Cultwick: The Wretched Dead

by J. Stone

“Excellent,” the professor said. “We should hurry back... Oh... I guess I will not need the rats anymore.”

  “You’re going to let them go, sir?” Germ asked.

  “I suppose so,” he answered. The professor began to lift the cage, but he was interrupted before he could.

  “Not in the house, sir!” Germ exclaimed. “At least take them out back.”

  “Very well...” Rowland replied. He picked up the rats and took them out to the backyard, where he lifted the cage and let them go free. He then returned inside and gathered the few papers he had found regarding Germ’s formula, folded them, and placed them in his bag along with the genotoxin cure. Rather than bother to sneak out the back, Rowland brazenly stepped out the front door with Olivia and Germ following along behind him.

  They quickly hurried back toward the skyport and where they had left the crates. Luckily, the pair of boxes were still there and undisturbed. Germ slunk down inside of one, while Rowland and Olivia sealed him inside again. They then sat the other empty crate on top of his and began wheeling the crates toward the skyport security checkpoint.

  “Hold!” the guard said holding out his gloved hand. “You’ll need to give a gene sample to pass.”

  They again allowed the machine to take a drop of blood, and it output both of their results as non-offenders and not infected. Rowland and Olivia continued on to the second checkpoint, wheeling the crate holding Germ along with them. The second checkpoint, however, had someone else trying to pass, and they were forced to wait. The man in front of them was trying to ship some kind of amphibious and tentacled creature that was kept in a water tank. The guards were trying to get ahold of someone from the Center for Empirical Research to assist them in identifying it.

  Olivia walked forward to try to talk to one of the corpsmen to speed things along. “Excuse me,” she said. “Is there any way that--”

  “You’ll have to wait your turn, ma’am,” the man replied.

  “Right,” she said. “It’s just that we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

  “Everyone is right now,” he explained to her. “The carrier has made everything more hectic around here, but I’m afraid we simply can’t make exceptions.”

  Olivia walked back to Rowland and informed him of the situation, “Looks like they’re backed up. It might be awhile. Any ideas?”

  “You are averse to violence now, yes?” he inquired.

  “Yeah,” she hesitantly replied.

  “Then you will be happy in the knowledge that you had nothing to do with this,” he said.

  Rowland raised his gauntlet and aimed it at the first corpsman, blasting him with a wave of energy and knocking him into the wall. As the second guard saw and pulled a weapon, the professor aimed his hand at him and launched him back as well.

  The man that had been trying to get past the checkpoint moved to one side, allowing them to pass. “Please,” he said with a gesture. “After you… I can wait…”

  “Thank you, good sir,” Rowland said and began pulling the cart past the unmanned station.

  “Not exactly what I had in mind, doc,” Olivia stated, following behind him.

  “I apologize, but we are in a hurry,” he replied. “More than one life hangs in the balance, and I will not let a long line get in my way.”

  “Let’s just get back on board the Halcyon before any guards figure out what happened,” she said.

  She and Rowland made it back to the skyship and helped Germ from his crate. The three of them then loaded up inside the vessel and headed to the cockpit. Olivia began rummaging through a cluttered compartment in the console, while Germ and Rowland waited.

  “How did you even get that device made, sir?” Germ asked. “I’ve never seen you make anything with chromesmithing parts.”

  “I tricked Ryn into making it for me, before I placed the tracker inside her,” he replied.

  “Of course you did,” Germ said with sigh.

  Olivia finally found a pair of batteries in the drawer and handed them to Rowland. “Here you go, doc,” she said. “Hope that thing of yours works.”

  “Excellent,” he replied, shoving the new batteries into the device and sliding the lid back into place over them.

  Flipping it back over, he watched, as the device came alive. Its tarnished, green screen flickered on and showed a numerical interface with an arrow pointing opposite of the direction he was facing. He turned and the arrow rotated with him, as he did. He stopped when it was facing in the same direction as him, and he looked at the number specified, two-hundred, ninety-seven.

  “Do you know where she is?” asked Olivia.

  Rowland did some mental calculations and then looked up with a confused glance, saying, “I think she is in the downtown area.”

  “What would she be doing there, sir?” Germ asked.

