***
Scouts were sent in advance of the army, and in the early morning, camp was broken down and the men moved out.
The Priest rode beside Karl, and as the day warmed under a clear sky, Karl patted his front pocket and found a cigar. He offered one to the Priest, but the man declined.
“Not a smoker? That’s a rare thing these days.”
“Never been a smoker,” the Priest said. “Vices do not attract me.”
Karl eyed him up. “You don’t drink either?”
“Not in excess.”
Karl lit his cigar and exhaled huge plumes of smoke to waft behind him into the trailing Liam Briggs, who found and produced his own cigar.
Toward midafternoon, the Priest fell back and took up riding beside Doctor Freeman, who was reading a paperback novel as his horse clomped on. “If you don’t mind me asking,” the Priest said, “how is it he got to be the General? He kill someone for the title?”
“Kill who?”
“Whoever the General was?”
“What makes you think there was some other general?”
“Leading men in a military fashion suggests so.”
The doctor glanced behind him at what he could see of the horde: men marching in loose columns, grumbling to one another about their aching feet, the weight of their packs, and the ammunition they carried. Even the wagon drivers, who sat atop the carts full of implements, cast their eyes to the ground.
“Do these men appear to have any semblance of military fashion?”
The Priest didn’t look back, but said, “No. Still, they march. They follow orders. They’re prepared to fight and die.”
“What differentiates these men from others is that they long for the plunders and the euphoric rush only warfare can provide—and which Karl Metzger can offer. Individually, each of them would have died a long time ago. But together, under Karl’s leadership, they have the world at their disposal.”
“That brings me back to my original question—how’d he get to be their leader?”
Doctor Freeman thumbed his place in the book.
“Karl and I were cell neighbors for over a year, deep in the pits of Haddonfield Penitentiary. For about six months, we were completely alone, with only an occasional guard walking by to smack at our cell doors with his baton. We had plenty of time to talk in the timeless solitude that was death row, and he took to telling me things about his life. He thought of me as something of a psychiatrist, despite me telling him I’m a surgeon by trade. But he kept talking nonetheless. Perhaps it was the loneliness that came from being locked away for so many weeks and months, with no windows, no sunlight. But whatever the case, I think to better understand Karl as the General, you need to process his childhood experiences, of which he’s told me every last detail, down to the mundane. At a young age, he was deemed unfit to mingle with the rest of society, and was locked away in a detention center.”
“For what?”
“Burglary. It was in that detention center—a Christian-based detention center—where he learned the true depravity of mankind. He witnessed what the violent and carnal desires of adults could impart on the innocence of youth. After his release, he told his father what they had done to him—the counselors, guards, and priests—and his father did nothing but say he hoped it taught Karl the ways of the world. A few years later, the police found him responsible for the string of missing pets in the neighborhood, and he was sent to the same detention center. He served some more time, and when he was released, his father beat him at first sight, although the man was barely sober enough to hold the belt. But Karl did not cry like he used to as a little boy. Pain, anger, gratification—they were all blending together in the chemistry of his young subconscious mind. His own family called him a monster; said they wished he’d been aborted. His father yelled at him through whip-strokes in breath that reeked of hot beer, saying, ‘Cry, dammit—why won’t you cry?’
“He wasn’t such a child then, and at some point in the beating he decided he wasn’t going to take it anymore. He turned around and punched his father hard. He expected to feel relief, but he didn’t. He felt nothing. His father hit him back, but Karl stood his ground. His mother hollered, and attempted to break up the fight that had destroyed the bathroom before flooding out into the living room, toppling chairs and lamps. At some point, Karl’s mother twisted her heel and her ankle snapped. But that didn’t stop the two men from fighting—it was the police who arrived that stopped their scuffle and put Karl in handcuffs once again.”
