The Apostates (50 page)

“Blaze-Scorch! You’re going to want to
prep and bed and I.V.! Pale-Silence had been critically wounded. Please! I
don’t think he’ll last too much longer!” Hades reached out to her via the
[Apostate-net].

“Shit. Okay. I’ll do what I can. We’ve
already been swamped with casualties from the S.S. Cape Jacob and the New
Jersey!” Blaze sounded overwhelmed and out of breath.

“Wait. What happened to the New Jersey?”
Hades asked with concern in his voice. He too was also out of breath from
carrying the wounded Pale-Silence.

“You didn’t hear? It was destroyed. No
contact from Captain O’Leary,” Blaze reported.

No, no I didn’t. There was too much chaos. Alright, we’re coming,” Hades warned. They started off below decks. The three Apostates burst through the hospital ward entrance. Hades jogged down along a row of beds that were filled with casualties.

“Blaze! Blaze!” Hades called out for her,
but he was not to be heard over the moans and screams of the injured. Blaze
appeared from a makeshift operating room.

“Over here, Hades! Bring him here!” Blaze
waved her arms to get their attention. Hades jogged in her
direction, passing beds with amputation operations under way, performed by
orderlies. The scene was that of organized chaos. Hades reached Blaze, where she had
a gurney prepared and laid Pale-Silence on it. Blaze and an orderly
wheeled the gurney to the improvised operating room. An orderly took the demon-man’s vital signs, then, inserted the I.V. needle into his forearm. They removed
his compromised armor and cut through his undershirt to treat the trauma below.
Blaze gave a signal to Hades, which meant she had the situation under control.
So, Hades and Angel turned and walked away in silence. They were too exhausted
to speak.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

After Ravine-Gulch had patched his facial wound up in his quarters on the Iowa, he changed his bloody clothing and washed up. After this, he headed for the bridge. He climbed the metal stairs leading up to the deck and crossed through the hatchway into the bridge. Gale-Whirlwind had just finished directing several salvos, which cleared the last of the scuttled ship wreckage that had barred their progress. She disconnected her neural implant from the ship’s network. Gale noticed Ravine enter the deck and turned to him. She saw the gash going down the length of his face.

“What happened to you?” she asked with
concern.

“I–The assassin, the one from the
battle with the Rangers, at the Great Lake! It was her, she has been hiding on
the fleet this entire time! W–when I got to the New Jersey, she was
fighting Captain O’Leary. O’Leary died from her wounds, but she had cast the
assassin into an oil fire. But—I don’t think she’s dead!” Ravine was fairly
distraught. Twice he had failed to kill this strange woman, and twice lives had
been lost because of it.

“God! She probably killed everyone on the
bridge here on the Iowa. When I got here, it was absolutely horrible!” Gale
tried not to think of the image that had been burnt into her mind.

“Let me look at it.” She put a hand on
Ravine’s shoulder and the other to raise his chin. He winced from pain when she
touched too close to the gash in his face. He had hastily patched it up using
suture tape.

“What was this done with?” she asked.

“It was a shard of glass,” he answered.

“That’s one nasty wound.” Gale looked disgusted, but sympathetic from the site of the gash.

“Look at you! You mastered the targeting
system I installed and destroyed that fortress, and cleared the scuttled ships.
Who the hell are you?” Ravine was honestly impressed at what she had
accomplished through her own initiative. It made him feel slightly emasculated
and worthless, but he didn’t let it show.

“Looks, like you indirectly saved us all
by experimenting with the targeting system here. I wouldn’t have been able to
do anything today without it,” she conceded to him. Gale looked him in the eye.

“I appreciate it. But, I failed everyone
else.” He returned her look.

“Hey, we all knew the risks and it could
have been anyone on this bridge.” She inched closer to him.

“I am glad nothing happened to you.”
Ravine planted his lips upon her lips and they shared a lengthy, familiar kiss.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The ruins of the town hall laid silent and
except for the smoldering pops of fires that had nearly burnt out, and the creaking of
spent wood. The gathering hall was a wreckage-strewn disaster area, where once
there had been formal gatherings, there was now just destruction. It was a gala
of blood and fire. A pile of rubble shifted and cracked with activity. The
rubble raised up, then collapsed back down again. Out from under it emerged two
figures: one wore the encircled pentagram blazoned cloak of the Order and the
other wore a fancy, black cocktail dress that had been torn in
various places, exposing skin and cuts.

