Kingdoms of Sorrow

by JK Franks

  The man kicked him again. Jack rolled and absorbed the blow but expelled a sound like all the pain in the world lived in the Judge’s blow.

  “Hey, your holy fuckwad, what do you want with us? You got your ass kicked in Memphis and decided to take a beach vay-kay, huh? I get it. I gotta say, you picked a lousy time. Hurricane season started early this year.” Jack’s vision was clearing slightly, and he quickly eyed the dark and cluttered store. He saw no way out of this. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you all go outside and play Hide and Go Fuck yourself.”

  Michael was struggling not to kill him immediately. His plan was to use this man to draw the others out, but he could not allow such disrespect to continue. “You there, um, Peters, please cut out the man’s tongue.”

  Peterson nodded and drew his knife as he walked up behind Jack.

  Jack laughed. “I can’t believe you proclaim to be a man of God. I’ve done a lot of shit, but nothing that brazen. I actually value my eternal soul.”

  The Prophet knew the man was baiting him, but he allowed it to continue a few more seconds. He rarely met anyone who was not intimidated by him or the other men around him. “What would you know about our Lord and Savior, infidel?” He motioned to Peterson to stay his hand. The Judge slipped the knife back into its sheath.

  Jack cocked his head, noticing more of his surroundings and taking note of his adversaries. “We’ve had a few conversations. I’ve read His book . . . and unlike you, I actually understood it. I paid attention. I didn’t use it just to suit my own fucked up agenda and do the fucked up sinful shit you guys do. What the fuck happened to you, man? Did you not get enough hugs? Oh, and I know where I will spend eternity. Do you? I’d say not. You’d look a whole lot more worried if you did.”

  Michael grimaced, he was not one to be challenged, especially on the topic of his faith. The man amused him though. Something in Jack’s relaxed manner caught him off guard. He allowed the blasphemer to continue babbling a moment longer.

  Chapter Ninety-Eight

  Jack had been in some tough places before, he had served time in a state prison before finding the Lord. Tough men he could understand, broken men he could empathize with, but this guy’s level of crazy was seemingly beyond the reach of even his compassion. His leg and his ribs ached, his vision was constantly collapsing inward to a tunnel filled with sparks. The shadows around the dark store danced in and out of focus. I’m sorry, Todd, I really tried. The men were speaking to him again. He didn’t care, he was talking to the Lord. In the end, the faith was all he had. Maybe that was all anyone had. He felt another kick, this time it was to his abdomen and caused the remainder of air to be pushed out of his lungs. Shit, the pain was becoming all combined into something else. Something he couldn’t allow to win. He was a fighter. He might not have the strength to win physically, but he could still hit with his words. Just buy some time, Jack – time to preach.

  A long strand of blood and saliva dripped slowly from Jack’s mouth. His chest made a distinct rattling sound as he drew in a breath before continuing. “Man, I get it, see it all the time. You fell into preaching through the back door. Lots of us do. People need a leader, you stepped up and took the reins. The mistake you made is at some point thinking it was about you. You see, life is what we leave behind…the lives we touch. I’ll leave this Earth knowing I did my best to help saves lives and souls around me. You, you’re just going to fucking die. No one will remember shit about you. Not your name. Not your message. Nothing about your evil fucking existence. I will say you changed me, though. My faith, I mean. Hell, I used to be pro-life, at least until I met your sorry ass.” Jack grinned a bloody smile up at the robed figure.

  Michael’s face went red and he looked ready to explode.

  “I’m just fucking with you man. Look, believe it or not, I am also a preacher.”

  Michael stepped back looking at Jack with a sneer of amusement, “You lie, your words betray you.”

  “Oh hey, yeah…I get that a lot. I know I don’t sound like one, but that doesn’t change my heart. You see, I came to God by a different path. I served time, found God calling me there. Not that unusual, I know. Hey, I got a story, you wanna hear?

  “What I want is to know how to get into that ship, how many people you have aboard and how well armed they are.”

