Follow Me Until the End of the World: The Weapon - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Sandman
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 9

They had been called to bleed again that day. A roving band of raiders came upon their caravan at daybreak and killed three of the Rangers that were escorting the train of merchants to Drier’s Gultch. The town was one of many that was built in the years directly preceding the war to support the mass transit railway system project that was constructed to conserve fossil fuels, a rare commodity amidst numerous trade sanctions. Now, the town was becoming one that may have served as the setting of an old Western movie, where a sheriff struggled valiantly to ward off the parasitic criminals that terrorized the local populace. The only difference was that the raiders, born from the wastelands, were choking the life from the town, and any other outside the range of the Southern Cross patrols. Their attempts at building defenses were not enough to prevent the raids, which occurred with increasing frequency, claiming both supplies and slaves.

Commercial trade was the only thing keeping the towns alive, though caravans rarely made it to their destinations intact. Their only hope of survival rested in on the shoulders of the Rangers, who were mostly well intentioned, though untrained men and women that were willing to engage the enemies with any weapon they could find. The merchants compensated them generously, though most never lived long enough to enjoy their earnings.

Under the sun, Dani Moonstar sat and cleaned her rifle. She rode shotgun in a rickety old sand buggy that they named the Hornet, due to its yellow and black coloring. The rifle and the buggy had belonged to Rebecca, the sharpshooter of her ranger detachment that had perished early on the trip. Her piety was matched only by her skill with the rifle. She was felled by a boomerang with a razor edge. The raider that killed her was hopped on crystal meth and sported a multi-colored Mohawk. They were attacked by the dominant raider tribe in the region that day, the Khans. Dani held a particularly dark spot in her heart for them since then.

Next to her, a young man named Bunky drove the buggy recklessly over sand dunes and broken concrete. He was driving much to far ahead of the rest of the caravan for her liking, so Dani chastised him for it. The dumbass only smiled through broken, chewing tobacco stained teeth at her. Bunky was a good old boy from the Deep South with a mullet and bad teeth. He was so overtaken with the romances of violence that Dani often wondered why he did not become a raider. He was now one of only seven of the Rangers that remained. The other twenty-three became food for the carrion- eaters or trophies for the bandits. Bunky loved to break heads open with his monkey wrench that he called “Old Lucy”.

Their leader, who drove a chopper and wore dark leather, was known simply as Steven, or the Captain. The man was grizzled and aged, though still very muscular and instinctive. Years of combat had left his face somewhat scarred along his ample chin. Steven kept his graying-blond hair short, despite the fact that he had a receding hairline. It made him look like one of the old military brass types of old, with bars across his chest and stars on his shoulders. Even though he appeared to be at least in his late forties, his manner of talking hinted that he was far older. The man carried wisdom that must have been accumulated over several lifetimes. Though whenever anyone asked him his true age, Steven only smiled slightly and refused to answer. He was very reserved but an extremely capable leader and tactician. The only revealing characteristic of the man was his sense of patriotism. He had the American flag painted along the sides of his motorcycle.

The Mouse, another one of the fallen, had a hobby of spending his hard- earned money on watching old cinema during their stops in other towns. He had said that Steven reminded him of a character named Captain America, who was played by Peter Fonda in the movie Easy Rider. Slow to anger, intelligent, and idealistic-the Mouse said that they both shared these characteristics. The reference was lost on everyone else, but the nickname remained.

Later that evening, they finally reached Drier’s Gultch. It was surrounded by a largish aluminum wall and several rows of old tires. Sentries paced around the wall on top of a walkway, where flame-thrower turrets were available in case of an attack. It gave Dani a little more comfort to know that their defenses were a bit more than the usual town, but then she quickly realized it was probably because this one was besieged far more often.

The sentries parted the makeshift gate and allowed the caravan to flow into the old dying town.

…

Several hours later Dani found herself sitting alone in an outdoor café across from the Ranger’s lodging. The waiter brought her out a tall glass of water and a plate the contained a piece of baked chicken and corn, the freshest meal that she had since leaving the last town (she had forgotten its name) nearly three and a half weeks ago. It was a pleasant enough day. The town’s children gathered around the café to catch a glimpse of the Rangers, who, as the only peacekeepers left, garnered a tremendous amount of respect in such places. Every ten year old aspired to become a Ranger, practicing with his or her age mates battling against imaginary foes.

