Eden's Hammer (2 page)

“We’ve been hearing rumors about the Navy in Corpus Christi. Word has it they’ve docked some nuclear powered air-craft carriers and subs down there, but haven’t heard how many. If you can believe the rumors, they’re pulling electrical power from the ships to a refinery and they’re starting to make diesel and gasoline. Kind of makes sense—those boats should have been hardened for EMP attacks, especially the subs. Funny thing is, we never hear anything at all from the Navy itself on the ham radio, just stories about them. Seems like if it were true, the Navy would at least let us know they are there; it would be some small comfort to know part of the government still worked. Then again, maybe they don’t want to be overrun by refugees, might already have all they can handle without beggars coming out of the woods, too. Hell, people might come from all over the States to get there.”

Adrian said, “Neither you nor Sarah has said anything about the family, so I guess everyone is okay?”

“Sure, they’re all doing fine and will be tickled to death you’re home. They’ve missed you, we all have. Alice’s death hit all of us hard. She was a wonderful person, had become Sarah’s best friend in the world, or what’s left of it, and that made it even more of a bond. We still miss her something awful, always will I guess. Sarah was especially tore up about the baby. She felt guilty for not telling you that Alice had told her she was pregnant; but it was Alice’s wish to surprise you, and well, after Alice died Sarah thought if you didn’t find out it would be for the best. She would have taken that secret to her grave, keeping it even from me in order to spare you that pain. She’s a damn good woman, and that would have eaten on her for the rest of her life. I’m sorry you had to find out, but at the same time I’m relieved that she doesn’t have to carry that.

“Speak of the devil. There they are now.” Roman said.

Roman and Sarah’s two children and their spouses—Jerry and his wife, Karen; and Shirley and her husband, Dave—came through the door, followed by their five children. Sarah came out of the kitchen to join in the homecoming. Adrian was happily surrounded by his cousins and nieces and nephews. Roman and Sarah had taken Adrian in after Adrian’s parents had been killed in a car crash when he was eight years old, and this was his family.

Jerry and Shirley, officially his cousins, were more like brother and sister to him, having lived with them for ten years. Adrian was two years older than Jerry and four years older than Karen. They looked up to him as a big brother. Hugs, kisses, and backslapping took over the room. When everyone found a place to sit, Adrian had to recount the events of the year he had been gone. Because some of the children were still quite young, Adrian omitted some of the facts about his war with the cannibals. He would fill his cousins in on the details later. The children were thrilled by the bear stories, and two of the littlest girls clapped their hands in delight when Adrian described the bear cubs. The boys were all secretly planning to make spears the next day and go hunting.

When Adrian finished his story, there was a long, comfortable silence. Adrian was soaking in his family’s warmth and their obvious love for him. It was a good feeling, the best feeling he had had since before Alice’s death. Finally, Adrian said, “I have to apologize to all of you for taking off like that; I know it wasn’t right. Well, I know it now; I didn’t then. At the time, I was hurting so bad that it was the only thing I could think to do, so I ran away and tried to hide in the mountains. Honestly, I wasn’t planning on ever coming back. If it hadn’t been for the circumstances I got into, I might have stayed hidden up there for years before I had enough sense to come back. I realize now that it was selfish to run off when all of you were hurting from her death, too. I can’t apologize enough.”

Shirley went to Adrian and gave him a big hug. With tears in her eyes, she said, “I know I speak for all of us when I say we know how much pain you were in. Alice was wonderful, we all loved her, and we all still miss her. There’s not a day goes by that she isn’t in our thoughts, and we talk of her often. The entire village loved her and still misses her. For you to lose the love of your life—and so soon after finding her—was devastating. Then to find out she was carrying your baby…well, no one here blames you a bit, or thinks any less of you for taking off.”

Adrian looked around the room. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house, and suddenly Shirley pulled him to his feet and everyone spontaneously gathered around for a family hug with him in the center. It was a delayed sharing of grief that staggered Adrian with its depth of emotion. He knew he had been a fool to run away from this much love and support, especially while they were hurting, too, and here he was, a year later, and they were sharing with him their love and understanding of his pain. Hot, scalding tears streamed down his face, and for the first time in his entire life, he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen crying.

