Music City Macabre: The Low Lying Lands Saga: Vol. 1 (3 page)

Rick stands and makes his way towards the bar. He fills a glass with water and saunters over toward me, a smug look on his face. He walks up and throws the water in my face, while letting out a cackle similar to Cesar Romero’s Joker from the classic Batman show.

“You’re really in the shit now Mr. Prescott!” he declares, putting an emphasis on the T with complete disdain.

“What makes you say that? I’ve been in worse spots than this,” I say, not believing a word of it myself.

“Because I say so motherfucker!” he spits. “He told me you’d come. He wasn’t quite sure when, but he knew you would. What did he say? Sounded so stupid…oh yeah. He said you would follow the points.”

His words are a gunshot to the gut. “What did you say?”

“You heard me asshole,” he says. He steps forward and belts me across the jaw with a right hook. My head snaps back and I taste fresh blood from the cut inside my mouth.

“That all you got, friend?” I toss out to his back as he walks away. “If you’re trying to tell me something maybe you should speak up.”

“Is that right?” he croaks and turns to me again.

I still find his swagger misplaced, until he rocks me with a vicious head butt to the forehead just over my right eye. It’s a massive jolt, and it hurts, but it sends him back several steps as well.

“GLORY TO
THE 88,
” he screams. “AND SERENITY TO THE BLACK HAND, WHICH LIVES TO SERVE!”

“
The 88
? Did you say Black Hand? What the fuck is going on?” I demand.

His face is a mask of total hatred. His emotion? Sure. Anybody can hate. I have plenty of hate. But hatred is a fierce concept. With hatred you don’t just HATE somebody. No, you have to strip away all the layers of humanity to get to the base of hatred. You have to
know
that person. There needs to be a reason.

Blood is flowing into my eye and down my face as Rick cuts the rope securing me to the chair and I pitch forward to the ground. I’m fading out. Lying in a fetal position in blood-soaked pain, I make the decision that will either save my life or end it.

I gingerly shift from my side to a praying position. The right side of my face is bloodied and my sight is clouded from swelling while I suffer excruciating pain. I force my left leg out, reach my right hand back for the chair, and pull myself up.

I hope the chair will stabilize me, instead it falls over from my weight and sends me flailing toward the wall. I wish it had been the wall. Instead it is a large metal garage door that makes a resounding crash when I topple into it. Rick turns quickly to see what the commotion is and notices I’ve made it to my feet. This appears to piss him off.

He turns to his half-breed pals, who are now glaring at me from the poker table and begins to stoke the fire. These Freaks are frothing for a kill. I don’t know what or who “trained” the fuckers but they’re primed for destruction

“This asshole still needs a little more religion,” says Rick. “Any preachers in the room?”

A Freak stands slowly as his chair slides backwards and falls over. He’s about 6’5”, at least 300 pounds. He crushes his knuckles together in a chorus of pops and makes his way toward me. I don’t want to think about the damage this monster could do to me. Fighting a Freak one-on-one is doable, but not good. This man is equal to three. His biceps are bulging, flexing in preparation for the “religion” he intends to baptize me with.

Hands regaining sensation, I push off the cool metallic door and take a stance. This menacing motherfucker needs to understand I intend to fight. I shrug off my overcoat and wrestle the bloodstained tie from around my neck. I may be about to take a beating but believe this, he’s going to hurt too. I came here for Emily and I’m not leaving without her. Not alive anyhow.

“AND THE 88 SHALL VISIT UPON THE EARTH!” Rick begins to preach at the top of his lungs. “AND THE WORTHY WILL BE TRANSFORMED INTO THE BLACK HAND, WHO ARE THEIR SERVANTS AND SOLDIERS!” He’s damn near gone crazy with delight. I don’t have words for what I’m seeing. I wish Pollock was here and had my back.

The remaining members of the posse float over to the space we inhabit and form a circle. They have all transformed into bloodthirsty jackals that mean to see death. I feel like I’m standing in the last moments of my life.

“Let’s get it on,” I say as I throw the hardest punch I can manage toward the giant. He catches the punch in his fist, engulfing my hand, and twists upward until it feels like my arm will break at the elbow. At the same time he violently launches a knee square into my gut, expelling all the air from my body.

The blow knocks me to the ground, and I give myself over to the agony as the giant kneels down and clubs me in the back. Just then, Rick is back in the mix, kicking and punching me in a berserk attack from the side. I’m able to protect my face and body well enough to roll to my back and thrust a two-legged kick toward his chest. It does no damage but separates us enough that I can get to my feet and stagger backwards.

I stare at Rick, continuing my attempt to discover an ounce of recognition for the hatred he holds. Finally I ask, arms extended in an exasperated display. “What gives man? Who the fuck am I to you? I don’t get it.”

“You never have, Prescott.”

“What does that mean?” I manage to say.

“They didn’t want you. You weren’t receptive. They loathed you!” he barks out.

“Who didn’t want…” I lock eyes with him. My mouth is agape, blood trickling from my lip.

“WE HAVE A WINNER!”

“You’re, you’re talking about the Prescotts.” Emotion grips my throat as I stutter the name.

“Yes, I’m talking about the Prescotts. That name means honor and glory to The 88!”

I rush him in a blind rage and take him to the ground. In a primal state, I beat Rick into submission.

“You don’t know anything about the Prescotts!” I scream. I don’t know where this is going.

Lost in the background while I am committing a violent attack on Rick, the large metal door slides open with an egregious wail. Two men step into the room. They are both impeccably dressed and wear a look of thorough disgust on their faces.

One is younger and clearly a subordinate, albeit a respected one. The other appears to be approaching sixty and most assuredly carries with him great power and influence.

