“You bastards...” Rick caught Bert’s warning look and snapped his mouth shut.
“No offense. No offense ...” Angus said, with a lewd smirk at Bert.
“Gotta keep on doin’ the Lord’s work.”
He carries on like this, I’ll kill him, thought Rick.
Interpreting his thoughts, Bert gave a small frown, and shook her head.
Angus was gone. Oblivious to the mental dialogue of his captives, he nursed his rifle lovingly against his chest, his bony fingers caressing the hard steel. He began rocking to and fro. The knife belts in his lap shifted and chittered. The sound roused him from his reverie and he continued his story.
“My daddy and his daddy afore him were strong Scottish Presbyterian. Ministers of the cloth, both. Back in Perthshire, Scotland, my granddaddy ministered to his flock of good folk ... and kept them free from sin. A-men.
“Jist as the good Lord woulda wished.
“When he died, my daddy took over. But, in a wee while, that same flock turned on my daddy, so they did...”
His attention wandered again. Mumbling to himself, he looked up and stared for a long time at a brass crucifix hanging over the door.
Rick coughed. “And then what, Angus?” He looked at his wristwatch. “Whoa. So late? We really must be moving on. What d’you say, Bert?”
Relieved that Rick had broken the tension, Bert said, “Yes, sure thing. We better get going. Mustn’t keep the girls waiting, must we, Rick? Promised we’d be back before dark.”
In a flash, Angus was on his feet. The knives fell to the floor with a clattering thunk. He gripped his gun and shoved it at them with both hands.
“SIT DOWN, FILTH! I haven’t finished yet. You ain’t goin’ nowhere till I’ve had my say!”
They all sat down. Angus gave them another crafty smile and resumed his story.
“First off, you can’t fool me. Them girls broke camp a while back. They on their way to somewhere else by now. That means you’re on your lonesome. Two lost sheep who’ve gone astray!” He giggled at his own words, then fell silent, his loose, wet lips pulsating gently beneath his beard. Testing the effect of the pun on his audience.
He leered slyly at Bert.
“See, now, where wus I? Yep. Then my daddy heard that there was a need for God’s ministers over here in the United States of America. So we came over in a sailing ship. My daddy, my mammy and Maire and me. We traveled across the seas to this great country and finally dropped anchor, so to speak, in the Tehachapis.
“My daddy preached an’ he preached till he was blue in the face. He loved his flock, oh my, how he loved them people. Mammy would cry and say that there was no need for him to love and care for them so much. ’Specially the young ’uns. She was there, she said—he didn’t need no more love...
“And then he got to lovin’ Maire. The Lord’s wishes, he swore. An’ my Daddy, he allus carried out the good Lord’s wishes. Praise be to the Lord. A-men.”
If I keep him talking, looking my way, Rick thought, Bert could break out before he gets a chance to use his gun. I could overpower him. And we could be on our way.
As if.
“Anyways. One night, them good church folk held a meetin’ and a whole contingent of them marched over to our house and told my daddy to get out. They said he wus evil. Not fit to be a man of the cloth, they said.
“Daddy told them to go away and he closed the door, right in their faces. Went straight in to Maire’s room and loved her some more. I could hear her pleadin’ an’ cryin.’ She wus saying, Daddy please don’t. Don’t Daddy, you’re hurtin’ me...
“When Mammy went in, she found my sister Maire dead in her bed. A seizure, so my mammy said. She ran out into the night a-screaming for help and daddy got his gun, the one that’s setting on my knee this very minute, and shot her dead.
“My daddy and me gathered up a few family treasures, took to the hills, ’n built us this mighty fine cabin, so we did. My daddy told me we were poor wanderers, a-travelin’ the wilderness with only wild things for company. Jist like the Lord Jesus Christ, he said. Only we stayed more ’n forty days an’ forty nights. We stuck it out for much longer. All of my daddy’s natural born life, turned out...
“An’ I been here since my daddy passed on. Lookin’ after God’s creatures and spreadin’ the word. This ’ere mountain country is my home. It gets a bit lonesome sometimes and I don’t have much truck with outsiders... but, it’s my home...”
“That’s it.” Rick stood up. So did Bert. Grabbing their packs, they started for the door.
A gunshot whined and hit the roof.
“No you don’t. Filthy swine! Foul defilers! I’m not yet done with ye. REPENT AND BE SAVED!”
He marched them through the door, out onto the stoop and around to the back of the cabin.
Chapter Twenty-six
Bert’s heart sank when she saw where they were headed.
Toward a cage-like pen made from tough, pine staves about twelve feet high and bound together by stout twine.
Angus danced around them, herding, prodding, maneuvering them together with his rifle. The cage door was open.
“Ready and waiting,” Bert muttered.
An almighty crack descended on Rick’s head and a gasp shot from his lips. He groaned, folded and went down on all fours.
What the...?
All in a day’s work for Angus. Suddenly, he was business-like; prodding Rick with the rifle butt, kicking and pushing him into the cage.
Fuck.
Rick slid along the dirt floor, lurched to his knees and tried to stand. His legs gave and he crashed, face down, into the mat of foul-smelling straw.
Angus darted behind Bert and poked her sharply in the back. She stalled. Another vicious poke sent her sprawling onto the floor of the cage. Angus cackled to himself as he quickly secured the cage door with a strong plait of twine.
“Rest awhile my travelin’ friends!” he simpered. “Rest and repent ye of your sins. Praise the Lord!”
“Shit, shit, shit,” wailed Bert. She stood with her hands rattling the staves in angry frustration.
Rick got to his feet. “Okay,” he panted. “He’s got us for now. But we’ll get out. No sweat.” He wasn’t sure how, but they’d make it. If it was the last thing he ...
This is too ridiculous for words. We’re two intelligent, professional people. Doing nobody any harm. All we ever wanted was to be left alone...
This can’t be happening to us. It can’t. I won’t let it ...
Rick bashed the palings with a clenched fist. All the way down one side of the cage, the staves shook in unison. A blinding pain shot through his skull. And his fist. The pain in his head was bad, but now his fist...
He cursed. They both needed his two hands to be in working order. Trust him to go and get a loused-up fist...
The crack on his head, from the rifle butt had raised a fair-sized lump. He groaned and pictured a bottle of Jim Beam, standing on the bar, back in his apartment. A glass, half filled with sparkling rocks was ready and waiting. The amber fluid glinted seductively, beckoning to him ...
Rick closed his eyes against the screeching pain in his head. Oh, for anything, but anything vaguely alcoholic, preferably straight from the bottle. And aspirin. Got some in my pack.
Angus, would you mind fetching me some water and aspirin? The aspirin’s in my pack, by the way.
Christ, give me strength.
When that fuckin’ turd leaves us alone, we’ll find a way out of his goddamn cage.
“Rick,” Bert said quietly. “Look at this.” She pointed to a heap of canvas humps in the comer of the cage.