Rolf
Rolf had once run together with the little one at the top of the group, sometimes at the end and had secured to the back. All this time he had waited and cursed the slush that covered the road. We are leaving our footprints, he thought with a bad feeling in his stomach. And now, when the sound wave of the first explosion reached his ears and those of his new protégés, he was surprised. It had taken them a long time, a very long time, to set off the first of his booby traps. So long that he had almost believed that they might not pursue them after all. For at least two hours they had been heading north through the dead city of Frankfurt. Two hours in which they had left the degenerates further and further behind. Two hours in which they had neither been shot at nor heard the sound of hooves on asphalt. The girl looked at him. “What was that?” “A little surprise for our friends.” “How long is this gonna stall them?” “I don’t know. Depends. It’s always like gambling when you’re handling explosives.” “And where are we going?” “Away.” Rolf thought it unwise, at least at this point, to tell them that he had no idea where to lead them. Another explosion in the distance. Rolf imagined that its light was reaching him. But it couldn’t be. They dragged themselves on, and they remained unmolested. After two more hours, the sun was just about to rise, the first one went limp. Rolf wasn’t surprised. They had become slower and slower all the time. Amazing that they had lasted this long in the first place. The man who was no longer able to go on had loaded himself with one of the heaviest bags and dragged it on his lean shoulders up to here without grumbling. A point of honor for him, Rolf thought and looked around for a hiding place. They were now somewhere in the northern foothills of Frankfurt, west of the Main, and here the houses stood less close together than they had in the city center. He had them hook, changing roads and directions in seemingly random fashion, but without losing sight of the basic direction of their march. He estimated that they could dare to rest for a couple hours in one of the houses. He meant the couple of hours literally. Two. Two hours. Not more. The explosions had been far away and it had taken two hours for someone to trigger them. They could use a little of this lead to regain strength. To ensure that we can go further at all, Rolf improved his thoughts. It was the typical pre-war suburbia. All houses kept in the same style. The same, once boring and now feral front gardens. Carports made of light brown wooden beams, connected by large screws and held in place. Children’s bicycles leaning against the wall. Rolled up garden hoses. Before the war he had halfheartedly dreamed of owning such a little house as well. Now he had to smile in bitter disgust as he remembered. He took a look back where René and another guy helped the fallen man back on his feet and took his bag. Rolf should better make a quick decision before the next one toppled over. He decided, assuming that their persecutors would consider it the most unlikely choice, to be a house whose western side lay in ruins. “Go. Get in there,” he said, pointing the barrel of his rifle in the right direction. “We’re taking a break.” He went ahead and opened the front door with a strong kick, which it immediately gave in to. It had already been hanging crooked in her hinges anyway. “If I give you the signal, you’ll go straight down to the cellar, understand?” “Again? Back in a fucking basement again?” “Yes. We need to warm up. But we don’t want light getting out, do we?” The little one didn’t say anything, but she nodded. Rolf searched the house quickly in the light of his flashlight before catching up with the others. It had already been plundered. He had thought so. Nevertheless, he found some useful clothes in the cupboards, which would benefit his miserable trail of the wretched. But they should rest first. He led them down. Then he paused again. A pair of winter boots that should fit the little one. Soon they had unloaded their bags and huddled close together on the floor of the washroom, which lay under the collapsed part of the building. As if it were a matter of course, they had taken out the only folding chair in the room behind the washing machine and set it up for Rolf. You’ve been well brought up, you poor bastards, huh?, he thought. In quick order he pointed to three of the big bags and backpacks laying on the floor in front of him. “Gas burner. Food. Blankets and sleeping bags. We’ll just take a short break. For pissing and shitting, you go next door to the boiler room. Try