The Apostates (64 page)

“Are you sure you going to be okay by
yourself?” Angel was worried about him; she did not want to lose another friend
to a foolish decision.

“Don’t worry about him. We’d probably just hold him back anyway.” Ravine placed a hand on her shoulder and tried to ease her worry. With that Hades stowed away his rifle, and hoofed it away, disappearing into the heaps of rubble.

Ravine and Angel stood silently for a time, surveying the logistics nightmare of the beachhead. Ravine thought about how he might slip away as well. He needed to get to the Church of New Megiddo Central Authority and get the answers he needed. He felt a tinge of guilt overcome him, as he was planning to leave Angel all alone with this mess on her hands. But, what else could he do? His mission was bigger than her inconvenience. He needed to isolate himself somewhere safe, where he could do the last dose of ‘Database’ and finish the puzzle.

As Ravine finished that thought, a column of rock and debris was launched into the air several yards away. Startled by this fresh burst of violence, Ravine and Angel dropped low and scanned around to identify the source of the attack. Then they found it: a Regime armored column fired rounds in their direction. Tanks fanned out after they cleared a bottleneck. Ravine seized the opportunity to make himself scarce while Angel was distracted. He felt ashamed and cowardly, but it had to be done.

“Hey, Ravine! Take your force
right—” she stopped mid-sentence. When she turned to find him Ravine was gone.
Angel pinged his neural implant, but he did not answer.

“Fuck!” She didn’t usually curse, but, she
was now left by herself in charge of the landing force. Angel wondered what had
happened to Ravine. But, she didn’t have long to think because Martyr tanks
thrusted through the Apostate lines, and heading for the landing zones.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

“What do you mean he’s gone? He was in
charge of a third of the landing force!” Gale-Whirlwind could not believe what
she heard. Angel had, under a hail of enemy fire, informed her that
Ravine-Gulch had disappeared.

“Did you find a body or anything?” Gale had asked. The answer she got back was a resounding “no”. Gale told Angel to hold on and do what she could to stall the tank column. The battleships could not fire their guns in support because both forces were intertwined. Gale decided she would come to shore, to help command forces on the ground. The confusion of Ravine’s disappearance and chain-of-command vacuum that was left in his wake had sapped the momentum of the advance. She aimed to reclaim it. Gale did not want to believe that he was wounded or incapacitated somewhere; dying. What if something far worse had happened? What if he had abandoned the battle deliberately, to further his ‘Database’ habit? She didn’t want to think of all the terrible scenarios anymore. She hurried to the weather deck and peered over the side of the bulwark at the water below. Landing craft returned from the first run and now loaded up supplies and provisions to ferry to shore. Gale descended the rope ladder to hitch a ride on the waiting landing craft.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Hades-Perdition peered through his scope from a concealed position on a rooftop overlooking the New Megiddo City Divinity Center. That was the name given to the remade Capital Mall after the dissolution of the United States of America. Hades had been here before: the Ministry of State Security. He had walked these grounds when he had undergone training to be a Ranger. The former life he once led seemed like a lifetime ago. He had started his career a nobody in New Megiddo City, now he returned a seasoned warrior, to tear it all down. Hades remembered the dank and dingy sub-basement that served as the L.O.V.E. headquarters. He laughed to himself at how appropriate it was for such a despicable organization to be sequestered to the bowels of a government building.

From what he could glean through the scope the building was lightly-defended, but he had no way to tell what laid in wait within the M.O.S.S. building. Hades lined up his sights on targets stationed outside the building: two Rangers. He took both shots in rapid succession, each, deadly headshots. Both men probably had felt nothing. Hades-perdition picked up his gear and descended to the street level via a series of rooftops and fire escapes. He moved to the entrance of the M.O.S.S. building. He stashed his M82 inside a hedge in front of the building, then he picked up one of the dead Ranger’s submachine gun. It was a custom made model for Ranger forces: all compact, black and modified out. The irony did not escape him that the weapon was manufactured by Wynham Industries, and yet, it was Graham Wynham who set this whole insurrection into motion. Hades figured it would be more appropriate for close-quarters fighting, which he was sure he would be up to his ears in, briefly. Hades tactically-cleared the lobby of the M.O.S.S. sky-tower. He then proceeded into the core of the structure where the elevator shafts were located. He approached one of many elevator doors, and he could see that they were all occupied. The digital screens all displayed sub-basement levels, and all elevators were ascending in synchronism: to the ground level. Hades deemed this to be more than mere coincidence. He ran back toward the lobby and took cover behind a marble pillar, awaiting the onslaught that would spill out from the depths.

