Fire, Ruin, and Fury (Embers Saga)

by Matthew Taylor

  Alias’ father leaned over the half-asleep Calden, a knife blade glinting briefly in his hand.

  “It’s time to start paying God for what we’ve done,” Minister Goodwell whispered, and he pounced on Calden, plunging his blade into Calden’s throat and covering his mouth. Alias’s heart jumped, and he nearly tripped over the footlocker beside him. The moonlight reflected off Calden’s bulging eyes and the fine mist of blood spraying onto his father’s steely grip. Minister Goodwell rocked the blade back and forth, widening the hole in Calden’s neck until the spray became a pulsing squirt, and then a quiet gurgle. Calden’s body writhed, shook violently, and went limp.

  Alias felt his empty stomach heave, and he shook at the knees until he felt his way to sit down on the footlocker.

  Minister Goodwell laid on top of Gilbert Calden’s body a moment longer, muttering something inaudible, before sitting back on his haunches and wiping his bloody hands on Calden’s blankets. He then stood up, walked back to the man he had rendered unconscious, and slit his throat in one swift motion.

  Minister Goodwell looked back at Alias through the dark, and for a moment, and Alias was unsure if he would be next victim of his father’s madness.

  Instead, Minister Goodwell gestured for him to come over. “Help me with the body,” he instructed, pulling Calden’s lifeless body off the cot and onto the dirt floor. Alias fought back another dry heave and hesitantly approached. He took one of Calden’s arms, and the two men dragged the corpse over the sandy path into their own yurt. With regular glances at Buzz at the base of the hill, they laid Calden’s body down and returned to drag Colonel Shikai into their yurt, laying it on Alias’ cot.

  What the fuck is happening here, Alias thought, trembling from cold and fear. But he was too afraid to say a word.

  Minister Goodwell took off his blood-soaked robe, which fell to the dirt floor with a sickening splat. He began wiping himself down and gestured to Alias to clean up and get new clothes. Alias’ heart pounded in his chest, unsure and frightened about what would come next. Minister Goodwell fished through Alias’ dirty robe until he found the pistol Buzz had given to them, sliding it into his pocket. Minister Goodwell waited silently for Alias to finish changing and then led him out of the yurt and down the path towards their unsuspecting guard.

  When they were close enough for Alias to hear Buzz scraping the last few spoonsful of stew from a metal plate, his father shuffled his feet noisily in the rocky sand.

  No sense in mischances from a startled kid with a gun, Alias realized, pleased to finally have something—anything—make sense to him.

  Buzz looked up and smiled at them. “Can’t sleep, Minister?” he asked, hopeful to engage his revered father figure more successfully this time.

  “Not tonight, I don't think,” Minister Goodwell sighed. “Buzz, was it?” He sat down next to the young soldier, as if he hadn’t become a murderer just 20 meters up the hill.

  “Yes Sir. Buzz Nixon. I—I visited your sermons a bunch of times,” he repeated eagerly. “Whenever you came near Albuquerque.”

  Alias’ heart sank at the mention of their now-destroyed church in Albuquerque and the nightmarish sight of Minister Sanchez’s desecrated body.

  “A bunch of times, you say? Well, that’s good to hear,” Minister Goodwell said, gazing into the fire. “Tell me, Buzz, what drew you to see my sermons?”

  What, we’re doing small talk with a foot soldier? We need to get the hell outta here as soon as possible.

  “Well, at first, if I’m honest, I thought goin’ there might land me a job with some of the Ellies I heard was goin’. But that didn’t pan out.” Buzz chuckled awkwardly as he flattened his hair with his hands, as if trying to make himself presentable. “But then I guess I started going ‘cause I liked the feelin’ I got when it started, and the way I felt when I left. Like there was a path, and I just need to ‘member it. I forget sometimes, though, so I need to go back. Kinda like when you put a wet cloth on your neck in the summer. Feels good, but it wears off.”

  Minister Goodwell smiled. “That’s how it’s supposed to feel, I think.”

  Alias admired his father’s ability to connect with nearly anyone, exactly as he was doing, but Alias’ anxiety over the crime scene up the hill was climbing with each word.

  “And I came once for confession,” Buzz offered sheepishly.

