The Apostates

by Lars Teeney

  Aqua looked around the dark room again. She felt the sensation of movement: a swaying from side to side. Aqua determined that she must be on a ship at sea. She figured that the Apostates had set out on their voyage. Open ocean was a good sign. Memories slowly returned to her. She had been fighting in the battle on the edge of the Great Lake. She had been firing her weapon and had kept Rangers and other assailants at bay. Then the ship she was on had been hit by miniature torpedoes launched from a swarm of drones that had appeared from nowhere. The ship had been slowly sinking. She had thought about getting off the ship when she was ambushed. Aqua had been fighting for her life against that woman: the one with the scar on her forehead and the hateful eyes. Her eyes seared their image into her mind. Aqua remembered putting up a good fight, but her opponent had that knife: a plasma knife. She did the best she could, but her opponent got the upper hand. Then, it happened: she was run through by that knife that burned like the flames of Hell.

  From then on everything that followed was faint. She remembered something about the fight continuing. Ravine—she had remembered hearing his voice; yelling. He had fought her attacker and apparently won because she remembered being carried. Then, she must have passed out. A feeling of relief overtook her; she would live to see another day.

  “Ah, thank God!” she exclaimed out loud with a feeling of joy. She stretched her arms, ignoring the pain.

  “What are you thanking God for, Apostate? You are not recognized by the Lord,” a voice called out from across the room. A feeling of dread overtook Aqua. Her eyes darted around in the dark. She could not make anything out, except for profiles of furniture.

  “Who’s there? Show yourself!” Aqua demanded, trying to sit upright, but wincing in pain. She spied movement in the far corner of the room: a figure stood upright.

  “I think you know who I am,” the shadowy figure came closer. As she stepped into the moonlight beaming through a porthole, Aqua had recognized it: the cross-shaped scar on the shaved head. She began to panic, and tears flowed.

  “Please, please! Just leave me alone!” Aqua had been here before: in a bed, restrained and powerless.

  “I’m afraid not, Apostate. The Lord will have His due.” Prelate Inoguchi drew closer to the bed. Aqua’s anguish increased with each step.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  Blaze-Scorch had transferred to ‘the Hermes” hospital ship from the Iowa for obvious reasons. She was now in her element, being a physician, and she got an upgrade in her living quarters. The cabins on this ship were more spacious; they were not military bunk style. She had been put up in one of the officer’s cabins. Blaze had her own bunk, with a small desk, a reading chair by a porthole, and a private bathroom. She had hit the big time. Blaze knew better than to think it would last forever. After all, they were facing an impending Apocalypse, and there was a chance she could be killed at any minute, but the world be damned if she wouldn’t enjoy the upcoming Caribbean cruise.

  Blaze had been up later than usual. She had found an old stash of books in one of the unoccupied cabins, and helped herself. The feeling of reading a book was new to her. She had only ever read from her retinal H.U.D., and the only book she had ever handled was the New Megiddo edition of the Bible. She had picked out “The Iron Heel” by Jack London. Blaze had heard the name spoken somewhere in the distant past, but couldn’t put her finger on it. She hadn’t gotten far into the book, but she had already drawn parallels between the plot and the reality of her situation.

  As she read she drank ale from a cask that was brought over from the Iowa. She relished this time. Things had settled down and life was actually pleasant for the time being. The only patient she had currently was Aqua-Deluge and she had been stabilized and seemed to be making a full recovery. The biggest problem she had to worry about right now was Ravine’s downward spiral. He had been drinking more frequently since he had found out about Gale’s antics, and he did not take it well. Blaze had grown tired of Ravine being so needy, but he was her best friend in this ragtag band. She couldn’t just abandon him or stop caring. She just wished he wasn’t such a huge wuss all the time.

  Blaze had turned her attention back to reading, coming to a gripping part of the story. She scanned the words with her eyes. Suddenly a window activated on her retinal H.U.D. The message was urgent, and she opened it. It read Aqua-Deluge’s vital signs had flat-lined.

