The Apostates (59 page)

“Yes indeed. I think I will come back here to live; if they’d have me that is. I’m guessing they wouldn’t refuse a doctor. See, Ravine, you can’t live your life worrying every second of every day that something bad will happen. Sometimes you just have to coast and deal with the problems as they arise,” Blaze sounded like she was very relaxed when she spoke. He envied her ability to let go and decompress: a trait which he did not possess.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The battleship Reverend Wilhelm steamed through the waters of the Caribbean like it owned them. If it were up to Captain Keir Schrubb, he would sail to each of these docile islands, shell its capital into submission, then he would add each to an empire all his own. Keir yawned with boredom. Naval warfare was so uneventful to him. What he craved right now were some explosions and battlefield heroics. He asked an ensign on the bridge what the fleet’s current position was, with disinterest. The ensign had responded with the fleet’s location lying off the north coast of the island of Hispaniola; Haiti to be more specific. Keir reached for his bourbon and tipped the glass back. He had been solidly drunk the entire voyage. Of course, he was just acting in an official capacity: the crew of the Reverend Wilhelm was self-sufficient enough to sail a ship. Morale among the crew was lackluster.

“Someone get more some bourbon! I’m empty—who let it go dry?” Keir complained loudly while holding his empty glass in the air. The ensigns looked at one another, then one jumped to action.

“Apologies, captain. I will go right away for fresh provisions.” The ensign hurried off the bridge, to fetch the spirits. Keir had a sour look on his face; he did not want to be sober on this mission. He really had no battle plan against the Apostates, except to use his superior firepower to sink all their old and rickety ships. He would pound them into submission with brute force.

After some time, with Keir drifting in and
out of sleep, the ensign rushed back onto the bridge with two bottles of
bourbon.

“Captain! Here you are, these are the last
two bottles. Perhaps ration them?” The ensign handed one bottle to Keir and
place the other in his liqueur storage cabinet, next to the miniature fridge.

“Listen, son. Don’t tell me how to drink my bourbon. You just sit down at your little station and do what you do,” Keir dismissed with a nasty look, then he turned his attention to opening the bourbon bottle. He mumbled incoherent curses and babbled under his breath as he worked on a bottle. The bridge crew was silent, but it wasn’t tough to figure out what they were thinking, about their captain being a raging alcoholic. No one said anything however because they did not want to incur his wrath. They certainly did not want to do anything to jeopardize chances of being able to return home to join their families at the Born Again Gathering.

“Sir! Our scout drones have reported data
that you might find interesting!” an ensign shouted, intentionally jarring the
Captain out of his stupor.

“Whah-What? What are you saying?” Keir
tried to compose himself.

“Captain, sir. A scout drone has caught
sight of a fleet that is very similar to the report the Rangers gave about
their encounter with the Apostates,” the ensign reported.

“Wh-Where are they located?” Keir
straightened his collar and sat upright.

“Sir, they are anchored at the port of Kingston, Jamaica. Roughly three hundred miles southwest of our current location,” the ensign reported calmly.

“Wh-What—well, then what are you
waiting for ensign! Set an intercept course. We will blow them out of the water
while they are ashore!” Keir resolved, with a fist in the air.

“Sir, we are still a day’s sailing time away. We may not be able to catch them at port. Why not set a trap in the narrows between Cuba and Haiti? Wait for them to come to us if their destination is New Megiddo City,” the ensign suggested.

“Hm, very well, yes. Alright, situate us
in an intercept position, off of—Where the fuck are we?” Keir was
confused.

“Northwest Haiti, sir. A place called Nan Digo,” the ensign supplied the answer.

