by James, Daz
Conspiracy at World’s End.
Dedicate to my family and friends for all their continued love and support during this writing faze of my life.
Chapter 1
It’s gonna take alot to drag me away from you,
there’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do,
I bless the rains down in Africa...
In a nameless town, long forgotten, Marlin Vickers listened in amazement. The music of Toto had survived the end of the world. It was the only sound that could be heard in this hushed landscape.
He silenced the music, shutting down the solar powered, palm sized I-Pad. The man placed it in one of the deep pockets of his hessian pants.
He stood amongst the abandoned relics of a high tech age. There were computers, televisions and other electronic devices covered in dust and cloaked in cobwebs. Unwanted.
Marlin sunk his teeth into a round, furry peach, juice dribbling down his chin. It felt satisfying. The supplement pills were no matched for the sensation of taste.
Food was prohibited by the new government; they said it was to protect the survivors from contamination.
Marlin had gotten his peach on the black market hoping to prove that the new government was lying. He hoped to evade the Enforcer squads long enough to find out why they were saying this.
The old journalist in him scented a conspiracy.
Marlin had shaggy, dark hair, was tall and lean, like a modern day Messiah. His features were weathered but still handsome with stubble along his jaw line.
He wore an off-white, cheese cloth shirt that was embroidered with yellow daisies about the trim and cuffs. The man had a thick brown belt around his waist to secure his baggy pants. On his feet, he had worn boots, multi-colored socks poking through the holes.
The lone figure picked up the knapsack from the ground leaving the shop through a broken window.
He spotted a corrugated water tank lying on the ground. The man leapt across the desolate road to investigate.
The water looked clean, not a sign of disease or pollution. He smelt no acrid odor. Marlin scooped up a handful of water slurping it into his mouth, his dry throat quenched.
The man placed his bag on the ground followed by the peach, stripping off his soiled clothes.
He stood, naked, feeling the cool breeze against his skin. It felt good to feel once again after days of repression.
Marlin collected a cake of soap from his bag before scaling over the side of the water tank. He immersed his lower body into the cool water, lathering up his torso, feeling clean once more. The man fell back into the water to rinse off.
When Marlin emerged, he cried out in alarm. An Aboriginal woman aimed a shot gun at him. She looked pissed.
The woman’s statuesque figure was fixed to the spot, her sour features unyielding. She had raven ringlets, wild and untamed, flowing down her back. Her light brown skin glistened in the bright sunlight.
The woman wore a scarlet colored blouse, unbuttoned, exposing her ample cleavage stuffed into a black bra. Her lower body was draped in a paisley patterned, gypsy skirt and a pair of black hooker boots.
“Get out of my water before I blow ya fuckin head off!”
“I’m sorry…I didn’t know any one lived here.”
“Well now ya do! Get ya skinny ass outta there!”
Marlin climbed out of the tank standing before her. He began to shiver.
The woman gazed at him, salaciously. He suddenly felt vulnerable and exposed.
“I am use to better men...but now days I take what I can find.”
Marlin grabbed for his clothes, “I’m not the guy for you.”
“You have a pulse. That is all I need.”
“It’s not that simple.”
The woman gripped the gun, firmer, “You wanna argue with a hormonal woman holding a gun!”
“I’m gay! So just shoot me because it is not going to happen.”
“I wouldn’t be shouting that from the roof tops, you’d be sentenced to one of those sexuality conversation camps.”
“Been there, done that...didn’t work.”
The woman suddenly spotted the half eaten peach, bending down to pick it up, “You have food!”
“There is more in my bag...you can have the lot.”
The woman lowered her gun. “I’m Santanna Washington. This is my town.”
Suddenly, they heard the rumbling of approaching vehicles. Santanna hauled Marlin down the street to a dilapidated cottage at the end of the road.
Marlin stepped inside the small house, stopping as he took in the garish sight that greeted him; the living space was a tacky version of Barbara Eden’s Jeannie bottle. While the decor was painful on his retinas, these items were still exotic.
He wondered what she did to get all this, perhaps she was a mole for the water barons.
Water was rationed; some people always wanted more, so stealing the precious commodity become a hobby.
To stop this practice, water barons employed people to nark on a thief. These people were called water moles.
He began to put on his clothes while the woman inspected the food in his knapsack, “So how long were you at fag camp?”
“Long enough to know it wasn’t for me, so I’ve been the run ever since.”
“You’re a subversive! I’m beginning to think I was right not to shoot you.”
Suddenly, they heard shouting from outside in the street.
Santanna ran to the window, peering out, “Fuck me! We have guests! I had better get out the good china.”
A disheveled, gaunt man lay in a fetal position on the ground before a solar-powered, ex-army troop carrier vehicle. He was quaking on the spot, terrified, pleading for mercy.
A woman stepped down from the passenger side
of the vehicle.
She wore a black, skin-tight jumpsuit with rank and commendation medals on her left breast pocket. Her platform boots were silver, even a bitch likes to feel girly. Her glorious red hair was swept back into a tight bun.
