The Fall of Man: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 1

by J. V. Roberts

  “Mother, perhaps we should just go? He’s obviously doing his best to ruffle you, to instigate.”

  “Doctor, do I look ruffled?”

  “No, Mother.”

  “Now, I believe I instructed you to shut your mouth.”

  The door opened again and Zach returned with the guard; a plump man, legs shorter than his torso. “Yes, Mother? I am at your command.”

  Colton started backing away from the bars, sensing that the tide was shifting against him.

  “You three,” her finger danced expeditiously across Zach, Toby, and the guard, before landing on Colton, “cut out his tongue.”

  Zach flipped the knife in his palm.

  “Me and you,” Toby leaned in close to the guard, “we’ll hold him down. Zach will do the cutting.”

  “Alright.” The guard sounded slightly disappointed with his role, eyeing the knife with envy.

  Blake jumped in front of Mother, his hands folded up against his chest, pleading with her. “The boy is upset. He’s just acting out. He’ll be taking the Fall. Let’s just leave him—”

  Mother struck his cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m done telling you to shut up. Leave, or your tongue will be next.”

  Blake could feel the wet stripes on his face where her nails had broken the skin. He clutched the wounded area, overwhelmed with shock. Mother had never struck him. He shuffled towards the door. Behind him he could hear her three dogs working the stubborn cell lock.

  Kati screaming.

  Colton pleading.

  “You fight us and she gets it worse,” Zach said as the hinges squealed on the cage door.

  “If the whore gets in your way, cut off her tits,” Mother spoke as if she were ordering her morning tea.

  Blake opened the door to the lockup. The sunlight turned everything white. The crowd pressed in, trying to get a look inside.

  “Back, damn it! I said back!” A guard hit a man in the chest with the broad side of his rifle and sent him spilling backwards into the arms of his family.

  “Doctor, what’s going on in there?” Belinda grabbed at his elbows and shoulders. He shook her off without a word, still clutching his face. “What’s going to happen to her? Please, Doctor, tell me something?”

  “Nothing to tell,” Blake said, without meeting her eyes. “There’s going to be a service tonight. I’m sure Mother’s decision will be announced then.”

  Blake kept on moving. Away from the crowd. Behind the buildings. Soon everything faded. He stopped and leaned against the perimeter fence, hidden away in the shadows cast off by the overhead walkway. The heavy footfalls of the guards shook loose dust and dirt, showering the top of his head. He took his hand from his face and examined the thin sheet of red silk in the middle of his palm. Mother wasn’t playing by the rules anymore. Scripture said nothing about torture; nothing about cutting out tongues and lopping off tits. All of her actions now seemed to be dictated by divine inspiration, the will of the Creator.

  How long before she’s inspired to kill me? To kill my family?

  “Doctor!” His thoughts were interrupted by the ball shaped guard with the stubby legs. He rounded the corner from the alley, out of breath, his fleshy face slick with sweat, splotches of blood dotting the front of his shirt. “Doctor, Mother needs you back at the lockup! We can’t stop the bleeding!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The boy, we cut out his tongue. It won’t stop bleeding.”

  Blake came off the wall and found himself charging towards the stocky little man with his fists raised. “Did you fools think it was going to sew itself up?”

  The fat man’s hand went to his weapon. “You hold your place, Doc. I’m not here for a fight.”

  The gun didn’t scare Blake. He stepped right up to the little ogre and stared down into his melted face. He was so close he could smell the sweat and the copper. “Go to my house. Get my medical bag. You knock and you ask my wife for it. Don’t you dare set foot in my home. You got me?”

  The guard stepped back and relaxed his weapon. “I’ll get the bag. You get over to that lockup. That boy can’t die or Mother will have both our heads. She’s in quite a state.”

  Blake shoved past him, moving towards the lockup. Not for Mother. Not for her Creator. But for Colton. The boy that now lay dying, drowning in his own blood, all because he dared to love a girl.

