by Eric Black
He looked up the professor’s known family members and learned the man was married with five children. In addition, the man had a niece. All other relatives were no longer living. He looked at the photo of the niece. “Very pretty. We shall have to speak with her as well.”
Then, he started and looked at the niece again. He knew the girl. She had been taken to the Keeper and he had performed the Ceremony on her. He wondered if the Keeper knew more about this girl and her family than he had shared. He recalled she had escaped and had killed several of the Klopph in the process. “I imagine the Keeper would like to have her back.”
It was the middle of the night but he made the call to round up the family (night operations were not unusual for the Klopph). An hour later, the professor and his family were in the facility. He didn’t have a current address on the niece – it seemed she had recently moved and her new address was not yet registered – but he knew she would soon be found.
Shortly after the sun rose, the niece joined the rest of her family in the facility. “Where did you find her?” he asked the Klopph who brought her in.
“She was at the market on the riverfront.”
The Cancellarrii nodded. Now that everyone was gathered, he ordered them moved to the questioning chamber located three floors below the building. There, would be no prying eyes or noises escaping to the outside world.
The eight of them were fastened to the wall that had formerly been a research lab under the Chokka palace. The Cancellarrii looked at Quentin and knew he would not talk without some assistance. The Cancellarrii had dealt with men such as him before and knew how to offer that assistance. He smiled briefly at Quentin and then ordered the youngest child to be shot in front of him. The ordered Klopph obliged without hesitation.
Over the next hour, all of the members of Quentin’s family were executed in front of him with the exception of Triana. During that time, Quentin told the Cancellarrii everything he knew.
Quentin looked at the Cancellarrii with deep hatred as he turned the gun on Triana. “Perhaps I’ll torture her for a while as we talk further.”
Triana was in shock and barely noticed the gun being aimed at her or the words of the Cancellarrii. She had just witnessed her family murdered. The fear on their faces was burned into her soul. Her ears were ringing from the gunshots and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air.
The Cancellarrii knew she was in shock but he had questions that he needed her to answer. The gun would not be enough to attract her attention; he knew he would need another measure. So he ordered the Klopph to take her pinky finger. The Klopph did as he was ordered, removing the knife from his boot and making short work of the appendage. The Cancellarrii was right, her focus returned.
He questioned both of them for another hour until he was certain that he understood everything. Then, he ordered Quentin killed and Triana to be returned to the Keeper. As he left, the sound of the gun echoed behind him.
He walked back upstairs to his living quarters and took a shower and changed his clothing. It wouldn’t do to walk around with blood on him. When he was clean, he sat down at his desk and reviewed the recording of the interview with the professor and his family. He listened to the recording twice, taking notes through both reviews. At the conclusion of the second time, he set his pen down and placed his hands in his face. It had been a long day already and it wasn’t even lunch yet. He was mentally exhausted from the questioning.
He picked up his notepad and studied his notes. It was a lot to take in – that an organized rebellion was being planned and that the son of the Chokka who had returned and been killed was to lead the rebellion.
He would need to find this Chokka. But if what the professor had told him was true, he would not be able to do it by following the energy. He would, of course check the niece’s apartment first, but didn’t expect to find him there. The world was a large place and he could be anywhere. Plus, the description of his appearance was not very helpful. The details that the professor and his niece had given him were of those that could have matched any thousands of men.
The Cancellarrii knew the Keeper would expect a full report. News would travel fast that they had collected Quentin and his family. Before he spoke with the Keeper, however, he wanted to make sure he had a good plan of action. He spent the next hour sorting through the steps he would take over the next twenty-four hours. A knock on the door at the end of that hour presented the expected summons from the Keeper.
On his way out, told the Klopph responsible for media relations to call a press conference. The Keeper controlled the media which made his message clear and without question. The Cancellarrii once asked the Keeper why he let the media continue and the Keeper responded by saying that it gave an illusion of independence, plus it was cheaper than hiring his own people. Once in a while, rogue media personnel would challenge the Keeper but those people were handled and never given an opportunity to question the Keeper again (or to breathe again, for that matter).
The Cancellarrii would begin the hunt for the Chokka’s son with the press conference. During the press conference, he would confirm that the professor and his family had been brought in and had been found guilty of treason and therefore given swift justice. The way the niece spoke of the Chokka, the two had some feelings for each other. He knew the Chokka would come looking for vengeance. First for his father, and second for his new friends. When he came, they would be ready. “There is no way one man can rally the people of the world against the Klopph.”
The Cancellarri looked at his notes as he waited for the elevator to finish its decent. When the elevator doors opened, he exited the building onto the street, taking one step closer towards killing the Chokka for good.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Cotton had a decent sized ranch – about a thousand acres – but he lacked the men to work it properly. That lack of manpower left the work to just a few.
He had fifteen men under his employment. Where most ranches were able to spread out their men in pairs to toil many areas of the land at once, Cotton didn’t have that luxury. Constant threat from banditos forced him to keep his men in larger groups of five or six.
