Blood and Chaos: The Collected Low Lying Lands Saga (The Low Lying Lands Saga)

by Bob Williams

  I’d lived in Chicago most of my life. As a United States Marine, I’d served overseas. I’d seen peace, and I’d seen war. In both instances, though, there was culture. There was music, art, dancing ... life! Before the Descent, the world—I hate to be so general, but if you’re reading this, you may not know—the world was a place you lived. But that is no more. Ruin and anguish are now the colors of choice. Fires blaze as the Freaks dance happily in the destructive glow. It was like starting all over again, with a cruel and unforgiving twist.

  Another caveat. The most important detail, actually. My sister Emily was missing. Early in her disappearance, people tried to convince me she was a Dreamer. Not Emily. She had too much heart to commit suicide. Emily lived life in service to others. She would’ve wanted to help in any way she could.

  For over two years, I searched for her. There was no stone unturned, no door not kicked in, no lead that wasn’t followed.

  I tracked her to a run-down bar on Chicago’s Southside called The 88. Within those walls, my entire life was turned upside down. Everything I was raised to believe was stripped away. A betrayal of the highest magnitude. Shocking family secrets were revealed, I killed my best friend, and I barely escaped with my life.

  Reeling from physical pain and emotional trauma, I fled to Normal, Illinois. There I sought solace from my old friend, Jay Rives. While in his company, I heard the radio broadcast of one Doctor Midnite. An eccentric personality, no doubt, he immediately gave me a way to focus my rage. I headed to Nashville, Tennessee to depose a ruthless dictator by the name of Kendrick Kade and take out as many Freaks as I could in the process.

  Along the way, I picked up a German Shepherd named Lexi, and through tragedy, I found hope in the company of a sword-wielding former soccer mom named Shields and an angry ex-Army Ranger named Cole. And I met Frank Wycheck.

  My name is Prescott. Doctor Midnite inspired me to “take it back.” So my friends and I, that’s what we do. We are no longer on defense. We intend to fight to regain control of our way of life. Freaks be damned.

  NORMAL

  Commander Jay Rives was sound asleep in his quarters when the comm signal woke him straight up.

  Rives rolled over immediately, sensing an emergency, and picked up the radio. “Rives here. What is it, Kevin?”

  “Sir, apologies for waking you. This is a non-emergency situation,” Kevin said matter-of-factly.

  “Then it better be damn good, son.”

  “Sir. You wanted to be alerted if he returned. It’s Prescott. He’s back.”

  Commander Jay Rives was officially awake. And happy. But cranky. At one o’clock in the morning? Rives took his thumb off the radio button and let out a fantastic yawn. Smiling, he pressed the button and said, “Is he still driving the same crappy blue Chevy Nova?”

  “Sir?”

  “Advise Mr. Prescott and his friends they are welcome visitors to the Normal Safe Zone. Have either Jase or Keegan take them through Visitor Registration and assign them clearance badges, level beta. Then show them to their quarters. Tell Prescott to meet me alone at the Safe House at ten hundred hours. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Goodnight, Kevin. And, Kevin. The dog, Lexi? She gets a badge, too.”

  Getting up at eight o’clock in the morning, after being in the Comanche for sixteen hours, is bullshit. After what we’d been through in Nashville, and of course Jay’s newfound respect and admiration for me, I thought I’d get to sleep in like everyone else. But no, of course not.

  Dick.

  I sit up halfway, only to be met by extreme bodily discomfort, and immediately fall back to a side-resting elbow position. You know, in case somebody happened to walk into the room in that exact instant. Appearances.

  Kevin had come by and woken me as I’d requested the night before. Before I meet with Jay, I need to swing by and get a checkup from Dr. West.

  In agony, I swing my legs over the side of the cot and my feet meet the ice-cold concrete floor. The Normal Safe Zone is the former Mitsubishi production plant, a place that underwent what was, without a doubt, the single most incredible post-Descent remodel known to man.

  Cole, Shields, Lexi, and I are staying in the guest quarters. About twenty-five percent of the entire building had undergone a massive construction project that saw walls, plumbing, and central heat and air worked into each individual living space. Since I was last here, solar panels have been added to many key external spots. Who could guess where they found those.

