Eden's Hammer Page 2

  Adrian asked, “How about you and Aunt Sarah? How have you two gotten along since I saw you last?”

  “Pretty darned good, I’d say. We’ve had enough to eat, and good Lord willing, we’ll have a record crop this year. Knock on wood that Mother Nature doesn’t do something to it. This lifestyle has gotten me into better shape than I was in before the grid went down. Back then I sat at a desk all day, or was driving the hour and a half to work and then back. I was soft, really soft, but not now. Not an ounce of fat on me, and I can run like I was a child—well, almost that good. Sarah has leaned down, too, and she’s always busy taking care of this place and me. She works hard. She’s often in the field, weeding or harvesting. Chores that used to be easy, like washing clothes, take a lot more work and time now. I’d say she’s in better shape now than she was in her twenties. Not bad for people in their mid-sixties; we’re way healthier than we used to be. We’re always busy and there is always work to be done, but we don’t mind it because it’s our work for our benefit. It takes hard work to survive, but every drop of sweat is for us, no taxes rob us of our hard work for the benefit of lazy people somewhere else. We share with others, but it’s our choice what we share and who it goes to.

  “All that prepping I had been doing in the grid years paid off. Those antique tools I collected have been lifesaving, literally. The guns and ammunition I collected have been worth their weight ten times over in what gold used to be worth. My library of survival books really did the trick for us in so many ways, it’s hard to describe. The Foxfire books weren’t especially helpful in the very beginning, when we were hiding and living by the skin of our teeth, but now that we are settling into a village lifestyle, they are precious beyond words.”

  Adrian said, “Now, tell me about this threat before I strangle you.”

  “Well, I can tell you a little. There’s a lot we don’t know, but what we do know is bad. There’s a large band of raiders heading this way. Real barbarians—vicious. They’re looting, killing, and raping as they come. It’s a big band, don’t know how many exactly, but from the accounts we’ve heard so far, it could be upwards of two hundred or more of them. Well armed and utterly ruthless. I’ve been plotting the reports of the raids we’ve heard about on a map and they are on a beeline right at us. One refugee even said that he overheard the raiders talking about Fort Brazos. That might not mean anything, but all information so far indicates they will be coming through here. Linda knows the most about them—I’ll get her over here soon so you can ask her questions. Best guess is that we have five or six weeks before they’re here.”

  CHAPTER 2

  JANUARY 8

  REX SHUDDERED INWARDLY WITH INTENSE pleasure as he watched the man thrashing out of the last of his life. Rex’s outward appearance was of a handsome yet stone cold killer with no emotions; the wide, toothy smile on his face didn’t signal anything recognizable as pleasure. He was a tall, blond man with pale gray eyes, almost albino looking. His face was always serenely still and cold. When he smiled, which he did frequently, it was a large, toothy smile that on an ordinary person would have been both charming and engaging, but on his face, paired with his dead eyes, it sent a primordial chill down one’s spine.

  Blood pumped from the man’s throat, slowing quickly to a stop, pooling and sinking into the dry clay. Rex had few discipline problems with his men, but when he did, a lightning fast slash across the offender’s throat with his large knife stopped the problem and made a crystal clear example for the other men. His discipline was so thorough that sometimes, such as in this instance, Rex had to create a perceived infraction so that he could release the tension that built up when he had gone too long without a kill.

  Rex was asexual. He viewed sex as an unhygienic bit of business that entirely repulsed him. He’d tried it once in his teens, and then killed the girl afterwards in pure disgust, stabbing her repeatedly until he was exhausted. It had taken a lot of work to get rid of her body and not be a suspect in her disappearance. He’d buried her deep in swampland, where the corpse was never found. He’d also burned the motel down; there had been too much blood to clean up, and the fire had the added bonus of destroying any documents that might have led the police to him. As an added plus, the motel manager on duty that night went up in flames after Rex had knocked him unconscious. On the bright side, he thought, that’s where I learned to love arson.

