The Bloody Sun

[Matthias]

Nice someone should make a movie out of this. This probably took a long time to write

[Jedi-L]

Part 10: Blood and Thunder

It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on a cloak of violence to cover impotence.

-Mohandas Gandhi

I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone but they’ve always worked for me.

-Hunter S. Thompson

The Hummer pulled into the camp, a good sized bivouac of portables and semi-permanent structures surrounded by nine meter walls of sandbags arranged in a rhombus.

They were stripped of their weapons and herded into one of the buildings, a small and square structure with a satellite dish attached to the roof next to a bank of solar panels. The interior consisted mostly of a single well lit office, occupied by two men.

The first man was in his forties and had his straw colored hair shaped up into a crew cut. The golden oak leaf on his neck tabs indicated him to be a Major. It was the second man, however, that drew the most attention. He was incredibly tall, possessing inches even over Langdon, who was six foot and seven. He was also very powerfully built, the kind of body that showed many years’ worth of exercise and upkeep. He wore a simple cotton button-down that he had tucked into a pair of jeans that looked as if they could be used to make a lean-to tent. His hat, which he held before him in both hands, had been spliced together from two lesser hats and his kid skin boots reflected the harsh white light given off from the incandescent fixtures overhead.

He nodded at the three, and at the soldier escorting them, before smiling amiably and gesturing with his hat.

“Major, the Sergeant has returned.”

“Thank you, Herr Kaufer.”

The Major looked up at the three and put down his report.

“So these are the recruits?”

“Yes Sir.”

“You three, sound off your names.”

“David O’Malley.”

“Langdon Eaton”

“Robin Jeanette.”

The Major nodded, and wrote something down short hand. He looked at the Sergeant again.

“Where do you three hail from?”

“New York.”

“Tennessee.”

“Nevada.”

The Major nodded again, as if agreeing to some unheard statement. Kaufer leaned over and whispered something in his ear, to which the Major narrowed his eyes.

“Are you three veteran mercenaries?”

“I find mercenary to be an ugly term” began David “however, if the question pertains to how long we have been on this certain career path, then yes. However, I can only vouch for Langdon and I, we added the girl to our ranks only a few weeks ago.”

“But all three of you are killers?”

“Yes.” was the simultaneous response.

The Major breathed hard through his nose, and rapped his knuckles on his desk.

“I don’t suppose you understand just what we’re recruiting for, do you?”

“I was hoping you would enlighten us.”

“Eighty years ago there was a sudden outbreak of a Transmissible Spongiform Encephalopathy that infected a good portion of the world’s population by spread through meat trade.”

“You mean the Z-Virus?”

“It wasn’t a virus that did it. Now I’m no Biology expert, but it is believed the disease is spread by prions, which are proteins that have formed wrong and serve as an infecting agent. Now that’s what made the disease so damn bad, once you got it, you were fucked. Prions can’t be stopped like viruses and bacteria can, and it can’t be destroyed by standard sanitation methods. However, these prions can only be transmitted through contact with infected body fluid or infected tissue. But that wasn’t enough to stop it from spreading like wild fire. One man eats an infected cut of meat; he goes insane and bites his friend. His friend goes to the hospital and infects the equipment there by accident. The prions are spread through the equipment to the staff and patients. Soon one infected turns into dozens. It was especially bad in areas of high density, like the East Coast here, or China, or India, or Mexico. That’s why, in the end, we used nukes. We nuked those shambling bastards and wiped out a massive part of the horde, but at the cost of our cities and farmland.”

The Major took a moment to compose his thoughts, before continuing.

“We barely had time to reassemble anything that resembled a military, before the Chinese invaded. Like I said, China got hit badly by the plague. And the size of their ghoul hordes made it impossible for them to be choosy like we were with their nukes. We managed to save our infrastructure, our highways, and our oil fields. The Chinese were forced to waste all of that, just to procure their survival. We thought they could never reform their military, not after that. We got proved wrong. They hit us when we let our defense go slack, pushing as far as Pennsylvania before we regrouped and turned them back, with help from our allies in Europe. The Chinese needed what we had, and knew we wouldn’t let them have it if they just asked. Understandable, in the end, but unforgivable. They took our land and drove us to the sea, and we still haven’t been able to rebuild. Hell, we all cried when we saw pictures of the West. People scrounging on dirt farms, trying to grow just enough food to prevent themselves from starving. Anarchy overthrowing whatever remained of a state government. Bands of half naked savages terrorizing what few good people remained. And we couldn’t do a damn thing about it. That’s why the USRF was formed as a branch of the United States Military. It is our task to rebuild what is left, and then build on that. We will bring peace to anarchy and civilization will return. However, our reserves are critically low, that is why I was given permission to hire private contractors, like you.”

“You want us to do community service?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I want you to hunt down those who would propagate lawlessness and evil in the reclamation zones, and kill them.”

“What’s our pay?”

“Pay?”

“That soldier promised us pay in that little speech he wrote. Pay and provisions.”

“Well, payment is to be received in full upon termination of the contract after your quota has been met.”

The Major’s eyes shifted nervously, something the three all picked up on.

“Well in that case Major, we’ll be forced to decline.”

The Major started as if he would stand, but stopped himself.

“Why, why won’t you aid your country?”

“Because, having a reputation for hunting down every single man who makes a infraction against your rules is bad for future business. However, I must thank you for that riveting speech, never before have I heard such bullshit put so eloquently.”

Kaufer chuckled softly as the Major’s face went a light shade of pink.

“Sergeant, get these people out of my office.”

“Yes sir.”

As the door closed Kaufer put his hat atop the peak of his skull and smiled warmly.

“Major, those three seem to be lawbreakers, no? Bad for society as you would say.”

“Yes, Herr Kaufer, yes they would seem to be that.”

“You hired me to remove people like that. And I think I’ll have a good time of it. However, I think that kind of task is a bit daunting with me as the sole operator. And the volunteer rate has been abysmal.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Sir, I wish to form my own group, a posse as one might call it, of men picked by me to help hunt down those you find to be destructive to your goals.”

The Major looked to Kaufer, who stretched his smile by a few more centimeters.

“Fine, do it.”

“Thank you, major, you will not be disappointed.”

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It had been three months since talking with the Major, and the encounter had all but left the trio’s minds. However, upon discussion of the tall man named Kaufer, all felt a strange dread and quickly changed the subject. The two other ranch hands had evaded them all this time, running from town to town and never stopping more than a few days. They had even hired some gunmen to slow the trio’s progress. The same gunmen were now bullet riddled corpses in the New Mexico desert. The three were now in a small town on the Texas-Mexico borderlands, just East of El Paso. There was a fiesta being held, and the three had quickly grown drunk. Langdon had just finished off his fifth round of Mescal, when he felt Robin’s hand on his shoulder. When he turned to face her she half fell half pulled herself to him and kissed him with an inebriated passion. Her eyes suddenly regained clarity and she pushed him away from her, blushing furiously. She didn’t speak to him the rest of the night.

Meanwhile, a little girl walked down the street, her rawhide pouch of coins jingling. She loved the fiestas; it was always such a happy time. She didn’t notice the stranger until he spoke to her from the other end of the unlit street.

“Hello jungmädel, are you going to the party?”

The little girl looked at the stranger, he was very tall and had bright eyes but she couldn’t see anymore of him.

“My Mommy says I shouldn’t talk to people I don’t know.”

“Oh, that’s excellent advice. There are so many terrible men these days.”

He smiled, his teeth seemed to glow white in the darkness, and his bright hazel eyes sparkled. He opened his fist and revealed a small handful of candy; he unwrapped a peppermint and popped it in his mouth, his smile never fading.

“Do you like candy?”

“Y-yes.”

“Don’t be afraid, here, let’s go to the party.”

Her legs moved, as if they had a desire of their own to go with the tall man. He smiled down at her and took her little hand in his great palm. She was sucking on a lemon drop when he led her down the dark alley and away from the town.

