After the skull heads took the phone and laptop I was forced to amuse myself via other methods. Insulting Rollan had lost its fun shortly after I found he had a way to electrify the bars and there wasn't much else in the cell except a cot and an all purpose sink/toilet. I had read once about prisoners of war constructing whole houses nail by nail or playing eighteen rounds of golf to pass the time, but I guess I wasn't desperate enough (yet) because whenever I started nailing some boards together or taking the first swing the scent of blood and my own waste would fill my brain and I'ed have to concentrate for a few seconds to make sure I wasn't going to vomit. Screw it, I never liked golf anyway unless it involved grenades and zombies. So with in mind I started killing zombies in my head. I defended my cellar for hours bullet by bullet from endless tides of the undead, sometimes even surprising myself with my own... creativity. At first I did this for kicks and to keep my mind off the fact that I had been dragged blindfolded to the tunnels underneath the capitol building, bled with an unsanitary-looking IV, and then made to hug a cattle prod when I wouldn't thank Kane for the privilege of meeting his prophetess or some such tripe. Lately though, I had considered it as a kind of practice. In the epic conflict that would be remembered by everyone (everyone being me) as the first Flame War of the Wastelands, my hosts had made the mistake of using my wifi-router to get into a theological discussion with the venerable church of Zed. Words were had, Roger shoved Carl, Carl shoved Roger, and tempers rose. So now despite my bringing all of my unique diplomatic charm to bear on the problem, yours truly was probably going to end up sharing his cot with countless legions of zombi- sorry, pure ones and an assortment of antagonized zealots. I was considering all of this one day while running a spitter that had gotten through the mine field through with a filed down table leg when I sat up. To hell with that. To hell with the boneheads and to hell with the zeds if they thought I was going to give up my cot. I had it first, it was my cot. So in a somewhat desperate attempt at returning to the good old days I began doing everything in my power fortify my small jail cell (how'ed they even get a jail cell down here?). I got about halfway through prying off the sink in an attempt to soak the floor with water and electrify it using whatever was hooked up to the bars when I heard the first explosions overhead. Somewhere in the back of my head Mr. Rodgers began singing It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day in the neighborhood Footsteps came out from down the hall not quite fast enough to be in full panic mode but fast enough to get some good cardio in. There was the sound of a thunderclap overhead and the entire building seemed to shake. Would you be mine, would you be...? Rollan and two other armed boneheads I didn't recognize were in front of my cell-fortress now undoing the lock. I was informed that I would now be permitted an audience with the prophetess. As was customary of all my interactions with the man who had made me wear a disgusting blood sac and had pretty much straight up tortured me, I answered with a mono-digit salute. This surprisingly was not met with the usual tazzer brandishing, or carrying on about how ridiculously heathen I was, or complaining that I was getting water everywhere. Instead the channeler (I think that's some kind of priest if DeathEmpress is reading) just looked at me though eye sockets that weren't his and told me I could either walk or wear the sac over my head again. I needed the exercise anyway. Our merry jaunt lasted for about ten minutes as the Prophetess's chamber was apparently under the main administrative building which was connected to the capital proper through an old world tunnel. Although along the way I got a better sense of who exactly I was dealing with and what their situation was. Everywhere I looked there was somebody in a red overcoat or robes packing up the shanty town that had been growing down here. Others who wore more bones and looked like their soldiers were kneeling at various public alters or in front of channelers. Most of them looked wounded, which was weird considering they were fighting zeds. I walked a little faster as all around me Golgotha looked as though it was trying to pull up roots and run. Once a man who looked too old to even lift the gun he was shouldering got in front of my escorts and kind of slumped down in front of us without saying anything. The guards were about to kick him before Rollan gave them both a slap upside the head (metaphorically speaking) and sprinkled some kind of dust in front over the old guy. He got up, thanked my jaileconfessor, and hobbled off toward what I assumed was the front lines, just like