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

by Bob Williams

  Shen seems so fucking pleased with himself. He stands next to Malcolm’s hanging corpse and just ... smiles.

  I just might hate this son of a bitch more than my father.

  The entirety of the gathering, including the four of us, is silent. What is there to say? Finally, I look to Shields and Cole, Lexi at my side, and say, “Take as many of them with you as you can when it starts.” They both nod.

  All of our weapons have been confiscated, and they are close by, inside the Seventh Son. That is another ball of wax entirely. Yep. We really are fucked.

  “Everyone! Your attention, please. I have a very important announcement. In accordance with the agreement I made with this barbequed motherfucker, I cannot harm dear Prescott and his friends. And that fucking dog.”

  “Man, what is your fucking problem with dogs?” I say. “You make some kinda asshat comment about dogs every chance you get. Dogs are loyal, cute, cuddly, fun, and really better than most people. Present company included.”

  Shen continues. Here is the endgame. I can feel it.

  “According to the arrangement I made with Malcolm—and I am a man of my word—I will not harm these low lyers. But! I don’t see any reason why you can’t!” The crowd goes berserk.

  “Shut up! Shut up! I know this is exciting. I want you all to just ... let go. Be free of any inhibitions. Reward yourselves for a job well done. Now, all two hundred of you—”

  “One-ninety!” yells Shields.

  “—won’t get some of this, but I thought I’d share a little bit of the spoils of victory with a few of you to get the party started. Malcolm here looks to be about medium well. Sound good? In the end, if you don’t get any of this prime cut here, or of Prescott and company, just eat your friend.”

  It’s about to get super shitty up in here. I inhale a deep breath, let it out, clench my fists, and get ready. I see Cole and Shields doing the same.

  “I love you guys. I really do. Thanks for the ride,” says Shields.

  “Likewise,” I say.

  “Always.”

  Shields looks at me funny and cocks her head. I’m not sure she even heard Cole.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Let’s get ready to rumble.”

  “All right! Who’s first?” says Shen. He removes the Rohan Dagger from the sheath, fillets a slice of meat from the forearm of the hanging corpse, and tosses it far into the crowd. I am very close to puking, both from disgust and rage. Also, it’s about to become a no-holds-barred broken Freak-fest out here.

  I am jarred suddenly from my thoughts by Admiral Shen himself.

  “Well, Mr. Prescott, I must say. You look a little pale. I have been a terrible host to you and your crew, haven’t I? Why, I don’t believe I’ve fed you one time since you’ve been in my care. That’s like some kinda violation of the Geneva Convention, isn’t it?”

  In the background, the crowd has actually turned into a mob. Violence and fights are breaking out in pockets as this entire scene devolves.

  “Could a few of you gentlemen bring Prescott and his merry band, including the dog, up here, please.”

  Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

  “Oh ... Hell ... no,” says Cole. “No fucking way, you psycho. No fucking way!”

  “You’re out of your fucking mind!” says Shields as she struggled mightily against the tide of bodies flowing toward the stage.

  This is one of those surreal moments where—even though you know the world has ended, and you know every day is a struggle for survival, and you know in the post-Descent world there are some sick-ass motherfuckers—you still have a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that you’re being led up onto a gallows stage to be fed a slice of your dead angel friend.

  I fight with every ounce of fight I have in me and cannot break free. I think about trying to swallow my tongue, but I don’t know how. I feel like I’m very close to having a dissociative event. In other words, a break from reality. I need one.

  Cole, Shields, Lexi, and I are brought rather rudely and roughly up onto the stage and immediately forced to our knees. Shen stands next to the sliced-up, charred, and chunked body of Malcolm.

  Shen reaches for Malcolm’s right hand and pulls it out, away from the body. He glances at me briefly, then goes about slowly sawing the grotesque hand at the wrist. I know there’s bones in there, lots of them, but that fucking dagger slices through it all like roast beef at your favorite meat and three.

  “Allow me to apologize for my rudeness, Mr. Prescott.”

  “Oh, I’m not that worried about it. Really. It’s getting kinda wild out there, though.”

