Outlaws of Babylon

by Eugene W. Cundiff

  “Or about my backstabbing former best friend-slash-brother.”

  Kurt shook his head. “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh? I mean in fairness, you were the one who punched his girlfriend and stormed off. His siding with Mory isn't that surprising, is it?”

  “I’m about to repeat that 'storming off' trick right now.”

  Kurt sighed, shaking his head again. “Only if I let you.” His eyes flashed and Kurt telekinetically lifted Jen an inch off the ground, turning her to face him before lowered her down again. “Or did you forget I’m a telekinetic?”

  Jen growled, her own eyes gleaming with a rosy flicker of light, “And I could make you feel a deep loathing for doing so.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time I did something I hated, Dollface. Finding Mory again aside, you think I wanted to abandon everything I ever knew? I mean sure the Preserve's a nightmare for anyone who likes to think for themselves or would have voted liberal in the old days, but it was still home.”

  “Home is where you hang your hat, far as I care Killer. Anything else and you just get tied down and lured away, you get used... and you get betrayed.”

  Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “Jen, no one’s betrayed you! Seriously, we’re your friends. I don’t know what happened to you to bring this on. Honestly, I thought you and Mor got along. That you liked each other.”

  “I did, back before the little bitch stole –“

  “Stole what? Ric?”

  “Damned right! She’s dragged him into this lunatic dream, feeding his idiot hero complex and using it to keep him wrapped up in her little personal daddy drama. Would have been a time Boytoy and I would have dropped you off at that church, bled that asshole Braddock dry for cheap work, and blitzed on out of this shithole town.”

  “And gone where?”

  Jen snorted. “Wherever we pleased, whenever we pleased. We’d have leeched Braddock, got in a fight or three, I’d have added a notch to my metaphorical bedpost or five with some pretty young local things while Ric rolled his eyes and brooded. Then we'd have caught a show at Broadway before burning the lot.”

  “And now you want to do that, but he’s stopped brooding and found a woman he cares about. One who makes him happy.”

  Jen scowled, slamming her fist into her palm. “She’s going to make him dead before this is over.” She paused to shake her head a moment, spitting on the ground with contempt. "Shit, she already has killed the Boytoy I knew and loved, so there's no point sitting here being all emo about it. No point in wasting time talking to you either, Killer. I’m done with this place.” The punk turned sharply on the heels of her boots, continuing toward the garage. She called back to Kurt over her shoulder. “I’ll leave the departed’s personal effects in a box for his murderess to marvel over.”

  “Damn it, Jennifer, that’s a little –“

  “The name’s Jen, Killer.”

  Kurt's eyes flashed blue, and loose debris scattered around his feet. “So that’s it then, Jen? You’ve known Ric all your lives and after one little disagreement you’re ditching him. Ditching us.”

  Jen paused, spitting on the ground again, “Ditches are generally where the dead end up these days, Killer. And he’s dead to me.”

  She slipped into the garage, and the heavy makeshift doorway closed behind her. Kurt watched a moment longer, then sighed and headed back toward the tree.

  ◆◆◆

  "Miserable bastard!” Jen spat the curse as she carelessly tossed a box of Ric’s belongings to the floor. It landed with a thud and clatter, followed by another box, and then another. The trunk emptied of Ric's possessions, Jen slammed down the lid with an angry stream of Japanese profanity. “After all these years, he throws it all aside. Just because some damned damsel in distress lifts her skirt and bats her eyes, tells him he’s some big damned hero!”

  Still fuming, the punk rounded the car’s rear and came upon the passenger door to shut it. To her unpleasant surprise, she found Ronnie waiting in the passenger seat.

  “The shit are you doing?”

  Ronnie looked to Jen, his expression full of excitement. “Goin’ with you!”

  Jen glared at him. “Is that a fact? See, no one cleared that little plan with me. Lot of that going on lately, and it’s pissing me off.”

  Ronnie nodded to Jen, his face defiant. “Yeah, going with you! I’m tired of this place, and you’re the coolest freak I know.”

