The Burnt World: Finale Part 1

The Mayor stared at the barrel pointed sternly at his face, the man behind it determined and armored, their face hidden behind a mechanical mask. The sight was horrifying, his ego and bravado was suddenly put into check, fear taking his sarcastic comments before he could make them. Job's voice was distorted now, like the techno songs that pumped downstairs, only this voice conveyed ferocity, instead of joy.

It had been a long time since the Mayor had felt genuine fear. He almost relished the rush, watching the mysterious things that were leveled at his head. He didn't know what they could do, but a large part of him didn't want to find out. The demand was simple, but the delivery was going to be the difficult part. "Alright, thar, boy-o, calm down, now. I'll 'