HIGHWAY TO HELL (17+ Completed)

[Rob The BLack Douglas]

Alexander Smith smiled as the screams within the apartment grew louder until finally a solid thump against the apartment wall replacing the ear piercing noise with whimpers.

A Vice Control agent stepped from the apartment, a broken and beaten mass of what use to resemble a human being firmly gripped in his right hand.

Alexander reached down and grasped the shattered remains of the "things" jaw squeezing as tilted the the smashed face upwards.

"Eternal torment becons you, you filthy abomination," hissed Alexander through clenched teeth.

Bloody lips spat a wad of spit and blood splattering Alexander's face.

"You f*****g piece of filth!" Alexander's face was splotchy with rage as he shoved the broken mass of flesh away from him and reached for his pistol.
A lone shot rang out and the bloody body went limp, its life draining away.
Alexander wiped the blood and spit from his face, tossing the hankerchief upon the lifeless body.

"I'll be glad when the world is cleansed of these abominations," growled Alexander as he stepped over the body. Leave the scum, we have more work to do before the day is done."

*****

Heather McBride stretched out on the lone narrow bed of the dingy hotel room. In front of the flimsy door James had laid out a thin bed roll, at his side a shotgun.

Heather yawned, tired from the days work. Silently she watched James as he carefully unrolled is knives before him, minutely examining each in turn, some recieving a couple of quick licks from a sharpening stone before being returned to their slots.

"James." Heather sat up and reached for her jacket hanging on the rooms lone chair.

"I almost forgot, I have a letter here for you."

James stares at Heather in bewilderment. "Who's it from?"

"Not sure, might be from Gwen." Heather held out the envelope to James who stared at it for a bit before gingerly grabbing hold of the letter.

"Thank you," he murmured as he settled back on the floor.

James just sat there making no effort to to open the letter. Heather wondered how he was holding up. Despite the years he had lived with her and her sister, she never really got know the lad, he had always been extremely close to Natalia and Heather knew that he had been hit hard by her death.

Not long after recrossing the border, one day heather found James in a bar extremely drunk and beligerant. One of the patrons had said something that had p****d him off and James proceeded to empty out the entire bar in an extremely violent and bloody manner.

Finally Heather was able to to get James into their car just as the wail of sirens could be heard approaching. SInce that day, James has rarely spoken more than a couple of sentences.

"Oh well," thought Heather, "maybe he'll open up someday."

James waited until he was sure that Heather was asleep before opening the letter. His hands trembled as he unfolded the letter.

Dear James,
I have no idea if this letter will reach you but I had to take a chance.
Miranda and I are doing well. We both are working and have just moved into an apartment. It's small but Miranda and I love it. we are in the process of making it our own.

I must admit that after all those years of living in fear , that Miranda and i have much to get use to in our new home. The outright warmth and friendlyness of the people is a welcome change from the guarded suspicion of our old home.

Miranda and i owe you and Heather a debt we can never repay. We pray everyday that you will be kept safe in your work.
We hope that one day we will see you and Heather again.

Love Gwen and Miranda

James smiled as he carefully refolded the letter and stashed it safely away.

*****

Alexander Smith and his squad pulled into the train depot. Squads of Vice Control agents filled the depot guarding a mmassive pen filled with all of those in violation of the Prophet's Moral Codes.

Crowded into a pen exsposed to the elements, many wearing clothes ill-suited to the rapidly approaching winter. Coughing filled the air from all corners of the pen.

Alexander stepped from his car and watched as his men herded their days capture into the pen.

"Good hunting captain?"

Alexander turned and saluted the new head of the Department of Vice Control, Jeb Robertson.

"Excellent day, sir."

"Good, good, nothing more satisfying than doing the lords work."

"I agree sir."

"Curious about what we're doing here captain?"

Alexander hesitated for a moment, not sure how he should respond.

Robertson laughed and slapped Alexander on the back.

"Wait a moment and you'll see."

From the far end of the depot a lone train blew a meloncholy whistle as the locomotive pulled alongside the crowded pen.

Heavily armed guards opened the massive doors of each of the rail cars. Agents armed with batons began to heard the prisoners from the pen into the rail cars.

"Prophet Prescott has devised a new solution for those who would rot this great nation from within," grinned Robertson.

