Afterworld (The Orion Rezner Chronicles Book 1) (8 page)

T
he bell tower gunman informed us that his name was Pastor Lester Bailey. He and a group of survivors had been holed up in a bomb shelter built thirty years before. It was tradition in his parish to keep the shelter stocked with fresh supplies. When the Culling went down, he was the only member of his church who was immune. He had read the rest of them their final rights. Distraught and suicidal at the time, he had asked God for guidance and heard two words in his head that became his saving grace: The Children. Pastor Bailey found all of the children he could and brought them back to the church. There they had waited for seven years.

As it turned out, he had accidentally fired his rifle while scoping out Dude from the church bell tower—or so he said. Having gotten knocked out by a chimp was no indication that the Pastor was who he said he was either; Dude is pretty much a ninja, after all.

Father Killroy had determined that he was indeed a pastor, or at least a holy man. He had named passages from the Bible, and Pastor Bailey nailed each one. His voice even leant to his story. He was an orator with a soft, deep timbre meant for lullabies and radio—and of course, preaching.

“There are twelve in all—great kids,” said Pastor Bailey, grimacing as Dr. Doc cleaned a cut on his head.

“Where is door to shelter?” Kronos asked. He had the bedside manner of an IRS agent—which, thank God, no longer existed.

“I’m going with you. The children will be terrified to see…” he gave the fur-cloak-wearing, gruff Russian wizard a once-over and continued, “anyone else but me come down that hatch.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that image. “What, you don’t think the little ones will warm to Father Winter, here?”

“Shut pie hole, Rezner!”

Once Pastor Bailey had finally gotten his bearings and could stand without help, we drove the entourage to the church. Mushi’s team had already arrived and taken cover. When we unloaded, they joined us. Kronos pointed at Stone, Juggernaut, and Father Killroy. “You, you, and you, come with me and Pastor. Rest of you—”

“I want some game time, Kronos,” I said. “Let me help with the kids. They always like me.”

“You will do as told.”

“Radar is picking up activity. We’ve got company,” said Macklebee, suddenly engrossed in a blip on his computer monitor.

“When?” asked Kronos.

“Ten, fifteen minutes.”

“Which direction?”

“North.”

“By air or by land?”

“Land.”

The big wizard turned to me. “Rezner, come with me and rest of group. Prepare to leave quickly.”

I followed Kronos and two preachers to the shelter’s hidden hatch. “What if this is a trap?” I whispered to my master. “This guy shoots at one of our own, unprovoked, and fifteen minutes later we got company ariving from the north. Now he’s slowing our retreat back to Boston.”

“This is good you use head, Rezner. I come to same possibility. Still have fifteen minutes to—”

“Or ten…now eight.”

“We have time to see,” he said with finality.

“I hope I don’t have to say I told you so.”

That got a chuckle. “When you say that, and is true, you will be master wizard.”

We followed Pastor Bailey behind the church, through an overgrown lawn that was in the process of eating an old Chevy truck.

“Here, through the basement hatch,” the pastor said. Juggernaut threw back the storm door and we entered.

Down in the dark, dank hatchway, stairs led to what looked like a bank vault door, equipped with a metal wheel at its center. Pastor Bailey climbed down and keyed a number sequence into a keypad next to the door. An unmistakable click told us the locking bars had retracted. He spun the wheel counterclockwise, and with a soft sucking sound, the sealed door opened.

We went single file down another staircase that was at least two floors into the earth. The scope and grandeur of the bomb shelter then became apparent. A nearly inaudible hum, of what must have been some sort of generator, began in the depths. Ahead of me, Pastor Bailey, Father Killroy, and Kronos stopped as yet another door came into view. Melody bumped me from behind as I abruptly stopped with them.

“Oops, sorry,” she said.

I wasn’t.

“Send the monkey down,” Pastor Bailey called from the door. “His presence will make this much easier for the little ones.”

“You’re up, Dude,” I said. He low-fived me as we let him pass. We got to the landing beyond the threshold, and Macklebee came over our headsets again.

“Surprise party in ten minutes.”

“Copy that,” Kronos replied. “Juggernaut, Anderson, go and say hello.”

