by Bob Williams
“Wait, Freaks just kicked your ass but didn’t bite you? Did they infect you? Damn, man, you didn’t tell me you had a recent dustup with Freaks. I have a community to worry about here! You know the rules, Prescott!”
“Emily’s dead, Jay! She’s dead. Sent as a sacrifice to a demon named Chaos.”
“What? Dead? Oh, dammit. Prescott, I’m sorry, man. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Is that why you’re here? To lay low and sort it out? Take as long as you need.”
“Thanks. I’m not really facing it right now. I won’t do it till it feels right. But I need to do… something. And no, I’m not here to lay low. All I’m feeling right now is anger. I came here for work. I thought you had something in the works where I could put down some Freaks. But I got what I needed from Doctor Midnite.”
“Wait, did you say something about a demon… named Chaos?”
“Yes. Jay, this is real, man. No shit. Just like the Doc said. My father was an agent for a secret organization called The Black Hand. I just learned all this myself yesterday. And Pollock, too. Pollock was a fucking plant who was misleading me the entire two years I was looking. Hell, the entire time I knew him. I killed him with my bare hands. What I saw in The 88, I’ll never forget.
“Demons are real. All that shit Doctor Midnite is going on about. It’s true. The Descent was not a virus outbreak. It was the Essence of Chaos that was used to infect Emily, who was then released into the public, and there you have it. The Collapse followed shortly after. I saw Chaos enter my father from who fuckin’ knows where and start talking to me!”
I’m still not facing it, but talking about it all so openly and matter-of-factly is starting to stir my emotional pot. In all honesty, I don’t know if I’ll ever come to terms with her death. I didn’t plan on this happening. I didn’t want to cry in front of Jay, although I’m sure he understands.
“So if I understand this correctly, and I usually do, yesterday you went into a bar called The 88 in Chicago, expecting to rescue your two-years-missing sister, but what you actually got were several beatings, plus news your boy Pollock was a traitor, Mr. Prescott works for a giant cult, and the Descent was perpetrated by a demon who brought on the end times by killing Emily.”
“Yes. As crazy as that sounds, yes.”
“Okay. Tonight we drink to Emily. Granted, I never met her, but it was evident in how you searched for her that you loved her. You need to take tonight and get your head as straight as you can, because tomorrow we outfit you with some guns and maybe a little body armor. I know I can’t stop you, so I might as well make sure you go in fully loaded.”
“Thanks, Jay.”
He nods. “Like the Doc said, put that Kade motherfucker in the ground.”
I wake up with a slight headache, but it burns off quickly after I make my way to the cafeteria and get some breakfast. It’s a great feeling to have a direction to go in. Something to focus on. I’m sure how long it will take me to get to Nashville from here, but I’m fairly certain it will be treacherous.
After I eat, I make my way to Ops, where Jay runs the show. It’s pretty amazing. They’ve added a ton of technological equipment in the year and half since I’ve been here. Then again, the Mitsubishi plant had just been acquired by Jay a month before I was here last.
There are at least twenty monitors, all of which show different views capturing the entirety of the exterior of the safe zone. This means they installed cameras all over as the first line of defense. There are five separate cameras trained on the sky. I don’t think Freaks were going to be flying anytime soon, but Jay makes me aware that, these days, the Freaks aren’t the only ones you need to worry about.
“Not six weeks ago we had to fend off an attack by Regulars who wanted to take over my fuckin’ house!” Jay clearly has an ‘us against them’ mentality. ‘Us against us’ is bullshit that he isn’t having.
When I’d looked at the monitors for long enough, I decide it’s time meet up with Jay. A short, stocky man built like a brick shithouse got up and greeted me.
“Commander Reeves is expecting you, Mr. Prescott,” says the man.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Yes, sir. Follow me, please.” He extends his arm in a gesture towards the Ops exit. We travel down a large corridor several hundred feet to a large office that had been constructed separate from Ops.
“Mr.…Uh…Prescott to see you, sir,” he says.
“Thank you, Kevin. That will be all. Return to Ops and maintain a vigilant watch.”