Friar Francis rolled the dazed and weary Manuela Noriega over. She unfastened her veil to expose her ruined face. She shook Manuela and slapped her face to rouse her. When she came to and saw the horror that presented itself to her, she screamed in a high pitch. A drizzle of saliva landed upon Manuela from the open mouth wound of the Friar. She smiled and slapped Manuela again.

“Listen! Listen to me, you bloody harlot!
You mother of whores! You told me once to address you without my veil, well,
here it is! Gaze upon your salvation!” Friar Francis clicked her jaws together.
Manuela was panicky and terror filled her mind.

“Please! Please! Do not kill me! I beg
you!” Manuela pleaded.

“Oh! I won’t kill you. I am here to save
your wretched soul. You are the Whore of Babylon, who bore destruction upon
your land and upon our Order through your wanton ways! You corrupted the heart
of our Monsignor!” Friar Francis hissed at her. She made sure that Manuela got
a full view of her facial crevasse.

“Please, I—I beg you!” Manuela could only plead; she could not muster the strength to physically resist.

“Now, you shall receive the wound that once saved me! The one thing that purified me and delivered me from worldly sin!” Friar Francis brandished her cavalry saber in a threatening manner. Manuela begged and screamed, but the Friar knew exactly what would be the salvation of Manuela’s wicked soul. She brought the saber down toward Manuela’s face and then began to cut flesh. Manuela’s screams of pain and terror filled the ruined shell of the gala hall. The screams turned into guttural grunts and then finally shock set in. Manuela then blacked out from pain.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The battleship the Wilhelm Wainwright sailed at the head of the vanguard of a small fleet. Aside from the giant battleship, there were two other destroyers, an oiler, and two cargo ships. The fleet sailed in a southerly direction, having set out from the capital: New Megiddo City. The Wilhelm Wainwright was twice the size of any battleship that had come before it. Six turrets were situated upon its deck. Its eighteen, five hundred millimeter guns dwarfed the armament of most other vessels. In fact, the guns were so big and absurd that it was well beyond the destructive power needed to put ships out of action. It had been considered by some a waste of material and was overly expensive at the time of the ship’s construction. But, it had been no matter to the Regime of New Megiddo. There was no other governing body to resist that type of military expenditure.

The fleet cut through pale blue waters en route to the Caribbean. The area that the fleet traversed currently, in the past, had once been land. Under the surface was land that used to belong to the American state of Florida. The ships glided over what was formerly agricultural fields that had surrounded the old city of Orlando. The glory of a once prosperous state, albeit a veritable retirement community, had slipped beneath the depths, and only the watery abyss remained.

Keir Schrubb was at the Conn on the bridge of the Wilhelm Wainwright. He sat upon a specially-customized captain’s chair. The chair was heavily-padded leather and assumed a reclining position. Keir also had a liqueur cabinet and miniature bar installed in the bridge. He refused to face any prolonged ocean voyage dry. And now he would have all the comforts of home while commanding the flagship of the Navy of New Megiddo. The bridge was abuzz with activity. Communications officers asked for constant updates from spotters in the decks far above the bridge. Men were keeping track of long-range sensors for any sign of the Apostate fleet. Keir sat in his luxurious command chair with a dry martini in hand. His head swayed with boredom: the ocean was too wide and featureless for his taste. However, he found it a welcome break from his family. His first passion was war, but he was not a naval officer by training. His expertise was of land combat; he had no taste for the slow and deliberate warfare of the sea. He also had no choice but to comply, as it was his father’s wish for him to destroy the Apostates before they reach the capital. Keir was determined to fulfill his father’s command.