March 2, night

Later, when everyone had gone home and Sarah had gone to bed, Adrian asked Roman, “What about my men? Are they all still here?”

“All five of them, and they’re sound and healthy,” Roman replied. “They’ll be throwing you a party when they find out you’re back. They’ve heard about the bear cubs, so I expect you’ll get some heavy ribbing—not that you don’t deserve it. I’ll send the word to them after a bit.”

Adrian asked, “How about you and Aunt Sarah? How have you two gotten along since I saw you last?”

“Pretty darned good, I’d say. We’ve had enough to eat, and good Lord willing, we’ll have a record crop this year. Knock on wood that Mother Nature doesn’t do something to it. This lifestyle has gotten me into better shape than I was in before the grid went down. Back then I sat at a desk all day, or was driving the hour and a half to work and then back. I was soft, really soft, but not now. Not an ounce of fat on me, and I can run like I was a child—well, almost that good. Sarah has leaned down, too, and she’s always busy taking care of this place and me. She works hard. She’s often in the field, weeding or harvesting. Chores that used to be easy, like washing clothes, take a lot more work and time now. I’d say she’s in better shape now than she was in her twenties. Not bad for people in their mid-sixties; we’re way healthier than we used to be. We’re always busy and there is always work to be done, but we don’t mind it because it’s our work for our benefit. It takes hard work to survive, but every drop of sweat is for us, no taxes rob us of our hard work for the benefit of lazy people somewhere else. We share with others, but it’s our choice what we share and who it goes to.

“All that prepping I had been doing in the grid years paid off. Those antique tools I collected have been lifesaving, literally. The guns and ammunition I collected have been worth their weight ten times over in what gold used to be worth. My library of survival books really did the trick for us in so many ways, it’s hard to describe. The Foxfire books weren’t especially helpful in the very beginning, when we were hiding and living by the skin of our teeth, but now that we are settling into a village lifestyle, they are precious beyond words.”

Adrian said, “Now, tell me about this threat before I strangle you.”

“Well, I can tell you a little. There’s a lot we don’t know, but what we do know is bad. There’s a large band of raiders heading this way. Real barbarians—vicious. They’re looting, killing, and raping as they come. It’s a big band, don’t know how many exactly, but from the accounts we’ve heard so far, it could be upwards of two hundred or more of them. Well armed and utterly ruthless. I’ve been plotting the reports of the raids we’ve heard about on a map and they are on a beeline right at us. One refugee even said that he overheard the raiders talking about Fort Brazos. That might not mean anything, but all information so far indicates they will be coming through here. Linda knows the most about them—I’ll get her over here soon so you can ask her questions. Best guess is that we have five or six weeks before they’re here.”

CHAPTER 2

January 8

R
ex shuddered inwardly with intense
pleasure as he watched the man thrashing out of the last of his life. Rex’s outward appearance was of a handsome yet stone cold killer with no emotions; the wide, toothy smile on his face didn’t signal anything recognizable as pleasure. He was a tall, blond man with pale gray eyes, almost albino looking. His face was always serenely still and cold. When he smiled, which he did frequently, it was a large, toothy smile that on an ordinary person would have been both charming and engaging, but on his face, paired with his dead eyes, it sent a primordial chill down one’s spine.

Blood pumped from the man’s throat, slowing quickly to a stop, pooling and sinking into the dry clay. Rex had few discipline problems with his men, but when he did, a lightning fast slash across the offender’s throat with his large knife stopped the problem and made a crystal clear example for the other men. His discipline was so thorough that sometimes, such as in this instance, Rex had to create a perceived infraction so that he could release the tension that built up when he had gone too long without a kill.

Rex was asexual. He viewed sex as an unhygienic bit of business that entirely repulsed him. He’d tried it once in his teens, and then killed the girl afterwards in pure disgust, stabbing her repeatedly until he was exhausted. It had taken a lot of work to get rid of her body and not be a suspect in her disappearance. He’d buried her deep in swampland, where the corpse was never found. He’d also burned the motel down; there had been too much blood to clean up, and the fire had the added bonus of destroying any documents that might have led the police to him. As an added plus, the motel manager on duty that night went up in flames after Rex had knocked him unconscious.
On the bright side,
he thought,
that’s where I learned to love arson.