  Jen pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered vilely under her breath. “You really know how to butter someone up, don’t you bratso? Get out of there.”

  “Hell no! I’m coming with you! And just think, when I’m gone and that bitch can’t find me, think how much she’ll panic and hurt and worry and be miserable!”

  Jen shook her head. “Tempting, but there’s a saying in Appalachia, kid. Warns about cutting your nose off to spite your face.”

  Ronnie looked confused, and Jen sighed again.

  “Let me put it this way. You’re a miserable little shit, and as much as it would hurt your bitch sister to help you vanish without a trace, it’d hurt me more to put up with you. Now get out of the car before I make you do it.”

  “No way! I’m going too!”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, you little bastard.”Jen’s eyes began to glow with rose-colored fire as she stared at the boy. She focused her powers on driving a deep fear of her into Ronnie. He stared back at her, stubbornly, unfazed by Jen's emotional manipulation. Jen's head began to throb painfully, and she finally closed her eyes, the light fading from them as she did. “Damned stubborn little... fine!

  Jen pulled her gun, aiming it at Ronnie's head.

  “Get out of the car, or I’ll decorate it with your nonexistent brains.”

  “You wouldn’t! “

  “Do you really want to gamble on that, kiddo? It’d hurt your ‘bitch’ of a sister even more to find you with your melon blown open on the floor of the garage, I bet. And since I don’t like you as it is? Well, tempting plan there. Gonna count to three, now.”

  “You ain’t going to –“

  “One.”

  “There’s no way! They’d never let you get away with –“

  Jen thumbed back the hammer. “Two.”

  “Damn it, damn you! You hateful squinty-eyed, ugly-dressed bitch!” Ronnie slammed his foot into the passenger door before exiting the car. Jen kept the gun aimed at him.

  “I swear, being a pain in the ass must be damned genetic for your family kiddo. Now piss off before I shoot your kneecaps out.”

  Ronnie crept away like a whipped dog. Jen heaved the front garage doors open, then climbed into the car and turned the ignition. The punk paused only to adjust the mirrors before she barreled out of the structure and toward the gates.

  23

  "Sir, we must move on these upstarts, and we must move on them now."

  Isabela Jackson stood before Jeremiah Braddock, her expression cold and her posture rigid. The High-King of the Irishmen regarded her with eyes every bit as cold as her own.

  "No."

  A flash of anger crossed the Sheriff's features, but she quickly buried it beneath her usual stoicism and her voice remained level. "Sir, they have declared an unsanctioned breakaway, stolen your ground, and made us look like fools. We need to make an example of them, before the other Councilors use this as an excuse to rebel as well."

  "I said no, Isabela."

  "You are letting your fondness for the Whitechapel girl's mother blind you."

  Aces knew she had made a mistake as soon as she spoke the words. The old soldier rose from his booth with frightening speed, taking up a knobby cudgel from the table as he did. The High-King pointed the club at the Sheriff.

  "And you are forgetting your place, Isabela Jackson! Had anyone else brought this disaster to my doorstep, anyone else but you, I would have had them impaled upon the golden horns of the Market Bull! What were you thinking in making those fool demands?"

 
Aces shook her head. "Sir, that fool child surfer-boy will use those weapons to start a war with the Sixth Day."

  "Perhaps he will."

  "And you are not troubled by this prospect?"

  Braddock shook his head. "I was once, Isabela. But now, I see that such a war is likely inevitable. Goodpaster's zealots have grown too bold."

  "And these children who have rebelled against your authority and taken what is yours have not?"

  The old man slammed his club down onto the worn table. The loud bang of wood against wood was loud enough to make even the stoic Sheriff of Wall Market flinch.

  "Perhaps if you had not decided to attempt taking those weapons from them after passing on the score, they might not have taken the notion that property ownership was a polite suggestion in this city as opposed to the law."

  Aces held her ground. "Respectfully sir, I was acting for the good of the city and the peace. Leaving that young bravo in possession of more weaponry than any two other factions combined..."