Dani smiled at them, knowing full well that she probably did not appear to be the run-of-the-mill Ranger. She had been told before that she was far too beautiful, though she cared little for the attribute. It caused many men vie for her attention, both dullards and one’s that she respected. She was much the Huntress, as Steven told her one-day, ending the conquests of her suitors with brazen refusals. Dani had the soul of the Wolf; she was a born warrior. Aside from Steven, no other Ranger, in any of the detachments, could overcome her skills as a fighter. And no man would ever be able to earn her love.

She enlisted with the Rangers because it provided a direct route to California, where she would go before the Hellfire Council to speak of the trespasses of the Southern Cross soldiers against her own people. Her father and brothers had died resisting their attempts at rezoning the territories of the Amerindians of the region. The never understood that the lands they inhabited were considered sacred. But that wasn’t the only reason for her travels. Her grandfather had told her to warn them of the coming doom that his dreams warned him about. It had been a long and arduous road so far, though her journey was nearly at an end. California was only about a month’s travel away from here.

When she finished the meal, Steven came strolling from across the way. The neighborhood children rushed up to him excitedly and began shooting him with sticks, which served them as imaginary guns. Playing along, he pulled his slung rifle around and aimed it in their direction, causing them to flee, screaming gleefully.

He walked to her table.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Dani responded.

“Well, I got some bad news and some good news for you,” he said, looking over the very basic menu, which listed only six different meals (and only three were being served today).

“Okay…what’s the good news?” she inquired.

“There will be another caravan heading out of here once the other detachment of Rangers make it here after their escort duty.”

“And the bad?”

”They’re about two weeks overdue.”

“I suppose this means we’ll be stuck here for awhile, then. Damnit…” she trailed off.

“Oh, and it gets worse. This place is ripe for another raid soon. Once the bastards see that a fresh shipment of goods makes it in, they gather up to try and take it. Oh, before I forget, here’s your cut,” he said, slapping a wad of bills across the table.

“Thank you, ” Dani said, grabbing it and then shoving it into her satchel, uncounted.

“Dani, I’m thinking about heading out of here before the next caravan forms. There are some other, well, personal things I have to see to. You’re more than welcome to come with me. You’re about the only one left from our contingent that I would feel guilty about leaving here.”

“That’s fine, Steven. I told you at the beginning that I wasn’t in it for the money or the glory. I only want to make it to California.”

Steven’s eyes drifted off, and in a somewhat distant voice he said “so do I, Dani.”

Dani turned to catch a glimpse of what caught his attention and saw a tall blond man dressed in torn Southern Cross desert recon gear. That told Dani that the man was probably a deserter. He had the look of one of the movie stars that the Mouse had dragged her to watch on occasion. He was handsome, tanned, and well built, if somewhat shady. In his right hand was a half-empty bottle of tequila. As he walked, he smashed accidentally into a smaller man and knocked him down into the dirt. While the man looked up with a great deal of anger, the Southern Cross soldier continued walking as if nothing happened. He only to another swig of his powerful drink and staggered towards the local honky-tonk and brothel.

“Hey Dani, I don’t think that I’m that hungry after all. I think I’m going to look around the town a little more,” Steven said, distantly, while getting up from the table.

“Sure-is everything all right?”

“Wha-yes, everything is fine, Dani. I’ll see you later tonight,” Steven said, dismissing her inquiry. When he exited the café he headed directly back to his motel room.

…

The naked, Mexican whore lay with her back facing Alex. The sheet was pushed passed her thighs, revealing her rear. It had a tattoo of a rose on its right cheek. He watched as her ample breasts peaked above her back. They were ugly, like the girl, disproportionate of her body size and gluttonous. The scene made it regretful of the night’s act and made him thankful that he had not spent much for her affection that night.

While he wanted to rise from the chair and leave, his current state of intoxication prevented it. The room was not spinning yet, though intuition told him that another drink or two would make it. So he raised the bottle again, wanting to numb to pain.

The cigarette between his fingers had burnt to the filter, scorching his knuckles. It did not make him flinch, though it made him aware of the pain. He did nothing to stop it.

