The Men Who Killed God (Sinner of the Infinite Book 1)

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The Men Who Killed God (Sinner of the Infinite Book 1) Page 4

by J Alex McCarthy


  “Thanks.”

  Brookes waved him off as Kevan left. A smile creeped up his face.

  …

  No stars peeked in the night sky. Four men sat in a car across from an alleyway. One of them sat in the passenger seat with his seat leaning back and a foot out of the window. Svante smoked a cigarette and wisps of smoke exited his mouth.

  “Can you not smoke that here?” one of his goons asked. “Just because it can’t affect you doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect us.”

  One of the newer goons in the back stared at the goon who said that. Svante laughed. “I once saw you eat an entire gallon of curry and the aftermath smelled up the entire office. So once you stop eating that, I’ll stop smoking.”

  “Well…” The goon had nothing to say to that. He really liked curry.

  “Plus, I like them because they make me feel alive, some of us gods have those kinds of vices, I know that it doesn’t affect me but I know it would if I was mortal. It’s a thrill.” He laughed. Svante was glad that he had established an open discussion policy with his people. It did scare his newest employee though. Arguing with a god.

  Something glimmered in his eyes. It was starting. “Alright men, get your binoculars out.”

  August and Sara walked down the street.

  “It’s here,” Sara said. They turned into an alleyway. August looked around before they entered. Everything seemed normal. But it still felt wrong to August. Maybe it was just the jitters.

  They walked down the alleyway until they stopped at a door. Sara knocked twice and it opened. They walked in to an empty floor. Ten people stood in a circle, all but one were wearing a mask or a hood. They all stared at them.

  “Come in,” the only one without a mask said. They approached the group and were let into the circle.

  “Why are you here?” the guy asked. His voice had venom, he was an athletic-looking black man. He had a scar over his right eye and wore a green military jacket. He must have been the leader.

  “Um…” August hesitated.

  “We’re here to join the resistance,” Sara said.

  The man glanced to the person next to him. She wore a hood, August couldn’t see her face. He nodded.

  “Okay then. My name is Ezekiel. I’m the leader of this group.” The tension eased out of them.

  “That was easy,” August said.

  “Hey, you’re not in yet. I make the final decision, but your girl here pulled some strings to get in. She’s trustworthy. But you, you I don’t trust. So, don’t you mutter a damn word out of turn or I’ll make sure you never speak again.”

  August was taken aback. It had just been a joke. Sara rubbed his shoulder.

  “So, what can we do to help take down the gods?” Sara asked. The group laughed.

  Ezekiel said, “Hold your horses, girl, we’ll need all of your information, social security numbers, addresses, emails, passwords, porn site passes. Everything. It’s a failsafe. You fuck us, we fuck you.”

  August said, “I’m not giving you a damn thing. I don’t trust you, just like you don’t trust me. How do I know you won’t use my information for—”

  “You’re August Hedley, you killed your father 153 days ago and are on the Ifor’s Most Wanted list. I already have your details, August. It was a test, to see how easily you’d give up information.”

  What kind of shitty game was this? Also the Most Wanted list, for killing his father?

  Ezekiel said, “Alright everyone, I trust him, you can take off your hoods.” The group started to take off their hoods and masks.

  “…I’m surprised you guys haven’t gotten caught yet,” August muttered under his breath. Ezekiel laughed.

  “There’s a network of us, August. If I fall, someone else will spring up to take my place. They can’t destroy our natural human will. Cheer up, the only time to be serious is when planning and executions are in progress.”

  Sara walked over to the woman next to Ezekiel and hugged her. She started crying. The woman looked familiar.

  “Wait? Mrs. Isador?” Sara’s mother. She was alive. “I thought you were dead.”

  “No,” she said. “I got word that they were coming for us. I was able to escape but sadly my husband and Garrett weren’t.”

  Sara turned to August, “How do you think I found the resistance? My parents helped set up their network.”

  August was dumbfounded. That would explain the “love you” message he saw on her computer.

  They talked, talked about how he escaped, talked about how August killed his father in rage.

  He spoke with the other members.

  It was an odd assortment of people. Normal-looking people of all races and upbringings. One of them was a soccer mom who had three kids, another owned a convenience store downtown. People from all walks of life were looking to escape the grasp of the gods.

  The most surprising of them all was a seventy-year old woman. She had a lot of stories to tell about the hand of the gods becoming harder since her youth. She told him that the older and less athletic of the group took care of organizing and making sure their group ran perfectly.

  August spoke to all these people, but he’d come here for one reason and one reason alone. He moved next to Ezekiel. “So, how are you planning to take down the gods? How are you planning on doing an impossible thing?”

  “Can’t we just enjoy ourselves tonight? Speak to other people who have the same interest as you?”

  “No. I came here for a reason and I would like to know if it’s bullshit.”

  Ezekiel chuckled.

  “You’re not even in yet. Maybe after you actually do something for us, I’ll tell you of my grand plan.” Ezekiel laughed again.

  August glanced over at Sara, she was talking to her mother. He hadn’t seen her that happy in a long time.

