It was still too dark to see well, so they groped around the edge of the pile of tires. Eliza’s hands found nothing useful: torn bags of garbage, rusting cans, a doll missing its arms, what may have once been a sack of dirty diapers but had dried into hard plastic lumps in the sun. She was about to suggest they continue further into the dump to look for a more fertile pile of garbage, when she stopped.
The shouting had stopped from the direction of the trailer. She strained to hear any voice or movement, but all she heard was the sigh of a light breeze. There was something in the air, an acrid smell.
The other two women had stopped as well, and then Benita whispered, “It’s Wormwood. It is about to fall from the sky.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When the third angel sounds his trumpet, a great star will fall from the heavens and—”
“I know the Book of Revelation,” Eliza interrupted. “That’s not what I mean.”
She caught a stronger whiff. Like diesel fuel and burning plastic. Whatever it was, there was no star falling, even though she caught herself checking the sky, half-expecting to see a meteor streaking across the heavens. It was something from the dump itself, someone burning something nasty. She could taste it in her mouth when she breathed.
“Eliza Christianson,” a voice cried out. Caleb Kimball. He sounded maybe twenty yards away, among the piles of tires to her left.
She pulled the others down, made a quieting motion. It was light enough now that she could see the wide look of terror in Benita’s eyes. The other woman’s fingernails traced the scars on her left forearm. Madeline grabbed her wrist and squeezed, shook her head. Benita closed her eyes and nodded.
“I know you’re in there,” Caleb yelled. “I’m not going to pretend to forgive you, say that if you give up, everything will be okay. You are beyond forgiveness, now there’s only justice and the burning of the wicked. But God says the other two can go free. Send them to me and I will bless them and send them to wait with the other Chosen Ones.”
“He’s lying,” Eliza said. “Christopher is with him and he’ll kill us all.”
“You said Christopher would be alone,” Madeline whispered. “You didn’t say we’d have to face the Disciple.”
“Caleb Kimball is only a voice. Remember what I said about Christopher. Grab his arm and yank like you’re trying to pull it off.”
“We need weapons.”
“Come on. This way.”
She urged the other two to their feet and they made to run at a crouch toward the next pile of tires to their rear. Eliza planned to get around back and search again for a weapon of some kind. But just as they moved, the Disciple stepped around the pile and they froze.
To Eliza’s surprise, Caleb Kimball stood alone, without any other Chosen Ones, or even Christopher. Soot smudged his forehead and the back of one of his hands had a red burn. The sky was brightening quickly now; the morning light caught and amplified the wild gleam in his eyes. He held the rebar in his hands and Eliza could see bits of hair and blood clinging to the edges, where it had crushed Kirk’s skull and perhaps someone else’s as well.
He saw her looking at the rebar and grinned. “And now, Eliza, it is your turn to die.”
Chapter Twenty-five:
As the sun rose over the Spring Mountains, a black column of smoke curled into the sky northwest of Las Vegas. Jacob took the car at a bone-rattling pace over the road, seeming to catch every rut, pothole, and patch of drifting sand. A pair of tumbleweeds had snagged against the bumper when they found the ranch road fifteen minutes ago and these clung to the bumper, pieces occasionally breaking off and flying over the windshield. He kept having to spray and wipe to clear away the film of dirt.
David and Miriam studied the map pages as best they could from their jarring place in the back seat. David had to stop and close his eyes every few minutes to fight against the nausea. Hard to tell if it was the withdrawal or motion sickness, or some combination of the two.
The road started to curve away from the smoke, and Jacob asked in a worried tone, “Are you sure this is the right road?”
“It has to be,” David said. He squinted through the window in the direction of the rising sun to try to find the edge of the ghost subdivision where he lived. He thought he could pick out the pink stucco of an abandoned McMansion at the edge of his cul-de-sac.
A few minutes later, they cut across the dry wash and he was sure. Miriam told Jacob to stop the car, jumped out and inspected the sand in the wash before they continued. “Footprints,” she said. “They go back toward the city, then end here. This has to be it.” Sure enough, the road cut left again and soon they were clattering directly toward the growing pillar of smoke.