The Freaks cower from the older man. His presence has sent them scurrying to the darkened corners like rats, and terrified whispers gain volume over the hostilities taking place in the center of the room. Even the big guy who almost killed me is cowed.

“That will be all, son,” the voice booms.

That voice. I haven’t heard it in two decades, but I know it as well as I know my own. It’s the voice of the man who plucked me from obscurity at the age of 12 and turned me into the man I am today. It is the voice of my father.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Prescott,” says Rick.

“What are you two doing here?” I can’t hide the shock and confusion on my face.

If there are two people I would’ve never thought I’d see stand side by side it’s Pollock and Mr. Prescott.

“What the hell is going on? Who is he?” I ask, gesturing towards Rick.

He shakes his head in disappointment. “Language, young man. You were always a bit of a savage. We…I did what I could for you but you never really were a good fit.”

“A good fit? I loved you!”

“Yes, well, I can’t say we felt the same Mr., uh?”

“Prescott! My name is Prescott!” At this Pollock laughs.

“If you insist. I suppose it’s high time you heard this. You were selected from a rather small group of candidates from the Forrester Home for Boys. We are always scouting for young men to join our ranks as apprentices. That is how we came to find Pollock. Pollock, as you call him, was already in my care and in place at the Forrest before your arrival. He surveyed the lot, determined you were the pick of the litter, and informed me. Everything he told you then about himself and in regards to your search has been a carefully crafted lie. Bringing you into our home was to be a glorious day for The Black Hand. Alas, it was a catastrophic failure.”

“…What?” It is literally all I can muster. My entire world is collapsing to its foundation.

“I am, or should I say,
we
are, part of a large but private group of individuals.” He extends his arms out wide in an encompassing manner that includes himself, Pollock, me, and Rick.

I have never felt more alone in my entire life. The range of emotions that are crashing down on me vary from hurt to confusion to rage. Trying to process what he is telling me, this man who I consider my father, is damn near impossible in my current physical and emotional state.

“You see...boy, we have people everywhere. We are The Black Hand. We are the human servants of The 88. It is time you learned what you walked away from. Demons exist, boy! They have for a very long time. The stories I told you when you were younger were not stories at all, but truths, legends of our history. But you wouldn’t listen. Our family, the Prescott family is a conduit to this collection of demons. We are, for lack of a better term, The First Family.”

“In order to serve The 88 in a more fitting manner, the demon known as Chaos came to our plane and gave my family a small sample of his essence. I was able to take his essence and deliver it to several Black Hand agents in pivotal positions within our construct,” he continued.

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” I asked, “Demons?”

“Look around boy! See what we created and maybe the big picture will develop for you.”

I’m trying to focus. To process all that he’s dropped on me in the last few minutes. Looking around the room again I see the Freaks, and then I continue to scan in search of whatever he wants me to see. I don’t get it. All I see are…are...the Freaks!

“No! Father please don’t tell me you had a hand in this! The Freaks? They broke the world!”

“YES boy! They did! BH-2014! It practically had our name on it! Because, what Chaos wants, Chaos will always get! So sayeth The Black Hand!”

“The Collapse! The Descent! It was you?”

“No boy it was us! You have played your part all along. How is it that you think you came to be on our radar? It was Chaos.” My Father’s eyes begin to glow an unbelievable red. But it isn’t blood; it’s more like light. His voice drops to a deep bass and he speaks again.

“It was I, boy, that chose
you
. Your mother and father were eliminated so that you would end up in the cradle of The Black Hand. It was what
I
wished, so it was. You have performed excellently for us since we assumed control of this world. “Safe Zones”, as you call them do not exist. It is merely the will of The 88 that your world believe it is so. Every person you have delivered to a safe zone since Chaos has come to reign has been converted to a Black Hand soldier.”

“NO! That can’t be,” I scream in horror. But I can see it on his face. The truth.

“But it is,” says Chaos through my father. “Many of our very best Black Hand agents have no idea they are puppets to the Master. Prescott, you must stop this fight. Your world is lost. There is but a brief time left before the pure humans are converted. You are defeated. The 88 demons have claimed our prize. Truth. Beauty. Human nature. Free will! All is lost for but a few. Mark my words. They will fall.”

My father’s eyes returned to their natural color and his voice reverted to his own. Chaos had left and returned to whatever plane he existed on. I can’t believe I said that.

“Father, where is Emily?” I ask.

“First things first. From this day forward you will never call me that again. The mere thought of it sickens my stomach,” he says.

“What do you mean? I’m your son,” I say, eyes locked on the man.

“It’s very simple, really. You are not my son nor were you ever. You are a disgrace. My son stands at my side. As for Emily,” he says, matter of factly, “your relationship with her effectively ended any connection I would ever have with you.”

BEFORE

Emily Prescott, my sister, disappeared before the Collapse and has been missing for the last two years. I first noticed her missing when she was absent from our weekly breakfast meet up. The timing isn’t exact but Emily’s disappearance and the announcement to the public concerning BH-2014 were within a week of each other. After repeated attempts to connect with her failed, I went straight to Pollock. He went to work on it right away. I knew I could trust him. If I couldn’t find her, which was difficult to conceive, Pollock would. Of course, after the infected broke quarantine, everything went sideways.

Chaos let loose on the world, but we couldn’t worry about that. The creatures were spreading the disease faster than anyone could think of a way to stop it. All we could focus on in the early months was how to survive in Chicago. Forget the world. Forget the United States of America. Forget the next town over. Survival in our own backyard was the first point.

In the beginning, the most common ways we communicated disappeared before we knew it. There was no Internet, and cell phone towers crashed to the ground. Society was literally collapsing before our eyes. People had no concept of how to continue, and many didn’t even want to.