The Last Peak (Book 3): The Darwin Sacrifice

by William Oday

  And second, I am hereby declaring a state of emergency in The United States of America. Humbly and with great caution, and only while the nature of the emergency remains acute, I will assume the decision making powers of both the executive, legislative, and judicial branches of government.”

  The crowd remained silent, either confused or unaffected by the announcement.

  “In an effort to crack down on the subversives that threaten us, we will be adding security patrols during the day time hours and doubling the existing night time patrols. Also, it will be henceforth be required for all citizens to carry legal identification at all times. This will make it simpler for law enforcement officers to carry out their duty in protecting you. If you currently lack the necessary documentation, you will have twenty-four hours to visit the national registration center. We also have attendants that can help you after we’re finished here.”

  The president raised his hand as if pledging to an invisible bible. “I swear to you that I will relinquish these additional responsibilities the second the situation is resolved. I did not wish for such danger to occur on my watch. But, dangerous times have arrived nonetheless. And we will not be cowed. We will stand strong! Together! We will not be defeated!”

  The silence that had smothered the space before his final statement shattered. Voices boomed and shouted approval. Thunderous applause competed to express support.

  The president pumped his fist in the air. His bald head gleamed in the afternoon sun throwing a blurred halo of light around him.

  It started slowly, from one person here and then another over there. The pacing was off and the rhythm stumbled, but it quickly coalesced into a single unified voice.

  A song bursting with pride.

  Words once sung by celebrity stars at every Super Bowl and World Series game.

  Mason mouthed the words as the crowd roared them. They felt oddly discordant as they slipped from his lips.

  O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave

  O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave…

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ELIO hit the dirt face first. The shove in the back combined with the shackles around his ankles ensured he pitched over like a felled tree. His hands slowed him a bit, but his face still caught most of the impact. He rolled to his side holding the shooting pain in his head.

  The good news was that Father Roberts hadn’t cut out his tongue last night, which seemed like a terrifying likelihood for a minute there. The bad news was that he’d shaved Elio’s hair off. The worse news was that they had left him strung up tight on the table until the sun came up.

  Was life worth living when that was the good news?

  His muscles had been so cramped he couldn’t walk or use his arms at first.

  Grit from the dark mud ground in his teeth. He breathed in deeply and winced. A sharp pain stabbed through his chest every time his lungs inflated too much.

  Shallow breaths were better.

  Not breathing at all would’ve been the best, except it would’ve killed him. Which didn’t sound so bad right now.

  A heavy boot kicked him in the ribs.

  “Get up!” the man standing above him said. A rough brown robe draped from his broad shoulders. The spiral of whip in his hand uncoiled to the ground as he prepared to use it. He stared at Elio with a malignant gleam in his eye. “I said Get up.”

  He raised the whip in the air.

  “Brother Ryan! Do not mistreat the flock!”

  Brother Ryan flinched as if stung by the lash of a bigger whip. “Father Roberts! I, uhh. He was malingering and needed motivation.”

  Father Roberts grabbed Elio’s arm and pulled him to his feet.

  “You knocked him over and then kicked him for falling down. We do not engage in capricious cruelty, Brother Ryan. You will report to me after the work day to receive penance.”

  Brother Ryan’s eyes opened wide with naked fear.

  “Take a short break to cool off. I will cover for you.”

  Brother Ryan turned to Elio with venom in his eyes. The unspoken promise of payback. “Thank you, Father.” He spun away and trudged through the soft dirt back toward the central compound.

  Elio wiped at his eyes and concentrated on not breathing too deeply. There was something about Brother Ryan.

  Something familiar.

  Like seeing an actor in real life from some movie you couldn’t quite remember.

  “Are you okay, my son?”

  Elio grunted. “I’ve been better.”

  “You would do well not to instigate Brother Ryan. His fuse is short and his boots are hard.”

  “He’s a cruel son-of-a-bitch.”

  Elio’s head snapped to the side as a line of white-hot pain sliced across his cheek. Over the raw cut from the previous night.

  “That’s one night in solitary for using profanity. The shed will help you remember to hold your tongue in the future.”

  Elio bit back the curses gurgling up his throat. “Sorry, it was the pain talking.”

  “Pain cleanses the soul when the mind accepts the reasons behind it.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  Father Roberts grabbed his chin and turned his head to the side to examine the cuts. “I do. I was lost in the sinful ways of the world when the Lord called to me. He showed me the pain had meaning. That, in a deeper way, it could be glorious.”

  Elio wasn’t particularly interested in the story of how this guy had gone crazy. But he was interested in not inviting more pain into his life.

  “What did you do that was so bad?”

  “What did I not do?”

  Father Roberts looked up into the blue sky like the answers might come tumbling down. “It’s time for you to return to work. I will assign another Brother to this section of the farm. Take my advice about Brother Ryan.”

  Elio nodded and picked up the basket he’d dropped. He gathered up all the squash that had fallen out. “Thank you, Father Roberts.”

  “Thank the Lord. I am but his messenger.”

