Mer Rouge (part 10)

Rubber soles clanked on the pavement. The sheriff approached the overturned Honcho and kneeled down. Inside the cab, Oren was unconscious and dangling in place from the seatbelt. Blood was streaming down his face. The sheriff stood up and noticed the river of gasoline gushing from the lacerated tank. He reached into his leather vest and pulled out a pack of Camels. There was a small matchbook. He took one out, struck it, and lit his cigarette. Then he dropped the match onto the torrent of gasoline and the truck went up in flames.

With the glowing heat rising above him, the sheriff nonchalantly marched back to his Harley and flicked the depleted Camel into the marsh. The deputy approached.

“We couldn’t find the priest,” he informed him.

The sheriff looked out over the illuminated bayou and shrugged. “The crawdads will get him,” he said.

The army of motorbikes roared back into the dark—back towards Mer Rouge. The priest was dripping with marshy water. He rushed up to the flaming Honcho and reached inside and undid Oren’s seatbelt and pulled the unconscious man out. Laying on the pavement, the priest slapped his cheeks to bring him to. “Come on,” he urged Oren. “We gotta get outta here.” Oren lifted his head from the daze and saw his truck overturned and on fire.

“What the fuck?!”

The priest helped him to his feet. “Run!” he ordered. The two men sprinted as the Honcho exploded and launched into the air. They turned around to see the truck momentarily suspended in the air before it landed right side up on all four tires. The flames were completely extinguished.

“Goddamn,” said the priest. “That is one indestructible truck.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 9)

The priest fired a few more rounds at the gang of bikers before looking over his shoulder. “There it is!” he shouted to Oren. Oren’s eyes squinted to see the uneven dirt road less than a hundred yards ahead. He understood immediately what the priest was getting at. While the ninety degree turn would be easy for the Honcho, the gaggle of Harley’s would have to slow down to make the sharp right. The marshy farmland on both sides also meant the bikes would have to stay on the pot marked dirt path to maintain their pursuit. This was the perfect opportunity to put some distance between them and the Mad Max mafia.

They were closing in on Kurtzy Road fast. “Hang on!” Oren shouted. He swerved right into the shallow marsh and nearly flung out the two passengers in the bed. While Hutch and the priest hung on for dear life, a wave of green and brownish water washed over them. They were covered in shit and leaches and all the muck Louisiana had to offer. When the Honcho was squared up on the dirt road, the priest raised up to look behind them. Through the clouds of dirt and dust, the pursuing lights were dimming. Relieved by this, he threw his arms around a shit covered Hutch. “By god, perhaps there’s a god afterall!” he beamed.

But a cool fog was descending upon the dirt road and visibility was quickly deteriorating. “I can’t see shit!” Oren screamed to the back.

“Don’t worry, there ain’t nuthin on this road! Just drive as fast as you can!” the priest assured him.

“That’s easy for you to say, pal!” the driver argued back. But while Oren had his eyes momentarily looking over his shoulder, road construction signs abruptly appeared. With little time to react, the Honcho crashed through a barricade and barreled toward a seemingly pointless ramp bolstered by a pile of rubble. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccccckkkkkkk!” Oren shouted. Failing to hit the brakes, the Honcho went up the ramp at speeds reaching 90mph. Hutch and the priest were flung out from the bed while Oren had little choice but to accept his fate. The truck flew through the air for several yards before crashing face first into the newly cemented pavement. Then it hung vertically for a moment or two before landing upside down and nearly crushing its occupant.

