I Am God Read Online Free Page A

over them not out of pity, but to spare the survivors a clear vision of what could happen to any of them at any moment. He had seen so many dead people, and now he was one himself even though he was still alive. The war had taught him to kill, had given him permission to kill, and because he wore a uniform he knew nobody would blame him and he didn’t have to feel any guilt. Now all that remained of that uniform was a green cotton jacket at the bottom of a bag.
    Without realizing it, the men who had sent him to face the war and its tribal rituals had given him something he’d previously only had the illusion of possessing: freedom.
    Including the freedom to kill again.
    He smiled at the idea, and lay there for a long time in that bed that had unceremoniously welcomed dozens of bodies. In those sleepless hours he went back in time to when, also at night …
     
    … he had been sleeping soundly, as only young men do after a day’s work. A muffled noise had woken him suddenly, and immediately afterwards the door of the room had burst wide open, and he had felt a draught on his face and seen a light shining straight at him and, through the light, the burnished threat of a gun barrel hovering a few inches from his face. There were shadows behind that light.
    One of the shadows had become a voice, harsh and clear.
    ‘Don’t move, punk, or it’ll be the last thing you do.’
    Rough hands had turned him face down on the bed. His arms had been pulled unceremoniously behind his back, andhe had heard the metallic click of the handcuffs. From that moment on, his movements and his life had stopped belonging to him.
    ‘You’ve been in reformatory. You know all that shit about your rights?’
    ‘Yes.’
    He had breathed that monosyllable with difficulty, his mouth still furry.
    ‘Then just imagine we read them to you.’
    The voice then addressed the other shadow in the room in a commanding tone. ‘Take a look around, Will.’
    With his face still pressed to the pillow, he heard the sounds of a search. Drawers being opened and closed, objects falling, the rustle of clothes. The few things he had were being handled expertly, but far from gently.
    Finally another voice, with a hint of excitement in it. ‘Well, well, chief, what do we have here?’
    He heard footsteps approaching and the pressure on his back lessened. Then four rough hands pulled him up until he was in a sitting position on the bed. In front of his eyes, the light played over a transparent plastic bag full of grass.
    ‘So, we roll ourselves a little joint from time to time, huh? And maybe we sell this shit, too. Seems to me you’re in big trouble, boy.’
    At that moment, the light in the room was switched on. There in front of him was Sheriff Duane Westlake. Behind him, gaunt and spindle legged, with a touch of beard on his pockmarked cheeks, was Will Farland, one of his deputies. The mocking smile on his lips was a joyless grimace that underlined the malicious gleam in his eyes.
    He managed to stammer only a few perfunctory words, hating himself for it. ‘That isn’t my stuff.’
    The sheriff raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, it isn’t yours. Whose is it then? Is this place magic? Does the tooth fairy bring you marijuana?’
    He raised his head and looked at them with a resolute air they both took to be defiance. ‘You put it there yourselves, you bastards.’
    The backhander arrived quickly and violently. The sheriff was big and had a heavy hand. It seemed hardly possible that he could be so fast. He felt the sickly-sweet taste of blood in his mouth. And the corrosive taste of anger. Instinctively, he jerked forward, trying to headbutt the sheriff’s stomach. Maybe it was a predictable move, or maybe the sheriff was endowed with an agility unusual for a man of his bulk. He found himself lying on the floor, the frustration of having achieved nothing now adding to his anger.
    He heard more words of mockery above him.
    ‘Our young friend here is hot blooded, Will.