Chapter 2: The Reaping
Back in the day, Lucas and his father would take long Sunday hikes through the wilderness up in the Whitetail Mountains. His dad always told him how calming it was, helped you get all that workload of your back and out your lungs, let you breathe in some of that fresh mountain air. Lucas never really listened to him every time he would go on his hour long monologues, he was always there in case the old bastard ever got hurt or god-forbid attacked by a mountain lion or the like. There wasn't much a small kid could do except run and call for help, but it was still better than him going out every Sunday by himself, not like he could have spent that time with his family instead anyways.
Currently however, this hike through the woods was giving Lucas everything but the calming melody of nature old pops would drone endlessly about. His heart was pounding, his lungs full of smoke from that heli crash, and his head was constantly ducking and weaving to avoid the constant gunfire heading his way.
A full half-hour must have passed by now since he separated himself from Pratt and Hudson, he hoped the two managed to make it out at least. He didn't know either all that much, but they were the closest thing to allies he had in his current situation, and if he manages to make it out of this by God he's ready to call them the closest damn friends he has, preferably over a cold beer at the Spread Eagle.
"CUT HIM OFF!" a cultist on a quad-bike shouted, riding passengers to his driver whilst firing off random spurts from his pistol. Lucas used the many trees and foliage to divert the bullets from hitting and kept up the break-neck pace he was currently sprinting at. If the army instilled one thing other than discipline, it was endurance.
Several more hunting groups emerged from the sides, one had a hound with him, the mutt was practically jumping from his leash to get a good bite at his gullet. Taking a sharp turn he crossed past a small underpass, it was just far enough for the cultists to have lost sight of him for a moment. The moment wouldn't last long, the dog was there for a reason, and if the grazed wound from his forearm was any indication, they caught his scent via blood a long time ago.
The couple on the Quad quickly drove past where he was, sticking to the less forested regions of the path so as to not drive headfirst into any trees. That was one less thing to worry about. The rest were closing in on him however, if not for the flashlights blazing past his little hole, he wouldn't have had any trouble hearing them either. They threw out taunts almost as much as they fired off their guns in the air, it was beginning to get on his nerves at this point.
'Fine then.' he thought, 'I ain't gonna sneak past all of ya.' In reality he never really had a plan for what he was going to do after that little stunt at the cabin, all that mattered was the two more senior deputies making it out in relative safety. If he was successful or not in that endeavor, well, there was no real way to confirm, but he hoped it wasn't all in vain. Now that flight had run its course, it was time to show these cultists what fight looked like from someone who can fight back.
There was a branch just within arm's reach of Lucas, just long enough to swing effectively, just broad enough to pack a punch on said swing. 'It's always the simple things.' he thought with a smile as he took the branch, sneaking past the little underpass around the cultists.
Using the tall grass close by as cover he tried his best to avoid the dog, still busy sniffing out his scent, he could only hope the dog would follow the scent of his trail rather than where he currently was. For now it was better to keep his distance as much as possible.
Having lost sight of him for some time now, the cultists had long since slowed down their pace, now carefully patrolling the forest with flashlights and, more importantly, loaded guns. He hoped they didn't use up all their bullets during their little intimidation act, a loaded rifle would make all this oh so easy for him right now.
He waited, and waited, and waited. Then, just at the right moment, one of them happened to stray from the group. He skulked, and stalked, and slowly approached him. A bearded, disheveled looking guy, he was holding a painted AR in his arms, decorated in the colors of Eden's Gate. 'Good enough…' he thought. The man didn't even notice him approaching, had his back turned. Using the branch with all his force he bashed the cultist's head in. Hard oak flickered and exploded around the cultist's cranium as a small burst of blood spurted out from the back of his head, he was down in an instant. It would have been ideal had he not let out a death rattle upon the strike. The element of surprise was all used up, and he hoped to God that the rifle he just grabbed still had ammo in it.
