ASCENSION: THE SYSTEMIC SERIES

by Callahan, K. W.

  Mad Dog took along several of his most trusted men, only telling them what was going down and what the plan was en route to the warehouse. To help him, Ava sent Bushy and the two men who Bushy had been working with lately, the brothers, John and Will. Since Ava didn’t know these men or their abilities well enough to fully count on them in a tight situation, she chose to have them fill secondary roles, being there more to bolster their numbers and act as a reserve force if necessary. The generals tended to travel with several bodyguards each, which meant that Ava’s handpicked men would likely be outnumbered, but she was counting on the element of surprise to offset this disadvantage.

  * * *

  Will and I met with Bushy who then drove us from our apartment building to a warehouse rendezvous point at which the rest of Ava’s men were to meet us. We got there an hour ahead of the planned meeting time, parked several blocks away, and walked the short distance to the warehouse.

  We entered the massive structure though a side entrance, then we waited while Bushy fumbled in the darkness for a moment before finding the light switches to illuminate the enormous space.

  “Wow,” I said, gawking around us as long lines of florescent ceiling lights flickered to life, illuminating row upon row of stacked boxes, barrels, crates, and more. “Are all these containers full?” I breathed.

  “Yup,” Bushy replied.

  “Wow,” I said again, as we began to walk around, inspecting the place.

  There were rows and rows of plastic-wrapped pallets piled high with boxes containing cereal, deodorant, crackers, potato chips, razors, soap, shaving cream, dry-roasted peanuts, beef jerky, microwave popcorn, coffee, and much, much more, often stacked higher than I could reach. There were pallets of canned goods, diapers, soda, powdered milk, and juice mix. There were crates of folded towels, shirts, pants, socks, bras, and underwear – all brand new. And there was just enough room left between the rows of goods for a forklift – of which there were several parked haphazardly around the space – to navigate while safely carrying a pallet of goods.

  “All this stuff yours?” Will asked Bushy as we gathered in the center of the room which was cleared of supplies and where a long row of folding tables sat to be used for what I assumed was a “sorting” area.

  “Not mine, but it belongs to our organization,” Bushy clarified.

  “Holy crap,” Will said. “You guys are set up.”

  “We’ve got eight more just like it or bigger around town,” Bushy said, a hint of pride in his words. “Now that Ava has begun getting the area’s economy straightened out, market traders come here to buy the supplies they need or sell stuff they don’t want or have too much of. Before this, things were a mess. People couldn’t barter the way they needed to and there was no set currency for them to buy and sell things like they did in the old days. Some traders took gold and silver. Some would only take food, booze, cigarettes, weapons, and bullets. Just about every trader was different, and it was a real pain in the ass for everyone involved. Created a lot of confusion and problems, and a lot of those problems were settled with guns rather than words. With a set system in place though, things are starting to settle down.”

  “Sounds like Ava knows her shit,” I said.

  “She’s a pretty bright gal,” Bushy nodded. “Glad I linked up with her. Hell of a lot smarter and more reasonable than Jake…at least from what I hear. I’ve never actually met him.”

  “I think you’re pretty spot on with your assessment,” I agreed.

  Bushy led us around and showed us two big empty wood crates. “Here’s where I need you to be,” he said. “One of you in each crate. I’ll set other boxes on top of them just in case any of the bodyguards start nosing around. When you hear the first shots, you come out ready. Just don’t get trigger happy and start shooting the wrong people or go off half cocked too early. Mad Dog and his men ought to be able to handle everything, but you all be ready, just in case. Got it?”

  We nodded that we did.

  “Any questions?” Bushy asked.

  “Nope,” we said in unison.

  We’d already been over the plan several times with Bushy on the way to the warehouse, so we felt reasonably comfortable – as comfortable as we could be in such a situation at least.

  “We’ve got about half an hour,” Bushy said. “It’s going to be a long wait, but you’d better get inside your boxes now in case somebody shows up early.”

