Jack Yeovil Dark Future Route 666

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beckoned. Ice-water dribbled down Tyree's spine. Ciccone and Wiggs and the
others were smiling, beckoning her. She could be forgiven her sins.
She did not have to die. If she joined the faithful.
Elder Seth was walking away, trailing his flock of resettlers. They were
singing "Shall We Gather at the River", with explosions instead of drumbeats
to keep time.
Her voice came to her and she found herself singing too. Miraculously, she
knew the words...
"... the beautiful, the beautiful river.
Yes, we'll gather at the river
That flows from the Throne of God."
Quincannon, who had broken away from the Feelgood, struggled with a
Psychopomp and a little man in a blue suit. They were both trying to get
knives into his throat. Tyree shot the panzergirl and the Quince took care of
blue suit with a shotgun-stock heartpunch. The sergeant shot her a salute and
floored another assailant with a slash from the gun.
She didn't return the salute. She was still singing.
Her gun fell from her grasp and she lurched towards the Josephites as if
pulled by puppet strings. Her hair was disarrayed by things rushing through
the air. She knew she had to go to the Elder, go with the Elder. Her whole
life had been designed to bring her to this point, to set her on the Road to
Salt Lake City.
If she went with the Elder, the Mark of Death would be wiped from her
forehead. She could live ...
Chollie Jenevein's gas tanks went up and fire was falling all over Spanish
Fork. A nice, quiet, little town.
She saw Burnside slumped against the drug store, dead without a mark on him,
side arm still holstered. Yorke was still screaming. The Elder stood over the
trooper and retrieved his spectacles, raising them up to his face like a
sacrament. Yorke scratched Oedipus-fashion at his eyes, and kicked at the
ground. Elder Seth walked away.
Tyree stood over Yorke, fending off the streams of people with the threat of
her gun. Quincannon got to the kid and slapped him, but it had no effect. He
dug out a squeezer of morph-plus from his belt-slung medikit and put the
Trooper to sleep. Yorke shut up but still writhed. Quincannon tried to get a
grip on him.
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Tyree still fought the impulse to go with the music. A tall Psychopomp, an
elegant girl in see-through plastic, shoved past her and fell in step with the
Josephites. She marched off like a catwalk creature. Tyree knew she should
follow.
Elder Seth walked towards the city limits, ignoring his flock. Everywhere he
went, he could guarantee new converts. Whatever his religion really was, she
guessed it had nothing to do with Jesus H. Christ.
She was hearing him right now. "Six six six."
With a lurch, her legs were moving, and she was among the multitude. A
ticking calm settled around her. Quincannon and Yorke would be left behind
with the dead. If she went with the Josephites, she would be saved, she would
atone for her sins. She followed.
The Quince called for her, but she ignored him,
She knew it was madness but she marched with the crowd. They were united by
love. She knew she was like them, another sacrificial lamb, more meat for the
juggernaut that rolled down Route 666 to the Apocalypse, but she was happy
with her lot. There were arms around her. To her left was an old man, a
Josephite, to her right the 'Pomp she had seen join the resettlers. Together,
they walked towards the desert. The old man fell, and his Brothers and Sisters
walked over him. He was still singing, they were still singing, as their feet
broke his ribs.
Tyree and the tall, thin girl embraced. Her name, Tyree gathered from the
gush of welcome, was Varoomschka. Love was all around, and old enmities were
strewn in the blooded dirt. When she stumbled, she was held up by Varoomschka
and Brother Wiggs. Both had burned away their sins and imperfections and
become beacons of purity.
The Feelgood blazed away like a Fourth of July bonfire, and the courthouse
began to smoulder. There was a five-man gallows that would burn up
beautifully. It was a shame nobody was in a mood to appreciate the fireworks
and bake potatoes in the ashes later.
She saw Elder Seth leading his Indians and his saints away from the blazes of
massacre, his footprints filled with blood, spirits in the air. And she saw
him now, exactly the same.
Someone had hold of her, pulling her away from the ranks of the pilgrims.
Varoomschka tried to rescue her from the new tugging, arms slipping around her
neck in a bear-hug. Tyree struggled, possessed by the need to be with the
Elder. and took a slap in the face.
She closed her eyes and concentrated hard. She didn't want to be a sacrifice
for anyone's God.
The Quince was with her now, red face pale. He was the only other citizen in
sight not dead or crazy. He had hauled her out of the procession, and was
holding her back.
Brother Wiggs, smiling, reached out for Tyree. Putting all his meat into it,
Quincannon stuck a huge fist into the Josephite's face. Wiggs' smile caved in
like an abusable teevee screen and cracks appeared, but no blood burst
through. He drew in breath and his face filled out, beatific expression
popping forth.
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The Quince was ready to fight, but Tyree didn't want to be fought for. She
struggled to be with Wiggs and Varoomschka and Ciccone and Elder Seth. Most of
all. Elder Seth.
Then, it snapped inside. She realised how insane this all was. It would be
better to die than go to Salt Lake like a zombie. She clung to Quincannon and
scanned the pilgrims with loathing.
As Wiggs began to march her off, Varoomschka mewled for her lost new friend
and cried out "suestra, suestra", sister, sister... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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