Elipahz recited Terence’s file from memory.
“Terence Wood, fifty-seven years old, five-foot ten, white hair, formally brown, blue eyes, medium frame, discernable scars on left calf, stomach, left and right wrists, and forehead near the hairline. He joined the California National Guard during the first Storms with thirteen confirmed kills in the Battle for Calexico. Of that battle he was one of the eight surviving guardsmen. Also, he was suspected of unleashing the chloride gas cloud that rendered Calexico lifeless after the guardsmen were overtaken. No confirmation, no admission. His unit was absorbed by the Arizona National Guard in Yuma where they continued to repel the Mexican horde. He was promoted to Sniper Sergeant First Class where he racked up another thirty-two confirmed kills. When Yuma was abandoned, Goodman Wood was transferred to Flagstaff. After the Zona Reformation, Wood was conscripted by the Church and resigned as a sniper in the National Guard. He swore his allegiance to the Church and the Bishops and all their infinite wisdom. He was immediately promoted to the rank of Preacher, making him one of the first. In his first three years he converted eighty-two Marks, twenty-three by blanket, the rest by rope. They sent him to Vegas with the forces in Bullhead, where he earned another twelve confirmed kills. He should have been promoted to Crusader, but after the Battle to Purge Las Vegas he earned a demerit for abandoning his post after the Utah bombs dropped. He was relegated to the first ring of Purgatory, the Hall of the Unclean, for six months. Upon his release he was reinstated as a Preacher and sent back out to do God’s work. His record states three-hundred eighteen conversions, two-hundred fifty by the blanket. Unfortunately, marks that Wood had registered as deceased started appearing in other places. The dead were walking, so to speak. In particular, Jackson Corning aka Aaron Century, a known sinner and anarchist, was spied in Ash Fork. You were sent to apprehend, and when it was confirmed that Goodman Century exist and fit the description of Goodman Jackson Corning, a Preacher, you, were sent to apprehend Goodman Wood.
I can see why you were swayed by him; he was obviously a man of power and resource. Three hundred and seven confirmed kills, with maybe a few hundred unconfirmed.”
Eliphaz shook his head and whistled.
“There was a killer in God’s good grace. And yet, sin and doubt cloud his judgment. His mind and actions became unclean.”
“You shouldn’t have killed him,” Lead said.
“Don’t blame me, little Preacher. God pronounced him a dead man and I acted as His hand. You of all people should understand the grace and wrath of our Lord,” Eliphaz replied.
Daylight burned the back of Lead’s neck. His arms and back ached. Eliphaz stopped the party.
“Set up camp,” he commanded.
The assistant raised his head, his eyes rolled to whites. Eliphaz glared at him.
“Jarrod, set up camp.”
The assistant fell out of his saddle and struck the earth like a sack. One of his feet caught the stirrup and twisted his ankle at a sharp angle. The assistant did not move or breathe. Eliphaz walked over to the body; he grasped the assistant’s face and neck.
“Dig a hole,” Eliphaz told the other Crusader.
Eliphaz untied Lead and gave him a sip of water and wedge of road bread. Lead was in too much pain to give resistance; he let himself be led docilely. Eliphaz allowed Lead to urinate before hogtying him to a boulder for the night. Eliphaz and the other young Crusader buried the assistant in a shallow grave. Eliphaz recited the Lord’s Prayer and then bowed his head in silence.
Lead and the Crusaders continued in silence for days. At each sunset, the Crusaders untied Lead from the horse and lashed him to a boulder or tree for the night. Lead’s body betrayed him with pain that would not subside. He swore to himself he would not cry out and gritted his teeth against the agony. His mind stayed with image of Terrence, and his mind burned with picture of his friend’s body bleeding out on the Highway Nineteen. Lead himself was coated in small wounds and insect bites and wracked with hunger. He forced his mind away from Terence. He thought of escape. He thought of Church’s prison, Purgatory, his destination. On the third day of their journey, Lead and the Crusaders arrived at Purgatory.
XI. Purgatory, the Zona’s representation of biblical punishment
Lead woke as his body was untied from the Crusader’s horse.
“We’re here,” Eliphaz announced as he dropped Lead’s inert body on the ground.
The sun’s radiance burned Lead’s morning eyes. His vision cleared and revealed the entrance to Purgatory. A chain link fence, standing over twenty feet and crowned with razor wire circled the entire complex. Trailers and portables speckled the sandy grounds and acted as the secondary standing structures. Towards the front of the grounds, a courthouse stood as the primary building. In front of Lead stood a gate, above which a scratch-iron sign proclaimed:
“Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter!”
Beyond the gate and the courthouse and the portables and trailers was nothing but desert, as imposing and restrictive as the prison fence and razor wire. Lead had been here before. He had delivered bound marks to this very gate. The same dead smell of rot touched his nostrils.
Eliphaz pulled a bell cord and waited for guards. Two eventually arrived, shuffling their feet in a combination of formality and haste.
“I’m Crusader Eliphaz, I deliver on to you the Goodman Leonard Marchez, of Flagstaff,” Eliphaz boomed for all to hear.
He held up the cross tattoo on his forearm, the sign of the Crusader, for inspection and then handed folded papers and Lead’s knife to the inspecting guard.
“Let the magistrate know, Goodman Lead resisted apprehension and should be shown no mercy or absolution. So says I.”
The inspecting guard, having been satisfied, nodded and pocketed the knife and papers. The guards lifted Lead by his bound arms and carried him through the gate. Having delivered their captive, Eliphaz and the young Crusader abruptly left, waiting neither for reward nor praise for their capture.
“Where are we going?” Lead whispered.
The guards did not respond. They were cloaked in black robes cinched with belts, the uniform of Purgatory guards. The guard to Lead’s left was marred with a scar running from forehead to neck.
“What’s inside?” Lead whispered.
He had heard rumors, but no one in the Church spoke specifically of what happened in Purgatory. Law forbade it.
“You’ll find out soon enough, sinner,” the scarred guard answered. “Make no stir or trouble. You’ll know the insides of this place soon enough.”
The guards carried Lead through an arch and into the courthouse of Purgatory. They traveled through an enormous hallway of stucco walls, worn and smoothed by time and bodies. At the end of the hall, a long white table stood in front of a towering ivory podium. All was colored white or gray. The black-robed guards stood in stark contrast. Guards busily shuffled through doors and passages, but none looked to Lead as he was dragged to the table and made to sit and wait.
Eventually a judge in billowing red robes appeared behind the podium. The judge looked older than any living creature Lead had ever seen. His skin was yellowed and crinkled like parchment. His fingers protruded from hanging sleeves like tree branches. What hair he had stood as tufts of cotton on his scalp. When the judge spoke, all guards stopped and stood in silence.
“Stand, sinner. Stand to hear the words and judgment of this court,” the judge rasped.
Lead was propped up and held by the guards. He was barely strong enough to stand on his own. His mind filled with fear.