Outlaws of Babylon

by Eugene W. Cundiff

  "Quite a speech, for one who claimed to have no tongue for them."

  Kurt turned his cyclopean gaze toward Jeremiah Braddock as the old man made his way out of the departing throng. The High-King of the Irishmen was dressed in a sharp pinstriped suit, but he wore it under a battered infantry jacket.

  "Yeah, well we all do what we have to."

  Kurt's tone was civil, but it bore no warmth whatsoever. Braddock gave him a weary nod.

  "We do indeed, Boss Petrovich. We do indeed. Speak of that," the old Vet reached into his jacket and pulled out a worn, velour-covered box, "This is for you."

  Kurt took the box when Braddock offered it. He opened it, finding it held a golden key roughly five inches in length and bearing the seal of the old city. The words 'Kurt Petrovich, Council of Manhattan' were engraved along its length. Kurt looked to Braddock for explanation, but the old Vet simply smiled.

  "Welcome to the big leagues, Councilor Petrovich of the Heirs of Babylon."

  "Wait, you mean..."

  "I mean exactly what I said, Councilor. In a week's time, you will be expected at a meeting of the Council, there to discuss our war against the remnants of the Sixth Day."

  Kurt stared at the key in his hand before turning his eye back to Braddock.

  "So, just like that? It's really that simple?"

  The old man laughed at him, turning toward the gates of the Zero and slowly slipping away. He did not stop walking as he spoke.

  "Simple? My dear Councilor, if life in this ruin has taught an old man such as me anything, it is that nothing is ever 'that simple,' a fact I expect you are going to learn very, very swiftly. But for now know that beginning tomorrow Irish agents will be guarding your ground and Council laborers will be here to help with the rebuilding efforts, and that before the end of the coming January we will be working together to honor the wishes of your fallen founder. As I said before, welcome to the big leagues. You have my congratulations," Braddock paused, turning to smile tiredly over his shoulder, "and my deepest sympathies."

  "Thanks for both, Councilor Braddock. Losing Ric is going to make this hard, but we'll see it through."

  The old man laughed again as he turned to continue on his way.

  "Oh of that I have no doubt, Councilor Petrovich, and you also have my condolences for his loss. But it was not the death of Richard Lee that has earned you my sympathies."

  "What, then?"

  Braddock left Kurt's question unanswered.

  36

  The three leaders of the Zero stood watch at its newly-mended gates, keeping their vigil until the old muscle car vanished beyond the horizon before slowly turning to look to one another.

  “I hope she finds her greener pastures.”

  Mory and Kurt turned their gaze from the canyons of worn stone and gathering shadows, nodding to T.J. as he spoke. Kurt looked to the faded, oversized envelope that Mory held.

  “Should we open it, then?”

  Mory nodded slowly, shifting it in her hands and testing the weight of its contents.

  “Jen said to wait until she was gone, and I guess now she is.”

  The pale woman unwound the coiled thread that held the package closed, slipping her slender fingers inside. She pulled out a thin plastic card, looking at it with a puzzled expression.

  “What’s this, then? Kurt?”

  “It's a credit chit. Preserver money, pretty much. Would need a code to use it, if it's even any good.”

  Mory handed the chit to Kurt, reaching into the envelope again. She felt about inside it, finally pulling out a piece of paper.

  “What’s it say, Mor?”

  Mory said nothing, her hands shaking. Kurt gently took the paper from her hand, placing a gentle hand on her hip as he read it.

  “It's the code for that chit, and instructions telling how to use it. It’s… well, it’s a fair bit of cash, and it’d be hard to trace. A nest egg for the camp it says, for should we ever fall short out here. After that, it's a note. 'If you're reading this, I'm dead. Yeah, that's a bummer. I wrote this after the gun heist, so apologies if any of it's out of date. All my love to Mory, my precious Ivory. Tell my contrary bitch of a sister I still love her, too. Thanks to all of you, I finally found my greener pastures, and I want you all to know that I died without regrets. I set the stage and played my part for my appointed hour, and now it's your turns. Go do what you were born to. Go set this world on fire. See you on the other side. Until then, I’ll be partying with Morrison and Hendrix. All my love, Ric.’”

