Judge Dredd (15 page)

“Listen,” Fergie whispered, “don’t you tell me to get control of myself, Dredd. Don’t you tell me a
thing.
It’s your fault I’m in this mess. If I ever get out of here—”

“You won’t.”

“What?”

“It’s against my nature to give up, Ferguson. Understand that. Given the chance, I will give a good accounting of myself. If at all possible, I will take several of these lawbreakers with me. Aside from that, it’s pretty reasonable to assume we have little or no chance of escape. Especially if they are who I think they are.”

Fergie felt his throat go dry. “And who—who would that be?”

“Angels,” Dredd said.

“Angels? Like in—”

“No. Like in Angels of Death. God’s Maggots. Painers. Dirt Chokers.”

“God’s
Maggots?”
Fergie looked at the fire. “What the hell is this, Dredd—no, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know, I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to—”

Someone screamed. It was a high-pitched, terrible sound that echoed through the ruins and seemed to last forever.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” Fergie moaned.

“They’ve got somebody else,” Dredd said. “There were other survivors of the crash.”

“I don’t
care
about anyone else. Screw ’em. I care about me.”

“That’s a bad attitude. That’s a typical lawbreaker outlook on life, Ferguson.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s
normal,
see? I’m a career criminal, Dredd. Not a really big-time criminal, but that’s what I do. I wire robots, I rob public droids. I can get inside nearly any electronic device. I
did
time for that, okay? I am not supposed to be here now.
You
got me into this mess!”

“You said that.”

“I said it again. What are you going to do about that? Arrest me? Good. Please do.”

The scream cut through the night again, then abruptly stopped. Fergie closed his eyes.

“Hey, Pa! We got wakies over here!”

Someone else laughed. “We b-b-better. Pa’s flat runnin’ out of sinners.”

Fergie opened his eyes, sucked in a breath and didn’t let it out. There were three of them. Ugly. Tall. Short. Skinny. Fat. Their hoods were thrown back across their crooked shoulders. One had a face like a toad. His nose was sewn shut with leather thread. He was scarcely wider than a stick. He had enormous green eyes. The hair on his face and head was scorched black and his skin was burned raw. This one still had a nose, but his ears were sewn shut.

It was the third one that made Fergie want to throw up his lunch. If he’d had any lunch that’s exactly what he’d have done. The groon had a patchwork face, alternating squares of copper and flesh like a nightmare checkerboard. One arm was real. The other was a dull metal stub. There was something mechanical protruding from his head, but Fergie couldn’t make it out.

“Hey, how ’bout
you?”
The creature caught Fergie looking and grinned. “I kinda like you, man. I surely do.” Something blurred, something hummed, something silver and gold sprang out of the metal stub. Something long and sharp touched Fergie’s crotch. It trailed up to Fergie’s belly and traced a narrow line. Fergie had to look.
Why did I do that,
he thought,
why did I have to look?
It was the longest blade Fergie had ever seen. They didn’t
make
any blades longer than that.

“I think I’m going to like you
good,”
the man with yellow eyes said. “Real, real good. What you think of that?”

“Whatever you do, don’t show them fear,” Dredd said.

“Yeah, right.” Fergie felt something roll over and die in his belly. “Thanks, I’ll remember that, Dredd.”

“Dredd. Did you say
Dredd?”

Yellow Eyes cocked his head and studied Dredd. His eyes went bright when he spotted the Judge tattoo.

“Blessed be, Pa!” He turned and called into the shadows. “We got us Judge Dredd
hisself!”

The two other freakos jumped up and down. Something walked out of the dark. Something tall and gaunt in bug-eaten rags, something that smelled before it even got near. It shuffled past the fire, tapping its stick on the ground. The others stepped out of his way. He stopped, sniffed the air, then turned his head up to Dredd. His features were masked by the filth-encrusted hood.

“Id id twoo? We gaht uds duh gwead bed up the log hidseph?”

Yellow Eyes winked at Dredd. “Pa wants to know it it’s true we got us the great man of the Law himself. Well, is it, Dredd? That be who you are?”

“I’m Dredd.”

“Hagga-lulla!” the man in the hood said.

“I know who you are,” Dredd said. “You’re the self-styled Reverend Billy Joe Angel. Wanted on a Six-Oh-Three, Crimes Against Humanity. A Five-Two-Niner, Murder in Every Degree. You and your offspring are under arrest.”

Pa Angel howled. “Oh, be are plessid, Lort! All we brayed vor was vood and sus-nance. Bud thou has de-livert our gweat enemee undo our hans!”

