Children of Wrath

by Ryan King

  "I want to see whoever is in charge," said Nathan from the ground.

  One of the guards looked down at Nathan. "Sir, just stay on the ground and be quiet, please."

  "Tell them it's urgent," said Nathan.

  A different guard poked the barrel of his rifle in Nathan's face. "He told you to shut your mouth unless you want to get shot in the face."

  "Let them know I'm General Nathan Taylor."

  The mayhem of discussion ceased almost immediately, and the guards looked down on him in surprise.

  "Sure looks like him," said one.

  "I thought he was exiled," said another.

  Nathan held up his branded hand.

  "Yep," said the first guard, "that's got to be him."

  "So what?" said the guard who had put the barrel in his face. "He's nothing now. We don't have to do what he says."

  "Maybe not," said Billy, "but I bet the commander will want to talk to him. Maybe you should go and inform him of the situation."

  The guards looked at Nathan and then at each other before one left. A few minutes later, Major Beau Myers returned. Walking over to Nathan, he looked embarrassed to see him on the ground. Reaching down, he helped Nathan to his feet.

  "I'm very sorry about this, sir," said Beau, giving the guards stern looks. "This is not acceptable."

  "Totally my fault," said Nathan. "They were just doing their jobs. Is there some place we can talk privately?"

  Beau nodded and led him in toward the tent. "Men, can you give us a moment?" he said to three staff officers working at desks and map boards. They looked at Nathan curiously and then departed.

  "Have you seen or heard anything about my son?" Nathan asked.

  Beau evidently knew which one he was talking about. "No. We know he was taken prisoner along with the rest of his unit, but those men say he escaped about a week ago."

  "And he hasn't shown up here?"

  "Sorry, sir," Beau answered.

  Nathan sat and put his head in his hands.

  "Sir," said Beau tentatively, "I hope you understand I can't let you go back into the JP."

  Nathan looked up. "Of course not. Wouldn't want to right now anyway. I still have to find Joshua."

  Beau started to say something else, but outside they heard the sound of a motorcycle and men yelling. Beau moved toward the flap in the tent, and Nathan followed.

  A large man in an MA uniform was driving the bike right toward the tanks. All the soldiers were pointing rifles at him, but afraid to shoot because of the woman on the back and the two children sitting on the gas tank in front of him.

  "Please ask your men to put down their weapons," said Nathan.

  "You know this man?" asked Beau.

  "Yes, he was part of our escape plan. He helped some of the JP soldiers. I promised him and his family asylum in the JP in return."

  "Oh hell," sighed Beau, walking out of the tent. Raising his hands, he quickly got his soldiers' attention and convinced them to lower their weapons. Nathan and Tarl walked over to Conrad McKraven as he put the kickstand down and helped his family dismount.

  "I see you decided not to wait until tonight either," said Nathan.

  "Hell no," he answered, placing a girl probably no more than three into his arms.

  Nathan instinctively took the girl who wrapped her arms and legs around him in turn.

  "Sorry it didn't work out as planned," said Nathan.

  "Never does," he answered. "Besides, I was ready. When those tanks rolled up, I knew it was time anyway."

  "Did you see any more of our men?" asked Tarl.

  Conrad shook his head. "Sorry, no. But to be honest, I wasn't really looking. Got my ass out of there, grabbed my family, and then hauled ass up here hoping none of your boys killed me before I got here."

  "I trust it was a close thing," said Beau, walking up.

  Nathan looked at Beau and then Conrad. "Conrad McKraven, let me introduce Major Beau Myers. He's in charge here and he's the man you need to talk to about getting into the JP. He could probably also offer you a job. Beau, from my understanding, McKraven is a good soldier and combat engineer to boot."

  "Is that so?" asked Beau, looking at Conrad, the boy in his arms, the girl in Nathan's arms, and the small woman behind him.

  "That's right," said Conrad. "I'd be obliged if you would let us in. I'm afraid the MA will skin me and my family alive if they catch me."

