The Apostates (29 page)

“Would you like some port?” he asked her.

“Of course!” she accepted. Dmitri pulled down two slim glasses from his full bar. He poured them both port and handed her one. Brook tilted back the glass and made quick work of the drink.

“Well, ready for another, yes?” Dmitri offered. She acknowledged by pushing her glass toward him over the bar. He poured another, and she picked it up.

“So, you do know that I will need to be
paid, right?” Brook brought up business amid the pleasure.

“Oh yes. Without a doubt. Money is no object. You will be compensated handsomely,” Dmitri assured her. She nodded and knocked back another drink. She gestured with her hand for Dmitri to come to her. He accepted and walked over coyly. Brook grabbed him by the lapels and pushed him against the bar. She dropped to her knees, and slipped her hand down his chest, feeling well-defined abs. She went to work unbuckling his belt and pulling his boxers down. She handled him, caressing and rubbing. She used her tongue as well to arouse him. He laid his head back with his face to the ceiling, and he let out a groan of pleasure. She put all of him in her mouth and manipulated his manhood. He grew inside of her mouth. Lips and tongue were used in conjunction with hands. She played him like a musician singing while playing guitar. He pushed her head back before he could climax.

“Come, let us go to my bedroom.” He led her by the hand back to his bedroom. He had a wide, king size bed with a smooth, black headboard. She was impressed with the setup. He willed her to lay back on the bed, and he took a knee and raised her legs to rest upon his shoulders. He hiked back her skirt and pressed his mouth against her and kissed. She exhaled heavily. He buried his head into her and she let out a high-pitched squeal of delight, breathing heavily. He worked on her—making her arch her back and grab the edge of the bed with intensity.

Suddenly he stopped. He got to his feet
abruptly. He had a troubled look on his face, looking down at the floor with a
frown. He looked like he was having a conversation within his mind. She stared
at him, puzzled.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Okay!...yes, yes. Okay. Everything is okay,” he sounded exasperated and slightly confused.

“Please—please get on the bed. Lay on your back,” He insisted. Odd requests were nothing new in Brook’s line of work. It was routine, so she thought nothing of it. Brook laid spread-eagle on the bed. Dmitri grabbed her wrist and pulled up a chain attached to a restraining strap. He strapped her wrist in and secured it. He did the same with her other limbs so that she was restrained at the four corners of the bed. He stood over her studying her physique. His eyes darted from one position to another. Dmitri put his hand into his jacket pocket and procured a ‘Database’ applicator.

“You’ve been a very bad girl, haven’t
you?” Dmitri said with his signature smirk, “Daddy will have to discipline
you.”

“Oh yes, daddy! I’ve been so naughty! I
need to be punished,” she played along, assuming it was the man’s fantasy
scenario. He plunged the ‘Database’ applicator into his arm. This got her
worried because she had bad experiences previously with ‘Base-heads’.

“Daddy is going to give you a full on
whoopin’! You earned your punishment,” Dmitri yelled. The look on his face made
him appear to be somewhere else.

“Oh, yeah! Daddy—” she was cut off.

“Shut up, you slut!” He
looked right at her. Then he changed his tone of voice, sounding like an older
man, “Son, she’s no good for you! She is not a Virtuous citizen. Where do you
think this can go?”

“Are you alright? I’m getting worried
here—wanna let me go?” Brook pleaded; trying to free herself, but the bonds
were firm.

“Father, please. I love her. I want to
marry her,” Dmitri’s voice shifted to a younger, submissive-sounding voice,
then reverted back, “Do you realize how this scandal would reflect upon the
family name? I am a fucking Bishop in the Church of New Megiddo!” Dmitri looked
possessed.

“Let me go, you nut!” Brook
demanded, struggling to no avail.

“Father, I can’t let you do this,” Dmitri
protested to the opposition in his head.

“Shut up. You make me sick!”
Dmitri recoiled back and fell to the floor like he had been struck by an
invisible assailant.

“I want you to dispose of the girl. She
knows too much. You clean this up, or I’ll clean you up, boy!” Dmitri began
sobbing uncontrollably. He shook his head with his face buried in his hands.

