The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two

by G. Wells Taylor

  Menace passed over the Prime’s face. “I need help?”

  “Not in the least. But qualified assistance that you can trust, is rare.” Tiny set his cigarette in the ashtray. “I can tell that you’re feeling the pinch these days with the Change and all. More than likely a time is coming when there will be nothing but trouble.”

  The Prime glowered.

  “In exchange for the nun I can offer you three guns.” Tiny watched for reaction. He knew he was taking the path of least resistance, but he could tell the Prime was too tough to break down for the quick sale. “You can check our files, you’ll see we worked for the government as Regulators in the first years.”

  “I have Operatives, City Enforcement Officers, the whole Westprime Defense Force at my disposal.” The Prime took a drink. “I need you?”

  “We’ll do anything and enjoy it.” Tiny summoned up his most dangerous face. “We like to get paid for it, but we’ll do whatever you ask. You decide where you can use us.” Tiny walked around the bar. “Doesn’t get simpler than that.”

  The Prime shifted uncomfortably on his stool. The salesman walked over and took the next seat.

  “We’ve been living by the sword for over a hundred years, Mr. Prime.” Tiny let that sink in. “And we’ve buried every gunman who thought he was better.”

  The Prime listened. A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.

  “And sir.” The salesman sipped his drink. “We have schooled ourselves in all the deadly arts.”

  The Prime burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you little shyster bastard!” He pounded the bar. “You come here and pitch yourself and your partners like I need you more than my entire defense force. Do you know we’re being monitored? If I make a signal, twenty Enforcers will come in here and beat you until you give us Sister Cawood.”

  “But you won’t, Mr. Prime.” Tiny tipped his drink until the ice cubes rubbed his nose. “You’re not a stupid man. You’ve got to realize that I’ve survived in a very dangerous business for a very long time. I wouldn’t come here like this unarmed, without some kind of back up plan.”

  “Bunch of talk!” The Prime looked around nervously.

  “Maybe, but if it isn’t?” The salesman smiled.

  “Mr. Tiny, you’ve got nerve.” The Prime’s eyes grew dark, and then twinkled with frustration or madness. “I’ll give you that.” The Prime’s manner hinted at absurdity. “Fine, give me Cawood, and you’re hired.”

  “Almost done.” Tiny reached out and shook the Prime’s powerful hand. “As a sign of good faith, I’d like a retainer of a hundred thousand dollars just to cover our expenses. And so we can get set up in town.”

  “Ransom too,” the Prime hissed. “You want a job, and payment for the nun!” The big man chuckled and gestured at the windows. “If you knew what was happening out there, you’d laugh along.” He smiled sickly. “I’ll give you the money, cash, when I see Cawood.” He chortled. “Money’s irrelevant.”

  “Not to me, sir.” Tiny showed his teeth.

  “Fine, I’ll have the money sent up.” The Prime’s smile flexed unnaturally. His eyes glimmered like coals. “Try anything and you’ll die.”

  “Understood.” Tiny stepped off his stool, releasing the Prime’s hand. “Thanks for the drink.” He wiped his palm on his jacket pocket. “If I could make a call, I’ll tell my partners to bring her up?”

  “She’s in the Tower?” the Prime asked, incredulous.

  “Used her key too,” Tiny said and nodded.

  79 – Primed for Action

  The Prime needed, fuck, yearned to question his captive. When you know the God-wife Cawood before me, all the world will tremble. What the hell did that mean? Knowing was Bible-talk for fucking, so that was easy enough. The world trembling was another matter. Events were moving at dangerous speeds and he had to deal with riddles. That could prove lethal to his plans, even heaven forbid, to the leader of Westprime. Earth shattering Powers were on the move and he was doing hostage deals and job interviews with gangsters. He took a breath. Was it overconfidence?

  He had the First-mother. I can’t wait for a piece of that. The Demon organ twitched with sinister anticipation. Cawood was almost in his grasp. Nice to get a piece of that too. With a single command, General Topp had orders to fry ‘B’ group targets in the other primes. And his Final Solution was ready too. At the first sign of betrayal or defeat, the Prime would burn the City to cinders.

