Music City Macabre: The Low Lying Lands Saga: Vol. 1

by Bob Williams

  I start to break it down as I walk/stumble down the street. My sister Emily was, in effect, murdered by my adoptive father, who is a high-ranking official in an organization called “The Black Hand”. The Black Hand are the human servants of “The 88”. The 88 are a collection of demons and otherworldly creatures hell bent on the destruction of mankind.

  Among The 88 is a particularly nasty buck named Chaos. Chaos resides on another plain of existence and made his presence known by possessing my father and speaking through him. I’m not sure he does this with other Black Hand agents but it’s probably a good bet. I still can’t believe I saw it myself. Chaos used his essence to bring about The Descent.

  Last and most egregious on my checklist is that both Chaos and my Father escaped while I was involved in the gunfight that left dead Freaks strewn about like clothes on a one night stand.

  I’m a Finder. I follow the points. Following the points leads to connections. There’s only one problem. I’ve got nothing to go on. I have no first point to begin with because I haven’t the first idea where they might be. Before The Descent, when I worked with clients to find any number of things, there was always a wealth of information, or history of the item, or person given on the front end so that points could be plotted and a strategy devised. That’s just not present here.

  My emotional state is so fucked up right now. I’m not sure how to proceed in any direction. Just hours before, the best friend I thought I ever had turned out to be a Black Hand agent and tried to kill me…at the order of my father! I killed Pollock with my bare hands. My reward for that? For actually receiving the answers to the questions I sought? I learned Emily was dead. The two years I spent looking for her after The Descent was for nothing. I am alone.

  Standing here in the cold, it would seem I should be freezing. But in actuality I’m seething. My anger is slowly blossoming into rage. I can feel the emotion beginning to overtake me again, but I stave it off. What’s next? I’ve already asked myself that question more than once and I couldn’t answer it before, either. I’ve never felt this confused, hurt, and without direction before.

  Maybe there isn’t a next act. Pack it in Prescott you spineless fuckin’ prick! What’s left for me? Revenge! Is it worth it? Will it bring Emily back? No. Then why bother? ‘Cause it feeeels good! Maybe so. But Em’s already been dead two years. Sure I just found out, but I don’t feel like tearing off with no plan of where I’m going, or what I’m doing. I’m just not emotionally prepared for ‘needle in a haystack’ right now. I may hate the son of a bitch, but he always taught me to have a plan.

  In my heart I want to zero out into emptiness. I take a deep breath and exhale into the piercing night air. Right now, in this very moment…I want to hurt somebody.

  NEW BEGINNINGS

  With my senses somewhat returned, I decide it’s time to get moving. Where? I couldn’t possibly say. I think it’s safe to say Chicago has nothing left for me. As I reach for the door there is a massive explosion from a block over. Screams follow shortly after so I run the block or so in a relatively short time. God, I hurt. I see a building ablaze with flames that must be touching the sky.

  The heat coming off the fire is unbelievable. It’s...nice actually. Before The Descent this baby would’ve called for four or five trucks. Wait...I remember this fire. I saw the smoke heading skyward before I went into The 88. This building is an old grocery store and basically the whole damn thing appears to be on fire.

  Why couldn’t it have been an office complex? Fuckin Freaks are too stupid for their own good. Then again they don’t eat food so, fuck them. I’m taking this personally because I’m hungry, come to think of it, and there might have been something in there. Cans of beans for all I know.

  I hear the screams again but can’t tell anything about their origin. I need to be careful. There are a couple of possibilities here. Freaks probably set this fire out of desperation to stave off freezing to death, or they set the fire as a trap and whoever showed up, me, is their next meal. Either way, Freaks will undoubtedly be in the vicinity.

  “Help me! Help!”

  With my arm up to protect my face I cautiously enter the danger zone, straining to see anyone in need. The smoke is getting thick and before too long I’m gonna have to bail on this.

  “I’m trapped! Help! Please, somebody!”

  “Where are you? What section?” I ask with a desperation that I don’t understand why I’m feeling.