  “Yes, well, boys will be boys,” says Shen as he completes the removal of Malcolm’s hand from his arm.

  “Fuck you, you animal!” spits Shields.

  “Well, you’re getting feisty all of a sudden. You waited a bit too long, though, don’t you think?”

  Shields says nothing.

  Turning his attention back to me, Shen now holds the hand by the fingers and waves the bloody, crispy wrist in front of my face. I begin to see double and feel kinda woozy, so I’m not sure I hear right before I vomit on both the hand and Shen’s boots.

  Brother. Help comes from the sky.

  The unmistakable sound of a sonic boom comes from above. We all look upward simultaneously—human, fallen angel, and Freaks alike. As dawn creeps across the night sky, the clouds begin to swirl. Slowly at first, and then much faster, as either kinetic energy or straight-up lightning begins to flash violently across the circle from all angles. All of us are transfixed, our eyes glued to the clouds.

  The heat-lightning, with its blue exterior outline, continues its flashing across the rotating cloud circle until a crisscross pattern fills the circle like a field or barrier. The only thing I can compare it to would be a stargate, but with an electrical current field, not the water kind.

  I am I seeing this? Or have I left myself for fear of eating the hand?

  Your sight does not fail you, brother.

  Another cracking sonic boom and something—a comet? an asteroid?—shoots right out of the center of the field and flies directly toward us. The speed is incalculable as the comet flies toward us at a harrowing rate.

  The comet is a brilliant combination of a white-hot center of constant motion, followed by a bright golden layer and finally, a fine lining of the lightning-blue hue coats the comet, leaving a trail as it speeds toward us.

  Shen screams, “RUN! Move!”

  It just so happens the scattering crowd gives the comet the perfect place to crash. And when it does, well, my life changes forever.

  KAHLEN

  The comet crashes soundly into the parking lot of the Seventh Son. Immediately upon the comet’s landing, a wave the mixture of the golden layer and the thin neon blue ripples outward in a circular pattern. Think of it like a sonar ping, or dropping a pebble into calm water.

  The ripple increases in size as it expands outward, devouring every Freak it comes in contact with. It’s exactly what Malcolm did earlier, but on a much, much grander scale. As for Cole, Shields, Lexi, and me, well, when the ripple washes over us ... it tickles.

  When the ripple washes over Shen, though, he remains … as does about half his army. We all stare slack-jawed at what has just happened. First thing I notice is everyone guarding us, or even close to us, is dust in the wind. And in my hair, eyes, and mouth.

  “Let’s haul ass outta here,” I say. “Our weapons have to be inside the bar!” As I turn to run back for the Seventh Son, somebody grabs my shirt by the collar and stops me dead in my tracks.

  I whip around and face who’s grabbed me. It’s Cole.

  “What the fuck, man? We gotta get armed! Like right fucking now.”

  “Prescott. Look.” He points toward ground zero for the comet. The vague outline of a human form is emerging from the debris- and dust-filled veil. I hear Shen screaming in the background but it just sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher. And there is action. Running, ma
yhem, shouting, and posturing.

  I can’t move. The voice I’d heard. It’s sinking in now. But ... no. Nothing is impossible anymore. Is it? The figure that emerges from the cloud is clad head to toe in the most immaculate set of armor I have ever seen. Protectorate armor.

  Emily.

  She walks with a confidence a million times more powerful than I’ve seen in her before. She wears a long sword in a sheath at her side. And she carries a helmet that sports a red mohawk, a flip-down visor, and a grill that just reeks of awesome. The way she carries herself, the entirety of her presentation and arrival, makes me so overcome with joy I begin to sob.

  “It’s Emily ...” is all I can muster. Cole and Shields both wear “holy shit” faces at my statement.

  When our eyes finally meet, I can tell it registers. She sees me, and a massive, joyful smile spreads across her face. But it is gone just as quickly. She shakes her head violently a few times, as if to snap out of her revelry, and extends her armor-covered hand in a motion to stop. And then a follow-up motion that indicates, ‘stay there.’