that. A couple minutes later another explosion and more thunder shook the dust off the ceiling and everyone packed up and/or prayed a little faster. Would you be... My neighbor? A couple people were visibly whimpering underneath their masks. Eventually we came to the administrative building and what looked like a giant safe door made out of every scrap of dense-looking metal the boneheads could cobble together, sitting in front of the entranceway to the state senate. Showtime. Two much fancier-looking boneheads approached us with two fancy-looking electrified spears. Rollin showed them what I guess was the bonehead equivalent of his security clearance and they each inserted their spears into the vault's mechanism. Rolland waked up to the main control panel-looking thing and inserted a key carved out of a skull (because of course it was. What's that? Metal keys are more efficient, less creepy, and easier to carry? That's stupid. You're stupid.) It was actually kind of impressive that the whole mechanism actually worked and soon the giant door was rolling to the side. At this point I probably should have gotten nervous. I knew nothing about the Prophetess except that she seemed to have personal score with me and if her priests could shoot lightning out of their fingertips what the hell could she do? But in truth I was actually kind of pumped. The attack, the kidnapping, the torture, having to listen to Rollan's sermons for I-didn't-know how long, the probable future of being eaten alive by infected, I finally had someone to pin it all on and was about to be left in a room with that person apparently because everyone else was stepping back, even Rollan who undid my cuffs as he walked past. Now, granted they still had their guns/stupid-looking spears trained on me and I was going to end up as a meat lover's swiss cheese if I did anything but walk forward, but still the prospect of taking a very influential hostage was exciting. So naturally I was a bit surprised when the door rolled shut behind me. The boneheads had been allot of things to me in the time I'ed known them, stupid wasn't one of them. I had been given no real windows of escape or resistance that could end in anything but a grisly death ever since I'd come to Golgotha. It struck me as odd that they'ed take their eye off the ball this close to the finish line (now I'm mixing up sports puns). The tunnel had been pretty well lit, so it took a minute or two for my eyes to fully adjust to the dimness that immersed me. When they did I could clearly see the Connecticut state senate floor, cleared of all desks and chairs. In their place was a strange wish-mash of what seemed like fairly advanced tech and something out of the medieval churches I'd seen in pictures. Tesla coils about the size of a man and semi-functional server stacks crackled and hummed alongside candles and incense burning on elaborately-embroidered red altars. Not the cheap-o ones out in the tunnel either. These babies were assembled almost entirely from bones and maybe some mortar and had been scratched and sculpted to depict morbid skeleton frescos. The only real light in the whole place came from the candles and the soft glow of blue monitors hooked up around the main platform-turned-dias. Then I got a good look at the grand-master-wizard-bigshot-poobah-queen-of-all-boneheads, and I suddenly found myself on my knees terrified beyond words. I was prepared and sort of half-expecting some sinister old-as-dirt woman in ornate crimson robes or maybe a three-story tall eldritch blood monster that I'ed have to battle in pitched combat for my freedom. What I got instead, after all this trouble, was a petit brown woman probably in her forties with slightly sunken eyes and some comfortable looking gym clothes in place of robes (they were bright red though). I wanted to run, hide, dig a whole to the center of the earth and kick the devil out of my new bunker, but a quick scan around the room and there were no other exits that hadn't been sealed. Run on for a long time, run on for a long time She approached me too slowly for comfort, her expression placid. It made sense. The whole damn thing made sense know. They had snuck past my traps and could have slit my throat in my sleep but they hadn't. That one guy on the stairwell... he hadn't even been armed. They had been there to pick me up, not put me down. Why send peons to have all the fun when you could just as easily kill me yourself? Like this, in the dark and all alone at the end of the world. Then I looked up from meditating solemnly on what a stupid f#ck I was to see a pair of red track pants right in front of me. Here it came. "I...take it from your reaction you recognize me?" I looked down again and was suddenly five as my throat started to swell and hurt. I croaked out "Hosanna..." Run oooon for a long time. Sooner or later God'll