  We nervously obeyed, each of us armed with assault rifles and a backup piece. This sort of thing was definitely not our style, and while we had become accustomed to using guns, and even shooting at people in the post-flu world, it was typically in self-defense, not in some sort of planned takeover like this.

  I hunkered down inside my crate, thinking about the future, hoping and praying that I would live to see my own plans come to fruition.

  A small hole in my crate allowed me to see out across the floor to where the tables were lined up. Bushy had set up some folding chairs around one table in particular set directly in front of my box about 40 feet away.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I heard other voices in the warehouse, and after about 15 minutes of greetings and some story telling about the Little Havana assault the other day, the generals began to settle in around the table Bushy had set up.

  I watched as their bodyguards milled about the area. I counted 11 of them in total, but three were Mad Dog’s. That left eight for us to potentially deal with.

  After several more minutes, and as the pre-set time for the meeting with Jake came and went, I could hear some of the men grumbling about their boss, commenting about his lack of timeliness and deliberating as to whether he’d gotten drunk and passed out or decided to hop in the sack with some broad at the last minute.

  Knowing the plan, I found it interesting to watch what went down next.

  First, I noticed Bushy amble over to one of the bodyguards of Kill King’s sniper replacement and offer him a cold beer, after which, he hovered close by, making some small talk with the man.

  Next, one of Mad Dog’s men casually wandered over to the other sniper general’s bodyguard to bum a smoke.

  Another of Mad Dog’s men positioned himself between the two bodyguards of the other newly appointed general – Edgar – who had replaced Steel Will.

  Mad Dog’s third man moved to ensure that he had a good angle on Fallback and Switchblade’s men.

  None of the bodyguards seemed to be paying much attention to what was going on at the generals’ table. It appeared as though they expected a rather boring meeting, if a meeting was to take place at all, which seemed in doubt with Jake looking to be an apparent no-show. The bodyguards all seemed more concerned with smoking, drinking, picking, scratching, spitting, and generally doing anything other than keeping an eye on the men they were paid to protect.

  “Where’s Jake?” I heard one of the men at the table finally ask. “I don’t have all day for this shit,” he huffed.

  “Yeah,” another piped up. “We got shit to do. Where’s the boss?”

  A moment later, Mad Dog rose from his position at the table.

  The table quieted.

  “Jake won’t be here today,” Mad Dog said, looking around him at the other generals.

  “Why the fuck we here then?” Kill King’s replacement asked.

  “You’re here for one reason,” Mad Dog said calmly. “And that’s for me to tell you this…Jake’s out…Ava’s in charge now.”

  As soon as Mad Dog had finished his brief statement, he pulled two handguns from behind him and shot the Kill King’s replacement – and most quick and dangerous opponent in the room – in the face. The man fell face – or what was left of his face – first onto the table as Mad Dog instantly swung his guns around and sent several bullets into Steel Will’s replacement, Edgar. The force of the shots, and his reaction to them, sent Edgar’s fat body reeling over backwards in his chair. I watched as Bushy and Mad Dog’s men took out the respective bodygua
rds attached to the two dead generals and as Mad Dog then trained one gun apiece upon Fallback and Switchblade. Mad Dog’s men, Bushy, and my brother Will, who had made the exit from his crate, all took aim at the remaining men who had been caught completely off guard by the lightening quick slaughter of the two new generals and their bodyguards. The whole thing had taken place in probably three seconds, maybe four.

  For some reason, I hadn’t sprung from my box as planned. Instead, I had remained sheltered inside. It wasn’t that I was afraid, but something inside me just didn’t feel right. Maybe it was just the planner in me, but I didn’t think showing our cards all at once was the best move.

  Mad Dog addressed the two remaining generals. “Rambo and his men have joined with Ava,” he said to Fallback and Switchblade. “Now it’s time for you to make your decision.”

  Fallback nodded slowly, “I thought I saw this coming,” he said. “Just didn’t expect it quite so soon. But I’m with you. I think Ava’s on the right track. You can count on my support.”

