by Stu Jones
They sat in a long silence while Kane wondered if his wife and babies might have been part of that disappearance. After a few moments, he looked over at Courtland.
“You are a wise man, Mr. Courtland.”
“It’s just Courtland,” he said, and smiled again.
“Do you have a last name?”
“Thompson.”
Kane snapped his fingers, pointing, “I knew it! I knew something was familiar about you. The way you hammered those monsters back there. ‘The Sledge,’ right? You played with the United All-Stars and were a Pro-Crushball hall of famer!”
Courtland shrugged and smiled. “Those days are long gone.”
“No, sir, not long gone. Not after what I just saw. I used to love watching you play as a kid. Nobody could stand up against ‘The Sledge.’ Nobody.”
“Yeah, well a lot of years of that takes a toll on a man.” Courtland smirked. “They were great years, though.”
“When did you retire?”
“About twenty years ago.”
“Did you have family? Did you…” Kane paused. “Lose anyone?”
Kane leaned his back against the door, facing Courtland.
“Yes, but not because of this mess. My wife of medical complications after the birth of our daughter, but that was years ago, and...” he paused. “I lost my daughter in a car accident just before the attacks. What about you?”
Kane looked down. “Yeah, my wife and kids were in Miami when it was hit. There’s no way they could have made it.”
“Your wife was a believer?”
“Yeah, she was. She was a great example to me.” Kane paused. “Do you think she and my kids may have been taken, like you said?”
“It’s possible.”
“So why us, then? Why me?” Kane shrugged his shoulders.
“Whether you are comfortable with it or not, God has touched us, so that we may bring glory to Him. It’s that simple.”
Kane smiled, “you make it sound that way.”
Courtland had a warm way about him. Something wise and sagely in his personality stood out to Kane and welcomed him to confide in and trust his new friend. For a while they conversed like old friends, catching up as they both relayed the events that had occurred during and since the attacks. After a while they both grew tired of talking and became content to sit in a comfortable silence, Courtland driving and Kane resting and taking comfort in Courtland’s tattered Bible.
Courtland adjusted his position, his huge form taking up every inch of space on the driver’s side of the cab. He peered ahead through the cracked windshield.
“It’s just up here, the ranch I told you about. There we will get you some food and rest before we continue on to find your friend.”
Kane leaned back in the seat and looked ahead as the vehicle slipped into the burnt woods on a lonely two-lane county road. The black clouds boiled above them, rolling across the heavens and into the distance. Here a thin layer of that crunchy black substance covered the ground and trees, indicating a somewhat recent rainfall. The black branchless trees stood still in the windless afternoon like spines down the back of an enormous porcupine.
Kane thought about Molly and hoped that she was safe. She had come all the way into that ant colony for him alone. Why she had gone through with it still vexed him. She had only known him a matter of days. She could have easily ditched him and saved herself. As he thought about it, he felt a significant amount of guilt for her obligation to him and for her capture by those fiends. But Courtland was right, there was no use in worrying about it, as the worry served no positive purpose. All he could do was trust that God was in control.
Courtland slammed on the brakes as the truck screeched to a stop in front of a downed tree in the road.
“Woah!” Kane said putting his hands on the dash for support as several large dead trees crashed down across the road in front of them.
Courtland was grinding the gearshift into reverse as Kane shouted, “Get us out of here, Courtland!”
The vehicle began moving backward just as several more trees crashed down behind the old truck, trapping the vehicle where it sat.
In the stillness that followed, Kane squinted his eyes through the settling debris, trying to see whatever menace caused their current predicament. He glanced at Courtland and looked out the front windshield again. The two watched as shadows trickled down from the hillside and surrounded the truck, many of them carrying torches and weapons in the fading light.
“Here we go,” Kane muttered.
“Courtland, you and your passenger get out of the truck. If you produce weapons, we will be forced to kill you,” a voice said from the crowd.
Kane balled his fists, but as he did Courtland stayed him with a hand on his shoulder.
“These are not our enemies,” he said. “Misled, maybe, but not enemies. Go along with what they ask.”
“They just tried to crush us!” Kane said, glaring at Courtland.
Courtland said nothing but returned Kane’s steady gaze.
With a look of uneasiness, Kane relaxed his fists and shrugged his shoulders as the two stepped from the truck, each with their hands on the door.
“You want to harm us, Vincent?” Courtland said. “Why are you treating me like an enemy?”
“My reasons are my own. Now, both of you lie on the ground and put your hands behind your head.”
“Have you been poisoned against me? I don’t understand this,” Courtland said.
“It’s not your business. I will do what I must to secure our safety from the Coyotes.”
“Whatever they’ve told you, they’ve got no intention of honoring any agreement.” Kane broke in, “they will just as soon murder you as look at you.”
“Shut up, stranger! Lie on the ground with your hands behind your head!” Vincent shot back.
Courtland and Kane hesitated.
“Do it!” Vincent yelled, as several rifle actions drew rounds into their chambers.
Kane looked at Courtland as he began to get down on his knees. “These are your friends?”
“I’m not sure anymore,” Courtland said, as he lowered himself down onto the ground.
