Death Got No Mercy

by Al Ewing

  "And San Francisco, that Satan City, will die alongside us!"

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Conscience

  Not much to say to a thing like that.

  Cade just stared for a second, then looked back at the bomb. Fuel-Air looked pretty confused as well. Cade grunted, then turned back to the Pastor.

  "This won't do that."

  A bomb that size wasn't going to destroy San Francisco - a nuke might, but not this.

  Cade didn't know what the hell the Pastor was getting at.

  The Pastor looked at the floor for a second. "It's... it's enough to destroy Clearly's territory. Golden Gate Park." He muttered the words, suddenly looking smaller, like a boy caught out in a lie. Then he looked back up at Cade, defiant, his old self again. "With that Devil, that Satan gone, San Francisco, the city of sin, of filth, of pre-version, well, that city will no longer exist. You see?" He smiled, but his eyes twitched left and right. It wasn't a lie he'd been caught in, exactly - it was a vision. A vision of the apocalypse, an apocalypse he could bring on at his whim.

  Now he was having to face up to the reality, which was that after his damned bomb went off, he was going to have to pick up the pieces and carry on, most likely.

  "I... haven't decided on a new name for this city, but it will be one that reflects the glory of the Lord..." the Pastor tailed off, shuffling in place for a moment, then turned to the silent guards. "Brother Josiah, Brother Ezekiel, you go on and help Brother Cade load the bomb onto the truck. I... I will be praying..." He shuffled away, looking lost.

  Cade wondered what kind of chink he'd just seen in the man's armour. The Pastor was on the verge of winning the war he'd set himself, or losing it decisively and for good, and in the face of that he seemed to have lost some of his fire. It left Cade wondering just how much of the Pastor was tied up in Clearly and his supposed evils, how much the Pastor needed an enemy, a Satan to battle. If he lived through what was coming, who'd he pick next?

  Cade figured he knew the answer. Once his enemies to the south were all dead, the Pastor would start looking north.

  To Muir Beach.

  Unless the Pastor happened to be sitting on top of the bomb when it went off, mind. Cade filed that thought away for later.

  Right now, he needed to be practical. He needed what was left of the Pastor's forces if he wanted to put a stop to what Clearly's love children were going to do to San Francisco and all points north. And he needed that bomb. No doubt about that.

  Something occurred to him as he put his hands on the wheeled trestle and began to push it slowly and gently towards the doors. The Pastor had mentioned a truck. "My truck?"

  Ezekiel - or it might have been Josiah - nodded, almost grunting the reply at him through lips that barely parted. "Ayuh. Red pickup. S'yours." He snorted and then spat mucus on the floor, as if the effort required to speak had clogged his sinuses. Cade frowned. On the one hand, it was nice to meet a fella who had the same attitude to talking as he did. On the other hand...

  Damn, dog. Woody's going to be fucking pissed if you blow up his momma's pickup. Better get an excuse ready.

  For a bomb, Fuel-Air had a point. Woody wasn't going to take this one too kindly.

  The children watched the bomb rolling past them with wide eyes, faces lost in a kind of religious awe - man, this is some Ark of the Fuckin' Covenant Indiana Jones shit, said the bomb - while the womenfolk busied themselves clearing the old urine-soaked mattresses and other detritus out of the way of its path, fearfully, as if any sudden bump in the bomb's way might wake it to destructive life. Cade wondered how much jostling the bomb would be able to take. The last thing he wanted was for the damned thing to go off right there, or in the truck on the way over, although at least he wouldn't know too much about it if it did.

  I'll make it quick, dog. Promise.

  "Shut up, Fuel-Air," muttered Cade. One of the children gave him a strange look.

  The truck was waiting for them outside. A couple of the men had gone to fetch it from where the Pastor had hidden it, and now they stood next to it, waiting to help load the bomb onto the back and then lash it down with straps and duct tape. It was a slow operation, and a delicate one, but it was done by the time one o'clock rolled around.

  Cade wasn't too happy about that. Things were moving a mite too fast. If what he had in mind was going to work, the Pastor and his men needed to get a little less efficient.

