by Jacob Rayne
The man went limp, thick strands of blood-flecked drool running out of his lips.
His eyes rolled back to reveal the whites, then his part of the rail moved along the tracks that ran overhead.
A shouting, shaven-headed woman came in next, again her cries rendered nonsensical by the removal of her tongue.
Again the working man approached.
Administered a cold, clinical blow of the hammer to the exact point where it was needed.
Again she went limp, blood pouring from her open jaws.
She was shunted along.
Another body came in.
Davey turned away, unwilling to witness this atrocity on a seemingly endless loop.
The next station was arguably worse; a worker in the warehouse’s uniform darting in and slashing the man’s throat with a long, curved blade.
Blood racing out.
The head lolling back, further widening the split in the throat.
The wound deep enough now to reveal the severed windpipe and gleaming sections of spine.
Gore sluicing down through the grated floor, already stained with the blood of hundreds, possibly thousands, of murdered innocents.
The chain clinking to the next station.
The man wiping his blade on a cloth in his left hand, readying himself for the arrival of the next corpse.
The next station was a man moving in fast, running his smaller, keener blade around the groin of the dead man on the hook, removing his genitals with expert care and skill.
The sickly plop as the removed organs landed in a huge barrow containing what looked like dozens more of the same.
He then ran his blade up from groin to sternum, cutting deep enough to reveal the bones and raw flesh beneath.
He pulled the flaps aside, reached in with a firm, fast hand and began pulling organs loose.
These flopped and plopped into a second blood-stained barrow with noises that wouldn’t normally have bothered Davey, but when taken in context made him feel like he was going insane.
When the organs were all removed, the worker pressed a button and the body clicked away to the next station.
Davey watched as the next man moved in and lifted the body from its hook.
The weight didn’t seem to bother him, but Davey supposed it had already had most of its innards torn loose by the previous worker.
The man moved in, what looked like a hacksaw in his hand.
The blade was encrusted with dried blood and chunks of powdered bone.
He cut through the man’s wrists, removing his hands.
The sawing of blade on bone was nauseating in the extreme.
The severed hands went into the worker’s barrow.
Likewise the feet when he’d sawn through the ankles.
The head was more awkward – the thick neck vertebrae snapped the saw blade, drawing a hail of muttered curses from the working man – but the axe positioned by the outer edge of the work station soon took care of the problem.
Dead eyes stared glassily up at the ceiling as the head landed in the barrow.
The working man rehung the body then pressed another button.
The carcass – easily mistaken for that of an animal now it was headless and handless – clunked along to the next station.
The next worker was a woman and this filled Davey with more dread than he’d thought possible.
In his experience of the world, men were capable of being cold, emotionless killers, but women were supposed to be loving, nurturing.
If they had learnt to ignore their emotions then the world was royally fucked.
She moved in and made quick, deep cuts down the arms and legs of the body and began to pull the skin loose.
It was obvious she’d had a lot of practise at this as the skin came off with ease.
She carefully placed it into a barrow by her work station, then pressed the button on the gleaming panel in front of her.
The next station had a man with an axe remove the limbs from the body and throw them in his barrow.
He chopped the rest of the carcass, then sent it to the next worker in the chain.
The next man was an expert with a knife; that much was clear from his smooth, clinical movements.
He removed flesh from bone, sinew from flesh.
All of the useful meat went into one barrow, the bones and gristle went into a second.
The body by now was gone, no more than the sum of its parts, merely a mysterious foodstuff for the unsuspecting – or possibly uncaring – dwellers of King Solomon’s Freelands.
The chain continued, bringing more of the human cattle to their grisly ends.
‘Eat up, Davey lad,’ Solomon’s booming voice echoed in his head.
He shook his head, his eyes clouded with tears.
‘Today’s top dog is tomorrow’s hot dog,’ Max’s voice chimed in.
Davey smacked his palm into his temple, wanting to clear it of the grisly images, but the sounds and smells of the room wouldn’t let him.
His head reeling, he made his way to the exit where his knees collapsed, dumping him on the floor.
The final warehouse wasn’t anywhere near as grisly but it was the most upsetting of all.
Davey staggered into the final warehouse on drunkard’s legs.
He was presented with an absolutely immense pile of what he at first took to be a new strain of hay, darker and thinner than the regular type.
It was only when he got closer and touched it that he realised what it was; the hair of the people who were being slaughtered in the abattoir.
He shook his head again, struggling to comprehend the sheer scale of the operation.
The pile of hair must have been thirty feet high.
He did his best not to imagine the number of people it would have taken to make a pile this size.
To comprehend how many had been murdered in order to supply the Freelands with food.
The next room arrived as fast as his jelly legs could carry him.
He felt like curling into a ball and sobbing until the end of time itself, but also felt like taking a flamethrower to the place and razing it to the ground.
