by Lars Teeney
Evan began his search by traveling to different districts of Santa Cruz to scour for signs of L.O.V.E. activity. The problem he was finding was that he was on foot and they were mobile. Vehicles, in general, were a ‘hot commodity’ and most of the slum-dwellers relied upon beasts of burden or motorbikes for transport. After canvassing the slums, he did not detect much activity. He avoided the downtown Deaconess building because he did not want to be singled out as an Apostate by the Church.
On the third day of searching, he was on the verge of giving up. He walked along a rubble-strewn avenue that meandered up into the Santa Cruz Mountains beyond the outskirts of the slums. Evan hadn’t realized he had wandered this far out. Then, a L.O.V.E. armored personnel carrier thundered by, nearly running him down. He had to roll out of the road. The A.P.C. kicked up dust behind it as it hit the unpaved road that led higher into the forested hills.
“Of course!” he thought. They would not be located in the city limits. He started into a jog up the sloping gravel road, intent on finding the L.O.V.E. outpost. As Evan made progress up the road the thick forest closed in around him, and the ambient noise of the slums faded away, replaced with the sounds of crows calling out. He spied some trees had that had been split in two and others that had been riddled with bullet impacts, and still other bore scorch marks. The road seemed to lead on forever and soon he found himself on the verge of giving up again, but as his luck would have it he then caught a glimpse of a spire and weather vane atop a structure obscured by the tree line. He knew that it had to be the L.O.V.E. outpost.
Evan slowed to a walk, relieved that he had found his query. Unexpectedly her heard a low hum emanating from the treetops. He looked up and gazed up a flying object. He had seen Regime drones before, and he knew that L.O.V.E. had detected him. The drone hovered in place, only turning to trace his movement. Then, he heard a sound like a firecracker going off and felt a sharp pain in his shoulder.
“Shit!” he thought when he saw that he had been hit with a tranquilizer dart. He only remembered taken several more steps before the world went dark.
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When Evan awoke he could make a mental checklist of all the signs of a classic interrogation. His head was throbbing; check. He was blindfolded; check. His neural implant was being jammed, replaced by a prolonged sermon by the Reverend Wilhelm Wainwright; check. He felt his limbs restrained to a chair of some sort; check. He hoped that his captors would give him the opportunity to explain himself and to display his combat skills. He was jarred to alertness when he felt his face being slapped repeatedly.
“Wake up, you!” an angry voice yelled out, “You were out snooping where ya shouldn’t have been!”
Evan struggled in his chair and he tried to say something, but all that came out was muffled groans. His blindfold was yanked off and finally he could see. Three Rangers standing over him, clad in their navy blue L.O.V.E. jumpsuits. Whenever Evan saw Rangers previously they had donned their ballistic armor in the field, so this was a novel site. The men that surrounded him looked like they were taking enhancement drugs judging by their overly-developed muscles and jittery dispositions.One of the Rangers grabbed hold of Evan’s head by his dreads and removed his gag.
“I’ll ask you only once—what the hell were you doing skulking around our outpost? Are you an Apostate spy?” a Ranger with a goatee accused. The man seemed to be yearning for an excuse to beat Evan.
“Guys, relax. I came here to enlist. I want to join L.O.V.E.!” Evan confessed, giving a look to each man.
“Are you daft? You can just enlist—we are hand-picked from the Regulars! Now you better offer something better or we’ll be burying your corpse shortly,” a stalky Ranger threatened.
“There’s nothing more to it. I just want to join,” Evan stated matter-of-factly.
“You come pissing around our base with this bloody sword. Where’d you get it?” the wiry Ranger asked. He held the point of the Claymore to Evan’s throat.
“It was a gift from my instructor,” Evan spoke the truth.
“Sure, I’ll buy that. This would fetch a pretty penny on the black market! Cut him loose and stand him up! I want to carve a cross in his chest with this blade!” Two Rangers set upon Evan, cutting his bonds and standing him upright, pinning his arms behind him. The stalky Ranger held the Claymore resting upon his shoulder. He smiled with anticipation of bloodletting. The other two Rangers chuckled.
