"They do this all the time," she said. "Worse than dogs. At least dogs will listen sometimes. These brats listen to no one. Just like the banditos that run wild around here."
"Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline will remove it far from him," Pablo called from his cage. A weary smile wrinkled his cheeks. "Or the broomstick of discipline in this case. Better for them than two she-bears, at least."
Gunner walked over and looked up, placing his thumbs in his gun belt. "You're not looking too good, old man."
Pablo touched his leathery face, peeling from sunburn and raw with cuts from hurled rocks. "If prophesying were an easy job, everyone would be doing it."
Gunner snorted, turning to the girl. She wore a faded cornflower-patterned dress along with a flat-topped hat and jacket too large for her skinny frame. Her dark hair was braided into twin pigtails that hung to her shoulders. "What's your name?"
"Myrtle."
"Why didn't you just throw the waterbag to him, Myrtle?"
"The Judge says to only give him enough to keep living. Says he don't want him to get comfortable."
"Well, you can't be coming out here by yourself, girl. You'll get yourself in a world of hurt trying to do some good."
"Nobody else is giving him water."
"Well, you don't need to. Get a man to do it."
"We don't got no men. Not anymore. The Baron run them all off. The Judge shot or hung the rest."
"Who's we?"
"The Remnant."
"Hush now, girl." Pablo gripped the bars of the cage, leaning over and lowering his voice. "You don't say that name where these folks can hear you. Best you run along. Don't come back here, no matter what you see."
Her face turned stubborn. "What about you, Brother Pablo?"
"I'm in God's hands. No need to worry. That storm will break in just a few days. It'll be over soon. Go on, now. I thought your Mama would have known better than to have you out here, drawing attention to yourself."
"Mama don't know. She ain't been the same since they shot my Daddy."
"Give me the waterbag," Gunner said. "You do like the preacher says and run along home."
She hesitated only a moment before handing the water over and backing away as if from some fearsome beast, staring at Gunner's revolvers. Turning around, she quickly trotted off, throwing cautious looks over her shoulder before turning the corner.
Gunner tossed the waterbag up to Pablo. "The Remnant, huh?"
"You'd be better off not saying that name either," Pablo said between gulps of water. "It's against the law in these parts."
"I heard about you folks. Separatists from the Church, forming your own set of beliefs."
"Not separatists. We never bought into the apostasy. We remain loyal to the word of Jah and the rulership of the Lord Jesus Christ, following the Way he told his true followers to live."
"Don't seem like that won you any popularity contests."
"Jesus said his followers would be hated by the world. It's expected. The world has always loathed any who dare to defy its spirit. History runs red with the blood of those who chose to stand against the tide of popular belief and self-veneration."
"You said the Judge killed those folks at the farm. From what the girl said, the Baron ain't much better."
"The Judge and the Baron are two sides of the same coin. Both lust after the same thing: power. Have you met our beloved Judge yet?"
"This morning."
"I suppose he entertained you in his faux Garden of Eden, full of joy, peace, and the gentle laughter of children?"
"Yeah. Not what I expected."
"What did you expect? A mustache-twirling villain? Some hunched, balding old man, withered and decrepit, face riddled with wrinkles etched by hate and bitterness? Even Satan himself was a glorious angel of light. Demons don't take the form of monsters, you know. Why would they, when they can beguile with their beauty instead?"
"You know better than me, I guess."
"You know as well as I, Gunner. You looked into the Judge’s eyes and saw the truth. His every word, every flashing white smile is as fraudulent as his surroundings."
"His surroundings?"
"His Eden. An illusion created by digital wizardry."
"You're pulling my leg."
"Not at all. Do you think a man so ruthless would have grandchildren going about like that, so openly exposed to his countless enemies? The children were fabrications, the garden just old turf and plastic trees. Everything else is a digital simulation. The Judge is a mean, nasty, lonely man bent on ruining lives because his life was ruined long ago. Because at some point, he was convinced that the only way to live is at the expense of others. I pity him."
"You pity the man that tried to kill you, and has you locked away to rot right now?"
"Yes, I pity him. No man is born evil, Gunner. It takes a great deal to twist a soul into something so cruel and heartless. I pity anyone determined to reap the whirlwind of their wickedness because their retribution will be as harsh as their deeds. The justice of men is faulty and unsatisfying, but the justice of God is perfect. Who can stand and look Him in the face when the day of their judgment arrives?"
"No one, I reckon," Gunner said. "Because according to the Word, we're all sinners and deserving of death, ain't that right?"
"It's not the sinning that condemns us, Gunner. It's the lack of repentance."
"Yeah, maybe. Or maybe this is all a sick joke. Look at you. You claim to speak for God, yet here you are. Maybe God is real. Hell, I can't say. But if He is, He must have stopped caring a long time ago. Cause I seen too many good people cut down before their time to believe anyone up there cares."
"Someone cares, Gunner. And very soon, you'll see for yourself. This place will be plagued by fire and water, and you will look upon its destruction with sadness in your heart."
Gunner scoffed. "Why in the hell would I be upset if this place burns down? It's nothing to me."
The wrinkles and furrows in Pablo's skin carved his face into an ancient effigy, eyes dark and ominous. "What will come to pass will come to pass."
Gunner met the proclamation with a wry grin. "No offense, but I'll take my chances. Ration that water, Pablo. Might be a while before you get some more."
The afternoon was spent on the veranda of the Bloody Mary, watching the townsfolk go about their business, a bottle of rye to keep him company. He observed until he could tell the differing factions of the Town. The brutes that belonged to the Judge were rough and bad-mannered, their clothes plain and sturdy, favoring long dusters and ponchos. They strutted the streets, shoving people out of their way, daring anyone to start trouble with them.
The Baron's people were more refined, dressed in fashionable vests and jackets, engaging in polite conversation with storekeepers and townsfolk, yet still as eager for a fight as the Judge's men. A lot of posturing and insults erupted whenever a group of one would meet another in the bars or on the streets, but it rarely ended in anything beyond a fistfight or a stabbing or two. Both the Judge and the Baron were strict about not allowing an upset of the balance by starting a war.
He'd gotten a plate of roast chicken, potatoes, and nearly half the bottle of rye down by the time a stir rose from down the street. He sat up in his chair, watching as townspeople leaped out of the way as Bane walked past, silent and dark, eyes glowing from the slouch hat that shaded his entire face. The Judge's bodyguard moved at a slow, jerky gait, head swiveling back and forth as if surveying the street and the people. He plodded past Gunner without a second glance and would have turned the corner, but paused when a man in a neat suit and a derby hat stepped from the porch of a nearby hotel and shouted.
"Bane. I challenge you to combat, you cyborg devil."