  The old automated sliding doors are long since destroyed and smoke is billowing out at a good clip. Still, I enter the building. Maybe saving somebody will help me feel better.

  “Frozen foods! I’m hurt, man!”

  He’s only a couple aisles over. I make my way closer and come up to the row. I peer around the corner so I can put my eyes on him. Through the smoke and flames it looks like the guy is trapped.

  “We don’t have a lot of time here,” I say. “So what’s the deal? Are you a Freak? Are you bitten? You gonna shoot me or try and fuck with me in some way, because if you are I will leave your ass here to get crispy. Are we clear?”

  “YES! Please, God! The flames are getting closer!”

  Are…you...bitten?” I demanded.

  “I don’t know! I don’t think so. I was in here scavenging when the fire started. It spread from the back and I took shelter. Then a couple of the Freaks came in. They were broken man. We fought. I shot one of them and then the other one knocked this over on me. I can’t feel my arm,” he said.

  He dropped off just a few moments. Maybe he was in shock. I quickly and rather recklessly decided to trust him and came around from the endcap with my Glock pointed straight at him. This grocery store had been stripped of nearly everything of value. The freezers had been torn to pieces; broken glass from the doors as well as the rest of the lifeless units were strewn about haphazardly.

  I approached quickly and cautiously, and rolled him over. Marine training never fades away. Aside from his arm being crushed up to his shoulder underneath a freezer unit, he appeared mostly ok. Shock was in effect. The fight must have happened very recently, within the last half hour. OK Prescott, be ready for anything.

  “What’s your name, dude?” I asked. Just trying to keep him talking.

  “Matt...Matt Whitford. I only came in this place because I was starving, man. Shit! The safe zones are a joke. They’re no better than out here, man. Fend for yourself. Die alone.”

  “OK Matt, my name is Prescott, I’m gonna do what I can to help you but I won’t bullshit you. If these flames start to overtake us and I can’t get you out, I’m leaving. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah man. That’s more honesty than I’ve gotten from anyone since the Collapse. Go for it.” He said.

  “I’ll be right back. I need to find a lever to lift this unit off of you. I’ll be right back.”

  The flames were on the move and Matt didn’t have much time. I was scanning as fast as I could to find something, anything. There! There was a heavy-duty metal snow shovel in the seafood department. The smoke was making it tough now. There was gonna be one shot at this, maybe two.

  I ran back and found Matt lying still, eyes closed. “Matt! Get your ass ready! We got a couple of chances and we both go or I go. You gotta be ready. I see a little daylight between your arm and the freezer. When I stick the shovel into that spot, I’m gonna lift and you gotta get your arm out of there. That’s your job! Got it?”

  “Yeah...yeah...my job,” he muttered. Shit! Come on man!

  I jammed the shovel under the freezer the couple inches I could, and lifted with everything I had.

  “Go Matt! Get out of there!” I boomed.

  His eyes seemed to register rather quickly and he started rocking his body to the left and right. A couple more times and he was able to roll his entire body over and bring the totally fucked arm with him. He was never going use that arm again. He was going to have to find somebody half-decent in post-Descent to cut it off. Uphill battle for Matt, but not my probl
em.

  I helped him to his feet and put his good arm around my neck and we started to run as fast as possible towards the front. As I dragged Matt, I continued scanning the inside of the store for Freaks, causing our feet to tangle. We went down and I landed on top of Matt, seeing clearly that he had a vicious bite on his dead arm.

  Well God Damn it! I got him to his feet again and dragged him out into the cold. Fuck Matt! This is not my responsibility! The bite was fresh. There was nothing I could do for him. Dead arm or not, the Essence of Chaos had been delivered. He’ll be a Freak before he gets home.

  He was lying on the ground again but looked to be coming around. It was the cold kicking his ass awake. This sucked. I knelt down and took a few sharp breaths. There was no way I was dragging him back to the Jeep.

  “Matt!” I said a little too harshly. This wasn’t his fault.

