Bedlam

by M. T. Miller

  Bedlam

  Fourth Book of the Nameless Chronicle

  by M. T. Miller

  Copyright © 2017. M. T. Miller

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission in writing from the author.

  For those who are no longer with us.

  May they never be forgotten.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Part One: Life Goes On

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Part Two: They Who Hunt Monsters

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Part Three: Wasteland

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Part Four: The Answer

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “Another one!” Owen shouted as he slammed his sweat-stained glass against the shoddily lacquered bar top.

  The place had a dirty, worn-out look, paradoxical given that it was built less than a year ago. The chairs were locally made, rough and uncomfortable. The light bulbs didn’t flicker, but just barely made it possible to see. The once-white paint on the walls had turned yellow, a consequence of the tobacco smoke that replaced almost all the air in the bar.

  “What do I look like, a suicide aid?” the mustachioed barman asked as he took Owen’s glass and placed it behind the counter. “You’ve had enough. Besides, it’s almost closing time. I’ll need to clean all this up before I turn in.”

  “You should have this place open 24/7,” Owen mumbled vacantly as he pressed his palm against his cheek. “Think of the cash you’d make.”

  “And the booze you’d drink, right?”

  “Naturally,” Owen said. “We gotta—what’s it called again? Support the economy, right? Ain’t no one tellin’ me I’m not helping out my good friend Lenny here!”

  “We barely know each other,” said Lenny. “All you do most times is drink and stare at the counter. Not that I don’t appreciate your business and all. Just sayin’.”

  “Well,” Owen turned around, confirming what he already knew: the bar was empty. “That changes right here and now.”

  Lenny looked at his watch, a well-preserved and still-functioning relic of days gone by. “Whatever you say, I’m not giving you any more booze.”

  “That’s cruel,” Owen slurred out as he once again supported his face with his palm. “How’s a poor farmer supposed to get through these nerve-wracking days? Sleep don’t come by itself.”

  “You’re not poor,” Lenny said. “You’ve drank at least three average salaries this month alone. And that’s not even your record.”

  “Figure of speech, man,” Owen said. “Just a way to, y’know, decorate the statement.”

  “Well, it twists the truth,” Lenny said, taking a glass and starting to clean it. “You lot—farmers I mean—you’re earning more than even us booze-pushers these days. A good life if there ever was one, I’d say.”

  “Only seems that way from the outside,” Owen said. “If you knew how much work it takes to raise livestock properly, you’d open another bar and still know you had it easy!”

  “If you say so,” Lenny said, putting the glass to dry and taking another one.

  “I know so,” Owen said. “Still, it ain’t half as bad as it used to be while we worked under the false sky, so I guess I should be grateful.”

  Lenny’s hands stopped moving. “You worked agriculture on the inside?”

  “Yup,” Owen said, staring at the dirty glasses.

  A long silence followed.

  “I’m not gonna ask,” said Lenny.

  “You don’t have to,” Owen said. “It was hell on earth. Like being a slave. Russians to the north, Chinese to the east, two-bit crooks everywhere else. All wanting stuff from you and your livestock. You’re too valuable to kill, of course, but there’s other ways to force things out of a man.” He formed a fist with his free hand. “A lot of other ways.”

  “D’you have family?” Lenny asked.

  “Fuck, no!” Owen said, looking the barman in the eyes. “I barely made it on my own. Fathering a child? Taking care of it?” He looked down again. “It would’ve killed me.”

  “I believe you,” Lenny said as he slowly resumed cleaning.

  “And speaking of killing,” Owen continued, “after Nameless killed the old Management and supposedly took over… well, things got worse before they got better.”

  “I thought the slums became an overall better place,” Lenny said. “Not that I’d know. My bar was up on the second floor.”

  “Oh, they did,” Owen said. “In the end. Before that, though, it was a warzone down there. I’m talkin’ months of keeping your head down. Nameless would descend from the top floor, or he’d send that purple woman of his—”

  “I think they call her Rush.”

  “Maybe,” Owen said. “Never did care about high-ups. They wouldn’t remember my name, so why’d I remember theirs?”

  “Fair, I guess,” Lenny said. His cleaning got faster and faster.

  “So these two’d bring some troops and make a mess,” Owen said. “Hit a gang. And then what’s left of the gang would need supplies. And who d’you think they’d pressure for those?”

  “You lot,” Lenny said.

  “Who else?” Owen said through gritted teeth. “This went on for a while, though luckily I don’t remember much.” He pointed at the nearest empty bottle. “Thanks to my little friend.”

  Lenny smiled faintly. “Everyone’s little friend.”

