The Warlord w-1

by Jason Frost

  "It's suicide, son," Trevor called after him. "What's done can't be undone. Not with the earthquakes, not with Jennifer. Not even with Annie and Timothy. There are too many of them, Eric. We need you here."

  Eric kept walking, ignoring Trevor's words. Their logic assaulted him, tried to wedge themselves into his brain. What's done can't be undone. That's life.

  Not anymore.

  "Eric! Wait up." Rydell Grimme's voice carried crisply through the night. He was running across the quad with the rest of them, Season, Molly, and Tag. Within seconds they were standing in front of him. Rydell's face was flush with excitement. "You're going, aren't you? I mean, after Fallows."

  "After my wife and son."

  "Right. That's what I mean."

  Eric stared at him silently.

  "I want to go with you. To help."

  Season jumped in suddenly. "Me too. I want to help too."

  Molly frowned with surprise. "When did you decide that?" she asked Season.

  "Just now, I guess."

  Eric looked at Molly and Tag.

  "Don't look at me," Molly said. "I like it right here. Food and water and occasional sex."

  Tag nodded, embarrassed. "Sorry, I don't think it's for me."

  "Good," Eric said finally, "at least there are two of you with some brains. What in hell makes you think I'd take a couple amateurs with me? Did you think you were doing me a favor? More than likely you'd end up getting me killed. And yourselves. So forget it. Stay here and live."

  Rydell stepped forward, shaking with anger. "Maybe we aren't hot shots like you, Ravensmith. Experts at everything from bug mating to killing with an eyelash, but we were willing to go. We aren't children and we aren't stupid. We know the risks. We're willing to take them. Not for you. But for your wife and child. They deserve the chance your daughter didn't get."

  "You done?" Eric asked.

  "Yeah, I'm done."

  He turned to Season. "Anything you want to add?"

  "Yeah, I want to add that you're a son of a bitch."

  "There may be hope for you yet, lady." He walked away, stopped after half a dozen steps. Without turning around he spoke. "We leave at first light. Bring your weapons, canteens, food, and the usual survival gear you've all been instructed on." He turned and faced them. "One other thing we should get straight up front. The only reason I'm taking you is because I might be able to use you. And I mean use. I don't care about your lives, only how they might help me save my family. If it means sacrificing one or both of you, I'll do it. I'll treat you like any other piece of expendable equipment." He paused. "See the two of you at 0500. If you decide not to show up, you've got more brains than I give you credit for."

  "See you then," Tag Hallahan said.

  "Don't look at me," Molly said. "I don't go in for mass hysteria. I'll be sleeping at 0500, 0600 and all the 0-hundreds I can manage."

  "Smart girl," Eric said and walked away.

  Trevor Graumann stood in the dim morning light in a heavy cardigan sweater, his pipe stem clattering between his teeth. The sky was already laced with the first bright tendrils of morning, and he found the orange color oddly cheering.

  He yawned, almost dropping his pipe. He'd been, up until only a few hours ago, trying to talk some sense into Eric. Failing that he argued with the three others who were going with him. Only the pretty little Chinese girl, Molly Sing, had taken his side and tried to talk them out of it. But to no avail. They were filled with the stubbornness of youth, giddy with the idea of an adventure, a quest, a search for the Holy Grail.

  The worst part was that somewhere, deep down inside, Trevor Graumann wished he were going too.

  He had not seen Jennifer, but he'd heard the gory description of what had happened. He knew Eric had no choice, being the kind of man he was. But he also recognized the hardening of soul he'd put himself through to be able to do it. This too was dangerous. To become the very thing you hate is easier than returning again.

  He shook his old head, rubbed his stubbled chin. He had other worries now, the elections, defense. Without Joan and Eric, things would be much more difficult here. But they would manage somehow. The way people have always managed. With a little courage and a lot of luck.

  He looked at his watch. Almost five o'clock.

  Trevor saw Eric strolling toward the gate now and for a moment he considered forcing Eric to stay, turning the guards on him. But that idea passed quickly. None of the guards was any match for Eric. Especially now. He even walked differently than before, his step more purposeful, his gait determined. Somehow he even looked bigger.