“Your mistake,” Evan said softly. With one leg, he pushed himself back against the chair, which was bolted into the floor. The force with which he pushed backward was mighty. He sent the two Rangers slamming into the rear wall of the cell. The wind had been knocked out of them. Evan made a hammer fist and struck one Ranger in the throat. He immediately collapsed on his backside; wheezing. Evan pushed the other Ranger into the stalker Ranger who had his sword. He followed up by tackling both the men who became entangled upon each other. They smashed into the front wall of the cell with audible thuds. Evan sent a series of body blows into the midsection of the man who held his sword. The blows loosened his grip on the weapon. Evan disarmed him, then brought the pummel down upon the Rangers skull with a crack. The Ranger dropped; out cold. The last Ranger attempted to pull himself to his feet, but Evan swung the blade and struck the man in the jaw with the flat of the blade, which drained the fight out of him.
Evan looked at the one-way observation window installed in the side wall of the cell and brandished his sword when he spoke,
“Whoever is watching, I hope you took note that I just bested three of your Rangers! I came here to enlist, that’s all I want,” Evan said. He expected that someone had to have been impressed by his display of skill. He stood in silence; waiting for several moments. Then, suddenly, the cell door slid open—three more fully armed and equipped Rangers flooded into the room, surrounding Evan.
“Drop the sword, now!” one demanded, aiming his automatic rifle.
“Okay, okay,” Evan complied and laid the sword at his feet. Another man entered. He donned a handlebar mustache and was quite bulky. He stood with his hands folded behind his back.
“I’m Major Frank. I’m in charge of this outfit. Normally I would have a prisoner who assaults my Rangers executed. But—seeing as how you have brought a huge weakness to my attention, by kicking the crap out of my crack troops—outnumbered at that, I am indebted. I’ll see what I can work out with Intake.” He gave Evan one last look and turned away, ”Get this man a bed and some food,” he said and then was gone. Evan picked up his sword and followed the armored Rangers to a spare bunk.
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Major Frank had been successful in negotiating recruitment of Evan into the Rangers with his superior officers, and so after a week of waiting at the Santa Cruz L.O.V.E. outpost he was put on an A.P.C. that would cross the continent and bring him to the capital, New Megiddo City. When Evan peered out the viewport as the A.P.C. entered the city limits he was awed. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that there were still cities of this size in New Megiddo. He had seen sky-towers in downtown Santa Cruz and vast stretches of slums, but this city had towers as far as the eye could see. Many sleek vehicles could be seen on the highway. The sky was pockmarked with drones flying to and fro. The A.P.C. took an off-ramp and Evan saw a road sign that read “To New Megiddo Divinity Center”. Then he saw it—the massive structures that made up the cross layout of the Divinity Center, the nervous system of New Megiddo. The most imposing and grandest buildings were the Tower of the One and the Church of New Megiddo Central Authority. Huge Gothic-style spires rose up above the city, not to be outdone by any other structure. The Tower of the One, being the Presidential Palace, was positioned at the heart of the Cross, the Central Authority at the head, and the two Regime ministry buildings, the Ministry of State Security, and the Ministry of Defense on the arms.
The A.P.C. Evan was aboard was heading to the Ministry of State Security building, which was headed up by the First Daughte
r, Kate Schrubb. M.O.S.S. oversaw the covert operational force, L.O.V.E., and it was headquartered in the sub-basement levels of the M.O.S.S. building. The A.P.C. approached the M.O.S.S. building and sped around the rear, where a huge bay door groaned open to allow passage into its guts. Down the ramp, the A.P.C went into the depths. At last the A.P.C. ground to a halt and the rear hydraulic ramp sprang to life, hissing as it descended. The recruits who had ridden in the passenger bay unbuckled their harnesses and jogged out of the A.P.C. They then fell in line for inspection. Evan stood at attention, but he couldn’t help feel naked since his dreadlocks had been shaved off.
“Attention Recruits, Inquisitor Rodrigo is on the floor!” A Ranger that flanked the entrance to the vehicle bay shouted. The Inquisitor strode forth in full dress uniform. His L.O.V.E. beret clung to his head meticulously. The Inquisitor clutched his cane behind his back as he strolled down the line, sizing each man and woman up. Evan gazed at him from the corner of his eye; something was amiss about the man. Inquisitor Rodrigo stopped cold when he reached Evan’s position in line. He turned abruptly and stared at Evan with emotionless eyes, and a slight smirk appeared on his face.