  "Perhaps if we had not pushed Mister Lee to the wall by refusing to intervene, he would not have felt so disinclined to turn over his newfound source of security. Would you have willingly put your people at risk by doing so, Isabela? Had you been in his shoes, would you have done differently?"

  The Sheriff's jaw clenched. "Sir, do you really want to see this city return to the chaos of the days after the collapse? What will we do if the Gecko or Zamyatin decide to follow the example set by these pretentious young 'Heirs of Babylon'? With the loss of those food reserves to this storm, if either of them decides to cut their supply flow we could face starvation in the streets. War and pillage, weakening our alliance enough for the Queen to grow bold within her Gardens, or sending desperate souls charging the walls at the Narrows, provoking the Governor to reprisals."

  Braddock exhaled wearily and returned to his seat, placing his cudgel back on the table. "I know the risks, Isabela."

  "And yet you say we should do nothing."

  "I say that we have done enough already. I say that you have done enough. With time, I could have brought our wayward children back to the fold, but now I fear you may have made such a thing impossible. Go home, Isabela, and leave this matter to others."

  "That is an order, then?"

  "Yes."

  "So be it, sir." Aces gave the leader of the Irishmen a stiff nod, then turned on her heel and made her way out of the pub. She pulled the collar of her worn military jacket up against the wintry chill of the December air as she headed for her car, so lost in her thoughts that she barely noticed the young Irishman approaching her until he spoke.

  "Sheriff Jackson, ma'am?"

  She turned her dark eyes to the man. "Yes, child?"

  The Irishman held out a folded piece of paper, tied with salvaged twine. "Ma'am, this arrived for you and the High-King this morning, left at one of our sentry-posts near the Zero."

  "Did you see the courier?"

  "No ma'am. The letter just appeared on Captain Doyle's desk."

  Aces shook her head. "Of course it did."

  "Ma'am?"

  The Sheriff waved the Irishman off. "Nevermind, child. You did well. I will see this is delivered to the High-King. Return to your post."

  "Yes ma'am, as you say." The Irishman saluted the Vet before moving back down the street in the direction he had come from. Aces opened the door of her car and slid into the driver's seat before pulling the twine from the message and opening it. Her eyebrows rose as she read it.

  "Well, that is interesting."

  She folded the letter closed and slipped it into her jacket before turning the ignition and pulling the car out into the streets. A plan began to form in the Sheriff's mind, a plan to solve the problems that were now hanging over the city's head. She would need to make arrangements of course, and it would not be without risk to her own safety, but Isabela Jackson was no stranger to facing personal danger for the sake of the city. With neither reluctance nor remorse, the Sheriff turned her car toward Ghost Town.

  ◆◆◆

  "You always did have the biggest balls in our entire squad, Isabela."

  Aces regarded her former comrade coolly but said nothing. Alistair Whitechapel held his shotgun's muzzle an inch from the other Vet's temple.

  "A comfort to know that some things haven't changed. My loyal brothers say you drove your car up to their checkpoint and demanded to speak to me. I find myself wondering what would compel you to such action." The High Paladin pushed the gun forward, roughly pressing the cold metal into the Sheriff's flesh. "And, more importantly, why I should listen to you at all, instead of depriving that blasphemous old fool Braddock of his most valuable asset?"

  Despite the gun pressed to her head, the Sheriff did not flinch. If she felt any fear, her voice did not betray it. "Allie, how many men did Mike's attack on the Zero cost you?"

  "That's no concern of yours, Isabela. Why are you here?"

  "Because your band of malcontents has become the lesser evil."

  The two Sixes flanking Whitechapel raised their weapons and moved forward, but Whitechapel waved them back. Slowly, he lowered his weapon.

  "Go on."

  Aces twisted her neck and rolled her shoulders. "I asked about Mike's final assault for a reason, Allie. You failed, and that was before those demons of yours laid claim to a Federal arsenal and subverted your young recruit."

  "What do you mean, Isabela? Speak plainly."

  "The poor boy you assigned to drive off with your ill-gotten mobile armory was taken in by the outlaws of the Zero, Alistair."

  Whitechapel frowned. "We thought Brother Benjamin a martyr for the cause."