Doctor Freeman paused, looking at Karl riding up ahead. The Priest was about to speak, but then the doctor continued, “That was the last time Karl saw his father until years later, when he bashed in the man’s head with a baseball bat, nearly killing him. That one got him locked up in an adult detention center, despite him being little more than a teenager. More grown-ups used their power and influence as advisers, both spiritual and mental, to inflict sadistic aggression and pleasures upon him. Being locked up for most of his youth had taught him that the pain a person inflicts on others is the pain of the world. Humanity at its core is a wretched entity, and could be no other way. He vowed in his late teenage years to inflict that same pain he had experienced onto the rest of humankind, as it is the essence of a person’s purpose on this earth to be vile. Man, woman, boy, girl, cat, or dog. It doesn’t matter. He feels no remorse, no pleasure. All he wants is to see the world turned black. He has no desire to live or die. He is simply here. Existing.”
The doctor paused to take a sip from his canteen. In the silence, the Priest said, “My God.”
A stray drip of water trailed down Doctor Freeman’s chin as he continued. “During a transfer from Texas to … wherever … Karl managed to escape, and he ran off into the world a crazed and angry man. He stole, raped, and killed whatever and whoever was in his path. For years he eluded the authorities, taking on different identities and working small jobs when he couldn’t steal enough to get by. It took a considerable amount of investigation for the police to catch up to him and realize the scope of his atrocities—the trail of mutilation and debauchery he’d left in his wake, from coast to coast. When the police approached him in a small studio apartment, it took six officers to subdue him, and he left two disabled in his wake.
“A cell in death row, deep within Haddonfield Maximum Security Prison, was his new home. That’s where we had the pleasure of meeting. It was only through rumors that we heard of the war being waged around the world. The disease had not yet come to fruition, but some of the atomic detonations had. Convicts were offered the choice to participate in the Freedom to Fight campaign, and Karl joined without hesitation, knowing full well that the inmate brigades would be sent to the front lines. He also knew that if they were soliciting death row prisoners, the state of the conflict was dire, and his time to prosper could soon come to actualization. Before he left, he promised me he’d return, and when he did, it would mean the world was ripe for us to devour. It would be our time to rule. No more jail cells. No more solitary. The nooses would be cast for the wicked who’d imprisoned us.”
“So he was in the army?”
Doctor Freeman nodded. “He’s had some training. It was during boot camp that he met Captain Liam Briggs, who is an honest-to-God captain, and can steer any vessel, be it canoe or warship. They both escaped before seeing any action, with much aid of the disease that was wiping out the armed forces.
“Know this, being that you are a man of God—it is your God who spared him from the disease. It is your God that spared him from the electric chair, and from various deaths a million times over. He is the General because he is the strongest, toughest, most wicked man you will ever encounter. Killing Karl Metzger is no easy task. Many have tried; all have failed.”
The Priest scratched at the stubble on his chin and said, “Hmm.”
“Now, I got a question for you,” Doctor Freeman said. “Why is it that you decided to join us? You belonged to a colony, much as our own.
But you’ve chosen to join our ranks and solicit your fellow men without their consent. It spells death to those who oppose us.”
“Well,” the Priest said, “that’s simple. It’s the same reason that you, and all the men, are following General Metzger now; and it’s not just for the thrill of warfare and the plunder to be had. As I see it, we all stand to live another day if we fight with Karl rather than against him. The people in the bunker have survived for so long because they had enough money, back when money held power, to afford a room in that costly silo. Their time on this earth is coming to an end. The strong will rise; the weak will perish. All who oppose Karl won’t stand a chance. In order to survive, we must choose our paths wisely, and I choose to follow this man who had the opportunity to kill me for my meager possessions. He sees something in me, and I will prove my worth.”
Doctor Freeman nodded. “Fair enough. It’s for similar reasons that I followed him out of Haddonfield Penitentiary. To be honest, I was perfectly happy down there in the darkness. But in time, my food and water supply would have run out, and I’d have been forced to eat rats or venture into the world alone. Joining the brotherhood of the Red Hands was my best option for survival.”