“Fine, yes. Nan Digo. Hold us there. Then we’ll attack the Apostate fleet,” Keir said with agitation in his voice. The ensign acknowledged and passed the orders along to the ship crew and the rest of the fleet. Keir poured himself another bourbon. He guessed there would be hours of waiting before the Apostates were within range so he figured he had plenty of time for a drink. Keir tipped the bourbon back, slammed the glass down on the liqueur cabinet, then nodded off in his leather, reclining, command chair.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Blaze-Scorch and Ravine-Gulch had been
given a lift by the checkered cab back to the King’s House where the other
Apostates had been meeting with the Prime Minister and the President of
Jamaica. Hades-Perdition, Angel-Seraphim, and Gale-Whirlwind had been given a
sumptuous meal in the great hall of the King’s House while they had conversed
with the elected officials of Jamaica. The sun had begun to set and evening was
right around the corner. The Apostates had mingled with the men in black suits
over the meal in the gathering hall, and stories were exchanged. The President
and Prime Minister had been informed about what was happening in New Megiddo
and why it was imperative that the Apostates stop the Regime’s plan. With full
stomachs and everyone in a jovial mood, President Zola and had suggested that
they move the festivities to downtown Kingston.

The Prime Minister had also agreed that it
was a good time to move the party, and so the men in black suits were sent to
fetch the checkered cabs for transportation to town for the evening’s
entertainment. The procession of cabs pulled up to the front drive of the King’s
House and the passengers piled into each car. The men in suits got into the
front seats, being the security detail, and the guests and elected officials
piled into the back seats. The procession pulled out from the long driveway, that
wound down the hill, though a pristinely green lawn, then out the front gate of
the estate. The cabs soon traveled through the downtown area. The skyline
had intentionally been planned with low-rise buildings as to not block the view
of the surrounding waters by the zoning department. The result was that even
among the packed streets of downtown Kingston, there was an unfettered view of
the sea. The procession of cabs passed an empty open air market where the
owners were in the process of breaking down their stalls for the night. The
cabs finally reached their destination. They stopped on Hope Road where there
was located a cluster of dance halls. These were places the working class could
go to after a hard day’s labor and blow-off steam by drinking and getting
sweaty; dancing one’s ass off to the nation’s most treasured music from the
past.

The passengers got out of the cabs, after
the rude boys in black suits gave the all clear. The Apostates looked around at
the activity and vibrancy of a night-life from a society that was not closed
off. None of them had experienced anything like it, having grown up under the
thumb of the Regime in New Megiddo. The revelers out that night were dressed
for a party. The men wore sharp looking suits with fedoras and the ladies were
dressed in bright-colored, Quadrille dresses and matching head wraps. But yet, it was never about flashing one’s wealth and status.
They were all just out for a good time. The sound of laughter and joy permeated
the night air. Couples crisscrossed the street on their way to the various
venues.

When Prime Minister Rudie and President Zola got out of the cab a crowd formed around them, but the people were not overbearing, they just wanted to greet the politicians as they made their way to the dance hall of choice: “The Skankin’ Iguana”. The members of the Apostates followed suit and approached the dance hall with the red brick facade and the neon Iguana sign, which features a caricature of a dancing iguana wearing a black fedora. Ravine chuckled when he saw the sign and pointed it out to Gale. She thought the sign was amusing as well. The Apostates followed the politicians into the club, as they got to skip the sizable line that had formed at the front of the building. When the group, escorted by the men in suits, entered the dance hall, the sound of a steady beat hit them like a brick to the face. A live band was playing on the far side of the huge, darkened space. What little light there was had a tinted red color. The band ceased playing when the entourage proceeded through the crowd. The front man of the band took it upon himself to announce the presence of the President and Prime Minister of Jamaica, with a thick accent.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have some special guests tonight: Zola Dekker and Rudie McCook have come out to shake off the stress of running Jamaica for us. They are going to have fun with us tonight! Give it up!” The room erupted with whistles, shouts, and applause. The President and Prime Minister took a bow and waved to the crowd, then once the cheers died down the band resumed its set. Their music was reminiscent of a mix of “rhythm and blues”, “reggae” and energetic “ska” from earlier in history. The revelers in the dance hall performed a dance that the locals called “skanking”, which was also the signature dance of the hall’s mascot, “The Skankin’ Iguana”. It was not a terribly tough dance to learn. The basic moves were that of a person running in place, overly-exaggerating the swing of the arms and elbows. It was a very egalitarian dance because anyone could learn it, but then, it could be personalized with the dancer’s individual style. Some of the suited-men were perfectly happy repeating the basic motions over-and-over, others were far more acrobatic; mixing in moves from other dances and even some martial arts.