  “What the fuck?” She jumped out of her bed throwing the book to the side. Blaze threw on some clothing and boots and ran out of her quarters toward the medical ward. The ship was big and it took her quite a while to close the distance. How could this be happening? Aqua was on the mend and everything had been perfect when she had left her this evening. Blaze rounded a corner and rushed to the medical ward where Aqua rested. She burst through the door and glanced over in Aqua’s direction. She was placed perfectly in the bed. The I.V. was in place, the sheets we immaculate, and she appeared to be sleeping. Blaze rushed over to Aqua and check her pulse: there was none. Blaze pulled down the sheets, and there was no sign of wounds.

  “What is going on?” Blazed exclaimed. She began to administer C.P.R., applying around thirty chest compressions, and gave rescue breaths. There was no effect. She kept trying. Blaze sent an emergency ping to the rest of the Apostates. She went back to trying C.P.R. Blaze stopped and noticed a redness around Aqua’s neck, but there was no sign of trauma or broken skin: just redness.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  Ravine was roused out of his booze and ‘Base’ induced stupor. He had a massive hangover and his mind was groggy. He was getting some sort of ping: an emergency message, but he couldn’t focus on it. Nothing made sense at the current moment, except the vivid memory of his vision of horror and nightmares. He remembered the pentagram and the words that were spoken: calling for a sacrifice to stop the ‘False Return’. Ravine tried to focus on the message: it was something about Aqua-Deluge. Ravine figured that Blaze-Scorch would look to her health. He felt ill: like he would lose his stomach contents. He figured he could pass out; just a few more winks. The next thing he knew he was hearing a pounding on the door.

  “Bloody hell—what?” Ravine put a pillow over his head and tried to ignore it. The pounding continued. Finally, the door opened and Gale let herself in. She stood over Ravine, who was wrapped up in his sheets and fully dressed. Liqueur bottles were everywhere and she spied something she knew well: empty ‘Database’ applicators. Gale noticed that he started using again.

  “Get your cowardly ass up, you piece of shit!” Gale-Whirlwind yelled near the top of her lungs. Ravine flinched: startled by the jolting racket. He threw the covers off himself and looked up to see Gale standing over him.

  “What the hell is going on? Why’d you bust in here? Whah—” Ravine’s pupils were dilated and he was sweating profusely.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You’re using again? Of all the places to do it—you’d do it here and endanger the lives of your allies? Who do you think you are that your problems are so much greater than ours?” Gale barked. Ravine resisted the urge to escalate the arguement, but, he had gone through too much anguish to keep quiet now.

  “What? Why do you even give a shit about what I do? You wanted nothing to do with me, now you care about my affairs?” Ravine was livid. The headache and confusion he felt was adding to his fury.

  “You have no right to even speak of this matter. You and your habit destroyed my life, and then you killed yourself so you wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences! That makes you a coward!” Gale was wide-eyed with anger, and she shook when she spoke.

  “I—you—you know I never meant for that to happen. I thought I would make things better for you if I was gone. I know I was nothing but a burden!” Ravine’s fury turned to a sadness.

  “Why would you ever have thought that abandoning the one you love would make things better? You could have been a man, instead you took the coward’s way out.” Old wounds opened for her.

  “I get it! I g
et it! So now I’m being punished for it. You just keep laying on the fucking punishment!” Ravine broke into a yelling fit again.

  “What are you talking about? I needed a break from you. I haven’t been punishing you.” Gale was on the defensive.

  “Don’t give that. You fucked Hades to punish me,” Ravine yelled in an accusatory tone.

  “I—what? No, that was not about you,” Gale stated calmly.

  “How was it not? You fucked him to punish me. And for what? The man—he doesn’t even like girls. What did you think would come of it?” Ravine was confused and hurt, and lashing out.

  “You just don’t get it. That’s exactly the point. Nothing would come of it,” Gale stated coldly.

  Ravine looked at her, confused. He was silent for a minute, then his blood began to boil.

