Ashes of the Moon Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Two days earlier
Didier Baros stood less than five feet tall, and every inch of him was as hard and steeled as melted iron. His eyes were dark, a smudged brown become black, and he looked at the world with all the mistrust and mischief a man of his breeding and profession earned as a right. And when he told Elder Williams that it was time to go, and fast, even a man as perpetually contentious as Elder Micah Williams didn’t offer an argument.
“You get these kids out of here, eh?” Baros chewed viciously on tobacco as he spoke, the brown juice running out the corner of his mouth. “You take the road west and turn south when you get out of the hills. And you don’t muck around. Don’t let those bastards get you.”
Jared Padalecki, listening, wondered if Didier meant the rebels or the farmers who scratched a living between here and Maboso. Jared knew the guide had equal contempt for both. The only surprise was that he’d taken the time to swing his jeep into the compound with the warning. Apparently, the children here had gained a tentative foothold in the place in Didier’s anatomy that passed as a heart, and given the radio had died yesterday and there’d been no news for more than 24 hours, it was that fact that might yet end up saving their lives.
“I will, Brother Baros, I will, and thank you.” Elder Williams was reaching for Baros’ hand, and even Jared, newly minted to Africa as he was, knew that was a mistake. Didier stepped back with a look of grim disgust as Micah groped for him. “God will bless you, Brother Baros. God will protect all of us in this time of trial. He - “
“He can damn well keep his fucking hands off my fucking life.” The inference that the same applied to Elder Williams seemed lost on the Pastor of the Little Church of the Wilderness, who kept advancing as Didier retreated. “Look, debile, don’t bother with me. Get those kids on that god dammed bus of yours and get out.” With that, Baros swung back into the open topped jeep, started it up, and gave Jared a brief nod. “And take enough god damned water. And a god damned rifle!” With that, he was gone, the jeep firing clouds of greasy smoke behind it.
Jared watched as Baros’ jeep disappeared down the dusty driveway, and he couldn’t help but feel as though the only man who could save them was going.
“Do we even have a rifle?” He wasn’t surprised when Elder Williams didn’t answer him. Elder Williams had addressed nothing but prayers, orders and disdainful looks his way for the month he’d been here, and he doubted he’d be consulted at this point. Instead, the older man was hurrying towards the main building, the house that had once been home to the owners of the old tobacco farm, and now held the Little Church of the Wilderness’ orphanage. They’d been preparing to go since breakfast, but only as a precaution, not as an immediate retreat. Now Elder Williams was clapping his hands, raising his voice to call the children to him, sending them on their way with tasks made all the more urgent by Baros’ visit.
With no direct instruction from Elder Williams, Jared busied himself with filling the large plastic bottles that would hold their water. Some of the elder children came to help him, lugging the full ones over to the old drying shed that served as the garage for their bus. The bus had been outdated when the Korean War finished, but its uncomplicated workings had allowed a succession of bush mechanics to work wonders with it using whatever was to hand, and if the result was a bit Heath Robinson, the old thing kept chugging away when more sophisticated machinery died and was left to rust where it stood.
The children didn’t smile as they splashed the water into the bottles. Usually the water wallahs were envied, as they got to thoroughly wet themselves and each other when sent to gather water at mealtimes. But all of these children had seen life destroyed in a day, had seen families swept apart and away like ashes in the wind. They grabbed daily joys where they could, but above them all loomed an awareness of death that never really left. This fear, this quiet dread that lay in hurried steps, edged voices, warnings and smoke and the far off sound of gunfire, this wasn’t a surprise to them, and Jared felt tears begin to come into his eyes at the knowledge. He brushed them away quickly, found a smile for the little one, Paul, who was struggling with a water bottle almost as tall as he was.
“Let me help with that, kiddo.” He was rewarded with a shy smile, and he realized again how quickly these children had claimed his heart. If they could win over Didier Baros, a man for whom misanthrope was too kind a term, what hope had he, fresh from Texas and heartbreak and a love of children already in his very bones? If he’d been cast away, so had they, and after their initial fear of his height he’d found himself called ‘Muci’ - tree - and climbed and hugged throughout the weary shame of his day. The idea of these children being in danger made him feel ill, and he scooped a mouthful of water to try and calm the churning in his gut.
