The Apostates

To my mother and sister
And to Magnet, who always made it interesting

First Edition, Published July 2015.

The Apostates
. Copyright © 2015 by Lars Teeney. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitten in any form or by any means, digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or conveyed via the Internet or a Web site without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Some characters in this book are based on historical figures. Most characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Inquires should be emailed to:
Lars Teeney
[email protected]
http://larsteeney.tumblr.com
http://www.facebook.com/larsteeney

The story contained within these pages, while having some basis in historical fact, at its essence, is a work of fiction. I have taken great liberty with accounts of historical events, and some have been completely fictionalized for dramatic effect. That being said, the overall historical framework is based on fact. Also, this book is critical of America in its current form as well as its form in the hypothetical future of this book. Thin-skinned, authoritarians (patriots) should not be surprised if they are offended reading this book.

In addition, this story is not a criticism of religion itself. The story does not dispute, deny or admit the existence of God, or any other holy deity. What the story does concern itself with, is criticizing those strains of Christianity that concern themselves with imposing their will and belief on people that do not share them. This story is a warning against fundamentalist strains of religion that seek to usurp power, influence policy and tear down the separation of church and state, within our country. It can be considered a wider condemnation for any religious organization that seeks to establish theocracy in the world today. On a lighter note, enjoy!

• PROLOGUE
  
• Ch. 1 - THE GLORIOUS LIGHT
  
• Ch. 2 - THE MOUNTAIN-TOP
  
• Ch. 3 - BORN AGAIN
  
• Ch. 4 - L.O.V.E.
  
• Ch. 5 - THE SHIP OF PRESIDENTS
  
• Ch. 6 - BAGGERS
  
• Ch. 7 - THIRTY SILVER COINS
  
• Ch. 8 - THE SETTING SUN
  
• Ch. 9 - M.O.S.S.
  
• Ch. 10 - THE PILGRIMAGE
  
• Ch. 11 - BATTLE OF THE MOTHBALL
  
• Ch. 12 - OLD MONEY BLUES
  
• Ch. 13 - TURKEY SHOOT
  
• Ch. 14 - WANDERING THE DESERT
  
• Ch. 15 - INQUISITION
  
• Ch. 16 - SOCIETATUM PENTAGRAM
  
• Ch. 17 - ONE LIKE THE SON OF MAN
  
• Ch. 18 - SAN JERÓNIMO
  
• Ch. 19 - CELIBACY
  
• Ch. 20 - WORK SHALL SET YOU FREE
  
• Ch. 21 - PARTING THE SEA
  
• Ch. 22 - A SLIVER OF SUN
  
• Ch. 23 - IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
  
• Ch. 24 - PARTISANS
  
• Ch. 25 - BATTLE OF THE LA CHORRERA
  
• Ch. 26 - DUSK
  
• Ch. 27 - SEVEN TRUMPETS
  
• Ch. 28 - THE SKANKIN’ IGUANA
  
• Ch. 29 - THE GHOST OF TOSHIHIRA INOGUCHI
  
• Ch. 30 - THE PROMISED LAND
  
• Ch. 31 - THE FIRST WOE
  
• Ch. 32 - SAN FRANCISCO
  
• Ch. 33 - ARMAGEDDON
  
• Ch. 34 HUDDLED MASSES
  
• EPILOGUE
  

a·pos·tate

a person who renounces a religious or political belief or principle.

synonyms: dissenter, defector, deserter, traitor, backslider, turncoat

antonyms: follower

Video interlacing lines and snow blurred the
dated video feed. Grainy images displayed that fateful day of the first year in
the Twenty-first Century. Long forgotten footage played of an event they said
would never be forgotten. An improvised projectile with a biological payload
was delivered to the target with deceptively professional accuracy. Not one but
two projectiles, hit their marks.

“Terrible; the barbarity of the acts. The
people were looking for a strong leader. They looked to President Scrub,” she
thought to herself.

The video feed wiped to a montage of
pre-war news clips, fragmented depictions of the patriotic fervor and rush to
start the various retaliatory wars in far-off lands. The talking heads rattled
off their inflammatory, editorial tirades—cheerleaders reverberating
inside the echo chamber.

Greta shifted slightly in her bath. “I’ve
wondered if the creation and implementation of the [Virtue-net] was ever
necessary since pre-war television was all that was needed to sway the populace
whichever way the wind blew.” She contemplated.

