Chapter 7

Alistair had heard the explosion and let out a proud cheer, a few hollers and definitely one too many expletives. But he didn't care. Fuck 'em. I did my damn job and I did a damn good job on top of it. For reasons beyond Alistair's understanding, not many people got as excited at blowing shit up as he did. They didn't understand why he wanted to see the explosive aftermath, either.

They had started mockingly calling him Boom Boom some time ago and now that's what he went by. Boom Boom, can you look at my truck for me? Leave the Semtex behind, you won't need it. Hey Boom, have you had any luck with those horses you bet on every week? 'Scuse me, Boom, can you explain why we are such dumbasses?

The thing is, there was a reason to distrust him. There were a few 'ethical' question marks over his past, but they weren't questions that needed to be asked right about now. They were facing religiously motivated genocide. Who gives a shit who he had sold explosives to before he came to Hope County?

Some did question it though and quite frankly it was maybe good news that the Sheriff's department of Hope County had run into difficulties of their own. The Seed family were taking all of the attention these days. It was a good day to be a man who had dabbled with the black market and the dark web. Which I may or may not have done.

There was an object in the road ahead. It looked like a body. They were all too common to be found lying around these days. Alistair slowed his quad bike to a stop, some twenty feet from the body. It looked like it had its arms and legs still intact, so that ruled out the comedic image of a Peggie body flying all the way from the explosion. He chuckled to himself.

He switched off the engine and stepped off the bike, resting a prepared hand on his holstered revolver. He had more than enough faith in his quick draw ability.

"You okay there, chief?" he called to the body. He waited a few seconds, "You mute or dead? Both?" He took a few steps toward the body. He could work out the body was on its back. There was something on its chest too. Paper?

He let out a sigh. Ah, fuck common sense. He began striding over to the body and stood over it. There were no weapons, no holster. The clothes looked damp and the paper had started to absorb some of that water. There was a bag over the body's head. Alistair crouched down and began reading the paper. It would determine whether he wanted to risk seeing the state the face could be in.

'This is your Junior Deputy. I want you to know that I, personally, began this blight's Atonement. I pulled him and his little dog off the street. I can do that to any sinner I want. A piece of your corrupted savior has been broken. He will not be the same false idol you worship. I can promise you that.

I return him to you with the knowledge that I can find anyone and that anyone will one day repent their sins. Anyone. No matter how powerful they are, no matter their title, no matter their cause. I can take anyone. Remember this warning. And tell your little Junior Deputy that the next time we see each other and he doesn't accept that he has committed sin...it won't be just him who will pay for his impudent lies

-John Seed'

Alistair pulled the bag off the Junior Deputy's head. His hair was matted and wet, but he looked surprisingly okay. Alistair's hand hovered over the Deputy's face. Decision made. He slapped the face of the Deputy and the Deputy began to stir.

"Wakey wakey, you lazy bastard." Alistair shouted. The Deputy stirred again. One more. Another slap and the Deputy's arms flinched.

"What...Christ..." Dale slurred. Alistair frowned.

"Don't make me slap you again, Rook," Alistair paused for a reply. There wasn't one, "Well, you asked for it-"

"Dammit I'm fine..." Dale forced his eyes open and saw a familiar face, "Thanks, Boom," the Junior Deputy took in his surroundings, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light, "Can you help me sit up?"

"Just this once." Alistair pulled up Dale by his sodden shirt and made sure he stuck there.

"Thanks."

"Pleasure's mine."

"Where am I?"

"On the floor."

"Helpful."

"We're near Fall's End." Dale's brow wrinkled. He definitely wasn't near Fall's End an hour ago. Or whenever the Hell it was.

"Since when?"

"Rook, I've just found you on the ground, damp, with a note around your neck. I don't know how long you've been here for. But I've found you, so your day has definitely got better as far as I can tell." Boom Boom looked at Dale with a beaming grim. Can't stand optimists.

"Where's Ray? Have you found him too?" Boom Boom looked up the road and shook his head, "Shit."

"Yeah, think shit just about covers it," Alistair eased himself to his feet, "I don't think we're gonna find Ray in the same way I found you." Dale's head was slowly beginning to throb the more sentient he became. Questions trickled into his mind.

"Where is he?" He had a faint recollection of something awful transpiring yesterday. But he couldn't pin it.

