by Bob Williams
I stand up and head for another beat-the-fuck-out-of-Prescott attack, when a fucking crazy ass idea flies right into my brain and perches like a bird on a wire.
Kahlen! How well can you see?
Not great, but well enough.
Can you read my thoughts? I have an idea but there’s only one shot at this.
Yes and yes! I can do that. Brilliant, little brother.
Okay.
“All right, Admiral Shit-for-Brains,” I say between gasps for air. “I’m about done with you. But before Kahlen and I kill you, I just need to know one more thing. It’s really important.” I’m playing it up a bit to try to catch him off guard.
“What sort of asinine question will you ask now to delay the inevitability of your death?” replies Shen.
“Well, I’m an active eater. I chew my food vigorously. So why does corn look untouched in my shit?”
Shen screams. “I can’t wait to kill you and be done with this. There is so much more to do. So much more—”
“Man, shut the fuck up. You’re not walking out of this room.”
“What he said,” says Kahlen.
I move in first. I charge as if to rain down another Superman punch and act as if I am about take to the sky, my right fist pumping high in the air. As hoped, Shen brings both hands up to parry the punch ... which never comes. My right fist is pumped high while my left hand jerks the Rohan Dagger from its sheath.
My hand sears instantly, but I’ve already tossed the dagger to Kahlen, who catches it, bloody eye and all, and immediately throws it back at Shen, where it is deposited hilt deep directly in his heart.
Considering what I’ve seen happen to Malcolm, I would love to hang around and watch that cocksucker roast from the inside out. But I grab Kahlen by the arm. “We best get the fuck outta here.”
Kahlen shakes her head. “I have to know he’s dead.”
I look at her and cock my head. “Give me a break, Em, uh, Kahlen,” I say, exasperated. “I saw what happened to Malcolm, and it wasn’t pretty. And that was just pieces of leather off that knife. You just plunged it eight inches into his heart. He might explode and bring this fucker down to the ground. I sure as shit don’t want to be here when that happens.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
She breaks away from the scene and heads for the door. I reach for her hand, grab it, and hold tight. Kahlen stops immediately and turns to face me. Our eyes meet, and mine well up instantly.
“Em. Kahlen. I know there’s a story to be told. And I want to hear it. But right now I just want to thank you for saving my life and lives of my friends. I’d like to walk out of here with you. Not in front or behind you.”
“I’d like that, brother.” She says my name again. I guess I’m going to have to get used to that.
We both turn our backs on Admiral Shen and walk, hands clasped, out of the barroom and down the hall. Neither one of us looks back as we hit the door.
DING!
***
When we walk out the door of the Seventh Son, the first thing we see is Cole, Shields, and Lexi sitting on the gallows stage. Shields still grips her katana tightly in her hand, in case any sudden surprises arise. She is caked in blood and gore and looks flat-out gassed. When she hears the bell, she allows herself to peer over, and when she sees us, a crescent moon smile creeps across her face. She places her hand on Cole’s shoulder.
Michael Cole took a decent gash to his head at some point, but it has congealed and no longer bleeds. It looks nasty and totally awesome at the same time. He, too, was seemingly doused with the same bucket of blood Sissy Spacek got in Carrie. He looks every bit as exhausted as Shields, but if I know Michael Cole, he could tap his reserves and keep on killing. That’s why I never go into battle without him. Ever. When he hears the bell, he whips his head around to see who’s emerged victorious. Once he sees it’s us, he glances back at Shields and they embrace.
And Lexi. God, I love her. The second she hears the bell, her ears spring up and she’s off that stage and bounding toward us. I hurt so bad and I’m scared to death she’s going to jump up into my arms, but she doesn’t. She just runs circles around us repeatedly, barking her head off. Happier than I’ve ever seen her before.
“Kahlen, this is my dog, Lexi.”
“I know of Lexi. She is a Point of Light.”
“What?”
“We have so much to discuss, brother.”
“It’s just Prescott.”
