The Apostates

by Lars Teeney

  “Relax, I don’t want to tell L.O.V.E. anything. Set up a meeting with me and whoever is leading them. I can assist greatly,” Ernest assured Jacob, laying an arm on his shoulders.

  Head Ranger Rick and his entourage ate upon a raised platform overlooking the rows of picnic tables where the families of Ukiah consumed their meal. He looked over the crowd with great suspicion, feeling that a mutiny was imminent. L.O.V.E. officers had a separate cache of provisions: they ate well compared to their prisoners. Ranger Rick had ordered the separate provisions as a precaution agaist poison. He grazed upon a grilled salmon fillet, spiced with rosemary, basil, and garlic, grilled asparagus and mashed potatoes with a smattering of butter. The Rangers all had a ration of ale to go with their meal, which was in stark contrast to the water that the people received.

  Around the perimeter of the camp, there were sounds of yelling and a scuffle. The Head Ranger turned his attention in that direction. Several in his retinue jumped up from their seats and readied their weapons. They rushed over to the scene. The crowd of townspeople fell silent as they awaited explanation. After several moments, two Rangers were seen dragging a man by his arms, who resisted intensely. They dragged the man up to the front of the raised platform that the Head Ranger was situated upon. The Rangers cast the man down into the dirt and trained their weapons on him. He was wearing an expensive designer suit that was blue in color. By now it was stained with mud and sweat. The man appeared to have been traveling for some time, as it was apparent that he had not showered. The man winced in pain and looked to be worked up in a fury.

  “Head Ranger Sir, we checked this man’s neural I.D., it looks to be the traitor’s son: Dmitri Zhukov. He was caught on the road just outside the camp. A Ranger shot out his engine block and he ran on foot—we caught him,” the Ranger reported to Head Ranger Rick.

  “Dmitri Zhukov, eh? What in the Sam Hell are you doing way out here? No matter. We’ll take him along with us to the B.A.G. The Church can judge him for the father’s crimes,” Head Ranger Rick decided.

  “F-fuck you,” was all Dmitri could muster through his pain and anger.

  “Yes, fuck me indeed. Townspeople of Ukiah, who will take this man in and provide shelter for him?” Ranger Rick rose up and looked about the crowd for volunteers.

  “We should take him in. He betrayed the Church and could prove useful.” Ernest looked at Gertrude and Jacob for agreement.

  “Ernest? You’re not even involved in this resistance. Are you trying to get us killed?” Gertrude questioned his judgment.

  “Honey, Jacob already got us involved, whether we like it or not. We’ve got no choice but to join the side that gives us a chance.” Ernest’s mind was made up, but he didn’t want to steamroll the rest of his family.

  “That’s a good idea, father. I’m in,” Jacob concurred.

  “Oy Vey. Here we go,” Gertrude complained.

  “Head Ranger Rick! My family and I will provide for the man!” Ernest had stood and announced his intentions to the Rangers. Ranger Rick gazed upon Ernest and his family, who sat four rows from the platform.

  “Oh? You will take this man in and provide for him until the B.A.G.?” Head Ranger Rick asked to make sure they were certain.

  “Yes, sir!” Ernest confirmed.

  “Very well. Release the man to the care of this family. Shoot him if he tries to run,” Head Ranger Rick commanded. The Rangers escorted the man over to the Greenbaum’s table, and forcibly sat him. They shoved a bowl of the bland stew in front of him.

  “Best eat, traitor. This is all we got,” the Ranger warned him. Then, the two Rangers took their leave. The man looked at his stew and decided he would lay into it, as he was famished. Teri Greenbaum stared at the man with girlish eyes. He didn’t fail to take notice and shot her an inviting look. The Greenbaum’s waited for the man to speak, but he said nothing. Finally, Ernest took the initiative.

  “Friend, my name is Ernest. This is my family: my wife, Gertrude, and my son, Jacob. This here is my daughter, Teri.” Ernest gestured to each. Teri put her hand out and smiled intently. Dmitri took her hand in a gentle shake.

  “The pleasure is mine. Thank you for your family’s hospitality. I hope to repay it in kind,” Dmitri said with a crooked smile.

