Mer Rouge (Part 65)

Everyone jumped to their feet. All except for Moses. He was still recovering from a bullet to the shoulder and an axe wound to the chest. “C’mon Mo!” the Priest shouted.

“Can you guys give me a goddamn minute?! Jesus fucking Christ!”

Hutch knelt down and carried him up. He threw his arm over his shoulder and the pair followed the others down the corridor. The mansion was far more complicated than DuPont anticipated. He halted and grabbed Hutch’s shirt. “Where’s the staircase?” he asked him.

“Past the kitchen,” Hutch said. “There’s a huge parlor on the other side. At the other end is the staircase with the doorway to the spring right behind it.”

The sheriff waved his hand. “Let’s go!”

They entered the rear of the kitchen. DuPont walked in first with his reloaded .44 leading the way. It was abandoned. On the other side was another corridor leading to the right. If they were to be ambushed, it would be there. The sheriff whispered to Oren. “Give me a stick of dynamite,” he said.

Oren reluctantly agreed and handed him a stick. DuPont put a cigarette to his lips and took out a zippo. He lit the cigarette and used it to light the explosive. He waited for the long wick to burn down to just centimeters before tossing it down the hallway. When he did, the gang collapsed to the ground. A second later, a mighty wave of ether swept over them followed by calamitous sounds and clouds of debris. Silence followed. As the dust cleared, DuPont leapt up.

“On your feet!” he ordered.

And like a unified regiment, all the men jumped to their feet and rushed the entry to the hallway. They unloaded one shotgun shell after another but as the smoke settled, they again found no resistance. “We need to get the fuck out of here now,” Oren said.

“Yeah,” agreed the sheriff. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

They turned around and bolted toward the garage entryway. As the last man crossed through the threshold, a hidden metal slide from the doorframe slammed the entrance shut. They were trapped in near total darkness.

“Shit,” Moses said aloud.

And no one spoke. There was a clanking against the concrete. Everyone turned towards it. The clanking continued as if it were taunting them. Moments later, a single light pierced the dark and before them stood an old conquistador with a sword in hand.

TO BE CONTINUED….

Mer Rouge (Part 64)

The tracer rounds momentarily stopped. The priest launched up from behind the burning squad car and unloaded several shotgun shells in their direction. DuPont stood up and fired the .44 up at the overhead window. As shards of glass rained down from the roof, Moses lurched toward the boxes of dynamite.

“Ahhhahahhhahaaa!!!!!” he screamed.

Oren and Hutch sprinted behind him and they kicked over the wooden boxes and grabbed as many sashes as they could. In a span of seconds, they collected eight sashes and then made a beeline towards the left end of the house. Moses was about to make a sharp right into the building when an axe launched itself into his chest. “For fuck’s sake!” he yelled.

Oren and Hutch stopped dead in their tracks. Holding the axe stem was none other than the butler. A quiver of arrows wrapped around his chest. Oren lifted his shotgun to parry the blow of the axe as he swung it toward him. The blade lodged itself into the metal. And as the butler raised the axe again, Oren swung his fist onto his attacker’s face and his head bent backwards. In this brief moment of victory, Oren attempted to overtake the butler but the butler grabbed ahold of Oren’s lapels and crashed the crown of his head onto his opponent’s nose.

Oren stepped back in a daze and collapsed into the grass.

Seconds later, DuPont and the priest rounded the corner to find Hutch swiftly and gracefully dodging the edged weapon. It was almost as if he had done something like that before. With two shots left in the cylinder, DuPont fired at the butler’s shoulder and blew it clean off its socket. The axe fell to the ground but without flinching or recoiling, the butler reached down to take it in his left hand while his right arm was dangling by his side. His lethality didn’t diminish an iota. He resumed his charge at Hutch.

DuPont fired again. The bullet lodged itself into the head of the axe and blew it clean off its handle. The butler dropped the piece of wood and reached into his dinner jacket. With his left hand, he launched shuriken after shuriken at Hutch and DuPont. But the priest drove the butler backwards with his few remaining shotgun shells before the men manning the .50 cals repositioned themselves. When DuPont noticed them, he rallied Hutch and the priest into the house and helped Moses and Oren to their feet.