  Kurt folded up the note, slipping it into Mory’s jacket pocket.

  "He was always a step ahead."

  "That he was."

  Kurt shook his head. "Hard road ahead of us, without him. Without Jen, either. Where do we go from here, Mor?"

  Mory smiled softly, shaking her head."We're not going anywhere. We're like this city itself. Beaten, battered, driven to the brink, but we're still here."

  The new Boss of the Zero nodded. "That we are."

  Out in the gloom, two weary figures emerged from the shadows. T.J. pointed to them as they slowly approached the gates.

  “Look there, coming up on us.”

  The Saint and the Rose nodded to their companion, watching as the couple staggered into the light of the gate’s watch-fires. Both wore ragged hooded coats, and the smaller one clutched a swathed bundle tight to her chest.

  “Poor souls look lost.”

  Mory shook her head to Kurt. “They’re not lost. Not at all.

  Mory smiled warmly as soft white radiance filled her eyes, swiftly making her way toward the unfortunates who had collapsed at the Zero's threshold. She called back to her brothers as she went.

  “They’re home.”

  ◆◆◆

  Mad Mag Morrissey drummed her metal-tipped fingers on the rooftop's edge, watching the Zero's gates through scavenged binoculars.

  "Aww. Such sweethearts, ain't they?"

  Lowering the binoculars from her eyes, the Hellcat unclipped the radio from her belt. She lifted it to her painted lips.

  "It's me. The two lowborn are gone, and the children of the firstborn have risen to lead their little camp. Just as you wanted."

  A smoky, feminine voice purred from the radio. "Very good, my dear handmaiden. We will let them enjoy their triumph for now. Let them regain their strength for what comes next. Come home, dear handmaiden. Tonight's revels are beginning, and you deserve reward for your service."

  Mad grinned, slipping the binoculars' strap over her shoulder. "As you will it, my Queen."

  She clipped the radio back to her belt, switching it off as she turned in the direction of the Garden. Her eyes slowly filled with pale blue light as her power raced across her limbs, and she turned her eyes back to the Zero's gates.

  "Be seeing you, Killer."

  Mad jumped from the rooftop's edge, laughing as she flew off into the dark winter night.

  APPENDIX: Dramatis Personae

  (Post-Outlaws of Babylon)

  The Heirs of Babylon

  Residents of the World Trade Center Plaza Camp.

  Kurt Petrovich - Expatriate of the Staten Island Preserve. Childhood friend of Morgan Whitechapel. Possesses the power to manipulate telekinetic force. Leader of the Heirs of Babylon, and their representative Councilor on the Manhattan Council

  Morgan Whitechapel - Late-teen runaway, fleeing her father. Possesses the power to heal herself, optimize her own bodily processes, and both heal the injuries and control the biological functions of others

  T.J. - Former agent of independent gangster Johnny Reno. Possesses the power to absorb and view the memories of others.

  Josephine Chandler - Exile of the Staten Island Preserve. Rescued from the servants of Johnny Reno.

  Benjamin Talone - Former Sixth Day cultist, redeemed by Richard Lee.

  Shelly Rossellini - A young woman saved from the Sixth Day by Kurt Petrovich. Rendered delusional by a backlash from her abilities. Possesses the power to dominate t
he minds of others.

  Jeza -A young thief, former servant of independent gangster Johnny Reno. Rescued from his forces by Richard Lee, Jennifer Motosuwa, and T.J.

  The Manhattan Council

  Leaders of Babylon

  Jeremiah Braddock - "High King" of the Irishmen and High Councilor of the Manhattan Council. Former N.Y.P.D. detective. Vietnam veteran.

  Joseph Hudson - Leader of the Morlocks.

  Adrienne Stanton - Leader of the Conservers.

  Varenka Zamyatin - Leader of the Porters.

  "The Gecko" - Leader of the Warhawks.

  The Sixth Day

  Fundamentalist Christian Terrorists Preaching Armageddon

  High Paladin Alistair Whitechapel - Father of Morgan and Ronald Whitechapel, overseer of Sixth Day activity in Babylon. WW3 veteran, served in the same unit as Michael Vega, Isabela Jackson, Earle Book, and Burton Petrovich. Blinded by Morgan Whitechapel during the Second Battle of Sanctuary.

