Agony Of The World: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 9)

by Boyd Craven III

  “It may come out a little cloudy at first,” Stu told him, “But this is how we did it overseas. Our people had this down to a science, but I was only a bystander then. I’m winging this a little bit.”

  “You are doing what you can, which is more than most have,” the pastor reassured him.

  They ran out of materials and had to stop what they were doing until the charcoal that was being made was done. In the meantime, Stu walked around the small town while he waited. The land out here was rolling hills and, with everyone cooking over wood fires, he wasn’t surprised to see a plume of smoke out in the distance. Curious, he made a note to check it out later or ask about it with the scouts when they came back.

  “There you are,” John said, striding towards Stu.

  “Hey, just stretching my legs some. We’re waiting on the last of the charcoal to be made so we can finish the filter.”

  “Perfect! Hey, listen, I couldn’t get you on the radio. Everything ok?”

  Stu looked down and turned the knob on his handset clipped to his side. No red light.

  “Must have let the battery wear down or bumped it while building the filter.”

  “Ahh ok. Good deal. Listen, I’m getting a bad feeling here.”

  “The people of the town? They’ve been awesome so far.” Stu said, suddenly curious, but feeling like the bottom was about to drop out.

  “I’ve got some news on the radio and want to roll out soon, but our scout team has gone missing.”

  “Who’d you send?” Stu asked, curious and hoping it wasn’t some of the new friends he’d just made. Just in case the worst had happened; it was cold, but it was a reality.

  “Sylvia and Ron, that husband and wife couple who linked up with us last week, and Jared.”

  “Part of the Kentucky Mafia?” Stu asked, using the nickname they had for people who had gone through the training at the Homestead.

  “Yeah. If they saw anything, they were to break and run for here. We haven’t heard back from them.”

  “Which direction were they headed exactly?” Stu asked.

  John looked north, then to the river and then back north again. “Probably about near where that fire is,” he said, pointing to the smoke Stu had noticed earlier.

  “The pastor and his people can finish the charcoal and filter if you need me,” Stu said.

  “I have a feeling I do. You, me, Tex, Caitlin and some of the saltier hands are going to gear up and have a sneak. We’ll leave the rest here to protect equipment and personnel in case we need them to pull our butts out of the fire.”

  “You’re thinking the worst happened?” Stu asked.

  John didn’t say anything, just stared north. Stu clapped him on the shoulder and headed back towards the vehicle he’d ridden to town in. He’d stored his guns and non-essential gear when he’d started his construction project. Now it was time to get his kit on and put on his war paint. With any luck, they were just lost. John prayed they were only lost also, as he saw the sky darkening as the sun started to set. In all that excitement, Stu forgot to ask about the news John had gotten that had prompted him to come find him.

  “Anything?” Stu asked.

  “Nothing. Approaching a clearing where I think the fire is,” John told everyone over the tactical radio.

  He’d become the spear of the new scouting party, with Tex and Caitlin just behind. Stu was left to guard their six with several in between them for fire support. Everyone kept moving slowly, following the path John had made through the tall grass by the river. At many points the brush had gotten thick, but a natural clearing appeared as Stu caught up with everyone who was spreading out across the outer edges of the clearing. What he saw shocked him to his core.

  Three figures had been crucified upside down as a fire burned between all of them. Dancing in a circle were mostly naked figures. At first, it didn’t register with Stu, but it was almost an even mixture of men and women. Filth and dirt streaked their bodies, except where the rivers of sweat had washed the grime away. All were chanting and dancing except for one gaunt, skeletal figure. The figure was so thin that the loincloth it wore was the only thing preventing the group from identifying it as man or woman. A long blade was held loosely in one hand, and the chanting stopped.

  Two of the figures on the crucifixes were flopping and moving their heads, the only part of them that was free. In a flash, the gaunt figure’s blade flashed out, making the ground wet beneath their head.

  “Oh hell no,” Caitlin cursed, bringing her M4 up.

