He shrugs. “Honestly, I have no fucking idea.”
We get on the move and head in the same direction as last night, taking us to the farmland on the outskirts of the commune. I grit my teeth the entire way, doing my best not togrunt every time the bike bumps over the ground and jolts my ribs. I keep my mind focused on Ophelia and the horrors she must be going through. Will that fucker have touched her? He calls himself a Prophet, but that doesn’t mean he has a single moral in his black soul. He makes a mockery of religion and his god, and that only makes me hate him that much more.
We stop far enough away from the commune that the bike engines won’t be noticed.
From the farmland, we can see the church. It’s not large, though it is the biggest building around, not including the barns. Daisy and Ophelia had talked about this place as a town, but it’s barely even a village. It’s just a collection of single-story wooden homes along a couple of dirt roads. There’s nothing signaling the name of the place. No wonder it was so hard to find. If we hadn’t had Daisy’s help, we’d never have located it. I think of the irony of that. She helped us find the place, only to double cross us, but if she’d never helped us, we’d also never have had the chance to kill the Prophet.
We wait on the backs of our bikes, observing the scene before us.
People are entering the church. Families with children, husbands and wives, elders, too. One striking thing is that they’re all dressed the same way. The women and girls wear long maroon dresses, and the men are in shirts and pants of the same color. How many are there? Fifty? Even more? Surely someone in the group—if they see Ophelia is back, and know that she doesn’t want to be there—will step in and say something? But then I laugh at myself for being so naïve. Those parents with their children at their sides are walking into a church to kill their own offspring, all because they genuinely believe they are about to sit with God. If I wasn’t so fucking angry, it would break my heart. Their job should be to protect those kids, but insteadthey’re giving their lives into the hands of a scumbag like the Prophet.
“Looks to mostly be women and children,” Cain says.
Malachi slowly shakes his head. “So we can’t go in there shooting. If we do, we’re likely to risk killing innocents.”
Cain scowls. “Are the adults innocent if they’re willing to watch Ophelia die and do nothing?”
His words hang heavy between us. Is she still alive? What if the Prophet has already killed her? I dare not voice my fears out loud, knowing what reaction they’ll get.
“We need to get the followers out of the church, but how?”
Deacon speaks up. “A distraction.” He jerks his chin toward one of the barns. “What if we set fire to one of their food stores. That’s bound to bring them running. Even if they don’t care about the food, they won’t want the flames to burn them before they can do their ceremony.”
Cain considers this for a moment. “You’re going to need some kind of accelerant. We’re running out of time.”
“There’s bound to be something in the barn—gasoline, kerosene, or diesel fuel, or maybe even turpentine. There’s always something.”
“The fire might spread,” Mal says. “We won’t be able to control it.”
Cain sets his jaw. “We’ll burn the whole fucking commune to the ground, if that’s what it takes.”
There are innocent people in the commune, and none of us wants to see innocent people hurt, but if we must sacrifice every single one of them for Ophelia to be okay, then that’s what will happen. We’d save the kids and Ophelia, and everyone else can fucking burn for all I care.
Cain turns to the men and jerks his chin at Deacon. “Do it.”
Deacon is already off the bike before I can blink and is running over the fields toward the closest barn.
“We need to get around the back of the church,” Cain says. “There must be a rear entrance. Be prepared to shoot on sight, and whatever the fuck you do, don’t shoot Ophelia or any of the children. Every damn adult is fair game because the moment someone gets their eyes on us, this whole thing is going to blow up.”
We leave the bikes where they are and move on foot, racing over the field, our weapons in hand. Despite the pain in my ribs, and how every footstep sends lightning bolts through my jaw, I adopt the same stance at the others, running at a low crouch. There is every possibility that the Prophet is expecting us and has his own men positioned to watch out. They will also most likely be armed. The moment the shooting starts, the Prophet will know we’re here.
Hopefully, so will Ophelia.
I swear to God, if he’s put a single finger on her, I’ll cut him from his throat to his balls and tear out his insides and feed them to him.
My determination and that image makes me feel better. I hardly feel my injuries at all.
With the majority of the cult inside the church, it at least allows us to move unseen. We reach the back of the building, using trees and bushes as cover. Sure enough, there is a small rear door, but there’s also someone standing outside of it, guarding the place.
One man. He’ll be easy enough to deal with. It seems the Prophet didn’t expect us, which is strange. He must be a stupid man as well as an evil one.
But the rest of the commune is still inside the church.
If we go crashing in there now, innocent people will die.
CHAPTER 20
Ophelia