“Father, father! I love her. I don’t want
to do this. Please don’t make me do this. I love her...but...I must—for the
family!” Dmitri pulled himself to his feet by the ledge of the bed.

“My love, I am so sorry. You mean the
world to me!” Dmitri looked at her with tears streaming down his cheeks. He
climbed on the bed, hunched over her.

“Please, what the hell are you doing? Just
let me go,” she cried and looked deeply in his eyes. They did not stare back. He was
gazing upon something else; some other scene. His pupils were dilated, and his
expression was one of agony and pleasure all in one.

She struggled some more in vain. He grasped her neck with two hands joined, and squeezed. Her airway closed and she panicked attempting to break his grip, but she was restrained. He throttled her violently.

“My love...I am so sorry! We will be together in the next life! I promise you!” Dmitri was transfixed on some distant drama.

“P-p-please, c-can’t—” She tried to protest and managed a few words, but he wasn’t listening. It became more difficult to resist with each passing moment. Her vision went blurry and she started seeing double, with bright flashes of light. Suddenly her retinal H.U.D. activated, without her controlling it. Something was happening: she had been suffocating and dying, but now she could sense her heartbeat slowing, then stopping, and her lungs ceaced to function. However, she knew that she wasn’t dead, but she could no longer will her limbs to move. She was no longer in pain, but she was aware of everything around her. The man was still throttling her and crying, tears dropping from his face onto her face. Soon, he noticed that she no longer stirred. Dmitri loosened his grip upon her throat. His eyes took on a more serene look, but he still cried. He rolled off of her and curled up in the fetal position on the bed beside her. And he cried there for some time. She was aware of all of it, but she felt disembodied and strangely calm.

“Father, I’ll kill you for this. I will make you suffer, slowly...for everything you have done to me. You took everything,” Dmitri snorted to himself between sobs. He laid there crying and sobbing for hours. She heard all of it. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning before he composed himself, picked himself up off the bed and walked toward his bathroom. Dmitri removed his suit and stepped in. She heard a shower head start, and the brushing of teeth. She heard a shower door sliding open and shut and singing. Brook had witnessed his entire morning ritual.

Finally he approached the bed. He was
fully dressed in a pinstriped, slim cut suit, clean shaven, and well-composed.
He gazed at her body for some time.

“I’m sorry my love,” he said forlornly.
Then it looked to her that he had activated his retinal H.U.D.

“Hello, yes, I am in need of disposal of
another one...Yes please...right away...I have an appointment later
today...thank you,” Dmitri had been conversing with someone. He moved over and
unfastened each of her limbs. She was free, but would go nowhere. Dmitri took
one last look at her and blew a sinister kiss to her corpse, then exited the
suite. She had laid there for what seemed to be an eternity. Soon two men in
black suits entered the room. They both wore sunglasses.

“Wow, this one is quite a looker,” one man
said, taking off his glasses for a closer look.

“That’s the way he likes ‘em,” the other
man confirmed.

“Alright, you grab the arms and I’ll grab the
legs...the view is nicer down there,” the other man instructed.

“What’s the rush? She looks fresh. Can’t
we have some sloppy seconds?” the first man asked.

“You sick fuck. Let’s get this done already. I gotta pick my kid up from the H.O.V.E.L. after this,” the man exclaimed. He had grabbed her legs and the other man reluctantly grabbed her by the wrists. She could see that they had lifted her and moved her out of the bedroom. They carried her into the living room and dropped her to the floor. The crinkling of sheet plastic could be heard as her body impacted. They rolled her body end over end until she was enveloped by the plastic. The rest of the event was witnessed through a world-altering blur. All she could make out were fuzzy figures, the odd frame of a door, and finally the white noise of the city, and the sound of the distant ocean. She heard the distinct racket of a dumpster-lid opening.

“Okay, right here is fine. Let’s toss
‘er,” one of the men said.

“What a waste. The boss has all the fun,” the other man lamented. She heard the sound of her body compacting the rubbish within the dumpster and the lid slamming shut. Then: darkness—nothing but darkness for an indeterminant amount of time. She was aware but, might have reasoned that this was the afterlife; a kind of purgatory where the soul was still sensory aware, but was attached to its vessel without the power of manipulation. It would be a brutal and boring eternity. And so, she resigned herself to her fate: languishing in the darkness of the dumpster.

