Holding Their Own XV: Bloodlust

by Nobody, Joe

  “I don’t know,” Bishop smiled, his face completely free of fear or concern. “Just a bunch of kids, I bet.”

  Nick thought the remark was funny, leaning against the wall and letting loose with a deep, belly laugh. “Damn juvenile delinquents. We might have shot one of them by accident,” he snorted between chuckles.

  “Why are you so out of breath?” Bishop asked, noticing that Nick was having trouble after what should have been an effortless escape.

  “I don’t know? Probably too much time behind a desk, I suppose,” the larger man shrugged. “You’re one to talk by the way. You are sweating like a French whore in church.”

  “Are you ready? We should be heading back. I’m in the mood for a nap myself,” Bishop replied, ignoring his friend’s attempt at humor.

  They continued walking for another ten minutes before Nick announced that he needed another break. “My legs feel like they’re coated with lead,” the big man complained.

  “My arms feel numb,” Bishop countered, trying to shake the circulation back into his limbs.

  Each man took a seat, sliding down the storefront window of what had been a shoe shop before the collapse. Nodding toward the sign above, Nick remarked, “Good thing Diana isn’t along for this trip. She’d have us in there digging out all the size 9s.”

  After resting for several minutes, Nick tried to stand. “Shit!” he laughed, “I can’t move my legs or my arms. This is funny!”

  Peering back the way they’d come, Bishop’s gaze focused on a group of people now approaching their position. “There must be some big clearance sale here at the shoe store,” he mumbled through thick lips. “Looks like everybody is heading this way to do a little bargain hunting.”

  The strangers approached cautiously, Bishop and Nick both smiling at the new arrivals. Finally, one of the braver men stepped forward and removed the rifles from their unresponsive hands. “They’re both juiced,” the man announced to his colleagues.

  “Quick, let’s get them off the street,” sounded a female voice. “You two, get their carts.”

  A moment later, both drugged men were being lifted off the sidewalk, the three men trying to heft Nick’s massive frame complaining about his girth. “This guy weighs a ton!” one of them barked.

  Bishop thought the remark was hilariously funny as he was dragged down the street, one man under each arm.

  They were taken to a building just a short distance away. Bishop remembered an archway, and then laughed again as his boots bounced down a series of steps and into a dark basement. A few moments later, he was propped against a wall, a lantern burning in the corner. Nick soon joined him.

  Some amount of time passed before the face of a woman appeared in Bishop’s blurry field of vision. It was all Bishop could do to will his lips to smile.

  She was in her late forties with salt-and-pepper gray hair, and she had the kindest eyes Bishop had ever seen. Around her neck dangled a large cross, its silver surface twinkling in the flickering light of the kerosene flame.

  “My name is Sister Rose Marie St. John. I am a nun of the Franciscan order, and I wish you no harm. Who are you?” she asked with a voice that reminded Bishop of flowing water.

  “My name is Bishop,” he responded truthfully. “Why can’t I move my arms or legs?”

  “My apologies, Bishop, but we couldn’t take any chances. We saw what you and your friend did to the attackers by the trash heap, so we injected you with Rohypnol. It should wear off after a few hours.”

  “Rohypnol?” the Texan managed. “The date rape drug?”

  A flush of embarrassment crossed Sister Rose’s face. Nodding, she responded, “Yes. I’m sorry, but it's all that we have to subdue individuals who pose a potential threat to us. Now, please tell me what you and your large friend are doing here in New Orleans.”

  “We came here to capture or execute Blackjack Jones,” he answered in an almost child-like voice. “He raped my wife and was responsible for a lot of innocent people getting killed. He must pay. He is evil.”

  If Sister Rose had any reaction to his words, Bishop couldn’t read it. Finally, after considering his message for a few moments, she said, “Oh, you’re absolutely correct there, young man. He is evil, and so much, much more.”

  Bishop and Nick continued to flex their arms and legs, trying in vain to remove the narcotic influences that numbed their limbs. Both captives had managed to stand an hour ago, and with help from some of Sister Rose’s men, they were now seated in wooden chairs.

