Read Online The Dead Run by Adam Mansbach - Free Book Online Page A

painful morass he’d learned to shunt to the margins of his consciousness. He’d never met his mother, did not even know her name—had been taught to regard the woman as little more than a husk, a vessel. He had no doubt that his father had killed her, probably during Seth’s birth as a way to increase the infant’s potency. Cucuy’s was a world of unapologetic horror, of chaos systematized into ritual. It had taken Seth decades of study to assimilate the ancient ways—to understand that what he saw around him was a false civilization, a façade constructed by a species that had turned its back on its gods, its nature. He had his father to thank for that. For everything.
    It was Cucuy who had insisted Seth study the new religion—that pathetic children’s theater of martyrdom and morality. In his boundless wisdom, the Ancient One realized that his son would need a flock, and that to gather one he must speak the tongue of the people. The very language of redemption and justice that had rendered them so docile, so blind. And thus, the faith Seth preached was deeply infused with symbolism the typical American churchgoer would find comfortingly familiar. The process of building a following had been eased immeasurably by such simple gestures; it was amazing how the mere use of the word lamb or apostle or the number three convinced a neophyte that he was on familiar ground and opened him to the long, gradual process of accepting a very different truth.
    In the worn valise Seth carried were a variety of brochures, with titles like ILLEGAL IMMIGRATION: THREAT TO OUR WAY OF LIFE and TEN FACTS THE LIBERAL MEDIA DOESN’T WANT YOU TO KNOW . He’d been out canvassing. Ringing doorbells, seeing who answered and what he could learn by reading their auras. He was holding auditions. Planting seeds. When the families he decided were worth bringing into the fold met him again, a couple of years later, they never recognized Aaron Seth as the door-to-door man.
    He handed his valise to Marcus, the muscular young aide who met him at the door. He stepped into the cool foyer, accepted the glass of lemonade Marcus proffered, and drained it in one swallow.
    â€œIs she here?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œAny problems?”
    â€œNone of which I’m currently aware, sir.”
    Something in Seth’s countenance hardened ever so slightly as he turned toward Marcus.
    â€œYou know I hate doublespeak. Yes or no?”
    â€œI— no, sir.”
    â€œThis girl matters, Marcus. She’s not like the others. I hope I’ve made that clear.”
    â€œVery clear, sir. Are you going to see her now? Shall I radio Reevus and Buchanan, tell them to meet us?”
    â€œPlease. And, Marcus?”
    â€œYes, Mr. Seth?”
    â€œBring me my knives.”
    S HERRY AWAKENED WITH a gasp. How long had she been out? The numbness running down her arms and up her legs suggested it had been some time, that her body had chosen to shut down rather than confront what it could not handle. She looked up at the ribbon of light, as if it might provide an answer.
    Then she wondered why it mattered. She was floating outside herself now, scrutinizing the prisoner in the chair with the detachment of a scientist analyzing the behavior of a lab rat.
    How strange that I don’t pray, she thought. Half my life on bended knee, and now it’s the last thing in the world I want to do. Is it because I don’t believe? Or because I don’t want to give Him the satisfaction?
    She could hear footsteps, above her. The faint voices of men.
    I’m not even curious about any of this. Why I’m here, who they are. So strange.
    It’s like I’m already dead.
    Or like I never lived.
    Sherry looked up at her ribbon of light and thought she saw it move. She squinted, leaned toward it.
    The ribbon became a thin rectangle, and then a square. A beam of daylight shot through the room, fell into Sherry’s