  Jack ignored him and continued on. “Cool, ok, well, see at one point, I ministered to a prisoner who had robbed and shot a man. He told me something I found to be profound, especially seeing who spoke it. He said, ‘We are remembered by the lives we touch and the love we share.’ This from a convicted felon.

  Think about that, man – we are remembered by the lives we touch and the love we share. That is fucking profound.”

  The prophet wiped the thin wet strands of hair out of his face. “Who cares? Look, I need information about that ship, or you are about to die.”

  Jack continued unfazed, “I promise it's relevant. This man, his name was Jason, said the man he shot did recover and had come to see him in prison. Now, that is not all that unusual, many just need that to start healing or to get some needed sense of revenge.” Jack paused to spit a bloody gob of mucus and draw in a labored breath. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to accomplish but felt compelled to tell the story and live a few minutes longer.

  “Now, I was young and dumb back then, but I listened as I thought Jason was sharing something important. You see, I had made bad choices, blamed others, felt like the world owed me, all for no good reason. Now, Jason was about to go to death row, his final appeals were up. Now the man that visited Jason didn’t do it for revenge or some other need for retribution, he did it to tell Jason a story.

  “He told him how it felt to have the shotgun raised to his face when an enraged and high Jason asked where he was from and what God did he pray to.

  “The man had said, ‘Huh?’ That was the wrong answer to Jason. He was a man filled with hate, and that man was a foreigner. Actually, he was a man of middle-eastern appearance but was, in fact, an American. Born in this country to proud immigrants.

  “He then told Jason how he felt the bee stings of shells entering his face and head, then he had heard the boom of the gun.

  “That he awoke after emergency surgery and a week in a medically induced coma. Many of the shells had gone into his brain. He had a promising career and family, and in the days and weeks after it was disappearing, all because of his injuries. He felt the rage, the anger, the depression….he felt the need for revenge.

  “Now see, Jason had already been arrested, so the only revenge the man would likely get was with the guilty verdict. Once he did get that, he realized revenge was not what he wanted, it was not enough. More anger, more hate. The man said it took him years to realize that was not who he was, this was not the person his parents raised, this was not the path his faith demanded.

  “So, the man decided to contact the would-be killer who sat in prison. He explained all this to Jason, who he was and all the things he had been through since he had pulled that trigger. Then…you know what he did? He forgave him.

  “Jason said he couldn’t believe it. How could this man do that? He said it felt like something just washed over him, took all the evil away. Then he apologized, he said how sorry he was and how his stepdad had helped fill his head with hate and racism from an early age. He was blinded by the stupid hate he felt for people that were different than him. Different color, different religions, different languages…anything different.”

  Michael was staring at Hawley’s corpse seemingly unable to process it. The two had been through so much. He spoke briefly to the others, ignoring Jack, who continued on with his own message. One he felt a growing conviction to get out before he died.

  “I was still going back to the prison years later as part of my ministry. You ever do that, prison ministry? Yeah, I’m gonna guess not. Anyways, the day of Jason’s execution I was one of the people he asked to talk to. He said that man had called him that same day. The man
who he was being put to death for trying to kill. They talked, and before hanging up, he told Jason, ‘I love you, brother.’” Jack’s vision was clearing, he could now clearly see the assembled group. He had regained a measure of strength and could tell they were all focused on his words again and that the Prophet was quickly losing patience with him.

  “Can you get that? The man that he had tried to kill ten years earlier, told him that on the day he was to die. It was a lesson of love, a lesson of forgiveness. You see, dude, men are not born evil, they must learn it…some feel it can be unlearned. Hopefully, before it is too late. Now I know you see the relevance to our little situation here. I know you are going to kill me but think about what I am saying. You see, I have told that same story in church many times as an analogy for God’s love for his people. Today I tell it from a more personal standpoint. That man had so much love for his fellow man. Way more than I will ever have. Would I be able to forgive you for what you are about to do? I don’t honestly know…I don’t think so. Not yet anyway, you don’t deserve that. I have friends over there on that ship that I love, friends I would die for, but I’m a fighter for my friends and my faith, and sadly, all you really are is a disease. A cancerous bit of human eating away at the rest of the species. I realize now that the courage to hold on in this world is measured by who are you willing to die for.