  Colton had been right.

  Fuck Mother.

  Fuck the Creator.

  17

  Monte was hiking the road north with his remaining men at a rapid pace, hoping to catch up with the Outlander and his Union bitch.

  “So, boss, you just want us to open up when we see this guy?”

  “It’d probably be wise.”

  “Thought you said you wanted to talk to him.”

  “I do, so aim low.”

  They were winding through an s-curve, surrounded by crumbling walls and long, bent over strips of rebar, growing out of the ground like rusty claws.

  “So, is this guy as good as you, boss?”

  Monte shook his head. “No, he’s better than me. He taught me everything I know.”

  Coming out of the final bend, Monte saw a group of men standing a few hundred yards down the road. They appeared as shadows against the intense sunlight.

  “Hang on there, boys.” Monte raised a fist and all of them took a knee.

  “That them?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so, too many.”

  “Union?”

  “Can’t tell.” Monte raised his pistol and moved forward, staying low. “I don’t think they’re Union… what would Union be doing out here?”

  “That ain’t stopped them before.”

  Monte didn’t want a gun battle. He put his pistol away, stood, and raised his hands. “Hey! Friends! We’re friends!”

  “What the hell, boss?”

  “Lower your guns and put your hands up!”

  The figures up ahead took notice of the company and broke off from whatever they were doing. They stretched out across the path, shoulder to shoulder. Monte could see the outlines of their guns. One of them was shouting something and flinging his arms around. Monte couldn’t catch a damn thing he was saying. The words were all carried off by the hot breeze.

  “Boss, they’re gonna end our shit.”

  “No they’re not; they could’ve already ended our shit. We stay cool and they’ll stay cool.”

  “Ah, man, I hope you’re right. I don’t want to end up like Eugene.”

  Monte chuckled. “I don’t think you’ve got to worry about that. These guys look like they can actually shoot; you won’t feel a thing.”

  The armed procession was moving forward now.

  Nah, definitely not Union.

  The Union moved like they were multiple bodies attached to one brain. These guys were too spread out. Their movement was too sloppy and disorganized. And there was something familiar about the figure at the center of the pack. It was the head. That ring of hair sitting around that bald bastard of a head.

  “Glaspell… Glaspell, is that you?” Monte’s voice was starting to get hoarse from the shouting and the dry air. He needed a drink, but he wasn’t about to venture for his skin, not until his suspicions were confirmed.

  The man at the center of the line halted the procession and kept moving forward on his own. The crunching of his boots was now audible, along with the sound of the magazines lining his waist as they brushed up against one another. “Monte? Monte, you depraved fuck, is that you?”

  Monte met him half way and they wrapped each other up in a clumsy embrace, tottering foot-to-foot. “Holy shit, you cock headed motherfucker. I didn’t know my brother sent your guys out. What are you doing?”

  “Killing Union, what else?”

  “No shit, where?”

  Glaspell pointed up the road. “Got a shitload of them up there. We got this tip yesterday from this caravan rider, paid off like you wouldn’t believe.” Glaspell gripped him excitedly
by the elbows. “Your brother is going to be happy. You won’t believe what these tyrannical fucks were carrying.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, you’ve got to see for yourself, I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

  “Well, by all means, lead the way.” Monte waved his men up as Glaspell steered him in the direction of his conquest.

  “We got the jump on these boys. I don’t even know if they got a shot off. The rider that tipped us off insisted we don’t kill them. He just wanted us to rob them. They’re Union though, what else are they good for? A couple got away, high tailed it back towards Genesis.”

  “Well then, we better hurry it up and get our asses off the road. I don’t imagine they’re gonna just forget about this.”

  Glaspell nodded. The sheen of sweat atop his bald head reflected the sun like a mirror. “Don’t I know it, that’s who we thought you were; Union, come to make things right. They’d be some cocky motherfuckers, only sending three guys against us.”

  Monte shrugged. “I dunno, if they shot like me perhaps they’d only need one.”

