by Jack Wallen
Dane steepled his fingers in front of his lips and bowed slightly. “We are the warriors of the soul, the light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. Society has bled out and we are what remains. Do what thou will…”
“Shall be the whole of the law,” the surrounding crowd chanted back.
Dane turned to his gathered followers and held a sheet of paper before him. “This…” he paused for effect. “This is our new world order. The cowards who call themselves the Zero Day Collective have come up with a cure which they will be selling to the highest bidder.” Dane allowed a toothy grin to spread across his lips. “We will be that highest bidder. In fact, we will gather together every worldly possession we can and rob the world of that cure. I want us to not only hold sway over New Salt Lake City, I want to make good on my promise to the saint of chaos that this thing called Earth will be ours to wreck and ruin as we see fit.”
The gathered followers fell into a frenzied ecstasy.
Dane held his hands over his head in a call for silence. “Before we begin to gather our wealth, we must gather our strength.” Dane glanced up at the bound man and nodded. “Feast, my children. Drain this pathetic man of blood and life. Strip him of his flesh and organs.” Dane drew in a deep breath and screamed, “Tonight we dine!”
The gathering enveloped the hung man and dug claws and teeth into his flesh. Agonized screams rose above the gnashing, chewing, and slurping of the barbaric meal. A pool of blood formed at the bare feet of the Thelemites as they devoured every edible bit and bite. Once the meat and organs were consumed, the revelers dropped to their hands and knees and lapped at the floor.
Dane watched on, hands above his head in celebration. “Goodbye, Jesus. A new messiah has arrived to usurp your spent-up holiness. The religion of the self has been born, and I am its progenitor and king.” He gestured toward the blood-slick, writhing mass. “These are my acolytes, my apostles, and we will own the firmament.”
One by one the following stood, their every inch stained by the filth of death. They turned to face Dane and raised their upturned palms to him in a silent salute.
Dane spoke, his deep voice reverberating through the warehouse. “You have but one task, my children. Sweep through every inch of our walled-in city and collect anything of value. We will buy up all hope from the sullied merchants and ensure ours is the only existence with a future. When the end of days comes—and it will come, my precious circle of chaos—we will stand alone to repopulate this forsaken world in our own hedonistic image. Lie, cheat, kill, dehumanize. Do what thou will…”
“Shall be the whole of the law!” The response rang against the metallic walls of the warehouse until the building itself responded with a low, desolate, hum.
“Go!” Dane shouted above the post-meal, Dionysian celebration. Upon hearing his cry, the Thelemites roared in response and raced out of the warehouse…bare feet pounding painfully against the cement floor. A twenty-foot swath of bloody footprints filled Dane’s heart with a pleasure he knew would soon become harder and harder to come by. The more powerful he became, the easier his puppets were to manipulate. The more his puppets danced to his whims, the less joy he gained. It was the ebb and flow of boredom that he knew would do him in.
With great power comes great monotony, Dane thought.
“Where’s the joy in that?” Dane asked himself quietly as he returned to the car frame that served as the sacrificial altar to the God of chaos.
“I know that look, Dane,” Raneesha sauntered onto the dais, her hips swaying to an unheard sensual soundtrack. “You are not happy. Did the ritual displease you?”
Dane turned to face his favorite wife. “The sight of you will forever fill me with the fires of lust.”
“As it should.” Raneesha waved a long finger in the air. “As flattering as you are, do not change the subject on me, husband. Why do I see a cloud of angst floating above you after the sacrifice? That is unlike our glorious leader.”
Dane sat at the edge of the stage and gestured for Raneesha to approach. When she arrived before him, he held out his hands for hers. “Do you remember the day we discovered The Book of the Law?”
Raneesha nodded gently. “It happened around the same time as the Unleashing.”
Dane looked into his wife’s emerald-green eyes. “Yes. The amplification of the Mengele Virus. I have been thinking lately that the two incidents could not have been coincidental…that the universe provided for us The Law exactly when the world needed it.”
