by R. B. Tetro
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTEEN
The savagery of violence has drenched my soul in blood lust
tearing the man that I was… out of my essence
leaving me someone that I do not wish to be
a stranger seeking only death and causing only sadness
a wandering darkness without light
forever doomed to walk in nothingness and sorrow
- Poet
That night she came to him in his dreams.
He was sitting by a field-stone lined, rolling stream that used to be on the other side of the vacant wooded lot they lived next to. It was their spot…a spot where they’d loved and laughed and held each other close when life thumbed its nose at them.
“I don’t mind living in the city as long as we have this place,” she’d said to him one day out of the blue, which she was prone to do. Richard’s wife had been a dreamer, with the beautiful, yet often times troubled soul of a poet.
“My love. My precious love, come sit with me just for a while, to lessen the pain. Just for a bit.”
She came and sat down beside him, maddeningly just out of reach. He looked at her and immediately looked down as he remembered the way he felt about Angel. She smiled at him and shook her head, motioning for him to look into her eyes. He did, feeling the same exhilarating thrill that he’d felt the first time they’d met and she’d captured him in her gaze.
They were still mesmerizing- still intoxicatingly hypnotic. She held him there, entranced, and told him she knew about Angel and was okay that he was with Angel, only why did she have to be so beautiful, and did he still love her despite loving Angel?
He showed her what was in his heart through his tear filled eyes.
She told him that she understood, and that she wanted him to be happy, although she missed him, oh, so much, she was happy. They said these things to each other. She told him sadly that their time together would be brief, at best, and that he must not touch her or she would disappear.
For a while they sat in silence, drawing on each other’s energy, content to be together and to exist together on any level of reality, even if it was through a fragile dream. “I must show you something, something critical to defeating Magnus,” she said without talking,
Poet nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes, paying close attention. His wife took her index finger and held it straight out, making small circles, then larger and still larger ones. Suddenly, there was an image of a dark, forbidding castle and in the castle he saw brief glances of different places, never dwelling on one place, always moving toward something. Poet felt great fear in the pit of his stomach and he knew that he was at the Keep.
The image hovered outside a massive closed door with broad iron straps before diving down under the doorway and moving into a room. Poet gasped. It was Angel. She was struggling with an old man wearing red and black robes, and he was so old he looked like a long- dead man. Poet shuddered and shouted to her, but she could not see or hear him.
Behind the man, Poet saw the old lady with creatures behind her, swinging her long knives, stepping over the bodies of… He froze. There were two bodies on the floor beneath her. One was Reverend, the other one was himself. He cried out and shrank back from the image.
“There! Over there in the corner on the workbench…do you see it?” Poet’s wife exclaimed.
And Poet did see it then. A blood- red bell. “I see it! What is it, what does it do?”
“Break the bell… break the spell,” his wife chanted, over and over as her image started to shimmer.
“I will always love you!” he shouted.
“And I you…” she called out to him and then, once again, she was gone.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVENTEEN
After spending the night just outside of the gates in a cleverly hidden hole in the ground, their new friend woke them early. “So much suffering. Everywhere there is suffering,” the old lady said under her breath.
After looking around at the primitive living conditions and seeing all of the children, Reverend could only nod his head in agreement.
They’d come into the scattered encampment through the main entrance, if you could call it that. The place consisted of hundreds of rusted out storage containers set in a broad semi- circle around the hollowed-out main container that you had to walk through to get into the slave encampment.
He could also see many storage containers buried in the ground with only a scantily fortified entrance visible.
“Here we are, this way now. Step lively, the captain of the guard will be here soon and it wouldn’t do to have him see your friend,” the old man with the bandana blushed and pointed at Angel who was being led by the arm by Poet.
“The guard comes here to inspect daily?” Reverend asked.
“My name is Gary, by the way, pleased to meet you, although you and your friends have kind of ended up in the middle of a flushing toilet. As to your question-yes. Everyday around this time the vultures fly over and raid us, then the ferry on the backside of the island brings over, Captain Pompous. He hand picks- so to speak- Magnus’ personal entertainment and meals.”
“Name’s, Reverend,” said Reverend, extending his hand.
Gary shook, smiling awkwardly, watching the sky. “I know who you are, Reverend. Hell…everybody on the island knows you and your friends.” He paused and looked at each of them. “ Let’s see… that be the old lady, and that’s the killer that can’t be killed, and that’s Poet- the warrior writer. And last but not least is the exquisite Angel- the wolf whisperer. Who is, if you’ll pardon me saying, the most beautiful woman I think I’ve ever seen.”
He smiled when he saw Angel grin and nodded with his chin at an underground tunnel, the entrance cleverly hidden by the surrounding debris. They followed him down into a buried storage container with crudely built beds and furniture.
Gary noticed them looking around. “Sorry about the décor. We make do with what we have. He nodded at a pile of crude weapons made from the bones of their enemies. “Feel free to arm yourselves, he offered, staring at Preacher’s famed pistols. If you’re not armed already.”
