Blood and Chaos: The Collected Low Lying Lands Saga (The Low Lying Lands Saga)

by Bob Williams

  “Uh-huh. Around the corner, first door on the right. I’ll be outside in case you end up being the asshole.”

  “Fair enough, Mr. Wycheck. The Music City Miracle was bad-ass! That wasn’t a forward pass. We both know it.”

  “The refs agreed with you,” he said and continued down the hall.

  I open the door and step into the room and Cole and Shields stand.

  There’s some respect. Note to self: thank the Network.

  The room is like a mini command post. Similar to Ops but about seventy-five percent smaller. They look to be doing more data mining than anything else. There are a few cameras, but this place is susceptible to a hit.

  “Welcome to Outpost Delta, Prescott. The Nashville Safe Zone, as well as Outposts Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie are lost. The Freaks know this place is here and its days are numbered. When we heard you come over our waves we were, quite frankly, shocked. And who the hell were you talking to, anyway?

  “What do you mean? You didn’t hear it? The chatter?”

  “What are you talking about?” asks Cole.

  “It was bits and pieces. Something about soldiers… and cabins. Or something. It was very fragmented.”

  “I have no idea what you’re going on about Prescott,” says Shields, “but you’re here now, so let’s cut to the chase. The Network thinks you’re making a huge mistake. You’re good, but you’re out of your league when it comes to Kade. He’s a wrecking ball of mass destruction and chaos.”

  Chaos.

  “Nashville is lost,” says Cole. “As soon as this outpost falls, which is any day now, we are falling back all the way to Murfreesboro. Get out your big black Sharpie and add another fat X over another lost territory.”

  “Okay, you know what? Let’s start over. My name is Prescott. Nice to meet you, Cole and Shields. You have been extremely welcoming so far, but I don’t really know anything about you. It seems like we’re going to be working together because I plan to kill Kade, and I’d like to know who I’m going into battle with. So why don’t we find some food and have a get-to-know-you meeting?”

  There’s a small area designated as the dining hall, but it’s more of an inside joke to the very small squad of men and women that operate Outpost Delta. Cole, Shields, and I go into the room and are served water and a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. This is literally one very small step up from ravioli.

  We sit down and I open up the discussion. “Michael, what—”

  “Cole. Just call me Cole from here on out.”

  “Okay, Cole. What’s your story?” As a Marine I’m curious what his specialty is, since he mentioned the Army.

  “You paint with a broad stroke, Prescott. And what’s up with your dress code, man? A tie? You look like you just walked off the runway, you douchebag. You know it’s the end of the world, right? The Freaks don’t care about your Doc Martins.”

  “What do you care? What’s your story, morning glory? You mentioned the Army. So what? Ranger? Cook?

  Cole sits back and seems to be deciding how to approach this conversation before finally opening up.

  “Yeah, I was a Ranger. But none of that shit matters anymore, Prescott.”

  “Of course it does. It’s up to the likes of me and you and Shields, here, to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves.”

  “Well, I’m just about through with taking risks and having to watch my back because people like you want to come here and put us all in danger,” he snaps.

  “Put you in danger? HA! You’re already in danger. Just surviving isn’t good enough anymore. Listen, I was in your boat twenty-four hours ago, but Doc Midnite changed my mind. You shouldn’t be pissed I heard that broadcast, you should be wishing more people heard it, Cole. He’s right! He may sound like a crackpot, but he’s not. He knows something we don’t. He’s passing himself off as a weirdo when he’s somehow in the know. He’s right, though. We have to take it back. I’m sorry, dude. Even if it kills me, I going to do everything in my power to take Kade off the map. I’m tired of you marking off lost territories. I want to help in the facilitation of new ones.”

  “You’re fuckin’ dreamin’, Prescott.”

  Shields finally decides to interject. “Mr. Prescott, I’m not entirely sure where your confidence is coming from. Your very own Chicago Safe Zone is lost. You barely made it out of an Alamo-type shootout in Chicago. Then you blow off your hometown and head to Normal. Where you then get some half-cocked idea that you can take down the most dangerous and psychotic tyrant to surface since the Descent. In other words, you reek of desperation. Or you have a serious death wish. Either way, we are not inclined to let you drag us down with you. We are already essentially on the run. We don’t need the attention.”

