by Bryan Smith
Which partly explained why he felt an instinctive hatred and distrust of the Order people. What they were proposing would mean an end to the new lifestyle he’d come to love. It also reeked of a suicide mission, with the people of Camp Whiskey serving as a kind of cannon fodder. Chad wasn’t a coward. He had proven that during the House of Blood revolt. But the circumstances here were different. The people at Camp Whiskey didn’t live each day at the mercy of brutal overlords. No one’s life was being sacrificed in the name of obscure ancient deities. But now these mysterious emissaries from some arcane organization were working to convince them to give up the safety and comfort of the camp in favor of a headlong march into a lion’s den. Essentially asking them to give up their lives to help avenge the death of a woman they had all despised.
The fire crackled and the silence lengthened. Chad picked up the fire poker and prodded the dwindling logs. The flames grew higher as he imagined sinking the hooked end of the poker through one of the Order leader’s eyes.
The back of his neck tingled in a weird way and he turned away from the fire. The female Order representative was eyeing him closely. She was seated to the old man’s left. Her eyes narrowed, projecting an intensity that made Chad gulp. She had very fine Asian features, with high cheekbones and a small, sensual mouth. Her hair was thick and dark, glossy like that of a model in a perfume ad. Unable to bear the withering stare a moment longer, Chad forced his eyes in another direction. He had the disturbing sense that she could see his thoughts and it made him want to bolt from the cabin.
Jack Paradise stalked the room like a caged beast. The big ex-marine’s jaw was a tight line of tension. He circled the table with his hands clasped behind his back, as if he didn’t trust what he might do with them if he didn’t keep them there. Halfway through yet another circuit around the table, he came to an abrupt stop and his hands came away from the small of his back. He leveled an index finger at the old man.
“Fuck this and fuck the lot of you. Your bullshit plan is a nonstarter on every level.” He pounded a fist into an open palm. The palm an obvious substitute for the old man’s face. “Basically we’re the Northern Alliance and you’re the U.S. Army. But this ain’t Afghanistan, mother-fucker. It ain’t our grudge and it’s not gonna be our fucking war. No way I’m getting ninety-plus percent of my people killed so you fuckers can prance in afterwards and take this bitch out.”
Jack’s jawline quivered. The big man was fighting to maintain any semblance of control. Chad had never seen the man in the grip of such fury. Jack Paradise had always seemed the embodiment of a Marine Corps lifer—a resolute and extremely self-disciplined hard-case, a man who wouldn’t rattle easily, if ever. But he was rattled now and it was clear the Order people appreciated the full range of possibilities this implied. The woman pushed her chair backward several inches and placed a small hand on the hilt of her sword. The young man seated across from her did the same. The swords were in black scabbards, but Chad had a feeling they could be drawn and put to lethal use in the blink of an eye. The Camp Whiskey guards shifted their feet and repositioned their weapons, pointing in the general direction of the Order representatives.
Chad’s heart felt ready to leap into his throat. Blood was in the air. But his people were the ones with the guns. Firepower trumped old-fashioned steel. Or did it? The Order people were an unusual lot. An understatement. They seemed from another world altogether, some place wholly alien, and whatever purpose or cause they served was as inscrutable as the face of God. They were dangerous and not to be underestimated.
Chad took a deliberate step backward. He wanted to feel the fireplace poker’s solid heft in his hands again. It would be no match against Order steel, but it was better than nothing. The woman looked at him again and did something that made his balls shrivel. She smiled. Her eyes remained cold, but the smile seemed to promise she would be coming for him if the tension in the room did escalate to actual conflict.
Jim’s audible sigh defused some of the tension. He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the edge of the table. “There’s no need for this. Jack, have your men leave the room.”
Jack wheeled on him. “What? Have you gone insane? We can’t trust these people. No. My men are staying put.”
Jim stared into the old Asian man’s eyes for another moment. Then he smiled and rose from his seat. “Pardon me. I’ll be just a moment.” He moved away from the table and headed for the front door, throwing a glance in Jack’s direction on the way. “A word, please. Outside.”
Jack glared at Jim’s retreating back a moment longer.
Then he sighed and spoke to a black man positioned next to the door. “Keep things under control, goddammit. Anything hinky happens…you know what to do.”
The guard nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Then Jack was gone. The door flapped shut and Chad was alone with the guards and the Order people. He felt abandoned. The strange people in black sat silent and unmoving. To Chad they looked like incredibly precise and lifelike sculptures of human beings. The unsettling impression lasted until the woman again sensed his scrutiny and turned her head to observe him.
And she smiled in that utterly humorless way again. “You must convince your superiors of the wisdom of our plan.”
Chad blinked in surprise. It was the first time any of them had spoken to him. “Um…ok ay, one, they’re not my superiors. Two, I’m not personally convinced of the wisdom of your plan. In fact, I think it’s pretty half-assed and want nothing to do with it.”
The woman shrugged. “Your comments are fueled by emotion and not informed by rational thought. Our proposal is your only true path to salvation. In the end, you will set emotion aside and do as we say.”