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The next morning Langdon awoke with a terrible hangover and a general ache that made him groan as he pushed himself out of the rented bed. The whore he had hired last night was still asleep as he buckled his pants and belt and left her payment on the nightstand. He descended the stairs to find David and Robin sitting at the bar and looking grim.

“Morning to ya’. Mind tellin’ me what’s got you so pissed at this early of an hour?”
David looked to Langdon and motioned him to sit down. As he did he spoke.

“I got a tip off today that our ranch hands headed South, into the Zona Infectada.”

Langdon swore viciously, and wiped away a bit of dried vomit with the back of his hand.

“Are we seriously going after them?”

“They’re worth a grand apiece; we can’t let no shambling psychopath eat them before we kill them ourselves.”

“Is two grand really worth us going down there?”

“I don’t think you know who our employer really is, boy. That rich fuck is the son in law of one Everett Cargill, with whom I know you’re familiar.”

Langdon swore again, and spit on the floor.

“My sentiments exactly. I don’t know how close he is to his father in law, but if we end up pissing off Cargill, you know we’ll be in for a world of pain.”

“Yeah.”

“So I say we go down there, get these fuckers, cut their heads off, and hightail right back to Arizona.”

“Sounds good to me” said Robin quietly.


As the three were riding out of town, they noticed a small mob of people. They rode to the back of the congregation, and looked down upon the scene. The naked body of a young girl was being held in the arms of a man, presumably her father. Off to the side a woman lay on her knees weeping, the mother.

“Damn shame, ain’t it?” asked an ugly fellow next to Langdon.

“What the hell happened?”

“Hell if I know, Mister. All I heard was that they found the body early this morning; some sick fuck took her out to the desert before raping and strangling her. God damn it, look at her. She couldn’t be more than seven. I also heard they found the remains of her little panties alongside her body; they had been torn off her. Literally torn, the bastard even took some skin when he did it too.”

Langdon spat in disgust, before turning his horse around.

“Come on guys, let’s get the hell out’ve here.”

However, as he turned he couldn’t help but to see something that made him give an involuntary shudder.

Kaufer was standing by the mother, holding her in a tender embrace and whispering kind, consoling words to her. He looked up at Langdon and smiled in a way outwardly friendly but came away as sinister and threatening. Langdon spurred his horse and rode off with the other two in tow. He did not dare look back.

--------------------------------------------------------------

They crossed past the ruined chain link fence that once separated two nations. Abound lay the bones of animals and humans stuck firmly into the hardpan. Signs warning of the infected and government quarantine stuck out of the ground like wayward grave markers. The three quickly rode on.

------------------------------------------------------------------
They entered the small walled town of Corralitos, the populace turned out to see the heavily armed foreigners. The three asked, in their broken Spanish, if any had seen the two ranch hands. An old woman informed them of the path the two had taken and was paid for her troubles. That night none of the three slept as the moans and shrieks of the infected were carried North on the chill winter wind.

As the three were preparing to ride out the next morning, they were approached by a family of itinerant show folk who wanted safe passage to the South.
David looked down at them from his horse; the family consisted of a man, his wife, and their teenage children. A boy and a girl. They had all of their earthly possessions lashed to a uncovered wagon that was hitched to a pair of tired looking mules. The man came forward and grabbed the bridle of David’s horse.

“Get your hands off my horse” he growled.

The man spoke very little English but understood the threatening tone and released the bridle.

“What the hell are you people?”

The man looked at David, his head cocked slightly to the left.

“Que?”

“I said what are you? Are you some sort of show?”

The man looked back on his family.

“A show, you know, bufones?”

The man’s face brightened immediately.

“Sí, estamos bufones!” he turned to the boy “Miguel, los perros!”

The boy ran to the cart and opened a small cage and took a pair of bat eared dogs that were barely larger than rats. He pitched the tiny beasts into the air and caught them on his palms where they began to pirouette mindlessly.

“Mire, mire!” called the man who was now juggling four faded wooden spheres.

Robin giggled softly and Langdon said “Well ain’t that the drizzlin’ shits” with a bemused smile.

As the man juggled and the little dogs danced on the boy’s palms, the girl and her mother were preparing to begin a new jest when David raised his hand to stop them.

“Don’t you start any more of that crazy shit, if you want to ride with us then fall in back. I promise you nothing. Vamano.”

They rode out with the family of jesters clanking behind them, with the whole town witness to their departure. The town would be gone within the week, its inhabitants slaughtered by a grinning tall man and his new posse.

--------------------------------------------------------------

They made camp that night on a bare plateau amongst a sparse forest of pinyon. They burned the fragrant wood and soon the smoke had given a heady and mystical air to the night.

Robin sat next to Langdon, the dealing in Texas put down deep but not forgotten. She sat looking at the juggler and his family as they ate tortillas and canned beans. Laughing and joking with each other by the fire.

“Hey, Señor” she called to the man.

The man stopped, gave her an inquisitive look and put a finger to his chest.

“Yeah, you.”

He shuffled over to her and looked down where she sat.

“Do you tell fortunes?”

“Que?”

“La baraja” she told him, miming a hand of cards “para adivinar la suerte.”

The man nodded vigorously before lifting up his finger in a gesture of waiting. He rushed back to the cart where he quickly grabbed a deck of cards, smiling affably as he shuffled them.

He turned to his daughter and called “Venga, andale.”

The girl rose and set herself down again facing away from the fire, into the void of the night. She pulled from her pocket a handkerchief with which she bound her own eyes. The man turned to her and asked “No puedes ver?

“Nada.”

“Nada?”

“Sí.”

“Bueno.”

The man fanned the cards and approached David, who pulled his cigar from his mouth and blew smoke from his mouth.

“Not me, ladies first.”

“La roja?”

“Sí, la roja.”

The man walked to Robin and fanned the cards to her. She selected one and turned it over. The image was of two people, a man and woman, staring into each other’s eyes and each held a goblet. Above them loomed a chimera’s head and a caduceus.

“Dos de copas!” called the man. And the girl began a sing song chant.

“La es inocenta, un cordera entre lobos, pero usted tiene un córazon fuerte. Va a encotrar el amor con el lobo, pero dolor también.”

“What’d she say?” asked Robin, her eyes wide, she went so fast I couldn’t catch what she said.”

Both Langdon and David shrugged their shoulders, as the man put the card back in the deck and reshuffled the deck. He approached Langdon who took Robin’s cue and took a card before turning it over. The image was of a warrior carrying three swords, while two others lay at his feet. He was looking upon two weeping and bloodied men with a vicious grin.

“Cinco de espadas!”

The girl began chanting again.

“Eres un guerrero poderoso, bueno de corazón y fuerte de mente. Pero usted es vicioso, y la violencia va a terminar un día.”

Langdon spat into the fire and glared at the girl. The man shuffled down to David, who had been watching with a bemused grin. His grin faded when he drew his card.

“Dies de espadas, invertido!”

The girl chanted again, this time darker, her voice cracked as if with crying.

“Usted está condenado por la violencia y su alma se ha deteriorado. Usted se destruyen, tenga cuidado.”

David stood, and reached to his belt as if he would shoot the jesters for his fortune. However, the angry red drained from his face and he sat down again.

“Get out of my face” he told the man “and shut that little bitch up.”

The man hastily removed the blindfold from his daughter’s face, and ushered his family into their communal tent. That night, Langdon and Robin could hear David mutter to himself in his sleep. Denouncing their fortunes and reassuring himself all was well.

[Jedi-L]

Part 11: Something wicked this way comes

“There has to be evil so that good can prove its purity above it.”
-Buddha

“Whatever is done for love is always above good and evil.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche

They left the family of performers in San Venganza, a little dirt town seventy miles south of where they had camped. David had grown strangely mistrustful of them, and had gotten rid of them at the nearest opportunity.

“It’s all bullshit” Langdon said “ain’t such thing as clairvoyance and all that drivel.”

“There’s things that can’t be explained boy, you and I have both seen things out in the wastes that we couldn’t understand.”

Langdon spat and stayed quiet.


------------------------------------------------------

That night, as they sat awake around their fire, they heard a deep rumbling in the distance.

“The hell was that?”

“Sounded like thunder almost” said Robin.

