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Apocalypse 45
or
The Gay Priest

Anna Cates

    The rape victim’s mutilated body lay face down in the dirt. The man must have been about fifty, bald, white, 600 pounds, maybe more. Tire tracks and the lasso tied beneath his arms suggested he’d been dragged across rough terrain by an off-road vehicle. Now, naked and covered in dried mud and blood, he rested on his belly like a mushroom on its head. One link of small intestine snaked out from his rectum like an umbilical cord to the rest of his innards, ripped out of his body and laying in a pile on the ground, rotting beneath the Oklahoma sun like too-thick spaghetti.
    “Lord Almighty,” Rex said in his cracked voice, “looks like another case of foreplay gone foul.” Leader of the Christian militia, appointed the task of regaining law and order, Rex shook his head at the tragedy.
    Veteran of the third world war and x-con who’d spend ten years in prison for a murder he hadn’t commit, Rex rolled his eyes skyward as the next round of voices coursed through his head. He’d always hated the voices. Then he’d met Reverend Shields, a “coal-blooded” Kentucky snake-handler, who’d told him he was gifted, that those voices came from God, that his many trials had all been part of God’s wonderful plan for his life. That marked a turning point for Rex’s that led to his formation of the Christian militia that offered its services to a crumbling state.
    “Sickening,” said Joni, a young widow and former Sunday school teacher gone Rambo, whose husband had been raped and tortured, every salable organ of his body harvested and bartered on the black market to the medical mafia controlling American health care. Dressed in camouflage with a grenade in either pocket, she surveyed the corpse with covered mouth, looked away then vomited up her cricket protein meal replacement breakfast bar.
    Rex raked his fingers through his blond buzz cut. “These infidels just get worse and worse.”
    The gangs. Roving bands of raping homosexuals and satanic cults. A decade prior the U. S. government had seized all firearms. Yet terrorists remained—fighting, ravishing, and butchering with knives, axes, crow bars, lead pipes—anything that would threaten or wound—the acme punctuating society’s disintegration.
    “If we don’t snuff out this evil, if our mission here fails, anarchy will prevail. It’ll be the end of the world.” Rex turned his pox-marked and sun-burnt face away, gazing skyward as if searching for a sign from Heaven.
    The U.S. military had corrupted from within like a rotting orange, and law enforcement had decomposed into utter inefficacy, leaving a frail government no hope for social control other than a faith-based initiative: Rex Rogers, Texas Ranger, and his demolition of Bible-thumping, demon-rebuking, weapon-wielding minute men with a prayer. When asked why he did what he did, Rex would say, “I ain’t no pacifist Christian.”
    “Titto,” Rex said, “that machine gun loaded?”
    “Ready to take ‘em down, Boss,” said Titto, a muscled African American who’d found the shreds of his children after the last Days of Destruction celebration, an annual terrorist event, commemorating Timothy McViegh’s historic Oklahoma City bombing. After the family tragedy, Titto had joined Rex’s crew, dedicating his life to avenging his slaughtered children.
    “Let’s move on,” said Mack, Rex’s younger brother and acolyte, and also veteran of the third world war, the war the forever changed America, beginning its downward spiral. That war changed Mack as well, searing his conscience and making him a killing machine with a serial number that just took orders. Mack, bald with a mustache and sideburns, remained unarmed but for a heretic’s fork and blow torch, used to extract confession and conversion via torture.
    “We’ll enter the city from the west.” Rex pointed ahead. “Then smash our way through to the other side. Freddy, you be waiting there for us with the jeep!”
    “I’ll be there,” Freddy replied in southern drawl. Then the pimply redhead sped away, leaving behind a trail of dust.
    Rex faced the remaining three. “Let’s pause for a moment of prayer and reflection.” He removed the compact Gideon King James from his shirt pocket and flipped to his favorite verse. “The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms. He will drive out your enemy before you, saying, ‘Destroy him!’ Deuteronomy 33, verse 27, NIV.”
    Rex pocketed the book then surveyed the city gates, just an opening for the road within the barricade formed of cinderblock that enclosed the rest of the town. “Our surge from the south paralyzed the enemy. Now, let’s finish them off! Fulfill our mission! Destroy them!”
