The Slaughterers Page 3

Badr frowned at her as he chewed, asking another question without saying a word. Why?

  "Oasis doesn't need savin'," said Meg. "It doesn't want savin'."

  Badr swallowed. "What do you mean, exactly?"

  "Didn't you ever wonder where the marauders went when they weren't killin'? Didn't you ever wonder what place they called home?" Meg spread her arms wide. "Well, now you found it."

  Badr put down his fork. His hunger, his thirst, and his pain were all suddenly forgotten. "They come from Oasis?"

  "Not originally," said Meg. "They come from all over, but they've made this town their home. And if anyone doesn't like it..." Her voice trailed off.

  "They get rid of them," finished Badr.

  Meg nodded. Her eyes glistened with tears, and she rubbed them away.

  "That's why no one volunteered to fight," said Badr. "Except Sheriff Flint."

  Meg shook her head. "He's workin' for them, like everyone else in Oasis." She sighed. "He wasn't really your friend."

  "But you are?" asked Badr. "You and your brothers?"

  "To a point," said Meg. "Because of what you did for me. We're gonna do the only thing we can for you, Mister Badder."

  "What's that?" asked Badr.

  "Get you the hell out of here," said Meg, "before you get yourself killed and scalped."

  *****

  "Sun's comin' up soon." Jack Haines stood in the open doorway of the ramshackle barn and stared at the eastern horizon. "We'll have to wait till it sets again to sneak you out."

  Badr walked up to stand beside him, fresh from checking on Reeh al-Qiyamah. The Haines boys had taken good care of the horse, keeping him fed and clean and out of sight in a stall in the barn.

  "I'd head west if I was you," said Jack. "Keep outta those bastards' way."

  It was good advice, if Badr's concerns were safety and resuming his quest. He knew they should be, if staying true to his mission mattered at all to him.

  Yet didn't it also matter that he stay true to himself? And didn't it go against his grain to turn to his back on the oppressed?

  "Sorry about ropin' and draggin' you before," said Jack. "We didn't have much time to get you outta there, and we weren't sure you'd listen to reason."

  "It's all right." Badr smiled. "I know you were trying to help. Shokran." He used the Arab word for "thank you."

  Jack fell silent for a moment, then blew out his breath. "You know you're on your own if they catch you." He said it matter-of-factly. "We won't be able to help you."

  Badr nodded. "I understand."

  "And if they ask if we know you, the answer is 'no,'" said Jack.

  "Of course," said Badr.

  Jack hesitated, scuffing the toe of his boot in the dust. "You won't tell 'em you were here, will you? That we did anything to help you?"

  The request made Badr's stomach twist. How many times had he heard variations on the same questions? How many times had he met people like these, pushed to cruelty under threat of torture and death?

  He'd lived the same story again and again, in Arabia and Africa and Europe and America. Only the places and players ever changed.

  It didn't matter if it happened in the town of Oasis, or a prison in Madrid, or within the walls of his own home in Riyadh. The strong dominated the weak, and bright souls turned to black without fail.

  Unless someone got fed up and decided to make a difference.

  "I won't betray you," said Badr. "If that is what you want."

  "Don't tell the townspeople, either," said Jack. "Not even the sheriff, you hear? Not after everything he's done."

  Badr frowned. "But hasn't anyone in town ever stood up to them? Hasn't anyone ever pushed back?"

  Jack scowled and kept his eyes on the horizon. "They're tough, Mister Badder. Real sons a' bitches. If you do somethin' they don't like, they'll kill you dead." He snapped his fingers. "Here one minute, gone the next."

  Badr shook his head slowly. Oppressors' tactics never changed much; brutality and intimidation were like weeds engulfing the world.

  "We're not even supposed to talk about 'em, like they never existed." Jack turned and met Badr's gaze with flinty resolve. "But we do. When the bastards aren't around, we talk like crazy."

  "The people in town?"

  "Just us," said Jack. "My brothers and sister and me. We ain't gonna let ourselves forget 'im." The flinty resolve melted away, exposing a well of deep sorrow. "We ain't gonna give up what we got left."

  Suddenly, things made sense: the children fending for themselves; their fear of drawing unwelcome attention. "Your father," said Badr. "He was one of those who stood up to them."