Hades-Perdition immediately felt the beat
and matched the moves of the dance based on what others were doing. It did not
take him long to master the dance, being a natural at martial arts, and now
apparently: dancing. Blaze-Scorch also listened to the music intently, feeling
out the beat. Soon she was also on the floor performing the moves of the
hallowed dance. The Prime Minister grabbed the hand of the President and
twirled her around on the dance floor, then, she transitioned into her own
interpretation of the dance.

The music itself was based around a fast
tempo “reggae” guitar riff, and a steady drum beat. There was a piano to back
up the rhythm section, and the horn section provided an improvisational aspect
to the music. The vocals were soulful and heartfelt. The lyrics of the current
song spoke of a life of crime led by a “rude boy” who was unemployed and in
poverty. The song went on about the “rude boy” having a group of friends, which
looked out for one another, and at the end of the day could escape to the
sounds of the dance hall. The vocalist was charismatic and animated; he was
sweaty because of his wild performance. A trio of female backup vocalists wore
straight-cut bangs, black miniskirts and fishnet stockings with combat boots.

Drinks were brought to the group via cocktail waitresses, serving up beer, mixed drinks, and wine. Ravine took a bottle of beer and stepped to the back of the dance hall, where, as usual, troubling thoughts permeated his mind. So, there he lingered while the music played, nursing his beer. He preferred it to what he considered an overly-festive atmosphere given the circumstances. The other members of the Apostates were a different story: they had been dancing and knocking back drinks at a steady rate. Angel reached for a vodka tonic from one of the cocktail waitresses, taking in the beat and the festive mood.

Nearby, Hades had invested the most resources into his dance moves. He looked up briefly from his dance routine when his eye was caught by another man wearing a black suit that was equally energetic in his dance. They locked eyes and the man “skanked” his way over toward Hades. The two men shared smiles and dance to the high-energy music. They danced and shared a few rounds of drinks, and continued on for some time. Blaze, Angel, and Gale had danced in a group together for a time, sharing drinks of wine and cocktails, while reveling in the music. Blaze, with her bright red hair, had garnered some attention by a tall, muscular man in a dapper suit and shining eyes. He danced near her, and she turned to him and offered up a smile. He reciprocated with a tip of his fedora and a display of masterful dance moves. Blaze shouted some words of approval that were lost in the noise of the band and the crowd, but the implied meaning was understood.

“My name is Miles, but they call me “Shamrock” because my luck rubs off on all those around me when I dance. What is your name, miss?” the man known as “Shamrock” asked her, with a big smile. Blaze was taken with the man and smiled back into his big eyes.

“Call me Blaze, sir.” She held out her hand to shake, but he snatched it up and kissed it.

“My dear, I can see why they call you
Blaze. Everything about you exudes heat and flame. Let us dance!” With
saying that, the man took her hand and led her in an energetic dance to the
upbeat music. The two danced on for what might have been hours, getting closer
with each song.

Also seeming to hit it off quite well was Hades-Perdition and the suited-man who seemed to show him interest. The two had put an arm around each other and skanked like two conjoined twins. After a bit of this dance the suited-man turned to Hades, looked him in the eye, and stole a kiss from him. Now Hades was sure this man was interested in more than just male bonding. The suited-man introduced himself to Hades and suggested the two them leave the dance hall together. Hades realized that this may be the last opportunity to get laid in this life, for he could be dead tomorrow. Then, he remembered his vow of celibacy he had made to himself: what about that? Hades decided that one night of pleasure would not stand in the way of him completing his mission. Besides that, he did not want to end up like a miserable, drug-addled, depressive, like Ravine-Gulch, so he decided to take the suited-man up on his offer. Hades-Perdition told the suited-man to wait for a moment while he bid the President and Prime Minister a good night.