  The modest space, lit by a single oil lantern was furnished with nothing but a small oak table in the center, surrounded by four chairs. It was so dark around the room’s perimeter that Bishop couldn’t make out the walls or the number of men who stood like statues against them. He could sense, more than see their presence.

  However, no one could say that Sister Rose was a woman who was at a loss for words. Sitting across from the still-woozy men from the Alliance, she began her narrative in a soft, but firm, voice. “The economy was so bad right before the downfall,” the nun explained. “My Archdiocese was running a soup kitchen 20 hours a day. The shelters were full. We were seeing more and more children among the displaced… too many homeless families and not enough resources to take care of them all.”

  Her eyes bored into Bishop’s, their intensity and passion making him uncomfortable. “When the electricity went out, it reminded me of Katrina, only this time I knew it wouldn’t be coming back on. There would be no government response, no federal troops coming to the rescue. The last news reports showed Houston and Atlanta burning, Washington, DC engulfed in riots, and mass looting occurring up and down the Eastern Seaboard. My sisters and volunteers all had the same look of terror in their eyes, a fear of the unknown. The world around us was convulsing, people reacting out of pure self-preservation and primitive emotions. Greed. Horror. Anger and rage. Without my faith, I’m not sure how I would have survived.”

  Sister Rose then stood and began pacing the room, circling the two seated captives while her accompanying figures continued to keep watch silently in the shadows. “At first, I was proud of how humanity rose to the challenge,” she continued. “Charity, benevolence, and mercy ruled the streets. The people of New Orleans tried to help one another, sharing food, medicine, and whatever resources they could spare. We of the faith did what we could, reassuring everyone who would listen, that God would provide… take care of us… that he loved us… that we were his children.”

  Pausing, Sister Rose lowered her head and worked the rosary hanging from her neck. Bishop couldn’t be sure, but he thought her lips were whispering a prayer. A moment later, her voice again filled the room.

  “It was less than four weeks before I saw the first man shot in the street. I was walking from my quarters to the church when a commotion broke out less than 50 feet away from my path. I spotted one man trying to pull a can of food away from another, the way a purse thief would yank on a lady’s bag. He managed only a few steps with his prize before the owner pulled a pistol and shot him in the back.”

  Again, Sister Rose took her seat, her gaze focused now on Nick. “That incident changed me forever. It wasn’t the violence… the murder, or the lack of response from the police. No, what shook me to the core was the casual reaction by everyone on the street. A few stopped and stared as the killer retrieved his can of food from the dead man’s hands, but most just kept on walking as if nothing more had occurred than a pesky insect had been swatted out of the air. No one went to check to see if the thief had a pulse, nor did anyone bother to try to help.”

  Nick nodded his understanding, “The penalty for petty theft, it seemed, was now death.”

  “Yes,” Sister Rose replied. “And that, in itself, was about the strongest, most enlightening assessment of our society and our future I had ever seen. We had degraded to that point so quickly, and I understood immediately that we still had a long, long way to go before we reached the bottom.”

  “How did you s
urvive?” Bishop asked.

  The question seemed to frustrate the nun, her initial reaction a dismissive wave of her hand through the air. It was almost as if the memories of those times were too painful, as if she had seen horrors that were beyond her words.

  Wishing he could withdraw the question, Bishop decided to stare down at his boots rather than suffer the effects of her fiery gaze. In an instant, her demeanor changed again, returning to the calm, controlled expression that was her norm. “You said Ketchum Jones had raped your wife, young man?”

  “Yes, that is true,” Bishop replied.

  “I’ll pray for the Lord to help her heal,” the nun replied. “I’ve had to do a lot of that lately.”

  “Thank you,” Bishop whispered, not knowing what else to say. Then, as an afterthought he added, “What would really help her is to be certain that Blackjack isn’t ever going to be able to hurt her, or anyone else, ever again. She needs closure.”