Without a second to spare, the .50 cals opened fire. DuPont and his men laid flat on the floor while shattered glass crashed down onto them. The firepower was relentless.

Then it stopped.

They laid silent for fifteen seconds. DuPont, with glass cracking below his feet, lifted his head. The gunmen, along with the butler, were gone. “Let’s go,” the sheriff ordered.

“This has got to be a trap,” Oren said.

“No time to worry about that.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 63)

The half a dozen or so wooden boxes of dynamite sat atop the flame retardant grass. Chaz sat them a safe distance away from the Honcho before his horrid death. But the bullets whizzed overhead. The squad car could only provide so much protection. DuPont considered his options under the mounting heat and gunfire.

“I think we’re dead, folks,” he announced to the others.

“You son of a bitch!” Oren said.

“Chill!” called the priest. “C’mon Mo. We gotta do something here.”

Moses remained flattened to the ground next to Hutch. He briefly lifted his head. “Respectfully father, you can go fuck yourself,” he said.

Another flaming arrow whizzed from the sky and blew the priest’s cossack right off his head. “My cossack!” he screamed.

“It’s a hundred fucking degrees out here! Why are you even wearing that?” DuPont asked him.

“The arrows are coming from the second floor window!” Hutch cried out.

Arrows and shurikens were quickly hurled towards Hutch and Moses and the two climbed to their feet and rushed toward the crowded back end of the squad car. Everyone was trapped. “We at least got to try to get to the dynamite,” the priest said.

“Fuck that!” Moses yelled.

“Mo! What other option do we got?”

“Surrender!”

“Are you stupid? They’ll kill us no matter what and you know that!”

“We need to get to the boxes before they start shooting at them!” DuPont said. “If we’re all gonna die, let’s at least die together!”

“What’s the plan then?”

“There’s not much of one. When the tracers stop, I’ll unload the shotgun in their direction. You, father, direct your fire toward the second story window. The rest of you grab as many dynamite sashes as you can before things get too hot and then bolt it towards the other end of the house. We’ll give you fire cover the entire time. At least until we run out of bullets and shells. Goddamn, I wish I had some lemon frags!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

What a great day

The weather’s warmer. Just got out of jail. Have $27 in my pocket. And my stool sample came back negative for dysentery.

But the best part?

No new war has been instigated by the United States that bears an alarming similarity with another disastrous war instigated 20 years prior. It’s like after 300,000 years of humanity’s existence, we’re finally starting to learn from history.

So I think we’re gonna make it as a species, folks! We’re turning over a new leaf 🥰

kingdom of god 25

Telas tepidly approached the Shepherd’s bedside. With glazed eyes focused muddily towards the heavens, the old man was as motionless as death. The high priest pondered. Whatever was left within this cold vessel was a perpetual hostage suspended in the spaces between the living and the dead.. then monitors and machines beeped and dinged wildly as nurses rushed to his aid. There was a faint gagging. The mush that counted as the old man’s sustenance was lodged in his throat. While alarming to witness, Telas hoped that this was the sweet relief that the comatose man was looking for. But they pried open his mouth. Suction tubes were shoved in. Bill Wilcox stood calmly, almost disinterestedly, as the calamity unfolded. The suctioning screeched a loud scraping sound and the Shepherd jostled lightly as if to cling on to the last vestiges of life. But then the machines resumed their usual sounds. The obstruction was cleared and the old man glossed up at the ceiling as he did before. Then Wilcox continued his briefing.

“If this is a bad time, we can do this another…,” Telas began to say.

“Nonsense,” Wilcox interrupted. “The Shepherd wants you to know that he admired Jonny, and he is very thankful for your support.”

“Thank you. And you can tell the Shepherd that I’m thankful for his hospitality.”

“No need to tell me,” said Wilcox. “The Shepherd is perfectly capable of hearing your gratitude.”

Telas looked awkwardly at the old man and nodded. “Thank you sir,” he greeted.

“Now onto more pressing matters,” Wilcox continued. “The temple at Nisan will need to be dismantled. Once when the city’s population has been relocated to the south, you will be permitted to reestablish it with certain caveats.”

“Such as?”

