The Apostates (62 page)

“I am an ordained Prelate of the Church of
New Megiddo! I am on a holy mission for the Reverend Wilhelm Wainwright himself! How I got
here does not matter. The only thing that matters is what I have found in front of
me: officers of the flagship, the Reverend’s namesake about to surrender it to
the Apostates! Shame on you!” the Prelate lashed out at them.

“What would you have us do? We’re beat,”
one ensign complained.

“I expect you to fight to the last! I expect you to sink the Apostate fleet! By the authority of the Church of New Megiddo I command you back to your action stations!” the Prelate ordered with a thunderous voice. The officers looked at each other and felt courage flooding back into their bodies.

“For Jesus Christ our Savior! Let’s kill
those infidel bastards!” The officers rushed back to their stations and relayed
orders to renew the fight. Crews all over the ship reloaded the remaining
turrets and set about repairing damaged systems. The hydraulic engines in the
gun batteries began to hum with activity and the turrets rotated to acquire new
targets; the preparations to fire almost complete.

“Gunnery officer! I want their flagship
targeted: the Iowa! Do not bother with those other piles of junk. That is the
nerve center of their fleet!” the Prelate ordered.

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” the gunnery officer
relayed the orders to the turret operating crews, who readjusted their aim.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Gale-Whirlwind waited intently for the crew of the Reverend to disembark their vessel and scuttle it. She worked to obtain any intelligence she could on the situation in the surrounding waters about the Iowa. She observed the crew of the Hermes setting out lifeboats and loading the more mobile patients into them, and she observed the motorboat containing Ravine and Angel racing toward the scene. In her retinal H.U.D., she witnessed the flaming wreckage of several battleships in the Apostate picket line. She mourned the loss of so many lives: hundreds of personnel gone within less than an hour of fighting.

“Ma’am! The Reverend is repositioning its
remaining turrets! I think they are aiming at us!” an ensign shouted to Gale.

“What?” She tapped into the forward visual
sensor and trained it upon the Reverend to gather more information about the
situation. They had just enough time to witness the guns of the Reverend open
fire.

“Everyone down! Brace for impact!” Gale shouted to the bridge crew. She threw herself upon
the floor. Some bridge crew got to the ground before some unlucky members were
caught in a blast that riddled their bodies with shards of glass. The mid-ship,
number two turret had taken a direct hit, and the ensuing explosion had damaged
the bridge. The second round that had hit the ship was near the waterline at
the bow, and the Iowa was now taking on water.

A third shot from the Reverend had overshot the Iowa, and the high-velocity shell had barreled into the stern of the Hermes. The resulting explosion sent injured patients and orderlies hurtling helplessly into the water. The Hermes listed dangerously to one side, threatening to capsize. Ravine-Gulch and Angel-Seraphim had witnessed the carnage from the motorboat, and Angel gasped in horror.

“Please speed up Ravine! Please!” Angel
cried, tears rolling down her face.

“It doesn’t go any faster than this!”
Ravine yelled. The sweat from his brow rolled down one cheek. On the motorboat
traveled, churning through the water.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

When Pale-Silence came to, he found that his bed had been overturned. He was laying on the floor. He was wet: several inches of sea water had accumulated on the deck of the hospital ward. His I.V. needle had been ripped from his arm. Pale pulled himself upright. He tried to focus his eyes, and when he did, he witnessed a scene of chaos: patients were flung from their beds and laid in the water. Some, facedown, had obviously drowned where they lay. Moans and cries could be heard from all around. Pale dragged himself forward with his arms, grabbing onto the bed frames that had been tossed about. His midsection pained him, and he felt like his stitches had opened. He barely had any strength, but onward he went. The water was rushing in faster now. Was the Hermes sinking? It must be if the water had reached the hospital ward, he figured. The water level continued to rise. If he didn’t reach the stairs soon he would drown because he didn’t have the strength to walk.