There was silence. Even the crickets and creatures of the night ceased their chanting. But this calm after calamity was interrupted by the roars of Harley’s and hell wagons riding up to the scene. First was the sheriff. He slowed and stopped then lowered the kickstand and dismounted. He looked to the left side of the road. Hutch was laying face down in a drainage ditch. Then he looked to the right. The priest was nowhere to be found. Far ahead was the wreckage of that 81 Honcho. The sheriff presumed its driver to be dead. As the other bikers dismounted, the sheriff issued his orders. First, he pointed at Hutch’s unconscious body. “Grab him,” he said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (part 8)

A single Harley roared in front of the others and the biker slammed his chain against the Honcho taillight. Millions of pieces of red plastic bits scattered across the two lane blacktop and the priest fired the opening volley of the counter assault. Through the storm of roaring engines, the .38 barely registered a sound. But a single shot lodged itself into the chest of the marauding biker and the resulting explosion of red mist was apparent even under the piercing blackness of night. While the biker clutched his chest, the wheels beneath him bobbled before collapsing bare onto the asphalt and skidding for several seconds. While the Harleys behind him attempted a dodge, they were too close. Sparks, blood, and indiscernible body parts were left in the wake of the skidding Harley and other bikers plowed into the wreckage which left a meshed pile of broken bodies and motorbikes. Stunned by the calamity, Hutch would have vomited had the certainty of an unpleasant death wasn’t upon him.

“Goddamn! That was one hell of a shot!” he shouted to the priest.

“It ain’t over yet!”

The dozen or so remaining bikes scurried around the wreckage, and once they cleared it, the tangled mess of Harley’s inexplicably erupted into a brilliant fireball which casted a hellish orange glow over the bayou. Oren was floored while watching the spectacle in the rearview mirror. Then, like a bat out of hell, another Harley tore its way in front of the pack and emptied a barrage of bullets into the Honcho. Hutch and the priest flattened themselves in the bed as the rounds whizzed above them. From inside the cab, glass rained down on Oren as the rear window shattered. But before the priest could return fire, the speeding Harley was already running apace with the Honcho on the driver’s side. The biker emptied a clip from a semiautomatic and the bullets tattered and ricocheted inside the cab and barely missed the driver. “Jesus Christ!” Oren screamed. Then the priest leapt up from the bed and fired a shot. He missed entirely but sensing gunfire behind him, the biker sped up to outrun the truck. This was a critical miscalculation. While outgaining the Honcho, Oren thought quickly and swerved into the rear of the Harley. The bike swiftly turned right and smashed against the front of the truck. With his right leg shattered, the biker screamed in agony before the Harley fell underneath the runaway Honcho. The vehicle lifted slightly to climb the meager wreckage before the rear passenger tire landed on the biker’s head and smashed it like a bloody meat melon.

Seeing the carnage behind him illuminated by the lights of pursuing Harley’s, Hutch did manage to vomit. Then the priest poked his head in through the broken rear window glass. “Kurtzy Road is coming up!” he told Oren. “Be prepared!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (part 5)

Hutch’s eyes shifted downward and he clutched his beer glass. Dirk, towering six inches above all the patrons, sauntered over to his side of the bar and laid his large, bigoted hand next to the outsider. Hutch fixated on it. Tattooed just below his pinky was the unmistakable blood cross of the Ku Klux Klan. Dirk greeted the bouncer. “Good evening Sam,” he said. “How the hell have you been?”

“Oh you know me,” explained Sam, “been in the hospital for a few days. My rectum got all blowed up from that firecracker I shoved up there. Been having to shit standing up. Other than that, things have been good. How the hell have you been?”

Hutch was sweating bullets.

“Well you know,” began Dirk, “just been up to things. What can I do for ya?”

“This fella right here,” Sam said, laying his hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “He claims some fellers stole some vacuum cleaners from the back of his truck. Can you believe that shit? What kind of sicko would do such a thing?”

“Yeah that doesn’t sound like somethin folks around here would do,” he said. Dirk lifted his hand from the bar and swiveled Hutch around on his stool. He was petrified by fear. The sheriff rubbed his hand across his chin and looked this outsider up and down. “Say, you weren’t that feller who came ridin in here in that fancy Jeep Honcho was you?”

Hutch shook his head.

“Yeah, I know it was you,” Dirk continued. “Thought you was a couple of badasses rollin down the square.”

