The Apostates (44 page)

“Mariko, do not cry! I am here now. Let’s
leave this miserable place and return to Fujinomiya. Let us gaze upon the
mountain and rest in our home,” Inoguchi said, with a joyous smile on his
face. Mariko looked up at him with sadness in her eyes, then, she began to sob
again.

“There’s nothing to return to,” she said,
looking down at their son. Inoguchi surmised that his son’s injury occurred
during an American air raid.

“The house?” Inoguchi inquired.

“Yes, the whole town: burnt. We barely got
out. Toshihira, when will it all end?” She looked up at him with heartbreak in
her eyes. Inoguchi could not bring it upon himself to tell her that he was
about to embark on a suicide mission; his family needed some semblance of hope.
He stood embracing his family for a few more moments. He needed to retain as
much of this moment for fuel to go ahead with the operation that would spell
his doom.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Blaze-Scorch was busy in the Hermes’ hospital ward. She had been tending to quite a few cases of violent seasickness among personnel. There had also been a case where a crewmember aboard a cargo ship slipped on the deck and had cut his arm badly to the point of needing stitches. He had been squeamish when she treated him, flinching while she administered the stitches. He squealed a bit when she gave him a tetanus shot. Overall it was busy, but not overwhelming which is how she preferred it. Especially since she anticipated being swamped as they approached the Panama Strait. She thought the Regime would be crazy to leave it undefended. So, by that logic, she predicted the need for her services.

Blaze sorted some medical supplies, putting them away in the appropriate cabinets. She sterilized other used tools in a sanitizing solution, then, laid them out to dry. It had been weeks since the fleet had made a port call and she was hoping for a well-deserved break from ships when they reached the Panama Strait. It had been planned by the Apostates and the Captains of vessels to stop there and resupply; unless met with a hostile force. Most of the Apostates had been complaining of the taste of the food within the mess halls of the ships, so much so that they had recently cut out meat rations all together and were relying on vegetables to feed the crews. Blaze thought about how good it would be to eat a fresh steak or have some bacon off the griddle. The thoughts of meat overwhelmed her for a moment.

After she dealt patients in the medical ward, Blaze prepared to leave. Ravine-Gulch opened
the hatch to the ward and looked around the space. Blaze waved to him and he
nodded when he caught sight of her.

“Hey, how goes the medical duties? You
look burnt out,” Ravine was unintentionally blunt.

“Well thanks, Ravine, you look like shit
yourself!” she stung back.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. Just
making an observation.” Ravine tried to salvage the introduction.

“Yes, I know. We’ve been cooped-up on
these ships for so long. I’ve just had my work to keep me busy. It’d be nice to
have a break, you know?” Blaze confessed.

“Yeah, believe me, there are a million other places I would rather be right now, especially being this close to the tropics,” Ravine agreed. He stepped further into the ward and sat on an empty bed.

“Are you planning to stay? I was just
getting ready to leave.” Blaze was slightly puzzled.

“Listen, I need to talk to you about
something. It’s important.” Ravine gave her a serious look.

“Okay, I don’t really have anywhere to be.
But, do you want to get some food?” Blaze suggested. She stepped over to the
bed he sat on.

“Well, I think it would be better if we
spoke here, privately,” Ravine stated.

“Fair enough. Is this about your
‘Database’ addiction?” Blaze asked nonchalantly.

“No! I’m not addicted! I mean—”
Ravine was interrupted.

“Whoa! Easy, I can help you. I can treat
addiction.” Blaze tried to calm him, and she rest her hand on his shoulder. He
looked up at her.

“I wish I could explain this to you
without your mind already made up as to what it is I am doing.” Ravine looked
her in the eye hoping she would see that he was telling the truth.

“What else is this then? No one ever took
this stuff if they didn’t get pleasure and a high out of it.” Blaze was very
confused.

“You know, yes, it’s true: I used to be a
‘Basehead’. That was before I was ‘born again’. Now, it is true I am using it
again, but for a very valid reason. I have to use it: our success may actually
depend on it!” Ravine tried to explain it to her without revealing everything.