The water rushing in increased to a torrent. Pale-Silence struggled against the current. He was nearly to the stairwell, where he could escape the rising water level. The Hermes shifted, the deck angle increased by fifteen degrees. Suddenly Pale found himself sliding backward toward the churning morass. He was sliding away from the stairwell entrance. Bodies of the dead slid freely to be swallowed by the collecting water. Medical equipment and beds went crashing down to the low end of the deck. Pale-Silence managed to grab hold of a railing bolted to the deck floor, which stopped him from sliding into the water. He turned to look up to see how he might navigate his way to the stairwell when a fire extinguisher jolted loose from the wall, it bounced and tumbled toward Pale-Silence. The extinguisher ricocheted up and clipped Pale’s head, disorientating him. He lost his grip and tumbled down the slanted deck, and splashed into the pool of accumulating water. He struggled to stay afloat, but his strength was failing him.

“So, this is how it will end: a watery grave,” Pale thought. He decided that he would surrender to the water, and let the murky depths claim his body. The liquid washed over his head, and he began to swallow water. He had resigned himself to his fate when he felt an arm grab him and pulled his head above the water.

“What the devil?” Pale wondered who his
savior was.

“Not quite. I won’t let you die that way.” Blaze-Scorch had a hold of his arm. She pulled him up and supported him underarm. Together they struggled up the ever-increasing angle of the deck. The water poured in faster still. The surging torrent caught up to the two of them, and Blaze slipped, but recovered with one hand grasped upon the edge of a bulkhead, and her other hand grasping Pale-Silence’s arm.

“I’m not letting you die here!” Blaze
exclaimed to him. She struggled to hold him and to maintain her grip on the
edge of the bulkhead, gritting her teeth.

“Blaze, listen to me well! My body—I am
spent. I can’t make the climb. Y-you’re a doctor. Save yourself! Go!” Pale
urged her to leave him to his fate.

“No way! We can make it!” Blaze’s
determination as physician to save lives stopped her from letting go.

“Go now! Fool, save yourself!”
Pale-Silence insisted vehemently. The Hermes was slipping under. The sounds of
the metal hull groaned as the weight of the stern was raised out of the surface
of the sea. The ship threatened to snap in two. Blaze had to make her decision
now.

“I-I’m sorry I could not save you,
Pale-Silence!” Blaze let him loose from her grasp. Pale-Silence smiled at her
as he fell backward toward the rising tide. He had a look of peace on his face
when she lost sight of him. She heard the splash of his body hitting the water
below. She couldn’t help but let the tears loose; she had failed in her vow to
save him. But, there was no more time to grieve as the ship’s frame was breaking
into two pieces. She struggled up the side of the hull, toward the stairwell
entrance. Blaze pulled herself forward by the bulkheads. Slowly, but surely. The
water level submerging her lower body. She finally reached the stairs, and a solid surface
to stand on. Blaze raced up the stairwell.

Finally the hull of the Hermes gave out:
metal beams bent and rivets popped all over the ship. The rate at which the
Hermes sank into the sea accelerated. The water level churned up behind Blaze,
as she raced up the flights of stairs, passing deck-after-deck, as she inched ever
closer to open air and freedom. She was nearly out of breath, but she forced
herself onward. Blaze heard the Hermes hull coming apart with a thunderous
wail. The stern plummeted down toward the water’s surface, and the bow slid
effortlessly under the waves. She looked ahead of her, and caught a glimpse of
sunlight, coming through the hatchway door that was ajar. Blaze double-timed it
toward the door and to safety.