"Where are they going?"

"A one way trip to Hell."

To Be Continued.................

[Rob The BLack Douglas]

II

A blood red sun rose in the east casting a grim pallor upon the land. James was driving while Heather sifted throught the massive file of information provided by sympathizers within the Ministry.

"oh my god!" gasped Heather, her face draining of all color.

"What is it," growled James as he passed a slow moving Long Hauler.

"Prophet Prescott is truly insane!"

"dammit! What is it!" barked James slightly irritated.

"VIce Control has constructed a new camp and is shipping all of the undesirables to the new facility in Crawford Texas."

"So, they've built a new camp."

"James, it's a death camp."

*****

Prophet Prescott rolled his soft, pasty,mass of blubbery flesh off of his bed and reached for a silk robe lazily draped over a whipping post.
On the bed, slightly hidden among the numerous pillows, the slightly bruised body of one of the Prophet's very young attendants.
Sobs, muffled by the soft gag in her mouth broke the silence of the bedchamber.

"Don't cry child, your body is a sacred vessel, whose sole purpose is to ease the burdens and hardships of my station," Prophet Prescott whispered softly as he reached over and stroked the girls pale golden hair.

"Prophet! Prophet!" A temple aide burst into the bed chamber, sweat dripping from his forhead, his breathing ragged and harsh.

Prophet Prescott whirled to face the aide, his face full of rage and advanced on the cowering aide.

"I gave explicit orders that I was not to be disturbed!" The Prophet's voice thundered filling the bed chamber with anger and menace.

"I bear grave news." The aide spoke quickly. "Food riots on the west coast have turned into full scale revolts. We have reports of temples being burned, clergy hanged, even news that the re-education camps have been overrun and those held released!"

Prophet Prescott glared down at the trembling aide.

"What of the train to Crawford?"

"Behind schedule due to the success of local Vice Control agents in rooting out heresy and abomination."

"You can leave,I'll weigh this heavy news and formulate a response. Now go."

The aide scrambled to his feet and breathed a sigh of relief at surviving the wrath of the Prophet.

Prophet Prescott sighed and turned back to his bed.

"Now where were we," he murmured as tossed aside his robe.

*****


Jeb Robertson stood silent as reports from the west coast continued to flow into Vice Control headquartes. They painted a grim picture, one that would not be easy to regain control.

Troops were spread thin trying to guard the borders. Vice Control agents had their hands full cleansing the country of the rot eating away at its moral foundation.

Robertson sighed. Madness was consuming the nation. The Prophet was consumed by his passion for young flesh, his brain controlled by his desire for pleasure.

If something didn't happen soon, the nation would be torn apart.

*****

Alexander Smith rubbed his hands together over the small fire trying to spread warmth through his fingers .

"damm cold out."

"One more stop and then werre a one way express bound for Texas," said Smith in response.

"Any word on the riots out west?" asked one the agents from the back of the rail car.

"Nothing new. I'm not worried though, Chicago hasn't seen any trouble in years, besides only a complete lunatic would even contemplate attacking this train."

*****

James are you sure this is how you want to do this?" asked Heather as she helped James strap on his hardware over the heavy body armor he wore.

"Hand me my duster," growled James ignoring Heather's concerns.

Sighing, Heather grabbed the black leather duster and helped James put it on. James flexed his arms making sure that his movement was restricted.
Satisfied he slung his duffle over his shoulder and headed towards the car.

*****

Slowly the train pulled into Chicago's famed stockyards, its pens now holding prisoners instead of cattle. Fresh snow lay upon the ground and fat lazy flakes drifted through the air.

Alexander Smith and his men squad jumped from their rail car and stood guard as they watched the local Vice Control agents prod the huddled mass' from the pens towards the rail cars.

"Coffee sir?"

Smith took the proffered mug wrapping his gloved fingers around its warmth.

Shots rang out, quickly escalating into what sounded like a full scale invasion of the stock yards. Smith watched with amazement as more personnel were pulled from hearding the prisoners onto the train and sent to deal with the escalating gun battle.

"Get as many prisoners on board, I'm ordering the Engineer to pull out in five minutes!" shouted Smith as he dropped his coffee mug and dashed towards the front of the train.