  “Jay asked me the same questions. It’s not a death wish. For a brief moment in the beginning, maybe. And I didn’t blow off Chicago. What does your precious Network say about Chicago? It’s lost, right? As a matter of fact, what does the Network say about the Descent? What is the Network?”

  “We keep screwing this conversation up before we can even have it. I’ll take over,” said Shields. “You know my name. I have no organized military experience other than ROTC at Middle Tennessee State University in Murfreesboro twenty years ago. I didn’t finish ROTC or my degree. I had a husband and two children, all lost to the Descent. I killed my husband with a table leg after he’d become infected and killed both of our sons. I am a third-degree black belt in Shotokan-style karate and extremely proficient in Brazilian jiu-jitsu. I am the leader of this outpost because the last five commanders either died or fled. If I had my choice we’d drop this ball and head back to the ‘Boro. Cole, your bio now.”

  “Fine,” he says. “Michael Cole, borderline psychopath. I masked my mental issues well enough to join the Army, where I became a Ranger and killed a lot of bad guys. About six years ago, my unit went on a midnight, zero-cover op, and it was a total wash. Out of twelve to go in, me and T-Cup were the only two to make it back. I cracked up. I was in and out of the psych ward until the Descent. William Carr tried to personally fuck me and my whole floor at the Shop, but I got out. Made my way from D.C. back home to the ‘Boro and found a safe haven at the MSZ. I’m tired and I’m broken, Prescott. It’s taken Shields here, and a lot of very good people, to bring me back from the dark side. I can’t have you fucking it up. The end.”

  “Hey, Cole, I’m telling you, man. I’m not here to fuck anything up. I’m here to help.”

  “And how exactly are you going to do that, Prescott?” Cole demands. “Where’s your team? What’s your strategy? Most importantly, where are your guns?”

  “I just got here. I haven’t devised a strategy just yet. I haven’t even seen this, what? Compound? This is not an in-and-out job. I’m going to be here awhile. Help me, Cole. Shields, let’s do this together. Help me take it back.”

  “Prescott, I don’t know how else to explain it to you. It’s different here. At least in the Mid-State. Maybe in Memphis or Chattanooga, or even Jackson, the Network says there is a small band of Regulars in Jackson that are taking the fight to the Freaks. We’ll give you provisions and some gas and you go try and find them. We don’t want you here.”

  “You guys have no idea what you’re up against, do you? Let me tell you, because I just found out about this myself two days ago. The Freaks are not your only problem. There are Regulars that work with the Freaks. Speaking of networks, this organization is called The Black Hand. And you know what we’re not done with, yet? All of this! What do you see day in and day out? Death, despair, the grotesque, hopelessness. The Descent was brought about by demons. One demon in particular, named Chaos.”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, Prescott! Are you fucking kidding me with this bullshit? Are you seriously trying—”

  “Cole, shut up and listen,” says Shields.

  “Are you buying this crap, Commander?” booms Cole.

  “Cole, stop. The Three. We know. Have known. The Network informed
us about a year after the Descent that supernatural forces were at work. The Descent was indeed brought about by a demon named Chaos. I’m not completely sure what other territories are doing, but the Network is wide and encompasses at least three quarters of the former continental United States.”

  “But you never told—”

  “The members of the Network chose to keep any mention of supernatural forces between us,” says Shields. “Leadership personnel. I’m sorry, Cole, but your reaction is exactly why we did it.”

  “But—”

  “We can discuss this further back at the MSZ,” Shields says firmly.

  “When are you going to tell me what this Network is and how it works?” I ask.

  “Maybe we should give him a minute,” she says. “Better yet, why don’t we take this down a notch and we’ll all go back to the ‘Boro and assess what happens next from there.”

  I have to admit that sounds good. I’m more than a little worried about Cole, though. He essentially said he’s not all there, and we just told him demons caused the Descent. “I’m going to need some assurance that I’m coming with you of my own accord. I’m visiting, and once I enter the Murfreesboro Safe Zone, I can leave anytime I want.”