Cole and Shields arrive and we all share sincere hugs and express all the happiness in the world that the C-Team will live to fight another day.
“Michael Cole and Laura Shields, I’d like to present my sister, Kahlen.”
“Not Emily?” asks Shields.
“I am still his sister, yet I am not Emily.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” says Cole. “You sound batshit crazy. You’ll fit right in. Welcome to the club.”
I laugh. “That’s Cole for you, Kahlen. Might as well get used to it.”
“The Protectorate Guard has immense respect for all of you,” she says, “and pledge you their support in future endeavors. We no longer plan to sit on the sidelines. If you need us, call me.”
“I believe I have your number. By the way, what happened to your associates?”
“Man, they opened up a heavenly can of whoop-ass and went home,” says Cole. “It was ‘Hello and goodbye, bitches.’”
“Those were their orders,” says Kahlen. “Secure the perimeter. Prescott and I would take Shen down.”
“Your sister had faith in you, Prescott. Feels good, doesn’t it?” Shields smiles at me.
“Indeed it does.”
“So, if I could change the subject real quick. You guys killed Shen, right?” asks Cole.
“Yes,” we say together.
“With the dagger, right?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Well, it doesn’t look like the place burned down. Why don’t we move this shindig to the Seventh Son. See if any of those taps are working.”
I have to admit, that is a fantastic idea.
“This is a good idea, Michael Cole,” says Kahlen. “I must retrieve the Rohan Dagger and return it the Higher Grounds.”
“Okay, then, it’s decided. To the Seventh Son.”
With my arm around the shoulder of my beloved sister, and the three closest friends I have ever had in Cole, Shields, and Lexi, we make our way to the bar. I have to admit, having Kahlen back is still unbelievable. This is what a family feels like. This feels good. Safe.
“Oh, shit,” says Cole.
“What?” I ask, alarmed.
“It just occurred to me. We all lived ... again. They’ll never make the movie now.”
Three of us laugh, and one angelic ass-kicker is confused as we start to make our way to the bar.
Then the building explodes right in front of us. Wood, metal, and glass shards fly everywhere. Flames crawl out of the rubble, creeping at first, then grow ferociously as oxygen gives them life. In no time flat, the place is ablaze. We all watch in utter disbelief as this building that has loomed over everything since we arrived seems destined to burn to the ground.
We stand there and watch the fire ease its way into the cracks and crevices of the skeletal remains of the Seventh Son.
It’s a total loss.
“Well, shit,” I say. “At least we have each other.”
EPILOGUE
I honestly can’t stop smiling. Held tightly in my hand is a pair of half-melted scissors. Standing next to me is Laura Shields. She holds the tattered end of a piece of purple ribbon. Michael Cole holds the meat of the roll and streams it through his fingers as he walks the five feet across from her and stands with our friend Jay Rives. Kahlen is in attendance and so are roughly thirty of the finest men and women of the Normal Safe Zone who came to Columbus to rebuild the destroyed Seventh Son. Today, using scissors rescued from the ashes and ribbon pulled from the rubble, we usher in a new era for our merry little
band. Today we celebrate the opening of Malcolm’s.
The instant the fire broke at the Seventh Son, all we could do was stand and watch it burn. As soon as it was possibly feasible, Kahlen, Cole, Shields, Lexi, and I went back in. Kahlen, first and foremost, had to recover the Rohan Dagger, which she did right away.
It should also be pointed out that, when the Seventh Son erupted in flames, if not before, Rebecca slipped away unnoticed into the mid-morning sun. Truthfully, we didn’t bother to look for her that much. Karma will catch up to her at some point ... unless we do first.
The rest of us went through and ... I don’t quite know how to explain it. We all started collecting things that hadn’t been torched in the fire. Photos from the amazing historical hallway. Glassware from the bar. Bar taps. And finally, in an act of near divine intervention, the bar slab itself was structurally intact, although a little worse for wear.
