Memphis Run, page 15
part #18 of Endworld Series
The King must have found this room when he occupied the mansion, and discovered the special effects while tinkering with the console.
Perhaps it was then that his insane mind had concocted the scheme of using the equipment to further his mad ambition. What had General Thayer said? There had been dissension in the ranks. A month after moving into the mansion, Aloysius had called a dissatisfied captain into this very room. Thayer and the other Hounds in the throne room had heard a terrible racket—the music from the speakers? And the King had come out with the dead captain.
Rikki stared at the console, immersed in speculation.
Aloysius must have decided to use the equipment to create the illusion of the Dark Lord. The idea was brilliant. What better way to stifle protest and insure obedience than to fabricate a dreaded deity that would punish transgressors with instant death?
The thought caused the Warrior to frown.
Not quite everything was explained.
What about the deaths?
Dozens of victims killed without a trace of violence on their corpses.
How could this have been done?
Some of the victims were found in locked rooms, and Thayer had mentioned one man killed ten miles from Memphis.
If the Dark Lord was a fake, then Aloysius must be responsible for the deaths. But what technique was he employing?
Rikki turned off the power and watched the spheres go dim as the humming ceased. He racked his memory, reviewing every type of weapon with which he was familiar, every kind he’d ever read about in the Family library. A gun fitted with a silencer was relatively quiet, but a bullet inevitably left a wound, even when fired by handguns of the smallest caliber. A bow and arrow were lethal and silent, but an arrow invariably made entry and exit holes. Tiny darts, in the hands of an expert, could be fatal, but again, they produced discernible points of penetration. Poison seemed highly unlikely. How would Aloysius administer a toxin to an unwilling recipient?
The mystery was even deeper.
How were the victims in the locked rooms killed if the doors and windows were secured?
Did Aloysius own keys to all the buildings at the Complex? Or did the King possess a single key capable of unlocking almost any door?
Rikki remembered reading about a certain sort of key used by the criminal element prior to the Big Blast. A skeleton key, or passkey, it was called.
Did Aloysius own a skeleton key?
There were so many questions, and not enough answers.
So what was his next move?
Rikki jumped from the edge of the stage to the floor and headed for the red door, pondering his course of action. He gazed at the door, idly wondering why the King hadn’t bothered to lock it. But why should Aloysius bother? The Hounds and the residents of Memphis were undoubtedly all terrified of the Dark Lord. Not one of them would be foolhardy enough to venture into the Dark Lord’s chamber. Aloysius had devised the perfect deterrent, the ideal protector, and the irony of the situation was that the people of Memphis were subservient to an illusion.
They were afraid of a shadow cast by a deranged mind. They were allowing themselves to be deluded because they lacked the courage to confront their fear, to face the truth.
He stopped in the doorway and looked back. What would happen, he wondered, if the people found out about the King’s deception? Would they rise in rebellion and overthrow his despotic yoke? Would they put an end to his demented drive to conquer the world? Or would they still follow Aloysius, staking their survival on a planet torn by strife and chaos in a man whose mind was a reflection of the postwar devastation?
Rikki took a step into the throne room. Just as the drumming cadence of many boots sounded from the corridor on the far side. Aloysius the First must be returning! And he had forgotten to close the throne room door!
Chapter Nineteen
The man with the neatly trimmed beard scrutinized the Warriors.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Aloysius the First.” He grinned maliciously. “The King.”
Blade glanced at the corner they had just turned, then at the Hounds.
He might be able to reach cover before they could fire, but he would endanger Chastity and Bonnie in the process.
“If you try anything,” Aloysius declared, looking at the giant and the man in buckskins, “I will have the girl and Bonnie shot where they stand.”
“I could plug this varmint before they get me,” Hickok mentioned softly, so only Blade, Bonnie, and Chastity could hear.
“No,” Blade responded. “We can’t take the chance.”
“What are you whispering about?” Aloysius demanded.
“We were wonderin’ how someone with a face like a horse’s butt got to be the head honcho around here,” Hickok replied.
The King grinned. “Enjoy your petty witticisms while you can. The Dark Lord will put an end to your sarcasm.”
“You’re a brave man when you’re backed up by three or four dozen guns,” Hickok remarked. “How about you and me going at it, one on one?”
“Surely you jest?”
“Not in public,” Hickok retorted.
“I have no need to prove my courage,” Aloysius stated.
“In other words, you’re a wimp,” Hickok declared.
Aloysius glared at the gunman. “For that insult, you will die first.”
“Good. I get bored just sittin’ around,” Hickok said.
“Drop your weapons!” Aloysius snapped.
“I’d rather not,” Hickok answered.
“One word from me, and you’ll be shot so full of holes that your own mother wouldn’t recognize you,” the King warned.
“At least I had one,” Hickok cracked.
“Enough!” Aloysius barked. “Drop them now!”
Hickok looked at Blade. “It’s your play, pard.”
Blade unbuckled the gunbelt to the Smith and Wessons and allowed them to slip to the asphalt.
“Blast,” Hickok muttered. He did the same with the Colts.
“Don’t forget your knives,” Aloysius said to Blade.