  “Tell me, Dmitri, why are you on the run? What were you doing way out here?” Ernest asked in a hushed tone.

  “My whole family has been branded Apostates. I was heading for the northern border. It was something my father did. I’m not sure what it was,” Dmitri explained, as he slurped down some soup.

  “Well, rest now my friend. You are in good hands,” Ernest tried to reassure him.

  “How’s that, man? You’re all prisoners in a concentration camp. Once they get transportation they’ll bring you all to the Born Again Gathering and sacrifice you to God,” Dmitri mocked him through bites of stew. Ernest wondered for a split second if he had made a bad decision taking the man in.

  “No, sir. There is a movement. A plan. I can’t go into it here. But you can help,” Ernest informed him.

  “Well, fat chance that’ll work against Rangers, but I guess it’s better than no hope at all,” Dmitri conceded, “So! Where’s the homestead, hosts?” Dmitri asked with a sarcastic tone. Something didn’t sit right with Jacob about this man. But, he could see that the man may be useful as a former Regime insider. The camp had finished up dinner and the townspeople began to vacate the mess area. They headed back to tents to retire for the night, and get ready for the next workday, everyone except for the kitchen detail. Gertrude kissed her husband goodnight, as he would be asleep by the time she’d be done with her shift. She bid her children goodnight and was off toward the A.D.D. for cleanup detail. Ernest, Jacob, and Teri led Dmitri back toward their family tents to get him situated for the night.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  Arch-Deacon von Manstein had finished his inspection tour of the venues for the B.A.G. on the East Coast. His armored vehicle was making its way up from the remnants of the state that used to be Florida. During the effects of Climate Change and sea level rise the lower altitudes of the state were slowly but surely reclaimed. Only the northern portion of the state remained, and those lands were absorbed into Georgia long ago. So, von Manstein’s armored car wound through the sweltering heat and shanty-ridden landscape of Georgia. The mosquitoes lined up in a queue to meet their end against the windscreen of the vehicle. Leathery faces stared at the vehicle from rocking chairs and porches as it passed by on the old highway.

  von Manstein finished another dose of a particular strain of ‘Database’, that of an obscure book about a couple engaged in sadomasochistic practices. The book had been written during the early part of the Twenty-first century. von Manstein felt he was relatively easy to please when deciding to take ‘Database’, but this dose felt especially dry and soulless. When he came down off the dose he sighed with disappointment. It was the last of his ‘Base’ until he would get back to the Church headquarters in New Megiddo City. von Manstein figured that he would occupy himself with official duties. He poured over requests from Virtuous citizens with pleas for friends and relatives branded as Apostates be pardoned last minute before the B.A.G. He found it tiresome and tedious, but also he was feeling particularly generous that day, so he did approve a majority of the requests.

  His work was interrupted by an incoming hail. von Manstein decided to answer.

  “Vice-Deacon Paulus, His blessings upon you. What can I do for you today?” von Manstein greeted him humbly.

  “Arch-Deacon, holiness, Cardinal Zhukov has been interrogated by Inquisitor Rodrigo. He was given massive doses of tht drug the Inquisitor uses. Sir, his mind has been utterly destroyed! He is a vegetable!” Vice-Deacon Paulus was fearful that he would be next in the inquisition.

  “Calm down, Vice-Deacon. Anything else?” von Manstein was annoyed.

  “But, sir, L.O.V.E. plans to perform a neural implant extraction! They want access to an encrypted partition—the pro
cedure will kill him!” Paulus was hysterical.

  “Get a hold of yourself, man! Look, this is the price that Apostates pay for defying the Church.” von Manstein was pleased that suspicion had been shifted to Zhukov.

  “Arch-Deacon, sir! Surely you can intervene to save Cardinal Zhukov’s life? There must be something? Talk to his holiness, the Reverend! Plead with Rodrigo!” Vice-Deacon Paulus begged von Manstein. The pitiful pleas resounded in von Manstein’s head, making him cringe with a headache. He mulled the situation over. If Zhukov died that would only postpone his problems until L.O.V.E. got access to the encrypted data within his neural implant. Once they did that the jig would be up. They would learn the truth about whatever he was harboring. What if von Manstein’s ruse actually was the truth of the matter? What if Zhukov really was a mole, and through the will of the Lord, he had been given the truth without knowing it? Surely that would mean von Manstein was favored by the Lord?

