The Slaughterers Read online

  But then, of course, he wouldn't have been able to kill his father's murderer in an up close and personal way. His revenge would not have been so complete.

  Not that he would get the revenge he expected, anyway.

  It happened when Jack was still halfway up the street. "Nooo!" He saw Flint draw a gun and whip it around to aim at Poe. "I said he's mine!"

  Flint pulled the trigger without a word. One last shot thunderclapped through Oasis, echoing in the bone-dry desert air.

  Poe jerked from the impact, which took him in the upper left chest. He dropped both his guns and let out a stream of wild curses that would have curdled the blood of a hardened killer.

  Then, he let out a girlish giggle. "Now where'd they all come from?" He stuck out an index finger and drew it in an arc around him. "All them folks! Jus' look at 'em all!"

  Badr looked where Poe was pointing and saw no one who hadn't been there a moment ago.

  "None of 'em's got any hair!" Poe giggled again, and blood bubbled from his grinning lips. "They's all been scalped!" Then, suddenly, his grin vanished, and his eyes bugged wide. "Aw, no! I know them folks!" He let out a high-pitched squeal of terror. "I'm the one that scalped 'em!"

  A chill shivered up Badr's spine. Still, he could not see a trace of the scalped people whom Poe claimed to be watching around him.

  "No!" Poe fell to his knees. Blood gushed from his chest, pouring out into the dust. "They're comin' for me! They're callin' my name!" Slumping on his side, he cried out. "They've got knives and hatchets!" This time, his scream lingered, rising ever higher and louder with blood-curdling ferocity.

  And then it ended. It cut out abruptly in mid-crescendo, leaving an echo as the only proof that it had ever existed.

  Which made room for Jack's furious shouts. "I told you he was mine!" Running straight to Flint, he jerked his rifle up and aimed the barrel at his face. "You son of a bitch!"

  "Just doin' what I should'a done a long time ago," said Flint. "I'm only sorry I waited as long as I did."

  "You're sorry?"

  Flint nodded. "If I'd taken care of it when I should've, your daddy might still be alive today."

  "Damn right!" Jack jammed the bolt home and sighted along the barrel. "It's just as much your fault! I guess I'll have to settle for killin' you!"

  "Jack!" Meg called out from down the street, where she'd emerged from one of the buildings. "Jack, wait!" She ran toward him with Ray by her side, toting a rifle in one hand and a double-barreled shotgun in the other.

  The remaining brothers, Eddie and Carl, ran out of the General Store at the same time, also armed. Carl carried a rifle and wore bandoliers of ammo and a gunbelt with two revolvers in the holsters. Eddie's arms were wrapped around a rifle that looked too big for him, at least as long as he was tall.

  As Badr watched the scene unfold, he wondered what to do. In this remote place, where justice was rough and mutable, was there any good reason for intervening? Wasn't Jack entitled to his revenge?

  But when Badr searched his heart, he felt a strong compulsion to step in.

  "Hold on." He jumped down off Reeh al-Qiyamah and walked over to stand beside Flint. "Perhaps this man is not worth losing your soul for, Jack."

  "What the hell are you talkin' about?" Jack held the rifle steady, keeping the sights fixed on Flint's forehead. "He stood by and let Poe kill my father."

  "And he has said he is sorry for that," said Badr.

  "Ain't enough sorries in the world for what he done!" snapped Eddie.

  "He killed Poe." Badr looked at Flint. "I think maybe he's trying to put things right."

  Flint nodded. "Not that that's even possible anymore."

  "You're damn right it ain't possible!" shouted Ray.

  "But if it was possible?" Badr asked Flint. "Would you do it? Would you make things right if you could?"

  "I'd give anything." Flint looked at the ground, then met Jack's gaze. "What I did...I did it because I thought I had to. This town made a deal with the devil, and it was up to me to keep it all from goin' straight to hell." He shook his head. "At least, that's what I thought.

  "But the truth is, I was one a' the ones sendin' it there. And the more I realized this, the more I hated myself...and the more I hated myself, the less I cared." Flint shrugged. "But a man reaches a point, and it just has to end."