High on the craggy hillside above the road, a feral boy and a great black beast watched with curiosity and caution as Courtland and Kane were tied up and loaded into the bed of the truck.
Malak leaned against the rail of the upper level balcony above the courtyard as the evening began to set in and the movements of his crew across the courtyard slowed. The bitter, sea wind bit at his naked chest and shoulders. Malak gripped the metal railing and refused to breathe as his massive muscular form tightened, seizing in rythimic spasms. After a few moments, he rolled his shoulders and exhaled. It was time for another dose. Malak looked down upon the courtyard again. Now at one hunderd and thirty heads, his Coyotes had grown quite sizeable.
The new loads of prisoners that were brought in were all given the option to try out. Malak had been more than fair by granting them this out. In the end, though, only a modest handful had tried out, and only half of that number had survived it. The rest of the men were slain in a brutal fashion as a public example to the rest. Malak estimated that he currently held about forty women and children captive inside padlocked gates in the back of the station grounds.
With a snap and then a buzz the generators kicked on, bathing the buildings and courtyard in a cool white halogen light. Malak breathed in the cool, moist night air and rubbed his palm across the tattoo of a large coiled viper in the center of his chest.
He’d set out to kill the man named Kane as the voice had warned him to do, though he knew now that the man was not dead. Two survivors of Ashteroth’s hunting party had returned and stated that there had been an attack upon the group by giant insects, and this kept them from completing their mission. They swore that the warrior had been killed in the slaughter, but they were all liars by nature, and it was an elaborate tale to excuse their failure. He rewarded them with a public disemb
owelment in the courtyard. Malak now knew that Kane would come for the girl. The voice told him so. Malak laughed. Let him come. It will be no great feat to deal him a painful death.
Malak had managed to take the fuel reserve by deception and force. The fuel had been a most precious commodity. He now owned a resource that everyone needed, and it was his alone to consume. Dagen had done a most effective job at the reserve, though Malak had begun to question his recent mental state. Dagen was obsessed with the torture of the Christian woman. While Malak endorsed the torture and death of any weak enough to use religion as a crutch, he felt strongly that it should be conducted with an emotionless vigor, similar to stomping on a cockroach.
Dagen was too invested in the naked Christian woman in the courtyard. He had been out there non stop with her, shouting, striking her, and stuffing saltwater-soaked rags in her mouth. He stood by as the men assaulted and raped her, waiting for her to break. Even after she had gone unconscious, Dagen remained, determined to witness her renouncement of God.
Christians were strange creatures, and they could prove difficult to break. Malak had found that if one proved particularly difficult, you had to just finish them and move on. It was much easier that way. He looked again down into the courtyard to see Dagen yelling and pointing his finger in the woman’s face.
He’s far too involved.
Malak stepped back from the rail and reentered the concrete room off the elevated walkway that he was using as his place of command. The yellow light bulb in the ceiling flickered in the otherwise cold and empty room. All that occupied it was a wooden desk and a padded chair the men had brought up. At some point he would find a more suitable setting for a man of his calling, but for now it would do.
He gazed at the young blonde woman that the survivors of Ashteroth’s party brought him. Arms bound behind her back, she lay on her side with her forehead touching the cold concrete floor. She was perfect. Though having been through a lot by the looks of it, she was young and attractive and pure. He had saved her for himself. She would be the sacrifice that the darkness demanded.
He had done well, and he could feel that the darkness within him was pleased. He now occupied the radio control station and had found that although damaged, the radio equipment still appeared functional. He would use it to spread the comforting and irresistible message that the voice had given him. It was one of hope and renewal, and he knew that the survivors of this battered nation would flock to it like moths to the warm glow of a lamp. Instead, they would arrive to find hell on earth. Join or die. That was the choice for all. It was beautiful. He moved to the chair and sat, rolling a Z-laced cigarette.
The voice told him of the great mutiny that was already in motion. It spoke of how he would be a god and that wealth and power and every indulgence would be his. He would command thousands as keeper of the dark power, ruling and enslaving the world of men. The voice assured him, with its honeyed words, that when he had grown sufficient in power and influence, it would give him what he truly desired; The chance to tear the God of heaven from his throne of self-righteousness, and fling Him down, broken, crushed beneath the power of Malak’s own hands. No longer would the darkness abide such weakness. Join or die.
Courtland murmured the last few words of a silent prayer and opened his eyes, his back against the cool wall of the interior room. It was dark except for the faint glow of a flickering torch outside the window. Courtland looked down at his bound wrists and ankles and shuffled his position. He looked to his right to see Kane bound in the same manner, lying on his side. The man had been asleep for hours, ever since they were loaded into the truck. Courtland thought it strange that he was able to sleep while surrounded by such uncertainty, but he knew Kane was unable to help it.
Courtland leaned his head back against the wall. He still could not reconcile why Vincent had turned on him. They had not been dear friends, but they had been allies of sorts. All he could reason was that somehow the Coyotes had forced him to go through with their capture. But to what end?
The guard outside moved past the window with the torch again. They were being guarded, which meant they were prisoners, but the why continued to elude him as he sat in the stifling dark.
