October skies

He stopped and turned to the others around the fire. ‘I say… man cannot rewrite words of Allah.’

The words hung on a silence, broken only by the spit and hiss of a log in the fire.

‘I’m not sure I’m happy with the idea of some madman so close to us,’ said Weyland, glancing at the distant glow on the far side, ‘conjuring up his own religion from nothing.’

Keats grunted in agreement. ‘Well, whatever crazy hokum that Preston’s come up with, reckon we gotta now consider them folks as somethin’ of a problem for us.’ He tapped the embers of his pipe out into the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. ‘Them oxen lyin’ between us and them will be gone long before spring, long before any one of us can think of makin’ our way out of here.’ He locked his gaze on them all. ‘There’ll be fightin’ long before then, I can assure you.’

He looked towards Three Hawks and the five other young men sat with him, watching the discussion dispassionately. ‘Hell, that’s why we need these Paiute folks with us ’cause if… when… the fightin’ comes, we’ll need every able-bodied man we got.’

Mrs McIntyre grasped her husband’s hand tightly. ‘Mr Keats, will it really come to that? A fight between us and them?’

The old man’s wrinkled face softened with pity. He could see the woman, and the children whose arms were wrapped around her, were trembling. ‘Fear makes people do some terrible things, ma’am. It’s what folk like Preston use to make the rest of us do exactly what they want.’

Ben turned and looked towards the distant flames of the other campfire, and the indistinct silhouettes of people moving around it.

‘You frighten a bunch o’ people enough,’ Keats continued, ‘I mean really, really put the fear of God into them… reckon they’ll do just about anythin’ for you.’

‘If you’re right, Mr Keats,’ said Weyland, ‘then we should be asking ourselves what it is Preston might ask them to do.’

CHAPTER 56

Thursday

Over Utah

Shafts of autumn sunlight shone across the Oval Office, dappling the thick rug with light and shade. He could see it was a glorious afternoon out there on the White House lawn.

‘Mr President?’

He stirred, drawing his eyes away from the explosion of rust-coloured leaves on the elms and maple trees to the dim interior of the office, and matters at hand.

‘Mr President?’ his aide-de-camp pressed him. ‘We need a decision.’

Shepherd looked up at him. ‘I’m afraid I really can’t let this slide any longer, can I?’

‘The people need to know where we go from here, Mr President.’

He nodded. Yes, these uncertain times required a strong leader and a clear message to those who would stand in the way of God’s will.

‘You’ve already threatened the use of the ultimate deterrent, sir. Perhaps it’s time to-’

Shepherd cut in, smiling. ‘To use the words of the Washington Post, time to shit or get off the potty.’

His aide made a face. ‘That’s putting it in unnecessarily blunt terms, sir. There is still room for negotiation with these people.’

Shepherd shook his head. ‘No, I don’t believe there is. What we’re looking at, Duncan, is a clash of faiths. These people will not listen to God’s message.’

He stood up, flexing his tired and aching back. ‘And what can you do to those who continue to refuse to sit at God’s table? Beyond the light of His love, it is cold and dark and barbaric. These people, these… non-believers… burn in torment there, Duncan, and they know no better.’

‘Sir?’

‘I’ve extended the hand of friendship and love, opened the doors of our church for them to enter. What more can I do?’

‘Yes, Mr President. But you understand, escalating this situation now would be very dangerous. There’s a delicate geopolitical balance around the middle-’

‘Duncan.’ He turned to him. ‘This is where faith in God comes into the equation. We will have a world under His new dominion. By hook or by crook, mark my words, He will unite us all under one faith… or He will leave ashes.’

He looked out at the carefully manicured lawn and beyond that at the gathered protestors bearing placards, held at bay by a cordon of marines. Above, the pure blue sky was dotted with helicopters and the smudge of smoke columns rising from the distant city riots.

‘Now is not the time to walk away from destiny.’ He turned round. ‘If they won’t open their eyes to His love, then let them feel His wrath.’

‘Sir?’

‘We’ll send the missiles.’

‘Mr President? We can’t do that!’

‘Send the missiles, Duncan.’

‘Mr President!’

Shepherd felt the warmth of the sun through the bay windows on his cheeks and closed his eyes, and imagined he could hear the roar of a thousand propulsion systems stirring to life in their silos.

‘Mr President!’

‘Mr Shepherd?’

Eyes still closed, he heard the rumble of the jet, a steady monotonous whine, and in the background the trill of somebody’s cell phone several rows of seats further back — one of his entourage of campaign workers.

‘Mr Shepherd, sir? I’m sorry to disturb you, but we need to review the figures ahead of the meeting this afternoon.’