“Bullshit. Ravine, do you take me as a
fool? You’d say anything wouldn’t you? Why don’t you just leave if you don’t
want my help.” She got up to walk out. He reached out and grabbed hold of her
arm. She turned back to him.

“What the fuck?” Blaze was furious.

“Listen to me! Yes, I need your help, but
not your judgment! I didn’t want this; I didn’t go out to buy this shit! It was
a package from Graham himself—he told me that I had to take it because this
strain of ‘Database’ held the key to prevailing against the Church and Regime.”
Ravine desperately tried to convince her.

“Do you know how crazy this sounds? I mean Graham is the only reason why any of us is here right now. None of us wanted this. And yet here we are, still at Graham’s mercy. Why the hell would he go through so much trouble to send a message, that could not be told to all the Apostates?” Blaze made a good point, and Ravine sounded crazy even to himself.

“I don’t know! I can’t answer that until I
take this ‘Database’, so I can reach the end of the damned visions,” Ravine said
with frustration in his voice.

“Say you were telling the truth: what
then? I’m supposed to sit idly by and watch you waste away doing this shit?”
she asked.

“No, not sit idly by. I would ask you to
monitor me medically while I do it. Save me if I overdose or go into shock or
something.” Ravine tried to reason with her. He stared intently into her eyes
hoping for compliance.

“God damn it, Ravine. I hate seeing you
like this. Then, you want me to sit over you and watch you fall further?” She
put her hand on his. He could see her tear up slightly.

“Yes, and there’s no one else I’d rather have watch over me when I do this than you,” he admitted to her, “Look I’ll let you prepare before I throw this on you. Just ping me when you are ready to do this. Thank you, Blaze.” He brushed one hand over her left cheek, then walked away through the hatch. She said nothing in return. Blaze decided that she should find food first and foremost, and then she’d worry about her nihilistic friend.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Deep inside the cargo hold of S.S. Cape Nome stirred a hint of activity. The Cape Nome was a massive cargo ship and sailed toward the rear of the fleet. Today it carried some dangerous cargo. A shipping container occupied a dark corner of the cargo hold, the side having been cut open, a slight seam was visible where the metal had been burnt through, then replaced. Inside the container itself, dwelt Prelate Inoguchi: she had built herself a living space within the container with scavenged materials. She had found blankets for bedding and collected a stock of canned goods for food. It was by no means a comfortable living, but it had kept her alive while hiding out. She had spent her idle time within the shipping container plotting her next moves, fervently praying to her Lord, and meditating on memorized Scripture passages.

Prelate Inoguchi had also been suffering from phantom limb pain, which added to her dismal demeanor. On the inside of the shipping container was crude pictures burnt into the metal wall. She had used the plasma knife to carve an image of the cross and various bible verse numbers that she regularly referenced. It was her own makeshift chapel, spending much of her time praying for success in her coming onslaught.

It was now late afternoon, according to
her retinal H.U.D. She had no way to tell because her shipping
container prison restricted it. She had not eaten anything and her stomach was rumbling. She picked up
a can of tuna from the corner of the container and placed it on the floor in
front of her, then used her good hand to ignite her plasma knife and used the
super-heated blade to sear through the lid of the can. Once open she scooped the
tuna into her hand and shoved it into her mouth. It was a fairly messy affair. Where her left hand used to be was a
metal plate that she had heat-welded over the stump. She had fashioned straps
to keep the metal on what was left of her forearm. The two drones that had
ferried her aboard the fleet sat dormant by her within the shipping container.
She stared at the drones intently.

Quite unexpectedly she was being pinged,
by an encrypted Church of New Megiddo channel. She had kept [Virtue-net]
silence the entire time she was aboard and now the Church threatened to give
away her position. Her fury bubbled up. Inoguchi decided to answer the hail.

“Prelate Inoguchi. It has been quite
awhile since the Church has heard from you. I thought I might check on you, as
well as give you an update on all the various developments that have occurred,
recently.” Arch-Deacon von Manstein sounded unusually chipper to her.