Raneesha took a seat to Dane’s right and carefully placed her left palm on his thigh. “You’ve spoken of this many times.”
A pause in voice, in thought. Dane closed his eyes and drew in slow, steady breaths. When he finally spoke, his voice flowed on a wave of peace.
“I plan on taking us to war.”
Raneesha stiffened. “Against who?”
“Anyone who would dare stand in our way. In the immediate sense, however, we are going to take New Salt Lake City as ours. This giant walled-in landscape will serve as our Mecca and our fortress. Those who oppose us will die. Those who refuse to accept the Law of Thelema will die.”
“And of this cure? What are we to make of that, Dane?”
“Once in our hands, it will bring us no end of power.”
Raneesha leaned in and kissed Dane’s cheek. “I am your servant. Whatever you need of me, ask.”
Dane smiled. “I have a very special task for you, my dear. The small band of refugees who ruined our previous festivities…I cannot abide their existence within my kingdom. I need you to infiltrate them, befriend them, and learn all there is to know.”
“Are these…”
Dane silenced Raneesha with a slow shake of the head. “They exploited a moment of weakness and nothing more.”
Raneesha stood and faced her husband. “How do we find them?”
Dane handed Raneesha a folded piece of paper and nodded. “Their location is on this. I want you to go to them alone, with no aid from us. Take your phone, but do not use it unless it is absolutely necessary. This is by design, so they will have no reason to suspect anything is amiss.” Dane stood and gently cupped Raneesha’s head in his hands. “Know this: if they do discover what is going on, there will be no extraction team or cavalry sent in for rescue. Also know this: the end game of my scheme is me eventually joining you in the fun, at which point we will convince them of our loyalty and await the perfect moment to rob them of everything they have, know, and are. This plan will take some time and great effort; it will require you to lie to them and weave a story about you and me to tug at their heart strings and make them desperate to aid a false cause. At some point in this plan, it may seem, to you and all involved, that I have sold out the Thelemites to a purpose below our station. Never doubt my actions, nor my words, as I promise you everything done is in league with our law.”
“I understand, my love. You need not worry about me. I am perfectly capable of—”
Dane cut Raneesha off. “That is not only why I chose you for this mission, but why I so adore you with an immeasurable passion.”
“I won’t let you down.”
“Of that I have no doubt. We will help you get in initially. For that, I have a plan.”
Raneesha turned and walked away from the sacrificial altar. Once out of sight, Dane bent down on his knees and pulled a panel away from the stage lip. Behind the perfectly hidden passage lay a small safe. He spun the dial to 19, 0, and finally…4. The lock on the safe unlatched with a heavy thunk and the door swung open on well-oiled hinges.
Within the safe was a small, black metal box. Dane withdrew it, sat cross-legged on the floor, and placed the box in his lap.
Dane whispered, “I believe this will ensure we get what we want.” He opened the lid of the box to reveal it half-filled with diamonds. “Do what thou wilt…” Dane said softly, allowing a smile to drift across his lips. “What I wilt…” The smile faded. “Is to have the world at my feet.” Dane dug his fingers in
to the box and extracted a key on a chain. He drew the key to his lips and kissed the cool metal. “I hiss the song of the great black snake, which slithers its deadly dance. To lead a nation of heartless fools is to honor the sacred lance. No sacrifice is equal to the one baked in lies. No holy writ truthful to they who would deny. This is my truth. This is my lie. The law, the way, the one.”
Dane wrapped the chain around his neck and let the key rest against his barrel chest. He returned the box of diamonds back into the safe and carefully closed the lid.
“Do what I wilt…shall be the whole of every law.” Dane stood and, with a quick sweep of the room, walked away from the altar and exited the warehouse.
Outside, the blistering sun forced Dane’s pupils to contract until the black dot was a pinprick speck of dust. He drank in the heat, feeling its warmth caress his dark skin. A bead of sweat rose on his forehead as he softly sang the only anthem he ever truly knew…Puscifer’s Rev 22:20.
six | the wasteland
“Hold up, B.,” Jamal huffed as he slowed his bike to a stop.