“Ain’t thunder, ain’t infected either” growled Langdon, the shadow cast by his hat brim in the firelight making his eyes appear like dark craters in his skull “it’s a big ass herd of some sort.”

“You think it’s a group of riders?”

He spat into the fire, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I hope not, ain’t a group that big that should be around these parts.”


-----------------------------------------------------

The two cowhands sat in the Cantina, speaking in worried voices to each other.

“Those three are still on our asses, man, they actually followed us here.”

“Yeah, they got bigger balls than I gave ‘em credit for. Not many who would go into this hellhole.”

“We’ve got to get them off us, I don’t wanna’ die, so we have to get them off us.”

As if waiting for those inviting words, the batwing doors of the cantina swung open and a group of several dozen armed men walked in. Their leader was a huge blonde with a happy grin, who immediately strolled up to the two cowhands.

“Gentlemen, I have a proposition for you.”

---------------------------------------------------------

The three tracked the cowhands down to a town several hundred kilometers south of the border, a non descript frontier settlement of ramshackle buildings surrounded by a deep trench to keep out the infected. When they tried to board their horses, they discovered the stable was full up and were forced to hitch their mounts to a rotting picket fence outside of the cantina.

When they entered the cantina, they immediately became aware of the dead silence within the room. On the slightest wheeze of heavy breathing gave any indications the occupants were indeed alive. As they sat down at a vacant table, a large group stood and came towards them.

“Hello, hello” said Kaufer with an amiable smile “how funny to see you here.”

The three noticed the two cowhands were among the group, but stayed silent.

“I should introduce you to the rest of my posse; I’ll start with this fine fellow here.”

Kaufer strode over to a man covered nearly completely in cloth. His coat went down to his feet and his hands were gloved, his hat had a massive brim which made his pale face seem almost luminescent in its shadow. He was unnaturally pale, an albino.

“Meet Nathan Long, ex missionary for the Church of Latter Day Saints, and my right hand.”

The albino nodded and muttered something, before turning and returning to his table where he sat alone. Kaufer went through every man in his group, introducing them formally. Each man greeted the three with a mutter or a curse. His posse was forty-eight in number, and all were armed with either rifles or shotguns.

The mob followed Kaufer back to their tables, while the three stood and began to leave.

“Hold on a moment” called Kaufer “I want to tell you something before you go.”

David turned back to face him, narrowing his eyes.

“Out with it.”

“The ten of swords is not a good sign, especially when it’s upside down.”

David swore and spat, ushering his colleagues through the batwing doors as Kaufer laughed behind him.

--------------------------------------------------------

Robin opened her eyes and looked out along the desert before her. She was back home, the familiar smell of dry mesquite and a warm breeze affirmed her suspicion. She walked along the empty streets calling out for her friends, nobody answered. She opened the door to her old home, the rusty hinging making a high whine as she entered. She searched around, a sick dread building in the pit of her stomach. She searched every room, save one, praying to God and his Son that what she feared was not here. Every door she opened yielded only more emptiness until, with a shaking hand, she opened the bathroom door. Her mother’s pale and bloodless corpse sat soaking in the tub, one hand over the sidewall revealed her jaggedly cut wrist.

Robin sank to her knees, hands over her mouth. Hot tears flowed unstopped from her eyes; she couldn’t speak, or even sob.

“You’re all alone, little girl” said a nasty, leering voice from behind her.

The hermit walked slowly towards her, rigging knife in hand. He grinned with his rotted teeth and his hand worked inside his trousers.

“I get so lonely out here, won’t you give me company?”

She tried to scuttle back from him, but he lunged an inhuman distance, dissipating into smoke before he landed atop her. The scene disintegrated, she now stood in an alleyway looking over the body of the man she had murdered. She had been desperate for food, and the man had money, so she shot him to death when he was alone. She felt waves of sickness and sadness and guilt as she took the wallet from his pocket, being careful not to disturb the gold wedding band on his left hand as she did.

The man’s body slowly morphed into a new corpse, that of the hotel owner whom she had killed just a few months prior. His bloodied head looked at her accusingly, as a tooth fell from his agape lips. Again the scene shifted, now she was on a malpais. The black, volcanic land was desolate save a single burning tree. By the burning tree stood a man, of freakish height and impressive build dressed in a cloak of human skin.

“What, what are you?” was all she could manage to whisper.

The tall man turned to face her, revealing his face was torn and the skull exposed in some places. He sprinted at her, bridging the gap between them in less than a second. He seized her by the throat and lifted her a foot from the ground, his ravaged face twisted in to a hideous grin.

He opened his lipless mouth to speak, using a voice that wasn’t so much heard as felt. It was a choir of voices, all burning with rage.

“Chaos reigns” he screamed at her as his grip tightened “chaos reigns. Worship chaos, worship me.”

-----------------------------------------------

Robin’s eyes shot open in the dark, the room around her slowly coming into focus. She had balled the sheets on either sides of her in her fists, and beads of sweat dotted her forehead. As her breathing returned to normal, she sat up in bed and brought her knees to her chest. It was another nightmare, it was always different but at the same time always familiar. All things that had hurt her, or frightened her, all of those made appearances in her night terrors. The tall man, however, was new.

She heard people calling out in Spanish on the streets. But couldn’t make out what they were shouting. Was it a name? She shuddered and grabbed her pants and camisole from the side of the bed, pulling them on in the dark. She didn’t quite understand what she herself was doing, but for some reason or another she continued on.

She padded down the hallway, stopping when she arrived at the door marked “216” she turned the knob, relieved to find it was unlocked, and stepped into the unlit room.

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Langdon heard his door open, immediately one eye opened. He saw a figure silhouetted against the doorframe, but couldn’t make out their identity from way he laid. He slowly began reaching for his revolver, which sat upon the nightstand, when the figure spoke.

“Langdon, are you awake?”

He stopped going for his gun, instead sitting up to face her.

“Robin, what the hell are you doing?”

Robin shifted uneasily, looking down then back up.

“I got scared” she said sheepishly “bad dreams.”

Langdon immediately understood, his voice softening considerably.

“Yeah, I get ya’. We all get them once in a while, ya’ feeling alright now?”

She shifted again, clasping and unclasping her hands.

“Well, I was actually wondering if, if I could climb in with you?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, raising an eyebrow.

“How do you mean?”

“When I was small, I would climb into bed with my Mother. It always helped me calm down and sleep.”

“I ain’t your mother.”

“I know, but, please?”

He blinked, before pulling back the sheets on the vacant side of the bed and rolling onto his side.

“Thanks.”

He grunted in reply and kept his back to her.

She settled in and pulled the sheets around her, curling up beneath them.

“Thanks again, you don’t know what this means for me.”

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

Such began the conversation; it seemingly sprouted from the unlikeliest of seeds but quickly grew. They bared their thoughts to each other, speaking of things they had kept down inside.

He told her of his life in the camp, of the Chinese guards teaching him how to speak their lingo and how he was given the rudiments of an education by a fellow detainee, a high school teacher. He told her of his westward journey, of his being shot and of his miraculous gift of luck. He showed her the smooth scar on his forehead and the puckered and raised centipede-esque scars that crossed his chest. He told her of his fifteen years as a gun and all of the things he saw and did in that decade and a half. He concluded by quoting what he remembered of Rand and Locke and Rousseau. She spoke to him likewise, telling him of her childhood and her friends and of how they would sneak out at night to shoot coyotes or ghouls or other desert animals. She told him of her mother’s suicide, of the would-be rapist, and of the innocent man she had gunned down to feed herself. They talked to each other in the dark until the moon hung low in the West, and the East had begun to turn a steel grey in the approaching dawn. He turned to look at her, gentleness in his gaze that was not common to his visage.

She lay sleeping peacefully, her chest rising and falling with easy breaths. Her face was serene in the shadow. He brushed a few wayward strands of hair from her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, girl.”

He rose from the bed and pulled on his clothes, taking one last look at the young woman asleep on his bed before heading through the door.