cut you down. "Yes Davey, it's me. Why are you crying?" "C-cause I left you. We left you to die and I'm the only one left. The old man's dead and I killed him." No point in hiding it now anyway. "H-he got bit. Asked me to..." "And now you think I've come back to kill you, is that it?" I nodded my head vigorously like I was mentally handicapped and finally tried to gather up some measure of dignity. If I was going to be murdered I might as well go out like a man. Albeit a sad, broken sort of man on his knees in front of a dead woman. Was this the MP-5's real revenge? I felt a cold hand touch my neck and slide up to my ear but no pain... yet. "Davey, look up. Look at me." I looked up and saw for the first time in months the woman I'd left underneath a zombie because I couldn't stand her f#cking crying. Her skin looked paler though, and the twisted rotten hand she was holding me with was definitely new. I recoiled out of instinct and felt even worse. "S-sorry about that. I don't think I've ever seen a half-infected before." Hosanna smiled wearily at me. She looked tired even for someone half-dead. "Is that what I am? I've had allot of titles lately so I tend to loose track. At first it was 'demon', then 'prophetess' now 'Hosanna' once again. Guess it's just something I should get used to." I wiped my nose on my sleeve. "Wait, but wait. The boneheads out there hate the undead. That's kinda the whole reason the earth keeps shaking. No offense or anything, but why would they-?" "Think I spoke for their god? You'ed have to understand something about old Kane before I could answer that." She suddenly turned towards an elaborate stained glass mural hung over the remains of the senate president's chair. I was actually kind of surprised I hadn't noticed it. It was of a big guy decked out in bones and with a skull for a head. Kane apparently walked around with a white assault rifle in one hand and a transfusion pack in the other. "I don't understand why they didn't just worship Chuck Norris." It came out too late to stop it. I winced in preparation for whatever crazy blood-themed death the Prophetess of Kane reserved for rude heathen. She laughed a little. "Yeah, given all the stuff that's been written about him you'ed think he'd be a better candidate to become a god nowadays. But instead we have Kane. One of what religious studies majors used to call artificial gods. As near as I can figure, he started out as a particularly morbid interpretation of the abrahamic God combined with some new age pagan type stuff and gradually evolved over time in isolation to the handsome fellow we see now. Although this is just a mural you understand. The Kanites aren't really big on idols or magic statues. Or infected for that matter." Another tremor caused her to look up as if she had just found out her roof was leaking. "Always knew that last part would get us into trouble. Although I just figured they'ed wind up over-extending themselves trying to purge the surrounding area and then get overwhelmed, not that they'ed pick a fight with the damn church of Zed. Which brings me back to your question. Sorry for the soliloquy by the way, they like it when I keep talking so it's a habit I've grown into. It makes them feel closer to Kane. Would you mind standing back for a minute?" "I'ed prefer to see it coming." "Hah! You always did. Always planning and building and trying to make it so that you could see everything coming. But I'm really not going to kill you. Honest." My eyes narrowed like a rabbit inspecting a carrot-and-box trap. "Why? What do you want?" "You've grown new habits yourself I see. Although I'ed say pragmatism is a bit more useful than talkativeness. I'll get to what I want from you. But the main reason I'm not going to kill you is because what happened to me wasn't your fault." "Bull." "It's true-" I cut her off "I had the only weapon, I was right there and I did nothing." "You didn't do nothing, Davey, you put everyone else above me. You saved everyone who still could be saved. I mean, yeah, I died kind of. And that sucked. And for a while I was mad about what I'd turned into. Actually mad doesn't really do it justice." Now her face was serious. Not angry, just kind of... ernest? "But even in that time, never once did I say to myself 'this is all Davey's fault' how dare he leave me to die even though I was already bit? I'll kill him if I get the chance.'" I got up, I had not gotten this far in life by just taking potential threat's word for it that they weren't threatening. I knew at least some of what half-infected could do. I didn't want to eat anyone's pinky finger. "You're saying that in all this time you never thought about having hulks draw and quarter me before smashing me to paste with my own limbs?" He sunken eyes suddenly lost a bit of the light that had entered them. "Well, yes. Honestly I did once