“Is that enough, do you think?” He asked this of Paul, who looked seriously at the bottles beside them, and the ones taken over to the bus. The meaning of his query must have been understood, because Paul nodded, and added something quickly in Kibasa.
Jared shook his head, shrugged, and Paul gave a soft laugh. Jared had maybe three words of the language, and about that many of French. The children laughed at him - how could a man full grown and so tall be as ignorant as a bebe? - but somehow they managed to communicate in ways that had much to do with shared good nature and a willingness on Jared’s part to look a fool.
He grabbed the last two bottles, and felt Paul’s hand curl around his wrist. Together they walked to the bus, and Jared handed the bottles to the older children who were passing them from one to another down the back, where they were stacked.
“Brother Jared! Where are you?”
Jared sighed, and did his best to hide the fact from the children.
“Here, Elder Williams.” He stepped back down from the bus as the pastor, his face now florid with exertion and worry, blustered up. Behind the elder came the children, in pairs and carrying small satchels into which had been crammed food and whatever meager amount of belongings they had. Elder Williams stood aside and motioned them impatiently onto the bus. They were quiet, their eyes large with fear. Not one of them whimpered at this sudden, panicked leaving.
“Penitent, have you fuelled the bus?”
“No, Elder Williams, I thought you -“
“I left strict orders, Penitent.” The man’s voice was shaking with fear, and Jared had to fight again not to feel contempt for him. From the moment they met he had reminded Jared of a used car salesman he knew back in the ‘burbs of San Antonio, a man so unctuous and insincere that his wife paid Jared’s friend from college fifty bucks a night just for an hour’s honest conversation. Jared and his friend had discussed what that made him, and ‘jaw whore’ was the best they could come up with. Elder Williams had so many of the same mannerisms that Jared had to remind himself that, in the eyes of the church, his family and for all he knew, God, Elder Williams was a holy man and he, Jared, was corrupt. It always made him feel just a little more wretched every time he did.
“Elder Williams, you -“
“Just do it!” The pastor clapped his hands and hurried the last of the children onboard, while Jared, his lips tightly closed, went to the diesel pump alongside the garage and began turning the crank that would start the fuel flowing.
It didn’t really matter that Elder Williams had said he’d get the bus ready. Fact was, it had to be fuelled, and petty arguments were inconsequential in the face of rebel forces twenty miles down the road. Jared fitted the nozzle, pumped the diesel, and even as he disconnected the hose the bus spluttered into life.
Elder Williams head appeared out of the side window.
“Come on! Get in!”
Jared’s own belongings were back inside, and he didn’t plan on leaving without his passport.
“I’ve got to get my stuff!” he shouted back, before turning to run towards the house. He heard Elder Williams give a curse, and the bus’s gears clank into place as it lumbered from the garage. Jared wasted no time; he raced across the patio and into the house, down the long corridor that bisected it until he reached the tiny space that was his, right at the end. Rummaging in his desk, he thought he heard a sound behind him, and turned quickly, as if he expected a rebel soldier to be standing there, machete raised. There was nothing, and he shook his head, turned back to finding and grabbing his passport, family photos and the small bible his sister Mary Beth had given him in defiance of his father’s orders. He would risk much to save that, and he tucked all his loot inside his penitent’s robe, in the pouch he wore strapped to his side.
When he hurried outside the bus was already trundling down the driveway.
“You son of a bitch!” Jared lowered his head and ran as fast as he could. That was plenty fast enough to catch the tired old beast, and he banged hard on the door as he drew alongside. The bus slowed - with reluctance, it seemed to Jared - and Elder Williams worked the lever to open the door where he sat in the driver’s seat.
“Get in, get in!” The pastor held the door open barely long enough for Jared to climb inside, and then they were away again, and Jared had the chance to sling himself into the front seat, catch his breath.
