The Apostates Book Two: Remnants

by Lars Teeney

  “Really? What would those be?” she asked.

  “The more I see and hear about these Societatum Pentagram types, the more I believe that we will need the help of the Two Tone Party forces. If you agree I will send a request to the Prime Minister,” Shamrock informed her. Consuela looked at him and thought about what he said. Her original estimates had proved drastically wrong about the Order, and now they were more powerful than ever. She decided that help would be necessary.

  “Yes—agreed,” she said reluctantly.

  “Excellent. Then it is decided. About the other suggestion I have for you, not to intrude, but, I do think that you should hide your siblings somewhere if you want to keep them safe. They should not be here,” Shamrock remarked. Her smile melted away, and she felt that he had overstepped his bounds, telling her what to do with the only family she had left.

  “No! My brother and sister stay with me!” she barked coldly. Shamrock furled his brow at her outburst.

  “Okay, okay. They stay then. I’ll go ahead and send a message to my government to dispatch reenforcements.” Shamrock deferred to Consuela’s judgment on her family. Consuela looked across the aisle of the bus, at her brother Javier, and the place where his forearm had once been attached to him. She had made a vow, two years ago to avenge him and create a better life for her siblings, and she had not yet fulfilled the vow.

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  The checkered bus had been traveling for hours without stopping, and so it had been determined that the group would stop at Baton Rogue if the circumstances were favorable. There were still signs up that denoted they were approaching the outskirts of the city. Soon, the checkered bus had reached the mighty Mississippi, and off in the distance they could see two bridges spanning the river, but, not all was normal. There were signs that battle had taken place here. As the checkered bus drew closer to the bridge, the Rude Boys saw that bodies lay about, and burnt-out shells of vehicles littered the bridge. As the bus drew up onto the bridge platform it had been too late to distract the children from the scenes of calamity. Consuela belatedly grabbed Lupe and embraced her as to shield her eyes from the horrible sights.

  The checkered bus had crossed the river, weaving in and out of wreckage and bodies. Soon, it entered the Civic Center of town. Consuela, looking out the window caught sight what she thought looked like hundreds of post erected in the distance.

  “Driver! Stop here!” she demanded. The driver heeded her order and pulled the bus to the side of the road. Consuela got to her feet and told her siblings to remain with the Rude Boys over their protests.

  “Shamrock?” she insinuated for him to accompany her.

  “Right,” he acknowledged, jumping to his feet, and flipping his fedora onto his head. The two of them exited the bus and walked along the roadway that lead toward the City Hall plaza, cautiously. She held the Spear of Destiny at the ready, and Shamrock had checked his Glock pistol a second time. They rounded a corner, and soon had a full view of the plaza in the front of City Hall. They had stopped in their tracks at the spectacle.

  “Lord have mercy!” Shamrock said, in an apparent understatement.

  “¡Jesuscristo!” Consuela added. They stood silently as they observed the carnage. The City Hall building was partially burned down, apparently some weeks ago. In the plaza stood, hundreds upon hundreds of haphazardly constructed crosses, with no two alike. Some leaned to and fro. Some stood erect and proud. Many had been caught by fire and had been blackened like charcoal. All the crosses had hosted a corpse, of varying condition, some whole, some burnt, many had been torn asunder by scavenging birds and beasts.

  “They crucified the whole city!” Consuela said with disgust, “This has to to end!”

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  There had been nothing left to see in Baton Rogue. The inhabitants were gone and everything of value had been removed from the city. So the checkered bus continued on its journey. The situation had been different in Mobile, Alabama. When they reached the town, Consuela, Shamrock and the Rude Boys had found that the town was left intact, and the civilians there had submitted to the Order’s rule without a fight. Consuela had conversed with some of the residents, and they had proven reluctant to talk but did divulge some of the details of their run in with the Order. A resident told her that news had spread rapidly about the slaughter of all the inhabitants of Baton Rogue, well before the Order’s arrival. It had not taken long for the people to decide to offer up no resistance, and the Order took oaths of fealty, They had moved their entire force on shortly thereafter. Apparently, the Order was relying on its fearsome reputation to keep the newly conquered towns under its thumb.

