Under Ivans Knout: The Gospel of Madness (Book 2 of 6) (The Gospel of Madness - (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Series))

by Georg Bruckmann

  “...all... ay ...nigh ….ssssss.....alllda....ys....night!”

  Then Onehand died

  Without another word.

  Without Ivan having his way.

  Without the world stopping spinning.

  Just dead.

  I had hated that man, still hated him. It was a good thing he was dead. But the pain and suffering Ivan had inflicted on him had brought me no satisfaction.

  On the contrary.

  I wondered what I would tell Wanda if I was back in the tent later. Did she have to know the details to experience relief or satisfaction?

  Onehand had been dangerous. Dangerous for all those who had scruples. For all those who were weak and for all those who tried to preserve a hint of humanity in our brave new world. I realized that I had allowed my mind to flee here, and I forced myself to postpone these considerations until later.

  While Onehand had pressed out his last breaths, it had been deadly quiet in the stinking cellar. Ivan, Rolf and Stumptooth were standing in a lose circle around me and the corpse and when I turned my gaze away from Onehands, even in death still hateful-looking face and looked into Ivan’s rough bear face, he began to speak, still angry but not as much as before.

  “It didn’t come out, that little motherfucker.”

  No, he didn’t.

  I had trouble looking the man in the eye after what I had seen him do.

  “Do you know what he meant by that - all days night?”

  He made a helpless gesture that under different circumstances and in combination with his gigantic figure would have seemed almost comical.

  I denied.

  At first it looked as if Ivan wanted to say something else, but then even he seemed to notice that there was nothing more to say down here.

  “Clear that away!” he addressed the word to Stumptooth pointing to the corpse.

  “Everybody else upstairs with me!”

  He looked down at himself, at his bloodied clothes, at his hands, and as he ran his tongue over his lips, he seemed to notice that his victim’s blood also had found a way there. I wanted to wash.

  One of Ivan’s boys opened the door, which squeaked metallically. Ivan left the room without turning back to us and while Rolf pushed me gently on the shoulder and make me walk before him, Stumptooth looked helplessly at the torn corpse.

  One of the redsleeves who had guarded the door from outside the whole time could not help but take a look inside. The man opened his eyes in shock and then hurried to follow Ivan.

  It took a long time, so it seemed to me, until we reached Ivan’s tent. Everywhere we were seen - a procession of pale and silent figures with the bloody Ivan walking tall ahead - the conversations fell silent and the hurters, the healthy and the redsleeves stared at us equally horrified.

  The news that something threatening had to have happened burned its way through the camp like wildfire. When we passed Wanda´s and Mariam’s golden cage on the way to Ivan’s throne room, I could not avert my gaze. They were in there right now, the only people I felt some kind of bond with, waiting for me. Waiting for news and report of what had I saw today.

  As we left the tent behind us, I calmed down by saying to myself that Gustav, after he had fled the place of the bloody interrogation, certainly had gone visit them and told them about the gruesome events.

  Then we entered Ivan’s domicile. While the leader of the rats retreated to his private compartment and let himself be undressed and cleaned by the women he regarded as his privilege, Rolf and I took a seat at the table.

  Rolf reached for a jug of water and poured some for both of us. While we were drinking, he looked at me as if to say: You see? That’s the way he is. That’s how he acts when he doesn’t get what he wants. This is how he behaves when he is overwhelmed and does not understand something.

  I answered his look briefly, but after I had searched in my head for any meaningful words and had found none, I decided to stare at the table top and just wait for Ivan to join us again.

  It took him about twenty minutes to pull back a piece of cloth, come out and sit down opposite us, with his face and hands washed and with reasonably clean clothes. He once clapped his giant paws and shortly afterwards his silent, humble concubines once again began to distribute an immoral variety of wildly mixed food on the table.

  All days night.

  I had to think of the word gallows meal without knowing where the thought came from. After Ivan had picked a piece of meat off one of the plates and stuffed it in his mouth, he soothingly started a monologue in which he complained about the impertinence of Onehand and then added that one simply could not talk reasonably to such lunatics.

  He was not aware of the irony in his words at any time and, after complaining for a while in a frighteningly weepy manner, the whole conversation slowly turned to more general topics concerning the camp.

  The words flew mainly between Ivan and Rolf, who showed no signs of fatigue behind his iron face. Both of them seemed to have more or less forgotten about my presence now and only once in a while I had to muddle through with a hummed yeah, maybe or another monosyllabic answer.

  It was absolutely incomprehensible to me how these two men could return to the daily routine after such a horror and just tick off what they had experienced as a small failure. However, I wasn’t even sure whether Rolf wasn’t just playing his indifference, because every time Ivan moved further away from the actual topics and started talking about all the injustices of his hard life again, a barely perceptible sparkle came into Rolf’s eyes. After a few hours, Ivan generously dismissed us from his company. It had been a long day and he was tired now.

  Fucking asshole.