  “Oh.” Minister Goodwell paused thoughtfully. “Forgive me, Buzz, but there have been so many young men that have passed through our churches. Remind me why you felt you needed absolution.”

  Oh fuck, Alias fretted. What heinous shit has this kid done? —That my dad forgave at the time, but’s now about to un-forgive? He trembled, noticing his father slipping his hand into his robe pocket, where the side arm sat in wait.

  Buzz paused, visibly ashamed and reluctant to revisit it. “Uhhhh . . . well, see, I was comin’ home from work at the base when I heard some scream’n comin’ from inside an ole shop. It was kinda dark in there—no camp fires like the urchins usu’lly make when they shelter. So, I readied my rifle and went inside.’

  Buzz paused, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “Inside I come across three men. …having their way with a young girl.” He paused again and chewed his lip as if trying to expunge the unwelcome image from his head. “She could’na been more’n eleven or twelve. ‘Round the same age my lil’ sister was before— Well, anyhow, I pointed my gun at ‘em and told ‘em to knock off what they was doin’ and get. But the one on top o’ her made for a pistol on the counter next to ‘em. …An’ …well, I shot‘m. His voice cracked, and he stopped to lick his quivering lip.

  “But when he slumped over and fell down dead, I saw the girl’d been hit too.” Buzz’s eyes filled with tears, which trailed down his dirty cheeks. “I shot the girl too—like some damn idiot. She was screamin’ and writhin’ around, covered in blood. God’s mercy, there was blood ever’where. Th—that poor girl slid off the table where they had her pinned. Ended up on toppa’ the guy who was doin’ h—having his way with her. It was by accident, ya know? I din’ mean to.”

  Alias’ heart sank.

  “Me and the two other fellers just stood there for a second, like we couldn’t believe what we just saw. And then—then, it was like boilin’ water filled my head. I turned on them other two. They was both pullin’ up their pants, and I shot ‘em right there on the spot. They fell in a pile on top o’ the girl.”

  Buzz took a deep breath, trying to contain the flood of tears streaming down his face. “But the boilin’ blood was still in my head and I went over there to bash whatever life was still left in ‘em. I dunno how long I went at ‘em, but there was a lotta blood. A lotta blood.

  “Then I ran. I ran ‘til I couldn’t take another step. I curled up under a ole bridge the rest of the night. Couldn’t sleep, though, for the rats and bugs, the stifflin’ heat, and my heart beatin’a hole through my chest. All I could think was I shouldn’a left that poor girl there, naked and bloody, in a pile with them bastards. She didn’t deserve to be left that way. I mean, what would her poor folks think when they found her? …If she had folks.

  “Thought ‘bout going’ back ‘n takin’ her outta there. Then I ‘membered them guys was dressed fancy,” he said. “Ellies, most like. If I gone back I’da got blamed. Maybe she was rightly bought. Ya know? And they’d disappear me. So, I made my way home and caught a shuttle to your church.

  “I confessed, and I begged for forgiveness. Y—you said I was forgiven in the eyes of God when I told you. …You still think God forgives me, don’cha? You don’t think he’s reconsidrin’, do ya?”

  Minister Goodwell reached over and put his hand on Buzz’s shoulder. Panic welled in Alias’ throat for fear of what might come next. “I remember you now,” Minister Goodwell replied, taking his hand—empty—from his pocket. “The Natural God knows when good men try to do right, even when it goes wrong.”

  ‘The Natural God?’ Alias wondered. What the fuck is that?

 
; “The Universal will embrace that girl forever,” Minister Goodwell continued. “And she will embrace you when your day comes. God knows you tried to help her in her hour of need. It is the righteous intent that matters, Buzz.”

  ‘The Universal will embrace her? Alias questioned silently. What the hell is going on?

  “Thank you, Father.” Buzz wiped the dirty tears from his cheeks and snorted the snot dripping from his nose. “Thanks again.”

  “The police never came for you?” Minister Goodwell continued.

  Jesuchristo, can we please just get the fuck outta here?

  “N—no, Sir. Turns out them men was drifters who’d killed some Ellies too—took their clothes, and rented the girl from an orphanage. If I had’na killed ‘em, someone more powerful would’ve. No one was gonna miss any of ‘em. Me and you—and now your son too, I s’pose—we’re the only ones who know what I done that night.”