  Another townsperson told her of a conversation that had been overheard. The townsperson told Consuela that members of the Order were discussing their next targets and goals, with their next destination being Atlanta, and their ultimate goal being the old capital, New Megiddo City, where, it was said they would establish their new holy city. Some of the more sympathetic people had offered the Rude Boys fresh provisions for their the remainder of their trek. Consuela and the Rude Boy crew thanked the people for the assistance and then were on the road once more, travelling toward Atlanta. Consuela had found the situation was largely the same in Atlanta and she learned that the Order of the Pentagram had picked up the pace of their advance substantially after they passed through. It occurred to Consuela that the Order must have received some troubling news that resulted in the decision to quicken their pace. Consuela surmised that the Apostate and Neo Railroad fleet must have arrived in New York from across the ocean.

  By the time the checkered bus had reached Charlotte, North Carolina, it had become apparent that Consuela was very close to the Order of the Pentagram now. The residents had fled in anticipation of the Order’s arrival, so only a few stubborn holdouts had been crucified and interrogated for the location of where the town’s residents were hiding. None of the citizens had buckled. They had found one witness who had avoided detection that informed the Rude Boys that the Order, had determined they had not the time to conduct a search for the residents in hiding, and so after the crucifixions had been finished, the Order’s army geared up and moved on in some haste. The final destination of the Order’s rampage through the South was Richmond, Virginia. Word had just recently reached Charlotte from travelling merchants that the Order had established a camp in town. Consuela at least would have a chance to catch the Order. Shamrock had again expressed reservations about moving on the Order, but Consuela was obsessed with keeping the element of surprise, so the checkered bus started out for Richmond.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  At last the checkered bus had reached the outskirts of Richmond, Virginia. The Rude Boys had found an abandoned barn several miles outside of the downtown area where they would conceal the bus. Night had now fallen and the air was cold and the wind chilled bone. The ten Rude Boys that Consuela had at her disposal poured out of the bus, they were only armed with pistols and Consuela herself lacked a firearm. She understood the disadvantage that her token force stood against the sizable army that the Order of the pentagram possessed, but she was convinced that if they were stealthy and hit hard and fast, they could defeat the leadership. Consuela instructed her siblings to stay at the checkered bus, and Javier and Lupe begged her not to go. But, she was now fully committed.

  “Consuela, a word please,” Shamrock beckoned. She followed him out of the barn and she stood waiting for him to say his piece.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “Please reconsider this course. We should wait until my country’s forces land—or, what about your Apostate comrades? Why not travel north to New york and link up with them?” Shamrock, at that moment, was like a Pitbull that would not let go of its query. Consuela gave him a look of annoyance and folded her arms.

  “You do not quit, do you? Those zealots murdered my parents, and have ravaged my home land! How long will it take for them to invade Jamaica and bring down your government? We
don’t have time to wait for a better opportunity. We either stop them here or we die trying!” Consuela exclaimed with fiery conviction. Shamrock became disheartened when he saw the obsession shining behind eyes.

  “Fine. We will do as you say, but it does not do us any favors when we become as inflexible as the zealots you speak of,” Shamrock quipped, then he walked away to check in with the other Rude Boys. Consuela was taken aback for a moment, but then let the comment slid off her back. She approached the black suit-clad men and many of them nodded at her.

  “Everyone ready?” she asked the Rude Boys.

  “What do we be going?” one Rude Boy inquired, with slang-filled English.

  “We search street-by-street for the presence of the Order, then we take out the Friars who should be bedding down for the night,” Consuela informed them. The looks on the Rude Boys faces were of confusion and doubt. She guessed that the men were not looking forward to searching an entire city at night. But, there was no other way, she thought they must take advantage of the cover of darkness.