“The followers of Jonny and others within the Alcain religion must not be granted pilgrimage to the Nain. That region will be off limits.”

The high priest shook his head. “The Nain has been a part of our religion for generations. While pilgrimages can be prohibited by temple decree, it will be impossible to stop them entirely…”

“That may be true,” Wilcox warned, “but by the end of the year, any trespassers in the region will be executed.”

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 23

Stephanos puzzled at the strange man sitting across the fire. The boy snuggled up to him and the man reached into his duster for a canteen. “I’m sorry,” the preacher said. “I’ve seen so many faces. Forgive me if I don’t recognize you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the drifter told him. “I’ve seen hundreds of your kind. All with different faces but the same prying eyes. None of you know Jonny from a hole in the ground.”

“That’s not true,” Stephanos protested.

“It’s not? Do you know who that fellow over there is?”

“He was of the agency.”

“Yes. He was Javier Gomez.”

“And how do you know him?”

“I know an enemy when I see one. That’s the difference between you and me.”

“But there are no enemies in the eyes of God.”

“God? Do you think his kingdom dwells in the heavens? Or does it dwell down here, with flesh and blood?”

“As equal creatures in the eyes of God, we will all be relieved of the burden of flesh and blood once we enter his kingdom in heaven.”

The drifter smiled and picked his teeth. His scars flashed as malicious augury against the flames. “You have some funny ideas, preacher,” he said. “Your kind is always searching for the unexplainable in the mystical. It’s indistinguishable from the nonexistent. While tales of magic inspire awe, it prevents you from seeing what’s right in front of you. Evil is real and it sits right next to us. God is not a god of unseen power but is force is itself. To extinguish evil, it takes power. It takes force. You don’t believe in god. You believe in vanity. There is no future for you, only the complacency of an ever cursed present.”

The preacher didn’t reply. He considered reaching for the Colt but the drifter already had fingers on the shotgun. “I don’t want any problems,” Stephanos told him.

“I don’t either,” said the drifter. Then he lifted the shotgun and blew a hole in the preacher’s chest. After emptying the shells, he approached Stephanos’ corpse and took his pistol and placed it under his duster. Then he took the child by the hand and they resumed their path down the king’s road.

TO BE CONTINUED…

kingdom of god 23

The preacher lifted Gomez over his shoulders and carried him down king’s road. Passersby only glared at the men as sweat drenched down Stephanos’ face. Blood trickled down his smock. Urgency coursed through his veins as the midday sun beat down upon him. “I’m a dead man,” said Gomez. “Just leave me here.” But the preacher ignored him. Miles ahead and his knees began to buckle. He saw a thicket of trees yards off to the right and headed towards it. In a small clearing, he laid down Gomez’s whitening body and tended to his bleeding. “Thank you for your help preacher,” the dying man said, “but there’s nothing more to be done.” Blood puddled into the grass and Gomez grew cold. Before nightfall, he was dead.

Stephanos sat silently beneath the trees for several hours while Gomez’s body rested peacefully against the oak. The nighttime prairie glowed from a full moon and the preacher figured he would bury him in the morning. Numbed by the day’s pain, he struggled to make his bed. Against his better instincts, he dug through the deceased man’s remains and made a fire. He didn’t eat and he didn’t drink. His eyes remained fixed on the smoldering flame.

The hours passed. The preacher’s eyes grew heavy. Then there was a cracking at the edge of the meadow. He turned around to find a hunched over man walking hand in hand with a small boy. As they approached, the fire illuminated the man’s face. He was scared and bundled up in a charcoaled duster. What appeared to be a cane holding him up was actually a long range shotgun. Staphanos thought of reaching for the pistol but the small boy threw him off. The boy was five or six years old and said nothing.

“Excuse me sir,” the man said. “Mind if we rest by your fire?”

The preacher drew a sigh of relief and welcomed them in. “Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry but I have to food or water to give you.”

“What about that fellow over there?”

“He’s dead.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No. I found him wounded on the side of the road. I couldn’t save him.”

The man straightened out his coat and sat next to the fire. The boy sat with him. He sat the shotgun off to the side and held his hands over the fire. “I’m Stephanos, an emissary of Jonny,” the preacher said. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Yes I know who you are,” the man said.