  Father Roberts coiled his whip and walked away without another word.

  Elio touched the cut on his face. The newer one. His fingers came away red. He spat dark grit out of his mouth. He rubbed the sticky skin of his bald head. His fingers traced over nicks and cuts. The haircut hadn’t been gentle.

  What kind of fucked up reality was he enduring when he was thanking the bastard that had whipped him?

  Had God cursed him?

  He breathed too deeply without thinking and winced as sharp pain shot through his ribs.

  Maybe dying would be better.

  He looked over the planted field. Numerous prisoners like himself were bent over gathering up vegetables and pulling weeds. Several Brothers walked up and down the rows carrying their ever-present whips.

  The occasional crack and subsequent cry of agony made clear the whips weren’t just for show. They were tools. Tools to enforce compliance.

  All the religious bullshit surrounding this place was just that.

  Beyond the planted fields, along the tree line, a team of shackled deltas were harnessed to a giant redwood log. They strained and struggled to pull the heavy wood along. A whip cracked on their backs and legs any time one let up in the effort.

  Earlier in the day, Elio had seen one of the Brothers unleash on an especially stubborn delta. The man, if he could still be called that, had refused to pull. The lash of the whip cut his flesh to ribbons and still the delta refused to pull.

  That sent the Brother into an absolute frenzy. A barrage of blows crumpled the delta to the ground. Still the blows continued. They stopped long after the body had stopped moving.

  Elio glanced along the tree line where the body still lay in the short grass.

  He, or it, or whatever it was, was dead.

  That was still murder, wasn’t it?

  So what if the virus had taken his mind. So what if he didn’t know he was a man anymore.

  W
ere deltas kind of like people who’d gone clinically insane? Who didn’t know they were people anymore. Back when the normal world existed, wouldn’t killing one of those people be considered murder?

  Absolutely. And so killing a delta was the same. No different. No more justified.

  Elio shuffled through the dirt to the next patch of ripe plants.

  This was slavery. The same model of viewing people as property. To be used, abused, or killed.

  The rumors that had been circulating down south were true. They were rumors no more. The truth was all around him.

  But it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t survive long enough to tell anyone.

  He knelt down and wrapped his fingers around another swollen green fruit. He twisted the squash off and dropped it into his basket.

  Everyone needed to know what was happening up here.

  Which brought up another thought that hadn’t left his mind since the second he arrived.

  He had to get the hell out of here.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The ache in Elio’s back had any number of possible causes. The kick from Brother Ryan that afternoon. The back-breaking work in the fields that started when the sun came up and ended after it went down. The sunburn covering his bald head and back that oddly made him feverish and also chilled to the core.

  He felt the tip of the stick he’d smuggled back from the day in the fields. Several hours of scraping the jagged end was starting to create a decent point.

  He rolled to his other side and the cold, damp concrete floor of the small shed prickled his skin. He stroked the point of the stick in the darkness, feeling for which side needed more filing. He rotated the shaft and started scraping again.

  This was going to be in the running for worst night’s sleep ever. Not that he’d tried yet.

  The distant memory of another night in which he’d hardly slept floated up in his mind. He’d have given anything to repeat that night.

  The night he spent with Theresa in the cab of that truck surrounded by deltas on the freeway. Despite being terrified for his life, and more for hers, it was wonderful. They’d spooned on the front seat all night long.

  The warmth of her soft body cupped by his. The agonizing nearness that hinted at so much more.

  And, of course, the horror of her discovering his physical response. And then the anticipation of the same.

  Where was she tonight?

  Hopefully sleeping in her bed.

  While he was here.

  The muscles between his shoulders spasmed. He gritted his teeth, fighting to keep from crying out. The last thing he wanted was to attract attention. In the short time he’d spent at Divine Mercy, he’d learned three things.

  One, gaining the attention of any of the Brothers never ended well.

  Two, this wasn’t a monastery that anyone would recognize. It wasn’t a jail or a prison. There were no inalienable rights that even the least deserving person was afforded.

  No, this was slavery.

  Which brought him to the third and final point. The most important one.

  He had to escape. He knew without being told that he would never leave otherwise.

  There would be no trial. No lawyer present for questioning because there would be no questioning. Father Roberts didn’t care about the circumstances that brought Elio here. He cared nothing more than for Elio and the others to do the work and to obey.

  To work for their redemption, as he put it.

  Beyond his own welfare, there was also the bigger issue to confront. He had to tell everyone in the capital about what was happening here. Here and probably other places in the north. The public needed to rise up and demand that a centuries old issue be buried before it could rise up again and tear the country apart.

  The muscles in Elio’s arm started to seize up so he stopped filing the point and tested it. Definitely a point. Getting to be a sharp point.

  The lock on the shed door rattled and Elio shuddered.

  He squeezed the stick in his fist.

  It rattled again and clicked open.

  A shaft of light poured in blinding him for an instant. The glare of yellow lantern light bobbed into the shed before the door screeched closed.