not to make too much of a mess. We’ll have to move on soon, so don’t get too comfortable. Before we leave, anyone who thinks they need it can get some more caffeine pills or a little speed. Now make sure it gets warm in here and make yourself something to eat.” At first, movement in the group was slow. Again it was the little one who took the initiative, closely followed by René. When the others saw that Rolf allowed them to move freely and do things as they saw fit, some of the others followed their example, and soon four of the gas burners were on fire, and cans were heated on two. It became warmer and warmer in the cellar, whose only window Rolf had hung up with his jacket. Since they did not light wood fires, the fumes were kept within limits, and it was sufficient for the short time they would be here to leave only the door a crevice wide open. Rolf watched them eat and how the first timid conversations got going. They were led with quiet, whispering voices, but Rolf was still filled with a sense of satisfaction not felt for a long time to see them seemingly slowly behaving like real people again. When they had finished eating, he began to explain the weapons and how they worked. On purpose, he had only taken relatively simple weapons for them. He didn’t need any accidents, didn’t want to experience that someone accidentally shot a fully automatic burst of fire into his own people. Tighten cock, aim, pull trigger. Repeat from the start. Don’t put your thumb behind your sleigh. Chamber the first bullet. Never forget about this bullet in the chamber. The shotgun holds seven bullets. You have to push the bullets in one at a time. Here you go. Don’t waste a shot on someone more than twenty yards from you. That had become Bastian’s doom, Rolf believed, but he kept the thought to himself. Instead, he continued to give instructions and tips until nothing came to his mind and he felt that he had prepared them in the best possible way, regarding the circumstances. When Rolf had finished his weapons briefing, the girl asked: “All well and good. But tell me, what’s your name?” “Rolf. And yours?” “I am Maria. That’s René...” Rolf nodded. He already knew that. “... the one who couldn’t go any further before is Lennart, Daniela and Greta and Stefanie are sitting down there. Everybody calls that guy Huber. Then there’s Martin, Julian and Richard. The old lady’s name is Marianne.” Each person addressed nodded briefly in Rolf’s direction when she or he was introduced. Rolf thought the interview was over. Would have been all right with him, but Maria continued. “Why did you get us out of there? I mean, what’s in it for you? And where are you taking us? To a settlement? Someplace safe? And why didn’t all that noise we made startle anyone? I don’t mean anyone else but the...” «... Degenerate. I... they call them Degenerates or Degs,” Rolf just interjected before Maria continued. “...so the Degenerates, yes. I mean, Frankfurt is a huge city, there must be more groups and settlements than those of these Degenerates, right? Why haven’t we seen a soul since we’ve been here? Why...” It´s not their fucking settlement. It is mine ... Rolf realized that he could not avoid telling them the latest story of the city of ruins. He did so without glossing over the role he had played in these events. Even while they were running, he had thought about it and had come to the conclusion that it would be better to play with open cards than with small intrigues, tricks and half-truths, as he had used them in his time as Ivan’s right hand to ensure that the balance and morale in the camp did not tilt. In the end, that hadn’t worked out very well. So he told them everything, and he could see their disappointment as it crystallized that he would not lead them to a safe place or, in any way, to a promised land. When he finished, he took a look at his wristwatch. “That’s the way it is. I can understand that one or the other might be a disappointed. I want to make it clear once again that none of you is a prisoner anymore. Anyone can go wherever they want. Still, I think we have the best chance of staying together. There are two
wardrobes full of clothes upstairs that nobody needs anymore. I’ll give you ten more minutes to serve yourselves, then I’ll move on. Those who would like to come with me are cordially invited. I wish you all the best... and good luck.” With these words Rolf, who had meanwhile sat down on the floor, stood up and took his jacket away from the small window. He put it on, grabbed his guns and backpack and went upstairs. Ten minutes later, everyone was there. Good. Keep going.
