"Piss on 'em, then." Morton stood. His joints made popping sounds. "Come kneel thou before me."
Blackburn stood and went around the fire, then knelt beside a shallow hole that was just behind the spot where Morton had been sitting. The hole contained the butane lighter, another bottle of Gatorade, a bag of Fritos, and a dead mole. Blackburn clasped his hands before him in a prayerful attitude.
Morton placed his hands on Blackburn's head. "Dost thou repent of all thy manifold sins?" he cried.
"Well, the one, anyway," Blackburn said.
"Dost thou promise to walk in the way of righteousness?"
"Yea, verily," Blackburn said.
"Art thou now or hast thou ever been a member of the Communist Party?"
"Not to the best of my recollection."
Morton pressed down hard. "Be thou clean!" he shouted. "By the powers vested in Me by Me, I now pronounce you SAVED!" He leaned over and gave Blackburn a wet kiss on the mouth. Then he straightened and smiled. "Son, thy sins be forgiven thee. Let's us go find the nearest body of water." He wrinkled his nose. "You smell a little gamy."
Blackburn laughed. Morton might be crazy, but his craziness was more tolerable than what most of the world called sanity. He stood and shook Morton's hand.
"Thank you," Blackburn said.
"Thou art welcome," Morton said. "Maybe someday you can do something for me."
As Morton spoke, there was a crashing noise in the forest. Blackburn released Morton's hand and jumped across the fire. He scooped up the Python and cocked it, then stood with his back to the flames and looked into the woods. He saw bobbing disks of white and yellow light.
With the lights came voices. "There!" one cried. "I see him!"
Blackburn jumped back across the fire and grasped Morton's arm. "Come on," he said. "We'll head the other way."
But as he began to pull Morton that way, lights appeared among the trees there as well. So Blackburn turned another way, and then another. The lights were almost everywhere. Only one direction was free, but Blackburn and Morton had taken only a few steps when the sound of engines approached from there. Then headlights appeared, bearing down on them.
Blackburn stopped, and now he saw that he and Morton were standing in the same clearing where the Nissan had been parked. He had followed Morton for miles, only to be led back to their starting point.
They were surrounded. A circle of more than a dozen armed men emerged from the trees, and two vehicles with not only headlights but spotlights entered the clearing. Blackburn and Morton were caught in their beams.
Morton pulled free of Blackburn's grasp and stepped toward the spotlights. "Whom seek ye?" he shouted.
One of the spotlights was blocked as a man stepped in front of it. "Morton," he said.
"Morton who?" Morton demanded.
The man came toward Morton, and Blackburn saw that it was Dr. Norris from the Rusk State Hospital.
"Morton of Nazareth," Dr. Norris said.
Morton's shoulders sagged. "I am he."
Then a voice behind Blackburn spoke. "You in the shorts," it said. "Drop that weapon and lie face-down."
Morton whirled around. "I have told you that I am he!" he shrieked. "If therefore ye seek me, let this schlemiel go his way!"
A figure dashed from behind the spotlights and charged toward Morton as if to tackle him from behind. Blackburn saw that it was Dr. Norris's blue-uniformed driver.
Blackburn raised the Python. "Stay away from him!" he yelled.
The driver came on, so Blackburn aimed and fired. The driver screamed and dropped to his knees, pressing a hand over his right ear. Some of the men in the circle shouted and raised their weapons, but Blackburn knew none of them could fire at him without the risk of hitting the men across from them.
Morton jumped at Blackburn and threw his arms around him. "Put up thy three fifty-seven into the sheath," he said. "The cup which my Father hath given me, shall I not chugalug it?"
The circle of men tightened, and Blackburn saw among them the two cops who had questioned him at the motel. The one who had scowled at him was carrying the plastic bags containing Blackburn's clothes and food.
"My ear!" Norris's driver was shrieking. "He shot my fucking ear!"
"Don't bitch," Blackburn said. "I was aiming for your fucking skull."
Dr. Norris came closer. "Morton," he said in a syrupy voice. "Come along, now. You know we can make you better."
Morton twisted his head back. "How can Satan cast out Satan?" he yelled. "Dipshit!"
Blackburn looked for an escape route and did not see one. He cocked the Python again, but Morton was holding him so that he couldn't aim, and there were too many armed men anyway. All of them were pointing their guns at him. If he fired again, they might not worry about hitting each other.
"We're screwed," he told Morton.
Morton looked up at him. The Savior's hair fell back from his forehead, and Blackburn saw the cuts and scratches that the thorns had left.
"Do not forsake me unto them," Morton whispered. "Their soldiers smite me with coat hangers, and their concubines mock me. I cannot preach. I cannot wander in the wilderness of Palestine." He clutched Blackburn's right wrist and pulled it up so that the Python's muzzle touched his chest. "Ought not Morton to have suffered, and to enter into his glory?"
Blackburn tried to pull the gun away. "No," he said. "You don't deserve to die."
Morton was stronger than he looked. He held Blackburn's hand and pistol tight against his chest. "The beggar died and was carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom," he said. "The rich man also died, and fried like a sliced 'tater. Pull the trigger, asshole."
"Drop the weapon now!" a man in the circle bellowed. "If it moves any way but down, I'll blow your brains out!"
"It'll be all right, Morton," Dr. Norris cooed.
Blackburn decided that the question of whether Morton deserved to die wasn't the question he should be asking.
"Are you sure?" he whispered.
Morton nodded. "Verily, I say unto thee: Let's do it."
Blackburn pulled the trigger. The noise was a loud thump.
The men in the circle fell silent, unsure of what they had heard.
Morton closed his eyes and smiled. Blackburn lowered him to the ground.
"Let us go over unto the other side of the lake, Jimmy," Morton murmured. "We gonna catch us a whopper."
Then something hit Blackburn in the head, and he fell. A man with a rifle stood over him, tall as a tree. Others appeared beside him.
"I said drop the gun," the man with the rifle said.
Blackburn considered killing him and decided not to. The man's voice held no cruelty, only a resigned determination to do his job. That wasn't worth a bullet.
He let his fingers relax. The Python was taken away, and then the men jerked him to his feet.
"I know you now," the cop who had scowled said. "You're Jimmy Blackburn."
Blackburn looked down at Morton, and at the red spot on the white gown. Morton wasn't breathing. Even though Blackburn had not been able to make it a head shot, Morton had died fast.
"Yes," Blackburn said. "But I never told him my name, and he called me by it anyway. He said we'd go fishing."
He looked up at the angry faces, lit by white and yellow flashlight beams and orange flickers from the dying fire. He had to let them know what had really happened this night in the wilderness of Palestine.
"Truly," he said, "this was the Son of God." He looked down at Morton again. The smile was still there. "I shit you not."
VICTIM NUMBER TWENTY-ONE
Jasmine came to see him in February. Blackburn was surprised. She hadn't written to tell him she was coming. He almost said that he wouldn't see her, but then decided it would be worth it to get out of his cell for the walk to the visitation area. Ever since he had been reclassified from "death row work capable" to "death row segregation," his legs had been stiff.