When Robin awoke it was early morning and the sun poured in through the uncovered windows. She looked to her left and saw her boots, jacket, belt, holster and rifle stacked neatly against the wall. From the rifle’s barrel hung a bit of scrap paper attached to a short length of twine. She unfolded the paper, reading it over.

I hope you slept well.
-L.

She smiled and put the paper in her pocket.

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The three were headed to the cantina when the first shots rang out. Bursts of automatic fire impacted against the wood and adobe walls and into the cracked street. People screamed and fled or took cover where they could, while the three readied their own firearms and looked to see where their attackers were. David sighted a young man with an SKS clone in the third story window of another inn, he shot the man and he fell from the window without a sound save for the soft pop of his bones breaking as he hit the sidewalk. Langdon and Robin gunned down a group of four who attempted to flank them from the right, as David shot down two coming from the cantina. They gave suppressing fire as they strafed to the right, trying to get to their horses. Langdon saw a man whom Kaufer identified as Leonard Brown take a young woman as a human shield, ignoring her screams and pleas for mercy.

“Shut it, cunt” he growled to her as he shot her through the head “that’s enough struggling from you.”

He held the corpse in front of him, allowing it to take whatever fire came his way as he shot with his Colt M1911 clone. The albino took position with a heavy barreled Kalashnikov and began to open fire. Two men dropped dead in the hail of bullets while the three ducked into an alley. They cut into two more alleys before emerging on the main street again, their horses just a few meters away. They broke into a sprint and mounted their horses with a speed that would have been considered implausible had adrenaline and fear not been factors. They spurred their horses to a gallop, pulling hard South from the town.

Amongst the smoldering and bullet riddled ruins, Kaufer stood and admired the scene. He inhaled deeply, a satisfied smile on his face. Nathan Long strode up silently beside him, his unnatural white face solemn.

“We have seven dead, twelve wounded. Collateral damage is unknown.”

Kaufer nodded, pulling a cigar from his pocket.

“Well then, dispose of the bodies and see to those who can be treated with first aid.”

“And what of those who need greater medical attention?”

“Shoot them.”

Long breathed heavily through his nose, and muttered something before turning and walking silently down the broken street.

[Tyemdi]

Feels like the Wild West all over again this 'ere story...

Keep up the good work. Oh er, you named him Langdon for a reason, didn't ya?

(@Big Boom, The language is Pinyin, which is Mandarin Chinese written as it is pronounced using latin letters. However, it will remain untranslated, as I feel it adds to the story in a way.)

Well, it is kinda fustrating for a Chinese speaker like me to try to understand what you're saying in Mandarin (pinyin has multiple characters associated with one sound, plus I don't read it often except to know how to say a character) but I guess it kinda adds to the effect. Your grammar is actually alright for the most part.

[Jedi-L]

Part 11: For the Love of Life

“And slowly, you’ve come to realize, it’s all as it should be. You can only do so much.”

-David Sylvian

“I’ve always believed in survival.”

-Hugh Leonard

The three rode the rest of the day and through the night as well, occasionally stopping only to see if they were being pursued, before heading off again into the freezing void as millions of stars and galaxies blazed overhead. By early dawn their horses were near to collapse with exhaustion, and so they set down to rest and gain their bearings.

David looked to a mountain that dominated the Southwest, then traced a line with his finger at a diagonal from the peak and nodded.

“Alright, I know where we are.”

“Ya’ mind sharing that info, Davey?”

“Yeah, we’re near the Sonora border, if we keep heading West we’ll wind up in San Ángel.”

“That a town?” asked Robin, rubbing her bloodshot eyes with the heels of her palms.

“Yeah, city in fact. It’s a post war settlement so don’t expect much beyond maybe running water and sporadic electricity.”

They sat on the hardpan and uprooted some dry scrub to build their fire. They killed five ghouls who came shambling in from the North, but saw nothing else alive other than the diseased wretches. After the sun had risen and chased away much of the morning freeze, they re-saddled their horses and rode West.

-----------------------------------------------------------

They rode three days without incident, always wary for any sign of the massive group that had nearly killed them. However, on the fourth day they discovered the cold remains of a camp, and a slightly decomposed and headless corpse seated by the long dead fire.

“What the hell happened here?” asked Robin in a quiet voice. Neither Langdon nor David could tell her.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Two days prior Kaufer and his posse had rode to that place, stopping to make their camp. They had ridden hard, despite their large number, and Kaufer reckoned they had a fifty kilometer lead on their quarry.

“We’ll let them come to us” he told his men with an easy smile “we will kill them on our terms.”

That night, the tensions between two of the party came to a head.

In their group rode two men, a black and a white, both possessing the handle of John and the surname of Jackson, the two despised each other immensely. The white would often refer to the black with pejorative terms and try to exclude him from the rest of the group; the black however, possessed a quieter rage against his counterpart.

It was the white who sat drunk and disheveled in front of the large bonfire, flanked on both sides by the other members of the posse. Four men down to his left, Brown was cleaning his large M1911 that had been tooled to fire .454 rounds.

“That tall one, y’know, the Tennessean, he looked like a real monster didn’t he? I would love to see the kind of damage he could do.”

“Ya’ sound like yer in love with the guy” croaked a rapist from Arkansas. Brown gave him a crooked smile and reassembled his gun.

The black came from the dark where the horses stood, throwing down his saddle blanket in front of the fire and lighting a cigar. The white looked at him disgustedly, a drunken sneer on his face.

“Git yer nigger ass away from the fire” he slurred “you shouldn’t sit with real men, ya’ dumb minstrel.”

Around the camp, men turned to look, their eyes reflecting the fire. The black’s eyes, however, were dark and bottomless in the gloom.

“Any man may sit around this fire, if he so pleases.”

Several of the posse were stunned at the black’s eloquence, their eyes shifting off the white to him. The white drew his gun, a massive Desert Eagle which had a nickel finish that shimmered in the firelight like mercury. Several men, cowhands included, rose and stepped away. Their eyes darted nervously between the black and the white.
The black stood calmly and smoked his cigar, only a slight quiver of anger to his voice gave his mood away.

“You aim to shoot me?”

“If you don’t git yer charcoal black hide away from this fire, I’ll kill you graveyard dead.”

“Is that your final say?”

“Final as the judgment of God.”

The black turned and walked back into the dark, seeming to leave. The white spat and grinned before holstering his huge pistol. A few of the men retook their seats, but the cowhands stood still. Nobody spoke or tried to warn the white when the black reappeared.

He slowly moved from the darkness, a tomahawk held firmly in his hands. The men suddenly fleeing was the only warning the white got. As he turned his head, the black severed his skull from his neck in a single broad swipe. The head rolled off into the night as two thick and two thin ropes of blood spewed from the neck and into the fire. The fire hissed and steamed but did not go out. Kaufer smiled at the black as the albino lurched away from the fire to vomit out onto the hardpan.

“I guess that settles it” said the black calmly, taking a seat on his saddle blanket.

When the posse rode out the next morning the body sat as it had the night before, the stump of the neck covered in crusted blood and a thick coagulation on the top where flies now danced.

-----------------------------------------------------

The three rode out an hour later, driving their horses across the hardpan. That night, as they rode, they saw a light from a gash in the side of a mesa. They rode to the scar in the rock that had been blocked by a rude gate of sheet metal, dismounting their horses before rapping against the crudely constructed wall.

A short, bearded man opened up the bit of tin roof that served as a gate, smiling at the three.

“What’re ya’ll about?”

“We’re just travelling to San Ángel and saw the light” said Robin “Is this your camp?”
“Shit yes, we’re headin’ back to Texas from there.”

“You mind terribly if we pool with you guys, don’t want to spend another night freezing out on the desert, y’know.”

“Not at all, miss, you and your friends just bring in your horses and set anyplace you feel like.”

They sat amongst the men and talked. Langdon was particularly vocal that night, lecturing to the men his philosophy of man and the state of the world.

“When a man is born, the world is infinitely open to him. The only thing that restrains a man is himself. His own fears, doubts and flaws will keep a man trapped in a purgatory of mediocrity and complacency. It is only through the want to better himself that he may have the means to do as such.

