The Apostates (65 page)

At last the violent ride came to a stop.
The hellish nurse overturned the baby carriage and sent him tumbling onto the
cold, concrete floor, naked and blood-encrusted. A steel, cell door slammed
shut after the rickety baby carriage was withdrawn. As he lay there on the cell
floor he felt his bones groan and crackle with activity. When he peered down at
his body, he saw his skin ripple and stretch; hair grew at an accelerated rate.
His limbs lengthened with a popping and slackening of tendons. He felt his head
swell and his skull expand and settle. When he gazed upon his body it was
that of a toddler.

After hours of lying helpless on the ground of the dark cell, he heard footsteps echoe in the corridor. A key turned and the cell door slid open with some rusty protest. The doctor and nurse were back, with a third man, obscured by shadow, he seemed to have some sort of funny hat on. The doctor and nurse hurried over to him and jerked him by the arms to his feet. He was weak and could not stand on his own, so they carried him, with his feet dragging on the cold, wet floor. He looked down through blurred vision to the floor. The obstacles that had impeded the progress of the baby carriage were rotting bodies that looked to have been there for a while, as they were half-skeleton. He was dragged for some time more, drifting in and out of consciousness.

Once the procession came to halt, he was dropped to the floor once more, which jarred him awake. When he came to, he was lying at the foot of a throne-like chair. The chair was ornate: plated with gold carvings and encrusted with precious gemstones. It rested upon a red carpet and was elevated higher than the surrounding floor by two marble steps. Behind the throne on the wall was a gigantic oil painting: the effective use of the Chiaroscuro technique obviously meant it had been painted by a Renaissance master. The subject matter was that of a slave who had broken his bonds of chain, and was setting upon his master, who’s dress was that of a clergyman. Below the ornate golden frame of the painting was a plaque: “Ephesians 6:5”, was what it read.

Upon the throne, sat an old man, dressed in full regalia. He wore a white under-robe, and atop that a red and gold maniple, blazoned with the “Fleur de Lis” and golden keys, as well as other symbolic depictions. The old man wore a tall “pretiosa mitre”, with a cone-shape that displayed golden crosses formed from precious stones. He held in his right hand a staff with a crucifix attached to the top. The old Pontiff leaned over and sneered at the pathetic toddler. The toddler recoiled in fear. The doors opened to the cavernous hall. A man walked in through the doors, down the central isle, which was flanked by two sections of pews, where shadowy, apparitions were perched. They watched in silence. The man walked down the central aisle and emerged from the shadow, then, approached the throne.

The Reverend Wilhelm Wainwright looked down at the dirty toddler crouching on the floor. He pulled from his suit breast pocket a red, velvet sack, with a drawstring keeping it closed. The Reverend tossed it to the Pontiff, who struggled to catch the sack. The Pontiff picked up the sack from his lap where it had settled. He tossed it lightly in his palm, judging its weight, then he unstrung the sack and poured gold coins into his other hand. The Pontiff smiled and nodded, and set out a dismissive hand. The Reverend Wilhelm smiled and grabbed the toddler by the hand, then, dragged him away from the throne, up the central aisle. The toddler struggled to free himself, but to no avail. They exited the regal hall and walked out into an ashen and barren landscape. The toddler grew and grew at an accelerated rate. As the Reverend dragged him along, he passed through puberty and his teenage years within seconds. The toddler caught sight of a terminal by the side of the road: it displayed a big, red, cartoonish button. He now possessed the physique and face of Ravine-Gulch. He was an adult now and possessed the strength to wrench himself free from the Reverend’s grasp. Ravine ran for the button, and the Reverend pursued, but could not catch up. Ravine pushed the big red button, and a low, infernal humming emanated from deep below the ground. Storm clouds gathered and churned like they had been on “fast-forward”. Cracks formed in the barren landscape, with yellowish-orange light shining out of them. Great chasms were torn into the ground, spewing forth molten material. The sky turned a reddish hue, and fiery comets descended to the earth below, exploding with a furious impact, setting dead trees alight. All around him was consumed in a Hellish fire, including his own body and that of the Reverend. Then, everything went dark.