  Jack sniffed. For a moment, he looked younger than ever, like a hurt little kid. "They did 'im in front of us," he said softly. "Took his scalp and everything."

  Badr reached over and put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Animals. Demons."

  "Sheriff Flint did his part to help 'em," said Jack. "He came out here like he was arrestin' Daddy for some made-up charge. When Daddy wouldn't surrender, the sheriff said he was resistin' arrest. He'd deputized some marauders, and they killed Daddy on the spot because he was supposedly resistin'."

  "I am sorry." It was the only thing Badr could think to say. In the face of such suffering as Jack described, no words could provide any kind of comfort.

  "We buried him ourselves, out back." Jack wiped his eyes and gathered himself up, slamming the door on his childish lapse. "But we ain't gonna lose any one of us ever again." He looked like a young man once more, the oldest brother in the family. "Which is why I gotta know. You won't tell 'em you were here, will you?"

  Badr shook his head and squeezed Jack's shoulder. If it came to it, he would never betray them.

  But was that the best he could do for them? For these orphaned children and all the people of Oasis? Sneak away under cover of darkness and keep his mouth shut if he was captured?

  Turning his back on this nest of oppression would be easy. He had a good excuse--his mission for the king of the Al Saud--and knew he shouldn't hesitate or feel guilty.

  But knowing he shouldn't feel guilty wouldn't let him off the hook with his conscience...or his god. Allah himself condemned injustice as haram, or sinful. Allowing injustice to continue to flourish in Oasis would surely be just as sinful in Allah's eyes.

  Badr couldn't do it. He couldn't go against the precepts of his faith and the convictions of his own heart.

  But that left him with the question of how to begin. The Haines brothers and sister had lost their father to the marauders; they wouldn't want to risk further losses by defying them.

  Even so, Badr needed to get them involved. They were his only allies so far and could be the key to enlisting more help.

  "Jack?" Badr squeezed the boy's shoulder once more. "I have a favor to ask."

  Jack looked at him. "What's that?"

  Badr hesitated. "Could you get me back into town once more? I need to retrieve something from the livery stable." That part was a lie, of course. Badr didn't like lies, but this one was in service to a greater good...therefore permitted under the Muslim doctrine of taqiyya. "I left a few pieces of my horse's tack behind."

  Jack shook his head emphatically. "Too dangerous. The place is crawlin' with marauders. And you'll stick out like a sore thumb, bein' a stranger and all."

  "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," said Badr. "I can't leave without it."

  "Sorry, but you'll have to," said Jack. "I don't even go into town when they're here, if I can help it."

  "I guess I'm going alone then." Badr let go of Jack's shoulder. "Maybe it's just as well. If they get me, that's one less problem you'll have to worry about."

  Jack scowled. "That's a bad idea, Mister Badder."

  "Don't worry. I already promised I won't tell anyone you helped me."

  "Please..."

  Badr started for the stall where Reeh al-Qiyamah was waiting. "I swear, you can trust me." He stopped and shot a look at Jack. "I only ever wanted to help."

 
As Badr continued toward Reeh al-Qiyamah, Jack stayed behind, hemming and hawing. Then, with a loud sigh, he ran after Badr. "All right, all right! I'll go with you! But it has to be quick."

  "I'm sure it will be, with someone who knows town as well as you do to help me sneak in."

  "Just remember," said Jack when he caught up. "At the first sign of trouble, I'll cut you loose like that." He snapped his fingers.

  Badr smiled as he entered the stall and reached for Reeh al-Qiyamah's bridle. "Nice to know you've got my back, sahib."

  *****

  Badr felt naked without his keffiyeh or sword, but he knew enough to leave them in the barn at the Haines place. The white headdress and gleaming blade would have stood out in the shadows and made him instantly recognizable. By now, he was sure, everyone in town had either seen or heard about him.

  He and Jack tied their horses to a tree outside Oasis, behind the church, and crossed the town limits on foot. Jack was right to bring him in that way, on the opposite end of town from the saloon. Even from a distance, Badr could hear quite a commotion coming from that direction.