  There’s by no means enough room to live in luxury, but it was the end of the world and nobody was complaining. It’s a pretty great setup when you think about it.

  New entries, meaning new inhabitants who’d been vetted and granted long-term residential status, initially had to share quarters. Through hard work, exemplary production in the assigned field, and good behavior, you moved up. Eventually you got your own room. Then you escalated in room size. This had all been conceived by the masterful noggin of one Jay Rives. Granted, I hadn’t seen but a few of what I’d call successful safe zones, but I could say definitively that Jay ran the best, most secure, most efficient SZ I knew of. He had the best because he demanded the best. Or you could just get the fuck out. But I wasn’t gonna tell him. He had subordinates to pump up his ego.

  I rifle through my duffel, come up with pants, a shirt, a tie, and flip flops. I arduously dress myself with only one muffled “goddammit” and head out the door. If Kevin had followed through, which was a foregone conclusion, I have an 8:15 appointment with the good doctor. If you ever watched the new version of Battlestar Galactica, think of the doctor from that show, Cottle. Chain smoker, kind of an asshole. That’s Fornton West. This is only my second time seeing him but I guess you could call him my primary care physician.

  A short wait in the room named for it, and I am on my way back to see him. The nurse, Jessica Guttman, who in no time I very much like, says in a thick southern drawl, “He’s already bein’ a supah asshole this mohnin’.”

  “Well, sugar, I have a small sample size to work with, but that’s all I know.”

  “Then you, sir, should be right fine with the good doc.” Nurse Guttman smiles kindly, like we have an understanding, opens the door, turns, and walks back the way she came.

  Doctor West enters the room already looking four cups of coffee short of a pot.

  “Well, Mr. Prescott ...”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Oh. Right. You look like shit, Prescott. And I don’t allow dogs in my office.”

  “Better, and tough shit. This is Lexi. She goes where I go. The end.”

  “Ugh ... fine. How long has it been since I’ve had you in my office?” Dr. West asks, an intimidating tone to his voice.

  I sigh. “I’ve got no idea, Doc. The time, it all blends together.”

  “Four months, one week, three days. That was the last time you graced this office with your presence.”

  “Sorry, Doc, I—”

  “Now, I don’t want to hear it, Prescott. You love going off all half-cocked. You’re already the stuff of legends around here.”

  “Well, that ain’t so bad is it, Doc?” I say, stunned from hearing about my new status.

  “Well, it just so happens it is, friend.”

  Man, he is pissed. That didn’t take long at all. Like it was festering since he heard my name last night.

  “It matters because I took an oath to provide the best care I could to each and every patient I see.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now everybody wants to be a tough guy just like Prescott. Nobody wants my opinion. They want to suffer through the pain or whatever dumbshit philosophy you live by.”

  “Now wait just a damn minute,” I say. “First of all, I just walked in the door. Secondly, you calm the fuck down. I’m here, aren’t I? I’ve got nowhere to be for the next ... I don’t know. I wanted to make sure I saw you before I even saw Jay. Commander Rives. Now, I hurt all goddamn over. So can
you check me out and give me some pills or advice, or anything? I’m hurting, Doc. My body and my mind. I’m here. And I don’t think I’m going anywhere for a while. I need to heal. And my friends need to rest. Just ... tell me what you want or need me to do. I’m listening.”

  After what seemed like an eternity, West says, “Take off your shirt and have a seat.”

  My checkup is an uncomfortable situation. Dr. West ends up being rather kind. We discuss briefly what I’ve been up to since Nashville and how, oddly enough, I don’t appear to have many—well, not really any—new wounds. The injuries I sustained in Chicago, mainly my leg, have healed nicely, and my emotional outlook has improved greatly as well. I attribute most of that to Shields and Cole.

  It’s tough to deny the two of them their due. Since they entered my life, I’ve felt tremendously ... driven? Needed? I don’t know. And I’ll never tell them, but I enjoy their company, and I feel we have a purpose. We are growing stronger together.

