The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two (37 page)

“The moneylenders,” Stoneworthy replied.

“Indeed.” Updike’s face had become dark with
passion. “Gold is a God they will worship no more. They can’t
refuse!”

“Is it too late, brother,” Stoneworthy
wondered, realizing the time.

“We’re expected.” Updike smiled. “I have an
amicable relationship with the moneylenders. They know whose
interests I represent and fear them. The mayor awaits.”

They took the Skyway to Level Four and
arrived at City Hall at three. Updike pushed past the security
guards sent to deflect his purpose. “Away! God’s word needs no
invitation. The mayor expects me!”

Stoneworthy hurried in his wake, noticing the
reaction of living people to his state. The technicians and doctors
at the Rebirth Foundation were used to the dead through constant
exposure—many of them were dead as well. But Stoneworthy was
appalled. His repaired body was in good enough condition to be
mistaken for the living at first glance. When they realized he was
dead, people turned away in disgust.

It was a recurring theme in all of earth’s
Babylons. People dismissed charity and compassion as weaknesses as
they strove for individual fulfillment. With passion building in
his heart, he followed Updike through a heavy oak door into the
mayor’s office.

Mayor Gregory Barnstable looked up from his
massive desk. A quick emotion of petulance flitted behind his
features before a cunning smile of greeting appeared. He got to his
feet. Barnstable stood about average height, and was very wide in
the shoulder and waist. He wore a pinstripe suit of purple and
gray. His smile sat on a face creased and lined by expression.
There was dark skin around shifting eyes that twinkled when they
met Stoneworthy’s.

“Gentlemen, I am glad I could break my
engagement to meet with you.” His voice was practiced, expressions
deliberate. “What can I do for you at this late hour?” He held out
a welcoming hand that Updike ignored.

“We come for the Lord.” Updike’s voice boomed
in the spacious office. “The day of reckoning approaches.”

“Reckoning?” The mayor’s mind whirred beneath
feigned humor. “But taxes aren’t due for another two months.” He
laughed.

“Hold your tongue.” Updike glared over the
desk. “We’re here to deliver a message.”

The mayor’s façade cracked when his eyes
focused on the dead minister. “You’re Able Stoneworthy! Christ!” He
looked Stoneworthy up and down. “They’re looking for you!”

“Do not speak the Lord’s name in vain!”
Stoneworthy said with as much strength as he could muster. The
politician was dismayed.

“Forgive me. I was surprised to see you,”
Barnstable said quietly. “Gentlemen, I am writing a speech that I
will be delivering tomorrow to the City Chamber of Commerce.
Perhaps we could…”

“Commerce?” Updike barked. “Chamber of
Horrors
! Do you meet to discuss the redistribution of
wealth?” He slammed a fist on the desk.

“Seriously, gentlemen.” The mayor sat back in
his chair, crossed his legs and toyed absently with the heel of a
shoe. “I object to your method.” He cleared his throat. “We at City
Hall pride ourselves on the relationship we have nurtured with
Archangel Tower and those who use it. The City contributed many
millions to its construction.”

“Oh that I could tear each brick from it that
was purchased with the profits of this usury!” Updike turned to
look at Stoneworthy. Something apologetic passed across his
eyes.

The mayor sighed and shifted in his chair.
“Could we do without the fire and brimstone?”

“Your moneylenders will be stopped.” Updike’s
face was a snarl.

“Gentlemen, no disrespect, but you’re just
telling me what to do.” He smirked. “I can’t negotiate from
there.”

“We are not negotiating.” Updike’s voice
dropped an octave. “God’s commands must be obeyed.”

“Commands?” Barnstable frowned. “I prefer a
discussion.”

“We do not have time to discuss anything with
an overseer. Speak to your master the Prime, and tell him this: The
Lord thy God knows thee Pharaoh in whatever disguise you wear. Tell
the moneylenders, that all their wealth and power must be
transferred to Archangel Tower Ministries Accounts to be divided
amongst the religions of the world. A new age is upon us, and a new
theocracy must be formed that will support the flock. This will be
accomplished without negotiation before twenty-four hours have
passed. If you do not comply the Wrath of God shall fall upon the
City, and upon the mansions of the rich and idolaters!”