  So why so glum?

  He just needed to check in. He needed something concrete to work with. His plans were in place but this was based on what his captive said or insinuated. Oh, never a straightforward story. Nothing obvious—it was always fucking riddles. Oh, I taught him a thing or two about those fucking riddles over the years. But it seemed the Divine Compact governed the beast even in bondage. Which meant that so much of what he had set in motion had depended on augury and coercion. And you know what they say about confessions gained from torture.

  “Stop it!” he growled to himself and hurried along the corridor to his office. His Demon organ twitched to life as he thought of his captive and the day they caught him.

  Fifty years before, he received a call from Westprime Radar Defense alerting him to a “situation.” Two objects flying twice the speed of sound were spotted approximately two hundred miles south of the City of Light and closing. None of the other cities would lay claim to them. F-45 jetfighters were scrambled. They were the top of the line in reverse engineered battle technology. They closed on the targets in minutes.

  And things got weird.

  Colonel Nathan Grant, a veteran of three pre-Change wars reported seeing Angels flying in a south to north trajectory at close to Mach 2. Angels. Everybody had a big laugh about that one until he clarified.

  “Angels you assholes,” he reported: “Angels like you’d see in the Bible.” And a quote: “Nasty fuckers too with Roman armor and swords.”

  The chuckles stumbled awkwardly around defense control until Grant’s wingman Cubby Livingston confirmed the sighting.

  Two Angels—one flying in hot pursuit of the other were locked in mortal combat. That was confirmed later by radar operators who watched the two blips on the screen perform a fantastic dogfight. The blips engaged again and again at incredible speeds and altitudes. The pilots reported flying through shockwaves and seeing blasts of fire. Then one of the targets disappeared from the radar. The Prime later watched tapes of the fight on monitors in his office.

  Then the pursuing Angel engaged the jetfighters.

  After one pass there was nothing on the radar. Half the Westprime Air Defense was in the air minutes later.

  Rescue and fire crews were dispatched toward columns of thick black smoke. The F-45’s were scattered over a couple miles of blackened terrain. They found Grant writhing in the remains of his parachute. He was severed across the legs and one arm. The wounds were cauterized. He reported that the Angel had taken his jet out with one chop of a flaming sword. He would survive but the Prime didn’t think there was much point. The sword didn’t just remove his legs. The wingman’s body was never recovered.

  It was supposed that the blip that vanished had somehow slipped under the radar but the Prime saw another possibility. He ordered up one of his personal helicopters and gave its navigator the information regarding the unidentified aircraft’s last location. The navigator set up a search grid in an area fifty miles from the City over which the second blip had flown before disappearing.

  They reached the location in less than twenty minutes. For aircrew, the Prime had chosen his own pilot, navigator and two Operatives he kept as constant bodyguards. They all died later in an unavoidable and catastrophic accident. The Prime chuckled, remembering. You’ve got to be careful around jet fuel.

  When the pilot saw a naked man draped over the low branches of a scorched and smoking cedar tree, the Prime ordered the helicopter to land. He remembered the scene very well. The injured man had a great mane of dark brown hair. His features
were European, definitely European. He was without apparent injury—a masterpiece of muscle and sinew—a beauty so profound the Prime immediately recognized its supernatural underpinnings. But he wasn’t breathing.

  The Prime ordered the corpse taken to the Tower for dissection. The Tower was under construction then, and his offices were rising with it. On the way back to the City—the corpse took a breath, and showed signs of returning to life. It was brought in through one of the Authority safe houses on Zero because the Prime didn’t want competing interests to know about his discovery. The creature did not regain consciousness for three years.

  A good thing too, the Prime remembered, since it had taken his Demon Ally that long to teach the incantations that would keep the thing captive. They installed its prison at the base of the Tower and there it stayed for decades—probably going mad in isolation.