That was when Ravine-Gulch came to. He
found himself lying in a nest of his own vomit and feces. He gagged at the
smell of his filth. How long had he been out? He looked around and found himself
surrounded by darkness, except for a dim light above a washer and dryer unit.
Ravine judged that he was in a basement of an apartment building or house.
Apparently he had claimed a pile of dirty clothes for his drug nest. Ravine
recalled the details of his recent drug-induced vision. He poured over the
details of what he had just experienced. The puzzle pieces began to fit
together. He suddenly started to see the veritable light. It was revealed to
him about what his next move was, and ultimately, what his fate would be.
Ravine had thought that Graham Wynham had a flare for the long-winded. On top
of that, he might have even cost Apostates time and lives by being so
esoteric with his methods of secrecy. But, if the endgame entailed what Ravine
thought that it did, he could understand the need for such exclusivity.

Ravine pulled himself to his feet and did the best he could to clean the filth off. He stumbled and fell to the ground. His head felt dizzy. How would he make his way to the Church of New Megiddo Central Authority in his current state? Every movement was a struggle. It seemed like his mission was doomed, but he had to try. Ravine stripped out of his soiled garments and changed into nondescript clean, civilian clothes. He collected a couple of blankets and wrapped them around himself. He then gathered all his pertinent gear and climbed the basement steps. When he opened the cellar door, he found that he had been holed-up in the basement of a building that no longer stood. The city environs were that of a war zone: collapsed buildings and smoldering craters. He made his way out into the Hellscape.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Gale-Whirlwind directed a cadre of Apostate troops armed with anti-tank missiles to take positions on high points around the ruined building just before the approaches to the beachheads that they so dearly needed to protect. The anti-tank armed troops waited patiently atop ruined buildings and debris piles for the unstoppable armor column, which bulldozed its way forward through the lightly-armed Apostate forces. Gale watched intently as the Regime armored column pushed onward, ever-confident that it would be victorious. Once she felt satisfied that the column had strayed into her trap for maximum effectiveness, she relayed an order for platoon leaders to fire at the lead and rear tanks.

The assault began. The forward and rear
platoons along the rooftops let their anti-tank missiles and anti-tank rifles
rip. The missiles and rifle shots tagged their targets multiple times, causing
the crews and contents to be incinerated within the tanks. The
resulting effect of taking out the lead and rear units was that it deprived the
Regime forces of maneuverability. And so the bloody business of descending the
buildings and dealing with each tank on an individual basis began. The men and
women under her command began to fling Molotov cocktail, grenade, and traded
missile fire point blank with the Martyr tank’s main cannons. Both sides did its best
to inflict death on the other side. But in the end the tactical edge was given
to the most mobile force, as each tank was destroyed, and in the process blocked
the approach to the beachhead.

The crews of the disabled tanks labored furiously to free themselves from the flaming death-traps that their tanks had become. The Apostate forces perched on high ground did not let this opportunity slip by them, and picked-off targets as they became available. The slaughter was terrible. The clean up operation lasted a few minutes more, and then the engagement was over; but, what now? They had no clear objective, aside from liberating Regime camps set up to hold populations for the start of the B.A.G. So, that is what she decided upon: striking-out to liberated the nearest B.A.G. venue. There was no sense to sacrifice many lives in a vain attempt to capture the Capital. After all, they did not have a large enough force.

Gale-Whirlwind sent an order down the line
for the officers of each company to abandon the defensive line and to move
inland to find the place, once called R.F.K. Stadium, where the B.A.G. was
being held in New Megiddo City. Her forces would first need to traverse the
abandoned portion of the city: before the die-off, Washington D.C. was once a
megalopolis which spread to the shores of the Chesapeake. But now these miles
of the city stood vacant and crumbling. Gale could only imagine the dangers and
ambushes that could be set up in this maze of ruins.

The soldiers geared up. Her militia lacked
any real armor, only lightly armed A.P.C. and infantry grade anti-tank weapons,
so they would need to rely on guerrilla tactics in order to prevail, and avoid
direct assaults. Line by line the Apostate militia disappeared into the dark
and overgrown ruins of the abandoned city. It’s towering ruins and narrow
streets made it impossible to see the skyline of the New Megiddo Divinity
center, or to see battleships and landing zones on the beach. The old city
ruins enveloped the Apostates totally.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Kate Schrubb knew that the game was up. She had received the reports of mass-uprisings throughout the country. She realized that the Apostates had a militia blazing a path through the north toward New York, and that the Capital itself was being attacked from the sea by the Apostate fleet. This meant that her brother Keir Schrubb was likely dead and that his fleet had been defeated. She couldn’t say she mourned his passing too much. She wondered about her father: he had been strangely quiet throughout this whole crisis and had not answered her hails. Her father was the one man that she could not legally keep tabs on, so she had no way of locating him. Also strangely quiet throughout this whole predicament, was the Reverend. Except for his one broadcast to the masses, appealing for resistance against the Apostates, he had made no appearances. This was hardly a time for conservative measures. She no longer had any faith in the Regime or Church leadership. The government was crumbling all around her.

