The Exodus Quest

II

'Oh Lord,' muttered Nathan feebly, getting out of the pick-up, staring white-faced down at the creaking, lurching wreckage of the Jeep, the motionless body of the passenger, flung through the windscreen and now lying on the far bank. 'Oh heaven.'

'Pull yourself together,' scowled Peterson.

'Good grief. Good grief. What did you do that for? You made them crash.'

'They made themselves crash,' snapped Peterson. 'You understand? Anything that happened here, these people did to themselves.'

Nathan pulled his mobile from his pocket. 'How do I get an ambulance?'

'Are you crazy?' demanded Peterson. He slapped Nathan stingingly across his cheek, turned him to face him. 'Listen,' he said. 'Forget ambulances. It's too late for ambulances.'

'But I-'

'I said listen to me. You're to do exactly what I tell you. No more, no less. Understand?'

'Yes, Reverend, but-'

'Be quiet and listen,' yelled Peterson. 'This is a heathen country. The people here are heathens. Don't you understand? The police here are heathens. The judges. All of them, all heathens. They'll revel in the opportunity to smear the name of Christ, because that's what heathens do. They smear the name of Christ. Do you want to help heathens smear the name of Christ? Is that truly what you want?'

'No, Reverend. Of course not.'

'Good. Now listen. No one needs to know what happened here. It was an accident, that's all. Foolish people driving too fast through fields at night. What else did they expect?'

'Yes, Reverend.'

'Go back to the site. If anyone asks, tell them you drove around for a while but saw nothing. Understand?'

'Yes, Reverend. And you?'

'Don't worry about me. Just get out of here.'

'Yes, Reverend.'

Peterson watched him drive away. That was the trouble with kids. Their clay was too soft, not yet fired by the furnaces of righteous conflict. He'd have to handle this all by himself. He climbed down to the foot of the ditch, keeping clear of the worst of the carnage. He had a camera-phone to recover.