  Again Rolf and I stood next to each other in front of Ivan’s tent. As much as I longed to finally be able to stretch out on my lounger and be with Wanda and Mariam, I was all the more clueless about what I should tell them and what I should better leave out.

  Then, like a gigantic wave, a strange restlessness burned through the whole camp. Or no, there were several waves that seemed to come out from many different places at the same time.

  The unrest came from below, from the tunnels and platforms of the hurters, and it came from the front, from the station forecourt, and it came from behind, from far behind the diesel locomotives on the platforms on the surface, which supplied the camp with electricity with their generators.

  Almost at the same time, Rolf and I stretched our necks and pricked our ears to grasp the nature of this strange, intangible whisper. Then the waves clashed together right over our heads.

  It was all days night.

  Mariam

  Without any problems Mariam had once again made it onto the platform where she had met Tommy. She slowly got a guilty conscience because she always did her stealing on this platform. Shouldn’t she take away about the same amount from all the hurters? Wouldn’t that be fairer? But she also wanted to see Tommy again. Should she tell him her secret, the reason she’s here? Or should she just think of something else? Probably something better? She wished she had had the courage to talk to Wanda about her meeting yesterday night. But she had been so absent so ... casual. She had examined the yield, caressed Mariam twice briefly over her head, smiling half-heartedly. Then she sent her to bed and went on with her work and Mariam fell asleep quickly. When she woke up it had already been late and she had missed Gustav’s daily visit. Then exercises, lessons and reading and now it was night again.

  She sneaked past the sleeping hurters, trying to avoid the sad looks of those who were still awake. Most of them just stared into the flames of their small lamps anyway or talked quietly and in small groups. Mariam was casually fishing for a knife that seemed to belong to a shapeless figure buried under a mountain of foul-smelling blankets. She took two steps, then turned around and put the knife back.

  No, I can’t do that. That is unfair.

  She had already stolen almost everything useful that could be found on this platform.

  Maybe Tommy could
help her? She hoped so. I wonder if he’d want something in return. She sneaked on until she could see the tiny section of the platform he lived on with his father. There was still a tiny electric light burning. She crept in closer. He read. She hadn’t seen another child who could read. She had to smile. Yeah, that was a good idea. Slowly she crept closer.

  Tommy looked at her suspiciously after she had made her suggestion.

  “Really?”

  She nodded seriously and tried not to show him how happy she was that her plan seemed to work out.

  “One, you don’t have to tell me why you have to scream sometimes if you don´t like to, and two, I will bring you a new book every day.”

  The two whispered so as not to wake up his father or any of the other hurter people around him.

  “And why do you need all this stuff?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” she said truthfully.

  “Wanda tells me what to bring, and then I do it. But I think it’s about us wanting to get out of here soon. And that’s what we need all this stuff for. So that nothing happens to us and that we have everything we need.”

  Suddenly she wasn’t so sure whether it had really been a good idea to reveal her real secret instead of just inventing one. Tommy’s nosy face darkened. He looked really sad now.

  “You want to get out of here? But why? My father says there’s no better place in the whole world. Nothing better than this. It’s dangerous outside, he says. Besides, we just met.”

  He looked at her seriously, and only then did Mariam realize that she didn’t really know why the adults wanted to leave here either. Was Tommy’s father right?

  Mariam undoubtedly had experienced that it was dangerous outside, more than dangerous. But here they were even as trapped and captivated as they had been outside. Still, it was better here. She told him, and he thought again. Now that he thought about her words, he didn’t look so sad anymore, but still serious. Did it dawn on him that he was trapped too, down here on the platform? That his freedom was crippled?

  “Later, I become a redsleeve. And then I have a rifle and I get to go outside a lot. With a gun, it’s not dangerous anymore, is it?”

  He looked at her questioningly. Should she tell him it still was dangerous outside even with a gun, or should she let him dream? Something stirred beside them. A quiet grunting figure, it had to be a man, turned a few meters further out of their blankets, looked briefly over to them and then relieved himself noisily into an empty bottle. Mariam had observed the process with astonishment. Shepard never did this when she was around. Tommy grinned at her mischievously.

  “I hope he remembers what’s in which bottle tomorrow,” he commented quietly. She had to put her hand in front of her mouth for not to giggle.

  I wonder if Tommy does the same.

  He didn’t pay attention to her thoughtful expression.

  “Come on,” he whispered quietly. “We’ll get started so you can bring me a book tomorrow. What do you need?”

  With these words he grabbed one of her shoulder bags and waved at Mariam.

  “Metal, tools, knives and bullets... and food.” Mariam hesitated for a moment.

  “But for the food I need a hiding place. A really good hiding place that no one can find.”

  Tommy was thinking. Then he said:

  “We can’t do all that tonight, just so you know.”

  Mariam nodded her head seriously and comprehensively. They circumnavigated the first patrol of redsleeves without being spotted. The men seemed nervous, spoke quietly and concisely to each other, but although they seemed that worried, they were not particularly attentive. After about fifteen meters they came to a platform on which Mariam had not yet started a thieving tour. She plucked Tommy, who sneaked right in front of her, gently at the jacket.