  Elio blinked hard and looked up to see Brother Ryan staring down at him with an evil grin on his face.

  His other hand carried a whip.

  Something smoldered in Elio’s chest. It should’ve been fear. But it wasn’t.

  “How did your penance go with Father Roberts?”

  Brother Ryan’s grin slipped into a grimace before he recovered enough to hide the memory. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t been enjoyable. He raised the whip and lashed it down on Elio’s legs.

  An electric sting cut his skin. He curled up holding his legs and wishing he hadn’t said anything. In mindless pain, the sharpened stick slipped from his grasp.

  Brother Ryan jumped on him and pinned his arms down. He tied a cloth around Elio’s wrists and bound them to a loop of thick rebar anchored into the concrete floor.

  Elio struggled to pull free but it was no use.

  “This won’t go easy for you. But make noise and it will go far worse.”

  Another lash from the whip stung Elio’s back and he bit off a scream of agony. His feet were yanked back flattening him on his belly.

  A second later, the full weight of Brother Ryan’s body pinned him down. The stink of hot breath brushed across Elio’s cheek.

  “I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

  He tore Elio’s pants down to his knees.

  Elio tried to roll away but his legs were pinned down between Brother Ryan’s.

  The hard handle of the whip tapped Elio’s cheek.

  “This is good for more than giving motivation. Rather, it is good for giving it in a number of different ways.”

  Brother Ryan grabbed the elastic band of Elio’s underwear and ripped them apart exposing his backside.

  “You deserve this for what you did today.”

  Elio struggled to free himself.

  “That’s good. It’s better when you resist.”

  Elio lowered his head and something jabbed his forehead.

  The sharpened stick.

  He nudged it lower with his nose and pinned it under his mouth.

  Brother Ryan laughed with twisted delight.

  Elio torqued his body so that he could look behind him.

  The gleam in Brother Ryan’s eyes hinted at a darkness that could swallow the sun.

  Elio had one chance. A small one. If he could get the sick bastard close enough.

  “I was wondering.”

  “What?” Brother Ryan said.

  “Why don’t you act like such a pussy around Father Roberts?”

  Brother Ryan spat in a rage. “Shut up! Shut your mouth!”

  Elio forced a laugh he didn’t feel. “What was your penance today? Did he make you his holy bitch?”

  Brother Ryan fell forward with his mouth at Elio’s ear. “I’m going to make you bleed on the inside. You’re going to wish you were dead.”

  He no doubt would if this asshole had his way.

  Elio used his tongue to line up the sharpened end of the stick to the side. He bit down hard. With every ounce of strength in his failing body, he jerked his head and torso around.

  The sharp point of the stick punched into the soft skin of Brother Ryan’s cheek. He howled and jerked back with it lodged there.

  Elio spun underneath as Brother Ryan held the protruding stick. He kicked hard and caught the monk in the chest sending him sprawling backwards.

  After a few minutes of fumbling with the ties around his wrists, he got free. He turned to see Brother Ryan whimpering in the corner holding his cheek where the jaws connected. The stick poked out from between his fingers. Blood spilled down his brown robe soaking it a darker hue.

  “Help,” he said with gurgled words.

  Elio gathered himself and then grabbed the lantern and the whip. He stared at Br
other Ryan wondering what he should do.

  He considered what this man had almost done to him. His eyes narrowed. “You’re bleeding. A lot. You may die. Good luck with that.”

  He shouldered the shed’s metal door open and disappeared into the night.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The escape from the monastery turned out to be easier than Elio expected. For all the emphasis on discipline and treating people like property, they were terrible at basic security.

  One of the work trucks at the central compound had keys left in the ignition. He’d fired it up and roared off before anyone was the wiser.

  Another reason it was easier than expected was that Brother Ryan had chosen the dead of night for his surprise visit. A couple of Brothers at the entrance gate had waved at the approaching truck thinking it was one of the Brothers.

  They dove out of the way when Elio almost ran them over.

  He’d followed the winding roads out and then driven south on the 101 using the parking lights all the way to the Golden Gate Bridge. He rounded the last bend and rolled to a stop. His eyes traced along the vast expanse of darkness that surely hid the bridge. He saw a faint glow emanating from the far side.

  The last security checkpoint he’d passed through on the trip north.

  They weren’t going to greet him smiles and hugs. Bullets and fists were a better bet.

  So, what did that leave?

  He wasn’t going to swim across. Not in the middle of the night and not as beat up as he was. Probably not even in the noon day sun in the best shape of his life.

  Plus, there were sharks in that water!

  And he was a terrible swimmer.

  Call it the curse of the city boy.

  So, what then?

  He could try to find a boat somewhere. How long would that take? And what happened when he found one? He’d never driven a boat before. He didn’t have the first clue how to start it, steer it, or drive it around the ocean.

  The truck’s engine coughed and sputtered.

  He gave it some gas to keep the old beater from dying.

  This thing was a serious antique. A heavy lumbering beast made way back when engineers had never heard of the concept of peak oil.