“Arch-Deacon. It is an honor, but I really
must insist that the Church not contact me until the mission is complete. You
are putting me at risk of being discovered, please—” she was interrupted.

“No, you need to hear me out. This concerns your mission. As you know, you were ordained by Cardinal Zhukov specifically. What you didn’t know is that Cardinal Zhukov has been under investigation for some time. L.O.V.E. officials have recently received a confession out of the Cardinal that he has been an Apostate spy” Arch-Deacon von Manstein confessed to her. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“So? What does this have to do with my contract? I have been ordained by the Church,” she asked in a hostile manner.

“I’m afraid it has everything to do with
your contract, Prelate Inoguchi. You see, with Zhukov being a spy we are
certain that he has tipped-off the Apostates. I
fear that they are probably waiting for the most opportune moment to capture
and interrogate you for any information that you have,” von Manstein stated
coldly.

“I assure you, Arch-Deacon, that the
Apostates have no idea where I am. They stopped the fleet for two days and
searched for me and yet I evaded them. I am planning my final strike at this
very moment,” Prelate Inoguchi insisted.

“Prelate, I am sorry to inform you that I
must terminate your contract. For your safety and ours, it is the most prudent
thing to do right now—” She interrupted his speech.

“Arch-Deacon—you can’t—” She was
cut short.

“I can and will. This operation is
terminated. You really should come back to—to me—to New Megiddo,
attend the B.A.G. and take your rightful place at the Lord’s side. You’ve
earned it!” Arch-Deacon returned to his chipper tone.

“Arch-Deacon...” she managed to get out
through the searing, red anger.

“Yes? What is it, Prelate?” he said
impatiently.

“Arch-Deacon. I am going to destroy these Apostates as planned. I don’t give a fuck about your directives. Once I am done wading through their blood...I will come for you. I will punish you for what you did to me. It will be slow and you will suffer.” She terminated the communication. Inoguchi was probably no longer a Prelate of the Church and was most definitely a free agent. She felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. She thought that the man who had gotten away with so much throughout his life should have no place among the Lord’s Rapture at the end of times. He would answer for his crimes before that time. All those years in the H.O.V.E.L. had to be answered for by his blood.

Inoguchi devoted the short time she had left to plotting, making alterations to her drones, and most of all: praying intensely, almost to the point of self-mortification. She wondered what else the Church had up its sleeve. She knew that the Church would not just let her go without having a backup plan to stop the Apostates. She knew that von Manstein was acting unilaterally. There was no way that Zhukov could be an Apostate mole. Maybe it was von Manstein himself who was the mole, and Zhukov had known about it? Thinking about the possibilities had made her head hurt, so she turned her mind back to praying and trying to contain her fury for the true enemies of the Lord, the Apostates.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The world had turned to a spider-web fabric of palpitating sinew and striated, fleshy tissue. It was all encased in the distance by twitching and pulsating walls of brain-like, gray matter. A massive chamber was left open in the center of the space, where the lattice-work of organic horror was not present. This is where he found himself floating, aimlessly, brushing up against the sinew, when he floated by, causing it to jerk and retract to touch. On the far side of the open space was a patchwork of skins. They looked to be of human origin but had been crudely cut, cured, and stitched together by rope that seemed weaved from hair fibers. The grisly fabric was hung and folded like a pair of curtains, concealing the actors of some macabre, Vaudeville production. He reached out and grabbed hold of one of the sinew fibers that spanned across the expanse. It wiggled and protested in his grasp. He was able to maintain his grip and he watched the curtains intently. Some force acted on the curtains, causing them to stretch, and bend like skin still bound to a body. A sinister tune of pipe organ, violin and drum played out from some cosmic orchestra. It was everywhere and nowhere all at once. The flesh curtains began to slide open on a suspension rod made of knobby, bloody bone. The spurs of bone caught the curtain and tore flesh as it was dragged across. The flesh curtains bled.

