When Orabella wakes she can feel her head swell as if a burrowing demon is trying to burst free through the inside of her skull. Silence rings deafeningly in her ears as her surroundings come back into reality. Recalling the night before, the dugout comes back into memory, along with it's awful occupant. She rolls over to look upon her latest drug fueled shame but finds herself alone in the tidy, blanketed bed. The air inside the dugout is warm and still, a much more pleasant awakening then what followed her first experience with the dope.
Her lazy junky brain takes more time to fully awaken and allow her to rise and move about. Like an angry bear, Orabella's stomach roars with hunger as she paws about for a scrap of food. Relief comes from an old bag of rock-hard beef jerky that she gnaws on at the foot of the bed while the drugs and the sleep pass from her foggy head.
The scraps don't do much more then make her craving for food more intense. After mustering all of her strength, she rises, covers were bruised naked skin and heads for the door. The padlock is gone and she groggily reaches to push the door open. To her dismay, the door doesn't budge as it's locked firmly from the outside. Her stomach drops in terror as she realizes she's a prisoner now, a slave. Caged and controlled and only of one use to her evil, manipulative master. As tears form in the Italian's eyes, she moves back to the bed to get warm and to think about how she will remove herself from this doomed predicament.
Soon enough she slips back into an uneven, half-sleep and dreams begin to haunt what she perceives as reality. There's screaming and dark shadows looming over, drawing her into a haunting black abyss that is far to familiar. A bloody gash breaks across her forehead and splits her cranium directly down the center. From the crimson wound, screeching bats emerge and taunt her with burning white eyes that scar the remnants of her broken soul.
The more Orabella tries to quell the antagonizing apparitions, the more intense their prodding becomes. The bats, swarming and screeching, soon convulse and combust into a spiraling conflagration of tortured screams and moans. It's the bellowing pain of transfixed, incurable addiction. Orabella knows her only possible escape and exactly how to find it... If only her master would return and provide the means. But in the down time she just has to deal with the demons, the bats and the blood thirsty screaming. Orabella can't help but ponder, 'Have I arrived in hell?'.
Saul lies in his bunk, staring up at the plain ceiling, and ponders the many things that swirl around in his mind. A headache festers as he attempts to sort through the array of emotions and opinions that roll repetitively within. Of most importance to him is the state of Johan, his best friend, and the choices he'll have to make regarding his friendship with the seemingly lost man. Johan has become very distant and careless, falling effortlessly into the 'army' they have become a part of. The flashes of sociopathy which dance in his eyes chill Saul to the core. His best friend's unstableness conjures many emotions starting with blazing fury and ranging to bitter depression and woeful pity, the gauge moves often and drastically.
Secondly, he has no idea how to handle the situation with Martina. Should he tell Johan then he betrays his word to Martina. Besides, she made it plainly obvious that she wants no part of her husband, be it from shame or fear, Saul doesn't really know but that brutal revelation would undoubtedly push Johan fully into the darkness. Sending him into a hopeless depression which would surely be his end.
Johan rests soundly in his bed inside their pod while Saul's conscience eats him alive. He knows once the sun rises they will head out on their first mission with Lieutenant Swarovsky, the details aren't known but he knows it won't be any Peace Corps mission.
A bell finally rings prompting them to rise from bed, dawn their attire, tool up and stand at ridged attention outside their cells. With the ringing of a second bell they move out, single file, to the fragrant mess hall to grab some breakfast before debriefing. Through this whole routine not a word is spoken between Saul and Johan, uneasiness and awkwardness grows with each passing silent minute. The urge to reach out and smack his friend back into reality is overwhelming but Saul fights the urge and goes about his business like a true professional.
Breakfast is eaten, in silence, and they head off to be debriefed along with three other new recruits. Swarovksy awaits them in a little office filled with numerous maps and charts. The Lieutenant looks upbeat and well rested, ready to start a new mission and test some new tools. This is what he lives for.
"Cadets, welcome. Today you embark on your first missions as a part of His Great Army. Have you all your own weapons I see, good, no need to supply you with anything. I'm anxious to start this mission. I have high hopes for each of you men here."
"Yes sir," they all say in unison.
"Very well. The mission today is something we wouldn't normaly trust with first time recruits but as I said previously, we have special interest in you boys. In my observations I have seen something special in each of you, that's why I've chosen you for this special mission. He is excited to break in some new men that aren't morons and grunts."
