“I am your harbinger. This is your warning.”
The television turned off. George Washington disappeared off the screen in a quick click of light. All that was left was a dull, black square that everyone in the office stood around.
-Chapter Thirty-Five-
Harbinger
The keys Andy had lifted off of the dead man belonged to an old fashioned road chopper. The bike almost made him laugh when he realized the key fit in its ignition. It was a deep and shiny jet black body with purplish flames detailed on the side, just where his knees rested as he sped down the highway. All that was missing, he thought, was a leather jacket.
His path was clear. East. He must follow the interstate east and get to Haley before anyone like the former talk show host did. Andy knew that it was ugly out there in a first-rate nation torn apart by civil war, but his encounter with Davey Tolmes threw the whole concept into a new perspective. People out there were evil. He had doubted it, but Andy knew now. Some men in the world just have bad hearts and sick minds. These psychopaths deserve to die more than anyone. Put down like the animals they are.
There are people in this world who want nothing more than to destroy. As long as he was away from Haley, Andy worried relentlessly. Nothing mattered if he could not keep her safe.
Something he had heard once was that if you speak of the devil, he will appear. Brooding was no exception.
Andy had no idea where he was within the country. For the last four and a half hours he sat on the motorbike in silence with no sound besides the hum of the tires outside of his skull. The world jogged on past him and he paid it little mind as he thought. Once he entered a small railway town, the thing that alerted him to the things around him was his car. His previous car. It sat parked in front of a small health clinic, a bit askew.
Brakes screeched as Andy slammed on them. He whipped back around and parked next to the vehicle. When he had gotten off of the motorcycle, he almost climbed back on in doubt. For a decent moment he thought that his eyes had just played tricks on him and that he should just turn back and continue east. Andy stepped forward for a more thorough glance.
The clinic door opened and closed while the former assassin had his nose pressed up against the car window. He turned to the entrance to see Davey standing in it with his arm in a sling, speckled by blood. Andy jumped with pure shock.
Davey's face remained unwavering. “You know, I'm not much of a gun guy, but you inspired me yesterday,” he said. He gestured to the revolver that hung in his hand. “I like it.”
“I know who you are,” Andy told him. With a quick snap of muscles, he reached for his handgun. Davey tightened his grip on his own weapon and aimed it at Andy's head. The hitman froze.
“No, now, don't spoil this for us,” Davey commanded. “Alright?”
Andy was upset and it showed on his brow. Davey grinned at the expression he made. “What are you doing here?” Andy asked the psychopath.
“I'm fixing a little bit of your damage, stranger,” the deranged celebrity answered. “That hole you blew in me hurt quite a bit, you know. But I knew I'd find someone to fix it up for me and then I knew that I'd be able to get a little even. And here you are.” He laughed as if on cue. “Did you hear the harbinger last night?”
Andy replied with a slight turn of his jaw and confusion in his eyes.
“I did,” Davey continued. He was an animated speaker, waving the gun around as he talked. It was all Andy could focus his stare on as it darted about. “I'm not an arrogant man; never one to jump to conclusions. I couldn't tell you for sure if God spoke to us last night or who, but I can assure you that I don't believe in coincidences. I believe that you, me, and the fate of this whole generation is connected. Our destiny has come to the door, sir.”
“What are you talking about?” Andy demanded.
Davey glanced into Andy's eyes, reminded of his presence. “I'm talking about something bigger than ourselves,” he stated. He pointed down at the gun in Andy's holster. “I need you to throw that thing on the ground so I don't worry about it anymore.”
With careful deliberation, Andy obliged. He kicked the three-eighty auto away. Gesturing to the clinic, he asked, “Are they all...?”
“Dead?” Davey finished the question. “Yes.”
Andy squeezed his eyelids shut and turned his head down in disgust. He didn't want Davey to see the bitter tears of outrage that welled beneath his eyes. The sick bastard would only enjoy it, he decided. “Goddammit! Why!?” he cried in fury.
He was right. The murderer's smile got even wider when he could see how upset Andy was. “It doesn't matter any way,” Davey explained. “Although your obvious approval is always a bonus.”
“Why wouldn't it matter?” Andy asked.
“Because none of them had long anyway,” Davey responded. “None of us do, do we? Besides, they died knowing the truth.”
“The truth?”
“A truth,” Davey began, “that I want to prove to our harbinger fellow. Something important to the fate of all that is. That we are all evil in an ugly, ugly world and the universe would be much better off without us.”
Andy continued to stare into the deranged man's eye with pure concern on his face. Nothing of what Davey said made any sense to him. However, the man seemed so passionate about it. Like he believed in it more than anything else.
“That sounds like a suicide,” Andy commented. He watched his captor's eyes.
Davey scoffed in response. “It's necessary. The problem here is that no one has the balls the pull the trigger. So we have to find someone to do it for us,” Davey told him. “This harbinger thing? He gets that. Stupidly, he's giving us a chance to redeem ourselves, but it will be hopeless in the end.”
“How could you speak for so many people?”
