Chapter Seven

 

 

A glance at his wrist chron showed Ryan the hour of midnight was close at hand. "Looks like we're right on time," he whispered.

 

In the center of a natural bowl formed by several low hills reared a pyramidal structure. Made of long lengths of gleaming aluminum, it was at least fifty feet high and a hundred wide at the base. The interior of the skeletal structure was packed with cordwood, coal and paper. It was kept inside the pyramid shape by a high chain-link fence that stretched around it. At least a half ton of tinder was spread out beneath the fuel.

 

At the apex of the pyramid, where the four poles joined, was a block-and-tackle contrivance with a heavy rope pulled taut and out at a forty-five-degree angle. The end of the rope was affixed to a railed dais that was positioned about forty feet from the pyramid's base.

 

On top of the dais, lounging in the fan-backed wicker chair and still dressed in spotless white, was Lars Hellstrom. A black drum rested on his lap. His lean body was in a casual posture, but his eyes were penetrating and as keen as a hawk's. Ryan had the urge to duck his head, even though he knew it was impossible for Hellstrom to spot him and his friends.

 

The area around the pyramid and the dais was thronged by a murmuring crowd, all wearing strange, barbaric costumes. Many wore the hides of beasts, others nothing at all except body paint in multicolored patterns. Most of them wielded flaming torches.

 

Hellstrom lifted a hand, and the murmuring of the crowd died away. Every eye was upon him, staring with an intensity that came close to adoration.

 

"I greet you, my brothers and sisters and children." Hellstrom's voice was like deep, compelling music and carried a great distance. It was a voice that could sway crowds to madness.

 

Ryan looked at the rapt faces of the people gazing up at him, and decided that Hellstrom was one of the most dangerous men he had ever seen. To the men, women and probably even the children of Helskel, this rail-thin patriarch was already on the road to divinity, just like his savior, Charlie Manson.

 

"We have survived. That's our key word. Survival. The Family has survived for over a century. Everything Lord Charlie prophesied has come to pass. Helter Skelter did indeed come down. And we, his Family, have inherited the earth and we have prospered."

 

Absolute, uncompromising uniformity of purpose lay like a duplicated mask on all the faces turned toward him.

 

"We have seen the dawn of our success," Hellstrom continued. "We have risen like the phoenix from the ashes, and we occupy the place that was kept from us years ago by the duplicities of false gods."

 

The listeners stirred, venting their enthusiasm in an ovation of "Helter Skelter has come down."

 

"Even if the world had not choked to death and spit up its own guts and burned itself out, the Family would still have survived. Charlie's vision was real, his knives were real and the blood he spilled was real. His teachings outlived his enemies. The age of pig magic is over!"

 

"Helter Skelter has come down!" The throng went wild. Hoarse shouts and cries of hysterical delight resounded.

 

"I can't believe this," Mildred said in horror. "I really can't believe it."

 

Ryan knew what she meant. Hellstrom's presentation seemed so staged, so contrived, so childish, it was difficult to understand how anyone could buy into it.

 

"The age of pig magic is over!" Hellstrom thundered again. He leaned forward in his chair. "We're the sorcerers now, baby!"

 

The night trembled with wild acclaim and wilder screams. Everyone stamped their feet and shook their torches madly. Hellstrom's eyes roved over the faces of his audience. Slowly the shouts and hysterical shrieks subsided into murmurs of heartfelt sentiment.

 

"Now, we must give one of our brothers a proper farewell," he said. "And though he leaves us, and we will miss him, we must not shirk our duties to our world, to the rest of the Family."

 

Hellstrom sat back in his chair and began to beat the drum in his lap with slow, light blows. The brassy blare of the trumpet split the night, and four people, all wearing hooded animal skins, marched toward the dais. They were carrying Zadfrak, bound hand and foot to the wooden frame of a litter.

 

The quartet placed the man on the platform near the base of Hellstrom's chair and the crowd shuffled forward, forming a half circle around it, chanting mindlessly, "Helter Skelter has come down, has come down, Helter Skelter has come down."

 

As the crowd chanted, they flung their arms up in unison, weaving their bodies rhythmically from the waist up.

 

"Helter Skelter has come down, has come down"

 

Suddenly a naked woman sprang into the space between the people and the platform, her long hair flying loose. Red and blue paint adorned her bare arms and legs. She brandished a fourteen-inch-long bowie knife over her head, and she exuded an erotic energy, a dangerous sensuality. With a start, Ryan recognized the woman as Fleur.

