The Fall of Man: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 1

by J. V. Roberts

  There was a shout from the front wall, “We’ve got outsiders approaching!”

  Jeb took the rifle as Zach drew his pistol. “This should be something.”

  As Zach and Jeb emerged from behind the lockup there were two guards running from the gatehouse with scatterguns in tow.

  “Don’t you think that’s overdoing it?” Zach walked up behind them as they both took a knee and squared up their barrels.

  “Can’t be too careful,” Jeb said.

  “How many of them?” Zach shouted to the solitary guard watching the front of the wall. Mother always whittled it down to a skeleton crew when there was a Fall.

  “Two, man and a woman,” the guard was pointing his gun over the top of the wooden rampart.

  “They armed?”

  “Nope, I don’t see weapons. The man looks rather menacing.”

  “What do you mean he looks menacing?”

  “I don’t know, menacing, you know?”

  “No, that’s why I asked you. What do you mean? He doesn’t seem like the hugging type? What?”

  “Nah… he just looks… mean, I guess.”

  “Just… someone open the damn gates already.”

  The gates creaked and cracked, pulling the curtain back on the land beyond the walls. When Zach saw the man and woman standing there, he couldn’t help but think of Micah and Susanna, the Union traitors. The man was an Outlander through and through. Life had chewed him up and shit him out. He’d been beat up and scarred up and he was still ready to go another round. The woman was a different story. Yeah, sure, she looked the part. She had the scars and the cuts. Her clothes were ragged and her fingernails were black. Her face was sand bitten and her blonde hair sat atop her head in dirty clumps. She was half the man’s size, but she was all muscle and ropey blue veins, she was a little firecracker waiting to explode. It was the eyes. There was something missing. She could be Union. Zach would have to watch her.

  The man raised his arms to the side and a smile cracked through his granite tough exterior. “This is probably the liveliest greeting me and my lady have gotten, and that’s saying a lot considering where we just came from.”

  “And where might that be?” Zach asked.

  “South of here, the Union has their people out stirring it up again with the rebels. Our settlement was burned right down to the fence posts.”

  “Don’t surprise me none,” Jeb said spitting into the dirt.

  “Sir, we pose no threat, we’re just looking to get off the road; we’re running low on food and water.” The woman bowed her head and brought her hands to her face as she spoke.

  “Well, we ain’t exactly thrilled to see strangers, you never know who you can trust out here. Fresh faces always present us with a challenge.”

  “I can understand your dilemma, but I can guarantee you that we’re on your side.”

  “How you gonna guarantee that? We working off the honor system?” Zach received a few chuckles from the men with the scatter guns. It wasn’t the knee slapping, belly laughs that he was used to. No one felt the need to appease him anymore.

  “No, I was thinking this would do.” The Outlander pulled his shirt up around his throat.

  Aside from an impressive slab of muscle and some significant battle scars, there was a tattoo: a fat black chain with an anchor attached at the bottom.

  “My eyes must be deceiving me. That ain’t what I think it is… can’t be,” Jeb stuttered and pointed.

  “Looks like a tattoo to me.”

  “That there is the mark of the Saboteurs.”

  “Some sort of club or something?”

  “I heard the Saboteurs were all dead, strung up by the Union,” one of the guards lowered his scattergun to get a closer look.

  “They was supposed to be,” Jeb said.

  The Outlander just stood there as they fawned over him, soaking it all in. Zach felt a slight pang of jealousy. “You can drop your shirt now, chief, we all saw it. Someone wanna let me in on why I should be getting weak in the knees?”

  “Boy, there’s a world out there beyond these walls, and in that world the Saboteurs are legend. They gave the Union hell during the war.” Jeb lowered his weapon and made his way over to the scruffy blowhard with the shitty tattoo.

  Zach thought of protesting, thought of ordering the fossil to cut out the hero worship and waddle his fat ass back to his station, but he didn’t have that kind of authority anymore. The men were off their scatterguns, exchanging handshakes with the two newcomers. The guard from up top was even making his way down to get in on the action.