Later that very evening, Kahlen and I had the talk at Lobo’s Printing that we weren’t able to have on the battlefield. It was emotional. It was ... heartfelt. She made it clear that she loved me very much, but as great as it was to see me, she was different. She wasn’t Emily anymore. The Naming had changed that permanently. She likened it to the X-Men’s War Room. A simulation so real, so physically and emotionally debasing, that if you chose to survive, you are simply no longer the person that allowed themselves to be killed. You’re a new being. And thus the new name.
She explained that she would be taking the Rohan Dagger and Malcolm’s remains back to the Higher Grounds. She would continue to offer our team assistance as Malcolm had, and while she would not be a regular visitor, the rules had definitely changed up there and she would be able to cross whenever she was needed. Or on special occasions.
In the week after Kahlen returned to the HG, Cole, Shields, Lexi, and I continually felt drawn to the skeletal remains of the Seventh Son. We spent hours upon hours cleaning the place out, until nothing at all remained. Except what remained. A couple of walls, a bar slab, and about twenty-five percent of a roof. Everything salvageable was moved over to the dairy building for safekeeping. Then I placed a call to my good buddy Jay Rives.
I’ll say this for Jay. He loves a challenge. He left Kevin Summers in charge and brought a convoy of folks with him to Columbus for a special post-Descent episode of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Using a great deal of materials that Jay brought, we still had to raid Gehrig’s Hardware for a slew of things. One of which was badass tool belts for everyone.
Jay even managed, post-Descent, to have a gentleman who had a working knowledge of beer-brewing machinery and all that. They tried to teach me all the terms, but it wasn’t happening. I’d be happy to drink it, but I was staying out of making it. Cole, however, was knee-deep in it. It looked like he might have a job now.
When our new home / headquarters was nearing its completion, the discussion began concerning what we were going to call the place. We had almost settled on honoring the original name of Seventh Son when out of the clear blue sky I heard.
Malcolm’s.
And that was it. This new, beautiful building included a nice large room for each of us upstairs. And guest quarters for three. The bar was completely redone and fucking beautiful.
An extremely powerful and super badass antenna was put on the roof. We have one channel and one channel only: Doctor Midnite.
New mirrors were added behind the bar, and when you pull the tap ... actual beer comes out. It’s fitting, if you ask me. The one and only beer you’ll find at Malcolm’s is Timelord Irish Stout.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So I stand right under the neon-light angel stick figure with a crooked halo, and to the encouragement of everyone, cut the ribbon. Raucous applause ensues. Everyone in attendance is laughing, smiling, and clapping. Even Kahlen smiles—a small victory.
Cole and Shields meet me and Lexi in the center in front of the doors. We each take a moment to trade hugs before welcoming everyone in for the inaugural first round.
I whip around and tug heartily on the front door.
DING!
I was always keeping the bell. It saved my life. Everyone slowly files in and down the Historic Columbus Hallway, as we now call it, and into the barroom. I walk around the bar and down to where the only tap is positioned.
Directly behind me, in a handmade frame, is a beautiful photo of the Main Street Bridge here in Columbus. There is no timestamp on the photo, but the bridge looks to be in great condition. Maybe not new, because one or two of the lights are out. In the front corner of the photo, under a strip of lights, sits an empty bench. This photo, taken by a man named Jamie Abel, speaks to us.
None of us standing in the room right now are from Columbus. Truth be told, if asked, nobody in this room right now had ever been to Columbus before. But we fought for it. And now it’s our home.
Message: We’re here to stay. You want to fuck with us. Bring it on. The door is always open.
DING!
AFTERWORD
Writing this book has been about as frightening a task as I’ve ever been asked to do. I have to thank Nick Cole, Michael Bunker, and the folks at Wonderment Media for having the faith in me to do it when I wasn’t sure I could. I had self-published only three short stories prior to this effort.
There are a few more people that I need mention. One dear friend—Jay Rives. He is not only a character in my book but a wonderful human being and one the closest friends I have, or ever will have. Jay actually lives in Normal, Illinois, and it was his suggestion to have the Normal Safe Zone be the Mitsubishi plant that currently operates there.