Chad sneered. The woman’s smug words rankled. “In the end, we’ll do whatever the hell we want, and if that turns out to be a choice you deem ‘irrational,’ well whoopty-fucking-do, too bad.”
A corner of the woman’s mouth turned slightly upward, indicating only mild amusement at Chad’s speech. It was a little thing, but it was just enough to send Chad over the edge. Offense shifted to anger. His hands curled into fists. But he couldn’t lose his cool in front of them.
That would lend the “emotion” comment more credence than it deserved. So he turned away from them and stalked out of the cabin, banging the door open with the base of a clenched fist.
The sharp chill of the early December evening made him shiver. Jim and Jack stood near a picnic table some twenty yards away. They stood close to each other, their heads bent as they spoke in muted tones. Wisps of fog drifted from their mouths. Chad zipped up his jacket and set off in their direction. The other men glanced his way as he neared them.
Jim smiled. “Chad.”
“Fuck this, I’m done with them.” Chad was shaking and he realized as he spoke it wasn’t solely from the cold temperature. “I say we reject their suicide mission and send those assholes packing. We’ve got a good thing going here and there’s no reason to throw it all away. Okay, so our location isn’t a secret anymore. Our supposed enemy knows where we are. Great. Let them bring the fight to us if there’s to be one. We’ll kick their fucking asses.”
Jack nodded throughout Chad’s speech. He struck a wooden match with his teeth and applied the flame to a hand-rolled cigarette. “Exactly what I’ve been saying.” He blew a stream of smoke at the dark sky and looked Jim in the eye. “Let’s say everything they’ve said about Giselle is the truth. So what? If there’s to be a fight, it should be on our own ground and our own terms. If she’s stupid enough to send a force after us, they’ll be in a universe of fucking hurt.”
Jim pursed his lips and slowly stroked the beard he’d been growing for the last few weeks. “I see the sense in what each of you says. I’ll admit I found the notion of eradicating the remaining threat against us a tempting one. And I might have been swayed if not for the passion you’ve displayed. So we will reject their proposal.”
A grim smile etched a tight curve across Chad�
��s face. “Good.”
But Jim’s expression remained thoughtful. “But we can’t be complacent. If we’re to believe the Order, Giselle has a formidable paramilitary unit at her disposal as well. We’ll need to beef up our own forces and rethink our defensive strategies.”
Jack grinned. “I’ll take care of that.”
Jim managed a small smile of his own. “I’m sure you’re up to the task.” He sighed and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get back inside and break the news.”
Jack pinched the end of his cigarette and snuffed the flame. He dropped it in a pocket and said, “Yeah, let’s do it. Can’t wait to see the looks on their fucking faces.”
Chad shook his head. “Go without me. I don’t want to see any of them ever fucking again. If you guys don’t mind, I’m gonna head home and let you take care of it.”
Jack shrugged. “Cool with me.”
Jim nodded. “And with me. Evening, Chad.”
“Night, guys.”
Chad turned away from them and started up the hill toward the cabin he shared with Allyson. But an impulse carried him past the cabin, sparing it only a quick glance as he hurried by. The lights were out, so Allyson was probably asleep anyway. He still felt agitated and was not yet ready to join her in bed. The steep ground began to level out and he soon arrived at the site that functioned as an informal communal gathering place for the denizens of Camp Whiskey. He sat on the ground near the large campfire pit and crossed his legs beneath him. There was no fire tonight, but the pit contained a few blackened logs left over from earlier in the evening. Chad pushed his hands into his ja cket pockets and hunched his shoulders forward. He peered beyond the pit at the rows of cabins down the hill. A few soft lights still glowed in some of the windows.
He’d initially found it strange that the founders of Camp Whiskey had decided to establish their compound in the mountain country of east Tennessee, so near the Master’s former territory. But the feeling had diminished with time. Really, it was kind of perfect. Once they had been prisoners here. And now they had returned to the country of their nightmares, transforming it into something fresh and life-affirming. The Order had no right to be here. They were intruders. Interlopers. Their presence tainted the good things everyone here had worked so hard to accomplish.
He sat there thinking about these things for an indeterminate period of time. Perhaps a half hour. Perhaps only as long as ten or fifteen minutes. But it had been a long day. At some point physical exhaustion caused his eyes to close and he began to drowse. Then the crunch of a twig caused his eyes to snap open. He sensed movement to his left and turned his head in that direction. Then a hand seized him from behind, gripping the collar of his jacket and yanking him roughly to his feet. He let out a startled yelp as the same hand spun him around. He tottered for a moment on the edge of the pit. Then the Order woman grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him away from the hole.
Chad let out a gasp. “Jesus fucking Christ! Where did you come from?”
“I am schooled in methods of stealth.”
“No kidding.” Chad’s heart was pounding. “What are you doing here? You pissed that we rejected your stupid-ass proposal?”
“The plan will go forward. Your master, Mr. Jim, has been made to see the wisdom of our intentions.”
Chad frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that at all. He noticed the Order woman had one hand tuc ked behind her back and realized she was concealing something.
