Outlaws of Babylon
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OUTLAWS of BABYLON
The Heirs of Babylon
Book II
Eugene W. Cundiff
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Copyright © 2018 by Eugene. W. Cundiff
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews
This book contains adult language, and depictions of both adult situations and graphic violence. Reader discretion is advised.
Cover design by Chris Kudi
(https://www.kudi-design.com/)
The Heirs of Babylon Series
Exiles of Babylon
Outlaws of Babylon
Princess of Babylon
Contents
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03
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05
06
07
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Dramatis Personae (Post-Outlaws of Babylon)
Princess of Babylon Preview
Contact Information
Dedicated to my brother Jim, a true 'international outlaw' whose hand-me-down pulp paperbacks were the gateway to my first real trips into the world after it had ended.
"As a corollary to the proposition that all institutions must be subordinated to the law of equal freedom, we cannot choose but admit the right of the citizen to adopt a condition of voluntary outlawry. If every man has freedom to do all that he wills, provided he infringes not the equal freedom of any other man, then he is free to drop connection with the state — to relinquish its protection, and to refuse paying towards its support."
- Herbert Spencer
Social Statics (1851)
01
The man in the black shirt ran through the abandoned, early-morning streets of Babylon. He did not know where his brothers in faith had gone. He feared the demons had taken them, that he was alone. The terrible dread that thought brought to him made the silence feel oppressive as he kept running. He spoke in a wheezing voice, desperate to break it.
"Should have never... should have never come..."
It had seemed like a simple mission, if not an especially safe one. He and five other brave Brothers of the Sixth Day had been sent to spy upon the demons' unholy camp in the ruins of Ground Zero. The High Paladin had wished to know how far they had come in their repairs after thwarting the Sixth Day's attack upon their walls, and though he would not have admitted it, to know what may have become of his children. Both his son and his daughter were being held as hostages by the demons.
"Got to... got to get away..."
He did not know how the demons had found them. They had traveled under the cover of darkness, carrying a small fortune in silenced weapons and low-light binoculars and avoiding any known watch-posts between Ghost Town and the Zero. Despite all those precautions, the demons had found them. The fire-eyed horror that had assaulted his Brothers several times in the past had fallen upon them and sent them scattering.
"Lord, help me! Save me from thine enemies!"
He kept running, charging forward in a mad panic. His focus turned solely to keeping his footing on the cracked and uneven pavement, so much that he barely registered the rumbling sound of a car engine until the vehicle sped out of a wide alley and into the street in front of him. The vehicle's appearance came too suddenly for him to stop, and the man plowed headlong into its body with a thudding impact. He reeled backwards and fell to the ground. Through his dazed stupor he dimly realized the car's passenger door had opened and a figure had emerged from it.
"Ah shit, I've got asshole juice all over the car! And incidentally, I'm glad Boytoy's not here to have heard me just say that."
The speaker was female, her voice husky and possessing a strange accent. He looked up to her as she approached, her steel-toed boots thudding on the asphalt. The woman was lean and youthful, and obviously of Asian heritage. Her features were attractive but the look on her face was cruel and feral, and the spiked leather and denim she dressed in reminded him of the Road Khans. She lowered the mirrored sunglasses she wore down, looking at him with dark eyes.
"Who... why... what..."
The woman laughed, and her tone became mocking. "Oh, poor baby. Did I break his little backwad head?" she pulled a pistol from her coat and aimed it at his crotch. "Want me to take away your pain?"
"I... I... I..."
"'Aye, aye, aye'? Damn, you really want it!" The cruel punk thumbed the hammer back on her pistol, and the man cringed, covering his groin with his hands and waiting for the hot flash of agony. It never came, because the woman was interrupted by a new speaker. This one was male, soft-spoken, and sounded like a native.
"Jen, Boss wanted us to get information from them, didn't he? He's the last one."
The voice belonged to a younger man, no more than a teenager from looks. He was dressed in the sort of scavenged garments frequently worn by the street children who lived in the shadows of the Manhattan gangs. His dusky skin and slick black hair suggested he might be of Italian stock, but one could never be certain given how intermingled as the peoples of Babylon had become. The woman, 'Jen,' turned to face the young man.
"Hey, Killer got to have his fun, T!"
"There was no fun involved." The third speaker was also male, slightly older than the second and his voice carried the accent of a Smucker, one born into the comfort and privilege of the Staten Island Preserve. The Six did not need to look toward him to know who he was, and knowing he was in the presence of the arch-demon made his heart drop and his bladder fail. Jen laughed.
"Hah! Killer, he pissed himself just from hearing you! I wish I had that sort of street cred!"
The 'Killer' circled around the humiliated Six, bending down to look him in the eyes. The older teenager was handsome, his features bearing a softness that seemed an ill-fit with his fearsome reputation, but his pale eyes were cold and hard. "Why were you and your friends here?"
The Six stammered nonsensically.
"Come on, Kurt, you're not going to get anything out of him. The backwads were just here spying, I bet."
