“You know how the air force and military destroyed the bridges and flooded the tunnels out of the city?” Stevie continued concentrating.
“Yeah, you don’t need to remind me, I was on Brooklyn Bridge when the jets hit it,” Rites interjected.
Stevie blinked. He could feel the fog descending on his thoughts again.
Keep with it, keep on message—
“Yeah… Last Rites… I know…” Stevie couldn’t help himself.
Don’t get side tracked, keep with it—
Anger flashed in Rites’s eyes. “You don’t know nothin’, you weren’t there— just because I got religion don’t mean you can knock my faith. I do what I gotta do— let’s just leave it at that.”
Stevie teetered on the brink, he was losing it, he could feel his brain shutting down, his mouth seizing up.
Say it… now…
“Rites, I found a boat, man… I found a boat…” Stevie blurted out.
Rites looked at the boy, his face blank.
Seconds passed. Stevie stared at the floor, he’d done it.
“Fuckin’ A dude— fuckin’ A,” Rites said.
~
Flynn had lost track of time.
His mind wandered. His eyes were dead, he shut down and went within. They had him imprisoned in this cell, but they could not trap his mind.
He closed his eyes and set his mind free.
He was back with Stevie and his mother.
“Stevie’s special Flynn, you gotta look after your brother, you hear me? You understand? Stevie’s different to you and me, he’s got a gift but he’s different, you need to watch out for him in school, you hear me son? You gotta look out for your brother,” his mother’s voice was earnest, anxious.
Flynn looked at his mother. He hated this, he hated the responsibility, he hated Stevie for holding him back, keeping him from hanging out with his friends and checking out girls. But deep down he knew his mother was right, she was always right. Stevie was special; Stevie could fix things. He had fixed the microwave when it had burst into flames, he had fixed the TV, then the computer.
But Stevie had taken it too far. The bullying in school had got to him, he had retreated from life, from the few friends he’d had, to his bedroom. To his computer, to life on line, where he could hide his identity. Where he took risks.
Stevie, the hacker. Stevie with the false identity… Diego for heaven’s sake… nice one little brother, yeah like San Diego’s really where Dad went.
Stevie was special.
So special the government had taken an interest in his… gift.
“Mrs. Anderson we need to interview your son,” the words returned to Flynn in a rush. He remembered the scene; two federal agents in the sitting room, like something out of a Hollywood movie. Stevie and their mom hunched together on the couch, and him on the landing looking down.
“What’s Stevie done?” his mother had whispered. Something new in her voice, something he had never heard before.
Fear—
Parents were supposed to be strong, fearless, they kept the wolves at bay. But his mother was afraid. These men had something on Stevie, some external power now ruled over the family and there was nothing she could do to protect them against it. What was worse, there was nothing he could do to protect his mother and brother.
“Your son has hacked into government facilities, he has been viewing classified material, he has broken the law. We need to interview him as a matter of urgency. You, of course, are allowed to accompany him, in view of his age…”
Twelve years old— Stevie, what were you thinking? You should’ve been out playing soccer, shooting hoops, playing video games for Christ’s sake— not hacking into government facilities.
Flynn smiled.
Right back at you brother… respect. You rattled the FBI dude, the FBI—
Flynn snapped out of his dream. His eyes registered the bars of his cell, the guard in the corridor beyond. How much longer did he have? Laurient had given him twenty four hours, it was close to that now.
He shut his eyes remembering the last time he’d seen Mercy.
Her slender figure.
Her auburn hair.
Her eyes, her smile, her hand on his.
~
Initiate Matthew looked at the drone footage. “Couple of stray kids that’s all, the tropes will finish them off by nightfall. Stand the men down, do a sweep of the area tomorrow, see what they were after.”
He had more important things to do; select a female and arrange her sacrifice at the Charging Bull in the morning. The Preacher had given a direct order, relayed from God himself, he would comply, of course he would, but— why did it work like this? Why did blood demand more blood? When would the bloodletting end?