“You’re goddamn right,” said Juggernaut.

“We need children out now. No pussyfoot,” Kronos informed the pastor.

The BM grunts left us, and we quickly made our way across a grated walkway. Piping and electrical wiring snaked across the concrete ceiling, leading to doors on both the left and right. We went through the door at the end of the grating and stepped into a fully furnished and facilitated home. Everyone before me stopped dead, and I had to shove a bit to see what they were looking at—and then I froze too. The children in the shelter had gathered to see who had come. There were twelve in all, from around seven years old on up to teenagers.

Seven of them were Cain.

D
ude didn’t seem to get the scene, and as such, was the only one moving. He walked over to the little ones slowly, with as big a smile as he could muster. He threw in some poop sounds and received weary giggles. The oldest kids, a boy and a girl of about sixteen, stood in front of the smaller children to protect them, but they let Dude through. The girl clung to the boy in fear of us, and for good reason—she was Cain. The majority of the remaining children were between about seven and twelve. I couldn’t help but stare at the youngest Cain; he must have been only months old when someone fed him the blood of the dying.

Melody murmured a spell and directed it at the children—likely an emotional incantation to soothe them all.

“It’s OK, children. Help has arrived,” said the pastor. “Get your things. We must go quickly.” He had a timbre of authority behind his soft words.

“No time for things. Bring Witnesses to transport. Cain stay here,” said Kronos.

“What is he saying, Pastor,” the eldest Cain girl asked.

“It is all right, Jules,” the pastor ensured her. Turning to Kronos, he said, “They are no different than the others. You wouldn’t forsake the children…” He found nothing of compassion in the large Russian’s eyes and turned to Father Killroy. “Father, surely these children are not condemned for their parents’ crimes in Boston?”

I too looked to Father Killroy, horrified. He lowered his gaze from our accusing glares. I saw the water in his eyes and dreaded what I knew he would say. It was forbidden by the Wizard Council to bring the Cain into Boston; however, I couldn’t stand idly by in the face of such injustice.

“Father?” I asked.

The children looked to him also.

“They cannot be saved, my son.”

“Bullshit!” I yelled.

Kronos’s big oven-mitt hand grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around. “This is order, Rezner.”

“Macklebee to Kronos: Juggernaut and Anderson have engaged. We gotta haul ass!”

Shoving me, Kronos took up his hammer and slammed it down into the floor. There was a deafening boom, and the entire shelter quaked as a long crack formed in the cement floor. “Cain remain. Everyone else out now!”

The children screamed and pandemonium broke out. Dude went…well…ape shit. Lopez and Stone began rounding up the screaming children, but the eldest male Witness got in Lopez’s path. She knocked him out with a quick uppercut that sent him sprawling.

“Stop it! You must not do this!” Pastor Bailey screamed, but his complaints were quickly cut short.

Kronos knocked him out with a stiff backhand and took him in a fireman’s carry before he could hit the floor. He told Killroy to grab the boy as Lopez urged all the uninfected children up the stairs.

Mushiro stood motionless, a look of horrified uncertainty plaguing his face.

Father Killroy stopped as he carried the boy past, as if having second thoughts. “You don’t understand, Rezner. It has to be this way.” It seemed he was trying to sound certain, but failing.

“Help me to understand, Father.”

His eyes begged forgiveness. Mine offered none.

As Killroy turned and left me with Mushi, Melody made her way over to us, looking uncertain as well.

“I’m not leaving these children to die,” I said, positioning myself slowly between them and my master.

Kronos uttered a spell and raised a hand. Before I could begin to counter, I was lifted through the air and slammed into the opposite wall.

I woke up in the transport truck to the sounds of gunfire. Mushi and Dude were looking me over, and I saw Melody, Killroy, and Dr. Doc sitting across from us. Pastor Bailey and the children were there as well, and I noticed Killroy staring at them, as if his mind was still on those we hadn’t saved—or was it?

The buzzing in my head was once again drowned out by the
rat-a-tat-tat
of gunfire, and I yelled to Mushiro, “What’s going on?”

“Not good, man. We got a shit ton of Cain on our asses!”

