What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [115]
“All right,” said Liam, his eyes fixed on those of the soldier who’d done all the talking. “If that’s how you want it.”
What happened next was quick and, with the exception of a couple of grunts by the soldiers, silent. The first clue that any of the military men had that something had happened was the fact that they were all disarmed and on the ground. One soldier rolled over onto his side and groaned. Another sat up and rubbed his head. Their leader lay face down, his body smoking slightly.
“Sorry, guys,” said Liam. He leaned over to scoop his backpack up off the ground, and trotted off in the direction of the church.
Bill Cadmon looked the Messiah Festus up and down. “What’s going on here?” he said.
Normal, rational Festus took a moment to gibber and look around in a panic, but then cuckoo Jesus-impersonator Festus came back and pulled himselves together.
“Hi, I’m Jesus.” He reached down and grabbed Cadmon’s hand, shaking it vigorously.
Cadmon regarded the hand as if someone had just given him a week-old, gasoline-soaked rat. Festus dropped Cadmon’s hand and twirled around, taking in the cavernous space around him. “Nice work you’ve done here.” He waved in the direction of the rear of the church. “It’s… pretty.” He nodded, beaming contemplatively off into the middle distance.
“Who the hell are you?” asked Cadmon.
Festus turned around to face the preacher. “I told you. I’m Jesus.”
“You are not.”
“You doubt me?”
“Yes.”
“Heretic!” Festus pointed an accusing finger at Cadmon, his eyes wide. The preacher stared back at Festus, tilting his head and squinting, his mouth hanging open slightly, as if he were trying to decide whether this was a practical joke. They stood, staring at each other, while seconds oozed by in slow motion, like rubberneckers creeping past an accident to try to see whether there are any heads in the road. And then Festus did what any normal Christ-impersonator would do in that situation. He bolted.
He brushed past Cadmon as he headed off stage right, away from the crowd of cowboys and soldiers.
“Hey,” said the man with the guitar, after Festus had already gone.
Cadmon spun to face his army. “Well?” He did a little head shake and shrugged and pointed in the direction where Festus had gone. His audience shrugged right back. “Aren’t you going to go after him?”
“Who, Jesus?” asked a man down in the front.
“What?” asked Cadmon.
“You want us to chase Jesus?”
“He—” Cadmon glanced over his shoulder. “That man was not Jesus.”
“Unbeliever,” muttered the man.
Cadmon shot him a withering look, and then scanned the audience for some men who were less annoying. “You. And you. And you two. Go get that man.” The men glanced around and shuffled their feet, as if they weren’t sure they hadn’t just heard the boss crack an off-color joke. “Go!”
Liam made his way up toward the main building of the church, concealing himself behind ginormous tires and truck beds as he went. He recognized the monster truck from the ranch house, and grimaced as he made out what looked like the imprint of arms and a torso in the dust covering one of the fenders. They’d apparently been rough on poor Festus.
“I ain’t wearing it,” said a voice.
“Aw, it ain’t that bad,” said another. “B’sides, ‘s’not like it’s gonna be forever.”
Liam ducked behind a tire – which is to say that actually just leaned over a little so that his head and shoulders were no longer visible over the treads – and waited until the men passed. Then he straightened up and, seeing no other soldiers or militia men between him and the church, went in.
Inside, the church was quiet. A sign over the door he’d come through indicated that he’d come in via the entrance for deliveries. He padded down the broad hallway, paused to listen, and slipped around a corner just in time to see a bearded weirdo scamper through a doorway.
“Festus!” Liam hurried down the hall toward the door.
After a second, Festus’s head popped out. “Liam! Hey!”
“Jesus Christ,” said Liam. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Festus just smiled sheepishly. “Well…” he said,