“Well what of the world, mister?” said a young boy with a bad lazy eye. “The world’s a real shit heap. What with the ghouls, radiation, and the meanness everyone seems to have got in them.”

Langdon nodded at the boy, scratching his cheek where the deep scars from his glassing lay.

“That’s true. The world is a wreck. However, I still see some good in it.”

“And how’s that.”

“As you said, the world’s full of meanness. Rape, murder, lies, hatred, all there, but there’s still some good. Everywhere I have been, I’ve seen good people, intent on making their lives a little brighter in any way they can. Be that through hard work, or finding someone to love.”

He involuntarily glanced at Robin as he said this, but nobody seemed to notice.

“I do believe in such things as good people, but they can go just as bad as everyone else. But that doesn’t mean there ain’t any good in this world.”

David scoffed quietly, but otherwise remained silent. The other men were nodding and muttering amongst themselves.

“Amen” said one quietly “amen.”

That night, after the fire had been extinguished and the riders had fallen asleep, Langdon was awoken by soft sounds in the dark.

He looked to his left and saw Robin turning fitfully in her sleep, muttering and whimpering. He scooted quietly over to her, careful not to wake the others. He put his hand on her shoulder and whispered her name, unsure of how to go about what he intended.

She jerked softly under his hand, turning to look at him. Her bright blue eyes were wide, and her breathing was quick. He turned his head behind him, checking on the others, before turning back to her with a smile that showed his full uncertainty.

“Just so you know, I’m right here if you need me.”

She said nothing as he took his hand off her and went back to his saddle blanket, turning over again to sleep. She rose silently and stepped over to him. She lay down by him and grabbed on softly, resting her head on his chest.

“Thank you” she said quietly in the dark, closing her eyes to sleep.

David lay awake across from the two, and saw Robin as she cuddled down next to Langdon and nuzzled her head into his chest. He grunted softly and quietly made a mental note, before allowing sleep to take him.

They rode out the next morning, bidding farewell to the other riders. They ate a breakfast of beef jerky and water, heading into Sonora by noon. By dusk they came to the town that marked three quarters of the journey to San Ángel had been completed. However, the little village was silent, and no lights shone in the window.

“This isn’t right” said David quietly, “be on your guard.”
The three readied their rifles and walked slowly through the village. They found the first body in the middle of the street, a member of the town’s militia that had been nearly eviscerated by gunfire. As they moved deeper they found more dead, some in doorframes where they had tried to flee to their homes, some in the street. All bore gunshot or knife wounds.

The only light came from the inside of the church, as they pushed open the heavy oak door a black cloud of flies swarmed out into the night and the ghastly metallic smell of blood came so thick even the three were overpowered by it.

Inside of the sanctuary, dozens lay dead in a pool of their communal blood. The floor was covered in it and it had set into some form of pudding that now bore the tracks of boots. Bullet casings lay scattered about the floor like wayward stars shining in a red sky.

Robin covered her mouth and nose with her hand and fled quickly outside. The remaining two heard her retching a few feet away.

“Go to her, boy.”

“Why?”

“You said you’re right here if you need her, didn’t you.”

Langdon shot him a hard look, before turning and leaving the broken house of God.

[Jedi-L]

Part 12: Armageddon

“ A man does what he must. In spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures. And that is the basis for all human morality.”

-Winston Churchill

“I know in my heart that man is good. That was is right will always eventually triumph. And there's purpose and worth to each and every life.”

-Ronald Reagan

The three spent the night in the decimated town, commandeering one of the hovels. The inside was small and dark from woodsmoke, a small clay oven sat in one corner and four woven straw mattresses were stacked in the other. Two large and two small, beds for a family. They lay out the mats and dropped upon them, outside their horses nickered and stepped. A few kilometers away, outside the city of San Ángel, the massive party skulked around their massive bonfire as their leader lectured to them.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Kaufer had been talking to his men for n more than a few minutes when a boy with no left fingers raised his scarred hand and claimed there was little food to be shared amongst the ranks. Kaufer, Long the albino, Jackson and Brown took inventory and saw the boy's words to be true. He bid Brown to come with him, before selecting a horse from their small group of pack animals. He undid the cargo from the mare's back and distributed it amongst the other animals. By now the mare was stepping nervously, her eyes darting about. Kaufer smiled at the beast and had David lead it out from the fire.

“Hold her steady now.” said the massive German happily as he picked a large round rock weighing maybe one hundred pounds up in one hand.

Brown held the mare still as Kaufer advanced on the now terrified horse. He brought down the rock and crushed the mare's skull in a single blow, causing blood to squirt from the dead horse's nose, mouth ears and eyes. After the mare had fallen he set to skinning it with a machete. He slit the horse down the middle, removing from her dead womb the pale and fragile form of an unborn foal. He set the others to work cooking the small body as he dismembered the mare, cutting out steaks and strips to be grilled and smoked.

As the men ate, the blood drenched form of Kaufer rose in front of the fire like some grinning Ifrit. He cracked open a bone and sucked out the marrow before readdressing his pack of killers. The subject of the lecture was war.

“Out of every aspect of man, what is the one that has survived the toll of the countless millenniums?”

Nobody answered him, so with a grin, Kaufer answered for them.

“War” he said, his smile growing wider “war always endures. War has existed on Earth since one man laid another low, in fact, war was here before man. The spirit of war and bloodshed and the joy therein was here before man and it shall outlast man. War is the ultimate practice that requires the ultimate practitioner. A man who spills the blood of other men has the ultimate validation in his existence, as it is through the destruction of others that he builds himself. In the end, it is the last man standing who has true dominion over the universe. War is ultimate because it gives man the ability to purge the world of his competition, to bring about Armageddon for all save him. And, in that way, he will become a God. ”

“Aye, a God of dust and maggots” said Long with a solemn look on his white face. “If you destroy all on this Earth, what will there be to rule over?”

Kaufer smiled at him amiably, but his eyes were deriding.

“There are other worlds than this. Do you truly believe your God made only a single speck of life in his grand creation? Are you so nearsighted as to think Earth is all there is?”

“Even if that is so, might does not make right. A man can conquer but will never be vindicated morally.”

“Moral law is an intervention by man which is ultimately a disenfranchisement of the powerful in favor of the weak. They would have it be that Gods can be crushed by insects, and not the insects be exterminated as creation intended. History subverts moral law at every turn. Gettysburg, where brothers gunned one another down for ends they had forgotten and secretly never cared for. Hiroshima and Nagasaki, where a war was ended by the greatest show of force seen in the twentieth century and civilians payed for it all. Vietnam, where boys were torn from their homes to fight in the ultimate game of war. Do you not see, Long, do you not see that war and violence and bloodshed are the true Holy Trinity? Do you not see that war is God?”

Long stood, his face ghostlike in the firelight.

“I'll never second say such crazed notions as those. May God have mercy on your soul.”

Kaufer grinned still as Long turned and walked back to the area where the cots lay, his eyes both bemused and damning at the pale missionary.

----------------------------------------------------------

Langdon awoke a few hours before dawn, the East had a hazy gray on the horizon and the West was pure blackness. He was not at all surprised to see Robin had again brought herself to his place of rest. Her arms wrapped around his chest as if he were there to anchor her in place.

He reflected on many things in that dark room. What did she mean to him, and what did he mean to her? What would the consequences be, and how severe? Why had he not thought about such things sooner, failing to recognize his own unhappiness and internal deadness. By the time they rode out at dawn, he had come to a conclusion.

--------------------------------------------------------------

They entered San Ángel at noon, the streets were full of carts and horses and pedestrians. They boarded their horses in the large livery, before heading to the only cantina in town. When they entered they saw Kaufer's gang seated throughout the dark and smoky room. As they turned to leve, they heard Kaufer's voice rise above the din.

“Relax, we mean you no harm here.”

“What if we're not thirsty?” asked David with the smallest hint of rage in his voice.

“I never said we won't harm you out there.”

The three turned and took their seats at a table. No sooner had they sat, did they hear a local man snarl “Fucking faggot gringos.”