Another part of him wanted to leave it be, to remain as a testament to the slaughter.
He saw vast piles of clothes and shoes, broken down roughly into men’s, women’s and children’s.
Again, these reached up to the ceiling, far too high to even guess at numbers.
The next room was full of tablets, mobile phones, I-pods, widescreen TVs, all the unnecessary shit that people – only a few years before the beginning of the end – had worked long hours to buy.
They kept these things on them right up until the end, he thought with a grim smile.
Still clinging on to their possessions as they went to their deaths.
In the end everyone’s belongings wind up like this; a huge pile of useless shit we no longer need.
Death on such a scale made it seem inconsequential.
It made everyday events trivial.
It made lives trivial.
This final warehouse was the thing that angered him the most, not just the scale of the slaughter, but the way the people’s clothes and belongings had been carelessly cast aside, leaving them naked and hairless and feral like fucking animals.
But this faded still in comparison to the anger he felt when he saw a blood-spattered teddy bear at the base of another vast pile of clothes.
They’re doing this to kids, he thought. For God’s sake, to kids!
Some kid came here seeking a better life, clutching onto this teddy as its one comfort in this harsh and alien environment.
It had been taken from them – forcibly if the blood stains were to be taken at face value – and discarded as though it no longer mattered.
All this shit had mattered to someone, at some time, and that was the thing that hurt the most about this.
That none of the possessions, or, more importantly, the people they belonged to, mattered t
o anyone.
That the only thought was that they were going to fill someone’s plate that night or the next night or the next.
His head reeled and he had to get out, before his chest closed up under the weight of the terror and sorrow he felt.
He clutched the teddy to his chest for a second before carefully placing it back on the pile.
Forced himself to move, even though his legs threatened to buckle and cast him to the floor.
He thought of what Cross had said, about the bomb in his bag.
About who was really doing the right thing.
He tried to balance the right things King Solomon had done – allowing people to live in abundance and merriment instead of religious mania and servitude – against this gargantuan wrong.
There was no time to think it over fully, as some of the guards were on their way out of the warehouses.
He waited no longer; he turned tail and ran back through the skinny alley towards the rest of the warehouses that ringed the central compound – King Solomon’s deepest, darkest secret.
As he reached the relative safety of the stone sector, he already knew what he needed to do with the deadly cargo in his bag.
4.10
Davey’s pack dug down into his shoulders as he made his way towards his destination.
It was the weight of responsibility, he guessed.
What he was about to do was not pleasant, but it had to be done.
He’d gone back and forth on it in his mind, wondering if he had made the right decision.
He’d never been one for prayer – had, in fact, actively avoided it in every aspect of his day to day life – but he found himself praying now that the course of action he had chosen was the right one.
Did he take out Solomon and his compound for the atrocities it contained?
As far as Davey was concerned, the things he had seen in those warehouses would forever be branded into his consciousness.
He knew he’d see them in his lowest moments, knew they’d always cling like cobwebs to the dark corners of his mind.
Solomon could not be forgiven for such crimes against humanity.
But then there was Cross, an evil man claiming to be good.
Did his utter deranged belief in his God give him the right to imprison people, cut bits off them, and otherwise defile them?
He seesawed over it on his journey, and he was not certain that he was making the right choice at all.
But he had already been spotted by the guards on the gate, so it was too late to turn back now.
He raised his hands and let them come to greet him.
‘So you came back?’ Cross said, a grin on his face that glinted all the way into his dark eyes. ‘I knew you would, young Christian.’
Davey bowed his head.
‘Did you do as I told you?’ Cross said, his voice alive with anticipation.
‘Yes.’
‘And what did you see?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Davey was doing his best to keep the depravity of Solomon’s warehouses – and what he’d seen of the rest of the world – locked firmly behind a big black door in his mind.
That door was getting mighty hard to keep shut of late.
‘Then you did see it.’ The grin on Cross’ face was that of a child on Christmas morning.
Davey bowed his head further as a sickening glimpse of the people in the cages lurched into his mind like a violent drunkard.
Tears rose unbidden into his eyes.
A lump appeared in his throat.
Just the thought of it was enough to drive him to the brink of insanity.
Davey felt too sick to speak, so he just nodded without lifting his head.
‘I’m pleased.’ Cross’ smug tone was enough to infuriate Davey and he almost lunged across the room and begun to throttle the preacher man.
‘You’re pleased?’ Davey spat, red-rimmed eyes staring up at Cross with a savage intensity. ‘How the fuck can you be pleased that I saw that?’
For a few seconds, Cross seemed tongue-tied.
Then he slapped Davey hard across the cheek.
The sting brought fresh tears to his eyes.
‘You are in God’s company now, David. Kindly watch your mouth. I will forgive you this trespass, but any more curse words and I will have to introduce you to my dark side.’
The cruel grin that flickered over his lips chilled Davey’s blood.