  “I said all that to say this…what if that is the true test of any faith? The love and respect for one another. Not the dogma or rituals, not who deserved to be saved or not. Not the flavor of your beliefs, but how you treat your fellow man. Why is my belief system any more valid than yours or his? Well, yours is complete horseshit, but, I mean—well you get the point. That man…he got it. You and I, probably not so much.

  “Maybe some of this will get through to you, though. Maybe you could see your crimes and still repent. God will wash your soul clean, even now, and honestly, right now, I actually wish that weren’t true. But hey, that’s my problem…not yours. Let me ask you what are you leaving behind besides death and ruin? I know there will be judgment for you, maybe not by me, maybe not by man, but the day of reckoning comes for all of us.”

  The shadows just outside the edge of his vision began to move.

  That was all Michael could stand. He looked at Peterson and nodded. “Do it.”

  Peterson reached for his knife again only to realize it was missing. Then, with a sickening sound that lasted only a split second, most of his hand was also missing. Arterial blood shot across the store aisle. There was the sound of whooshing air and a large sharp farm implement pierced out the front of Peterson's jacket. “What the—” Peterson croaked his final words and dropped to his knees, blood spewing from his mouth.

  Jack looked at Michael. “It is judgment day…I’m afraid you have pissed off the demons,” he said with his eyebrows raised. “Please meet the ghost of Harris Springs.” Jack had thought he noticed one of the shadows moving, and he had finally realized it was a man. He was standing still as death, well out of sight of the others. Now that man, that damaged shell of a man, operating on some long-forgotten instinct, was working his way through the armed men. One moment he was there, and the next he had vanished.

  The man moved with a fluid grace that was both beautiful and terrifying. So precise was each move of the attack that it was all over within seconds. Jack watched as each of the men, confused and alarmed, fell before they could do anything about the attack. In a few moments, every one of Michael’s men lay dying on the dirty floor—all but the Prophet and the preacher.

  Jack turned to yell, “Roosevelt, are you back there, too?”

  “Oh yeah, yes, suh, there preacher man, I’s here, too. Just enjoin yo stories. You tells some good ‘uns, you do.” The old man’s clear sing-song voice came from farther back in the store. The other man, the ghost, had vanished again—just another shadow.

  Jack gave a pained laugh, “I thought it must have been you who brought the ninja in.”

  “I don’t know his name, I jus calls him da Spirit! Maybe he da Holy Spirit,” the old man called out merrily, “but Ghost is a good name, too. Yeah, yeah, I thinks I likes dat one even better.”

  Jack looked from the stunned-looking man in the robes to the growing destruction outside. He still couldn’t believe he was alive. The Navy had lied; they weren’t coming. The storm was in full fury, but he had an idea; maybe a way to end all of this, if the good Lord was willing. Roosevelt approached and helped Jack walk as he picked up a gun and one of the Judge’s radios. He motioned with the gun for Michael to walk out in front of them, into the teeth of the storm. He called out, “Ghost! Thank you. If this asshole gets away, can you please cut him into tiny little pieces?”

  Michael staggered in front of them out into the storm, like a beaten man, his arrogance and pride melting away with each fearful step. The wind drove rain and debris sideways. Roosevelt stumbled but helped support Jack as they hobbled back toward the ship together. “Will the Ghost be okay back there, or will he come to the ship?” Jack asked the kind, old man.

  Roosevelt laughed. “He’ll be fine, nobody goin’ a git dat boy to go inside anything like dat. Jus’ leave him be. I’ll bring him some food later.”