I moved to get up, but the five-point seatbelt held me down. I grabbed at the latching mechanism with clumsy fingers.

“Relax, man. Where you gonna go?” said Mushi, steadying my hands.

“We can’t outrun them,” I said. “Kronos and Macklebee are in a tank.”

“We have to stay inside. Kronos’s orders, man.”

I finally unlatched the seatbelt and stood, on shaky legs, against the jostling of the truck. The hatch on the ceiling proved stubborn, but I finally got it to turn.

“What are you doing?” asked Melody.

I didn’t bother answering.

The sun blinded me as I emerged from the top of the truck into a world of chaos. Anderson drove the dune buggy with Juggernaut in the back, laughing like Scarface and unloading rounds at our pursuers. Kronos and Macklebee’s tank zipped along on the other side of the transport—we must have been going at least sixty, but that wasn’t fast enough to outrun the multitude of souped-up ATVs pursuing us. The majority were jeeps, but there were four-wheelers, motorcycles, and a few Hummers as well. Every one of them sported some kind of deadly looking weapon. The only things keeping them from overtaking us were the constant spray of Juggernaut’s machine gun and Kronos’s spells.

Now, I have seen Kronos in action many times during training, but blowing up dummies and snuffing out a room full of candles with a flick of the wrist is one thing—to see his power unleashed upon the Cain was humbling.

My master emerged from the tank’s hatch and raised his hand, releasing a spell. A web of lightning spread outward with a deafening retort, consuming the lead vehicles. The drivers lost control and turned into each other or veered off drunkenly. The motorcyclists who were hit went down, causing the jeeps and ATVs behind to swerve out of the way. Perhaps a half dozen were taken out, but the rest veered wide and came on strong again.

Our truck veered sharp right, nearly running into Kronos’s tank, and we hit the freeway, headed south.

The tank itself roared across the blacktop as if protesting the absence of dirt and sand. Its cannon barked, and behind us an explosion tore up earth and trees, warning off any pursuers.

Regardless, the Cain road warriors squealed onto the freeway and came on faster than before. Cannons of their own sounded, and I could only cringe for the hit. The first shot exploded far left of us, the second one closer, and the third closer still.

“There’s a bridge up ahead. I suggest we use it to our advantage,” Macklebee yelled over the coms.

Kronos raised his war hammer and gave a command in Russian. As we drove onto the bridge, Starkiller shot into the heavens and disappeared. A flash of light exploded like a second sun, and the weapon streaked across the sky to crash down on the lead jeep, just as it started across the bridge. Sections of both lanes fell into the river below. They wouldn’t be following by that route, but I wondered if the detour would give us time.

Thinking the same thing, Kronos barked into the com, “How long?”

“Patterson Road runs parallel,” said Macklebee, “they’ll likely take that route. It’ll give us ten minutes, tops.”

“Call in backup,” ordered Kronos.

Behind us, the Cain had begun to turn around. I remained dumbfounded by Kronos’s spell—he hadn’t even used a spell book. Even more impressive was the fact that he once again held the hammer in his hands. He glared up at me before disappearing into the tank and closing the hatch. I did likewise.

“Well?” said Mushiro, when I returned to the stuffy deathtrap.

“Kronos is a bad mother—”

“Watch your mouth around the kids,” said Melody.

I gave her a curt nod.

She only stared at me.

The children looked terrified, but the pastor kept assuring them that all would be well—God and Jesus Christ were watching over them.

I hoped he was right.

“Well?” Johnny pressed.

“Kronos took out the bridge with his hammer,” I told him. “The goons are going to have to catch up.”

“Will they?” Melody asked. She was holding a little girl’s hand with two of her own.

“Eventually, yes,” I said, reluctantly. “We’re going to have to think of something else.”

Melody nodded and soon forgot me as she closed her eyes and began to murmur to herself. She raised her hands high above and let them fall slowly, weaving back and forth. A tingle swept across my back all the way to my feet.

“What was that?” Pastor Bailey asked her, intrigued.

“Preparing,” she said. “I suggest the rest of you do the same.”

“She’s right, man. If these dudes catch up to us, it’s going to get bad,” said Mushiro.

