The Apostates (23 page)

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Blaze and Ravine were fairly intoxicated on the observation deck, which had been used to direct fire in times past. The two had put a dent in a keg of ale. The sky was clear that night, and the lack of light pollution on the open ocean meant that the stars were blazing bright. The two laid on their backs looking up at the constellations. Ravine made out Orion. The ship was moving at twenty knots so the night sky shifted slightly above them as the ship moved. The ship’s steel groaned and complained, as the ocean’s waters battered it. Ravine hadn’t known that Blaze could drink like she did. It had been a while since he actually had some genuine fun. As he lay there looking up at the sky, his mind wandered to the encrypted message that was sent to him by Graham. Graham had told him he had been taken into custody by the Regime and that he didn’t expect to live. He had also told Ravine not tell the rest of the Apostates, as he didn’t want to be a distraction to them—no rescue parties. Then, he had specified what Ravine would have to do once the Apostates reached New Megiddo City. Ravine found out the stakes of the endgame, but he was okay with that. He felt a semblance of freedom as he lay there.

“Hey, you lug, give me some of that
warmth.” Blaze snuggled up against him.

“Alright, alright, take it easy.” She laid
her head on his chest and he put an arm around her. That night they slept on
the weather deck in the perfect, night air. The rhythm of the ship rolling on
the waves made it quite easy to drift to sleep.

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The Southern California sun was beaming down on Ravine and Blaze as they lay on the weather deck. The sound of a sea bird’s call could be heard in the distance. It was a peaceful alarm clock to wake up to. Ravine pulled himself out from under Blaze, which woke her. He stood up and took stock of the view. Ravine could see the Apostate flotilla stretching back some miles to the horizon. Various smoke pillars rose into the clouds. He looked toward the shore and spotted some old skyscrapers. They used to be office space but had been converted to housing for the massive, sprawling ghetto that was Los Angeles. The fleet was coming upon the Port of Long Beach, what once was called Terminal Island and used to be a U.S. Navy facility. There was an artificial, protected harbor that been constructed during the hay day of the U.S., behind a breakwater were a group of ships, some military and some commercial in nature. Ravine wondered if these ships would be joining the fleet, and if their supposed allies were in control of the ships.

“Hey, Blaze. Take a look at this. Long
Beach, we made it.” Ravine pointed out the ships at port.

“Ugh, I have a mean headache right now,” Blaze confessed. She cringed in the sunlight and struggled to catch a glimpse of the ships, “Wow, I’ve never been to L.A. before.” She looked up and down the coast and all she could see were ancient skyscrapers and city blocks of slums, stretching back to the hills farther inland. It seemed to Blaze that everything around had long been paved over. She had no desire set foot into these slums.

“Well, I better go get a shower and check in on Aqua in the infirmary. I’ll catch you when we disembark. Thanks for the fun night, doll.” She picked up some belongings and headed off through a hatch.

“Alright, Blaze, see you soon,” Ravine responded. Ravine decided he’d head to the bridge and check in with the captain. Each of the ships had been assigned someone to direct the ships, but the Apostate personnel were not organized like a militant organization. They were paid mercenaries, but the group was run more like a co-operative, than a military. The captains had an understanding that they worked for the core Group of Apostates. Before Graham had been captured he had transferred vast sums of capital to Apostate control for compensation of the large group of personnel.

Ravine walked through the entrance hatch
to the bridge. Captain Eldridge was instructing the communications foreman to
try to raise the ships in the harbor. The foreman had attempted to make contact
to no avail. Ravine stepped toward the Conn and the Captain turned to face
Ravine.

“Cheers, Ravine-Gulch. How is the morning
treating you? As you can see we have made it,” The Captain reported, gesturing
toward the silent port.

“So, I take it no one has responded to
your hails?” Ravine surmised.

“Correct, no response. But, it’s
understandable. If I saw an armada of ships descending on my position, I’d be
cautious too,” the Captain judged.

“Thanks, Cap’. We’ll get the Apostates together and check things out on foot,” Ravine informed. He turned around to leave the bridge. Ravine figured he would rouse the rest of the group. He figured everyone had been drinking since that’s all there was to do on a ship at sea. Ravine just hoped that everyone wasn’t in too bad of shape. He descended down the steep metal stairs into the bowels of the ship toward the living quarters.