As he approached the engine screams that seemed to come from above shattered the air. Smith spun around, pistol ready, only to see nothing.
Like a sandbag, the crumpled form of what use to be a Vice Control agent dropped from above and sprawled lifelessly upon the ground his throat slit from ear to ear.

"What the f**k?"

"Welcome to Hell," whispered a rough voice in Smith's ear as a blade slid across his throat.

James threw the limp body aside and climbed into the cab of the engine.
Slowly the train began to pul out of the stockyards heading south.

To Be Continued..............

[Rob The BLack Douglas]

III


Slowly the train began to pick up speed. James cautiously peered out the window towards the front of the stockyards.

"Come on Heather, where the f**k are you," thought James as he scanned the pens in vain for her.

"BOO!"

James threw himself to the far side of the engines cab blades drawn. Heather broke out laughing so hard she was bent over holding her sides.

"That's not f*****g funny," growled James.

"Oh, I think it's very funny," grinned Heather.

"I'm going up top to see if we have any stragglers that need to be taken care of."

Heather watched James scramble atop the engine and with ease move from rail car to rail car.

"Be carefull James," she thought as the trained passed the Chicago city limits and began to head south.

*****

"The train was what!" shouted Jeb Robertson staring in total disbelief at the communications officer.

"According to the Chicago office, unknown persons ambushed the agents at the stockyards and hijacked the train."

With a wave Robertson dismissed the comm officer. The situation was deteriating rapidly. News of the revolts had spread across the country despite the news blackout. The northeast was already beginning to show signs of rising up.

"We must act soon," thought Robertson, "before it's too late."

*****

Night began to fall as the train continued its journey south. Heather poured herself a cup of tea and sat at the tiny table at the rear of the engine.
James sat at the controls of the engine staring out into the night.

"James, we need to talk," said Heather taking the seat next to him.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes there is James." Heather grabbed his arm and turned him to face her.

"You scare me James. Ever since Natalia died, you throw yourself into the fights with no regard for your life."

James mouth tightened, his eyes scowling down at Heather.

"Do you desire death that much?"

James sat quietly for several minutes before softly speaking.

"I desire release from this Hell on earth, death is just the path I've chosen to follow."

"Why James," cried Heather.

"Before being rescued by Natalia, I lived in a tiny village out west. We were happy, my sister Jennifer, my parents, and I. We didn't have much, but we didn't care.

"The trouble began when the local temple recieved a new priest. He took a liking to my sister who was twelve at the time. My parents did what they could to protect but a priests authority is absolute.

"One day little Jennifer didn't come home. The entire village searched for days for her. By chance, some of the young kids were playing near the temples wood shed. Hidden back in the corner was my sisters lifeless body.

"She had been beaten and raped before being strangled. We knew the priest was the one responsible. He barely escaped from the village ahead of a mob ready to hang him from the nearest tree.

"The next morning government troops raided the village killing men, women, and children. I was the only survivor. I was buried beneath the rubble of the local store. The shattered glass from the windows are what gave me my scars," said James indicating his face.

"Natalia was part of the Ministry team sent in to whitewash the incident.She rescued me and kept me safe."

"Do you know what became of the priest?"

"He's now the Prophet."

*****

Outside the Prophet's bedchamber the sounds of crashing china mingled with the splintering of furniture all accompanied by wails of anguish.
Tears ran down Prophet Prescott's cheeks, his hands cut to bloody ribbons, swaths of blood smeared across the white of his stately robes.

Upon the bed the lifeless eyes of the young girl stared blankly at the grief wracked man.

"God damn you! Why did you take her from me!" Raged Prophet Prescott his fists pounding the air.

"Answer Me!"

The howls of the Prophet rattled the guards outside his bed chamber.

"Send for the Ministers," ordered the capatain of the guard. "The Prophet is unwell."

*****

"The men are in position sir."

Jeb Robertson nodded and turned his attention back to the rail line. VIce Control had set up a barricade and was going to try and retake control of the train.

"Here it comes."

Barreling around the corner the train pulled into view. With a roar the engine burst through the barricade , jumped the track pulling the rail cars behind it. A plume of dirt and vegetation filled the sky as the engine plowed a trench into the country side.

Vice agents swarmed from their vehicles and onto the the train wreck. Rail car doors were flung open to reveal that they were empty.

