The Apostates Book Two: Remnants

  REMNANTS

  THE APOSTATES BOOK TWO

  By Lars Teeney

  To my friends and family

  First Edition, Published September 2015.

  Apostates Book Two: Remnants. Copyright © 2015 by Lars Teeney. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or conveyed via the Internet or a Web site without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Some characters in this book are based on historical figures. Most characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  Inquires should be emailed to:

  Lars Teeney

  apostates.feedback@gmail.com

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  A DISCLAIMER

  The story contained within these pages, while having some basis in historical fact, at its essence, is a work of fiction. I have taken great liberty with accounts of historical events, and some have been completely fictionalized for dramatic effect. That being said, the overall historical framework is based on fact. Also, this book is critical of America in its current form as well as its form in the hypothetical future of this book. Some should not be surprised if they are offended reading this book.

  In addition, this story is not a criticism of religion itself. The story does not dispute, deny or admit the existence of God, or any other holy deity. What the story does concern itself with, is criticizing those strains of Christianity that concern themselves with imposing their will and belief on people that do not share them. This story is a warning against fundamentalist strains of religion that seek to usurp power, influence policy and tear down the separation of church and state, within our country. It can be considered a wider condemnation for any religious organization that seeks to establish theocracy in the world today. On a lighter note, enjoy!

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  Ch. 1 - BORN FOR ADVERSITY

  Ch. 2 - TO THE END OF THE EARTH

  Ch. 3 - ONE LANGUAGE AND THE SAME WORDS

  Ch. 4 - NEITHER SLAVE NOR FREE

  Ch. 5 - NO PLACE FOR GRAIN OR FIGS

  Ch. 6 - MIGHTY MEN OF VALOR

  Ch. 7 - SHADE FROM THE HEAT

  Ch. 8 - THE SPIRITS GATHERED

  Ch. 9 - THE SEA IS NOT FULL

  Ch. 10 - BAD COMPANY

  Ch. 11 - BARBARIAN, SLAVE, & FREEMAN

  Ch. 12 - ALL TOGETHER IN ONE PLACE

  Ch. 13 - THE SEAT OF SCOFFERS

  Ch. 14 - WITH YOUR SHIELD OR UPON IT

  Ch. 15 - MOTHER OF ALL THE LIVING

  Ch. 16 - GOLGOTHA

  Ch. 17 - MOUTH FULL OF GRAVEL

  Ch. 18 - A CIRCLE ON THE FACE OF THE DEEP

  Ch. 19 - WHISPERED IN PRIVATE ROOMS

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  The Philadelphia Police Department vehicles had been parked as to form a protective cordon in front of the townhouse that was under siege. Scores of officers hunched behind patrol cars with weapons drawn pointed at the house. Special Weapon Attack Teams stood by waiting impatiently to be sent into action to storm the problem house. The neighborhood itself was not affluent, but nor was it a slum; it was predominantly a working-class, African-American neighborhood. Judging from the Law-enforcement reaction at the scene one could mistake it for the frontline of a war zone. The tenants for many blocks around had been evacuated earlier in the day in anticipation of the siege operation. The local press had been tipped-off and news vans had descended on the scene in herds. Male and female reporters primped themselves for their live broadcasts, waiting for the action to bring in the ratings.

  A few hours before there had been a brief fire-fight. Officers had claimed that shots were fired down from the wood and concrete bunker atop the townhouse. The bunker had been described as “a fortification that offered tactical superiority over the surrounding area” by law-enforcement. The response had been swift, brutish and disproportionate. All law-enforcement officials had opened fire with all manner of small arms to riddle the building with thousands of rounds. The sustained barrage had lasted just under fifteen minutes, and when it had concluded the facade resembled the cork of a dartboard after ages of heavy use.

  The P.P.D. Commissioner in charge of the operation had nearly gone horse barking demands from the megaphone. He stood upright beholding the aftermath of the small arms barrage, and smirked slightly.

  “Commissioner Rodrigo! You'll wanna get a load of this. The press was tipped off about the operation,” a stocky, mustachioed police sergeant chirped, tossing a newspaper to the Commissioner, who promptly caught it. He flipped the paper around to the front page. It was today's edition, “October 5, 1985”. The photo featured was of the townhouse that had just been shot up, and the headline read,

  “Police to Evict ‘Action’ Organization Today!”

  “Goddamnit! Can anyone keep their mouth shut in City Hall? ‘Action’ had time to prepare.” The Commissioner was red in the face. He slammed the newspaper down on the hood of a patrol car.

  “Not to worry, boss. We got the water cannons trained on the roof. The fire department is sending thousands of gallons of water through that house. And Ops is standing by ready to pump that shit-hole full of tear gas. The water will intensify the effect. They won't be able to stand much more. We can wrap this up with no bloodshed,” the Sargeant reassured.

  “Excellent, Sargeant Zhukov. Good work. However, it better work soon. I need to wrap this operation up by supper. I'll give it another hour then we storm the house,” Commissioner Rodrigo stated.

  “But—sir—there's a bunch of women and children in that house. We can—” he was interrupted.

