by SD Tanner
Feeling a familiar surge of excitement at being alive, he slapped Mackenzie on the back. “When I look at it your way, we might be dead, but we’re still the young leaders team and I won.”
“What do you mean?”
“This all started with us fighting over Lucie. She’s the reason you chose to be infected with the designer virus.” In a playfully smug tone, he added, “But I got the girl.”
Mackenzie grinned back at him and pointed at a small, lean figure standing next to an empty container. “Well, don’t waste your time gloating at me. Go. She’s waiting for you.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: TL
His pack was strapped to the wide ass of the muscular beast, and his gun hung loosely from the saddle horn. Next to his gun, the end of a machete in a well-used sheath banged lightly against his shin with every step. The beast was a typical meaty creature with thick legs and a coarse hide in a dappled brown. They didn’t look like horses, nor did they have quite the same sensitive temperament. Having ridden his for several days, he’d come to think of it as a cross between a mule and a horse.
The forest was thick with low shrubs and graceful ferns, interspersed with the thick trunks of tall, densely leafed trees. With no path to follow, he was fairly sure no human had travelled the route he was taking to the top of the hill. Buried under such a dense canopy, the air was damp and slightly humid, and the ground was a slippery mush of rotting leaves. Insects and animals moved lazily around him, unperturbed by his presence.
He wasn’t warm or cold, hungry or thirsty. Ever since he’d traded his truck for a beast, he’d ridden for hours at a steady and unhurried pace, and a strange calmness had settled over him. It was only in his shift of mood he realized he’d been wound up and tense ever since Lydia had died. Cutting open the woman he loved to save her baby had taken more out of him than he’d understood. Playing through the memory of lifting the knife to cut away her clothes and slice open her still warm body, he’d shut down to do what was needed. He knew why he did it, and he was grateful baby Bob survived, but it came at the price of his own peace of mind. While he rode through the quiet forest, sadness and a profound sense of grief bubbled to the surface, leaving him feeling hollow and lost in a world he didn’t understand anymore.
Nearing the top of the hill, the bushes and ferns became denser. Instead of brushing against him as he rode past, they clutched at his pant legs, leaving him in a sea of green reaching to his thighs. Unable to see its next step, the beast stopped and refused to move.
“Yeah, I don’t blame you, boy,” he said, as his slid from the animal, holding onto the saddle until he found his footing under the greenery.
Pulling the machete from its sheath, he held onto the reins with one hand, while sweeping at the bushes and ferns with the other.
“C’mon, boy.”
The beast obediently followed his lead, and they slowly made their way up the hill, leaving a trail of cut and flattened forest behind them. Ahead of him, fading sunlight was shining dimly through the trunks of the trees, indicating he was close to where he was trying to go. He had no idea why the Appalachians or this hill, but he didn’t question his instincts. If nothing else, he felt steadier now than when he’d left Axe’s town, and if that was all he achieved from his journey he’d call it a win.
Loosely looping the reins of the beast to a tree trunk, he stroked its flank. “Don’t go anywhere, boy, I’ll be back.”
Slashing at the cloying plants, he continued to drive upward, aiming for the glimmers of the last of the sunlight visible through the trees. By the time he reached the edge of the forest, his gloves were sticky from the juicy ferns and his normally camouflaged patterned ACUs were marked with large patches of dark green. Sweating lightly, he broke through the last of the bushes into an open clearing at the top of the hill.
Expecting a flat, grassy surface, he recoiled at the sight of three sarcophaguses in the middle of the open area. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen something like them. Ip had taken them to hell, and her happy place was sitting next to their graves on one of the two benches next to them. Curious about the coffins, he dropped his pack and machete and walked unencumbered towards them.
Stepping to the one closest to his position, he noticed its boots first. They were typical military grade boots, much like the ones he was wearing. Each boot had thick hardwearing soles, leather panels, and a tightened set of laces disappearing under the carved trouser leg. Glancing down at his feet, they weren’t just similar to his boots, they were identical.
His gaze travelled from the bottom of the effigy, and slowly made its way along the prone body, taking in every tiny detail. The figure was a tall male wearing ACUs, and by its side, carved into the stone, was an M4A1 exactly like the one he had slung over his right shoulder. With one hand resting on the gun, he noticed the chunky service ring on its finger. He wore one on his own hand, his had a red stone set deeply into the heavily etched, thick metal.
Already knowing what he would see next, he took another step closer. A perfect replica of his face was lying still and somber, with its eyes closed and lips slightly parted. Next to him, only five feet away, was the profile of Gears, and beyond his stone face was Pax. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to build three sarcophaguses, and carve a perfect copy of them into the dense stone.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen images of their bodies lying on top of a grave. Ip had shown them an almost identical design in hell, only there they were wearing and old-fashioned style of armor. These graves were clearly new and they matched their living selves in every way.
“Ah, Conquest, you’ve finally come.”