 

Bounding to the dais, Fleur straddled Zadfrak's body and shouted, "When you get to the bottom, you go back to the top of the slide!"

 

All the people shouted those words back. "When you get to the bottom, you go back to the top of the slide!"

 

Fleur began to slash Zadfrak's bound body with her blade. Hellstrom beat the drum faster and faster, louder and louder, and Fleur matched that frenzied rhythm with wild slices. Blood sprayed up, splashing her nude body, spattering in an artless pattern across her breasts.

 

Mildred made a gagging sound, but she didn't avert her gaze.

 

Fleur suddenly sagged against the rail of the platform, quivering and panting in exhaustion.

 

The crowd surged forward with a mad howl. "You may be a lover, but you ain't no dancer!"

 

Knives appeared in every hand, and they converged around the dais. Blades slashed and sliced, but Ryan noted that he saw no stabbing motions.

 

Hellstrom maintained the steady, fast drumbeat, then in stages he began to slow it. As he did, the throng began to wander away. By the time the drumming was a maddeningly slow bom bom bom , the red ruin of a human being lay on the litter.

 

Fleur, still breathing hard, untied the rope from the rail and knotted it around the top cross section of the litter. A man who was completely naked except for a hooded mask made from a huge wolf's head leaped to the dais and began hauling on the rope, hand over hand.

 

The litter and Zadfrak's mutilated body swung up and free of the platform, inching toward the top of the pyramid. At one point, the lupine mask slipped, and Ryan recognized the scarred face of Dog beneath it.

 

At the same time, men with torches scurried about the base of the pyramid, igniting the tinder. Several more men, carrying metal tanks with hoses and nozzles attached, squirted sprays of liquid onto the packed flammables.

 

Jak's nostrils twitched. "Gasoline. High-grade. Smell like predark stuff."

 

In almost all regions of Deathlands, predark gasoline was worth as much, if not more, than gold. To use it as an accelerant when alternatives were available meant one of two thingseither the citizens of Helskel were unpardonably wasteful, or they had an almost unlimited supply.

 

By the time Zadfrak's body had been winched to the apex of the pyramid, the tinder had caught and flames were roaring upward through the fuel. They could feel the heat on their faces.

 

Zadfrak's body dangled there, held by the strength of Dog's brawny arms. When flames were licking at his blood-dripping feet, Dog released his grip.

 

The rope hummed through the pulley, and Zadfrak plunged into the pyramid of sheeting flame. An agonized scream floated over the roar of the pyre, the cheers of the crowd.

 

Mildred put her hands to her face, eyes blank with shock. "He's still alive."

 

Zadfrak's bound body went crashing through the burning wood, coal and sagebrush. A whirling column of fiery sparks and embers corkscrewed up into the black sky. A breeze blew the sweetish stench of roasting human flesh in their direction.

 

Ryan followed the spinning, glowing motes. Despite his best efforts not to, he visualized what was happening to Zadfrak his skin would blister and peel, his organs would burst and his bodily fluids would boil and evaporate. The bones would be reduced to a gritty ash within a few seconds. He hoped the man had lost consciousness quickly.

 

Dropping his gaze to the dais, he saw that Hellstrom was still seated, tapping his long fingers on the drum skin. He was smiling, and he seemed to be staring past the throng to the ridge top hiding Ryan and his people.

 

Cold fear stole over the one-eyed man. Taking Krysty by the arm, he backed down the slope. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

 

As J.B., Jak, Doc and Mildred followed him and Krysty through the sagebrush, Ryan tried to shake the fingers of horror clutching at his mind and heart. The slashing with knives and the cremation of Zadfrak was the concoction of a deranged mind. It served no purpose other than ceremonial theater. It was a sham.

 

"Still want to wait until daybreak?" J.B. asked, jogging beside him.

 

Ryan shook his head. "Let's move out. If anyone tries to stop us, blast 'em down."

 

When they reached Helskel, Jak, Mildred and Doc volunteered to retrieve their gear from the rooms, while J.B., Ryan and Krysty went to prepare the Land Rover.

 

"According to the fuel gauge," J.B. said, "we have about a quarter of a tank. Let's get as far as we can on that, then stop and gas up."

 

"Good idea," Ryan replied.

 

They rounded the corner of the saloon, sprinting toward the parked vehicle. They ran only a few yards before J.B. rocked to such a sudden halt that Ryan nearly trod on his heels.

 

" Shit !" J.B. hissed.

 

Ryan stepped around him and inspected the Land Rover. "Fireblast!"

 

The armored wag's six tires were flat. They had all been expertly slashed.