  Sighing, Sister Rose’s eyes glazed over slightly as her mind drifted to some far-off place, her voice even sounding distant. “I first heard the name Blackjack about two months after the electricity went out for the last time. Those in our parish were starving, afraid, and growing weaker. The younger men would scavenge for any scrap of food to provide for our congregation, sometimes trekking great distances and returning with nothing more than a bag of dog food or the carcass of some fallen bird. The faithful huddled in the church’s basement at night for safety, the streets growing more and more dangerous with each passing day.”

  A smile slipped across Sister Rose’s lips, a scant hint of a twinkle entering her eyes. “It was during this time that I realized the miracle of Jesus’s feeding of the five thousand wasn’t something that I could manage. I wasn’t having any luck nourishing the masses with only five loaves and two fish.”

  “One day, two of our teenagers approached me. They had heard some wild, tall tales about entire warehouses full of food down by the docks. This apparent urban legend included stories about a man named Blackjack who controlled tons and tons of dry goods, medications, and other essential items. Anyway, based on this unbelievable account, the teens wanted my permission to break into one of these facilities and steal enough to feed us all.”

  “Of course, you said no,” Nick interjected.

  Sister Rose sighed. “I asked them to find out where I could talk to this Blackjack fellow, if he existed. And if the tall tales did prove to be true, I trusted that God would give me the words to persuade this man to share his good fortune with his starving neighbors,” the nun responded.

  “And did you speak with him?” Bishop prompted.

  “Yes. I went to see him alone, and I begged for his help,” she sighed. “He laughed at me. More than that, he taunted me. Asked me why God wasn’t taking care of us. Sarcastically suggested that I should perform a miracle and feed my people.”

  “Wow,” Bishop commented. “That’s cold.”

  “I begged him. I told him that we could help each other. Offered that some of our stronger men would gladly work for compensation. He dismissed my pleas, spat in my face, and directed his ruffians to drag me from the building and throw me into the street.”

  Then, she paused again, her eyes filling with watery tears as the painful memories surfaced. After only a sniffle, she continued, “Two days later, a group of motorcycles rumbled outside our church grounds. All the riders dismounted, barged in with guns drawn, and ordered our people into the street. Even the infirm were forced out into the heat of the sun.”

  Now trembling with either hatred or remorse, Sister Rose continued, “Then a van drove up and two of our young men… boys really… the ones who had first asked my permission to take the food were pushed out of the back of the vehicle. They had been badly beaten and could barely stand. Blackjack appeared and announced to the gathering that the two teenagers had been caught trying to rob his warehouse. He was restraining four massive dogs on leashes, the drooling beasts pulling and growling to be set free.”

  Sister Rose shuddered just then, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Those hellhounds didn’t have to wait long. Blackjack announced that he was the law in these parts now. And that anyone trying to steal from him would face the same fate as these starving teens. He let the dogs loose just then, and we were all forced to watch as they tore our boys to pieces. Sometimes, late at night, I can still hear their screams.”

  No one said anything for several heartbeats, the hissing lantern the only sound in the room. Finally, clearing his throat, Nick continued their narrative, “Like Bishop said, that man is pure evil. We need to bring him to justice… or remove him from the face of this earth.”

  “He controls his own private, sinister army,” Sister Rose protested.

  “We know,” Nick smiled. “We can deal with that.”

  Taking in the big man’s wide shoulders, the nun’s eyes then shifted to the stack of equipment her men had found in the strangers’ carts. It was obvious the visitors were warriors, both well-fed and equipped for fighting. “We saw what you did to the three Touched that you encountered.”

  “Touched?” Bishop asked. “You mean those homeless guys who jumped me?”

  “Yes,” Sister Rose replied. “We call them the ‘Touched.’ A lot of people lost their sanity, or at least their humanity, during the downfall. It’s like having Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome on steroids. They became wolves amongst the sheep, and they survived as predators. Those three were not part of our congregation and had given us trouble before. God have mercy on their broken souls.”