  Lacking in normal sexual release, he found that his always-increasing inner tension was relieved by killing, at least temporarily. Killing was his sexual activity, and he was well aware of it. In fact, he reveled in it. Before the grid went down, his killings had had to be secretive, adding a layer of difficulty to his acts. Afterwards, when there was no law, he killed in the open and enjoyed it far more. He enjoyed an audience when he killed. The post-grid world couldn’t fit him better if he had custom designed it. He was free to do whatever he was powerful and smart enough to do, and he loved it.

  He was averse to getting any bodily fluids on him, except blood. He didn’t mind blood, but would still quickly wash it off. Rex always took extra care with his appearance. He had two women captives that washed and ironed his clothes. He changed two, sometimes three times per day, washing himself thoroughly each time. One of the women trimmed his hair and shaved him every morning. They cooked his meals, performed the house cleaning and laundry, and shined his boots. Any tiny deviation from his infinitely detailed rules and routine, and the offending woman would receive a severe beating. Rex, ever aware of being poisoned by the women, even made them eat first while he watched. At random intervals, he ordered one of his men to eat his meal. He made it clear to the women that should they try to poison him, their fate would be hideous beyond their worst nightmares.

  Rex had been discharged from the Army along with thousands of other soldiers at Fort Hood after the grid dropped, and the Army could no longer feed them all. He took his rifle, ammunition, and MREs and walked back to his hometown of Baton Rouge, leaving a trail of blood and bodies in his wake. He was born in Baton Rouge, and had grown up on the rough side of town. His first kill was at the age of eight. A slightly older and much larger bully had accosted him on the way to school. The bully was found stabbed to death a few days later. The police barely investigated, and certainly didn’t think to look at children of Rex’s age. Other bodies—mostly of the homeless—were found with their throats cut over the next ten years in and around his neighborhood. After Rex enlisted in the Army, Baton Rouge’s unsolved homicide rate went down perceptibly. No one made the connection.

  Rex joined the Army so that he could kill openly; he hated having to be sneaky about it. Killing for the good of the country, under orders, was still killing to him. It provided a cloak of acceptability that he found useful. He rapidly worked his way into a special operations unit. He was large, heavily muscled, handsome, and fast. Even though he was outwardly an extremely attractive man, most women avoided him instinctively; the few that didn’t, he brushed off as loathsome annoyances. His IQ was nearly off the charts, and he never hesitated to move aggressively. His combat skills and aggressive attitude outshone every soldier he was paired with, except one, and Rex had become overtly obsessed with besting that man. Killing him had become his constant inner drive. When the grid had dropped and the world changed for the better, his obsession had gone into hibernation, deep in the rotten swamps of his twisted mind. But it hadn’t died. It laid in the darkness of his mind with one eye half open, waiting.

  Rex looked at the body with contempt, then looked up at his men. He said, “There is only one penalty here. Be sure you’re willing to pay the price before you break a rule.” He stared the men down for thirty seconds. They avoided eye contact, knowing that any little thing could set him off if his bloodlust wasn’t fully satisfied. Seeing no challenge from his men, Rex turned and strode back to his quarters, well aware of the cowed men watching him.

  He had taken over one of the city’s finest antebellum mansions. His office and personal quarters were
on the top floor of the three-story home. His honor guard officers were quartered on the lower two floors. Rex’s “office hours” consisted primarily of seeing a stream of informers. Men paid to bring information on the goings on of the city. Payment was generally made in canned goods, but sometimes it was made in favors, such as eliminating a particular thorn in an informant’s side.

  Rex had initially joined a small band of raiders when he’d returned to his home city. Within a week, he had taken over the group by killing the leader in front of the men. He told them, “He was stupid and weak. Do what I tell you, and you’ll be rich by comparison.” The men believed he was telling them the truth. More importantly, he deeply scared them, and they fell in line immediately. He recruited more and better men until his crew had reached four hundred. It was the optimum size for the region’s available resources. Once he reached the optimal level, he continued to recruit better-trained and more highly skilled men. When he brought in a new man, he would dismiss the worst man he had, maintaining his crew of exactly four hundred. During the initial weeks after taking over the original crew, they had taken food, water, and women from individual homes. When those resources became scarcer, and as his crew became larger and better trained, Rex upped the ante and changed his method of operation.

