Outlaws of Babylon

by Eugene W. Cundiff

  “Bright…” Mory murmured softly, and when Ric moved to kiss her again he found she had drifted off to sleep.

  "Well, this is nice then." Ric shook his head, grinning. He reclined into the blankets, holding his precious Ivory in his arms as he drifted off to sleep.

  18

  “Boss, Boss!”

  Ric’s senses blurred back toward wakefulness as he felt the insistent tugging on his foot. His first instinct was to unleash a vile streak of half-coherent curses, but fought bit it down when he realized his waker was the street child Jeza. “Unngh, Jeza? Wha... why... where’s Mory?”

  “Miss Whitechapel said let you sleep, she said. She's havin' her mean little brother, the one who calls me names when no one is around to see him! She's havin' him talk with the Sixer-Man you came back with.”

  Ric groaned, rising up to a seated position. He adjusted his jeans and rubbed the bleariness from his eyes. “Okay then. Here’s the big-money question then, kiddo. Why are you waking me up?”

  Jeza looked about as if to search for hidden spies. “Irish men is at the gate, Boss!”

  Ric muttered darkly under his breath. Dealing with the Irishmen was the last thing he wanted to right now. He looked back to the child, his expression restrained. “Did they say what they wanted to talk about?”

  “Something about the big truck?”

  Ric's eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I've got some things to say to them about that too.”

  The Californian rose from his makeshift bed, then tugged on his boots and coat. He gestured for Jeza to lead the way, and the girl scurried off toward the gate. Ric followed swiftly behind her, and it did not take long for the pair to arrive at the gates where four Irishmen were waiting, flanking the Sheriff. Aces' face turned into a mask of guarded neutrality when she saw the look in Ric’s eyes.

  “Mister Ric.”

  “Sheriff.” Ric's tone was as icy.

  “I get that I may not be your favorite person right now, but I expect you’ll understand that it was simply business.”

  Ric gave a thin, mirthless smile. “Of course. Now mind telling me what’s your business here?”

  “We’re here to collect the arms shipment from the truck, obviously.”

  “Are you now?” Ric’s sarcastic reply obviously took the Irish detachment by surprise. He used their confusion to his advantage, continuing before they could offer resistance “So it seems to me that you were all too willing to pass on that shipment when it wasn’t safe and convenient to collect them.”

  The Sheriff began to respond, but Ric held up his hand.

  “Ah ah ah, not your turn yet. It also seems to me that your boss had no desire to offer us protection from the Sixes, even with our fealty. Since their quarrel was with us demons and not the rest of you good, upstanding mobsters.”

  “Now you just stop right –“

  “There? Sorry Sheriff. But since you abandoned me, left my people in the lurch? A whole lot of them wanted your pretty cougar head for that, by the way. But I kept them cool, told them it was cool, all business. But now, since you've come and demanded the guns that weren’t worth my life be handed over? The guns we can use to protect ourselves from any more attacks, since you won't? I've already talked them down from wanting you... what's the word you jacks use here, again? 'Dusted'? From wanting you dusted and now you have the balls to come here and ask us to give up the means to ensure our security? You honestly think I'm going to agree to that?”

  “Yes.” The Sheriff’s teeth were gritted. Though her tone remained civil and her face remained calm, her disciplined stoicism had started to crack at the edges. Ric shook his head.

  “I’m afraid I must humbly deny your request.”

  The four Irish enforcers grumbled menacingly, reaching for their guns, but the sounds of triggers being cocked and the sight of red dots painting their chests stopped them. They lowered their hands back to their sides as the armed sentries appeared atop the walls. Through all this, the Sheriff remained eerily calm. “You’re making a mistake, little one.”

  Ric locked eyes with Aces, smiling coolly. “No Sheriff, it's you that's made mistakes. You made one when you pissed me off. Then you made another by coming here, making demands like this. So let me be plain? We’re not giving you these weapons.” Ric gestured to the waiting gunmen on the wall above them. "However if you make a fuss on that score, we’ll happily give you the ammo. In the customary manner for such a gift in this city.” The Californian felt a swell of pride as a pop of laughter sounded behind him. Bolstered by his peoples' support, he grinned at the Sheriff. “And by the way? To you, it’s Boss Lee now.”

