Then a voice sounded - an uninvited intrusion.
“Nice performance folks - any chance of a second demonstration? There were we thinking that you were OBS, but no we must have been mistaken! I mean nobody fucks each other like you two just did if they're on a fucking suicide ticket do they?”
The woman answered.
“Fuck off. This wasn't a showcase for voyeuristic perverts like you guys.”
“Strong words Miss Decorum - so which clan are you from?”
The fair haired male lover answered rather indignant at being observed by these uninvited guests.
“OK so we are OBS members, but why the fuck does that matter?”
“It is just the hypocrisy of it all. You have so much life and so much vitality and yet you are going to end it all in two days time. A fucking waste if you ask me.”
“We haven't asked you. Anyway which fucking sect are you then?”
When the answer came back, fear ran through the lovers.
“We are NAD guys - any problem with that?”
Before the couple could respond, a hatchet took out the woman and a dagger was impaled through the spleen of the man. As the NADS departed two corpses were left in their wake. OBS already had a two-nil lead.
Security never heard a word.
SEVEN
On the first day of the Allgood Gathering, the crowd initially looked as if it was going to be smaller than expected. However by midday of that first day, the floodgates started to open and people began to enter the site in their thousands. Whilst the colours of the various sects held a dominance, a lot of non-affiliated groups arrived too, curious to see if the Doomsday predictions of the internet would come to pass. This event had captivated people from across the social spectrum and the collective media placed a very high status on the Gathering. The potential for another Jonestown type of tragedy was high and the OBS cult had received the highest exposure due to the young age of their members.
One good looking OBS member's status profile carried the tagline Death is my Friend and this had set the scene for others to follow. Many citizens were at odds with the logic surrounding the suicide groups though. These people had turned up at the Gathering with the express purpose of stopping people killing themselves. They didn't want to see OBS and Felo de Se enlist in the conveyor belt of slaughter that had been forecast. These people stood out wearing white tops and The White-Tops soon became the esoteric name for these would-be lifesavers.
Sharmilla Hendricks and Jasmine Silver were among the first people to enter the site when it opened. They had ditched their formal attire in favour of festival-type clothing for the Gathering, as they knew that it was essential to melt in with the groups for their tracking role. Rumours were emerging that the security forces may arrest Pastor Sane if he made any moves to verbally instigate mass suicide In this climate of suspicion, everyone was watching each other. Sane was due to address the assembly from the Lunar-Trance stage at 10pm that evening and Sharmilla made a point about this start-time to Jasmine.
“If Sane does choose to whip up the crowd under the cover of darkness that could be bad news for us Jas.”
Jasmine countered before hearing the fullness of Sharmilla's point.
“Jimmy Jones, David Koresh and most other cult-suicides involved daylight massacres. Why does night give us an extra negative Sharmilla?”
“I feel that Sane has more potency to generate the hysteria that he needs with the claustrophobic aura of the night. He can better weave his sick chemistry from the veiled magnitude of nightfall.”
“On the plus side though Sharmilla, it is easier for the faint-hearted to slip away into the night and escape when the bodies start piling up.”
“That's true Jas. I love the way that Ms Silver always has a half-full cup! Ever since I have known you Jasmine, you have always stayed upbeat and enthusiastic for our project.”
She momentarily lowered her voice as some of the NAD contingent came walking by. After they had passed them, Sharmilla continued.
“Do you ever have down days Jas?”
“Sure - I guess I do. I'm the same as everyone really. In my case - a 53 year-old who has a career that is very fulfilling and doesn't want for much.”
“Have you always been Jasmine Silver?”
“No I…” - she stopped, not being able to take her eyes off who was passing by. In a dark suit strode Pastor Sane. His black security cohort flanked him on all sides and they glared at the various groups in the Gathering. The group made for an impressive sight and Sane shone out as a supernatural entity. His forked tongues flickered across his satanic lips and his penetrative eyes made most people avoid direct visual contact. In short, his presence overpowered people and once again he used his mesmerizing appearance to maximum effect. Suddenly he ordered his cohort to stop and he looked directly into the eyes of Sharmilla Hendricks for a good ten seconds. Lust, curiosity and animal instinct exuded from him. Then he clicked his ivory cane for a continuation of the cohort march. His eyes looked back briefly - burning into the very soul of Sharmilla.
When the marchers had moved on and the 'spell' was broken, both Jasmine and Sharmilla were able to fully contemplate the magnitude of what they were up against, The satanic side of Sane had surfaced without much attempt to play it down and both women felt alarmed by their vulnerability in the presence of a central protagonist with coils that were shaping a darkened new America - a darkened new world.
After the relatively close encounter with Sane, Sharmilla messaged Thane Costa-Mendez and Vincent Perry to add to the MC-Project compliment at the Allgood Gathering. Both of them were staying in close proximity to the site and they arrived quickly as a result. Thane's good nature came to the fore immediately.
