Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one

by Rhett Gervais

  He looked directly at her for a long time, and she could see his lips moving as he debated with himself. Love, lust, and anger twisted across his handsome face. Gwen wished she could respond, return the pain she felt. She wanted to spit in his eye before she died.

  And then, with a nod and cold shrug, he turned away, black coat streaming as he spirited over the major bishop’s broken husk, leaving her to die alone on the cold concrete. So much for love. For the second time in as many days, Gwen felt her breathing grow short, the corners of her vision blurring and fading. In the distance she thought she heard boots on metal, gunfire of some sort. She fell into darkness, dreaming of glinting comets of silver and gold, men in masks tormenting her. She felt suddenly lifted as though she was flying, looking out to clear horizons...

  Chapter 24: Colorado Dreaming

  May 2076

  Arthur picked his way across the battlefield, racked by waves of guilt, still reeling from what he’d done. In some way, the shattered tanks, planes, and men were like a strange reflection of what he felt inside, twisted, broken. Cardinal Washington had not taken his desire to kill him well, and after having retreated with his cronies to a secure bunker deep within the Iron Mountain complex, he had ordered Arthur terminated with extreme prejudice.

  It had been easy enough walking out of the complex into the dark and moonless night. He’d managed to avoid most confrontations with security personnel simply by turning off the power, in many cases locking them down in their own stations. When he couldn’t, he did what he had to. He thought it was over once he passed through the main gates, but he walked out to find an armada of machines and men waiting for him.

  The cardinal and his lackeys had clearly underestimated him, not knowing the true extent of his power. Arthur couldn’t control the soldiers, but every tank lined up against him was a weapon in his arsenal, every drone circling above an instrument he could use to kill, and he had. He had murdered every man and woman who stood in his path, exploding guided tank shells in their launchers, igniting fuel as it pumped through carefully controlled injection systems, spreading flame and chaos through the assembled forces. By the time he had taken control of the drones overhead and ordered them to open fire, it was over, not a soul left to stop him.

  Finally coming to the edge of the debris field, Arthur arrived at his goal, an intact Peregrine VTOL, a command transport he had seen circling the field near the start of the encounter, his way out of this desolate place. The Peri, as it was known for short, was about the size of a small SUV, a strange hybrid between a helicopter and a plane. The snub-nosed vehicle was small and fast, able to take off and land from almost anywhere. They were often used in tightly packed city centers to shuttle around dignitaries, important men and women who needed to move quickly. He had managed in the heat of battle to choke off its fuel supply, forcing it to the ground.

  Climbing on top of a battered tank to get a better view, he half concealed himself behind a flag that hung in tatters off the back of the machine. The transport’s pilots busied themselves in the engine compartment to the rear, cursing at one another as to why the fuel wouldn’t ignite. Seated comfortably in the passenger compartment like a king, a middle-aged cleric with thinning copper hair waved his arms frantically. Even from this distance, Arthur could hear him yelling over the comm system, his voice a frenzied whine. Without thinking, Arthur grabbed the flag, jumping to the ground and sauntering toward the fallen transport, stars and stripes fluttering on the wind behind him, his cheeks stained red with anger. Far above, he could sense the drones he had used during the attack were still circling in a holding pattern, just as he’d ordered them to.

  Arthur knew him. He had been one of the men in that room with the children. Without a word, he tore open the door to the transport, ignoring the sound of crashing tools coming from the engine bay, staring down the cleric inside, who was scrambling away, his face a mask of worry. “Good evening, Reverend Captain Kerr. May I ask where you’re off to in such a hurry?”

  The reverend-captain shook his head, pressing himself against the far wall of the transport, his eyes looking everywhere at once. “None of your concern, child,” he said haltingly, raising his chin, trying to regain some of his composure. “If you surrender yourself to my care, I will see that you are treated fairly, you have my word.”

