Too Many Humans

by Jacob Rayne

  Deep down, he had a feeling that Cross was telling the truth.

  He furrowed his brow, desperately trying to think.

  ‘If you really want to kill me then here is your opportunity,’ Cross smiled. ‘But God knows the truth and He is in your heart somewhere. I have the utmost faith that He will tell you the right thing to do.’

  Davey groaned a little then slowly lowered the gun.

  He pushed the safety on then set it onto the table.

  ‘I thought as much,’ Cross grinned.

  ‘So what do I do?’ Davey said.

  ‘My men will take you most of the way back to the Freelands. You go back and pretend that you got lost or something – that bit is up to you – and that you need a few days to recuperate. While you do so, you sneak in to the centre of the compound and see what’s going on in those warehouses. Then, when you learn the truth about your so-called King, you do the right thing. And after that, you come back here and find God.’

  ‘What do you mean, Do the right thing?’

  Cross smiled and nodded to Deborah.

  She picked up a mud-smeared blue rucksack from behind the sofa.

  ‘Salvation is here for King Solomon’s camp. The contents of this bag will erase his lies and hypocrisy from the face of the earth.’

  Davey’s jaw dropped at the realisation of what was in the bag.

  ‘When you’ve found out King Solomon’s dirty secret, you place this in the centre of the warehouse compound. Press the red button to arm it. Then you retreat to a safe distance, taking the remote with you. I’d recommend you walk for a fair distance before you even think of setting it off. This is a big one.’ He put a hand to his mouth and giggled an unsettling childlike laugh at this. ‘When you are safe, you press the red button on the remote and…’ Cross made an explosion sound.

  ‘And that’s it? You let me come back, scot free?’

  ‘We are not bad men, David. We may do some… unpleasant things to cleanse the souls of others, but we are not bad ourselves. We are doing the work of God. And I’m sure you will agree when you see what Solomon is hiding in those warehouses.’

  ‘Well, I guess I’d be stupid not to go for it, then. When do I go back?’

  ‘We’ll get you some antibiotics for those nasty bites. Then you can spend the night and we’ll take you back after breakfast.’

  ‘Sounds too good to be true.’

  ‘I assure you it isn’t.’ Cross rose, offering a firm handshake to Davey, then adding, ‘You get a good night’s sleep, David. I will pray for you.’

  The men from the bulldozer came in, toting shotguns and bullet belts.

  They led Davey out to a small brick building which was just outside the fences of Cross’s church.

  Preacher Kelly aimed the gun in Davey’s face to make sure he didn’t try anything, while Jake unlocked the heavy metal door.

  It opened quietly – it seemed even the hinges didn’t dare squeak under Cross’s regime – and revealed shelves rammed to the gills with medicines.

  ‘Wow, that’s quite the stockpile,’ Davey said, eyes wide.

  ‘Yup,’ Preacher Kelly said, opening a sealed syringe and poking it into a small, one-dose bottle of antibiotics. ‘This should keep you ticking over.’

  The needle prick wasn’t too harsh.

  And Davey did start to feel better, especially after he’d showered and crawled into the freshly made bed they’d set up for him.

  He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

  The next morning Davey rose, took the rucksack that had been prepared for him.

  ‘It has some sandwiches and fruit to keep you going,’ Deborah confided with a knowing smile. ‘There’s a breakfast for you there.’

  Davey thanked her, guzzled some of the coffee before devouring the toast and eggs.

  Drying yolk still clung to his chin when Cross shuffled in.

  He had his charming eccentric head on today, it seemed.

  ‘Good morning, young David,’ he beamed, the smile reaching all the way to his eyes now, though the irises seemed a slightly darker shade than they had the last time they had spoken. ‘I trust you slept well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Manners were something that had been bred into Davey, even if he was dealing with an absolute nutjob.

  ‘Good, good. More eggs? More coffee?’

  ‘No to the eggs. Yes to the coffee.’

  Cross nodded, suddenly racing round the kitchen to get everything done in time.

  Davey was impressed at how he juggled the various tasks without compromising any of them.

  The coffee appeared in front of Davey as if by magic.

  Cross served himself a large breakfast then began tucking in without airs and graces.

  A rabid bear would make less mess, Davey thought with a smile.

  ‘Can’t be expected to do the good Lord’s work on an empty stomach,’ Cross said, his dark eyes twinkling with his grin.

  He backhanded the egg yolk and grease off his chin then carefully wiped it off his hand with a pristine handkerchief.

  Davey didn’t know how to respond.

  Cross still creeped the hell out of him.

  He didn’t want to spend a second longer than necessary in his company, but he was so happy in the luxury his village offered that he could have stayed all year.

  It was a conflict that threatened to tear him in half.

  ‘Anyway, young David,’ Cross said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  The cold, clammy feel of his flesh made Davey recoil.

  Cross looked down at him, clearly offended, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Sorry, I just have a nasty bite on that shoulder,’ Davey lied without missing a beat.

  ‘Ah, of course,’ Cross said, ‘I apologise. Heartily.’

  ‘It’s ok. Are we setting off now?’