The woman’s most distinctive feature was the black patch over her left eye.
Commander Angelica Roth had blood red lipstick that framed a cunning smirk, “Well, well, we’ve caught up with you at last. There is no escaping. You’re just preventing the inevitable.”
As she began to remove her pistol from its holster, a young, blond haired Enforcer raced from around the back of the truck slumping down on the ground next to the prisoner, “Commander Roth! Please! I beg you to reconsider. He’s my brother. The only family I have left.”
“You’ll have your memories to console you.”
“Please...sentence him to another camp.”
“It’s too late for that. He is a problem that needs eliminating.”
Commander Roth nudged the young Enforcer to one side, aiming her pistol at her prisoner, pausing for a moment to consider his words before ending it with a bullet to the man’s head.
The young Enforcer howled in anguish, blood had splattered onto his face.
Marlin ran for the front door, wanting to stop this inhumane indignity.
Santanna grabbed him, forcing the man up against a wall, twisting his right arm behind his back, “Stop! Listen, fuck-face, you go out there now, it’ll only lead you back to fag camp.”
Marlin winced in pain, “We can’t just leave him!”
“You won’t be able to help that twinkie locked up.”
“Okay! Okay! I see your point now get off me!”
Santanna released her victim, feeling sexually turned on.
Commander Roth threw a bereavement pass at the young Enforcer giving him forty eight hours to bury his brother. If he failed to report to base, the young Enforcer would be cla
ssed as a deserter.
She got back into the truck and it drove away.
The young Enforcer clutched the body of his brother, howling with rage.
Marlin emerged, cautiously, from the cottage.
Santanna called him an idiot; you didn’t put yourself out for a stranger.
He ignored her, running toward the young Enforcer.
He didn’t get that close before the young man turned on him with anger, “Fuck off! Don’t touch him.”
“Ok…I’ll just stay here...alright,” spoke Marlin, sitting on the ground, lotus position
The young Enforcer calmed down, turning back to his brother, caressing his bloody face, “He was living off the land…that’s all...until he began to supply his produce to black market profiteers. I should have never told her about him. I did this.”
They sat for hours, dusk falling and the cries of dingoes rising from the outskirts of town. The animals scented a decaying corpse.
Santanna stuck her head out of the cottage door, “If you bitches have quite finished, you had better get inside before you become dingo bait.”
“He’s just lost his brother!”
“We’ve all lost something.”
“He needs a little more time.”
Santanna looked at him, shrewdly, “Ahh...I see...look, stop getting so attached to those baby blue eyes. He looks like trouble.”
Marlin, suddenly, felt the intensity of those baby blue eyes; the young man revived a long forgotten emotion that was desire. He had to suppress it. It was a weakness in these times.
Suddenly, the young man spoke, “I can’t do this on my own.”
“I’ll help you.”
Wrong move, because all it did was cause the young Enforcer to smile, gratefully. Marlin’s heart skipped a beat. He was hooked.
Marlin helped the kid build a funeral pyre. They sat together watching the flames consume the body.
Marlin spotted the glowing eyes of dingoes circling some feet away. They were hoping to steal a morsel of food. It was time they went inside.
When they ventured into the cottage, the two men instantly noticed the candles dotted about the room. They could smell stewing peaches coming from the back of the house. It felt cozy.
The young Enforcer frowned, “Is that food?”
“Peaches by the smell...my nan always made her own jam.”
“But it is illegal.”
“So is shooting people but that doesn’t stop the Enforcer squads.”
“No…the Enforcers are there to safe guard the survivors.”
“Keep believing that if it makes you sleep better.”
The young Enforcer slumped down by a window looking out at the burning embers of the funeral pyre.
Santanna came from the back of the cottage, wearing an apron and clutching a small pot, “Grubs up, bitches! I helped myself to your gear.” She remove three spoons from her apron pocket passing one to Marlin then turned to the young Enforcer, nudging him with her foot, “Hey you! I’m not your fuckin mother so help yourself or starve. I couldn’t care less either way.” She threw the spoon upon the ground which landed at his feet.
“And here I am thinking you were Mother Teresa.”
Santanna scowled at his mockery, slumping down next to him, “Well aren’t you the witty one. Anyone would think you were trying to impress someone…oh that’s right…we have a guest.” She was cocking her head in the young Enforcer’s direction, “So Blondie! What do they call you?”
The kid turned to them, looking tired and confused, “It’s Sam. Samuel Parry. I’m a first division Enforcer with the Sixth squad.”
“I just asked for a name not ya fuckin life story.”
Marlin passed the pot across to Sam, inviting him to eat something, “She can be a prickly bitch but I think she means well.”
The kid took a spoonful of peaches, eating it.
Santanna snarled at Marlin, “You seem to think you know me.”
“Well you could have shot me but here I still breathe.”
“I’m beginning to regret it.”
Marlin wanted to know more about their hostess, “So...how does a woman like you end up with all these luxuries?”