Quickly taking aim down the sights he felt his finger effortlessly squeeze the trigger and fire off a quick three round burst towards his closest target. Whoever this poor bastard was, he knew how to optimize his weapons, there was practically no recoil on his firing, and before the cultists could even take their first actions three of them were on the ground. He got the first one in the head, one shot between the eyes as the other whizzed past just above. The other two were victims of more panicked firing, one having two bullets hitting him in chest and shoulder, and the other taking a full burst in his left leg.
It was the best he could do as he was jumping for cover from the incoming fire. There must have been at least over a dozen of them still, but while he had lost the element of surprise, there was still one key factor he had to his advantage, darkness.
Night had fully fallen upon the compound long ago, and the Moon was currently obscured by what seemed to be thick clouds. His eyes had long since grown accustomed to the dark, but the cultists with their flashlights seem to still be clinging to that little cone of light they have. As soon as they gained sight of him he snuck back into the shadows, and they lost track of him just like that. He ran silently to a small passover where he could gain a better vantage point, it was effectively a dirt mound, and offered little cover. But it was enough.
Turning the rifle to single shot fire, he adjusted his aim, lying down and waiting for the first victim. A woman with a pistol, dark and dingy hair reaching past her shoulders and in the cult's uniform, was the first to come across his sights. With a quick and effective shot she was taken out, a bullet to the brains taking her out instantly. Three more shots soon met the other cultists close behind her. Just like that, it seemed he had gained himself a moment of reprieve. Lucas knew it wouldn't last very long of course, but as the three corpses of the cultists lay there, he slowly approached them, rifle ready. Doing a quick check of the magazine he noticed that it only held three more bullets, not including the one already in the chamber. It would have to do, yet perhaps it was better to try and see what the others were carrying.
As he approached the corpse of the woman, he saw the pistol in her hand, looked to be an old 1911, ancient and rusted by the exterior. He didn't need a faulty weapon at this time, so he passed her by. The other two had AR's similar to the one in his hand, looked to be a popular model among Eden's Gate it seemed. If anything, he could grab their magazines for extra ammunition.
That was when he saw… something, through the treeline. He ducked in between the corpses, a force of pure instinct to try and hide himself. Lucas at first thought it to be a light of some kind, yet soon his eyes recognized it as being a figure, a person. At least, he thought it was, as his vision blurred for a moment Lucas struggled to try and keep focus. In a few seconds he was rubbing his eyes trying to keep a clear vision. Through his dizzying gaze he saw the image of a woman, long Maple hair flowing down onto her shoulders and skin as white as snow, complimenting her simple dress. At the moment, he felt the tension build up in his chest as his finger hovered over the trigger of his rifle. He had a clear sight of her as she slowly walked just a few miles from him, not even acknowledging his presence.
He slowly began to recognize, this woman was at the compound base, right behind Joseph, she's one of the Seeds, no doubt about it. There was an indistinct clutter of whispers beginning to fill his ears, all of it near unintelligible, all but one word.
"Faith…" he murmured to himself, the word repeating over and over in his head, slowly getting louder, from just a slight sound, to a whisper, then to a creeping snake crawling into his head. Only intensifying as the woman turned her head to look at him. Her icy blue eyes striking a cord with him, it made his heart skip a beat, as if a feeling of sudden calm overcame his every being.
Yet it didn't last long. The whisper soon faded into the sound of rushing steps rapidly approaching him, yet they weren't human. The image of the woman was still filling all his attention as she continued to stand there, just far enough for him to barely be able to fully see what she looked like, all but for those distinct features, those eyes that made him almost be afraid of what they were trying to tell him.
He had no time to speculate about it as his attention was soon averted to a dog leaping at him, fangs ready to tear his throat out. Were it not for his instincts of pure survival and just sheer surprise, the dog may have well put him down then and there, but Lucas managed to put his arm up just in time to keep the mutt from chomping down on his jugular. Instead, now he was tearing his arm to shreds with its teeth.