“You’ve seen me before?”

“In Cessa in fact. You claim to have received the word directly from Jonny.”

“That is true. I have received the word.”

“Then tell me preacher. If you’ve received the word from Jonny, why don’t you recognize me?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

kingdom of god 22

And with Cessa gone, the preacher wondered senselessly toward the bountiful vista. He thought that when the king’s road ended he might journey further into the marauding lands. But as thoughts of an unknown future conjured, he held the pistol and considered burying it under a stone or tossing it into a passing creek. The path was lonely. Only an occasional drifter came coursing along towards the beleaguered south. No words were exchanged between the parties. They both knew fate had them marching towards perdition. But a little deeper into the steppe, Stephanos happened across a traveler beaten and battered behind a small sandstone deposit. He was unconscious. The preacher dabbled water onto his lips and when he came to, he noticed the traveler was stabbed and his leg broken. He rested him against the rock and tended to his bleeding. They rested there for several hours and at sundown, the preacher made a fire and gave him what little substance he could provide. Afterward, he stood watch throughout the night while on the lookout for returning marauders.

He thought about the pistol. He took it from the holster and held it firmly.

By morning, the bleeding had stopped. The traveler awoke and asked for water and the preacher provided. “I’m Stephanos, an emissary of Johnny,” he told the traveler.

The man lowered the canteen from his lips. “I’m Javier Gomez, a representative from the Agency,” he said.

“How did this happen to you?”

Gomez struggled to recall. “I was attacked on my HUV returning to Nisan. I don’t know. They must have taken it.”

“The vehicle?”

“Yes.”

“Were they going south?”

“Yes.”

Stephanos stood up and stared down the path towards the horizon. The sun was climbing towards its zenith and the nearest inn was miles away. He knew he would have to carry Gomez the entire way and that they wouldn’t make it before sundown. “I suspect you were followed,” he told Gomez. “You’re from the agency. Why were you traveling alone?”

“I wasn’t alone.”

“What happened to the others?”

“I don’t know. I was returning from Cessa.”

“Why?”

“Because the Shepherd had called for me.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

kingdom of god 21

Stephanos left the temple before dusk and trekked north from the city center past the beggars and the guards through the morning dew and back towards the northern steppe. Outside of the walls where the sheep herders and common traders were gathered, he attracted a small flock led by Jena and she accosted him while men gathered stones and small arms. The preacher threw up his hood and held his head low but Jena spat and cursed upon him. A stone struck his back and knocked him to the ground, but before the crowd could descend upon him, the woman fought back the agitators and permitted him safe passage. With the city behind him, he prayed to the god which had forsakened him for the forgiveness of his transgressors and for the soul of Nisan. The preacher never returned.

He traversed the king’s road past the sandstone barriers which marked the northerly entrance of the Nisan province and the road gently sloped downward into a sea of green and gold grasses. The prairie flattened. As the sun lingered in the sky, Stephanos could make out specks floating along the deep blue horizon. While the wild horses were long gone, the preacher presumed them to be travelers or a caravan of light vehicles that once dominated the steppe. But as they drew nigh, it was apparent that they were indeed men with horses. With caution entering his mind, Stephanos threw up his hands with his left showing the sign of Jonny. They came closer. He could see they had faces painted like those of marauders with spears of scalps and bones, and when they were in earshot, he greeted them in the Saranian tongue.

The leader returned his greet. “I speak your tongue,” he told the preacher.

“Then you should know I hold no weapon,” Stephanos said. “I am an emissary of Jonny and I’m returning to Cessa.”

“I can see that,” the marauder informed him. “I do not intend you harm but you must surrender your gold and silver.”

“But I don’t carry much.”

“Then give us what you have.”

The preacher lowered his hands and surrendered his satchel. A marauder climbed off his horse to gather it and slung it around his body. Pitying the dispossessed, the leader reached into his saddle and tossed Stephanos a Colt revolver pistol sheathed in a leather holster. “Cessa has been destroyed by Nighthawks,” he informed the preacher. “You will need that weapon on the road ahead. I suggest you use it.”

TO BE CONTINUED…