Apathetic God

by Ian Withrow

  The photographer was anonymous, but that didn’t stop Kent from suspecting his rival. It would be just like her to pull a stunt like that.

  Kent’s growling stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since they’d arrived on scene. He cast another glance upward and decided it was worth the risk. Lauren wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  “Come on, let’s get lunch. Somewhere with air conditioning.”

  Kent and Clark wandered the streets, passing regular patrols of California National Guardsmen. It had been this way for months, soldiers on street corners didn’t phase either of the two men anymore. The uniforms and guns took Kent back to his earliest days of reporting. Back to his time spent in the Gulf. He looked at his cameraman. Clark would have been what, in high school maybe?

  That was back before terrorism was a word on everyone’s lips, and certainly before ‘Gods’ were playing tug-of-war across the world in broad daylight. Back then you had to travel to a warzone to see armed men in the streets. Now it seemed the warzone was coming to them. Half a dozen conflicts had sprouted up in the past year, and the rest of the world seemed poised to follow suit.

  He tried to remember the feeling of security that he knew as a youth. It was funny to think that when he was Lauren’s age he’d never seen a TSA checkpoint or police in riot gear.

  He shivered in the chill of a passing shadow. The blazing California sun seemed to lose its heat at his dark line of thinking.

  The shadow didn’t move.

  “Hello Mr. Dailey.”

  Kent froze.

  Goosebumps broke out along his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight out. A chill gripped his spine and he barely had the strength to turn around.

  Lauren was standing there, wings raised to blot out the sun, a look of icy hatred on her face. Kent was taken aback, it had been a long time since he’d seen her face to face, but the innocent young girl he had met had been replaced by a terrifying, hauntingly beautiful woman.

  Her eyes were black pits without a hint of either color or white. Inky orbs of malevolence drilling into his heart. Her skin was crisscrossed with hundreds of tiny, nearly invisible scars. Hallmarks of her fall, the surgeons attempts to repair her, or left over from the stray bullets of useless guns perhaps. Her fists were clenched at her sides, radiant silver lines followed her veins from her chest, down her arms, and culminated in a deep metallic tinge that covered her hands.

  He tried to speak but couldn’t.

  The gathered crowd was hushed. They stood, silent witnesses to his terror, none willing to intervene on his behalf. But what could they even hope to do? Kent had seen the aftermath in Rome. No man could stand against her fury.

  As he stood trapped by his fear he heard again the words of senator Fafoglia.

  His rise had been predicated on her fall from grace. He recounted in his mind every time that he had chosen his career over her welfare, her sanity. How many times had he slandered her to get ratings? A deep and pervasive guilt filled his heart. He’d denied it for ages, but he knew his contributions to the tragedy of her life. And he knew there would be a reckoning.

  He’d always known.

  “At long last, you find yourself speechless.”

  Her words cut him like a knife.

  “Too late to save my father, of course. Too late to save my family, my friends.”

  “Ms. Corvidae p-please…”

  “Oh no, Kent, please call me Lauren. Let’s not stand on formality now, after all.”

  He raised his hands, palms facing outwards, pleading with her.

  “L-Lauren I… I was just doing my job. Please it’s not my fault.”

  “It is!”

  She barked out the words, pushing the crowd backwards as those in the front began to rethink their position.

  “It is your fault! You destroyed my family! People died because of the garbage you passed off as news. Because of the lies you told.”

  Lauren took a step closer. She was only a few inches away from him now.

  “But in a way, Mr. Dailey, I have to thank you.”

  Kent’s eyes darted furtively around as he looked for a way out. He grasped at her gratitude, drawn in by the sudden quieting of her tone.

  “I.. f-for what?”

  “Because in destroying me, you gave me the tools to survive. I have no family, nothing left to lose. I have no reason to live at all, save one.”

  They locked eyes. Kent could feel himself drowning in the bottomless pools of black. She leaned even closer.

  “Do you know what that reason is, Kent?”

  She was whispering so close to his ear that he could feel her breath on his skin. He shook his head no, a movement so small as to be nearly imperceptible.

  “Revenge.”

  Kent’s knees gave out.

  Lauren gripped him by the collar of his shirt and held him in place effortlessly. Bright silver pulsed in her veins and she felt the exhilarating power of the darkness rise inside her.

  “Oh Kent, you have no idea how good this feels. This…. this strength inside me, this power, it’s delicious.”

  Kent shook his head, his lack of understanding written in terror on his face.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t understand it either. But the difference is I don’t care. You are going to die, Mr. Dailey, and there is nothing anyone on earth can do to save you.”

  He whimpered, babbling terrified nonsense.

  “Shh shh shh, it’s ok Mr. Dailey. You don’t have to die today. Would you like to live? ”

  Kent nodded fervently as Lauren dragged him close again.

  “P-please, please forgive me, I’ll do anything. I don’t want to die.”

  Lauren reached out with her spare hand and gripped the back of Kent’s head, pulling the skin so tight that he couldn’t close his eyes.

  “You cannot have my forgiveness, Mr. Dailey, but I have a different gift for you. A much… sweeter one.”