“Gentlemen, be reasonable, I didn’t even know
you were upset.” Barnstable spoke quickly. “I don’t think it’s
possible, what you’re asking, even if I had a reason to
comply.”

“The fire that starts shall burn the world.
The same fire that smote Sodom and Gomorrah.” Updike’s face was a
passionate tangle of red. “This is the beginning for the Lord has
spoken, and those who bear His sword shall live in Heaven. Those
who oppose His will shall join the fallen in Hellfire.”

“Gentlemen,” Barnstable said after a
thoughtful moment, “if you have a proposal in hand, I’d happily
present it to committee.” He made a dismissive gesture with his
fingers. “I don’t have the power to do what you’re asking.” He
stood up, his shoulders broad and impressive. “I am just the mayor
of the City of Light and answer to a higher authority.”

“Higher than God’s?” Stoneworthy bellowed.
“How truly blind is the moneylender? How committed you are to your
false god.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the office
clutching Stoneworthy’s arm.

That meeting had taken place eight hours
before. Updike dragged Stoneworthy from City Hall into the waiting
limousine and ordered the driver to take them to the Rebirth
Foundation Compound. Stoneworthy was intrigued. He had heard about
the Compound, located some thirty miles to the west of the
Foundation proper. The facility housed the dead, and ran a commune
of sorts. But this scattered knowledge of it left him unprepared
for what he saw.

The compound was hidden in forested
mountains, and at first glance, looked more like a military base
than a hospice. A tent city of gargantuan proportion filled the
valley for many miles. It was an army!

Tents and simple barracks stretched out over
the hilly terrain as far as he could see. The soldiers were spread
out on the wide parade ground trampled into a four-mile wide circle
of grass at the end of the valley.

Though they were of all nationalities and
races, they were dead and so equal in every way save one: some
appeared so freshly deceased that they were barely recognizable as
such; others were so far gone, that they had to be supported by
comrades or had been augmented by the Foundation’s teams of miracle
workers.

It was his second exposure to others who
shared his dead state. His first reaction was sadness, followed by
mute horror at the realization that he was one of them. But then
the sympathy in their looks moved him to tears.

The limousine had dropped Stoneworthy and
Updike by a central building with a small platform in front. They
climbed the steps and were greeted by cheers from the assembled
dead. Stoneworthy was astonished to see that Oliver Purdue
himself—Updike’s
first recovery
—awaited them. The dead man
embraced him, his eyes a blur of milky tears.

“Welcome brother,” he breathed. “I grieve. I
rejoice.”

Stoneworthy looked into Purdue’s eyes and
knew what he meant. To lose his life was the worst of all possible
outcomes, and yet, he had to feel great happiness at being welcomed
to these ranks of the dead—for it was where all men must go.

51 – Time for Action

“Tell that grave-digging son of a bitch to
fuck himself!” the Prime thundered into the phone. Some ambient
energy in the atmosphere gave the connection an annoying hum. “And
none of your pandering! There is no voting block to consider, no
sympathetic public conscience that you have to suck up to. You
answer to
me
! ”

The Prime rubbed a fat-fingered hand across
his brow. Mayor Barnstable called to deliver an ultimatum from that
lunatic Captain Jack Updike about redistributing Westprime’s
wealth.
Easy to do when it isn’t your money
! It would be
laughable if the corpse-hugger didn’t carry a sizeable supply of
public goodwill to underwrite it. All those families reunited: all
those fresh-cheeked zombies.
Insanity
!

But he knew enough about Updike to understand
that the disgraced army chaplain would not make a demand like that
unless he could back it up. Redistribute wealth? Give me a fucking
break.

“Prime, sir.” Barnstable’s voice continued
clear and firm. The Prime had bullied any sycophantic qualities out
of him long ago. “Of course, Updike’s ultimatum is ridiculous. I am
simply stating that local Enforcement Division has kept an eye on
Updike’s
Rebirth Foundation
. He has close to a half million
followers that we know of—with the vast majority of them dead!”

