Jimmy took advantage of the man's weakened defense and in a combination of moves that would make a
Shaolin
Kung Fu Weapon's Master proud, struck the tall man with a series of blows that sent him reeling. Jimmy let out a victorious
whoop
and vaulted atop the altar. Straddling, the corpse of the Bigfoot, it was his Redneck
YAWP
that challenged the congregation to battle.
Truly, it was Jimmy's proudest moment.
Frank's deflated chest swelled with pride. Conan at his best would be well challenged to undo Jimmy's berserker rage. His friend's eyes were impossibly wide, mouth sucking air, his body larger than life. Jimmy continued his screams of challenge as he once again twirled the Bitch-Be-Quick Stick over his head. There was not a sane person in the church who would accept it.
But they didn't have to.
Cyrus had managed to get to his feet without them noticing. Now, a shining foot of jagged steel was pulled from his side and now lay against the exposed throat of Lukas who was still leaning upon the altar. Jimmy saw it and held the Bitch-Be-Quick Stick high, waiting for an opening to save his best friend.
But it was Lukas who fully understood.
Reaching out with a shaking hand, he placed it upon Jimmy's lower leg. He squeezed the leg slightly, then let his hand fall back to its previous grip upon the side of the altar. He met Jimmy's eyes and shook his head. A huge sigh left Lukas, the sound of a hundred tires dying. Slowly, he turned to Cletus, who had regained the use of his arm and now held his Faith-Be-Quick Stick, barbed wire cross at the ready.
Lukas' lips moved twice before any sound came.
"Can I have another please?"
The preacher grinned in death's head pleasure.
Frank's inimical friend knew what had to be done. There was no way out of this. There was only one thing to do.
At the same time Jimmy's shoulders slumped in pitiful resignation, Frank's emotions imploded.
It's Alive...The Soup of God
vs
The Soup of Chicken Noodle...Jimmy nee Conan...Kafka's Famous Cockroach...
Audobon's
Guide to Bigfoot Watching...Non-Cannibalistic Instincts...Survival of the Fittest
Somewhere between Jimmy's curses and Jimmy's screams and Jimmy's blood flying through the air in quick red whips and the angry ranting of the preacher, Frank finally succumbed to the comfortable freedom of his own internal darkness.
When he awoke, he found himself lying on his stomach, on the dirt of the earthen cellar. The searing pain was still present, a reminder that the preacher's punishment had been
oh so real
and not the nightmare that he had so fervently wished it to be. He glanced around and found his friends stretched out on either side of him, both in different stages of distress.
Frank had no idea how much time had passed. It couldn't have been too long, however. The broad swathes created by the Faith-Be-Quick Stick upon Lukas' back were still oozing blood.
A moment or an hour passed, he wasn't sure, but eventually, he maneuvered himself into a sitting position. The blood upon his own back had partially dried and the twisting necessary for him to sit had reopened his wounds. He felt the cold tingle of blood as the liquid
rivered
to the hard-packed dirt floor behind him. The cool burn made him gasp.
They needed bandages badly. And some kind of salve to clean the wounds and keep them from infection. But there was nothing. The preacher and his maniacal twin had evidently deemed their recuperation unimportant.
Yet, what of the promised redemption. The entire idea of punishment seemed to preclude death and insinuated future freedom. Why punish someone you were going to kill?
A memory flashed and Frank remembered.
One would be redeemed. The sacrifice of the one would save the other two.
Cletus, amidst his rage at Jimmy's action, had screeched his promises throughout the church as he ranted and raved, slashing at Jimmy's back until the sounds of wet smacking flesh outlasted his friend's consciousness.
One would be redeemed, but the preacher hadn't said who it would be.
Was the choice to be left up to them?
Were the three to determine amongst themselves which of them would die?
No. Frank remembered another thing. The promised redemption wasn't death, it was a metamorphosis. A transformation into God,
a becoming
, is how the preacher had worded it.
Frank shifted his gaze to Jimmy and sucked in a breath. What had once been a sturdy back, equally capable of WWF
suplexes
and the rigorous adjusting of MOPAR engines, was now a length of turned meat. More akin to ground beef, the brutalization of his friend had been too complete.
Frank reached over and felt for a pulse. It took several seconds, but he finally found it, hiding behind pain. Jimmy was weak, but alive. As sure as he had been about anything, Frank knew that if his friend didn't get medical attention soon, he would most surely die. Yet there was nothing around except Tennessee dirt and the mysterious soupy substance bubbling within the well.
Frank turned and stared into the well. A soup? Was this stuff what the preacher had initially called the Soup of God? The reference had been peculiar and Frank had cast it aside. Yet he remembered the preacher mentioning it in the same breath he had mentioned the Living Earth.
He reached out and touched a finger to the surface. He was prepared to jerk his hand protectively back, but it wasn't hot. On the contrary, it was cool, almost soothing. Then why was it bubbling? How was it bubbling? Was it air trapped from somewhere far beneath? It certainly couldn't be from any sort of boiling.