When you reach the Promised Land of course, don’t be such a fool— Matthew reprimanded himself.
Scripture lit up his mind as if on cue:
I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, “Come!” I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest.
The rapture of the Holy Scripture flooded through Matthew, his body shivered at the power of the Word. Revelation 6 unfolded through his body and soul. Of course the Preacher was right, he had the direct access to God, to the Father. Who was he to question the Word of the Lord? The Word of the Preacher was God’s Word. A sacrifice was demanded and he would provide one, without question, without hesitation.
Matthew walked the short distance from the US Coastguard Recruiting offices to the nearby building where the Preacher’s women were kept. He knew what he had to do, his eyes took in Lady Liberty across the Upper Bay, her head and shoulders partially obscured by fog. Perhaps it was better she did not see what he was about to do.
Matthew nodded at the guards and entered the former restaurant, they had done a good job in fortifying the place. The amber had subdued most of the women but a few had resisted in the early days. And of course there had been the time the freaks had attacked at night from South Ferry Station. He had learned hard lessons along the way. The windows were barred and bolted now, lockdown came into effect thirty minutes before nightfall, the walls around the women’s enclosure were patrolled around the clock. They were strong now, nothing had breached Battery Park for well over a year.
Matthew reflected on the Preacher’s vision as he walked. None of the women had left the building in eighteen months. The two that had escaped had been caught and dealt with. The bronze horns of the Charging Bull sculpture made a fitting altar for the Preacher’s sacrifices, it lay outside Battery Park and represented the border between the light of the Preacher’s domain and the darkness of the old world. A sacrifice there in the name of God sent light out into the darkness, sent a message to Satan’s servants; the tropes and freaks and to those beyond the north wall.
Light and love still thrived under God’s beneficence.
Matthew stopped in the hallway and waited to be greeted by the Preacher’s First Chosen. He looked up at the CCTV camera, she knew he was waiting. Two minutes later a woman in her thirties appeared in the doorway on his left. She was striking as always, tall and blonde, she moved with the grace of a cat and came to him wearing white linen and brocade. Her pupils were pinpoint, which was good; the Preacher’s insistence that the women used amber every day made them compliant.
“Lady Magdalene thank you for welcoming me into your house, the Preacher sends his regards,” Matthew said formally.
Lady Magdalene swayed, absorbing his words. “Yes, Initiate Matthew you are always welcome, how can I be of service this evening?”
“The Lord our God has spoken to the Preacher and made His wishes known. A sacrifice is to be made to the Lord at first light. I would be obliged if you would assemble the women for the selection process,” he had to abide by protocol. The appearance of selection was important to those in
volved suggesting some form of divine intervention. But he already knew who he was going to choose.
Magdalene showed no emotion. “Yes of course Matthew, follow me. I will summon the Daughters of the Lord for your perusal.”
She led him through a series of doors and up a staircase. The walls and floor were painted brilliant white. Light was everywhere, muslin and fine silk drapes festooned the upper floor. Luxurious sofas and chairs decorated the space, a snooker table dominated one of the side rooms. Matthew had only been on this level twice before; this area was reserved for the Preacher’s religious instruction of the women.
Magdalene gestured to a high sided leather chair, “Please make yourself comfortable Initiate Matthew. I will rouse the women from their prayer.” She turned and disappeared behind the drapes at the end of the room.
Matthew closed his eyes and waited. He savoured the power the Preacher had given him. His mind returned to the battles he had fought on the streets before the Fall. He knew now he had been in the clutches of Satan then, he had been full of darkness, only knowing hatred and death. He had been possessed with greed and lust, the sins of the flesh had been his masters back then, he had been a slave to chaos and corruption. He had killed for the wrong reasons, for darkness, now he killed for the right reasons, for the Lord, for the light, for God. He was the Saviour’s right hand, he would smite those that would decry the One Word, the One Truth, the One Lord.