  Ronald Whitechapel - Younger brother of Morgan Whitechapel.

  Isabela 'Aces' Jackson - Disgraced former Sheriff of the Wall Street Market. Godmother of Morgan Whitechapel and Ronald Whitechapel. WW3 veteran, served in the same unit as Alistair Whitechapel, Michael Vega, Earle Book, and Burton Petrovich.

  Brother Jonah McMahon - Senior Sixth Day enforcer. WW3 veteran.

  People of Babylon

  Unaffiliated Citizens of the City

  Father Earle Book - Catholic priest overseeing Saint Joan's, a small Catholic chapel. WW3 veteran, served in the same unit as Alistair Whitechapel, Michael Vega, Isabela Jackson, and Burton Petrovich.

  The Queen of the Gardens - Ruler of the Battery, reigning from Castle Clinton. Unaffiliated with the Council, known to deal in slaves and rumored to be involved with far worse.

  Madeleine Margaret 'Mad Mag' Morrissey - Servant of the Queen.

  "The She-Demon" - Servant of the Queen. Possesses the psychic ability to reanimate corpses.

  The Deceased and Departed

  Those Who Have Died or Left the City

  Richard Lee - Expatriate of San Diego Preserve, first leader of the Heirs of Babylon. Possessed the power to render himself invisible to others Murdered by Ronald Whitechapel and the Sixth Day during the Second Battle of Sanctuary.

  Paladin Michael Vega - Alistair Whitechapel's second-in-command. WW3 veteran, served in the same unit as Alistair Whitechapel, Isabela Jackson, Earle Book, and Burton Petrovich. Killed by Jennifer Motosuwa during the First Battle of Sanctuary.

  Deirdre McManus Whitechapel - Mother of Morgan and Ronald Whitechapel, wife of Alistair Whitechapel. Died of unspecified, radiation-related cancer.

  Jennifer Motosuwa - Expatriate of San Diego Preserve, former traveling partner of Richard Lee. Possesses the power to alter and influence emotions. Departed the city after the death of Richard Lee.

  The Story Continues In

  Princess of Babylon

  The Heirs of Babylon

  Book III

  In the dying world of 2028, nothing is without cost.

  Morgan Whitechapel once felt powerless. Now, she is learning that power has a price.

  Still mourning the recent losses the Heirs of Babylon have suffered, Mory finds herself forced into a position of immense power over the ruined city that was once New York. But as the Manhattan Council begins to splinter and the gangs of Babylon prepare for war, Mory realizes that an even greater threat to the city lies in the vengeful fury building in the heart of her childhood friend Kurt Petrovich. Beset on all sides, the young woman must find a way to not only save the city, but to also save the soul of her oldest friend before he becomes the sort of monster their enemies have always claimed them to be.

  As the city goes mad, she must face her own demons if she hopes to save those she loves...

  Please continue reading for a preview of Princess of Babylon!

  Princess of Babylon Preview

  The building shook violently, dust falling from the ceiling. Outside, men screamed and guns fired. Ronald Whitechapel cowered, diving under a nearby table.

  "It's him!"

  Isabela Jackson stood firm as another tremor rocked the building. Unlike the young teenager, the disgraced former Sheriff remained icily calm.

  "We knew this day was coming, little one."

  Jonah McMahon emerged from the doorway behind the pair, leading Ronnie's father Alistair. The blind High Paladin raved and fumed.

  "Give me my gun, McMahon! I will purge this demon!"

  The cold-eyed Vet sighed, pulling his superior along.

  "Respectfully sir, you ain't purging shit. Sister Isabela, orders?"

  Isabela Jackson looked up from where she had just pulled Ronnie out from beneath the rickety table.

  "We need to withdraw. Petrovich's boy is known for neither subtlety nor restraint."

  Another massive impact struck the building. The walls cracked. The sounds of gunfire outside grew louder and more numerous, and McMahon shook his head.

  "That's too many to just be ours. Looks like the demon brought his slaves along."