  In time the Prime had learned new and better techniques for drawing information from it. The thing could see the future, had told him about the First-mother, and the importance of knowing the God-wife. It foretold the coming Apocalypse and saw the Prime ruling the world.

  It was all coming together, and that made a certain sense, but the Prime barely trusted his own eyes any more, let alone prophesy tortured out of a captured Angel.

  80 – Fugitives

  The way out of the Tower and away into the dark and scary tunnels was too much for some of the forever children. They were strange creatures with long and often troubled pasts; so many of them were reduced to near catatonic states by the dark, by their time imprisoned in the Tower, and by the possibility that they may actually be free. They were afraid to believe it.

  So Dawn and Meg did their best to encourage any of the frightened kids they came across, the Squeakers, as the Quinlan boys called them. Eventually, Meg got busy helping a group of scared kids ahead, and Dawn got caught encouraging a group of little ones who were crying behind, and so they lost track of each other as they ran through the dark.

  But they both had their hands full. No sooner would Dawn get one forever child running again than another pair would turn to the tunnel wall and start crying.

  She’d whisper to them about Nurserywood. She’d tell them about Arthur the giant and most came around pretty quickly. She was afraid that some of the kids who felt the worst would panic and run off in terror, but then the grownup voice in her head just told her to do the best she could. You’ve got to get away too, Dawn!

  And her memories of Nursie scared away any argument over that.

  As she carried on, Dawn was amazed to see other kids appearing at the sides of the tunnels and on ladders, others like Liz and the Quinlan twins and that curious Conan with the helmet and finger-thing. These kids also wore plastic, metal and fiberglass armor and carried steel cutting weapons and small guns.

  They also referred to the more frightened kids as Squeakers but were quickly silenced if Dawn gave them her worst and angriest look.

  Then Liz came back to her. The little girl chain-smoked her way through the dark, pushing past all those little white nightshirts.

  “Come on,” Liz puffed, grabbing Dawn’s arm. “Sorry to let you slide back.” The little girl looked around worriedly. “Where’s Conan?”

  But Dawn had no idea where the little Nightcare fighter was. He moved like a ghost in the first place, and running in the dark had left her disoriented.

  She winced and pulled away when Liz grabbed her roughly by the arm. Dawn stopped and pointed a finger at Liz’s little chest. “That’s enough pulling.” Tears started in her eyes—but she steadied her voice. “And enough pushing.” When she saw the tough girl’s worried expression she softened. “I’m coming.”

  They’d been jogging for some time already, and the tunnels were full of forever kids and electric and fear smells and none of it was very pleasant. At a certain point where the underground lights were brighter Dawn saw the horrible stains on her nightshirt and realized some of the bad smells must be coming from her. She kept her mind from the ugly idea by turning her thoughts to running. Dawn was a good runner and she smiled when Liz had to stop lighting cigarettes to keep up.

  “Who are the new kids?” Dawn asked pointing at a surly looking black boy with a handgun and motorcycle helmet.

  “Nightcare fighters,” Liz puffed, her weapons clanking, “sent by the Creature to get stragglers.”

  And Dawn was suddenly encouraged by the notion that the scared kids, the ones who might get lost would be helped by these more experienced fighters.

  “What’s the Creature?” she asked, realizing with dread that she already had her fill of creatures.

  “You’ll see,” Liz said, then hacked and spat.

  It wasn’t long before they had to slow, as the way through sewers and tunnels got crowded with forever children. They hurried as best they could, past groups of kids sitting and huddling, and further on some eating and drinking being tended to by Nightcare fighters and strange grownups.

  “Nightcare workers,” Liz explained, noticing Dawn’s dismay at the adults. But she didn’t say more.

  Then as the going got thick and crowded, she started to recognize some of the forever kids she’d known during her stay at the Tower. These stood up, some even clapped and cheered when they saw her—before being hushed.

  Dawn just blushed, and blushed more when she heard them whispering the words: First-mother.

  “Why do they call me that?” she said, when they came to a wall with a curious opening—like someone pasted bricks all over a board and nailed hinges to it. There were big Nightcare fighters standing all around it, looking very grim and fearsome.