Two cultists slowly approached him, laughing just a few feet away from the bodies of their dead comrades as the dog shook its head and sank its teeth deeper into Lucas' forearm. He was still in a daze, but the pain quickly took away all sense of confusion and in a strange way helped him focus. Panic soon overtook him and Lucas responded to the dog's assault the only way he knew how, with a punch to the stupid mutt's face. It helped free him of the dog's iron bite but the pain still made him recoil and fall on the ground fully, dropping his gun just out of arm's reach. The pain was practically overwhelming, it stung like hell and burned like a motherfucker, as old pa liked to say. Still, as the two cultists slowly approached him, one aiming his gun down at him with the other holding the dog by its collar, it was a scarce time to start reminiscing about the good old days, like five seconds ago when he didn't have a massive bite mark on his arm that stung like a motherfucker.
"Any last words, sinner?" the gun-toting one spoke.
It was only through gritted teeth that Lucas could conjure up the remaining energy to look up at the both of them, and more importantly at the gun barrel currently pointing right at his face. "Yeah…" it was a funny thing, knowing you're about to die. It was a thing he often thought about, out there in the sandy wastes of Afghanistan, he never thought it would happen in his home county though. "For both your sakes, don't miss." his thoughts once more went back to Pratt and Hudson, they were good people, he hoped they managed to make it out.
The cultists let out another laugh. "You're braver than most, but a sinner dies the same as the rest of your doomer ilk." Lucas hoped the little proselytizing session would end soon, he had no intention of being lectured on his deathbed.
"I hope you said your prayers, bec-" and just like that, the cultist holding the hound back had the top half of his blown clean off, the loud noise seemed to catch the dog off guard as it ran for the hills, or rather the trees in this case. The other cultist didn't have much time to turn around as he too got blasted away.
Lucas' vision grew more and more blurred, the gunshots having faded from his hearing as soon as they were over with, all the was left was the shadowed figure standing over him. Soon enough, even that was gone, and he fell unconscious, vision obscured into utter darkness.
"You sure are a sight for sore eyes kid…" was the last thing he heard.
"Thanks for the gas Rae-Rae." Hudson managed to haul the last can of gasoline onto the back of the pickup, in total they had about three of them, with one around half empty, but still useful if they were in a tight spot of fuel.
"Anything for our brave little deputies." Rae replied, cheerfull as ever, in some ways Hudson envied the woman's constant optimism, or maybe it was just naivete. "I'll admit though, you two don't look to be in the best of shapes, maybe you oughta rest here for the night and head to Fall's End in the morning. I have some fresh clothes you two could take-"
"We'll be fine Rae-Rae." Pratt interrupted her from the driver's seat. "I think it's best for everyone if we hurry back to the Sheriff's department as soon as we can." he continued on, giving Hudson an impatient look.
There was very little left of Staci's snarky and humorous attitude left after the heli crash. He wasn't always such a smartass of course, and he knew when he had to be serious, but this was something else entirely. The very real threat of painful death or even worse struck a nerve within her partner, one that didn't leave a lot of room for jokes anymore, only thing left now was paranoia. She saw it in his eyes, the way they darted left and right so frequently, never standing still, always shuffling around in that seat. She could see him barely holding back the urge to have the guns they stole in his hands at all times.
"Oh well alright then, you two be careful though you hear?" despite her only being a few years older than Hudson or Pratt, Rae-Rae's nature towards them was so motherly she felt ashamed for not accepting her offer for a good night's rest, but Hudson's logical side overruled that shame, knowing full well that Pratt was right.
'The Reaping…'
She had no goddamn clue what that was supposed to be, but a part of her knew that everyone in Hope County would find out soon enough, maybe even the entirety of Montana. And at the moment she felt yet another urge of sympathy for Rae-Rae, she was all alone here at the pumpkin farm with her son and dog. Her and Russell split up last year and all he was doing these days was getting shit-faced drunk at the Spread Eagle. The closest place with other people would be the Apple farm, but that's a half hour's drive at best.