There was a knock at the door just then.

“Fuck off, I’m paid through the night,” Alex yelled.

With a tremendous thud, the door flew open and a man with blinding speed entered. Before Alex could react, he was grabbed by the shirt and thrown to the ground. When he hit, Alex turned over and held out his fists, ready to unleash plasma against the assailant.

“Go ahead, maggot! Do it if you must! Have you really sunk so low in your life, you pathetic little maggot?!” the man hollered.

In the split second before relieving the man of his life, Alex hesitated. One of his words resonated through his head, and revived a stock of old memories. Maggot.

Woken up, the drunken whore turned over and slurred, “hey, you can’t be in here! Get the hell out!”

Infuriated, took and deep breath, and then calmly said “leave us be, now.” He cast his blazing eyes upon her, destroying her combative will. She quickly wrapped the sheet around her, gathered her clothes and charged out the door, swinging it shut.

The man then walked towards Alex and seized his arm, yanking him to standing. For a moment it seemed like he would strike him. He looked deeply into the younger man’s eyes and saw a mixture of fear and confusion. It was soon replaced by recognition, and then again with shame and regret. Steven Rogers then wrapped his arms around Alex, embracing him. “Its good to see you again, boy.”

“Steven…I…I…” he stuttered.

“Just shut up. Don’t ruin this for me.”

After a few moments, he let Alex go, and allowed him sit down again. Steven crossed his arms and stared at him in silence for several minutes, watching in wonderment how the boy he had trained had grown into the man before him.

“Its been a long time, Alex.”

A response was not forthcoming. The shame of betraying both his mentor and his brother made the chance meeting more than awkward. Alex felt the need to explain his actions, but could not, in his drunken state, find a way to begin. Instead, he hung his head in utter shame and wished death upon himself. Alex felt the heavy eyes of Steven peering at him, awaiting something. He feared the disappointment that must be quelling inside his mentor-the man that had raised the Summers brothers after their natural father had been killed Nathaniel Essex.

Neither Scott nor Alex personally knew their birth father. Whenever the asked Steven about the man, he directly refused to answer their questions. The brothers realized that there was a dark secret surrounding their father-one that would be terrible to know. Now, in retrospect, Steven realized that by shielding the boys from the truth, he doomed them to fall into the same trap as he. It was not Alex’s turn to apologize for anything.

“Boy, it wasn’t your fault…”

Alex looked up finally, now shedding tears.

“It wasn’t your fault. I should have prepared you for your confrontation.”

“Wha…sir, you spent eighteen years preparing me for it.”

“No. Listen closely to me, Alex. I’m going to do a great bit of talking with you tonight, so I need you sober,” he said, walking over to the sink and pouring water into a very large cup. “Drink it,” he demanded, shoving into Alex’s face. Instinctively, he obeyed. It slid painfully down his dry throat and into his already-full stomach.

Steven sat on the edge of the bed, and stared into the boy’s eyes. He then began telling him the story of when he first came to know the name Nathaniel Essex.

…

It was the black year of 1941-the United States was drawn into the World War finally when a Japanese fleet crippled its Pacific fleet at Pearl Harbor. It was a grand call to arms, where nearly every young man flocked to the banner of the stars and stripes to heed its call to defend the world from autocratic tyranny. I was one of them. I enlisted in the army even before they had the chance to draft me. I was more than eager to join the fight. Hell, I was bloodthirsty. Basic training and advanced individual training could not fly by fast enough. After three months of hurried training, my unit was shipped across the Atlantic. I still hold onto a specific memory of riding that transport out of the New York harbor, watching as the Statue of Liberty disappeared from my sight. I waved goodbye and said, “so long babe, hope to see you again some day”.

Our convoy was hit twice by German U-Boats and thankfully, only one other transport was sunk. We made it across the Atlantic and fought for a long, long time in the blazing heat across Africa. Eventually, we made it North and invaded Italy. We went mountain to mountain taking artillery fire the entire way. One night, I took a side full of shrapnel and was pulled out. The two other fellas next to me weren’t so lucky. Kicking and screaming, they sent me back to the states.