  "That's right!" said Carl. "So are you gonna end 'im, or am I, Jack?"

  "Go ahead." Flint spread his arms wide. "If this is what it takes to make up for what I've done, I welcome it."

  "Don't think I won't kill you!" said Jack. "You got it comin'!"

  "I know." Flint closed his eyes. "I know."

  That was when Badr left Flint and walked over to Jack. "There is a price to pay for taking a life like this."

  "I've already killed plenty today," said Jack. "What's one more gonna matter?"

  "Those others were wicked," said Badr. "This one, I believe, truly desires forgiveness and redemption."

  "He's a liar!" hollered Eddie.

  "And if he isn't," said Badr, "and you kill him in cold blood, you will stain your soul forever. You will take the first step down a dark road...the road to becoming like them." He nodded at the corpses of the marauders scattered around them, buzzing with flies.

  For the first time since taking aim, Jack wavered.

  "Don't listen, Jack!" said Carl.

  "Shoot the son of a bitch!" said Ray. "Do it for Daddy!"

  "No, Jack," said Meg. "Mister Badder's right. Don't pull the trigger."

  Jack's face twitched. He looked away from the rifle sights, shaking off whatever was bothering him, and looked back.

  "The marauders are all dead," said Meg. "Let that be the end of it. No more killin', Jack."

  "But what he did." Jack blinked hard. "He deserves it, doesn't he?"

  Suddenly, Eddie darted over and raised his oversized rifle. "I'm sick a' waitin'." He aimed it up at Flint's head. "If you won't do it, I will."

  Jack looked down at him with an expression of pure shock. He hesitated only a second, then lashed out a hand to grab the barrel of Eddie's gun.

  Eddie fought to hold on to it, but Jack wrenched it away from him. "Enough!" he said when Eddie kept struggling to take back the weapon. "Enough of all this!"

  Eddie stopped fighting and backed away. For a moment, no one spoke.

  Finally, Jack cleared his throat. "All right then." He walked over and stopped inches away from Flint, glaring into his eyes with seething intensity. "I trust you about as far as I can throw you, and I don't know if I will ever stop hatin' you for what happened for Daddy. But I will not add your death to the tally hangin' over me." He turned and looked around at his brothers and sister. "Or anyone else in my family." He turned back to Flint. "Consider us even."

  "I won't," said Flint. "And I won't quit until I make up for what you lost."

  Jack shrugged. "Well, that just ain't possible, Sheriff."

  Then, he walked away up the street, followed by Eddie, Ray, Carl, and Meg. They left Flint and Badr behind, standing among the slashed and gunshot bodies in the dust.

  "I meant what I said," Flint told Badr. "I'm gonna make it as right as I can with them."

  Badr smiled and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "God loves those who endure patiently." The words came from the holiest book of his faith, the Quran, but the sentiment came from his heart. He wanted Flint to succeed, wanted to believe forgiveness and redemption were possible. He needed to believe it.

  Because otherwise, there would never be any kind of hope for anything but enmity between him and the brother he searched for.

  *****

  The air was still crisp as Badr finished his pre-dawn prayer, his fajr. Another sunrise was about to begin, the third since that fateful morning of the battle of Oasis.

  Rolling up his prayer mat, his sajjadah, he stood and looked around at the Haines farm, which had been his refuge since the fight. It looked dreamlike in the time just before dawn, the dry earth twinkling with
dew, the gray light softening the edges and blurring details that would sharpen to harsh clarity later.

  Bean and tomato and pepper plants drooped in rows in the furrowed field, awaiting the rays of the sun. Bright green leaves and vines stood out against the pale landscape, looking out of place in such a desiccated climate.

  The creek that wound through the property gave it all life, redirected via irrigation channels to water the crops. It was little more than a trickle, but it did the job, proving again how a seemingly tiny force could make a difference in the world.

  A rooster crowed in the coop, singing out over the land and its barren beauty. It was the next best thing to a muezzin in a minaret, spinning the call to worship for all to hear.

  Even here, Badr thought, in a land of infidels so far from Mecca, Allah revealed himself in his glorious handiwork. Even without a single believer but himself for hundreds or thousands of miles, God was manifest in the smallest of details, his grace rich and ripe for the taking.