  Lauren tore through the fragile curtains around Kent’s mind like a tornado, ripping apart his memories, his hopes, his dreams, all with reckless abandon. She could feel his pain and it fueled her drive to destroy. She dug through his psyche, searching out every nugget of love, every moment even remotely pleasant or joyful and devoured them. When she was finished, she destroyed everything that wasn’t dripping with sadness, pain, rejection, betrayal, loneliness, or doubt. She left him with nothing but his worst experiences, condensed, distilled, and crystal clear.

  She was preparing to leave, casting one last look around, when something caught her eye. One of the fragments, a small one that stunk of fear and shame, looked familiar to her. She stepped into his memory and found herself in Chicago.

  Kent and his cameraman were tearing down their equipment amidst a crowd of tents and despondent looking citizens. She could hear the low roar of several motorcycles approaching from down the crowded street, and saw the crowds parting angrily as a gang of cyclists appeared.

  They crushed tents and belongings beneath themselves as they approached the large green tent that stood at the center of the small tent city.

  Lauren gasped when she saw Caroline appear from within the shrine, and seethed with anger as she witnessed Sigurd’s treatment of her old caretaker. Lauren lived the memory through to completion. Once more she found herself uncomfortably grateful to Weyland, this time for destroying Sigurd in a manner that satisfied her violent urges. She replayed the memory several times, casually aware that she was forcing Kent to do so as well, committing every detail of the bikers to memory.

  Lauren found herself distracted from her original intent and scoured the rest of Kent’s memories. She retrieved a few more from the mass of despair and sadness she had left him.

  “We’re here in Silt, Colorado today to bring you tragic news. In a scene reminiscent of Jonestown, hundreds if not thousands have died. We’re here with Detective Holliday of the Denver Police Department.”

  Lauren was standing beside a highway that cut through an id
yllic little town in the midst of a massive mountain range. Small shops dotted the side streets and wild, untamed beauty stretched as far as she could see. The most unsettling aspect of the scene, however, was the seemingly endless rows of sheet covered bodies.

  “On behalf of the Denver PD, as well as the governor, we’d like to express our condolences to the victims and their families in this difficult time.”

  A burly man in a brown police outfit was addressing the camera, his eyes wet with tears.

  “The incident is the subject of an ongoing investigation, but so far from eyewitness accounts here is what we know. At approximately two o’clock this morning a group of approximately one hundred individuals armed with knives, axes, and machetes began forcing their way into the homes of the residents here. At four thirteen the County Sheriff’s office received a report of several bodies lying beside the interstate. The call, which lasted two minutes and seventeen seconds was terminated from the caller’s end following what sounded like an altercation. At four thirty-five, two officers arrived on scene and found multiple victims, including the family who made the initial call. They came under small arms fire, radioed for backup, and neighboring counties were called in.”

  The detective drew a ragged breath, unable to continue for a moment.

  “Officers Grenetz and Holmes were both killed in action. The 322nd Military Police Battalion was activated and responded at approximately six forty-five. They declared the city cleared of hostile targets at ten o’clock this morning. The vast majority of the attackers died of self-inflicted wounds, and four people were taken into custody.”

  Kent nodded.

  “Do we know anything about the perpetrators? Why they would do this?”

  “At this point the department is considering this to be the work of religious extremists. The Sons of the Valkyrie have taken responsibility for the attack on social media.”

  “Is there a preliminary death count?”

  “At this point it is too early to tell. We’ve confirmed roughly 2,700 dead as of right now. I’m sorry sir that’s all I have right now.”

  The officer walked away and Kent turned back to the camera. Lauren could see from his reflection in the cool black glass of the lens that he had a somber expression.

  “There you have it folks. Another attack by the self-styled crusaders of the Sons of the Valkyrie, just one of the myriad of homegrown terror cells now plaguing the streets. We will continue to bring you details as this story develops. Hansen, back to you.”

  Lauren stewed over this development, a twinge of guilt flitting across her mind as she pondered her role in the attack. The darkness recoiled and crushed that guilt almost immediately. She jumped through a few more memories, similar events had played out in several major cities across the globe.

  So?.

  She cast one last look around, content that there was not a single mote of happiness or pleasure left to consume.

  Lauren withdrew from Kent’s mind, unsure if her meddling would kill him and, frankly, not caring either way. She was pleasantly surprised to see he was still alive when she returned to herself.

  A look of thoughtless, uncomprehending horror and anguish was plastered on Kent’s face and his eyes were wide but unseeing. So, it was indeed possible to selectively feed. She smirked, pleased with her creative punishment. She was even more pleased to see the terrified onlookers muttering and backing away from her.

  Lauren whipped her wings open wide and laughed out loud at the gasps and shrieks of fear from the crowd. Her smile faded swiftly as she tore skyward.

  She had unfinished business to settle, it seemed.

  The glittering city on the coast fell swiftly behind her. Her purposeless drifting into California was replaced by a driven, arrow-straight trajectory back to the heartland.

  Hour after hour ticked by, the sun rising high into the sky and then falling silently behind her.