  “You just didn’t care how it would impact me,” Ravine growled.

  “Enough. You’re the one who doesn’t care. Aqua is dead. You’d know that had you not been laid out from the god damned ‘Base’!” With that, Gale turned and slammed the hatch door shut. Ravine was speechless. He had received the message but did not bother to read it. But, his use of that strain of ‘Database’ was commanded by Graham Wynham himself. Ravine had to do it: to figure out what his purpose was. Ravine saw nothing but pain and heartache on this current path. How did Aqua die? Just as Blaze was sure her condition was stable so did he assure himself that she was safe. But, it was not so.

  Ravine managed to pull himself to his feet. He threw on his signature ‘wife-beater’ and laced-up his boots. He stumbled his way to the hatch and exited his quarters. His way to the weather deck was long and cumbersome. He had forgotten how much the use of ‘Base’ took out of him. At las:t sunlight. Now he would need to think about getting off the Iowa and over to the Hermes. He stumbled his way to a dingy and used the winch to lower it to the waterline. He then descended a rope ladder and boarded the boat. He started rowing.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  Hades-Perdition had listened to Blaze-Scorch’s account of what had happened when she came upon Aqua-Deluge. What she told him indicated that it might have been an assassination. There were no signs of trauma, but also no reason to believe it was a natural death. The only logical conclusion he could make was that there was an assassin aboard the fleet.

  “I think that this could have been a murder. There is no evidence one way or another, but I can’t see any other alternative,” Hades had said. He stood in the medical ward of the Hermes. Aqua-Deluge’s body laid before him. To his side stood Blaze-Scorch, Angel-Seraphim and Pale-Silence.

  “This is a most unfortunate turn of events, indeed. But, we can’t really be for certain if this was an assassination. We would need to stop the entire fleet and conduct a ship-by-ship sweep for any assailant,” Pale-Silence pointed out the futility.

  “That is exactly what I intend to carry out. We will root out the murderer,” Hades was adamant about his intentions, “Please, let’s do this. It’s the only way to be certain!”

  “Very well, Mister Hades. I believe that you are correct in this matter. I will do my best to coordinate a ship-by-ship search.” Pale-Silence, the demon-esque man, turned away to carry out the task.

  Hades-Perdition stood silently over Aqua-Deluge’s corpse. Just a few weeks ago Hades and Aqua had saved the life of a traitor together. She had been so vigorous and full of life. She had fought like the devil, both on patrol and at the battle with the Rangers. But, because everyone else was bogged down, she paid the price when she took on the Prelate the Church had sent after them. Ironically, the person that wounded, and probably killed Aqua, ended up being the salvation of the Apostates and the fleet: as the Prelate destroyed a large portion of the Ranger attacking force.

  With that thought, it had come to him: the Prelate wasn’t dead. She got away. What if she was still with the fleet somewhere? But how could that be? Things did not add up for him. It was true the only way to know was a full sweep of the fleet. This, of course, would stall the fleet for at least a day or two. Hades just hoped that the Regime had not been tipped-off as to the fleet’s position. And, what of Graham? He had not contacted them in over two weeks. By now he was either dead or in custody, unless, he had given up on the Apostates and arranged passage for himself overseas? He was free to do so, but that would not change the mission for Hades. Graham had left them with more than enough resources to finish this game.

  Even if he didn’t have Graham’s money, and the fleet, and the other Apostates, he would still strive on. Hades had a personal stake in this. The Regime and the Church could fall: that was perfectly fine with him. But, his tunnel vision was focused on one individual, in particular, and he would not rest until that individual was laying in a pool of blood. Aqua-Deluge’s demise just added to this single-minded determination to carry out justice and revenge. He would see it through.

  “You okay Hades? You look—uh—how you say? Flushed?” Angel-Seraphim asked him. She did the best she could with English. Knowing three other current, plus one dead language, was a challenge and she was struggling with a fifth.