  Just then, Badr heard the front door of the farmhouse open and footsteps creak across the porch floorboards. Turning, he saw Meg walking down the two short steps to the dirt yard, clad in denim overalls, battered boots, and a blue plaid shirt.

  "'Mornin'," she said as she ambled up to him.

  "As-salam alaykum." Badr bowed his head.

  Meg smiled. "Laykum salaam." It was as close as she came to the response he'd taught her, meaning "and peace be unto you." "I see you made yourself somethin' to eat."

  "I did." He looked at the dying embers of the fire he'd made while it was still dark out. He'd used it to cook and eat before sunrise without waking the family, adhering to Ramadan tradition. "I fried some eggs with tomatoes and peppers, the way you showed me."

  "Sounds good," said Meg. "And thanks a lot for savin' some for the rest of us."

  Badr gave her a sidelong look and could see she was kidding...but he did feel indebted to her and her brothers. They'd sheltered and fed him and tended his injuries for three days without asking for anything in return. Not to mention, they'd saved his life during the battle with the marauders.

  "I can make some more," he said.

  "That's all right." Meg shook her head, looking suddenly sad. "I know you want to get an early start today."

  Badr smiled, but he wasn't feeling particularly happy. He'd grown attached to the Haines clan, and he knew they would let him stay longer if he liked. Meg, especially, wanted him to stay.

  But he'd put off his mission long enough. He had to continue his quest in the name of the king of the Al-Saud.

  Besides, he had every reason to think that the Haines boys and Meg would be well looked after in his absence. The lone figure riding the perimeter of their land provided ample evidence of that.

  "Here he comes again." Meg looked left and pointed at the man on horseback as he plodded into view. "Old Faithful, makin' his rounds."

  It was Flint out there as usual, sitting straight in his saddle, toting a long rifle over his shoulder and pistols in his belt. He'd been circling the farm for three days, hoping to discourage any angry townspeople from making a run at the Haines's.

  It was a very real concern, now that the people of Oasis had lost their marauder benefactors. Folks were shooting mad at the brothers, Badr, and Flint, and had already made their share of threats. Badr knew it was serious business...serious enough that leaving town seemed like a smart move where the Haines clan was concerned.

  But Meg, Jack, Ray, Carl, and Eddie had their own thoughts on the subject. They were unanimous in their opinion, no matter what Badr or anyone else said.

  Nevertheless, Badr felt compelled to say it one more time. "Coming with me might not be a bad idea. I'll help you get to a decent town."

  "One where the folks don't want to kill us for shootin' their scalpers?" Meg laughed. "Now why would we want to go someplace like that?"

  Badr knew she was only pretending to take it lightly, but the seriousness of their plight was no laughing matter. "You're in great danger here," he told her. "This town is a nest of vipers."

  "And we've killed off the worst of 'em, haven't we?" Meg shrugged. "The rest will think twice before comin' after us."

  "I hope you're right," said Badr.

  Meg faced him with a steely gaze. "We won't let 'em drive us away from the one thing we got left from our daddy. This farm." She shook her head slowly, dead serious. "They want to throw us out of our home, let 'em try. We'll do to them what we did to those scalpers." She turned her eyes back to Flint as he continued his lonely patrol. "Not that I think any of one 'em has a chance in hell of gettin' past him."

  Badr nodded as he watched Flint cross the road leading into the farm, looking no less the rigidly attentive sentinel than he had in any of his other circuits.

  "He's committed," said Meg. "He's got somethin' to prove. He'll kill anyone who tries to lay a hand on us." She looked back at the house, where her sleeping brothers lay. "That is, if Jack doesn't kill him first."

  "Jack did the right thing, sparing Flint's life," said Badr. "You must help him not to undo the good he has done."

  Meg snorted. "You make it sound like that fool brother of mine will ever listen to me."

  "He will, if you speak with wisdom," said Badr. "If you listen for the voice of God and let him speak through you."

  "I hope so, for his sake." Meg watched Flint's progress as the sun broke over the horizon behind him. "I reckon I'll take him some breakfast shortly. The man doesn't eat much, I'll give him that."