Within seconds of each other, the “dings”
sounded and the elevator doors opened. Ranger after Ranger flooded out like so
many army ants. And as instinct kicked in, Hades began to systematically identify the most significant threats first and eliminated
them. He stepped out and fired off controlled bursts from the submachine. The
measured shots met their marks, and yet the confused Rangers kept coming. They
did not know how many enemies they were dealing with. One Ranger guessed
correctly that the fire came from the lobby, so he detached a grenade from his
vest, pulled the pin, and chucked it toward the lobby. The grenade bounced and
slid on the slick marble floor. As it came his direction, Hades charged toward the Rangers who had recoiled to cover: anticipating the detonation.

The first Ranger was startled to find the silent Apostate right next to him. He had just enough time to realize this was the last site that he would see in the world before he was riddled with three shots from Hades’s gun. The grenade exploded, sending an ever-expanding ball of fire through the lobby. Hades took this opportunity to dispose of yet more Rangers, who were hunkered down taking refuge from the blast. When he ran out of ammunition he threw the submachine gun aside and brought his claymore to the ready position. A Ranger popped out from cover with guns blazing. Hades quickly took refuge behind an outcrop, which he shared with the body of a deceased Ranger, with an unspent grenade attached to its armor. Hades made use of it, when he tossed the grenade down the corridor towards the remaining three Rangers who were behind cover.

“Incoming!” Hades heard. This action was
followed by the three Rangers fleeing from the live grenade toward Hades.
Picking up the side arm from the deceased Ranger, he let off three quick shots.
Two struck one of the Rangers, dead. The third shot disarmed the second Ranger.
Hades followed up by finding the side gap in the injured Ranger’s armor, he drove his sword deep into the man’s core, with extra force by gripping his
sword blade with one hand. The grenade detonated down the hall, sending flying
shrapnel into the back of the third Ranger, but the man was unhurt due to his
armored cuirass. However, it provided enough of a distraction for Hades to
close the distance to dispatch the Ranger with a draw cut across the man’s
exposed neck.

With that, the way to the elevator was clear. Hades was now unobstructed to access the lower levels of the M.O.S.S. building. He anticipated the final confrontation with Inquisitor Rodrigo; just minutes away. He had been waiting for this minute for years. Sometimes it even kept him awake at night with dreams of retribution so real, that he could taste the Inquisitor’s blood in his mouth. Despite all of Hades skill, confidence, and experience, he had doubts that he would walk away from this fight alive. The Inquisitor’s skill, cunning, cruelty and martial prowess were legendary.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The L.O.V.E. doctor had prepared for the extraction operation when the M.O.S.S. building had come under attack. The emergency lock-down announcement played on repeat throughout the L.O.V.E. headquarters. The doctor wiped the sweat from his male-pattern, bald head. He could not decide what he was more afraid of, being killed in an Apostate attack or suffering the Inquisitor’s wrath for not completing the operation. The operation, of course, was the extraction of Graham Wynham’s neural implant. Now he was at a crossroads: he could flee for his life or surrender to the whoever was attacking the sky-tower. But, what if the assailants lost and the Inquisitor returned to find that the doctor had shirked his responsibility? The consequences would truly be horrendous. He knew first hand what happened to the subjects of the Inquisitor’s interrogations.

The Regime doctor buried his face in his hands and sobbed uncontrollably. All the while, Graham’s comatose body laid on the operating table with his head fitted inside the extraction machine. All the doctor need do was to start the machine and guide the mechanized arms to begin the surgery, but he was petrified into indecision. Before long he heard the sounds of running and yelling in the corridor outside the operating room. It jarred the doctor out of his weeping. The sound of gunfire and physical struggle made the doctor flinch in fear. He ducked behind the gurney that supported Graham Wynham. The sounds of dying men filled the exterior corridor; then silence. The doctor peeked his head out from behind the gurney. He wondered if the nightmare was over. An overwhelming feeling of relief and elation washed over him.