"Nothing sir. They must of offloaded somewhere down the line. I'm surprised the thing didn't derail sooner."

Robertson thought for a moment. "Get a cleanup crew up here right away. Take as many agents as are available and canvas the area. We should be able to spot large groups of peole moving through the country side."

The aide sprinted off to relay Robertsons orders.

"Sir!"

Robertson turned to see a very frantic comm officer running towards him.

"What is it now," growled Robertson.

"A priority message from the Ministry!"

"Don't just stand there with your thumb up your arse, spit it out!"

"The Prophet has been declared insane, fighting has broken out between those loyal to the Ministry and those loyal to the Prophet!"

"Christo's on a crutch," murmured Robertson. "The gates of Hell have been unleashed."

*****

James grabbed his duffle bag of gear and headed off over the country sidetowards the faint glow of light to the east.


To Be Continued...............

[Rob The BLack Douglas]

IV

The capital of New Jerusalem glowed red, orange and yellow from the fires burning out of control. Gunfire was constant as the two factions fought for control of a broken nation.

Both the west coast and the northeast were in open revolt. Food riots in the south were draining manpower away from the civil war raging across the country.

A tired and very weary Jeb Robertson stepped into the Ministrys command center. The main floor was abuzz with the flow of information.

"Glad you made it in alive Robertson," Minister Fallover said. "The country is falling apart and that crazy b astard has us fighting a civil war. I'm surprised he isn't out there fiddling while the city burns!"

"Yes sir."


*****

James lowered his duffle and pulled it open. Smoothly he extracted a riot shotgun with a drum magazine. He turned to Heather.

"Try and keep up, if we get seperated, just keep making your way to the chapel ,just follow the trail of bodies."

James didn't wait for Heather's response. He leaped to his feet and rushed towards a small group of temple guards firing his shotgun as he ran. Without slowing up he jumped the shattered bodies and didn't look back.
Wrath and fury had totally consumed James. Guard after guard fell before him, their shredded bodies marking the bloody trail that James and Heather blazed towards the chapel.

Prophet Prescott gingerly took hold of the pistol from the last of his temple guard. The guard remained silent as he drew his own sidearmand took up a position before the only entrance to the chapel.

The wooden door splintered into millions of shards ripping the guard to shreds. James stepped through the door shotgun at his side, barrel smoking. Blood spaltters covered his leather duster. A grim smile filled James face as he caught sight of the Prophet. He tossed aside the shotgun and reached into his duster and withdrew his blades. Prophet Prescott raised his pistol, his arm trembling.

James leaped forward knives flashing, leaving crimson streaks across the Prophet's robes. Wild shots rang out, ricocheting all over the chapel.
With a cry James plunged one blade into the Prophet's chest, the blade imbedded to the hilt. Prophet Prescott staggered back, dropping to his knees, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

James stepped behind the Prophet, the steel of his blade flickering in the candle light.

"Time to pay the piper," whispered James as he placed the edge of the knife just below Prophet Prescott's left ear.

"This is for all those you destroyed," growled James as he slid the blade across the Prphet's throat.

With a sigh of relief James pushed the lifeless body from him and staggered to the chapels pews.

"James! What's wrong!" cried Heather as she rushed to his side
.
"On my last ride," sighed James as he pulled aside his duster to reveal two bullet holes.

"Why didn't you wear your armor!" yelled Heather as she tried to staunch the flow of blood from the wounds, her tears flowing freely.

"Don't worry about me kid. I'll soon be gone, but I would like you to do me a favor."

"Anything James!"

James reaches into his duster and pulls out the letter from Gwen and Miranda, pressing it into Heather's hands.

"Leave all this blood behind, go and keep Gwen and Miranda safe for me, I want them to live happy lives without fear."

Heather nodded unable to speak, all choked up with her tears. James smiled. "I'm coming Jennifer," he whispered.

His hands went cold, the fire in his eyes burning out, his body going limp.
Heather cradled James to her, her tears cleansing the blood from his face.
With care Heather lay James down upon the pew. Using a candle, she lit a mass of dry paper which leaped into flames spreading rapidly throughout the chapel. Heather watched as the flames consumed James body.

"Goodbye brother," whispered Heather.

Fin