  There were scores of gangs operating throughout Baton Rouge and the surrounding areas. Rex recognized these gangs as opportunities. Each gang, in order to survive, had accumulated food. Rex and his crew identified these groups, found their base locations, and moved in and took the loot, leaving just enough for the raided gang to survive. Rex didn’t kill off the gangs; he let them accumulate more food and took it again. The amount of food gathered was greater than hitting individual houses, and required less overall effort, so it was a more efficient operation.

  The trick was to locate where they had hidden the food—this is where the informers came in. The gangs were generally undisciplined and cowardly. Rex’s men, by contrast, were superior in every way. Better armed, better trained, better fed and disciplined almost to a fault. Rex had trained the men similarly to the way he had been trained in the Army, instilling combat skills and discipline that he had learned in the far corners of the world. Theirs was a deadly army, quickly spreading fear throughout the region. He had a loyal cadre of forty hand-selected men, his honor guard. These were men that were given special positions and rewards and were rarely punished. They were his protection against rebellion from his troops. They were intensely loyal because of their privileges, and were uniformly feared by everyone. Rex sometimes took prisoners, occasionally recruiting the best of their lot while personally killing the rest. These were his substitute for sexual orgies, and he lusted for them as a satyr.

  Rex had progressed to operating much like a rogue government. Citizens could come to him requesting favors or protection and Rex often complied, but only for a profit. He had recently begun thinking about rounding up women and prostituting them. Only his aversion to sexual matters had kept him from thinking of it sooner. They were a commodity that could be controlled and much profit made from. Another line he was working on was growing marijuana. Seeds were still frequently found, and he could use slave labor to grow and process the plants.

  He already controlled the liquor market. He had recruited several men who were knowledgeable in the skill of moonshining and had them set up a distillery. Any competition he discovered was quickly crushed. His latest venture was growing crops. Food was the number one commodity on the planet. By taking over local farms and utilizing slave labor camps, he would soon be producing fresh food that he could sell at any price he demanded. Rex was creating an empire, and was evolving into an emperor. He would soon be recruiting more men, and there were plenty of men who would do whatever it took to eat. Rex’s future was looking very bright, and he was enjoying himself more than he could have ever hoped to in the pre-grid failure world.

  He walked up the two flights of stairs to his floor. It was shared only by the radio operator and a guard watching the operator. Rex had discovered the operator on one of the earlier raids on individual homes. The man had a top-notch ham radio setup. Instead of letting his men rape the women and killing all of the family as usual, he saw an opportunity. Rex had the equipment and the operator moved to the third story of the mansion. The equipment was set up under the operator’s direction and the antenna was installed on the roof. The operator lived in a small bedroom with the equipment, typing reports on all the traffic he heard on an old manual typewriter. The operator’s loyalty was assured by Rex’s holding his family hostage in a nearby house. The operator’s family was provided food and water and was kept under guard at all times. Occasionally, when the operator brought in especially interesting news, he was rewarded with a short visit with his loved ones. Rex had instructed the guard to ensure that the operator didn’t make up stories in order to see his family.

  JANUARY 15, AFTERNOON

  Rex was relaxing in his office after granting audience to the usual stream of informers. At three o’clock in the afternoon, the operator brought in the day’s dispatches. Rex took the typed paper from the operator and grunted, his way of dismissing the man. He settled back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk, and began reading. There were the usual reports from around the world. Ham operators were an unusually resourceful and independent lot. Many of them had managed to scrounge up a source of electricity one way or another, usually using car batteries and inverters, and would go on the air briefly to announce and describe the local goings-on in their area. The stories were similar: mass starvation, and gang violence over food.