“What gives, J-Mart? We’re on a tight schedule, so there’s no time for princess to take a disco nap.”
Jamal half-heartedly snapped his fingers. “I wish, girlfriend. You know I like the nightlife and most certainly do gots ta boogie.”
My heart sunk in my chest, heavy with a flash of concern at seeing Jamal less than himself. His humor was on point, but his eyes were glazed and his cheeks sunken. “You okay?”
Jamal shook his head and offered a tilted grin. “I just have to switch out my water bottle. It’s hot as heater in Satan’s panties.” He shook his head. “Wait, that made absolutely no sense.”
I laughed. “It didn’t have to, J. I understood perfectly. It’s hotter than an enema bag in a witch’s bra.”
“Hotter than yo momma the first time she and I…”
“Hey, now,” I barked.
“Too soon for yo momma jokes?” Jamal squeezed a mouthful of water from the bottle and swallowed it down in a single gulp. “Sweet chubby Jesus, that was delish. Oh, hell…know what I could go for right at this very second, B.?”
“A long shower and a mani-pedi?”
“Well, yes…but I’m talkin’ ‘bout a cold-ass soda.”
“Mountain Dew,” I added. “Hacker’s mana.”
“Throwback Mountain Dew. Cane sugar. God’s candy. Dayum. I’m jonsin’ bad.”
I had to change the subject before Jamal went full-on grand mal. “How much farther do we have?”
Jamal swallowed another swig of liquid before turning his attention to the queue sheet. He then glanced up, did a quick scan of the skyline, and pointed. “About one hundred yards, my friend.” Jamal immediately caught his slip. “Girlfriend. Lover. Soul mate.”
“Nice catch…friend.”
“Touché, Nitshimi.”
We hit the pedals and made our way to the next target. At least this time there was no mystery as to the nature of the location.
I dismounted my bike and read the sign over the door. “Tuttle’s Pharmacy. At least we won’t be risking the United States government spying on our every move.”
“Never say never, Bethany.” Jamal did a quick check over both shoulders, each time looking up into the sky and then scanning from the ground up. “There’s no way of knowing if the NSA has its dirty little bots and drones hanging around, snapping photos with their tiny micro cameras and streaming audio directly to the big house.”
“I was always told to never trust a man with such a colorful imagination.”
Jamal looked at me, his brow furrowed and his lips pursing. “Then why are you with me?”
“I like a good challenge.” I winked, laughed, and rolled my bike toward the entrance.
“No, no, no, no,” Jamal shouted. “I can’t have you opening strange doors or entering unknown buildings without me checking them first. If someone is going to die out here, it has to be me. You’re way too important to the world, Bethany.”
I smiled and draped my arms around Jamal’s neck. “You see, that’s one of the reasons why I love you, Jamal. You’re always looking out for me.”
We left the bikes in the ideal spot for a quick getaway. No more turning corners and losing speed this time. I cautiously approached the door and listened.
Silence. Sweet, sweet silence.
My hand nervously hovered over the old-fashioned door knob. When my fingers finally wrapped around the handle and turned, the door opened. From the other side, the tinkle of a bell greeted us.
“How fifties-era chic,” Jamal teased as he slipped between the door and jamb.
Inside the pharmacy, the stale stench of mothballs accosted my nostrils. The smell immediately took me back to my grandmother—spending the night, making cookies, polyester pantsuits and roller sets. The woman had been a saint for taking me in during those times when mommy and daddy didn’t like each other. She made Christmas the miracle it was supposed to be for little wide-eyed girls. In her presence it was always safe to believe in the unbelievable.
“Let’s grab what we need and get the fuck out of here,” I whispered.
“Are you kidding me, B.? This is a major score. Somehow good ol’ Tuttle’s managed to escape cataclysmic fate unharmed. We’ve got medical supplies galore and—” Jamal nearly gagged on his gasp. He pointed toward a darkened, refrigerated endcap with the familiar lime-green logo. He happy-danced his way to the cooler and swung the door open. When Jamal turned back to me, he held up two bottles of Mountain Dew, one in each hand. “Please tell me you’ll partake in a beverage.”