I must also give immense credit to Bob Crosley. Bob has been with Prescott almost as long as I have. Bob gives brilliant advice, he’s a great listener, gives honest feedback, and sincere praise. I’m not sure that what you have just finished reading would be in your hands without Bob’s invaluable time and guidance. If I were Luke Skywalker—and believe me, I’m not, but if I was— Bob Crosley would be Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Let me also thank my “Jedi council” of beta readers: David Walters, Bill Carr, Ron Deal, Heidi Friedrichs, Catherine Violando, and Jay Rives. Not just for this particular book. These brave souls read everything I write. They are special.
I have to give a little above and beyond recognition for Heidi Friedrichs. Heidi volunteers her time to read literally everything I write, repeatedly. She gives editing advice and sound suggestions and feedback. Heidi has probably read this book twenty times. I can’t thank her enough.
Finally, and most importantly, I must thank my wife, Sara. Sara supported this effort from the very beginning and was graciously willing to pick up my slack when I was in down the rabbit hole writing. The Princess Bride reference was all her. I love you so much.
I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
You came back! You are a seriously twisted individual. And, of course, if this is your first experience with Prescott and Co., welcome aboard! Either way, you have my sincere gratitude.
Writing the second Low Lying Lands adventure has, in many ways, been more difficult than the first, both in the literary world of the Low Lying Lands and the real world. While I am an independent author, I work a full-time job with Habitat for Humanity, have a six-year-old daughter, Kate, and maintain a home. All of that demands my time and careful attention. Finding the time to write this book was very challenging this time around. And it showed—it took me five months to write this versus the three months for Music City Macabre. I think the care taken this time around will show in the words. I hope you enjoyed it.
Now I have to address something which I embarrassingly forgot to do in the acknowledgments of Music City Macabre. If you are not familiar with the history of MCM, it was originally written to be published under the banner of Apocalypse Weird, an entity which unfortunately died shortly before this book was to be published. The character of Doctor Midnite was pivotal to that u
niverse. As such, his section in MCM was not written by me. It was written by my good friend Forbes West (www.forbeswestbooks.com).
When starting book two, I knew Doctor Midnite would return, so I contacted Forbes once again, and he produced. Once again all Midnite material in both Music City Macabre and Arch City Apocalypse (except for a few lines inserted to forward ideology) were written by Forbes West.
While the future of Doctor Midnite is uncertain, I feel it is only right to give Forbes his due for what he’s done for the character within the Low Lying Lands’ first two volumes. I will be writing the character going forward. Thank you, Forbes!
Continuing on. I must, of course, give thanks to my “Jedi Council,” comprised of Deanne Charlton, Heidi Freidrichs, Owen Grimenstein, Ernie Howard, Jay Rives, Jonathan Ballagh, Laura Muzinic, Chad Gearig-Howe, Catherine Violando, Carla Moore, Bryan Young, Tim Pollock, Bob Crosley, and Bill Carr. Your candid input, valuable encouragement, and ability to challenge me on story development make me a better writer, and I thank you all.
I would be remiss if I didn’t take the time to thank two very good friends who are also fraternity brothers of mine from Alpha Phi Tau at Heidelberg University in Tiffin, Ohio: Brett Leonberger and Eric Nutt. Both are current Columbus residents and gave me great insight into the area of “Fourth and Fourth,” and the Seventh Son Brewing Company.
That is the actual name of the brewery. With the permission of Jen, Travis, and Colin, the founders, I manipulated the name a little to fit better in sentence structure, and I took complete license with the layout of the establishment. There is no kitchen in the real Seventh Son, and especially not a giant walk-in freezer. Maybe after they read this book, there might be a “Prescott” Ale.
It won’t be right away, but look for Low Lying Lands: Volume Three in the not-too-distant future.
Thank you again for reading. I hope you enjoy reading the words as much as I enjoy writing them.
FOLLOW BOB WILLIAMS