Bentley Little - The Revelation

And Jim did not want Brother Elias driving by himself. Not with a county truck.

The preacher had said nothing to Jim during the twenty-minute ride to the control road but had instead stared silently out the window at the passing trees. Jim had tried to talk to the preacher, had tried to ask questions, had tried to get some type of conversation going, but Brother Elias had refused to speak, and soon he had given up. He turned on the radio for a brief while, but the only station that came in was an obnoxious rock station out of San Francisco, and he ended up turning the radio off. "You get the strangest stations in the early morning," he said to Brother Elias, but the preacher ignored him and they drove in silence the rest of the way.

Gordon and Father Andrews drove in silence as well, each thinking private thoughts. Gordon had looked at the priest as the truck before them had sped past the turnoff to his house, and Father Andrews, as if reading his thoughts, had smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry," he said.

"She'll be fine." They had driven the rest of the way in silence.

Ahead, the right taillight of the sheriff's truck began blinking slowly on and off, and the truck turned onto the control road. Gordon slowed down as he followed the sheriff's lead. What little light they had had from the not-quite-rising sun was cut off instantly as they entered the low darkness of the forest. Here it was still night. They descended the dirt road down from the highway and wound through a small ravine.

Around them, the trees grew high and tall and close to the road. Even the high beams of the truck did not penetrate far into the blackness.

To their left, past the trees, unseen but felt, rose the huge majestic form of the Mogollon Rim.

The sheriff's truck moved carefully over the one-lane road, taking the sharp turns slowly. The road straightened out, and the truck's red taillights increased in brilliance as the sheriff braked to a stop.

Gordon pulled to a stop as well. Jim came jogging back. He motioned for Gordon to roll down the window. Instead, Gordon opened the door and stepped out. "What is it?" he asked.

"Come here," the sheriff said. He walked briskly forward, past his own truck and stood in the middle of the road. "Look familiar?"

Gordon nodded, feeling the coldness creep over him, the goose bumps rising on his arms. This was where he had been walking in his dream.

He recognized the shapes of specific trees, the convergence of certain silhouettes. Beneath his feet, even the dirt of the road felt familiar. "This was where part of my dream took place."

"Mine too."

He turned toward the sheriff. "What does this mean?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know." He nodded toward the truck. "Our friend there's not talking."

"We are wasting valuable time," Brother Elias said from inside the pickup. "We must start moving. There is much to do." His voice sounded stronger in the forest darkness, even more authoritarian than usual, and there seemed to be a hint of urgency in it.

Brother Elias, his skin the dark brown of a full-bloodedAnasazi , wearing only a loincloth, clutching a spear, standing before a ceremonial bonfire as around him warriors stood hushed.

Father Andrews shut his eyes against the vision, forcing the unwanted picture out of his mind through a sheer effort of will.

"Go back to your truck," Jim told Gordon. "Let's get going." He climbed into his own cab, slammed the door shut and put the engine into gear. Behind him, he heard Gordon's truck start up.

They moved forward. The narrow dirt road was now straight, moving toward the landfill in a direct line through the trees. A doe hopped onto the road, froze for a second in the glare of the oncoming headlights, then bounded off. They saw no other animals. Finally, they came to the open chain link gate of the landfill and stopped.

Before them, blocking the entrance, parked sideways across the dirt road, was a truck.

Brad Nicholson's Pepsi truck.

Gordon got out of the pickup, his heart pounding. The cab was empty, he saw, its door open. The canvas strap used to close the back gate of the truck was swinging gently in the open air.

"Stay back!" the sheriff ordered. He had gotten out of his truck and was advancing toward the gate, gun drawn. Gordon remembered the rifles sitting in the bed of his pickup and he was tempted to grab one, but he remained rooted to the spot, watching as the sheriff moved cautiously forward.

Jim put one foot slowly in front of the other, trying desperately not to make any noise. He glanced from side to side, listening for the sound of movement, prepared to defend himself against whatever might jump out at him. He reached the open door of the cab and cautiously peeked in. Empty. He moved around the front of the truck, still preparing himself for an unexpected attack. From here, he could see the rest of the dump. A reddish orange glow emerged from the smoldering embers of thecumbustible pile in the middle of the cleared area, and he shivered. He scanned the space immediately around him.

Nothing moved. He continued walking around the truck. The canvas strap of the rear door had stopped swinging, and the sheriff realized that there was no breeze. Something must have hit the strap to make it move. His grip tightened on his gun, and he peeked into the back of the truck.

Nothing.

He relaxed. Puzzled, he looked again into the interior of the truck then toward the bright headlights of the two pickups. He shook his head in an exaggerated motion. "Nothing!" he called.

Gordon moved forward and Father Andrews got out of the truck. Both of them approached the gate. "That's Brad's truck," Gordon said. "How did it get here?"

"I don't know," Jim said.

Brother Elias emerged from the cab of the first pickup, clutching his black-bound Bible in his hand. The preacher walked through the open gate of the landfill and moved around to the back of the truck where the others were standing. " "Just as the weeds are gathered and burned with fire, so will it be at the close of the age. The Son of man will send his angels, and they will gather out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and throw them into the furnace of fire."

Matthew--"

"--13:40," Father Andrews finished for him. He looked into the preacher's black eyes, and the preacher smiled.

The sheriff glanced around the dump. The sky was becoming progressively lighter. Although the sky to the west was still a dark purple, to the east it was anorangish blue, almost daylight. The tall ponderosas were no longer black silhouettes but were now identifiable as trees.

Brother Elias focused his cold gaze on the sheriff. "Get the pitchforks from the trucks," he ordered. "Get the rope."

"What about the rifles?" Jim asked.

"We do not yet need them."

Jim started for the pickups and Gordon moved to follow him, but Brother Elias clapped a strong hand on his shoulder. "He will get the weapons," the preacher said. "You move the truck. We must have the way clear."

Jim returned with four pitchforks and the coils of rope. Gordon, to his surprise, found the keys still in Brad's ignition, and he moved the vehicle away from the gate. Glancing down at the seat next to him, he saw an empty can of Pepsi, a few wet drops of the beverage visible on the vinyl upholstery, and he thought of his boss.

He shut off the engine and hopped out of the truck. He saw the sheriff run back to his pickup and pull the smaller vehicle through the gate into the dump. Brother Elias waved for him to park in the center of the landfill, near the smoldering woodpile. Jim stopped the truck, turned off the lights and came running over.

Brother Elias picked up the pitchforks and handed one to each of them.

Gordon accepted the implement and hefted it in his hands. It felt heavy, lethal. The shiny steel of the pronged points captured the first rays of the rising sun and reflected them back at him. He wasn't sure exactly what Brother Elias had in mind, but he knew that as a weapon a pitchfork was good for only one thing--stabbing.