- 13 -
Dénouement
Ray pressed his right eye up against a thin crack in the inner wall and peered outside into the falling darkness. Haven's spacious courtyard was criss-crossed with barb wire and dotted with mines. At the center of the concrete plaza was a towering iron sculpture of a kneeling slave. Between its bent legs was a steel bridge that stretched across a large, ornamental pond that guarded the front of Haven like a castle moat. All around the statute and moat were decorative gardens, surrounded by high stone walls. The gardens were planted with green grass and tall weeds that billowed in the night breeze.
The colossus at the center of the plaza had been commissioned by Ashur when he first became Lord of the Pitt. It was an enormous iron latticework crudely welded into the image of a slave, kneeling in chains before Haven and the bosses. The colossus was not only meant to inspire awe and obedience from the slaves, it was also built to serve as a reminder to the bosses that they too were slaves to their city and its sole master.
From what Ray could see, the plaza was empty. However, at the very edge of the plaza where Haven melded into the high-rises of uptown, he could see several high mounds of piled debris - the Marauders' defensive ramparts.
Ray had been told that the Marauders were readying for their final assault on Haven. There were less then a hundred Marauders, but their ranks were augmented by hundreds of escaped slaves who Wyoming had forcibly conscripted into service. Those slaves would be the first wave, leading the charge into the teeth of Haven's defenses, straight into Ray's current position.
Ray was troubled at the thought of having to kill more fellow slaves. Over his time as a mamluke, he had come to think of them as brothers in bondage.
"Stay back from the walls," 100 barked to his men from the center of the large room.
As Ray turned back to glare at his commander, a Marauder artillery shell slammed into Haven, six stories above the mamlukes. The whole structure groaned and dust drizzled down from the reinforced ceiling.
The mamlukes were assembling on the second floor of Haven, in a large open foyer lined with weapons and ammunition. They were arming and armoring themselves to be the first line of defense at Haven's front door.
Ray didn't believe that Haven had much of a chance against the Marauders. The Marauders had too many men and too much fire power for the mamlukes or bosses to be able to hold out for very long. Ray actually doubted that the Marauders would attempt to storm Haven at all. They could shell the citadel from a distance at will and could simply pound Haven with their artillery until it collapsed into a graveyard of rubble.
However, Ray wasn't trying to understand the Marauders' tactics. He was too busy reflecting on his own life. No matter what the exact outcome of this battle was, Ray knew this was his last stand. He would be buried one way or another.
"When all of you are ready, line up. All even numbers take positions on ground level, all odds at the top of the stairwell and behind the banisters!" 100 shouted.
Another artillery round crashed into Haven followed by a series of shouts up and down the Marauder line. The machinegunners and snipers positioned in Haven's upper story windows opened fire. The walls all around the mamlukes rumbled from battle.
100 scanned his assembled mamlukes. They looked fatigued and demoralized. They were covered in filth, gunpowder, and blood from days of ceaseless fighting.
"Lord Ashur has proclaimed that all of you will become bosses after this siege has been lifted," 100 screamed over the commotion, "so fight well – to the death!"
Lance skipped over to Ray and whispered in his ear, "you hear that?" he raised his assault rifle with a grin, "we're free men now."
"Bullshit," Ray spat, "Ashur knows none of us are making it out of here. Only freedom we get will be when we're dead."
"I don't know. . ." Lance shrugged, "I have a good feeling."
Ray gravely nodded.
Footsteps began to echo up from Haven's atrium, alarming 100. He moved into cover around a doorframe and peered down to Haven's entrance door, rifle ready, "who's there? Identify yourself!"
A raider boss slowly walked into Haven's foyer from the outside courtyard. He was followed by a dirty slave girl, chafing under her slave collar. The boss and slave put their hands up and stared towards the mamluke unit, positioned at the top of the grand staircase.
"Niels!" the boss called out "it's me, Reddup. Lower your weapons!"
Ray peered down at the slave next to Reddup, "Kylie!"
100 signaled for the mamlukes to relax. He waived Reddup and Kylie upstairs.
"I thought all the bosses were already in postion," 100 huffed.
"I was finishing the minefield when this one came back to me," Reddup shoved Kylie towards 100, "she was worried her collar was going to blow. . . .you know her?"
