The Apostates (22 page)

Burke brought his tray and beverage toward the seating area. He spied the aviator, Schrubb, sitting alone with his food. Burke decided to approach.

“Excuse me, sir, Mind if I join you?” Burke asked.

“Why, it’s the sailor who helped get me
aboard! Sit right on down!” John Schrubb was unusually chipper, and he
was laying into the substandard grub.

“Thank you, sir. That was one hell of a
day, eh?” Burke made conversation.

“Yes, it was, sailor. Say, what’s your
name?” Schrubb asked.

“Burke, sir. Private Burke. Mind if I ask your rank?” Burke inquired.

“Why, I’m an ensign in the United States
Naval reserve. The youngest aviator yet, they told me,” Schrubb had gloated. He
shoveled a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth.

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me
asking?” Burke was curious.

“Welp, I just turned nineteen. The other
fly-boys call me “Slim”, ‘cause I’m so lanky,” he said. It appeared to Burke that this boy
Schrubb was not plugged into the same reality that Burke walked in.

“So, what do you do when you’re not a flyboy?” Burke asked.

“Well, I’ll be going to college when I get
back stateside. Then my father expects me to enter politics and further the
family’s legacy,” Schrubb proudly announced, holding a fork above his head,
like a torch that was handed to him by his father.

“Must be nice to have such a vision laid
out for you?” Burke prodded.

“Once this business with the Japs is sewn
up, our country will have a large role to fill in the New World Order. The
European Empires will all be gone, and there ain’t gonna be any state in Asia
strong enough to set policy. Some families are just born to lead, you know? My
family is one of them. When I told you that you haven’t heard the last of the
Schrubbs, I was telling the truth.” There was a certain brutal honesty to what
he was saying, like soothsayer who knew what the future holds.

“Well, I guess it’s in our interest to
have your family on our side.” Burke was taken aback by what he was
insinuating: that the immediate future had already been determined behind
closed doors, but he wasn’t surprised.

“What about you, Burke? What will you do when this is all over?” Ensign Schrubb asked with genuine interest.

“Good question. Gonna go get married,”
Burke lied.

“Hey, there you go. Claim that woman. It’s gonna be a bright, new era for America. Get in on the ground floor,” Schrubb suggested, “Listen, Burke, when you get back to the States and you need anything, you look me up, you hear? I’ve got some connections. Anyway, I best be gettin’, there’s a transport coming to take me back to the Hornet. Gotta get back into the sky and take it to the Japs, ya know?” Schrubb got up and left the table, not bothering to clear his tray.

Burke looked at his food. He wondered why Schrubb had wholeheartedly enjoyed and consumed the terrible food, while Burke, himself, dreaded the slop? He figured that somewhere in this conundrum lay the key to understanding the difference between “men of destiny” and the common folk, but it alluded him.

He turned his thoughts to thinking about the reports of the American counter-attack on the Japanese fleet. The American attack of over two hundred aircraft had caught the Japanese fleet in the open. The American planes swarmed the Japanese carriers, laying into them with bombs and torpedoes. They had sunk the Hiyo, and considerably damaged the carriers Zuikaku, Junyō, and Chiyoda. The Americans had only lost twenty of their attacking planes. However, the Americans took the heaviest losses during the return trip to the carriers, because they had conducted their attack at night. Despite the best efforts of American aircrews to illuminate the carriers, returning planes crashed into the landing deck or into the sea. Eighty planes from the two hundred strong attacking force were lost during landing. However, most of the pilots had been rescued at sea.

Burke was amazed at the one-sidedness of the engagement this day. Why did the Japanese pay so dearly in lives and material, and the Americans so little? Was Schrubb right and that it was just “our time”? Did some unseen force favor us, or could it all be chalked up to superior skill, planning, ideology and economic system? Much of it could be chalked up to circumstance. It just so happened that as the dice were rolled, they landed in favor of the Americans.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The Iowa and the ragtag Mothball fleet had set sail on the Pacific ocean off the California coast two days ago, en route to the Port of Long Beach. The Apostates had been given instructions to meet with allies that Graham Wynham had specified, except that Graham had dropped off the map. They had not been able to raise him for some time. Worry had start to set in. The group was now flying blind and would have no idea how to identify the individuals they were looking for.