  Stu walking into that sight and taking a glance, and the point when they all opened fire on the figures, felt like a lifetime to him, but in reality it was less than a couple of seconds. He recognized the face thrashing as his lifeblood ran out; it was one of the Kentucky Mafia. Stu sent lead inbound for the gaunt figure who spun as several bullets hit him.

  The gunfire snapped the naked group's attention to, and they started towards the seven party rescue squad. They opened fire as men and women pushed and jumped over those slower than them. It was a horde. Still, none of them were armed with anything more lethal than chunks of firewood and a few knives. The seven of them had a full load out. In seconds, what had been a horde intent on overwhelming them, broke ranks and ran. Several tried to pull the gaunt figure to its feet as they went, but they were waved off. Motors fired up somewhere to the north of them and roared away as the night quieted down. Slowly, making sure they weren’t being surrounded in the dark, they made their way to the crucifixes.

  The air stank of cordite, blood, feces and body odor. Making sure every single body they put behind them was dead and not playing possum was a sight that would give them nightmares. Many of the dead had their teeth sharpened to points. Already, in the dark, the flies had found them. They bypassed the still struggling figure with the knife, after kicking the red streaked blade far out of its reach. He was stitched high in the chest and once in the side.

  “They killed her,” Ron sobbed, his voice weak.

  “He’s still alive!” Stu rushed forward.

  He soon saw the crucifixes were crude structures, made from 6x6 posts. Blood ran down Ron’s legs where his feet had been tacked to the post with what looked to be a section of rebar. His hands were similarly tacked to the crossbars.

  “Oh sh… look at… Oh, Ron, don’t look any more,” Caitlin said.

  Jared had finished his struggles and had expired during the firefight. Sylvia similarly had her throat cut, but the naked figures had started to eviscerate her, her entrails left in the dirt. After half a glance, not all of them were accounted for. It looked as if a butcher had sliced sections off of the front and sides of one leg. John was the only one who didn’t puke right off. Not knowing what else to do and feeling out of his depth, Stu motioned for one of the new guys to run over and help him. Supporting his shoulders, Stu worked the stake back and forth before pulling it from Ron’s feet. Similarly, Tex pulled the ones holding his hands.

  Ron flopped to the ground, lifeless. He’d passed out from the pain or horror almost as soon as they started to work on freeing him. A low chuckle erupted behind Stu, making him spin. Up close, Stu could see that it was an old man now, but hadn’t been able to make that out before. Gleaming in the darkness was John’s knife, and he was holding it over the man, who kept laughing.

  “Why?” Caitlin asked him.

  “Everyone... Every.. everyone has to partake of the sacrifice. It’s all been foretold,” he wheezed.

  “Who are you people?” John asked.

  “We are the Others,” he said taking a deep breath. “We’ve always been here, waiting for the judgment of the wicked. Our time… our… it’s now…” he coughed, having spent most of his energy talking, and he gasped for a moment before finishing, “our time is now.”

  John was wiping his knife clean in the grass when Stu walked up to him, looking pale. John was sickened by all of it, but had hidden it better than most. He would pay hell for it later on in his dreams, but this was some
thing they had to either follow up on now or pass on. Considering his hard deadline to get to Nebraska, he had some impossible decisions to make. One of the problems was Ron, who was too busted up to be moved right away. In addition to the holes in his body from the crucifixion, he also had a broken ankle and several shattered ribs. By the communication John had gotten earlier from King and Michael through Sandra, they had to be there already.

  Was there proof that elements of the government were co-opted by the terrorists? Or was the government working with or for them? It would be earth shattering news, and the two of them couldn’t do much against a bunker that was hardened against nuclear strikes. Despite the security measures that were in place, there were also DHS and potentially NATO or Jihadis for all they knew. They needed intel. That’s why they had the supply drop relocated one hundred thirty miles south of there, and that was still too close in John’s opinion. Without knowing the base’s radar capabilities and what they had stockpiled, it would be dangerous no matter what.