  ‘Yes. Brush your teeth. Wash your face. After all, young man, cleanliness is next to godliness.’

  Davey almost rolled his eyes, but sensed that Cross would pluck them from his skull and use them as marbles if he so much as guessed that he’d done such a thing.

  Instead he played it safe and nodded in agreement.

  Cross bid him goodbye with some more of his characteristic weirdness and sent him off with one of the bulldozer crews.

  ‘This is close enough,’ Preacher Kelly announced in between rapid-fire bible verses over the loudhailer. ‘We don’t want them to figure out where you’ve been.’

  The bulldozer came to a halt so fast that Davey almost mashed his face into the seat in front of him.

  Davey bid his goodbyes to them and carried on, his backpack heavy on his shoulders as the midmorning sun hit him.

  The Garbage Mountains were off to his left.

  He could see – and smell – them clearly from his position, but they were in the distance, like a bad memory faded by time.

  He found the distance reassuring; the last thing he wanted was to go down there again.

  His eyes filled with tears at the thought of poor Duke and the fate that had befallen him.

  The soil beneath his feet was sun-blasted, baked to the point of cracking.

  The sun seemed much fiercer these days.

  It seemed humanity had become more savage with it.

  The journey back to the camp was long and hard, especially in the heat which was enough to make sweat run down between his shoulder blades.

  His shirt clung to him, the straps of the backpack chafed his shoulders and back to the point of drawing blood.

  It was almost as bad as the pain from the rat bites.

  At least there was no chance of getting lost; the sounds of fireworks and laughter and drunken cheers were clearly audible, beckoning him in like ethereal fingers.

  After what felt like forever, the Freelands finally appeared like an oasis in the desert.

  The colourful and elaborate spray-paint murals that adorned the outer edge of the fences made it seem welcoming in the extreme.

 
The armed guards – with or without bullets, it wasn’t clear from this distance – not so much.

  ‘What’s your name?’ the guard on the gate barked.

  ‘I’m Davey. I was sent out to kill Reverend Cross, but I got lost in the garbage mountains. I managed to find my way back here. I seek sanctuary under King Solomon’s guard.’

  The guard smiled. ‘Ah of course, Davey lad. Come on home. The king is keen to hear from you.’

  Solomon was anxious when he raced out to meet Davey.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, his face ashen.

  ‘Not really. I got bitten by rats, but I am fine apart from that. I couldn’t find Cross’s place. I got lost in the wastelands.’

  ‘My fault entirely. I apologise, Davey lad. Have you eaten?’

  ‘Not in a while.’ Davey lied as he didn’t want to reveal he’d eaten breakfast with Solomon’s biggest enemy barely two hours ago.

  ‘Where did this bag come from?’ Solomon asked.

  Davey jolted slightly.

  He hadn’t thought of this.

  The King’s awareness impressed him.

  ‘I took it off one of the guys I killed in the wastelands. I lost the one you gave me when the rats attacked me.’

  Solomon nodded as if he’d bought it.

  ‘So, how are you, Davey lad?’

  ‘I’m exhausted, but unharmed.’

  ‘Good. Let’s get you some food.’

  Davey felt bad for deceiving the King, but he knew he couldn’t let him know what was really happening.

  Besides, he wanted to know what he was hiding in his warehouses.

  4.7

  Davey forced the meal down.

  He really wasn’t hungry since the feast he’d had at Cross’s place, but he didn’t want to give away that he’d been fed and watered.

  ‘So how have things been around here?’ he asked Solomon.

  ‘Good, good. No scenes of unrest. Everyone is happy and well-fed. Did you see much on your travels?’

  ‘Not really. I got diverted into the Garbage Mountains as soon as I left here. I wandered in there for what felt like days, and these creepy-ass men in garbage bags tried to get me, but I managed to fight my way out.’

  ‘Good lad. How did you find your way back here?’

  ‘The party sounds. They can be heard for miles around.’

  ‘That does not surprise me, my friend,’ Solomon chuckled.

  Davey almost blabbed that he’d been to Cross’s place, but he was curious about what the King was hiding from him and the rest of the folk in his Freelands settlement.

  Still, he felt bad for lying to the King who had been nothing but nice to him since they’d met.

  But his curiosity was an itch that needed to be scratched.

  Davey had gone back to the shack he’d found shortly before being attacked by Old Jimmy and his cronies.

  It was still unoccupied.

  The bag was now a ton weight on his back and it seemed to grow heavier the more he thought about its contents.

  King Solomon had been as good as his word and had sent food down to him.

  Solomon was busy attending to his many duties.

  Davey found that, despite the relative safety and comfort that King Solomon’s compound provided, he just had to know what Cross had been talking about.

  Davey moved out, so desperate to learn the truth that he didn’t even wait for darkness.

  He moved along the wood-lined paths, curving round towards the centre of the spirals.

  All the while, he looked around, feeling like he was doing something that he shouldn’t.

  Grims walked past him, going about their daily business without taking notice of him.

  He nodded a greeting to a few of the armed guards who went past on their patrols, and moved into the stone sector of the camp.

  Before his eyes, a vast expanse of hand-built stone dwellings rose up out of the dirt.