  “Thanks, Angel, I’m okay. Just tired of death, I suppose. On top of it all I would like to see the end of this,” Hades confessed to her, wiping some sweat from his brow. It was a humid day on the sea today. He judged that they might be off the coast of Southern Mexico; maybe off of the state of Oaxaca. They were reaching the tropics, and soon would pass through the Panama Strait. But, first the business with the potential assassin would need to be settled. It was time to begin the hunt.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  SAN JERÓNIMO

  Angel-Seraphim and Blaze-Scorch walked together, taking inventory of the weather deck. They systematically swept the length of the S.S. Cape Jacob, the sealift ship, and were looking for any signs of the assassin. The S.S. Cape Jacob had been used as a modular cargo ship, in the wars of the Twentieth century. As such, there were many hiding places amid the shipping containers and massive cranes. The two women had been accompanied by several armed soldiers who assisted in the search. The sky over the ship was misty and overcast, but the humidity was high and they sweated just standing still.

  Blaze-Scorch didn’t know much about the woman called Angel-Seraphim, and since they had this search detail together she thought she would strike up a conversation.

  “Hey Angel, how did you end up joining the Apostates?” Blaze-Scorch asked.

  Angel considered the question and found it tricky. The story was long and she didn’t exactly know where to start. She was silent for a moment to give it some consideration.

  “Same as you...Wynham, find me. Born again,” Angel lied. Graham had not recruited her.

  “Well, I guess I was just wondering about particulars, you know?” Blaze specified.

  “Not much to tell. Born again, then meet up with Pale-Silence,” Angel answered shortly.

  “Aren’t you the talkative one?” Blaze asked sarcastically. She turned away to check behind a storage container.

  Angel wondered if she had been too harsh on Blaze, but she really wasn’t in a conversational mood. Angel walked to the opposite side of the deck. She looked over the bulwark at the numerous profiles of ships in the distance. It became clear to her that she would be spending an awful lot of time with these people, and on these ships, so she might as well try to make friends. She walked back toward Blaze, who investigated the inside of the cargo container. It was empty so Blaze secured the door.

  “Hey Blaze. When you ask before...I lie. Just didn’t know how to say,” Angel attempted to explain.

  “It’s quite alright. I think I understand what you mean.” Blaze smiled back at her.

  “I from Nicaragua. Came north,” Angel explained.

  “Oh, I’ve never been south of the border, this is the first time for me leaving New Megiddo. Did you like your home?” Blaze inquired.

  “Yes, much. Hard to explain. Air clean there—forest peaceful. New Megiddo very chaotic,” Angel drew a comparison bet
ween her home and New Megiddo, the chaos of the slums versus the now sparsely populated country. With the massive die-offs of previous centuries, the population of Central America had never again reached the levels of the Twenty-first century. The jungle had time to rejuvenate and reclaim the abandoned cities and towns, leaving a landscape of mysterious growth covered mounds. As a child Angel would explore these primordial ruins with her friends. It was a happy time in her life. In those days, the children had been innocent. They made up stories about the origins of the jungle mounds, pretended that they were hidden fairy kingdoms or the resting places of sleeping giant serpents. Sometimes they would pretend that they had found the domain of the Sihuanaba: a shape-shifting spirit from local folklore that would lure children to it by taking the form of the child’s mother. Then when the victim was within the spirit’s grasp it would reveal it’s true form: that of a horse-faced demon. The children would play like they had hunted the Sihuanaba down and dispatched it with stick-swords.

  The villages that had emerged in the jungles and valleys after the collapse were small and picturesque. Angel had a happy childhood in one such village. Her village had been self-sustaining but also traded with surrounding villages. They cultivated bananas, coffee, and other cash crops. They also raised livestock. But, it hadn’t all been agrarian: the villagers had scavenged technology from the surrounding, overgrown cities. They had salvaged computers, various electronics, and even had a few running vehicles. With the sheer amount of scrap metal found in the old cities meant that the villagers did not have to rely on wood for construction. They would only cut trees down occasionally. It was as close to harmony with nature a people could reach without living a strictly tribal life.