Knights of the Apocalypse (A Duck & Cover Adventure Post-Apocalyptic Series Book 2) (18 page)

Shane tore through
two more of the wailing Aztec’s with the katana as the teen’s body dropped to
the ground. The monster in the safety vest turned his eyes on Jerry and
shrieked. His wail was like a storm siren as he charged.

Jerry did his best to
get out of the way.

Safety Vest did not
attack with the same reckless abandon of the others. His approach was more
cautious and calculated. It could explain his weight. This one seemed smart
enough and brutal enough to get what he wanted over the others.

Jerry held the
hatchets firm in his hands. It was instinct telling him to throw them at the
approaching threat. It screamed, “Throw it at him! He’ll go away. And if it
doesn’t work, throw the other one. Then find something else to throw. Just
don’t let that big bastard get any closer!”

The voices made
sense, but Jerry did what he could to ignore them. He stood a better chance
with the miniature axes in his hands. He knew this. But as the creature drew
closer, he desperately wanted to throw them both and run away.

The mutant in orange
didn’t lunge like the others. He didn’t lead with his appetite. He swiped a
bloody arm like an awkward right hook.

Jerry blocked the
swing with his forearm. The strike hit like a wall of water. It was slow but
the force nearly pushed him off his feet.

A left swing followed
and caught him on the shoulder. It knocked him the other way. Jerry dropped
under the next blow and brought the hatchet down on the mutant’s boot.

Jerry swore as the
blade bounced harmlessly off the boot. He should have known they’d be steel-toed.

The foot came up and
caught him across the chest. The mutant wailed as the kick sent Jerry back
three or four feet and put him on his ass.

Jerry rolled
backwards to gain several more feet of distance, sprang to his feet and threw
the hatchet.

It stopped the
shriek. But only long enough for the creature to study the hatchet embedded in
his shoulder.

Jerry could tell the
creature didn’t think much of the wound. It certainly didn’t make him happy.
The beast grunted and stomped forward. Jerry threw the other hatchet. It
missed. He started looking for something else to throw.

He reached for a rock
but the hand was around his throat before he could get his fingers on it. He’d
fought tough guys before. He fought men twice his size, but none had ever
lifted him from the ground with such little effort.

The mutant’s forearm
felt like coiled rope but gripped like steel. Jerry tried to pull them free at
first but, as his feet left the ground, he found himself trying to hold himself
up so his neck didn’t snap.

The massive hands
began to squeeze and Jerry’s vision started to fade. There wasn’t much time.

Jerry stopped
fighting the arms and twisted the hatchet from the mutant’s shoulder. What had
to be immeasurable pain didn’t register on the creature’s face. Jerry could
even swear he thought he saw it smile.

The beast stopped
smiling as the hatchet cleaved his face in two.

Jerry backed away and
surveyed the battlefield as the monster collapsed to the ground. Shane had
killed the final two Aztecs and had turned his attention back to collecting his
bounty.
 

“I’m going to start a
new band with the money. Maybe I’ll call us the Headhunters.”

“You don’t have to do
this, Shane. You can still make this right.” Jerry looked around at the
slaughter and saw the young man dead on the ground. “Well, you can’t make the
thing with Aaron right, but you can still help me save Brae.”

“I’ll find a new
girl,” Shane said. “The city is full of them and every chick wants a rock
star.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Like I’ve been
telling you since we met, Jerry. I’ve got you.” Shane held the katana like a
Louisville slugger and ran forward.

Jerry stood his
ground.

Shane jumped over the
fallen road crewmember and swung with every intention of separating Jerry’s
head from his shoulders with a single blow.

Jerry dove forward
under the blade and somersaulted to the dead monster. He pulled the hatchet
from the monster’s face, spun and threw.

Shane caught the
hatchet with his face and toppled forward.

Jerry sighed, picked
up the sword and retrieved the hatchets. He looked west down the river towards
Farmington then back to the dead boy and the princess’s grave. That wouldn’t be
easy to explain. He hung his head and turned back towards Silverton.

SEVENTEEN

Erica had never been in a courtroom. She had
always kept her nose relatively clean and led a low-key social life prior to
the end of the world. She’d never even been called for jury duty. After
everything ended, justice became a much less formal affair and was meted out
with fewer robes and gavels and forgoing the court all together. All she knew
of courtrooms was what she saw on TV.

Countless shows had taken viewers into ornate
courtrooms as roommates battled over water bills, cable bills, electric bills,
rent-to-own bills and who ate the last of the leftover Moo Shu pork. Full of
wood paneling, tall ceilings and more flags than an Olympic ceremony, these
network sets made a mockery of the ones she saw on cable news. Real justice
happened in drab civic buildings that were little more than boxes painted
calming shades of blue.

The one constant was that in every case the
judge sat elevated above the court and looked down upon the defendants. But it
was nothing like the scene before her.