  “I do not know,” he replied.

  “Maybe there’s something on the radio that will give us a clue,” Olivia explained. She flipped a switch on the dashboard and a static-laced voice came echoing over the speakers in the ship.

  “I repeat,” it said. “If you are still in… kzzt…, all forces converge on the Terrace… kzzt…. The carrier has… kzzt…sighted heading in that… kzzt…. A small force has taken up on the oasis there… kzzt…”

  “Looks like that is the right place,” Rowland said. “The Oasis on the Terrace.”

  Chapter 30. Vincent and the Bar

  “Ow!” Vincent yelled. “Damnit, doc. Be careful.”

  “You know, for a drunk man, you sure do complain a lot,” the doctor replied. “Now hold still.”

  The local physician, Dr. Chester Hooke, who of course specialized more in horses than humans, had agreed to help stitch Vincent up after his encounter with the corrupt sheriff and his deputies. He sat in the back of a mostly empty Arcadia allowing Hooke to thread needle through his skin. The doctor was wearing a gray suit with a black bowtie. His skin seemed to be perpetually sweaty, and his hands shook, as he stitched up Vincent’s wound.

  Vincent had not found him to be a particularly pleasant or agreeable man, but Dr. Hooke had apparently been repeatedly harassed by the sheriff and his cronies for an ever-increasing tax. Since their deaths, more and more citizens had come by the Arcadia expressing their thanks and telling similar stories.

  It seemed that most of the town had been taxed in increasing amounts by Sheriff Kane and his deputies, who in turn answered only to the Graham Mining Company rather than any town laws or council. Many of the citizens that had come in asked him to become the new sheriff, but that was something that Vincent had no intention or desire to do. Though he had been born in Chrome City, he didn’t want to live out his days there.

  Bert Braxton entered the bar early that morning and approached Vincent. “How’s the arm?” he asked.

  “Been better,” he groaned. “What do you want, Braxton?”

  He pulled something out from his pocket inside a cloth and placed it on the table. “I thought you might appreciate me bringing this to you,” Braxton explained.

  With his good hand, Vincent lazily pushed aside the cloth to reveal the sheriff’s badge. “What would I want with this?” he asked.

  “People in town,” Braxton began. “They all think you’re going to become the new sheriff. You couldn’t possibly be worse for the town than Sheriff Kane was.”

  “Not interested,” Vincent simply replied.

  “Oh, I see,” the fat man said. “Well then, perhaps you’ll reconsider allowing me to take your measurements? Just in case.”

  “You should probably back off now,” Vincent warned. “Else they’ll be building one of those boxes for you.”

  “Fine, fine,” Braxton said, holding his hands up, palms forward.

  Braxton took his leave of the Arcadia, but the badge he brought still lay on the table inside the bloody cloth. Vincent picked up the piece of metal, rolled it around in his hand, and considered the idea, as outlandish as it seemed to him. He had lived his life for himself since le
aving Chrome City, with little or no regard to who he hurt in the process. Spending the time he did with Erynn and the rebels, however, gave him time to reconsider that life philosophy, and trying to save and protect Cassie and her husband gave him a feeling of fulfillment he had not experienced in ages.

  “Ow!” he shouted again, as Dr. Hooke yanked at his arm with the stitching.

  “Oh, shut up, you big baby,” the doctor replied.

  It was then that Cassie came up to where he and the doctor were seated, and she joined them at the table. “I wanted to reiterate how thankful Felix and I are for what you did last night, Vincent,” she explained.

  “I didn’t do anything you didn’t,” he replied. “Seems you did the heavy lifting.”

  “And she was smart enough not to get shot herself,” the doctor interjected. When Vincent turned and leered at Hooke, he shrugged and said, “Just an observation.”

  “He did make for an excellent distraction,” she agreed with Hooke.

  “We may have killed off their enforcer, but Graham’s got money enough to just buy another,” Vincent said, ignoring their patter. “This won’t be over, until someone finishes Graham off for good.”

  “What do you intend to do?” she asked.

  “I’m sure his plan involves getting shot again,” the doctor guessed. “If only to put me out.”