“What is your name, recruit?” he asked.
“Evan, sir!” he snapped.
“Evan—what, recruit?” Rodrigo pressed.
“Just Evan, sir. I do not know my last name,” he confessed.
“Not know your last name? How in God’s name did you end up here? Don’t answer,” Rodrigo said, he gave him one last look up and down, with a smirk, then continued his inspection.
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EPILOGUE
The coroner’s van, clad in black with a white cross enclosed in a circle logos blazoned on the sides, was parked crookedly at the curb, outside the tenement building. Other emergency vehicles were present with L.E.D. lights projecting red and blue to interrupt the darkness. A crowd of onlookers had materialized to take in the macabre spectacle. A woman was perched on the rear of an emergency vehicle, her face in her hands. Two community peace officers consoled her. The stretcher drone that bore the body hovered out of the front entrance of the tenement; the black body bag zipped securely around the corpse. The stretcher drone was loaded into the coroner van.
Among the gaggle of spectators was a well-dressed man, clad in a beige overcoat and sporting overly-sculpted hair. He stood taking in the scene, casually smoking a cigarette. He watched the woman with the caramel complexion who was obviously distraught over losing a loved one, being the body in the bag.
“Yes—yes...what is the woman’s name?” he spoke quietly to none in particular. No one paid attention to the man talking to himself; there was too much drama playing out for entertainment-starved, working-class types to miss.
“Greta—Greta Sanchez you say? She has an impressive arrest record as a peace officer, you say?” he continued to ask himself questions about the grieving woman. He saw that a L.O.V.E. agent had approached the woman known as Greta, and he had drawn something from his pocket, holding it in front of her face. It looked to the man, at least from afar, a stash of ‘Database’. The L.O.V.E. agent looked to be aggressively questioning her about the drugs. From her body language, he could see that Greta was disavowing the drugs. He watched as she handed her badge and gun over to one of the officers that previously had consoled her.
“Hey, can you tell me the name of the deceased? I need to make sure we are certain—” he stated. He was silent for a moment, exhaling some smoke, “Oh, yes, okay—Marco you say? You’re sure?” he asked nervously. He kept his eyes on Greta—she seemed to be talking back to the L.O.V.E. agent. Then the two officers grabbed her and held her back from striking the agent. The agent put a finger in her face, said a few words and then turned to walk away. Greta broke down crying once more.
“Alright! I am green-lighting the operation. Make sure you get the body before they begin the autopsy!” he raised his voice slightly, “Out,” he remarked.
He gazed upon Greta one last time, “Hang in there,” he said under his breath. He smashed his spent cigarette underfoot and turned away from the gawking crowd. He strolled down the block. He approached a sleek, red sports car. The driver’s side door opened and the driver ran around the car to get the passenger-side door for the man.
“Sir,” he offered. The well-dressed man nodded and seated himself. The driver slammed the door shut, jumped into the driver’s seat, and started the car. The sports car fishtailed with tires peeling out, then shot down the street at an excess speed.
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Like What You Read?
The story of New Megiddo continues in the novel, “The Apostates” by Lars Teeney. Available now where ebooks are sold!
Acknowledgements:
Debra Payne, Clifton Hill, Jon Toler, Beta readers, Reviewers, and Critiquers! Also anyone who purchased the novella!
Inquires should be emailed to:
Lars Teeney
[email protected]
http://larsteeney.tumblr.com
http://www.facebook.com/larsteeney
About the author:
Lars Teeney was born in Montana. After going to an art school in San Francisco, racking up insane student loans and working for years as a freelance designer for the start-up culture, he became burnt out. He abandoned the Bay Area for the Pacific North-west, where he could hike and bike to my heart’s content.
Although the idea for the book had been swimming around in my head and on random notebooks for 10 years, it wasn’t until my mother got sick that I received a memento mori that put I fire under my sack to write The Apostates.