Behavioral psychologists claimed that the
human eye was drawn to color. Through countless tests and experiments, it was
determined that bold shapes and bright splashes of color would command the
viewer’s attention first and foremost over all else. Erica doubted that any of
these tests were ever conducted in a room with a twenty-foot throne made of
discarded mining tools.

She stared up at the monstrosity wondering
how anyone could sit, much less climb, the seat without impaling themselves on
the exposed points of steel. She wondered how anyone could devote the manpower
and materials to create such a gaudy seat of power. And she wondered how it
could be conceived, built and installed without anyone bothering to measure the
room beforehand. After that, she noticed the colorful banners placed around the
room.

A small man in a large cloak entered the room
with a certain drama that would have silenced the room had he not tripped on
the ill-fitting garment. There was a short round of sarcastic applause as the
man stood and cleared his throat. The small man looked like a drawn curtain in
the folds of his cloak, but his voice was more than big enough for the room.
“All rise.”

The applause ended and silence overcame the
room as those present rose to their feet.

The man in the cloak stood before a tapestry
that mostly covered a doorway. Erica could see the king behind it waiting
mostly patiently as the man in the robe announced him.

“Introducing His Majesty Elias, protector of
the realm, defender of the faith, enforcer of all that is good, conqueror of
the rabble, the sinister and those who threaten peace, architect of peace,
engineer of civility, conductor of prosperity, champion of right, punisher of
wrongs, judge of those things in between, friend to all, nemesis of evil,
benevolent ruler of the Five Peaks and undisputed champion of the handsomeness
contest.”

The king entered and leaned towards the
scribe.

Erica, shackled to a small table at the front
of the courtroom, was close enough to hear.

“Maybe we should lose the last part,” Elias
whispered.

“Of course, sire.”

Elias took a step towards the throne, had a
thought and stepped back to the scribe. “Or move it up and end with the
benevolent ruler bit. I think it might sound better that way.”

“Of course, sire.”

Elias didn’t bow. Kings don’t bow. He walked
with a majestic strut to the foot of the throne, looked up and paused.

Erica heard him sigh before beginning the
long climb to the top of his seat. It would be inaccurate to say he settled in,
but there was a fair amount of shifting, twisting and one “ouch” as he took his
place above the court.

The king nodded and the man in the robe spoke
once again.

“Bow before your king.”

Erica turned and watched as the crowd bowed.
The courtroom was full. This was theater to the populace. They weren’t here to
see justice done. They came for the show. Citizens of all classes lined the rows.
Even Sandra and the girls were gathered together in the back of the room. Erica
made eye contact with them and they turned away. Only Brae held her gaze. There
was something reassuring in the eyes of a friend.

The scribe had moved behind a small podium.
“The defendant will now rise.”

Erica stood as far as the shackles would
allow. By design, it was not her full height. No defendant could stand full and
proud before the court of the king.

The scribe made the accusations. “Jennifer of
the Outlands, you stand accused of murder of a Knight of the Realm. Do you have
anything to say for yourself?”
  

Erica cleared her throat and spoke clearly.
“I do, Your … Honor? If it pleases the court,” she knew enough about courts to
begin with that. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Your town is
beautiful. You have everything here. You have security. You have prosperity
like I haven’t seen in years. But you’re so bat-shit crazy about this kingdom
stuff that you’re treating others like peasants. Humanity spent hundreds of
years overcoming this. Why would you want to go back to such a dark time?

“You have the resources here, the people, the
organization to bring civilization back to the world, but you insist on this
pageantry and nonsense. I’ve seen a glimmer of what was before the end in the
people here. You have the might and the means to take good to the world. Call
it your duty. Call it your quest. Call it whatever you want, but how can you
sit here and condemn others to a life of misery as you sit upon your very weird
throne when you are capable of so much more?”

There was no outrage from the courtroom. No
whispers. Nothing. She had seen Jerry give these kinds of speeches a dozen
times. She knew there was always lull before the roar. But it never lasted this
long.

She cocked her head. Any moment now, those
who knew her to be right would begin to stir. Whispers would become cries. A
rhyming slogan would be crafted in mere seconds and the crowd would begin to
chant. They would demand justice. They would demand equality.

Any minute now.

She turned to face the crowd and saw no
passion in the expressions. What the hell was wrong with these people?
 

The king’s Hand spoke, “It’s not often the
defendant opens by offending the throne. We shall tack that on to your list of
offenses, but, for now, how do you plead to the killing of Sir Thomas, Sergeant
of Arms of the Kingdom of the Five Peaks?”

Erica looked up at the king. “The bastard was
a rapist … uh, Your Honor.”

The crowd gasped. She assumed it was more at
the nerve of the words than the accusations. Everyone had to know what kind of
man Tommy had been.
 

The Hand cried, “You will not besmirch the
name of a guardian of the realm!”

“I’ll besmirch the shit out of him,” Erica
snapped. “And while I’m besmirching, I’d like to add that you’re all idiots.
You could be so much more, you could rebuil …”

“Silence!” Elias boomed. “That world is dead.
It didn’t work. It was devoid of honor and loyalty. It was a world of ease.
There was too much in the hands of too many. It was a world where people fought
for nothing, because they needed nothing.