“Dude, Kevin looks like he could do some damage. What’s he doing in Ops?” I ask.
“Kevin can, in fact, do some damage. However, at this juncture, his intelligence is more important than brawn. Besides, he told me once he’s always wanted to work in Ops! I chalk it up to dedication. Right this way, buddy.” We walk down another very long corridor and eventually enter what looks like a hangar. Again, nobody’s flying these days, so I have no idea what the hell goes on here.
Jay reaches up, squeezes his shoulder radio, and says, “Bring it in.”
Large double hangar doors part and I swear to God they queue Kenny Loggins’ “Danger Zone” as I watch my Jeep Comanche drive in with a new look that just about buckles my knees.
“Now, Prescott, I can see your fucking crazy gears turning. This will not make you invincible. However, it will keep you safer. From what the Doc said, this Kade character is ruthless. And a psychopath. And a sadist. And he fucking kills children, dammit! You got to stop him.
“I’m still not sure why you are doing this. Misguided sense of heroism? Death wish? I don’t know. But Prescott, you are one of the toughest, most driven, and smartest ass kickers I know. You’re going to put an end to this fucker and come right back here for some more PBR. You understand me, man?”
“Are we going to hug now?” I say, and I start laughing. It doesn’t take too long to realize Jay isn’t laughing with me. It dawns on me right then: Jay doesn’t have a lot of friends. He has people that need something from him, and people he needs something from. His friend Prejean had died, and now I was going off halfcocked to probably die, too.
“Jay, I get it. But right now, at this point in my life I need to figure out if I want to keep living. I need this. If I make it out of Nashville alive I’m going to come back here, and let’s see what we can do about what Doctor Midnite says. Let’s take it back. Right now, though, I need to take out my pain on somebody else. Now tell me what you did to my baby.”
He takes a deep breath and looks me in the eyes. “Okay.” We walk into the hangar area without saying anything and just take it all in.
“First of all, your engine and all essential parts and accessories have been tuned up or replaced to the best possible standards. I don’t how it ran before, but it’s never run better. As you can see, we’ve added Kevlar panels to the doors and the rear and repainted the entire vehicle black. We can’t do anything at this point about your windshield or windows except replace them if or when they’re shot out. We’re always scavenging, though, and if we come across bulletproof glass that we can make work with the Comanche we’ll take care of you. We’ve also added a rooftop rack of floodlights so hopefully you’ll have a nighttime edge if you’re in trouble. Lastly, and not easily done, we’ve added a rocket launcher to the roof. It’s fixed; you can’t aim it. You can only fire it. It’s hardwired into the third preset button on your radio. Preset one is for Doctor Midnite.”
What can I say? I’m totally blown away by what Jay has done for me. We were friends, one step up from acquaintances, plus I’ve actually gotten a close compatriot of his killed, yet here we are. He’s done this for me. Why? Maybe he’s hedging his bets and he figures the way things are in the world, it’s time to make bonds tight with whoever you think you’re going to be fighting with when the shit goes down. I mean, who knows what the future will hold unless we take it back like the Doc says. I don’t deserve this, but I’ll take it.
“Where’s the A-Te
am?” I ask. “I’d like to thank them.”
“They don’t need or require your thanks. My men live to take down Freaks. This Kade asshole is up to something and you need to stop it. Hopefully this will help.”
“Thanks, Jay. Seriously, like I said—”
“Get outta here, you old pirate!” He turns and walks away towards the hangar exit. “Oh, there’s one more thing I forgot to mention. It’s in the dash. Have fun with it. Preset number two. Now get going.”
I stop by the base doctor one more time before I leave.
“There’s a rumor going around that you’re about to go off and do something stupid, Mr. Prescott,” says Dr. Fornton West, the Normal SZ chief medical officer. “As the closest thing you have to a primary care physician, I think you’re being reckless and a complete dumbass.”
“While I do appreciate your professional medical opinion, Doc, I’ll decide for myself when I’m being a dumbass. Or do you have a pill for that?”
“You’re a walking clipboard of mostly physical and probably mental health problems. You need rest. And honestly, some therapy. Or at least to talk to somebody about what you’ve been through. I’m happy to volunteer, or I can set you up with a base psychologist.”