The smoke had become something biblical. It was a column that twisted and curved into the sky, like the burning of Gomorrah. Curls of fire climbed the column like the fiery hands of the damned trying to claw their way out of hell. The acrid smell of burning plastic came in through the air conditioning. David lifted his shirt to cover his mouth and nose.
The fire would be visible from the city; no doubt someone had already noticed and called it in. But how long would it take fire trucks to come out here from the city, or even a helicopter to lift up and fly over to investigate? By then it would be too late.
“I think we’ve found our firebug,” Miriam said in a low voice.
“Either that, or the end of the world,” David said.
“It might be the end of somebody’s world,” Jacob said.
His hands gripped the steering wheel and his face was grim. David was worried enough about Eliza, he could only imagine what Jacob was thinking. No doubt blaming himself, for a start. How had he been fooled into thinking Eliza could handle these nutcases on her own? Their sister had matured into a young woman with confidence, strength, and intelligence. A beautiful young woman, too. In fact, she might have a brighter future than Jacob if she could find her way in the wider world outside of Blister Creek and Zarahemla. She didn’t seem to be wracked with the same self-doubts that troubled Jacob.
But still. David had a cast and bruised ribs to remind him of the attack outside his house. He could see their grim expressions, remember the chilling silence as they’d kicked him half to death. If Jacob had seen the attack, would he have let Eliza go?
They came upon the compound, a double-wide and two silver teardrop trailers. It was a filthy place, surrounded by the refuse of an illegal dump in the desert: wrecked and rusting cars, appliances, old mattresses, hundreds of empty water bottles, old clothing. And piles of tires everywhere. They covered the roofs of the trailers and lay stacked in and around the compound.
The fire came from two of the largest tire mounds, side-by-side and each at least ten feet tall and twenty, maybe thirty feet across. The flames met in the middle and became a single roaring column, the pillar of fire and smoke that had guided them to the compound. A dozen young men and women stood in front of the trailers, watching the tires burn. They were close enough they had to feel the heat roiling off the fire, had to be choking on the fumes. Even in the car, enough came through the air conditioning system to coat David’s mouth with the oily, bitter taste of burning rubber. The car pulled to a stop, but few turned to look their way. The rest seemed mesmerized by the fire.
“And you sent her here?” David muttered. But the words sounded hollow in his ears.
You did it too. You knew what they were capable of and you let Eliza follow them into the desert.
Right, because anyone could stop Eliza, once she’d set her mind to something. As he stared at that twisting column of smoke and fire, it was the only thing that gave him hope. They wouldn’t take her without a hell of a fight.
#
Eliza stared at the Disciple with cold fury. “You’re only one person. There are three of us.” She gave a sharp look to the others. “If he comes at us, we charge him. Together. Go for his eyes. Bite, kick. Whoever gets that metal bar hit him until he doesn’t move again.”
He smiled. “You’re wrong, Eliza. You’re only
one
person. These two aren’t with you. I’ll show you. Benita!”
“Leave her alone!”
“The time has come,” he said. “Go join the others.”
Benita stiffened. Eliza grabbed her wrist. “Don’t listen to him.”
“I speak for God! Do not deny it or you will burn in hell this very day. Look! The fire is here. Wormwood is falling from the heavens. Find the others. Join them now. Do not stay with the wicked while the Lord cleanses the earth.”
Benita made to leave and Eliza wrestled with her arm. The woman’s face was a mask, slack and dead. Eliza read despair and self-loathing in her eyes. It was the same thing she’d heard in Madeline’s voice in the pit.
“Don’t listen to him, please, wait. Madeline, help me.” The other woman stood frozen while Eliza struggled to hold Benita.
“And you!” the Disciple roared. “Madeline Caliari, you have been weak, but there is still time. Time to obey God, to stand with the Chosen Ones. If not, you shall surely be destroyed. The fires of hell shall burn you for time and all eternity. Go, quickly.”
And now it was Madeline who was abandoning Eliza. She stiffened, just like Benita had. Eliza let go of Benita and grabbed Madeline instead. “Don’t do this.”