As Blaze crossed the threshold into open
air, for a brief moment gazed upon the motorboat many yards away. The bow-half
of the Hermes slid under the water with a bubbling and churning morass, as air
escaped back to the surface. Blaze was swallowed into the sea along with the
sinking bow of the Hermes. She tried to swim with the last of her strength to
the surface, but the undertow was too strong, and it dragged her downward into the
abyss. The events of the last year flashed through her brain: her time with the
Apostates, her friendship with Ravine-Gulch and his struggles with ‘Database addiction,
the stories Angel-Seraphim had told her, the man named ‘Shamrock’, the patients
who’s lives she had saved, and the battles she had fought. Her lungs gradually
filled with water and then everything went dark. At the end of it all, there
was no one to save her.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Gale-Whirlwind coughed and gasped for air. She glanced around rapidly: the bridge was filled with smoke and sparks from damaged equipment occurred at regular intervals. Many of the bridge crew were wounded. Several bodies lay lifeless. She summoned visual data via her neural implant. Gale could see that the other battleships of the line were firing on the Reverend Wilhelm, but it was still afloat. Then she witnessed another salvo fire from its remaining functional turrets. The rounds arced and screamed through the air. More impacts and explosions rocked the Iowa. These explosions jarred Hades out of his stupor, from being knocked about.

“Gale! We have to get off the ship!” Hades
warned her, reaching out.

“No! I’m going to finish this!” Gale directed the two remaining turrets of the Iowa and calculated a firing path. Then she gave the order to fire. A salvo blazed across the sky, then, found its target; the superstructure of the Reverend Wilhelm. From what she could see, the ship’s bridge had been stricken, the mast had fallen, and secondary explosions ripped open a gaping chasm where the bridge used to be. The Reverend Wilhelm was a flaming ruin.

As the Reverend Wilhelm was destroyed, so
too did the Iowa sustain massive damage. The vessel was taking on water at an
alarming rate, and fires throughout the ship burned out of control.

“We go now!” Hades grabbed Gale’s hand and
dragged her off the bridge. It was almost traumatic for her to leave the bridge
of the ship she had been so intimately attached to. Her mind had directed its
functions, and she saw through its sensors. It amplified her awareness, now it
was going to die; sinking beneath the waves. Gale bid the Iowa farewell, then
abandoned ship.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Ravine stood on the edge of the motorboat,
and frantically scanned with his neural implant for vital signs from Blaze-Scorch
and Pale-Silence. He sent out frequent hails to try to raise them. He found
nothing. Angel-Seraphim sat at the back of the boat with her face buried in her
hands. Ravine watched the bubbling and burping turbulence above where the
Hermes had sank to the bottom of the sea. He waited for the pair to emerge
from the watery depths unscathed at any moment. That time never came.

“Ravine. They’re gone,” Angel managed
to say through choking tears.

“No, they’ll be up any minute. They have
to,” Ravine denied her assessment.

“Ravine. Take us back,” Angel requested.

“No shit? They are...” he trailed off, as
the reality of the situation set in. He slowly made his way to the outboard
motor, primed and pulled the ripcord. The engine started and he steered the
rudder away from the scene. He glanced back intermittenly, just
in case he caught sight of either of his friends emerge to the water’s surface.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The ferry had sailed up the coast of Northern California to the mouth of the Navarro River. From the camp at the edge of the Great Lake, the refugees had navigated the ferry upriver a bit, then, beached it. They all disembarked, and found the old Route One Twenty-eight. From there they followed the road east for roughly fifty miles. At that point, the highway ran south, so they followed old hunting trails and logging roads to find the most direct route back to Ukiah. The trip had been difficult and they had a few members fall ill along the way, but for the most part, they had made it back to their town unscathed.

Ukiah had been as it was when they had left it, except looters had taken goods from some of the surrounded structures. The surviving families of the ordeal spread about the town to find their previous homes and businesses, to take stock of what was left. Aside from the people themselves, there was no structure as far as government or services went. They had come back to a clean slate: no Regime installed mayor, no L.O.V.E.R.s, and no civilian government. The townspeople were left to formulate their own destiny.

Ernest, Gertrude and Teri Greenbaum made their way down Grove Avenue to find their modest two-story, refurbished Victorian home.