A tall, heavyset man was walking across the grass towards him. The rabbit like creatures continued to graze peacefully, while he trod just inches from their heads. Wearing heavy canvas work pants, a loose fitting, hard wearing shirt, the man had a shock of grey hair and a deeply lined and tanned face. He was the sort of man a person could walk past and barely register his presence, much less be able to identify him again later. Nondescript would have overstated his physical appearance.
Sitting on one of the stone benches, he said, “No need to stand. Come sit. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Unsure what to do next, he sat on the other seat and studied the man curiously. “Do we know one another?”
Swiveling on the bench until he was facing him, the man laughed amiably. “Since time began, my old friend, but you never remember me.” With an almost familiar wave of his heavy knuckled hand, he added, “It’s all good.” Leaning closer, his eyes twinkled. “I get to tell you the same stories and you never get bored.”
Despite his lack of memorable features, he was pretty sure he’d never met this man before. Scanning him again, he didn’t seem to be armed. Loosely tied around his waist was a leather belt, with a pouch and collection of metal instruments he suspected were used to carve the sarcophaguses.
He flicked his head at the graves. “Did you make them?”
“Yes. They’re a good likeness, don’t you think?”
They were alarmingly accurate, right down to the deep scar on Gears’ face. Not only were they right, it was as if the man had frozen them in stone.
“Did you build the ones in Ip’s hell?”
Giving him weary look, the man replied, “Don’t you recognize my work? It takes a lot of skill, you know. It’s a lost art.”
“Who are you?”
“I don’t have a name of my own, but for the last few centuries you’ve always called me Overwatch.”
Overwatch pulled a block of hard looking wood from the pouch hanging from his leather belt. It was about ten inches long and four inches in circumferences. Taking a sharp and short blade from a slot in his leather belt, he idly ran it across the wood in his hand. “When this is done, so will you be.”
“What do you mean?”
Balancing the block of wood so it stood upright in his palm, he held it aloft. “Do you know every piece of wood has a story inside? This lovel
y piece contains Death. She’s in here, I just have to whittle her out.”
“You mean Ip?” He asked doubtfully. “I don’t think she’s in that bit of wood. She’s in the UK with Gears.”
He gave him a narrow eyed stare. “Don’t be cheeky, Conquest.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Well, you all do pretty much the same thing, so names don’t count for much, it’s only your temperaments that vary. War is always agitated. Death is peaceful. Famine is disruptive. And you…well, you’re…more of thinker than the other three.”
“Pax would beg to differ. He thinks I’m a follower.”
He cut roughly into the tough wood, flicking the small chips to the ground. “Like I said, Famine is a disruptive force. It’s inbuilt into his temperament to be as he is.”
“And what is he?”
“You mean, what are you all?” Patiently, he blew away the dust and shavings, revealing a paler wood under the surface. “You’re the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”
“So, I’ve been told, but what does that mean?”
“You stand for life and death. When man fails himself, you destroy, and when he doesn’t, you build.” Continuing to whittle with experienced hands, he added, “You’re all killers, you know, and you’re quite merciless about it.”
“I thought Death was the killer amongst us.”
He snorted. “Death is the least murderous of all of you. At least she knows death isn’t the end, whereas you three kill believing you’re ending a man’s life forever.”
It was a different way of looking at Ip’s actions, and reminded him of the tree flourishing in hell, hanging low to shade their sarcophaguses. He supposed they were all killers in their own way, but only Ip could see life beyond death. The daylight was fading, and with the night came a damper and cooler air. Retrieving his pack from the grass, he pulled out his flashlight and lit the darkening night.
“Don’t do that.”
“Why? Don’t you need it to carve by?”
“No, I’m only here because you’ve finally chosen to see me, and there’s something I want to show you.”
“What?”
“In a while, it’s not time yet.” In the gloomy light, Overwatch smiled. “Ask your questions. It’s why we’re here.”
“What’s my role?”
“You’re Conquest. They like to say you ride a white horse, but they don’t mean that literally. You seek to bring understanding and truth. You’re the one who will lead the others to end this battle.”
“And the others? Gears? Pax? Ip?”
“War will prove to you the battle cannot be won by fighting. Famine will punish mankind for failing him. And Death…she will end the world, it’s her role to do so.”
“So, we lose.”
“The riders must ride, so yes, you lose.”
“Ruler wins? The Devil takes control of man?” He asked in disbelief.
“You don’t understand. This has nothing to do with Devil.” Raising the hand holding the tool he was using to carve the wood, he added, “Look at the stars.”
Without pollution, the night sky shone so brightly it cast a dim light across the top of the hill, highlighting the whiteness of the sarcophaguses and making them glow eerily. The stars high in the sky glittered with life, so much so they appeared to merge and then split apart.
“What about them?”
“Beautiful, aren’t they? They’re the source of the power of the universe. Between them, every wonder of the universe lives on eternally, never to be lost.” Concentrating on his carving again, he added, “But it can be lost if we don’t nurture it. Man has been getting sloppy lately and he really needs to lift his game, or there’ll be no game to be had.”