"Jacob's got him. So some say." It came flooding back. He's one for Jacob. Not John. Jacob. Not John.

"They do. They split us up. Some Peggie fuck said Ray was for Jacob and I was for John," Dale's head hurt even more. Remembering was painful. The memory pierced something deep inside him, "I've got to get him." Boom Boom inhaled sharply. Dale looked at him with concerned eyes.

"Damn it, Rook. I'm not sure that's the play." That was strange. From their brief meeting, Dale imagined there wasn't some dumb and dangerous plan Boom Boom would support. Yet here he was, stood before him, doubting an idea. I must still be high.

"What? What do you mean?" Alistair shuffled on his feet and pocketed his hands.

"Jacob ain't like the others, Rook. I know the prick's a ginger prick, but he ain't someone to underestimate. You underestimate him, you ain't coming home." Boom Boom seemed genuine. There was trepidation in his voice and an unmistakable hint of fear.

Dale had heard rumours about Jacob and his compound during his time in Hope County. The thing is, no one had come back from there the same as they went in. No one knew what was really going on and what happened to people there. It had a completely different reputation to John and Faith's region. A sinister type of evil had taken root up north.

"Right, I'm bored with this part of town. Let's get you to Fall's End, eh?" Alistair extended his arm to Dale, "You get a ride on Quad Zilla back there, too, you lucky fucker."

Dale's head had been rhythmically stinging and pounding on the drive back. Boom Boom's disregard for a speed limit hadn't helped and Dale could feel the bruises on his tailbone all the way up his spine. He yearned for bed, a beer or five and sixteen hours worth of alcohol induced sleep. But time was of the essence. Every minute spent relaxing was a minute off Ray's life expectancy. He couldn't leave his friend.

A committee had assembled in the Spread Eagle. It was a smaller committee than Dale had hoped, there were seven people, including himself, in the bar to discuss the next steps. Other patrons made it clear they were there for the booze and not the problems. It annoyed Dale but he understood. People wanted to enjoy their newfound freedoms.

There was an awkward hush that embraced the seven. Mary May, Pastor Jerome, Boom Boom and two resistance fighters called Patricia and Oliver. They were swirling round glasses of their preferred spirit. The jukebox quietly hummed out what sounded like alternative rock. The room seemed a lot smaller despite being devoid of people. The walls were leaning in, the bar rising up, the seats all facing them. The world was listening. Waiting.

A sigh broke the silence.

"Well it ain't doing us a whole lotta good sat here all miserable like," Mary May declared. She was right, as per. Truth without the sugar coating was in abundance when she was around. A hum of approval came from the Pastor. Dale nodded to himself, "My dad would be horrified to see anyone miserable in here after havin' a drink."

"Rook?" Dale looked up from his drink to see Pastor Jerome regarding him with a gentle expression, "I sense you have something to get off your mind." Dale took a swig of his Montana Mule. The burning sensation ran down his throat. It was what he needed.

"I'm gonna go get him," He didn't have to glance up to tell everyone was looking at him or shooting questioning looks at each other. The fact Boom Boom had put a dampener on the idea earlier was proof enough, in no uncertain terms, the plan was batshit insane. Dale looked up, a wry smile playing at his lips, "Ah...you really don't think it's a good idea, do you?" Just you on this one, Dale.

"Nah."

"Not really."

"Not in a million years."

Dale scoffed. You and you alone. He shrugged and quickly polished off his drink.

"Actually, Rook," Jerome began, his voice strangely light, "We won't stop you. But we think it is important that something is done about saving Deputy Hudson." Hudson! Dale's head fell into his hands and cursed to himself. There was so much on his mind. Rescuing Ray, securing outposts and it had completely escaped him, on top of everything, that Hudson was still being kept prisoner. By the same bastard who had tried to drown him.

A tear slipped out of his eye. It was all getting too much. It was only by chance he was there. It wasn't his department. It wasn't a snake in his department that left them to die. Remember who you are.

A delicate hand on his shoulder gave his tear a friend. He looked up and saw an empathetic looking Mary May. A woman herself who had been through so, so much.

"You've got the whole resistance behind you, Deputy. We got friends in the hills in Jacob's region," A glimmer of hope flashed through Dale's mind, "We can contact them. They're in a Hell of a fight themselves, though. We can't promise anything but we can put them on alert for any prisoner transports."

