“It’s okay” Hickok told him. “If you don’t want to help, you don’t have to.”
“I mean,” Bear said, to himself more than Hickok, “helpin” you get away is one thing. Goin’ up against Maggot is another.”
“I understand,” Hickok assured him.
“You say you got a plan?” Bear asked optimistically.
“Sure do.”
“What the hell is it?”
Hickok grinned. “I’m going to wait here until Maggot and his cronies return, and then I’m going to kill them.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that.”
Bear chuckled. “And what if they kill you?”
“Then bury me on boot hill, pard.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Hickok tossed the Winchester to Bear. “Stay or go. It’s your decision.”
“You’re crazy, sucker! You know that?”
Hickok nodded. “I’ve been told that once or twice.”
Bear took a deep breath. “So what do you want me to do?”
Chapter Eighteen
He was reclining on a comfortably made bed in a spacious room illuminated by sunlight streaming in through four windows, one in the center of each wall. Colorful blue draperies hung on the windows. A worn blue rug covered the wooden floor. Beside the bed stood an oak table, the leftovers from his last meal on top.
Joshua sighed, at ease. His head had been meticulously tended to and bandaged, and they had changed his clothes, providing some of the typical garments they wore, a black shirt and pants.
The door opened and in walked a short, bearded man with gray hair, narrow features, and a pronounced limp.
“How are you feeling, Brother Joshua?” asked the newcomer.
“Just fine,” Joshua confided. “I can’t thank you enough, Reverend Paul, for all you have done for me.”
“Please, just call me Paul.” The Reverend, likewise attired in black, sat on the foot of the bed.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Joshua reiterated. “I never expected to find such kindness in the Twin Cities after my initial experiences.”
“Don’t thank us.” Paul held up a gold necklace, consisting of Joshua’s cross and chain. “Thank this. If my alert brethren hadn’t found this when they were searching you, they would have left you there for the animals to devour.”
“A cross made that much difference?”
“A cross makes all the difference!” Paul stated emphatically. “Our Master went to his reward from a cross.” He stared at the Latin cross on the chain. “The heathen would never wear a symbol like this! They have entered sinful ways! They are evil.”
“By the heathen,” Joshua said, “I take it you mean the Porns you told me a bit about?”
“Of course!” Paul’s vibrant voice rose. “Who else? But then,” he quickly added apologetically, “I must remember you are not from the Twins.
Astonishing!”
“No, I’m not from the Twins,” Joshua said softly, “and I’d like to know more about them. I’ve answered all your questions concerning how I came here and where I came from…”
“Incredible!” Paul interrupted. “Praise the Lord! He has sent you to us.
Brother Joshua. We would never have expected that there is another group who believes as we do.”
“We believe in the Supreme,” Joshua said, selecting his words with the utmost discretion, “and we are taught that all men and women are brothers and sisters.”
“Praise the Lord!” Paul exclaimed happily.
“And I’ve already told you about the Family and the Home,” Joshua continued. “Now, I would be pleased if you would consent to answering some questions I have about the Twin Cities.”
“I would be glad to do so,” Paul said heartily.
“Can you tell me how the current situation came about?” Joshua inquired. “Do you have any idea of the history of the Twin Cities since the war?”
“I know it all,” Paul said proudly.
“You do?”
“Of course.” Paul gazed at the white ceiling, sorting his facts. “Each leader of the First Church has kept a journal of events, beginning with Reverend Jack Wilcox, our illustrious organizer, the man who established the First Church of the Nazarene.”
They had touched briefly on this subject the night before. “He was the one who refused to evacuate when the Government gave the order to leave the Twin Cities?” Joshua asked.
“Exactly. Reverend Wilcox was a true fundamentalist, and he was a great man, with profound faith in the Word. He knew his flock had nothing to worry about, and he called on them to stay here with him, to show the sinful world that there were Christians willing to commit themselves, totally, to their Lord, and to rely on Him to preserve them in times of crisis. Bless them! Most of them saw the light and stayed! Two hundred and ninety-four souls stood firm and stayed in the church, praying to their Maker, while panic filled the streets and the populace fled.
And here we have stayed, ever since, never leaving St. Paul. We have withstood the onslaughts of the degenerates and the wicked! We have stayed true to the Word!”
“How many of you are there now?” Joshua asked Paul.
“Let’s see.” Paul calculated a moment. “I would say upwards of four hundred.”
“You have prospered over the years, I take it?”
“Of course! The Lord looks after His own.”
“How many of the other groups are there? The Porns and the Nomads and the Wacks?”
“I can’t answer with complete certainty,” Paul said. “But I would estimate there are close to six hundred Porns, damn their souls! They’re filthy creatures, little better than an animal in their moral and spirutal status.”
Joshua noted that comment for subsequent deliberation. “What about the Nomads and the Wacks?”
“The Nomads were only formed seven years ago,” Paul stated sadly, his face downcast, “by one of our own brethren. Zahner is his name. He and I were close. I can’t understand why he did what he did.”
“How many follow Zahner?”
“Surprisingly, our estimates place the Nomad population at two hundred or so.”
“Why does that surprise you?”
Paul frowned. “It reveals that many apparently feel the way Zahner does.”
“How does he feel?”
Paul leaned on his right elbow. “He left the First Church because he said he was tired of the constant warfare between us and the Porns.”
“Which prompts another question,” Joshua said continuing his probe.
“Why do you call them the Porns? And why do they call you the Horns? And what about the Wacks?”
“Let’s see.” Paul idly picked at the blanket Joshua was lying on. “Taking them one at a time, in sequence,” he said, revealing his information, “starting with the vile Porns, our journals tell us that Reverend Wilcox was not the only one who remained in the Twin Cities. Another man, a dealer in pornography and other diverse wickedness, a man with an organized criminal empire, an owner of what were known as porno movie houses and massage parlors and a previously convicted dealer in drugs, also stayed. This man was named Creel. His businesses were established along Lake Street and Hennepin Avenue in Minneapolis, and he refused to leave. Many of his criminal cohorts stuck with him, his muscle men and the pimps and the whores and the addicts and the rest. There they are to this day, breeding like rabbits!”
“Fascinating,” Joshua said, amazed. “So Minneapolis was taken over by this pornographer, Creel, and St. Paul by the First Church, two groups with diametrically opposed views and lifestyles.”
“Precisely,” Paul confirmed. “At first, the two sides managed to live in peaceful coexistence, until the fateful day when one of the Porns raped one of our young women. The Porns refused to turn the culprit over for proper punishment, so the First Church retaliated, attacking their camp and destroying part of their food supply.”