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

by Bob Williams

“So you want us to come help you set up your new SZ? Does that about sum it up?” I ask.

  “No,” says Leonberger. “We want you and your friends to come kill the bugs. We’ll set up the SZ after you’re gone.”

  “I think I can safely say Prescott is itching to blow some shit up,” Jay says. “So he’s in.”

  I know I’m in. Jay is definitely right about that. I look Cole in the eyes and give a slight shrug. He understands and nods. Before I can even shift in my seat toward her, Shields says, “When do we leave, Prescott?”

  “Twenty-four hours.”

  ***

  We break up the meeting, promising Feazel and Leonberger they’ll be told the truth “about everything” over chow later this evening. The visitors offer to keep their delta clearance, because aside from this debrief, all they intend to do is eat and sleep over the next twenty-four hours.

  Jay assures them they need to climb the clearance ladder to beta. Cole, Shields, Lexi, and I agree before leaving the cafeteria and heading back to our quarters.

  Dinner is a life-altering experience for Brent and Brett. I tell them about Chicago. The 88. The truth behind BH-2014—that it wasn’t a virus, but the essence of Chaos. And the Freaks, well, the Freaks are essentially infected with a wee bit o’ demon. We also tell them about the Network.

  Shields has more knowledge about that, explaining what Malcolm was doing. In essence, he kept everyone in the know, in the loop. I come in and describe the Protectorate, tell them about the Low Lying Lands, and that yes, we are standing right in the middle of the ultimate battle of good versus evil. We all agree it’s for the best that Michael Bay died in the Descent. The key is differentiating that this is not a battle of Heaven vs Hell. No, this is more specifically Heaven vs the Neverrealm.

  Some people receive this information like Cole did in Murfreesboro, ending up crying in the fetal position. Some people, rational people who actually see the world around them, are able to connect the dots.

  The next morning, after being commed by Jay, all of the involved parties heading to Fort Wayne are instructed to meet in the hangar.

  Both the Comanche and Humvee have been washed, waxed, and tuned up. The rocket has been replaced in the Comanche. A new antenna has been put on, and some of the damaged fortification pieces from the Nashville set to have been replaced.

  The Humvee also has a new antenna, and a CB radio similar to the one Rives’ team put in the Comanche last year has been installed in the dash. The Humvee’s front windshield has been replaced with bulletproof glass, and a cache of weapons has been put into both vehicles.

  Leonberger and Feazel are both extremely appreciative and speak honestly about being available if Jay ever needs them. If they survive, of course.

  Finally, some foodstuffs are delivered to the hangar, and we all get set to leave. Cole, Lexi, and I are in the Comanche; Feazel, Leonberger, and Shields share the Humvee.

  What the fuck?

  Jay approaches me with a melancholy expression. “Well, that was quick,” he says.

  I smile. “Yeah, I guess it was. I’m sorry, old friend.”

  “Prescott, always be vigilant. Always. Take care of yourself and your friends. And, Lexi, you keep an eye on this crazy bastard.” Lexi pants and her tail sweeps back and forth several times.

  Jay and I exchange a firm handshake and share eye contact. “You better make it back,” he says.

  “You won’t get rid of me that easily. I promise I’ll check in regularly. And like last time, I’ll call ya if I need ya.”

  “All right. Get on outta here, then.”

  We leave the Normal Safe Zone unceremoniously, and my Galaxy S3 and its two bars say we have a 290-mile trip. Before the Descent it would’ve taken four hours and thirty minutes.

  Some stretches of interstate post-Descent are damn near impossible to travel. Cars, trucks, semis, you name it. Their metal carcasses provide one time-sucking delay after another until you start to question if your destination is even worth it. But Fort Wayne needs our help. And we intend to give it to them.

  The trip took Brent and Brett five pretty exhausting days to get to Normal. Two people physically pushing vehicles ranging from two-door sedans to crew-cab pickup trucks, well, you just have to respect that. Every once in a while you get lucky and experience clear passage. But you don’t ever plan on it. Just get excited when it happens. And when you actually know the people that paved the way? You sincerely thank them.