  “If you think the Council –“

  Ric held his hand up, ticking off points on his fingers. “Fact: We have arable land and growing crops, both behind strong walls that have already held off one assault. Fact: according to my lovely Miss Whitechapel, we now have more guns at our disposal than any of the other crews unified. Which is, I’m also told, is not something that happens. Fact: We are providing a valuable service at a rate that will undersell any other food producer in this City, and selling to anyone who will support our claim to this land and a place on the Council, Hell, to be good sports we’ll even provide a tithe to the Irishmen free of charge, as a payoff on your investment.”

  “And if I say no?”

  Ric shook his head and his eyes flashed violet. “I’m a ghost, Sheriff. I can get in anywhere I want unseen, and out again just as easily. And quite honestly, I’m the least scary one here amongst the mindfreak set. You ever see what Killer can do if he’s motivated? It wasn’t pretty, those poor Six jacks.”

  The Sheriff’s eyes remained hard, but she finally slumped. “You really think you’re going to pull this off, surfer-boy?”

  “No. I don’t think I’m going to. I know I already have. Now unless you’re here to buy grain, or to offer reparations for leaving a fellow Boss to die in a joint job? With all due respect, get the Hell out of our territory.”

  A crowd had begun gathering behind Ric as he spoke, and by the time he finished nearly half the camp was there. The Sheriff's hard gaze never wavered, but she finally tipped her head in Ric's direction.

  “One more thing, Boss Lee. What's the name of the outfit I get to tell Big Jerry he just got screwed by?”

  Ric smirked, gesturing broadly across the camp and the ruined skyline beyond. “We’re the last generation. We're the ones you left behind to clean up your messes. We’ve come out from the ruins you gave us, from the wreckage of your failures, Sheriff. We won’t make the same mistakes of the past, the mistakes your generation made. You want to know who we are, Sheriff?" The Californian's smirk grew into a grin "You ever hear that old line about how 'children are the future'? That's us. We are the future. We are the children of this blighted city, this broken world. We're the heirs to your broken legacy. We are the Heirs of Babylon.”

  The crowd cheered, but Aces stood calm. She seemed unimpressed. “I see then. Well then, Boss Lee, we’ll see what Big Jerry has to say to this whole affair. For now we’ll part on sanguine spirits.”

  “As in passionate and enthusiastic, or as in bloody?”

  “That, Boss Lee? That remains to be seen. Move out, boys!”

  At the Sheriff's words the Irishmen turned and departed Sanctuary's gates. Ric deflated visibly as Jen approached from the crowd behind him. “Well, that was exciting! Any other plans for getting us killed you want to put into play?”

  “Shaddap Dollface.”

  19

  Far from the gates, Ronnie fumed as Mory forced him into the door of the Zero's infirmary. "Why am I here in the sicko hut?! I don’t want to see the sickos!”

  Mory's voice was firm as she answered. “Because there’s someone here who wants to talk to you, you little snot.”

  “Who, the murderer’s braindead whore? “

  Mory looked across the room to where Benny was seated. “Apologies, Benjamin. He’s always like this, and he's been worse since he’s been confi
ned to the walls.”

  Benny nodded to Mory, and Ronnie glared at her.

  “Why would I want to see this damned traitor? He abandoned Dad! Just like you!”

  Mory moved to put herself in front of the door, her hands set defiantly on her slim hips. Her eyes showed the faintest trace of white light in their pupils. “What you want stopped being important when it was discovered that it’s dangerous for you and everyone else, Ronald Alistair Whitechapel. You’re not leaving until you listen to Benjamin, and if I have to stay here in front of this door for three days and three nights then by the Saints it’ll be as though it were Christ’s tomb and stay shut for that time. I can do without food and sleep for a lot longer than you can. Now go sit down and pay damned good attention you little brat!”

  Ronnie stared, his mouth agape. Mory's resolute expression did not waver a moment as he looked first to her, then to the door she was guarding, and finally, hatefully, to Benny. “So what the Hell do you want anyway, you dirty sellout traitor son of a –!”

