The Damn Disciples

The Damn Disciples by Craig Sargent

Book: The Damn Disciples by Craig Sargent Read Free Book Online
Authors: Craig Sargent
about finished the roof and walls of the hut. They continued
     to pour unending amounts of mud over it, not really knowing when to stop. The mud would just protect them a little longer
     from being washed off by each storm.
    All of their eyes went wild with hunger as the meat was hauled in. But again Stone kept them back, and first skinned, drained,
     and then butchered the animal, showing them all how to do it. They watched, fascinated and starving, as his razor-sharp Bowie
     blade ripped through the meat as if he was in the back room of a supermarket. With the fire higher now, Stone took a whole
     bunch of select steaks and organs and slammed them onto spits over the flames. The sound of twenty or so stomachs gurgling
     ravenously by the fire was not the greatest appetizer. Nor were the whinings of the pit bull, which looked at the sizzling
     meat with the expression of a priest spotting God in the very heavens.
    After a few minutes, when the meat was cooked enough to kill any disease, bacteria, whatever, Stone gave them the go signal.
     It was as though a stampede of lions had been let into the arena to devour the Christians. He grabbed his own stick up and
     barely got out of the way in time. And if the gurglings had been a little disgusting to Stone, the rippings and tearings,
     the splatterings, the faces coated with blood and half-chewed meat, like werewolves at Gristedes, made Stone turn away and
     chew his smoking ribs behind a tree.

ELEVEN
    When Stone got up the next morning at the stroke of dawn, the first thing he had them all do was clear out of their newly
     constructed home, which in the dim light of the coming day looked almost respectable. Then it was exercise time, to get their
     watery blood sloshing around inside them. They groaned and complained, but they more or less followed along. Even the legless
     cripples slapped their hands together and rolled around on the ground trying to get into the spirit of the whole thing. And
     that, after all, was what mattered. Spirit.
    Stone could see, as the burning scalp of the sun poked up over the tree line, that they already looked slightly healthier.
     A touch more flesh on the bones after all the meat they’d eaten last night. Half the buck was gone, and it had been big. Still,
     he had no illusions that he had done anything more than stave off their decline into complete savagery. He headed over to
     the fire and saw that at least Smythe had kept it going. He and a few others were still slicing up pieces of the beast, toasting
     them over the flames on spits as Stone had shown them. They seemed to have a hunger that had no bounds. He understood why.
    Stone made an instant decision and went to his bike, took out a small bundle, and walked back over to Smythe, who stood up
     as he approached.
    “I’m giving you this, man,” Stone said, handing the skinny fellow a .38 snub-nosed revolver that he had stashed in one of
     the boxes on the back of the bike—just in case. Just in case was here now. “And a box of ammo. That’s almost a hundred shots.
     Make ’em count. You can keep this bunch fed for a while, anyway. You hear what I’m saying?”
    “I hear you, Stone,” Smythe replied with a look of awe as he took the weapon. With this he could get them much food, could
     protect them at night. It changed their whole world in an instant. From one of constant fear and hunger to one of possibility,
     however minute it might be.
    “Do you know how to use it?” Stone asked, not wanting to embarrass the guy, but not wanting to leave him unable to operate
     the thing.
    “Yes, yes, I do, Stone. I had a pistol many years ago, on my father’s ranch. Before … before—”
    “Easy, easy,” Stone said, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. Smythe strapped the holster on around his waist and took
     out the pistol. He aimed it at a rotten stump of a log about forty feet off and squeezed the trigger. The gun erupted with
     a sharp burp and the Broken Ones around

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