“The Virtue Act was passed; none did
anything about it. The country was turned into a surveillance state. After
decades it all became so routine to the people, ” she completed her thought.

Greta pushed some wet hair out of her
eyes. She was a short woman but athletically built with an amber complexion and
dark hair with eyes like caramel. Greta’s skin glistened from the beads of
water that hugged her contours. Her arm did spasm slightly at the point where she
had injected the ‘Base’. A tattoo of ravens holding a crimson banner that
drifted down to a ship at sea, adorned her right upper arm. On her right inner
arm she had a name in cursive script running vertically downwards that read
“Marco Always”.

Greta had been on a downward spiral for
weeks and recent events had come to a head. She had quite her job recently as a
community peace officer because of heat that been generated over some of her
side dealings. Her bills were piling up and she had refused to watch the weekly
New Megiddo services. This constituted a criminal act.

The video feed transitioned to higher
quality images from a few decades later, the “Turbulent Thirties”. A
documentary played, about the advancements in Nano-technology and the
development of microscopic neural implants, which broadcast the World Wide Web
directly to a neural interface. The documentary hailed the miracle of
experiencing a retina H.U.D. within the eye of the user. The narrator heralded
the arrival of an affordable operation for every consumer base, within years. A
montage of various shows and advertising flashed into frame praising the
fashion forward individual who possesses the network enabled neural implant.

More news reports from across a timespan
of a decade appeared in frame, chronicling a brief era of prosperity due to the
influx of new economic activity made possible by the neural implant, that by
this time in history were mandatory for new-born babies to receive. But all
things come to pass. The reports took a darker, xenophobic and cynical tone.
Talking heads resumed their editorial rhetoric, denouncing new and emerging
enemies—China, a resurgent Russia, and terrorist groups from all over the
world. Religion became a major factor in these broadcasts, hellfire and
brimstone. Slowly all other programs are phased out of the rotation.
Independent content quietly went dark and as the memory files became more
recent.

She picked up a framed photo of a man, on
the ledge of the bath. “I was surprised that Marco was able to acquire these
media feeds and left some still to be consumed, he was an addict of ‘Base’
after all. But maybe it was just timing?” Greta reminisced.

“It's no wonder Marco became addicted to
the 'Database' news feeds. This banned material is a welcome escape for the
Reverend's sermons.” She tried to justify her own usage of the drug.

She took a sip of home-brewed mead from a
dented, tin stein. Home brewing had been a hobby of the couple. “Marco was also
a fucking coward and couldn’t hack it in this life, he left me alone here.
Doing such a massive quantity of ‘Base’ fried his brain.” She dropped the photo
of Marco on the white tile floor by the tub. Then she glanced at the straight
razor also on the ledge of the tub.

“His body disappeared after that, no
funeral-nothing. The authorities told me the corpse could have been sold to a
black market cartel.”

She picked up the straight razor and
turned it in her hand. “I guess I’m a fucking coward as well, I wasn’t made for
this world to be alone in it,” She clutched the straight razor tighter in one
hand.

“I don't want to die. We don't really have
it all that bad. Could be worse. But there is no happiness here. Life is
stagnant. 'Database' is the only escape for illicit information.”

She stared at the reflection of her own
eyes in the blade of the razor. She contemplated what the world could have been
like had history played out in a different manner. Greta knew from these news
broadcasts that even before the terror attacks that it was common knowledge
that climate change was occurring. Previous generations had plenty of time to
act to reverse it, or at least to prepare for the worst. She couldn’t
understand why the people allowed the Great Collapse to occur. Millions had
starved in the West due to crop failure and water shortages. Cities had been
washed away by sea level rise. Populations had been forcefully relocated.
Undesirables had disappeared.

The Old World did have its attractions.
American citizens had valued rights that New Megiddo citizens could only dream
of possessing.

“At least the Old World had a semblance of
choice and freedom, even if it was a facade. People respected the idea of the
separation of church and state.”

She tried to retain the memory of the
images that had flashed before her for as long as possible, but felt them
fading. She stared off at the white tile wall of the bath for some time.

“I can feel the ‘Base’ wearing off, all
those images are fading away and reality is slipping back in.” She pressed the
straight razor into her right wrist until she saw that she has drawn blood.
Deeper it went. She pulled it downward in motion across several veins. Her
life’s blood spilled down her arm offering the liquid to the water of the bath,
slowly changing its hue.