  “Look, Vice-Deacon, I will request an audience with the Inquisitor. I will see if I can get L.O.V.E. to spare his life. Will that suffice?” von Manstein had no intention of doing so.

  “Yes, grace! That will be the best course of action, I think. Thank you!” Vice-Deacon Paulus was gracious for the false promise.

  “Great, Perfect. Okay, Vice-Deacon, I beg your leave. I have matters to tend to. von Manstein, out.” He ended the communiqué. Paulus was complicating matters for von Manstein. He couldn’t intervene on Zhukov’s behalf. Just doing so would attract suspicion from Inquisitor Rodrigo, and that was the last thing von Manstein needed: to be implicated and investigated as an Apostate. He dared not speak to the Inquisitor himself, rather he would contact Kate Schrubb, Minister of State Security to do something to try to intervene.

  von Manstein held his head in pain. The conversation with Paulus added to the after-effect of the ‘Database’ that made his head throb. He laid back in his seat and covered his eyes with his forearm, to block light. His mind felt cloudy and he couldn’t think straight. To him, it was a small price to pay for the euphoric feeling and access to vast stores of entertainment that had been lost to New Megiddo. von Manstein tried to nap, but was unsuccessful. He was in a state between sleep and consciousness, for roughly two hours. The restlessness and stress kept his mind from surrendering to sleep. He decided that he could procrastinate no longer and he would contact Kate Schrubb. He sent her a ping. After several attempts, he succeeded in reaching her.

  “Arch-Deacon von Manstein. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so late. It’s after eleven,” Kate sounded surprised at his call.

  “Minister Schrubb, I apologize for disturbing you so late, but I have an important matter to discuss with you,” von Manstein announced.

  “Okay, well let’s hear it then,” Kate said impatiently.

  “Minister, I had recently come to you regarding suspicion that Cardinal Zhukov may be an Apostate mole, and that I wanted him investigated,” von Manstein explained.

  “Yes, that’s right. I had Inquisitor Rodrigo look into it. From what I last heard he had invoked a confession from him, but that the interrogation method left him incapacitated. What of it?” Kate recounted.

  “Well, Minister, I have also heard that an operation was going to be carried out that would kill him. Surely this isn’t necessary? He has paid for his crimes with his sanity,” von Manstein pretended to plead on Zhukov’s behalf.

  “I’m afraid not Arch-Deacon. If the Cardinal is indeed a traitor, then chances are the encrypted data he harbors in his neural implant will tell us exactly what the Apostate plan is,” Kate said in an authoritative manner.

  “Very well, Minister. I understand the necessity of the situation. I just miss my dear friend and life-long companion: the man of God, that I knew before he turned coat!” von Manstein shed crocodile tears for Zhukov.

  “Yes, we will all mourn the loss of the man who fell from grace.” Kate was tired and her patience was wearing thin.

  “Minister, I appreciate anything you can do for the man, if possible. But, I understand the need for security during the B.A.G.,” von Manstein offered.

  “Great, then we are in agreement. If you don’t mind Arch-Deacon, I’m going to bed now.” Kate cut the communiqué short before von Manstein could say goodbye.

  This was disconcerting to von Manstein because there was a chance that L.O.V.E. would decrypt the data before the B.A.G., but only a slim chance. From what he remembered, Graham Wynham had also been implicated in a plot against the Regime as well. Maybe he was the mole? If he cracked surely L.O.V.E. would not expend the resources to decrypt the data? von Manstein had so much to worry about, and much to prepare before the End of Times. The last thing he needed was his accusation of Zhukov to be found groundless. The headache had come back as fierce as ever.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  PARTING THE SEA

  The Societatum Pentagram had nearly reached the Panama Strait after a long journey on horseback. They had foraged for food all the way south from Costa Rica, from numberous villages. The Order had developed such a fierce reputation for ruthlessness that no villages resisted the call for provisions. They did make a brief segue to confront and crucify cartel members who had the misfortune of running into the Order column traveling south. Other than that, the progress south had been smooth. Most crucial of all: they had outpaced the Apostate fleet, which, they surmised were making for the Strait of Panama. His scouts had reported that there was no sign of the fleet. He wondered where they had gone or what was keeping them.

