Sara sat in the chair and logged into the computer. August stared at the screen as Sara quickly closed an open window. But August saw the last message before she closed it. It said “Love you.”
The fuck.
“When you were at home messing around, I was doing some research.”
She clicked on a program with the icon of an onion and opened a message board and then logged into the chat.
“I found them.”
“Found what?”
She typed into the chat and asked “Is the meeting still on?”
After only a few seconds, someone by the name of godkiller replied “yes.”
“A group of people just like us, people the gods have spited. People who want to take down the gods and have the means to.”
“And you just found them online? Doesn’t Ifor monitor everything?”
“They do, but there are ways around it. There’s a meeting near us tonight. I want you to come with me.”
“What? How did you find them?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” She laughed and tapped her finger on his nose.
“You ever think it was a trap? Maybe this is a set-up.”
“No. It isn’t, trust me on this.”
August stared at the screen. It seemed too easy. Or maybe he had always underestimated the woman he loved. He could trust her to make good on her judgement. She chose him after all. But what about the message he saw? Maybe it was all those soap operas he watched. It could’ve been nothing. It must have been nothing.
He’d look into it later. Maybe that was her way in to the group. He kissed her on her forehead. “Alright, I’ll go. Let’s go kill some gods.”
Kevan sat at his usual spot at the bar. In front of him was a pile of receipts, scattered along the bar, and a calculator. He was crunching and writing down numbers on a piece of paper.
The bartender gave him another glass of whiskey.
“Thanks,” Kevan said to him. Maybe he went here too often. He wasn’t an alcoholic, he could’ve given up at any time but… he wrote down a negative number.
But he was freaking figuring out his finance problems at a bar. Maybe Frank, the bartender, let him do whatever he wanted to as long as he bought something. But Kevan felt that was counterproductive.
Kevan growled, staring at the numbers on all the sheets of paper in front of him. There was no way he was going to be able to afford to pay for his mother’s rehab. Kevan lifted a pamphlet. Heaven’s Heights. One of the best rehabs in the state. She’d never kick her problem if she went to a low-rate center that didn’t give a damn about her.
A man sat next to him and ordered a gin and tonic. The bartender brought him his drink. The dirty-looking man stared at Kevan’s work.
“Hmm, negative two thousand dollars. You’ll never kick your problem if you don’t get a better handle on your money.”
Kevan glanced up at him. “What the hell is it to you? How about you fuck off?”
“Sorry, I meant no offense. Just trying to start a casual conversation.”
Kevan ignored him.
“My name is Brookes.” He extended his hand. At first Kevan ignored him, but the man held out his hand, unwavering, for an uncomfortably long time.
Kevan gave in and shook.
“Kevan.”
Brookes was a dirty-looking fellow. The bags under his eyes said he was older than forty, his unwrinkled skin under fifty. His long brown beard and hair were speckled with grey. He wore a grimy green canvas jacket covered in oily black spots. Kevan was surprised he didn’t smell like shit, but instead he reeked of booze.
“It’s not for me,” Kevan said.
Brookes downed his gin and tonic in one swallow and motioned for another.
“Then why are you trying to pay for it?”
“You’re asking the wrong question.”
“I’m just saying. If it was me, I’d let them fiend for themselves. Why do you have to pay charity for someone else?”
“You speak as if you know me? You’re drunk. Screw off now before we have a problem.”
Brookes downed another drink.
“Sorry. Sorry. You just look familiar. I knew a guy who looked a lot like you. His name was Patrick.”
Kevan froze. Brookes took notice.
“So, you are his son. Are you the one who killed him in cold blood?” Brookes tone turned serious.
Kevan looked down.
“No. That was my brother, August.”
“Ah, sorry about that then.” He patted Kevan on his back. “I forgot that he told me he had two sons. Sorry I acted hostile, he was a good friend of mine and I thought you were that son.”
“It’s okay.”
“So, you’re Kevan.” The man laughed.
Kevan didn’t answer him. He didn’t need this, he needed to figure out how to help his mother.
“If you’re looking for help, you could go to Ifor.”
“Why would I go to them? The last I checked, they don’t give out charity.”
“Your father is why. He was a great man and did them a great service. Sometimes they perform special requests if you get on the right person’s good side. I’m sure they’ll listen to your request when you tell them that you were Patrick’s son.”
Asking for Ifor’s help. He really didn’t think negatively or positively about the gods. He had to ask for their help. With a baby on the way, he couldn’t afford to keep his family together. He wanted his kid to have a grandmother.
“How?” Kevan asked.
“You can call to set an appointment for a special request, I know some people there. I could get you into the room with someone who matters in the organization. It might even be a god.”
“Why? Why are you helping me?”
“Like I said, your father was a good man. I owe him a favor.”
Kevan looked at the windows, he could never tell what time it was in the place. They had the windows boarded up. But he had a guess that it was too late to go tonight. He got his papers and receipts together and turned to Brookes.
“Thanks.”
Brookes waved him off as Kevan left. A smile creeped up his face.