  Third world countries had been the least affected by the huge coronal mass ejection as they had had little to no reliance on electricity before the grid went down, but raiding gangs still appeared as governments disappeared. From time to time, Rex would get news from his own area that was useful, so he kept the radio operation going around the clock. One report segment caused a stirring in his subconscious, something nasty started squirming deep in his mind. A man in Colorado was reportedly taking on a large cannibal raider gang single-handedly. Not only had he taken on the gang, but he was doing it with primitive weapons, and was apparently winning. Rex immediately wanted to know everything he could about this man. His subconscious was ringing a loud bell, and Rex never ignored those signals.

  He quickly stood and went to the radio room. He told the operator, “I want everything you can find out about this Colorado mountain man, every detail there is. Get your transmitter running and question the operators out there. Track down every rumor and story you can. Report to me in detail. You get enough information, and your family will get extra food and you can spend a night with them.” He turned to the guard. “Vet everything—every report, every transmission, and the typed report.” Rex walked out, not waiting for a reply.

  Twenty-four hours later, the radio operator turned in a one-page typed report. The information was still sketchy, but one fact sent wild electricity surging through Rex’s nerves: the mountain man’s name—Adrian Hunter. Rex lost focus for several minutes while he absorbed the information. His obsession blinked and came out of hibernation with a roar.

  JANUARY 16, AFTERNOON

  Rex sent for the operator. “Double rations for your family for a week, and you can spend the rest of today and tonight with them. Show the guard how to operate the receiver and tell him to take notes on anything remotely related to this man, and anything else out of Colorado and Waco areas, too. Tomorrow morning, you’ll resume. From now on, the only thing I want you to concentrate on is this. I want full reports every time you get more information. Otherwise, stay by the radio. Get enough information, and you’ll get to spend more time with your family.”

  It took a full week for Rex to get a reasonable idea of what Adrian was doing. During that week, a plan was forming on how to find and finally finish off his obsession. He could return to empire building later, but until he fulfilled his obsession’s demands, he knew he could never be c
ontent. Rex pulled out a road map that covered Louisiana and Texas. He had studied Adrian when they were at Fort Hood. Rex had fully intended to kill Adrian back then, but not quickly. He would torture him first, make him suffer as much as humanly possible. He had also considered torturing Adrian by killing his family before he killed Adrian himself. Using what information he could casually gather from listening to Adrian talk, he had learned that he had no parents or siblings and had been raised by an aunt and uncle. Adrian, unaware of the incredible depth of Rex’s fixation, had not guarded his talk. It didn’t take long for Rex to find out about where his aunt and uncle lived.

  Rex marked the location on his map. They lived deep in the country north of Waco, on the banks of the Brazos River, so he didn’t have a specific spot to mark, but he did have a general location within fifty miles. Drawing a circle around that area, he called in his best three scouts and sent them on a mission to locate the uncle and report back to him. “Find this man, but do not let him know he’s being looked for. Do not approach him. Just find him and gather whatever information you can. I want to know if he is alive and exactly where he is. I want this information as fast as you can get there and back. Take motorcycles and fuel; ride day and night both ways. Do not attempt to use a radio to report. Do not talk to anyone whatsoever about this mission. This is top secret, and remains top secret after you get back. Do not leave anyone alive that you question. I expect you back in two weeks.” The three men saluted and left the room rapidly. They knew better than to ask questions or to come back without the information.

  While waiting for the scouts to return, Rex thought through his overall plan, making changes, determining which men he would take and what equipment they would carry. He’d conceived of an approach that would motivate his men to move forward until it was too late for them to turn back. It also created a situation that would get Adrian back to his home in time for Rex to arrive and take him. Rex dreamed of how he would torture Adrian as he slowly removed his life. Rex had long planned how Adrian would suffer. He’d had a monstrously vicious plan before the grid had even dropped. The plan might still work, but if not, he could modify it to where it would be almost as good.