Once I made it back, against my parents wishes, I fought like hell to get back over to Europe. The only thing was that the docs said that I needed at least a few months to heal properly. Meanwhile, all I could do was administrative work on the homefront. Well, someone must have heard me griping after a while because I got my chance.

You see Alex, I had been decorated by some of the brass for battlefield valor. I was even in line for a battlefield commission. Some general decided to enroll me in a new, Top Secret program instead. So I reported for duty one day in a secured facility in Virginia, where I went through a series of physical exams before I was considered eligible for the program. After the war, the expanded it to something else called the Weapon X program, but as long as I was in it, the called it the Super Soldier program. Apparently, out of maybe thirty candidates, only four qualified. Me, a man named Jean-Luc LeBeau, Nick Fury, and your father, James Summers. To make a long story short, Alex, we were all subjected to some experimental chemical treatments that made us “supermen”, so to speak, with physical attributes far superior to the normal human. We were then trained in espionage, linguistics, and counter-intelligence before being shipped off to give hell to the Third Reich.

Yeah, we had our fun. But those stories can wait for another day, maybe. Plenty of close calls during infiltrations. We left Europe knowing that thousands of allied lives were saved because of us. That was a pretty damn good feeling, Alex.

I don’t know how keen you are on history, boy, but there was a lot more to the Third Reich than its quest for world domination. You see, they were engulfed in a ethnocentric ideology that the Arryan race, which equated to people of Germanic descent, were genetically superior to everyone else in the world. They went to great lengths to support that view, sending misled anthropologists all over the world to “study” the other world cultures. In all actuality, they were just providing a pseudo- scientific basis for that nonsense. Ah, the vanity of the western self- conceptualization. By the time it was realized that Western ascension had nothing at all to do with “biological or cultural superioirity”, we were already plunged into a war to end all wars with our enemies, who were all trying to inherit hegemony after the Cold War ended. Thing was, it didn’t end the way people anticipated.

Nazi intellectuals were an odd sort. Most of them were an odd combination of scientists and theologian. It was no coincidence that the Nazis were striving so hard to find Biblical artifacts. Some of them were so hokey that they were firm believers in the occult. Some of the Nazi upper echelon even tried to practice black magic, trying to communicate with the dead through decapitated corpses.

I can tell you from firsthand experience, boy, that there was one of them that actually succeeded.

Well, Victor Von Doom wasn’t exactly a Nazi, but he was definitely on their side during the war. He was a brilliant biologist, chemist, geneticist, theologian, and historian. He was also a twisted man, who thrived on the teachings of Crowley. His madness drove him to link his scholarly pursuits with his occult practices. He was barred from entering England and France because his writings were so controversial. Throughout the rise of Germany, he was a patron of the Nazi party, whose ideologies of genetic superiority he embraced, both financially and scholastically.

He took on a personal pupil. One who matched him, even surpassed him, intellectually. Nathaniel Essex studied under Doom at the University of Vienna for the sciences. Essex was fascinated with evolution. He believed that the Arryan race was the closet to the next stage of human evolution, and would eventually biologically and socially evolve into some beyond all others. His fascist beliefs are still intact, if a bit different. The appearance of mutants changed all of that. He believes now that he can manufacture a new race genetically based on the superior genes of mutants. I am afraid that he might almost be there.

Later, he learned about the occult through his mentor as well. They acquired ancient texts from the vaults of the Nazi party, who claimed them from conquered territories. Together, they performed rites and ceremonies that were not meant for the living.

We were given a mission to eliminate some of the prominent Nazi intellectuals one night in 1943. It was a dinner party that graduated into a full séance at Doom’s residence in a tiny, eastern European country called Latvania. Never before had I seen such a gross display of wealth- gold goblets, priceless works of art, finely crafted chandeliers. It was really something.

Later that night, it became apparent that the dinner guests were part of the séance in a way that they hadn’t expected. There throats were slashed by Doom ritualistically, while Essex performed a séance, calling forth a demon. By the time my boys intervened, it had already come. We took on Doom, and wiped the walls with us for the longest time. We tried to gun him down, but was wearing some type of phase shield that caught all the bullets and disintegrated them. Finally, Jean-Luc, always the thief, snuck behind him and buried a long-knife into Doom’s back. He died with a grin on his face, like he knew that his death meant something greater than his life. Years later, I understood what he meant.