  “Emily!” I shout. “How—?”

  “Not now. There is work to be done.”

  She breaks off from us and makes straight for Shen, who looks as if someone has just driven a car through the front of the house and killed half the people at his birthday party. Well, I guess that is what just happened.

  Emily approaches the stage, and I really feel like Shen should be feeling better than he looks. He still has numbers. But I guess it’s shock. Maybe, like us, he’s never actually seen an angel cross in plain sight. Maybe he thinks she has the Protectorate on her heels. Who knows.

  “Shentaka Matsuri. My name is Kahlen of the Protectorate Guard.”

  “Kahlen?” I mutter.

  “You are to cease and desist these vile actions at once. You will surrender the Rohan Dagger immediately and allow yourself to be taken into custody, where you will, in turn, be placed in confinement for the remainder of your existence. If you do not comply with all of these conditions, you will die. Right here, right now. I am so commanded, with the authority to end this confrontation by any means necessary.”

  Kahlen? Who is this person? So confident. So … authoritative?

  I am your sister. Yet I am not.

  “Whatever do you mean, Kahlen of the Protectorate Guard?” Shen says smugly. “I outnumber you, one hundred plus to four and dog.”

  “No. You don’t,” She points toward the morning sky to where the cloud field opens to the sound of another sonic boom. This one is significantly louder due to presence of numerous comets falling out of the field and heading straight for us. Backup.

  “Does this mean we’re not friends anymore? If I thought you weren’t my friend I just don’t think I could bear it,” I say with a brand-new smile on my face.

  “Laura,” says Cole, “remember when I said wait until the time is right, then fight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Uh-huh. Let’s get it on.”

  “That’s just weird,” I say.

  Our backup is landing one after the other all over Fourth and Fourth while the three of us and Lexi break for the Seventh Son.

  In the background of us running, I hear Admiral Shen send this ticking time bomb into an all-out war.

  “TO THE DEATH!” he screams.

  “You tell ‘em I’m coming, and Hell’s coming with me!” I scream.

  “Shut up and fight, Prescott!” says Cole.

  The three of us make it into the bar with little effort as chaos reigns on the now-christened battlefield. Sitting nice and conveniently on the bar slab, right next to the taps, is the pile of goodies Woolever had bagged, with the exception of my Glocks, but Shields’s katana is there, along with her Berettas and Cole’s Mossberg and MK46A.

  “Okay, who’s sharing with me?” I say.

  “Here,” says Cole. “Beat people with it till you can shoot somebody and get a better gun.”

  “Awesome.” I look at them both, and at Lexi. “We’re either lucky as fuck or all this shit is really true.”

  “Indeed. Now let’s go help your sister and our new friends,” says Shields.

  “Indeed,” says Cole briskly. I imagine he is very much wanting to dole out some payback. His neck is gonna be raw for a minute.

  We race back out into morning sunshine and a full-scale battle royale. A quick count reveals twenty-five Protectorate Guards knee-deep in the shit and holding their own, while about ten Freaks are on top of Emily. I mean … Kahlen. Shen? He’s just watching it all burn.

  “Cole, Shields! Help me free up Em, then we’ll get Shen. Then take out as many as you can.”

  “In other words, Michael, it’s time to skin that smoke wagon!” says Shields. We both look at her.

  “What? I told you. Even I’ve seen Tombstone.”

  “Lexi! Bring up the rear and watch our backs. Let us know if someone tries to gank us from the back.”

  “Nobody says ‘gank’ anymore, Prescott,” Cole said says as he runs first into battle.

  I follow, with Shields next and Lexi just as ordered. I swear that dog is special.

  The great thing about Freaks is that if you shoot them, they die. It may take a few more bullets, but it does work. Headshots are always best. It’s exactly why we are able to free up Emily so quickly. A few well-placed shots from Cole’s MK46A, and a couple go down. Shields runs up, katana slicing and dicing, and I have the pleasure of making one Freak’s head blow like a ripe tomato, thanks to the Mossberg.

  And there we have it. Emily is free.