  Ronnie was cut off when Mory tossed a tin cup at his feet

  “Next time I won't miss, and I might not just toss an old mug, little brother. You will be nice to our guest, and give him his deserved attention and respect. Understood?”

  Ronnie muttered vilely. “Make it fast then, traitor.”

  “His name is Benjamin, not ‘traitor.’ You’ll show the manners our dear Mother tried to teach you before she passed and use it, Ronald.”

  Ronnie sighed and stomped over toward where Benny sat. He slumped down to a seat in a chair when Benny pushed it his way. “Let’s just get this over with then, Benjamin.”

  The boy spat the name out, and Benny took a deep breath.

  “Ronald, I know you love and respect your father, and I know you don’t want to hear what I’m going to tell you. “

  “So you’re not as dumb as you look. “

  Benny ignored the insult. “Your father is a murderer, and he’s been lead astray by the man he follows. Just like I was. I got a second chance before I could do anything that I’d never forgive myself for, but your father? He’s a murderer, Ronald. A murderer of children.”

  Ronnie howled. “Lying! You’re lying! You’re a liar! My Dad’s a hero fighting demons and you betrayed him to help those demons! He’s just trying to find a way to rescue me!”

  Benny shook his head. “No, he’s not. He never talked about it after Paladin Vega died attacking you. And that was before your hosts got that gun shipment I was sent after, giving him something else to worry over. He only wants you back –“

  Mory cut in, her voice sorrowful. “He only wants us back because it looks poorly on him to have his children 'held prisoner' by the demons he is supposedly fighting. That, and because in his mind we’re his to own and keep. You know that Ronnie."

  Benny nodded solemnly. “She’s right, terrible as it is to say.”

  “No, liars! You're both liars! Shut up! Shut up!” Ronnie screamed out in rage, and Mory winced and gritted her teeth, clutching her head. Her eyes flashed with brilliant white light, and her features twisted into an expression of pain. It was soon replaced by an expression of shock when the blind young woman in the bed behind them took a deep, shuddering breath and bolted upright, casting her head around in terrified confusion.

  “Help... help her... where is she? Help her please help her!”

  Benny was the first to respond, rising quickly up from his chair. His foot caught Ronnie's chair as he did, and both of them collapsed at the foot of the cot where the blind girl sat. She turned her sightless eyes toward Ronnie, beginning to shriek.

  “Judas! Traitor! Save her! Save her from Judas! Make the traitor go! Six! Six! Six! Judas!”

  “She doesn’t like you much, Benjamin.” Ronnie said with a grin, shoving his way free from the others' grasp. Mory glared at him sharply.

  “Ronnie, be quiet! Benjamin, I’m sorry. Thanks for trying, but could you get Ronnie out of here? And if you can, find Kurt? He’ll definitely want to know about this.”

  “Yes Paladin Whitechapel!” Benny winced as soon as he said it, but Mory was either too distracted or too forgiving to make comment on the slip. He grabbed Ronnie by the collar, moving out of the infirmary. Once they had left, Mory placed a soft hand on the girl’s damp and sweating chest.

  “Easy. He’s not a traitor. Not to anyone but those who hurt you so badly, at any rate.”

  The girl’s sightless gaze tilted deliriously toward Mory. She smiled. “Angel. She’s talking with the Sad Angel. Poor, poor Sad Angel. Still trying to fly, with broken wings and broken heart. Still trying to help her."

  “Just as good you can’t see me blushing. But let’s worry about you. Are you all right? You’ve been asleep a long time. Months now.”

  “The voices would not let her wake. The voices kept her in the darkness. She destroyed her eyes to make the voices stop showing her, but the voices are clever. Clever, clever voices, that only made the things they showed come real, come true, and she was locked away.”

  The girl shook her head, running her hand over her own flushed and feverish brow. “Made to watch. Made to watch and not wake up, only hear the voices and the people who kept her flesh. People she knew from the things she had to watch. Sad Angel, and Judas, and Samson. Children of the firstborn like her. The Dragon Princess and the Shining Prince. She saw them all! All of them!”