  “We can’t just leave him, poor dear,” Caitlin complained about Ron.

  “He won’t be alone. The pastor here is putting him up himself, and Sandra’s got a militia convoy coming through here in a few days. Between what our medics gave him and what they are bringing, Ron will be in good hands.”

  “But his wife… He watched her— “

  “Listen, we all know what happened,” John’s words were sharp. “Saying it out loud only makes it more real, and we need to keep our focus here. The other thing I was going to tell you all, is that Michael, King and I have been in touch, as well as with the Homestead. We’re getting reinforcements. Our first mission is to recon the base and see. It’s not one of the strategic assets bases, but somewhere the DHS has been stockpiling stuff. Early HUMINT says it is part of an old missile silo that has been modernized and retrofitted.

  “What we don’t know yet is whether Sandra’s contacts within the federal government are going to even listen to this, or if they are complicit in it. Part of the supply drop is going to be some high-end digital cameras that we are going to use for proof. They came back with Blake when he retired.”

  “That hillbilly retired?” Tex asked, the irony not lost on everyone.

  “Yeah, he’s now officially retarded,” John said, using vernacular more familiar to him, “and I heard that he had another colorful disagreement with the government officials.”

  “What’d he do, threaten to rain artillery down on them again?” Stu asked, having become a fan of the Rebel Radio broadcasts and a fan of Blake’s in general.

  Even when Blake was away, an enterprising kid on the west coast with a working iPod had taped earlier transmissions, and coordinated with Sandra to play old episodes from time to time.

  John just looked at Stu with a straight face and nodded. Stu’s laughter stopped in a choke.

  “What?” Caitlin asked.

  “That kid out in California has been replaying the transmission between Blake and the new governor. Seems he told Blake he could compel him to remain in service, and Blake reminded him what happened to the last governor and quoted some Jefferson to him.”

  “That kid has some cajones the size of Texas…” Tex said.

  “Or he’s just as tired and fed up as a lot of people are, and just wanted to be left alone,” Caitlin said.

  “Plus, Sandra’s gotta be getting close to popping, isn’t she?”

  “February or March,” John said, already looking at the maps again. “So she’s got a little bit, still.”

  “Oh… well, when do we roll out? Are we still waiting till dawn?” Stu asked.

  “No, we’re basically ready now. I’m just trying to figure out where those cannibals could have gone. We don’t have any intel at all about the ‘Others’, and I’m trying to get as much info as I can for the militia group coming in the next day or two. They are going to hunt these monsters down. We don’t have that option. Unfortunately.”

  Everyone could see John was upset, and his focus was absolute. They made ready and, before the twenty four hour mark John had promised, they rolled before the rising sun.

  11

  Blake, The Homestead, Kentucky

  “Blake, you have to hear this,” Patty said as Blake strolled through his living room, which had been turned into the main communications hub for the Homestead.

  “What is it?” Blake asked.

  “We just heard from King through the relay channel. They’ve got eyes on DHS and Jihadis meeting up and attacking Michael and him as a single force.”

  Blake swore, one of his most infrequent phrases, so vile that it made Patty giggle.

  “Does my wife know?” Blake asked.

  Patty turned a dial and hit a button, and Sandra’s voice came through the radio, loud and clear.

  “…I say again, DHS and Islamic forces are banding together in Nebraska. Their target is unknown. We’ve long suspected an inside connection. Your orders? Over.”

  “Wait one, over,” a stern voice said in response.

  “Mrs. Jackson,” a smooth, cultured voice, free from all stress, came across the airwaves, on a scrambled military channel. “Can you provide me proof of your reports?”

  “General,” the stern voice said before she could respond, “Our intel on her so-called source says he’s a convicted criminal and murderer. I was going to tell her to— “

  “I don’t know who you are personally,” the general said, “But it would do your well-being, your career, and your health, a great deal of good never to interrupt me again. Over.”