She had even heard initial reports that
the Ministry of State Security building had been attacked. There was no further
information on the matter. Inquisitor Rodrigo had not contacted her either. It
made Kate think the Divinity Center of the city had already been overrun. Which
is why she had made the decision to pack up her belongings, take her son, and
use the personal submersible to escape the country, and seek asylum
elsewhere; maybe across the Atlantic. Though she literally had no idea what
that side of the ocean was like, since New Megiddo cut ties with the outside world.

Kate wondered what the legacy of her family and their Regime would be. Did the rest of the world carry on without New Megiddo after her country’s defeat in the Holy War? Had the countries of Europe, Africa, and Asia, surpassed New Megiddo in every way? She did recognize the fact that the Regime she had been part of was built on fear, suppression, and control of information. Kate recognized that she had been an integral part of that operation, being the Minister of State Security. She wanted to now leave it all behind: become anonymous and blend into the crowd in a foreign land. Kate was looking forward to adventure and new experiences. Of course, it would cost money, but she had stashed plenty of gold bullion and other valuables over the years. She had enough amassed wealth to ensure that she and her son could melt away forever and assume new identities. Now all she needed to do was to board her submersible with her son and escape New Megiddo undetected.

“Come on Simon! Has your D.A.D. gathered
everything that you need yet? We have to go, son!” Kate encouraged him to move
faster.

“Mom...why do we...have to go?” Simon acted up because he did not want to leave the home he had known his whole life. His mother was about to force him to leave all his favorite possessions behind: his illegal books on politics, history, philosophy and science. Of course, he had memorized and retained the majority of the contents of the books, but he had a strong sentimental attachment to the collection that had yielded their secrets to him.

“Because, Simon—listen to me: bad things are happening in our country right now. It is no longer safe here. We must leave! Please, son!” Kate pleaded with her son to hurry. She secured the automated cargo drones that would attach themselves to the submersible and instructed them to carry out the function.

“Mother...just...let me stay...I want to
be with my books. I do not wish to live without...them.” Simon began to tear up
as he said this. Kate’s heart sank. But, he had to go. He presented too
valuable a target for Apostates, bent on making the Schrubbs suffer for Regime
crimes. Simon had to leave, even if it was against his will. Simon’s D.A.D. was
loaded-up with his clothes, some essential personal effects, and supplies.

Suddenly, the perimeter alarms went off throughout the mansion. Kate looked worried. She interfaced her neural implant to the mansion’s network, so she could access visual data from outside through her retinal H.U.D. Kate caught the disturbance that triggered the perimeter alarm: a L.O.V.E. armored personnel carrier had pulled up into her stately driveway. But, it was not just any A.P.C.: she recognized it because she authorized M.O.S.S. funds for its purchase from Wynham Industries. It was the personal vehicle of Inquisitor Rodrigo. Kate knew that there would be no good to come from his visit. She did not know how he found out that she planned to leave New Megiddo, but she had no time to deliberate. Kate triggered the two automatic turrets installed at the front of the house to spring into action. They revealed themselves from a concealed door that peeled-away a portion of the mansion’s facade. The barrels of the guns unfurled and acquired its target: Rodrigo’s A.P.C. The guns were of a Gatling variety that fired one thousand rounds a minute. The guns were perfect for clearing a mob, but did nothing against the armored vehicle, except create sparks on impact. Two small compartments on the top of the A.P.C. opened, and out launched two missiles that arced high into the air, out of the firing line of the Gatling turrets. Leaving a trail of burned fuel behind them, the two missiles began their descent. Digital targeting systems locked onto the heat signatures of the muzzle blasts, and in another split second two fireballs rose from where the Gatling turrets had been perched. Scraps of metal and unspent rounds dropped to the ground all around the property.