“I knew that you couldn't last a night without me Sharmilla! Vince and I were betting on how long you two would go without some guys helping you out! Sharmilla assured Thane of the real need for doubling-up on the MC-Project presence and he could tell that Sane had really scared his colleagues. Sharmilla particularly, was made of strong stuff, but the Svengali - pastor had definitely unnerved the joint project leader.
At 19:00 a new security contingent replaced the previous cohort and none other than William Kyra was leading this batch. As the sole Head of security, he still preferred to lead from the front on occasions and he wasn't going to miss Pastor Sane's address for anything. Kyra was one of the most powerful men in the world and he got to pick and chose about what he opted to do. If he encountered any opposition to his plans, he would expunge it like he had done with Kellerman. He felt invincible and yet when compared to Sane and his brothers his power was nothing. That night would not be a reckoning for him, but it would for others.
At 21:30 the security cordon ringed the Lunar-Trance stage area and all the sects were grouped in readiness for Sane's words. The tension was pulsating and a trickle of sweat fell from Jasmine's brow. She felt nervous like her leader did and she trembled slightly as she thought of the double-tongues and his hypnotic stare. She was determined to rise above these fears with a steel resolve. Under her breath she muttered “do your fucking worst - I'm ready for you.”
The Lunar-Trance started to reach a new crescendo and some members of the assembly started to sway in rhythmic appreciation. NADS as always, maintained an aloof separation remaining isolated with their unified hatred of everything around them. OBS moved with the dance-culture of youth pulsating through them and even Felo de Se shared a smile before the big push! Judas Silver Trail were very pensive as were The White-Tops who had circulated through the throng. As 22:00 came and went, a fever pitch of excitement for the main-man to emerge occured. Even those people that hated Sane wanted his address to begin, so that they had something concrete to project their hatred onto.
The speaker started to slowly emerge from the shadows and most of the crowd went wild in ecstasy. This was their dream-zone - a beautiful fucked-up reality! A chant began that rapped out their adoration. “Sane, Sane - fucking insane!” All ov
er the site the cauldron of sound emanated around, to be hungrily swallowed up by the moving sects. Sane strode toward the Lunar-Stage with his entourage, like a crazy boxer approaching ringside. His eyes pierced through his addicted flock and he loved their exultation. Why rush immortality, he thought and he decided to slice-up the minutes before duty called and his address began. He adored the foreplay.
At 22:22 the darkest verbal address in American history began.
“I have been talking with God again!”
The crowd went totally manic, punching the air, screaming their appreciation and breaking the hold of decent society. It was time for some indecency! Sane continued.
“He tells me that heaven is getting rather sterile - too full of old folks with their restrained moral sentiments. He told me that it was time to rearrange the equilibrium and get more of you youngsters up there!”
A second even more rapturous reception followed, with some of the youngest sect members crying with joy in the process.
“You see guys - you owe this world nothing. It is merely a warm-up stage until heaven is reached. Tonight my beloved, is an opportunity really. An opportunity to embrace the sparkling thrones of heaven early. You chanted for me earlier. Well my friends I have a return phrase for you - my beautiful followers and it runs "Hear the laughter as we leave faster."
A new piece of suicide-vernacular was thus written.
This phrase was repeated time after time as a selection of psychedelic drugs were passed around.
A young recruit in Kyra's security cohort looked quite ashen and he asked a question to his leader.
“When shall we arrest Sane sir? This crowd are buzzing on the bad side.”
Kyra's response confirmed what many had thought for years.
“There will be no arrest tonight young man, we'll just let nature take it's course.”
Another burst of excitement ran through the crowd as two containers of Devotion-Potion were wheeled onto the main field of the Gathering. These were situated just below the speaker's podium. Sharmilla looked horrified and she said to Jasmine “they're gonna fucking do it - the bastards!”
Jasmine tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry and she was transfixed by the two containers. The said containers had arrived so nonchalantly, as if the contents were an everyday part of festival gatherings and not a suicide-recipe for hundreds of people. Somehow this guise of normality made the suicide preparations even worse. It was almost as if they had been legitimised! Sane started speaking again.
“It is nearly time to let you pioneers go. I will give out the potion with one ladle and my brother Troth will do the same with another. He will be situated over by the fir copse, while I will remain here. We will ensure to keep a tidy site - no Jimmy Jones mess here! Subsequently when you have moved on, your body will be gently carried to the waiting sanctuary tents. There your remains will be treated with the respect you deserve”
A chill ran through Jasmine. The precise finality of everything made her shudder. The OBS followers started to queue up by Sane's location and Felo de Se did likewise in Troth's appointed locale. The nightmare was taking shape and tears welled up in Jasmine's eyes.
Some White-Tops tried to get in the way of the OBS suicide-queue. The most vocal of them yelled out a warning.
“Come on you guys. We've got to stop this fucking madness!”
One of Kyra's men snapped back.
“It's freedom of choice you dumb fucker!”
The White-Top kept on pushing his point, becoming increasingly louder. Then a shot rang out and the White-Top became a red-top!
Jasmine wanted to help persuade some of the OBS members of the futility of suicide, but Kyra beat her away yelling “get back you're too fucking old to join this lot.”