"Who is He?" Saul asks.
"The man you work for and the man who has provided you with all that delicious food, the soft bed and warm, tight pussy. That's all you need to know recruit," Swarovsky replies promptly.
"Yes sir," Saul says in his most well acted drone voice.
"Our mission will be of the search and destroy variety. We have received intel that a group of men have been plotting against His greater vision. Rebels in the first degree and scum undoubtedly. It's our responsibility to find these vandals and make them pay, make 'em bleed for their treasonous actions. I will lead you all to the stronghold and begin the squelching of these damned guerillas. Any questions?"
"No sir."
They disembark from the prison, of course in silence, and move quickly into the remnants of the city. Under the guidance of the unflappable Swarovsky the party moves swiftly and boldly, unhindered by the wastes. The junkies, bandits and vagrants seam to part like the Red Sea to Moses at the feet of the Australian Lieutenant. Great lords moving like a tidal wave over the peasants on their quest to the Holy Crusades. Finally, the walls of the great Fenway Park loom over them, Saul feels an immense tug at his heart strings.
"What we look upon here is the fortress which holds those which appose His great utopia. Primitive guerillas who wish the world to remain a violent cesspool. What say you?"
"Down with them," each of them, excluding Saul, chant passionately.
"You, walk into the spotlight," Swarovsky addresses one of the recruits, a large man dressed in green overalls and a black t-shirt. At first the recruit hesitates but soon obeys and strolls out into the radiant beam of the probing flood light. Playing out the pun to perfection, the recruit stares up at the towering wall with a look of awe across his face, bathed in the powerful, artificial light.
"Halt!" a godlike voice booms across the landscape causing the recruit to freeze in his tracks and glance around at his Lieutenant.
"Keep going," Swarovsky orders. As he takes another step the voice rings out once again.
"If you wish to seek refuge we ask that you stand still so we may escort you inside," the recruit glances back again hesitantly and is relieved to see Swarovsky nod his head, an order to obey. The beam of light stands fixed and within a couple seconds a large garage door at the base of the wall opens and from it emerges a heavily armored man toting a stalky sub-machinegun. As he comes closer, the recruit can see a dark complexion and fierce, focused eyes.
"You boys ready to strike?"
"Yes sir," all of them, accept for Saul, reply. Thinking on the fly, Saul pulls his forty-five, grabs the burly Lieutenant by the shoulder and trains the barrel of the pistol on the man's right temple.
"What the fuck are you doing maggot?" the stunned Swarovsky barks.
In a flash, Saul can feel four gun barrels trained on him, one which belongs to Johan. Everything is tense while Swarovsky speaks.
"Quit aiming your damned guns at me you fools. I can handle this," he orders and the recruits eventually obey.
"Kaleb! Hey Kaleb," Saul calls and the armored yet vulnerable man stops.
"Who's out there?" he calls.
"It's Saul, I caught a Lieutenant but I'm in a bit of a predicament."
Kaleb tilts his mouth toward a microphone mounted on his collar and speaks to what has to be the man controlling the light for within a second it adjusts, fully illuminating Saul, his hostage and the shocked recruits who quickly bolt like cowards.
The recruit standing before Kaleb begins to shake nervously as he reaches around to the gun resting in the waistband of his trousers.
"Don't move," Kaleb notices immediately and raises the barrel of his SMG. The man keeps going. "I'll shoot!"
In a flash, the man pulls his gun and aims but can't squeeze off a shot before Kaleb unloads a quick burst which rips through the hopeless man's chest. He falls hard to the ground and lies motionless.
Meanwhile, Saul looks to Johan who is wearing a look disgust and contempt as his eyes pierce his soul.
"Johan, let's go."
"Fool..."
"Goddamnit Johan, don't do this."
"You're ruining our last hope Saul."
"Our last hope? Martina is your last hope."
"You talk as if she's still alive."
"Well-"
"Wake the fuck up Saul, she's dead and gone and I've moved on. This is my life now."
"You stupid son of a bitch."
"Excuse me?"
"You wanna know what happened when we first got to the prison? After we pigged out?"
"Where are you going with this?"
"While you were fucking some whore, I was across the hall in shock. It was Martina Johan, you're wife. She's fucking alive."
