William Bernhardt - Perfect Justice

Ben was beginning to get the drift. “That’s when this camp comes into play, right?”

“This isn’t the only one. We’ve got camps in five different states. We only set up this camp when we were called to serve the cause here a few months ago. But you’re right. When the end comes, we’ll be ready. We’ve got everything we need here—food, water, clothing, ammunition.”

“So this is not only a training camp, but a survivalist camp.”

“The ASP camps will be a sanctuary—the vanguard of the future for the Aryan race. The men of ASP will be the pale riders, leading the survivors to a brave new world. While all the minorities butcher one another, we’ll rope off our own territory and wait for the holocaust to end.”

“So you’ll hole up in your camps till the heat passes?”

Dunagan smiled. The smile sent chills down Ben’s spine. “I expect our territory to expand over time. After all, we’ll be better armed, and better prepared, than anyone else. And we’ll have the righteous favor of God on our side.”

“So you’re going to take over?”

“In time, perhaps. Most importantly the scourge must be eradicated. The impure races must be expunged.” He gripped Ben by the shoulders. “We must provide a better world for our children. Don’t you agree?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“We cannot back away from the challenge God has placed before us. We must be ready to stare Satan in the eye.” Dunagan rose to his feet, his eyes glowing. “We must be willing to put our lives on the line. We must be willing to fight. Fight, fight, fight! ”

To Ben’s amazement, the other three ASP men in the room joined in the chant. “Fight! Fight! Fight! ”

“Blood!” Dunagan shouted.

“Blood! Blood! Blood!” the men chanted. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

“Kill the enemy!” Dunagan shouted.

“Fight! Fight! Fight! Kill! Kill! Kill!” The men’s voices grew louder with each chant. “Blood! Blood! Blood!”

Horrified, Ben edged toward the door. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the chanting stopped.

Dunagan wrapped his arm around Ben’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ben. We tend to get emotional around here. We take what we do very seriously.”

Ben couldn’t seem to frame a reply. His hands were shaking. He wanted Dunagan to remove his arm in the worst way.

“We should get together again. Maybe someplace more social.”

Ben hoped his head appeared to be nodding, not trembling.

“Why don’t you come to church Sunday morning? We worship at a little place a few miles from here. Used to be a Methodist church; we took it over and converted it to our own use. I’m afraid it’s near the Vietcong settlement, but as long as you come in from the north, you’ll never notice. We’re upwind.”

The other men in the room laughed heartily.

Ben steadied himself long enough to shake Dunagan’s hand and murmur some meaningless pleasantry. Then he made a beeline for the front door and didn’t stop until the ASP camp was far behind him.

25.

NHUNG VU SET THE three boxes down and searched his pockets for the keys to the broken-down ’68 Oldsmobile communally owned by Coi Than Tien. The car was a relic, an embarrassment, but it was all that was available to him today. They only had two cars, and Elder Dang had taken the other for the day. Come to that, the ’74 Ford Pinto might be worse than the Oldsmobile.

Nhung slid the first box of supplies into the front seat, careful not to break or spill anything. He didn’t want Pham to be angry with him. Many of Pham’s followers still did not want Nhung included in their group, even after he proved himself during the midnight raid. He was too young, they said. Too green.

For the time being, Pham had restricted Nhung to supply runs and similar unimportant tasks. Nhung didn’t care. He would do whatever he could for Pham. And when the time came for Pham to give him a more important duty to perform, he would be ready.

Nhung shoved the second box into the car. He had to hurry. The supply run had taken far longer than he anticipated. Pham was meeting with his key followers at six. Nhung didn’t want to miss it. They would surely discuss the midnight raid, as well as their plans for the future.

Nhung had hoped the firebomb would scorch ASP off the face of the earth, but it hadn’t. At the very least, though, maybe now they would leave Coi Than Tien alone. Maybe now the violence would end. Maybe now—

“All by yourself, gook?”

Nhung dropped the third box onto the concrete. Bottles shattered, spilling their liquid contents.

“Clumsy little nigger, ain’tcha?”

There were four of them, and they had him surrounded. They weren’t wearing their ASP uniforms, but he knew who they were, just the same.

One of them peered down at Nhung, leering. It was the guard. The one Nhung and the others had fought during the midnight raid.

“Please, sirs,” Nhung said. To his embarrassment, his voice broke. “I must take these supplies back to my family. They are hungry and my sister is very ill.”

The ASP guard appeared to be the group leader. He dipped his finger in the spillage. “Your family eats combustible chemicals, I see. Don’t you dumb gooks know that’s dangerous? Probably not very tasty, either.”

The other three ASP men laughed. Nhung tried to bolt through their ranks, but they grabbed him and shoved him back against the car. His chin bashed against the hood.

The leader ripped the car keys out of Nhung’s hands. He opened the back door and shoved Nhung inside. The ASPers sat on either side of him while the leader drove. They pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Maple.

Nhung looked desperately all around him. What would these men do? How much did they know? Through the car window, he saw a man he recognized from town, the editor of the newspaper, walking down the street. Nhung flung himself against the car window and shouted at the top of his lungs.

The driver floored the accelerator, and the man sitting next to Nhung yanked him back into his seat. Before Nhung could speak again, the man slapped him brutally across the face. Nhung cried out, this time in pain. Apparently his ASP host didn’t know the difference. He hit Nhung again, with a clenched fist. Nhung’s head thudded back against the car seat.

Nhung didn’t remember much else about the drive. The sun set and it soon became dark. He couldn’t tell where he was or where he was going. He was dazed; his mind seemed to flicker in and out of consciousness. His mouth and jaw ached, and two of his teeth felt as if they had been knocked loose. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. He wanted to cry, but he knew it would only make matters worse.

The car stopped finally and they hauled Nhung out. Many more ASPers were assembled in a clearing in full regalia, including hoods. They hauled Nhung past a blazing campfire toward a wooden post in the center of the assemblage.

No—it wasn’t a post, Nhung realized. It was a cross.

They wrapped a thin cord around his hands and feet, then tied him to the cross. The ASP men moved closer, encircling him, none of them speaking. The field of green hoods filled Nhung with terror.

One of them approached. He was shorter and larger than the man who had beaten him in the car. This man stared at Nhung for a long moment, then walked behind him. A moment later, Nhung felt his shirt being ripped off his back.

Another man in green advanced. He was cracking a bullwhip over his head.

Nhung wanted to be brave, but it was too hard, too impossible. He clenched his eyelids shut and cried. “Please don’t,” he whispered. “Please don’t—”