  From the gymnasium came the other three, Rydell leading them. Season and Tag flanking him. Their pace was brisk, excited, practically twitching.

  They all converged on him at once.

  "I won't insult you with any more appeals to logic," Trevor said, "because it wouldn't do any good. Would it?"

  "No, sir," Rydell said.

  Eric looked out through the gate. His voice was solemn. "Let's go."

  Trevor stood in front of Eric, held out his hand. Eric looked confused a moment, then took the hand in his to shake. Eric hadn't realized how cold his own hand was until he'd felt Trevor's warm flesh.

  Suddenly Trevor pulled Eric close to him with a hug. "Like a son," he mumbled. "Like a son."

  Eric resisted the contact for a moment, then responded with a hug of his own. Only to get it over with, he told himself, to get the old man aside. But he felt a tug at his heart as he looked at Trevor's kind face. Then it was gone. The ice formed over his skin again, his heart numbed.

  "We're going through," Eric called to the two guards posted near the gate. Both nodded, waved encouragement.

  "Wait, damn it," Molly's voice hollered as she pattered toward them, shifting her bow and holding her jiggling arrows. "It isn't easy looking this good so early, you know." She glanced at Rydell who was smiling broadly, then at Eric, whose face showed a faint flicker of pleasure. "Okay, okay," she said to him. "I'm not as smart as either of us thought."

  "Then that's something we all have in common," Eric nodded. "Let's go."

  One at a time they hunched through the narrow opening in the barbed wire and continued single file down the street. None of them dared look back.

  Book Three: PARADISE

  Without hope we live in desire.

  -Dante

  21.

  Dirk Fallows sat on the edge of the cot tapping his knife against his thigh, a thin smile creasing his face. "You're not going to like what happens next."

  Annie and Timmy stood on the other side of the tent holding hands. Cruz blocked the closed flap with his body, his arms crossed over his chest like an Arabian genie.

  "We've been painfully courteous to the both of you for the past three days. Gave you water. Food. Bedding. No one's touched either one of you, and believe me there has been some grumbling about that." He continued to tap the knife blade against his thigh in a slow, lazy beat. "But all that's about to change, I'm afraid."

  He saw fear wrinkle their faces and was pleased. He stood up and paced in front of them. "I'm forty-four years old. Forty-five next month. Do you think that's old?" When there was no response he smiled and continued. "Well, never mind, I think it's old, or at least getting close. Not that I'm feeling old, mind you. Still as fit as ever." He slapped his stomach a couple times. "Hard as oak. Nothing like Cruz there, but then what human is?" His laugh sounded like a truck grinding gears. Cruz stared ahead without expression. "I'm told by some lady friends that I look a lot like Kirk Douglas but without the dimple. Same rocky facial structure, 'rough hewn' I think they call it. I guess that means my face looks like something a sculptor might have started in an angry mood, then abandoned once he saw what he was doing. Still, it pleases some women."

  "And some men, no doubt," Annie snapped.

  Fallows laughed. "I am not a homosexual, Ms. Ravensmith. But neither am I homophobic, so I don't become enraged at any insult to my manhood. Still, if I were in yo
ur position, I wouldn't take the chance of enraging me. The next few minutes are going to be difficult enough for you."

  "What do you mean?" Annie asked. "What are you going to do?"

  He put a finger to his lips. "Patience."

  "Can't we leave my son out of this? For God's sake, he hasn't done anything."

  "Well, technically neither have you. But guilt or innocence is irrelevant here. You are merely surrogates for your husband, whipping boys, if you will," Fallows placed a hand on Timmy's head and playfully mussed his hair. "No, I'm afraid Timmy is an important element of my little drama."

  "Drama?" Annie said incredulously. "You killed dozens of people that night. You call that drama?"

  "Don't forget, I lost a man myself. But yes, it's drama. High drama. Sometimes melodrama. But always good theatre."

  Annie felt an involuntary shiver shake her as she realized how coldly evil this man really was. She had listened to Eric describe him many times, but not until this moment did she truly understand how demonic he was. She closed her eyes and thanked good luck that Jennifer still had been in the hospital when she and Timmy were kidnapped. At least Jennifer was safe and unharmed. She hugged Timmy against her now.