  Arthur couldn’t help but give him a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t think you’re in any position to demand my surrender or anything else, sir, but... Actually, if we could continue this conversation in a moment, I would be grateful,” he said, raising a finger, his eyes darting to the pilots who had moved to flank him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, gentlemen.” He turned away from the door, moving to his left and putting his back against the frame of the aircraft.

  The men looked at him, then back at one another, each in turn raising their sidearms a little higher, their standard issue Berettas almost invisible in the dark. The pilot to his left gave him a small smirk, raising his gun a little higher. “I think we got the drop on you, kid. Why don’t you do what the reverend captain says and come with us?”

  Looking back and forth between the two men, Arthur raised his chin high, gripping tight the flagpole in his hands, knowing what it had represented in the past, what it could represent again. “You know, in the old days, I would have tried bargaining with people like you,” he began, his mind reaching out once again, far above, “but not anymore. From now on, people like you will pay for all the horrible things you’ve done. I promise.”

  “These men have done nothing wrong,” said Reverend Captain Kerr, climbing out from the transport. “Nor have I. We are only guilty of following God’s will and doing our duty as soldiers of this great nation.”

  Arthur shook his head, his jaw dropping a little. “These men ferried children back and forth to you and the others, kids you and the good cardinal abused.”

  “Lies! Those children were happy to have a hot meal, and their parents were content that they would have a few days without the struggle of how to pay their bills. You scoff at charity and kindness.”

  Arthur closed his eyes, letting the waves of energy wash over him, the tingle on his skin growing more intense by the moment. He never tired of seeing the world this way, vibrating matter, electricity, life itself. “It doesn’t really matter,” said Arthur, raising the flag a little higher. “This flag once represented decency and honor. It was a beacon of hope and goodness. It’s filthy now, corrupted by men using it for all the wrong reasons, but that’s over now. I’m going to restore it, make this country whole, no matter what.”

  A round of laughter burst from the three men, their cackles echoing over the battlefield, the reverend captain looking at him like he were mad. “For some reason, Cardinal Washington wants you returned, but I’m of a mind to end you right here. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.” The reverend captain spoke over his shoulder to the pilots, his lips twisted. “We can say he was already dead when we found him. No one will ask questions.”

  Arthur held tight to the flag, slowly raising a hand above his head. “I have one last thing to say, if you don’t mind.”

  The reverend captain shrugged, his smirk widening to a smile, eyes bright. “You want to beg, go ahead.”

  “Reaper drone.”

  “What—!?”

  Arthur watched with a grim smile as all three men were riddled with .50 caliber rounds, each shot like a crack of thunder, justice delivered from on high. The men’s bodies danced around like an electric current was passing through them, their blood seeping into the cold and cracked earth. Spinning on his heel, he settled into the pilot’s seat of the transport, thoughts of the three men already fleeing from his mind. With a thought he reactivated all systems, powering up the craft in an instant.

  The encounter had been good for him. The men had reminded him of why he took the path less traveled. Best of all, his guilt had been washed away, his sense of purpose renewed. He had broken all of his ties to the past except one, on
e that he would soon remove. Nothing could be used to control—

  “Did you kill Reverend Captain Kerr, Arthur?”

  Arthur gripped the arms of his seat with enough force to crack the plastic and bend the metal support frame, the disembodied voice sending a chill down his spine. “Cardinal Washington?”

  “Yes, Arthur, I’ve been watching. That was an impressive display. We were unaware of how much your power had grown. We won’t make that mistake again next time we meet.”

  Arthur scanned the interior of the Peri, not sure how the cardinal was communicating with him. “I can do things you can’t even imagine,” said Arthur, “and the next time we meet, you will die. I promise.”