  “Ha, Monte, still the same sonofabitch. Still carrying that pistola, I see.”

  “It’s gotten me this far.”

  “I’ll take a rifle any day; keep my enemies at a distance. Blood doesn’t wash out so easily.”

  “I can shoot a tick off the ass of a mule with this thing.” Monte drew the gun from its holster, spun it once, and dropped it back into place.

  “Can you now?”

  “I can try; I might kill the mule.”

  Glaspell laughed and patted him on the chest. “So, what are you and your boys doing out here?”

  “Same as you, sort of, hunting this guy and his Union bitch. Get this, turns out that the guy is a Saboteur.”

  “I thought you were the last one.”

  “So did I, but apparently not. The folks we talked to identified the tattoo and a bunch of other shit. I don’t really got much doubt. Anyway, they killed four of our guys last night and we think they lit out in this direction.”

  “Well I ain’t seen them, and the folks we killed are all Union, not a Saboteur in the bunch.”

  “Eh, that’s alright, I want to handle this personally.”

  Monte recognized some of Glaspell’s men, but he didn’t remember their names. The roster was always changing as men came and went from the surrounding settlements. He shook their hands and thanked them for not shooting him.

  Glaspell took him by the arm and led him through the small crowd. Monte could see the outline of the bodies sprawled out beneath the sun just ahead. There was a big square box—what looked like some sort of chest—sitting in the middle of their carcasses. “All those rumors we were hearing back east, about the Union making a push, it seems like it wasn’t just your usual tall tale bullshit. I think there’s something real going on here, brother.”

  “Yeah, I’m starting to get that funny feeling.”

  “It’s about to get downright hysterical, just wait till you check out what’s in the chest.” Glaspell stopped on the outskirts of the field of death, letting Monte go ahead on his own.

  Monte’s men stayed back with Glaspell’s. He felt like the guest of honor at a surprise birthday party. The blood of dead Union fucks, the frosting on his cake. He stepped carefully over and around the leaking corpses. There were at least two dozen men, maybe more. They outnumbered Glaspell, but a head start made all the difference when it came to warfare. The chest was quite common in appearance: weather beaten wood, a hard brass frame, rusted hinges. The locks had been shot off. He felt an unexplainable hesitance as he reached to open it, as if something were waiting inside to bite him; perhaps it was just the knowledge that he was treading on forbidden ground, the heart throbbing ecstasy that came with giving the Union a stiff middle finger. Monte wasn’t the type of man that often found himself absent words or direction. But for a brief moment, what he saw in the chest took the breath out of him. “Holy shit Glaspell; you’ve really done it this time!”

  “I know man, I know. Your brother is going to lose his mind.”

  “He’ll probably promote you… this is their honey pot. Who told you about this?” Monte ran his fingers through what seemed to be a bottomless pit of coin.

  “Like I said, it was just some caravan jockey. Said he heard it from a guy that heard it from another guy. The tip only cost us a few pieces of jingle-jangle.”

  “I’d say you made yourself a damn fine investment.”

  “What should we do with it?”

  Monte stood and flicked a coin off the tip of his thumb. “Well, get it off the road before the next surge of Union scum comes pouring through here.”

  Glaspell nodded. “Yeah, we already thought of that, but where? Take it where? The target this puts on our ass is significant.”

  “Yeah, you’re right about that.” Monte turned, scrubbing at his chin. He saw dozens of battle hardened men waiting on him for a meaningful answer. “Well… here’s what we’ll do. You’re gonna take the chest straight from here to the coast, my brother and his men will have no problem keeping it safe. I’ll walk you to the border. From there the unknown settlements should keep you safe. I’ll take a couple of your men back with me to help find this Union bitch; maybe we’ll get some answers out of her.”

  “I like it, let’s do it.”