Then it happened: light. The dumpster door
flung open. It was daylight. The plastic ruffled and snapped. The dumpster was
left behind.

“That’s the one. Wynham will be happy to hear the mission was a success. You can deactivate her implant now,” a man’s voice said. The light began to fade, and all went dark in existence. Now she reasoned that this was final death.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Aqua-Deluge’s eyes sprang open. She exhaled heavily. She stared up at the ceiling and saw only sheet metal and fluorescent lighting fixtures. She looked to her left and right, gazing at medical supplies and rows of beds. She surmised that she was in some infirmary, but not the Iowa’s infirmary. Aqua knew she had dreamt about her life before being “born again”, but, what had happened to her? She couldn’t remember much, and everything was fuzzy. She looked at her body covered by white sheets. Aqua picked up the sheet that had been pulled up to her chin and looked under it. Her chest was wrapped in bandages and it ached. She barely had any strength and could not bring herself to sit up.

Aqua looked around the dark room again. She felt the sensation of movement: a swaying from side to side. Aqua determined that she must be on a ship at sea. She figured that the Apostates had set out on their voyage. Open ocean was a good sign. Memories slowly returned to her. She had been fighting in the battle on the edge of the Great Lake. She had been firing her weapon and had kept Rangers and other assailants at bay. Then the ship she was on had been hit by miniature torpedoes launched from a swarm of drones that had appeared from nowhere. The ship had been slowly sinking. She had thought about getting off the ship when she was ambushed. Aqua had been fighting for her life against that woman: the one with the scar on her forehead and the hateful eyes. Her eyes seared their image into her mind. Aqua remembered putting up a good fight, but her opponent had that knife: a plasma knife. She did the best she could, but her opponent got the upper hand. Then, it happened: she was run through by that knife that burned like the flames of Hell.

From then on everything that followed was faint. She remembered something about the fight continuing. Ravine—she had remembered hearing his voice; yelling. He had fought her attacker and apparently won because she remembered being carried. Then, she must have passed out. A feeling of relief overtook her; she would live to see another day.

“Ah, thank God!” she exclaimed out loud
with a feeling of joy. She stretched her arms, ignoring the pain.

“What are you thanking God for, Apostate?
You are not recognized by the Lord,” a voice called out from across the
room. A feeling of dread overtook Aqua. Her eyes darted around in the dark. She
could not make anything out, except for profiles of furniture.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” Aqua
demanded, trying to sit upright, but wincing in pain. She spied movement in the
far corner of the room: a figure stood upright.

“I think you know who I am,” the shadowy
figure came closer. As she stepped into the moonlight beaming through a
porthole, Aqua had recognized it: the cross-shaped scar on the shaved head. She
began to panic, and tears flowed.

“Please, please! Just leave me alone!”
Aqua had been here before: in a bed, restrained and powerless.

“I’m afraid not, Apostate. The Lord will have His due.” Prelate Inoguchi drew closer to
the bed. Aqua’s anguish increased with each step.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Blaze-Scorch had transferred to ‘the Hermes” hospital ship from the Iowa for obvious reasons. She was now in her element, being a physician, and she got an upgrade in her living quarters. The cabins on this ship were more spacious; they were not military bunk style. She had been put up in one of the officer’s cabins. Blaze had her own bunk, with a small desk, a reading chair by a porthole, and a private bathroom. She had hit the big time. Blaze knew better than to think it would last forever. After all, they were facing an impending Apocalypse, and there was a chance she could be killed at any minute, but the world be damned if she wouldn’t enjoy the upcoming Caribbean cruise.

Blaze had been up later than usual. She had found an old stash of books in one of the unoccupied cabins, and helped herself. The feeling of reading a book was new to her. She had only ever read from her retinal H.U.D., and the only book she had ever handled was the New Megiddo edition of the Bible. She had picked out “The Iron Heel” by Jack London. Blaze had heard the name spoken somewhere in the distant past, but couldn’t put her finger on it. She hadn’t gotten far into the book, but she had already drawn parallels between the plot and the reality of her situation.