  "You should be so lucky. So now, these outlaws have your guns and an informant able to reveal your secret holdout here. Worse, Braddock has fallen to their influence. He is strongly considering turning the Irishmen and the Council against you, and even your friendship with the Porters won't make them cross the Council as a whole."

  The High-Paladin's frown became a scowl. "How did you know... never mind, why am I surprised? I assume you are making an account of the difficulties the Lord has set before us for a reason, Isabela."

  "It's as I said before, Allie. While your dear Reverend's behavior is eventually going to force a reckoning, for now the greatest threat to the peace of this little slice of Hell on Earth are your demons. As Braddock is compromised and I cannot personally bring enough men to bear against this threat without his blessing, I am forced to turn to outside sources to make up the deficit."

  "So, you intend to throw my men, my brothers, into a meat-grinder while your godless criminals wait and swoop in for to mop both sides up?" Whitechapel began to lift his shotgun, but Aces caught the barrel. She shook her head.

  "Quite the opposite, Allie. It is my men and myself who will go in first. The demons' leader seeks to mollify Braddock and the Irishmen with a holiday dinner at the Zero, which gives us a valuable opportunity for an assault. We enter under cover of truce, take the gates of their fortifications, and hold them open for your men to follow. Once inside, you can massacre the demons and their slaves and free your children from their thrall."

  The High-Paladin grunted, lowering his weapon to his side and nodding to the Sheriff. "A clever plan, I admit. What about Braddock?"

  "He will come to see the necessity, once freed from the demons' sway."

  "And the arsenal?"

  "Half and half."

  Whitechapel considered the proposal. Finally he extended his hand to the Sheriff. "Agreeable. However once this is done, so are we."

  Aces shook Whitechapel's hand, nodding. "Yes. Ready your men, High Paladin. Our assault begins in two nights."

  Whitechapel nodded, his expression grim. "So shall it be, Isabela. Brothers, show the Sheriff back to her vehicle, and ensure she finds her way out of our territory safely and swiftly."

  The two younger Sixes stepped forward to act on the High-Paladin's orders, and the Sheriff followed them without complaint. She fully expect
ed Whitechapel to betray her when the smoke cleared over the camp at Ground Zero, but that was only fair given she planned to do exactly what the High-Paladin had accused her of. By dawn on Christmas morning both the Heirs of Babylon and the Sixth Day would be gone from the ruined city of Babylon.

  24

  “Any word yet?”

  Ric could not hide the worry in his voice as he asked. Mory held herself tightly against him as they sat down to a meager breakfast.

  “None yet. But it’s a big city, and it's only been two days. And no one’s seen the car leaving on the main roads out of town.” The pale teen sighed, heavily. “I still feel like this is my fault.”

  “Well it’s not. Jen's choice was her own, Ivory." Ric shook his head. "And hey, at least we found your brother, after he tried to stow away with her.”

  Mory nodded, and Ric kissed her cheek.

  “Plus, we have our special dinner guests for tonight to be getting ready for. We’ll worry about Jen’s temper tantrum later. She’ll be back.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Ric kissed her again, and then he shrugged. “Honestly, no. But hey, it’s Christmas. Well, two days before Christmas but still. 'Tis the season for a miracle we didn’t have to earn for once. Maybe. For a change of pace, if nothing else?”

  Mory chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Here's hoping, love. Oh! Father Book says he’ll hold Mass here on Christmas Eve, so we don’t have to brave the weather to get to Saint Joan's.”

  “Thirty minutes or your salvation is free?”

  “You’re terrible!”

  “You complaining?” Ric asked, looking to Mory with a broad grin. She kissed him softly and swatted his arm.

  “No, not really.”

  The Californian smirked, kissing his girlfriend’s pale forehead. Then he rose, pushing the remains of his nearly-untouched meal toward her. “You finish mine. I need to go take care of a couple things for tonight.”

  “Hurry back?”

  “For you? Of course I will.”

  Ric kissed her one more time and slipped away toward the central structure of the camp. Mory quietly picked at her food until T.J. and Jo arrived, carrying their own portions.