“I thought it would hurt more going this
way. I feel light headed. I feel elated knowing that I will never again have to
suffer through another Reverend Wilhelm broadcast, or have to make another
pilgrimage.” She slumped slightly, her vessel nearly empty.

“The only thing I regret is not living to
see the Regime topple and feel change...it was close...so close—”

The light faded and she slumped lower into
the bath water. As thought left her body she faded peacefully into
unconsciousness, with a sigh of relief.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The video feed began with rapturous choir music, and funk bass guitar began playing. The church organ joined the melody. The curtain raised and white, woolen clouds blew through the illuminated space. Bright stars illuminated the dome-shaped sky. Pixels floated from the periphery into a spiral formation that converged on a single focal point. As the church music increased in tempo an obscured figure took form from the chaotic mass of digitally-rendered bits. A face emerged out of the tempest: a goatee-clad, bulldogged, and red-hued face. The head was wearing a western style, white cowboy hat. The figure that coalesced was wearing a matching white suit and Rattle Snakeskin boots with a matching belt.

A curiously robotic sounding voice
announced, “Flock of the One, please welcome your Reverend Wilhelm Wainwright!”

The figure began dancing like a pre-war,
Southern Baptist pastor on the virtual stage. “This day is His day! I said this
day is His day!” The Reverend Wilhelm shouted.

“Can I get an Amen?” the convulsing
Reverend asked excitedly.

A chorus of a million
synthetic voices answered back, “Amen!”

“No sir, that won’t do! That won’t do at all…I said can I get an Amen?” The Reverend intentionally repeated himself, forcing the captive virtual audience, symbolized by millions of programmatically-drawn ghostly avatars, to reply back with increasingly forced enthusiasm.

The virtual congregation cried back,
“Amen!”

This back and forth continued on for a few more minutes before the crowd was whipped-up into cheers, then all the pomp and circumstance faded. The Reverend Wilhelm prepared to start his sermon to the congregation.

“Little, lost lambs of the Lord’s flock,
hear my words, for the Lord speaks through me! Y’all know this already—Y’all
know me well. I am God’s representative on Earth. He alone has entrusted me
with the miracle. What miracle is this, you may ask. Why, it is the miracle for
myself to reach on into the heads of each and every member of this flock, and
deliver unto you the light and the truth and the message of the one true God!”

The Reverend paced the stage and wiped
digital sweat from his brow before resuming his rant.

“I say to you now, y’all are a bunch of sad, miserable sinners. Y’all have covered yourselves in dirt and done wallowed around in the mud like pigs. Now, are the whole lot of you humans—made in His image? Or are the whole lot of ya just a bunch of dirty vermin?”

He paused, then, paced the stage, intently
staring out at the vacant representation of followers.

“Well, of course, y’all ain’t vermin. You and I know this. He...knows this! That’s why He gave you an out. He gave us all a way to save our sorry behinds. The only way! You see, the Lord knew that with all his little, dirty creations scurrying around the planet like vermin-He knew he was gonna need to come up with a way—The Way—to raise us all up. But, it was going to cost something because ain’t nothing in this whole thing we call existence free. So, you know what the Lord went and did?”

The chorus of ghosts shouted back, “Jesus!”

He paused for an eternity. Silence set in with the occasional and obligatory, “Praise Jesus!”, from out of the crowd. The Reverend emphasized dramatic pauses like a seasoned actor.

“That’s right! Jesus taught our sorry, little butts to abandon our sinful ways. He raised us up to be men. Taught us how to use tools, how to make things, and how to fight for what we believe in. He taught us how to stand up to Satan, who was happy to have all of our lost souls under his thumb. See, Jesus was a fightin’ man. He wasn’t going to let old Satan corrupt his Father’s children any longer. He came down to takes names—you hear me?”

The digital crowd cheered at the mention
of Jesus as a fighting man. The Reverend resumed his sermon. He spoke of God sacrificing his son Jesus, at the hands of the Romans, to pay for the sins of men. Soon, the Reverend began to tie himself into the story of divinity.