  Owen nodded as he resumed staring at the desk. “It’s always the same thing, ain’t it? People like you and me, we never have a chance, do we?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, sure, you were high and mighty on your safe and stable second floor, while I was down cleaning cow dung, but that doesn’t change a thing. The big guys, people like Nameless, the old Management, whoever else there is… they smash everything comparing dicks, and the rest of us have to pick up the pieces. Never changes.”

  Lenny lifted a glass so he could check its clarity against the light. “Now, that I disagree on. We’re out of the pyramid now, aren’t we?”

  “We are,” Owen said. He didn’t nod.

  “No one’s blackmailing you,” Lenny said as he put the glass to dry, “demanding your stuff, or threatening your life. I assume you’ve got a roof over your head, and as I’ve said before, you seem to be doing good for yourself.”

  Owen didn’t reply.

  “There hasn’t been a war in a year,” Lenny continued. “We’ve got electricity again, trade is finally picking up, and no new gangs have sprung up. All things considering, I’d say we’re going fine.”

  Owen cleared hi
s throat. “You’re right. There hasn’t been a new gang in forever. Know why?”

  “Because of him,” Lenny said.

  Owen raised his stare. “Yup. With Nameless as sheriff, no one dares lift a finger against anyone.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “It’s not,” Owen said. “But think about it. What happens the next time someone tries to measure dicks with ‘im?”

  This time, Lenny didn’t have an answer.

  “How much do I owe?” Owen asked.

  “Three yellows,” Lenny said. “Rounded down this time.”

  “Thanks,” Owen said. He reached into the purse hanging from his shoulder and placed three yellow credit chips on the bar top. They were worn out, not unusual for the city’s most common form of currency. “I’ll make it up to you in the coming days.” He turned away from the counter and started walking away.

  “Yeah, I’m sure you will,” Lenny said as the door opened and closed.

  Once he was outside, Owen closed both eyes. He breathed deep, savoring the fresh air. This was his ritual for the last five months, and he repeated it every time he exited a dwelling. The pyramid may have been safe for a long while, but that didn’t mean the air was easy on his sense of smell.

  And I’m a man who shovels dung for a living, he thought, smiling as he re-opened his eyes. It was time to get moving.

  Owen stepped forward, treading the flat, hard concrete of the street. It paved most of the new city, the one they called the Circle. Day by day, this mass of houses and buildings kept growing around the pyramid at its center, slowly making it seem smaller and smaller.

  I guess it’s not a bad landmark, he thought as he stopped walking and turned to the pyramid. Even though it had been damaged in the war a year ago, it was now fully repaired. The panels were replaced, and the world’s biggest power plant had been put to work again. In the light of the moon, it almost seemed like a decent place.

  Fooled me once. Never again. Owen turned away from it and resumed walking.

  The structures that made up the Circle eerily resembled those from the world before. At least, as far as Owen remembered. He was young back then. For all he knew, his memory painted a rosy picture. If the past was so good, how come it went to shit?

  Dick measuring, he reminded himself as he took a detour right. Dick measuring and a whole lot of assholes.

  Halfway to his home, Owen remembered a crucial fact: he didn’t want to be there. Times had changed, but this thirty-six-year-old farmer’s son had kept the values he was taught. To a man of his age, an empty home was nothing more than proof of failure. Sometimes this was bearable, and he slept well. Now was not one of those times.

  He turned left and upped his pace. Brothels were never far away, and he knew their locations by heart. Tonight, at least, Owen would not sleep alone.

  Back in the slums of the pyramid, asking for affection was rarely a safe affair. Pimps and gangsters oversaw each transaction, and would often try to squeeze out as much as possible from the unfortunate customer. Getting robbed was not uncommon. Sometimes these pimps were psychotic. At other times, it was the prostitutes. No, Owen did not miss the pyramid. Not in the least.

  With the brothel building before him, Owen’s mouth began to water. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the old instinct that warned him of danger started to scream. He ignored it, reminding himself that times had changed. No longer did he have to scuttle among ruins in search of clean-looking women. No more did he have to gamble on the good will of madmen. The structure before him was clean, and as safe as it could be.

  A strange sound reached his ears as he advanced. It was muffled, and he had to focus to make out where it came from.

  Carefully, Owen snuck up to an alley to his right. It led deeper into the area between a pair of regular houses, and seemed unremarkable in every way. What he saw within was everything but.

  The ground was black from what his sense of smell told him was blood. Bits and pieces of something that was equal parts white and red lay everywhere. Owen took a single step forward, and learned to his disgust that what he stepped in was soft and sticky.

  Something moved in the farthest part of the alley. Owen froze. For the briefest of moments, he considered standing his ground. Then, as his alcohol-dulled mind picked up the pieces, he realized that what he was looking at were the remains of a person. Whoever it was, no one could ever pick up every piece.

  He turned and started running. The gooey thing he’d stepped in still clung to his shoe, sticking to the pavement with each leap he made.