‘So what did you do about this… Godlessness?’ Cross spat.
His eyes were alive with fire.
He bounced slightly on the spot, impatient to know.
Davey looked up, meeting his glare.
The image of the preacher became blurred by the tears that glistened in his eyes.
Cross met his gaze, unflinching.
Davey saw murder in his eyes.
‘I did nothing,’ Davey said, pausing to let this sink in.
Cross scratched his right temple.
‘You did… nothing?’ he said, unable to grasp the concept.
‘I did nothing,’ Davey repeated. ‘Because there is enough bloodshed and death in this world as it is. I refuse to get any more innocent blood on my hands.’
He didn’t blink, didn’t look away from Cross’ stare.
Cross glanced down at his shoes for a second.
A faint smile played across his lips.
He nodded gently a few times.
‘I understand, David. An act of mercy. It is to be commended, for sure. But, while I am confident your motives were pure, I still think your judgement has been clouded by the devil’s hand.’
‘No. This is the right thing to do. Solomon is just looking after his flock, same as you are yours. He is making sure no one goes hungry.’
‘And what about the poor sinners in the barns? Rutting in their own filth. Tearing each other to pieces with their teeth and nails like animals.’
‘They are part of God’s plan for Solomon. He sees them as cattle. Manna from heaven, if you will.’
Cross shook his head. ‘I see your point. And I commend your turn the other cheek approach. Truly, I am impressed to see such wisdom in one so young. But I must disagree with your assessment of the situation. King Solomon is a sinner of the highest order and his people represent the ascension of hell into our world. I cannot allow you to see them in the same light as myself and my flock.’
Davey shifted his posture, ready to defend himself, but the guard next to him slammed a rifle butt into the outside of his thigh.
Davey’s leg went numb and he collapsed to the floor, desperately trying to get back to his feet.
‘I can see the potential in you, young David,’ Cross said, spittle flying from his jaws with the force of his proclamations. ‘So I will not do you the disservice of killing you. Instead I shall show you the error of your ways. I am going to show you the path to God.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Young David, I am going to cut the devil out of you.’
The words came from far away.
They were dimly familiar, but he wasn’t sure why or where from.
The voice was sing-song, kinda hypnotic.
His head pounded like the time he and some of the kids from the apartment upstairs had tried smoking cigarettes.
His mouth was bone dry and he felt like the room was spinning.
He tried to turn his head to see who was talking to him, but he couldn’t.
Panic crashed over him like a tidal wave when he realised he couldn’t move any part of his body.
They’ve beaten me so badly I’m paralysed, he thought.
‘Relax,’ the voice that had been reading to him said, breaking its narration. ‘You’ve been drugged. Your body is fine. The effects will wear off soon.’
‘Where am I? What the hell is going on?’
Davey turned his eyes to the left and saw a woman with long red hair standing to his left.
At first he couldn’t place her, but then he saw the
scars on her bare breasts and thighs.
‘Mrs Cross?’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’
His eyes widened a little when he noticed the bars of the cage that surrounded him.
‘This is the path to God,’ she said, her tone reverent. She leant in, stroking the bars of the cage as though it was the fur of a favourite pet. ‘This is the same cage I spent my Lent in. He saves it for the very special sinners.’
She smiled, the effect showing the scars around her mouth and eyes which he hadn’t seen before.
‘I found God in here,’ she grinned, the look in her eyes making him think that she wasn’t in screaming distance of her right mind. ‘And I have every faith that you will too.’
Before Davey knew what was happening he was being doused in freezing cold water.
‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness,’ she said, smiling that creepy grin again.
‘So what’s the deal?’ Davey said, naked and freezing now and not even able to move a muscle to do anything about it.
‘Our Lord went into the desert for forty days and forty nights. You will spend the same amount of time in here.’
‘And let me guess, you’re gonna cut bits off me until I see the error of my ways?’
Deborah smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, well, my husband will be the one cutting the devil out of you, day by day, piece by piece. I am just here to keep you clean and fill your ears with the good word.’
‘You’re as crazy as he is.’
She smiled. ‘There’s nothing the matter with me, David. I have been at God’s side. I have his love guiding me every day. And it all began in here.’ Again she stroked the bars of the cage. ‘I envy you,’ she said, smiling that creepy-ass grin again. ‘I would give anything to meet Him again.’
With that she trailed off, staring into space in a way that Davey found distinctly unsettling.
She was aroused from her thoughts by Cross coming in and shouting, ‘Is he clean?’
Deborah nodded, that vacant look still in her eyes.
‘Then let the fun begin,’ Cross beamed, those dark eyes alight with maleficent glee. He held a pair of garden shears in his hands. ‘We’ll start your conversion with castration.’
Davey was powerless to stop him as the cold, sharp edges of the blades began to press into the sides of his scrotum.