The fleet was composed of five battleships, two destroyers, three cruisers and a number of cargo ships, passenger liners, and fuel ships; all in fairly rough, but working shape. Aesthetics weren’t important to the Apostates—the functionality was what they were interested in. These ships were cities at sea and provided food, shelter, medical attention, fuel, and protection to the wandering band in their watery desert.

Blaze-Scorch had operated on Aqua-Deluge for the better part of a day, to stablize her condition. She had to repair a nicked aorta and a lung that had filled with blood. Blaze-Scorch thought that if the Prelate had cut any deeper or jerked the blade in any manner to do more damage that Aqua would be dead. As it was, Blaze was shocked that she managed to save Aqua. Blaze changed the I.V. bag that fed into Aqua’s arm and took her vitals, then bedded her down for the night. Aqua had not been conscious since she had been wounded.

“Well, Aqua should be good for the night.” Blaze had thought about closing up the infirmary. She would monitor Aqua’s vitals through her neural implant, so there was that convenience.

“Hey, doc, how’s she doing?” Ravine-Gulch
had stepped into the infirmary. He walked over to Aqua’s bedside.

“She’s stable. I’m kinda shocked that we
were able to get her this far. Not going to lie, that wound should have been
fatal,” Blaze confessed.

“Shit. I was so close, right there. I
should have prevented this.” Ravine was all twisted up. He had a habit of being
overly sensitive and blaming himself for things out of his control.

“Well, don’t wish too hard. That could
have been you in her place.” Blaze tried to make him see the bright side.

“Yeah, Blaze, I just keep failing. Fucking
it all up,” Ravine lamented.

“Aqua had no choice but to fight, as we all did.” Blaze consoled him and tried to make him see he was not responsible. She laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks for doing all you have been doing
for her, Blaze. If she had died I’d be a wreck right now,” Ravine had
confessed, turning toward her to return the embrace.

“You mean, more of a wreck than usual? You
big wuss!” she said to him playfully.

“You know it.” Ravine pushed his head toward her face and began kissing her. She didn’t hesitate and reciprocated for a split second, but then pulled away, giving him a push then punched him in the gut. It wasn’t full force but enough to make him grab his mid-section and wrench back.

“What the fuck?” Ravine protested.

“Yeah! What the fuck? You mope around the
ship all day, bitchin’ about how Gale won’t talk to you and won’t forgive you.
How do you think that’s going to happen if you try to get at me?” Blaze
didn’t want a baby of a man, stuck on an old flame.

“Shit, Blaze. Sorry, you know. I’m just
lonely, working on electronics all day. I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Ravine
apologized.

“Why don’t you give it more time? It’s
barely been weeks since she came aboard with us. You’re impatient,
Christ!” Blaze spoke plainly.

“You’re right. Semiconductors and vacuum tubes are all the love I’ll be getting for quite a while,” Ravine joked.

“Hey, why don’t we grab a keg of ale from
the stores and drink on the weather deck?” Blaze suggested, with a friendly
smile.

“That sounds like a fantastic, fucking
idea!” Ravine agreed.

“Just keep it on an even keel, dude!” she
threatened. Gesturing a finger across her throat.

“Hey, don’t worry about this guy. I’ve
already been chewed up and spit out enough for several resurrections,” he said.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Gale-Whirlwind sat alone at the cantina, playing with her drink. She had fixed herself a Screwdriver with some orange juice that had been squeezed right before the shove off. The drink was now room temperature. Gale thought back to how Head Ranger Frank had exploded. His bits had showered her after she just barely jumped out of the way of being blown up too. Gale hadn’t failed to notice that the supposedly elite agent of the Regime were incompetent. Even she saw that an operation the Rangers should have succeeded with was compromised due to poor planning and in-fighting. Not that she wanted them to have succeeded, although she would have left out the part about being covered in body parts.

Gale figured that the Regime was getting desperate. She had also thought about Ravine—she did love him, but she felt it was because he represented something familiar; something safe. They were no longer in a safe world. They were living in a high stakes; all or nothing world. Then her thoughts turned to Hades-Perdition. She thought him silent, deadly, brutally efficient, and single-minded on the mission. She wondered what drove the man. Gale was drawn to him, and couldn’t fight it. He made her want to drink, so she took a
swig. It was lukewarm, but she didn’t care. Gale wondered if he was perched up
in some high spot on the ship, scanning the horizon with that big gun of his.