or twice. I mean not that exact scenario. But did I ever think of you as the cause of it all? No. I just think I needed someone to be angry at, so that puts you alongside whichever God is in charge and my mother-in-law. All and all it evens out to be decent company." She chuckled again, and I finally gave up on trying to look too threatening to be worth the trouble with my eyes still puffy. If she was wiling to go through this elaborate a performance just to kill me at the end she had clearly put allot of thought into the whole thing and probably deserved for it to work. Then Hosanna was in front of the Kane panel, her arms raised high. "This is Kane the red one we're talking about Davey! This is a god of blood and thunder and the memories trapped in people's bones! And I've got a little bit of each, you see." There was a plastic pitcher at the foot of the panel, the kind you'ed see at a church picnic in the old world. Next to it was a bowel of what looked like blood, which was being fed trickle by trickle from an elaborate set of tubes stretching up into the darkness of the ceiling. Oh my. So that's what they do with their blood offerings. But either they use most of it for something else I didn't want to imagine or they had to process it heavily to get so small an amount. Without another word, Hosanna picked up the pitcher and scooped up a full glass of blood from the bowl like it was spiked punch. She held it up, making sure I could see. "The blood of all Golgotha and probably more rests in this pitcher my old friend. And as I understand your blood's in there somewhere as well. Sorry about that by the way, but I thought it would help drive home what I need to show you." She put the pitcher to her lips and started to drain it, smoothly and silently. I went in to stop her but she held up her hand before I could get to the hall's center, the pitcher still pressed to her half-dead lips. I felt the hairs on my head and arms stand on end. The air became filled with a kind of pressure and there was a weird static buzzing in my ear all of the sudden. I pray for the thunder, and the raiiiin. Why did you have to diiiiiiiiiiie?! I dove away behind one of the alters in time to safely observe the tesla coils and other pylons come to life in a massive burst of electric blue. The pressure broke and the buzzing climaxed as tendrils of impossibly hot ions shot out into Hosanna's small frame. I ducked behind the alter and held my ears, waiting for the thunder clap which I was sure would blow out my eardrums. How can I nope thee? Let me count the ways. Thunder tore through the air around us and felt as if it threatened to bring the whole building down. Generators surrounding the room whined and then died as their charges were spent. Then as quickly as it all began it ended, with a silence as deafening as the roar of lightning had been. I held my position for several seconds, imagining I was back at the cellar behind my door. Eventually I ended up poking my head out and expecting to witness the end result of a dead woman's herculean effort at suicide. But there she was where she had been the whole time. No frankenstein hair or soot or smoke like in the movies. There wasn't even a burn mark where she had been struck. Hosanna saw me and exhaled smiling. "You know, there's a reason they went with this little plastic thing and not something more ornate." She gestured to the now empty pitcher in her hand. She put a hand to her abdomen. "Alright. Now I need you to take the cup and hold it for me. You'll see why in a moment." Not wanting to antagonize the magical undead transformer that was my host, I tentatively touched my foot to the central platform, hoping there wasn't any current left over for me. "It's fine, I absorbed most of it and the rest shot off into the ground. Now hurry while it's still fresh." I was a bit too stunned at the time to question what "it" was, so for a few moments I was functionally just another good little cultist holding the pitcher for the nice Prophetess. Hosanna closed her eyes and held out her hand over the cup. I think my senses returned to me right around the time a clear yellowish liquid started dripping out of her hand like heavy rain. But I didn't see the use in throwing the pitcher in her face and running around a room I couldn't get out of, so I decided to play along. It was a close contest though. The pitcher was half full of the stuff now. It looked soapy and kind of like how I'ed heard champaign had looked. "Ambrosia" she said as if to answer my question. "There's your answer, the reason they think I speak for their god of lightning and blood. I-I still don't know how the hell I can do it. I don't think any other infected people can. Maybe it's just a freak mutation or something. But this is the stuff that lets the channelers do what they do. The stuff that kept that one brother