Smoke from the Ashes, page 27
Back in Kansas, the hands of the clock and the date on the calendar meshed. The concrete shields rolled back, and the missile fired.
It soared up, turned, and nosed southeast.
Francis moved close to Emil and whispered, “Your scam is all through, little buddy. In five minutes, you won’t have a single follower left.”
“Give it your best shot, Stanley.”
Francis stepped back and sang “Danny Boy,” bringing tears to the eyes of most present. Gave Emil a case of heartburn.
Francis preached a short sermon, proclaiming himself as the new spiritual leader of North Louisiana.
“Blomm is going to give us all a sign, Francis!” Emil shouted. “He’ll . . . he’ll make the heavens thunder, showing his disapproval. Fire will spring from the sky!” I hope, Emil thought. Hell, just a little-bitty thunderstorm might do it.
But there was not a cloud in the blue skies.
Francis laughed at him. “Blomm! There is no Blomm. If the heavens thunder and fire springs forth, I will acknowledge that you, Emil Hite, are the spiritual leader of all the earth.”
“And you’ll leave?” Emil asked, stalling for a little more time.
“I shall exit and nevermore return.”
Emil hiked his robes up around his bony knees, took a deep breath, and began speaking in tongues and dancing, his feet kicking up dust. He did the bebop, the rebop, the jitterbug, the twist, and even invented a few steps. Dance Party would have hired him on the spot.
Almost ready to drop from exhaustion, Emil flung his arms wide and shouted, “Blomm! Give me a sign!”
Big Louie’s rocket ran out its string and blew, directly over North Louisiana. The sky erupted in flames and violence. A great ball of fire glowed in the skies.
Francis Freneau yelped once and then gathered his robes up off the ground and, quite ungodlike, hauled his ass out of there. The last anyone saw of Francis was of him loping westward, on Highway 80.
“Holy friggin’ shit!” Emil breathed, awestruck. “There really is a Blomm!”
Emil rose to his feet (he had hit the ground in fear when the rocket blew) and glared at the people around him.
“Are there any doubters among you?” he screamed.
The men and women shook their heads and bowed to the Great Emil.
“Pulled it off again,” Brother Matthew whispered. “Okay, Emil. You’re the main man.”
“Bet your ass, I am!” Emil turned, tripped over the hem of his robe, and fell flat on his face in the dust.
11
“Hell of a bang,” Ike said in his radio message to Ben. “What the hell you reckon that was?”
“I think that was Big Louie’s last surprise, Ike,” Ben radioed. “I’m just glad the damn thing blew a couple of miles up and not on the ground.”
“Where are we headin’, Ben?” Ike asked.
“Back to Louisiana, Ike. Once there, we’ll start gearing up for the building of outposts across the nation.”
“Not far, now, Father,” Buddy radioed. “I have the Mississippi River bridge at Vicksburg in sight.”
“Ten-four, son.” Ben replaced the mike in its hook.
Denise looked at him, noting the expression on his face. “Odd look on your face, Ben.”
“This is where it all began, Denise. I woke up one morning, and the whole world had gone crazy.”
“Are you going to live in your old house? If it’s still standing, that is.”
“No. Too many memories there.”
“The mental faces of old girlfriends?” she teased.
He smiled. “Well, yes. That, too.”
“There will probably be Night People all around us.”
“Yes. We’ll have to deal with them. And Khamsin isn’t going to forget or forgive. He’ll be along, bet on that.”
“And Ashley.”
“Him, too. And more Jakes and warlords and outlaws. We’ll just take it as it comes.”
The long column rolled westward, through Vicksburg. Buddy was waiting in the center of the big bridge.
“Post guards on the bridge, boy,” Ben told him. “But we’ll deny no person the right to enter our territory to live free.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ben looked at the handsome young man for a long moment. Then he smiled. “When you get the guards mounted, you and Judy come on in. I’ll be set up by then. We’ll have supper . . . my son.”
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William W. Johnstone, Smoke from the Ashes