“No rest for the wicked,” Gale thought and took another drink.

“Gale, how are you doing after that fight
we had?” The voice was familiar: Hades. It was a solid yet soulful voice, and
it made her want to take another sip.

“Hades! How are you? Me, I’m just glad to
be at sea,” Gale responded,
turning on the barstool face his direction.

“Tell, me about it. It’s nice to be
underway. But, I’m worried. I haven’t heard from Graham, so I’m not exactly
sure what the hell we’re supposed to do once we get to Long Beach,” Hades
confessed.

“Do you want a drink?” she offered.

“Oh, sure. I’ll just take a cider or beer,” Hades said. She pulled him a pint of apple cider and set it in front of him.

“So, are you sure you can trust Graham?”
Gale asked, sitting back down beside him.

“When I was being hunted by the Rangers, wounded and alone, Graham had sought me out. That man saved me and gave me a new purpose; to be an instrument of destruction against a corrupt and zealous Regime. I trust the man more than I trust you—no offense.” Hades had made it clear where his loyalties lie.

“Well, now that it’s clarified,” She said
sarcastically, taking a drink to mask her wounded feelings.

“What do you think our future holds? Like,
what are we doing?” Gale had a general sense of uncertainty.

“We’re going to save millions of people, and put a stop to whatever the fuck the Regime is planning during the B.A.G. We’ll probably be hunting down the Reverend to make him answer for his crimes.Then, we’ll link up with Graham and an organization called the Neo Railroad—they smuggle refugees overseas for a price. We’ve got quite a few goals, but we need to figure out what the hell happened to Graham. We’re handicapped without him.” Hades worried.

“Hey, pour me another cider, will you,
girl? Hades requested, handing her his pint glass. She did.

“So, what are you going to do when this is
all over?” Gale asked him with genuine curiosity.

“Shit, that’s a loaded question. I have an
old score to settle. Once that’s done, then it’s over for me. This goes beyond
the Regime.” Hades looked serious; whatever he was referring to she thought she
shouldn’t push the subject.

“What about you? Are you and Ravine gonna
try to salvage something?” Hades asked. Gale wore a sour look on her face.

“Not sure I want to talk about him right
now. I thought he was dead—didn’t figure I’d have posthumous relationship
tussles,” Gale said dryly. She finished her warm vodka drink.

“Fair enough. I feel you,” Hades said.

Their conversation at the cantina lasted several hours and more than a few rounds. Gale asked him about Ranger stories, and she shared her experiences during her stint as a community peace officer and abusing her power to help Ravine sell ‘Base’. Hades had told her about his early days with the Apostates, members he knew who had lived and died, and about Regime and Church dirt. Gale had finally told him about the desperate situation she was left in after Ravine had flushed both their lives down the drain, and about how she committed suicide. She cried a bit, and he suggested they leave the cantina. The two walked outside onto the weather deck en route to the living quarters.

As they passed by, Ravine and Blaze did
not fail to notice them from their vantage point high up on the Conn tower of
the Iowa. Ravine had walked up to the bulwark to watch them step through the hatch
to the interior of the ship.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

“Control yourself, man! Don’t fucking do
anything you’ll regret. You might be good, but let me assure you, Hades is
better.” Blaze warned the now drunk Ravine.

“I know, I know. But, isn’t he...?” Ravine
was perplexed.

“Yes, he is. So, you have nothing to worry
about. Just two sisters having a good time,” Blaze reassured him.

“Sit the fuck down and drink with me,”
Blaze demanded. They were sharing a keg of ale, and quite enjoying it.

“Shit, yeah, I should just enjoy myself
and not think about it,” Ravine concluded.

“What do you think I’ve been saying to you
this whole time, you schmuck,” Blaze teased. She took a giant gulp from
her stein. He followed suit.

“So, you think she’s going to make it, doc?”
Ravine inquired.

“Unless someone intervenes, she should,” Blaze was certain because doubt didn’t help.

‘That’s good to hear.” Ravine poured some
ale out onto the deck, “To Lore-Fiction, that rapist, rat fuck can burn in
hell,” he growled.

“Stop ruining the vibe. You did what you
had to do. Just enjoy yourself,” Blaze scolded him.