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else sir.”

“Bullshit,” the sheriff laughed. “Where’s that other fella you was with? The one drivin. The colored fella.”

Hutch tried to disguise his hands as they trembled. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Well I can’t get to the bottom of this matter if I don’t talk to all the witnesses involved. You understand that I’ll need to bring this man into questioning.”

Hutch smiled and sat his beer on the bar. Then he reached into his pockets to pull out all the money on his person, which totaled $2.27 and then waved the cash in front of the sheriff. “Gentlemen, this is all one big misunderstanding,” he explained. “I was just pulling the bartender’s leg, ya see? Now why don’t you take my cash here and buy yourself a drink and let’s forget this matter.”

He shoved the money into the sheriff’s vest pocket and stood up. Dirk looked at his pocket. As Hutch tried to barrel past him, he placed his hand on his chest. “Now wait just one goddamn minute,” the sheriff said. “In the state of Louisiana, it’s a crime to bribe an officer of the law. You’re under arrest.”

Hutch was perplexed. “Would you take a check?” he asked.

“Turn around!” Dirk ordered as he reached for his cuffs. Hutch was thrown face first into the bar and the sheriff clasped his wrists. The bar patrons stopped their revelry to gawk at the unfolding spectacle.

“I’m an innocent man!” protested Hutch.

“You have the right to remain silent, you son of a bitch!”

Hutch wiggled and squirmed as the sheriff apprehended him and a slight commotion was erupting in the bar. Then punches were thrown. As Hutch fought for his escape, an all out brawl broke out. “Christ! I’m gonna need back up!” Dirk yelled. But before the scene crumbled into a complete war zone, a gunshot silenced the crowd. Eyes turned to the back of the bar and they saw a lone figure holding up a .38 service revolver. When he had the crowd’s attention, he lowered the pistol and stepped forward. Patrons moved aside, creating a direct path to the front of the bar. Seconds later, a bearded fellow in a black cassock and a black skoufia presented himself to the Sheriff and Hutch. A crucifix hung around his neck with the .38 by his side. “Let him go,” he ordered the sheriff.

“This ain’t your fight padre,” Dirk retorted.

“Padre?” the priest asked. “I’m Greek Orthadox. Not Catholic.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

kingdom of god 24

Telas gawked at the old man as mounds of apple sauce were shoved into his mouth while nurses shuffled in and out of the sterile and cold penthouse overlooking the sprawling megalopolis. It was nestled safely thousands of miles away from the war ravaged Nain. Bill Wilcox, the aide de camp, was at the Shepherd’s beside. Hundreds of tubes and wires were connected to the old man’s decrepit body and they interpreted signals from his brain. Bill was there to elucidate every word to Telas, who along with the commandant of the Nain territory, Brigadier Hilas Philemon, was there to receive the latest decree from the Shepherd. Wilcox looked up from his interface to receive them.

“The Shepherd would like to thank you for being here,” the aide de camp explained. The old man looked motionless and infirm towards the high plafond seemingly unaware of the bustle surrounding him. Wilcox continued. “The Shepherd and the Chancellor commend you both for your service. You have both performed remarkably.”

“Thank you, sir,” the stern Brigadier responded. But the High Priest said nothing.

“The good news is the lands south of the Sianna have been cleared,” Wilcox declared. “But General, have you made any progress in clearing the Yorkin Pass?”

“It’s rough terrain sir,” Hilas explained. “The group occupying the pass have been harassing the operating posts south of Nisan and then retreating back into the Urbanas. It will take some time to flush them out.”

“You need to do it quickly,” Wilcox warned. “Contractors will be in the Nain basin within a month.”

“Aye sir.”

“The political situation with the Chancellor has changed. While his constituency might find a degree of loss of life acceptable, too much may be unbearable. Please handle this situation delicately and discreetly. The people of Nain must find safe passage to the south.”

“Of course sir.”

“You are dismissed.”