  “Let’s do it!” she exclaimed. Consuela looked back at the checkered bus rear window. Little Lupe pressed her hand to the glass and flashed her a look of sorrow. Consuela waved one last time to Lupe, before Javier had retrieved her from the back window.

  Consuela and the Rude Boys moved at double time toward the blocks of the empty downtown area. The streets were deserted, and Consuela was confused as to the lack of activity. The reports she had received were of a vast army of disparate peoples following an a mighty armored core of captured vehicles, but, so far, they had found nothing. Street after street, it was more of the same, no sign of the Order of the Pentagram or their holy army. Onward the crept, being careful to keep a low profile. Consuela was beginning to doubt they had the right location. She was beginning to think that the Order had moved on.

  “Consuela, what do you think? It looks like they are not here,” Shamrock proclaimed, making sure to make a point of it. Consuela developed a frown upon her face.

  “It may be a possibility—wait—no! I know where they have to be! They used to set up headquarters in medeival Spanish cathedrals in Central America whenever they would conquer a town. If we find the biggest cathedral here, they are sure to be there,” Consuela professed with confidence. Shamrock said nothing in response. She had regained her firy determination and it seemed there was nothing he could do to steer her any other way. The Rude Boys scanned the horizon for spires with crosses and structures on the skyline resembling a cathedral. Finally, a Rude Boy brandishing a set of fieldglasses spied a structure that fit the bill. It was a white stone, monolithic building, with the dome and spires of a romanesque cathedral. Consuela asked for the fieldglasses and then she peered through them toward the cathedral. Faintly, through the darkness, she could barely make out a crude, black pentagram insignia on a banner, hung from the side of the structure. She had found her query.

  “There they are! In that cathedral! The time is at hand—we move on them!” With that, she handed the fieldglasses back to the Rude Boy and marched briskly down the street in the direction of the cathedral, some miles away. The Rude Boys fell in and followed suit. Shamrock was the last of them to join the procession.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  The small band had reached the square in front of what they had found to be Saint Peter’s Cathedral. Consuela and the Rude Boys took cover among hedges and trees within the square. She scanned the building, and saw no guards. Shamrock noticed the lack of security as well.

  “I don’t like it! We should turn back—” Shamrock tried once more to talk sense into Consuela, but she interrupted.

  “No! It’s too late—the front entrance is unguarded, this is our chance,” she overruled him. The Rude Boys readied their pistols and Consuela extended the shaft of her spear and kept it at the ready. She started out from cover and waved the men forward, and soon they all rushed toward the large, red front door of the cathedral. Before they were able to reach the front steps, a curious buzzing emanated from overhead. Consuela stopped in her tracks, and her eyes darted from side to side. The buzzing noise was amplified and soon, it surrounded them. Shamrock detected movement in the night sky above, and he could make out faint, disk-like objects hovering.

  “Drones!” Shamrock yelled out, “Quick, shoot them down!” With that, Shamrock took aim with his Glock and fired. The other Rude Boys followed suit. The cracking of pistols echoed off the walls of the cathedrals. One drone was struck, and it careened out of control, plummeting to the pavement below. The rest of the drones opened small ports flanking their disk-shaped bodies, brandishing spinning cylinders. As it was found out, the cylinders were miniature Gatling guns, which spewed forth thousands of small caliber rounds that shredded bodies and fractured bone. Within seconds, many of the Rude Boys had been hit and killed. Consuela looked around and panicked at the sudden violence that had broken out.

  “Consuela! Get down!” Shamrock yelled, with his gun blazing. His bullets claimed another drone, but, all that succeeded in doing was drawing attention to himself. The drones realigned their optical sensors to acquire the form of the man known as Shamrock.

  “Shamrock!” Before she could say anything else, all the drones opened fire with an excessive barrage that riddled Shamrock’s frame. His finely-tailored suit was torn asunder, and his signature fedora fell to the pavement. When the volley ended, Shamrock still stood, swaying from side to side, then he fell backward, dead on the concrete.