“Again, you’re right. I hope I did the right thing. Did Graham tell you that you had a special role in all this?”
Ravine asked Blaze.

“I guess. He did make me the resident
physician,” Blaze said in confusion.

“I’m mean, more than that. Did he tell you
that you’d be the key to something?” Ravine was curious if his “destiny” was
unique.

“What do you mean? I don’t know. Are you
really drunk?” Blaze asked him slightly annoyed.

“No—forget it. It’s nothing.” It was
something. Graham had reiterated that he would be the key to endgame.

“Well, you sure are something special,
Ravine-Gulch!” Blaze said sarcastically.

“Why are you here? What was your story,
Blaze?” Ravine suddenly had interest.

“My story? You don’t want to hear that,”
she tried to deflect the subject.

‘Yes, let’s hear it. C’mon,” Ravine
encouraged.

“There’s not much to say. I hail from Texas. I was a Regime physician at one of their Church-run clinics. There wasn’t much money in it. So, I was selling to the black market on the side: organs from the freshly deceased. I was caught and I fled. Graham found me somehow, and we faked my death. I went through an operation where he had me disconnected from the [Virtue-net]. I’ve been working for him ever since,” Blaze-Scorch recounted.

“Do you have any family back there?”
Ravine inquired, as he filled his stein again.

“Not really—I had a boyfriend, sort of.
Nothing really that I’d go back to,” Blaze confessed.

Ravine raised his stein to her stein, and
gestured for a toast, “To failed relationships, and burying the past.”

“You certainly have a way of raising the spirits around here,” she said sarcastically. When the dented steins collided the sound was lackluster.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Gale-Whirlwind looked around Hades-Perdition’s quarters. Among the drab, sparse metal walls were old, pre-war photos of the San Francisco Bay Area. They were black and white and appeared to beof mid-Twentieth Century in origin. One of the photos depicted lines of cars down Market Street. Off in the distance was the Ferry Building clock tower. Another photo displayed an aerial image of an intact Golden Gate Bridge. Gale recalled that when the fleet had set out to sea, they had passed under the partial structure of the bridge—the southern span having collapsed some time ago. Gale observed how alien the Old World seemed to be: the secular consumer society was just some abstract concept from the past. She noticed the sword rack on the wall,
supporting Hades’s Claymore. She touched the hilt.

“I have to ask you: why do you still carry
that thing around when everyone uses guns? I mean I know you’re skillful with
it,” Gale asked him, thinking it strange.

“Well, I could say something that sounds cliché-like, and I wouldn’t be lying if I said that I feel that it’s a more civil way of settling disputes, but the real reason is that the sword was given to me by a person who had saved me during a dark period in my life. He showed me that devoting my life to an art form could give me purpose,” Hades said while leaning against his bunk.

“That’s pretty poetic,” Gale said while
running a finger down the edge of the sword’s scabbard.

“I suppose so,” Hades said, looking over
at Gale.

“I never got to thank you for saving my
ass at the rail depot, and for showing me the ropes.” Gale moved closer to
Hades, as she played with one of his locks of hair.

“No problem there, just thought you needed
a little tutorial,” Hades said, looking up at her. She put an arm around him
and drew close. Hades looked in her eyes. He knew the look of a predatory bird
when he saw one.

“Okay, you know I don’t really swing that
way, right?” Hades asked in a low voice.

“It doesn’t mean it has to get in the way
of anything, matter of fact, even better,” she breathed heavily, pushing some
dreads back behind his ear as she whispered into it.

“Alright, we can do this. But, it’s gonna be my way.” With that, he wrapped his arms around her turning her backside toward him. He held her tight against him and caressed up and down her body. Gale let out approving gasps of air; he was doing something right. Hades kissed on the back of her neck and ear, and his hands drifted under her shirt, caressing and rubbing. Gale arched her back slightly and nudged her head against his. Hades slipped one hand down below her belt, slowly manipulating her to loosen up. He unbuckled her belt and unfastened her pants and pulled everything down below her knees, he then let himself loose from his garments. Holding her steadfastly, he entered her from behind and filled her as much as he could. He worked at her until she submitted to the recurrent and confident motions, the two climaxed. Gale and Hades spent the rest of the night partaking in activities that a straight woman and gay man did not normally do together.