  “I'm aware of the situation, Zhukov. I don't have time to pussy-foot around—” Commissioner Rodrigo was cut off in turn by the eruption of gunfire. The P.P.D. responded with overwhelming firepower. Commissioner Rodrigo and Sargeant Zhukov crouched behind the patrol car, seeking refuge from the flying bullets.

  “Sir, there is no need to storm the house just yet. There is another way!” Sargeant Zhukov exclaimed forcefully. Commissioner Rodrigo was receptive to alternative strategies.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  BORN FOR ADVERSITY

  Evan and Consuela had been dragged into situations and skirmished in and around New York and what had once been called New England. These altercations had delayed both of them from leaving the region for nearly a year. At first, the problem had been administrative and logistical, caring for such a large number of refugees. The food, water, and shelter had to be assured. Former Virtuous citizens and Apostates had been mixed in together, leading to factional strife, and so Evan and Consuela had done their utmost to separate the groups and prevent bloodshed. Also, they coordinated with Apostate cells who scoured the countryside looking for more refugees who desired migration to West Europa or the North African Union. After several months, these difficulties had been mitigated.

  But, then, the attacks came. Small-scale probing skirmishes were launched by ‘Remnant Regime’ forces from the Northern Border Fortress Wall. Evan and Consuela, using their specialized skills, led counter-attacks, pushing back against the ‘Remnant Regime’ forces. Soon, it became apparent that the Apostate strength around New York was formidable and so the ‘Remnant Regime’ forces halted the attacks, and retreated back to their strongholds. Then came a couple of bomb attacks, that killed refugees waiting in the camps for transportatio
n across the Atlantic. These attacks Consuela and Evan had no answer to, but they had been few and fleeting. Soon, Consuela and Evan got the opportunity to leave these problems to others among the Apostate leadership, and they hit the road.

  They had been traveling by foot since they had run out of ‘power bricks’ for the Regime Armored Personnel Carrier they had driven in since leaving New York. Evan was obsessed with confirming the destruction of New Megiddo City. He wanted to make sure that the Regime's nerve-center was gone. As they passed the outskirts of Trenton, New Jersey, they linked their neural implants together to plot out the route forward. It was late in the afternoon and the duo looked for shelter along the roadside. Evan suggested to Consuela that they follow the Delaware River down toward Philadelphia. When she suggested an alternative route he snapped and insisted they go to Philadelphia. Consuela was taken aback as she had never seen him chew someone out, save for Marco, but that was a lifetime ago.

  Soon the sun was setting and light ran out. Consuela and Evan came upon an ancient service station just off the road. The graffiti and soot-stained structure seemed sturdy enough, but the cold would still bite at them tonight due to the blown-out windows. Evan took off his rough duster, and Consuela removed the bandana and goggles from her face. Dusty and weary they looked forward to a wash. Both of them unfurled their bedrolls and looked for fuel for a fire. There was not much left in the musty service station save for the wooden shelves, so Evan triggered the lion-headed cane, the cane he had taken from Inquisitor Rodrigo all those months ago, to bear its blade, then he hacked at a shelf and chopped it into a pile of kindling. They had found a sizable pot to contain a fire and Consuela ignited the fire with the plasma blade at the end of her ‘Spear of Destiny’. Fortunately, they had been reprovisioned with ‘Meals Ready to Eat’ from the Neo Railroad quartermaster before they had departed, as there was nothing edible left in the building. They lounged on their bedrolls around the crackling fire, content with its warmth.

  “Why exactly are you dead set on traveling through Philadelphia anyway? There are more direct ways south,” Consuela prodded.

  “What does it matter? If you have to know—I think my family was from there, long ago,” Evan stated.

  “Really? What is your family name?” Consuela asked, interest piqued.

  “That's the problem. I have no idea. I'm an orphan. When I was very young I vaguely remember an aunt, who sent me off into the slums,” he recounted with a wounded look on his face.

  “I'm sorry,” Consuela offered.

  “No worries. I've had time to work through it,” he stated.

  “But still—how do you know your family is from Philadelphia?” she asked, still puzzled. She dropped a piece of dried beef into her mouth and struggled to chew through it.

  “Well, because—my aunt before she sent me off she gave this,” he said, pulling something worn around his neck under his clothing. Evan tossed the amulet to Consuela who caught it and observed the object. It was rounded in shape and featured three bold stripes of color: red, green and black. On this field of colorful stripes was a black fist held aloft, with the word “Action” blazoned in a ‘stencil’ typeface underneath.

  “What does it mean?” Consuela was confused and tossed the amulet back to Evan. He placed it back around his neck.

  “I am not entirely sure. But my aunt told me that it came from Philadelphia. From what I understand these colors are what were used centuries ago for the ‘Pan-African flag’,” he speculated.

  “So, you plan to go to Philadelphia to look aimlessly for your family tree? Come on, Evan, you and I both know it would be—” Consuela was interrupted by Evan.

  “No! You get the comfort of knowing your last name and where you come from. I have never known who I am or what my birthright is. You can't take that from me—I'm close,” he said defiantly.

  “Okay! I meant no offense—wait—did you hear that?” she asked cautiously, darted her gaze around the structure.