together even after being shot with an M-16." "Uh, sorry." She waved it away. "He's a soldier, he expects to deal with things like that. And in retrospect I could've-" Another explosion above. "Mmmm, we don't have as much time as I'd hoped. Up until know I could sort of keep the infected away from the town, being what I was, but this angel of theirs. Tough tough tough tough tough tough. The sentinels are used to dealing with smaller hordes and bandits, nothing on this scale. Which brings me to what I need you for." I tensed up again. "Yes it's more than just 'hold the pitcher while I spray magic juice into it', sorry. I need you to lead the Kanites away from here." Aaaaaaand there was the other shoe. "I know you don't want to do it" she continued. She was wrong. I had seen what she could do. I had seen what all of them could do. And part f me did want to do it. That was what worried me. "But just listen for a moment. When we were all beat up towards the end and there was only one gun between the four of us, we gave it to you. Not just because you were the youngest and least banged up. You held us together, you literally guarded us while we slept." Yes, and while I guarded you while you slept I fantasized about filling you all with holes. But you don't know about that do you? "I know it's way more than you bargained for and it's not fair, but I need you to do what you did then here. Only on a larger scale." She took the pitcher and held it up towards me. "I need you to take all the women and children and old and as many sentinels and channelers as you can find and punch an escape route through the southwest. Near as I can tell that's where the herd is thinnest. I can't come with you. There other half-infected... I can't explain it exactly. It's like two queen ants or bees or whatever. If I leave with you they won't stop until they kill me. I need to stay here and keep them occupied trying to bust open that door over there." I looked at her. "Please Davey, these people are my family. I know they can be weird and scary and cruel sometimes but they've accepted me when no one else would. They're my family just as much as you are. I need you now, even more than I needed you when I was bit. If you still think that's your fault than make up for it here." She looked at me pleadingly. "I'm not your savior Hosanna. I can't be the next prophet." "No one's asking you to be! Just-" "Damn it to seven fiery hells woman, you think this is me just trying to be the reluctant hero before I inevitably take up the mantle and begin my quest?!" I waved my arms around as sarcastically as I could. "No, this is about me worrying what's going to happen to you and everyone in a three mile radius if a guy like me is given anything remotely resembling power. I- do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?! I'm a trader. I live in a hole in the ground and only came out because it got bombed out!" I told her about the night, the night I sat and thought about killing them. I was on a roll, I couldn't stop myself although I really really wanted to. Let her think of that next time she thinks I'm worth anything. Let her think of the psychotic, murderous, bloodthirsty sh#t of a so-called bother she had next time she thought I should be in charge of a cult I'ed known for all of a couple days. Hosanna just sat there through all of it holding the pitcher as the world blew up around us in a whirl of lightning and zombified bodies. Finally, as I was winding down she said softly. "Yeah, but did you do it?" "I, what? No I didn't do it. That's not the point! The point is that I even thought about doing it, that something's the matter with me and I can't control myself so how am I supposed to-?" "You did control yourself though. Like I said. I-I'm sorry for making you feeling way for so long. That must've been awful." Not for the first time that day I had the very palpable sensation that I was a pile of human refuse. She held out the pitcher again. "Will you at least drink this? It's really fresh and allot more than what the channelers usually ingest to do what they do. It's not some kind of mind control thing, I swear. It just... energizes some things I think. At least in these quantities. If you drink it and still don't want to help, I won't stop you from leaving and neither will the others. Maybe you'll make it through their wall, who knows. I looked at the ambrosia and thought about my distilled blood sloshing around in it somewhere. "...Wont that much stuff kill me?" "Ordinarily maybe. But I'll focus all my attention on you for a moment so that it won't. I can kind of... control it a little even when it's outside of me. I definitely know that I can make it metabolize rapidly if it gets too much for your system to handle. Please, if I wanted to kill you why would I bother doing it with poison?" I took one last look at this