  Before he could answer or retort, however, Everett and one of his rebels entered the Arcadia carrying the sheriff’s safe. They dropped it near the bar, out of breath and sweating despite the cold temperature outside.

  “Rourke...” Everett said through a pant. “You know how... to open safes... right?”

  “I’ve cracked a few, yeah,” he answered.

  “A criminal history?” Hooke asked. “Shocking.”

  Vincent turned to the doctor and said, “You know what--”

  “Any ideas on how... to open it?” Everett asked.

  Vincent waited for the doctor to finish the stitch and snip the cord, and he stood up to get away from the irritable man. “I’ve got one,” he said to Everett.

  “Great!” Everett exclaimed. “What is it?”

  “Root around in the sheriff’s desk for the combination,” Vincent suggested.

  “That’s his master plan?” Hooke said, packing up his things.

  Vincent turned on his heel back toward the doctor, but before he could say anything, Cassie held up a hand and said, “Don’t mind Dr. Hooke. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

  “Hrmph,” Hooke said, taking his leave of the Arcadia.

  “That’s really the best you got, Rourke?” Everett asked.

  “That thing looks like a pain in my ass that I don’t need right now,” Vincent explained. “You want it open? Find the combo.”

  Everett nodded to his rebel compatriot, and they picked the safe back up, carrying it into the back room. Cassie stood up and moved next to Vincent, hitting him on the shoulder.

  “I still can’t believe you were dumb enough to go out there like that,” she said.

  “Everything turned out fine,” he replied.

  “Yeah, cause I saved your ass,” she said.

  “How’d that happen anyway?” he asked.

  “You couldn’t always be around to protect me,” she explained. “I had to learn to take care of myself. Plus, I saw you flailing out there. Had to do something.”

  “It was all under control,” Vincent assured her.

  “So you would’ve been able to take all three of those armed men then?” she asked. “I noticed it took you quite a few shots to even hit the one.”

  Vincent paused for a moment and eventually answered, “Uh, yeah. It probably looked worse than it was.”

  “You are such a bad liar, Vincent Rourke,” Cassie said. “But seriously, what now?”

  Before he could answer, however, Driscoll entered the bar with a couple of large men accompanying him at either side. Vincent instinctively moved in front of Cassie, as they entered.

  “Go find Felix and lock yourselves in your room,” Vincent ordered.

  “But--” she replied.

  “Just go,” he interrupted. “I’ll be fine.”

  Cassie left the main area of the saloon, while Vincent rolled down his shirtsleeve, picked up his duster from the back of a chair, and threw it on. Driscoll and his men, meanwhile, eyed her carefully but allowed Cassie to slip away, and they approached Vincent.

  “Mr. Rourke,” Driscoll began. “Do you have a moment?”

  Vincent sat down in a chair, pulled the bag of tobacco from his duster pocket, and began rolling a cigarette. “I got time,” he said.

  Driscoll sat across from Vincent, while his goons remained standing. “I understand you had a dispute with the sheriff last night,” he said.

  Vincent nodded to the badge he had left on the table, while he finished rolling the cigarette. Pulling a match out from his pocket, he swiped it across his jeans and lit the cigarette, taking heavy breath. “There may have been a misunderstanding,” he finally commented, letting the smoke roll out into Driscoll’s face.

  “And what, may I ask, is your next move, Mr. Rourke?” Driscoll asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

  “First off,” Vincent began, “I figure I’ll remind you that I gave you until tonight to revoke the bounty on Cassie and Felix. Second, since I’m being generous I’ll give you until tomorrow morning to get out of town before I come for you.”

  “Oh, I see,” Driscoll said. “You think you’ve won a victory by killing Sheriff Kane. Well, let me assure you that you haven’t. Men like Kane are a dime a dozen out here. Men just vying to make some extra money and get ahead. This changes nothing, Mr. Rourke.”

  “Third,” Vincent said, letting go of the cigarette and letting it hang from his mouth. He picked up the shining badge and pinned it to his shirt.

  “That piece of tin isn’t going to protect you from bullets, Mr. Rourke,” Driscoll explained. “You’re just one man. You’re alone, Mr. Rourke.”

  “He’s far from alone,” a voice at the door said.