  “Yes,” He cleared his throat; he was really feeling the cold. “Thank you, Prescott. My arm, it should hurt right? I should be screaming my ass off right?” He was getting his voice back. He was changing already.

  “Listen Matt, I have a place close by. Let’s go get you cleaned up and find you some warm clothes. Then we got to figure out what we’re gonna do about that arm. Let’s go,” I said and gestured with my arm for him to walk.

  He took two steps in front of me while I stood still, then said, “Thanks again...”

  I drew my Glock and shot him dead. Nobody deserves to be a Freak. Nobody. I turned in the other direction and headed for the Jeep.

  When I got back, I started the engine and cranked the heat. Old Faithful. I still wasn’t sure what lay ahead, Was I going to stay in Chicago or burn out after my old man? That’s funny. Four hours ago I never would’ve called Mr. Prescott my ‘Old Man’. Fuck him.

  I turned the Jeep around with the intention of heading to my pit stop place outside of Chicago, in Arlington Heights. I call it a pit stop for obvious reasons. When I was working and needed to grab a shower and change of clothes, more often than not after dealing with Freaks, I could hit the small apartment. Anyway, not too many other people are using the building and those that are certainly don’t make a habit of being social.

  I got on 41 at Lincoln Park and, before I knew it, Matt Whitford had clawed his way out of my subconscious and into my head. There wasn’t another option! What was I supposed to do? Cut off his arm? It was too late! The Essence of Chaos is not blood. It comes from another plane of existence! It doesn’t flow through veins. It didn’t matter that his arm was crushed and useless.

  I don’t believe Matt lied to me, at least I don’t think he did intentionally. The bite could’ve occurred during his battle with the Freaks. You would think he’d notice something like that. Then again he did have a giant freezer knocked over him. Pain and/or shock could’ve caused temporary memory loss.

  Where am I going with this? I suppose it’s to say I’m sorry, Matt. No, I didn’t know you. But you were someone to somebody. I didn’t want you to go through that. I didn’t want you to become a flesh-eating, murderous, half-breed asshole. That wasn’t my choice to make. I took my shit out on you. I should’ve asked what you wanted. I should’ve asked! I should’ve asked!

  I pulled over, closed my eyes, and gripped the steering wheel with enough anger to rip it out of the damn dash. No! I can’t lose it now. I sat in silence on the side of the highway. I thought about what my options were and if they were even doable. After a brief moment of deciding whether I’d made a smart decision or not, I drove up to the next exit and got off, hitting 90 North. I had a plan.

  SAFE ZONE: NORMAL, IL

  The drive to Normal, Illinois, from Chicago before The Descent was about two and half hours. Post-Descent it took me close to seven. There’s just so much rubble and detritus on the interstates it makes travel extremely difficult. When I say interstates I mean the entire interstate system of the United States of America. Semi-truck skeletons, long dead cars and campers, anything you can imagine can be found lying on the country’s highways. There isn’t a clear route from point A to point B anywhere anymore.

  I was headed to the Safe Zone in Normal to check in with a contact, well, a friend. He’s a friend, maybe. He goes by the name of Jay. Jay had been known to help the cause from time to time if a client, or for lack of a better term, a case, took us that far away from Chicago.

  Unfortunately, as these things go, a close associate of Jay’s, his second in command, a standup guy by the name of Jonathan Prejean was killed when he joined me and Coop on a rescue in Bloomington. It went south for all of us. We lost both the father and the daughter to the Freaks, and Prejean was overwhelmed laying cover fire for us as we ran like hell for the escape route.Not one of my proudest moments, to say the least. And informing Jay of the loss fucked us up. I haven’t spoken to him in over a year. He doesn’t know about Coop. In some messed up way, telling him might soften the blow of seeing me again. All told, I have nothing but respect for Jay I hope he feels the same about me.

  Pulling up to the gate of the Safe Zone, I was greeted by two heavily armed kids who wore military fatigues that didn’t actually fit. Organized military post-Descent is a fucking joke. As a Marine who served in wartime back in the real world, I would never insult these boys for trying. The problem is that the leadership isn’t there.