    According to Rex, hope still remained for the homosexual gangs, but the satanic cults were too far gone. Thus, for the cults, “shoot to kill” and “bomb to blast” was Rex’s motto, but for the homosexual gangs, he preferred a repent or perish policy, complete with a trial by fire.
    The four militants trod forward until they reached another rotting corpse, this one impaled on a stake like a corndog. The post had torn through the woman’s body, now sweltering under the sun.
    “Now that’s the wrong kind of pillar of the community,” Rex said in a desperate grasp at comic relief.
    “More cult antics.” Joni covered her mouth and looked away.
    Red shook his head. “Naw. I think we might have done this ourselves during the first surge.”
    “Let’s go,” Titto said, “finish this job before there’s more trouble!”
    “Agreed.” Rex marched out in the lead.
    They entered the city gates. All was strangely silent. Wind swept the dust into little maelstroms, spreading odors of rotting garbage. Loose papers fluttered across the dusty concrete. Power lines swung limply with the breeze, whipping against graffiti covered walls. Graffiti over graffiti. Broken windows. Smashed cars. Just a mess of wrecked civilization. All that remained after terrorist revolt. All that remained of revolution gone wrong.
    “Maybe nobody’s left. Maybe they’re all dead. I don’t see a soul.” Titto gazed left then right.
    “Naw. These people live like rats,” Rex said. “They don’t come out much in the day. That’s when they sleep. They do their business at night, under the stars, when they think God ain’t watching.”
    Joni removed a grenade from her pocket and took a step forward, peering into a door-less entrance. Titto gripped his machine gun, gazing in every direction. The road ahead stretched all the way to the other side of the city where the jeep would be waiting for them.
    “Just like rats,” Rex repeated. “Look! There’s one right now!” He pointed into the shadows.
    Bullets rang from Titto’s machinegun, blasting the silence. Rex laughed his coarse chuckle as a cat-sized rodent exploded into blood against a concrete wall, sun-bleached and now bullet ridden. A second later Joni’s grenade hit the blood smear, blasting a hole in the wall.
    “It’s hard to tell them apart,” Rex said. “Keep your eyes on the side roads and alleyways. Look left and right more than straight ahead.”
    The four crept forward, glass crunching under boots, crows cawing in the heavens above, blue sky with circling vultures. The four walked two abreast, forming a square of dots to the birds above.
    Another round of bullets. Emerging from an alleyway, two men, one with a pick ax and another with a baseball bat, fell to their deaths on the pavement, awash with fresh blood.
    “I don’t know what that was, but no harm’s done.” Rex wiped the sweat from his brow.
    They continued their trespass, accented by rounds of fire from Titto’s machinegun. Following his own instructions, Rex shifted his head from side to side, looking into alleyways, paranoia glinting in his eyes, lips trembling.
    Several hours passed. Halfway through the city, Rex stopped, raising his arm to halt his companions. He peered into an old State Farm Insurance building. He looked back at Joni, nodding, then at Titto and Mack.
    “Somebody’s living in there,” he whispered, eyes gleaming, “Lesbians—about ready to have unexpected company. Keep that gun ready, Titto, but don’t fire unless I give orders. This might get interesting.”
    Rex kicked through the door, already dangling by a single hinge. “Alright, you lesbians! I’ve caught you red-handed with your pants down. Backs against the wall! I said move it!”
    Joni, Titto, and Mack followed Rex inside the building into the back room. They found an efficiency apartment with stained carpet, faded curtains, and a moldy sofa, leaking stuffing.
    A large woman in a butch hair cut sat on a tattered bed, chubby thighs protruding from her shabby yellow sun dress. Another woman, old enough to be her mother, huddled against the peeling wallpaper with a raised butcher knife. Her eyes darted among the four militia members.
    “We ain’t got nothing,” she said, knife raised, “no children, no animals, no drugs. We ain’t got nothing you’d want. Now get the hell out of here!”
    “Just get the hell out!” her corpulent friend seconded, reaching down to pull a stained sheet up over her bare feet.
    “We didn’t come here to take nothing.” Rex stepped forward, looking about.
    “Get back!” The woman shook her knife. “You get out now, except you.” She looked at Joni. “You can stay if you want. They taken you prisoner?”