“Thanks for waiting.” Jared muttered it, but Elder Williams glowered at him as if he heard very well.
The driveway was a long one that snaked up through what had once been magnificent gardens, and now was a neglected riot of colorful shrubs and trees. Jared shifted in his seat to watch them go by. Less than a month since he’d seen them for the first time, and now this was probably the last time he’d ever enjoy their baroque abandon. He shifted a little further, looking back inside the bus, and saw several children watching him.
“Okay?” he asked, and gave a thumbs up. Smile shadows, and a couple of the children gave him an answering sign. He looked for each of the children, running through them in his head, giving them all an encouraging smile. His gaze came back to little Paul seated beside him, and he frowned.
Juma. He’d missed Juma. And Fedens, too. And Tazhma.
He scanned the seats again, carefully, looking to see where a child might be crouching down. But they weren’t there, and then he couldn’t stay seated any longer. He stood up, and half-stumbled down the aisle, his gaze becoming more and more frantic. Adelie, and Chipo. Before he reached the back, he began to shout.
“Elder Williams, stop! Stop the bus!”
Jared turned back towards the front. Elder Williams seemed to hunch slightly over the wheel but he showed no signs of stopping.
“Elder Williams! There’s kids missing! Juma’s not here!”
A change of gears as they reached the bottom of the drive, and the bus rolled out onto the dusty track that lead westwards.
Jared gaped. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening. It was as though his words weren’t making it into the air, as though he was speaking a language no-one here understood. He clambered back to the front of the bus and gripped the pastor’s shoulder.
“Elder Williams! We’ve left them behind!”
“Get off me!” Elder Williams shrugged him away, and Jared’s anger suddenly rose so tightly inside him he wanted to hit the pastor with every ounce of strength he had.
He grabbed for the steering wheel, and the bus swerved wildly, eliciting soft screams from the children and another curse from the pastor.
“Let go!”
“Not till you stop this damn bus!”
“You -“
But if Jared had played the part of the submissive penitent for the last few months, it was gone as he threw his strength and fury into wrenching Elder Williams half out of his seat. Williams slammed on the brakes as an act of self-preservation, and the moment the bus stopped Jared had him down the steps and out into the white dirt.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jared spat the words as Elder Williams straightened, looking equally furious. “We’ve left kids behind. Don’t you get it?”
“You do not question my decisions! You,” and Elder Williams was up in Jared’s face, his finger shaking as it poked at him, “You are here to do as I tell you!”
Jared was panting, the race for the bus and the sudden adrenalin of discovery making it hard to breathe.
“Juma. Tamzha. Fedens. They’re not on the bus.”
“I order you to silence, Penitent.”
“Silence?” Jared waved his arms. “I’m not gonna stay silent when kids are being left to die, Micah, no matter what you think of me.”
“What I think of you?” Elder Williams’s face twisted. “You are the perverted, Padalecki, you are filth and degradation. You almost destroyed your God-fearing family, and you will do as I say!”
Jared’s lips twisted. “I may be everything you say, Elder Williams, but I’m not the one driving away leaving children to die. Just because I was too scared for my own carcass.”
“How dare you!” Elder Williams spluttered. “I have made my decisions in light of what is best for these children, for all of us. You don’t know a damned thing about Kibilisa, and yet there you stand, so full of pride in your perversion, you think you can question me!”
“Yes, Elder, I think I can.” Jared stopped, his mind working. “Wait, wait - Juma and Chipo and - and Tamzha, and Adelie, they’re all Mabisi, aren’t they? Aren’t they?”
Elder Williams’s eyes flickered and fell, before returning to Jared’s.
“Yes, they are. And if the rebels catch us with Mabisi onboard, they will slaughter all of us. Now do you see, Penitent?” He stepped back, drew himself upright. “For the sake of the few, the many would perish. It is my job to get these children to safety, and I take that as a sacred task, laid upon me by God.”
“Oh, my God,” and Jared’s mouth dropped open again, as comprehension grew, “you were planning to leave those poor kids behind because you were too chickenshit scared to take the risk.”