Frowning, the giant laid his big knives beside the gunbelt.
Hickok and Bonnie deposited their automatic rifles.
The King appeared to relax somewhat. He beamed expansively and approached them, with ten of the Hounds shadowing his every step.
“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“How did you find us?” Bonnie inquired.
“Elementary, my dear,” Aloysius said. “When we lost contact with the platoon General Thayer dispatched, I knew you were on your way into the city. And when one of our squads failed to report in earlier, my hunch was confirmed. All of our patrols keep in touch with walkie-talkies.” He paused, puffing out his chest. “I’d already decided to capture you myself, since the general has become unexpectedly lax in the performance of his duties. And when a patrol radioed in a report of a gunfight, I closed in on this area. I sent men up on the rooftops with binoculars. The rest was child’s play.”
“You’re holding a friend of ours,” Blade declared. “Where is he?”
“Do you mean the cute little man who likes big swords?”
“Where is he?” Blade reiterated.
“Rikki is a guest at my mansion,” Aloysius said. “You’ll be joining him shortly.” He motioned with his left arm, and a couple of Hounds came forward and collected the weapons from the ground.
“Are you a bad man?” Chastity interjected to everyone’s surprise.
Aloysius grinned at her. “Why, my dear child. Why would you ever say such a thing?”
“You took my Uncle Rikki.”
“Rikki is your uncle?” Aloysius asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Hickok replied for her.
“What are your names?” the King inquired.
“Guess,” Hickok said.
“I’m Chastity,” revealed the six year old. “This is my new daddy, Hickok. And this.”—she pointed at the head Warrior—“is my Uncle Blade.”
“What a fount of information you are,” Aloysius said sweetly. “Where are you from?”
“I’m from Atlanta,” Chastity divulged. “My daddy and Uncle Blade are from far, far away. They live at the Home.”
“Is that so?” Aloysius responded. He studied the Warriors. “Where might your Home be?”
“Mars,” Blade answered.
“I’ll learn the truth eventually,” Aloysius vowed.
Hickok moved over to Bonnie and took Chastity. “Don’t tell this cow chip anything else,” he instructed her.
“I’m sorry. Did I do wrong?” Chastity asked.
“Just let me do the talkin’,” Hickok advised.
Aloysius the First looked over his right shoulder. “Captain Tuchman, bring up the trucks.”
A Hound officer saluted and wheeled, jogging off.
The King shifted his attention to Bonnie. “I can’t begin to convey my disappointment in you. And after all we’ve meant to each other.”
“Screw you!” Bonnie snapped.
“Again?” Aloysius said, and laughed.
“I’ll never feel clean again,” Bonnie commented bitterly.
“Aren’t you being just a little melodramatic?” Aloysius queried. “After all, you were treated fairly.”
“Fairly!”
“You accepted a formal invitation to my estate. You willingly indulged yourself at my table. And you were paid in gold for your company. It’s not my fault you wouldn’t accept my token of gratitude.”
“I hate you,” Bonnie stated.
“Hate me all you want. The fact remains that my conscience is clear.”
“You don’t have a conscience, you pig.”
“Am I the pig? You ate like one, my dear.” Aloysius chuckled. “I thought your stomach was a bottomless pit.”
“If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll kill you,” Bonnie asserted.
“Alas, dear heart, such a luxury will be denied you,” Aloysius said. “By sunset you will be dead.”
Blade listened to their conversation while assessing the possibility of escaping. He saw the two Hounds carry his Bowies and the other arms to the jeep on the left and place the weapons on the passenger side. The captain had reached the next intersection and was waving his right arm.
Seconds later, two convoy trucks lumbered into view from the left and turned toward the assembled Hounds.
“So you’re the one who thinks he’s going to conquer the world?” Blade inquired to take the heat off Bonnie.
“I don’t think I will,” Aloysius corrected him. “I know I will.”
“Have you counted your marbles lately?” Hickok asked.
“Scoff if you like. Great men are always derided by those of lesser attributes,” the King declared imperiously.
“You can’t seriously expect to rule the world?” Blade said.
“As I told your friend Rikki, my goal is practical and achievable. I intend to gather to my banner all of the scavengers, raiders, and outcasts in the Outlands. My army will be unstoppable. The Hounds of Hades will destroy all opposition. Mark my words. I will rule the world.”
Hickok looked at Blade. “Why do folks let themselves be bossed around by turkeys like this?”
“I rule because of my inherent superiority,” Aloysius said.
Blade sighed. “I’ve met men and women like you before. Tyrants who believe they have the right to impose their will on everyone else.”
“I do.”
“You’ll be stopped. Tyrants come and go. Many have tried to set themselves up as supreme rulers over the centuries, and none have succeeded. Decades before the war there was a man named Hitler who tried to conquer the planet. He was defeated, and he had a vast army at his disposal. You’ll suffer the same fate.”
Aloysius snickered. “We shall see.” He glanced at the convoy trucks as the vehicles stopped behind the jeeps. “I must insist that you accompany me to my estate. I have a little surprise in store for you.”
“I like surprises,” Chastity commented.