  Mad Dog looked at Switchblade.

  Switchblade glanced side to side and then looked nervously around the room. Seeing weapons trained on his bodyguards, he said, “Yeah sure. I don’t really care who’s running the show as long as I get to handle my neighborhoods the way I want,” he shrugged.

  “We want more than that,” Mad Dog said. “You need to run your neighborhoods the way Ava wants.”

  Switchblade glared at him. “Okay,” he finally nodded. “I can do that.” But the way he said it didn’t inspire great confidence.

  But I guess it was enough for Mad Dog. He lowered his guns. “Good,” he said. “Then this meeting is adjourned. Ava will be in touch shortly and we’ll meet at her new home tomorrow to discuss how things will proceed from here.”

  I watched from my crate while the men stood and guns were lowered around the room as the meeting quietly began to break up.

  Mad Dog’s men worked busily to clear the warehouse of dead bodies while Mad Dog stood at the table, reloading his guns. Meanwhile, I could see Bushy lighting up a cigarette, and Will – having excited his crate – walk up beside him. Bushy offered him a cigarette which he took. As he lit the smoke, I saw him look in my direction, probably wondering why the heck I hadn’t followed the plan and whether I’d fallen asleep in my crate.

  Fallback and his men made a quick exit, but Switchblade lingered, mumbling something to his bodyguards, lighting a cigarette, and then walking slowly over to stand behind Mad Dog. I watched his two guards move over towards where Bushy and Will were now smoking their cigarettes and I instantly knew what was happening.

  In the darkness, I touched the safety of my assault rifle – the same one Gordon had given me as a gift back in north Florida – just to ensure it was off. I kept my eyes trained on Switchblade, watching as he walked up behind Mad Dog who was still fiddling intently with his guns.

  The moment I saw the glint of a knife blade in Switchblade’s hand, I acted.

  I burst from my container. “Mad Dog!” I yelled.

  Mad Dog dropped his gun, turning just as Switchblade made a thrust from behind. Mad Dog’s hands when out in front of him to block Switchblade’s thrust and I watched as the knife’s blade slipped silently through the center of one of Mad Dog’s hand.

  I didn’t have time to watch the rest. Instead, I took aim at Switchblade’s two bodyguards who had their guns aimed at the unsuspecting Bushy and Will and squeezed the trigger.

  Rounds tore into the guards just as they began to fire. One of their bullets struck Bushy and he went down. Will dove for cover behind the nearest pallet, bullets ripping into the containers atop it and sending a spray of toothpaste everywhere.

  As I dropped the two men, I looked back to Mad Dog. He stood over Switchblade who lay on the floor in a pool of blood. What I had missed was an incredibly badass move by Mad Dog. With his guns inoperable and one of his hands incapacitated and unable to throw a punch due to Switchblade’s knife having been rammed through it, Mad Dog had acted instinctually. It was something only a man born to fight and pre-set to self-preservation would have thought of. Turning his own injured hand into a weapon, Mad Dog had grabbed Switchblade by the shirt, holding him close with his good hand while whipping a lightening quick backhand – knife blade still protruding from it – up into Switchblade’s neck – repeating the move several times simply from of adrenaline-fueled rage – until the weight of Switchblade’s lifeless corpse pulled him down and out of Mad Dog’s vicious grip and down onto the floor. Then, almost as an afterthought, Mad Dog gripped the knife by its handle and ripped it from his hand.

  * * *

  “Surprise!” Ava met Jake in the driveway as he stepped out of the SUV after his driver had opened the door for him. Several still bullet-ridden armored SUVs bearing Jake’s personal bodyguards pulled up in the horseshoe-shaped drive behind them.

  The Mediterranean-style mansion in front of which they parked housed seven bedrooms, 12 bathrooms, a media room, a wine cellar, a library, a video arcade, and even a bowling alley. The estate itself comprised nearly five acres and included a boat house with several boat slips, and nearly a quarter mile of sandy beachfront. The entrance to the private drive was gated, and had a gatehouse for guards, and there was a five-car garage with separate guest quarters above it that would be perfect in which to house additional on-property bodyguards.