The general bowed his head and departed the penthouse then Wilcox turned towards Telas. “The Shepherd would like to speak with you alone,” he said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

kingdom of god 8

The northern shore of the wide Siana was a rocky and barren plain looked over by the Urbana Mountains that stood like crumbling and snow capped tombstones to the gods. Save for the occasional screaming Nighthawk, the lowland stood silent through night and day as an ominous warning to travelers drifting northwards. After Wade departed the ferry he crept westbound towards the town of Khiva and he crossed no one along the way. Upon arrival he found that the outskirts were deserted and the buildings and homes were stripped of their parts and there were no occupants either living or dead. Myst from the mountains drifted downward and wetted the ground and at the doorstep in the back alley of the abandoned tavern, Wade shouted. Moments later a scraggly drifter answered Wade’s call and invited him in. He served the guest boiled potatoes from an old brass pot and a bottle of whiskey.

“Is that all you have?” asked Wade.

“It’s all that grows,” answered Sheridan.

Sheridan belched and helped himself to a heaping of potatoes and small bits of skin and water dribbled into his beard as he shoveled it into his mouth. Wade sat his bowl down and took from the whiskey bottle. “I’m looking for the Shepherd,” he informed Sheridan.

“Did you ask Gomez?”

“I did.”

“And what did he tell you?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

“If the Agency doesn’t know then what makes you think I would?”

“Because I don’t think it’s that big of a secret.”

“Then why didn’t Gomez tell you?”

“He knows what I’m aiming to do.”

“Which is?”

“Kill him most likely.”

Sheridan guffawed and uncorked the whiskey bottle. And after he drank he sat the bottle down and wiped his mouth with his sleeve and a stern look fell over his face. “Most likely?! What the hell else might happen?!”

“If I can reach an agreement with him, that would be better,” explained Wade. “Milner wants a piece of the Nain and the Agency would prefer if a peaceful settlement could be achieved.”

“And if not?”

“Then you know what happens.”

“You’ll kill him?”

“He’ll try to kill me first.”

“That goddamn Milner is a clown,” shouted Sheridan. “And you’re a fool for throwing your weight behind him! Is he still calling himself a chiefdon? The Promised Land?! It’s a joke ya hear!”

“Spare me, Sheridan. The Shepherd is no sage.”

“And that’s why I stay out of it!”

“By surviving on potatoes and whiskey? Now where is he?”

“He’s north of the Urbanas! That’s all I know.”

“Can you show me?”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“How much are you asking for?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

kingdom of god 6

And in the morning he stashed away his belongings under the floorboards and away from the prying eyes of the innkeeper and then he marched back down the steps and into the musty streets of Harar where overhead was heard the screaming of Nighthawk missiles as they thundered through the sky and headed northward. Minutes later Wade arrived at the old storefront which housed the local offices of Agency representative Javier Gomez where the inside remained a barren landmark of time in memoriam. The representative himself sans a robust staff scribbled on a notepad at his desk with his back turned against the window facing the northerly Urbana Mountains. Nighthawks continued roaring overhead and were barely muffled by the brick and insulation. Wade noticed Gomez’s hand shaking.

“You think it’s bad here,” he told the representative, “think about how bad it must be for the people of Nain.”

Ignoring his comment and not looking up, Gomez continued his pointless jotting. “What can I do you for Wade?”

“Milner wants to make a bid,” he said.

Gomez dropped the pen and clasped his hands on the desk. “On what?” the representative asked.

“On the lands northwest of the Siana. Just on the border of Milner’s.”

Gomez shook his head and resumed the jotting. “You’re a little late,” he said.

“Why’s that?”

“It already has a bid and I doubt you could beat it.”

“By who?”

“You know who.”

“The Shepherd?”

Gomez nodded.

“Do you know where he is? Perhaps I could discuss the matter with him.”

The representative once again looked up. “That’s not a good idea. As of lately negotiating with him hasn’t been good for one’s health.”