  Beau looked at Tarl. "Did this man provide you with aid while you were held by the MA?"

  Tarl looked at Nathan and then nodded. "He pulled us out of the camp and brought us to meet General Taylor secretly where we made a plan for escape."

  "Okay," said Beau, reaching out to shake Conrad's hand. "I think we can work something out."

  "I appreciate it," said Conrad smiling.

  Nathan handed the little girl to Conrad. "Good luck in there."

  "You're not coming?"

  "Can't," said Nathan, holding up his branded hand. "Besides, I still have to find my son."

  Conrad nodded. "Will you keep an eye on Grandpa?"

  "More like him keeping an eye on me," said Nathan, "but I get your drift. We'll look after each other."

  "Thanks," said Conrad and then gathered his family together. "Come on now; let's go see what they got for us." They followed Tarl and a few other guards toward a smaller tent behind the command shelter.

  Nathan looked speculatively at the motorcycle and then attached his pack to the rear and rifle across the front handlebars.

  "Sir," said Beau, "I was sorry to hear about what happened to you. I don't believe it for a minute. It's General Anderson all over again, one man taking the fall."

  Nathan was surprised at the emotion these words produced in him. "Thank you, son. And you can stop calling me sir."

  "Yes, sir," said Beau. "Will you be okay over here?"

  "Sure," answered Nathan. "With the MA destroyed, it should be a lot safer."

  Beau shook his head. "Don't think for a minute we destroyed them. We set them back a little, but that was just their forward base I'm sure. There are more of them and those like them out there. Also, we still haven't located Vincent Lacert."

  This caused Nathan to pause. "That's good to know. I'll keep my eyes open." He climbed up on the bike and checked the gas tank. Seeing it was at least three quarters full, he cranked the engine.

  Beau and others waved to Nathan as he turned the bike around and then roared off westward.

  Chapter 21 - Fulfilling Destiny

  Jacob was almost to the top of the steps to the front door of Harold's cabin when he heard a loud voice behind him.

  "Jacob Daniels!"

  He turned without thinking and saw big Jim Meeks standing there, less than ten feet away.

  Jim smiled. "I knew it was you. That whole eye thing threw me off the first time, but I never forget a face."

  Jacob backed into the house, and Jim followed his hand on the butt of the revolver at his belt.

  "Always had a bad feeling about you," Jim said. "I don't know if you know this or not, but when we let you free from Hancock Prison, I tried to convince Harold to execute you, but he wouldn't do it. I think he'd admit now that he should have listened to me. Course it's still not too late."

  With a shriek of rage, Uriel reached over his back and pulled free his sword, charging at Jim Meeks.

  The smile on the big man's face vanished and he tried to pull away, but his back slammed into the wall at the same time the tip of the blade sliced across his chest. Jim sank to the floor as he pulled out his pistol and tried to raise it.

  "You can't kill me," said Uriel. "I am the fire of God." He pulled the point of the blade back, set it carefully on the side of Jim Meeks' chest, and then leaned forward, putting all his weight on the handle. The blade moved quickly at first, then slowed, and finally stopped at the tip came to rest against the wall. Uriel leaned in close to the dying man and began studying his eyes. The one on the right would certainly make a nice addition to his coll
ection.

  Jim finally was able to raise his right hand. The pistol wobbled and shook, and then dropped again to the floor.

  "Here, let me help," Uriel said and lifted the man's hand, placing the barrel of the pistol against his forehead. "Now try."

  It took every ounce of strength he had to pull the trigger. Instead of the expected explosion, there was a simple click.

  Uriel laughed gleefully.

  "Goddamn reloads," grunted Jim. "I'm going to kill those clowns at the university."

  "Try again," said Uriel, obviously enjoying himself.

  Starting to feel cold and sleepy, Jim summoned everything he had left and pulled the trigger again.

  And blew most of Jacob Daniels head off. The body stayed where it was, but then slowly tilted like a felled tree and crashed to the floor beside Jim.