  “We had no choice,” Nick offered. “You know that, don’t you? We’re not just a couple of mass murderers that have come here to just randomly eliminate people in the Big Easy.”

  “I know,” the nun replied. “I received a full report on the incident. We are always watching.”

  “So, you’ll help us with Blackjack? Or at least let us finish the job?” Bishop asked.

  After a bit, she shook her head in the negative. “I can’t let you do that. As much as I want to… as hard as I have prayed for that man to be removed from my beloved city, I can’t let you do this,” the nun declared.

  “So, you would turn us over to him?” Bishop asked, his foggy brain trying to follow the conversation.

  “No! Of course not! There has been enough blood in these streets,” Sister Rose responded.

  Again, silence filled the room as the three of them tried to collect their thoughts. It was Nick who spoke first, “He’ll eventually wipe you out, Sister. You know that don’t you? You serve no purpose to him.”

  For the first time, the nun showed anger, “We will survive. I was in Syria as a liaison to Rome when the radical Muslims took over and began to persecute our brothers and sisters. We learned to exist and worship, even in those harsh conditions. No, young man, God will protect us. He will watch over the faithful.”

  “To what end?” Bishop countered. “I thought the Lord helped those who helped themselves? How do you know we aren’t the answer to your prayers? Please, let us end this nightmare and give you your community back.”

  The Sister rose abruptly, her spine stiff and straight, her habit rustling with her sudden movement. “You don’t know the horrors we have endured here! I have watched Blackjack’s thugs throw down a piece of meat between two starving men and order them to fight while they wagered on which contestant would emerge victorious! I have seen mothers forced to watch the rape of their daughters! Don’t lecture me, young man. You have no idea what we have already endured!”

  “Oh, but I do!” Bishop countered. “Do you think that we cruised through the apocalypse in luxury and comfort? We have all seen hell in our backyards, Sister. We are offering you a way out while helping our own cause and securing our own people from this threat. Please… I beg you… please let us finish this.”

  For a moment, Bishop thought he was winning over the local leader. More than once during the exchange he had pined for Terri’s presence, her diplomatic skills
and perception far superior to his own. Still, he had Sister Rose thinking, and given the circumstances, that was progress.

  “If you fail, Blackjack will put the blame on us,” she responded, her voice stern and unwavering. “Right now, we exist under his radar, walking on eggshells, and avoiding contact with his men at all costs. None of my people carry firearms. We never go near any of Ketchum’s facilities or interact with them in any way. You have graced our city with your presence for mere hours, and you have already stirred up considerable trouble by blowing up his lab on Canal Street. You’re fortunate those men you killed today were unknown to Blackjack, otherwise, he would be on the warpath right now. No, I can’t risk the retribution. I can’t take that chance.”

  “We won’t fail,” Nick argued. “We know what we’re doing.”

  The Sister threw her hands wide, “Even if you do manage to annihilate Ketchum Jones, the two of you can’t possibly destroy his entire organization. One of his lieutenants would just take over, and for all know, he would be even more ruthless and brutal than his mentor. He’ll want to make sure we can’t do the same thing to him, so he will waste no time hunting every one of us down. There are too many innocent lives at stake.”

  “Your status quo won’t last forever,” Bishop stated with confidence. “Eventually, something will happen that will bring confrontation to your doorstep, whether you want it or not.”

  For a few moments, the nun didn’t reply. “This isn’t the time for this conversation. You’ve been drugged and aren’t thinking clearly. I am exhausted, and I need to pray for guidance. You are safe to sleep here tonight. We can talk more in the morning.”

  With that, the nun pivoted and left the room without another word being exchanged.

  Several of the men followed her, two of them carrying Bishop and Nick’s weapons with them. “Don’t try to leave this room,” one of them demanded. “I know that you have food and water in your packs. Do you need anything else tonight?”

  “No,” Nick grunted.

  “Good. Again, please, don’t try to leave the premises. You won’t make it.”