“Are you referring to Tollum’s land?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I passed through it on my way up.”

“Then you know exactly what I mean.”

“But you’re the agency. Can’t you facilitate some sort of arrangement?”

“It doesn’t work that way and you know it.”

“Then maybe I should go up there and take care of that problem for you.”

Gomez’s face turned a bright red and he lifted a finger towards Wade. “You listen to me goddamnit! You keep your mouth shut! I won’t have talk of killin in my offices!”

“I said nothing about killin, Javier. You did.”

“I’m not a fool! I know what Milner pays you for and I don’t like it!”

“Have you been to Tollum’s lately? Women and children dead in the streets with their bones getting picked apart by old hermits. I suppose you’ll cede that land to the Shepherd as well? What good is an agency if it can’t stop this lawlessness?”

Javier piped down and lowered his head back to the notepad. “Alright then. If you want to negotiate with the Shepherd then that’s your business. And unless a lawful agreement can be reached, I don’t want to know about it. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

kingdom of god 3

The man called Wade shuffled past the children at play and then past the men clanging and toiling through the village like winged insects circling a hive. And in the center of it all was the courthouse sitting as a potentate overseeing its fiefdom. He ascended the steps of the courthouse and to the top where Max Milner was awaiting him.

“That brokecock weasle twat threatened to buy me out!” the chiefdon informed Wade.

“The Shepherd sir?”

“Yes the goddamn Shepherd! And I told him this property wouldn’t be worth a penny shit if it wasn’t for me!”

“And what does the Agency say?”

“Goddamn the Agency!”

Milner picked up a half bent pipe and loaded it with tobacco. Then he lit a match and gnawed on the pipe. “I’m just having a bit of breakfast,” the chiefdon said to Wade. “Care for some eggs? Got a little cornbread too.”

“No thank you sir.”

“How about some coffee? Want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

Milner fumbled around the cupboard and stumbled upon an old tin cup and poured in black coffee. Wade sat on a chair in front of Milner’s desk and after the chiefdon sat the cup in front of him he let the cup steam.

“The news said they bombed the shit out of the lands north of the Nain,” said Milner. “And I mean they bombed the shit out of it. They’re forecasting more tonight.”

“Yes sir I know,” said Wade.

“How’s that?”

“We intercepted some refugees this morning. Two men and two women. We executed the men and took the women to the harem.”

Milner’s ears perked up. “Two women you say? What are their ages?”

“The girl is 15 years old and the woman still appears to be of childbearing age.”

“15 years old eh?” Milner asked as smoke billowed from his nose. “That’s good. We got boys in need of a wife. We gotta get this land settled. If the Shepherd is gonna rear end me then I gotta take him for every penny he’s got!”

“Yes sir.”

“Anyway,” says Milner as he waves smoke from his eyes, “I didn’t call you up here for idle chitchat. I want you to go to the Nain. Meet with Javier Gomez while you’re up there.”

“The Agency representative?”

“Yup. That’s him. Ask him if he’ll partition some land. It can’t be worth much anyway.”

“With all things being equal sir, with the bombing, I think it would be best if I stayed down here.”

“All things being equal, I’d rather be here than the Nain too,” Milner jested. “But we’re gonna need some breathing room. And soon..”

“But with refugees fleeing south, they’re bound to pass through here.”

“Don’t worry about it. Kahn can handle it.”

Wade nodded then stood up and straightened out his pants while Milner looked down at his papers. He stammered a bit before speaking. “Anything you want me to tell Javier?” he asked the chiefdon.

Milner reached down into his desk and pulled out an envelope with two baseball cards stuffed inside. “Yeah. Give him that, will ya?” Wade took it and placed the envelope in his jacket pocket.

“Is that all sir?” he asked Milner.

“That’s all.”

Wade bowed and started to leave but he opened the door the chiefdon spoke up. “Wait a minute!” he shouted.

Wade turned around.