“Think what you like. Do what you like. They’re back there, and if you think so much of their survival, why don’t you go and join them?”
Jared sneered.
“Oh, I’m going to, believe me. See, I may be a corrupter of flesh and all the rest of it, but at least I have enough morality to know what rationalized evil looks like.”
Elder Williams pushed past him, pausing on the top step to glare at Jared.
“You have no right to judge me, filth. I told your father that I would do what I could to save your soul, but frankly? If you die here, I doubt there’ll be too much mourning in that house. A removal of a stain is God’s work, and that is all you are to Him and all who love Him and follow his word. You will die here unsaved, and Hell will take you as its own.” He bowed his head, briefly. “May God have mercy on you, wretched sinner and fornicator.”
“Well, we all find our own way to Hell, eh, Micah?” Jared threw him a mock salute as the door slapped closed. “See you there, brother.”
The bus roared away. Three of the children were watching him through the back window; one raised her hand in farewell, her face stricken, and in one, sickening moment Jared felt the full effect of his decision wash over him.
Nine thousand miles from a home that no longer wanted him, in a land he scarcely knew. One hundred and ten miles to Maboso, and no way to get there but walking. There were five Mabisi children at the orphanage. He had blindly stepped forward to take five children’s lives into his own hands, when just down the road were men with guns and knives and madness, ready to tear them all apart. He spoke no Kibasa, he spoke little French, their English was the English of the kitchen and the playground.
He wrapped his arms around his chest and breathed a shuddering exhalation of fear.
But then he nodded, once. This wasn’t a path blindly taken, after all. He knew he would have died if he’d stayed on that bus, even if it took another fifty years to make the fact a physical one. For whatever reason, God or fate or just the sheer fuck-you-all of the universe, he’d made choices one after another that had lead him to be right here, standing in the dust with only a fool’s hope left to him and five innocent lives holding onto it right beside him. Whatever was in him, whatever made up the mind, body and soul of Jared Padelecki, it would have to be enough, and now was the chance to find out.
Chapter Three(a)
Two days earlier
Didier Baros stood less than five feet tall, and every inch of him was as hard and steeled as melted iron. His eyes were dark, a smudged brown become black, and he looked at the world with all the mistrust and mischief a man of his breeding and profession earned as a right. And when he told Elder Williams that it was time to go, and fast, even a man as perpetually contentious as Elder Micah Williams didn’t offer an argument.
“You get these kids out of here, eh?” Baros chewed viciously on tobacco as he spoke, the brown juice running out the corner of his mouth. “You take the road west and turn south when you get out of the hills. And you don’t muck around. Don’t let those bastards get you.”
Jared Padalecki, listening, wondered if Didier meant the rebels or the farmers who scratched a living between here and Maboso. Jared knew the guide had equal contempt for both. The only surprise was that he’d taken the time to swing his jeep into the compound with the warning. Apparently, the children here had gained a tentative foothold in the place in Didier’s anatomy that passed as a heart, and given the radio had died yesterday and there’d been no news for more than 24 hours, it was that fact that might yet end up saving their lives.
“I will, Brother Baros, I will, and thank you.” Elder Williams was reaching for Baros’ hand, and even Jared, newly minted to Africa as he was, knew that was a mistake. Didier stepped back with a look of grim disgust as Micah groped for him. “God will bless you, Brother Baros. God will protect all of us in this time of trial. He - “
“He can damn well keep his fucking hands off my fucking life.” The inference that the same applied to Elder Williams seemed lost on the Pastor of the Little Church of the Wilderness, who kept advancing as Didier retreated. “Look, debile, don’t bother with me. Get those kids on that god dammed bus of yours and get out.” With that, Baros swung back into the open topped jeep, started it up, and gave Jared a brief nod. “And take enough god damned water. And a god damned rifle!” With that, he was gone, the jeep firing clouds of greasy smoke behind it.
Jared watched as Baros’ jeep disappeared down the dusty driveway, and he couldn’t help but feel as though the only man who could save them was going.