  The grounds, as well as the main structure itself, were in need of some cleaning up as there had been some deferred post-flu maintenance to the property. The lawn needed tending, the hedges and shrubberies trimmed, the driveway had weeds growing up through cracks in the bricks, several portions of the mansion needed painting, there were some loose and missing terra-cotta roof tiles, and portions of the exterior stucco needed to be patched; but otherwise, the place was in pretty decent shape in Ava’s opinion. It wasn’t anything a few weeks of maintenance wouldn’t handle; and she certainly had the financial resources and manpower now for just such an undertaking.

  “Come on!” Ava said excitedly as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Come see it!” she took Jake by the hand and led him up the entry steps to the front door.

  Ava had planted the seed of her unhappiness with their current condo situation weeks ago and had been tending it ever since. She would mention little things she was displeased with. “I hate that we don’t have a pool here.” Or “I’m so sick of having these guys in and out of our private residence at all hours of the day and night. We have no privacy, and they stink!” Or “What’s the point of living in Miami if you can’t walk on the beach whenever you want!”

  They were just tiny digs, and Jake would often remain silent through her complaints, but Ava knew he was listening and hearing her displeasure.

  So when Ava told him that she was going to start house hunting for “something better,” Jake hadn’t put up much of a fight. It wouldn’t cost him anything since they could just take any home they wanted, so it really wasn’t any skin off his teeth. And Ava hoped that when the time finally came – as it had now – and she invited Jake to come see their “dream home,” that the seed would have grown enough to flower into a request that didn’t seem anything out of the ordinary. To Jake, she hoped that it would just be yet another time-consuming project in which he must indulge her to get what he wanted – sex.

  “Hold it,” Jake pulled back as they reached the home’s front door. “Just hold on a minute.”

  Ava frowned and pouted, playing the displeased princess while having to temper the excitement of showing off her palace while several of Jake’s bodyguards ambled up to the front door and entered the home. He’d brought along eight guards in two trailing SUVs in addition to his personal chauffer. He’d learned from the attempt on his life just how valuable a little caution could be at times.

  “Let them do their thing,” he nodded as the guards walked inside to case the joint. “It’s what we pay them for,” Jake said. “Let them earn their fucking keep.”

  A
va shook her head, rolling her eyes. “You’re getting paranoid in your old age,” she said somewhat playfully.

  Jake huffed, “You’d be fucking paranoid too if somebody tried to off you while you were at…” he paused, catching himself, “…while you were working,” he played it cool.

  “You think I’d bring you to see a house where someone was waiting to kill you?” Ava said, nonchalantly. “That wouldn’t say much for my choice of homes now, would it?”

  “Nah,” Jake said. “You wouldn’t be that stupid. You wouldn’t want to kill the golden goose…your meal ticket.”

  Ava bit her tongue at the insult, but she stayed quiet, her jovial demeanor caked on her face.

  “But you never know,” Jake continued. “One of these other jokers might…Mad Dog or Rambo or Fallback, or somebody. They all seem pretty loyal, but you never know.”

  “That’s true,” Ava nodded, coming close to him. “I’m proud of you,” she nestled up close. “You’re starting to plan and think like a true leader,” she smiled, kissing him.

  A minute later, Jake’s men were back outside.

  “All clear, boss,” one of them called to him.

  “Alright, let’s go inside,” Ava said excitedly, taking Jake by the hand again and pulling him along behind her. He followed somewhat begrudgingly. House hunting was definitely not his thing.

  Jake wasn’t a “house” kind of guy anyway. A house tied a man to something, and other than Ava, Jake didn’t like being tied to much of anything.

  Inside the grand foyer of the home, Ava let go of Jake and spun in sweeping circles, arms held wide out at her sides. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she breathed, gazing around her. “This could be our home.”

  Jake just grunted.