Kylie didn't look up at 100, "commander," she said meekly.
"32?" 100 paused, "yes. . . rejoin your unit 32 . . . and quickly, we're falling out!" 100 hurried Kylie off.
Kylie marched away from 100 and Reddup, over to a table stacked high with rifles and pistols. She picked up an assault rifle from the spread and loaded a magazine. Her hands were cold and shaking. She looked gaunt.
Ray noticed Kylie's nervousness. He walked over to comfort her, "Kylie, glad to see you again. Where have you been, you missed some real hell last night."
Kylie checked to see if 100 or Reddup were watching her. She then reached down into her armor and pulled out the skeleton key. She showed it to Ray.
"A parting gift from Jackson," Kylie took a deep swallow and unlocked her slave collar. Her eyes quivered.
"What. .. what are you doing?" Ray gaped at her wide-eyed.
"Allowing you to escape. Once your free just go - don't try to help me."
The battle picked up outside, drowning out all noise in the foyer with a deafening roar. Kylie's collar fell off of her neck and clanked on the floor.
The next few seconds devolved into a blur.
Kylie tossed the skeleton key over to Ray and pivoted with her rifle, taking aim at Reddup while he was still talking to 100. She shot him once in the chest, and he toppled down onto the ground. She then leveled her rifle at 100.
Ray was stunned by what had just happened. He was unprepared for the toss and the key bounced off his chest and landed on the floor. He ducked down and fumbled around on the concrete, trying to retrieve it.
100 reached into his pocket to grab the control to detonate Kylie's collar. He hadn't noticed she was off her leash.
"Stop!" Kylie screamed at 100. She menaced him with her rifle, "I have the key to our collars. 100, you're free," she paused, hoping 100 would relax but he was fuming, "we're all free."
100 blindly charged Kylie like a rhinoceros. He slammed into her before she could get a shot off.
"BITCH!" 100 took Kylie down to the ground and began to slap her face, "how did you get the key! Where is it! What did you fucking do!"
Kylie tried to kick 100 off of her but he was too burly and heavy. She balled up and put her hands in front of her face to block his blows, "100! Stop! We're free! You're free! Its over!"
"Traitor!" 100 continued to beat her in a frenzy. His fists pummeled her face like two beefy sludge hammers. He head butted her, giving her a black eye, and then slammed her head against the floor, over and over again, until she was half unconscious.
Ray scooped the key up from the ground and inserted it into his collar.
"Don't you fucking try that! I will take your head off right now!" 100 snarled to Ray. He stood up from Kylie.
A few of the mamlukes had begun to take aim at 100.
"Stand down! I will blow all of your heads off, every last one of you!" 100 screamed at his soldiers.
They backed away.
100 looked over to Ray again, "you, give me that fucking key right now!"
While 100 was turned towards Ray, Kylie stood up behind him, wobbly from a concussion.
Ray was pale as a ghost. He watched in silence as 100 approached.
"Turn it over or you're dead!" 100 roared.
The key's cold metal burned into Ray's palm. His eyes darted over to Lance, looking for some sign of what to do. Lance looked as dumbfounded as he was.
"Give me the key!" 100 screeched.
Kylie staggered up behind 100 and shot him in the back. As 100 cried out in pain, he turned around and grabbed a fistful of Kylie's hair, taking her back down to the ground. Kylie dropped her weapon as 100 collapsed on top of her. He dug his knees into her chest and choked her while she clawed at his face with her fingernails.
"Everyone, back the fuck away! Don't any of you dare unlock your collars!" 100 screamed like a banshee. He was still on top of Kylie, squeezing her neck as hard as he could. He was foaming with rage.
Ray momentarily froze, transfixed by what was happening.
100 screamed for the bosses on the upper levels to aide him. His shouts were muffled by a thunderous impact that shook Haven's walls. The building shifted from from the shockwave.
100 was distracted by the sudden jolt. Kylie reached up and fishhooked his mouth with her bloody fingers.
"Urahhhh!"
"Take this!" Ray threw the key to Lance. He then charged 100 and pounced on top of him, trying to tear him off of Kylie.
