Authors: Lars Teeney
The scouting party reached the waypoint, which consisted of an intersection of two trade routes. The pavement on these roads was torn up and riddled with potholes and weeds escaped to air at the edges. In a hollowed-out log just off road was a camera trap set up to monitor traffic. Hades-Perdition approached the log as the other two members of the scouting party took kneeling positions facing opposite directions. They scanned the approaches through scopes on their automatic weapons. Hades-Perdition began reviewing the footage caught by the camera trap on the flex screen. The footage had revealed that a Regime party had traveled through the area several days ago. He pulled a small object from out of the camera, which was filled with a miniscule amount of a solution composed of synthetic proteins encoded with data of recorded footage. He pocketed the applicator.
Lore-Fiction scanned the horizon through his rifle scope for the slightest movement. Suddenly, a flash appeared on the horizon. A split second later Lore-Fiction’s scope shattered into pieces of shrapnel that lodged into Lore-Fiction’s right eye, shredding skin from his face. He recoiled in pain, and instinctively grabbed his face and shrieked.
As training kicked in, Hades-Perdition and Aqua-Deluge rushed to Lore-Fiction, and each grabbed one side of him and dragged him to cover behind the log that housed the camera trap. Lore-Fiction’s cry had given away the scout’s position. Without the need of verbal communication, Hades-Perdition took the right flank and Aqua-Deluge the left, with the wounded lying in the middle protected by cover.
Hades-Perdition used his neural implant to
ping Aqua-Deluge to open a line of communication. She accepted the invite and
instantly they were sharing perceived data of the battlefield, positions of
muzzle flashes, vital signs of the opposition, directions of attack from the
flanks. They surmised that they were under attack by five.
An assailant was approaching the right
flank of Hades-Perdition’s position while he fired his sub-machine gun.
Hades-Perdition trained his sights on his opponent, took a deep breath and
fired off a round, which struck the target in the forehead. The man promptly
dropped like his strings had been cut. More rounds were fired down range and
hit close to Hades-Perdition, churning soil around him. Hades-Perdition
attempted to acquire a new target, looking for heat signatures on the horizon.
Aqua-Deluge broke open a morphine ration
from her pack and shoved it into Lore-Fiction’s shoulder. He immediately went slack. She
then trained the sights of her thermal vision scope on a hunched down heat
signature of a man, moving from cover to cover roughly one hundred and fifty
yards ahead of her position. She zeroed in on the figure. As soon as the heat signature’s head peered out she took the shot. Aqua-Deluge watched through the
scope as white-hot pieces of head separate and fell out of view. The
man stirred no longer.
The sound of gunfire paused as both camps attempted to probe for the position of the opposition. Aqua-Deluge and Hades-Perdition began to move forward crouched while searching through their scopes as they advanced. Aqua-Deluge took a few more steps just as she found another sign of opposition. The figure stood upright with his gun trained directly on her, but before he could pull the trigger Hades-Perdition shot him in his side below the right arm. Aqua-Deluge fired a short burst of three rounds which caught him; two in the chest and one in the head. The man dropped, lifeless.
Aqua-Deluge let loose another round at one of the remaining targets striking his weapon as it is dropped to the ground. The startled man turned tail and ran. The last target began to fire wildly as he panicked. Hades-Perdition scoped-in center mass and with a quick volley, which struck the target one after the other in a clean grouping, hollowing out his core.
Hades-Perdition dropped his primary weapon
and set off at full sprint in pursuit of the remaining opponent that had fled
the scene. His Olympian tier fitness became apparent as he traversed the
obstacle course of uneven land and piles of rubble. Jumping over big rocks and
scrub, he caught up to the fleeing figure.
“Halt!” Hades-Perdition yelled.
The figure stopped, turned around, and
pulled a bayonet knife from its scabbard. “Come get it, you infidel piece of
shit!” the man sneered. He approached Hades-Perdition in a methodical manner.
“Thank you, this is what I was waiting for,” Hades-Perdition stated, with a crooked smile plastered on his face. He reached behind him and grasped the hilt of the Claymore on his back. In one fluid motion, the Claymore was pulled from its scabbard and flipped around tip forward. The man with the bayonet knife charged Hades-Perdition with it in a dagger grip. Hades-Perdition drew his sword overhead, sidestepped the attack, then, brought his blade down on the base of the neck of his opponent. The blade found a gap in the armor, passed through the clavicle and embedded deep in the chest of the man, which left a gaping wound and a wellspring of blood spilling into the dirt. The man dropped to the ground mortally wounded. Hades-Perdition withdrew his sword.