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  A lookout concealed on the upper-deck spotted Jack struggling to reach the ship with the other two. The lower hatch opened quickly as the trio slogged through the water rushing over the dock to reach the ship. Jack expected to see Bartos but instead found Angel, Solo, and Bobby who was beginning to look slightly better. Each had guns pointed in his direction but lowered them slightly as they took in the scene. They were elated to see him and Roosevelt, but the odd little man that accompanied them had Solo growling at once. Angel went to help Jack, but he motioned her off. He had a plan, and nothing was going to stop it. “I need this man on the top deck for all to see.” Angel hugged Roosevelt and wrapped him in a poncho as they all went back inside.

  Inside the dimly lit corridor, Bobby looked over at the robed man. “You are the one they call Prophet.”

  Michael didn’t speak.

  “Yeah, you’re the one. You gave me this,” he said, holding up his hand. “You also took my wife, you and your pigs.” Bobby’s hatred now had a target. Everything and everyone he had lost came rushing to the surface. He hit the pathetic man as hard as Jack had ever seen anyone get hit. Michael went down hard. Blood and broken teeth spilled from his split mouth.

  “Holy shit, Bobby. I need him to be able to speak,” Jack said.

  “What do you have planned, Preacher?” asked Angel, looking disgustedly at the robed man with quiet rage.

  “Something awful. I’m going to end this once and for all.” He and Bobby pulled Michael to the upper deck, where Garret and several of his men quickly trained their guns on him. Jack motioned them farther back, out of sight. Looking out to sea and up at the sky, the preacher seemed to be waiting for something. He watched the water intently, as though timing something meticulously. Moments later, he handed Michael the radio. “Call your people. Tell them you have taken the ship. Tell them it was God’s will. Give them the Message, and then you better give the most impressive and impassioned altar-call of your miserable life.”

  The fallen leader shook his head. Jack looked over at the dog. He only knew a few of Bartos’ commands. He chose carefully. “Solo, help.”

  The dog went up to the man and bared his already bloody teeth with his snout mere millimeters from the man’s groin.

  “Tell them.” He pushed the radio up to the man’s bloody mouth.

  Michael gave in. “My flock,” he began. “This is your Prophet.” His voice instantly was clear and strong and commanding. “The Lord has delivered.”

  Jack watched as the man’s persona changed in front of him. “Now go over to the far rail and wave to them, make sure they can see you.”

  Michael reluctantly did as he was instructed.

  “Tell them to come join you. God has delivered them an ark to ride out th
e storm. Tell them to get over here at once, anyway they can. Tell them the path to the west is the best route. Tell them God will keep them safe.” Jack’s eyes began to fill with tears at what he was doing.

  Everyone around Jack looked at him like he was insane. Michael looked like he was going to protest, but Solo began to nuzzle into his robes, still growling.

  Michael lifted the radio back to his lips. “Come unto me, and I will give you rest,” he said. “Brothers, we have found our refuge, our Ark. Shelter from the storm and a storehouse of plenty. Our struggles and sacrifices for the Lord have been rewarded.” He continued on ad-libbing for several more minutes seemingly basking in the falseness of it all.

  The reaction from the far side was immediate. Guns shots were joined by shouts of victory and praises to the Lord. Jack took the radio back as he closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. He was using these people’s blind faith to kill them all.

  They walked the few steps out of the storm and into the main dining room. The small group gathered at the windows to watch the scene unfolding across the canal. Hundreds, then thousands of rapturous, jubilant people were attempting to cross the water at the same time as the storm surge reached its peak and a series of huge waves swept higher and higher up the banks and over the edge of the canal, consuming everything in its path.

  The canal became a scene of utter chaos: the rising waters, swift currents, gators and tumbling coils of barbed wire tangled and dragged and swept the masses into a bloody mess. The tidal surge that boiled down the canal wiped out thousands as it grew to finally top the sides of the canals. Many attempted to get away by fleeing back along the road.

  “Garret, have your men target the trenches with incendiaries. Bartos laid fuel traps about fifty yards in. We have drums of chlorine gas and diesel fuel as well. Drop them now.”