Together, Ray and Kylie pinned 100's arms to the ground, immobilizing him so he couldn't detonate the slave collars. As 100 writhed in their grasp, Lance unlocked his own collar. He ran up and put a single shot into 100's dirty forehead.
"Told you I had a good feeling!" Lance tossed the key back to Ray.
Ray didn't respond, he was too busy checking Kylie to make sure she was still breathing. Her face looked like raw meat - bloody and mangled. Her left eye was swollen shut. She had fallen down to her knees, too woozy to stand from 100's blows.
Within a few moments, the other mamlukes were able to unlock their collars. They followed Lance down the stairs to ground level.
"Let's make a break for it! We can all meet up in the steel yard!" Lance swung open the door to the courtyard. He waived for everyone to follow him outside, "Ray! We have to go now! The Marauders are storming the plaza!"
"Kylie, can you make it?" Ray tried to pull her to her feet, but she slipped out of his grasp, back down to the ground.
"Just go," Kylie threw up on the concrete. Blood dripped out from her nose. The room seemed to spin.
Lance peered out the doorway, "Ray! Come on! Now!" he disappeared outside into the night.
"I'm not going to leave you!" Ray grabbed Kylie and half carried her down the stairwell, "try to run!"
The mamlukes charged outside, ducking fire from all sides, before disappearing into the darkness.
(**********************************************************************)
"This assault is completely unnecessary," Utah mumbled. He was walking alongside Wyoming, with Kentucky and Tennessee at his heels.
Wyoming paid him no attention. His gaze was fixed dead ahead. He was examining the defensive works the former Pitt slaves had assembled for the Marauders. They had gathered up chunks of rubble, rusted cars, and various other debris that littered the Pitt and had stacked it all into tall ramparts. These bulwarks lined the edges of uptown, blocking all incoming fire from Haven, and obscuring the staging area for the assault from spying snipers. Huddled below these high ramparts were their assemblers, hundreds of former Pitt slaves who had been armed by the Marauders to be the first wave. They looked frightened and emaciated. As they watched Wyoming approach, they whispered to one another in hushed tones over the roars of the Marauder artillery fire.
"This assault is what we hath come for," Wyoming sniffed. He pulled on his fiery roman helmet and drew his short sword.
Utah shook his head, "we don't have to do this. If we just give Texas some more time-"
"This is myne moment!" Wyoming snarled. He cocked his head at the other Marauders, "this is how the story the ends. This art the climatic final battle," he continued forwards.
Wyoming darted up to the top of one of the ramparts, next to the ruins of an ancient US Post Office. He positioned himself above the assembled slaves so that the flags atop the building would be his backdrop. The old flags fluttered in the night sky as it flashed bright from the bursts of Texas's artillery fire.
"Myne shackled brothers and sisters!" Wyoming roared from his grand stage, "now art the time to break thoust bondage. Now art the time to charge gallantly into the tips of thyne enemy's spears! Now art the time to repay them in kind for their sins and to make their fortress their funeral pyre!"
Wyoming paused to gauge the crowd's reaction.
The mass of slaves stared at Wyoming emptily. They looked miserable and visibly shook with terror.
Wyoming's head jerked right. He began to pace atop the rampart. A shell lit up the sky like a flash of lighting. A sniper's bullet whizzed by his helment.
"Think on what they hath done to you myne shackled brothers! Those foul demons in the cursed castle hath murdered thoust mothers and brothers. They hath raped thoust wives and locked thoust children in chains! They hath made thoust seed sterile - they hath robbed thou of everything! Art not you going to make them pay in seared flesh and broken bone!"
The slaves were still too frightened or weary to react. They cowered from Wyoming's presence. The Marauders began to line up behind them, readying themselves for the attack.
An artillery shell scored a direct hit on Haven. The explosion looked like a giant firework. The façade of Haven cracked, making a giant spider web pattern on the building's face of shattered brick and blasted metal
Wyoming's head spasmed once more. He spit into the dirt, "this art thoust chance to stand up for freedom and to live as free men! This art thoust chance to die as free men, gloriously in battle! This art thoust chance to become martyrs to freedom and to wipe out the Foul Lord and his accursed Pitt forever!"