    Joni placed a hand on Mack’s shoulder. “These are my friends.”
    The older woman’s eyes narrowed with horror and disbelief. Rex took another step forward. “I don’t think that knife will do you much good against our machinegun.”
    The woman’s eyes shifted to Titto, muscles sweating behind his weapon. “I’d rather die than have you even touch me!” She raised the knife to her throat and sliced across it. Burbling blood, she fell back against the wall.
    “Sam!” The corpulent woman sprang toward her companion, but Mack and Joni leveled her onto the mattress.
    “Let me go! Let me go!”
    “Let’s see what you’re hiding.” Rex approached the cupboard above the sink. “Quaker Oatmeal, Bush’s Baked Beans, Sun Valley dried tomatoes, ding dongs, ding dongs, and more ding dongs.” He adjusted the faucet, releasing a hiss of air, then turned back to the bed. “I’ll deal with you in a minute,” he looked down at the pudgy woman then stepped aside.
    Rex bent over Sam, soaking in her own blood. He lifted her arm then let it fall back down. “Now why’d you do a crazy thing like that and cut yourself? We came here to help you.” He turned to his crew. “This one’s dead already.” He shrugged, moving back to the woman on the bed. “So that just leaves you!”
    “You can have all the food,” she said, “the water jug, the furniture and blankets, what all, I don’t care. Just take it and go!”
    “Now look,” Rex sat on the bed. Mack moved down to hold the woman’s feet, Joni crouching at the top of the bed to hold her arms, and Titto standing back with pointed gun. “We ain’t going to kill you. We’re going to save you. Now what’s your name?”
    “Charlie,” she replied, lips quivering.
    “Mack, get her feet secure,” Rex said.
    Mack removed the hand cuffs from his belt and locked the woman’s feet together. Then he chained them, protruding over the end of the mattress, to one of the bed posts.
    “Charlie?” Rex scowled. “That’s a boy’s name! That ain’t no name for a woman! What’s your real name, on your birth certificate?”
    “Charlotte.” She trembled.
    “That’s a lot better, ain’t it? A nice, girl’s name. Mack, get the blow torch ready.”
    “Right,” Mack fished the torture device from his belt.
    “Blow torch?” Charlie’s face filled with alarm. “What you going to do with that? Let me go!” She squirmed but was held fast, the cuffs tight again her ankles, Joni gripping her wrists over her head so that her abundant underarm hair shone in the dim light.
    Blue flame flickered beneath her foot. Charlie screamed, kicking the one centimeter the lock allowed for.
    Rex raised one hand, and Mack shut off the flame. “Did you feel that pain?”
    “Yes!” Charlie sputtered saliva.
    “Now listen here,” Rex continued, a paternalistic inflection in his voice. “You don’t have to feel that pain. That fire.” He turned to Mack. “Do it again.”
    More blue flame, a full five seconds worth, seared the already reddening foot. Charlie shrieked.
    “What’s that? Tears? What you crying for?” Rex asked.
    Charlie whimpered. “It hurts!”
    “Do it again,” Rex said. Mack obeyed while Charlie howled.
    “Stop! Stop!”
    “Now that ain’t nothing,” Rex said. “That ain’t nothing compared to the flames of Hell. That’s just one little piece of fire. Just a tiny little bit for ten seconds or so. Hell is a whole lake of fire. How’d you like to spend all eternity, forever and ever, in a lake of flames, crisping into nothing, over and over, burning and dying, the pain never going away? Huh? How’d you like that?”
    “No!” Charlie moaned.
    “I don’t want that for you either, and neither does Joni, Mack, or Titto.”
    “That’s right,” Joni said. Titto grunted. Mack nodded.
    “Now, Charlotte,” Rex said. “I want you to confess your sins and accept Jesus Christ as your personal savior. You can do that for me, can’t you, or do you want Mack to turn on the flames again? It’s your choice.”
    “I’ll confess!”
    “Good! That’s the way to do it.” Rex rubbed his hands together. “Now, Charlotte, what have you done?”
    Charlie’s wet eyes darted about the falling ceiling tiles, searching for the perfect answer. “I . . . I . . . I killed a man!”
