I ran a hand down my face, my stomach rolling with the fear that I was letting Judah down. Letting our people down. “I know. There’s just so much to do. Our people are many; having their faith and expectations of our salvation solely in my hands is a great burden.”
Judah looked out over the gardens, his brown eyes drinking in the sight of our people working in the garden. I followed his gaze. A young boy, evidently feeling our attention, looked up. As soon as his gaze met mine, his head dipped and he bowed. My chest tightened as he turned back to his work, his head not rising again.
As I studied the boy, I figured he must be about fifteen. All gangly limbs and awkward movements. I thought back to what I was doing at that age. Memories of Judah and I locked in a room for hours each day, learning scripture. Our scholar made sure we knew our scriptures by heart. Our uncle—Prophet David’s—picture on the wall was our only decoration. There was no playtime for us, no relaxation. Our faith had taught us that we must constantly work hard. Work hard, so when the day came for my ascension, we would be ready.
There had been no human contact, save with each other and our scholar.
There had been no love, but for that of each other. And there had been no one to confide in, to ask questions of, than each other.
This life was all that I had known until I was sent on a mission to infiltrate the Hangmen. A mission from our Prophet. One that would secure our finances by taking their gun trade contacts from under their nose—to house and keep our people safe until the Day of Judgment fell upon us.
Judah suddenly leaned in beside me and said in a low voice, “See how our followers worship you, brother? You may have doubts about who you are to us, but we do not. Was it not the same with Jesus? He too had doubts, but his disciples kept him strong. Just as I do for you.”
Judah’s hand rested over mine. “Look at me, Cain.” I did. “You are meant for this. And I will do anything you ask of me. Anything.”
Feeling the wound-up coil of tension loosen in my stomach, I squeezed Judah’s hand and sighed in relief. “I know, Judah. I am sure that it’s you, and you alone, who makes this calling bearable.”
Judah smiled at my words, and we went back to gazing out over the gardens. Judah sat back, resting on his hands, and said, “I’ve just had contact from the Klan. They are putting our plan into action today. They’ve got word on a cash drop off, north of Georgetown, with one of their biggest buyers. It’s the perfect first target. The Klan will make it clear that anyone trading with the Hangmen is a potential target. Then, between us and the Klan’s Grand Wizards, we can reap their lost business.”
Judah smiled wide and continued. “Just imagine what we could create for our people, Cain. With that money we can truly make New Zion a heaven on Earth. We can realize the prophecy. I am forever grateful that Governor Ayer’s son defected from the Klan and joined the Hangmen. It poured gasoline on the White Knights' already smoldering fire. With his personal vendetta against his son, and the MC for taking him in, I am convinced the Klan won’t fail.”
I listened to Judah’s words, but said, “The Hangmen are strong, Judah. I spent five years pretending to be one of them. Their reach goes further than we or the Klan can contend with at the moment. To make us victors over the MC, we must wait. Everything will take time, like Governor Ayers said. We must play our cards appropriately. Not do anything to prod the fire. If they choose to attack now, then we would face another massacre like that of the old commune. We wouldn’t survive another attack.”