“Goddammit! Barabbas screamed. “They got Drew Brees!”
Nicodemus slowly lifted himself from the couch, with a growing fury consuming him.
“Shit just got real,” he said.
Wasting absolutely no time at all, Nicodemus went into his room. Donning his prized Drew Brees jersey complete with fingerless driving gloves and eye black, he pulled forward a shotgun mounted on the wall and loaded it. He then reached into a small black case and retrieved a beautiful .40 caliber pistol. The .44 could do some damage but it wouldn’t be enough. Not on this day. When he re-entered the living room, Barabbas already knew what time it was.
“Am I my brother’s keeper?” Barabbas demanded.
Nicodemus racked the slide on the shotgun.
“Don’t start none, won’t be none.” Nicodemus replied.
The duo quickly stocked up on guns and ammo before stepping outside.
“No matter what happens Gabe, stay in the house and lock this place tight until we get back,” Barabbas commanded.
“Don’t worry brother, I’m already on it, Gabriel replied.” “We’ve got it covered.”
Barabbas gave Caroline a prolonged and intense kiss. Neither wanted to let the other person go. It was almost as if…they already knew. The duo wasted no time in heading to the trunk of the MINI, retrieving whatever other weapons they could carry. Gabriel and Caroline looked on as several of the neighbors exited their homes with weapons drawn, ready to protect their neighborhood. Time was quickly running out, and everyone knew the infected were coming.
“One thing about living in New Orleans I never could stomach,” Gabriel muttered to himself. “All the damn zombies. Property value is gonna go to shit after this.”
Chaos. Confusion. Pandemonium. The streets of New Orleans now overrun with bloodthirsty scavengers of flesh and blood, the police, fire department and military fought as valiantly as they could against the infected. Overwhelmed in some areas, it was one of the few times in the city’s history where its citizens fought alongside each other with one common purpose; one common goal in mind: survival. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters and complete strangers all took to streets soaked in blood in a desperate effort to preserve their basic right to live. It seemed as if in one moment, all the horror, all the sins and depravity of the city was spilling about in the worst way. The very levees of the city’s soul were now broken, not by a storm but by a far more deadlier force. The frightening fact was that this force was man-made. Back at Gabriel’s, both Caroline and the old man made quick work of nailing nearly every window and door of the house shut. The old man had come through on his promise as he quickly opened up an arsenal of shotguns, pistols and other forms of weaponry. Reaching for a shotgun and some ammo, he motioned to Caroline.
“Ok now this sucker packs quite a punch. Just be careful with the kick-“
Caroline wasted absolutely no time in taking the weapon from him, loading and racking the slide.
“Goddamn girl!” Gabriel muttered.
“I’m from New Orleans,” Caroline quipped.
News reports from around the world buzzed across the television screen at blistering speeds. With all the world’s attention now focused on New Orleans, people looked to the President for something…anything.
It didn’t take long before Barabbas and Nicodemus moved through the streets and found themselves caught smack in the middle of a pack of wild zombies all too eager to strip the two of them to pieces. Nicodemus wasted no time in firing several headshots into the lot of them, sending bodies crashing to the ground. Barabbas made quick work of several bodies with his pistol, followed by slicing through others with his machete. Nicodemus plowed through several others with his shotgun, weaving thorough rows of abandoned cars for cover, while taking even more down. Headshots. Clean kills. Fatalities.
“Goddammit!” Nicodemus screamed. “We need to keep as many of them out of this neighborhood.”
Barabbas wasted no time in moving around the block, mowing down anything that moved until they came across yet another ravenous mob heading their way. Several of the neighbors joined in the fight, hacking and shooting anything that moved before some of the infected got too close and took a few of them down.
“Hang on a second.” Nicodemus said.
Barabbas looked on in utter confusion.
“What the hell do you mean hang on a second?” Barabbas asked.
“I said hang on a fucking second!” Nicodemus screamed.
“What the-“ Barabbas blurted as he stopped dead in his tracks while watching Nicodemus calmly walking in the opposite direction.
From Barabbas’ view, Nicodemus casually walked down the street toward the growing mob, loading his shotgun. Barabbas quickly followed with his weapons drawn.
“Nic! What the hell are you doing?” he screamed.
There was no response. Something had clearly caught Nicodemus’ eye. Amidst the chaos and destruction, something had definitely pissed him off. Marching toward the dangerous pack of infected bodies heading his way was a decrepit looking man in a dark suit. It was a face that until recently, he’d only seen on television. It was the face of a man that had pissed off every single person in the city of New Orleans. It was Roger Goodell. Barabbas crept up behind Nicodemus with his guns ready.
“Step aside Barabbas,” Nicodemus said calmly. “This bastard’s mine.”
