Read Online Myrmidon by David Wellington - Free Book Online Page B

that. I met so many ­people, listened to so many screeds. There was one kind of guy I met a lot of. Young men covered in tattoos, full of hate for ­people they’d likely never met. Guys who had gotten in trouble for what they believed in, thought they were hardcases, and the world was picking on them. I recognized way too much of myself in them, and I knew I could have turned out that way if I’d been dumb enough to believe what my father preached. If I just hadn’t known better. They had the hatred in them, the hate I felt in my own heart. They looked me in the eye, and I could tell they saw it, too. They would come to me and ask me if I knew what they should do with themselves. A lot of them had gotten in trouble with the law. They trusted me because I’d been in prison and because I was my father’s son, and they knew I was smart, and they figured I would have a plan.
    â€œThe funny thing about these guys—­guys like Charlie and Andre. The funny thing is, for all their hate, for all that the world has kicked them around, they have this incredible quality of optimism. After all they’ve been through, you’d think that reality would have sunk in eventually, but it hasn’t. They’ve seen how the world comes down on you when you don’t think like everybody else. But still they believe. They believe that maybe in their lifetimes, maybe soon after, all their dreams are going to come true. That the white race will be triumphant. They have this dream. And the thing about dreamers is, they’ll do anything to make their dream come true.
    â€œI started getting my big idea, started developing my master plan, right there and then. I knew, you see, that one man alone was never going to make a difference in this world. That I was going to die having achieved nothing. The world doesn’t listen to one man. But a man with an army all his own—­well, that’s how history happens, isn’t it?
    â€œI told them what they wanted to hear. I knew all the words by heart because my father had beaten them into me. I told them about mud ­people and the sons of Ham and about Nordic destiny. I told them we needed to stick together and that we needed to work toward a greater goal. You wouldn’t believe how easy it was. These kids are dreamers, and if you tell them their dreams can come true, no matter how ridiculous they really are, well, they’ll follow you right off a cliff.
    â€œI started recruiting them, one by one. I only wanted the ones who I knew I could trust. There were plenty of skinheads out there who talked a good game, but all they really wanted was to get in fights and listen to terrible music. I had no use for that kind. I wanted the true believers. The ones who would follow my rules. We had to lie low, I said. The world wasn’t ready for our message, so we had to stay free and clean. No drugs. No criminal activity of any kind. We couldn’t afford even so much as a parking ticket because this country would take any excuse, even the slightest, to crush us. Of course, they needed to do something, show their hatred somehow, so I got them doing nonviolent demonstrations.”
    Chapel sighed in disgust. “Like picketing biracial weddings.”
    â€œExactly. That’s why I said it was distasteful but necessary. They needed that outlet, my soldiers. They needed to feel like they were doing something. I despised going to those protests. Afterward, I had to scrape my skin clean in the shower, just to feel human again. But I did it. I went and picketed. I published books by idiots even crazier than my father. I put together an empire based on hatred, and every day I watched it grow stronger. I knew I was getting close to the day when I could finally use that power for my own ends, when they would obey my every command. I knew that day would come sooner rather than later.”
    â€œAnd that day is now?” Chapel asked.