David Robbins - Dallas Run

“Keep walking,” Aaron said.

Blade moved toward the field, scrutinizing the dozens of Chosen engaged in various activities, estimating over 80 men and women were congregated on the field. To the north was a group of about 20 listening to a husky man read from a book. On the south side were a few dozen mingling and conversing. In the middle of the field stood four rows of the Chosen, each person holding a brown book at chest height. In front of them stood an elderly man whose shoulder-length white hair and flowing white beard set him apart from everyone else. The elderly man wore a blue loincloth. His back was to the Warrior.

What were they doing? Blade wondered.

The elderly man raised his right hand, and suddenly the men and women in the four rows began singing a hymn, their voices blending in practiced harmony.

Blade glanced at Aaron. “What—?”

“Our choir,” Aaron responded with a smile.

“You have your own choir?” Blade repeated, stunned by the unexpected discovery.

“Why are you so surprised? Did you think we’re as barbaric as the countless scavengers who continually pass through our city?” Aaron queried.

“I had no idea,” Blade said lamely.

Aaron snorted and gestured at the field. “Our beginnings are humble, but eventually we shall establish a culture greater than any this country has ever seen.”

“How?”

“Ask the Lawgiver.”

“Where is he?” Blade inquired.

“Allow me to introduce you,” Aaron said, taking the lead, crossing the field toward the choir.

For one of the few times in his life, Blade felt completely baffled. The Chosen gave him the impression they were genuinely religious, but how could their supposedly spiritual nature be reconciled with the attacks on the sentry posts? And what was the connection between their religious fervor and the green splotches? Of even more critical importance was their plan to cleanse the world of the impure. The Chosen were a moral jigsaw puzzle with crucial pieces missing.

Aaron halted a few yards from the elderly man as the choir concluded the hymn. “Lawgiver, I ask your humble pardon for this intrusion.”

The elderly man turned.

Blade couldn’t stop himself from doing a double take. Like the rest of the Chosen, the Lawgiver’s body was covered with the green splotches.

Unlike the others, the elderly man’s face was a shiny shade of green from his forehead to his chin. And what a face! The visage resembled a predatory bird of prey, an eagle or a hawk. A great, hooked nose divided a perpetually puckered pair of thin, cruel lips and a pair of eerie, dazzling green eyes. Wrinkles creased the Lawgiver’s forehead and cheeks, suggesting an age well beyond the normal life expectancy.

“I’ve brought a prisoner,” Aaron announced.

“So I see, Brother Aaron,” the Lawgiver responded, his voice low and alluring.

“He put up quite a fight,” Aaron reported.

“I can imagine,” the Lawgiver said, raking the Warrior from head to toe with a penetrating gaze. “Goliath was undoubtedly of a similar stature, yet David slew him with a stone.”

“We’re conducting a search for this man’s companions,” Aaron elaborated. “They should be in custody by nightfall.”

“Excellent,” the Lawgiver remarked, and locked his uncanny eyes on the Warrior. “What is your name?”

“Blade.”

“An unusual choice of names.”

“I’ve always been fond of butter knives,” Blade said. He saw the Lawgiver nod at Aaron, and before he could fathom its meaning, while his attention rested on the elderly leader of the Chosen, Aaron hauled off and rammed the butt of the Marlin into his abdomen. The exquisite pain doubled him over, and he clutched at his stomach.

“You must be taught to respect your spiritual betters,” the Lawgiver stated in a condescending tone. “You will not speak unless I ask you a direct question, and any sarcasm will be dealt with severely. Is that understood?”

Blade nodded, straightening slowly, resisting an urge to knock Aaron senseless.

“I can’t hear you, Blade,” the Lawgiver.

“I understand,” Blade declared resentfully.

“Good. Now let’s proceed with the interrogation. Why are you in Dallas?”

The Warrior hesitated, debating whether to answer. If he kept quiet he’d undoubtedly receive a beating or be subjected to torture, and although he believed he could handle anything the Chosen dished out, the information was too inconsequential to entail making such a sacrifice. On the other hand, he might be able to elicit important intelligence if he went along with them. “Your people attacked two sentry posts on the border of the Civilized Zone,” he said.

“And you were sent to investigate.”

Blade nodded.

“Are you a soldier?” the Lawgiver inquired.

“No,” Blade said, and knew he’d made a mistake when he saw a puzzled expression come over those unnatural green features.

“Why would a civilian be sent to investigate a military matter? Are you lying to me about your military status?”

“I’m a mercenary,” Blade lied.

“But why would they send mercenaries? You see, I know there were five uniformed soldiers, plus yourself and two others, who entered our territory. You were kept under surveillance until you went too near the lair of the lizards. Why would they send mercenaries with their troops?”

Blade studied the leader of the Chosen, thinking fast. The man might be old, but his mind was as sharp as the proverbial razor. The Lawgiver had noticed an incongruous fact he deemed crucial, and he was determined to learn the truth. “They sent mercenaries because the brass couldn’t get all the volunteers they wanted.”

“Why not?”

“No one wanted to risk catching the plague.”

The Lawgiver considered the answer for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, they would be afraid of the plague, wouldn’t they?” he replied, and laughed.

Aaron and the others joined in the mirth.

Blade decided to take advantage of their temporary good humor and test how far he could push without retaliation. “May I ask you a question?” he ventured, putting an urgency in his tone.

Instantly the Lawgiver ceased laughing and his countenance hardened.

“Didn’t you hear me a minute ago?”

“Yes. But there’s something I’ve got to know,” Blade said hastily. “Will I break out in those green marks too? Will I wind up looking like you?” He tensed, hoping he sounded appropriately fearful, expecting another rifle butt in the gut.

Instead, the Lawgiver and his followers enjoyed another hearty laugh.

“I will, won’t I?” Blade asked timidly.

“Whether you shall have the singular honor of bearing the Mark of the Chosen is in my hands,” the Lawgiver said. “Your fate depends on your behavior.” He paused. “I can understand your anxiety, and since I have a few hours until tonight’s service, I will graciously answer all of your questions.”

“Thank you,” Blade responded, shamming a subservient attitude. “I have so many, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“I do,” the Lawgiver said, glancing at Aaron. “Is my car ready?”

“Yes, Lawgiver.”

“Fine. Then we will conduct our guest on a little tour.”

“A tour?” Blade repeated.

“Yes. You have gone to so much trouble to uncover the truth of our existence. Ask and you shall receive, says Scripture. It is only fitting that we share our secrets before you meet your Destiny.”

“Take cover!” Geronimo warned.

Lieutenant Garber, Marlon, and the 29 members of the Chains promptly hit the floor, sliding from their chairs and lying flat between the rows of auditorium seats.