  Most were impressive, if only for the patience and craftsmanship involved in making such structures.

  Others were falling to bits already, but still he couldn’t help but gawp at them.

  The Grims in the houses went about their business, either not knowing or not caring about the secret in the warehouses.

  Davey clung to the outer edge of the stone sector, trying to find his way.

  The fires, shouting and incessant partying made it hard to orient himself.

  It felt like he was going round in circles, as a result of the vastness of the tenement.

  He moved along the edge of the camp, seeing a dark, tree-lined path.

  This conjured up images of the place where he’d been attacked by Old Jimmy and his gang of dirty old men, but he moved into it, knife clenched tightly in hand.

  The path was deserted, but was creeping the shit out of him.

  Every corner felt like it harboured an escaped lunatic, but it was all in his head.

  Nothing moved except the weeds as he moved further towards the heart of King Solomon’s compound.

  The wrought iron fences seemed to stretch all the way up into the heavens, as black and unforgiving as coffin nails.

  Smoke blew out of the vast red brick chimney stacks which were hidden from the rest of the camps.

  It was rainbow coloured and smelt vaguely of the steam that he’d smelt on the bonfires, only much stronger.

  The smell made his head spin and he had to put his hand over his nostrils and mouth to avoid inhaling too much of it.

  Guards moved around behind the fences, making him press himself into the walls.

  He knew he would be in big trouble if he was found out here.

  He pressed on.

  Past the factories belching out multi-coloured smoke into the dark clouds gathered overhead.

  Past the wrought iron fences.

  Past the signs that declared that anyone found on the premises would be chopped in half.

  Past the bodies that were cleaved messily in two, presumably left as a deterrent to others attempting a similar stunt.

  Because he knew that if Solomon was going to such lengths to hide what was going on in here, then it was worth investigating.

  The very heart of the compound – Davey could see from his position that it ran round in concentric circles much like the campsites had done – was lined with taller fences and Grims that seemed armed to the teeth.

  Given Solomon had revealed his bluff to him earlier regarding the bullets, Davey wasn’t sure if they were armed or not, but he didn’t really feel like chancing it.

  Davey watched the patrol of the nearest guard Grim, and crept into the shadows nearest him.

  He darted forward, stopping just shy of where the Grim stood.

  When the Grim turned, Davey thrust his fist hard into his chin.

  The Grim fell back, landing on the floor in a twitching heap.

  Davey stepped over him and moved closer to the warehouses.

  From inside, he could hear cows mooing and grunting.

  So Solomon is breeding cattle to keep his people fed, he thought.

  What’s wrong with that?

  He pressed himself against the metal wall, seeing another guard Grim moving past him.

  The rifle he held was trained on the floor in front of him, so it seemed he hadn’t spotted Davey.

  The damned thing’s probably empty anyway, Davey thought, remembering Solomon’s dirty secret regarding the ammo.

  Still, he remained pressed against the wall until the Grim had gone.

  There was a small drainage trough next to the wall.

  It was maybe eighteen inches high.

  He dropped carefully to his knees, not wanting to further aggravate the rat bites in his legs, and crept forwards.

  As he got roughly halfway down the wall of the warehouse, the ammonium stench of stale piss – industrial quantities of it judging by the strength of the smell – hit his nostrils like a particularly foul wind.

  The intensity of it took his breath away.

&n
bsp; Once he’d taken a few seconds to recover, he quickly peeked over the edge of the culvert to see if the guard Grim had heard him.

  It was a relief to see that he was still blindly continuing on his patrol.

  Davey put the index finger of his left hand over his nostrils and this helped a little to blot out the smell, but not entirely.

  Besides it seemed to get worse the closer he got to the corner of the building.

  The mooing and lowing sounds of cattle got louder too and he began to already form a mental image of what awaited him around the corner.

  He could not have been more surprised when he saw what awaited him there.

  As he turned the corner, he looked around.

  There were four warehouses, big, soulless corrugated iron buildings like the one he’d just walked along, at each point of the compass, their entrances staring at each other.

  In the centre of the four buildings, hidden from behind the fences, was a perfectly square, overgrown piece of grassland.

  On it was a pair of cows.

  They didn’t look alive, and Davey discovered that they weren’t even real when he managed to creep a little closer.

  They reminded him of when he’d seen a pantomime horse in a school play, back in a time where fun and frivolity were a necessary part of his childhood.

  This set off a longing in him for a time where he was encouraged to play, before Dad became obsessed with working and hitting his optimum performance levels in order to avoid his family being slung out on the streets.

  Before mom became so consumed with feeding the family with the meagre supplies earned from dad’s long days and mostly sleepless nights.

  He felt a tear roll down his face at the thought that his baby sister would never experience the carefree childhood he’d had for the first half of his life.

  She’d never get to play, or read a book for fun, or hide her face behind her hands and pop out with a squeal of glee.

  She’d been robbed of all that before she was even born, he guessed.

  Death was arguably a better option than living in the torn, purgatorial world that now existed.

  Still, he would never get over her pointless death.

  He bit his lip and forced the tears back until they were evaporated by a seething rage.