“There’s a base psychologist?”
“Yes, Prescott. You’re making a grave mistake. You need to heal. Regardless of where your head is, your body must repair itself. Your gunshot wound is going to be okay.” He squeezes out a topical cream on a small piece of gauze, then wraps several layers of bandage around the wound. A little too tight if you ask me.
“Obviously your chest wound is cleaned and bandaged, but you have to take the meds or infection will become a problem. I can’t stress that enough, Mr. Prescott.”
“Quit calling me that.”
West pauses, with an internal eye roll, I’m sure, and then continues. “I can’t stress enough how aware you need to be of infection. In today’s world, infection is a stone-cold killer. You must take the meds. The nasty cut to your leg, which will leave you with a little hobble, needs stitches, but there’s no time. I’m going with staples. Here, bite this towel.”
The staples hurt like a son of a bitch. Dr. West seems to be taking out his frustration over my decision making with every individual staple. I get the whole Hippocratic oath thing, but he acts personally offended that I’m not taking his advice.
My numerous other cuts and abrasions will heal. I stay around for a few minutes and finish up with Doc West, but eventually I had to go. He hands me several different bottles of meds, some bandages, and a few medical supplies along with a long piece of paper, presumably instructions. I want to take all the meds now.
“You’re not a young man anymore, Prescott. I can’t stress enough that what you’ve done to your body is traumatic. Simply put, you are not physically able to fight right now.” He almost sounds like he’s pleading. This is getting weird so it’s time to check myself out.
“Listen, Doc, I appreciate you fixing me up.”
“You’re hardly fixed up.”
“Fine, whatever. I’m doing this. It’s all about mind over matter.” I step in closer. “It’s about will. Sheer will and I do have that. Thanks.”
“Take the pills. Change the bandages. At least don’t kill yourself being negligent.”
I leave the med center and head to the hanger to get the Comanche. There will be a scar or two, or three. Most notably on my heart. At some point I will have to talk to Emily. She deserves to hear from me a one final time.
WHILST BULLETS FLEW AT THE 88
Nashville, TN
Kendrick Kade sat at his desk in what used to be the main office of what used to be the Hard Rock Cafe Nashville. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, just waiting. It was terribly difficult to find good help these days! He had told the Freaks to get the evening’s events prepared, then come and retrieve him. He felt as if he’d been waiting for several hours. Hours? Why should he even be worrying about time? This still new and exciting world that had been given to him since the Descent was nothing but an endless, timeless playground of pure joy. Sometimes he would sit back with his feet up on his desk, just thinking about all the pain and suffering he’d inflicted in two short years.
But pondering the chaos and destruction he could impose on this godforsaken city for the rest of his natural born life, and possibly afterwards, now that was exciting.
“Somebody has to pay for Jason Aldean, God damn it,” he’d say on occasion, to some terrified Regular. “Might as well be you!” Then he’d beat them to death with a baseball bat. Kade never knew what way he was going to kill them until he was in the moment. He liked to keep it real like that. He liked the feeling of keeping his faithful Freak followers in are you?” he screamed and pounded his desk.
“I’m reeeaaady!”
So. Fucking. Hard. To. Find. Good. Help. These. Days.
He stood up and took a few steps back, knocking his chair to the ground. It was one of those old chairs the Hard Rock used in the dining area. Apparently when the Collapse occurred and everything went apeshit there was a three alarm need for awesome office chairs. The ones with fucking wheels so you could roll around the office while you were thinking and shit. Why couldn’t he have a damn leather office chair with wheels? He picked up his chair and smashed it into splinters over his very nice solid wood desk.
Right around that time, Kade’s personal assistant, Jaeger, entered the office.
“We’re ready for you, Boss,” he said timidly.
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Is Ortiz ready?”
“Yes, sir. Ortiz is ready and waiting for you.”
“He is, is he? Waiting… on me, Jaeger?”
Before the Freak answered, Kade picked up the sharpest piece from the busted chair and ran it straight through Jaeger’s right eye. The squishing, popping noise was a Mozart symphony to his ears.
