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

to himself. He didn’t allow Dane to see.

All you have to do is get through the night.

Simple.

And impossible.

A paradox.

He stepped out of the cabin and walked off into the grassland, embracing his deepest terrors.

75

King paced the bedroom.

There was little else to do.

It was past ten p.m. The commune had wound down for the night. The disciples of Mother Libertas were on nature’s sleep cycle — sleep when it gets dark, rise at first light. It was a pleasant way to live. No phones, no social media, no overthinking, no incessant thoughts … just the calm, peaceful completion of daily manual labour surrounded by the stillness of nature.

Wyoming’s grasslands were the perfect location for a cult like this.

King had contemplated it all day.

Now, he could think about nothing other than the fact that Slater hadn’t returned.

He went over his options, thinking quickly, aided by isolation. He could set off into the darkness in search of where Dane had taken Slater, but that was an approach destined for failure. He’d be walking in circles without any light, unless he wanted to bring a torch and alert the entire commune to the fact he was out there, doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

He could go to the bunkhouse where Alexis and Violetta slept, rouse them from sleep, determine what to do next.

That would destroy the cover.

Expose them immediately.

King realised they should have moved that afternoon, before dinner, but indecision had stymied their drive. They were spread out, unable to talk to each other aside from hushed whispers in hidden corners. They didn’t know enough about the inner workings of the cult. Infiltrating Mother Libertas under the guise of civilians was the smart move, but it needed time.

Dane, it seemed, was expediting things.

So do I move now?

Without weapons?

Without a plan?

Slater could handle himself. King knew it, but the fear of the unknown was oppressive. To combat it he lowered himself into his bunk, closed his eyes, and attempted to meditate.

It didn’t work.

His eyes flew open and he lay there in uncomfortable silence.

Fearing for his brother-in-arms.

76

The last thing Dane Riordan expected was for Will to follow through with it.

The big man stepped out of the cabin and disappeared.

Dane’s stomach twisted.

He lunged forward, rounding the table, passing the food that hadn’t been touched. He made it to the door, which had naturally swung closed, and threw it open.

Will was gone.

Dane felt cold. He’d told Maeve that security measures weren’t necessary, that Elias could be put to better use elsewhere. There was no way a man could withstand such a mammoth dose of Bodhi. That’s what he’d thought.

He can’t withstand it, he reminded himself.

The Bodhi would tear Will’s world apart, but the man had resisted its initial effects, held it together long enough to take the situation into his own hands.

And I just stood there.

Let him walk out, because I didn’t think he’d do it.

Dane tried to be honest with himself, tried to admit that the reason he’d hesitated was because he was scared. He had a suspicion about who the newcomers truly were, and if he was correct, then Will and Jason could kill him with their bare hands.

No more games, he told himself.

Time to put them in the dirt.

He killed the lights and left the food and cutlery on the table. A disciple could clean it up in the morning. He stepped out of the cabin, now nothing more than a dark husk, and set off for the commune. The settlement was a beacon of light in the blackness of the plains, and he knew Will would avoid it. The man would try to ride out the Bodhi away from prying eyes, protected by solitude.

It’d break him, but he wouldn’t be disturbed if he stayed out in the prairie.

That was a tall order, but Dane now knew the man was up to it.

Dane walked fast, striding it out over the terrain. Involuntary shivers ran through him. He imagined Will ignoring the Bodhi, quashing its effects, and proceeding to stalk his prey. Every time Dane turned his head he pictured the big man leaping out of the night, teeth bared, hands wrapping around his throat…

‘Fuck this,’ he muttered for no one to hear.

He was sober, and he still couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts.

He wondered what Will was going through.

77

Slater fought not to lose his mind.

It would be so easy. If he lay down in the cold dirt and let go, he’d have the best few hours of his life. But he’d also lose all spatial awareness, vulnerable to any of the disciples walking up to him and slitting his throat.

To stay cognisant under the effects of so many drugs would be the toughest test of his life.

Being hunted in this state, being a wanted man … it was horrifying.

He stumbled without seeing, walking away from the distant light of the commune. In his heightened state the glow was heavenly. He ignored it. If he stumbled into the commune in this state, the mental burden would be overwhelming. Trying to act normal under the watchful eye of strangers…

No.

He needed solitude.

A dark monster reared up out of the ground.

He jolted, nearly falling over, and the anxiety made his vision spin. Unreality closed in, but he pushed back against it, keeping it at bay. He composed himself and stared ahead.

It was a giant cottonwood tree, alone on the plains. He’d nearly walked right into the trunk.

He circled it, barely able to keep his feet, putting the trunk between himself and the commune. That way, even if a search party came out this way, he’d see their torch beams before they saw him.

He sat down against it.

The bark felt alive, each touch of the wood rippling across his back. As soon as he came to rest, his sensations heightened even further. Stillness exacerbated the effects of the drugs.

‘Holy shit,’ he breathed.

The night expanded, becoming endless and infinite.

‘The morning,’ he told himself. ‘It’ll fade by then. You just need the morning.’

Monsters in his head came to the surface,