Free Beginning by Michael Farris Smith Page B

wild-eyed messages of wrath and deliverance. The same podium that he had banged on and leaned on and sweated over in the hot nights of repentance. The same podium that the snakes crawled over and around as he admonished his followers to embrace the serpent in order to wholly reject the serpent and believe me when I tell you that there is power in the blood. Give it to me, oh yes, give it all to me.
    Now the podium had been destroyed. It had all been destroyed. The remaining trustful few of the congregation turned violent and vanished.
    He raised his head. A streak of dried blood decorated his forehead and ran along the corner of his wrinkled eye. A throbbing at the crest of his head from the wound. A wandering vision. Pain and hunger and defeat swirling through him as he lifted himself from the floor and sat in the chair. The wind died and the hymnal pages twisted and fell. Outside the lightning danced and celebrated the coming of another storm.
    Aggie wore a filthy T-shirt, ripped in half but hanging on his body like a ragged towel. Claw marks across his chest and down his back. Across the grimy linoleum were more chairs and empty whiskey bottles and cigarette butts. Sleeping bags and potato chip bags and a lidless cooler. The busted stock of the shotgun that had been hammered against the floor as if trying to break open the earth. His weathered black Bible lay open and facedown, its pages wavy from the humidity. He lifted his arm and rubbed at his shoulder, bruised from being slammed against the wall. His back the same. His head the same. The water dripped and tapped on his ear and he looked up, leaned back his head and opened his mouth and wet his dry lips with the fragments from the ceaseless rain.
    They had been gathered here for weeks. And they had come and gone as they pleased until they began to leave and not return. The Line was coming, less than a month away now. Some of them had come to their senses and gotten into their cars and taken what they could and driven north. Others without vehicles, with nothing more than a bag over their shoulders and a bag over their heads had simply summoned all courage and hope and begun to walk with their backs to the restless ocean. The living things had been slowly disappearing from the coast as the clock ticked and the storms beat and the hungry grew hungrier and more willing. His congregation was down to a dozen, and he had decided that this was where they would stay whether they wanted to or not. He only locked the doors and let that speak for itself.
    But then the dozen began to ask him questions. What are we going to eat? What are we going to drink? What if the wind takes the top off this place? What if the windows are smashed? Why is the door locked?
    Because I have prayed and this is the answer. Because you have been given unto me, and how many times do I have to prove my love for you? How many times do I have to prove that I will protect you? How many do I have to kill? How many do I have to save? The Line is their definition of what will be, not the declaration of the Lord but of man and we will stay here and serve. As he answered them the rain came in horizontal crashes against the windows and a car hood smashed against the side of the building and the lights flashed and blue smoke from the generator filled the strip mall sanctuary and they coughed and raised their hands in prayer and he lifted the shotgun to them with one hand and shook the Bible at them with the other. Some fell to their knees and pleaded for mercy and others fell to their knees and thanked Him for the violent sky but others only wanted out and they knew that the shotgun was without shells and that there were none to be found. Those who wanted out got out of their chairs and picked them up and went for Aggie and the brawl began, the metal chairs whacking against him and Aggie swinging the shotgun and some came to his defense and others joined the revolution and the room was alive with fists and chairs