Cruel World

“What do you want with me?”


“Ah, right to the meat of it. I like you, Quinn. You’re a Godsend.” Archer laughed and clapped his hands, lacing his fingers together before bowing his head. “Dear Lord Almighty in the highest, we, your faithful servants of the physical world, come to you this day to offer up a tribute in representation of our loyalty to your grace. This harbinger of the apocalypse, we do now lay waste to in your name just as you cast out the most beautiful of all angels by the name of Lucifer. Lord hear our prayer.”

Archer looked up from his clasped hands and smiled.

“What a load of shit; am I right?”

Quinn gazed at him and then licked his lips. “I don’t understand.”

Archer stood and began to pace around the bed. “Do you know where you are, Quinn?”

“Somewhere in Pennsylvania.”

“Actually it’s Ohio, not that it matters anymore whatsoever. Everything’s gone. The government, the military, the media, everything. But not here. Here we have sanctity and preservation. It’s like a damn game reserve of human beings.” Archer paused and studied him. “But it’s my game reserve. See, I created all this fifteen years ago. The First Church of Eternal Salvation. Has a nice ring to it, right? My father was a Lutheran minister, and he made me learn the bible front to back, cover to cover, when I was only ten. I got picked on a lot growing up, wasn’t easy to be a preacher’s son. That and I was a fat little fucker. But you know what I learned, Quinn?” Archer bent over him, close enough to smell the man’s cologne, something sharp and tangy. “People are always looking for someone stronger than they are.” He straightened and went to the stove, warming his hands above its top.

“What does this have to do with me?” Quinn asked.

“Everything, my friend, everything.” Archer made his way back to the chair and dropped his girth into it. “When I started this church, I had three followers. We’d go into Cleveland, stand on the street corner, and hand out flyers. Our congregation grew over the years, but it wasn’t until my good old daddy died that things really took off. See, he invested enough money to leave me a sizeable chunk with which I bought this land, built these buildings, and began to preach full-time. Now you might be thinking, where’s he going with this. Well, I’ll tell you, Quinn.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “People are stupid. They’re sheep. They follow anyone with a plan. But if that plan takes even the slightest detour, well, they start to look elsewhere.

“I have a sweet deal here, my friend. I’m looked to as the supreme leader in all respects. I have all the money and food that I want. And the women…” Archer shook his head and whistled between his teeth. “…there’s five that share my bed right now, all of them trying to get a taste of the divine.” He chuckled and his stomach jiggled.

“So you’re a phony,” Quinn said, slowly trying to work his hands from beneath the straps, but they were too tight.

“Hey now, that hurts. I’m an opportunist, always have been. I got pissed on when I was younger, and I vowed never to let that happen again. But lately there’s been some dissent. This plague comes along and wipes out humanity, and you’d think it would be a minister’s dream, right? All these people looking to me for guidance and words of wisdom. Instead they’re frantic for an answer. Why did this happen? And doesn’t God love us?” Archer waved his hand through the air in disgust. “Bunch of fucking whiners.”

Quinn tried to slide his legs to one side beneath the strap, but there was no room to maneuver. And each time he moved, a bomb of pain would go off inside his skull. The room tilted and then leveled.

Joe Hart's books