“Are you gonna drink that coffee?”

kingdom of god 2

The two men marched the two women through the torched and upturned earth past charred trees and stones where echoes of the living had found their resting place. Though the dull and grey and blackened vestiges of bloodshed dotted the countryside, to the south remained a symbol of past and future. A village, or what seemed like one, aligned with stinging metal and men standing watch and looking towards the great abyss beyond. In the center of it all was a relic to law and order. Perhaps it was a courthouse before the days of the alleged war but to the women it was a tawdry reminder of a failed establishment.

The men pushed the women towards the harem where they were stripped and searched and issued new attire. When it was over, the man took the older woman aside.

“Where were you going?” he asked her.

“It’s…it’s difficult to explain,” she stammered.

“Will there be others coming through?”

“I don’t know.”

The man took out an old pack of cigarettes and offered the woman one. She refused. He placed one in his mouth and lit it. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Regina.”

“Regina. What did you do before this?”

“I’m a follower of Jonny.”

“Jonny? The magician?”

“He’s not a magician.”

“Well you know that he died in an attack many years ago.”

“He promised he’ll be back.”

“It’s hard to come back from being blown to smithereens.”

The man stamped out his cigarette and escorted the women to their quarters but before he left the woman Regina stopped him. “Why are you doing this to us?” she inquired.

“You are now property of the Milner Corporation,” he informed her. “The men executed. Were they your family?”

The woman nodded.

“According to law, we are permitted to liquidate men of fighting age,” he said. “You may not understand but as we told you, this is private land. When the war is over, everything that you saw will be fully developed into something greater than what it was before. There is a lot of money to be made. A future to restore.”

“But what will happen to us?”

“You needn’t worry,” the man said. “As women you will bear the future. You will be a part of something wonderful and in time you will understand.”

The women took their bedside. But before the man left, he stopped and turned around. “My name is Wade,” he said. “Welcome to the Promised Land.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia (Conclusion)

Jim reached for his six shooter but he wasn’t quick enough. The cabbie reached for the gun and pulled it from his hands. “Nice pistol you got there old man,” the cabbie said. “But you’re a little slow on the draw.”

Luckily I had the Ruger ready and fired a single shot into the cabbie’s thigh. He fell backwards onto the cab and held his hand over the wound. “That’s for taking the pistol,” I said to him while I was bleeding out on the ground. “Now you better scram before things get ugly.”

Without saying a word, the cabbie stumbled back into the driver’s seat and sped off and then Old Jim attempted to help me to my feet. “It’s fine,” I told him. But it wasn’t fine. The exit wound went through my kidney and blood was soaking up my shirt.

With his arm around me, we stumbled up into the hills before finding a secluded rock overlooking the Los Angeles skyline. I fell to my feet with my back to the rock to rest. I figured I wouldn’t be getting up. “Suppose we need to get you to the hospital,” offered Old Jim.

“Nah,” I said. “I’m ready to meet my prince.”

Jim gloomfully nodded. He planted his back against the rock and we admired the sight before us. I figured I’d have more to say in a moment like this but I didn’t. I didn’t know what time it was but it felt like the sun was racing towards the horizon.

“What do you reckon you’ll do now?” I asked Jim.

“I dunno,” he said.

“I think I have the keys to my apartment somewhere on me,” I said. But I was too weak to reach for them.

“It’s okay,” said Jim. “I never had a home anyway.”

“I guess I owe you an apology too.”

“Forget it,” he said. “I ain’t long for this world no how.”

Those were the last words we said.

It was just before sunup when I woke up alone still rested by the rock. My keys and the Ruger were gone and Jim was nowhere to be found. It felt like the blood was completely drained from my body. I looked around to see the boomer with the Mitsubishi from months earlier leaned up against his car on the side of the road and smoking a cigarette. When he was done with the smoke, he flicked it to the ground and stamped it out.

“What time is it?” I asked him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Come on son. We’ve been up in the hills long enough.”

THE END