  “Why do you want to kill the gods?” Ezekiel asked.

  “That’s my reason and mine alone.”

  “And yet you want me to spill my secrets.” Ezekiel laughed as August looked down. Ezekiel looked to the roof, there was a window where he could see the night sky.

  Ezekiel continued, “Have you ever wondered if there was life out there in the stars? What if they came to Earth? I always wondered what they would see. To them, our world must seem so normal. Normal in that we are free to have our own choices, free to have our own possessions. Not knowing that it was just an image, a lie. To most of us, our lives might seem perfect. Most of us haven’t even seen a god, so how could they be so bad if we’ve never seen a god commit a sin…But it’s all a play, it’s the illusion of a choice, an illusion of living for a meaning. When you go down a forked road, you have two choices, left or right. It’s your choice, they say you can control your destiny. But really, your choice has already been chosen for you. Left or right. There’s no other way. But when you decide to go off the beaten path, through the bushes, through the trees, that’s when the control you thought you had slips out of your fingertips. Your utopia whisked away forever.”

  August stared at Ezekiel. He wondered how he got that scar. How far off the beaten path had he gone?

  Ezekiel continued, “I do have a plan. A plan to kill He himself.”

  August stared at him. A plan to kill the creator and the all-knowing? To kill the impossible? To kill God himself?

  Ezekiel stood. “Alright, meeting is over!”

  August guessed he wouldn’t be able to get the plan out of him this time.

  People started to leave. Ezekiel said, “Hey Chris, I need to talk to you.” One of the members paused and walked back to Ezekiel.

  Outside, Sara hugged her mother one last time before she left.

  “See,” she said to August next to her. “I’m doing something.”

  She was right, she did more than he ever did. She was trying to make a difference.

  “You are doing something. Sorry for doubting you,” he said.

  “It’s okay.” She grabbed his hand. “This is what Garrett would’ve wanted. Will y
ou be more serious? Will you help us kill God?”

  “Yes,” August said as he kissed her. This was finally it. He’d found a path.

  From a distance, Svante stared at them through his binoculars. “They’re new,” he said. His goons were looking with him. “Follow them for me and take care of them.”

  One of the goons asked, “Why don’t we take care of the resistance now?”

  “Oh, I don’t care about them. I just need to fill my quota of members killed to please Queen. If any of you guys see her coming, just run away. It would do your body and mind good.”

  Svante checked his watch. “Have to go. Make sure it looks like an accident.” In a flash of light, Svante was gone.

  “I’m never going to get used to that,” one of the goons said, rubbing his eyes.

  …

  Ezekiel stood with Chris. Everyone had left already.

  “So, what is it?” Chris asked. A man walked up behind Ezekiel. A man with a white ball covering his head. It looked like a giant ping-pong ball.

  “He’s the one,” the man said.

  A bullet split Chris’s skull. Ezekiel lowered his pistol. “I fucking hate snitches. Did you take care of the tail?”

  “Yes,” the man said. He wore a white button-down shirt, with a red tie, his slacks grey and crisp. His hands seemed to never leave his pockets.

  “Are you finally going to give what’s promised?”

  “Are you?” The man held out his hand.

  Ezekiel handed him something and the man placed it in his pocket.

  “Now, do you have them?”

  “Just one for now, but I’m making more.” The man pulled a gem out of his pocket; its colors radiated into Ezekiel’s eyes. The colors changed, rushing from one color to every color imaginable. “This will be the weapon to kill your god.”

  Ezekiel looked star-struck. “How do I know if it works? Our weapons can’t kill gods.”

  “Simple, use it on a lesser god.”

  Ezekiel grabbed the gem and stared at it. “With this, I will kill He himself.”

  …

  The next day, Kevan sat in his car, staring at a pamphlet for his mother’s rehab. He sat outside of his town’s Ifor headquarters.

  People came and went from the building. It didn’t look like anything special. Nothing like their main headquarters. He remembered back to what Brookes said. He’d get him in front of a god.

  Kevan had never seen a god in person, he’d never spoken to one or even been in the presence of one. His hands shook. He would’ve never thought he’d be this nervous.

  He had to do this. He had to convince a god to help him.

  3

  Failures

  The hallway was quiet, the intricate weaves of the rugs and the complex patterns of the wallpaper showed no lack of expense. It was a nice place for humans.

  Brookes leaned on the wall next to an apartment door, pulling off his bloodied gloves. He glanced at the doors next to it. Brookes left them unlocked after he had finished his business in the apartments. His task had been far easier than he expected. The inhabitants didn’t fight or yell when he came for them. He might be getting too good at this kind of work.

  It was time to finish the job.

  He dropped the soiled gloves into a bag beside him and pulled another pair from his top coat pocket. Once he was done putting them on, he knocked on the door.

  A man opened the door and answered, “Hello?”

  “I need to inspect your apartment.”

  “Why—”

  Brookes forced his way in. The man’s family was having dinner in the living room. They all stared at him. Two young daughters, a son, and the man’s wife and mother with them. This was going to get messy.