“Because I am not an idiot,” Davey replied, offended. “I know that a forest must burn in order to grow.” The two of them exchanged fierce looks for several moments. Davey nodded his head back to the clinic. “Come. I have something I want to show you.”
Andy hated this feeling of no control. His submission to Davey's will made him cringe, and although he obeyed, he could not hold his tongue on the matter. “Your favorite lives you took?” he asked with bitter twang of sarcasm in his tone.
Davey chuckled, like a grandfather does when a child asks if monsters are real. “Not at all!” he answered. “My favorite lives we took.” He waved his gun, urging Andy to step inside.
When they entered the place, the first thing Andy noticed was the blood. There were spots stained on the walls and the carpets. All of it was fresh, still wet and bright red. Four corpses lay slain in various positions in the waiting room. Andy covered his mouth with his hand and fought back tears of disgust. He wanted nothing more than to thrash his captor and bring down the full weight of justice upon his head. Davey, however, paid no attention to the victims of his latest spree. Instead, he stared up at the TV that hung in the corner of the room.
“Look,” he urged Andy. The former hitman already was.
The image on the screen was terrifying. It was a wide spinning shot that a helicopter had captured of a large and smoky mushroom cloud rising up from a valley. The cloud retained its shape, the smoke and dust hanging up in the sky in disobedience of physic's laws. The newsfeed at the bottom of the image labeled the event as Andy had seen it. “Who nuked us?” he asked in a hushed voice.
Davey looked over at Andy on his right. He smiled. “We did,” he answered. Andy stared at him in confusion.
“If you're just joining us,” a man's voice overlapped the image of destruction on the television, “we have confirmed that a nuclear device has been detonated in northwestern Colorado late this morning. The exact size of the explosion is unknown but it is estimated to be nearly an entire megaton of explosive power. The death toll is estimated to be just under one hundred, although the intense environmental damage that the bomb will cause is another story. Right n
ow, reports are coming in that this attack was orchestrated by the Knights of the Proletariat in response to Decree and Federal troops attempting to take control of the facility away from the terrorists. The entire facility has been destroyed, and as we are currently reporting, there have been no survivors discovered.”
Davey clicked off the television with the remote.
“What happened?” Andy asked.
“That terrorist group that blew up the tower?” Davey started explaining, clarifying that Andy knew what he spoke about. “They took ownership of one of America's old warheads and threatened to set it off if they couldn't have their petty country back. When the boss men sent guys to attack them, they said, 'Fuck it,' and blew the place up.”
“Why?” Andy asked.
Davey shrugged. “Some people would rather die than see defeat,” he replied. He turned to Andy. “Are you a man like that?”
Andy shook his head. “I'm not afraid to lose.”
“Are you sure?” Davey asked. He pulled back on the hammer of his gun and rested the barrel against Andy's temple. “What are you afraid of then? Death?”
Andy shook his head. “I'm not afraid to die.”
Davey laughed. “Then it seems like I'll be doing you a favor,” he said. A crazy look glinted in his pupil.
“I'd rather die than see you win,” Andy elaborated. Without any hesitation, his muscles snapped into motion. With his left hand he batted away the gun and locked his hand around the offending wrist. With his right he struck Davey in the eyes with a fist. He turned into his captor's body tugging down on Davey's wrist until he heaved the man over his shoulder and onto his back. He pried the gun out of his hands but sent it flying behind the receptionist's desk.
Groaning for a moment, the murderer sprung up onto his feet as Andy reached inside his jacket for his gun. He remembered that it was outside on the sidewalk. He swore under his breath. With haste, he ran out the front door as Davey scrambled for his own firearm. His extremities trembled with adrenaline as he fumbled with picking up his three-eighty auto off a small patch of grass.
Cocking the gun, he took a deep breath and dived back into the clinic. Instead of waiting for him to return, Davey was already halfway out of the back door to the waiting room. His weight had thrown Andy off as he tried to redirect his momentum back out of the front door. As he emerged, he dropped down onto one knee and opened fire at the deranged man. Davey rushed over to Andy's bike and fumbled around with something as Andy fired. Davey hurled Andy's motorcycle keys as far as he could in the opposite direction. At the same time he continued to duck and weave away from Andy's line of fire.
The former hitman wasted little ammo but still found it difficult to land a decent bead on Davey. It was as if the psychopath had adapted to his way of thinking and was able to predict where Andy would shoot. Dancing away from the gunfire, Davey jolted to his own car. As he tried to throw open the driver's door, Andy blew a small hole through the murderer's already injured arm. Davey only stopped for a moment to groan in pain before he tossed himself into the cab of the truck. Andy continued shooting as Davey drove off until he knew that it would be impossible to hit anywhere near him.
As the shakes of adrenaline continued to grip Andy, he sighed, irritated. He went off to the other side of the street to find his keys.
-Chapter Thirty-Six-
Intervention
People were enraged; livid and barking with fury in large circles in so many different places at once. These people were sick and tired of putting their morals above their survival. They were fed up with the catering and servitude that the weak ones around them threw themselves into. That was the general atmosphere although the specific people and discussions that were being had varied from faction to faction. There were four gatherings taking place at the exact same time. And the exact same thing happened.
