Messiahs, Matt Rogers [best 7 inch ereader TXT] 📗

to be one of the only disciples aware of Bodhi’s true purpose — the rest of them thought it was Gaia’s nectar from Mother Maeve’s tit. But if she truly enlightened them as to what they were doing to themselves, they either wouldn’t believe her or would turn on her in their own denial. She was smarter than them all, so she could fake her devotion to survive.

But not for much longer.

Brandon tore her away from her thoughts when he said, ‘There’s Wyatt.’

The big man stepped out of his tiny corner office at the end of the motel, his belly swinging as it drooped over his belt. Under the fat he was solid as a lumberjack, but his knees were going and his face sported a new permanent wrinkle each time she saw him. Refusing to hire help might seem noble and stoic day to day, but in the long run it was obvious the sixteen-hour days were wearing him down.

Brandon got out of the pickup and gestured for Addison to follow.

She stepped down to the concrete and waited for him to round to the truck bed and take out a few items.

He handed her a bat.

She tried not to look at it, like denial would make it disappear.

They crossed the street through the fog hovering under the tepid streetlights and walked right up to Wyatt.

He handed Brandon a key labelled “46.” They handed him his payment and his lifeblood.

Two glass vials of cloudy golden nectar.

An observer might shudder — two hits in exchange for the life of an innocent woman. If the observer did shudder, it meant they hadn’t tried Bodhi. Nothing could resist it. All willpower wilted in the face of its wrath.

Brandon moved away and Addison followed him. Wyatt retreated back into the privacy of his office, where the first vial would remove all traumatic thoughts about what he’d done. The two disciples moved to the correct door, coated in shadow at the end of the building. The frilly curtains were drawn, but lamp light glowed within.

Brandon mouthed, ‘You unlock it. My hands are full.’

He had a six-speed revolver in one hand and a hessian sack in the other.

Addison slotted the key into the lock with dainty finesse. Poor Karlie wouldn’t hear a thing until—

‘Now,’ Brandon whispered.

Addison twisted the now-unlocked knob and shouldered the door open. Her frame was small, but adrenaline lent her strength. Brandon had taken a half-dose of Bodhi an hour prior, so adrenaline — coupled with the flood of chemicals — made him lose all concern for his physical wellbeing. He nearly twisted an ankle in his haste to barge into the room.

Karlie didn’t have time to scream.

Brandon was at the foot of her bed in the first second, and had the revolver aimed at her head in the next. Karlie was a plain girl, pasty and chubby, with greasy hair and acne. Her soft eyes were overwhelmed with terror. She sat on the mattress, her back against the headboard, a faded paperback still gripped in her fingers.

Addison closed the door behind her, sealing them all in.

‘Now, Karlie,’ Brandon said. ‘Don’t you make a sound or I’ll have to use this piece here. None of us want that.’

‘W-what do you want?’ Karlie stammered.

Brandon said, ‘I’m going to put this bag on your head. Then we’re going to take a little trip.’

‘Is this about Jack?’

Brandon cocked his head and feigned confusion, but Karlie saw right through it. She closed her eyes to hide the tears. ‘Please just tell me my brother’s okay.’

‘He’s okay,’ Brandon said, relenting. ‘Don’t you worry.’

Her eyes stayed closed, so she didn’t see him round the bed and open the mouth of the sack. He yanked it down over her head and lowered her to the bed so she lay horizontal, sobbing into the coarse fabric.

He nodded to Addison.

She thought about running away from it all.

Then the half-year of conditioning and brainwashing combined with the physical Bodhi dependence. It all rolled over her in a wave, and she accepted her lot in life.

She walked over to the bed and swung the bat into Karlie’s skull.

It connected with the crunch of cracking bone and the big girl went limp. Addison slammed the bat down twice more, an invisible anaesthetising wall separating her from her guilt. They dragged the body out of the motel, keeping away from the streetlights. They got her across the street without the interference of pesky witnesses and manhandled her into the truck bed.

Addison’s stomach flipped end over end.

She got back in the cabin beside her brother and a groan escaped her lips before she could stop it. It was an inhuman, alien sound, signifying the loss of humanity.

She had nothing left.

But she could still feel good in an empty husk of skin and bones if she activated certain receptors, so she split another vial of Bodhi with Brandon and they drove away in unadulterated bliss.

They kept the silence at bay by reciting the mantras of the cause.

1

Nassau

The Bahamas

In a bare room gutted of furniture, Jason King seized Will Slater’s right thigh, yanked it up above the man’s hip, then stepped in with his lead leg and kicked hard.

Slater’s left foot was the only point of contact with the wrestling mat beneath them, and when King kicked it aside he toppled over. All two-hundred and twenty pounds of King came down on top, but Slater bucked with the motion, utilising inhuman hip dexterity, and the pair rolled.

Slater ended up on top, and he sliced a leg through to full mount so he straddled King’s stomach. King bucked, but he’d missed the window of momentum, and although he outweighed Slater by twenty pounds he went nowhere.

Slater simulated a pair of elbows, stopping them inches short of the bridge of King’s nose.

Sweat poured off them.

King exhaled through pursed lips, sending perspiration flying, and gave a final animalistic effort.

He bucked again, this time twisting to his side in an attempt to send Slater toppling off-balance. Slater moved with it in