The Army Of God

                        The Army Of God

    “Pater noster, qui es in caelis. Sanctificatur nomen tuum.” It was ironic, finding a priceless bible in a sewer, as this was exactly how we had been treating god since (and even before) all this had happened. Before the wars, the epidemic; it seemed now that this, this new brutal reality, was a punishment for past sins and godlessness; trudging through New York’s sewage was just another of the unfriendly reminders of this fact.

    Reflections danced across the arched ceiling above, just ahead of the dim beam emitted by my dying flashlight; I’d never thought of the sewers as a place of beauty and security, but then, many, more significant things had changed since the epidemic.

    “Sploosh.” A deep splash in the murky waters behind me, like the sound of a large stone, being dropped into a pond. “Keep up Michael”, I whispered to my rear, in as stern a voice as can be found possible whilst whispering. “But R…” “No buts! Keep up now.” He was unusually wide-eyed, even for a nine year old walking through a dark, muck filled sewer.

    We continued forward, marching on like the religious zealots of Anselm’s private army. Anselm was a tyrannical dictator, once a state senator, whose promises of a crime free country were clearly too good to be true. In all honesty he did no such thing. You see, the mass murderers, arsonists, serial rapists, and cannibalistic psychopaths that had become ‘cured’ by his new revolutionary methods for rehabilitation- became the latest additions to his army. He called them the “White Crosses”, and aptly so, as each had a large white cross on the backplating of their E.S.S.A. (ee-sah) which stands for “Exo-skeletal Strength enhancing Armour system”. Great idea I know, suit up the most dangerous human beings in the country in strength enhancing armour plating, smooth one Anselm.

    Movement ahead. I dim the flashlight even more so with the palm of my hand, letting only small cracks of now orange light shine from between my fingers. An enormous wriggling, squeaking mass moved ahead. I told Michael to look away, as I now recognized what it was I was seeing. I uncovered my hand, the light, now red, cast an eerie glow over the scene. Rats! In the hundreds, quite obviously feasting on some large find, although their numbers and size (about that of an NFL football, as they had had plenty to eat of late) made it at first, difficult to see just what it was. I kicked the steel plating on the side of the tunnel, and they scattered grudgingly to holes they had burrowed in the walls. Two men lay where the rats had been ravenously feeding, though I could only tell by their by their black armour and white crosses, both without which establishing identity of even species would be impossible. It was clear to me of their story.

    These were the latest casualties of the continuing civil war between the White Crosses and ‘Excercitus Dei’ or ‘The Army of God’, a rebel force attempting to destroy any remnants of Anselm’s army. After the death of Anselm, considered divine by most of his brainwashed legions of soldiers, the gates of hell opened up on New York City. The White Crosses went A.W.O.L., and ballistic. Killing on sight, no need to aim, no need even to use weapons it seemed. They hack, burn, bludgeon and bite, hardened by the torture they endured as part of their ‘rehabilitation’. Tortured minds housed in tortured bodies, perfect soldiers.

    I felt pity for whatever humanity had laid in these bodies, before their charred eyes closed for the last time. The methods of Excercitus Dei were clearly effective, although their means were unbelievably inhumane. Nano-rounds were their latest creation, and by the looks of things, they were also the C.O.D. of our two friends here. Milliseconds after entering the body of the target, hundreds of micro-robots would deploy from the round. Armed with saw and scalpel, these artificially intelligent surgeons work from the inside out, very slowly. The only way they can be neutralized is by EMP, so many of the White Crosses now carry defibulators, risking cardiac arrest every time it is used (but worth the risk in my opinion).

      Once a great civilization; now, we seemed more like Neanderthals with pulse cannons and sulphuric acid grenades. The death of these two tormented souls was surely a reprieve; I only wish mine could be.

    Just then, two sounds which, in any order would have caused my heart to race and breath to cling to the sides of my throat, however, as if for effect and instant explanation, my ears were met that night with the following: a snarl- and a scream.

    “Michael!” I mustered, through already forming sobs. As I turned, my own eyes met yet a second pair. Michael, was nowhere to be seen. What stood before me could not be described as human, though, I could not bring myself to see it as an animal. And at once, I came to a sad, and terrifying realization. “Electronic locking mechanisms, electric fencing.” The rebels had cut the power in the area during their nightly raids on White Cross strongpoints! What stood before me was yet another of Anselm’s tortured creations, although he never meant it.

    Panicked by the arrival of the epidemic, he secretly ordered experimental treatments to be administered and tested in all the asylums and psychiatric hospitals in the country. This, creature, with its misshapen features and severely curved spine, eyeing me hungrily from behind a veil of long, jet black hair, was the product of such experimentation; the end effect of one man’s lazy attempt of exerting hasty authority to correct a problem that nothing but careful and religiously researched medicine could solve.

    It foamed at a blood-soaked mouth, which drizzled down its nude frame into the ankle deep water beneath us both. My elevated pulse pounded out against my temples like tribal war drums-a call to arms. Brandishing the long metal shaft of my flashlight, I began to swing wildly at the now approaching figure, and when it was finally near enough to make contact, the flashlight sputtered, and died mid-swing.

    A flurry of splashing and demonic cackling erupted instantaneously; which told me the creature had retreated, but was not far away at all. Its gurgling breaths echoed within the blackness, and a sickly stench of disease hung in the air, even above the smell of the sewage at my feet. I slapped the light source forcefully on its side, however, knowing my position would be given away, I retired my attempts. I had to bring the antique.

    A sudden, and violent fit of drenched coughing began, my skin felt hot and prickly, and blood now dripped from the free hand I had used to cover my mouth. It felt warm amid the icy embrace of the tunnel, and its fragrance turned the stomach, which had at present, become accustomed to the smell of raw sewage. I had the symptoms. It seemed now, that death would be my reprieve.