  "You had to know the stories about remaining fallout would only keep the Council forces at bay so long, McMahon."

  "We're going to die! All of us! He'll rip us apart!"

  Isabela turned her eyes to the wailing boy in her grip. She back-handed him across the mouth with her free hand.

  "Be quiet, child. You volunteered for your father's war when you killed the Californian. You are a soldier now. Act like it."

  Ronnie whimpered. He began to protest, but the former Sheriff's raised hand silenced him. Outside, the sounds of combat grew louder. Alistair Whitechapel continued to rage, struggling in McMahon's grip.

  "Kill them all! Kill them to the last! Burn their temple unto Lucifer into ashes, and cast their bones upon the fire!"

  The building shook again. McMahon pushed the broken High Paladin toward the former Sheriff.

  "Take them and go, Sister. Take the escape hatch into the sewers. Rendezvous with our allies on the Council, as we planned."

  Isabela nodded grimly, grabbing Alistair's wrist. She dragged both the Whitechapels toward the door McMahon had come through, pausing only a moment to look back to McMahon.

  "God be with you, Jonah."

  McMahon nodded once, unslinging his rifle from his back and moving the opposite direction from the others.

  "So shall it be, Sister. So shall it be."

  He kicked the door open, and rushing through it without another word.

  ◆◆◆

  The air was filled with smoke and thick with the scent of blood of blood, and it brought unpleasant memories to Francis Richter's mind. The weathered Vet scowled, brushing a hand across his pompadour haircut as he watched the Rose at work.

  "Wish we'd had him back in Baghdad."

  "Sheriff?"one of the Irishmen beside him asked. Richter shook his head.

  "Nothin', kid. Just ramblin'." He checked his revolver before pointing it forward. "Well, let's not let Councilor Petrovich have all the fun. Move out!"

  The gathered forces of the Council of Manhattan shouted their excitement as they rushed forward with their weapons readied. Richter grinned, pulling an Appalachian cigar from his coat pocket. He clenched it in his teeth and drew a chrome lighter from his pocket to light it. An explosion thundered loudly in fortified compound before him as the Rose's ongoing assault detonated a battered truck's fuel tank.

  "Playin' my song."

  The recently-appointed Sheriff took a draw from his cigar before following after his men. The Rose hovered in the sky above the battle like some terrible omen, the young man's entire body blazing with an aura of blue fire. The sight was like something out of a pre-War comic book - or perhaps a pre-War horror film. Devastation fell wherever the leader of the Heirs of Babylon turned his attention, and even Richter flinched at the worst of it. The battle had been decided well before the Council's forces had arrived. What was happening now was cold-blooded slaughter, and worse than anything that
Richter had witnessed during the War.

  "Deliver us! Deliver us Lord!"

  The panicked screams drew Richter's attentions. A black-shirted young man rushed toward him, throwing aside the length of pipe he was carrying. The terrified man dove to the ground before Richter, and the burly Vet nearly skewered him with the bayonet of his revolver before he realized the Sixth Day cultist was surrendering.

  "Please, please, save me! Save me from the arch-demon! Deliver me from evil!"

  The Six hugged the Sheriff's legs in absolute terror. Richter sighed, catching the Six's collar and hoisting the young man back to his feet.

  "Come on then. Forward march, and if you try anything stupid I'll blow your damned head off."

  The blubbering Six nodded violently, marching forward into the compound had just fled. Richter followed close behind. The gunfire had ceased. The Sixes knew they had been beaten. Throughout the fenced compound's yard they were dropping their weapons and kneeling before the Council's soldiers. The Rose slowly lowered himself to the rent pavement of the compound. The fiery aura of his power receded as he did, leaving only his scarred and sightless left eye alight by the time he reached where Richter stood. The grizzled Vet saluted.

  "Councilor Petrovich. Glad you're on our side."

  "Sheriff Richter," the Rose grinned, shaking his head. "At ease, Frank. Tell your men to gather up the prisoners. We still need to sweep the building, see if any of our primary targets are ins--"

  The Rose's instructions were cut off as one of the building's doors was kicked open and wiry older man rushed through it with a rifle held at the ready.