Hosanna. This woman who had gone from being my destroyer to my friend and now to someone who was desperate enough to make me into something I wasn't. I turned away from her. The ambrosia was cold going down and didn't taste anything like I though champaign would. I had been interested in various... substances during my formative years in the old world. Nothing particularly dangerous mind you, but definitely extreme at times. This was nothing like that. As the liquid washed down my throat I could somehow feel it dissolving through my mucus membrane strait to me blood. I suffered no hallucinations or spasms. On the contrary, I felt perfectly in control of myself and secure in where I was. I was standing in the Connecticut state senate floor on the continent of North America in the North Western hemisphere of the planet Earth in the Sol system of the Milky Way Galaxy of the Nebron universe (I have no idea what the universe is actually called, if it's called anything. I just thought Nebron was a good fit at the time for some reason. I stood there holding an empty pitcher, looking down at myself as my whole body hummed with a chorus of vibrations because I had willed it. But it was in my mind where sh#t was really going down. In my head I saw things... like images you see in a campfire that are crystal clear for a millisecond before shifting into something else. One after the other. I saw myself at the center of a fortress somewhere in the wilderness. It was large, impenetrable, with lots of exceedingly thick doors and many Kanite technicians scurrying around maintaining it. More a city of fortresses than a single fort really. People lived and died there, sometimes by the hands of others, sometimes by the hands of age but never from the undead or an invaders bullet. Safe behind the walls. At the gates came caravans and companies of Kanite sentinels, each company led by a channeler and turning in the bounty paid for fulfilling their contracts. Other comers were the traders coming in from the AMR, from FCC, and even one from some town in Canada. Above the ground where turrets and the largest guns I'd ever seen. Artillery trained high on the sky that could flatten anything that so much as came over the horizon. All were safe and protected behind the walls. Meanwhile the music in my head kept droning on: There is... a house... in New Orleans.... It's caaaaallld the riiiising sun....And it's been... the ruin of many a poor boy Then the flames flickered and the lightning danced. I was still standing in the senate and I knew it, yet in my head I saw death. Towers had been erected out of the skulls and bones of the fallen and bone marrow had been piled high and shaped into an effigy of Kane before congealing. And God... I know... I'm one.. In the center of this hellstorm was a pile of broken bones. All that was left of the church of Zed and anyone else who dared attack my brothers and sisters. Surrounding the pyre one hundred channelers led a thousand sentinels in a chant of my name. The new avatar of the red one. Something buried deep inside me, in us all, took notice of this scene. And howled its approval back from the eons past when it first crawled out of some primordial ooze. Then I saw myself standing on top of the pile, augmented metal arms held high in triumph. Goodbye legs. I collapsed, but still felt the same hyper-presence that I had begin with. Hosanna swore and rushed down towards me. "Sorry, sorry about that. It snuck up on me and was dissolving your nervous system. Everything's fine. The numbness is only temporary. Nothing damaged. You're alright." At this point I could tell she was more interested in convincing herself than me that she hadn't accidentally crippled me. I began to stand up. "How-how much time do you think we've got?" She looked at me. "You'll do it then?" I did what I did best and assumed the worst. We had no time at all d the zombies were about to break through and slaughter the civilians any second now. "How do I pant convince them to listen to me?" She slowly nodded and rushed off, returning shortly later with a finely etched-up skull in her infected hand. "It's the skull of their first prophet, take it. If you show it to them, they'll know what it means and won't ask any questions." I took the skull in one hand and traded her the pitcher. "Thanks... Thank you." "Don't thank me, I kidnapped and almost brutally tortured your scrawny hide and could have done this a million different smarter ways. But thanks anyway." I was up now, skull in hand and still trembling involuntarily from the ambrosia a little bit. I had to get moving. There was a balls-out retreat that needed orchestrating. Got oooooone foot on.... the platform..... The oooooother on the train..... I'm gooooing back to New Orleans.... to wear... that ball....and chain.
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