Frank stared at his finger upon which a lump of the soup now sat. A million ideas flew through his mind, and not a one was of the sane variety. With nothing to lose, however, he gently wiped the substance upon the raw ruin of Jimmy's back. As it touched, the substance seemed to seep into and around the lumpy open meat, until it disappeared entirely into the brackish ground beef surface.
Within seconds, the color of Jimmy's back had changed from red-black, to a more normal fleshy color. Frank dipped his entire hand into the soup and scooped out a
palmful
. In small, delicate circles, he applied it to Jimmy and watched as yet again, the viscous liquid seeped into the wound and healed.
Head spinning with the implications of an earth-created salve, Frank found himself scooping more and more onto the grievous wounds, until the entire mass was covered in the orange-green soupy sludge. The muscles and the skin and the blood undulated slightly as the soup worked its mystery, until within moments, Jimmy's back was as before.
Unmarred.
Unwounded.
Jimmy moaned—a sign of life that made Frank's heart soar.
Frank quickly turned to Lukas. Although his wounds were nothing compared to Jimmy's, the three broad swathes along the length of his friend's back appeared painful, if not deadly. As before, Frank scooped the soup liberally and massaged it into the wounds. And also as before, the liquid seeped and healed.
Jimmy sat up. "I thought…I thought I was dead."
Frank stared and then nodded. "As did I." He pointed towards the soup and gestured to his back. "Do me. Just put it on my back."
Frank turned slightly and sighed as Jimmy applied the cool liquid to his wounds. It felt congealed, like a cold jelly. Then, as it began to seep, he felt an infusion of strength and well being. Within moments, all pain had disappeared. Even the memory was but an echo of what Frank knew to be possible.
He sighed loudly and chuckled.
"What's so funny?" asked Jimmy, standing up, reaching around and attempting to touch his own back.
"If Campbell's had this recipe, it would make chicken noodle a forgotten cure." He stood up himself. His face grew serious. "Jimmy, what the hell is going on?"
"You're
askin
' me? I could have sworn I was deader than dog snot. And now, here I am, alive. And all because of some weird lava? You should be
askin
' yourself. You got the education. You got the worldly experience."
"It's not lava."
"Yeah, I know, but I don't know what to call it."
"The Soup of God."
Jimmy grinned.
"Yeah, right."
"No. Really. The preacher talked about this. Or at least I think it was this. He called it the Soup of God."
"And what happens if we drink it? Will it cure ulcers? Cancer even?"
Frank paused. He had several ideas, many of them akin to Jimmy's.
"I don't know. I wouldn't try it though. There's something...Maybe, just maybe..." His voice trailed off.
"You fuckers still alive?"
Both Frank and Jimmy stared at Lukas, who had rolled onto his side and was rubbing a hand through matted hair.
"Better than that, look," Jimmy said, turning. He displayed his back proudly.
"What the fu—but I saw—"
Lukas stopped, a wild look came into his eyes as he felt his own back. He stood and ran his hand down Jimmy's and then Frank's.
"Where? How?"
"Feel me up again, Lukas and I might just kiss you."
Ignoring Jimmy's remark, Lukas stared at Frank.
"It was the soup, man. That stuff," Frank said pointing. "It healed, somehow."
"The Soup of God," Jimmy said, bowing his head solemnly.
Lukas fell to his knees and stared into the bubbling mass. Tentatively, he reached out and dabbed his forefinger into the liquid.
"It's cool. I thought it'd be hot."
"I know. Me too," Frank said.
"And I feel strong."
"Me too," Jimmy said.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd call it magical."
"You know, if you had asked me a week ago whether I believed in magic, I would have laughed in your face. But after all that has happened, Bigfoot notwithstanding, I honestly can't disagree," Frank said.
Jimmy began to pace around the well, staring alternately from the liquid to the stairs and back. "It might be magic, but I doubt it's gonna get us out of here. I sure as hell don't want to get hit by that damned stick again."
Lukas grinned tiredly. "You were fuckin' awesome, man. I was seriously proud of you. I'm sorry I made you stop."
Jimmy's eyes flashed, then softened. "It wasn't you. Maybe it was you. Hell, I don't know. One minute I felt like Conan, the next I realized that we was so outnumbered, I was merely
pissin
' in the wind."
Frank placed a hand upon Jimmy's naked shoulder.
"You were like Conan. What you did was brave. But, you know? Stopping was even braver. Bravest damned thing I have ever seen."
Jimmy stared at Frank's hand and then into his friend's eyes for several moments before he shrugged the hand off.
"You would have done the same for me."
Frank turned, not daring to let his old friend see the fear flare in his eyes. He had thought about that and didn't think so. He just wasn't that brave, and that little bit of self-knowledge disgusted him.
"So, now they're gonna let us go, right?" asked Lukas.
"After all this, they fuckin' better."