Blood Sins Part 18

Maddox pa.s.sed out badly printed "programs" that consisted of a single sheet of cheap paper, folded once and filled with tiny, smudged type. His sermon, more or less. The highlights, at least. It was barely literate but filled with pa.s.sionate belief.

Samuel settled onto a rickety chair at the back, happy that there had been a chicken and two beef ca.s.seroles but disgruntled because n.o.body had brought cookies. He listened to Maddox build slowly to a rant against government officials and established religions and anybody other than himself who believed they had the Answer.

Maddox alone had the Answer.

The Answer he cannily hinted at but never actually provided. Only the G.o.dly, he a.s.sured them, could hear the Answer.

He was good theater, Samuel thought. The couple dozen townsfolk who had come out to listen fanned themselves with his program and nodded and occasionally threw in an amen to keep the show going.

Thunder began to rumble distantly, then closer, and a hot breeze blew through the tent.

Samuel saw a few people consulting watches and beginning to grow restless, and he saw that Maddox had also noticed. The old man's words began to tumble and fall over one another as he rushed to get his sermon finished and reach the all-important ritual of pa.s.sing the collection plates, which were, Samuel had noticed, old baskets.

But even with a storm approaching and his audience growing restive, Maddox took the time to ask if any wanted to come forward and offer their own testimony.

Samuel didn't have to look around to know that no one else in the audience was interested. It was too hot to bestir themselves. Besides, it was time to be leaving, what with a storm coming.

He realized afterward that it was G.o.d who made him get to his feet and move to the "front" of the tent, where Maddox had been pacing back and forth. G.o.d who made him face the audience filled with sweaty, distracted faces. And G.o.d's voice that thundered from his thirteen-year-old throat with all the pa.s.sion Maddox possessed and all the power he lacked.

"G.o.d loves you!"

A few of the chairs lurched sideways as the people occupying them jumped in surprise.

"G.o.d loves you and wants you to be happy. G.o.d wants you to enjoy this life in all its abundance! G.o.d sent His son to die for you, for your sins, so that you need never fear punishment. G.o.d has chosen you, of all His children, to hear the Truth!"

From the corner of his eye, Samuel could see that Maddox was hardly pleased by having his spotlight stolen, but he didn't really care what the old man felt, because he was enjoying himself. Looking at the sweaty faces, intent now, some of them filled with a kind of wonder, he felt that sense of power that never failed to thrill him.

They listened to him. They believed what he told them. They believed he was special.

He lifted his arms, calling on G.o.d to verify the truth of his words and fill this congregation with that truth, and A freight train hit him.

Samuel opened his eyes to find himself on the ground, the hay stubble poking uncomfortably against his back. Above him was a ring of pale, sweating faces, most of them wearing anxious expressions that also, he realized in surprise, held more than a touch of awe.

"Son, are you all right?" It was Maddox, one of those worried faces. But his also held a curiously calculating expression.

Samuel struggled to his feet, aided by several hands, and instead of answering the question, he found himself staring at one of the men who had helped him up.

"You're going to lose your farm," he said.

The man started in surprise, his face going pale. "What?"

"Next year. Better get ready for it, if you don't want your family to starve."

"Son" Maddox began.

But Samuel was looking at another face, this one younger and less careworn. "She did cheat on you, just like you thought. But she's not the real Judas. Talk to your best friend. It's his bed she's been in."

The man turned on his heel and walked away: he was nearly running by the time he left the tent.

Samuel turned his head and saw a woman's face and, again, without knowing where the knowledge came from, said, "Go see your doctor. There's something wrong with the child in your belly."

She gasped, her hands going first to her face, then to cup her only slightly rounded belly. And then she turned away, nearly falling over one of the chairs in her haste to leave.

Maddox put his hand on Samuel's shoulder and gripped it for a moment. Hard. Addressing the murmuring crowd, he said, "Come back tomorrow, folks. Come tomorrow and listen to more of what this very special young man has to tell us. Come tomorrow, and bring your friends."

As the people began to back away and turn toward the exits, Maddox nodded to a thin dark girl who was perhaps a few years older than Samuel, a girl he hadn't even noticed until then. Silent, she picked up one of the offering baskets and moved among those leaving, collecting dollar bills and even a few tens and twenties.

"Son, you and me need to talk," Maddox said as soon as they were alone.

"What happened?" Samuel demanded.

Maddox pointed to the ground.

Samuel looked down, surprised to find a sort of hourgla.s.s-shaped area of blackened earth and burned gra.s.s. Exactly where he had been standing. "I don't understand."

Maddox pointed up.

Above their heads and several feet from the center tent pole was a perfectly round hole in the canvas. It was, perhaps, six or eight inches across, and the edges were blackened.

"So hot it didn't even start a fire," Maddox told him. "Just punched right through the tent. Then through you and into the ground."

"What did?"

"A bolt of lightning, son." Maddox grinned, revealing large yellowed teeth. "You've been touched by G.o.d."