Kurt sighed, shaking his head to Jen. "Probably, but it would help to know if they were after anything in particular. Those last five were way too well-armed for this to be some everyday spy-job," he shook his head, "and you know, you could help with that."
"I am helping!"
"I meant with your mojo, Jen."
"My way's more fun. But sure, whatever."
The woman's eyes began to glow with a brilliant pink light. The Six's fear began to drain away as he looked at her, replaced by feelings of deep affection and friendship.
"I... Jen... is this... are you...?"
Jen smiled sweetly as she knelt down to put a hand on the Six's shoulder. "Yeah, it's me chummer, your bosom buddy Jen! Strange seeing you out here. Awful dangerous, being so close to those demons! Why did you come out this way?"
The Six's eyes were filled with adoration as he answered. "High Paladin... the High Paladin wanted to know how far the repairs had come. He wanted to know if his children were safe. He sent us to investigate."
"Thanks, babe."
"Damn it, Jen!"
"What? It's not like we were going to let him go, Killer. Did you want to slam him into the ground a few times first?"
Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose. "T.J., think you can get a read off him?"
T.J. looked to the gory ruin of the man's head before shaking his own. "I can try, but..."
"Do it, then." Kurt's voice was tired and hollow, and he moved to lean himself against Jen's car. The punk sauntered over, rolling her eyes.
"Oh come on, Killer. You know they'd have done the same to us."
The Preserve exile sighed. "Yeah, I do. With any luck we can stop worrying about that soon, though. Ric's got a meeting this afternoon with the Council, trying to get them to openly oppose the Sixes. If he can make that happen, maybe we can stop focusing so much of our time and energy on security detail."
Jen pouted. "Where would the fun be in that, though? I love having these Bible-bating backwad jacks around. No matter what you do to them, you don't feel guilty later!"
Kurt pushed away from the car, shaking his head.
"Maybe you don't, Jen."
Kurt strode off down the street, his long coat billowing out behind him as he made his way back toward he Zero. Jen rolled her eyes again.
"No fun at all." She turned her attention to T.J., who was knelt over the dead Six. His hand was pressed to the corpse's ruined skull, and his eyes were burning with a faint purple light. "You getting anything, Kiddo?"
T.J. shook his head. Jen shrugged.
"Not like there was much in there to begin with. Let's get back to the Zero. We leave Boytoy and Irish alone for too long and he won't make that meeting."
T.J. rose and wiped the blood from his hand on the dead Six's shirt. The light faded from his eyes as he climbed into the car's back seat. Jen huffed as she took her seat behind the wheel. She slammed the door shut and turned the ignition.
"No fun at all." she said, sighing as she began the short drive back to the Zero.
02
"Relax, love. You'll do fine. Well, so long as you don't try that idiot stunt with the fake accent again!"
Morgan Whitechapel's gaze was pointed as she looked into the dusty mirror from over Richard Lee's shoulder. The Californian swept a hand across his spiky blond hair.
"You never let me have any fun."
Mory sighed, circling leader of the Zero. Her slim hands moved to fuss with Ric's collar. "Council summits are not meant to be fun. This is a serious thing, Ric. The Sixes' attack on us might finally be enough to get them blackballed by the other gangs. Not just banned from the Market, but maybe driven out of the city."
"Seems that would make reconcilin' with your dad a touch difficult?"
Mory's pale eyes looked to her feet. "The needs of the many, I suppose."
"Always taking care of others." Ric reached out, brushing Mory's long black curls from her face. Her porcelain-pale cheeks flushed pink.
"Someone has to." Mory's skirts rustled as she slipped over to a nearby chair. She sat with her fishnet-clad legs folded primly, gesturing for Ric to join her. "It seemed easier when it was just the six of us, didn't it? Before we had so many lives in our unready hands and had to deal in the politics of the Council?"
The pale young woman let her head rest against the back of her chair. The lanky nomad from California moved to sit in the chair beside Mory's own, placing a hand gently on her slim shoulder.
"Yeah, but life's no fun if it's easy. And besides, I have a beautiful native guide to teach me the foreign ways of her savage people."
Mory swatted Ric's stubbly jaw. "You're terrible! But speaking of that, do you remember what I told you about the major Outfits, the ones represented by their own Councilors?"
Ric smiled sheepishly. "Not as well as I should. Honestly, I still wish you would just come with me."
Mory shook her head. "It would make this easier, but if the wrong pair of eyes saw us together I don't dare think what it might provoke Father to try. Besides, you need to make an impression for yourself with the Councilors, given you're our official leader. Since it seems you need reminded, let's take this from the top with all the big Manhattan outfits. First, the Irishmen."
Ric nodded, counting of points on his fingers as he spoke them. "They were former N.Y.P.D., ones stayed behind during the crash. They enforce the Market Truce, and keep the Council together. They're led by our boss, Big Jerry Braddock."