  When the sky again lightened with the dawn, it revealed the familiar skyline of Chicago.

  Chapter Ten

  Lauren felt goosebumps dot her arms and legs as the looming skyscrapers of the dense, urban jungle closed in around her. Her throat felt dry and her face flushed. Fog blanketed the city, giving refuge to the ghosts of her past that flitted at the edge of her vision.

  Her pulse quickened as she dwelt on the memories of everything that had happened here. From her first interview with Kent Dailey to the day she fell from the sky, so much in her young life had revolved around this wretched city.

  The darkness within her sensed her hesitation, and wrapped itself comfortingly around her heart. She warmed from the freshly stoked sparks of anger and narrowed her eye, confidence renewed. Lauren slowed her pace and circled the blocks below like a vulture, keen, unblinking eyes searching for her prey. As the morning droned on she began to grow frustrated. The city was massive, and even from her vantage point it would take ages to search it all.

  By noon she could take it no longer. She swooped down to the street, landing softly outside a grungy looking bar with a dozen motorcycles lined up in front of it. A pair of heavyset, leather-clad old men were standing outside smoking when she arrived. The nearer of the two held a forgotten cigarette between loose lips, ash accumulating unnoticed as he stared wide-eyed at her. They were frozen in place, unwilling or unable to move as she strode up to them.

  “I’m looking for the Sons of the Valkyrie.”

  They were deer in headlights.

  Snarling, Lauren gripped one of them men by the front of his shirt and lifted him into the air.

  “I said-”

  “P-please. I don’t know anything about them!”

  Her now talkative captive blubbered his innocence. It was strange, coming from a man who was old enough to be her father, perhaps even grandfather. But she could find no sympathy in the darkened corners of her heart.

  “Do they come here? Do you know where they go?”

  He managed to shake his head no.

  Lauren dropped him with a sigh and approached the door. With a light shove she sent the heavy steel door, frame and all, flying into the bar. She heard the startled cries of the patrons as she stepped inside. As her unmistakable shadow fell across the floor of the bar it fell silent again.

  She dropped her voice to a low, menacing tone.

  “I’m looking for the Sons of the Valkyrie...”

  Natalie was sprinting, again.

  For a woman who hated running, she seemed to be making a habit of it in the service of her employer. Was she technically employed? Did slavery count? She supposed not.

  Nonetheless, her heels were clicking across the marble floor as swiftly as she dared lest she trip. She didn’t slow down until she was almost to his door. Taking a moment to slow her breathing and adjust her glasses and tuck back the loose strands of her hair, she reached out and knocked firmly on the massive door.

  “Enter.”

  She did so, closing the door softly behind her and keeping her eyes downcast as she had been taught. Natalie could feel the heat of his gaze. Damn, that meant he was in a worse mood than usual.

  “My lord, Lauren is in Chicago.”

  She flinched in anticipation of a blow, but it didn’t come. Instead she was met with pensive silence. She risked a glance upward and saw that Weyland was leaning back in his chair with his steepled hands in front of him.

  “What is she doing?”

  “My lord?”

  “What is Lauren doing in Chicago?”

  This was… new.

  “My lord she seems to be, um, well she’s going to motorcycle bars. Witnesses say she looking for the Sons of the Valkyrie.”

  Weyland nodded slowly, mulling over her answer. His understanding of the modern world had deepened, in no small part from his rummaging around in Natalie’s mind.

  “Hunting then, perhaps. Or maybe seeking her throne at last.”

  Natalie waited, unsure what was expected of her, until he spoke again.

  “Prepare a gift befitting
my bride. Return to me when you have done so.”

  Natalie gave a stiff bow, her mind racing, and turned to leave.

  “Natalie.”

  She stopped and turned once more.

  “Yes, your grace?”

  “Do not keep me waiting.”

  Her heart skipped a beat as she left him behind.

  Lauren couldn’t contain the wide, manic grin on her face as stood over the bodies of a dozen dead bikers. She’d spent the better part of the day tracking down small groups of the gang but this had been her biggest catch yet. Her heart was pounding a powerful two-step in her ears and her muscles swelled with vigor.

  She cast a look around the dimly lit bar and turned to make her way back onto the street when the tiniest of noises caught her ears. A scuff, like a boot against the wood floor, came from behind the bar.

  Her eyes sparkled and she approached her hiding prize. She could hear his breathing as she drew nearer, and she leaned in close to the bar, pinpointing him before making her move.

  Lauren drove her closed fists through the veneer of the bar and grabbed hold of her struggling prize. With a heave she dragged him through the jagged hole she’d made and into her sight. The broken wood and metal cut deeply into his body and she heard his bones snap as they struggled to fit through the opening.

  The wheezing, gurgling wreck in her blood-covered hands was barely alive, so she gave him a little jolt of healing. Just enough to let him speak to her. Flecks of blood spattered her face as the man struggled to breathe. Lauren took note of the leather vest he was wearing and the valkyrie motifs decorating it.

  “Where are your friends?”

  Her voice was disturbingly pleasant and upbeat.