  “Buzz,” Minister Goodwell said soothingly, “I’d like to understand why you’re here now? Do you understand what’s happening here?”

  Alias’ stomach lurched again with worry for Buzz’s answer, and he noticed his father sliding his hand gently back into his pocket, fingering the pistol.

  “I just do what I’m told,” Buzz replied, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

  “Buzz,” Minister Goodwell calmly insisted. “What do you think is happening here?”

  There was a long pause before Buzz answered. “Well, seems to me a lot like what was goin’ on in that shop that day. Nothin’ God’d approve of. I—I’ve been wundrin’ since they loaded us up how many times I’d be visiting you for the thing’s I’d end up doin’ here.

  “But I’ll do my duty,” Buzz added, hedging his bets in case he was being ferreted out as a traitor. “But you asked, an’ I ain’t gonna lie. Nothin’ good’s happening here.”

  Minister Goodwell withdrew his empty hand from his pocket. “Like I said before, Buzz, the Natural God knows when good men try to do right, even when it goes wrong. But He also knows when things go wrong because men choose to do wrong. You follow me?”

  Buzz nodded.

  “There won’t be any young girl in the Universal waiting to embrace any of us if we keep on here.” He eyed Buzz, who lowered his gaze to the ground, visibly confused and conflicted. “Buzz, do you know what I am saying to you?”

  “I think so,” the boy muttered.

  “Good. I knew you would because you’re a young man with a good heart. Now, stand up, Buzz. You need to gather your things. We’re leaving here together.”

  We’re what? What the fuck is happening here?

  Buzz cast a fearful glance up the hill towards the yurts. Minister Goodwell just shook his head slowly and gestured for Buzz to follow his direction.

  “Get your gear together,” Alias’ father repeated. “I’m going to bring the truck down here. Load it up. Oh, and please give me your rifle.”

  The moment of truth, Alias thought.

  Buzz looked into Minister Goodwell’s eyes, acknowledging the message, hesitantly handed over his rifle, and turned to pack. Minister Goodwell signaled for Alias to stay with Buzz and guard against second thoughts. The minister then fired half a dozen rounds up the hill, prompting a startled jump from both Alias and Buzz. Leaving the shell casings in the sand at his feet, the minister started up the hill, stopping at the truck parked between the yurts.

  13752, Alias recalled.

  The engine whirred. Minister Goodwell then took out his pistol and fired several shots over their heads. He shot up the dead corpses with the rifle before taking a lighter from his pocket and setting fire to his yurt. He then ambled to Calden and Shikai’s tent and set it ablaze as well. He got into the truck and drove it slowly down the path, lights off.

  Alias and Buzz hurriedly piled their gear into the back of the truck and climbed into the cab.

  Minister Goodwell hit the accelerator and headed toward the old highway to Park City.

  “They’ll find no sign of Buzz Nixon when they come tomorrow,” the minister explained at last. “Or Calden or Shikai. Only a couple of corpses in the ashes of our quarters.”

  A shootout, Alias calculated. Calden, Buzz, and the other guy captured. Me and dad dead in our tent. The truck and all the gear taken. It’ll look like the rebels or marauders—or an enemy of the PetrolChurch.

  “It’ll buy us a few hours past dawn, Minister Goodwell added. “Maybe more if they don’t run a DNA scan right away.”

  “But they’ll figure it out eventually,” Alias asserted. “They’ll figure it out. And when they do, they’ll feel you betrayed them.”

  “Who?” Minister Goodwell replied coldly. “Anyone who cares should count themselves lucky that it wasn’t their filthy necks under my blade. God’s fury will fall on them soon enough—by my hand or another’s.”

  Jeeeesus, Alias thought, surprised he could still be surprised.

  “The Ellies,” Alias insisted. They’ll hunt you—and mom. …All of us. They’ll use Consortium forces to do it. …And local police. …And provincial militias. Whatever it takes.”

