Dead World

CHAPTER 5

Isaiah stared at his wife and children as they headed towards the woods. He couldn’t believe what he saw.

“Anna, come back. What are you doing?” he shouted, but his words were lost in the cacophony of angry cries emanating from the residents of Sanctuary.

More yells came from the courtyard and he looked back down to see two of the Gods had staggered through the open gate. They were both dressed in ragtag clothes and one had half its face missing, the jawbone and teeth clearly evident. The other one appeared bloated, its skin purple and grey.

A heavily armed Enforcer ran towards the bloated God and tried gently pushing it back, but the God snapped at him, trying to sink its teeth into his arm. The Enforcer lost his footing and the God crashed down on top of him and bit into the man’s throat, tearing out a chunk of flesh. The man screamed, the sound almost inhuman.

People backed away, their expressions reverent. One man dropped to his knees and started praying. He raised his arms in reverence as the God with half its face missing approached.

Roman barked out a command to the Enforcers. “Don’t just stand there. Get them back outside.”

Several Enforcers stepped forwards holding sticks and shields and started pushing the Gods towards the exit. Once they got them outside, they rushed back inside and shut the doors.

The guard who had been attacked lay on the ground, blood pumping from the wound in his throat.

People in the crowd started shouting:

“What about the sacrifice?”

“The offering must be made.”

“The ceremony’s been ruined.”

“The Gods will curse us!”

Isaiah barged past people and thundered down the steps to the courtyard just as Roman joined the Enforcers who had surrounded their fallen comrade. One of them bent down and inspected his colleague before he looked up at Roman and shook his head.

Grumblings emanated from the crowd.

Roman held his hands up. “Citizens, I won’t let misfortune befall our community. The ceremony will go ahead as planned. Even if I have to go out and bring them back myself.” Cheers went up from the crowd. “Anna Charles will not go unpunished.”

Isaiah noticed the body on the ground twitch. Roman must have seen it too because he motioned to one of the Enforcers who stepped forwards holding a spear. Roman nodded at him and the man rammed the spear into the dead man’s head.

“Only those chosen by the lottery are ordained to become as one with the Gods,” Roman said. “Any other way is blasphemy.” With that he turned and strode away. As he reached the other side of the yard, he stopped and turned. Fixed Isaiah with a withering glare. “Do I need to tell you to accompany me, Isaiah Charles? Your family has disrupted our ceremony.”

Isaiah nodded, tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Yes, yes, I’m… erm, I’m sorry.” He hurried across the yard, book tucked underneath his arm. Sweat trickled down his neck.

He followed Roman across the yard and around the corner of the main building. The imposing structure towered overhead. Stepping into its shadow made Isaiah feel cold and he shivered. The numerous cell windows were covered by iron bars. Isaiah had read about similar buildings in one of the books he’d read. The author had called them prisons; their purpose to contain criminals, keeping them apart from society. He found it ironic that what was once a place of chastisement had become a haven. Not that anyone would be interested. Most people weren’t interested in books and history. Except for the Governor. Vincent Carmichael. It was he who had assigned Isaiah the task of archiving and cataloguing the books they had in the library. Most of them had rotted away, but he took great care with those that survived. He didn’t know what Carmichael was after, but Isaiah had to brief him on everything he found that related to history.

Isaiah realised Roman was leading him to the Governor’s residence. The building stood apart from all the others. The residence was a square two storey structure, grey brick walls fronted by an arched colonnade. Roman marched up to the front door, red robe kicking up swirls of dust where it swept across the ground, and strode inside without knocking.

Isaiah increased his pace and followed him inside.

They walked along a short hallway and into the dining room where Carmichael sat behind a table laden with food of better quality than most of the residents had access to. Due to his large girth, Carmichael’s chair was pushed back from the table to allow him to sit comfortably. His features were distorted by the extra weight he carried and he always smelled of pungent body odour. Isaiah never liked spending too much time in his company and he always made his reports of the books as succinct as possible.

Many ancient artefacts decorated the room, including a large standing clock, and a frame with a glass frontage Isaiah had learned was called a television. Then there were ornaments and knickknacks the purpose of which was impossible to imagine. Nobody had much knowledge about the artefacts.

Carmichael sat poised with food wavering on his fork. “You’d better have a good reason for bursting in while I’m eating.”

“When aren’t you eating?” Roman muttered.

“What did you say?”

“I said you missed the meeting.”

Carmichael waved his hand dismissively, food flying from his fork. “Seen one you’ve seen them all.”

“Not like this one. The Chosen one ran away.”

Carmichael shrugged and lifted the fork to his mouth and started eating.

Roman leaned forwards and placed his hands on the desk. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“The Chosen one ran away,” he said while eating. “So what? Out with the old, in with the new. Space has been made in Sanctuary for the newborn, so what’s the problem?”

“I’ll tell you what the problem is. Her mother took her and fled into the forest. Along with her other two children.

Vincent shrugged again. “Well that’s good news, isn’t it? We now have even more space available.”

Roman shook his head and exhaled noisily. “It’s not that simple. The people are angry and scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Well they’re afraid misfortune will befall our community because the sacrifice ran away.”

“Will it?”

“Of course not. We both know that. But if we’re not careful the people will panic, or worse lose faith. Who knows where that will lead.”

As if noticing Isaiah for the first time, he fixed his gaze upon him. “Isaiah, what are you doing here?”

“This is the Chosen one’s father.”

Isaiah held his book to his chest as if it was a shield. He inwardly shrank beneath the two men’s gaze.

Carmichael sat up taller in his chair and squared his shoulders, taking on a more regal posture. He looked Isaiah up and down over the tip of his nose.

“So your wife’s run away. Do you mind telling me why?”

“I wish I knew.” He shook his head. “She’s never done anything like this before. I think she might be a little crazy. She’s been spending a lot of time with my mother, and I’m afraid she may have bought in to the ravings of an old woman’s mind.

“A little crazy? She’s jeopardized our community.

She’s… I don’t…

Roman held up a hand, a sly expression on his face. “If I may interrupt, I’d like to suggest he is sent out with a small troop of Enforcers to bring them all back.”

Carmichael seemed to consider this for a moment before he nodded. “Excellent idea.”

Isaiah’s eyes grew wide and he shifted his grip on the book so he could hold one hand up. “But… it’s been too long. Wouldn’t they have already succumbed to the Gods?”

Roman wheeled on Isaiah, face flushed. “Since when do you possess the authority to question the Governor’s rules?”

Isaiah dropped his head submissively, and took a step back. “I… I don’t…”

Carmichael tapped his fork against his plate. “Well no time like the present to make a start. Roman, I’d like you to lead the party.”

Roman’s jaw dropped. “Me. Sir, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Now who’s questioning the Governor’s rules?” Isaiah said.

Roman glared at him.

“That’s settled then,” Carmichael said. “Oh, and Roman, on the way out, get the cook to bring me some more pie.”