There was no hesitation in his movements. Not the growing depravity of the neighborhood around him or the deadly force approaching could rattle his nerves. As the man approached, eyes sunken into the back of his head, Nicodemus steadied his aim.
“Welcome to New Orleans!” Nicodemus screamed as he squeezed the trigger.
One shot to the head. Touchdown.
“Are you okay Nic?” Barabbas asked hesitantly.
“Nah brother. I’m pretty fucking far from okay,” Nicodemus responded.
Barabbas looked around at all the carnage in the street. Broken, bloodied bodies lay everywhere. With even more of the infected coming, it became pretty clear that this fight was not over, and the daylight was waning.
“We better get back to the house,” Barabbas said. “Pretty soon we’re not going to be able to keep them all out. We’ve gotta get Gabriel and Caroline and leave.”
“I’m right with you brother,” Nicodemus replied.
With the ever-present mob growing, and heading in their direction, the duo took off running back to the house. Back to Gabriel and Caroline. Back to safety…for what little safety may have been left.
***
When Caroline finally opened the door to see Barabbas and Nicodemus, her spirits lifted in a way that nearly made her faint. The news reports were getting worse by the moment. A Civil War of sorts between the living and the dead was destroying the city. The only area that hadn’t been touched was the Quarter…yet. With many of the neighborhoods overrun with the infected, there was very little hope of the group being able to sustain the house. At some point, they were going to have to make a break for it, and they all knew it. As the group double-checked their weapons and ammo, the gravity of the situation began to destroy Gabriel deep from within. Clutching an old photo close to his heart, he took one last look at his home as Barabbas and Nicodemus kept watch through the remaining streaks of light coming in through the boarded up windows.
“Is everything ok Gabe?” Caroline asked as she rushed to the old man’s aid.
He showed her the photo. It was an image of a much younger Gabriel standing next to a woman.
“She’s beautiful,” Caroline said.
Tears began to flow from the man’s eyes as the memories consumed him. Just outside the house, Barabbas and Nicodemus could hear the sound of the footsteps getting closer…and closer. Pretty soon they would be right outside the house. They were running out of time.
“Evelyn,” Gabriel said. “She was my wife.”
“What happened to her?” Caroline asked.
“She died in childbirth,” he stammered. “All t
hese years…all these years I’ve dreamt of one thing and one thing only. I’ve dreamt of the day when I would join them in Heaven. Looks like that day might be upon us now.”
“Don’t talk like that Gabe,” Caroline replied. “We’re getting out of here, all of us. Stay with me old man.”
“Fuck!” Nicodemus screamed. Head for the back door! They’re coming!”
A thunderous crash hit the front of the house that grew stronger…and stronger. The boards that offered primitive protection were quickly being torn apart as the ferocious growls were heard just outside. One by one, the infected ripped away at the front of the house, only to be met by shotgun blasts and pistol fire. Caroline struggled to help Gabriel to the back door. Just before disappearing into the hallway leading into the kitchen, she glanced back at Barabbas who returned the look. There were no words between them, but the moment spoke volumes. Those beautiful brown eyes, tucked away behind glasses were just as bright and beautiful as ever. He could still see the day he first met her clearly. As shotgun blasts ripped through diseased body after body, his mind floated back to that whimsical, magical night under the stars along the Mississippi River. He thought of that first kiss. Caroline…my beloved Caroline…I hope to see you in Heaven someday.
Caroline and Gabriel rushed through the kitchen to the door that led out to the backyard. One by one, they ripped the locks off the door, looking for an escape. Looking for a way out…but it was too late. A horde of arms clawing through the waning hours of daylight reached into the false solitude of a home being destroyed and grabbed them both. Nicodemus and Barabbas were now being forced back, with round after round of gunfire blasting away at bodies, the nightmare simply would not end. More and more of the infected packed into the house. They were surrounded. Barabbas looked behind to the kitchen for a brief second, but a second nonetheless that he could’ve lived without. Sprawled on the floor and covered in savages were Gabriel and the love of his life. The bastards had gotten them. His shotgun dropping to the floor, everything moved in slow motion. It was almost as if time itself was moving backward. He could no longer hear the blasts of gunfire or the sound of inevitable death enclosing on him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Nicodemus screamed as he tried to reload his gun. Struggling to load shells into the shotgun, the infected were now upon him, sending him crashing to the floor.
“BARABBAS!” he screamed in vain.
It’s possible that Barabbas never even felt the sharp sting of rotten, mangled teeth as they ripped through his flesh. It’s also possible that he never smelled the awful stench of foul breath all around him as death came to greet him on that day. As he lay prone on the floor covered in blood, and with his earthly remains being forever broken, his dazed eyes slowly drifted up to Heaven. Maybe he would see Rev. Francis. Maybe he would see his old friend Jacob Forlorn. No one can be sure. What one can be certain of is that somewhere beyond the sun, past the moon and stars, Barabbas Purify would be reunited with his beloved Caroline. His one true love that set his heart aflame amongst the stars of Heaven would be patiently waiting for him…and they would dance the dance of the ages as the angels rejoiced around them.