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The mid-Twentieth century Charger blazed down the rugged and battered highway. It moved at its near limit, the motor roared, burning a trail over the fractured pavement. It was covered in dried mud and splatters of unlucky insects. The wipers had left a pattern from where dirt had been cleared away on the windshield. The Charger had passed through an old, abandoned town that, in times passed, had been called Bakersfield. The surrounding land was a wasteland of desert and tumbleweed.

The Prelate Inoguchi was at the steering wheel, guiding her metal steed across the desert. There was no gripping the steering wheel at “ten and two” for the Prelate, as she had lost a hand in the fight with Ravine-Gulch. The wound had been cauterized with her plasma knife, and a rough stump remained where once a hand had grasped.

Once the Prelate was ordained with a
contract she would see it through to the end. Losing a hand would not deter
her. She had a singular purpose that drove her to carry out the
Lord’s retribution on the wicked, but now it was personal for her. Church
leadership was hailing the Prelate. She answered the hail. She cursed under her
breath, as now was not the best time for disturbance.

“Prelate Inoguchi, the Lord’s tidings be upon you. How do you fair in the progress of your contract?” Cardinal Zhukov pushed for a progress report. He was short and to the point.

“Cardinal, Pleased to hear from you,” She
lied, “It is not really the best time for this discussion as I am at a crucial
stage.” Inoguchi was audibly annoyed.

“Prelate, we have paid good money, and one
of the stipulations of your ordainment was that you provide regular briefings
to the clergy. Now, we appreciate your punctual reports, they help the Church
justify its budget to keep you on retainer—” the Cardinal was cut short
by the Prelate.

“Right now is not the best—” the
Cardinal interrupted the Prelate.

“Listen to me, Prelate. You must comply
with Church directives or the leadership will have to review other options,
such as—” The Cardinal was interrupted again.

“Shut your fucking trap! I lost a hand to these Apostates, and if you say anything more about budgets and reports, the Lord as my witness, I will hunt you down and remove that vile worm you use to violate children and make you swallow it! I will get back to you.” The Prelate closed the channel. She pushed down on the gas pedal harder and the black Charger picked up speed. The rage she felt inside pushed new boundaries, as she felt like she could drive off a cliff to relieve the burning hatred in her skull. Inoguchi willed herself to calm down and reserve this homicidal drive for the enemies of her Lord.

The Charger had passed through the
mountains of “The Grapevine” and was entering the outskirts of the L.A. slums.
Vast stretches of shanties and improvised structures were splayed out and faded
off, into the smog. Everywhere, trails of smoke could be traced from the sky to
its origin point, being used to cook dog and squirrel for hungry families.
Children climbed heaps of re-bar and broken cement. Burnt out car shells
littered the streets. The suffering of millions was on display for the Prelate
to see, but all she could think of was completing her mission.

“Within weeks all of these peasants will be in the Lord’s presence. Then their suffering will be at an end.” Inoguchi consoled herself with this knowledge. So it was easy for her to ignore the day-to-day hardships of the lower classes. It was a tool that the clergy used to keep focus on the ultimate goal: the Return of the Lord. The old freeway had ended and merged onto the broken and bruised arteries of the slums, wrought with the congestion of motorbikes and carts attached to sickly animals. She swerved around them like a demon possessed. The Prelate spied a sign directing traffic to the port of Long Beach and followed its lead.

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Ravine-Gulch approached the bulkhead to
Hades-Perdition’s quarters. He pounded on the door with a closed fist.

“Hey, Hades! We’ve reached Long Beach! Up and at ‘em!” he yelled through the rusty metal door. No answer came. He pounded again and repeated his announcement.

The latch on the door rotated from the inside and the creaky hatchway opened a crack.

“Alright, just a minute. I’ll be coming out.” Hades had opened the door and looked disheveled. Ravine caught a glimpse inside the quarters. He spied Gale still passed out on the bunk. Ravine boiled up inside with rage and jealousy but kept himself in check. He had to promptly leave before he resorted to violence. When Hades looked back out the hatchway he could see that Ravine was gone. So, he shut the door.

