Into The Fire: Age Of Madness - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (The Caitlin Chronicles Book 2)

by Daniel Willcocks

  “What the fuck was that about?” Kain whispered into Caitlin’s ear.

  “No idea—”

  “There he is!” came a gruff, mocking voice. “Morning Jay-Jay.”

  “Good morning to you both, and what a beautiful one at that,” Jamie replied.

  Caitlin leaned cautiously around the corner. Approaching Jamie was a man and a woman, each wearing dark shirts with rips and tears. The man sported a thick beard which spilled to his chest, the woman a shorn head. Their arms were slick with what appeared to be a mixture of sweat and soot. On their right biceps, they each had a tattoo of a church in flames.

  “We didn’t see you at last night’s congregation,” the woman said.

  “Yeah. You think you’re too good for Pastor Andrews’ sermons? Not ready to yield with the other sheep, yet?” the other jibed.

  Jamie shuffled nervously. “Oh, come now, Christy, you know I don’t think like that.” Caitlin felt a twang of pity as Jamie looked imploringly at the girl. “Someone’s got to be bright-eyed and ready to nourish the crop while the town sleeps.”

  “What do you think, Christy? Is that a good enough excuse?” the man asked.

  Christy crossed her arms and stroked her chin. “I don’t know, Yusuf. I’m not sure the pastor would agree with it. Way I see it, you could always attend congregation, then get straight out into farming. Go all nocturnal-like and sleep in the daytime.”

  Caitlin watched, then, as Yusuf strutted forward and bashed deliberately into Jamie’s shoulder as he passed. He strode over to the wheelbarrow, pulled down the front part of his trousers, and began pissing on the potatoes.

  “This is what I think of your excuses,” Yusuf said as he let out an extraordinarily loud moan of relief.

  “You know they’re for everyone, right?” Jamie said. “Those spuds are going to make their way around the town and could very well end up on your own plate.”

  Yusuf’s face dropped. He shook his pecker, pulled his trousers up, and squared up to Jamie. “I’ll just know to avoid spuds for the next few weeks.” He tapped the side of his head. “See…outsmarted. How does that feel?”

  When Jamie opened his mouth to speak, he saw Christy shaking her head as if to say “Say no more idiot, this isn’t going to end well for you.”

  “I don’t really feel any different, to be hones—argh!”

  Yusuf threw his head forward, catching Jamie squarely in the face. Caitlin winced from her vantage spot, imagining the pain and the white lights that must have bloomed and sparked in Jamie’s vision. From where she stood, the thug’s forehead looked like a boulder, and now, great globs of blood spilled from his victim’s nose onto the soil below.

  “Pastor wants everyone at congregation. No excuses,” Yusuf said, grabbing the scruffy neckline of Jamie’s top with his left hand. In his right hand, he now held a dagger. “There’s a change coming, Jay-jay. A new order. Salvation for this shit-heap of a town which is looong overdue. Anyone left behind will be burned and forgotten, and we know you don’t want that now, do you? Especially not when you’re looking after that nana of yours.”

  Jamie shook his head. Caitlin noticed Christy look away as Yusuf threw another headbutt. The sound was like stone cracking on stone.

  “I suppose that’s your handiwork, too?” Jamie said, struggling to nod towards the smoke in the distance. “Burn those who disobey?”

  Caitlin half-expected Yusuf to rock another bash to his skull, but instead, he lowered Jamie to his feet and grinned. His biceps were thick, veins bulging out from the muscle in silent evidence of his strength. Yusuf nodded.

  Jamie looked helplessly at Christy. There was an unmistakable note of something in their glance. Recognition? Kinship? Romance?

  Christy’s face hardened. “That’s right. Governor’s orders.”

  And with that, they walked away, Yusuf deliberately making his footsteps heavier to leave thick track marks in the soil. Jamie watched them until they were out of sight. Once they were gone, his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, his face in his hands. Caitlin ran to his side, careful to keep her face hidden by her cloak in case the pair returned.

  “Come, let’s go someplace safe,” she said, helping him to his feet. Kain came round the other side and added his support.