  In the archway of the Arcadia stood two men. One, Vincent didn’t recognize, but the other was Hirim Burgan, a high-ranking member of the Chromework Confederacy. Hirim approached the table and stood between Vincent and Driscoll.

  “Vincent is never alone in Chrome City,” Hirim explained. “The Chromework Confederacy stands behind him.”

  “Ah, Mr. Burgan,” Driscoll said. “I had heard you were coming back to town. You’re done treasonously rebelling in Pendulum Falls then?”

  “Get out of my bar, Josh,” Hirim ordered.

  Driscoll smiled politely and nodded his head. He then stood from the table and walked to the door with his two men following suit. At the doorway, he turned and announced, “When this is over, Mr. Burgan, remember that you could have stayed out of it.”

  After Driscoll left, Hirim took his seat across from Vincent and gestured for the other man to join them.

  “What did you just sign me up for?” Hirim asked.

  “I didn’t ask for your help, Burgan,” Vincent reminded him. “You volunteered it. Besides, this’ll be good for you. Graham’s been taxing this city to death, so I reckon if you want to get these people to revolt with you, which is what I figure you’re doing back here, you gotta get Graham out of the way.”

  “Fair enough,” Hirim replied. The other man sat down at the table, and Hirim took the opportunity to introduce him, “Vincent, this is Reginald Maynard, leader of the rebels.”

  Maynard nodded his head and said, “I’ve heard a lot about you, Vincent.”

  “Well, I haven’t heard squat-all about you,” Vincent replied. “You’re a regular man of mystery.”

  “Being wanted dead by the Cultwick Empire has a way of making a man cling to his anonymity,” Maynard replied.

  “Anyway,” Hirim interrupted. “What caused this friction with Driscoll and Graham? And how the hell are you possibly the sheriff?”

  “Not my preference, I assu
re you,” Vincent said, tapping his cigarette out on the table. “They enslaved a friend of mine, and when she escaped, they had a bounty on her. I suggested they end things peacefully by letting her pay it off on her own, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.”

  “You don’t have friends,” Hirim replied. “That’s your personal motto isn’t it?”

  “Childhood friend,” Vincent explained. “Haven’t seen her in years. She and her husband are currently in one of the back rooms hiding out.”

  “Mark the time,” Hirim said. “Vincent Rourke grows a conscious.”

  “Whatever the circumstances,” Maynard began, “it’s good to have the sheriff on our side for this. We’ll need it. I’m afraid I must leave you here, though. I have some business to attend to in town.”

  Maynard stood and left the Arcadia, while Vincent decided to go inform Cassie and Felix that they were safe for the moment. He went into the back room and into a hallway of doors. He found the one they occupied and knocked.

  “It’s me,” he announced.

  After a moment, the locks on the inside were unhooked and the door slid open. Felix swung it open and asked, “They gone?”

  “For now,” Vincent answered. “We have the confederacy on our side now too. Oh, and I’m the new sheriff in town.”

  Chapter 31. Fiona and the Archives

  The Anointed Temple sat amidst a shallow pool of crystal clear water that had frozen over from the winter weather. A narrow metal bridge extended from the street all the way to an ascending set of stairs. The luminescent light of the nearby buildings and street lamps reflected off the shimmering pool of ice.

  Late evening practitioners and worshipers made their way across the bridge and into the grand scale double doors. The temple itself was comprised of pristine, white pillars, steeples, and moldings. It was as though no dirt or grime could stick to its surface despite the constant stream of smog, gas, and pollutants in the air of Cultwick.

  The biosynthesis church, the Anointed Temple, served as the heart of their religion and contained beneath it, the very blood of its practitioners. After surviving a sometimes-fatal baptism, a vial of their blood was stored in the basement of the temple, serving as a reminder of their devotion and sacrifice. Cultwick’s population largely belonged to the official religion, and though not everyone had been baptized, it had become more and more common, since the church issued a statement saying the baptism process could help fight off the sweeper bot plague. The poorer citizens of Cultwick flocked to the church, searching for any hope to shield them from the horrors of the disease, which in turn, allowed the Lord Reverend more control of the city and the empire itself.