The man was choking on his own blood but was still conscious. He was rapidly repeating what sounded to be a prayer with short breaths, “Lord in Heaven, and Reverend Wilhelm, deliver my soul to the Glorious Light…Lord in Heaven and Reverend Wilhelm deliver my soul to the Glorious Light.”
Hades-Perdition drew his sidearm and put an end to the man’s suffering. He noticed the man was wearing a familiar uniform with a patch on the shoulder. The patch depicted the seal of L.O.V.E. The seal consisted of a red heart shape overlaid with the negative space forming a cross. The acronym of L.O.V.E. was displayed over the top. Underneath that was a line that read “Law of Virtue Enforcement Rangers”. In some circles, the personnel was known as ‘Lovers’. Lovers were the elite scout units of L.O.V.E. Hades-Perdition took the bayonet knife
that had belonged to the man and cut the L.O.V.E. patch away from the uniform
and tucked away in his pack.
Aqua-Deluge caught up to the scene, slightly
out of breath. “I reported that Lore-Fiction has been severely injured. He’s
not going to last long out here. Did you learn anything?”
Hades-Perdition stood upright and turned
to face her. “I didn’t really give him a chance to talk. However, he’s a ‘Lover’.
They all are,” Hades-Perdition concluded.
“It figures. They were good,” Aqua-Deluge
said.
They headed back to Lore-Fiction who was still laid against the log. He was muttering incoherently about something sexual. Aqua-Deluge checked on Lore-Fiction’s face, she pulled a first aid kit from her pack and selected a roll of gauze. She observed that there were two metal shards embedded in the right side of Lore-Fiction’s face and one lodged in his eye. Aqua-Deluge bunched up some gauze and pressed it around one of the pieces of metal, she grabbed the end of it and yanked a piece out of his facial tissue, applying pressure to the wound. Lore-Fiction yelled in pain then grumbled some profanity. She applied some disinfectant and taped gauze over the wound but could not treat his eye, lacking medical expertise. Both Hades-Perdition and Aqua-Deluge supported a side of their wounded comrade, to move on. They surmised that one of the Lovers probably summoned reinforcements and were probably en route.
The trio stumbled to the base of a hill and took cover behind a grove of trees. They waited there for most of the night. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of L.O.V.E. forces recovering the bodies of their dead. The sounds of patrols continued for hours, searchlights beamed across the horizon and the hum of vehicle motors tore through the silence of the night. At long last the L.O.V.E. forces were gone. The trio was able to relax for a time before their comrades located them for evacuation.
A pre-war Humvee was the cavalry that met the three scouts. Such an old vehicle provided less than a smooth ride back to their refuge. The trip took a couple of hours because of the condition of the roads leading back to the Mothball Fleet at the edge of the Great Lake. They unloaded Lore-Fiction and supported him from either side so that he could be taken to the water’s edge. The view that greeted them was that of hundreds of derelict ships moored in the Great Lake. Some—massive rusted-out hulks, others still in working condition. They were battleships, cruisers, destroyers, cargo ships, sealift ships, and myriad other types of vessels.
They approached a gangplank connecting to the side of a tug vessel and boarded, then they shoved-off en route to a row of larger battleships, bristling with massive gun turrets. The tug pulled up to the starboard side of one of the battleships and thick ropes linked the two. A rope ladder was lowered down to the tug as well as a stretcher that was secured to a pulley and winch system. Lore-Fiction was lifted onto the stretcher and raised to the deck. Aqua-Deluge and Hades-Perdition ascended the rope ladder. Lore-Fiction was whisked away into the bowels of the vessel to the infirmary. Hades-Perdition and Aqua-Deluge proceeded to the bridge. When they entered the bridge there was a man standing near the helm. He had long hair, shoulder length on the top of his head, but the sides and back were cropped to the skin, and jet black in color. He was wearing a white wife-beater and black fatigue pants. The wife-beater exposed tattoo sleeves on his arms and a portion of the tattoos that covered his back. He turned to meet the two of them as they entered the bridge.
“Ravine-Gulch, how are you?
Hades-Perdition asked.
“It’s more appropriate for me to be asking
you two. I heard you caught hell out there, and that Lore-Fiction is going to
lose an eye. I arranged a search party as soon as I heard…” He trailed off.