    “Mack!” Rex looked over, thin lipped. Blue flame shot up from the blow torch. Charlie ground her teeth in agony, her face purple. “That ain’t what I’m looking for! What did you do with Sam?”
    “Sam? I . . . I . . . I over ate her! I over ate her!”
    “I bet you did, but I don’t want to hear nothing about that ever again! Now tell me, tell us all, how much you love Jesus. You repent of that scraggly old bitch, don’t you? You want Jesus Christ now, right?”
    “Yes, I want him so much.”
    “You love him!”
    “Yes, I love him!”
    “You think he’s beautiful!”
    “He’s the most beautiful thing in the world!”
    “Wonderful. Now, I’d like to hear you ask him to save you.”
    “Jesus, save me!”
    “Good. That’s just what I wanted to hear.” Rex placed his hands on Charlie’s forehead. “Unclean spirits, come out of her! In Jesus’s name!” Rex pressed on the forehead, shaking and wrenching, as if he were resuscitating a failing heart. He glanced at Mack. “I think we’re done here. You can untie her.” Rex looked down at Charlie. “We hate to leave you here, but we’ve got further business to attend to. You’re saved from Hell now, and that’s what counts. Life in this broken world doesn’t matter anymore.”
    Mack unlocked Charlie’s feet, the burnt one discolored and blistered, only beginning to swell with the disabling wound. But Rex turned away as quickly as he’d come and marched out of the building, his cohorts following.
    They stood on the road, blinking under the noonday sun. Rex passed his canteen around, offering everyone a drink. Then they trekked off toward the heart of town, Charlie’s weeping fading.
    The squadron marched forward about a half hour until something fell at them from the sky. Someone throwing rocks from a window. Rex looked up at the building just as a dark shadow darted away from view. Titto’s bullets exploded, crumbling the brick and shattering glass and shutters.
    “That ain’t nothing.” Rex looked away. “Nothing but leftovers from overkill, nothing that wouldn’t rape, torture, or kill without our bullets in its belly.”
    The platoon walked about half an hour more until three men in black jumped out from an alleyway. They flashed spears fashioned from bowie knives molded into bamboo poles. But Titto just aimed and fired, and soon all three were lying on their backs, fresh meat for the buzzards.
    Rex stepped over the carcasses. “I don’t even want to look at them.” He kept his gaze forward. “Their evil lives are over now. May the earth find peace.”
    After a few more blocks, a garbage can turned over. “Watch out!” Joni tossed her other grenade at a couple breaking out of the shadows towards them. Rex covered his face with his arms as dust from the demolition sprayed them.
    Late in the afternoon they neared the opposite end of town. From where they stood on the pavement, the road swept out from the barricade and kept on through unplanted corn fields until the next town.
    “We’re almost through.” Rex raised his hand to his forehead to survey the distance ahead. “I don’t see Freddy and the jeep, but I know he must be out there somewhere. Where else could he be?”
    A door creaked open behind them. Rex and crew spun around as half a dozen men stepped out from a building whose window had been covered in cloth. The skin-headed men wore heavy boots but were otherwise naked but for body piercings and tattoos. Their brass-knuckled fists held a variety of weapons, from swords to nun chucks.
    One man, darker and taller than the rest and wearing sunglasses, stood in the middle of the gang, a strand of fat pearls glimmering around his neck. He grinned at Rex, his teeth a caricature of gold and decay. “Hello. I’m Mr. D. Welcome to Hell!”
    “We’re not interested in Hell. Titto?” Rex spat.
    Only a click. Then a string of limp clicks sounded.
    Mr. D. flinched, averting his face from the expected bullets. Then he lifted again his gaze.
    Click. Click. Click. Titto fingered the useless trigger.
    “Titto!” Rex said even louder.
    Mr. D.’s head rocked back with laughter. “What’s the matter, Tittie? Run out of bullets?” He licked his lips in anticipation as a dozen more men emerged from an alleyway. Some were naked but for weapons, others wore but shreds of jeans, and one had wrapped himself in a white garbage bag diaper to catch the bloody ooze leaking from his damaged body. Shaggy-haired to shaved-headed, Mohawks to goatees, one-by-one they joined Mr. D.’s gang.