“Mostly on my back, I’m a paid hooker. Men, women, couples, groups, they all seek my services,” spoke the hostess, smirking at his naivety. “So where are you headed?”
“I am going to that penal camp in Dubbo. I’ve heard that is where my sister was taken.”
“Forget her. There is no way out of that place.”
Sam suddenly spoke, “Unless you bribe someone.”
“Fuck! It speaks.”
“There is a cook who has a thing for sly grog.”
Suddenly, Marlin had more than wishful thinking; he had a real chance to get his sister back.
In one of the disused bedrooms, Sam stood naked before an antique dressing table. He dipped a cloth into a ceramic dish, soaking up the hot, soapy water before lathering up his chest.
His broad back tapered down to round buns that were supported by strong legs.
His short, blond hair, innocent looks and physique made him appear to be a Mormon missionary.
The door was ajar.
Marlin stopped, gazing at his muscled back with longing. It had been years since he had touched another man.
“Pervert!”
Marlin jumped back from the door way, pulling it closed, “I was just shutting the door.”
Santanna clutched an armful of men’s clothes, “I may be okay with you being a fag banger but that kid is likely to have you flogged at dawn.”
Marlin walked away realizing she was right. The kid was a product of the Enforcers. They were too rigid. There was no hope of happiness with that guy.
Santanna watched Marlin leave, if she was unloved so would everyone else.
Sam was now dressed in velvet bell-bottoms and a psychedelic print t-shirt, conservative appearance being stripped away piece by piece.
He heard music coming from a room along the hallway, I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden…
He followed the voice of Lynne Anderson, remembering his mother.
She always sang this song doing the house work on a Sunday morning. She loved her country music. Those singers got her through the disappointments of life.
He could sure use those songs right about now.
Sam nudged open the door to find Marlin on the bed amongst the dust and mildew, looking wistful.
He was listening to a selection of music on the I-Pad, remembering a lost love.
Sam brushed his arm against the door causing Marlin to look up; he instantly shut off the I-Pad.
Sam looked equally guilty, “Sorry…didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“That’s okay...I was just remembering. It’s all we have now,” spoke Marlin, hearing his dead lover’s voice in his mind.
Dean was a lot like Sam’s mother. They loved their country queens. He had cowboy shirts and an old guitar. What, Marlin, missed the most was his laugh, it always fixed his blues.
Sam approached the bed, slumping down on a corner, facing him, “It seems more of a dream...back before all this. I was just a skinny kid struggling with puberty than I found myself an orphan and shipped off to boot camp.”
“What happened to your brother?”
“He was older…could fend for himself.”
“So what will you do now?”
“Stay here, I guess. I can’t go back...not now.”
Marlin wasn’t thinking when he put a hand upon the young Enforcer’s arm, “I’d appreciate it if you would come with me. I could use your knowledge of that penal camp.”
Sam couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s grasp; his heart began to beat faster as he felt the warmth of his touch.
“Hey bitches!”
Sam leapt off the bed as Santanna entered the room, “I’ll think about it. I need some sleep.”
Sam hurriedly adjusted his pants to conceal his raging hard-on.
Santanna shook her head, realizing she had another flaming homosexual in her midst, “Your bed is this way, mind that erection doesn’t put a grove in my floor boards.”
Sam followed her out the room, his face red from embarrassment, not daring to look at Marlin.
Marlin found himself smirking, the under used muscles of his face finally awakening. He wasn’t sure, yet, if he could trust his heart on the confused emotions of a closeted young man.
Perhaps the trek to Dubbo would change that. He might not be alone at all.
At day break, Sam followed the scent of cooking through the house pass the dormant kitchen out into the backyard.
He found Santanna squatting before a small fire, cooking porridge in a blackened pot, “Morning...is that likely to give me an extra head if I eat it?”
“Fuck sake, Blondie, does he have two heads?” She pointed to Marlin who sat a few meters away at the rear of the yard, “He is a little puny for my tastes but otherwise unaffected. You stick with him and ya may learn some home truths...you tell him I said that I’ll kick ya bony white ass.”
Sam seemed to droop before her, disappointed, “Everything I believe in has turned to shit.”
“I think you just found a personality I can tolerate.”
Santanna heaped some food into a chipped china bowl passing it to Sam.
The young man accepted the offering, tentatively trying the food. There seemed to be no odd taste, it was actually delicious, “So…what is he doing?”
“Contemplating his chakras, some bullshit like that,” spat Santanna.
Sam watched with curiosity, as he consumed his food.
Marlin stood up, the only stitch of clothing was his hessian pants, his bronze abs enticing the young Enforcer. The distraction caused him to miss his mouth, “You’re dribbling, Blondie.”
Sam quickly wiped the muck away from his face, “Sorry...guess I’m not use to eating. So...have you always lived here?”
“Nah, got kicked out of the last town I was in from the religious fuckers who lived there,” spoke Santanna, bitterly. “They didn’t appreciate my entrepreneurial skills.”