“We pulled through. There’s not much you
could have done without being there yourself. Lore-Fiction is a tough old fart—he’ll pull through. The Regime has stepped up its efforts to find us. They sent
in L.O.V.E. Rangers—that is who tried to ambush our patrol,” Hades-Perdition
recounted. He took a seat in one of the stations near the helm.
“Well, not good. We’ve had the occasional patrol out this way. They are far out of their normal operational
area.” Ravine scratched his head and then took a seat at an adjacent station.
“They must have been on to us for quite
some time. They waited until we had stopped before they attacked. It’s like they
received information about our patrol route,” Aqua-Deluge added. She was
staring out the window at the Great Lake.
“It wouldn’t be the first time that L.O.V.E.
have infiltrated their targets. The Regime is getting desperate to stay in
power. We’ll need to get in touch with our inside man to see if he knows
anything. We can ask him today,” Hades-Perdition stated.
“Anyway, I just thought I’d let you two
know that we were successful in procuring the new recruit. It was quite an
operation, but we were able to pull it off,” Ravine said with a troubled look on
his face.
“Ravine, that is great news—don’t you
think? How are you feeling about it?” Aqua-Deluge asked. She put her hand on
his shoulder.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know how I
feel about it. I didn’t exactly leave on good terms, you know?” Ravine looked
out the window as he spoke.
Aqua-Deluge maintained contact with
Ravine. “Well, we will be right there with you when the time comes to face it,”
she offered.
“Thanks, I appreciate it. Everything
should work out,” Ravine responded.
“Has ‘Sam’ made contact yet? He said he
needed to speak with the new recruit,” Aqua-Deluge asked.
“Yes, he is actually on standby. We were
waiting for you. The recruit is in the infirmary. We should probably
head down there now,” Ravine answered.
All three agreed and set off for the
infirmary in the depths of the battleship, down many sets of steep, metal
stairs.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
John always managed to get wrapped up in the satin sheets each night. In the morning, he’d have to untangle himself to get out of bed. John often wondered if the tossing and turning had to do with his state of mind and the amount of stress he was under.
John’s days were filled to the brim. There
were many matters that needed tending to. The stress had him waking up every
few hours, sweating. He thought that it might be a good idea to visit his
personal physician. But, more important matters came first—events
needed to be planned and people needed their orders.
He sat upright and reached for a brass bowl on the nightstand next to his massive bed. He picked up a small applicator and popped it into his shoulder—it was a caffeine supplement, with the same delivery system as the drug ‘Base’. John got to his feet and looked in the mirror. He studied his face and body, turning from side to side. He had a wiry frame that looked slightly emaciated. There was defined muscle in his frame, but the years could not be hidden. His overall aesthetic was that of a corpse that was too energetic to die. John’s head wasn’t bald, but his hair had thinned out so that his hairstyle was a cheap imitation of a younger version of himself. John was gifted with hair in the eyebrow department, he had wild brow hair that he did not trim, to overcompensate for his baldness.
John’s face was weathered and chiseled, but also frail looking. He had a noticeable lack of lips, his pursed, knife wound of a mouth had been a trademark throughout his political career. People often said it made him look determined to get the job done. John did not possess the gift of oratory. He had always relied on his cowboy charm and his ‘down home’ way of speaking during his political career. But, that was all in the past. No more elections, no more having to worry about courting votes. Over his lifetime, he had spent more time fretting over elections than anything else, and he has had a long life.
John walked toward the bathroom, but first he needed to enter a decontamination chamber. At his age and with the amount of organ transplants he had received it was a daily requirement. After being sealed in the chamber and dosed thoroughly by decontamination agents, he gave himself a medication cocktail injection to boost his immune system and to help keep his body from rejecting transplanted organs. He then shaved, took a shower, and then put on the suit that had been laid out by house staff the previous night. He dressed in an unassuming, neutral gray suit. While nice, it did not advertise his affluence, at this point he had lost track of his net worth. After all, it had been a long time since he had to worry about such trivial things such as bookkeeping.
John had never found it fashionable to flash his wealth. He had always been frugal; a trait he had probably picked up from his father who lived through the Great Depression. John’s father had taught him many valuable lessons, in business and politics. He was taught about doing what’s best for his country against the “ignorance” of the masses. John knew that you would need to be unpopular and sometimes hated by the people in order to get the job done. That was the way things were done in the Twentieth and Twenty-first centuries. These days’ tactics were so much more simplified. Public opinion, polls, elections, political parties—all of that was history. Simplicity was beautiful to John.