  "I'm going to tell you something that I never even told Eric. Nor any of my followers. Not even Cruz, whose appreciation of good irony is legend." He chuckled, but Cruz simply stared ahead like someone watching a boring TV documentary. "You'll be the first to hear The Truth About Dirk Fallows." He raised his eyebrows. "Hmmm, not a bad title. I'm sure Eric has told you what he knows, all of it early MGM. Rich father buys son out of trouble, purchases college degree, and so on. He thought the longer he could keep me in college, the longer I'd stay away from home. And you have to give him credit, it worked. At first I was your typical know-it-all smartass. Got A's in all my classes without once cracking a book. So much for the challenge of education. Once I discovered how simple it was, I lost interest in even attending classes. My grades fell faster than man from grace. I bounced around a couple more universities until I took a course because it was the only one open at that time period and therefore wouldn't interfere with my sleep. It was Introduction to Acting. Yeah, that's right, theatre. Within a month I was playing Iago in Othello."

  "How appropriate," Annie sneered.

  "A very misunderstood character, Ms. Ravensmith. Nevertheless, it was exhilarating. Even more so as a director, staging my own productions the way a general prepares for battle. That was how I envisioned it, like a battle. But it had one drawback."

  Annie nodded. "No real corpses."

  "In a way. No real risk. The worst that could happen was an actor blows his line, a costume tears. That's not risk, merely inconvenience. I'd learned the techniques of manipulation, now I wanted the action. I guess it's true that some people are born soldiers, I was lucky enough to discover it in myself. My parents were scandalized when I enlisted. Practically wore black arm bands." He waved a dismissing hand. "No matter. I had what I wanted. And I loved it. I was the best. Still am."

  He sat back on the cot, began tapping the knife against his thigh again, the evil smile slicing across his face. "But having picked my lifestyle, I had to abandon certain other things. The possibility of a wife, family."

  "Lucky wife," Annie said. "Lucky family."

  An angry frown flickered across Fallows' face and Annie knew she'd stabbed a sensitive area.

  He forced his smile back in place, but it hung crookedly on his face like a tilted crescent of moon. "Perhaps you're right, Ms. Ravensmith. I was not so fortunate as Eric. He was the best soldier I'd ever had serve under me. Unorthodox, but damn good. I hoped to convince him to stay in the service, but he refused my friendship. That in itself was a declaration of war. We each won a battle, and each of us bears the scars of the conflict. But now it's time to end it, for a winner to emerge. Obviously, that's why you're here. I would put him at no more than a day away from us right now."

  Annie's heart pulsed at the thought, both with fear for him and hope for herself and Timmy.

  "Dad will tear you to pieces," Timmy said, forcing his voice as low and manly as he could.

  "Certainly he'll try, son. But since I know that, I have the advantage. And I have a little drama set up for him that, well, let's keep it a surprise." Fallows threw his knife onto the cot and stood up. "In the meantime, we have a little drama all our own to play out right here. We'll start with you, Ms. Ravensmith. Take off your clothes."

  Annie stepped back. "What for?"

  "You didn't think I'd be content just with killing Eric, did you? That would leave me without a third act. No, I want something more devilish, more painful than death, though that too will be a part of it. I want to take what's important away from him, strip him of everything precious. Which reminds me, I have some painful news for you."

  Somehow Annie knew what he would say and her hands flew to her mouth as if that would prevent her hearing it. "Jenny?"

  "Afraid so," he shook his head sadly. "Cruz here slit her throat as neatly as Sweeny Todd. I tried to stop him, but-" he shrugged "-he has a mind of his own."

  Annie fell to her knees convulsing with sobs, her stomach heaving vomit onto the ground. "No, you're lying!" she screamed.

  "Not at all. Dr. Epson was most cooperative with information. Hospital. Bottom floor of library. Room at the back. She's dead all right, dead as a… What's an appropriate metaphor here, Cruz?"

  Cruz stared, licked his lips.

  "Sorry, Ms. Ravensmith, but Cruz can't think of one either, We'll have to settle for that old standby, dead as a doornail."