“I cant believe its still standing! I thought the Rangers would have burned it down or something,” Teri exclaimed, ran up the porch steps, then around to the back yard. Ernest looked into the front window to see if it was inhabited. He was still armed with a former Ranger’s rifle.

“Wait, Gertrude: let me check it out before we go in.” Ernest wanted to be safe. He entered the house with a key that he retained. Ernest swept through the house first the bottom story, then, he moved through the bedrooms on the second story. Everything was in order and the house was empty. He gave the all clear and Gertrude and Teri entered the house. Ernest sat down at the kitchen table while the other members of his family went up stairs to get bedrooms in order. As he sat thinking, a wave of morose overtook him. Ernest got to thinking of the enormity of the logistical situation ahead of them. Without the Regime’s meager food shipping network across New Megiddo and the connection Ernest had fostered with the black markets, the town faced starvation. That was the first problem, and the second problem was water. They would have to figure out how to get the water pump station running without dedicated engineers. Beyond that, they would need to set up some sort of provisional government, elected by the citizens. There were matters of economy and education. Also, the town was undefended, and the population was relatively small. Half of the population that came back on the ferry were women and children, and a quarter of the adults were elderly. That left roughly seventy-five men and boys to serve as a town militia if they were attacked; unless the town opened militia duty to women as well. That would double the eligible size of the militia recruiting pool.

Ernest opened the sliding-glass door to his backyard, which was overgrown with invasive weeds. His backyard garden had died-off. Previously the town had cooperative community gardens that augmented the town’s food supply and provided some additional income by selling organic crops to the black market. He found a hoe that had been swallowed by the tall weeds, picked it up, and began the process of clearing some of the invasive weeds. Ernest thought of the matter of fortifying the town. The central structures were inhabited, but on the outskirts lie vast stretches of uninhabited structures, that could yield building materials for a perimeter wall. If the Rangers did not come back for retaliation someone else, in the future, would surely try to sack the town. He decided that food and water were the first priorities and then defense, second. Of course, he did not have the authority on his own to set the agenda for the town. But, he was sure that he alone had got to thinking of the organization of the town. If he put together a document to outline his plan and then present it to the other adults of Ukiah, it would give him that much more leverage, being the only one with a vision. Gertrude stepped outside into the backyard.

“Husband! We dont have any running water or food. You shouldn’t exert yourself with yard work right now!” She worried after him. He knew she was right, but the work helped him organize his thoughts.

“Yes, you’re right, my dear. I better start down to the Russian River and gather up some water for us tonight. I will try to find some food for us as well. I don’t think I can eat those disgusting L.O.V.E. rations anymore,” Ernest jested. Gertrude suggested she help him, and the two grabbed a cart that they kept in the storage unit on the side of the house, and then set out toward the river.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Pride-Swarm led the assault against the Ranger-held perimeter. His force was comprised of many Rangers who had defected in recent weeks. Also among his force were average citizens who were given rudimentary training and were armed with captured weapons. Government forces had been stretched thin because the sheer amount of B.A.G. camps that they had maintained but also they had to respond against unrest among the population of non-Virtuous citizens that they had left in the urban centers to rot, with virtually no services. They had built security walls around entire inhabited towns to keep the non-believers and condemned from interfering with the B.A.G. or the Second coming.

Pride-Swarm led a squad of experienced former Rangers along a portion of the perimeter wall that had been cleared of opposition. The men brought up bolt cutters to open a hole in the chain link fence, which was situated atop and earthen rampart. The men poured through the breach that they had created while the remainder of the force provided covering fire from all sides of the camp. The defending force was a skeleton crew. Rangers had barricaded themselves in the fortified command post. Pride-Swarm and his former Rangers rushed into the tent city in the center of the encampment. The refugees had been huddled for some time, the adults having armed themselves with whatever they could find; knives, garden tools, and improvised clubs.