"You take Hudson from under that sadistic fucker's nose and I can guarantee you John loses his grip on our home," Boom Boom wrapped a strong arm around Dale's shoulders, "Then you got more men to take this fight to that carrot top prick," Mary May coughed and folded her arms, "Men and women." Dale let out a long, shaky breath. He offered the smallest yet most meaningful of smiles.

"How about we go pay John's ranch a visit? I fancy blowing that place to kingdom come."

There were hums of agreement around the bar. The seven all checked in with one another. They grinned. It was time to rip out John's heart.

The feelings in the tips of Ray's fingers had vanished. The numbness trickled up his digits and into his palms. His wrists ached and had even given up bleeding as the restraints slowly dug into his skin. The stench of sweat and bodily deposits had sunk into the walls. He didn't have a clue how long he'd been in there for. There were no clocks, no windows. Constant screams from below and above went on forever. There was never a break. No sleep. No rest. Just pain and torture.

The projector to his left began to whir. His heart sank. It was time. Already? God damnit just fucking let it end. The man and woman sitting in front of him looked at each other. A despairing look. A final look. An illuminated white square decorated the wall ahead of them. The projector's inevitable light acted as a death sentence. A further layer of sanity was about to be stripped from their heads and dashed against the wall.

The floorboards creaked behind him. His teeth bit down on the rag stuffed into his mouth. His heart pumped enraged blood around his body. The other two thrashed and battled with their restraints, shouting and crying pleas for mercy into their gags. Fuckin' useless trying.

The projector clicked. A dead stag. Its insides leaking out onto the ground.

"To wilfully distort nature's intentions...to practice ignorance of what is natural...is to condemn those closest to you to death. To breed nothing but cowering husks." Ray's fingernails dug into the arms of the chair.

Don't let him into your head. Do not. Do not.

"Once upon a time, humanity's ancestors conquered the weak. They forged empires on the backs of the strongest. The bravest. Those who offered nothing but a sharp blade instead of a pitiful hand of mercy."

The projector clicked. A wolf tearing into a carcass. Its victim. Its prey.

Block out the noise.

"Now...out there...society's decay has been brought on by enabling the weak to rule over the masses. Weakness begets further weakness. Evolving weakness. It is done by idolising those who would crumble in war. Those whose instinct is to hide. To beg. To plead."

The projector clicked. Red canines like stalactites in a cave of predatory slaughter. Blood soaked fur. The hunter. The kill.

Do not weaken. Be strong.

"Then down the line, we turn around and are surprised to see those gutless idols are nowhere to be found. That they have sentenced us to death...while guaranteeing they live. The weak stepping on the weak. Rats trying to escape a hole. Another rung on nature's ladder."

The projector clicked. The alpha wolf feasting first. The pack behind. Waiting. Following the strongest's lead.

Do not follow. Lead. Lead with your head.

"No nation has ever won a war with its weakest at the front. No civilization has survived time's judgement by lurking in the shadows. The greatest civilisations were created through conquest. They fell apart when, like the world is now, they decided to just...relax. To practice peace. To let those who remained at home to govern, to lead."

The projector clicked. A wolf digging its razor teeth into a fallen animal. A weaker animal.

Do not fall behind. Do not show weakness. Do not give in.

"To suffer a weak member of the pack is to remove its collective strength. You have to cull the weakest to strengthen the pack. Out there, now, we see what happens when we don't. The weak take over. The weak infect the many. Civilisations are poisoned. They buckle."

The projector clicked. A chunk of meat hanging loosely from the beast that tore it from the prey's corpse.

Kill or be killed. Do not be killed. Kill. Kill.

"There's a storm coming," Jacob zoned in on Ray and met his glare, "The Collapse Joseph speaks of...it is coming. One group will survive. One group will be nothing but a bad taste in the mouth and stain the earth where they are slain. Which group will you belong to?" Jacob glided to stand in front of the projector. Clasped gently in his hand was a small wooden box.

The internal cogs turned as Jacob's weathered hand twisted a brass key. Ray's eyes widened.

"Cull the weak. Save the herd. Or die with them."

The projector clicked. An obscured image lit up Jacob's torso.

Cull...the weak. Save the...herd.

"You know what must be done."

The music box cracked open. Ray's head throbbed. He pushed against his restraints. Craving freedom. Yearning to release his emotions. The anger. The hate. The aggression.

The music played. Ray went to war for the herd.