  “No!” Consuela cried out. Just then, the doors of the cathedral opened, and out stepped the Friars of the Order of the Pentagram, followed by the Monsignor Francis. From behind the cathedral and from nearby buildings spewed forth hundreds of Order militia, armed to the teeth. Consuela gazed upon the Monsignor with seething hatred, and she ignited the plasma blade of the Spear of Destiny.

  “Well, well, well, it has been entirely too long Friar Valentine! No, you do not deserve that mantle, Consuela Grajales, Apostate scum,” Monsignor Francis hissed from beneath her veil.

  “You killed my parents! You demon!” Consuela snarled, and she stepped forward brandishing the Spear. Hundreds of assault rifles cocked and clicked as militia prepared to fire.

  “Yes, I did indeed. It felt great to rid the World of spawners of Satanic filth such as yourself! I see that you have brought me the Spear of Destiny! Our Order has gone too long without its artifact of our Lord. You will lay it at your feet and surrender!” the Monsignor demanded.

  “Never! I will cut you to pieces with this spear!” Consuela continued her approach. Order militia rushed forward to apprehend Consuela. She ran one through with the spear, the she twirled it around to check the advance of another militiaman who lunged at her. Consuela swung the spear and removed the man’s head at the neck. Two more militiamen approached from the rear thrusting with their bayonets. Consuela parried both, then thrust the spear through one man’s gun arm, and the limb, and the gun it held plummeted to the ground. The man cried hysterically and ran off into the crowd to die of his wound. She easily dispatched the last militiaman who attempted to accost her. Consuela, undeterred, continued toward the Monsignor.

  “I want her taken alive!” the Monsignor announced loudly. With that, Friar Anastasias stepped forward to shield the Monsignor from harm. Consuela stopped and assumed a defensive stance with her spear.

  “Out of the way, or you die!” Consuela warned the hooded Friar of the Order.

  “You Apostates don’t know when to roll over and die,” she said.

  “What?” Consuela hissed. Friar Anastasias lowered her hood to reveal her face—a familiar face, burned on one side of the face, with a scarified cross blazoned upon the forehead and scalp. Consuela gasped when she realized this Friar was the Prelate Ayane Inoguchi, the assassin that had claimed many of her friends.

  “You! I’ll—” Consuela maneuvered to attack, but could not finish her sentence. She had been hit in the back by something, a pin prick.

  “—will do not
hing but submit,” Friar Anastasias finished her sentence. With a thought through her neural implant, she commanded her drones to fire tranquilizer darts into Consuela’s back and arm. Her will to fight slowly drained away. She took a few more steps, then dropped to one knee. She propped herself up with her spear. Her strength was gone and she slipped upon the steps.

  “Madre...papa...” was all she could say before her vision failed her and all went black.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  “Madre! Papa!” she cried. She saw their faces, once strong in her mind’s eye, fade off into the aether. She slowly opened her eyes to blurry shapes and blinding light. She struggled to regain her bearings. The sounds she heard were muted and unpleasant. She listened to the muffled cries of children, and low moans of pain from adults. She also heard jesting between others, and maniacal laughter. She knew that she was lying on her back, but it was not on a bed or something comfortable. She surmised that it was hardwood that she laid upon. She cringed and blinked repeatedly in an attempt to wrest the haze from her eyes. She tried to reach with her arm to rub her eyes, but they were restrained. She was spread out. The cries of children and moans of adults grew louder and more focused. Her vision sharpened. She made out the hated face hovering over her, mocking.

  Consuela titled her head up to get a sense of what went on around her. She saw the Monsignor and the Friars standing over her. Her eyes became tearful when she caught sight of her bound and gagged siblings, Javier and Lupe, kneeling behind the Order members. They cried out in fear and confusion, but unintelligible noises emerged. Consuela looked to either side of her, and she wailed when she saw that two of the Rude Boys that had survived the shooting had been nailed to crosses and hoisted up erect, and left in pain to die. When she looked down upon her own figure she saw that she had been tied to a cross of her own. She collected that they were all in the square in the front of Saint Peter’s Cathedral.