“Who’s in charge here?” Pride-Swarm asked rather forcefully. The adrenaline of combat was coursing through him so he probably wasnt as calm as he should have been.

“N-No one really. We just came here to stick together!” a man shouted out. Pride-Swarm noticed quickly that the group of refugees were rather battered and in ill shape. They certainly were not combat-ready, so he would not be able to augment his forces with any of the rabble.

“Okay everyone! Hear me out. We are here to liberate this camp. As soon as we subdue the garrison in the command post, we will be taking volunteers to join in our militia. We will be back for you. Stay down and out of fire.” With that, Pride-Swarm moved his men down toward the front line. All the former Rangers under his command had the operation to disconnect them from the [Virtue-net] to be added to the [Apostate-net], so he gave orders silently. One of Pride’s officers remained with the main body of fighters, and he gave that officer the order to call a general advance. The whole militia moved in to surround the command post, hopelessly outnumbering the ten or so Regime-loyal Rangers holed up in the command post.

“L.O.V.E. Rangers, you are surrounded on all sides by armed militia. Surrender now and you will be treated fairly. Fight on and we will offer no quarter,” Pride called over loudspeakers rigged up in a captured Regime A.P.C. Pride waited intently for their response. At long last a Ranger emerged from the barricaded command post, with a white rag affixed to the end of his rifle, held high above him. Other Rangers filed out after him, throwing their weapons in a pile just outside the command post. The ten or so Rangers lined up, hands on their heads. The ragtag militia of refugees and turncoat former Rangers congratulated one another, as they had liberated a fourth camp, the B.A.G. would not be occurring in what once was the city of Pittsburgh. Pride-Swarm’s plan was to drive east toward New York and liberate as many camps as possible along the way.

Pride sent messengers back to the refugees at the center of camp to tell them that it was all clear. The camp had been taken. The survivors of the camp walked out among the scene of militia and captured prisoners. Pride ordered the L.O.V.E. stores plundered, as they had a sizable stock of food and an A.D.D. was set up to give the beleaguered refugees a hot meal. The Apostate militia had to be careful as to how much food was given out at once so that refugees did not gorge themselves out of hunger. After the refugees were fed, men, boys, and some women stepped up to join the ranks of the militia. So, it was deemed necessary to convert the former concentration camp into a training camp for the Apostate militia raw recruits. They armed the volunteers with unloaded captured L.O.V.E weapons. Soon they set about molding the rabble into an effective fighting force.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Arch-Deacon von Manstein was disconcerted with the amount of rebellious camps that he was forced to put to the sword. The ranks of the once Virtuous, devout followers of the Church were now rebelling in record numbers against their benefactors. The tainting influence of the satanic Apostates was far more potent than he had previously thought. It was now at the point where aside from forceful sequestration of the Virtuous, they would need to use the risky and controversial form of direct control, known as neural throttling. It was so controversial and dangerous because it was guaranteed to cause some casualties when used. The process involved using the [Neural-net] to directly interfere with the functioning of the targets brain by using the neural implants as an inhibitor. The problem with this is that the process was that it was less than accurate, and could cause the targets respiratory system to shut down or cardiac arrest to set in.

Arch-Deacon sat back in his newly acquired A.P.C. and mulled over his options. At the very least before he resorted to that option he would request from the Church Patriarchy that the Reverend reach out to his followers via the [Virtue-net], as he had been strangely quiet as of late, even throughout this crisis. The Arch-Deacon figured that he could not handle this insurrection alone. He pinged Vice-Deacon Paulus.

“Vice-Deacon Paulus. How are preparations going at the Central Authority?” von Manstein inquired.

“Well sir, the reports from the camps in Pennsylvania are very disconcerting. A self-proclaimed Apostate militia is overrunning our camps. They seem to be moving east, most likely to New York City. Then, of course, the Apostate fleet is moving up from the south, we have received coded messages that Keir Schrubb was unsuccessful in stopping them,” Vice-Deacon Paulus reported. His morale seemed to be in the gutter.

