a minute, still
staring at the marks in the dirt.  The tires were large which meant a truck or
SUV.  Coming back from the trees and going to a point between the tire tracks meant
they took something and loaded it into the back.  Now she knew which way the
vehicle was pointed.  Following the tire tracks she saw where the driver had
started a U-turn as he pulled back onto the pavement, the tires spinning in the
dirt and digging a shallow furrow as they threw fresh dirt across the ground. 
They had gone back to the west.  Back in the direction they had come from.  The
direction where she and John had been ambushed on the road.