Kane stirred and awoke in a confused state. “What the…?” he mumbled, as he tried to free his hands and feet. “Where…?”
“It’s alright, brother. We are not in danger…at the moment.”
“Courtland?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, man, how long have I been out?”
“About six hours, but it’s okay; you needed the rest. Here, have some water.” Courtland pushed a bowl of water over, and Kane drank, slurping as the water dribbled down his chin. Wiping his arm across his mouth, he looked at Courtland.
“Do you know where we are?”
“We are at the ranch with The Family.”
“They’re the ones who took us from the road?”
“Yes.”
Kane adjusted himself into a seated position against the wall and groaned. “I feel broken.”
“You should be grateful that you are not worse off than you are.”
“I know it,” Kane said as he tested the strength of his bindings. “They tie a good knot.” Kane paused, testing it again, then went on, “Do you know why they are keeping us?”
“I don’t. I was just trying to figure it out,” Courtland replied.
The two men sat for a moment in the musty dark of the small room wrestling with their thoughts. Kane spoke first.
“Courtland?”
“Yes?”
“Tell me I’m not crazy. I’m serious. The last month or so has had no semblance of reality for me. Am I going a little nuts?”
“Kane, if you’re a little crazy, then I’ve gone completely mad.”
They laughed in quiet wheezes for a moment in the stillness of the room. Then Courtland spoke again, his positive attitude beaming. “It does seem crazy—but what an amazing journey, and it’s just beginning. What a truly magnificent calling and a perfectly noble purpose. Neither of us could have ever dreamed of a more valuable mission for our lives. And if our lives are forfeited on this mission, what better cause is there to die for?”
Kane nodded and leaned his head against the wall. “I’m so tired, Courtland. I’m so tired, and we have yet to confront this darkness.”
“My friend, you’ve been fighting the darkness this whole time. You’ve fought it in the physical world, the spiritual world, and within the walls of your own heart. Through your weariness you fight it still.”
Courtland cleared his throat and allowed his deep voice to resonate within the walls of the small room. He wanted the guard to hear.
“With this news,” he began, “strengthen those who have tired hands and encourage those who have weak knees. Say to those who are afraid, ‘Be strong, and do not fear, for your God is coming to destroy your enemies. He is coming to save you.’ And when he comes, he will open the eyes of the blind and unstop the ears of the deaf. The lame will leap like a deer, and those who cannot speak will shout and sing! Springs will gush forth in the wilderness…and they will satisfy the thirsty land.”
A hurried shuffling sound took place outside the door, as the torch flickered and went out. Courtland and Kane sat completely still, listening. After a minute of silence, they could hear a faint dragging sound that trailed off and disappeared. Kane and Courtland looked at each other in confusion. When they looked up again, a long haired boy wearing animal skins sat crouched in the window to the room.
“Tynuk! What are you doing?” Courtland exclaimed in a whisper.
“We’re getting you out,” Tynuk whispered.
“Don’t trust Vincent—”
“I know. His plans do not involve releasing you…either of you. You are both being held for the Coyotes,” Tynuk said, looking at Kane.
“What?” Courtland said.
“Vincent. He’s not motivated by anything that does not serve his interests. He has always been
that way. He will kill you to try to save himself and his pride,” the boy said, as he hopped down into the room and moved like a wraith to the door, rapping lightly. He opened the bolted door as a giant wolf-like creature pushed its head through the crack in the door.
Kane stiffened and forced air through his lips, seeing the great beast.
“Look at that…monster.”
The boy stood with his chest out and his hand over his heart.
“I am Tynuk, the last warrior of the great Shoonai people.” He moved his hand to the beast’s neck. “This is my companion, Azolja. Though he is fearsome, he is not a monster.”
Courtland, seeing a man’s legs behind the door, asked, “Did you kill that man?”
Tynuk scrunched his face, puzzled, and looked over his shoulder. “He’ll be fine.”
Courtland sat forward and popped the restraints on his wrists and ankles like old rotten rubber bands. Kane sat, staring, and tried again to loosen his bindings. Courtland was standing and stretching. “It is time to go.”
“You could have done that this whole time?” Kane asked in shock.
Courtland shrugged, “it wasn’t necessary until now.”
“Hey,” Kane was saying as he held his wrists upward to Courtland. “A little help here, big man. I think they tied mine.”
Courtland reached down with one hand and twisted as the ropes snapped under the force of his fingers. He did the same to the ropes on Kane’s ankles, then offered Kane his hand.
“Maybe I am losing my mind,” Kane said, as he took Courtland’s hand and stood.
“The truck is out front. It still has the keys in it,” Tynuk said, as he tossed a tin can to each of them. “Eat. It’s not much, but you both look like you need it, especially him,” Tynuk motioned at Kane.
“Thank you, Tynuk. You and Azolja are good friends, and we will pray for you,” Courtland said as he laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Yeah, thanks a lot, for everything.” Kane motioned with the can of beans.
“We are going with you,” Tynuk said.
Courtland paused giving the boy a stern look. “Tynuk, I don’t think you understand. We are preparing to go after some very bad men. we may not live through this.”