  We’re fortunate to take advantage of the work they’d done to get here, and our travel time ends up being just a little over eight hours.

  What does come out of our shortened trip is the opportunity to get know our new friends. Yes. These people are our friends. That didn’t take long to figure out. A bond is forming. A truth we all understand. We are all in this, this post-Descent mess, together. That is the only way we are ever going to take it back.

  We learn that despite his gruff exterior, Brent Feazel is quite the family man. He loves his wife and his two-year-old daughter. That surprises me. His wife gave birth during the Descent. This world in its current state is all she’ll ever know. Unless we take it back.

  Leonberger is good man. His story is the exact opposite of his counterpart’s, yet he continues to fight all the same. Unmarried and still incredibly close to his family, they survived the Descent only to be murdered by Admiral Shen as he tore through the Fort Wayne SZ. His mother, father, older brother, and his wife were all collateral damage in Shen’s assault. I can see the rage. It practically resonates off of him. I understand. I’ve been there. Brett enjoys a good beer, or well, any beer available now, and manages to toe the line by directing his anger at appropriate times.

  Once we finally arrive in Fort Wayne, Lexi, Cole, Shields, and I go through their much less authoritative receiving process. Since we’re a known entity, blood tests are not necessary, so all that actually happens is a meet and greet with Commander James Garner.

  In similar fashion, we are given twenty-four hours to rest before it’s time to get to work. Over the next ten days, my team and Brent and Brett and their team clear nine houses. The tenth house is more of a mansion, and might eventually be the Fort Wayne HQ. We’re building up gradually to the grand finale.

  INDIANA BLOODBATH

  Fort Wayne, Indiana

  Wonder Bread. Wonder-fuckin’-Bread. That shit was so good. Right about now, I’d commit a heinous crime for a loaf of that heavenly goodness. Actually, I preferred the Honey Wheat, to be honest. Wonder Bread, Havarti cheese, ham, and lettuce. That’s all you need, and you have the greatest delicacy known to man. Before the Descent, that is.

  “Cole, you remember Wonder Bread? You know, from before.”

  “Of course I do. That was cheapest, crappiest bread known to man. Like a buck for a loaf of that cardboard. I wouldn’t have fed that garbage to my dog.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Are you having flashbacks again? This is Wonder Bread we’re talking about, man.”

  “I know.”

  “Lexi! Hey, girl! You gonna let him talk this kinda blasphematic bullshit?”

  “She’s a dog, Prescott. Her perspective on bread is significantly lacking.”

  “Fine. What did you prefer? I forgot you were such a sophisticated train wreck.”

  “Nature’s Own. No-brainer.”

  “Not a chance, guys,” Feazel says. “In this neck of the woods, it’s Aunt Millie’s. Not even close. Don’t make me shoot you over bread, Prescott. There are so many better reasons.”

  “What? I thought we were friends.”

  “This is Shields. Weapons check!”

  Feazel chimed in. “Gentlemen, radio silence. Clear your heads. This is the big one. 8,000 square feet. Much bigger than anything we’ve cleared yet. So let’s go out on top and not lose anybody. Be prepared. Mentally and physically.”

  “Always be vigilant,” we say in unison.

  I lock eyes with Cole, lean over and put my hand gently on the head of my
dog, and in my best Nicolas Cage voice say, “Let’s ride!”

  In all honesty, even from the beginning I think Cole, Shields, and I expected a little more help than what we’ve been given, which is basically nothing. Feazel and Leonberger alternate with us, as well as two other men. One dude named Merkle, the other, a tall, lanky man with a ponytail who goes by the name of Betty. Don’t ask me why. I don’t fucking know. He’s the inspector.

  Interesting cat, this Betty. A man of few words, but he definitely knows his shit. Although I am a little afraid he might shoot me in the back by accident if he gets scared.

  Because of the sheer size of this place, we’re forced to abandon the accepted philosophy of exterminating. All seven of us are going in, weapons hot.

  Cole and I are a pair. Shields and Feazel are a pair.

  You better have her back, asshole. You take a nice healthy Freak-bite for her if you need to.

  Leonberger and Merkle take on the responsibility of Betty.