  “If you wanted safe, you should have stayed in the forest,” Jamie retorted. He words were slow as if he was still dazed and disoriented. When neither Caitlin nor Kain commented further, he added, “I know a place. I wouldn’t say it’s safe, but it’s home.”

  As they wandered into town, Caitlin noted how quiet it was for early morning. The streets were empty, meaning their journey was fast and unencumbered. Only once did they have to duck out of the way of some more people in black clothing. She assumed that most of the town was still asleep after their late-night congregation—the church had been empty when they checked, after all—although she couldn’t help but feel the eyes on her from all directions.

  When they finally entered through the doorway of Jamie’s home, she thought of Mary-Anne. She could only hope and pray that, wherever she was, she was okay.

  Pastor Ray Andrews, for the most part, slept soundly in his bed. When his wife awoke and got herself ready, heading downstairs to potter around and perform her womanly chores, he hardly moved at all. These days, he found he slept more deeply than he ever had before in his life—and he had only one person to thank for that.

  Times are a-changing, he thought to himself after he awoke around midday. He folded his arms across his naked torso and looked out his window on Ashdale’s streets. The town itself was of moderate size. If he had seen Silver Creek before, he might have compared the two, noting that the only difference was where Silver Creek’s walls stood tall and proud around every inch of the town, while Ashdale Pond had none.

  Not that it didn’t have any protection, of course. There were alarms posted at intersections around the perimeter, as well as within a short running distance of key facilities in the town. Tall beams of wood with bells on top, connected to long pieces of rope that could be tugged in an emergency and summon assistance. There was safety in numbers, it was said, and that motto had served them well for the most part so far.

  “I didn’t hear you wake.” Lynne Andrews, a slight woman with a gaunt face and prematurely graying hair tightly ponytailed, stood in the doorway, holding a tray of various crockery and biscuits.

  Ray beamed at his wife, practically floating across the room to greet her. Her eyes widened, and she backed away—just a step, but it was enough for him to notice.

  “Why so afraid?” he asked, taking the tray and placing it on the floor beside her. He took her hands in his. “It’s yet another glorious day in paradise. And, what’s more, I get to share it with you.”

  He placed a kiss on Lynne’s cheek. She closed her eyes tightly before coughing into her hand.

  “Is it so glorious when the air is constantly filled with a spicing of smoke—”

  She cut off when his hand met her cheek. Her mouth opened, and no sound came out, a response that had been trained into Lynne over the years. Suffer in silence, that was Pastor Ray Andrews’ motto. She brought her hand up to her cheek, cradling the warmth left by his slap though she avoided looking at him.

  Ray’s eyes flashed, just for a second, before his gaze melted into a softer glow of sympathy. “Oh, my dear wife. Still with this? You’d think after years of suffering and living on the bottom rungs of the ladder that maybe, just maybe, you’d be happy for me. Happy for us. The winds are changing, my dear. The winds to bring us good fortune, and they come from Him above who sent forth the governor. For once, we hold the cards. Can’t you see that?”

  Lynne stared vacantly at the floor.

  “Can’t you see that?” Ray said, suddenly angry as he grabbed his wife and threw her onto the bed.

  A short while later, Ray blinked as the sun greeted his doorstep. His clothing was pristine, his white collar standing out amidst the black, making him instantly i
dentifiable from afar. It was his badge of honor, a symbol of his stature and pride.

  Not a soul he passed didn’t greet him as he made his way through town. The last few weeks had been a whirlwind for Ray. A firework explosion of luck and joy as he rose in ranks from nothing more than a simple believer, into the beacon of communication and hope for all of Ashdale’s citizens.

  Well, give or take a few stubborn fuckers who had yet to bow, or those who had run away. In the end, the fire should see to them.

  But mostly, he still couldn’t believe his luck. That he had been the one to find him on the edge of the forest. That he had been the one to offer the governor aid and nourishment after an arduous journey through the forest. That he had been blessed by Him above to be privy to the governor’s plan and made the lynchpin for the whole damn operation.