    Rex’s mouth fell open. “Run!”
    Rex, Joni, Mack, and Titto fled down the street, the gangs clomping after, heavy boots thudding. The militia ran until they passed out of the city limits onto the empty roadway stretching to the next town, the cries of the gang fading into the distance behind them.
    Finally, Rex stopped, bending over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. Joni, Mack, and Titto halted near his side, Titto last, weighted with his useless gun.
    Rex turned back toward the city, smoking from fresh arson. In the distance, the gang still slunk around the outskirts, but they weren’t moving forward.
    “They ain’t coming.” Rex wiped his forehead.
    “How can we be sure?” Joni held her hand to her brow like a sun visor.
    “They ain’t coming after us,” Rex said. “They’re just a bunch a cowards. They won’t come down this road on account of the city up ahead. Now, if we were on the opposite side of the town, that’d be different, but they’re too afraid of the gangs in the next city to travel even half a mile in this direction.”
    “I see. Unlike us. Wonderful!” Joni looked ahead nervously. Buildings, still small to the eyes, twinkled under the declining sunlight.
    “What could be worse than that nightmare back there?” Titto said. “Those people aren’t even human! They’re animals, monsters, demons!”
    Rex shook his head, looking away at the empty cornfield like a child ashamed to raise his head and admit he’s stolen a cookie. “I hate to have to say it, but that city up ahead, Jonesboro, is even worse than the one we’ve just passed through. It really needs to be blasted off the face of the earth.”
    “Where’s Freddy?” Titto gazed about. “I need more bullets! He said he’d be here, but he ain’t nowhere in sight.”
    “I don’t know where he is,” Rex said. “Maybe something happened to him.”
    “What? Flat tire?” Joni asked sarcastically, hands on her hips.
    “What’s that over there?” Mack pointed north as all eyes followed. In the middle of the unplanted cornfield, a vehicle punctuated the horizon.
    “You think that’s Freddy and the jeep?” Titto squinted for a better view.
    “Could be,” Rex said, “but why’d he park way over there in the cornfield. That’s kind of weird.”
    “Let’s go see,” Joni said. “We can’t stay here all night, caught in the dust between Sodom and Gomorrah.”
    The quartet left the road for the uneven ground of the cornfield, scarred from the last plowing. They paced over the bumpy earth, drawing closer to their landmark. Once close enough to the vehicle for better discernment, Rex stopped, visibly wilting. “Oh no!”
    “What’s wrong?” Joni asked, alarmed. “Not Freddy?”
    “Who in God’s name?” Mack asked.
    “Satanists?” Titto stared ahead.
    “No,” Rex said. “Catholics!”
    “Oh,” Joni, Mack, and Titto replied in unison.
    “Should we trust them?” Joni asked.
    Rex sighed with resignation, shaking his head. “We ain’t got any other choice.”
    They walked toward the jeep, similar to their own, but a darker shade of camouflage. In the passenger’s seat sat a nun, the white flaps of her old-school wimple shielding her face. Beside the vehicle on the ground crouched the driver, digging into the soil with a stick held in one hand. In the other, he clutched a blood-splattered cloth.
    “Howdy,” Rex said. “What you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
    The man looked up, exposing his priest’s collar. His sparse salt and pepper hair was closely trimmed, circles clouded his dark eyes, and his cheeks showed the shadow beneath his shave. “I’m burying the dead,” the deep voice replied. “This innocent child, lost to its mother’s womb, deserves proper ceremony.”
    “Now that ain’t quite a full term, baby, Father,” Rex said. “That must be just an embryo.”
    “You drove all the way out here to bury an embryo?” Joni asked.
    The priest looked up at Joni, his face twisted, his mouth a gaping hole. “Don’t you care? What kind of woman are you? This child will never see the sun, never run through a field of wildflowers, never laugh or play or sing! And you don’t care?”
    “I wish I could care,” Joni said, “but this world we live in. . .”
    “You’re a reprobate not to care.” The priest gazed down with reverence at the raison-sized clump in the cloth.