He proceeded out of his quarters and entered a marble covered foyer. On the far end was a massive blast door that opened for him, revealing a second elevator door that slide open. Inside the mirror covered elevator sat a steward dressed like a Twentieth-century lift attendant. There was really only one floor that John visited in the Tower of the One, so nothing needed to be said, as it was the daily ritual to go to the ground floor.
The ground floor was reached and the doors
slide open. John stepped out into the adjoining colonial period mansion that
served heads of state in previous centuries as the Presidential residence. The
Regime had found it necessary to retain certain symbols of power from the Old
World. It served as continuity. It gave people a tangible link to their past no
matter how tainted that past was considered to be by the current Regime.
The White House had been left intact, except for the back walls, which had been torn down and adjoined to the Tower of the One. The White House served as a glorified porch and entrance to the Tower, but it was also a great place to receive guests, and to entertain in general. The state parties that had taken place there were legendary among the Regime’s inner circle. The Schrubb family had occupied the White House since the early Twenty-first century. Through various Constitutional amendments, they were able to install a political dynasty that would stand the test of time. The stratagem started with extending term limits to ten-year periods and then they struck down the ban on consecutive term limits. As time went by they even managed to make the Presidency an office that was appointed by Congress instead of an elected office. By the time that reform was put into play the Executive branch was mulling a move to permanently dissolve Congress and suspend the Constitution.
They attempted the strategy a few times
and were defeated through political means, but eventually the Executive branch
pulled off the coup. Since that
time John W. Schrubb has forgotten how many terms he had served as President
over his one hundred and fifty year lifetime. It mattered little to him, the
only thing that did was preserving the Pax Megiddo…at least until the
return of the Lord. John wasn’t like the other fanatics in the Regime. He knew
the Second Coming would not happen in his lifetime, not without a little push
from humanity. John knew that nothing happened without a little elbow grease.
This year would be an important one. It was the year of the Pilgrimage, which happened once every ten years. There was much planning and logistics to pour over. This Pilgrimage was different: the sports stadiums of the Old World had been converted to the cathedrals of the New World. Citizens of New Megiddo were required to travel to their regional stadium for the religious festival. On the day of the Born Again Gathering something miraculous happened, the spiritual leader of New Megiddo, The Reverend Wilhelm would appear in flesh, and all the stadiums would be blessed with the presence of the Reverend simultaneously. John smiled to himself just thinking about it.
John had walked to the kitchen entrance
where a small serving table supported breakfast items presented in a buffet
style. He picked up a sausage link and gnawed on it as he walked through the
corridors. A pair of staffers met him in a hallway and walked behind him like a
pair of bodyguards. As the trio moved through the various chambers they passed
pre-war artifacts and paintings, tributes to the presidents of the Old World.
They reached the receiving room, which was filled with a crowd of people. The
Twins John knew. They were his children: Kate and Keir Schrubb.
His children were an integral part in the day-to-day operations of the government of New Megiddo. Kate Schrubb was Minister of State Security for the M.O.S.S. branch of government. There’s was the Ministry that oversaw [Virtue-net] monitoring. They were responsible for packaging and distributing the propaganda that the Reverend Wilhelm and the President deemed necessary for the flock to consume. They broadcast the Regime’s voice to the people, directly to their minds. It was a very important job for any authoritarian power to keep idle minds busy. The sheer amount of work that went into generating new and fresh propaganda was a full-time job for an agency that never slept.
Keir, on the other hand, was a military man, he had little interest in politics. From a young age, he loved to play with his toy soldiers and playing ‘shooter’ video games. Keir joined the Regime military when he was sixteen but was given an officer’s commission straight away. After all, he was the President’s son. It was expected. The system that the ruling class of the Regime operated by was far from a meritocracy. These ideas never occurred to Keir. In his mind, he had always been destined for greatness. The Reverend himself had divinely decreed it when Keir had been baptized. To Keir, it was not a question of if but when he would dismantle the resistance through his martial prowess. The one barrier to his success was his sister and her monopoly on Regime intelligence. John was aware of this debilitating rivalry.
