He flew past the first row of cabins.
Beyond a second row was a wooden fence at least ten feet high. He would have one chance to run up it and grasp the top. He leaned forward, a high-pitched scream carrying to him from the way he’d come.
As he passed the second row of cabins and readied himself to jump, a rope snapped up from the ground, pulling tight near his ankles.
His feet hooked it and he was falling, the ground rushing up to meet him much too fast. He slammed into it, skidding forward, rocks and dirt taking bites of his skin. All the oxygen was gone from the world; there was none in his lungs. He rolled over to his side, attempting to get up.
Twin boys, no more than ten years old, watched him from a dozen yards away, their hands still gripping either end of the rope. One of them smiled at him.
A man wearing a gray, button-up shirt approached from the direction of the church followed by the woman who had been in the concrete hut. She blubbered something incoherent and sank to her knees, pulling the two twin boys to her chest as she tilted her head back.
“Praise the Lord. You boys did so good,” she said, her grin stretching across her face again.
Quinn tried to get onto his hands and knees, but the man in the gray shirt kicked him back down. Soon he was surrounded by people, so many people. Men and women and children of all ages, clustering around him in a circle, their eyes flitting to him and then away. Many of their hands were clasped, their fingers intertwined in prayer. All of them were dressed the same, the woman in full-length skirts, the men in the button-up shirts and blue jeans. The circle began to move apart at the far end and a short, stocky man with silver hair strode through the gap. His eyes were shaded behind a pair of dark sunglasses, and he wore a black shirt tucked over his significant belly. He moved without hesitation, his strides purposeful and quick. He paused near Quinn’s feet, the dark lenses reflecting his prone form in the dirt.
“And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world; he was thrown down to the earth.” The man spoke in a deep baritone that carried well within the circle and bounced off the fence. He squatted beside Quinn, his mouth curling up in a sneer. “Sleep now, demon, and soon we will have the truth.”
Quinn tried again to roll over, but something struck him hard in the back of his head and the sun winked out into darkness.
~
“Wake up.”
The words filtered down to him from a great height. A thudding ache pulsed at the base of his neck. Silence roared in his ears. Quinn blinked, a wood-paneled ceiling coming into focus. He turned his head. He was on a bed. Wide straps ran across his chest, hips, and shins. A fire burned low behind the glass doors of a stove in the corner of the room.
“Over here, handsome.”
Quinn turned his head the opposite way.
The bullish man in the black shirt sat in a chair that looked like a throne beside the bed. His sunglasses were gone, and Quinn saw that his eyes were brown and deep set, piggish and watery. A peppering of whiskers covered his jowly face.
The man smiled.
“Where am I?” Quinn said. The words were too large for his mouth, his tongue thick and dry.
“My home.” He sprung from his chair, moving like a much lighter man, and grasped Quinn’s hand pinned beneath the strap. “Archer Tigmund, at your service. Although I should say you’re at mine at the moment.” He grinned again and released Quinn’s fingers before re-seating himself on the velvet-covered chair. “May I have the pleasure of your name?”
“Quinn.”
“Quinn, you know, I like that. Much better than Ralph. That was my given name. But I changed it. Archer is so much more distinguished and pleasant to say, don’t you think?”