October skies

He heard the clump and scrape of feet on the wooden floor, someone scrambling. Then he heard Rose whimper and cry out in the dark on the other side of the hut — the sound of a struggle, and her desperate, muffled cries.

Then a heavy thud.

Oh Christ, no.

Julian struggled with the pain in his leg, trying to pull himself out of the bunk.

‘Rose?’ he called out.

It was quiet.

‘Rose!’

Grimacing, he managed to swing his leg over the wooden bunk frame and lower himself to the floor. By the faint, ghostly blue glow of light from a device in Barns’s twitching hand, Julian could see the metallic glint of something smooth on the floor; the man’s gun.

As he reached down for it, everything went black.

CHAPTER 86

Sunday

Sierra Nevada Mountains, California

The young woman was crying, her eyes fixed on the gun. Cooke, lying beside her in a small pool of blood from a cut on his scalp, was unconscious. He was breathing noisily, blowing bubbles in his own blood.

He looked at Carl. He was quite clearly dead. Pity. The man had been an extremely loyal and useful acolyte.

William Shepherd sat on the bunk in silent contemplation, Carl’s pistol held in one hand resting in his lap, the more cumbersome rifle on the bunk beside him.

‘Wh-what are y-you going… t-to do?’ whimpered the woman.

Shepherd put a finger to his lips. ‘Shh.’

He needed quiet to think. There were considerations to make, risk assessments. He had to think this through logically before he did something that couldn’t be undone.

Why are you waiting?

The voice was very loud now in his head, almost uncomfortably so.

‘I have to think,’ Shepherd replied aloud.

Kill them.

‘Is it necessary?’ he uttered, and then realised he was speaking.

Is it necessary? I’m certain their silence can be bought.

What if it can’t?

It’s a risk, I know. He nodded. But I’m not prepared to have blood on my hands.

You already do.

No, I don’t. Carl exceeded his authority. He killed unnecessarily.

The voice laughed unkindly.

It’s true. I never asked him to kill. I asked him to…

Tidy things up?

Shepherd winced. Yes, he’d used those words and left Carl to interpret them, knowing full well what that would mean. The man had been fiercely loyal; loyal enough that he would happily have taken a bullet for him. Deep down, Shepherd had been aware that there would be a body or two before this was all satisfactorily resolved.

Your hands are already bloodied.

I have never killed anyone. I’m a man of faith.

You are a man with ambition. That’s why I’m here.

I only wish to do God’s will.

They need to die, then.

Shepherd’s gaze drifted onto them. The voice was right, of course. Money most certainly wouldn’t silence them. A threat might… but he couldn’t take that chance.

No. If you want the things your heart desires, you must kill.

His hand tightened around the pistol, but he resisted the urge to raise it, aim it and pull the trigger.

I wonder… are you a good man?

I am.

I wonder.

I’ve just… I’ve never had to shoot someone before.

Certainly not like this, in cold blood, so close that he could hear her heart pounding. It took an iron will to kill so deliberately, so intimately. It would be easier if she were running, or struggling, but like this?

That is why you need me.

Shepherd’s hand tightened on the gun.

I am what you need.

What do you mean?

Strength, William Lambert. Strength.

Lambert. That wasn’t a name he’d used in a long time, not since he’d started preaching as a young man. He always preferred his mother’s maiden name — Shepherd was so much more appropriate for his calling. What’s more, the family name was one his father and grandfather preferred maintain a low profile; well away from the tittle-tattle of newspaper columns and latterly, glossy kiosk magazines.

I have all the strength I need.

Yes? Then finish the job.

‘This isn’t… this isn’t what the Lord wants of me,’ he uttered. ‘Not if He wants me to make His word known. I can’t do that with blood on me.’

Rose stifled a whimper as he said that.

You can.

Cooke stirred drowsily on the floor.

Hurry now. The man is waking up.

This can’t be what God wants of me.

Yes it is. He wants them dead. He wants you to lead the world to Him. And I’m here to help you.

‘No, I’m not sure…’

Yes! God sent me to you. Now do it!

If He wants them dead, then let Him do it.

The voice was silent.

Cooke opened his eyes blearily and moaned. He squinted drunkenly at Shepherd. ‘Where’s m’ glasses?’ he mumbled with a thick, clogged voice.

‘Julian,’ hissed Rose quietly, keeping her eyes warily on Shepherd. ‘Shh, just be still, Jules.’

William Shepherd turned to look down at the tattered canvas sack on the wooden bunk frame to his side. His hand reached for it, feeling the small, infant-sized bones inside through the threadbare cloth.

‘It’s an angel in there,’ he said quietly to Rose and Julian.

‘An angel.’

Rose nodded obediently.

‘We need him,’ he explained in a quiet, abstracted voice.

‘We need him to read the words.’

Julian was still squinting, trying to make sense of what was going on.

‘That’s right,’ whispered Rose encouragingly, ‘we need him.’