At that point an amplified Death-Knell-Drum sounded, ushering those who wished to die to get in line. NADS applauded each person as they moved towards the potion container. They collectively hated humanity and so a death-queue represented a form of victory to them. NADS were at the scum-end of society and were effectively a marker for evil. Just before the first consignment was made ready, Sane briefly returned to his podium to congratulate those who were about to commit suicide.
“Well my brothers and sisters, keep a chair warm for me in heaven. I will be following behind, as soon as the last one of you has left. Unlike Jonestown, we all embrace where we are going. This will be our great journey - adults only with no children to make us think twice. Everyone who drinks the Devotion-Potion has made the choice and like Heaven's Gate before us we are all sound of mind with no forcing whatsoever and no coercion. I love each and everyone of you and now my brethren, it is time to go.”
Pastor Sane moved down from the podium and dipped a ladle into the potion. He embraced the first OBS volunteer and then filled his cup with the deadly liquid. Everything was frighteningly quiet. There was no panic and only minimal consternation. The Death- Knell-Drum was then muted slightly and classical music replaced the Lunar-Trance. The OBS volunteer sat down, smiled and then drank some of the cyanide-based potion. After twenty seconds, his breathing started to be exhaled in rasping breaths. He shuddered slightly and started to convulse. He made no sound that indicated any pain. Then he swallowed hard, his eyes rolled white and he breathed no more. He was dead and the first body-bag was called for.
Troth moved into a 3-1 lead after seventeen minutes. His handling of Felo de Se suicides stood on ceremony less than Sane did with his OBS contingent and he used less dialogue in the process. Lanterns and a range of artificial lights guided people between the two suicide-posts. Stacked pyres added further luminescence next to the fir copse location. Occasionally a random shot would pierce the darkness, but usually this just involved a person getting impatient at having to wait in a queue and choosing to end their lives themselves instead. This annoyed Sane and Troth and the corpses of these protocol-breakers were flung with anger into the body-bags. By midnight, Felo de Se had stretched ahead in the body-count statistics. Sane glared at his brother - he hated losing.
Sharmilla and Jasmine helped out just beyond the suicide queues. They were able to persuade a few OBS members to turn back, but this had to be undertaken very covertly as Sane and Troth watched events like a couple of hawks. Most people they contacted were not for any suspension of suicide though and were conversely looking forward to it!
By the time the small hours came around, William Kyra had got rather bored with the repetitive applause kept up by the NADS and so he decided to inject a new dimension into events. He activated three Excoriators, carefully making sure that each one was primed for a targeted impact. Kyra flung one Excoriator into the arms of a NAD member and the other two were given to a Silver Trail member and a White-Top respectively. None of the receivers had ever seen an Excoriator before and curiosity naturally got the better of them, as Kyra knew it would. They started to fumble with this strange metal device and then bingo - the barbs bore in!
The Nad receiver screamed so loud as his body was bladed, that even the drugged-up suicide crews paid attention. The same thing happened with the doomed White-Top, but the Silver Trail member managed to tear his off - at the expense of a couple of fingers! He did survive though, lumbering into the woods like a howling madman.
As the Excoriators gnawed their way through their victims, Sane noticed Sharmilla in the mid-distance and a cold dark smile appeared on his face. She recognized the attraction in his eyes and a fleeting thought briefly registered in her mind. She suppressed it though, as somethings are best kept hidden.
At 03:00 Troth and Sane called a thirty minutes Time-Out so that the piling-up corpses could be moved and placed in body-bags. At this stage, seventy-eight OBS members had committed suicide so far and ninety Felo de Se members had done the same. The White-Tops and all decent-minded people were glad that these figures were lower than predictions had forecast. At this moment, the cumulative total of the Jonestown suicide-toll seemed well out of reach.
Sharmilla was in one of
the marquee rest-rooms. She was downcast. Reports had come in that stated Vincent Perry had consumed one of the many free drugs on site. After getting wasted, he had joined up with some Felo de Se friends and had then taken the lethal Devotion-Potion. He had become just another fatality in MC-Project history and his expertise now lay in a body-bag.
The woman reached into her toiletry bag and took out some cocaine. She was very weary and needed a quick Columbian-tonic to recharge her spirit and keep her alert. She formed a pure white line across her hand-held mirror and selected here favourite inhalation-straw from her mobile supply kit. Life was shit all round for her at the moment, but at least the cocaine would bring a form of temporary relief. She then savoured snorting her best white-friend whilst she pondered about who would replace Vincent Perry. The MC-Project were floundering now really. In previous eras the organisation enjoyed a far more hands-on commitment whereby they were more proactive in their own destiny. Now they were just marginalized and were merely a token presence among much bigger players. Since the loss of Europe the MC-Project could only illuminate and monitor criminality and occult presence but the power to prosecute lay solely in security domains, with the project excluded. Sharmilla was so consumed in her thoughts that she didn't initially notice the figure who strode into the rest-room. It was Troth and he came straight to the point.
“My brother may have eyes for you, but my tongues flicker further than his and delve right into the woman. Do you understand me?”
Coils Of The Overkill Page 4