  “Done. Can we go now?” I nod.

  “Cole,” she says, “load up any provisions the outpost can spare for our trip back to Murfreesboro.”

  After about five seconds of dead silence we all share a smile, albeit briefly. Gallows humor has a way of breaking tension at the right times.

  We get up from table and I almost trip over Lexi, who is lying comfortably at my feet. I totally forgot about her. This is really going to take getting used to. As we leave the cafeteria, Lexi stands her ground and whines a little then lets out two loud barks. I go back in, followed by Cole.

  “What is it, girl?”

  Lexi looks at the table, sniffs, then barks again. Message received. I pick up the knife and start to put it into the peanut butter when a powerful grip takes hold of my wrist.

  “You’re not going to feed that dog our food, Prescott,” growls Cole.

  With my other hand I pull my Glock out of its holster and press the muzzle upward into his chin.

  “You tell me, Cole. When they sing songs about your death do you want it to be about the Battle for Nashville, or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at Outpost Delta? ’Cause I’ll personally add a verse where Lexi pisses all over your bullet-riddled face.”

  “Okay, okay.” Cole releases his grip and raises both hands in a submissive gesture. He turns to Shields. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Keeping secrets from the community is bad enough, but getting in bed with this guy is going to bring us all down.”

  “I understand your anger, Cole. In fact, I believe it’s perfectly within your rights to be upset. If we can just get back to the MSZ and cool down, talk about this, and formulate a course of action, we will be the better for it. It’s a lot to take in. Think about what you want to say to the Three when we get back, and I’ll facilitate your opportunity to speak.”

  I can’t figure out the dynamic. How in the world is a karate mom such a dominant personality over an Army Ranger? Granted, a slightly broken Army Ranger. Something I’ll have to keep an eye on. We walk in silence to our respective vehicles and are about to head towards Murfreesboro when I hear the CB.

  “Murfreesboro Safe Zone to Commander Shields. I repeat, MSZ to Commander Shields! We are under attack! Repeat. WE ARE UNDER ATTACK! We are outnumbered and taking casualties. It’s Kade. We’ve sent the other members of the Three into the Pod, and the Network is secure. Repeat. The Network is secure. Please respond with E.T.A., over.”

  I jump out of the Comanche with Lexi on my heels and run up to the Dodge. I open the door in time to see Shields yelling frantically into the handheld.

  “MSZ, this is Shields! Repeat, this is Shields. We are in Nashville. Mission complete. We have Prescott and we are wheels rolling right now to get back. What about the defense grid? Can you repel the attack? It will take us hours to return, over.”

  “Unlikely. Make your best time, Commander. I think this is going to be more about picking up the pieces. Condition black. Over and out.”

  “What is condition black?”

  “Imminent loss,” says Shields. “Follow us and stay close. We’re rolling out.”

  KADE PREPARES TO CONQUER

  Kade was filled with hate. He knew this about himself. He hated a lot of things. He hated joy. He hated happiness. He hated smiles. He hated laughing. Those things were the inherent qualities of Regulars, who he absolutely hated the most. He felt quite strongly that he had been handpicked by Chaos to eradicate the Regulars.

  Well, not all of them. What was he supposed to eat if he did? He loved the taste of a properly seared Regular. Not too young, though; that just wasn’t right. They had to be properly tenderized of course, and after a while his hands would be raw. But the meal was always worth it. Sometimes he thought the more they pleaded for their lives the better they tasted. He jabbed the last bite of meat from his plate and put it into his mouth. He savored it briefly then began to chew.

  Some of the very best meat comes from the leg. He removed the napkin that was tucked into his shirt and dabbed the corners of his mouth, then sipped his wine and pushed back from the table. He always feasted alone before a raid.

  He went to the door, opened it, and indicated to Ortiz it was time for their pre-raid strategy session. These were always pretty quick meetings because there usually was no real plan of attack. There was a march to the target, which on this day was the safe zone in Murfreesboro. Once there, he’d deliver his message, then a blitzkrieg attack would be launched, in which every single Regular man, woman, and child would be slaughtered or captured. In recent months, Kade had also considered growing his numbers.