“What are you—”
Her right hand curled into a fist and delivered a brutal jab to a spot just beneath his sternum. Chad cried out and bent over at the waist. He tried to say something, but could only manage a wheeze. Then the woman showed him the thing she’d been hiding behind her back and bile flooded his throat. Her fingers clutched the severed head of Jack Paradise by strands of blood-slickened hair.
Anger overwhelmed his fear. Chad forced himself up right and threw a wild punch the Order woman easily avoided. She jabbed him in the stomach again, harder, blasting the breath from him and driving him to his knees. Then she kicked him in the gut and he flopped over onto his back. A white-hot center of pain expanded and rendered further resistance at least temporarily impossible. The Order woman tossed Jack’s head into the pit and again seized handfuls of Chad’s jacket. She began to pull him away from the campsite toward the nearby line of trees. A part of Chad’s psyche marveled over the small woman’s strength, impressed despite the peril he was in.
The evening darkness deepened as they entered the woods. The woman yanked him to his feet and stood him against the thick base of a tall tree. The narrow slits of her eyes seemed darker and harder now, like the eyes of a demoness. She removed the scabbard containing her sword and set it carefully on the ground. Then she moved in close and peppered Chad’s midsection with a series of high-power jabs. Yet each was delivered with just enough force to maintain a steady level of pain. Chad tried to collapse several times, but the woman wouldn’t allow it, forcing him to remain upright as she continued to punish him. And he knew that was precisely what was happening. She’d judged him guilty of insolence and was putting him in his place. At some point a part of his mind became disconnected from the pain and the beating. He thought of Jack Paradise, how brave the man had been, and he weeped.
Then the woman stopped punching him and said, “I have something else to tell you.”
Chad sniffled. “What?”
“Your woman is an agent of your enemy. She has betrayed you and laughs at you whenever your back is turned.”
Chad stood up straighter and tried to get his breathing under control. “I…k now. I figured…that out…a long time ago.” He swallowed hard. “But she’s with us now.”
The Order woman smirked. “You are an idiot.”
She slapped him.
Chad put a hand to his stinging cheek. “Fuck. Why don’t you just kill me and be done with it?”
Her smirk gave way to a small smile. “Because I have another use for you. The Order rules this place now. And I have decided to claim you as my property.”
Chad’s brow furrowed. “What?”
The Order woman slapped him again. “Be quiet and do as I say.”
“Fuck you.”
The woman’s nostrils flared. Here eyes widened with rage. She punched him in the abdomen again, a blow harder by far than any of the previous blows. Chad dropped to his knees and she kicked him in the stomach again. On his back, now, he stared up at her and watched in disbelief as she began to disrobe. In a moment she was standing naked over him, a small foot planted to either side of his head. Chad stared up at her slender, sleek body, which was rendered ghostly pale by the sliver of moonlight that peeked through the treetops.
She licked her lips. “It is time for you to begin your life of servitude.”
Chad had time to draw in a breath.
Then she lowered herself to him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The girl bent over the edge of the bed was a white prostitute with lank blonde hair and track marks on her arms. She was a new arrival, fresh from the streets of Los Angeles, where she’d been swept up by Black Brigade scouts. In the ordinary course of things a creature already so damaged would have been banished to Razor City. But Gwendolyn’s suicide had changed things. Upon learning of the loss of her plaything, Ursula had become despondent and withdrawn. Giselle attempted to appease her by allowing her to decide the fate of the new meat, a privilege she relished. Some Ursula deemed as clearly unworthy of her attention and these were sent to Razor City. Others she killed on the spot, with no apparent rhyme or reason. And every week she selected an unlucky few upon which she vented the rage and frustration consuming her.
The prostitute’s mouth had been stitched shut with a needle and thread. Her wrists were bound by a length of rusty barbed wire. Ursula stood behind her, nude except for black platform heels and a strap-on dildo. A cigarette in a plastic holder dangled from a corner of her mouth as she pounded the dildo into the prostit
ute’s bleeding anus.
Giselle lay on her side on the other side of the bed, her head propped in an upraised hand. The prostitute stared a desperate plea at her with wide, misty eyes. Giselle felt a mild arousal at the obscene thing her lover was doing to the pitiful creature. But it was a reflex. There was no real fire behind it. She still loved Ursula, but the bond between them had weakened, a steady, drip-drip erosion she feared would continue until there was nothing left. She watched the bounce of Ursula’s breasts and the sway of her long blonde hair as she ass-fucked the prostitute and tried to feel more than mild arousal.
And the result was the same.
Nothing.
So she was glad for the diversion when she heard the clack of jackboot heels.
She rose from the bed to greet Schreck.
The commander’s sleek black uniform was crisp and immaculate, his boots polished and gleaming. His eyes were a cold blue-gray and his hair was cut close to the scalp. His lips were thin and his features had a cruel cast, fitting for one in his position. He doffed his hat and clacked his heels. Giselle was amused. The man was an admirer of the arch militarism of Third Reich fascists, and there were times when he seemed like a particularly demented little boy playing the role of concentration camp commandant.