  “Alright, alright, before everyone gets all cozy, I think we need to clear up the basics with these two.” Zach shoved his way into the huddle. The Outlander towered over him; Zach was staring at the top of his chest. He cleared his throat and looked to the woman instead. “You two need to know, we ain’t like a regular settlement.”

  “Perhaps Mother should be the one to explain that.” Jeb put a hand on his shoulder and Zach shook it off.

  “If ya’ll are wanting to stay here you need to know we got certain rules and expectations.”

  “Who is Mother?” the man asked.

  “Never mind that, you’ll meet her soon enough. You paying attention?”

  “You were about to educate me on rules and expectations?”

  “Yes, we ain’t like the other settlements you been through. Here, we believe in a certain order. An order handed down to us by a higher power.”

  “So, you’re religious? We had a church in our settlement. Very pleasant place, my husband and I went often.” The woman took her man’s arm with a dainty little smile.

  “It ain’t just about going to church. Everything we do is based around Scripture and the commands of the Creator. It ain’t easy stuff and we take violating Scripture pretty seriously.” Zach wanted to scare them off. He didn’t feel like dealing with the hassle of outsiders.

  “Is that what happened to you?” The man bowed his head towards Zach’s bandaged hand.

  He’d been concealing it at the back of his right leg, but apparently he hadn’t concealed it well enough. “Come again, partner?”

  “Is that what happened to you, a violation of Scripture?”

  “Who do you—”

  Jeb stepped in front of Zach and pushed him back with the bulk of his belly. “I think you said enough, why don’t we just wait till Mother gets back, let her clear everything up. What do you say?” In reality, Jeb had done him a solid. He couldn’t have gone straight up with that big bastard; he’d have been forced to shoot him to save face. Jeb returned his attention to the outsiders. “I don’t think we exchanged official greetings with you folks. I’m Jeb.”

  “Dominic is the name.”

  “I’m Lerah.”

  Pleasantries were exchanged all around to the tune of big ass smiles and hearty handshakes. The crew was clearly impressed with this Dominic prick. It irked Zach something fierce. The pang of jealousy had evolved into a full blown throbbing.

  “I’m sorry to say, but we can’t have ya’ll wandering around the place till you’re cleared by Mother. If you’re wanting to stay here, you’ll have to wait it out in lock up till she gets back.”

  “It seems pretty deserted here.”

  “Most folks are out with Mother.”

  “What could possibly carry them from such a secure place?” Dominic signaled to the guns and surrounding walls.

  He was a little too curious for his own good.

  “You never mind that,” Jeb placed a hand on Dominic’s back. “Follow me over to the lockup. We’re gonna have to search you. After that we’ll bring ya’ll some food and drink.”

  “That sounds good to me. What do you say, dear?”

  “Delightful,” Lerah’s voice was a perky little twinkle.

  As Jeb led them towards the lockup he started in on some damned story about the war and his daddy’s lost hand.

  “They seem like good folks.” The guard from the top of the wal
l had snuck up behind Zach.

  Zach turned and grabbed his rifle. “Give me that damn thing.”

  “Hey! What the hell am I supposed to use?”

  Zach let the throbbing in his head drown out the angry protests of the guard, as he marched with renewed determination towards Jeb’s makeshift gun range.

  31

  It’d been business as usual at the Scar; another successful Fall. The roar of the bloodthirsty mob had done its job, drowning out the heartache of broken parents as they watched their children stripped naked and butchered and pushed to their deaths.

  Blake had watched the ugly thing take place. He’d stood obediently at the front of the crowd as Mother had instructed. By the time Colton’s body had disappeared over the edge, Blake felt ready to explode. Not in some violent display of righteous anger—he was beyond the illusion that he possessed the skills or resolve to carry out such an action—no, it was that lead ball pounding the walls of his stomach like some hyperactive pendulum, building up a sickening energy that threatened to tear him apart at the seams. It was there, just at the back of his throat, ready to pitch him forward and send him grappling for his knees. He raised his chin and forced the sour brew back down into the cauldron. It was over now—the ugliness—he just had to convince his body of what his mind already knew.