  And then Shen starts shooting. A bullet ricochets off the armor and grazes my arm, but it isn’t anything to write home about.

  “Emily! You don’t have a shield?” I squawk as bullets continue to fly in our direction.

  “I no longer answer to that name. You may call me Kahlen.” Bullets are still flying.

  “Okay. Okay. Let’s pick this up later. Cole. Shields. Get it on! Or whatever y’all talked about when I wasn’t there. GO!” Cole pops a few shots at Shen to keep him honest, then they are off to join the fray.

  “Okay, Kahlen. It’s you and me versus Shen for all the marbles. Can we do this?”

  “He is powerful, and moderately experienced. Plus, he has the dagger, which can kill us both. But yes, we can.” She had said my first name there, and I am grateful Cole and Shields are not present to hear it.

  “Since we’re addressing names, it’s Prescott. Just Prescott all day, every day.”

  “Noted. Can we fight now?”

  “Indeed.”

  And so Kahlen and I make the rookie mistake of fighting together by having a conversation in the midst of a battle, and as such, Shen gets a head start on his getaway. I stand where I am and rotate 360 degrees, searching for that little fucker, and I can’t find him. The battle has spread throughout the immediate parking lot and onto North and East Fourth. It’s going to be hopeless finding him in this ...

  DING!

  I stand corrected. A quick shift of my feet and yes, I am following Kahlen, who’s taken off like a bat out of Hell for Shen.

  I knew I loved that doorbell. I just knew it.

  One thing I learned about my sister in the brief seconds we’d been reunited: going to Heaven made her faster. Damn, she is blazing a trail of fire. And in that armor, too. She is practically grabbing at the door handle before I am four steps into my run. Pulling up the rear, I yank the door—DING!—and continue into and down the hall. Once I hit the end of the picture collages of old and new, I take a right that puts me walking right onto the bar floor. The bar slab and taps are on the right. And to my left is a fallen, psychotic, brain-fried fallen angel and a very motivated angel of the Protectorate Guard, fighting to the death.

  Despite the armor and the swagger, it seems Kahlen can still only fight like Emily. The armor is light but still arduous for hand-to-hand combat.

  Did you maybe think this was going to be a different kind of competition?

&n
bsp; Shut up and help me!

  Oh! Right!

  I enter the fisticuffs by arriving right as Kahlen receives a kick to the gut, which is really the armor, and the momentum of the blow takes her back a few steps. Now, don’t picture some image of a ninety-pound weakling in a hulking two-hundred-pound suit of armor. This is not it. Whoever made this armor is exceptional. Kahlen is just going to have to learn to fight in it.

  I jump in with a Superman punch that lands directly on Shen’s temple, simply because he isn’t paying attention to the fact I’ve arrived. I won’t be that lucky again. But on a positive note, the blow did seem to hurt.

  Now he focuses on me, coming hard with a left jab that lands. Followed by a right hook, which also lands. And finally a spinning roundhouse that is so hard my first child will be born dizzy. My legs turn to spaghetti and down I go.

  Motherfucker’s fast, Em. Shit! I mean Kahlen.

  He’s almost too fast for me to do basic defensive maneuvers.

  Okay. Well, let’s try again.

  This time we go together, and we he have to switch-block once the other has a chance to land something. I throw a front kick that Shen blocks easily with both hands in a “stay-the-fuck-down” kind of motion. Kahlen comes right behind and strikes him with a quality blow right in the sternum. That backs him up.

  “Two against one. How will the Protectorate history books record this night? One wonders.”

  “As long as it reads we won,” says Kahlen, “I don’t give a shit.”

  “My, my. It seems the Protectorate will let anyone in these days. Even a foul-mouthed brat.”

  We both charge again, but I think she’s pissed him off, because he avoids my punch and returns the favor with a strike so hard I learn firsthand what human liver tastes like. Down I go again, writhing and gasping for air. I watch through blurry eyes as Shen literally catches Kahlen’s punch and hits her in the face with her own armored glove hand. A wicked cut opens above her left eye, followed by a steady stream of the red stuff, which flows right into her eye.