Samuel thought about that for a moment, absently watching as the dark girl returned with the basket of cash. He didn't feel different, really, except stronger. And the air around him seemed clearer, not so heavy and oppressive.

"So what do I do now?" he asked, curious to hear the old man's answer.

Maddox grinned again. "You're going to come with Ruth and me. This is Ruthmy daughter."

Samuel looked at her for a moment, nodded absently, then looked back at Maddox. "Why would I come with you?"

"Because we're going to start ourselves a real church, son. I've got the know-how, and you, well, you've been touched by G.o.d, haven't you? Touchedand given the gift of Sight." He reached out and again put his hand on Samuel's shoulder. "You know we're walking the path together now, don't you, son?"

Samuel studied that grinning face, the greedy gleam in those intense eyes, and wondered idly if Maddox had any idea at all that his path would end in blood and agony.

Not that it mattered.

That was at least a few years down the path.

"So when do we start?" he asked.

Samuel didn't come all the way out of his meditative trance as that particular memory faded from his mind. Other memories flashed by, like the pages of a book blown by a steady breeze, pages showing other tent revivals and small churches that were all but shacks slowly giving way to bigger, better churches. Until finally the church in Los Angeles, where everything had really begun coming together.

As his sermons had grown stronger, more powerful.

As he had grown stronger and more powerful.

As G.o.d had shown him the path he had to walk.

He meditated on that, going over it in his mind as he always did, until finally he was ready.

He was tired now, too tired, really, to do what he needed to do.

But he had no choice, because she was here. She was here, and he needed to reach out to her. Needed to touch her mind and find out if she was one of his Chosen few.

Or his enemy.

Chapter Eleven.

TESSA LOOKED AT Sawyer steadily for a moment, then said, "We should probably move from here. Walk around. Take advantage of our presumed solitude." Sawyer got up from the boulder seat as she did, but said, "Avoiding an answer?"

"No, I think you're probably right. I also think Samuel can do a lot of damage before he finally destroys himself, even if that's the way this is going. I asked you once before, but can't you feel the energy of this place? How strange it is?"

They had turned with tacit agreement away from the natural church to continue down the slope, and Sawyer walked beside her for several steps in silence before answering. He still felt that wary sense of danger, but it was oddly unfocused.

It's not this place. It's more than that. Different. There's something else now.

It made him want to reach for his gun.

"I feel it," he answered finally. "Sets my teeth on edge. But it wasn't always like this. Years ago, I mean. It's only been in the last few months that I really noticed a difference up here in the way the air felt. The way I felt when I was here."

"Before then it was normal?"

"As far as that goes, yeah. What changed?"

"Him, probably."

"Do you know why?"

"Not really. Psychic abilities tend to evolve, or do when they're used. And they can be affected by everything from the person's mental and emotional state to a summer storm or other strong electromagnetic field."

"That's a wide range of possibilities."

"I don't have any easy answers, Sawyer." She sent him a look that was a little wry and more than a little reluctant. "Most of this is new to me too. Until about a year ago, all I knew about psychic abilities was what I was coping with myself."

"Alone?"

"Pretty much. No family to speak of, and I've been on my own since college." A frown flitted across her face and then vanished. "It wasn't until college that I really built my s.h.i.+elds, and then it was from necessity. I kept picking up test answers, responses the professors wanted from us, stuff like that. It was cheating, and I didn't like it. So I learned to shut it out."

"What's wrong?" Sawyer asked.

"Well, cheating"

"Not that. You winced. What is it?"

Tessa wasn't at all sure she was comfortable being observed so closely even though a part of her was keenly aware of his every move and expression, but heard herself replying, "A little headache, that's all."

"Starting when?"

"Just now. Probably this place."

With his own senses or instincts still nagging at him, Sawyer said, "Is the hair on the back of your neck standing up? Because mine is."

She looked at him, then looked around them. "The cameras. Probably. They're all over the place."

"And if it's not the cameras? Tessa, you told me Samuel can kill without touching someone. Without even being near them. So how would you know if you were a target? How would you know that sort of attack was coming?"

Tessa thought about the report of Sarah's death, of how quickly she had died, without warning, and drew a deep breath, aware now of building tension inside her. "I don't know," she replied.

"Could it start with a headache?"

"I don't know."

"Tessa"

"He has no reason to consider me a threat. So why would he feel the need to kill me?"

"You don't know he doesn't consider you a threat," Sawyer countered. "He could have been delving into your mind this whole time."

"He hasn't been. I'd know."

"Would you?"

"Yes." She thought so. She hoped so. But a chill stole over her, and it had nothing to do with the crisp winter day.

Sounding a little frustrated, Sawyer said, "So I guess that means I can't talk you into leaving right now?"

"I can't leave yet. Do you have any idea how difficult it's been to get someone inside the Compound, let alone the church?"

"Does it have to be you?"

"I'm here. The universe opens doors for a reason."

Sawyer quite abruptly took her hand, his fingers twining with hers.

Surprised, Tessa said, "Why did you"