Juan and Adahy rose early on Cotton’s ranch. They had been on the run for several days where rising under the cover dark was necessary and not an easy habit to break, even under the protection of Cotton and his men. Cotton had taken them in when Adahy needed medical attention and thanks to that attention, Adahy had all but healed.
Juan looked over at Morgan, their third companion who still sleeping. To emphasize the fact, the man let out a loud snore. It was a wonder they weren’t caught in the open when the nights were a quiet as the stars, with the exception of Morgan. Juan and Adahy exchanged glances and stifled their laughter so as not to wake their sleeping Shaman companion. Morgan had led them safely away from captivity in a slaving town run by banditos and had earned his rest.
The ranch had a strange appeal in the early morning moonlight. Juan inhaled the crisp air fragranced with dirt, crops, and animals. They went to the small wood stove in the front room of the stables and shoved in a few logs. When the stove was heated, they put on coffee and then sat out under the open morning sipping the chicory as the sky lightened.
With the sun in the new morning firmament, they were called to the house for breakfast. Morgan woke with the call and joined his two companions. “I’m glad you two don’t snore. I don’t know that I would get a wink of sleep if you did.” he said as he fell in step with Juan. They joined Cotton at the large kitchen table and it was there that they learned a new man had joined them.
“Good morning.” Juan said, offering his hand to the new man. “I’m Juan.”
“Nice to meet you, Juan. I’m Jacques.”
Juan had never met the man but knew he was. He also knew from where he came.
Over breakfast, the hired hands filled in Jacques on the day to day operations before moving on to the raids by the banditos. The vigilantes that came from the south kne
w that Cotton couldn’t watch all thousand acres at once. Cotton employed hard men and they were handy with a firearm but they couldn’t be everywhere. The banditos slaughtered Cotton’s cattle at will to feed their army.
With the meal behind them, Jacques approached Cotton. “I’d like to offer you my service, outside of being a cattle hand.”
“What did you have in mind?” Cotton asked, interested.
“I’ll need a pistol and a rifle. I can take care of your problem with your neighbors to the south and keep them off your land. Would that be worth the cost of a six-shooter and Spencer rifle?”
Cotton smiled. “So you noticed the rifle?” Jacques nodded. He had seen the rifle that Cotton kept over one of the doorways.
“I’ll track their camp and kill them. If I get killed, you’ve lost nothing.”
“Except a pistol and good rifle.” Cotton replied.
“Except those. Is it worth it to you?” Jacques asked.
“If you kill two or three of ‘em, that’ll be worth it to me. I’m guessing you’ll need a horse as well?” Jacques nodded. Cotton looked at him closely. He had known the man for less than twenty four hours. He wasn’t sure what his motives were or why he was willing to take such a risk. But as his strange new hand had mentioned, he had nothing to lose. “Alright, you got a deal. But if you steal my horse and my rifle, I’ll hunt you down and string you up myself.” Cotton stuck out his right hand and Jacques grabbed it, shaking.
Afterwards, Jacques prepared his horse for the trip and felt someone enter the barn behind him. He turned to find Juan. “You are leaving so soon?” Juan asked.
“I’m just here to help.”
Juan nodded. “Are you helping these men because you could not help your own people?”
Jacques turned and faced Juan fully. “What do you know of that?”
“I know that the world can be a lonely place. For men such as us, who have seen things the one never expected to see, it can be even lonelier.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t? Very well. My mistake. At any rate, Godspeed.” And with that, Juan left the barn, leaving Jacques to his thoughts.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
On the back of a medium sized Paint, Jacques let the horse gallop in the open field. As he rode, he admired the beauty – stark contrast to the world from which he came.
He rode hard for about twenty minutes, living in the moment. Then, he slowed the horse and began studying the land. The land around him was occupied with deep brown grass: a good place to attract steer. He located the cattle trail and following, it was not long until he found the stripped carcass of a longhorn. The bull had been killed and then stripped of the meat and hide. The horns had been cut away. Bones and tendons were left to rot in the sun.
The buzzards that feasted stirred slightly but more or less ignored his presence. Jacques threw rocks at the scavengers to scare them off and when they retreated, he examined the remains. The dung around the body was fresh, as were the organs that not been taken. The animal had been dead only a day at the most.
That meant the banditos were close.
It didn’t take him long to pick up their trail. They were arrogant, knowing that Cotton and his men couldn’t stop them, so they rode through his land without care. Their trail was easy to follow. About thirty miles from the ranch, Jacques spotted their camp.
They were set up in an abandoned fort, used by the Mexican army at some point. He studied the small structure and saw that it was not very well fortified. Sometime in the past, there had been a complete wall but now the wall crumbled leaving gaping holes. The fort consisted of two buildings: one he guessed was the living quarters and the other a weapons storage and small jail.
He studied them throughout the day, counting the men as they came and went among the buildings. When he was sure he missed no one – he counted twelve men in all – he moved into position.