  Mother stood at the edge of the Scar, spackled with blood, Toby off to one side, three guards standing between her and a flood of fanatical devotion. She waved her hands above her head ostentatiously, one of them still clutching her infamous dagger, bits of Kati’s bowels still clinging to the blade.

  “Evil! You’re all evil! Curse you Mother, you duplicitous self-serving whore! You and your creator can burn in hell for all I care! I want my Colton back! I want him back!” Colton’s mother, Sheila, ping-ponged to the front of the crowd as her lungs crackled with fury. She stomped past Blake and stood toe-to-toe with the three guards. She was arched forward at the waist, tears streamed down her face as she waved her hands wildly to a chorus of boos. “You’re all sheep! Sheep! Wait till it happens to your kid!” she screamed back over her shoulder.

  “Our kids know right from wrong!”

  “We raised them right!”

  Terrence broke from the crowd, using Blake as a turnstile. He wrapped his arms around his wife, whispering earnestly in her ear, but whatever he was saying didn’t seem to be having the desired effect. As Terrence tried to pull her back she kicked at the guards, big dramatic bicycle kicks. They laughed and stepped back a pace. “Mother, I’m sorry about this, she’s just taking it hard. Come on honey, please, you’re going to make it worse for us.” Terrence pulled harder, but she wasn’t budging, for every inch he gained, she took two.

  Mother watched the scene with impassivity. Her hands were folded delicately at her waist, still holding firm to the knife. She started moving forward, little steps. She stopped just behind her guards and observed the display of outrage. She didn’t flinch against the tidal wave of spit and profanity. After a considerable length of time Mother raised her right hand and the scorn of the crowd fell silent, leaving only the emotional swell of Sheila’s voice to fill the air.

  “Children of Reeman, what you’re witnessing right now is the outrage of a parent at the loss of their child. What you’re witnessing right now is pain and grieving. We’ve all been there before, haven’t we? Not all of us have lost children, but we’ve all lost, haven’t we? We live in a time of perpetual pain and grieving. A time of punishment brought upon us by the sins of those that came before. Is it fair that we suffer for something we didn’t do?”

  There was apprehensive murmuring as the flock tried to figure out the desired answer.

  “Don’t be afraid, it’s not a trick question,” she laughed. “Of course it’s not fair, not by our understanding. Yet, we suffer, whether it’s fair or not. But our future, our very survival, depends upon our ability to find meaning in the suffering.”

  Sheila had begun to quiet down, probably from exhaustion. Terrence had managed to move her back from the line of guards. She was still cursing Mother’s name between panting breaths and throwing the occasional sloppy kick.

  “As Mrs. Otterman was standing here making a spectacle, our Creator was bestowing upon me a grand revelation. He has instructed me to share it with you, His children. What you do with it is up to you.”

  “We’re ready to receive, Mother!”

  She pushed through her line of guards, ignoring the sight of Terrence and his bucking bride, using the tip of the knife to dictate her syllables. “In times of sadness, what is it that separates those that grieve and those that dance?” Her eyes searched their faces, the enthusiastic teacher seeking a prized pupil. “Anyone care to venture a guess? There’s no wrong answer. We’re learning together.”

  “Trusting in the creator?”

  “Obedience?”

  “How about praising and thanking Him for all things?”

  Blake could hardly stomach the sound of the simpletons clawing at the shallow recesses of their minds.

  Had the Wastes really been so bad?