“Don’t go just yet, asshole,” Kade whispered softly. I want you to see this.” He pulled the stick slowly from the eye socket, and there, impaled on the end, was the punctured eye of his soon-to-be-dead associate. He took the eye off the stick and ate it. “Maybe I’ll tell Ortiz I was eating and that caused me to fall a little behind schedule.”
What really sent the blood to his pecker was being able to watch a man die in his own puke.
Kade strode confidently out the front doors of the Hard Rock to a raucous ovation by his legion of Freaks, hundreds of them lived and lingered on the waterfront and down the long-deceased Broadway Avenue. Broadway before the Descent was the home of a Murderer’s Row of Honky-tonks and dive bars. Murderer’s Row due to the death of hopes and dreams more often than people.
The stage had been constructed several years before the Descent and was paid for partially by the Hard Rock and partially by the city. The Cumberland River flowed right behind it and the feeling was that it was a great place to have a permanent venue for all the varying musical acts that coexisted in Nashville. Kade just used it to pontify his rhetoric, and oh, to hurt and kill people for fun.
Kade never tired of hearing their cheers, their adoration. They truly loved him. There is something to be said for the love a couple of hundred people shared as they rape and pillage together. He was, after all, a righteous leader to his Freaks. They were like his children. And like any good father you had to set a positive example for your kids. Kade knew this. There were times to show forgiveness and understanding, and then there was tough love. He supposed tough love was what he showed Jaeger.
What the fuck? Nobody talks to me like that!
While he certainly had no problems disciplining the kids, what was about to happen was more about setting an example and a little about morals. He firmly believed you could make a point with violence, so the Freaks would understand potential consequences for their actions, but he will also give them a little show at the same time. After all, he was a giving leader.
Ortiz heard the applause and shortly thereafter came the chanting:
&n
bsp; “KADE! KADE! KADE!”
“Okay, you bloodthirsty psychos, here he is. The man you’ve all been waiting for! The man who brought lawlessness and degradation to the Music City… KADE!”
Kade took the mic from his longtime friend and began. “Thank you, Ortiz. Can I hear a little love for Ortiz? LOUDER! That’s better. The guy’s my number one ass-kicker. He deserves to hear from you.
“It’s very exciting to be with y’all tonight. I know you haven’t seen me in a while but I’ve been busy. I’ll get to that in a moment. Tonight, I want to talk about boundaries. Boundaries are important because to us, the entire city, no, the entire state… no, the entire world belongs to us! We have no boundaries. But sometimes outsiders don’t understand boundaries. You know who I’m talking about, right?”
More than two hundred boomed, “THE REGULARS!”
“That’s right, the Regulars want to come into our house. The house that I have, that we have worked so damn hard to build, and take our shit. What gives them the right to walk through our front door without even bothering to knock and steal our supplies?”
What started as a low, discombobulated mumble slowly grew into a rolling thunder crack of madness. “WE WANT BLOOD! WE WANT BLOOD! WE WANT BLOOD!”
Even Kade was a little surprised at how quickly the fuckers got frothy. “Damn, y’all! I applaud your enthusiasm. I really do, but I’m not done talking. But don’t you worry, there will be blood. Sometimes it’s easy to lose sight of who we do this for. Yes. we have all of this! Nashville, the Muuuuuuusic Citay! And yes, we did work hard to get it. We had to exterminate a lot of Regulars. That was difficult and taxing work. But come on, right? It was fun, too! And guess what?”
“WHAT?” they screamed in unison.
“Chaos was pleased. Chaos, who in his glory, made all of this possible. Chaos, who visits with me regularly to bestow his gratitude for a job well done. I used to be a member of an organization called The Black Hand. I know, many of you have heard this before. However, there are always newcomers. The Black Hand serves The Eighty-Eight. Listen up! This is important, you jackals. The Eighty-Eight Demons of Hell are a cabal of badass demons that desired, more than anything, to bring about the destruction of mankind. Our god, Chaos, pulled it off! And you helped! Give yourselves a hand! You should be proud.