Mory smiled, swatting Ric's jaw again "Well, I'd hope you know that much. What else do you remember? What about the other Councilors and their outfits?"
Ric paused to think a moment before he answered. "You said the main bit was to remember that the gangs aren't like Old World street gangs or the cartels of the U.A.C., right?"
"Right. As I've heard it told, after the bomb and the dust the city mostly fell apart. People who survived and could afford it got out, headed for the Preserve or just to anywhere else they could. The ones who weren't so lucky had to worry more about living than honoring old affiliations. Everyone had to find a niche. But again, let's see what you recall of the other outfits. Let's start with the Morlocks?"
"They're tunnel-runners that live in the parts of the subways and sewers that aren't flooded. You said they're the ones keeping the power stations running. Oh, and that they have a cat fetish."
Mory sighed, pinching her nose. "Please don't put it like that around them? Hudson's got a sense of humor, I'm told, but still better to not get smart with these people Ric. The Morlocks keep the cats to kill rats, and we would end up swimming in rats and sickness if they didn't. Moving on, what about the Porters?"
"They're the ones who deal in fishing and smuggling, right? They own the waterfront, and that means most of the Fed contraband in the city comes in through them and their dealing with the Preserve's black markets. The leader's a Russian expat, right? Shame Kurt doesn't speak the tongue of the Motherland."
Mory nodded, smiling softly to the Californian. "Fatherland. It was his father's family that was Russian. But still, good. Now then, what about the Warhawks?"
"They own the rooftops and abandoned skyscrapers, right? You said they grow crops up there, and that they're the ones who watch for trouble from indies and outlaws, right?"
Mory nodded again, leaning over to kiss Ric's cheek. "That's my clever man. And lastly, what about the Conservers?"
"I think you said they try to protect the old monuments? Hoarding books, art, and all that? They sound like my kind of people, really."
The pale young woman nodded. "Good memory, love. Now, under the major outfits, who then?"
Ric shook his head "Jen came in with a new girlfriend then, remember? It was a bit hard to pay attention over the noise."
Mory sighed. "Fair enough. The big outfits' leaders serve as Councilors, lead by the Irishmen. Beneath them are the leaders of their vassal outfits, people like us. They hold turf for their bosses, like us and the Zero, and they're usually divided into smaller crews."
"And then, it's the outsiders, right? The independents, outlaws, and outsiders from the other Boroughs."
Mory smiled. "Yes. The Boroughs all have their own Presidents, who bend knee to the Council. But they won't be there. They don't matter to these proceedings."
"Right." Ric nodded, rising to his feet and smoothing out the scavenged pinstriped suit he wore. "So, how do I look?"
Mory smiled as she took in Ric's full measure. Her blush had returned, and though she opened her mouth to comment, she was cut off when Jen's head poked through the door of the rough structure.
"Like you're going to be late if you don't get movin', Boytoy." The half-Japanese punk grinned at her fellow Preserve runaway. The grin only grew wider as Ric glared at her. "Oh, looks like I was interruptin' something?"
"Shaddap, Dollface."
&nbs
p; Jen snickered as she withdrew her head from the doorway. Mory smiled.
"She is right, though. You need to get going. I'll see you when you get back?"
"You can bet your perky Irish backside on it."
Mory blushed again. She rose from her seat, moving to kiss Ric's lips softly. "Flatterer. Now get moving. And again..."
"No fake accents. I promise."
The Boss of the Zero rose from his chair. He gave the young local woman he had fallen in love with a swift embrace, then he departed the modest one-room stone home they shared. Mory watched the Californian go, shaking her head and praying that he would return from the Council's gathering with good news to share.
03
"I'm going to be honest, Boss, this isn't where I expected to be meeting everyone."
Jeremiah Braddock chuckled. "I would have thought you of all people would appreciate the symbolism, lad."
The High King of the Irishmen stood beneath the aged copper statue, looking out over the water behind it. Ric shook his head. "I get it, yeah. It's just a sad sight, seeing this place all overgrown and abandoned. Guess that's only right, though. I wonder if the U.N. even still exists?"
A high-pitched female voice answered. "It does, though its local reach was greatly curtailed by the declaration of Preserve Governor Thorne in 2014."
The pair both turned to regard the speaker. Her wispy white curls were pulled back into a bun, and a pair of thin spectacles perched on her nose. She reminded Ric of a librarian, and her outfit reinforced the impression. Braddock smiled warmly. "Adrienne. Good to see you."
"The same to you as well, 'High King.'"
Her tone was amused, and her expression matched it. Braddock shook his head with a sigh. "You know that wasn't my idea, Addie. Richard Lee, meet Councilor Adrienne Stanton of the Conservers."
Stanton drew close, studying the Californian with a critical eye. "So this is your troublemaker, Jeremiah? Is it true what the rumors say?"
Ric grinned. "Madam, that would depend on which rumors you refer to."
A gruff, world-weary voice came from behind them. "The one about how you turn invisible like somethin' out of the funny books."