  Just three years after the Descent, it’s a dump. If this house was a person, it would be the homecoming king who got hooked on heroin and three years later is getting his asshole tore up in a crack house. If their intention is to make this place their HQ, there’s a lot of work to be done here. If Betty even clears it for renovation. I mean, it’s up to them, but good luck.

  We all emerge from our vehicles, which we park two houses down. If there are Freaks in there, they’ll know we’re coming but, shit, who parks in the driveway of the house they’re about to hit?

  There are so many things we didn’t think about before leaving Normal. There’s no comm. We can’t communicate throughout the operation.

  Malcolm! I need your eyes. We need you. Drop in with the shiny shit and help us! We have no idea what’s in here.

  Nothing. No surprise there. Worth a shot, though.

  We gather in a circle, putting our arms on the shoulder of the person next to us. No one says anything. Lexi stands panting in the middle.

  “Before we go in,” says Feazel, “I’d like to thank Prescott, Shields, and Cole for their service to the remaining Regulars of Fort Wayne. Regardless of what happens here, we are forever in your debt.”

  “We’re happy to help,” I say. “If you ever need us again, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Agreed. Anytime.” Cole nods.

  Shields adds, “Always be vigilant.”

  “Okay, then.” Feazel takes in a deep breath. “Here we go. Prescott, you and Cole will go in first. I hope your fucking necktie doesn’t get in the way. We don’t know the layout, so you’ll go right. Shields, you and I will go left. Brett, you and your team hug our asses long enough for us to determine which direction the stairs are. Once it’s clear, follow that group, then head upstairs and go to work.”

  “Got it,” says Leonberger. “Betty, don’t fuckin’ shoot me in the back.”

  Nice.

  Merkle chimes in. “Let’s get this over with already. I need to get me some of the good stuff back at the ranch.”

  “Shut the hell up, Merkle,” says Leonberger.

  “Quiet!” Feazel barks. “Final weapons check. We kick the door in five.” We break the huddle.

  Yes, I have on a tie. My favorite damn tie, to be specific. I am Prescott. Without my tie, what am I? Just another asshole. I also have my double holster with my two trusty Glock 9mms. Fort Wayne “loaned” me a beautiful Colt AR, a classic weapon that feels wonderful in my hand. I am fully loaded and ready to go.

  Shields finally has a reason to wear her katana again. She looks serious. She’s definitely in the mood. Shields likes her guns as well. She has a double leg holster with a Beretta 92 in each pocket. She’s carrying a classic movie weapon, the Uzi. I tell her if she had a beard she’d look like Chuck Norris. She doesn’t laugh.

  Cole has his Ranger-issued MK46A assault rifle and tends to carry it on his person at all times anyway. And, of course, he’s also loaded down with two 1911s tucked in his back waistline.

  Feazel and Leonberger have M-16s and matching Glocks to mine. We all wear standard bulletproof vests as well as newly designed Normal SZ forearm and shin protection. There are still places we could get bitten, but we are in a much better position than we’d ever been in Nashville.

  PARTY TIME

  The seven of us approach the seriously imposing home with caution. Merkle scampers to the front of the line and pulls a lock-picking kit from his back pocket. In no time at all, the front door is open, and Merkle goes back to the rear to resume his position.

  Cole and I stand poised at the front. My hand is on the knob with the door open about two inches.

  Malcolm! Come on, man! Where are you?

  I bump fists with Cole, look back at everyone else, and mouth, “On three.”

  Here goes nothing, you asshole. “One, two, three.”

  My hand on the knob, I push the door to within an inch of the wall and release it. Cole and I blow past into the massive foyer. It’s fucking gross to look at, and it reeks of piss, but it’s clear. This house, man. It used to be so nice. You can tell. Ornate chandeliers lie dead on the tile floors. Not that cheap shit from Lowes either. The special-order stuff. To be the other half. High-end furniture has been torn to pieces and scattered randomly. And what is that smell?

  Cole and I spot where we’re going and head right, past the staircase and down the great hallway. I can only assume that, according to the plan, Shields and Feazel go left, and Leonberger, Merkle, and Betty head upstairs.