  Sure, there are some guys that yell at them and tell them to do this and that, and there is probably some structure that enables the high ‘ranking officer’ to convince these young men to do as they’re told. However, the United States military is dead. Cue Taps, motherfuckers.

  “Help you, Sir?” Said one of the men.

  The soldier who greeted me whipped around, went back and met up with the other soldier at the guard booth and they had a brief conversation. I didn’t bother paying attention to rank but one of them clearly outranked the other. After a brief conversation I saw the greeter pick up a phone off its cradle and place a call.

  The son of a bitch made me wait for over an hour before he finally pulled around the corner. He got out, put his foot on the instep of the Humvee and rested his arm on the door. He was every military tool bag you’ve ever seen in a movie. Aviator sunglasses, and he was actually smoking a cigar. A fucking cigar! I’d kill for one of those. We locked eyes for longer than any two men should. I mean I couldn’t actually see his eyes but I knew he was deciding what was going to happen. He blew a thick stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth while the cigar stayed firmly home. He then raised his sunglasses so our eyes could meet then he waved me through.

  The arm raised, I drove the short distance, and pulled the Jeep up next to his Humvee. I got out, covered the few steps that separated us, and extended my hand.

  “Jay,” I said.

  He took my hand, jerked me in close and drilled me right in the solar plexus. I went down like a sack of potatoes. Jesus Christ! I can’t breathe! Then Jay extended his hand and helped me to my feet with another mildly aggressive tug of my arm. I hope this is his way of saying we’re square.

  “Welcome to Normal Safe Zone! What the hell do you want, Prescott?” I was waiting for the big Billy Dee Williams smile. Remember, in Empire Strikes Back, Lando fucked with Han for bit, then they hugged it out. I’m still waiting.

  “Can we hit the Safe House already?” I wheezed. I was still recovering from the welcoming gift.

  “Follow me and stick close. You don’t have a badge yet and I don’t want you wandering off in that asshole way you do.”

  “Jay, listen…”

  “Not. Yet. Not just yet.” He called me by my first name, which was a red line indicator that I was still up shit creek with him and I needed to tread lightly.

  The Normal, Illinois, Safe Zone is unlike any other safe zone I’ve ever seen. I’ve been to quite a few throughout the state, and a couple as far away as Kansas City and Columbus. What makes this zone safe is that it’s self-contained. It used to be a Mitsubishi plant, pre-Descent. The Outlander was made here. This place is huge. It’s surrounded
by fencing that’s been reinforced with industrial barbed wire to make climbing it hurt if it’s attempted. There were pre-existing flood lights, but the number was doubled and the wattage significantly increased. From the lookout posts on the four corners, you can see for miles.

  The inside of the plant has been completely repurposed. Walls were constructed to make sleeping quarters, kitchen, open meeting space, a large training space for self-defense, base defense, and numerous other amenities that were required to have a safe and clean base of operations.

  Jay took me directly to Visitor Registration, where I was processed and given a badge with Clearance Level: Beta. This meant I had access to ninety percent of the base without a visitor’s guide. No shit. That’s what they’re called. After that business was taken care of, we knew we needed to talk. We also knew exactly where to go.

  Of everything this safe zone had to offer, the only place I wanted to be right now was the bar. In the past, Jay, myself, Coop, and in the not too distant past, Prejean, had enjoyed several long nights in the Safe House. Jay had named the bar, and he made it very clear that when you walked through the doors of the Safe House, all your bullshit stayed outside. This was the place you came to get drunk with your friends, mourn the loss of fallen soldiers, or just sit quietly. The Normal Safe Zone was established six months after The Descent. Not a single punch has ever been thrown within these walls.

  When we walked through the doors, everyone turned and acknowledged that Jay had entered the room. He stopped immediately, telling them all to get back to it. He was here for pleasure not work. As always, though, he reminded the residents to remain vigilant.

  A server brought us two ice cold Pabst Blue Ribbon beers and then quickly retreated. I had no concept of how this conversation was going to go so I dove right in.