“Do we even have a rifle?” He wasn’t surprised when Elder Williams didn’t answer him. Elder Williams had addressed nothing but prayers, orders and disdainful looks his way for the month he’d been here, and he doubted he’d be consulted at this point. Instead, the older man was hurrying towards the main building, the house that had once been home to the owners of the old tobacco farm, and now held the Little Church of the Wilderness’ orphanage. They’d been preparing to go since breakfast, but only as a precaution, not as an immediate retreat. Now Elder Williams was clapping his hands, raising his voice to call the children to him, sending them on their way with tasks made all the more urgent by Baros’ visit.
With no direct instruction from Elder Williams, Jared busied himself with filling the large plastic bottles that would hold their water. Some of the elder children came to help him, lugging the full ones over to the old drying shed that served as the garage for their bus. The bus had been outdated when the Korean War finished, but its uncomplicated workings had allowed a succession of bush mechanics to work wonders with it using whatever was to hand, and if the result was a bit Heath Robinson, the old thing kept chugging away when more sophisticated machinery died and was left to rust where it stood.
The children didn’t smile as they splashed the water into the bottles. Usually the water wallahs were envied, as they got to thoroughly wet themselves and each other when sent to gather water at mealtimes. But all of these children had seen life destroyed in a day, had seen families swept apart and away like ashes in the wind. They grabbed daily joys where they could, but above them all loomed an awareness of death that never really left. This fear, this quiet dread that lay in hurried steps, edged voices, warnings and smoke and the far off sound of gunfire, this wasn’t a surprise to them, and Jared felt tears begin to come into his eyes at the knowledge. He brushed them away quickly, found a smile for the little one, Paul, who was struggling with a water bottle almost as tall as he was.
“Let me help with that, kiddo.” He was rewarded with a shy smile, and he realized again how quickly these children had claimed his heart. If they could win over Didier Baros, a man for whom misanthrope was too kind a term, what hope had he, fresh from Texas and heartbreak and a love of children already in his very bones? If he’d been cast away, so had they, and after their initial fear of his height he’d found himself called ‘Muci’ - tree - and climbed and hugged throughout the weary shame of his day. The idea of these children being in danger made him feel ill, and he scooped a mouthful of water to try and calm the churning in his gut.
“Is that enough, do you think?” He asked this of Paul, who looked seriously at the bottles beside them, and the ones taken over to the bus. The meaning of his query must have been understood, because Paul nodded, and added something quickly in Kibasa.
Jared shook his head, shrugged, and Paul gave a soft laugh. Jared had maybe three words of the language, and about that many of French. The children laughed at him - how could a man full grown and so tall be as ignorant as a bebe? - but somehow they managed to communicate in ways that had much to do with shared good nature and a willingness on Jared’s part to look a fool.
He grabbed the last two bottles, and felt Paul’s hand curl around his wrist. Together they walked to the bus, and Jared handed the bottles to the older children who were passing them from one to another down the back, where they were stacked.
“Brother Jared! Where are you?”
Jared sighed, and did his best to hide the fact from the children.
“Here, Elder Williams.” He stepped back down from the bus as the pastor, his face now florid with exertion and worry, blustered up. Behind the elder came the children, in pairs and carrying small satchels into which had been crammed food and whatever meager amount of belongings they had. Elder Williams stood aside and motioned them impatiently onto the bus. They were quiet, their eyes large with fear. Not one of them whimpered at this sudden, panicked leaving.
“Penitent, have you fuelled the bus?”
“No, Elder Williams, I thought you -“
“I left strict orders, Penitent.” The man’s voice was shaking with fear, and Jared had to fight again not to feel contempt for him. From the moment they met he had reminded Jared of a used car salesman he knew back in the ‘burbs of San Antonio, a man so unctuous and insincere that his wife paid Jared’s friend from college fifty bucks a night just for an hour’s honest conversation. Jared and his friend had discussed what that made him, and ‘jaw whore’ was the best they could come up with. Elder Williams had so many of the same mannerisms that Jared had to remind himself that, in the eyes of the church, his family and for all he knew, God, Elder Williams was a holy man and he, Jared, was corrupt. It always made him feel just a little more wretched every time he did.