  He slowed things down some by making a couple of unworkable suggestions - for about a half hour they tried to fit six men onto the back of the truck, clambering gingerly over the damn bomb like it was the world's most dangerous climbing frame - but eventually the Pastor took matters into his own hands and suggested Josiah and Ezekiel ride on the truck and the other men follow on behind.

  That suited Cade fine. It'd keep them at a walking pace.

  By two, they were ready to set out. The sun was still high in the sky, a little too high for Cade's liking, and he thought a little on what he could do about that as he gunned the engine and peeled out, driving the truck out of the parking lot and turning down Laguna.

  In the passenger seat, the Pastor clicked his tongue once, then peeled his lips back from his teeth. "Brother Cade..." He almost spat the words, like the bitter peel of some poison fruit. "Brother Cade..."

  He was silent for a moment, as if weighing his words. Cade didn't speak. The truck rolled down Laguna, the few men left in the Pastor's force tramping behind, armed and ready.

  Slowly, the Pastor ran his tongue over dry, cracked lips, his head slowly turning to face Cade as the scenery trundled lazily past them. "Brother Cade... I do not lightly treat what the Lord provides with suspicion, for my God is a God who provides much, and mysterious, oh yes, mysterious and terrible are his ways... but." The sentence was cut off with clicking teeth, and there was a long pregnant pause before the soft, hissing voice resumed. "I know you hate me, Brother Cade. I know it, you need not hide the fact. You despise me and all I stand for, all of my works. All of my... judgements." His slim fingers crept towards his revolver.

  Cade watched out of the corner of one eye.

  The truck rolled on.

  "You need not hide it and you don't, Brother Cade, it flows out of you in waves of disdain... and bile..." He chucked, his fingers stroking the butt of the gun. "And you could no more hide your true nature from the Lord above, no, nor his servant, than you could hide a crow amongst pure white doves..." He chuckled. Ice chips cascading onto a steel coffin-lid. "As I said, I do not question what the Lord provides, even when He brings me a wild beast such as you. For His wisdom is infinite and ineffable, yes it is, and not to be questioned by fallible men. But... curiosity compels me." He licked his lips again, before they dragged back in that awful cracked-paper smile. "Why join with us, Brother Cade? Why lend your strength in the service of the Lord when your hate for His glor-ious presence is writ in you so very deep?"

  Hell of a question.

  Cade figured honesty was his best policy, or something near enough to it. Didn't change the fact he was going to have to make yet another damned speech. Cade figured he'd said more since coming into this city than in his whole life before, and it was starting to wear on him some. He was looking forward to some peace and quiet, even if it was in a grave.

  "Clearly's dangerous. You ain't." He shrugged, then figured he''d best elaborate. "You ain't gonna hurt me and mine." He looked down at the Pastor's revolver, then into the Pastor's eyes, then back on the road. "Clearly will. Needs fixing."

  Cade's speeches were getting a little more to the point.

  The Pastor chuckled, glass knives rattling on a surgeon's tray. "A practical man. A worldly man too, oh Lord. Forgive him his great hubris." He looked over at Cade again, fingers brushing slowly over the police special, as if savouring it. "What makes you think I'll allow you to leave, Brother Cade?"

  Cade frowned, then shrugged. "Don't try it. You've still got men living."

  The Pastor stared at Cade fo
r a moment, then nodded, bringing his fingers up to tap against one another. "But not many. The cannibals saw to that. I saw men burn, Brother Cade... burn for the Lord's glory, set themselves ablaze that we might show those heathens, those seekers of wealth and blood and worldly treasure and the flesh of men, that we might show them the power and the strength of faith... yes, oh Brother, of faith in the Lord above, the sweet Lord whose guidance and grace are upon us now..." He was working himself up again - he shook like a leaf on a tree, his whole body trembling for a long moment, before he flopped back in the seat and shook his head slowly, as if bringing himself out of some fugue. "Strange they should attack in force like that. They never did before." He smiled, and there was no humour in it. "Coincidence, Brother Cade?"

  Cade shot the Pastor another look. He was getting sick of this.

  "Try. Or don't. Your call."