Then, the doctor soiled himself when the
O.R. door was kicked open by Hades-Perdition. He truly did look like something
that crawled up from Hell. Hades had blood spattered across his face, his
ballistic armor was dented with bullet impacts, and his sword had been coated with
the blood of enemies. Hades gazed around the room, then fixated his stare upon
the doctor with the soiled drawers.

“Please! No! Please, don’t kill me—for
the love of god!” The smelly doctor recoiled in fear.

“Get a hold of yourself! Remove Graham Wynham from of that machine!” Hades demanded.

“Yes, yes! Anything—please don’t kill
me!” The doctor fumbled over to the extraction machine, shaken visibly. He was
fidgeting with the straps that fastened Graham’s head into the machine.

“And while you’re at it, rouse Mr. Wynham
out of his slumber,” Hades insisted. The aromatic physician was worried, and a look
of despair was worn on his face.

“I-I fear that Graham Wynham is
comatose—there is nothing I can do right now to wake him.” The doctor almost
flinched in anticipation that he would receive physical
punishment.

“What the fuck? You can’t be serious!” Hades was angered because of everything he had gone through to get to this point, but he really wasn’t surprised, as he hadn’t heard from Graham in weeks.

“I-I am sorry. I am actually serious. It
wasn’t my—” the doctor was interrupted.

“It was rhetorical, you idiot! Look, just
tell me where I can find Inquisitor Rodrigo,” Hades snapped. He wrinkled his
nose when he caught wind of the doctor’s accident he harbored in his trousers.

“I-I apologize! The Inquisitor is not
present in the M.O.S.S. building. A Ranger had told me that he headed to the
Minister’s residence in Annapolis. I do not know why—please believe me!” The
doctor was still convinced that Hades would kill him.

“Alright! Alright. Look, why don’t you
beat it? You aren’t needed around here anymore. Consider this your exit
interview.” Hades looked at the man intently through a mess of encrusted blood.

“Yes! Yes! I’m leaving now!” The doctor stumbled to his feet, then, waddled out of the O.R. due to the load in his pants. Hades-Perdition looked over Graham Wynham. He checked his vital signs and tried to rouse him as he called Graham’s name while he slapped him. The doctor seemed to be truthful: why else would he have attempted to extract Graham’s neural implant? There was no guarantee when and if he would wake up. There was a chance that he was also brain dead from the ‘Database’ interrogations that the Inquisitor was so fond of putting his captives through. If that were the case there was no bringing him back. Hades agonized over his options, then, he came to the conclusion that there was only one.

“Sorry about not getting to you sooner,
Graham. If I am correct about who you were in life, you would want me to do
what I am about to do. Rest in peace knowing your revolution is at hand,” Hades
spoke his piece and then fingered a grenade collected from a dead Ranger,
pulled the pin, and tucked it under Graham Wynham’s arm. Hades patted him on the
back and rushed out of the room. The detonation of the grenade ensured that
there would be no retrieving his neural implant.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The striated and sinewy sea surrounded him once more. He free-floated through the narrowing passage. He seemed to be immersed in a liquid and had swallowed it, and yet it had no tangible quality to it; no taste or texture. As he traveled along, the fleshy surrounding tissue contracted, undulated, and tightened. The canal narrowed and soon was tight-fitting around his body, and the muscled-walls pushed him forward, towards a faint light. He tried to fight the red, blood vessel-clad will of the walls that urged him onward, but it was no use. His head was grasped by hands and pulled upon. He was yanked violently from the cavity that contained him, which was flanked by two scarred, female legs that kicked about. A possessed-looking doctor who wore a facemask, blazoned with a black cross on it, dangled him from one leg. Helpless: he cried out.

The doctor looked at him with sinister,
red eyes, and nodded in approval. Without cleaning him off, the
doctor laid him in a rusty and torn fabric baby carriage. The carriage was
wheeled by a corpse of a nurse, with the same cross-blazoned surgical mask over
her face. The floor was uneven and obstructed by objects that he could not see,
but could feel the impact of, as the carriage plowed into them. The baby
carriage ride jarred him from side-to-side.