Poet walked over to the pile and sifted through the crude weapons, settling on a short-handled club with good heft and a well-balanced swing. “Thanks,” he nodded at Gary.
Gary nodded back, grinning from ear- to- ear. For a moment, they all stood in awkward silence. “Oh! This here is my family,” Gary remembered. A blanket was drawn back and a woman and two children came out from the shadows and met them with wide eyes and open mouths.
There were introductions and handshakes, everyone smiling at the chance to meet new friends and possible allies and then they heard shouting from outside the container. “Hurry, they’re here!” Gary ordered, shooing his family forward and down into a tunnel where all of them fit into barely in time to close the hidden door before they heard a lot more shouting and then screaming, fighting and more shouting.
Reverend and the rest of them wanted to go and help but Gary stopped them. “If you get caught they’ll know Angel is here! Our seer saw this and speaks of this. You four are a part of something much larger than you can imagine, something preordained! I don’t know, perhaps destined is a better word for it, so please, you must stay hidden.”
And so they sat quietly. And sat some more. For over an hour, they sat in the cramped tunnel which was no small feat for the hardened warriors who weren’t used to hearing the sounds of someone needing help and ignoring them. But, they had to admit; Gary’s words held merit and if they were, indeed, the chosen ones prophesized to bring down Magnus and his evil kingdom they would need to go undetected.
But, it was almost impossible, especially when they heard the screams of children being carried away by the foul creatures and then a deadly silence. Reverend moved toward the entrance but stopped when he heard several men talking. They were directly outside the tunnel. Each of them shrank back from the entrance, hearts pounding as they listened to the sound of someone, ob
viously in charge, questioning some of the prisoners.
“So, you’re telling me that you have no new visitors, not even a Reverend?” a voice cracked like a whip just outside of their tunnel.
“Just the usual starving wanderers, nobody you’d be interested in. And it’s going to take some time to fatten them up,” a frightened voice answered. They could hear the sounds of blows landing, followed by the sound of the prisoner hitting the ground. “You can do better than that. Magnus needs fresh entertainment and pleasure. Where are the rest of the women?”
Those inside the tunnel breathed a sigh of relief as they heard the voices growing fainter and fainter. They waited for another thirty minutes before carefully removing the entrance to the tunnel and creeping out to have a peek. It was clear. Each one of them came out, stretching and breathing in fresh air.
“Stay here and stay hidden, okay? I’ll go and tell the seer that you’ve arrived,” Gary advised. Before he could leave, though, he was interrupted by two, strapping men who were with a man as old as the rocks around them. He was bent and gnarled at the joints and blackened by the unforgiving sun. His thin hair was silver and hung free straight down to his waist. On all of his fingers he wore turquoise rings and around his neck he wore a crude, wooden hand carved cross. In his belt was a knife made of bone and around his shoulders was a leather ruck sack that he clutched to his body. “I already knew they were here,” he announced and came in, uninvited.
“I’m afraid we have nothing to offer you,” Gary’s wife apologized needlessly.
“I’m not here for things. I’m here for…” he paused for a moment, looking at Reverend, then Poet, then the old lady. Finally, his gaze fell on Angel. His breath caught in his throat when he saw her eyes. “It’s true! The violet-eyed healer walks among us with her valiant protectors. Perhaps- after all we have been through, the Lord has indeed heard our cries of torment and delivered us!”
No one said anything. All of them were uncomfortable being heroes and none of them knew quite how to react to the news that they were somehow a part of a prophecy.
“Come here, young lady. Please,” the old man bid her come toward him.
Angel stepped toward his voice, with the old lady helping her. The man took her hand in his and held it there for some time while he mumbled incoherently to himself. Finally satisfied, he nodded and let go of her hand, taking Reverend’s hand next then Poets, and finally, the old lady’s hand. After he was finished, they sat down outside of the shelter in a circle around a modest fire.
As they sat there, news of them being there circulated like wild fire. Before they knew it, they were surrounded by at least three hundred prisoners of all ages, each of them squirming their way to get a better view of the ones they’d heard countless stories about.
“What was it like before the bombs fell?” a malnourished boy asked the old lady.
The old lady smiled at the boy, looking around at the haunted-eyed prisoner’s. She patted the child on his head and pulled out her long knife. The crowd gasped and stepped back but she smiled and drew a large circle in the dirt at her feet. “Gather round my friends. Gather round the speaking circle and we’ll learn from each other and listen to each other and try to remember how things were before the world burned.” She looked around at them and smiled until, at last, she had everyone’s undivided attention.
“Let’s see now… I remember a time when the weekend was all the rage. There were parties, and movies and dances.” She grabbed Reverend’s hands and whirled with him, round and round, humming a delightful Irish melody. He was embarrassed but after seeing the children so entranced, he played along, dipping and whirling his friend expertly around the circle while the crowd murmured their approval.
‘There was music of all sorts.” The old lady continued. “and people…so many people! Only people loved one another back then. That was before the government and the media tricked us into hating each other because of our race, and spiritual beliefs.