“My friends, clearly the Lord was at a quandary. His Son was sacrificed for our salvation, but this was not enough. God needed a long-term solution. He needed something that would protect his children well into the future. He needed a solution that would insulate them from continued threats and temptation that would lead his children to utter destruction! So, I tell you this! God sent his angel, Gabriel, to me. Gabriel revealed God’s plan for me. He told me that I was to be the next prophet of the Lord. He said the burden of being the Shepherd of His Flock would fall square on my shoulders. And, I confessed to him that I was not worthy of this privilege. And, he proclaimed to me that this was nonsense. He told me that I would find the strength to carry this mantle because I was chosen by Him!”

The Reverend spent the next half hour
recounting his struggle against the wicked of the Old World and the gradual
creation of the current Regime. The Reverend justified the implementation of
the [Virtue-net] as a means to keep Satan at by and sin away from the devout.
Some apparitions of the virtual congregation made euphoric gasps like they had
just experienced an epiphany. Others touched their hands to their heads.

“And that, my flock, is the Lord’s plan.
He ordained that I should be with you always and not but a thought away.
This is what we have achieved and more…all in His name! Although I have told
you all that we have succeeded in implementing the Lord’s plan, it would be
disingenuous of me to tell you that we are out of danger. No—threats are ever
present.

“My children, there are those in our land that refuse to accept Jesus and our Lord God. These heathens live in sin and vice. They reject our traditions and values and actively work to destroy our way of life. Now, these sinners are continuously being rounded up and brought to see the light by the brave men and women of Law of Virtue Enforcement. Under the capable leadership of Inquisitor Rodrigo, we have dented the numbers of these—Apostates. However, even as we make great strides in combating the forces of the infidel there are those who find ways to evade detection. The Apostates are the gravest threat to the dominion of our Lord. Therefore, I call on all devout to stay vigilant and report any information to L.O.V.E officials!”

The congregational audience began to boo
and hiss for a time before the church music kicked in at full tempo.

“Enough of unpleasant subjects, my flock!
We didn’t come here to be brought low by the negativity of the wicked! We are
here to celebrate life and to raise Him up on high! We are here to praise his
name! Bask in the light of the Lord! Amen! Let us dance
and sing a hymn!”

The video feed abruptly cut out, replaced
by a black screen.

“Sorry, I had to turn that shit off.
Drives me fucking nuts,” said a red-bearded, middle-aged man, who wore
battle-scarred, ballistic armor and brandished a pre-war assault rifle. To his side, on
the ground was a hiking pack with a bedroll and a few extra magazines of
ammunition and rations. He had turned off the flex-screen monitor that
was playing the Reverend Wilhelm service.

“That music gives me flashbacks to when I was still hard-wired to the system,” the man stated.

“Yeah it's a pain in the ass, but that's our mission. We have to monitor these services for intelligence,” a woman with a pale complexion responded. She was in her late twenties and had dark brown hair, which was worn in an asymmetrical style where the right side was shaved almost to the skin and the rest was long. She was busy stripping and cleaning her assault rifle.

“Thanks for reminding me of the obvious,
Aqua-Deluge,” the middle-aged man said snidely.

“You’re welcome, Lore-Fiction. Someone
needs to keep you from slipping up all the time,” Aqua-Deluge mocked as she
finished assembling her rifle and inserting a full magazine.

“I don’t need your shit. I’ve been doing this since you were a child
being brain-fucked by the Reverend,” Lore-Fiction retorted angrily.

“Quiet! We can’t stay at this camp for very long. As soon as it’s nightfall we’ll need to move on, all the noise will get us killed.” A man of dark complexion and medium-length dreadlocks stated as he peered through a gun scope scanning the horizon. He was wearing mostly black garments; a gray, fitted ballistic cuirass, black fatigues, combat boots and large faded, black duster coat. Everything on the man spoke of modernity, except for the imposing, double-edge bladed, Scottish-style Claymore sword, in a scabbard on his back held by a strap across the chest.

“So, did either of you get anything new from that broadcast?” the duster-clad man asked.

“No, Hades-Perdition, not exactly. The
Reverend just told the congregation to be on the lookout for non-believers,”
Aqua-Deluge replied.

“That could mean that the Regime is
planning an operation,” Lore-Fiction added.

“Your analytical skills are truly
astounding, Lore-Fiction!” Aqua-Deluge prodded sarcastically.

“Hey, shut the fuck up, before—”
Lore-Fiction was interrupted.

“Can it! We need real intelligence.
Anything else?” Hades-Perdition demanded.