  So maybe this time I’ll instruct them to infect. It all depended on how he felt.

  “Today is mostly about killing, Ortiz.” Kade looked long and hard at Ortiz. “I want us to go over there today and not only kill the rats in their maze, I want to kill their hope. I want to kill their desire to keep fighting. I want to kill the thought of any one person, group, or community within a hundred miles or more that there is any use in fighting. There is no hope. You cannot survive. If you try and oppose me, you will be destroyed.

  Kade had heard the Doctor Midnite broadcast and it had infuriated him. How dare that charlatan call him out by name. He had sent scouts out all over the land for the last year trying to locate this Regular asshole and shut his ass up. It hadn’t happened yet.

  “Today, above all else, is about showing Doctor Midnite what he’s inciting in his little gerbils. Die. The more he incites them to fight, Ortiz, the more they will suffer the consequences of my rage. Do you understand me, Ortiz?”

  “Yes, Kade! I’ve been by your side since the beginning, and I will ride with you and bask in the glory of our victory today, and we will both know that Chaos is pleased.”

  “Good. Yes. I agree. After today’s carnage, Chaos will be very pleased. We will destroy the Murfreesboro rat trap and add warriors our glorious army.”

  Kade saluted his general and they both knew, down in the depths of their cold, black hearts, today would be a success. The Regulars would suffer in ways they never thought possible.

  “Rally the Freaks. We leave in two hours. Make sure everyone is loaded up. Make sure all the vehicles are full of gas. And make sure we have the tanker running and ready. We’ll want to break the rats’ backs by taking all their gas. Oh, and let’s kill any horses they have, too. You gettin’ all this, Ortiz?”

  “Yeah, Boss. We’ve already made all the necessary preparations. The tanker is five by five and bone dry. We’ll make sure that bitch is filled to the brim by the time we leave the MSZ. You know I got this, Boss. All we need is about an hour to get organized to roll out. And of course you’ll want to address the boys before we go.”

  Of course, he was right. Kade always addressed his loyal
Freak following before a conquest. Yes, they were Freaks. They were already frothy for the carnage but he needed to make sure they stayed on point. Kade wore many hats in his leadership role. In some ways he was a father figure. In others he was a teacher. And a lot of the time he was a disciplinarian. He expected them to follow his very precise directions, and if they didn’t, well, he’d be painting the roses red with their blood.

  Exactly one hour later, Ortiz entered the office right as Kade said, “See ya soon” into the microphone that protruded from his headset. He pulled the plug out of the board, took off the headphones, and set them down.

  “Is everything in order? What did he say?”

  “He said, my friend, that they will never see it coming.”

  “Glory to Chaos and The Eighty-Eight! That he would be pleased with the work that we do today!”

  “Indeed, brother. Indeed. Let us go rally the troops.”

  Kade strode out of the Hard Rock and walked onto the stage. He approached his customary microphone and took it off the stand. He didn’t intend to take long.

  “All right, everyone. Shut up!” The crowd was a bit too wired and didn’t take heed. “Shut up! Shut up! Shutupity up! You fuckers better start paying attention. LISTEN UP! Right now, while you jerk offs aren’t paying attention, there are forces at work that want to take ALL of THIS from you!”

  He felt sometimes, despite the fact that he loved them—well as much as he could love anything—that they were hopeless. As great a leader as he was, he couldn’t do everything. He needed the Freaks to listen and obey. If they were indeed going to murder the entire state of Tennessee, they had to tighten the bootstraps on this operation.

  “Do I have your attention now? How many of you like the current state of affairs? Murder! Death! Kill! Rape and Pillage! All the free meals your tummies can handle. This is the most perfect Freak safe zone there is. I will do my best to protect and provide for you, but you have to work for it. And today all of you miserable fuckers are on the clock. Punch it!”

  It looked like ten thousand arms shot up into the air. They screamed, “TIME TO GO TO WORK!”