The Disciple watched with a look of grim satisfaction. He didn’t look happy, not really. Did a man like that ever enjoy happiness, even of the fleeting variety? It was a look of confirmation, of a man so immersed in his own righteousness that he permitted himself a small moment to see his belief confirmed.
Madeline hesitated. She stared after her friend, who disappeared toward the fire raging a few dozen yards away. The air shimmered with heat. It had to be a hundred degrees here already, and with every step, she had to feel the power of the flames, an insatiable hunger to devour anything in its way.
“He’s not a prophet, he’s a madman. Madeline, you’re strong, remember. You got out of the pit, you beat Christopher.”
“You can’t stop her,” the Disciple said. “You’re nothing, you’re nobody. So you’ve got a few twisted words and a way of sowing doubt, but you’re still just a girl. Madeline!” His voice was blunt and hard, like a hammer. “Go, hurry.”
A shudder worked its way through Madeline’s body. She looked again toward the fire, which consumed the east side of the dump, and had spread to another pile of tires. It roared like a desert sandstorm. Flaming pieces of paper climbed the column of smoke, and ash and cinders dusted down on their heads. It looked as though a crack had split in the skin of the world and the very fires of hell forced themselves to the surface as the infernal realm tried to devour the earth. Eliza couldn’t shake these thoughts from her mind, even as she knew that Caleb Kimball was responsible for the fire. What was he doing?
She tightened her grip on Madeline’s arm, but the other woman shook free. Grim satisfaction spread across the Disciple’s face. “You see. You’re done, you’re alone.”
“No,” Madeline said. It was only a whisper, but a moment later, it came out stronger. “No, she’s not.”
“Madeline,” the Disciple said, his tone sharp.
Madeline suddenly screamed. “Shut up! Get out of my head. You’re nothing, you’re not a prophet, or a man of God. You’re a monster, a twisted, horrible thing and I should have never listened to you, and when you took me into the back room and made the others watch, I should have taken a knife and shoved it through your throat. There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m not a wicked sinner, I don’t need to be purified or sanctified, the only mistake I made was listening to you. Do you hear me, you’re nothing,
nothing!
”
“If that’s the way it will be,” the Disciple said, “then so be it. May Satan consume your souls.”
He came at them suddenly, the rebar pulled back over his shoulder to swing.
#
David, Jacob, and Miriam tumbled out of the car and headed toward the trailers. David wished he had Jacob’s calm, purposeful stride, or the way that Miriam carried herself as if she were still an FBI agent, the prairie dress belying the catlike way she moved, the gun that appeared in her hand. Inside, he wondered, did their hearts pound and their knees shake in fear? Or was he the only coward in the group?
The people watching the fire started to file toward the larger trailer. A few of them turned as the newcomers approached and David recognized faces from the attack outside his house. The faces that had encircled him in silence, while boots laid into his face, ribs, and head.
One of them was the man he’d come across spilling out of the back of the co-op truck. He’d given some silent signal to the others and they’d attacked at once. He stood between David, Jacob, and Miriam and the rest of the group. One arm dangled by his side and burns stained his forehead and one cheek, as if he’d splashed himself with cooking oil. Two young men lay at his feet, face down in the dirt, and a young woman sprawled a few feet away, neck twisted at a strange angle. Her face was such a gruesome mess that David had to look away before he got sick.
The man with the injured arm held something in his good hand, but it was hard to pick out through the swirling black smoke that poured off the tire fires to their left. Heat cooked the desert air around them.
David looked through the crowd and stopped.
Benita.
She met his gaze and his heart raced at the unexpected contact.
What he saw in her eyes terrified him. It was the look she’d had on the roof of the residential tower that night they’d slipped away from the party. They’d overlooked the glitter of the Strip, and she’d climbed to the edge and leaned over, her eyes a dazed, nihilistic stare like the one she wore now.
Drop me,
that look said.
Let go of my waist and watch me fly.
“Benita, please. It’s me, David. Whatever you’re doing, stop. Come with me, we’ll talk it out.”
“Don’t come any closer.”
“Benita, no.”
But as he tried to get closer, the man with the injured arm stepped between them and it was too late anyway, she was climbing the cinder block steps and entering the trailer to join the others. The door closed.