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

those qualities she described in the speech — lack of guilt, doubt, fear, empathy — because she was a psychopath. In times of turmoil, psychopaths are appealing. They provide clear direction in the face of uncertainty, because they’re not burdened by the emotions that cripple most of us.

Alexis saw it clearly.

She put the pages down and handed the spare gun to Addison. ‘Make sure he stays put.’

Addison said, ‘Will you come back for me?’

Tears welled in her eyes. She’d been promised things before.

The world had let her down every time.

Alexis said, ‘I promise.’

She tried to convey how much she meant it.

Addison seemed to understand. ‘Okay. I’ll stay here.’

It sounded like she was reassuring herself.

They couldn’t loiter any longer. Each extra minute the Riordans spent pumping their followers full of their doctrine was a minute they couldn’t afford. Alexis handed Slater her Beretta. He was a better shot, and denying that was counter-productive.

Together they moved out of Maeve’s office and closed the door behind them, leaving Addison standing over her restrained brother, shaking involuntarily.

98

Across the mess hall, Violetta said, ‘Your tank’s empty, isn’t it?’

King couldn’t respond.

He had to double over as fatigue hit him. As soon as the threat of death is nullified, your brain catches up to your body. He could barely lift his arms. He’d maintained his maximum heart rate for the entire length of the brawl, and now he was paying the price. Between deep gulping breaths, he lifted his head and said, ‘Yeah.’

Already, three of the disciples were on their feet.

They were no threat.

Blood streamed from noses, mouths, foreheads. They wobbled on shaky legs, their balance disrupted as their brains spun in their skulls, searching for an equilibrium they wouldn’t find for hours. Like walking zombies, just without the groaning and raised arms. They were silent as they worked their way to their feet. Bodhi couldn’t override cognitive damage.

They’d be okay tomorrow, aside from superficial injuries, but tomorrow was a long way away.

They trundled for the exits, struggling for each step.

King walked back to Violetta. His legs burned from the effort required with the kicks and the explosive movements, the lunges across tables and the exertion of hurling the disciples’ bodyweight around.

Violetta’s face was overcast when he reached her. She got her shoulder into his armpit, supporting his weight so he could take a load off his legs.

‘I’m fine,’ he said.

‘You’re not,’ she said. ‘And now the cover’s gone.’

‘It was already gone.’

Across the room, one of the disciples reached the exit in the right-hand corner. He took one step into the darkness, his limbs still shaky, and a fist shot out of the shadows and cracked him across the jaw, knocking him out all over again.

He collapsed.

Slater stepped into the mess hall, a Beretta in his hand.

King had never been so happy to see a gun.

Across the hall, Slater cast wide eyes over the mayhem.

‘What’d I miss?’ he yelled.

Violetta shouted, ‘We’re okay. We’re not hurt.’

Striding fast across the space, ignoring the disciples all around, Slater watched King like a combat sports referee keeping a keen eye on a compromised fighter. He took in King’s behaviour and said, ‘He’s not okay.’

King realised his face had paled. ‘I’m fine. Pushed myself too hard.’

‘Did you get hit?’

‘No,’ King said, then caught the withering glare from Violetta and reconsidered. ‘Once. At the start. But I’m all there.’

‘Did you do the times-table test?’ Slater said.

‘Yeah.’

‘Doesn’t always mean you’re good to go. You could be compromised.’

‘I’m fine,’ King repeated. ‘Just tired. As soon as I get my breath back…’

Violetta said, ‘Where’s—?’

She cut herself off when she looked over Slater’s shoulder and saw Alexis step in through the same doorway Slater had emerged from.

Violetta exhaled. ‘Okay … we’re okay.’

Slater said, ‘For now.’

Alexis cautiously sidestepped one of the shuffling disciples, who was cradling his broken nose, walking blind. ‘What the hell happened here?’

Slater said, ‘King happened here.’

They rendezvoused in the middle of the hall.

Reunited.

There was no time for elation. They were in a death trap, probably surrounded on all sides by Mother Libertas, who the Riordans would be in the process of arming.

But at least they had a gun.

King said, ‘Where’d you get that?’

‘Long story,’ Slater said.

King looked over his shoulder, and froze. ‘Shit. Give it here.’

‘What?’

King took the Beretta out of Slater’s hands and shouldered past him.

Five more disciples had stepped into the hall.

99

King fell back on his military career, recalling everything they’d drilled in basic training to steadily transform him from an emotional civilian to someone right at home amidst chaos.

These followers — all men, all tough-looking — were still emotional civilians, no matter how badly they wanted to pretend they weren’t.

More importantly, none of them were armed.

King aimed the Beretta at their faces and screamed at the top of his lungs. ‘All of you get the fuck out! Now!’

They froze in their tracks.

The animalistic volume of the shout cut through the Bodhi that was protecting and coddling them. A couple got shaky legs right away, and looked like they were a hair’s breadth from retreating.

King kept his voice at the same volume. ‘I will shoot you! Turn around and fuck off! Three seconds! Two! One—’

He could see all five of them going to war in their own heads.

All their conditioning fought to control them. The drugs, the brainwashing, the Mother Libertas creed — it all demanded they go forward, even in the face of insurmountable odds. It was better to die for the cause than retreat like a coward. But that only worked in principle. In reality they were staring at an unhinged two hundred plus pound man, armed with a semi-automatic pistol, threatening to blow their heads off if they didn’t do what he said.

Reality won.

The five men bled back into the shadows.

King let the adrenaline out in a mighty exhale.

He turned and saw Slater practically shaking, ready for a fight to the death.

This wouldn’t stop.

Right now the commune was in turmoil, still bleary in the early hours of the morning. The disciples would be confused, lacking clear instructions.