“So what?” The Prime drew a reassuring breath
into his heavy chest and an electric thrill ran up his spine. His
Demon Ally was right then:
An army of dead will start the final
war
. All of this fit the captive’s prophecy too, that the
First-mother
would one day be his:
With the loss of her
guardian the world would begin again
. And his terrestrial and
Infernal agents were working on the second part:
When you know
the God-wife Cawood before me, all the world will tremble
. Then
the bitch disappeared.

Trusting his intuition had paid off. Wait
until those bastards see how far I’m willing to go. And if
they
win they’ll see that I’m redefining the phrase:
take
no prisoners
.

“Barnstable, you make me sick. I am aware of
the numbers at the Foundation. I ordered the investigation into his
organization! It’s called taking the initiative. You keep getting
caught down memory lane—glad-handing the population, and they
haven’t had a fair vote in decades. I told City Authority to keep
tabs on all those dead bastards. I’ve been watching them for years.
And Operatives recently reported an exodus of the dead from Zero
and
One. They’re all headed into the countryside.”

He held the phone away to chuckle. “What did
you think, Barnstable? They were just going to disappear? They have
their own towns and militias for Christ’s sakes! I’ve got
Operatives everywhere, and I know Updike’s forces are digging up
any artifact, commandeering any vehicle, and siphoning every drop
of gasoline from every abandoned gas station they can find. Do you
know what he plans to do?” The Prime let his tirade hang in the air
a moment. “Start giving out ultimatums!”

“Sir!” Barnstable blurted.

“And he’s got a bigger force gathering south
of us, and one to the west. While Updike built this army you sat on
your hands. I can tell you their locations and numbers. They tried
to hide by breaking their forces into smaller groups to settle
different abandoned towns like they were just poor old dead folk.
But my Operatives have collected enough information to prove that
they’re quite capable of attacking the City!” The Prime smiled
inwardly. The Rebirth Foundation was on the list of targets that
he’d given to General Topp.

“Prime, sir.” Barnstable’s voice was shaken.
“How should I respond?”

“Tell him we don’t negotiate with
terrorists!” The Prime’s anger blew out of him like steam.

“Won’t that provoke him?” Barnstable’s voice
shook.

“That’s the idea.” The Prime threw his bulk
out of his chair. “I
want
a war with them. This kind of
insurrection is the last thing the City needs. There are other
powers in the world with weapons pointed at us—and we have to worry
about civil war? Believe me, our enemies abroad are watching how we
handle our enemies at home. We have to show them we’re willing to
make the hard choices. I want every potential enemy on this
godforsaken planet to wet his pants remembering what I do to
Updike’s army of the dead.” The office suddenly seemed cramped and
confined to the leader of Westprime. The ceiling weighed down on
him.

“And the beauty is, they’re already dead.” He
chuckled. “The bleeding hearts will balk but it will be token
criticism—what dead couples do you invite over for dinner?” He
twisted the phone cord around his thick knuckles. “If Updike’s
forces show any indication of trying to make his threat real, we’ll
do whatever it takes.”

“But…” A high-pitched quaver entered
Barnstable’s voice.

“This is an opportunity for us to show the
world we won’t be pushed around—
and
we’re willing to put the
dead problem into perspective.” He nodded to himself. The Prime
clenched his thick fingers around Updike’s imaginary throat. “The
world is watching.”

“How will we?” Barnstable cherry-picked
one.

“Don’t concern yourself,” the Prime said. “I
pay you to run the City.
I’ve
got the country’s back.”

“So I await your orders?” the mayor
asked.

“Call Updike now! Don’t let the clock run
out,” he chortled. “And don’t worry about the media. I’ll gag the
Big Three.” He owned the major media stations and distribution
hubs.

The line buzzed and crackled. He could hear
the mayor’s faint breathing as the fool puzzled his way through the
ramifications.

“I can see your logic.” Barnstable said. “It
is extreme, but I can’t see the public—the living—being upset about
it for long. Studies have shown that most living people are
uncomfortable with the dead. As long as we’re ready for the
backlash—if there is one.”

A fucking study
! The Prime’s shoulders
sagged as he thought that over.
There won’t be anyone left for a
backlash
… Rage seethed in him momentarily. He pushed a pile of
papers off his desk.