“Elder Williams, you -“
“Just do it!” The pastor clapped his hands and hurried the last of the children onboard, while Jared, his lips tightly closed, went to the diesel pump alongside the garage and began turning the crank that would start the fuel flowing.
It didn’t really matter that Elder Williams had said he’d get the bus ready. Fact was, it had to be fuelled, and petty arguments were inconsequential in the face of rebel forces twenty miles down the road. Jared fitted the nozzle, pumped the diesel, and even as he disconnected the hose the bus spluttered into life.
Elder Williams head appeared out of the side window.
“Come on! Get in!”
Jared’s own belongings were back inside, and he didn’t plan on leaving without his passport.
“I’ve got to get my stuff!” he shouted back, before turning to run towards the house. He heard Elder Williams give a curse, and the bus’s gears clank into place as it lumbered from the garage. Jared wasted no time; he raced across the patio and into the house, down the long corridor that bisected it until he reached the tiny space that was his, right at the end. Rummaging in his desk, he thought he heard a sound behind him, and turned quickly, as if he expected a rebel soldier to be standing there, machete raised. There was nothing, and he shook his head, turned back to finding and grabbing his passport, family photos and the small bible his sister Mary Beth had given him in defiance of his father’s orders. He would risk much to save that, and he tucked all his loot inside his penitent’s robe, in the pouch he wore strapped to his side.
When he hurried outside the bus was already trundling down the driveway.
“You son of a bitch!” Jared lowered his head and ran as fast as he could. That was plenty fast enough to catch the tired old beast, and he banged hard on the door as he drew alongside. The bus slowed - with reluctance, it seemed to Jared - and Elder Williams worked the lever to open the door where he sat in the driver’s seat.
“Get in, get in!” The pastor held the door open barely long enough for Jared to climb inside, and then they were away again, and Jared had the chance to sling himself into the front seat, catch his breath.
“Thanks for waiting.” Jared muttered it, but Elder Williams glowered at him as if he heard very well.
The driveway was a long one that snaked up through what had once been magnificent gardens, and now was a neglected riot of colorful shrubs and trees. Jared shifted in his seat to watch them go by. Less than a month since he’d seen them for the first time, and now this was probably the last time he’d ever enjoy their baroque abandon. He shifted a little further, looking back inside the bus, and saw several children watching him.
“Okay?” he asked, and gave a thumbs up. Smile shadows, and a couple of the children gave him an answering sign. He looked for each of the children, running through them in his head, giving them all an encouraging smile. His gaze came back to little Paul seated beside him, and he frowned.
Juma. He’d missed Juma. And Fedens, too. And Tazhma.
He scanned the seats again, carefully, looking to see where a child might be crouching down. But they weren’t there, and then he couldn’t stay seated any longer. He stood up, and half-stumbled down the aisle, his gaze becoming more and more frantic. Adelie, and Chipo. Before he reached the back, he began to shout.
“Elder Williams, stop! Stop the bus!”
Jared turned back towards the front. Elder Williams seemed to hunch slightly over the wheel but he showed no signs of stopping.
“Elder Williams! There’s kids missing! Juma’s not here!”
A change of gears as they reached the bottom of the drive, and the bus rolled out onto the dusty track that lead westwards.
Jared gaped. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening. It was as though his words weren’t making it into the air, as though he was speaking a language no-one here understood. He clambered back to the front of the bus and gripped the pastor’s shoulder.
“Elder Williams! We’ve left them behind!”
“Get off me!” Elder Williams shrugged him away, and Jared’s anger suddenly rose so tightly inside him he wanted to hit the pastor with every ounce of strength he had.
He grabbed for the steering wheel, and the bus swerved wildly, eliciting soft screams from the children and another curse from the pastor.
“Let go!”
“Not till you stop this damn bus!”