  Most important, though, is Lexi. After learning about Emily, I thought my heart would wither and die. Standing there, beaten and bloodied in The 88, I could actually feel my heart shrinking. How unbelievable a circumstance that within days I would come across Lexi in a Paducah, Kentucky rest-stop bathroom.

  Always thankful to you, Cory Stalker.

  I love her. Her companionship means everything to me. I don’t want to imagine any scenario in which Lexi dies of anything but old age.

  Dr. West advises me to stay off the road for a while, basically surmising that all of my bodily discomfort is due to prolonged time cramped up in a car, and that my body just needs to remember it’s supposed to be upright.

  “Here,” he says. “Advil. You get your own bottle. That stuff doesn’t grow on trees like it used to, so take it sparingly. Now, you and your dog get out my office and go see the Commander.”

  “Yes, Doctor!”

  “And, Prescott ...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Take care of yourself.”

  “Will do,” I say, and gingerly walk out.

  I clip my beta badge back into plain sight, and Lexi and I make our way toward the Safe House, which is the watering hole of the Normal Safe Zone, for the meeting with Jay. Meeting? I haven’t really thought about what’s going to happen at this … meeting. I was just thinking it was a catch-up thing. But now that I think about, he could be pretty pissed at me.

  We were on the road for over four months, and I hadn’t said more than two words to him. His argument would be that he had a CB radio installed in the damn Comanche. And he’d have a valid point. It’s just, well, nothing happened. There’s nothing to tell him.

  Lexi and I saunter down the corridor toward the Safe House. It’s a great place to hang out, congregate with your fellow man, and behave yourself. There has never been a punch thrown within its walls, and the poor soul who throws the first one will need the protection of a host of angels.

  Lexi and I walk confidently into the establishment a full ten minutes early. While on the road, I had been teaching Lexi to have a more badass strut. Cole says it’s not working. Shields, well, she just shakes her head and walks away when pressed about it.

  Ten a.m. and the place is quite literally empty. I take a seat at a table well away from the entrance, in case Jay went all Jay, like he’s capable of doing at times. Lexi, unsolicited, takes a few laps around my table until she’s comfortable and lays down mere inches from my feet.

  A young woman comes out from behind the bar and approaches the table.

  “Hey there! I’m Sophie. What can I getcha?” She is rather spritely.

  “PBR.”

  “And for Miss Lexi?”

  “Huh?” I say, confused.

  “You guys are rock stars around here! When Commander commed an hour ago and told me to clear the place for you, I couldn’t believe it. So, water in a bowl?”

  “Yeah ... thanks.”

  What the fuck? He cleared the place out for me?

  Sophie returns shortly with my Pabst Blue Ribbon tall boy and a small bowl of water for Lexi. I pull the tab, take a long pull, and look up to see Jay Rives standing in the entryway. This feels like a replay of several months ago when I showed up here unannounced. I hadn’t known how that was gonna go, either.

  Before I know it, he’s standing in front of me, glaring.

  Oh shit.

  A wide grin shoots across his face and his arms spread out wide. “What? You couldn’t call? You couldn’t write? You asshole. Stand up!”

  I ease off the chair and weakly offer, “What?”

  “Let me get a look at you.” He looks me up and down. “Wow. You look like shit.”

  “You’re the second person to tell me that in the last two hours.”

  “Well, guess what? We’re both right. What the hell happened, man? Where were you guys?” He steps in and gives me a hearty embrace. I reciprocate. Lexi emerges from under the table with a half-hearted tail wag.

  “Hey there, girl. It’s nice to know you remember me. Unlike your partner here. I’m sure you would’ve called if you could. Sit down, Prescott. Let’s talk. Soph! Another round for my friend here and one for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “First off, how is everyone? Anybody need to get in and see the Doc besides you?”

  “No. We’re all good.”

  “The Jeep. Everything good? I know you fired the rocket in Nashville. I’ve been waiting to replace that for a while. Did the CB quit working?”

  “Jay ... JAY! Everything is fine. The Jeep could use a tune-up, but that’s all. The CB works perfectly,” I say, dejection clearly in my voice.

  He leans in real close and says, “Then why the fuck couldn’t you see fit to call? I haven’t heard from you in four months.”