  The livery stable was near, too, which made sense according to Badr's stated goal...though his true goal had nothing to do with that building. What he most wanted to do, in fact, would take him much closer to the commotion than the calm.

  "Remember, keep your head down," whispered Jack as they circled the church. "Anybody comes up to us, let me do the talkin'."

  "Right." Badr pulled down the straw hat he was wearing. It was big on him, the hat of a man with a large skull--Jack's father. Jack had loaned it to Badr from his dad's things, looking ill at ease as he'd handed it over.

  Jack stopped in front of the church, quickly scanning the town's main street. There were lights and people to the right, centered on the saloon at the far end of town. To the left, toward the livery and blacksmith, there was no light or activity whatsoever.

  "Good." Jack bobbed his head left. "Let's go."

  Badr nodded, but he didn't follow when Jack started up the street. Instead, he turned right, which was where he'd planned to go along.

  He made it ten steps before Jack came rushing up beside him. "What're you doing?" Jack's voice swelled with equal parts anger and worry. "The livery's back that way!"

  Badr kept walking. "I've got something to do down this way first."

  "Like gettin' killed?" snapped Jack.

  "Like talking," said Badr. "Just talking."

  "To who?" asked Jack. "The scalpers?"

  Badr shook his head. "You should leave now. I can't guarantee your safety."

  "Fine," said Jack. "I toldja I was gonna cut you loose, anyhow."

  "Thanks for everything," said Badr. "Tell your sister I said thanks."

  Jack snorted. "You're outta your mind, you know that?" Then, he broke away and ran back up the street toward the horses.

  Badr smiled as he drew closer to the lower half of town. Marauders clustered in the street in front of the saloon there, brandishing firearms and whiskey bottles, shouting and laughing. With their beards and filth and knives and the loops of scalps hanging from their belts, they looked like some of the roughest characters Badr had come across in the Americas.

  Badr took a few more steps, absorbing the scene...then suddenly cut left and marched for the sheriff's office, across the street and two buildings up from the saloon.

  "Why, yes." Badr smiled to himself. "I have been told I am out of my mind before, actually."

  *****

  Sheriff Flint did not look surprised when Badr showed up in his office. He simply nodded and took a sip of the hot coffee that was already en route to his lips.

  "What can I do for you, Mister Badder?" Flint put the tin cup down on top of some papers on his desk. "I thought you hightailed it outta here for good."

  Badr smiled. "Now why would I do that?"

  Flint smiled back at him. "Because you had a wild hunch," he said. "Either that, or someone warned you off."

  "Obviously, it's neither one." Badr shrugged. "Because here I am."

  "And why is that?" Flint raised the coffee for another drink.

  Badr flashed a quick look around the room, spotting Flint's gunbelt on its usual hook. His rifles were on a rack near the hook, well out of reach.

  But Flint would have something closer at hand, no doubt, something under the desk or in a drawer. Badr knew he had a limited amount of time until lead started flying, so he had to throw his cards on the table fast.

  "Sheriff," said Badr. "When was the last time you were free? Truly free?"

  Flint frowned and said nothing.

  "How much longer can you stand to let this go on?" Badr pointed in the direction of the marauders at the saloon. "How much longer can you live like this?" As if on cue, a gunshot split the air, followed by a drunken howl.

  Still, Flint said nothing.

  "Why not end it?" asked Badr. "You pretended you were going to fight them earlier. Why not do it for real next time?"

  Flint had another sip of coffee without taking his eyes off Badr. "Can't be done," he said evenly.

  "In the name of Allah, all things are possible," said Badr. "I have faced more terrible odds and lived to tell of it."

  "Thanks," said Flint. "But no thanks."

  "But I promise you, we can do this. With the right planning and force of numbers..."

  "Mister Badder," Flint said sternly, raising his voice. "You have come to the wrong place. You are talkin' to the wrong person."

  "But this town is suffering," said Badr. "Someone has to..."

  "Five minutes," snapped Flint. "That's all the head start you get." He pointed at the front door. "I'd get movin', if I were you."

  Badr realized he'd miscalculated. He'd expected difficulties recruiting support, but he's underestimated the resistance he'd face from Flint. His gut instinct had told him, incorrectly, that Flint was a reasonable man at heart and could be convinced to join the cause.