  “After what they’ve unleashed, it’ll take weeks, maybe months, for them—whoever they are—to get to that. Who can even say who’ll even be alive by then,” Minister Goodwell quipped. “Our complicity against the Natural God is over. Our struggle for the Natural God’s Will has begun.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” Alias replied, now a little short in his tone. “I hope that comes with a plan.”

  “We’ll pick up your mother and go for Jasmine.”

  “And then?”

  His father gave no answer or acknowledgment.

  They skirted along the trails and broken streets, the reflection of the pale moonlight on the sand and mountains in the distance. Alias soon realized they’d have a hard time getting through any checkpoints with a uniformed soldier, so he dug into his father’s duffle bag and tossed a religious robe to Buzz.

  “Put it on, and ditch anything—anything—that was issued to you by the military. Uniform, wrist-plat, rucksack. Anything that might have a tracker in it.” Buzz dutifully began wriggling in his seat, tearing off his uniform and accessories and casting each item into the cold wind sweeping past the open window.

  Buzz had just finished dumping his gear when they came upon their first checkpoint. Fortunately, as with the next five, it was manned by Consortium forces, many of whom belonged to the PetrolChurch. They passed through each without incident and finally pulled into the rear driveway of the Silver King Cathedral. Alias followed his father to the front door and swiped his badge over the reader. The arched doors swung open to the foyer, and the warm air from inside rushed over his cold and sweat-soaked hair and his red, flushed face. They paused only a second to savor the relief before his father raced upstairs to the bedroom to wake his mother.

  Alias pillaged his closet, listening to his father and mother talk in the next room.

  “Sweetheart,” Alias’ father said, “get dressed and packed. C’mon, sweetie. You need to get up now.” Minister Goodwell so rarely used an urgent tone that it was still alarming to Alias, and his mother came to immediately. “Load up the wheelie crates with clean water and non-perishable foods—enough for a month. Get the guns and ammunition from the locker and put them into the truck outside.”

  “Alias, what in Heaven's name is going on?!” Camila demanded of his father.

  “Everything in the rear foyer—not on the front porch,” Alias’ father answered. “Out of sight. Understand? Junior and Buzz will take it from there.”

  “In the foyer. Junior and who?” she repeated. “We don’t have a month of food. The Consortium rations don’t come until tomorrow.”

  “Take it from the charity stores—m”

  “Sweetheart, no!” Camila objected, now alert and alarmed. “The homeless need—”

  “The Consortium will take it all today or tomorrow anyway,” Minister Goodwell answered. “Oh, and medical supplies too. All the first aid kits. All
the bandages. …and every bit of medicine we have.”

  “Sweetheart are you going to tell me what the blazes is going on?”

  “I will,” Minister Goodwell assured. “But right now we need to go. We need to go.”

  “Uhhhh-Okay,” Camila relented, now up from their bed and getting dressed.

  Alias had effectively ransacked his closet and couldn’t stay there to eavesdrop any longer. He started downstairs to rejoin Buzz, who was busily running supplies back and forth from the foyer to the vehicle. Alias bumped into his mother at the top of the stairs. She grabbed him by the arm as he passed and gave him an interrogating look.

  Alias didn’t even know where to start, and his father was right. Stopping to explain at this point was time wasted. They needed to move out as quickly as possible, get as far away as they could, and find another vehicle as quickly as possible. So he just shook his head with the most desperate and disbelieving expression he could muster.

  A look of panic fell over her face, which somehow made Alias feel better. Alias followed through by hurrying downstairs to load the truck. His mother followed instinctively and began staging boxes, bags, and crates for Alias and Buzz to schlepp outside.

  Alias only paused for a brief moment, swooning from exhaustion. Buzz sat him down on the stoop, returning a moment later with cup of water, and got started moving cargo again on his own.

  “First thing they’ll do tomorrow is try to geolocate this truck,” Alias said to Buzz as the young soldier passed with an armful of water jugs. “We’ll have to ditch it and torch it soon and find another way to—wherever it is we’re going.”

  “I can fix that,” Buzz responded enthusiastically before climbing into the cab of the truck and fiddling with the V-plat embedded in the center console. A few minutes, and a small stream of profanity later, the lights in the truck flickered, and Buzz emerged with a small dongle in his hands. He wiped it off with a rag and slipped it into a pocket on his robe. “We’ll pitch it later.”