“Warm Mountain Dew?” I groused.
“All the caffeine you could ever wish for in a single bottle.”
I reached out for the offering. “Count me the fuck in. I don’t care if it’s boiling.”
We simultaneously twisted off the plastic caps, tapped bottles together, and chugged as hard and fast as possible.
“O holy night,” Jamal said through a gasp. “That is sweet nectar. I want to cry and sing show tunes.”
“No offense to your pipes, but how about we just locate the next item?”
“Fun killer,” Jamal huffed, and snatched the list from my hand. “This should be found behind the pharmacist’s counter. I’ll ring you up in back, ma’am.”
By the time I’d finished my Dew, we had what we’d come for and even managed to score some medical supplies. We were limited on space, so a shopping spree was out of the question.
No matter how badly Jamal wanted the My Little Pony coloring book.
“If you confess to me you’re a Brony, Jamal—” I started as I exited the pharmacy door. I was about to finish my proclamation when both sound and breath were sucked from me in a heartbeat.
“Nice bikes,” the stranger said with a slow, Southern drawl. He sounded like, at some point in his life, he’d been a politician. His voice was smooth as silk and slick as glass. He wore a tattered suit and tie and had the shiniest bald head I’d ever seen.
He also held a big, shiny gun in his hand…his twitching, trembling hand.
“What do you want?” I asked, doing everything I could to stuff down the nerves that threatened to give away my abject fear to the armed man.
“What any red-blooded American wants,” the stranger’s voice lilted slowly from his lips.
“And that would be?” I dared ask.
“Whatever you’ve got.” Strangey McStrangeface leveled his pistol at us and cocked the hammer. “Only the strong survive, right? Seeing as how I have a gun…that’d make me the strong one of our little menage a trois.”
Jamal stepped forward and crossed his hands at his lower back. “Or it makes you the coward.” Subtly, Jamal pointed at his belt and then shifted his fingers into the shape of a gun.
Gun. Shit. I picked up on the hint and slowly shifted my arm so I could draw my weapon.
“I wouldn’t do that, Annie Oakley. I doubt you’re fast enough to draw and shoot before I could send both of you
to an early and well-deserved grave. So why don’t you just raise your hands over your head and interlock your fingers? You wouldn’t want me to open up a peep hole in your skull, would you?”
I raised my arms and shook my head. Just as I was about to weave my fingers together, I shot my hand back to the gun.
The stranger fired off a single round into the air. “Try that once more and I’ll crack open your skull and lay you out as an undead buffet.”
The idea hit me like keyboard to the face.
“You a good enough shot to back up your threats?” I asked.
The stranger laughed. “Are you trying to do some psych eval on me? It won’t work. Neither will reverse physicology.”
“Psychology,” I corrected.
The stranger leaned in and pointed the gun directly at my face. “Did you just correct the man with itchy trigger finger?”
“What if I did?” I teased.
Mr. Madness raised the pistol once again and fired off another round. As soon as the sound echoed to silence, he said, “That’s what.”
Come on, I thought. One more shot ought to do it.
“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you because your ugly face had me in such a state of shock, my ears were knocked temporarily out of order. So…if you don’t mind repeating yourself, I’d certainly…”
The glorious third shot cut through the surrounding peace like Gilbert Gottfried teaching a meditation class. Silence returned and I waited. In my head, I counted…
One.
Two.
Three.
Four never came. Instead, the hideous symphony of rage broke the moment.
Screamers.
“Fuck!” the stranger shouted. From a distance, a Screamer seemed to reply to the man’s epithet. He leveled his weapon and spun on his heels. In that instant, both Jamal and I bull-rushed the man, knocking him to the ground, and snatched our bikes. It was a calculated risk…but one we had to take. Either the bastard would right his ship and fill us full of lead, or he’d race off to safety.