    “I care about a lot of things,” Joni said, voice rising, hands fisting. “I’d like to live in a beautiful world, a world at peace, a world full of love and happiness, where goodness is cherished and not destroyed! Then maybe I’d care about an embryo’s death, but until that happens, in this ruined world, I don’t have a reason to!”
    “All we’re saying, Father,” Rex said, “Is this ain’t no place for you to be hanging around. It’s too dangerous—Hicksville on that side of the road, Jonesboro down the other. The people around here.”
    “What’s wrong with the people?” The priest’s eyes burned.
    Rex chuckled, shaking his head. “They’re gay!” He paused, struggling for a better explanation. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
    “What’s wrong with that?” the priest asked. “I’m gay myself! Just a gay priest, heading to Jonesboro.”
    “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Rex said. He twirled his finger beside his ear, rolling his eyes at Joni, Titto, and Mack.
    “You think I’m some kind of hypocrite?” the priest asked. “You think I want to touch that thing over there?” He thumbed toward the nun, her face still averted. Then the stick in his hand broke in two. “This earth is too dry to dig a grave. I’ll have to find a place to bury the infant in Jonesboro.”
    “I don’t think so, Father.” Rex stepped forward. “Not in Jonesboro, and not in Hicksville either. Our camp is on the other side of Hicksville. You and the sister are welcome to join us for supper if you’ll lend us a ride over there.”
    The priest’s face stiffened. “Your apathy is appalling! I can hardly abide this tragic loss of life, and all you’re thinking about is your stomachs? This world needs more children. Children! They’re precious things. Treasures.”
    “I won’t let you get ripped to pieces, Father,” Rex said. “I haven’t got the heart.”
    “Precious treasures,” the priest said, suddenly seeming lost to all else around him as he stared off into the distance. His head sunk down onto his chest, and he began rasping. “Children,” he muttered in private reverie, lifting his head again, an eerie expression clouding his face. His labored breathing continued till lathered foam collected at his mouth, as if the very thought of children aroused him. His hand squeezed shut over the embryo as his perverse lust intensified, his eyes closing.
    “Father? You alright?” Rex studied the priest. “Wait a minute.” His lips thinned. “You’re not a . . . you better not be a . . .”
    The priest chuckled then wiped his lathered mouth. “My friends in Jonesboro are waiting.” He rose from the ground and turned toward the jeep, but Rex grabbed him by the shirt.
    “What are you planning to do?”
    The priest wrenched away from Rex’s grasp, popping shirt buttons and exposing the 666 tattoo.
    “You Satanist filth!” Rex spat. “You pedophile pig!”
    Engines rumbled in the distance, drawing closer. Dust marred the horizon. Rex’s mouth fell open with horror as vehicles approached from every angle, and the priest just kept laughing.
    An explosion shook the ground, hoisting Rex into the air and landing him on his back, knocking his breath away. He tasted black brimstone, sinking into darkness.
    He awoke in the abating smoke, holding somebody’s hand by the fingers. Jesus Christ? He looked down. It was only a hand, a severed limb, ebony with ribbons of flesh trailing off from the wrist and Titto’s ruby ring on one finger. He pushed it off his torso.
    Rex began to float, whirling sounds vibrating the air around him. A chopper? A spaceship? A chariot of fire? Winged cherubim and seraphim? His own equilibrium bursting in his ears? Confusion took over. All vision was black or blurred. Dizzying heat. Two seconds of unspeakable pain then nothing.
    Bright light. A bearded man peering down. Kindness in his eyes. Jesus Christ?
    The visage changed. The “gay priest” glowered at him, brows knit. Spittle struck Rex between the eyes.
    The nun—all red hair and pimples—gazed down at him with Freddy’s face. Freddy! Laughing at him.
    Voices hummed through his head, each one a different story. Rex dizzied. His body shook. He gagged as putrescence filled his mouth.
    Somewhere Joni was screaming. Men were chortling with demonic laughter.
    Was it true? Was it all happening? Had he been wrong? Had he done wrong?
    A pang of guilt wet Rex’s eyes. “Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry.”
    Something snapped. Rex was sinking, rising, swirling, whirling. The kind-faced man reappeared. He wore a white doctor’s uniform. He clasped Rex’s hand. “Don’t worry, Rex. Everything’s going to be alright.”

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