“I can see it in your faces. Sense it in the way you’re sitting. Your whole body language speaks to me of a very deep unease.”
“No, lady. I’ll tell you about the Children of the Rock. Yeah, we’re all proud to be members of the flock. We aren’t a ville. Not like most in Deathlands. Just some right-thinking folks collected together under the strong arm of the Blessed Jesus Christ and his angelic host.”
“Fundamentalists?” Mildred asked quietly. Again it was the main spokesman who answered her. “A well-honed sword will smite the ungodly better than a whole library of good thoughts.”
“None of you carry swords,” J.B. commented. “No blasters, neither.”
“Not here. We are close enough to our heartland to be safe from the threat of the Apaches.”
“Paramilitary survivalists.” Mildred’s voice was trembling with barely suppressed anger. “You were around in my days. Folks like you. Most of you then were just stinking, redneck racists. All you lack are hoods, sheets and blazing crosses! If you’re white, it’s all right. If you’re black, get back. Hiding hatred behind a blurred version of the gospels. That what the Children of the Rock are up to?”
The three men seemed taken aback at the surge of rage from the black woman. Their leader stammered, face pale, spots of hectic colour dappling his hollow cheeks. “Why, no… That is… Our leader is Brother Joshua Wolfe and he doesn’t turn anybody away on account of color. We preach tolerance for those that walk the true path.”
The one with the mustache spoke up. “I reckon that before you attack us, you should come see us. See our camp. Meet Brother Joshua.”
The third man, who’d been silent, nodded. “The shroud of ignorance is a darkening thing to bear. Come and let us rip it aside. Then you can walk in the bright light of love.”
Krysty half smiled. “Sure. Been trying to do that for too many years.”
“We are members of the Children of the Rock. Outlanders who are pure in heart are always welcome. Providing, of course, that they prove themselves acceptable. We are going there shortly. Why not walk with us?”
Ryan shook his head at the invitation. “Not right now, thanks. Need a meal and then a bed for the night. This place provide overnights?”
“It does.” Mom’s voice floated in from the kitchen, showing that she had preternaturally sharp hearing. “Fix a price for y’all, depending on how many rooms you want. Food won’t be too long a-coming.”
The three men stood with a strange synchronicity, tucking their chairs neatly in place. The skinniest of them smiled at Ryan and the others. “Brother Joshua Wolfe will welcome you, perhaps after the dawning?”
“Perhaps. It’s near?”
“Oh, yes. It’s only a few minutes walk farther along the winding old blacktop. You can’t possibly miss—” His next words were drowned out by a ferocious outburst of coughing and sneezing from Doc.
“My sincere apologies,” the old man spluttered. “It’s not the cough that carries you off. It is the coffin that they carry you off in.”
“Didn’t catch the last thing you said.” Ryan waited.
“There will be sentries on watch on the road. There always are. The Children of the Rock have many good, good friends and a scattering of hostile enemies.”
“Like the Apaches?”
“Yes, brother. Like the spawn of Shaitan. Farewell, then. Until tomorrow.”
All three of the young men paused by the door and made a strange circular motion with thumb and forefinger of the right hand. “Be seeing you.”
Then they were gone.
The scent of food was growing ever stronger, making Ryan lick his lips.
“Seem friendly,” Doc said, wiping away beads of sweat from his forehead. “Very amicable fellows.”
Mildred sniffed dismissively. “Yeah, about as friendly as sunwarmed rattlers.”
Ryan poured himself a tumbler of water. “Can’t say I took to them, myself. But I reckon it could be interesting to go take a look at their ville tomorrow.”
“You all right, Doc?” J.B. asked, sitting next to the old man.
“I confess to feeling a little below par, dear friend. A touch of influenza would be my self-diagnosis. But I shall doubtless be myself on the morrow.”