Ravine stormed up the metal stairwells
toward the weather deck of the battleship. He questioned how Gale could sleep
with another member of the group, and one that was gay at that. He couldn’t
wrap his head around the act at all. She would not get a relationship out of
it. Would Hades have even gotten pleasure out of the act, since he wasn’t
attracted to women? The confusion made Ravine want to break inanimate objects.
He had realized he needed to keep a clear head. He didn’t want to be careless
when investigating the port.

Ravine came upon Blaze standing by several sailors moving the gangplank into position onto a pier that they had fastened the ship to. Blaze gave Ravine a sideways glance. She could tell that he was beet-red and something was bothering him.

“What’s wrong, hun’?” she asked, putting a
hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just a headache from
all the drinking,” Ravine lied.

“Gotcha,” she said and turned her attention toward the docking effort.

Ravine glanced to see Captain Eldridge and
some armed sailors approaching from the bridge.

“Maybe we can provide some added support?”
the Captain offered.

“Alright, sounds good,” Ravine accepted.

After some time, Hades and Gale had emerged from the gut of the ship, all geared up and freshly showered. Ravine glared at the pair as they approached, but they paid him no attention.

“What’s up, everyone? Any news?” Hades had
asked.

“Nope, no contact from the port or the
ships. Could it be a Regime trap?” the Captain asked.

“No way to tell unless we head out and
investigate,” Hades suggested.

“So, we don’t even know who or what we’re
looking for?” Gale asked.

“Nope, but maybe the people we are looking
for know that they should be looking for us: a massive flotilla of ships?”
Blaze offered.

“Shall
we?” Hades gestured to the gangplank.

With that the Apostates, the Captain and his men and women were on their way. The group proceeded down the pier toward the shore and the looming hulks of ships. There were no sounds to be heard save for the group’s footsteps and the rusty creaking of loose metal fittings swaying in the breeze. The white noise of the city at large was ever present. The Apostates passed many rows of ships that protruded up from the water’s surface. They had reached the end of the pier and were faced with a massive warehouse with shattered windows. The paint and plaster had been peeling off, and the structures had long been in a state of disrepair.

The Apostates and sailors scanned the
profiles of buildings for movement, for signs of life, but none stirred.
Movement was detected under a wooden ramp, and all guns sights were trained on
the structure, a stray cat emerged, fearless of the large group of humans. The
cat rubbed its body against Blaze’s leg, expectant of some type of treat. Some
chuckles could be heard in the crowd. The cat moved from person to person. A
sailor pulled some dried meat from his pouch and threw it on the ground next to
the cat, which promptly ran over and sniffed it to deem fit for consumption.
The morsel passed the test, and the cat snatched the meat in its jaws.

At that moment, a large debris pile toppled over resulted in a loud crash. The cat, startled, bolted under the wooden ramp with its meat. The group responded by aiming their guns at the source of the disturbance and taking defensive postures. The group split into three, one group followed Hades-Perdition and traveled toward the west side of the warehouse. Another group had followed Gale-Whirlwind and Ravine-Gulch to the east side. The Captain lead a group of sailors to the main entrance, halted and waited for the other groups to finish a perimeter sweep of the warehouse. Hades group took a position outside a westside roll-up door cargo bay and waited. On the east side of the building Ravine and Gale’s group also prepared to breach the eastside service entrance.

There was silence for a moment. Suddenly
the profiles of armed figures emerged on rooftops. The surrounded structures
were covered in numerous hostiles with superior firing positions. The three
groups were surrounded by sharpshooters and hemmed in all sides by structures.
They were in the middle of bottlenecks with no room to maneuver. More armed
figures moved out of the structures from the ground level to brandish weapons
at the rear of the Apostates. They were outnumbered as well.

A lanky figure on the roof stepped forward
from the sunlight that obscured details of the assailants. As best the
Apostates could see, looking up at the man, he was an odd looking fellow, with
a long pointy nose, beady eyes, and pointed ears. His hair was peppered gray
and converged to a point on the top of his cranium. He was wearing a felt
greatcoat and khaki fatigues.