Milan
Milan sat on one of the horses that he and his father’s people had taken from Viktor’s riders and thought about how close triumph and defeat sometimes were to each other. His first recent triumph had been to successfully shadow Viktor’s people and find out where their prisoners were hiding. His second triumph lay in the skillful way in which he had put Viktor’s men out of action at the station. Tough luck, little centurion. For a brief moment, the thought of the little piece of tongue he had left, wrapped in dog skin and carried in his jacket pocket, gave him consolation until the thought of his recent defeat destroyed that feeling again. He had led them into the midst of the ghost’s booby-traps. And that despite the fact that he knew that this sneaky, disgusting creature loved to use them. It had been overzealous. The desire to please his father and also the fact that he had considered himself invulnerable due to his recent successes. Well, he actually hadn’t been wounded. But he had lost a third of his squad. The fact that they were on the way on the captured horses - at least those of them who could handle horses - had fortunately led to his hunting party, which also consisted of runners, being rushing through the city far apart due to their speed difference when the booby traps exploded. I can’t imagine how many would have gotten killed if it had been any different. When it had begun to rain the flesh of horses and humans down on him, he almost passed out in shock. After the chaos had settled and he could think clearly again, some time already had passed. He had immediately started to make an inventory, while the runners, who had caught up in the meantime, helped the wounded to the afterlife. He still justified his decision not to return to the station and report to his father to himself, even though it had been almost an hour ago. On the one hand: His father must have heard the explosions in his headquarters in the station as well. If he’d been worried, he wouldn’t have waited for Milan to come back. No. He would have taken the initiative and sent him more men if he hadn’t even come out himself. The other: Milan had a vivid example of his father’s dealings with losers in his mind. When he left, Viktor had still been alive, somewhere deep inside the maltreated lump of flesh his father had turned his body into. He looked really stupid, with no jaws and those horse ears. Either way. It was not a good idea to now look his father in the eye without having anything to show him to make up for the loss of the men. Milan bridled his horse and looked back. Seven riders were still there, and about twenty runners who were almost at the end of their rope. The less of them survived to tell their father of his lack of caution, the better. Stupid only that Milan knew exactly that he would need every single one of them if he wanted to kill the ghost. When Milan looked at the tracks in the slush, he could not help but admire his father’s strategic abilities. It was really easy to follow the ghost and its new protégés through the city, even in the dim light of the moon and the oil lamps and torches. So Milan could afford to let his runners rest for a while. He gave the appropriate order. He himself remained in the saddle. He sent two men on horses ahead to scout the way. While he unwrapped the remains of Viktor’s tongue to strengthen himself, he looked at the surroundings. Everything was still full of old-time idols. The houses alone. They still refused to die even though they had not been inhabited for so long. He would have loved to have them all collapse with a snap of his finger. And with them all the books, televisions, radios and computers - all those relics that proved that people before the war thought they were better than God himself - to be buried and destroyed once and for all. Forever. Anywhere in the world. So that their new way of life could finally swing to deserved greatness. He believed in what his father had preached to him. His father had also been the one who had given him the meat of a man to eat for the first time. Milan could not understand how some sons and daughters could reject the wisdom of their parents purely on principle. And then some actually had the guts to whine when they were punished for their stubbornness. He wasn’t like that. He was a good son. He swallowed the piece of tongue he had chewed on and wrapped the rest back in the dog’s skin. They had rested long enough. Milan now led his people slower and more cautiously. He had learned his lesson about booby traps. The two riders he had sent out rejoined him after he had advanced for about half an hour. “Did you see anything?” “The tracks still lead north. The group still seems to be complete.” Milan had the bodies counted that lay in front of Viktor´s hiding place that the ghost had invaded. A good dozen men and women and some of Viktor’s people. Almost all the others, the injured, were weak, emaciated and frightened he had slaughtered. They hadn’t resisted. Maybe one or the other had managed to crawl away, but you could neglect them. Those who are still with the ghost surely were in a similarly bad condition. He could feel that he would soon have caught up with them. He thanked his two spies with succinct words, admonished them to watch out for wires stretched across the road in narrow places, and sent them ahead again. Milan wondered for a second whether the men were aware that, in addition to their function as scouts, they also fulfilled a mine-clearance function. Then he decided it didn’t matter if they knew. All that mattered was that they obeyed. And that they did. He made his horse go faster and for the next fifteen minutes he daydreamed about how he would triumphantly return to the station and present his father with the head of the ghost. Then the thought occurred to him that his father would take more pleasure in creating a living work of art from the body of this impertinent dog. It would certainly take a lot of cutting, sawing and bone breaking for his father to be satisfied with his work. He was very self-critical.