***
3 FEB 2013-19:30:45
“You see, the problem with this country nowadays is nobody has the gumption to bite into the heart of the problem anymore,” the man said as he cut deeply into the gorgeous mass of beef served on an elegant dish before him. King cut prime rib courtesy of the Rib Room in the French Quarter had been a favorite of his for many years. A popular haunt for high society figures, celebrities and the upper echelon of the city’s pecking order, the Rib Room was more of a tradition for his family than a casual dining experience. With its refined décor, impeccable service and the finest selection of culinary delights, Joseph Devereaux savored every bit of juicy flavor as the fork entered his mouth. Medium rare; incredible flavor with just a little blood to satiate his refined palate. Man was made to devour flesh every now and then. It was natural; a primal way of life that he understood all too well and often incorporated into the business world.
A well-known and respected figure in Louisiana political circles for many years, he was a tall, boisterous figure of a man with his well-tailored suits and gallant Southern charm. Making his living off the family business in sugarcane, cotton and various securities, he was also one of those guys behind the iron curtain of politics that became the stuff of legend. His father, the late Alexander Devereaux was an old running buddy of guys like Huey P. Long and Clay Shaw. Through various contacts behind the scenes, he’d even helped Clay Shaw found the historic New Orleans Trade Mart. In those days, the Devereaux family also had a rather discreet history of gun running. Coupled with their trade negotiations with Cuba, El Salvador and various parts of Latin America, the profitable partnership helped the family live as high on the hog as possible. Eventually things began to turn sour in the summer of 1963, during the anti-Castro movement when Lee Harvey Oswald was spotted handing out pro-Castro leaflets down on Canal St. This was already a bit of a sore subject, as history would later prove Oswald to be a pawn of various channels within the U.S. government. The American intelligence community in those days had plans of their own, not just on the Castro issue but also in organized crime along with the Vietnam War. Eventually tensions would grow high, brimming to a fever pitch one humid day in November of 1963 when John F. Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States was assassinated.
Sitting next to his wife Delphine, quite the respected socialite as well, the Devereaux clan’s historic ties in Louisiana corruption and organized crime made them a powerful force to be reckoned with for many years. From the days of working hand in hand with former governor Edwin Edwards, the family even had ties with the infamous ‘Godfather of New Orleans’ in Carlos Marcello. Quite the formidable figure in her own right, while many saw Joseph Devereaux as the head of the family, many who knew them personally saw Delphine as the power behind the throne. Hell, in some social circles, she was the throne, and reveled in the knowledge of this as she bit down on a generous portion of prime rib herself. Rare. Bloody. Perfect.
“This country’s gone to Hell in a hand basket if you ask me,” Joseph continued. “All these illegals and whatnot destroying our economy, getting a free ride at the expense of decent, hardworking Americans. Got these gays running around screaming for their damn rights, destroying the very fabric of Americana, soiling the population with their degenerate indecency and disease…and that’s why we have this ‘problem’ now.”
With the precision of a determined and skilled surgeon, Joseph sliced away at his prime rib. The veins in the tops of his hands throbbed intensely as he made his point.
“Damn shame if you ask me,” he said. “Back in the 80s the government had this little problem of ours contained, and with a very specific purpose. Now it’s all shot to Hell, breaking out not only across the country but other parts of the goddamn world. Complete and utter chaos…and what does our so-called ‘President’ do?”
He took a massive bite into the cut of beef.
“Well it’s not surprising. See that’s what happens when you open up the White House to a-“
And with that, Delphine waved her hand, cutting him off. Joseph looked across the table to see the slightly distraught face of his son Blake. A strapping young man at the tender age of 23, his striking features and figure had become a rather chiseled copy of his father’s from earlier years. A political science major at Loyola University, he was already pegged to carry on the Devereaux legacy in every way. Famous throughout the upper social class circles of New Orleans, the young buck’s penchant for women and drink became well documented. The apple certainly didn’t fall far from the tree. Beneath the polished, chiseled exterior of the young lad’s face was a longing that brought a bit of melancholy to the moment.
“Joseph, I’ll not have that kind of talk right now,” Delphine commanded. “Not civilized conversation at the dinner table, especially in front of our son.”
/> “I’m just stating the obvious honey,” he fired back. “We’ve had these second rate protesters popping up all throughout the city, complaining about equal rights, affordable medical care and the like, all the while taking a free ride on the backs of decent Americans like you and I. This situation has gotten so out of control that we’ve had to cordon off the savages in cages around the city…and even that’s beginning to become a problem! Talk about ‘the 99%’...my ass!”
Occupation Page 4