“You condemn our ways, but our ways work. Our
ways are just. Our people are safe and work for what they have. This gives them
more than material goods. It gives them honor. That’s what destroyed the world
before ours. It wasn’t the bombs or the gas or the bugs. It was complacency.

“Everyone had all that they needed. They
wanted for nothing. Everyone was equal and that was the problem. A world with
equals is a world without order.

“We have order and order leads to happiness.
It is honorable to struggle. It is honorable to rise above others. Tommy was an
idiot. But he was a loyal idiot that had risen through the ranks with honor.”

A cough from the audience interrupted the
king. A snicker followed.

Elias glared into the crowd for a moment
before continuing. “You stand accused of murdering an honorable man. What say
you?”

Erica’s mouth hung open. She searched for
words. “I … I don’t know what to say. I thought you were a bunch of fantasy nerds.
I had no idea you were all shit nuts. My apologies for the confusion.”

“Enough!” The king rose from his throne. His
head displaced an acoustic tile and knocked his crown askew. He fixed it and
delivered his verdict with a calm but firm voice. “For your crimes, you will be
sent to the mines.”

The crowd in the courtroom began to chant.
“For your crimes.
To the mines.
For
your crimes.
To the mines.”

There was the rhyming chant. Erica knew they
had it in them.

The double doors at the back of the room
burst open and the Dog’s presence filled the room before he stepped through the
doorway. It seeped into the room as a cloud of fear and darkness. A dozen
knights rushed past him. Each brandished a rifle and they rushed to surround
the court. The Dog pointed to the king. “Seize him.”

“Guards!” the scribe shouted and rushed from
behind his podium, elbows out to keep the billowing robe from his feet. “You
can’t come in here …”

The fist burst from the man in black. There
was a sickening crack as the scribe’s head twisted violently. He collapsed to
the ground in a pile of cloth like a child hiding beneath the covers. He could
have been out cold, but he was most likely dead inside his cloak.

The treacherous knights moved quickly to
intercept anyone else bold enough to stand against them. A pair of guards
rushed through the tapestry to answer the scribe’s call. They were immediately
disarmed and thrown to the ground with a rifle in their back.

Two of the knights rushed to the base of the
throne, tried to climb and retrieve the king, couldn’t work the steps and
shouted at him to come down.

Elias stormed carefully down the throne a few
steps. “What is the meaning of this?”

“The princess is dead.” If Elias walked with
a swagger, it was only fair to say the young prince walked with a strut. He
came into the room with
all of the
flourish a flowing
robe of royal purple would allow. This was a tremendous amount of flourish. It
was clear he had been practicing.

The crowd gasped at the news and the gossip
mill fired up. Neighbors in the courtroom whispered what a horrible thing it
was. Others argued it was the princess’s own fault. No, it was obviously the
fault of whatever killed her. Whatever that turned out to be. The churn of
gossip overpowered the prince’s explanation until the Dog fired a shot into the
acoustic tiling of the great hall.
 

They grew quiet before the report’s echo
faded.

The prince moved to the foot of the throne
and turned to face the crowd. He cast an accusing finger at the king and spoke.
“The princess is dead. Her body lies on the border of the Desert Kingdom. War
with the south will soon be upon us and our great King Elias has let it
happen.”

The crowd erupted with like-minded
accusations.

The prince let them build for a moment before
he
shouted,
“His failure to act has put us all in
jeopardy! Our king has grown weak.”

“How dare you!” Elias tried to rush the
prince but was seized by the two knights at the base of the throne. “How can
you men do this to me? I am your king!”

Prince Robert spun with enough force that the
purple robe lifted from the ground and brushed the king across the nose. “It’s
time for a new king!” He smiled at Elias and began to climb the throne. He had
been practicing this as well. “It’s time for a strong king.
Someone
who is willing to do what must be done to protect our kingdom.
Someone who can lead us in this time of war against Rodney and his
men.
I want vengeance for my murdered wife. I want safety for our
citizens. I want a future for the Kingdom of the Five Peaks.”

Elias struggled at the arms of his captures
to get free. He’d beat the young man to death if not restrained.

The prince stood atop the throne with enough
room to raise his arms. “Elias has failed us all! He has betrayed us. He
refused to send knights after my wife. Instead he sent criminals. How can we
trust a man like that?”

 
A
hand went up in the front row. The man in black slapped it down and growled.
“It was rhetorical, Steve.”

The prince rolled his eyes in a practiced,
regal fashion and continued. “I will lead us to victory in the coming war! And
I will expand this great nation. Elias has been hesitant to expand our
borders.” The prince smiled. “He has become complacent.”

Elias lurched and yanked his right hand free.
He decked the knight on his left and charged toward the throne. “You traitorous
bastard!”

A pair of knights grabbed him and pulled him
back.

“Shut it, ‘Dad,’” the prince said, heavy on
the sarcasm.