Langdon and Brown stood in unison, glaring at each other for a moment before glaring at the man who had uttered the insult. He was a heavyset Mexican in his early thirties, a mustache drooped from his lip and his gut hung slightly over his belt.

“You the one who said that?” growled Langdon.

“Yeah, and I'll say it ten more times you American son of a whore.”

Langdon moved quickly, delivering a right hook that drive the Mexican backwards. Brown was already in motion. He doused the man with a pitcher of aguardiente, before delivering a hard kick to the man's gut. His aim was true and the kick sent the hapless Mexican into the fireplace, where his alcohol soaked skin and clothes caught afire almost immediately. He shrieked and flailed and ran from the cantina into the street where he quickly collapsed and burned to death.
Nobody moved for a moment, save for Brown who shook in silent mirth at his grisly murder. However, after that second passed Bedlam broke free in the little cantina. Guns and knives were drawn, people were falling with stab wounds or bullet holes in their chests. Langdon wrestled with a burly local, forcing him to the ground and snapping his neck. He got up and moved quickly to Robin, who was shooting with her Colt .45. A Mexican tried to stab Kaufer, but the huge German was too quick and seized the man's arm and broke it. He then lifted the man up by his head and smiled at him, blood ran from the man's ears and eyes as Kaufer crushed his brains in his hands like a vice. Brown cut the head from a Mexican with his machete before stabbing a man who tried to flee the fight. By the end three dozen Mexicans and six of Kaufer's party lay dead. Robin and Langdon stood back to back, their pistols at port like duelists while David crouched in the corner, his pistol gripped firmly in his hands.

“Well that was exciting, but we have a prior engagement, so we must bid you auf wiedersehn.

With that the surviving gang filed out of the ruined cantina, leaving the three alone among the dead.

----------------------------------------------------------

After two days the three signed up with a a group of two dozen armed men who were hired by the city government to eliminate a camp of raiders in the nearby hills. Each man was to be paid the equivalent of eight hundred dollars, and supplied with ammunition.

They rode out the South gate, all chatting merrily. All were unaware of the man who spoke of them to the German through his portable radio and none knew the German's plan.


They rode for a whole day before coming to the foothills. Off in the distance maybe two hundred meters away they saw a huge party. Coming towards them at an unreal speed. Raiders alongside other riders, Kaufer's gang. The militia had no chance to flee or even turn before the horde had fallen upon them.

[Jedi-L]

Part 13: Judgment

“A friend who dies, it's something of you who dies.”

-Gustave Flaubert

“And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes also into you.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche

Leonard Brown shouldered his rifle, taking aim at one of the Mexicans. The rifle was plastic and futuristic in appearance, an FX-05 that they had bought fifty of from a deserter along with a crate of Benelli M4 shotguns and enough ammunition to wage war on God and all his angels. He looked hard in the crowd for Langdon, he wanted to see him in action.

He saw him off around thirty meters to his left, killing a raider with his sawed-off shotgun. Brown smiled as a slight stirring in his groin made him shift in the saddle.

Langdon was everything he loved to see in a human, the willingness to commit brutality at a moment's notice, the rawness of his movements, the skill with which he performed a kill. It was beautiful. Of course, that little red head that hung around him wasn't too bad either. She was nice to look at in any other circumstance, with her lithe dancer's physique and a face that was easy on the eyes. But when the blood started flowing, that grim determination to survive was sexy, to him, plain and simple.

He gunned down two of the Mexicans, turning his horse to ride at the Tennessean and his little friend, before he could however, Kaufer got in front of him.

“Hold back” he told him “let the raiders get closer.”

The raiders had inflicted huge casualties on the Mexican riders, but not without losing a good portion of there own forces. The ones with guns had long run out of bullets, and they had resorted to charging with knives and machetes. Easy prey for the remaining Mexicans and their mercenary allies. As the Mexicans began to retreat, Kaufer gave the order to fire upon the Americans. Brown smiled as he and Jackson witched their rifle's safeties from full auto to semi, targeting David and Langdon.

Langdon saw David get hit in the shoulder, turning his horse to flee with the Mexicans. He felt a huge impact in his chest, he had been shot. He fumbled shouldering his rifle, blood leaking from his wound. He was shot five more times, his horse six. The beast wheezed through the holes in its neck and collapsed upon its rider. Langdon was completely numb, his blood pooling around him. He stared at the sky for a few moments more, before the blackness took him and he was gone.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Robin saw Langdon fall, she was trying to get to him when David charged her, forcing her horse to turn.

“He's dead” he shouted “and if we don't get out of here we'll die too!”

She saw his lifeless body sprawled beneath his dead horse, his eyes stared blankly at the sun. She swore and turned her horse, following David and the Mexicans back to the city.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Jackson fired the remainder of his magazine into the raider, reloading as he fell. They had slaughtered the remaining tribesmen, after the Mexicans had retreated.

“Should we go after them?”

“No, no” said Kaufer easily “we've done enough for today.”

Jackson grunted and shoulder his rifle. Turning with the rest of the party from the battlefield.

After they left not a living thing stirred on that waste save the carrion birds.

[Jedi-L]

(Damn, it's been awhile hasn't it?)

Part 14: Abyss

"Your ideas are terrifying and your hearts are faint. Your acts of pity and cruelty are absured, commited with no calm, as if they were irresistible. Finally, you fear blood more and more. Blood and time.."

-Paul Valery

"It is not to be thought that life of darkness is sunk in misery and lost as if in sorrowing. There is no sorrowing. For sorrow is a thing that is swallowed up in death, and death and dying are the very life of the darkness."

-Jacob Boehme

Langdon awoke in a field of dry grass; the air around him was hot and dry. He pushed himself up and looked around, glaring out into the distance. The field carried on to a dark horizon, and when he looked up he saw the sky was dark with no moon or stars.

He tried hard to remember what had happened, vague half memories danced in his head. There was chaos, shooting, screaming of men and horses and then pain and darkness. A horrid dread began to rise in the pit of his stomach, and he stood to look around for any sign of life. The dark horizon gave him nothing, but he became of a faint glow just behind him and a warm breeze was blowing from that direction.

He started that way and walked for what felt like hours. He had no way to be sure of time, the sky giving him no clues as to the when of the world. The glow had become stronger, when a voice came out of the dark.

“I wouldn’t go that way if I were you, friend.”

He looked for the voice, and saw a man dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans sitting in the tall grass with his legs crossed. With his beer gut and bald head he looked almost like one of those laughing Buddha statues.

“Where the hell are we?”

“ I could tell you, but you might not wanna know.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re dead.”

Langdon stepped back, legs beginning to shake. His mind had opened itself, and he remembered being shot, his horse falling hard on him. He remembered seeing Robin and David ride away as his blood drained out into the dust.

He fell on his ass, his head in his hands.

“It’s okay if you’re upset, man. I know it ain’t easy news to take.”

Langdon felt hot tears on his cheeks, the first he had cried in years. He heard his fellow inmate rise, walk and then sit down again next to him, his breathing slow and easy.

“Welcome to Limbo, friend.”





Robin sat by the fire, hands in her lap. She stared into the little flame with empty eyes; her rifle lay to her left and her hat to her right. Not three hours ago, she had seen her friend shot and killed by a group of men who seemed to have no other conviction than to hunt them down.

David sat across from her, his shirt unbuttoned in spite of the cold desert night. He was using his good arm to open a can of refried beans.

“You want any help with that?

“Nah, I’m good.”

He finally opened the can of brown mush and stuck it into the embers, his hand disappearing into his shirt to gently massage his ravaged shoulder. He had gotten the wound cleaned and closed back in San Ángel, but the doctor could do little for the pain.

She herself had gotten out intact, physically at least, but none of that changed the fact that Langdon was dead.

The beans had begun to steam, when David grabbed them with a balled rag and walked across the fire to her, putting a plastic spoon in the hot beans.

“You should eat. Here, take these.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eat.”

She slowly took the can and rag from him, mechanically shoveling beans into her mouth and swallowing them. He sat next to her, staring off into the night.
“He was like a son to me, y’know?”