  Oh, yes. Very lucky indeed.

  Ray made his way towards the smoke—something that several folks he’d passed seemed keen to do the opposite of. He was glad to see that his followers had become obedient. A sly grin crept back into his face as he saw another thin column of smoke join the several others now pluming into the sky above the far reaches of town. In the distance, screams punctuated the early morning stillness.

  He put a skip in his step, waved at an elderly gentleman holding hands with a young girl, and turned down a side street.

  When the sign for the Cloak & Dagger came into view, Ray raised his hood. He knocked three times on the door—loud, quiet, then loud again—before a face appeared between the slats. Silently, the door swung open and allowed him passage.

  He nodded to the doorman, keeping his hood tight about his face. Inside the tavern, a couple of dozen citizens huddled in the dim gloom, barely distinguishable in the low light that seeped through the cracks and holes in the roof. There were several tables and a man who was only tall enough for Ray to see the tops of his eyes above the counter stood behind a long bar lining one wall.

  “Is he here?” Ray asked the man known commonly as Stump. “Has he come?”

  Stump busied himself cleaning a glass with a rag that looked far too dirty to do anything other than smear more dirt on it. He grunted, his eyes never leaving the glass.

  “Room number?” Ray asked, casting a furtive glance around the room to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

  Stump dug a misshapen hand into his pocket and threw the key on the counter. Ray examined the number fifteen carved crudely into one side. He tossed a rough-forged coin onto the countertop and walked to the stairs at the far side of the room, his heart fluttering a little with the excitement of what was to come.

  Although Ray had the key, he knocked twice on the door. When he heard the sharp acknowledgment from the other side, he placed the key in the lock, twisted it, and entered.

  The room was dark, the curtains were drawn. An overwhelming stench of body odor and decay spilled into the closed space.

  “Ah, my favorite of all our pastors,” came Halrod Trisk’s sickly-sweet voice. “Come in, come in. We have much to discuss.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ashdale Pond, Old Ontario

  Jamie dabbed the cloth to his nose. Most of the blood had dried now, but the beating he had taken already looked nasty. Around the area where Yusuf’s head had connected, the skin was beginning to turn dark.

  “That’s going to leave a mark,” Kain, sitting on a wide wooden bench across the room, said without much compassion. “You might want to put some ice on that to slow the swelling.”

  Jamie looked incredulously at Kain, then at Caitlin. When was the last time anyone had seen ice? Over the years, the climate had grown steadily muggier, and fridges and freezers had all stopped working when the power died.

  “Ignore him,” Caitlin said. “He thinks he’s funny. Sometimes, he contributes useful stuff to a conversation, but for all intents and purposes, focus your words at me.” She grinned as Kain’s mouth flapped open and closed.

  “Charming,” he managed.

  Jamie chuckled. “Noted.”

  “So, you were saying?” Caitlin encouraged to continue. “You know those two out there who did this to you?”

  “Knew them, I think is more exact. Well, Christy at least, anyway.” Jamie removed the cloth and, satisfied there was no more fresh blood, placed it on his lap. “Christy used to be a friend of mine—a good one, actually. We grew up together as our moms were friends. While they pottered around the house or went to visit neighbors, me and Christy would do everything together. After my parents died, she was there for me, like a surrogate mother and sister all wrapped into one. That is…until a few weeks ago.”

  “What happened?” Kain asked, leaning forward with interest. Caitlin raised her eyebrows. “What? I can’t show a little intrigue in a man’s tale?”

  Jamie explained to them how, one day, there had been a commotion in the center of town. The sun had been high, and spirits were particularly low—years of loss, pain, and misery did that to a place. The alarm in the center of town had rung. Citizens flocked towards the sound, bringing anything that could be used as a weapon with them—brooms, rakes, knives. “It’s the way of survival, here. If there’s any threat of danger, ring the bell, and the town will band together. Safety in numbers, and all that.”

  When everyone congregated in the center of town, though, it wasn’t a Mad attack they had found—or any kind of attack, really. What they had found was a man standing on a podium in the middle of the main square, his arms spread as wide as his grin.