What we saw then was beyond words. Blue flame spilled out of nowhere. The lights dimmed to nothing. The only illumination came from unholy sources. Then we saw this specter-like a white cloud, appear and then flowed into Essex through his mouth and nose. In the same moment, your father tried wrestling Essex to the ground. He punctured his chest with a blade. In that second, the blood seeping from his own wounds splashed against Essex’s open chest wound. That created the only vulnerability Nathaniel Essex would have after that night. James Summers and those of his direct descent could harm and even destroy his flesh, the temple where the demon resides. With it destroyed, as you well know, the demon would perish.

But at that night, by then, it was too late. The structure of the building began to shake. Things were getting unstable. We tried killing Essex, but nothing affected him in the least. His flesh absorbed everything. Blades dissipated upon contact. Bullets never found their mark. He only laughed maniacally. That night, he ceased being a man. While bound in flesh, the demon cocooned itself within his soul. That night, Nathaniel Essex went from being a wide-eyed scientist wanting to prove his worth to history to being evil incarnate.

We fled that night, thankful to have our lives.

One other time we encountered Essex. After the war, we dedicated our lives in tracking him. He sired you and your brothers (yes, I know I said brothers, Alex, I will get to that shortly) a year before the meeting. You remained with your grandparents until I got custody over you and Scott.

Finally, Prague, 1975, we found him. You have to understand Alex, that the Super Soldier serum that we took drastically slowed our aging process. The was very little difference in that year from when we first joined the Army.

I won’t go into the finer details of the fight, Alex. We saw things- horrible things.

But we had won. Your father had Essex pinned into the corner and was ready to jam his blade into his throat. It would have ended there and then.

But something happened. Your father decided not to act-instead, he dropped the knife and proclaimed that he had just had a revelation. This is where it gets very complicated.

James Summers wiped his brow. His eyes reflected a strange, flaming madness. He proclaimed Nathaniel Essex as a profit of salvation, who would lead the world onto glory. He had a vision just before slaying the demon that he wasn’t a demon at all, but an angel. James began speaking in tongues, spouting off nonsense about the end of the world after a great, nuclear flame. He was right. He then said that Essex was the Morning Star, shining brightly in the sky, leading the way for all lost souls to the promised land after the world moved on.

Your father succumbed to some kind of hypnotism, or mind wipe, I don’t know what exactly. He was blinded by his own altruism-he wanted to save the world and was, at that moment, convinced he had found the way. His hesitation was his own bane.

Essex stabbed your father in the neck with his own knife.

There was nothing more that we could do but protect you and your brothers, who were the last chance we-the last chance that the world had.

I became the headmaster at the Ranger Academy in Virginia, where I became your surrogate father and trainer. Your other brother was taken by Jean-Luc LeBeau, the patriarch of the Thieves Guild in New Orleans, where he was kept hidden from you both in the case that Essex found us. Or vice- versa.

We joined the resistance years later after Essex formed his own army, the Southern Cross. The battle of New York was lost, and we had the chance for victory anyway. The three of us battled Essex, and you were overcome with the same delusions that defeated your father at the end. Scott missed what would have been the fatal shot when blasted your brother with your own powers.

I did not know what became of either of you. I won’t sugarcoat the fact that I believe that Scott is dead.

I wandered the wastelands as a Ranger, dispensing random justice whenever possible. It confirmed my worst fears in that the world was still in decay. I had lost all hope until now, Alex. With you still alive, we can win. We can still win.

…

When the old man finished his story, Alex had long since past his intoxication. He listened to every word without interruption. At its end, he understood everything clearly.

“Let’s finish the game,” he said, coming to standing. Steven Rogers nodded slightly. He had known that this would be Alex’s response.

Alex gathered his few, meager belongings and left with Rogers. Upon leaving the brothel, sunlight poured unto his brow, causing him to flinch. His eyes adjusted after a few moments.

Steven explained that there would be one other that would accompany them to California, where they would begin their search for Nathaniel Essex. Rogers found Dani Moonstar and introduced her to Alex as his former pupil. They had a meal at the café, and left Drier’s Gultch.

With great resolve and the sun on their backs, the trio set out west.