  Now, a storm of complications was swirling around Badr. Would Flint live up to the threat he'd implied, if Badr took flight? Would he call in the marauders to join the hunt?

  Badr could see just one way out, other than doing as he was told and heading for the hills. He'd left Sahar in the barn, but he hadn't come to town unarmed; he could still pull out the gun he'd stashed in the waist of his trousers, in the small of his back, and put it to use. He could still blow away Flint before Flint managed to hunt him down or bring the full force of the marauders down upon him.

  "Well?" said Flint. "The clock's tickin'. You got less than five minutes now."

  Badr tensed, getting ready to run or produce the gun. His heart pounded, and sweat trickled down his back.

  Then, suddenly, he heard gruff voices and shuffling footsteps outside, getting closer. Quickly, he stepped back from the door.

  "Get in there!" shouted a brutish voice, and the door flew inward.

  The first one through it was a child--little Eddie Haines, of all people. Badr gaped as Eddie slouched into the sheriff's office, the last person he'd expected to see there at that moment.

  Only then, he got another surprise. "There he is," said the next person through the door. "That's him over there."

  Jack Haines hadn't gone back to the farm when he and Badr had split up, after all. Somehow, he'd ended up marching into Flint's office with Eddie, pointing a finger at Badr.

  "See? I toldja' he'd be here." Jack looked back at the door, where one more person was walking into the Sheriff's office.

  "So ya' did, so ya' did." The last one through the door was clearly one of the marauders. He sneered like a demon behind his bushy beard and reeked of booze. His clothes were festooned with bloody scalps strung from loops of cord around his neck, arms, waist, and legs. He even wore a hood of scalps. "Ya' might make a fine recruit for our little army, after all."

  Badr stared at Jack in disbelief. Jack had said all along he would cut Badr loose or deny knowing him if it meant protecting his family. Was that what this was ab
out...or had Jack been in cahoots with the marauders all along, like everyone else in Oasis?

  Two more marauders pushed into the office behind the first, also draped with scalps and stinking of whiskey. The odds against Badr kept going up.

  "Handsome specimen, we got here." The first marauder looked Badr over, ending at the top of his head. "And get a load a' that fine scalp of his."

  "Dark hair, General Poe," said one of the other two marauders.

  "An' he ain't exactly what you'd call fair-skinned, neither," said the other.

  Poe nodded. "He'll fetch a fine price. But first..." He stomped over with his hands extended menacingly. "Give it here, Ay-rab. The gun ya' got stuffed down yer trousers."

  Jack must have ratted about the gun. When Badr looked his way, he averted his eyes.

  For an instant, Badr considered taking his chances with the pistol, drawing down and maybe shooting his way out of there. But he couldn't take the chance that Eddie would catch a stray bullet; he didn't even want to risk Jack getting hurt, for that matter.

  All three of the marauders were packing six-shooters--two per man--plus whatever else they had stashed in those baggy, filthy clothes. If Badr drew down on them, they were guaranteed to kick up a hell of a crossfire.

  That was why he reached slowly back and pulled out the gun without making a threatening move. Holding it by the barrel, he handed it over to Poe with a smile. "Here you go, General. Happy to oblige."

  As Poe snatched the weapon from his grip, Eddie ran over and made a grab for it. With one swipe, Poe batted him aside, sending him flying into Flint's desk.

  "Little bastard!" Poe cocked the hammer on Badr's gun. "First you come snoopin' around my party..."

  "I wasn't snoopin'!" said Eddie. "I just snuck out after my brother to see where he was goin'!"

  "Then you try stealin' my new gun!" He shook the revolver beside his head, then flicked it down to aim at Eddie. "I oughtta paint the damn floor with yer brains right now, just like I did with yer daddy's!"

  Jack threw himself between them. "You said you wouldn't kill him! Not if I told you where Badder was!"

  For a long moment, Poe didn't move. Then, a wicked leer spread over his face. "A deal's a deal." Slowly, he lowered the gun. "But maybe you two boys oughtta get runnin' before I stop bein' so generous. It wouldn't be no trouble at all sendin' yer whole family off ta' meet yer poor, dead daddy."