"Why don't you come with us, Rae-Rae?" Hudson leaned in and offered the woman, more out of fear for her and her son that any attempt to try and repay her for the help. "You'll be a lot safer from the Peggies with us than all here by yourself.
Rae-Rae smiled. "No, I don't think so." she crossed her hands decisively, the matter was already resolved before there was even an argument. "You two run along, me and Ryan will be fine I think. Besides, I don't got anything to fear long as I have my little fighter here with me." Rae-Rae turned and whistled for her dog Boomer who was busy laying on the porch of her house. Within seconds the dog barked and ran towards her, jumping along her legs with his tail wagging.
Hudson couldn't do or say anything at this point, she only sighed and accepted Rae-Rae's decision, she knew the girl was too stubborn to give up the pumpkin farm, even more to try and leave behind Boomer, who never liked leaving past the fields. "Alright then." she nodded and headed for the car. "Take care, and if you see any Peggies, remember, we're a phone call away."
A lie, one she told more to comfort herself than Rae-Rae. But as ever the girl smiled and nodded along, waving to them as they drove off for Fall's End. Along the empty road, the two said nothing, Hudson merely staring out the window as Pratt continued nervously looking for anything even closely resembling Joseph Seed's cross.
The first thing Lucas heard upon gaining consciousness was the static of a radio, and then a voice.
"Brothers and Sisters…" he could recognize it anywhere, anytime. The voice of that fucker Joseph Seed, The Father. He didn't listen to the rest of it, had no reason to really. His blood was practically burning up inside out of anger as he jumped from the spring mattress he was lying on, only to be pulled back violently by the zip cuffs tying his hand to the iron railings.
The rush and sudden stop dazed him for a moment yet still aided in recollecting his senses. He looked at the cuff restraining his hand, scratched and pulled at it as much as he could but to no avail, the railing would sooner break than he manage to take this thing off. Yet in those moments of calming silence, the radio chatter suddenly stopped, and Lucas noticed the figure standing near it, flipping through the different frequencies.
"Finally awake are we?" an old bald man turned to face him, glasses and a white goatee on his face, his uniform that of an old veteran with cargo pants and a camoed military jacket featuring the stripes of the 82nd airborne. Lucas recognized the man then, taking only a moment for the memories to all come flooding in at once.
"Well well well," a smile immediately came to his face, "Old Dickie Roosevelt."
"And still as much of a little shit as ever I see." the old man chuckled. "I'd had thought military life would have beaten that tongue of yours outta ya. Back in my day, you said that kind of shit to your superiors you're off to the jungles of wiring duty."
"Vietnam's been over and done with for a few decades now old man, and trust me, I've had my fair share of reprimanding by top brass and colleagues alike."
The two had a history, so to speak, one that dated back to before Lucas was even born. Richard Roosevelt, or Dutch as most folk referred to him as, was a good friend of Lucas' grandfather back when they were kids, and afterwards a large inspiration for his own father's decision to join the military. Him and Lucas got along well enough that the old man taught him to shoot one of his shotguns one time, which caused much hubbub with his parents. As he grew older, the two rarely saw each other, yet Lucas would still sometimes decide to trek up to the mountains and visit the old man's bunker from time to time and catch up.
"Last time I saw you, you were off following in your daddy's footsteps, kill some terrorists off in Afghanistan."
"And last time I saw you, you were throwing beer bottles at me and telling me not to show my face around here ever again." he rattled the cuffs a bit, causing the bedframe to shake slightly. "I see you've changed your mind."
"A lot can change in 10 years." Dutch set himself up a chair next to the radio.
"I've noticed." Lucas once again rattled against the zip cuffs tying his hand down. "You planning on uncuffing me, or just starve me out like the VC's did to ya in Sai Gon?"