“This will be a surprise you’ll never forget,” Aloysius informed her. He gestured with his right hand. “Would you be so kind as to board the trunk on the right? My men will escort you.”
Blade walked toward the truck, his skin tingling as the Hounds parted so he could pass. Dozens of rifles were still trained on him from adjoining roofs and windows, and he hoped none of the Hounds would get careless and prematurely squeeze a trigger. As he stepped past the jeeps he glanced at his Bowies, repressing an impulse to grab them and start swinging. Now was not the time. He moved around the truck to the rear, ringed by Hounds every foot of the way.
Captain Tuchman, a lean officer with a prominent nose and full cheeks, nodded at the open tailgate. “Climb on board,” he directed.
Blade reluctantly complied, striding to the front and taking a seat on a narrow wooden bench running the length of the transport.
Hickok, Chastity, and Bonnie joined him.
“Well, this is another fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into,” the gunman groused as he sat down.
“Cheer up, Daddy,” Chastity offered. “We’ll be okay.”
“I never should have led you back here,” Bonnie remarked with remorse.
Hounds were clambering into the convoy truck and sitting on the bench. There was another bench on the opposite side, and both were quickly filled. Captain Tuchman was the last to climb on. “Don’t try anything foolish,” he called to the Warriors.
Hickok gazed glumly at a Hound involved with raising the tailgate.
“They took my Colts. I don’t like it when somebody takes my Colts.”
Blade gripped the edge of the bench and stared at the floorboards.
“We’ll make our move when we find Rikki.”
“Do you have a plan?” Bonnie asked in a low tone.
“Are you kiddin’?” Hickok rejoined. “My pard always has a plan.” He looked at Blade. “You do have a plan?”
Blade nodded.
The gunman grinned and leaned closer. “You can count on me to back your play when the chips are down,” he whispered. “What’s your plan?”
“We go down fighting.”
Hickok straightened, his forehead creasing. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“What kind of chicken doo-doo plan is that?” Hickok queried in disbelief.
“It’s the best I can do on the spur of the moment.”
Hickok snorted. “Brother! And Geronimo says I come up with cockamamie plans! Wait until he hears about this.”
“Our only hope is to take out the King,” Blade said quietly. “Maybe, just maybe, if we can kill him, the Hounds will fall apart. Without his leadership, there’s no one to hold them together.”
“You’re forgetting the Dark Lord,” Bonnie reminded him.
“Do you think the Hounds will follow the Dark Lord?”
“I know they will. They’re scared to death of him,” Bonnie said. “The Dark Lord might take over the Hounds if the King is wasted.”
“Then Hickok will dispose of the King, and I’ll handle the Dark Lord,” Blade proposed.
“What about me?” Bonnie asked.
“You’ll get Chastity out of the line of fire,” Blade stated.
“But I want to help you.”
“You’re helping us by saving Chastity,” Blade whispered. “We can’t protect her and fight effectively at the same time.”
“All right. I’ll do it.”
Blade glanced around. The nearest Hounds were seven feet off, and several were obviously attempting to overhear the conversation. “Wait for my signal,” he directed his companions.
The rest of the ride was conducted in silence except for the rumbling of the truck motor and the creaking of the transport when the tires struck ruts and potholes. None of the Hounds spoke. Traveling to their rear, visible over the top of the tailgate, was the second convoy truck.
Blade thought of his wife and son, wondering if he would ever see them again, or any of the Family for that matter. He was growing weary of the constant trips to investigate reports of potential threats to the Home or the Federation. The run to Miami had devolved into a nightmare with the three Warriors being stranded over a thousand miles from their loved ones. He wanted to live to see them once more, to hold them in his arms.
He wanted a vacation from his responsibilities, time off to enjoy life. Time, as the cliche went, to smell the roses.
The longer he dwelled on their capture, the madder he became. Why couldn’t everyone live in peace and harmony? Why did the Spirit allow violence and hatred to exist? Oh, he was familiar with the teachings of the Elders. The Spirit, they proclaimed, was not responsible for the violence in the world. Humankind was endowed with free will, and the fate of the planet was in human hands. If humanity wouldn’t accept the guidance of the Spirit and learn to value peace as the ideal standard of existence, then humanity must experience the consequences. Wars had plagued mankind throughout the course of history, and they would continue to do so for as long as power-mongers were permitted to spread hatred and violence. If those who really wanted peace were to prevail, they must be strong enough to eradicate every power-monger who appeared. Such was the price for free will. Such was the cost of universal brotherhood.
But what good did the knowledge do him?
All he wanted out of life was the opportunity to live happily with his family and friends and to live in peace with others. That was all any sane person wanted. Sanity, however, seemed to be in short supply on the planet Earth. Insanity was the order of the day. Sometimes, in his more philosophical moods, he even went so far as to imagine he was living on a cosmic insane asylum and the inmates were in control.
Aloysius the First was a case in point.
The man was clearly demented. Anyone with half a brain could see he was warped. Yet the people of this devastated city were following his every order. Why? How could they allow themselves to be blatantly manipulated? What prevented them from rising in rebellion? The Dark Lord? Was fear the only reason? Or was there a profound explanation rooted in fundamental reality?
