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

crawling through semi-consciousness, the alarm lurching him awake like a walking zombie. Alexis realised that was neurological conditioning. The Riordans must have practiced the panic drill over and over again with their disciples until it was muscle memory, making them the equivalent of sleeper agents snapped into activation with a coded sound. The alarm was a distress signal. A threat to the foundations of Mother Libertas.

Even through the church walls, Alexis heard the rally cry of the disciples as they tore from slumber.

‘Shit,’ she said.

Addison said, ‘Maeve has private quarters. Behind the altar.’

The girl could barely get the words out. Her face was aghast. Alexis could see she wanted to run. Addison was torn between the familiar comforts of the group, and doing the right thing.

She was brave enough to make the hard choice.

She said, ‘Come on. We can hide there. I’ll show you.’

Brandon clambered shakily to his feet and took a step toward Alexis. Alexis lifted the Beretta and aimed it at his face. He stopped in his tracks.

He said, ‘All I need to do is scream.’

‘Then you’ll be dead.’

‘And so will you.’

His eyes were glassy and his nose was swollen and misshapen, but she saw the processing going on in his head.

Am I ready to die for the cause? he was asking himself.

‘You know you’re not,’ Alexis said, answering a question that hadn’t been vocalised.

Brandon didn’t scream.

He said, ‘What do you want?’

The question came out muffled, distorted by the blood in his mouth. It was pouring from both his nostrils, running over his upper lip, staining his teeth.

She jerked the gun toward the altar. ‘Walk.’

Addison shuffled past them, leading the way, refusing to even look at her brother.

Brandon said, ‘Hey…’

Addison wheeled around. ‘Shut up, Brandon. Shut up.’

She started for the altar. Alexis made Brandon go next so she could keep the gun trained on his back.

The church doors slammed open.

She jumped in her skin, looked over her shoulder, and saw her worst nightmare come true.

A search party filed into the nave of the church. Five men, all well-built. They spotted her at once, and cheers of elation rippled through the church.

Alexis knew she couldn’t shoot them. So far there were five, but if she fired an unsuppressed weapon in a space like this, there’d be two hundred surrounding the church.

Those were impossible odds.

She turned back and kept her aim on Brandon, who was giddy with joy at the sight of his friends.

‘Help me, brothers!’ he shouted.

The five men broke into a sprint.

Alexis said, ‘If you’re not in the sacristy in ten seconds I’ll blow your brains out.’

Brandon grimaced.

Then he turned and reluctantly ran after his sister, leaping onto the altar and down the other side, heading for the closed door up the back of the church.

Alexis followed with her heart in her throat, rapid footsteps closing in behind her.

92

Everything was surreal.

Like walking through an alternate reality.

Slater made it to the edge of the commune and came face to face with two disciples out the back of one of the bunkhouses. A man and a woman, both Caucasian, in their forties. They looked like a couple, standing too close together to be mere acquaintances. They were the oldest people Slater had seen in Mother Libertas. Despite the chaos going on around them, their faces were kind, and Slater pitied them for allowing Maeve to prey on their weaknesses.

They looked at him, both dumbfounded.

The man said, ‘You’re supposed to be dead, son.’

Slater said, ‘Those are old plans. You’re misinformed.’

‘Where’s Elias?’

‘Not here right now. He put me in charge.’

‘He did?’

‘Maeve told him to. She had a revelation. Apparently I was chosen by Gaia.’

‘Wow,’ the woman said, genuine awe on her face. ‘Where are you headed now?’

‘To find a friend. Are you two going to stop me?’

They shook their heads.

The man said, ‘Do what you need to do.’

Slater walked straight past them, through the empty bunkhouse, and out the other side. Now he was in the open, but strangely he felt no fear. He was in touch with his own mind, so he recognised it was still affected by the Bodhi. His fear was gone, replaced by channelled confidence, and he remembered why he’d become addicted to substances — both legal and illegal — in the first place. The good ones strip you of your inhibitions, and if you use that to channel positivity and forward movement it can be incredible for—

No. He cut himself off from the thought. Not again. Don’t go down that road.

He felt his demons rising, and he battled them down.

Out in the open now, members of the commune stared at him, but there was no instant animosity. In the strange dawn light there was still confusion rippling through the ranks. The disciples had been roused out of bed by the panic alarm, but someone else must have been labelled as the enemy, because they were unsure about Slater. And there was no sign of Dane to direct them, to highlight their enemies.

These people couldn’t think for themselves.

That’s how they’d bought into the cult in the first place.

The Riordans’ screening process, victimising the easily influenced.

Where is Dane? Slater thought. And, more importantly, where’s King?

The mess hall and the church loomed ahead.

He chose the church.

He wasn’t sure why.

93

One down.

Ten up.

King understood he was dealing with men who wouldn’t use common sense. No matter how many of them he beat down, they’d keep coming. They wouldn’t retreat, wouldn’t waver, wouldn’t falter. Not when Maeve’s creed was charging them with inhuman energy, fixing onto the chemical compound of Bodhi to make them savage.

King didn’t need drugs to become a savage.

He leapfrogged one of the tables, coming down on top of one of the disciples who’d broken into a sprint to try and flank King from the rear. King shouldered him into the bench behind him, which took his legs out from underneath him. The disciple sprawled onto the opposite table and King dropped an elbow into his unprotected face, sandwiching his head against the metal tabletop. The guy rolled