  “General,” Sandra said, recognizing the voice of the once Louisiana Governor and former Joint Chief of Staff’s voice, “do you remember me and trust me? Over.”

  “I do, child, over,” the general said, his voice making him sound like he could be twenty or ninety; it was silky smooth.

  “My source was my war daddy. My mentor. If what he did makes what he saw invalid, take me out of the loop, sir. I’d go to war on his say-so. The same way I would on yours. Over.”

  The general’s chuckle came over the scrambled channel. “I am ordering the DHS to cease and desist all operations for seventy two hours, other than humanitarian efforts. If you can get me proof, solid proof… it would go a long way toward— “

  “General, this is insane, I – “

  “You, sir, are relieved of duty,” the silky voice said, “on my authority. You will be court martialed and brought before me for sentencing when you are found guilty. Unless you want me to have your base commander shoot you on the spot?”

  “No, sir. Over,” a chastised voice said.

  Blake looked around the room, his eyes the size of saucers. Chris wandered over and hugged his adoptive father’s waist. Blake hugged back and boosted him up.

  “I understand there are elements that my counterparts will not re-supply because of political differences? Over,” the general asked.

  “Yes sir, over,” Sandra said in a small voice.

  “I am going to have some hardware sent your way. You have been in charge of the national militias and organizing the non-military resistance fighting our land-based wars here in the States. What do you need? Over.”

  Blake’s mind was blown, and he almost choked in surprise as he waited for his wife’s response. Where was Sandra? In the barn? The backup radio set up in the barracks? After what felt like hours, but was probably more like twenty seconds, Sandra started to rattle off a list of supplies. The general stopped her once to get a recording started, and she started over, adding more than she had before.

  “… and that’s just a start, sir. What I need more than anything else is cooperation. At every turn, what the DHS and the UN/NATO troops are doing is hampering our efforts. Yes, the people are hungry, sick and need aid, but if we’re going to fight this war, we need our own supply chain. Over.”

  “Are you sure of this, Mrs. Jackson? Over?”

  “What do you mean, sir? Over?”

  There was a long pause, “O
ne woman. One woman who has over a hundred thousand volunteering souls waiting on her every word. Filled with patriotism, filled with the hatred of the enemy. Wanting a target. I can give you the keys to the gun lockers. Of the ten to twelve million souls left in America, do you want this responsibility? Over?”

  “Sir?” Sandra asked, her voice cracking.

  The front door opened, and Sandra walked in with one of the large handsets that piggybacked off the big antenna that was now set up.

  “You and your husband are the voice of the American Militias. You are literally directing as large a force as the American Military, or what’s left of it. You and your husband have become cult heroes of the apocalypse. I asked what you needed, and you gave me a wish list for one op. What do you need, girl? Do you realize how much is hanging in the balance? Over.”

  Sandra walked over to Blake, her eyes tearing up. She shook her head when Blake’s expression was ready to ask her a question. She leaned into him till he took the hint and wrapped his arms around her. Patty and David turned down the volume some, otherwise, they’d hear duplicate.

  “Sir, if you can make the DHS cease all operations for seventy two hours, I have units from Texas to Colorado with eyes on. Let me get you the proof needed and perhaps we can make a decision then. Over.”

  “You didn’t say no; you didn’t refuse when I told you the reality of the situation. You’re just as I remembered you. Give my thanks to your husband, for putting up with such a strong-willed woman. I’ll be in touch in three hours. Over.”

  “He can’t be right,” Sandra said.

  She was working herself up, and Blake had sent Chris with his grandparents while he tried to talk his wife down.

  “Why sure he is,” Blake said.

  “I am not in charge of…” her chest hitched and, although they were sitting on the bed, Blake lifted her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her.

  She leaned back into his tall, lean frame and, when the tears came, he held her tightly, running his hands through her hair to calm her. When she started to calm down, Blake spoke up.