“You were happy staying in a cell, with no light, no moving air? You’re a study, doctor. I’ll give you that. You all are.”
Doctor Freeman opened his book. “A study of what?” he said, and cast his eyes to the pages.
Chapter Four
Faith
Karl Metzger, Liam, and the Priest stood atop an expansive flat rock perched high on a mountain bluff, surrounded by thick pines. Through the circular peripherals of binoculars, they could make out portions of the rectangular structure jutting out from the ground in the valley below, beneath a sea of wavering treetops. Karl stopped his wandering view and focused on the dozen or so fully decomposed corpses nailed to crucifixes or hung upside down so that only leg bones remained attached to ropes.
“Quite a civility you got here, Dietrich.”
“I never aforementioned anything in regard to my people being civil.”
“Do you not belong to the same barbarity as your fellow man?”
“I’ve done what I need to survive; call it what you will. As far as myself belonging to my fellow man, I have made my opposition to their style of governing clear. On my accord, we would have opened the gates months earlier to scout for a new settlement and not attacked the closest colony, regardless of their military prowess. If I felt attached to the leaders of these people, I would not have directed you here. Those who I hold dear will follow me—follow us—and I do believe, most will follow. I am their spiritual advisor, after all, and have served as an army chaplain for a short duration of my youth. And these bodies,” the Priest waved his hand dismissively toward the line of corpses, “they’re only to scare off any wanderers.”
“In a world where death is dominant, a few corpses are nothing to be frightened of.”
“It’s not fear of the dead, but rather what the living can do to make them that way.”
“An astute observation, Priest.”
There was no indication that the people from Albuquerque had marched to the settlement. The grass leading to the bunker looked lightly trod, and there was no movement in the nearby wilderness. Karl lowered his binoculars and said, “All right. Let’s get on with it.”
The Priest took lead down the mountain pass with the army in tow. Once at the edge of the valley, they halted and Karl dismounted his steed. “Look alive, Briggs,” he said to his captain.
“Yes, sir.” Liam dismounted and adjusted his pistol belt before finding the two officers selected to join them as envoys. Sergeant Iain Marcus, a gray-haired soldier with deep scars and a disfigured hand, had proven himself as one of the fiercest fighters among them, despite being one of the oldest. The second officer, Sergeant Novell, lacked the finesse associated with military order, but had displayed himself as a valiant leader on many raiding trips.
The men were gathered, all dressed in relatively clean olive-green army fatigues, and with fresh red handprints over their hearts.
“Priest,” Karl said. “We follow your lead.”
The Priest nodded and adjusted the strap of his shouldered rifle before turning into the thicket of wilderness. Karl followed, trailed by Liam and the two officers.
“General,” Liam said in a near whisper. “I implore you to reconsider your tactics. It’s not too late. The doctor’s got enough amphetamines to dole out to the troops; we could have this bunker before nightfall. If we go in alone—if we even get in—what’s to say they’ll let us out?”
Karl opened his mouth to respond, but the Priest spoke up without turning to face him. “Mister Briggs,” he said, “nothing in life is certain. Sometimes a leap of faith is in order. Perhaps you don’t have faith in me, and to say you should think otherwise would be a fallacy. If I were in your place, I would not trust myself either. But you have already taken a leap of faith by not killing me when you had the opportunity. Instead, you gave me a proposition on which I have continued to deliver. I prayed for salvation in my darkest hours as I skulked wearily down the bitter avenues of Albuquerque, collapsing at times to go at it at a crawl. The duration of my people’s time on this earth ceased when we marched to the gates of that city, fought, and failed. It occurred to me during that battle, as I watched my people disappear in gusts of fire and bullets, that they had become an extinct civilization. Hope was fading, but then on the outskirts of town, you appeared and delivered me.”
“Never offered you any fucking salvation,” Liam said. “Saying so is deceptive. And don’t think for a minute that we’ve passed the opportunity for killing you.”