  Two of Glaspell’s men hoisted the chest up and moved into the middle of the group, concealed on every side by their armed comrades. Monte and Glaspell led the band east, taking them off the road and across the unmarked clutches of the inhospitable wastes, leaving the bodies of the Union soldiers to blister and rot beneath the sun.

  18

  Defense Minister Dan Adams walked into Hause’s office, shoulders squared and chin up. Despite their longstanding and intimate friendship the setting always caused Dan to feel small—Hause behind the broad desk, the towering bookshelves on either side of him, flanked by the picturesque view of the sprawling wastes—Dan wasn’t a man that was used to feeling small. He much preferred their dinner table scenery. Their jest fueled conversations over sweaty bottles of brown brew.

  Hause stood, extending his hand. “Dan, my friend, if you’ve come seeking news regarding Lerah, I’m afraid there is none to be had.”

  “No,” Dan said, managing a tight jawed smile, “this isn’t about my daughter. I’m confident she can handle herself.”

  “Yes, of course. She has you for her father. And she is Union, the best of the best. The odds don’t get much better in times like these. Did you come to try to talk me into calling back the coin and sending out the guns, again?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  “Good, because that bridge has been crossed.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  Dan shook his head. “I just came from Pepper’s, thank you.”

  “Pepper’s? I was just there last night. They’ve patched it up quite nicely, wouldn’t you say?” Hause moved from behind the desk and prepared a drink.

  “It’s like nothing ever happened. Also, you have my compliments on Gerrad, the boy knows how to pour a drink; smooth as polished brass.”

  “I have to admit, it was his father that beseeched me; told me that the boy was being wasted down in mechanical. I’m glad to hear that he’s better with whiskey than he was with a wrench.”

  “He’s superb.”

  “So, Dan,” Hause set his glass down on the desk, smoothed the front of his slacks, and retook his seat, “if you didn’t come seeking information on Lerah, or to push for troops, what is it that brings you?”

  “May I sit?”

  “By all means,” Hause said, motioning to a chair.

  Dan sat softly and folded his hands in his lap. “I hate to slice into the middle of your day with the blade of bad news—”

  “Come out with it, no need for the formalities, we’re old friends.”

  “Yes, well, two of the unit’s have run into major resi
stance.”

  “What sort of resistance?”

  “Armed resistance, the rebels, the 5th barely escaped with half their men and the chest of coin was taken.”

  “Where did this occur?”

  “Northwest of here; about a day’s march.”

  Hause drooped forward in his chair, slapping his elbows hard atop the desk, shaking the whiskey in its glass. “Damn those Rebels! That was all the coin we’d delegated for the peace talks! They’re going to force us into another war, whether we want it or not!”

  “This does have the potential to send a rather poor message.”

  “What does this message say?” Hause fixed him with a rigid stare.

  Dan wasn’t moved by the stony transformation. He’d seen it all before. “It says that it’s open season on the Union. It says that our men can be killed and our wealth stolen with impunity.”

  Hause slammed his fists down on the desk, his face turning a deep red. Raindrops of whiskey decorated papers and folders. “We offer them the hand of peace. We offer them riches. We offer them a chance to pull themselves out of squalor. This is the thanks we get?”

  “It does seem to be a rather one sided sentiment.”

  Hause shook his head. “No, this will not alter the course. I will see this land united.”

  “So what’s the action?”

  “Any animal can be tamed. No matter how wild. They see the whip enough times and they can be brought to leash.”

  “So, we call back Lerah and the Outlander, we rally our men, and we crush what’s left of the Rebels, finish what the war didn’t.”

  Hause pushed his chair back and began pacing. “No, I will not see the Union dragged back into another campaign.”

  “You don’t have the stomach for it?”

  “I’ve got the stomach, old friend. But I fear our people do not. I would not risk turning the tide of public opinion against us. The last thing we need is a fight in here and a fight out there. Besides, every bullet we fire into a Rebel creates three more just like him. It’s a disease.”

  Dan sighed, disappointed by Hause’s stubbornness. “Just give me the command.”