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Show Acting Alone Page 345 Chapter Nineteen Axelrad crept along between the pews, trying not to catch the flaps of his camouflage jacket on the splintery hymnal racks. He crept as he'd been taught to creep: strictly on elbows and pelvis, like a snake, letting his groin propel him along with a low, flat, swiveling motion. He was trying to keep perfectly silent primarily to be true to his training, in an abstract sense: God's own ruckus was being raised outside, and even if he were clanking along on strung coffeecans now it would make little difference. But he'd been so ambivalent lately, to say the least, about every other aspect of the encampment project that it made him feel a little bit better, less turbulent and untethered inside, to perform these commando maneuvers strictly by the book. It was as though the book could be considered some scripture to which he could anchor his vacilating faith in Mr. Cicerone. Axelrad was just the right size to maneuver through this narrow space silently if he were very careful - A kneerest creaked under his hand, right in perfect unison with a brief lull in the sirens and thunder. Axelrad froze. He heard the old lady's prayer stop. One second, two seconds, listening, three. Then the old voice started up again, louder, faster and more scared now. " . . . for an increase of vocations to our community, and for our |