No stars peeked in the night sky. Four men sat in a car across from an alleyway. One of them sat in the passenger seat with his seat leaning back and a foot out of the window. Svante smoked a cigarette and wisps of smoke exited his mouth.
“Can you not smoke that here?” one of his goons asked. “Just because it can’t affect you doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect us.”
One of the newer goons in the back stared at the goon who said that. Svante laughed. “I once saw you eat an entire gallon of curry and the aftermath smelled up the entire office. So once you stop eating that, I’ll stop smoking.”
“Well…” The goon had nothing to say to that. He really liked curry.
“Plus, I like them because they make me feel alive, some of us gods have those kinds of vices, I know that it doesn’t affect me but I know it would if I was mortal. It’s a thrill.” He laughed. Svante was glad that he had established an open discussion policy with his people. It did scare his newest employee though. Arguing with a god.
Something glimmered in his eyes. It was starting. “Alright men, get your binoculars out.”
* * *
August and Sara walked down the street.
“It’s here,” Sara said. They turned into an alleyway. August looked around before they entered. Everything seemed normal. But it still felt wrong to August. Maybe it was just the jitters.
They walked down the alleyway until they stopped at a door. Sara knocked twice and it opened. They walked in to an empty floor. Ten people stood in a circle, all but one were wearing a mask or a hood. They all stared at them.
“Come in,” the only one without a mask said. They approached the group and were let into the circle.
“Why are you here?” the guy asked. His voice had venom, he was an athletic-looking black man. He had a scar over his right eye and wore
a green military jacket. He must have been the leader.
“Um…” August hesitated.
“We’re here to join the resistance,” Sara said.
The man glanced to the person next to him. She wore a hood, August couldn’t see her face. He nodded.
“Okay then. My name is Ezekiel. I’m the leader of this group.” The tension eased out of them.
“That was easy,” August said.
“Hey, you’re not in yet. I make the final decision, but your girl here pulled some strings to get in. She’s trustworthy. But you, you I don’t trust. So, don’t you mutter a damn word out of turn or I’ll make sure you never speak again.”
August was taken aback. It had just been a joke. Sara rubbed his shoulder.
“So, what can we do to help take down the gods?” Sara asked. The group laughed.
Ezekiel said, “Hold your horses, girl, we’ll need all of your information, social security numbers, addresses, emails, passwords, porn site passes. Everything. It’s a failsafe. You fuck us, we fuck you.”
August said, “I’m not giving you a damn thing. I don’t trust you, just like you don’t trust me. How do I know you won’t use my information for—”
“You’re August Hedley, you killed your father 153 days ago and are on the Ifor’s Most Wanted list. I already have your details, August. It was a test, to see how easily you’d give up information.”
What kind of shitty game was this? Also the Most Wanted list, for killing his father?
Ezekiel said, “Alright everyone, I trust him, you can take off your hoods.” The group started to take off their hoods and masks.
“…I’m surprised you guys haven’t gotten caught yet,” August muttered under his breath. Ezekiel laughed.
“There’s a network of us, August. If I fall, someone else will spring up to take my place. They can’t destroy our natural human will. Cheer up, the only time to be serious is when planning and executions are in progress.”
Sara walked over to the woman next to Ezekiel and hugged her. She started crying. The woman looked familiar.
“Wait? Mrs. Isador?” Sara’s mother. She was alive. “I thought you were dead.”
“No,” she said. “I got word that they were coming for us. I was able to escape but sadly my husband and Garrett weren’t.”
Sara turned to August, “How do you think I found the resistance? My parents helped set up their network.”
August was dumbfounded. That would explain the “love you” message he saw on her computer.
They talked, talked about how he escaped, talked about how August killed his father in rage.
He spoke with the other members.
It was an odd assortment of people. Normal-looking people of all races and upbringings. One of them was a soccer mom who had three kids, another owned a convenience store downtown. People from all walks of life were looking to escape the grasp of the gods.
The most surprising of them all was a seventy-year old woman. She had a lot of stories to tell about the hand of the gods becoming harder since her youth. She told him that the older and less athletic of the group took care of organizing and making sure their group ran perfectly.
August spoke to all these people, but he’d come here for one reason and one reason alone. He moved next to Ezekiel. “So, how are you planning to take down the gods? How are you planning on doing an impossible thing?”
“Can’t we just enjoy ourselves tonight? Speak to other people who have the same interest as you?”
“No. I came here for a reason and I would like to know if it’s bullshit.”
Ezekiel chuckled.
“You’re not even in yet. Maybe after you actually do something for us, I’ll tell you of my grand plan.” Ezekiel laughed again.
August glanced over at Sara, she was talking to her mother. He hadn’t seen her that happy in a long time.
“Why do you want to kill the gods?” Ezekiel asked.
“That’s my reason and mine alone.”
“And yet you want me to spill my secrets.” Ezekiel laughed as August looked down. Ezekiel looked to the roof, there was a window where he could see the night sky.