“Yes, Paulus. I am aware of the uprisings. I am out here dealing with it, remember?” von Manstein asked facetiously.

“Holiness, there is another matter as well. Cardinal Zhukov, as you know he was brain dead from the torture he received at the hands of the Inquisitor. We have received reports that L.O.V.E. extracted his neural implant, but we have no idea what they found on it.” Vice-Deacon Paulus seemed very concerned by this news and expected more of a reaction from Arch-Deacon von Manstein.

“Again, Vice-Deacon, so is the fate of traitors to the Faith. This concerns me not. On another matter: I need you and the Church leadership to raise the Reverend. We soon face a full-scale revolt against the Church, even from devout, Virtuous followers. It is required that he address the devout and reassure them that the Second Coming is at hand!” von Manstein insisted.

“You would like us to have the Reverend make an appearance before the B.A.G. Is that wise?” Vice-Deacon risked questioning the authority of von Manstein.

“As the top officer of the Church of New Megiddo, I am giving you a direct order. If you continue to question my judgment I will hand you over to the Inquisitor as an Apostate!” Arch-Deacon von Manstein made certain he got his point across to Paulus.

”Y-yes holiness. We will use the Holy Invoker post-haste, and ping you when we have the Reverend ready to address the people,” Paulus confirmed, then he cut the communication short.

The Arch-Deacon turned his attention to reaching a camp, east of the Apostate militias current position. His basic idea was to work on securing and retaining control of the camps between the militia and New York. Then von Manstein would attempt to rally his own army composed of the devout conscripts and Rangers, where he would crush the Apostate militia in a pitched battle. All in time for the start of the B.A.G. and the Second Coming, which was days away. He was proud of himself for nearly single-handedly formulating the defense of the Faith. He would surely be honored as a warrior of Christ at the Gathering.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The townspeople of Ukiah had gathered inside the old courthouse to discuss the immediate future of the town. No one among them, save for Ernest, had an organized vision. People did have their ideas, but no real strategy to get there. The courthouse was a large cavernous building, and the courtroom they gathered in was a dimly lit room with dark-stained woodwork, that gave the room an official, if depressing quality to it. A smattering of townsfolk was seated in the rows in the back of the room. An old judge, by the name of Mathis, presided over the gathering for order. Ernest and a few from the former, small business community sat at the tables below the bench. The scene was reminiscent of a pre-war courtroom drama on television.

“What we need to do is abandon the town and move up into the hills! We can build a fort there, no one will be able to attack,” Old Man Hayes ranted on about what they all should do next.

“Thank you, Mister Hayes. Well take your suggestions into consideration. Okay, Mister Greenbaum you have the floor,” Judge Mathis cleared him to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen. We have been tried and tested these last few weeks, and under the control of the Regime of New Megiddo, I would argue that our ordeal had started long ago. Our humble town has overcome all obstacles and challenges laid before it, but we did not prevail to just to cloister up and run away. I feel that our town has a greater destiny in store for it. You know, in the early days of this country, the founders, whose names have been erased from history by New Megiddo built a society based on common law, equal rights for all men, and while religious belief was protected, they viewed the separation of Church and State were imperative for the system they established to work. That system flourished for quite some time, but eventually the wealthy elite desired more power. They subverted the separation of Church and State, and thus instituted a quasi-feudal system where the people became adherent to a theocratic authority. My friends; that time is nearly at an end. The Regime of New Megiddo is crumbling, and losing control. With the Regime gone, there will be left a power vacuum. With our town of Ukiah left to our own devices, this leaves us a choice. We can resort to old, barbaric ways, or we can champion the democratic ideals of the Founders, and strive to ensure that every citizen gets a fair shake,” Ernest Greenbaum paused in his speech, and some of the people began to applaud what he was saying. Ernest urged them to let him continue. The crowd settled and became silent once more.