29. The Hunt Organizes
At dawn, the chief acolyte emerged from the dead woods and clambered down the steps to the parking area. Accompanying him were Sister Reedy, Brother Ralph, and Brother George. All of them were heavily armed, as befitted the truest of the true.
They were fatigued and dirty. A smoky, charred odor accompanied them. The chief acolyte wore the late messiah’s misty-eye robe on top of his clothing. The garment seemed more like an oversized bib spread over his lanky body.
They stood together on level ground, perusing the area.
“It’s up to us, now,” The chief acolyte said. “The other so-called ‘believers’ have scattered like frightened chickens.”
Brother George patted his rifle affectionately.
“Not all of them got away, Chief Acolyte,” he said.
“Where do you think the demon spawn have fled?” Sister Reedy asked.
“I know not,” the chief acolyte replied, “but I believe it has been pre-ordained that four of us uncorrupted ones have survived to be the messengers of vengeance.”
He walked into the main parking lot and surveyed the four directions of the compass. He placed his hands firmly on his hips, as he’d seen the Messiah do so many times.
“If we perform our duty faithfully, we will find them,” he said, “however impossible the task might now appear. We will deliver just punishment unto them. Then, once we have attained justice, we will find the prophesized new Messiah and continue the holy mission!”
“Your certainty warms our hearts!” Sister Reedy cried.
“Let us journey together to the cross roads,” the chief acolyte said. “Then ...”
He pointed to each one in turn.
“Brother George shall head north – Brother Ralph shall head south – Sister Reedy east – and myself.” He thumped a fist against his chest. “I shall journey westward!”
“On to glory, in His holy name!” Everyone shouted.
They walked downhill toward the crossroads, a grating hymn of the Holy Temple pouring from their throats:
Father is God!
In every part of His transcendent being.
Deep in our souls,
We do believe.
Father is God!
Deep in our innermost hearts,
We know He is
God, God, God, God, God!
When they gained the crossroads, the chief acolyte raised his gun above his head, two-handed.
“Onward!” he cried.
“For the Messiah!” Everyone cheered. “Vengeance will be His!”
They departed their separate directions, each loaded down with weapons and the certitude of their holy undertaking. The misty eye leering out from chief acolyte’s robe guided him on the long westward trek.
Ernestina emerged from concealment and began to follow the stout figure of Brother George as he moved along the northward road.
I’ll get you! she vowed. One way or another, you’ll pay for Arleny.
30. Cross Country Motoring
A long, sullen night and day of motoring through rugged topography ensued. Bert’s driving skills were rudimentary and did not tax the modest capabilities of the truck. Their speed seldom topped thirty kilometers per hour.
But, “it sure beats the hell out of walking,” as Dr. Horvath would have phrased it.
Little conversation took place. Bert simply stared at the road ahead and drove the truck while Ripper kept a close watch on him from the back seat, ready to tear him apart at any hint of rebellion – or at an order from the surrogate master.
Ripper’s primitive brain could not fully comprehend the situation. His pack leader had been destroyed, he recalled, and now a two-legged master had taken his place. But this new master did not control the wrist device which spoke words of command. He had no authority at all except for a bit of the pack leader’s coat fastened around his shoulders.
Should Ripper continue to obey? He decided yes – for now.
Winston busied himself with the road atlas and with the terrain, switching them to secondary, less direct routes so as to throw off any pursuers. Star remained alone and silent with her melancholy thoughts – mostly concerning Iridium. Winston respected her grief and did not interrupt it.
He kept his own grief at bay by concentrating his mind on their current situation. As long as Ripper continued to follow orders, they had little to fear from scrappers. And the truck – though open to the elements – did have a tough plastic roof that could be erected quickly so as to ward off any mech bug attack. Winston considered installing the roof as a precaution, but decided not to. The thought of being cooped up under it with Bert and Ripper seemed intolerable.
So, they were well protected against any robotic assault. Humans, with their guns, were an entirely different matter, though. Winston maintained an anxious watch for signs of them. He had no doubt that any Visionists who spotted them would shoot immediately – especially that ‘chief acolyte’ whack job or the frizzy-haired woman.
And if the Visionists had survived the plague isolated in the high mountains, did it not stand to reason that others might have done so as well? How would they react to a truck full of robots tooling down the road? The thought was too frightening to hold in his consciousness.
When night came again, Winston and Star shared watch duty while Bert lay inactive with Ripper sprawled across him.