They’d all agreed man was getting pretty patchy about knowing right from wrong. It had been true before the outbreak and was still a fact now. If anything, only the outright crazy had survived the end of the world, and even he wondered where it was all leading.
“But you’re not looking closely enough, Conquest. Look again.”
Unsure what else to do, he stared up at the stars and wondered what the hell he was supposed to see. The stars twinkled back at him, as if mocking Overwatch’s declaration that he was the thinker of the four of them. He and Lydia had often sat on the porch at the Ranch watching nightfall and the stars appear. She always had to point out the Big Dipper to him, and it would only be after she traced it against the sky he could make out the ladle. Grasping for the happy memory, he searched for the telltale pattern in the stars.
“Where’s the Big Dipper?”
“That’s the point, Conquest, there is no Big Dipper.”
“Where’d it go?”
“It didn’t go anywhere. It’s still there.” Leaning forward on his bench, he gave him a knowing smile. “If it isn't gone, but you can’t see it, what do you think that means?”
It was a puzzle and he was supposed to be smart enough to solve it. If the Big Dipper he and Lydia traced so often was still there, then it meant it was covered by something else. His eyes widened in surprise. He was no astronomer and he’d never noticed it before.
“There are more stars.”
“Yes, there are, and that’s why everything is happening exactly as it needs to.” While he continued to stare open-mouthed at the sky, Overwatch added, “Man’s eternal conflict between the good and evil inside of him fuels the universe. Without that energy, the light would slowly die and much of it has already been lost. Man was becoming complacent, and when he does, it means evil is winning. Bringing good to the world takes more effort in all ways. Ambivalence is just a fancy way of not caring, and when man doesn’t care, bad things happen and they do nothing to stop it.” Smiling indulgently, he said contentedly, “But look at how bright the universe already burns.”
With a dawning awareness, he looked at Overwatch. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“You’ve been unhappy, Conquest, and that’s understandable. The man that lives under the skin of the immortal in you is grieving,” he replied with genuine sympathy. “But you and your brothers need to understand the universe is unfolding exactly as it should.”
“How does that change what we’re doing?”
“It doesn’t, but try and argue with yourselves less. If you do what you believe is right, then the right things will happen. What you’re doing is not by chance, but by design. Tell your brothers to stay true to their course and the universe will grow stronger for it.” He waved at the stars. “As you can see, your mission is going well. There’s no need to change anything about what you’re doing. If there ever is, I’ll let you know.”
“And Ip? What should I tell her?”
Overwatch chuckled deeply. “Death never does anything she doesn’t want to. Even you should know that by now. She doesn’t waste her time worrying whether she’s doing right or wrong, and follows her instinct regardless of what you three might say about it.”
He smiled to himself. Overwatch must have seen Ip to know how determined she could be, and just how often she ignored them. “Is that why I felt drawn to come here?”
Nodding, Overwatch replied, “You are the seeker of the truth, and you will tell the others what they need to know. I don’t talk to them, only to you. They need to stay true to their cause no matter how hopeless or wrong it may seem. I am the Overwatch, as you like to call me, it’s my job to make sure the universe is unfolding as it should.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Shrugging slightly, his face grew contemplative. “Then it’s my role to destroy it.”
“I thought that was the role of the Horsemen.”
“No, you only get to decide if man should be punished or rewarded, it is for me to end the universe should I deem it necessary.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Faith
Her long, flowing dress caught against the brittle branches of yet another bush, and she yanked at it irritably, hearing the delicate fabric tear. Where her bodice usually made her fe
el secure, as if she was being hugged, the skin under the tight lacing was demanding to be scratched. Pushing quickly past a cluster of tall, wide leafed ferns, she felt them whip across her cheekbones, and it only added to her bad mood. If Eden was trying to annoy her then it was doing an excellent job.
Standing in a small patch of sunlight by the generous creek, she hastily unlaced her bodice, desperate to scratch her scarred torso. Mostly her scars went unnoticed by her, and she was surprised they were bothering her today. When the gown finally slithered down her body, she ran her nails across the white ridges covering her abdomen. As the irritating tingle left that part of her body, another started at the base of her spine. Struggling to reach behind her, she tore into it vigorously. The relief was immediate and she began to calm down, but now her body was covered in angry red welts from her nails.
“Testy today, aren’t we?”
Ruler hadn’t picked the best time to speak with her and she was unable to hide her frustration. “What do you want?”
“That’s a fine way to greet the ruler of hell.”
He was sitting on a large outcrop of rocks on the edge of the creek. As was his current fancy, he wore the demonic body with the long razor edged tail. His bulbous head and wide, thick mouth seemed at odds with the idyllic scenery around him.
Practically tipping the contents of her wash bag onto the muddy ground at the edge of the creek, she grabbed a cloth and soap, and stalked gracelessly into the water. Dipping the rag into the clear creek, she rubbed the soap against it vigorously. With the water being so cold it barely lathered, denying her the satisfaction of a bubbly wash. “I’m not in the mood for games today.”
Realigning himself so he faced her, he watched intently while she scrubbed her body. “What’s happened?”