“You -“
But if Jared had played the part of the submissive penitent for the last few months, it was gone as he threw his strength and fury into wrenching Elder Williams half out of his seat. Williams slammed on the brakes as an act of self-preservation, and the moment the bus stopped Jared had him down the steps and out into the white dirt.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jared spat the words as Elder Williams straightened, looking equally furious. “We’ve left kids behind. Don’t you get it?”
“You do not question my decisions! You,” and Elder Williams was up in Jared’s face, his finger shaking as it poked at him, “You are here to do as I tell you!”
Jared was panting, the race for the bus and the sudden adrenalin of discovery making it hard to breathe.
“Juma. Tamzha. Fedens. They’re not on the bus.”
“I order you to silence, Penitent.”
“Silence?” Jared waved his arms. “I’m not gonna stay silent when kids are being left to die, Micah, no matter what you think of me.”
“What I think of you?” Elder Williams’s face twisted. “You are the perverted, Padalecki, you are filth and degradation. You almost destroyed your God-fearing family, and you will do as I say!”
Jared’s lips twisted. “I may be everything you say, Elder Williams, but I’m not the one driving away leaving children to die. Just because I was too scared for my own carcass.”
“How dare you!” Elder Williams spluttered. “I have made my decisions in light of what is best for these children, for all of us. You don’t know a damned thing about Kibilisa, and yet there you stand, so full of pride in your perversion, you think you can question me!”
“Yes, Elder, I think I can.” Jared stopped, his mind working. “Wait, wait - Juma and Chipo and - and Tamzha, and Adelie, they’re all Mabisi, aren’t they? Aren’t they?”
Elder Williams’s eyes flickered and fell, before returning to Jared’s.
“Yes, they are. And if the rebels catch us with Mabisi onboard, they will slaughter all of us. Now do you see, Penitent?” He stepped back, drew himself upright. “For the sake of the few, the many would perish. It is my job to get these children to safety, and I take that as a sacred task, laid upon me by God.”
“Oh, my God,” and Jared’s mouth dropped open again, as comprehension grew, “you were planning to leave those poor kids behind because you were too chickenshit scared to take the risk.”
“Think what you like. Do what you like. They’re back there, and if you think so much of their survival, why don’t you go and join them?”
Jared sneered.
“Oh, I’m going to, believe me. See, I may be a corrupter of flesh and all the rest of it, but at least I have enough morality to know what rationalized evil looks like.”
Elder Williams pushed past him, pausing on the top step to glare at Jared.
“You have no right to judge me, filth. I told your father that I would do what I could to save your soul, but frankly? If you die here, I doubt there’ll be too much mourning in that house. A removal of a stain is God’s work, and that is all you are to Him and all who love Him and follow his word. You will die here unsaved, and Hell will take you as its own.” He bowed his head, briefly. “May God have mercy on you, wretched sinner and fornicator.”
“Well, we all find our own way to Hell, eh, Micah?” Jared threw him a mock salute as the door slapped closed. “See you there, brother.”
The bus roared away. Three of the children were watching him through the back window; one raised her hand in farewell, her face stricken, and in one, sickening moment Jared felt the full effect of his decision wash over him.
Nine thousand miles from a home that no longer wanted him, in a land he scarcely knew. One hundred and ten miles to Maboso, and no way to get there but walking. There were five Mabisi children at the orphanage. He had blindly stepped forward to take five children’s lives into his own hands, when just down the road were men with guns and knives and madness, ready to tear them all apart. He spoke no Kibasa, he spoke little French, their English was the English of the kitchen and the playground.
He wrapped his arms around his chest and breathed a shuddering exhalation of fear.
But then he nodded, once. This wasn’t a path blindly taken, after all. He knew he would have died if he’d stayed on that bus, even if it took another fifty years to make the fact a physical one. For whatever reason, God or fate or just the sheer fuck-you-all of the universe, he’d made choices one after another that had lead him to be right here, standing in the dust with only a fool’s hope left to him and five innocent lives holding onto it right beside him. Whatever was in him, whatever made up the mind, body and soul of Jared Padelecki, it would have to be enough, and now was the chance to find out.
Chapter Three(a)