He spent the rest of his daylight surveying the place and formulating his plan. He would wait until dark and then attack the fort.
He waited patiently as the sun reached its low point on the horizon before dipping behind the distant mountains. The world filled with gray and then black and Jacques made his move. He had visualized the attack in his mind, practicing each movement, weighing each opportunity for interference.
He killed the first man just after he crossed over the wall. The bandito had his back to him and seemed to sway as he stood. Jacques guessed that the man was drunk but he didn’t take time to confirm his suspicion. He slit the man’s throat and moved on to his next target.
He stuck to the shadows, staying close to the wall of the building. As he surveyed around the corner, he saw two more men. Both of the men had their back to him. He came up behind them, put his hand over the first man’s mouth and shoved the blade into his back, through his ribcage and into his lung.
The other man attacked and Jacques sprang forward, knocking the man onto his back. Before the man could cry out, Jacques drew the blade across the man’s throat.
The other nine men were killed with the same ruthless efficiency. They were all drunk or asleep – having filled up on freshly roasted beef and whiskey. With the task completed, Jacques did something he never considered he would do. He pulled the knife from his waist and scalped the dead men. He hung the twelve scalps across the neck of his horse and then left the fort, leaving its silhouette behind him in the moonlight.
***
“It is done.” Jacques told Cotton the following morning. “They will bother your cattle no more.” Cotton stared at the scalps that hung from the horse. Dried blood crusted along the mare’s front legs that had dripped from the flayed flesh.
With that, Jacques turned and walked away into the morning, carrying the pistol and rifle that had been his recompense. He wasn’t sure why they were so important to him but they were. Perhaps they represented man’s desire to persist in a cruel world.
He walked for several days until he came to the water source that had brought him there. He gave one final glance at a world that no longer existed and then entered the portal.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Babel heard the press conference over the loudspeakers that were positioned all across the city. He knew the man who spoke during the conference was telling the truth. Quentin and his family were all dead. And it was his fault.
His first thought was of revenge. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get his revenge, he just knew it needed to come. He could feel the flames within, waiting to consume those responsible. But behind those flames was another realization: he realized that he was alone. Looking out at the street with hate-filled eyes, he realized how vulnerable he was. The Klopph, who had killed his father and his only other contacts in this world, knew about him. They would come looking for him.
Orleans wasn’t a small city but with thousands of Klopph, it wouldn’t take long for one of them to detect him, even with the barrier. It would only be a matter of time before someone noticed his unique energy reading. And once they did, that would be the end. They would learn that he was a Chokka and they would kill him.
He had to leave the city. He was familiar with New Orleans in his own world and everything he had seen so far indicated that Orleans was laid out similarly. He could make his way out of the city but wasn’t sure what would await him in the Outerlands.
He thought on all he knew of the area called the Outerlands. Quentin told him that he had been raised in the Outerlands. Triana had described the people in the Outerlands as inconnu, although he was not familiar with that expression. He hadn’t notice anything strange about Quentin, so perhaps that was a term of endearment. The way Triana had said the word, however, left doubt in his mind.
He would have to take the risk. He couldn’t stand here on the open street. If Orleans was similar in geography to New Orleans, the city would be surrounded by water. He did not know if there was an equivalent to Lake Pontchartrain or the Gulf of Mexico or if
the surrounding lands were swamps. If they were, he had little choice but to deal with them as they came.
He caught a trolley and took it west to the end of its route. He had very little money, so he had to be smart about what he spent. The money that he had was from Quentin’s desk. The currency there was strange but he guessed it was about $100. Not much.
He also had to very careful about his route. The Klopph were everywhere. Triana had described their uniforms and he spotted them patrolling the streets from the open window of the trolley.
From the last trolley stop, he took to foot. He stopped only briefly to buy some food and water at a small grocery store as he neared the edge of the city. He kept to streets lined with people, not wanting to stand out on his own. As he moved further west, however, the people began to thin. Soon, he found himself the only person on the deserted streets.
As he walked, the landscape become desolate. He entered clustered residential areas that were mostly shacks, built from whatever materials the owners could find. He saw a few people inside of the doorways of the shacks but no one approached him.
The city landscape died and soon there was nothing. He turned and viewed the city behind him. To his surprise, he could see tall buildings that stood off to the side of the city (he had passed by kudzu covered rubble to his north as he walked along the river from the Elder Quarter to the Garden Quarter and realized now the mounds were fallen buildings). Neither Triana nor Quentin had mentioned the buildings that he could recall and he wondered if those buildings were controlled by the Klopph.
He was now in the Outerlands and wasn’t exactly sure where to go. A mile in, the land wasn’t as barren as was described; in fact, it was lush. He was surrounded by trees and vegetation.
The road that was before broken concrete was now dirt and mud and continued west through the forest. He heard a noise and ducked behind a tree. He surveyed his environment and spotted a small building just ahead to the right. There was no mistaking the mark of the Keeper on the side of the building. It was a Klopph checkpoint.