"Wha- why didn't you tell me?"
"You don't want to know."
"Tell me god-fucking-damn you!"
"She was ashamed, hates herself. Didn't want to see you and break your heart by seeing what she has become. But obviously, you have no heart left to break."
Johan just stands in utter disbelief trying to sort things out in his head. Everything is a whirl.
"Come with me, we'll save her. Together."
"Yeah, alright. Great," Johan replies but Saul still doesn't quite buy it. He turns anyways and begins to walk Swarovsky towards friendly Fenway. Johan walks slowly with his head down and his revolver still clutched in his hand at his side. As Kaleb turns to escort them back, Johan raises the ivory-handled revolver.
"Not a word from you," he screams out and fires off a shot. Saul and Kaleb both flinch in fear and turn franticly as the bullet rips through Swarovsky's right ear and collides with the pistol barrel which sits trained on his temple. In the blink of an eye a second shot rings out, undoubtedly from the snipers up above, hitting Johan hard in his left shoulder. Almost unaffected, Johan then turns and sprints from the light beam just as Kaleb fires off a burst and before the snipers up high can crack off another desperate shot. Saul and Kaleb wrangle the injured Lieutenant and drag him across the open area and into the stadium. Just as the wastelands disappear behind him, Saul hears a voice.
"Good luck," Johan's voice echoes down through the tunnel, a haunting taunt filled with a possessed insanity thats turns Saul's stomach. He and Kaleb quickly move the injured Swarovsky on to the open field and attempt to impede the flow of blood from the mangled gash which used to be his ear. The lieutenant moans in agony and his words become garbled and illegible through his delirium. With a shocked look on her face, Alieana runs to them to lend a hand.
"Oh my god who is this? Can I do anything?"
"Towels, we need towels. And someone to stitch him up, have someone retrieve Mick as well," Saul replies.
"Where's Johan?"
"I don't have the time hun, please just do those things for me."
"Okay," she obeys and runs off to find help.
Soon enough, a crowd comprised mostly of Valkyrie bikers forms and gazes upon Saul and Kaleb as they attempt to patch up the wounded man, whoever he happens to be.
"Holy shit," Molotov appears from the crowd. "Want me to get Ulysses? He'll want to be a part of this."
"If you think he should know then by all means go," Saul says, half paying attention.
In what seams like no time at all, Alieana returns accompanied by Mick Iasan who is equipped with a dingy surgical bag. The two relieve Saul and Kaleb, allowing them to explain what just went down.
"Who is this?" Mick begins the interrogation.
"Lieutenant Swarovsky."
"You mean he's one of THE lieutenants?"
"Yes indeed."
"Great work son," Mick claps him on the shoulder but his face soon drops as he looks to the injured man and back to Saul. "Where's your friend?"
"He didn't come back."
"Oh, I'm sorry. How'd he go?"
"Screaming for vengeance... and shooting."
"May he rest easy."
"Fucking fool," he mumbles as his woe is quickly replaced with anger at the thought of his traitorous friend.
"I'm so sorry," Alieana attempts to comfort him with a hug but he gently pushes her away and turns to leave.
"Wait son," Mick calls to him. "You did great work today, I just want you to know that. I hope you're still with us in the fight."
"Of course."
"Good to hear. Because we got a hell of a war before us."
Saul nods and turns back away to find some time to be alone. For the rest of the night he sits and stares off into the black abyss that is the dark, starless tapestry painted across the sky. As the forsaken world moves along it's wretched path around him, he is left feeling nothing. Numb and alone. While Swarovsky is patched up just to be ironically torn back open during a brutal interrogation. While Orabella quells her tears with a needle and a spoon, escaping her selfish tormenters embrace. While Mick and Ulysses ponder the next step in their seemingly endless battle. While Johan streaks through the wastes with only two things on his mind, liberating his Martina and becoming the greatest Lieutenant in His Great Army. While the entire city, the entire world cries in the wake of it's swift and merciless demise, Saul sits alone and dreams of times long past. Chapters from another place and time, he knows it's never coming back, that even with time things would never go back to the way they were. Life, society, culture and humanity are broken forever. Lost in an irreversible spiral to it's demise. Much like everything around him, Saul is broken... And the war is only just beginning.