“Gentlemen,” Karl said with a laugh. “Enough. Perhaps a leap of faith is indeed called for.”
“Faith?” Liam said. “You’re starting to sound like him. Crazier than a shit bird.”
Karl laughed again, then took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, listening to the wind play with the leaves on the trees and the crunching of their boots on the ground.
“Don’t know how you’re laughing,” Liam said.
“Captain, life is but a gamble, and I aim to win every hand. Amnesty, trust, and devotion—these things can be had through the selection of the right words and the correct presentation of assemblage. Also, having an army in waiting helps.”
“But what’s to say—”
“That will be enough, Briggs. The bunker is in sight.”
After a brief pause, Liam said, “Yes, sir.”
The concrete structure loomed larger as they neared. The front was a set of double doors, the same gray as the concrete, and wide and tall enough to drive a work truck through. The building extended backwards for many feet, and then sloped into the ground.
“We’ve passed the motion sensors,” the Priest said. “They’ll be watching us.”
The corpses on either side of the entrance were so weathered that they resembled thin saplings. Karl looked up at the bulking size of the gates as he stood before them, and scanned the concrete and cement walls for the several cameras mounted inside protective cages and behind thick shields of smoky glass. The air was still, peaceful. The Priest went to the side of the door, where a keypad was built in, and typed in a code. The keypad beeped, and a moment later he leaned in close and spoke, “Hello? It’s me, Priest Dietrich. I’ve returned. Hello?” He retyped the code and again it beeped. Then he stood back, facing the cameras one at a time.
A screech emitted from the keypad, and then a ruffled voice spoke out. “Dietrich, is that really you?”
The Priest laughed. “By God’s good grace, it is. Parker, is that you?”
“No, sir, it’s Ritchie.”
“Ritchie, my boy. I’m alive. I’ve been spared. Open up.”
The voice returned, “Who’s with you?”
The Priest turned to face Karl and the men. “These men are responsible for my survival. They saved me from the edge of battle and patched my wound
s. I would not be here today if not for them. How many returned from Albuquerque? Did any make it back?”
There was no response.
“Ritchie—”
“Dietrich, look,” the voice crackled, “you know the rules. We can’t let outsiders in.”
Dietrich took a deep breath and exhaled. “Ritchie … who’s in charge? Are you going to refuse me entry?”
“N-no, sir. Just those men. The rules—”
“Ritchie, you can kindly go fuck the rules for once. Marcus Johansson, our blessed leader, has died on the battlefield. I don’t know who’s left in there, but I am most certainly among the ranking officers.”
“It’s Seth, sir. Seth Cross took charge.”
“Cross?” Dietrich exclaimed. “Why in God’s good name would you …” He paused. “It makes no difference.”
“I’ll go talk to him. Give me a minute.”
“No, Ritchie.”
“Sir, it will only be a moment.”
“Ritchie, I’m ordering you to open this door this instant. When I get in, I’ll explain everything to Mr. Cross. His leadership is debatable, being that we hold the same rank. If I say these men are welcome inside our home, you had better follow my command. Have I made myself understood?”
The radio was silent. Then it crackled. “Yes, sir.”
With a mighty groan, the left door creaked to life, and inched inward. The Priest guided it back as its mechanical hinges swung open. Karl took a deep breath and exchanged glances with Liam at his side. The stocky man looked at him with large eyes, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and face. Then he looked back to Sergeants Marcus and Novell and motioned with his chin for them to follow. Karl stepped forward, trailing behind the Priest, who had disappeared into the black recess.
Chapter Five
Flood Waters
A green light shone from the bottom of the entryway, reflecting its neon color along the downward ramp and boxlike walls and ceiling. After a few steps inside, more hazard lights turned on in intervals along the hall, and at the bottom, a brighter light emanated from a room. A trigger of memory came to Karl: the crushing feeling of walls encroaching on every side.
Butcher Rising Page 3