  The Pastor raised an eyebrow, then smiled that humourless smile of his. "Why, Brother Cade, are we not allies in the service of the Lord?" He lapsed into silence, idly fingering the butt of the gun for a moment before crossing his arms and staring out of the window at the moving scenery.

  Cade let it rest there. No sense forcing a confrontation - he was still going to need the Pastor's men, or at least need them not to start shooting just at present.

  He checked his watch. Almost three, and they were just passing Post Street. Sun wouldn't be going down for another four hours, maybe five. And if they went much further they'd be in Clearly's territory, and then the shooting would start.

  Hell with it.

  He slammed on the brakes of the truck and turned off the engine, letting it sputter and die. The Pastor sat up straight in his seat, his hand stealing for the pistol. "Brother Cade..."

  "Guard the truck." muttered Cade, opening the driver's side door and swinging himself out. "No cannibals left, but look out for a blue-green van. Clearly's people." He started walking, heading down to the corner where Laguna met Geary Boulevard. He turned, calling back over his shoulder at the blinking Pastor. "Gonna scout. Dangerous here. I'll fix any surprises."

  The Pastor looked back suspiciously at Cade. "Be sure you do, Brother Cade." He licked his lips again, eyes flicking to the side of the road, then back. "You wouldn't be thinking of warning the Devil of our approach, Brother Cade?"

  Cade shook his head, not looking back. "They'd kill me." He felt those icy eyes on his back, and wondered whether the Pastor was going to try anything. But no bullet came. He turned the corner, out of the Pastor's sight, heading down Geary.

  Cade was telling the truth. Warning Clearly wouldn't do any good anyway - they'd only shoot the messenger. The love children were primed to kill him, and they'd do their damnedest to, drugs or no. What Cade needed to do right now was stall for time a little, give the sun some time to crawl across the sky. He kept one eye out for somewhere to hole up for a while, like a coffee place. His attention was nearly caught by something on the other side of the street - HALLOWEEN STORE - but then he noticed there was a coffee place a little way down and in he went. Cade figured he'd stick with what he knew.

  The front window of the place was shattered, and it'd been picked clean a long time ago, but there was a clock on the wall, still keeping time. Battery powered, Cade figured. That was important - he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on the sun's position without being out in the open, and he wanted to be off the street in case the Pastor decided to send some goon to check up on him.

  Wouldn't do to be caught sitting around.

  Lazy-ass motherfucker.

  Cade looked up, and there was Fuel-Air, dressed up in his utilities, flashing his gold tooth. His skin was black and metallic now, gleaming like the casing of a bomb. Every time Cade saw him, he was looking more malevolent, and now it was like he'd absorbed all the black metal evil of the bomb. Almost like everything bad Cade stuck his hand into was retched back up at him by Fuel-Air, grinning, chuckling, swearing, shouting Fuel-Air.

  Cade wasn't a man who worried about his actions too much - at least not before he came to San Francisco. What was done was done, and there wasn't any mileage in fretting over it. But more and more, Fuel-Air was acting like...

  Cade searched for the word.

  ... like a conscience.

  Cade sure as hell didn't need one of those.

  Escpecially considering what he was about to do.

  Damn right you don't, asswipe. You need to be one cold, calculating motherfucker for what you got planned. You need to be the motherfuckin' Terminator. Shit, don't let all those fuckin' innocent people you're gonna wipe out...

  "Not innocent," muttered Cade. And they weren't. Clearly's people took a drug every night that cut them off from any kind of moral reality, and it wasn't a coincidence that there weren't any children or old men there. They'd killed the children and the elderly and burned everything they could find to the ground, no matter how peaceful they'd been since. Their crimes were still there, waiting to come out again, and tonight they were going to walk the night like monsters. No, Clearly's people weren't innocent. No such thing as innocent in San Francisco.

  Wasn't any point getting into a debate with Fuel-Air, he knew. The son of a bitch knew everything he was thinking already. But he had to say something. "They're on drugs..."