Wyoming chest heaved as he panted, out of breath. The flags billowed behind him. He had expected the slaves to be emboldened by his oratory but they still cringed below. Some were weeping. Most looked like they were still in shock from this endless nightmare.
Wyoming was incensed, "I hath though thou were not born on thoust knees, bowing, but were born free men! I hath thought thou still had courage, honor, and manhood! Art thou going to let King Claudius - that foul Lucifer - continue to sit fat and happy on his gilded throne? Art thou going to let him mock you from the safety of his castle, Haven - the citadel built upon the toil of thoust own broken backs!"
Wyoming was seething. Under his helmet his face was beet red.
A huge Marauder artillery shell slammed down at the feet of Ashur's colossus, shearing off one of its iron legs. The tall latticework let out a loud groan and began to collapse onto its side in a bird's nest of twisted iron.
Wyoming watched the colossus tumble and took it as a omen, "now myne brothers, myne freedom fighters! Sally forth! Kill for your freedom or be shot where you stand! Charge the castle - myne soldiers, ATTACK!"
Dozens of slaves went up and over the rubble pile, charging towards Haven. The machineguns and snipers began to cut them down. A few stepped on land mines and the resulting explosions lit up the sky.
The rest of the slaves stayed huddled behind the ramparts too scared to move. Their fear drove Wyoming into a frenzy, his eyes burned through his helmet's visor like hellfire.
"Ye women! Ye cravens! I told you - ATTACK!" Wyoming grabbed a slave by his hair and pulled him to the top of the rampart. He kicked him down the other side, into the battlefield.
The Marauders cocked their rifles and leveled them at the slaves like an execution squad. The rest of the slaves finally pressed forward, up and over the rubble.
Haven's defenders continued to rain down fire. The charging slaves waded into the minefield, the barb wire, and the cross fire. As artillery shells went off over head, they became mired in the quagmire and were cut to pieces. There were wails from the wounded all across the plaza.
The Marauders watched the carnage from the bulwarks. Haven's courtyard filled with the glowing trails of tracers arcing up and down from the tall citadel. The Marauder snipers set up in the surrounding high-rises tried to suppress Haven's gunners, but there were too many of them. They continued putting ferocious fire down on the slaves, bogging down their charge, snuffing their advance.
When Wyoming saw that the attack was floundering, he turned back to his Marauders. He waived for them to follow the slaves into the slaughter.
"Myne Marauders! Quickly now, whilst the omens are still for us! Charge forth and bring the foul Lord his reckoning!"
The Marauders didn't budge, gawking at the annihilation taking place in the courtyard. The machineguns did another sweep of the plaza cutting down anything that moved. A slave stepped on a mine and disappeared into a cloud of gore.
"Knaves! Cowards! Fools! Hath I raised an army of women and traitors!"
Haven's machine guns again swept the courtyard, finishing off any resistance. As they did so, the front doors of Haven swung wide open. A large squad of thirty Haven defenders stormed out into the courtyard and tried to make a break for safety. Haven's machineguns pivoted to track them.
Wyoming seized upon the sight, pointing towards the deserters with his glimmering sword, "fools! Doth not you see that thyne enemies turn tail and run! They hath abandoned the foul Lord to his fate. Now is the hour of thyne victory! Haven shall burn and all who stay here shall burn with it!"
Wyoming reached up and snapped one of the old flags off its post. He waived it in the air from the very top of the rampart like an ancient banner man. Sniper fire kicked up the rubble and dust at his feet.
"Follow me, all who doth not mutiny!" Wyoming pointed the flag towards Haven which flashed with gunfire. He began to charge the plaza alone, "if none among you hath the manhood to join, may all the glory be unto me!"
The surreal site of Wyoming leading the charge against Haven, flag in hand, inspired the Marauders to go up and over the ramparts. They followed in Wyoming's path as he zigzagged across the courtyard, dodging fire and leaping over mines before he reached the twisted ruins of the colossus. California was just behind him, weaving her way across the barb wire, keeping to the tracks of the dead slaves who had cleared the path of mines.
Wyoming pushed on, oblivious to the danger. Bullets impacted all around him but none struck him down. He was the first man to reach Haven's giant entrance doors.