For His word was Law.
Matthew heard feet on the polished hardwood floor. He kept his eyes closed and waited. The room felt different, he listened, felt it, breathed it in; the smell of amber, the smell of fear, the smell of prayer mixed with incense and candles.
“We are ready Initiate Matthew,” Magdalene’s voice broke the silence.
Matthew opened his eyes and saw the Daughters of the Lord gathered before him. Thirty four in number, all ages, in various stages of wakefulness. The effect of the amber was startling, the women were biddable and in touch with the Lord constantly. He wondered at the God given gift of the Professor, the gift to keep producing amber of such quality, of such purity to allow this state of ecstasy to exist in this fallen world, amidst all the chaos.
“Thank you Lady Magdalene, you are so kind,” Matthew replied steel in his voice.
He stood up and walked to the rows of kneeling women. They wore the white robes of the Family of Love, the Preacher’s Family. They stared ahead with vacant eyes, each lost in inner contemplation. Matthew walked up and down inspecting the rows of women.
He came to the back row, to a girl, eleven or twelve years old. This was the one he was seeking, the one that would please God, the one that would offer her soul up on the bronze horns of the Charging Bull. It was fitting that she had been one of Laurient’s crew, the Angels would thank him one day for conferring God’s forgiveness on her soul.
Matthew pointed at the blond girl, “This is the one our Lord God has chosen. Lady Magdalene I request you prepare her for the honour and have her ready an hour before dawn tomorrow. I will return to collect her for the sacrifice.”
Lady Magdalene nodded and gestured to the girl, “Maggie, get to your feet. You heard Initiate Matthew’s words. Rejoice and be grateful, for your soul will be in the Kingdom of Heaven this time tomorrow.”
The girl rose, she was unsteady and trembled under her robe. Her eyes were empty, her face expressionless, she bowed to Lady Magdalene and Matthew.
“It is an honour to serve the Lord, and the Preacher, always. May His will be done,” she said, her voice dead.
“Excellent,” Matthew replied. It had been much easier than he had thought, the Lord did indeed inspire him in different ways. Hers would be a good death.
~
Rose’s lungs were bursting.
Arabella had stopped running and stood breathless in the middle of the road.
Behind, in the distance Rose could see the yellow school bus above the long grass. Her mind was a blur, everything was a blur. She looked at the street ahead, they had made it. There was South Cove Plaza, there was the truck just as she remembered it, its tyres flat, the rubber cracked and perished. Weeds grew tall along its sides.
Rose knew the manhole lay under the truck, she looked nervously at the sky and the buildings facing the street. The last time she’d been here she’d had the big girls with her, this was different, she felt exposed, vulnerable. Her eyes darted to the South Cove Plaza building then to the school opposite. She looked behind, movement caught her eye, they needed to hide.
“Bella follow me, quick,” Rose said.
Arabella pulled a face, she was holding her side. “Go on, I’ll keep up,” she replied.
Rose crossed the street and walked a short distance to the school entrance. Old quarantine stickers plastered the glass doors, she could see yellow police tape stretched across the hall inside. The locks had been forced some time ago, the outside doors were open.
Lie low until the dust settles— Rose thought.
Arabella pushed Rose through the door.
“Activity on the street, hide—” Arabella hissed.
Rose pushed through the glass doors, a thin metallic screech punctured the air as rusty hinges protested. Grime on the inner glass doors prevented her from seeing much beyond the yellow police tape.
“Go, go, go,” Arabella urged.
Should’ve stayed outside, we’re being backed into a corner— Rose’s internal voice began to panic. The risk outside was greater than the perceived risk inside. She pushed the inner doors open and entered the foyer. Daylight filtered into the foyer from outside, dust motes filled the air.
A lot of dust, why so much dust?
A reception desk lay at the centre of the foyer, the yellow tape encircling it. Rose approached the desk, her eyes tried to make sense of what they saw. Seconds passed before she realised what she was looking at. Bodies, at least ten, partially burned, scorched bone protruding from charred flesh.