  “We all recognized him, of course. Ray Andrews. He had been a weedy guy for most of his life. The town’s garbage man. He spent most of his days collecting people’s buckets of piss and shit and burying them in pits on the outskirts of town. There had actually been a few rumors about him collaring and harassing girls throughout the years. And then, suddenly, there he was, standing there in a dark coverall with a white dog collar.”

  Jaxon whined and pawed at Caitlin’s lap. “Not that kind of collar, buddy.”

  Jamie told them how Ray Andrews, or Pastor Andrews as he had suddenly re-labeled himself, then spent a good deal of time explaining to the gathered crowd how he had seen the light. How change was coming, and the world was about to move on to a new age.

  “There was a lot of talk about coin tossing and standing on the precipice of a blade. ‘Which side will you fall on,’ blah, blah, blah.”

  “Sounds like a bunch of preachy bullshit to me,” Kain said.

  “And to me, too,” Jamie continued. “In fact, throughout the talk, several groups of people peeled away with eyes rolling and went about their day.

  “It was when Ray began closing his speech and started asking questions that I felt a change in the winds. He asked who would be willing to join him on this journey, now that he had a figure of power standing beside him.” Jamie pointed skyward then. “And at first, I thought no one would put their hands up. Who in their right mind would listen to this mad raving from some nobody who spent his days clearing up skid marks and dumps?”

  “But people did,” Caitlin said flatly. “Show anybody a sign of hope, a change in this miserable age, and people will flock. No sense required. People just need a leader.”

  Jamie nodded solemnly. He rubbed his tired eyes, then winced as if a jolt of pain had surged from the bruises on his face. “One by one, people raised their hands. The smile wiped clean off my face. I couldn’t believe it. Neither could Christy. It wasn’t until a few days later that she changed her mind.”

  “Why?” Kain asked.

  “She never said. Just did.” Jamie took a deep breath and looked solemnly at the floor.

  “But that doesn’t explain such a change in attitude,” Kain said, breaking the silence. “People can’t seriously believe that a man could talk to God and everything would be okay? There’s more to it, right? No one’s that deluded.”

  Jamie nodded.

  “Christy mentioned the governor,” Caitlin probed. “Out by the allotment. ‘Governor’s’ orders?’ What
did that mean?”

  “You know him?” Jamie asked.

  Caitlin grinned. “You could say that.”

  The governor had always been somewhat of an enigma, Jamie explained. He only appeared once in a blue moon to take the same podium Ray Andrews had used to issue a short speech and show his face. He would be flanked by his entourage and would disappear before questions were asked, and those in the town lived in a shadow of fear that, at any point, Trisk and his men could come and change their lives forever.

  “It would never be him directly, but rumors spread of guards appearing in the middle of the night to take men away from families who had disobeyed or spoken ill of the governor and his name. Often, you’d hear the screams at night, and that would be it. You’d never see them again.”

  “Sounds awful,” Caitlin said.

  “Mmhmm,” Jamie agreed. “So, when Ray then dropped the man’s name into his sermon, explaining that he had announced to him that he was to take permanent residence in Ashdale, that he was looking for a new task force, and that Ray would be the messenger through which all orders would consequently come, there was a ripple of fear from many. But, also, a few who delighted at the news.”

  “Why would that make people excited?” Caitlin asked. “If people feared the man as much as you say?”

  “Because it’s safer sitting on Trisk’s good side,” Kain replied. “Who wouldn’t choose to sit on the safe side of the street if given the choice?”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Jamie said, a shadow crossing his face. “Though some people are just assholes.”

  “Beardy McFuckface?” Kain said.

  “Yusuf? You got it.”

  Caitlin thought for a moment, absorbing it all. How far-reaching was the governor’s terror that he could simply click his fingers and draw a new band of protection to himself? She thought back to Yusuf and Christy. Yusuf had been blatantly eager to enforce the rules and put Jamie in his place with no indication of remorse. How many more of them were in the town? Folks with clothing as dark as their hearts. Folks with—