  Whatever was in the alley didn’t stay there. It darted toward him immediately. Alternating between hind legs and all fours, it didn’t take long to catch up.

  A sharp pain in the middle of Owen’s back made his muscles contract. Then, as if someone turned them off, the muscles relaxed altogether. Like a rag doll he tumbled to the ground, robbed of all sensation from the lower half of his body.

  By the time he stopped rolling, Owen’s neck hurt more than anything else in his life. Underneath it, nothing did. Fighting for breath, he tried moving his arms and legs, but they refused to comply.

  A limb pressed down on his twisted torso. Owen expected pain, but instead only vomited blood, numbly. Knowing full well that he was about to die, he forced himself to look up at his soon-to-be killer. His heart almost stopped at the sight.

  Staring back was an inhuman grimace that put his worst nightmares to shame. It had more eyes and teeth than a living being would ever need.

  And then it put the teeth to use.

  Part One:

  Life Goes On

  Chapter One

  The Nameless opened his eyes. His body was numb. That, or he was waking up. Considering that he was lying on a bed, the latter was more likely.

  In the darkness of the room, all he could see was the ceiling. That was uninteresting, so he rolled to his left. Something warm and soft touched his skin. A person? His muscles contracted, but he didn’t leap to his feet.

  The Nameless focused on the presence, recognizing a streak of long violet hair as it covered part of her shoulder. Rush.

  They’d been living together for a good while now. Whatever it was that he’d dreamed of, it was bad enough to pull his mind away from his new life. He would not give it the satisfaction.

  He put his arm over her and got closer. The Nameless burned hot, but she was hotter. A side-effect of the substances she took, no doubt. It most certainly wasn’t the only one. Her hair wasn’t dyed, and if the room were brighter, he’d get a better look at her unnaturally pale skin. Wherever she went, she stood out. Like a poisonous frog in a jungle.

  Unlike me, she cannot hide who she is, the Nameless thought.

  Despite her abnormality (or perhaps because of it), Rush turned out to be a perfect partner—at least, as far as the Nameless was concerned. Initially little more than convenient allies, the two found themselves in each other arms during the war a year ago. Things kept escalating from there. By the time Babylon expanded, the Nameless and Rush were looking for a place to call their own. One of the new houses down in the Circle was the logical choice.

  Rush initially resented the downgrade in luxury. After all, they were war heroes; those who had crushed the Holy Army. They deserved the best. But the Nameless was adamant. The new city would need defenders and lawmakers, and living up in the pyramid’s first class apartments would cripple their response time.

  “This whole ‘responsibility’ thing is going to be the end of you,” he remembered her saying. She didn’t complain after that.

  Responsibility, the Nameless repeated the word silently, his brain in high gear. There was no use trying to go back to sleep. Once he was awake, he was awake.

  Old habits die hard, he thought as he carefully raised his hand. Slowly, he rolled to the other side and stood up. He combed his fingers through his now-short hair. Part of him wanted to grow it again, but it served no purpose.

  He went toward the door, still we
aring nothing but underwear. What time was it? Two in the morning? Three? It made no difference.

  Might as well have coffee and go on patrol.

  As he grabbed the doorknob, a series of shuffling sounds reached him from the direction of the bed. He didn’t need to turn, but did so anyway.

  “D’you really think you could sneak away from me?” Rush said sleepily. She yawned. The saggy white shirt she wore to bed covered most of her, but her right shoulder was exposed. Her hair was everywhere, enveloping most of her face. As always, her lips were a similar shade of purple.

  The Nameless smiled. There was no reason to answer her question.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “You betcha,” Rush said, standing up while stretching both arms.

  ***

  The house wasn’t small, but it wasn’t big either. Still, it had everything the pair needed: bedroom, living room, bathroom, kitchen, and a secluded, initially undefined space. Rush had turned it into a laboratory. She needed somewhere to mix her chemicals in peace, and that was as good a place as any.

  They sat on opposite sides of a sizeable square table. As with the rest of the house, no thought whatsoever was put into decorating the living room. The table covering was plain white, washed so many times that it turned grey. The chairs were mismatched, and went to different elevations. The walls were white in some spots, brick-colored in the others. No one was too keen on evening it out.

  A solid black cup sat before the Nameless. The one in front of Rush was decorated by a scribbled mess. Both fumed.

  “Can’t stay still, huh?” she playfully asked while her violet eyes followed the steam. “And here I thought I’d drained you fully last night.”

  “I am still not used to this,” the Nameless said.

  “And you think I am?” Rush flashed a smile as her gaze met his. “Face it, Bones. None of us are on home turf here. Might as well enjoy it.”

  The Nameless responded with a smile of his own. “I am. There is no doubt of that. In fact, the life you and I have built here is beyond comparison to anything I have ever had before.”