The Damn Disciples (19 page)

“
Nis Isshtar. Nis isshtar,
” he commanded the pit bull. Stone didn’t know the exact meaning of the words, but he knew what they basically meant: rip
out Stone’s brains, he, and lungs—and then hurt him. The dog growled and crouched low, the stance it took when it was about
to leap on something’s bones. Stone had seen the animal do it enough fucking times—only, it had always been on someone else.
The very thought that the pit bull, after all they’d been through, was working for the other side, brought a little flush
of moisture to Stone’s eyes. He didn’t mind dying. But going out with such a cloud of betrayal over the whole thing, that
hurt, it really hurt. Perhaps, in its own way, more than anything. Even more than the pains of the withdrawal that continued
to stream through his body.

Stone raised the Ruger toward the pit bull, knowing the 9mm wouldn’t be enough. His hand closed hard around the butt and his
finger reached for the trigger. But he couldn’t pull it—even though he knew that if he didn’t, it would be too late. Once
the dog was airborne, he wouldn’t be able to stop it even with a whole chest full of slugs. The animal seemed to suddenly
go crazy. It twitched and foamed and jumped around as if it had Mexican beans up its ass. It was clearly having a problem
carrying out the Guru’s orders. Its jaws opened and closed, the razor-sharp teeth snapping down as if it was chewing some
invisible enemy.

“
Isshtar, Isshtar!
” Yasgar screamed over and over, now standing to his full height atop the elephant so that he looked quite fearsome, even
to the animal. But if the Guru expected that to take care of it, he was suddenly horribly surprised. For the dog just stood
there, shaking harder, as if it was having an epileptic fit. It couldn’t do it.

“All right, then,” Yasgar screamed, with the full orange dawn now flaming behind him, making it look as though God was doing
the lighting for the bastard. “I’ll do it my-self. Crush him,” he commanded the elephant, kicking it on each side of the head
with his spurred boots. “Crush him, smash his fucking brains out.” Stone heard the Guru’s voice slip out of its dark modulated
tones into a gruff New York accent, and he could see the bastard’s real roots in a flash. Not that it mattered.

For suddenly the elephant was coming forward, straight at him, with fury in its soup-bowl-size eyes. Stone fired right into
the animal’s chest and neck. But it was a joke Even a .44 wasn’t stopping this sucker. Suddenly the beast was there, towering
above him like a mountain as its huge gray trunk came slapping down at him. The first hit knocked Stone to the ground as if
he had been struck with a tree. And even as he lay there dazed, searching for his pistols that had fallen to the ground, the
trunk came down a second time. The elephant wrapped the long snout around Stone and lifted him up into the air. It waved him
around a few times as though he was a baton for an orchestra of death, and then held him far out about eight feet above the
ground. Stone looked back and could see the huge tusks of the beast pointing toward him. There was no question about what
the elephant had planned for him next. It was shish-ke-Stone time.

But even as the beast let out a great trumpeting roar and Yasgar raised his hands to the sky in triumph, wanting to see the
body ripped .to shreds on the ivory spears, Excaliber sprang up from the ground as though he had been fired from a launching
pad. The jaws opened to full width as he arced right up into the air straight at the great beast. Then the pit bull made contact
with the trunk just above where it was holding Stone. The jaws closed like a bear trap snapping shut on a grizzly. And the
elephant let out a trumpet that woke the entire camp—even savages miles off in the mountains. The neighborhood was jumping
this early morning.

The pit bull crunched hard again—and the trunk tore cleanly in two, severed clear through by the guillotine jaws. Stone found
himself falling through the air with the trunk still wrapped around him. Then everything was in a weird kind of slow motion.
He felt himself falling, falling through the air as if forever, as the dog fell away in a different direction, its face covered
in red. Then the elephant was up on its hind legs as its trunk, only about a third its previous size, spewed out gallons of
blood like a hose gone mad. The red ocean covered Stone as if it was raining down from the very heavens.

And as it reared, the huge beast sent Yasgar flying off its back. He fell good twelve feet down the side of the thing, landing
on his back. And though Stone could see that the fall had by no means done him in, the same couldn’t be said when the elephant
came crashing down on him. Even as Yasgar started to rise from the dirt and reached inside his robe for a poison-tipped blade
to take out Stone himself, the elephant gave off a throaty gurgle. Cutting off an elephant’s trunk is like cutting off a man’s
cock—the damage to the beast’s nervous system was too at for it to go on.