“Pa says—”

“I heard him,” Dredd said. “You’re still all under arrest.”

“Dredd . . .” Fergie shook his head. “You keep saying that, you’re going to piss this guy off.” He looked at the hooded horror. “Listen, friend, there’s been a little mistake. Him and me, we’re not together. I mean,
I
was in the shuttle,
he
was in the shuttle. You’re in the same place with somebody, that doesn’t mean you know each other, you’re even acquainted, you know? Doesn’t mean you’ve even
seen
each other before, you—
yahh!”

Yellow Eyes poked Fergie sharply in the ribs. “Told you I liked you, man. I didn’t mean I liked you
talking.
I like you when you don’t.”

“Hey, I can live without the—”

“Shut up!”

Yellow Eyes squinted at Dredd and Fergie, then nodded at the horror in the hood. “That’s Pa. You already know that. You better be real nice. He’s a au-thentic babbatized avenger of the Lord.” He stabbed the air with his knife. “You mess with him, you messin’ with the fiery hand of God himself!”

“Amen!”

“Amen!”

Yellow Eyes grinned. “They call me Mean Machine. That’s ’cause I am.” He pointed a dirty finger at his head. “Pa’s got me set on
One.
I had a kinda accident when I was a’born. Shit. Bein’
alive’s
a pure accident out here. Pa fixed me up best he could. He can turn me all the way up to
Four.
That’s ber-serkin’ dog-frothin’ psycho-maniac is what it is. You don’t want to never see that.

“The dumb-lookin’ one’s Junior Head-Dead. You can likely figure why. The other one’s Link-Link. He ain’t as dumb, but he can’t get his bodily functions workin’ right. If the wind was right you could tell.”

Mean Machine stepped up closer to Fergie. He pricked Fergie’s foot with his blade, turned the edge around and around in the light of the flame. When he looked at Dredd, his half-smile faded away.

“We are mighty proud to have
you
here, Dredd. Mighty proud, indeed.” His blade swept out faster than any eye could see. A thin line of red appeared on Dredd’s chest. “You’re hard to hurt, I bet. Pa’s going to like that.”

“Let me—
snuk-snuk!
—kill it, Pa!”

“Huh-uh!” Link-Link’s face screwed up in a mask. “You said
I
could have one, Pa!”

“Hallelujah, brother!” Fergie cried out. “Right on. Glory to the Lord! May His mighty sword smite sinners from the face of the earth! May His wrath stomp down on the unbeliever, may He damn the rich and raise up the poor!”

Mean Machine’s eyes went wide. He gave Fergie a puzzled look.

“What you doing? Why you sayin’ stuff like that?”

“Lo, the wicked shall eat the dust of thy path, O Lord. E-ternal damnation to him who follows the false law of the Cities and curses the one true Lord of this dry and forgotten land!”

Pa Angel took a step forward. He turned his shrouded face up to Fergie. “Cud id be? Frum duh Cidy ub duh fallen, a fate-ful wud has a-beered?”

“Amen,” Fergie shouted. “The sheep’s come home, man, that’s me!”

“Ferguson . . .” Dredd shook his head in disgust. “You don’t want to do this. Believe me, you don’t.”

“Yeah? Think again,
un
believer.”

Mean Machine turned to his brothers. “Cut him down. If Pa says this’n is a Believer, why I reckon he is.”

Fergie laughed as Link-Link and Junior Head-Dead scrambled up the post to cut him free.

“The Law doesn’t make mistakes, Dredd, right? But I’m free and you’re
toast.
Go figure, man!”

“Wrong. I’m toast, Ferguson. You’re
meat.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“These are the Angels, dope-head. They’re Cursed Earth scavengers. Scumbags. They’re also cannibals.”

Fergie stared. “Hey, no way. Don’t go telling me shit like that, Dredd. Don’t even
joke
about it, man.” He turned to Mean Machine. “Right, pal? Tell him, brother.”

“Hagga-lulla!” Pa Angel shouted.

“Snuk-snuk-snuk!”
said Junior Head-Dead.

“T
his is terrific, you know? I mean, meeting you guys, a bunch of
other
Believers out here in the middle of nowhere, now what’s the chance of that? Is that God’s will or what?”

“G-g-g-glory!” Link-Link said.

“Snuk-snuk!” said Junior Head-Dead.

Fergie winked, and did a little bantam-weight shuffle. He tapped Junior lightly on the head. His hand came away with flecks of scorched hair. When the others weren’t looking, he wiped it on his pants.