She looked at him, setting down the can.

“I knew him since he was just a kid, he was already a killer by then, but he was still just a kid. I never intended to really like the boy, he was a good fighter and had a quick wit so I intended to use him. He would kill with me, and I would share my profits to give him the idea I actually liked him. But, hell it sounds so corny now, but I really began to love him. Nothing gay like, but platonically. Hell, he was the closest thing to a son I had.”

He stopped a moment, his breathing shallow and irregular.

“He was my son, and I let him die back there. God damn me, I let my son die.”

He cried into the sand, and she wrapped her arms around him. It was the first time she had seen him, the real him. He was no longer the hardened mercenary she knew, just an old and tired man, who had sacrificed the only good he had seen in his life for a long, long time. And she laid her head on his shoulder, but no tears flowed.


-----------------------------------------------

When Langdon opened his eyes, the man was still there, methodically chewing on a piece of the dry grass.

“You said we’re in Limbo?”

The man grunted an affirmative, his eyes fixed on the glow.

“As in, the Limbo, the outermost layer of Hell?”

“Yessir, y’see this place ain’t too bad once you’ve been here long enough. It ain’t paradise by any stretch of the imagination, but it sure beats the shit out of whatever goes on out there.”

He pointed a chubby finger out to the glow, as a hot breeze brought the faint sound of screaming and the rankness of burnt flesh.

“How long have you been here?”

“Dunno, to be honest time gets funny around here. Some folks say they only been here a few days, but others I can tell you for a fact have been here for centuries.”

“Where do you people live?”

The man laughed, and gestured with a sweep of his arm.

“All over the fucking place, man. We just hang out in the fields mostly, but some have shacked up in town.”

“Wait, there’s a town?”

“Well, not really. More like a bunch of houses that just seem to have popped from nowhere. And more always seem to pop up, like weeds, one day they’re just there. We know better than to question a mercy, since it has all the furnishin’ of any house you ever saw. I mean like couches and beds and some even have books or TV’s. Course, it just shows old war films or reruns.”

“Show me.”


-------------------------------------------


They walked for what seemed like days, eventually they reached the “town” and Langdon saw first hand how crazy it was. People from all eras strolled about, some chatting quietly among themselves. Two Roman legionnaires spoke to each other chummily in Latin, as a pair of Victorian lovers crossed the street, erect and austere.

“This is just fucking insane”

“You bet, here, let’s go back to my place.”

He led him to a small but nice looking one story house, opening the front door and clicking on the lights. How he did it without electricity was anyone’s guess.

“Listen, buddy, I’m really grateful for not letting me wander into that fucking glow, and I’m glad that ya’ saw it fit to help me out. But I need to fuck out of here, or I’ll go mad.”

“What do you mean ‘get out’, you’re dead. Just accept it, it’s easier that way.”
“No, I will get out of here. And I will go back whether you help or not.”

“Well damn, you’re really serious.”

“yeah, I ain’t lived just to roll over and die. I’ll stop once I’m fucking done with all I want to do. And not you, or death or motherfucking God will stop me.”

The man smiled, putting his hand on his shoulder.

“You got grit, buddy. There’s a big ass forest way out yonder, directly away from that glow. I dunno what’s in exactly, but sometimes people wander in and disappear. They’re mostly new guys like you, so hope for the best.”

Langdon thanked him and set out, his mind focused on his single task.

------------------------------------------------------------------


They set out the next dawn, leaving the remains of their campfire behind. Neither had slept, and now exhaustion was creeping in their arms and legs, threatening to drop them off their saddles. They were going to Mexico City, the last bastion of order in the Central American frontier. The soldiers garrisoned there would keep away Kaufer and his posse, and that was all either really wanted at the moment.

Robin felt a strange emptiness, now that Langdon was gone. He had never been that talkative, nor had he paid her much mind until lately, but now that he wasn’t there it was all too noticeable. She didn’t know what to think, or how she felt. She had always like him, hell, she had loved him. But at the same time, he scared the living shit out of her. The sheer level of brutality he could commit was horrifying, and yet she had seen him as good. How could a monster like him be good, was it because he was kind to her? Was it because he listened when she spoke to him and saw her as a friend and woman, not just a pair of boobs and a cunt with legs? She couldn’t say, but that didn’t make her stop missing him.


-----------------------------------------------

He walked for what felt like days, sitting down whenever he got too tired. His only way to measure how far he had gotten was the glow behind him. It had faded steadily and now was gone. The woods were supposedly ahead of him, the goal he hoped to reach might be in them. And that was reason enough to keep going.
He walked on, his mind brought to a single point, his aching legs throbbing unmercifully. He talked to himself to ease the silence, quoting every philosopher he knew, swearing at himself to suck it up and keep moving, even singing a few of the hymns his father taught him before he ran away. And then, without warning, the woods appeared.

Huge, naked, gnarled trees loomed before him like an angry mob, their twisted branches like arthritic claws reaching to the abyssal sky. He advanced slowly, unsure of what he would find. He trudged slowly through the forest, shadows played on the hard bark like ghosts, and the occasional whisper, shout or snapping twig saw him stopping dead in his tracks. He soon saw a hill that lead upwards, seemingly for eternity, he started up the slope, his legs shaking in protest.

As he climbed the grade, he felt himself growing weaker, and pain flooded through his body.

“No ya’ don’t, motherucker, you ain’t quitting now. No fucking way are you quitting now you weak piece of shit. Keep going!”

He kept screaming at himself, building his rage. He channeled the anger into will and climbed higher and higher, up into a now visible light. He vomited blood down his front and his limbs were shaking, he kept going. He felt his crotch grow warm with piss and his legs collapsed from under him. He swore viciously, using his arms to drag himself upwards. He was blacking out by the time he reached the light, with one final burst of strength he pulled himself all the way.

And then there was darkness.

[Jedi-L]

Part 15: Purgatory

“God is a concept by which we measure our pain”

-John Lennon

“I assess the power of a will by how much resistance, pain, and torture it endures and know how to turn to its advantage.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche


Langdon’s body was a horror of agony, his eyes felt swollen in their sockets like overripe melons ready to burst, all of his bones felt to have fractured and reset badly and his skin burned horribly. He slowly opened his eyes, his vision murky and fluctuating with weird shapes. When his head had cleared enough for him to see, he noticed the large buzzard that had perched on his chest, the depression it made indicating more than a few ribs had been smashed. The mangy bird spread its wings like a cloak, before craning its naked and raw neck and gouging deep furrows into his right arm with its beak.

He swore and grabbed its throat, wringing its neck. He turned to the buzzard on his left arm which hissed at him and snapped with its beak, he tried to swat it away but it only hissed again and bit off the left little and ring finger at the first knuckle, tilting its head back to swallow the appendages.

He roared in fury and punched the thing off of him, where it proceeded to flap feebly in the dust with its chest caved in. He pushed himself up, a fresh wave of red agony making him cry out and nearly faint. He gritted his teeth against the pain and stood weakly, looking about. The cold night was nearly finished and the sun was rising up red and bloody in the east.

It was a day’s walk to San Ángel, and already he could feel his strength fading. He had to start moving now or just lay down and die right there. He wasn’t going to do that again, and slowly, painfully, began to stagger back to the city.


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It was dusk by the time he limped through the front gate of the city, and he was near mad with pain and exhaustion. He gripped an Ithaca Stakeout loosely in his bloody right hand, he had found it on one of the dead Mexicans in the killing field, and took it as his rifle and lupara had both been destroyed in the firefight. He staggered through the street, before roughly pushing open the door to the local doctor with his free hand, his shotgun raised in his right.

“¡Jesucristo!” cried the doctor in alarm. Backing away from the ravaged from in his doorway.

“Get your ass back here, ya’ sonuvabitch, I need help for God’s sake!”

The doctor stammered, unsure what to say to the broken American.

“¡Ayúdame, por Dios!”

He half collapsed in the door, catching himself with one arm. He coughed blood onto the floor, and watched wide eyed as it dribbled onto the floor.