There were houses and electricity and restaurants and movie theaters and so many things to experience, it would take a lifetime to explain them all to you. But, I think the thing that I miss most of all, other than my family and friends, of course, was a quiet Saturday morning when you knew you didn’t have to get up and go to work, and if you wanted you could lay in bed all day, but you usually didn’t because the weekends were precious, every second of them.
I remember everyone had cars and they could come and go as they pleased. But most of all, I remember happiness and security, and the feeling of happiness- the peaceful feelings that true happiness brings.”
No one said anything for a while. Every one of them that could remember was remembering and everyone that couldn’t remember how things were before the world burned was jealous because the only thing they could remember was the pain and desperation they’d known since the day they were born.
Reverend opened his back-pack and took out his radio, battered and barely more than a box with wires sticking out but functioning and everyone went silent as he turned on the knob and the low squelch filled the air with promise.
The sound of the Red Robin’s voice mesmerized the survivors and held them entranced in his message.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN
“This is the Red Robin,”
“Good evening true Americans.
Tonight I want to do things a little differently. Tonight, if you’ll indulge me, I want to take a moment to remember. Are you old enough, or do you know someone old enough to remember the way things were before the bombs fell? I am, true Americans. I am.
I remember working all week and looking forward to the weekend. I remember drinking an ice cold beer and watching the game. I remember first learning the truth about the government that betrayed us into the hands of foreign invaders. I remember watching my friend’s houses burn down to the ground when the bombs went off. I remember.
Do you? Wasteland warriors, do you remember?
I remember the way Sundays used to smell and the feel of the sun on my back at the beach and the way that the salt air, made me feel re-born and unbridled. I remember Christmas and that, for a little while, around Christmas, everyone seemed to be a little bit nicer to everyone else…I remember.
I remember prayer in schools and when they disallowed prayer in schools and how sad I was when that happened. True Americans- my friends and comrades- our time together is coming to an end. The forces that we’re battling are seeking to destroy our memories, any memories that bring joy and peace will be extinguished, never to be remembered again.
Will you fight with us, fellow rebels? Will you lay down your lives for our memories? That’s all that’s left now, you know. Our memories… good and bad, sad and happy, our memories are all that we have left. Will you stand with me and my friends at the Star Towers? Will you help us hold on to our memories and to make new memories? We must stop them or all is lost forever. Our way of life, our freedom, our home… they want it all!
I say, enough. It’s time for them to reap the return for all the lives and liberty they took from us.
Come, my friends…come and fight with me…while I am still alive. Come home, wasteland wanderers. Come home, Fortress survivors. Come home, Over Watch survivors. Come home, Cavern of the Light survivors. Come home, campground rebels. Come home, desert dwellers!
All who can come home, come home and fight with us. Fight for humanity or what’s left of humanity, while there is still some humanity left. Come home!
Good night, true Americans. Hold on… stay strong and with God’s ever present help… fight on.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINETEEN
In the middle of the night they came for Angel and the heads of her famous travelling companions. They came in force.
It was a good thing that they did, because most of the people on Prisoner Island had come to genuinely like Angel and her famous friends and when Magnus’ people came in the middle of the night to take them, they had one hell of a fight on th
eir hands. For one the troops never counted on Reverend, Poet and the old lady, not to mention, Onyx and a whole bunch of wolves and for a while, the Blood- eyes in charge of bringing Angel back to the Keep to see Magnus became overwhelmed, until reinforcements arrived, and the vultures came to help.
In the end, Angel was forced to take one of the crudely- built rafts down by the blood sea to escape. Reverend and Poet watched helplessly as she put out to the sea of red, fending off the attacking vultures. “No!” Poet screamed, cutting the throat of the nearest Blood-eye to him, lowering his shoulder and running over the one behind it.
He was forty, and then thirty yards away from the shoreline, running as fast as he could with his feet sinking into the steaming, black sand. Reverend was right behind him with a strange look on his face, but it was too late. There were too many to fight to make it to the water in time to save Angel. While they swung and stabbed and ducked and blocked and countered until they were covered in blood they watched, helplessly, as Angel became no more than a dot and then three vultures fought with her until her raft came apart and the vultures plucked her from the water and flew away with her toward the tallest tower of the Keep.
It was a least a half an hour before they were able to beat back the enemy and capture the ferry. There were many dead and wounded but still, they had a sizeable force and as the sun came up they stood together, bloodied and weary but more than that, angry. They were tired of living in fear and tired of watching everyone they held dear to their hearts being slaughtered and taken away from them.
They were hollering for payback. Reverend looked at Poet and the old lady and smiled. He stepped forward with his hands raised, beckoning for silence. “People! Hear me. Please, we don’t have much time!”
One by one the people grew silent while the old lady and Poet drew a deep line around him in the scalding hot sand. “Good, brave, strong people… the fight is not over! The fight has just begun! Will you fight with me?” Reverend shouted.