As the Marauders looked across the plaza they could see Wyoming standing at Haven's threshold, waving the flag high in the air, dressed in full battle regalia. The scene looked like a painting or war memorial.
California poked up from her cover behind a concrete garden. The vision of Wyoming standing at Haven's threshold, waiving the flag, while the sky flashed from the artillery looked like a dream.
The Marauders behind her pushed forward, trying to reach Haven.
California rose up to join them. A sniper's bullet struck her just below her left eye.
(**********************************************************************)
Ashur sat solemnly at his desk, his back to the large windows that overlooked the Pitt. The windows behind him flashed bright as the battle raged on outside. He could hear that the fierce firefight had entered his sanctuary. Gunfire rumbled up from the stairwells. Every second seemed to tick by slowly. It felt like a freight train was bearing down on him and he couldn't get off the tracks.
He lazily pulled open a drawer to his mahogany desk. In it was a shiny, black .44 magnum. Ashur pulled out its cylinder and began to load a round into each individual chamber. He gave the cylinder a satisfying spin like he was playing Russian Roulette and then snapped it back in place. He took a small sip of scotch and then pointed the pistol towards the open door to the hall. He turned his eyes to a photograph on his desk. It was of himself, his wife Sandra, and their toddler Marie. Marie's young eyes twinkled at him. He smiled to her and went to put the barrel of his pistol to his temple. As he did so, he noticed a shadow looming in the doorway.
Wyoming was standing at his threshold. He was covered in blood and grime, and was panting from his charge. His body seemed to twitch from adrenaline. He pulled off his helmet and his eyes burned with fire.
Ashur tried to take in the fearsome man in front of him. Wyoming was still clutching the tattered flag and his roman sword was now bloody.
"So this art the foul Lord himself?" Wyoming thundered, "what a miserable little insect is myne enemy."
Ashur lowered his weapon, "you must be Wyoming."
"I am your death, evil Lord. I am the ignorant hand of blind justice. I hath come to put you under myne knife and to relieve you of the stinking head that crowns your foul shoulders!"
Ashur nodded, "well you can tell Minos this has all been a waste. I have no idea what happened to Ophelia. I have no idea why you're here or what you believe this will accomplish. You may think that I am evil, but I have only done what was necessary. You have no idea what it took to build a functioning city from this Pitt."
"Woe be unto he who uses misery as mortar. Woe be unto he who uses bones as bricks. Woe be unto he who builds a city from sorrow. Woe be onto he - Lord of the Pitt!"
Ashur took aim at Wyoming.
Two Marauders charged down the hall. They took positions behind Wyoming on either side of the doorway, ready to drop Ashur before he could fire.
Wyoming chuckled, "thou wishes to die like a dog?"
Ashur squinted in irritation. He lowered his weapon slightly, "I'll die however you wish - if you spare my family. My wife-."
"Spare the bitch who hath spread her legs to the Lord of the beasts? Ha!" Wyoming pointed to a scalp at his side. It was a woman's scalp, a pony tail of long chestnut hair, soaked with fresh blood, "I hath flayed the little whore and will use her dried skins as my vestments! Pray your own skull doth not become myne chalice!"
"Sandra!" Ashur pushed back his chair and shot to his feet. He leveled his pistol at Wyoming, "fucking animal!"
"Put down thoust weapon," Wyoming scoffed, "that art not a king's death. A king doth not die like a lowly slave or soldier. . . he doth die more nobly."
Ashur stared at Wyoming with icy eyes. He backed up closer to the windows, "how does a king die?"
Wyoming raised his sword, "he falls on his sword. . .or is cut down by the blade of another."
Ashur slowly sat back down in his chair. He put his .44 to his temple, "then I will fall on my sword," Ashur closed his eyes, "if nothing else, don't harm Marie. She is just a child. . .," he cocked the magnum.
"If that be thoust death so be it," Wyoming motioned for Ashur to lower the pistol from his skull, "but don't mangle myne prize! I hath sacrificed many to be able to retrieve your foul head whole. Don't require me to scrape it from the walls of thoust study, lest you raise myne ire against the little seed!"
Ashur pressed the muzzle of his pistol to his throat and fired one shot. His face smacked onto the desk.
Wyoming used his sword to hack off his precious prize while it was still warm.