  "I have found the truly penitent rarely do." With that, Badr walked to the post where he'd tied Reeh al-Qiyamah. Reaching up, he slid the rolled-up prayer mat into a sling that hung from the saddle, tucking it in with one of the rifles he'd taken from the marauders.

  "I'll fix you some provisions, if you like," said Meg. "It won't take no time at all."

  "Already done." Badr patted one of the saddlebags. "Everything's packed and ready to go."

  Meg sighed. "Well, at least wait and say goodbye to the boys. They ought to be up any minute now."

  Badr shook his head. "I need to leave. I want to cover as much ground as I can before the heat of the day settles in."

  "Do you have time for this, at least?" Meg rushed over and threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. "Thank you," she said softly. "Thank you for everything, Mister Badr."

  He smiled, pleased that she'd gotten his name right. "Thank you, too," he said. "Shokran."

  When she stepped away, her cheeks were wet with tears. "You're always welcome here," she said. "Stop by any time you're in these parts."

  Badr had no idea if he would ever be back. "I will." The road ahead of him was uncertain, the plan Allah had for him unknown.

  Yet he would face it gladly, and with grace, as he always had.

  Badr untied Reeh al-Qiyamah and climbed up onto him. He checked the scabbard, which he'd strapped to the saddle instead of his bruised back, making sure Sahar's handle was within easy reach.

  Then, he made a gesture as if tipping a hat to Meg, though his keffiyeh wouldn't tip. "Ila-liqaa'," he told her. "Until we meet again."

  "Take care of yourself," said Meg.

  He felt her eyes upon him as Reeh al-Qiyamah carried him down the road. Then, as he drew up to the edge of the Haines' property, he felt other eyes upon him, as well.

  Flint was watching from a half-mile away, slowly approaching in his latest orbit from the far side of the farm.

  As Badr met his gaze, Flint lifted his hat from his head, then put it back down, a simple gesture.

  But it was enough. Badr continued along his way, content in the knowledge that the solitary sentinel remained behind to protect his flock.

  Just as Allah himself stood guard over all his children, no matter how alone or far from home they might be.

  About the Author

  Robert Jeschonek is an award-winning writer whose fiction, comics, essays, articles, and podcasts have been published around the world. His young adult fantasy
novel, My Favorite Band Does Not Exist, won the Forward National Literature Award and was named one of Booklist’s Top Ten First Novels for Youth. His cross-genre science fiction thriller, Day 9, is an International Book Award winner. He also won the Scribe Award for Best Original Novel from the International Association of Media Tie-in Writers for his alternate history, Tannhäuser: Rising Sun, Falling Shadows. Simon & Schuster, DAW/Penguin Books, and DC Comics have published his work. He won the grand prize in Pocket Books' nationwide Strange New Worlds contest and was nominated for the British Fantasy Award. Visit him online at www.thefictioneer.com. You can also find him on Facebook and follow him as @TheFictioneer on Twitter.

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  Special Preview: THE MASKED FAMILY

  A tale of vigilantes good and evil and the battle between them.

  Lilly, Pennsylvania

  Saturday, April 5, 1924, 7:30 PM

  One hour before the power was cut and all the lights went out in the town of Lilly, Olenka Pankowski shivered as she watched the white-robed men pile out of the train. One after another, they poured from the five coaches and onto the platform, melting together into a shifting sea of white.

  Except for the stomping and scraping of their feet on the coach steps and platform, the robed men were silent. Every one of them wore a conical hood with a flap drawn up in front, leaving only the eyes visible through a rectangular slit.

  And they just kept coming.

  "How many are there?" whispered Olenka's friend, Renata Petrilli. Like Olenka, Renata was seventeen, and her father and brothers worked in the coal mines.

  "Dozens." Olenka pushed a lock of jet black hair behind her ear. "Dozens and dozens."

  Renata's pudgy fingers tightened on Olenka's arm. "People were saying they'd come, but no one said there'd be so many."

  Olenka watched with wide, dark eyes as more of the robed men stepped off the train and into the swarm of white. "Maybe more of them than there are of us."