  “The Creature calls you that,” Liz said and then chuckled. “She has her own reasons like usual.”

  Liz led the way through the strange little door and into a low, dark room full of barrels and racks of bottles. There were lights, but they were low. There was the smell of food and the air was dusty.

  A group of forever kids in armor stood beside a curious looking pair. One was a strange little man, a dwarf, with thick moustache and bowler hat. His blue eyes flashed at Dawn. Beside him stood a big girl, tall and almost pre-Change eleven or twelve. She had serious blue eyes and long straight hair.

  The tall girl stepped forward, leaning slightly, with elbows bent and her fingertips touching. She was wearing a long dress that touched the top of her boots and was covered in a pale cloak.

  “The Creature saw your coming, First-mother,” the tall girl said, her shoulders dipped, almost a bow. “We are pleased to meet you.”

  Dawn didn’t know what to do, but felt awkward and silly in her dirty nightshirt and slippers.

  “Thank you,” she said not knowing what else to say and then her ears burned. “But I don’t like that name anymore. I know it’s supposed to be grand and everything, but I don’t like it.” Tears started rolling over her downy cheeks. “I’m Dawn.”

  “The Creature understands, little Dawn,” the tall girl said and opened her arms to embrace her. The little forever girl accepted the hug and just started crying and crying. She was shocked when the tall girl’s arms suddenly tightened.

  Dawn looked up, and a shudder ran through her.

  “Where’s Conan?” the Creature asked, her face filled with dismay. The small man in the bowler hat cursed.

  81 – Battle at the End of the World

  Captain Jack Updike was saddened by the loss of Able Stoneworthy. Oliver Purdue might have been content with the notion that Able had taken the moral high road, but deep down Updike felt their friend’s action was a betrayal. They had marched this far with the Army of God with one goal in mind—to punish the sinners in the City. Updike had worked for a century to bring this day about, and it was a bad time for Stoneworthy to indulge his doubts. Updike did not fool himself with excuses, because that was what it was. Stoneworthy doubted. The Lord had commanded the destruction of the moneylenders and their City. He had sent Angels to assist them in the mission. What more did Stoneworthy want?

>   The Bible was full of instances where God commanded the total annihilation of a people, livestock and all, so Updike would not presume to apply a human moral code. There were no actual children anymore; therefore, there were no innocents to protect.

  General Bolton gamboled over to the rocky rise where Updike had been sitting in solitary contemplation.

  “We’re going to have the Devil’s own time crossing the open approach to the City.” Updike noticed that the General’s jaw had new stitching in it. “They’ve got more tanks and armor than we can easily handle, and they’ve been doing trench work and laying mines. They’re trying to canalize us. They’ve got F-55 jetfighters and attack helicopters doing flybys and practice runs. Those have got enough firepower to decimate us—won’t stop us, but what gets to the other side won’t be pretty. Now, we’ve also got our brother Army to the southwest beating time to get here, which is good, because there are more of them than us. They’ll spread out the City’s line of defense and draw some of the fire. Any way you look at it, this trip is going to be a rough ride.”

  Updike listened to the General’s attempt at bravado. In truth he couldn’t care less about the military superiority of the City Defenders. Updike’s was not that kind of an army—their commands came from on high—from God Himself. They had started this mission without survivors and no one planned to live through the battle.

  “General.” Updike kept his voice low. He found that words spoken above a whisper intensified the pain in his head. “Prepare the troops for battle. I will bless them.”

  “Captain Updike, I...” Bolton’s face was a leathery discord of expression. He took a breath into his dead lungs, and let it out with a wheezing laugh. “I was going to say that we’ll be slaughtered in an all out attack, but that doesn’t apply.” He looked down at his fingers. “Nobody wins; we’re here to end it.” The General’s shoulders sagged so much that Updike thought he was going to fall apart. Then Bolton’s face rose smiling, and he saluted. “So we’ll end it. I’ll prepare the troops, sir.”