The many tons of gray hide came slamming right down on top of the Guru. And all his great powers of persuasion and mind control,
his abilities to take over men’s minds and women’s bodies, was for naught. For he was squashed into a bloody pie beneath the
beast. Stone saw the body disappear beneath the immense bulk of the dying beast and then a flood of blood, forced out under
pressure, come shooting out from under the elephant. The tusked creature flopped once as if an electric current had gone through
it and then it lay there motionless, the river of blood pouring from the hacked-off trunk as if someone had left the valve
on in the family washing machine.

Stone looked at the dog. The dog looked at Stone. And they both got strange expressions on their faces. Then the dog got a
real sheepish look and walked the twenty feet or so to Stone, where he rubbed up against his leg. Stone was touched by the
gesture. The dog was obviously still having some brain problems himself, under the drugs and hypnotic commands of the Guru,
but still he than to show that things were okay.

“Don’t worry about it, boy,” Stone said, reaching down and scratching the blood-soaked canine behind the ears. “We’ve all
been doing some things we didn’t like lately. And anyway, you didn’t attack me, right?” For which fact Stone would be forever
grateful. And from the looks of the puddle that seeped out from beneath the quivering elephant, it didn’t look as if the Guru
was going to be giving any more commands—on this earth anyway.

But the two traveling companions had hardly caught their breaths when they both heard the noise at the same instant. The sounds
of dozens of men coming from the village. Sticks and blades can around in the dawn light as they ran down the road toward
the burning drug factory. Stone hefted both pistols in his hands and rose as the dog turned, snorted a few times to get its
macho going—since it knew they weren’t coming out of what was going to happen next. The dog was no fool. There were too many.

“Shit,” Stone muttered through still-chattering teeth. He didn’t feel like dying today. He at least would have liked to have
been completely off the damn drugs. Then he could head into the next world with full consciousness. There was something about
dying with a stinking headache and pains in every joint in your body, that just wasn’t how he wanted to go. Not that he had
particularly wanted to go any fucking way. But then, death didn’t give a shit about his likes or dislikes.

The thirty or so upper echelon of the Perfect Aura cult grew ashen-faced as they drew closer. The elephant that had carried
the Guru was down. And the huge puddle of blood oozing out from its body with a few of the Guru’s rings and jewelry mixed
in with it didn’t look too promising.

“You killed him,” one of them with dark gray robe and various insignia on him indicating a top commander said incredulously.
“You killed the Guru.”

“Correction,” Stone said, wanting to give credit where credit was due. “The elephant killed the Guru.”

“But—you—you killed the elephant,” the cult officer said, his face turning redder by the second.

“Correction,” Stone said, wanting to give credit where credit was due, “the dog killed the elephant.” Excaliber glanced up
at Stone and stepped a foot or two away, wondering momentarily just who the traitor was. “Of course he’s my dog. So if you
want to mess with him, you’ll have to deal with me first.”

“Oh, we will deal with both of you,” the Guru’s Chief of Arms said as he motioned with his hands for the robed attackers to
spread out. And they did so fast, before Stone had a chance to fire. Suddenly they were rushing off in every direction, trying
to outflank him from 360 degrees. Stone opened up with the 9mm, spraying a group that was coming in fast at three o’clock.
Three of them fell as the slugs crisscrossed over their chests. But they were coming in from everywhere. Excaliber leaped
up at one who charged in with some kind of long machete. He thought he had the dog clear in his reach and swung the blade
down. But suddenly the animal was right up over it and soaring into his head. The pit bull chomped down hard right on the
center of the man’s face. Nose, lips, eyes, everything—all sort of mushed up and squirted out between the dog’s jaws. Then
the fighting canine spat it all out and turned ready to take on the next bastard dumb enough to die.