Kate and Keir weren’t identical twins, but they certainly looked to be from the same brood. Both had blonde hair and light colored eyes, but Kate’s hair was near-platinum. Her eyes were an icy blue. Keir’s hair was closer to a brown color and he had eyes that were green and yellow. They were both in their mid-thirties. John had started a family extremely late in life, well beyond the life expectancy of a commoner. Their mother had died from an illness when they were young. Both the siblings were of similar height, but their body types differed. Kate was fit and healthy. She was obsessed with exercise and monitoring what she consumed. Keir was a different story. He had no time to think about fitness. Although he had a naturally high metabolism and had been slender most of his life, he had developed a gut in his thirties. Keir spent much of his time carousing with his generals and officers. He was part of an old boy network that played hard and left the hard work to the grunts. Keir had also developed a chronic cough from smoking cigars and drinking bourbon. Despite this, he certainly possessed a degree of tactical and strategic know-how.
John W. Schrubb approached his children
that were standing among their respective entourages on opposite sides of the
room. “Hello, hello. Good to see everyone. Thank you for coming. It always
warms my heart to have everyone here!” John exclaimed sentimentally.
“Of course, father. We wouldn’t have it any other way,” Kate responded while she took a sip of tea from a mug.
“So good to see that your health is
holding up, dad. It’s amazing how well you are doing at your age,” Keir
observed, though disingenuously.
John embraced each of his children. “Everyone, as you all know this is a special year. It’s time to prepare for the Pilgrimage and the Born Again Gathering. This is such a special time. All the citizens of New Megiddo will rejoice and give thanks to God and our government,” John said emotionally. In his old age, he had become much more sentimental and had been known to break into tears on occasion. In the last couple of decades, his sentimentality had become especially pervasive. The Born Again Gathering or B.A.G. was, for the common folk, a time of round-ups, forced marches, mass indoctrination and religious reaffirmation. It was a time to declare faith in God and obedience and loyalty to New Megiddo. The Pilgrimage and B.A.G. was only surpassed by the Hajj in scope and logistics, in terms of religious events.
“How goes the preparation for our most
sacred event?” John asked.
Kate answered before her brother could get a word out, “Father the Ministry of State Security is keeping a vigilant eye out for any threats to the security of the B.A.G. Furthermore, we have narrowed down possible areas where the Apostates are operating into the West Coast of New Megiddo. We have them on the run—”
Keir interrupted his sister’s progress report, “Yes, father, things progress with the defense of our great country. I have been working closely with Wynham Industries—” Keir stopped mid-sentence and gestured to a man dressed in a pinstriped suit and brown overcoat, smoking a cigarette. The man he was referring to was Graham Wynham, head of Wynham Industries a state-sanctioned, arms manufacturer.
“We have been working with Graham to
modernize our military equipment and to upgrade the [Virtue-net],” Keir
finished.
Graham Wynham stepped forward and nodded. The Wynham family and the Schrubb family had been close for a very long time. They had come up together during the late Twentieth and early Twenty-first centuries. A business dynasty and political dynasty that worked well en-tandem. They colluded together to change the nature of the government and economy. The Schrubb family started the wars that expanded markets and contracts for Wynham Industries and in return it lobbied and bribed every branch of government. And those who they couldn’t buy were destroyed politically by pseudo-grassroots organizations and political action committees. It was the perfect symbiotic relationship to subtly transform the country. Add a religious movement that steadily gained power and you had a perfect storm.
“John—looking good as always, sir. What
is your secret?” Graham flattered.
“It’s all in the mind, my good friend. As
long as you fancy yourself a young man, why, you’ll be young forever,” John
answered while holding his arms out.
“Father, will you be attending the B.A.G.
in person? Maybe consider making a speech this year,” Keir suggested.
“Oh, nonsense. I’ve never been one for the spotlight. Besides, I wouldn’t want to distract from the Reverend. He is what the people need to focus on, that and his message,” John said.
John rubbed his chin and continued, “I do
love to hear that man speak. He is so inspirational. A true man of god!”
“Yes, father, he is an example to us all,”
Kate added.
“Thank you for the progress reports, everyone. However, I am truly concerned about the state of our country on the eve of this B.A.G. The fact that we’ve had to put down two major revolts in the last year is troubling to me. The infidels make ground each day. They threaten to tear down what we have worked so hard for. I refuse to see it fall before our Lord returns to preside over Judgment Day. We cannot fail in our duties; we cannot fail our Lord or the Reverend. I am concerned indeed,” John fretted, paused for a moment and looked over the room, “On a lighter note, I am off to the clinic to continue my wellness treatment. Thank you all for coming. I trust I will see you all again soon.” With that, John left the hall with his entourage.
The room eased up as the old man left. Keir turned to Graham and said, “Thank fucking Christ that is
over with. The old man is so wrapped up in his righteous Jesus bullshit. The
idea that he’s actually buying into his own propaganda is troubling.”