  Mother acknowledged each of their belched guesses with small nods and a patronizing smile. “All of you are so close; you’re just skirting the edge of it. The thing that separates the dancers and the grievers is Scripture, plain and simple. If you truly believe what’s written in those pages, there is no reason to demonstrate the sort of behavior that Mrs. Otterman did today. You know why? Because you know His will has been done. Sure, it’s normal to shed a few tears, to miss our departed. But what Mrs. Otterman is doing is sewing division. She doesn’t see the Fall as an extension of Scripture. She sees it as an aggression towards her and her family. She has shown herself, on this day, to be a nonbeliever. She’s only a believer when it’s convenient. She’s a believer of seasons, sometimes she’s hot and sometimes she’s cold. The Creator wants to bless us. He demonstrated this to us yesterday when the rains fell. He demonstrated this to us when he brought forth new life among our people. Do you doubt His desire to bless us?”

  “No!”

  “Nope!”

  “Neither do I, neither do I. But if there is division within our ranks, if we’re not united under a single banner, speaking a single truth, then I fear our Father will turn his back on us.”

  A hush fell over the crowd as they chewed her words.

  “Now, I’m not telling you what to do. Yes, I am your Mother. Yes, the Father depends on me to dictate His will. But this is a test. This is a test to see if you, His people, are willing to act, not for His sake, not for my sake, but for your own sake. What’s it going to be?”

  It seemed that Blake wasn’t the only one that’d grown wise to Mother’s endgame. Terrence held his wife close and turned on the encroaching mob, every fiber of his being intent on defending her. “Stay back or I’ll kill you, I swear it!”

  The flock wasn’t dissuaded by Terrence’s empty threats, they flowed around Blake, their arms extended like they were feeling their way through a darkened room.

  “Hold it!” Mother stepped between Terrence and his assailants. “I don’t want this to be a feeding frenzy. There’s no reason for this to be messy. This can be carried out with order and dignity. Guards,” Mother signaled to the men in the back, “bring me Mr. and Mrs. Zulma.”

  “What did we do? Wait, let go of my wife!” Kati’s father, Robert, could be heard scuffling with the guards. He appeared at the front of the crowd, alongside his wife, Belinda. They were shoved before Mother, Robert rubbing at his arm in anguish. “I don’t understand the meaning of this? My wife and I have done nothing to warrant being treated this way.”

  “No one is accusing you of anything, Mr. Zulma, quite the opposite. What I’m going to ask you to do is prove your faith.”

  “Prove my faith? I believe the composure we’ve shown has more than demonstrated our faith and devotion.”

  “You’re friends with the Otterman family, yes?”

  “We’ve grown close over the past
few months.”

  “So, friends?”

  “Yes, I guess you could say that.” Robert was checking his sightlines, practically wetting himself as he tried to track the movement of the crowd.

  “I’m afraid your association with them, along with the untimely departure of your daughter, has left you and your wife under a bit of scrutiny. We do not need any division within our community. We need a clear line of communication with our Father. So, in order for us to be sure about the content of your heart, we need to conduct a test of faith.”

  Sheila was wailing, her arms around her husband’s waist, her head buried against his crotch; it was a rather crude sight.

  “What sort of test are we talking here?”

  “Kill them. Kill your friends.”

  Terrence shook his head as if he were trying to clarify what he’d just heard. “No, listen, she’s just upset. We’re with you Mother, we are followers of Scripture. We believe, we do, please, it’s just been—”

  “On your knees,” Mother was firm, but not loud.

  “But Mother—”

  Mother snapped her fingers. Two guards seized Terrence and Sheila and began forcing their compliance. When Terrence resisted he was clubbed across the side of the head with a rifle butt. Sheila began sobbing and tried to come up to her knees, a round was chambered and a barrel was pressed against the side of her skull, guiding her back down beside Terrence.

  Blake wanted to intervene. He wanted to play the hero. He wanted to pull Terrence and his, admittedly foolish, wife from the fire. But he was a coward, a man without skill or resolve. He was too damned selfish to step in. He had things to live for, two things, and they were waiting at home for his return.

  Judith. Riley. I do it for them.

  “Take this,” Mother ripped a rifle from one of the guards and pressed it to his chest.

  “I don’t… I’ve never really shot one.”

  “You aim and pull the trigger. Take it.”

  “But I don’t—”