  …

  Brookes’ bloodied hand dragged on the living room wall. “What should I write this time?” he wondered. The blood on his hand started to dry; he should keep it simple. He turned around to view the remains of the family that had lived there.

  The two girls’ bodies were near the door, the father’s body with his chest torn open was directly in front of him, the mother and grandmother lay dead on the couch full of bullet holes.

  Brookes had already disposed of the son’s body. He had to make it seem like there was a fight, like they were given no mercy. That was why he had placed the girls near the door, and the mother and grandmother sat dead on the couch.

  With the way he had them set up, the police would probably determine that the rebels came in and killed the mother and grandmother, while the daughters attempted to run as their father held off the attackers to no avail. With the rebels then taking the son to sell him into slavery or something. The media would think of something creative for the boy. Brookes liked letting them make up a story.

  Of course, it had been a lot simpler than that. Brookes had simply pulled out his knife and gone to work. He hated using his gun, but sometimes it could send a powerful message.

  He shot the mother and grandmother before they could do anything. If he didn’t shoot them, he wouldn’t have had enough time to torture the father and his children. To rip open the man’s chest with his knife in what looked like rage, while his children watched. With them, he simply carved up their faces slowly, that way, their screams of terror could be frozen on their faces as they died. It needed to look real. Another innocent family dead, killed by the rebels.

  The family were really innocent and so were the two other families he killed in the apartments next to them, but he was no rebel.

  Brookes stuck his hand into the father’s chest and removed some blood from it and walked to the wall again. It was the only wall not covered in some mess. He wrote “Human traitors” on it.

  Not that creative.

  “Creative,” a voice said behind him. Brookes turned.

  There stood Queen, in all her misplaced glory.

  Her lips were cherry red, her hair bloody crimson. Her eyes the deepest of blues. She wore a cloak that matched her hair. Her skin looked creamy and smooth.

  The goddess had some life in her.

  She was the greatest beauty Brookes had ever seen.

  Brookes didn’t answer her as he wiped off his hands on a curtain.

  “It’s been three hours. A little too long, Brookes. I expected you to be quicker.”

  “It would be easier if I had a team again.”

  “Svante is preventing that. He is the god of war and all.” She said with indifference.

  “Your doing,” Brookes said. He moved around furniture and cleaned up his tools. He had to make this look like it was more than a one-person job. He went into the closet and pulled out the father's shoes and stepped them into the blood on the floor. He placed multiple footprints on the carpet leading up to the door and around the bodies, rubbing the prints with his hand to make the footprints indistinguishable from one another.

  “I like seeing you work. I knew I was right to pick you.” Queen watched him do his thing.

  Brookes washed off the shoes and put them back in the closet just the way the father had them before. The police wouldn’t look too closely into the murders. Ifor owned them, after all. If they actually attempted to learn anything, they would only see small smudges of blood on the shoes. But they wouldn’t, so Brookes didn’t have to clean them to perfection.

  Brookes looked at Queen. “Why are you causing discord in Sotira? This town has nothing for you.”

  “Since when did a human believe he was high enough to speak to me in such a manner?”

  “You have hundreds of wet teams to choose from.” She did this every time.

  She laughed and approached him. “You must act this way just because we made love.” She laughed again. “It must have been exhilarating for you.”

  She always did this, mock him. He wondered if she knew that she said the same exact thing every time they met. Repeating herself about how inadequate he was, how below her he was. She must have loved how her shit smelled.

  “It must have been amazi
ng.” She came uncomfortably close to him. She liked to remind him how inadequate humans really were.

  Yet, she still fucked him.

  Her hands caressed his chest and moved to his lips. Brookes clenched his fist. He tried with all his might to not ravish her. Her scent was irresistible, her lust life-threatening. She was his weakness.

  To have sex with a god was to ascend to the highest point of enlightenment.

  Her hands stopped and her laughters died down. “I need you to kill someone. A man by the name of August Hedley. I need you to make it look like the gods weren’t involved. He’s with the rebels now.”

  “He left Sotira. Why now?”

  “Once again, you’re asking too many questions. If you question me again, I will take your other little friend.” She made a cutting motion with her hand and smiled. His testicle. “You are my pawn to do what I want, whenever I want. Stop asking questions.”

  Brookes sighed.

  She’d never take the other one, she liked it too much. After Queen first made her offer to him, to be her pawn to do whatever she wanted with, Brookes was afraid of what she’d do with him.

  After he said something that she deemed wrong, she cut off his right nut. For years, that put an eternal fear in his heart. But as he grew wiser and saw the world for what it really was, he figured out that she needed him as much as he needed her.

  Plus it was hard to be a good fuck without his nuts.

  Brookes nodded.

  “August has undermined us. He killed a person of Ifor. Despite my distaste of the humans we employ, we cannot have that show of weakness. Eight months he’s gone uncaptured. This town has begun to lose faith in us.”

  “Why not wipe them all out? Sotira is small enough to disappear.”

  “Svante would prevent that, he rules over this state of derelicts and Michael would never let that happen. Not again. Now is not the time for conflict between the gods. Not yet.”

 

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