Keir thought about his sister: Kate. He had always been jealous of her, and he had desired to succeed his father as president of New Megiddo. He had always feared that the mantle of leadership would be handed to his sister instead of him. But now, with the B.A.G. and the Second Coming so close at hand, he came to the realization that he would never rule. Keir did, however, possess the military might to rule elsewhere. There was nothing saying that he had to return to New Megiddo to perish in the fires of the Second Coming. A plan was formulating within Keir’s head. He had the firepower of an entire navy in his small fleet. He could easily, subdue one of the Caribbean islands. Would he take Cuba or the island of Hispaniola? The possibilities were endless. He could sail further south and explore the expanses of South America, or he could sail east to the continents of Africa and Europe. No one from the Regime of New Megiddo had been in contact with these lands since the closing of the borders. Keir had always been intent to explore the world and to make his mark: now he had the means to do it. He was, however, no traitor, he would first carry out his father’s will. He would confront the Apostates, and defeat them. But, once this task was done he would not return north. He would find his fortune and build his own dynasty.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The strange, disk shape flying object moved with remarkable speed and maneuverability. The disk swerved and avoided through pillars of smoke from burning oil fires, and the outcroppings of metal hulls from ship wreckage. The nano-computer within processed data collected by visual sensors that scanned the oil-slicked waters for its query. The waves were choppy and the fog had settled over the Bay of Panama, which complicated the search. But the disk was attracted to a homing signal that soon made itself known. The disk increased speed and homed in on a piece of timber that was drifting further out to sea. The disk opened a small slot on its bottom side and lowered a handle, with a synthetic rubber grip. The disk reached the floating piece of timber, and a figure was clinging to the timber; a wet, bloody and one handed figure. The disk dropped its altitude to within reach of the Prelate Inoguchi.

Prelate Inoguchi raised her good hand up to the disk. It guided itself to her hand, and she grasped the handle firmly. The drone raised her by one arm out of the waters of the bay. She had been burnt on one side of her face and was suffering from a fractured rib. Numerous lacerations covered her body and the salt water had been constant torture to her. So, the disk-shaped drone had been her salvation. The drone carried her toward the ruined town of La Chorrera, as she dangled from one hand, swaying in the wind as the drone zipped toward shore.

The Prelate caught sight of the remains of
a bazaar. She willed the drone to travel toward it. Once the drone was
there it hovered not far over the ground. She released her grip and landed on
her feet below. The Prelate looked around, she picked up and old, leather
knapsack from an overturned cart. She searched the toppled produce stands
and spice baskets. The Prelate picked up some melons and put them into the knapsack.
She also grabbed links of sausage, bread, and a bundle of plantains. She found a
container filled with aloe, and dipped some fingers into it and slathered some lotion onto the burns on her face. They were first-degree burns so her
flesh would heal in time, but there would definitely be scars. Having felt satisfied
that she had scavenged enough supplies for her journey, the Prelate willed her
drone to come to her and she snatched the grip with her right hand. It lifted
her high over the market and ruins of the surrounding shanties.

The Prelate gazed around the scenery. She spied the once mighty fortress: now a smoking pile of ruins. She looked toward the waterline of the Strait of Panama. There was an intact fishing vessel still moored to a pier in the marina. She willed the drone to reach the vessel. It lowered her gently down to the deck, and she let go. The Prelate peered around the ship; it appeared solid enough and would be sea-worthy. So, she primed and ignited the engine, and it sputtered and rumbled into action. She unfastened the mooring lines, which tethered the ship to the pier. The ship steamed through the narrows of the Strait.

After several hours, she had reached the terminus of the Strait. The Caribbean Sea lay before her. The Prelate stopped the ship and powered down the engine. She traveled below deck to see what she would find. There was a small kitchenette, with a range and a small refrigerator. So, she pulled off the leather knapsack and plucked out the sausage links and plantains. She had not eaten a decent meal for some time, having hidden within the fleet for so many weeks. Prior to this time she had survived off of bread and canned goods. The Prelate found a griddle and turned on the range, dropping three sausages on to it. They began sizzle at the contact with the heat. She unpeeled a plantain, then, used her metal-clad stump to smash up the plantain into a paste. She formed a crude patty from the paste and tossed it onto the hot griddle. After a time, her meal was ready. She transferred the food to a plate and went above deck.