“Well, the Reverend did mention an
official with L.O.V.E. Said his name was Rodrigo. That’s the first time he ever
mentioned anybody from L.O.V.E. by name,” Aqua-Deluge stated.

“I can confirm that,” Lore-Fiction added
needlessly. Aqua-Deluge sighed in exasperation.

“This correlates with the reports of
increased Regime activity here, around the Great Lake area of California. Normally they are kept busy in the Eastern half of New Megiddo,
around the capital,” Hades-Perdition announced.

“Who the fuck names their secret police
L.O.V.E anyway? What is it with this Regime?” Lore-Fiction asked.

“You gotta understand where they are coming from. The pre-war religious culture of the U.S. was awash with this milk-toast shit. However, all of this is in the historical record. Wherever the Regime origins lay it must be from some denomination of an Evangelical church. The succeeding generations just carried on those traditions,” Hades-Perdition concluded.

“Turned them into a bunch of freaks,”
Aqua-Deluge said with disgust.

“I wouldn’t take L.O.V.E. lightly. I have some insight into the organization.
They are probably the worst of the Regime. Anyhow, we should get moving. It’s
getting dark. We need to finish and get back to the Fleet,” Hades-Perdition
stated. He was collecting his gear and checking the suppressor on his rifle
while cycling through various screens on the ‘heads up display’ overlaid on his
retina. This data was located on a masked sub-network. When needed they would
monitor the [Virtue-net] via a node that was disguised as a living person fitted with a neural implant.

Hades-Perdition was the one with the most
training out of the trio and had been with the resistance longer than
Lore-Fiction and Aqua-Deluge. Both were assigned to him for scout training
because they were excellent marksmen and because both did not have
personalities that suited sitting in one place for very long with people
around. Numerous incidents of conflict with others had taken place and so other
Apostates were eager to transfer them to Scouting.

The trio of scouts had finished breaking camp and had moved out. They were on a mission to complete a perimeter sweep around the Great Lake of California and were near completion save for two more waypoints.

It was a cool, mild night and the sky was clear. The stars that had emerged in the sky this evening were reflecting off the surface of the Great Lake, which was not a great lake at all, but rather an enlarged San Francisco bay, San Pablo bay, Suisun bay, and river delta. In the past as Climate Change advanced so to did the sea level rise. Coastal settlements had been swallowed. After decades, entire towns disappeared off the map, Fremont, Oakland, Port Costa, San Rafael, and Larkspur were some of the cities that vanished beneath the waves. San Francisco was a series of islands now, consisting of what were the hills of the city—Nob Hill, Russian Hill, Twin Peaks, and various other hills and outcroppings.

Regime forces in the western half of the former United States, now New Megiddo, had always been fairly light. Previously when the Regime was stronger all it took was the [Virtue-net] to keep control over the population. In the last couple of decades, their grip on power had been slipping away. Innovation had long ago been stifled by the authoritarian system put in place by the Schrubb Administration. Restlessness in the population had lead to more people subverting the [Virtue-net], and to others searching out the black market for drugs like ‘Database’ and other banned goods. The West was a hotbed for the illicit trades and for resistance activity because of the light Regime footprint. As of late that had slowly changed as more Regime forces had been transferred to the West. Also prominent was the increased presence of L.O.V.E. Rangers. Regime forces had been conducting operations to find the resistance operating bases but were not having much success. Hades-Perdition knew that scout groups like his were crucial to this effort.

The trio was hiking through rough terrain across the water from ruins of a sugar cane factory under a collapsed bridge that used to span the Carquinez Straight. They had hiked for hours from where they had previously camped and were coming upon one of their waypoints. The waypoints were locations of small remote sensors and camera traps that monitored traffic around traveled routes and trade networks. The infrastructure of the West was very different to that of back east. In the West, the population had fallen more drastically during the course of Climate Change and its effects. Drought was rampant and changed much of the West to desert. Previously productive farmland shriveled to wasteland. Cities that sprang up in the desert in previous centuries had relied heavily on water being piped in from other areas. These cities became ghost towns within a few decades after the snowpack disappeared in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Cities like Reno, Las Vegas, Phoenix, and many of the cities of the Central Valley in California had long been abandoned. The populations that remained moved closer to coastal cities. These coastal settlements were sustained by aging desalination plants. The East by contrast became wetter in climate, and never suffered the water shortages that the West endured. Although many died in the East due to the effects of Climate Change, it was not as severe, so after a time the population stabilized.