  The Order had conscripted villagers on the way south to fight in an improvised militia. These were simple farmhands and craftsman, that had to scramble to pack and were armed with antiquated firearms: cannon fodder for the coming fight against the Apostates. Using this militia, the Order had stopped in countless villages on their route south to elicit oaths of loyalty to the Order and its cause to rid the region of cartel influence. The Order had added a wide swath of Panama to the territory it controlled, which included the majority of Nicaragua and Costa Rica. The Order was effectively a theocratic empire now. The biggest prize would be seizing the Panama Strait and the tariff base it would bring. Monsignor Carafa was closer to his goal than ever.

  The Order had reached the outskirts of La Chorrera, a town that was situated on the shores of the Strait. In times before the sea level rise, it had been located fourteen miles away from the old Panama Canal, but now it was waterfront real estate. The town also served as the capital of Panama as the old capital was now under water. The Order deemed the city crucial for their efforts to stop the Apostates from crossing, but also, to complete control of Central America. However, the subjugation of this town would not be as easily won as with the other towns further north. For starters, La Chorrera was a rich town for modern standards. The oligarchs that ran the city had grown wealthy by controlling access to the Strait, and they would not capitulate easily. Monsignor Carafa was also unsure if his ragtag militia would be enough to take the town by force. He was relying on the Order’s reputation proceeding it. Certainly from afar his militia would look intimidating?

  Also complicating the matter was the power of the premiere oligarchical family in Panama: the Noriegas. The Noriega Clan was direct descendants of the infamous dictator from centuries past. The Noriega family was also deeply entwined with the commerce in the region, this included cartel traffic and smuggling. La Chorrera took a piece of all cartel action, so it was not just a matter of steamrolling the town and purging cartel influence. Removing either the Oligarchs or the cartels would mean the collapse the regional economy. The key to Carafa’s strategy would have to be careful diplomacy; a knife’s edge balance. He would need to find an accord that would suit the Oligarchs, cartels, and the Order, at least for the short term.

  Monsignor Carafa and the Friars of the Order sat on their mounts at the head of the militia who had been drawn up into a battle line. They had sent emissaries up ahead to send word of the Order’s arrival at La Chorrera. The Oligarch f
amilies had mustered their private militias and put them on standby within the town limits. Much like the Order, they were not looking for a fight that would most likely cause massive casualties on both sides. The Oligarchs of La Chorrera, however, had an advantage: possession of a fortress on the edge of town that contained old, Howitzer artillery pieces. The fortress occupied a commanding position on both land and the Strait.

  “¿Crees que vamos a tener que luchar? (Do you think we will have to fight?)” Friar Francis asked, her facial veil and hood billowed in the wind.

  “Si esperamos a tomar los Apóstatas entonces tenemos que evitar una pelea aquí a toda costa. (If we expect to take the Apostates then we have to avoid a fight here at all costs,)” Friar Pius answered back. He sharpened his long trench dagger with on small whetstone.

  “Qué Friar Pius dice es la verdad. Tenemos que capturar la fortaleza de mi plan para trabajar. Tendremos que buscar algún tipo de acuerdo con los oligarcas de La Chorrera. (What Friar Pius says is the truth. We need to capture the fort for whole for my plan to work. We’ll need to seek some sort of agreement with the Oligarchs of La Chorrera,)” Monsignor Carafa confirmed. He stood ready awaiting the town’s next move. Although he saw that the artillery on the fort was at the ready, and he figured that his militia was nearly out of range. Carafa had drawn up in battle lines for display in front of the town, but if he was forced to attack he was not going to sacrifice his forces assaulting the fort. His battle plan would rely on deceit and cunning. If forced to fight he would feign a retreat and lead his forces on flanking the town from the north side. He would fight his way through La Chorrera and take the town hall: the seat of Noriega family power. If he did this his militia would definitely be in range of the fort’s guns, but the fort’s defenders would be forced to shell their own town in the process.