Lacking in normal sexual release, he found that his always-increasing inner tension was relieved by killing, at least temporarily. Killing was his sexual activity, and he was well aware of it. In fact, he reveled in it. Before the grid went down, his killings had had to be secretive, adding a layer of difficulty to his acts. Afterwards, when there was no law, he killed in the open and enjoyed it far more. He enjoyed an audience when he killed. The post-grid world couldn’t fit him better if he had custom designed it. He was free to do whatever he was powerful and smart enough to do, and he loved it.

He was averse to getting any bodily fluids on him, except blood. He didn’t mind blood, but would still quickly wash it off. Rex always took extra care with his appearance. He had two women captives that washed and ironed his clothes. He changed two, sometimes three times per day, washing himself thoroughly each time. One of the women trimmed his hair and shaved him every morning. They cooked his meals, performed the house cleaning and laundry, and shined his boots. Any tiny deviation from his infinitely detailed rules and routine, and the offending woman would receive a severe beating. Rex, ever aware of being poisoned by the women, even made them eat first while he watched. At random intervals, he ordered one of his men to eat his meal. He made it clear to the women that should they try to poison him, their fate would be hideous beyond their worst nightmares.

Rex had been discharged from the Army along with thousands of other soldiers at Fort Hood after the grid dropped, and the Army could no longer feed them all. He took his rifle, ammunition, and MREs and walked back to his hometown of Baton Rouge, leaving a trail of blood and bodies in his wake. He was born in Baton Rouge, and had grown up on the rough side of town. His first kill was at the age of eight. A slightly older and much larger bully had accosted him on the way to school. The bully was found stabbed to death a few days later. The police barely investigated, and certainly didn’t think to look at children of Rex’s age. Other bodies—mostly of the homeless—were found with their throats cut over the next ten years in and around his neighborhood. After Rex enlisted in the Army, Baton Rouge’s unsolved homicide rate went down perceptibly. No one made the connection.

Rex joined the Army so that he could kill openly; he hated having to be sneaky about it. Killing for the good of the country, under orders, was still killing to him. It provided a cloak of acceptability that he found useful. He rapidly worked his way into a special operations unit. He was large, heavily muscled, handsome, and fast. Even though he was outwardly an extremely attractive man, most women avoided him instinctively; the few that didn’t, he brushed off as loathsome annoyances. His IQ was nearly off the charts, and he never hesitated to move aggressively. His combat skills and aggressive attitude outshone every soldier he was paired with, except one, and Rex had become overtly obsessed with besting that man. Killing him had become his constant inner drive. When the grid had dropped and the world changed for the better, his obsession had gone into hibernation, deep in the rotten swamps of his twisted mind. But it hadn’t died. It laid in the darkness of his mind with one eye half open, waiting.

Rex looked at the body with contempt, then looked up at his men. He said, “There is only one penalty here. Be sure you’re willing to pay the price before you break a rule.” He stared the men down for thirty seconds. They avoided eye contact, knowing that any little thing could set him off if his bloodlust wasn’t fully satisfied. Seeing no challenge from his men, Rex turned and strode back to his quarters, well aware of the cowed men watching him.

He had taken over one of the city’s finest antebellum mansions. His office and personal quarters were on the top floor of the three-story home. His honor guard officers were quartered on the lower two floors. Rex’s “office hours” consisted primarily of seeing a stream of informers. Men paid to bring information on the goings on of the city. Payment was generally made in canned goods, but sometimes it was made in favors, such as eliminating a particular thorn in an informant’s side.

Rex had initially joined a small band of raiders when he’d returned to his home city. Within a week, he had taken over the group by killing the leader in front of the men. He told them, “He was stupid and weak. Do what I tell you, and you’ll be rich by comparison.” The men believed he was telling them the truth. More importantly, he deeply scared them, and they fell in line immediately. He recruited more and better men until his crew had reached four hundred. It was the optimum size for the region’s available resources. Once he reached the optimal level, he continued to recruit better-trained and more highly skilled men. When he brought in a new man, he would dismiss the worst man he had, maintaining his crew of exactly four hundred. During the initial weeks after taking over the original crew, they had taken food, water, and women from individual homes. When those resources became scarcer, and as his crew became larger and better trained, Rex upped the ante and changed his method of operation.