  Suddenly Timmy lunged across the room for the knife on the cot. He wrapped his hands around the handle and turned toward Fallows.

  'Timmy, no!" Annie warned.

  "I'll kill you," Timmy said, choking down his own tears. "I'll kill you, you asshole."

  Cruz watched impassively, making no move to interfere.

  "Kill me?" Fallows said, looking hurt, then smiling. His pale eyes seemed to gather color for the first time. He didn't budge from where he stood, just waited. The gun on his belt remained snapped into its holster.

  "Give me the knife, Timmy," Annie pleaded, holding out her hand.

  "He killed Jenny, Mom! He wants to kill Dad!"

  "I know. But I don't want you killed too. Give me the knife. Dad will get us out of here. Believe that."

  Timmy wavered, his jaw clenched in an expression that Annie recognized from Eric. It both frightened her and comforted her at the same time. Reluctantly, Timmy handed the knife to his mother.

  "Ms. Ravensmith?" Fallows said, holding out his hand.

  Annie tossed the knife to him, which he caught neatly around the handle.

  "You see how military strategy and theatre are so closely related? The knife was merely a prop, and each of you played your part as predictably as if it had been written for you by me. Your mistake, Ms. Ravensmith, though made out of the best of motives, was to not at least let the boy try to kill me. He'll remember that. After awhile he'll blow it up in his mind until he thinks he might actually have had a chance. And then he'll blame you for taking that chance away."

  "No, I won't!" Timmy hollered.

  Fallows laughed. "Yes, you will. The mind is a very tricky thing, it does what it wants sometimes. And by the time I'm through with both of you, you're going to loathe your mother and blame your father."

  "Why?" Annie said hoarsely. "Why?"

  Fallows face was icy when he answered. The pale eyes gone white again, the long V of his face accented in the filtered light of the tent. His white hair bristled like snowy brush. "Have you forgotten my earlier soliloquy? No wife, no family. 'Lucky wife,' I believe was your line. Probably true. But every man wants to pass along what he's learned, if for no other reason than to be remembered. Eric was my first choice, a kind of younger brother. He refused. Worse, he had me locked away during the years I might have raised my own family. Now I want my own son. I'm too old to start from scratch. By the time he's ol
d enough to do anything, I'll be near sixty."

  "God, no!" Annie gasped. "Please, no."

  "I'm impressed. You catch on fast. Sorry, but I'm afraid so. Since it's too late for me to raise my own son, I've decided to raise yours. I'll leach him everything I know, just like I taught Eric. Only this time he's young enough to do what I tell him."

  "No, I won't," Timmy said. "I'll kill you the first chance I get. I swear it."

  "No, you won't, son. I've brainwashed men into killing their own brothers. After awhile, I can make anybody do anything. By the time I'm through with you, you'll kill anybody who says a word against me. Even your mother and father. You see, it's not enough to just kill Eric, I want to destroy his immortality. Whatever essence a father passes on to his son." He turned to Annie, grinned. "Don't you want to beg for him?"

  Annie's gaze was stony, her grief petrified by determination. "No, I won't beg." She looked at Timmy. "Timothy, you're enough like your father to know what kind of man this is. I'm counting on you to be enough like your father to resist, not physically, but inside. No matter what he does to me, no matter what he tells you. Understand?"

  "Y-yes."

  "Bravo," Fallows applauded. "Joan of Arc, Act III? Now comes the first scene, Ms. Ravensmith. Humiliation. You see, by physically humiliating you, you lose stature in your son's eyes. You're no longer Mother, Goddess of Love, you're just another human being. Now, take off your clothes. All of them."

  "Mom," Timmy said, starting toward Fallows.

  "You just stand there, Timothy," Annie said as she began removing her clothing. "We have to do anything to survive, to keep alive until your father comes." She unfastened her bra, shrugged it off, stepped out of her panties.

  "Nice," Fallows nodded. "A little skinnier than I like, but you'll do. Won't she, Tim? Ever been laid, Tim? Yeah, I bet you've been diddling the little girls plenty, right? Bet they've got nothing on your mom, though. I mean, that's a woman's body. What do you think?"

  Timmy stared at his feet, refusing to look up.