Rose pieced together the story in her head. Something horrible had happened here, the police had tried to investigate but events had obviously overwhelmed them. Here was a grisly unsolved crime scene trapped in time, a lost snapshot of the violence and killing that had come with the Fall.
“Rose— look,” Arabella grabbed Rose’s shoulder and twisted her around pointing at the windows. Dark shapes were moving on the street heading for the school doors.
“No—” was all Rose could say.
This time it was Arabella who moved first.
“See the stairs at the back of the foyer, let’s check them out,” Arabella said.
Rose allowed Arabella forwards, they retreated to the back of the foyer. As they reached the shadows and the stair doors they heard a screech as the entrance doors opened. Arabella pushed on the stair door but it wouldn’t move.
“Here, try the other one,” Rose said. They put their shoulders against the opposite stair door but again they met resistance. The doors were either locked or blocked from behind. Rose went to the nearest elevator, which was partially open. “Help me,” she said.
Arabella understood and joined Rose pulling the elevator door open. They heard noise the other side of the reception desk. Shapes darted across the foyer, high pitched squealing filled the air. The elevator doors opened a fraction. Rose squeezed herself through and pulled Arabella after her.
“Close the doors!” Rose said.
Using their remaining energy they pushed the lift doors almost shut. Sniffing came from the other side, trope fingers slid through the narrow gap trying to open the doors. Rose hit the fingers with the butt of the Walther, they released grip and slipped back outside. Rose and Arabella managed to shut the elevator doors and stood panting, sweat beading their brows. A dim glow came from luminescent strips on the elevator floor and roof.
Rose looked at Arabella and nodded. “Good, well done, that should hold them for a bit.”
Arabella looked uncertain, she put a finger to her lips and they listened. Squealing, banging and scr
atching came from the other side of the elevator doors.
“If there’s enough of them, they’ll get through,” Rose whispered.
Arabella’s eyes widened.
We’re backed us into a corner, stupid, stupid, stupid— Rose reprimanded herself. She raised her eyes to the roof in despair. She stared at the ceiling for a second then pointed. “Look Bella, a hatch, if we could get through that we could hide in the lift shaft, we could bar the hatch so they couldn’t follow—”
Arabella nodded in agreement. “Lift me up on your shoulders, I’ll see if it opens.”
Rose was reluctant to take her hands off the lift door but she did as Arabella asked. She holstered the Walther and hoisted Arabella onto her back, Arabella held on to the wall for balance and managed to clamber onto Rose’s shoulders. She reached up and felt around the hatch finding the release on the second attempt, the hatch swung open narrowly missing her head.
“Got it— hold steady just a bit longer,” Arabella said. She pressed both hands into the darkness above and grasped the elevator roof. She repositioned herself on Rose’s shoulders. “Ready? Brace yourself.”
Rose gritted her teeth, this was a nightmare, her legs were shaking, her shoulders felt as if they would snap.
Arabella half pulled, half launched herself through the hatch. She managed to haul her upper body onto the elevator roof, her legs dangled above Rose.
Rose staggered and almost fell to the floor, she recovered and held onto the side of the elevator. The banging and screams from the other side of the door intensified. Rose watched as Arabella hauled her legs through the hatch. She disappeared for a few seconds then her face appeared in the opening.
“It’s dark up here, but there’s enough room for two, you’ve got to come up here, see if you can get a leg up using the hand rail then jump for my hand. I’m in a good position,” Arabella said.
Rose heard the commotion outside, it was just a matter of time before the tropes broke through. She had no choice, she had to make it.
“Right, let’s do it,” Rose replied. She looked at the lift wall and the handrail. This wasn’t so different to some of the moves she used to do in gym at school, hell, some of the parkour boys would think this easy.
The Survival Chronicles (Book 1}: Mercy Kill Page 11