  Cole and I easily continue down the hall side by side. I hear automatic gunfire behind us, but we both stay focused and move forward. We come to doors across from each other and kick them in. Moments later, we each emerge with a thumbs up and keep going.

  Screaming and more gunfire erupts behind us, but we have to press on.

  Cole and I clear four other guest rooms before coming to a solid door with a small square window at the end of the hall. I tap Cole’s arm and nod up to the window, telling him I’m going to look.

  The room is probably twelve by twelve, with a hot tub directly in the center. And it’s on. That’s a red flag. There’s a sauna off to the left with the door shut. Damn.

  “Okay, Cole,” I whisper as I try the handle. “Who fuckin’ knows what the shit’s on the other side of this door. But let’s fuck ‘em up if they’re there and get on back to the others.”

  “Deal. Crack it.”

  “Okay, motherfuckers! My friend Cole and I are here for the 11:30 showing of It’s the End of Your Life. I already got robbed blind by the fucking concessions, so this better be good. You feelin’ me?”

  “Jeez, you shitbag,” says Cole. “Can’t anything ever be serious with you?”

  “Ha. Never.” I open the door and we spill in, ready to blow some Freaks into gut-smoothies, but it’s clear. We keep our weapons trained on the bubbling hot tub, and I follow Cole around to the sauna.

  We take up position at the side of the door. Cole counts down with his hand, then whips around into the sauna. The Mossberg is on his back, and his Beretta is poised to fire. Someone is lying in wait and shoots first. A bullet that Cole will later tell me whistled past his ear. He returns fire and double taps the Freak in the forehead.

  We’re looking into the sauna when an explosion erupts behind us. We turn and crouch in time to see three completely broken Freaks fly out of the hot tub and land right in our fuckin’ laps.

  Cole shrieks in a voice that made me think of the Sarlacc grabbing Lando by the leg in Return of the Jedi. That’s what the idiot gets for not paying attention.

  These Freaks, though, they look like a jacked-up version of the California Raisins, except they’re blood red and have some seriously fucked-up teeth. And they aren’t in the mood to sing or dance.

  “Cole!” I roar. “Mossberg. Now!”

  I drop the one closest to me before my AR jams up. The second one is on me before I can draw my Glocks. In straight-up survival mode, I launch a hand at his throat and squeeze as t
ightly as I can while fighting off his arm with my free hand. This is not going super well.

  Behind me, I hear a loud BOOM, then a sound similar to a water balloon exploding. Before I know it, my fucking bloody-raisin asshole friend and I are covered in Freak-goop. I can’t help it. I fucking puke right in the face of my dance partner. This enables me to break free, give me some space. Puke spittle still dripping from my mouth, I draw both my Glocks and terminate that fucker with extreme prejudice.

  I am still catching my breath when Cole comes up from behind, bear hugs me, and throws me into the hot tub. “Close your mouth and shut your eyes!” he says.

  Minutes later, we are heading back down the hallway, soaking wet, toward the gunfire we heard earlier. I feel like I weigh five hundred pounds. All I have to my name at this point are my Glocks and some pissed-off mojo. Cole most definitely made the right call. Hot water to wash off all the Freak secretions was just the ticket. We both remove our boots and socks so we won’t give away our element of surprise by squeaking and squishing.

  We hear ear-piercing screams from upstairs, but we know those aren’t our men. Our friends, yes. But not family. Cole and I both need to know Shields is good.

  As we run past the foyer off the entrance, I hear Shields scream, “No!” This, of course, encourages us to haul ass toward a door at the end of the hall. I’m not gonna lie: I did not slow down. I lower my shoulder and smash that son of a bitch right off the hinges, with Cole right behind me. We end up in a pile at the base of a three-step staircase.

  We’re in a massive, empty six-car garage. I look up just in time to see Shields reach behind, draw her katana, and bring it down on Feazel’s arm. The blade intersects the arm right above the elbow with such force sparks fly from the impact with the concrete floor. His arm is on the ground and his stump is spurting crimson before he even has a chance to protest.

  My stomach starts to turn again.

  “Whoa!” is all I can say.

  “Keep it down, Prescott. I don’t want to see that shit again,” says Cole.