Two of them leapt up at Stone from behind him, just suddenly there. He got one with the 9, sending him flying backward with
his whole front opened up as if he was on medical display. But the second one was able to swing down the infernal staff that
the bastards carried and caught Stone a good one right on the side of the head. He felt himself going down—but not out. And
even as he hit the ground he man-aged to bring up the Ruger .44 in a slow arc. The robed attacker dropped to one knee and
was bringing the end of his stick down toward Stone’s nose ready to crush everything there into paste. But at the last possible
instant Stone man-aged to throw a little extra zing into his arm and the pistol suddenly flew up and found the target. He
squeezed hard, and the Perfect Aura of the attacker wasn’t so perfect any-more, what with a hole the size of a saucer suddenly
appearing where his nose had been. Blood exploded out over Stone as the force of the blast threw the screaming man backward,
where he flopped around like a chicken with its head lopped off.

Stone rolled over just as an ax descended, and he was able to take the attacker down with a leg grab, twisting him to the
ground. As the brown-robed man hit the dirt, Stone slammed the butt end of the .44 right into the fat gut and pulled twice.
The whole backbone exploded out, followed by much of the digestive system and that day’s food as well. Stone kicked himself
free even as the dying eyes spun around in the white face like cherries in a slot machine. He jumped to his feet and nearly
went over instantly, as he was still only at about forty percent of fighting ability—which was not exactly the state to be
in in the middle of a full-scale fucking war.

Stone glanced over to the right about ten yards off, where three man lay writhing in crazy patterns on the dirt, blood coming
from faces, stomachs, throats. And even as he watched, another attacker came in. The dog feinted to the right and then flew
in from the left, slamming his jaws around the wrist of the hand that was carrying a macelike object. Again the animal’s razor-sharp
jaws did their thing. The hand, holding the club and all, was torn free from the arm that had carved it around for about thirty-six
years. The man ran off, blood spurting from his severed wrist, as Excaliber stood there, panting heavily, holding the hand,
club and all, in his jaws as he waited for the next asshole.

Stone knew they were both putting up a valiant, incredible fight, considering their states. But it was all going to be in
vain. That he had no illusions about. For there were more of the bastards coming all the time. For every one they took out,
two more appeared. He’d run out of bullets and the dog would run out of fucking teeth before they took out half of these.
Still they fought on. They had no choice. They pulled in closer together, protecting their backs until they were just inches
apart, facing off the advancing cultees with murder in their eyes. Stone turned to the mutt, keeping one eye cocked on the
attackers.

“Sorry, boy, you don’t deserve to go out like this. But”you done good, dog, real fucking good.” The pit bull barked twice
as if to say ditto. And a twisted smile crossed Stone’s face even as he saw that he was down to his last few rounds. Between
the two of them they’d already destroyed the fucking place. Taken out its drug supply—and its Guru. All things considered,
Stone could almost die happy. Almost. The cultees closed in.

Suddenly there was a strange noise like singing or chanting, and they all seemed to freeze in their tracks. Every face turned
to see what the hell the commotion was all about. And coming over the hill Stone saw what was just about the best fucking
thing he had ever laid eyes on in his life. The Broken Ones—and they were armed and singing.

“God bless America, land of the free/ Stand beside her and Guide her/ With the light from night from above.”

“From the mountains …”

Stone joined in under his breath as a real smile crossed his face. He hadn’t sung it in a long time. And maybe there was no
more America…but
these
bastards were singing it—and they were coming to save his damn ass, so Stone sang along, louder and then louder. And in his
heart he almost felt that there was a country again, a nation where the little guy was protected instead of squashed and broken
by every two-bit hoodlum, warlord, or guru who deigned to take over a chunk of the of U.S. of A.

Riding in the front of the two dozen or so Broken Ones, who hobbled along with broken bodies but unbroken spirit in their
hearts, was Smythe on Stone’s Harley. He had a wide grin on his half-toothed mouth. And though the Harley was wobbling from
side to side, he was keeping the damn thing up. He looked proud as a man can be, both for himself and for the fact that they
had all come. And he and Stone caught each other’s glances even from the hundred feet or so that parted them and they both
knew that it was a feat of mythical proportions. That these battered and torn men, with half their brains gone, should somehow
find it in their souls to rise and fight back. That was what it was all about. And it made Stone suddenly feel filled with
an invincible strength. And he knew that somehow they were going to make it.