  “You will try, my son. You will try,” he said, his smooth voice mocking him. “Not to change the subject, but I see you took my advice and started cutting those ties that bind. I can’t say I’m pleased to lose Bobby, and Gwen on the same day. I understand Bobby—he was a son of a bitch—but the girl, even after everything you did to save her? I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  Arthur closed his eyes tight, a fresh wave of guilt washing over him. “I know you’re not really Michael Washington, not anymore. Michael Washington died in that church a long time ago, what was it called, Blackwood,” he said, wanting to change the subject, trying to throw the cardinal off. “Like you said, Bobby was a son of a bitch, but he kept meticulous notes. He had reams of data about you down in that hidden server room. He tracked everything you did, every personality change, everyone you converted over the years. It was like he wanted it to be found.”

  There was silence on the other end of the call. Arthur could almost see the cardinal’s dark features stilled with worry. When he spoke, at last the mocking tone was gone. “Well, Bobby was not well in his final years, he said and did strange things. He piled his conspiracy theories onto many of his colleagues over the years, yet nothing ever came of it... Nothing will ever come of it.”

  “I saw it on you, afterward. I saw the crystal on your chest; I know it’s true,” said Arthur, his mind casting back to that horrible moment, coming awake after the deed was done, watching the cardinal dress out of the corner of his eye.

  There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “No one will believe a piece of trash ghetto rat,” he said with a growl, “and you’ll be dead soon enough!”

  With a thought, he activated the thrusters on the Peri, at the same time disabling the transponder. He would have to fly without the GPS; it would be safer. Arthur smiled to himself, strangely pleased with himself. He was pressed back into his seat as the small transport leapt into the air. Aiming the nose westward, he headed toward his last connection that needed to be cut. After that was done, he would deal with the cardinal and put his plans in motion to end the war and save the country.

  Epilogue

  She cursed to herself, furiously trying to wipe away the tiny specks of blood scattered like poppies across her pristine white uniform, a symptom of the nosebleeds that never seemed to stop now, no matter how much Uriel healed her. “Fuck! Anyone got a tissue?”

  “Headache again?” asked Uriel, tiny comets of gold and silver appearing around him as he approached her. Fumbling around in his pocket, he handed her a crumpled napkin left over from lunch. “You gotta take it easy, Gwen. The gas did a lot of damage,” he said, speaking in his soft tone. “I almost didn’t get to you in time. Some of this is going to have to heal naturally.”

  Gwen nodded, rubbing her temple as a sharp jolt of pain ran through her skull like a bullet. She sighed in relief as Uriel’s fireflies began to circle her like a small dervish before plunging through her, sweat suddenly beading on her forehead as waves of heat coursed through her, making her feel like she was drenched in the light of a hot summer’s day. The rush of energy made her gasp, the ecstasy better than anything she had ever drunk, snorted, or injected. When it was over, she shuddered, giving him a grateful smile and trying not to cringe as she looked at his face.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” he said, the soft glow from his healing reflecting off the thin lines of metal that kept his skull intact, marring his once handsome features.

  “Like what, I’m—”

  Uriel took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look up at his metallic face. “You look guilty! Every time you look at me. Trust me, it’s not that bad. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here,” he continued in his soft tone. “I’m ok with it, so you should be too. Now clean off your uniform, so we can get this show on the road.”

  Gwen sighed as she brushed away his arms and returned to furiously rubbing away the flakes of dried blood on her top. She found the uniform was too tight across her chest and cinched too tightly at the waist. No matter what she did, the too-tight pants ran awkwardly up her crotch, forcing her constantly to adjust. The Divinity Corps dress uniform was similar to the navy’s, but with a red collar and epaulet, a large Divinity Corps cross in gold adorning her left breast above her heart. Opening up the mirror function on her smart device, she projected an image of herself on the wall in front of her, swearing under her breath. She did her best to make herself presentable, a grimace running across her face. “I look like a man—a flat-assed man on top of that,” she said to no one in particular, turning to look at her bum. The whole thing looked gaudy and was completely unattractive in her mind. Cardinal Washington’s latest assistant, Ernesto, had provided her with a new wardrobe yesterday, since every scrap of clothing she had was half a continent away in Colorado. According to the assistant, the new uniforms were made from displaced layered graphene, or DLG, a miracle fabric that was damn near indestructible, meaning that it didn’t shred to bits the minute someone shot at her or tried to remove her head with a tank shell. She hated every scrap of it; not a single one of them had any sex appeal. She knew it had to do with the new image they wanted for her, a prim and proper young lady who would be a role model. She shook her head as she adjusted her pants for the umpteenth time. The last thing she wanted was to be a freaking role model.