Ezekiel continued, “Have you ever wondered if there was life out there in the stars? What if they came to Earth? I always wondered what they would see. To them, our world must seem so normal. Normal in that we are free to have our own choices, free to have our own possessions. Not knowing that it was just an image, a lie. To most of us, our lives might seem perfect. Most of us haven’t even seen a god, so how could they be so bad if we’ve never seen a god commit a sin…But it’s all a play, it’s the illusion of a choice, an illusion of living for a meaning. When you go down a forked road, you have two choices, left or right. It’s your choice, they say you can control your destiny. But really, your choice has already been chosen for you. Left or right. There’s no other way. But when you decide to go off the beaten path, through the bushes, through the trees, that’s when the control you thought you had slips out of your fingertips. Your utopia whisked away forever.”
August stared at Ezekiel. He wondered how he got that scar. How far off the beaten path had he gone?
Ezekiel continued, “I do have a plan. A plan to kill He himself.”
August stared at him. A plan to kill the creator and the all-knowing? To kill the impossible? To kill God himself?
Ezekiel stood. “Alright, meeting is over!”
August guessed he wouldn’t be able to get the plan out of him this time.
People started to leave. Ezekiel said, “Hey Chris, I need to talk to you.” One of the members paused and walked back to Ezekiel.
Outside, Sara hugged her mother one last time before she left.
“See,” she said to August next to her. “I’m doing something.”
She was right, she did more than he ever did. She was trying to make a difference.
“You are doing something. Sorry for doubting you,” he said.
“It’s okay.” She grabbed his hand. “This is what Garrett would’ve wanted. Will you be more serious? Will you help us kill God?”
“Yes,” August said as he kissed her. This was finally it. He’d found a path.
From a distance, Svante stared at them through his binoculars. “They’re new,” he said. His goons were looking with him. “Follow them for me and take care of them.”
One of the goons asked, “Why don’t we take care of the resistance now?”
“Oh, I don’t care about them. I just need to fill my quota of members killed to please Queen. If any of you guys see her coming, just run away. It would do your body and mind good.”
Svante checked his watch. “Have to go. Make sure it looks like an accident.” In a flash of light, Svante was gone.
“I’m never going to get used to that,” one of the goons said, rubbing his eyes.
Ezekiel stood with Chris. Everyone had left already.
“So, what is it?” Chris asked. A man walked up behind Ezekiel. A man with a white ball covering his head. It looked like a giant ping-pong ball.
“He’s the one,” the man said.
A bullet split Chris’s skull. Ezekiel lowered his pistol. “I fucking hate snitches. Did you take care of the tail?”
“Yes,” the man said. He wore a white button-down shirt, with a red tie, his slacks grey and crisp. His hands seemed to never leave his pockets.
“Are you finally going to give what’s promised?”
“Are you?” The man held out his hand.
Ezekiel handed him something and the man placed it in his pocket.
“Now, do you have them?”
“Just one for now, but I’m making more.” The man pulled a gem out of his pocket; its colors radiated into Ezekiel’s eyes. The colors changed, rushing from one color to every color imaginable. “This will be the weapon to kill your god.”
Ezekiel looked star-struck. “How do I know if it works? Our weapons can’t kill gods.”
“Simple, use it on
a lesser god.”
Ezekiel grabbed the gem and stared at it. “With this, I will kill He himself.”
The next day, Kevan sat in his car, staring at a pamphlet for his mother’s rehab. He sat outside of his town’s Ifor headquarters.
People came and went from the building. It didn’t look like anything special. Nothing like their main headquarters. He remembered back to what Brookes said. He’d get him in front of a god.
Kevan had never seen a god in person, he’d never spoken to one or even been in the presence of one. His hands shook. He would’ve never thought he’d be this nervous.
He had to do this. He had to convince a god to help him.
3
Failures
The hallway was quiet, the intricate weaves of the rugs and the complex patterns of the wallpaper showed no lack of expense. It was a nice place for humans.
Brookes leaned on the wall next to an apartment door, pulling off his bloodied gloves. He glanced at the doors next to it. Brookes left them unlocked after he had finished his business in the apartments. His task had been far easier than he expected. The inhabitants didn’t fight or yell when he came for them. He might be getting too good at this kind of work.
It was time to finish the job.
He dropped the soiled gloves into a bag beside him and pulled another pair from his top coat pocket. Once he was done putting them on, he knocked on the door.
A man opened the door and answered, “Hello?”
“I need to inspect your apartment.”
“Why—”
Brookes forced his way in. The man’s family was having dinner in the living room. They all stared at him. Two young daughters, a son, and the man’s wife and mother with them. This was going to get messy.
Brookes’ bloodied hand dragged on the living room wall. “What should I write this time?” he wondered. The blood on his hand started to dry; he should keep it simple. He turned around to view the remains of the family that had lived there.
The two girls’ bodies were near the door, the father’s body with his chest torn open was directly in front of him, the mother and grandmother lay dead on the couch full of bullet holes.
Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 203