  "Boss should have listened to me," he whispered to himself.

  Harold ran to the noise. "What the hell happened?" he asked, looking at Jacob's body to the side, then Jim's chest and the rod of metal sticking out of it. His face showed shock and dismay, and he seemed not to be able to take it all in.

  "You should have listened to me, boss," Jim whispered.

  "What, Jim? I'm listening now. What should I have listened to?"

  "You should have listened to me," he said and then died.

  Cujo's furious barking outside turned to a long howl.

  Part III

  Rebellion

  Chapter 1 - Protesting

  Brazen smiled and shook his head at the scene before him. About a hundred men and women and even a few children marched in front of the JP government compound, more recently the headquarters of the JP government, security gate. He saw signs that read “We Didn't Vote For This, Give Us a Recount” and “Give Us Our Rights Back” and “Free Tim Reynolds Now.”

  The distinguished looking man who was obviously the organizer spotted Brazen and walked over to the SUV he was sitting in.

  "If I hadn't seen it," said Brazen, "I wouldn't have believed it."

  "Good to see you too, Timothy," said Pastor Guy Lancourt. "Have you come to march with us?"

  "Not today," said Brazen. "My protests tend to take a different form."

  Lancourt frowned. "Those forms are not always good for the soul."

  "But you have to admit they get results," said Brazen.

  "People look to you," said Lancourt. "They respect you. If you lent us your voice and your presence, it would mean a lot to our cause."

  "Aren't you supposed to be busy saving souls and stuff?" asked Brazen. "Since when are you a political activist?"

  Lancourt smiled. "There is a very long and rich tradition of political reform among men of the cloth, as we are commonly called."

  "And just how did you get involved in this?"

  "Mr. Clarence Anderson is heading up the Committee for JP Recall Election," Lancourt explained. "He asked me to organize the Paducah chapter and also assist with public awareness, which is what we're doing now."

  "Ah, yes," said Brazen. "Old General Anderson, of the Battle of Fulton Massacre. I didn't even know you knew the man."

  "I didn't," said Lancourt. "He came to see me last week and convinced me of the merits of his cause. He struck me as a very honorable man attempting to help others."

  "Sometimes you can be so gullible," said Brazen.

  "And sometimes you can be incredibly negative," answered Lancourt. "Just because you try to quash those feelings in yourself, doesn't mean others don't act on them. Besides, you're more benevolent than you want people to know. I hear stories."

  "Well, you just keep them to yourself," said Brazen, "I have a reputation to maintain." He looked over and saw McCracken County and Paducah City Police watching from behind the barrier. "You have any trouble from the cops?"

  "Nothing I can't handle," said Lancourt.

  Brazen nodded. "If there is anything you can't handle, be sure and let me know."

  "I'd be more inclined to do that," said Lancourt, "if I knew it wouldn't result in bloodshed."

  Brazen frowned. "Why do you always think the worst of me? I can also be very convincing when I set my mind to it."

  "I have no doubt, and I do think the best of you. But we are all capable of despicable acts of horror and inspiring and uplifting acts of courage and sacrifice."

  "Even you?" teased Brazen.

  "Oh, yes," answered Lancourt. "Especially me. I wasn't always a pastor."

  "You should tell me about that sometime."

  "I'd rather not." Lancourt looked back at his picket line. "I need to go tend to my flock. You should tend to yours."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "You have people who depend on you," said Lancourt. "If the JP is rotten at the core, fixing it is on your head too. Pretending it's none of your business just means you're not taking care of business."

  "Oh really?" said Brazen, but Lancourt had already walked away. He turned to the three other men in the SUV with him. "None of you better repeat any of that conversation."

  "Yes, Brazen," they all answered.

  "And have the boys keep an eye on Pastor Lancourt," said Brazen. "I know he trusts the Lord to protect him, but I'd feel better if we did it."

  They pulled away, and Brazen gave the frowning policemen a wave while going past.