Finally, the curtains were drawn completely open and a blinding, white light flashed from the void contained within. He recoiled from the brightness and blocked his eyes with his free arm. The entire space was basked in the light and he could see nothing. After a moment, the light died down and he could see. He peered back at the fleshy stage. There was a white, billowing membrane that spanned the area behind the curtains. It was white like a sheet, but still possessed organic irregularities, like moles and pores. A pigment of some type spontaneously appeared on the sheet, which was like black blood. As more of the pigment soaked in, a shape began to emerge on the white membrane, almost like a tattoo being drawn with an invisible needle. An insignia took shape: it was that of a crude encircled pentagram. The black ink dripped from the sloppily drawn tattoo.

Suddenly, the membrane at the center of the pentagram opened ever so slightly and a vortex formed when the hole began sucking inward. The force of the suction became irresistible. The sinew lattice-work was ripped from its moorings on the walls of gray matter, leaving gaping open wounds, which spew forth blood and bile. The sinew that supported him snapped in two and he lost his grip, plunging head first toward the white, sucking pentagram membrane. He threw his arms up to protect his head from impact. He hit the membrane, tearing through the soft, white, billowing membrane. He flew at unimaginable speeds through a tunnel in space, wrapped in the memories of history, where scenes played out on a two-dimensional surface around the walls of the tunnel that he was flew through. He made out for a moment tribes migrating out of the Savannah. He caught a glimpse of the Great Pyramid being constructed. He saw the Hanging Gardens of Babylon and the Colossus of Rhodes. On the other side, he spied the Glory of Rome and China’s first Emperor. He traveled farther and faster. He witnessed the birth of Christianity and the Crucifixion. Clips of the Huns and migrating Germanic tribes pouring over Europe played out. He saw Arab tribesman being whipped up into a frenzy, then watched scenes of their armies spreading out across Central Asia, the Middle East, Africa, and into Spain. He watched as nations fell one after another to a warlike and cunning tribe from Mongolia. China, Russia, and the Middle East were enveloped. He saw the Ottoman Turks sacking Constantinople, and the Age of Sail come into being. He saw countless wooden hulks set sail for distant lands; a New World. He saw ships unload and Europeans setting foot in Africa, buying slaves from tribes that had subjugated their enemies. He saw the same enslaved people on the other side of the ocean being worked in cane fields and tobacco plantations. Further still he traveled and drifted. Later, came scenes from the world under European hegemony: entire nations colonized and exploited for resources. He witnessed massive populations of natives soundly defeated and converted to Abrahamic faiths. He saw the Stars and Stripes coming into being and the rise of Capitalism. In front of him was the spread of a nation across a vast continent; Manifest Destiny took shape. Further into the abyss he traveled. Clashing ideologies formed, and adherents mobilized for war: a black swastika on a red flag, a sun rising in the east and casting its rays into the sky, a hammer and a sickle, and the Union Jack. Snippets of the conflict played out before him, culminating in a massive, towering nuclear explosion. He felt that he was free-falling now. Scenes from a brief era of prosperity was projected on the walls. Plastic toys, tablet computers, automobiles, bottled water, computer watches, and neural implants were advertized in a flurry of clips. Then came another war, two flags came into frame: one red with five yellow stars, the other with red and white stripes and a white cross on a blue field. China and New Megiddo. He fell faster still. The Holy War played out in front of him: New Megiddo’s early victories in the war, the fracture of the coalition, the invasion of Hawaii and Alaska by Chinese forces, and then the final act of the war. The dome-shaped hydrogen-bomb explosion that vaporized Chicago and the surrounding suburbs and towns rose into the heavens. His velocity increased. The closing of the borders of New Megiddo, and the construction of the border fortifications took shape. The B.A.G. and the proceeding Pilgrimage took place in front of him. He looked down and saw a ground-plane take form. He could see that he was falling toward what looked like Earth. He tried to reach out for anything; there was nothing to break his fall. He watched as the Earth drew closer each minute, until finally: impact.