Breakout, Paul Herron [chrome ebook reader .txt] 📗

flying from his mouth. “‘But I will warn you whom to fear: fear the One who, after He has killed, has authority to cast into hell; yes, I tell you, fear Him!’ You do not lecture me in verse, you arrogant bitch! How dare you?”

Sawyer just stares at him, a mild look on her face. “You’re scared. I can see that.”

“Scared? I hold no fear in my heart. Except for the souls of those I have yet to judge!”

She nods, as if this confirms her thoughts. “‘There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.’ 1 John 4:18.”

“I never claimed to be perfect,” Preacher snaps. “I only claimed to do His bidding. ‘All who sin apart from the law will also perish apart from the law.’ Romans 2:12.” He stares at Sawyer challengingly.

I throw a confused look at Felix, but he just shrugs. I don’t know what the hell is going on here, and neither does he.

“Ezekiel 33:11,” says Sawyer. “‘Say to them, “As I live!” declares the Lord God, “I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that the wicked turn from his way and live.”’”

Preacher leans over the pulpit. His eyes are almost black as he glares down at her. “‘Know then in your heart that as a man disciplines his son, so the Lord your God disciplines you.’”

Sawyer smiles. “‘Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed, for God made man in his own image.’”

Jesus. Where is all this coming from? Are they reading these things from somewhere?

“‘And that servant who knew his master’s will, but did not get ready or act according to his will, will receive a severe beating!’” Preacher is screaming the words and he slams his hands down on the makeshift pulpit. It shakes and trembles, almost collapsing under the blow. He points a shaking finger at Sawyer. “If you say one more word, I’ll cut your fucking throat myself. Understand?”

Sawyer sighs as if in disappointment. “‘But now you must also rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips.’”

Preacher’s congregation is muttering to one another, exchanging uneasy glances. Preacher notices too, because he points at Sawyer again. “Shoot her. She’s the devil in disguise. She’s in league with Lucifer.”

The inmate standing behind us raises his gun. I tense up, ready to throw myself at him. I know it will end up getting us all killed, but what difference does that make now? The eye of the hurricane will pass over in five, maybe ten minutes. We’re already dead.

“Wait!” says Sawyer. “I’m just trying to prove myself to you.”

Preacher holds up a hand and the guy lowers his rifle. “Explain.”

“I understand what you’re doing. Why you’re doing it. I want to help. I want to stand by your side as we cleanse the world. I can preach to the guilty, try to get them to see the error of their ways. If they don’t, then you will deliver them to judgment.”

Preacher pauses. He narrows his eyes, leaning forward to get a better look at Sawyer. I have no idea what her plan is, but goddammit, she’s got the psycho thinking.

She stands up slowly, hands raised outward to Preacher. “‘And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.’”

Preacher’s tongue flicks out like a snake’s and he moistens his lips. “Matthew 25:46.” His voice is husky. I realize this is like foreplay to him. He’s getting off on it.

Sawyer nods. “Exactly. I want to prove myself to you. Please. Let me stand by your side. We can judge these two together.”

Preacher’s eyes flicker toward us, then back to Sawyer. She’s looking at him with such an innocent, guileless expression that I almost believe her.

Finally he nods. “Come, then, child. Stand by me as my wife. For God is a righteous judge, but He rewards those who are loyal.”

Sawyer moves slowly around the pulpit. There’s some kind of step that Preacher has raised himself on. He holds out a hand to her and she climbs up to stand by his side, looking down on the rest of us.

She reaches over to touch something on the pulpit. “May I?” she asks.

He nods. “You may.”

She lifts up the Bible. It’s a big hardcover version. Without even pausing, she twists to one side, away from Preacher, then swings herself back around with all the force she can gather and slams the edge of the book into his throat.

His eyes go wide and he staggers back. His throat is crushed. He can’t draw breath. Cries of shock go up from behind us. I surge to my feet, headbutt the guy behind me in the nose, and yank his weapon away. I fire at the inmates sitting in the back, the ones who led us in here. They’re already rising, their own guns coming up to point at us.

Gunshots explode to my right and the disciples go down before they can open fire. I glance over to see that Felix has grabbed a Beretta from someone and is shooting at anyone else holding a weapon.

I turn back to see what’s happening with Preacher. Sawyer moves quickly to the side as he staggers back, gagging for breath. His face is ashen. He bumps into the huge crucifix and it shifts in its brackets. He grabs hold of it, trying to steady himself, but all he succeeds in doing is pulling it off the wall. It falls and hits him in the back.

He goes down and doesn’t move. I throw a quick look at the horrified congregants to make sure they’re not doing anything stupid, then move around the pulpit to look.

I can see why he’s not getting up. The five inches of nails that were sticking out of the guy’s right wrist are now buried in the back of