  “I’ve never been here before. You think we’ll find something?”

  “Nah. You may not have been here that much, but I have. They’re still mad at me. Caught me trying to grab two cans. But I have a much better idea anyway. You need bullets, didn’t you say that?”

  She nodded again.

  “You only can get them from the Reds anyway.”

  And with a triumphant smile he added:

  “And I know where!”

  He pulled her by the hand behind him.

  “We have to get to the last platform and into the tunnels from there. Can you handle that?”

  Mariam didn’t know why she confirmed, but his challenging, slightly mocking look left her no choice.

  “Sure thing. What do you think?”

  “Good. Let’s go!”

  Quietly and carefully, like little mice who knew exactly that the old, grumpy house cat could lurk around every corner, they worked their way forward. Tommy seemed to know exactly where they could hide on the way and catch their breath for a moment. The tension and her always crouched posture made sneaking around very tiring for Mariam.

  Soon they arrived at the last platform and the sweat shone on their faces. Tommy guided Mariam to a thin, slightly overhead corrugated piece of metal leaning against the concrete of the tunnel wall and obviously had been forgotten here.

  “Now we have two posts in front of us with redsleeves to circle. Either that or we go through the rat corridor,” he explained to Mariam.

  “Neither doesn’t sound so great. How do you usually do that?”

  “I’m not doing this very ... well, it’s rare that I am here. But I was lucky at the posts once before. Twice, however, they were so attentive that I didn’t dare to pass.”

  “And the rat corridor? Are there no posts?,” she asked.

  “No. Just rats.”

  This did not seem particularly attractive to Mariam, but it was still much more attractive than getting caught by the guard posts or leaving without having achieved anything.

  “So the rat corridor it is then.”

  Tommy nodded slowly and deliberately, as if to confirm the wisdom of Mariam’s decision.

  “Okay. Put your pants in your boots and lace them up. We don’t want one of those little beasts running up your trouser on the inside, do we?”

  He reaffirmed his advice by setting a good example.

  “There’s the entrance over there,” he said, pointing to a spot five meters from them. At first Mariam couldn’t see anything, but after Tommy told her what to look for, she could see the opening in the opposite wall, half a meter in size, covered with another piece of corrugated sheet of metal.

  After they had made sure that there really weren’t any redsleeves around, they scurried from their hiding place to the mysterious opening. Tommy set about tilting the cover aside with one hand and lighten into the threatening blackness on the other side of the wall with the other, using a dynamo lamp that he had conjured up from the depths of his jacket pocket.

  “Come on, you go in first,” he turned to Mariam.

  “No rats to be seen in here.”

  The girl hesitated for a moment, but her sense of duty and her spirit of adventure left her no choice. She went ahead and Tommy pulled the cover behind them back in place. On the first twenty meters no rat could be seen indeed, at least not really, because Mariam was well aware of the shadows running away from them at the edge of their circle of light.

  The ray of Tommy’s lamp drove the animals in front of them. The rat corridor was not very wide, maybe one and a half meters and an adult person would have had to duck under the pipes running on the ceiling of the narrow tunnel. But for the two children it was not a problem.

  “How far is it?” Mariam asked her leader.

  “It’ll take us about ten minutes,” Tommy replied. “I hope I remember all the junctions correctly.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  She pushed him in the side.

  “Do you think the rats are dangerous?”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “I don’t know.”

  He seemed to think for a moment and then added:

  “But in any case, we b
etter be careful.”

  They worked their way forward for several minutes. Once they had to stop so that Tommy could recharge the dynamo lamp by quickly cranking it. Both had pulled out their knives to be on the safe side, although Mariam would have preferred a long, pointed stick. You had to get so close with those knives.

  Yes, she had seen people get mutilated, killed or raped, witnessed hardly imaginable atrocities, but she herself had never killed and she did not want to. Not a rat either. Not even if Wanda always said that she had to be able to. Sometimes she didn’t understand Shepard and Wanda. They were different from these smelly, shaggy degenerates, but they could also be dangerous. They despised those kinds of people who felt so much pleasure in evil, but when you take closer look, they sometimes did the same things. Mariam understood the concept of self-defense. Sure, if anyone wants to hurt me, I’ll have to fight back. But why was Wanda so eager to find this cardinal? Couldn’t they just find a good place and stay there, together with people they liked?

  Both of them, Wanda and Shepard, had tried independently to explain to her why it had to be like this. They said that soon there would be no place to just be if no one stopped the Cardinal. But the world was so big. There had to be a place somewhere. She was sure of it. Mariam fervently hoped that they would find this place somewhere along the way and that Wanda and Shepard would forget this Da Silva and simply stay there with her.

  Tommy had finished cranking his lamp and they continued on their way. When they came to a crossing, Tommy led them to the right. Soon after they reached a second fork and this time Tommy took the left passage. They headed a few more meters deeper into the tunnel system. Then the air changed.