  “Actually four months, two weeks, and three days or some shit, according to Dr. West.”

  “Fuck you, Prescott. I want some answers.”

  “That’s just it, Jay. There are no answers. There was nothing to report. We left Nashville, drove from Huntsville to Montgomery. Then Jackson, Baton Rouge, Shreveport, Texarkana. We had a small skirmish in Hot Springs, before Jefferson City, Springfield, and back to Normal.”

  “Jesus, man. What the hell is going on out there, Prescott?”

  I think about how to phrase it. “Nothing. Death, destruction, and tumbleweeds, brother. The Regulars went dark ... or they’re gone mad. Fuckin’ ... poof!”

  “There hasn’t been any activity around here either, Freak or otherwise. I chalked it up to luck. The comm in Ops has been a flatline for months. There could be Regulars that need our help who have no way to contact us. How’s Malcolm?

  “Malcolm hasn’t said one word to me since Nashville.”

  “We haven’t heard a damn peep out of Doc Midnite in over three months.”

  So Jay has been catching the same suck-bug I’ve been dealing with.

  The sources that provide our direction, our inspiration, are either dead, hiding, or vacationing in Boca. Doctor Midnite was a charismatic radio personality who broadcast from ‘parts unknown.’ Whenever I say ‘parts unknown’ in my head, I try to sound like Jim Ross, the old WWE announcer. The last time I was in Normal, I was lacking direction and, while in the Safe House, heard Midnite’s now famous ‘take it back’ rant. It led me to Nashville. Since then, Midnite has been dark. Not a word. I can only hope he’s not dead. I liked his style.

  Malcolm. That was a whole ‘nother story. He is The Network. He is also an angel. Yes, that kind of angel, and a member of an angelic brigade known as the New Protectorate. He assisted me and the team in Nashville, but there was a slight insinuation after the fact that he may have compromised his directorate. I haven’t heard from him in four months. Maybe he’s up in Heaven getting forty lashes from the Protectorate Guard.

  Where the fuck are you, Malcolm?

  “Look, Jay. Maybe you can assign us all some work, you know, after a week of rest and PBR, and then Cole, Shields, and I can take a shot at a goo
d ol’ fashioned post-Descent life for a while. What do you say, Lex? Sound fun?” It doesn’t. Lexi wants to put the clamp-down on Freaks.

  Jay looks me over. “Bullshit. Take the week, tell your team to keep the badges in plain sight, and they are free to roam. I’ll have morning Ops comm you the general operation schedule. Let’s see how long you last. See ya at dinner. Welcome back, my friend. It’s good to see you.” He excuses himself and exits as quietly as he entered.

  Fuck all this military-time crap. Lexi and I gather up Cole and Shields at five thirty, and we head toward the cafeteria.

  “This place is pretty amazing. I wandered around a little bit this morning. Saw the hood up on the Comanche,” Cole offers.

  “Jay said he has another rocket for it. Plus I told him it could use a tune-up. Knowing him, they’ll add an oil slick like in Spy Hunter.”

  Shields chimes in. “Oh! Spy Hunter. My son loved that game.” We all let that one hang there for a second. “Relax, guys. That game was cool. He had the retro-pack for his PS3. I enjoyed it quite a bit myself. You’re an old fart, Prescott.”

  We earn quite a few head turns as we enter and get in line. “Oh yeah, guys, if you didn’t already know,” I say, “we’re celebrities. Cole, don’t go looking for blow jobs in the alley.”

  “Come on, Prescott. When are you going to grow up?”

  I blush a bit after being singed by Shields. “Apologies, m’lady.”

  Cole has gotten rather used to ignoring my jabs. It’s all in fun. I mean, we’d deposed a Chaos-influenced psycho douchebag, survived a massive earthquake, and spent four months in a car together. We should be able to give each other some shit. If anything, I should be able to give them shit because I’m me.

  We make it through the line in good time and our seating arrangement is taken care of as I see Jay’s waving hand call us over to his table. As we approach, two people seated there arise and leave without comment. This leaves three empties, and Lexi takes to my feet in the aisle.