Dutch stood silent for a moment, and in that moment Lucas' smile faded, replaced with a raised brow of confusion. It's not as if he bought into all the rumors of the old man being insane, but he knew full well of his opinion of the government, and to the people that served it. Not to mention the fact that Lucas was currently in a Deputy's outfit, and Dutch and law enforcement never exactly mixed all that well.
"The best thing for me to do would be to just hand you over to the cult, would spare me a hell of a lot of trouble."
"That'd be your smartest move." Lucas replied, the conversation now turning more and more serious.
"That it would." he got up from his chair, and Lucas noticed the knife in the old man's hand, maybe he really has broken a faucet in that decrepit skull of his. Maybe all the time spent under the earth in this bunker broke the man. "But then again, I was never known as a smart man." with one swing the cuffs were cut in half and Lucas felt relief in his wrist, being able to move freely, yet still he couldn't deny the pumping of momentary fear in his heart.
Breathing a sigh of relief Lucas stood up from the bed, rubbing the red marks left on his wrists. Meeting Dutch's gaze the two were now at eye level with one another, well, in a manner of speaking.
"Who told you to get so damn tall?" and suddenly the atmosphere regressed back to what their usual conversations would be like, a crusty old coot and his delinquent little brat of a kid making fun of each other.
"I was always this tall Dickie." Lucas smiled again, their difference in height was never any major factor, if he had to guess he'd say he was only about a half-head taller than the old man, but it was a joke the old bastard would spout at him ever since his old high school days. "You're just getting older, so straighten that back out."
"Hmph, come with me."
They walked out of the room into the long corridor of the bunker. The first thing Lucas noticed was the armory, it was the first thing Dutch built when he was constructing this whole doom bunker, and the first place little Lucas would always run to, trying to get a glimpse at all the cool firearms old grandpa Dutch had in his underground lair. Thankfully the old man had the common sense to keep the area locked back then, and that sense persists even now.
Walking along the hallway they eventually entered a room Lucas had never been in before, it damn near looked like a war room. Maps dotted the walls, pictures taped onto it with names inscribed with markers, all interconnected. Radios and communication devices piled on top of one another and several rifles leaned against a table that was placed at the very center. On it, a map of Hope County.
"You and your little friends stirred up quite a shitstorm, barging into the Seeds compound like that? The hell were you thinking?" Dutch said as he circled around the table.
"Don't know, ask the Marshal, he's the one who thought bringing a Sheriff and three deputies was enough for all of Eden's Gate." Lucas answered simply.
"Eugh, fuckin' feds. Man was too busy seeing himself earning a fucking medal from the President to think about the situation any deeper that a foot-long ditch." as Dutch leaned on the table, he looked at Lucas with an uncertain gaze, as if the old man was weighing his options back on that whole bringing him into the cult option. Lucas stood opposite to him on the other side of the table, arms crossed. "War's come to Hope County. I'm hearing it at every corner now, people are being attacked, abducted, assaulted and indoctrinated all at once, everywhere. From the Henbane to the Whitetails I got reports of full on firefights breaking out, but most people are still too afraid of the cult to give 'em any right resistance, they're disorganized, unable to find a place or group to put their faith in."
Lucas raised his brow. "Just how many people does Joseph Seed have? For God's sake, why isn't the government sending any goddamn support?!"
"I don't know, and I don't care. If we're gonna drive out these zealots out of our home, it's not going to be Uncle Sam rolling up to help us." Dutch pointed his finger on the map, where Fall's End was located. "The town still hasn't fallen from what I've heard, but it's close. Mary May sent out a distress recently, they're encircled, outnumbered and outgunned. They don't get help soon we're gonna lose the exact thing we need for our people Luke."
"A place to focus a resistance. Somewhere we can centralize." he put a hand on his chin, finally getting the gist of what Dutch was suggesting. "We need a home base."
"A foothold. Something to start out with."
"And then what? Try and call for the National Guard?" he asked.
"No." Dutch replied, grabbing one of the rifles by the table. "We declare war on Eden's Gate, and get our homes back."