  “Yes,” was all he said. They both quickly reached for their weapons and shot to their feet. The sound of motors of dirt-bikes drew closer. Hoots and hollers could be heard from multiple people. Consuela and Evan casually strolled out of the ramshackle structure into the darkness in the place where gas pumps once sat. A group of men, dirty and ragged, had just parked their dirt-bikes in a row and had removed their helmets when a toothless man among their number took notice of Evan and Consuela.

  “Hey, boys! We got company!” the man yelled, flashing toothless gums, “Looks like we got full-service at this station. And a pretty thing to boot!” a bearded man joked. The other two men stood silently. One pulled a machete from its sheath and the other brandished a pipe-wrench.

  “Hey boy! If you don't want to get hurt you best high-tail it out of here. We’ll take your cane, your armor and whatever food you have before you go,” the toothless man threatened.

  “I have a better idea. How about the lot of you get the hell out of here while you still have your lives?” Consuela warned. The toothless man scoffed.

  “You're a real funny lady. Hey, boys, we got ourselves a little scuffle,” the four men circled around Evan and Consuela threateningly, howling with delight.

  “We warned you,” Evan said with a sigh. He held his cane to his side. Consuela extended the shaft of the spear but did not bother to ignite the plasma jet. The toothless man charged wildly at Consuela swinging the hammer around his head. With an overhand swing of the hammer, Consuela held the spear horizontally to block the strike, then she swung the butt-end to strike the outside of the Toothless Man's knee joint. He dropped onto his side, ranting and cursing her. She rammed the other end of the shaft into his nose. Cartlidge snapping was the dominant sound in that instant. The men with the machete and pipe-wrench set upon Evan. He laid one of the men on his back with a swift side kick to the chest, stirring up dust and oily sludge. The other man swung the machete widely. Evan dodged, then the nano smart-material composing the cane reconfigured itself to sword blade, which Evan used to beat-parry the machete to one side. He struck the man's hand which held the blade. The man found himself with several less fingers thereafter, and dropped the machete in the dirt. He ran away into a nearby field, screaming with fright.

  The Bearded Man made a grunt of displeasure and pulled a pistol from his jacket, then spoke, “Enough of this madness! Throw down everything you own, now!” he demanded, flinging spittle around.

  “It never ends, does it Evan?” Consuela ignited the plasma blade at the end of the spear, tossed the spear up, catching it overhand, then, flung it like a javelin; skewering the Bearded Man. The plasma burned a hole clean through the Bearded Man's torso and bit into the dirt after passing through his body. He expired almost instantly. Consuela ran to retrieve the spear from the corpse.

  “Well, I suppose it's time to get moving again,” Evan sighed.

  “Nice of them to leave us transportation,” Consuela jested.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  The dirtbikes gifted to them by the thugs at the abandoned service station outside of Trenton, New Jersey had hastened their travel time quite a bit. Soon they were approaching the city limits of Philadelphia. The city center was virtually abandoned; the population having been relocated during the Born Again Gathering or evacuated by Apostate forces. The streets were eerily silent. They cruised down the major artery and crossed the Schuylkill River. They came upon a bland, featureless brick building, where portions had collapsed. After kicking the stand and parking the bikes, the duo walked toward the front entrance of the building

  “What is this place?” Consuela asked.

  “It's the old Philadelphia City Archives,” Evan answered.

  “So, you still think that you will find something here about your family? This predated the [Virtue-Net], wouldn't the Regime have destroyed those records?” Consuela deduced.

  “That could be possible. But, I have a feeling that since th
ey controlled total access to the archives they had no need to destroy them,” Evan said, as he forced open a door that was falling away from its hinges. As they entered the large hall in the front of the building they were greeted with the stench of rotting furniture, walls clad in peeling paint, and near pitch-darkness. Evan activated a small plasma-lantern to light the way. Rubble was strewn about and too much time had passed since the building was functional to offer up any directional guidance. Evan simply felt his way through the building, down a darkened corridor, utilizing his knowledge of similar buildings to guide him to the central chamber that housed the vast rows of archive files, microfilm, and non-functional computers. Evan stood and took in the scene, mulling over the daunting search ahead of him. Consuela walked in behind him and put a hand on his shoulder as to acknowledge that she understood the task ahead of him.

  “Wow, what a mess here. We should eat before you start on your search,” Consuela suggested.

  “Agreed,” Evan said. The two peered around the chamber, and they decided to settle down on the opposite side of the chamber from the end where there had been a partial roof collapse. Evan found several metal barrels stacked in a corner, which were empty. He carried one over to the corner where they had laid out their bedrolls. He set the barrel down, then Consuela extended her spear’s shaft and ignited the plasma blade. She cut the barrel in two, length-wise. Evan found a wooden bookcase, and reduced it to firewood and kindling with the lion head cane-sword, then he arranged the wood in a pile. Soon, they had a barrel fire of dancing flame, giving off warmth. Evan pulled some dried fish from his pack and placed a mesh over the fire, which supported the fish. Consuela prepared some produce that they had procured on the journey south for a rudimentary salad. After some time, the meal was ready to eat, and the pair lounged by the fire.