Maria
Maria was the first to climb the gentle hill. In front of her lay a vast, former farmland. One could still see that there once had been human intervention here, but soon this would be a forest, she thought. She stopped next to a scrawny, crooked tree to catch her breath and let the others pass her. Rolf and René had run close behind her. René occasionally asked the taller and older man questions, who answered rather monosyllabically. Nevertheless Maria did not have the feeling that Rolf was disturbed by those questions. It was just his way. The others followed closely. They passed to Maria, one by one. Miriam and Richard. Greta and Daniela helped Marianne. Then came Lennart, Stefanie and Julian. The last person who passed her was Huber. Some of them had accepted Rolf’s offer and taken caffeine pills or one of the other pills. They did indeed seem energetic, but when she took a closer look, Maria noticed a false, feverish glow that shone in their eyes. Playing for time. Just as she was about to follow him, Huber stopped and turned to her. “You’re a filthy little whore. I’m really glad if this is over soon and I don’t have anything to do with you anymore. Disgusting filthy cunt.”, he hissed. Maria said nothing about it. For one thing, because she didn’t have the words. Did this ungrateful idiot have nothing else in mind but to reproach her? In a situation like this? On the other hand - and it was difficult for her to admit this fact - she didn’t want to make a scene. Because of the unity within their small group, but also because she didn’t want Rolf to think badly of her. She was angry with herself. He won’t care much what I did to stay alive, will he? He had dealt with people like their kidnappers before. He even gave them a name. Degenerates, he called them. He had to assume that they had all been used, didn’t he? Still. It wasn’t necessary for him to know, that she had gained advantages by spreading her legs. Not only for me, she added internally. Not only for me. Maybe then he’d consider her less salvageable if he knew what she had done. Maria was aware that she was probably just suffering from some kind of strange hero worship as far as her savior was concerned, but that did not prevent her from
actually being ashamed for the first time in quite a while. That won’t get you anywhere, stupid cow. Pictures forced their way into her mind. Pictures of filthy cocks and fingers and hands that groped and pressed and rubbed her flesh. She got wet and there was nothing she could do about it. No wonder. That’s how she trained herself. It’s your own fault. Would she ever get that mechanism out of her head? She did not know. And Huber, that asshole, had no right to judge her. And that she had yelled at the great man to simply leave the wounded lying - that had probably saved their lives. Those of all of them. Yes. Huber´s too. If she had not insisted, the degenerates would have caught up with them long ago, Maria was sure of that. Yeah. I did everything right. But deep down inside, something of Huber’s words stayed behind. Something had nested deep within in her head, way back. It grew there, she felt it, and there was nothing she could do about it. She went on. Her gaze pierced into Huber’s back. They didn’t fuck you often enough, did they? Then she forced herself to stop thinking about it and joined Rolf and René. A few minutes later they had crossed the farmland and Rolf led them straight into a forest. The conifers that bent under the slowly melting snow load stood relatively far apart, suggesting that this forest area had once been planned by man. Probably as part of a reforestation operation. She turned to Rolf. “Are you sure it’s a good idea? Why are you leading us in here?” “Think. Then you’ll come up with it on your own,” he replied grumpy, remained silent for a second and then added: “Sorry. I haven’t had company in a long time. I’m afraid my manners have suffered a little. On the one hand we can’t be seen so fast in here, and on the other hand the branches are hanging so low that these assholes will have to get down from their horses and thus progress slower.” “I see. You’re right, I think. I could have figured it out myself.” For half an hour they trudged on through the snow until the weakest of them, Marianne and Stefanie, began to stay behind. Rolf noticed it when he threw a look back, turned around and went to them. He will motivate them to go on, Maria thought and tried to penetrate deeper into the forest in front of them with his eyes. Was that a fence? She looked closer. Her first impression was confirmed. A barbed-wire fence at least three meters high stretched from left to right across her entire field of vision. Oh, shit. “Rolf! Rolf? We’re not getting anywhere here, I think. There’s a fence, and...” Then she fell silent. Who said you had to take such things for granted? The obstacle was just a few taut wires, damn it. René, who had stopped beside her, seemed to have thought the same thought as she had. Somewhat laboriously he pulled the heavy sports bag from his shoulders, which he had chosen to carry after the first rest. “There’s tools in here, I think. We’ll cut that fucking fence down.” He gave her a smile and she was a little better. Rolf had somehow got the two people left behind fit again and brought the group closer together. Just like a sheepdog. She had to laugh, and when she saw René’s irritated facial expression, she laughed even more. René and Maria set to work and cut the meshes and the barbed wire with zeal, but still methodically. A few meters further on, on one of the posts holding up the fence, there was a sign. Neither René, Rolf nor Maria noticed it and none of the others noticed it either.
Brenner: The Gospel of Madness (Book 5 of 6) Page 2