I tried to clear my head. The energy spell Kronos hit me with seemed to have scrambled my spaghetti a bit. Using my spell book, I prepared the incantations I thought I would need, and pulled out one of my wands. The spells could’ve been used without one, but the wands focus the energy and make them more potent. If the Boston Militia didn’t make it in time, we were going to have to hold off the Cain ourselves.

Macklebee’s voice crackled through the headsets. “They’re back on the freeway, sir.”

Not good
.

“Here they come!”

Over the coms came the sound of faint gunfire, followed by another blast from the tank. Pastor Bailey had joined the children’s hands and was calmly leading them in prayer. Killroy was praying as well, head bowed, arms resting on his portly belly. I stared at him, wondering how such a seemingly good man could’ve left those kids behind.

Killroy’s eyes shot open, and he stared at me with a look of dread.

“Killroy to Kronos.”

“Go ahead, Father.”

“There’s a demon among them…a powerful demon.”

“Mushiro, Rezner, get topside!” Kronos ordered. “Melody, begin—”

“I’m on it,” she said, and continued laying wards of protection upon the rest of us.

We wasted no time scrambling up and out the hatch, the wind buffeted my hair as I crawled out onto the roof. A deserted town sped by off to the left. To the right, a tall ridge, covered in pine, rose and fell like the curved back of a serpent. We had to be going at least seventy-five miles an hour. Kronos and Macklebee had fallen behind considerably, and Juggernaut’s dune buggy with them.

“Hold on up there, boys!” said Lopez.

Mushiro and I braced ourselves as she gunned it.

“Boston Militia, ETA ten minutes,” Macklebee reported over the tumult.

A comet streaked down from the sky and exploded far behind.

“Holy shit!” yelled Mushi.

“Kronos’s hammer,” I told him.

“Holy shit!” he said again.

A line of jeeps and motorcycles cut around the tank and dune buggy and started quickly closing the distance between us. Mushi and I took up positions at the back of the truck, bracing ourselves with the thin rail running along the sides. My heart hammered in my chest. I really didn’t like where this was going. If the Boston Militia didn’t arrive soon, we weren’t going to make it. Behind us, the tank had been overtaken by dozens of vehicles. Though it shot off round after round, it could only hold off one side of the road. Juggernaut and Anderson’s buggy paced our pursuers, exchanging gunfire. Juggernaut screamed a long list of obscenities against a chorus of chattering fire. He took out two jeeps and a motorcycle before an explosion sent the buggy careening to the right, up a steep incline, and into the air. Their screams ended in a violent crash before their mics cut out.

“The buggy is down!” said Macklebee. He began frantically calling another Mayday to Boston, but his voice soon cut out too. Behind us, a massive explosion flipped the tank onto its roof and sent it sliding off the freeway in a shower of sparks.

Mushiro and I shared a glance and prepared ourselves.

The jeeps caught up to us easily, though Lopez pushed it as hard as she could. Mushi held his spell book aloft in his left hand and screamed a spell in Japanese. From his wand, a fireball erupted and engulfed the nearest motorcycle. The bike and rider went down. They were hit by a Hummer and became lodged underneath, but the driver never slowed. Taking Mushi’s lead, I reached for my wand and recited a spell from my book, making sure to use the correct inflection and focus my will. A flash erupted from the end of the wand as I unleashed a fireball that grew in size as it hurtled down the road. The Hummer veered wide, but too late. Flame exploded and engulfed the vehicle, sending it careening off the road only to be replaced by a jeep with a mounted machine gun.

A maniacal-looking Cain man with a huge Mohawk opened fire. I dropped down, pulling my enchanted cloak over my head as bullets riddled it harmlessly. Mushiro ended the attack with another fireball, which left the jeep smoldering.

To my right, one of the Cain bikers threw a Molotov cocktail. Having no time to recite a spell, I instinctively mentally cast one. But instead of the bottle flying the other way, as I had intended, it exploded instantly just ten feet from us. I was left for a brief moment—covered in soot and smelling my singed eye brows—pointing my wand toward the slightly confused Cain who’d thrown it. I finished my Wile E. Coyote impersonation and dove for cover.