  “You know they want you to look conservative, right? Ernesto said we all have to look good for the cameras. You think I want to wear any of this crap?” said Uriel, standing tall in a uniform similar to her own. With his broad shoulders and narrow waist, it fit him well. If it wasn’t for his odd-looking face, he would have been the perfect poster child for the war. “My god, it looks like they have every journalist in the country out there,” he said, peeking out from behind the door into the newly minted Iron Mountain press room.

  As if saying his name had summoned him, Acolyte Ernesto came running down the hall, his black and red robes fluttering behind him. On his heels were the two new members of the corps that were being introduced today along with her and Uriel, twin brothers that she had never met before. Dark-skinned and swarthy, with dark, curly hair, the boys were very slim, appearing almost as children in military dress uniforms. Uriel had told her that they were almost not let into the program because one of their parents had a Muslim grandfather, despite their parents and the boys being Christians. They both reached out simultaneously to introduce themselves, and Gwen turned away, not in the mood to deal with pleasantries.

  “Are you children ready for this?” asked Ernesto, a paunchy cleric with blotchy skin who was constantly running everywhere he went. Everything about him reminded her of the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. Every time he appeared, she had to conceal a smile, muttering under her breath, “I’m late, I’m late. For a very important date. No time to say hello. Goodbye. I’m late, I’m late, I’m late.” It didn’t feel like it was that long ago that she would sit with her mother watching that movie over and over. It was one of the few good memories she had of her.

  “No,” said Gwen, shaking her head. “I’m really not the chick you want out there doing this shit,” she said. Behind her, she could see the twins giving her a dirty look. Did they mimic each other in everything, she wondered.

  The acolyte blew out his lips, a loo
k of mild annoyance running across his face. “We’ve been over this before, child. The people need someone to give them hope, and right now, that’s you! You’ve captured the imagination of the public, and now you have to give them what they want,” he said, tapping her shoulder with his index finger as he spoke. “Just go out there, smile for the cameras. Everyone in the room has been vetted and told what we want them to ask. There will be no difficult questions.”

  “C’mon, Gwen, you know this could have been way worse,” said Uriel, tilting his head and giving her a knowing look.

  “Whatever. Even when he’s not here, Arthur still finds ways to ruin my life. If I ever see that prick’s smug face again, he’ll wish he’d left me in that police station,” she said, opening the top buttons of her uniform and propping up her breasts. Looking at herself one last time in the mirror, she stopped herself. Shaking her head, she closed her top once again, not caring what these idiots thought of her.

  Gwen blinked at the sea of overly bright lights and cameras as they shuffled out to a long table set up on a dais. Groaning inwardly, she stopped in her tracks, looking at the projection of her behind the table, dressed like some kid from the last century, prim and proper in a crisp white uniform and a long skirt that barely showed her ankles. Once seated, it all became real as butterflies began churning in her stomach. Looking out at all the faces, she could feel their eyes on her, imagining their judgment.

  Acolyte Ernesto began to speak, his high-pitched voice sounding more like the White Rabbit with every word, introducing the new members and extolling her bravery, how heroic they were, and the sacrifices all the team members had made. It was all mindless drivel that she soon tuned out, getting lost in her head. She had been spending way too much time in there lately, and as usual it didn’t take long for Arthur to make his appearance, her mind constantly racing back to those last moments, the last look. Her best friend leaving her to die. Each time, she asked herself why. It wasn’t a surprise that he loved her; she knew from the first night they met. Worst was that she had been with lots of guys, and one more wouldn’t have made a difference...but Arthur was supposed to be different.. He was different.