As they always do, Decree had shown up to where the mob fumed in front of the ruins of the Decree Tower with guns. The mass of humans was disorganized but passionate. The yells and taunts came out loud and heavy to the paramilitaries. So few people ran and hid. Not a soul obeyed the mercenaries when they ordered the people to disperse. They bore through the tear gas, running only closer to the armed men who watched in shock. The protestors didn't care. They were so tired of being afraid. Instead, they passed on that quality to their oppressors, who began opening fire. Their aim was terrible. Fear burrowed tremors into their wrists and all they managed to do was wound and flee. Some of them weren't able to escape to the vans with their colleagues and were crushed to death as dozens and dozens of furious protestors stomped on them repeatedly.
The people pulled the weapons and ammunition off of a few merc-cop corpses. Windows into cars and businesses, newspaper stands and kiosks were all smashed with whatever the crowd could get their hands on. Someone threw a few flares into a department store and started a fire blazing on the street. They even fought each other. Their bodies shook with an eagerness for violence. To make someone else suffer.
Denver was the current capitol of the Federal States of America, and the scene there resembled a large, outdoor town hall. Citizens gathered in quiet assembly and demanded answers from their politicians. The lawmakers themselves gathered together on the famous stage at Union Station and invited discussion from their citizens. Instead of anger and unrest, the gathering of folk were scared and worried. There was a large plaque that covered the stage with the name of every person that had been murdered at that station since the Standstill. The victims of the American War.
“What about the fallout?” someone shouted up from the street.
Dominic Fesgen himself held onto a megaphone and stood foremost on the stage. “Right now, all of our men and women in service are out west, evacuating everyone from there,” he explained, his voice strong and comforting. “Although the fallout should be nearly nonexistent this far east, we are recommending everybody stay either in basements and cellars in their own homes or to come to one of the city's many emergency shelters. There we have beds. We have food and we have medical services. We're going to take care of each and every person that needs it and make sure that our families and friends are safe.”
Haley did not go to the assembly that was took place in D.C. This surprised many of the activists that did. She didn't leave her hotel room at all since the bomb went off. Instead, she sat in the darkness on the edge of her bed, weeping. Never before had she felt like such a failure. Defeat seeped out of her lungs during the louder of her sobs. She had tried so hard to promote peace and get the world on the right track in terms of human decency. Her whole life had been devoted to civil duty and taking care of those who couldn't do it for themselves. She had so much faith in everyone. So much stock in the condition of standard compassion. And they just slapped her right across the face.
God must be laughing, Haley thought.
Out on a rural countryside, the Heaven's Crusade members gathered for a sermon. Their church was large and composed of multiple structures. There was a long, thin metallic fence that encircled the entire area, resembling a stadium. In the northern side were four dormitories where the residents could get in and out of their apartments from the outside. They even had small grass lawns in front of each one. The largest building was the cathedral that had once been an airplane hanger nestling itself against the southern wall. In the middle of the compound, surrounded by bleachers and where the worshipers gathered, was a large metal crucifix.
A man in a hoodless gray robe stepped in front of the communion with the cross in his background. He wore small sunglasses and sported a long, silvery beard and mane. He talked with a powerful tone as he quoted scripture in the beginning. His tone became more dramatic as he continued.
“We're coming upon some rather dark times in the world we have to share with so many others, wouldn't you say?” he asked. “Now I'm sorry to be going a little off script here, but I wrote a special sermon that I feel fits no better in time than now, after this terri
ble tragedy.”
He pushed the glasses down on his nose so he could see everyone over them. “Sinners would create a world in which the 'majority' has the say, has the ability to change things, only in a world that is so majorly sinful,” he began. “Democracy is a scam. This implication that everyone can throw in their propaganda and filth for consideration and practice among the masses. Even those unworthy of His love can chose to lead? Those who even have their souls sealed away in hell for eternity? Wicked people? And what have we got?”
The crowd erupted with moans and yells that silenced quick. “This is enough! We can't let fools and sinners destroy this planet that God has gifted us with. In these dark times, what we need is an intervention – ”
At that moment, the gigantic metal crucifix opened up. From inside poured out several forms that none of the cultists were ready for.
Everywhere at once, bright light flashed through the air and a crack knocked the sound out of everyone's ears for several moments. The rioters and mercenaries that fought in New York found that their firearms were all disabled. Light bulbs from within every street light exploded and ceased to illuminate. Televisions and electronic signs fluttered off. In Denver, President Fesgen's megaphone squealed harshly before cutting out forever. Every camera and cell phone went black. The air was filled with silence as everyone's senses began returning to them.
In each city there knelt a being that had never been seen by Americans before. It was pale white with bright glowing skin. It looked as if a strange layer of sparkling dust surrounded its body, softening up all of its edges and blurring its features. The only features it seemed to have anyway were small rises and indentations in its blank, human-like face. There were no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Just shimmering skin.
A Guardian Angel Page 26