  Mory said nothing, taking in all that the delirious girl had to say. When she finally seemed spent, Mory quietly spoke. “Who is she? What’s her name?”

  The question earned Mory a puzzled look. “You mean name she was born with, before the voices and the knife and the bad men?”

  “Yeah hon, that’s what I mean. Can you tell me?”

  The broken girl giggled. “Silly Sad Angel, did you forget?”

  “I never –“Mory paused, shaking her head. “I never was good at remembering names, silly Sad Angel that I am. Could she remind the Sad Angel?”

  The girl giggled again. “Silly Sad Angel! It’s Shelly. Shelly Rossellini!”

  “Do you remember where Shelly is from? Where she came from, before the voices and the bad men hurt her?”

  Shelly tilted her head. “The voices made her forget. They said she wouldn’t want to see, so they gave her another past. And then, another. If she’s going to have a past, why shouldn’t it be multiple choice?”

  “So you don’t know if she has a family? She sounds like she’s a local, but... well, it's hard to tell. “

  Shelly grinned lopsidedly. Her head tilted again, this time Mory’s direction. “Why worry about her past? She sees the worlds ahead, in what the voices show her.”

  Mory blinked. “You... you can see the future?”

  “Who?”

  Grimacing, Mory tried again. “She can see the future?”

  “Maybe, maybe! The future is very hard to catch, and always changing its mind. Rude.”

  Mory was about to reply when Kurt barreled through the door.

  “She’s awake?”

  “She is!” Shelly gave a cheerful answer, and Mory grabbed Kurt's, elbow. Pulling him close, she whispered into his ear.

  “She talks and answers as if she’s someone else, and gets confused if you speak to her straight-on.”

  Kurt blinked, but nodded. Shelly crept closer to him, her head tilted in his direction.

  “Samson?”

  “Umm, Mor?”

  “That’s you, I’m guessing. She says she knows us. From some sort of visions or another that the voices showed her.”

  “What sort of visions?”

  Shelly answered before Mory could. “They show her the pretty lights, and show her the colors of the world and the futures’ vistas, all bright and swirled.”

  Kurt stared blankly, and Mory patted his shoulder.

  “I’ve just been smiling and nodding, well, you know, with words.”

  “Ah.” He gave Mory a quiet nod, looking over to Shelly. Scars still peeked out from beneath
the spare clothes she had been wrapped in, and her dark hair had grown a few inches, now tangling wildly about her head. She looked far less pallid and sickly than she had the day he had saved her from execution before the Golden Bull of the Market. “Well, you, umm, she looks better than when she was last awake.”

  Shelly nodded and giggled, then tilted her head in Mory’s direction. “The Sad Angel and you took care of her and did not let her die. She hopes she may be able to repay you for it someday. Maybe the voices will show her doing that, so she knows how to.”

  Shelly mumbled herself into silence, and Kurt sighed.

  “You’d think we’d be able to manage a few hours’ peace. Tis the season and all that. Does this place ever take a break, Mor?”

  Mory gave him a wistful smile, shaking her head. “Not that I’ve ever known.”

  Kurt sighed, rolling his shoulders and nodding. “Fair enough. As much as I’d rather stay and pick the brain of our guest, there seemed to be a ruckus happening near the gates as I was getting here. I should probably go check if there's trouble. Make sure that if there is I’m available to deal with it."

  Mory nodded, smiling tiredly. “Fair idea, that. I have things managed in here, so go on and play big bad security man.”

  Kurt nodded, slipping out of the infirmary. Mory looked to Shelly.

  “Is she needing anything?”

  “Nothing that the birthday imps cannot provide upon the sacred longest night.”

  “Ah, good then.”Mory smiled softly, taking a seat on a neighboring cot. A wave of pain and lethargy had been racing across her nerves since her argument with Ronnie, and it had grown so intense that she could bear it no longer. She collapsed down into the cot, welcoming the relief of unconsciousness.

  20

  Evening had fallen on the Zero, and it found Benny standing over a map within Ric's improvised 'command tent.' He pointed to a location on it.

  “That’s where the main safehouse is located. The arms depot, the vehicle bay, all of it. High Paladin Whitechapel stays there when he’s not out on assignment.”