“I can do a Eee-Tee-Ay,” Link-Link said. “I g-got real good navigash’nul skills. I got cord’nuts in my head.”

“Right,” Fergie said. “See a Medik next time you’re in town. Fix you right up.”

Link-Link and Junior were leading him down a narrow passage through the ruined building. Link-Link carried a burning torch. Fergie wondered where they were going, but didn’t want to ask. What he wanted to do was get far enough away from the big spook himself and that lunatic with the muckin’ machete for an arm, get his bearings straight, lose these freakos and get the hell out of town.

He felt bad about Dredd. Not bad enough to stick around, for sure, and hey, Dredd had gotten him into this squirrel nest, you couldn’t forget about that. Better Herman Ferguson on the loose than hanging there with what’s-his-name and his oversized shiv, and the old guy with the speech defect. These two groons were bad enough, but
those
guys . . .

“So,” Fergie said, “we’re going where, out for some air or what? A quick tour’s fine with me, I don’t have to be back or anything. Man, it is great out here, you know? Away from the stinkin’ city lights. God is good! Glory to His name!”

“G-Glory!” Link-Link said.

“Snuk-snuk!” said Junior Head-Dead.

Fergie looked at Link. “No kidding, fella, you get to a doc sometime, they could fix up that little problem you got with the nose. I mean, no offense, you don’t mind me bringing up the nose, right? Like, the leatherwork’s attractive and all . . .” He squinted at Junior’s ears. “You people work with heavy machinery a lot? I was thinking, you know, industrial accidents, something like that? They got good safety gear, you take the right precautions this—huh?”

Link-Link had stopped. He held the torch up to Fergie and stared.

“Wh-what you talkin’ about, f-fixing what?”

“Just talking, okay?” Fergie didn’t like the guy’s look. Like someone had stepped on his foot.

Link-Link looked confused. “Can’t n-nobody
fix
nothin’ except Pa. Pa’s re-ordinated and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard.”

Link-Link grinned. “Pa says if I w-walk in God’s misery and pain, I can git the Holy Gouging when I’m fifteen. Mean Machine’ll git it next year, an’ I’m after that!”

Fergie’s throat went dry. All the meals he’d missed stirred a queasy soup in his belly. “You’re saying . . . nah, you’re not sayin’ that, like what I think you’re saying . . .”

“Pa’s got it
all,”
Link-Link said. “The whole B-B-Blessed Mutilation of God! Ears and eyes and nose sewed up, and his m-mouth, too. He’s the only Angel’s got that.”

Link-Link rolled his eyes, thrust out his arms and turned a circle twice.

“Lo, he hast s-sewed up his every wicked ori-fuss against the evil of the world. He h-has shut out sin and cast Satan aside. He hast b-b-become a pure abomy-nation of the Lord!”

Oh, shit, I am out of here . . .

“Look, I got some private hygiene stuff, and you fellas have plenty to do. If you can just point me outside—”

Link-Link kicked Fergie solidly in the rear. Fergie grabbed air and bit a mouthful of floor.

“Hey, hold on there! What the hell, guys?”

Link-Link straddled Fergie’s back, crushing all the air out of his lungs. Junior wound a piece of rusty wire around his hands, then looped the other end about his feet. Link took one shoulder and Junior took the other. Together, they dragged Fergie on his belly down the hall.

“Wait a minute,” Fergie said, “I’m a Believer. I’m a—I’m a Maggot of God, just like you!”

“That’s why we l-love you, brother,” Link-Link said.

“You got a weird way of showing it, brother.”

“Like you better’n
him,”
Link said. “Lot’s better’n that one . . . Don’t we, Junior?”

“Snuk!”

“Who? Who are we talking about here? Dredd? Is that who, Dredd?”

Link made a face. “He’s a agg-nasty or something. Ch-chock fulla sin!”

Link and Junior let go. Link flipped him over on his back. Fergie looked straight at a bed of hot coals. He looked at the heavy iron spit, and he looked at the thing that was crackling there, crackling red and black, juices hissing down into the fire. It took him a second, a second and a half, then the image took a clear and very definite shape in his head. It kept kicking out then kicking back in and it wouldn’t let go. It wouldn’t let go no matter what he did.

Fergie threw up. He didn’t have a thing in his stomach but his stomach didn’t care.

“Them Unbelievers,” Link said, “just d-don’t
taste
right, you know? It’s impure f-f-f-flesh is what it is.”

“Snuk-snuk!”

Fergie closed his eyes. “Now this is a gag, right? What I want you to do is tell me this is a gag. Dredd said that you guys—what you—I know he didn’t mean that you were—”