The doctor got under his arm, and lifted him up he brought him down to a cot in a dark corner of the room. He set the broken American down before returning with an icy sponge.

“Breathe” he told him as he placed the sponge against his nose.

Langdon’s sinuses were filled with a sweet, sickly aroma, before the world swam and he fainted.

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They rode for three days, only stopping to make fireless camps or to take their bearings. They headed south, along the old broken highways that lead to the capitol of what was once Mexico. Robin spoke little, and spent her nights tucked into herself, wondering what all had changed now that he was gone, before falling into nightmare plagued sleep.

On the fourth day they saw a patricide hanged from a billboard by a group of local vigilantes, with whom they bartered tobacco and liquor for jerky and ammunition. They learned they had rode out from a settlement just fifty kilometers south where many other Americans had taken refuge. They thanked the men and rode on, as the patricide watched them where he hanged with dead eyes.

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Langdon awoke as water was dribbled down his throat, he saw the doctor watering him from a plastic bottle, and reached up for it.

“No, no, take.” The doctor told him “you are very lucky man, you were shot five time. And yet you live.”

He said nothing, allowing the doctor to dole out the water.

“You have been asleep three days now, I removed bullets and close wounds, also reset bones and bandage arm. It will cost you five hundred dollar when you leave.”
Langdon swore and checked his pocket, surprised to find his wallet had been unmoved and his money was still within. So Kaufer and his fuckers had no interest in his money, nor even his unbroken revolver. He lay there and let the doctor continue on and dole out the sweet, cold water. He knew what he had to do, and knew there was only one way to do it.

He set out the next week, still dressed in his ragged outfit and his wounds not yet fully healed. His pockets were full of painkillers and stimulants; his shotgun was over his shoulder. And like that he set off down the path he assumed his friends had taken.

[Jedi-L]

Part 16: God

“When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, “Come and see!” Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was given a large sword.”

-Revelation 6:3-4

“Well barkeeper it’s a’ plain to see. I’m the bad motherfucker called Stagger Lee. Mr. Stagger Lee.”

-Nick Cave

Robin and David rode into town just as the sun was setting in the hills, framing them with a seraphic aura. They hitched up and watered their mounts, the horses drinking up the dirty water with vigor. The beasts looked off at the setting sun, their wide eyes seemingly seeing something ethereal in the blazing star, just as the ass saw the angel that Balaam did not.

They walked into the bar, and sat quickly. The vigilantes had spoken true, and there were many foreigners in that crowded, smoky place. They spoke all languages: Dutch, Hebrew, Arabic, Norwegian, and a dozen other tongues from all the corners of the world mixed in that piss-hole of a cantina in the ruin’s of America’s sister nation.

Robin raised up her whiskey, letting it reflect the dim light of the half burned light bulbs.

“Here’s to you, big man. Hope you found your peace.”

“Amen” said David quietly.


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Far away, Langdon lurched over the hills, stopping every hour or so to will away the pain. Twice, he had reeled, suddenly dizzy. And twice, had he fallen. He knew the third time it would be harder to get back up, and even harder to keep going.

---------------

Night had fallen when the Tasmanian sat next to them. He ordered a drink and sat silently for a time, every so often taking a swig from the pitcher of aguardiente he had ordered. He suddenly leaned over to David and said quietly “Ey, you see ‘em lads behind yeh? They’s thinkin’ of shootin’ a hole through yer ‘ead and taking whatever yeh got. They were also speakin’ of blowin’ out Lil’ Red’s knees and havin’ their way with her out back.”

The casualness of the man’s warning did not strike him as odd. Instead, he simply turned to look at the fellow.

He was about six foot with some small change, sandy blonde hair cropped close to his head and a hoop ear ring in his left lobe. He smiled and showed a good number of his teeth were gold replacements, and those that weren’t were crooked. He was wearing a light leather jacket and a wife-beater, dirty blue jeans with multiple patches and a pair of badly worn boots. All in all, he looked like a typical bushwhacker, save the large duffle bag over his right shoulder.

“And how do you know all of that, Mr- ?”

“Gerry Jameson, pleasure to make yer acquaintance, old man. And the way I know that bit of nastiness, is that I was plannin’ on robbin’ this place with ‘em. That is, until they talked of murderin’ everyone here and raping any cooze they could get their hands on.”

“How very moralistic of you.”

“Ey, I’m a nice guy.”

Just then one of the men from the table behind them grabbed up his AK and fired into the ceiling. All the patrons turned to face him, save the Tasmanian who simply kept drinking.

“Alright, listen up!” he shouted out with a thick Greek accent “the way it’s going to go here, is we take everything of value. If we tell you to come with us, you go with no struggle. If you resist, we’ll kill you. Understand.”

“Sit your ass down, Delphiki” said Gerry easily “none of us want any trouble ‘ere. We all just wanna’ have a coupla drinks and fuck a few whores.”

The Greek laughed and his friends followed suit. They had the whole pace covered between their automatics and shotguns, and it was clear they felt invincible. Gerry set down his duffle bag and opened it, looking back at the Greek.

“Last chance, mate.”

The Greek sneered and advanced on him, AK at the ready. Gerry spun and held in one hand the massive form of the Milkor MGL he had been hiding in the bag. He fired point blank into the Greek, sending him hurtling back with a load of metal spikes sticking out of his back. Gerry fired the five remaining flechette shells, butchering the Greek’s compatriots. When the smoke cleared he had reloaded the massive weapon and stored it back away in the bag.

David sat dumbfounded, staring at the smiling Tasmanian as the rest of the patrons fled from every possible exit.

“Where the fuck did you get that thing?”

“National Guard armory up in Nevada, buddy of mine took it over and set it up as our very own survivalist’s wet dream. Apparently it had been fully evacuated back when the nukes hit and caught a nasty whiff of fallout, seeing as the outside area is still a bit glowy, if you get me. Nobody came back for it until we found it, and we simply went from there.”

“Listen, we’re in a bad way. We have several dozen well armed men on us, and they have every intention to butcher us alive. We’re mercenaries, we have money, and we can pay you whatever you want if you can just take us there until these men are dealt with.”

Gerry smiled and stroked his chin in the way of a stereotypical megalomaniac.

“I get two mercenaries beggin’ at me feet and I get money? You’re on, old man. We’ll just be waitin’ for my mate to get back, and we’ll be all set.”

Gerry stood and popped his neck, and went out the door with his bag swinging behind him.


---------------



Langdon had been walking for days when he finally collapsed again. His vision was blurry and when he had last pissed, it had been scarlet. He dragged himself under the shade of some rocks, and lay in the dirt like a lizard. He saw a figure out in the distance, and made no attempt to ready himself for a fight. However, his heart began to race with fear when he saw the figure was unnaturally tall, and smiling broadly.

Kaufer walked out of the desert, stopping a few paces in front of him. He smiled down kindly, and sat.

“You just refuse to die, don’t you?”

Langdon made no attempt to reply, instead he spit. The tiny drop of moisture was sucked into the hot ground with a soft hiss, and not even a patch of wetness remained where it had fallen.

“When we killed you, I knew that wasn’t the end. I have seen men like you before and I shall see a thousand more like you before this world sees its demise. And all of them have simply refused to die.”

“What the hell are you?”

Kaufer smiled at this, and took a full canteen out from behind him. He took a swig and then pushed his face to Langdon’s and spit the water down his throat. He pulled back from the sputtering man, and took a swallow himself.

“I am the force that drives you pitiful people, made flesh. I have been around since Cain laid low Abel and I was there when the nuclear missiles rained. I have seen everything you people have to offer, and it is pathetic. You are nothing but a footnote in the grand fabric of this existence, but yet you are amusing. You amuse me, because you give me a purpose, which you so lack as a species. I will always be around to sow chaos and hatred, just as I have done for all time.”

“You’re not real, can’t be.”

“But I am, no? Real enough to kill and real enough to be talking to you, isn’t that right?”

Langdon roared, a horrible cry of pain and rage and fear, all mixed into a powerful sound that seemed to split a seam in the earth. Kaufer smiled, and walked away, leaving Langdon alone under those rocks.