  Fuckin' Nancy Reagan! Just say no, motherfuckers! Shit, you ever think not everybody in this world is fucked up the way you are? You caused this shit, dog. You walked in on a fuckin' stalemate that your new buddy, Pastor Nail-You-To-A-Fuckin'-Piece-Of-Wood, was happy to let carry on forever and a day, 'cause he didn't have fuck all else to do with himself! Shit, this place was a regular fuckin' ecosystem until you came to fuck things up...

  Cade shook his head. "Wasn't like that."

  Fuck it wasn't. You make things worse, dog. That's what you do. You come into a situation and make it as bloody and fiery as it's gonna get. You're a fuckin' catalyst for all the shit-fire in the fuckin' world, and you like it that way, 'cause it means you get to kill folks and call it necessity when all it is is your own fuckin' disease taking root. And you been that way ever since the day you were fuckin' born. He grinned, and belched fuel and flames from his bomb-mouth. Shit, don't tell me you don't remember your first kill?

  Cade's mouth twitched, nearly smiling. "Sure. Bastard needed it."

  Fuel-Air sneered. You don't remember shit, dog. That wasn't your first kill, you stupid son of a bitch.

  Cade stiffened. He saw what Fuel-Air was getting at, and he didn't like it much.

  Fuel-Air grinned, teeth gleaming like wires, black metal eyes narrowed.

  Told you you didn't remember. He laughed, a high whine that sounded like something falling from an aeroplane.

  What kind of asshole don't even remember his own mother?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The First Kill

  Cade's mother died in childbirth, of course.

  She was a slight woman, thin and frail, anaemic-looking, sickly and washed out. It was a difficult birth, and though the doctors did everything they possibly could, Cade's mother passed away shortly after delivering the boy.

  Cade's father was never the same after that. His name was Tobias and he worked in construction, and by all accounts he was a man possessed of both uncommon strength and uncommon gentleness, who smiled readily and often. This Cade only found out at his funeral, as Tobias had never displayed such qualities during Cade's life.

  When his wife died, something broke inside Tobias, some essential part of the mechanism that ran him. Some inner gear slipped and snapped, the jagged metal teeth of it tearing at the workings of his soul, damaging them beyond any repair. He began to drink, where he never had before - beer by the case at first, and then when that failed to quiet his demons, rotgut whisky. To begin with, his sister cared for the boy while Tobias went on his benders, and she was one of the few who could calm the man when he came crashing through the door, howling and yelling, hitting out with fists as strong as brick at anyone unlucky enough to get within ten feet of hi
m.

  Cade was thus spared more than an occasional beating from his father, although perhaps it was a blow to the head, delivered at full strength, which landed him a month's stay in a hospital - and this before his first birthday - that accounted for what he became later in life. More likely, he simply absorbed the atmosphere of that first home, a trailer on the edge of a small town near El Paso.

  He grew up quiet - so quiet that most thought him retarded - and serious, a little boy who said nothing but observed much.

  After he'd turned six, his father's sister died. There were some, mostly those few friends she'd kept after moving in with her brother, who said Tobias had worried her into her grave with his drinking and his rages and with the strain of looking after his boy, who surely suffered from autism if not worse - although most treated it as an unavoidable tragedy. Tobias laid the blame elsewhere. On returning from the funeral, tears rolling down his cheeks and a bottle of rotgut in his hand, he had told the boy that he'd murdered twice now, that he was born a killer and a killer he'd remain. Then he beat his hide black and blue with a leather belt.

  Despite this, Tobias remained popular with the construction crew. His drinking was limited to after hours, and he gave little hint of any problems at home, making sure his boy wore long sleeves and hid the bruises when he came around to the site after school. His job was never in danger - in fact, before much time had passed, he found himself promoted to foreman. Success in his career didn't limit his drinking - in fact, it only made him drink more, because there was more to spend on it. Somehow, he always managed to drag himself to work every morning and put in a full day.

  It was as if the time spent beating his only child gave him strength.

  The boy was hospitalised four times over the next two years, but nothing was said. If a doctor did suspect that the broken bones and contusions were caused by something other than a fall down the stairs - despite the fact that there were no stairs in the trailer - he either kept his own counsel on the matter or was unable to break through the twin walls of Tobias' denial and Cade's deep silence to find the truth.