  Chapter 2 - Burying a Friend

  Harold made sure that Jim Meeks' funeral was a small, simple, and dignified affair. He didn't have to know the man's express wishes to intuitively understand what he would have wanted. They had been together for nearly twenty years.

  There was no eulogy or service. Harold decided that those who knew Jim didn't need to hear stories of him and those that didn't know him wouldn't be moved by them. A graveside service with a prayer and then his friend was gone. He shook hands and said all the right things, but what he really wanted to do was be alone. And drink.

  Harold rode his horse from the small graveyard off of the Trace back toward his office. It wasn't far, but he let the horse have its head, enjoying the solitude and tranquility. When he finally arrived at his office, he found a strange-looking large man standing on the front porch. Harold rode up to him and looked down, but didn't yet dismount.

  "Who are you?" asked Harold and then realized how rude that sounded. Then he decided he didn't care, scratching under his eye patch.

  "I'm Conrad McKraven," he said, "from Missouri."

  "Oh, yes," said Harold. "I heard about you."

  Conrad nodded. "Anyway, Nathan Taylor said you would give my family and me a place to live. I talked to Major Beau Myers about joining his unit, but he thought it would be safer for us here working for you."

  "Nathan Taylor," said Harold, dismounting and tying the horse to the railing. "The man's been exiled out of the country and still finds ways to ask me for favors."

  "Yes, he’s like that," said Conrad, "Anyway, can you help us?"

  Harold looked at the large man and realized the newcomer was nervous. Harold then looked over and saw two little children watching carefully behind a small woman. Fear was in her eyes. They're afraid I'll throw them out, he thought. Then they'll be on their own. I've been here a little over a year and I already take that for granted.

  Harold pulled a notebook from his breast pocket and wrote a note using a stubby pencil. He tore off the paper and handed it to Conrad, "Take that over to the housing office there." He pointed to a central cabin surrounded by numerous smaller cabins. "I think we still have a few vacancies. You'll likely need to fix it up before the winter comes, but it should keep you warm." He then wrote again on a fresh piece of paper and tore that off as well. "Take this note to John Robels at the quartermaster office in the morning. He'll get you outfitted with whatever you need. Be prepared, he'll likely put you to work doing something, both of you." He looked at the woman and realized she was near tears. Harold pointed at another building to their right. "Cafeteria is there. Dinner will be served in an hour. Welcome, and let me know if you ha
ve any trouble with anyone."

  Conrad stuck his hand out. "Thank you." There was vast meaning in those two words.

  Harold took the man's hand and realized how tired he was. He smiled weakly as the family walked toward the housing office and the small woman turned quickly and ran up to him. She rose up on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  "Thank you," she whispered before running to jump into the arms of Conrad, who twirled her around before setting her on her feet again.

  He stood looking at them for a long moment, forgetting that he wanted a drink. Walking up the stairs and into his combined office headquarters home, he consciously avoided looking to the left where he could still, despite numerous scrubbings, see the bloody outline of where Jim Meeks breathed his last.

  "Harold?" said a woman's voice from inside his office.

  "Yes," he answered. "Who's that?"

  "It's me, Bethany Taylor," said a woman walking in from the other room. She was just starting to show, and looked even more beautiful for the pregnancy.

  Harold crossed the room and kissed her on the cheek.

  "How are you doing?" she asked.

  Knowing she wasn't asking just to be nice, he thought for a moment before answering, "I'm not sure. I think I'm okay, but who knows? Jim and I were together for a long time."

  She nodded. "I know what you're talking about. Your mind fools you into thinking everything is okay and nothing is missing. You can go whole hours as if everything is fine and then you realize someone you care about is gone from your life."

  "But Nathan isn't dead," said Harold. "He'll be back."

  "How is that going to work?" asked Bethany. "He's not exiled for a year or ten years. He's exiled forever. The only way I'll see him, the only way he'll see his unborn child, is for me to leave the JP and go looking for him."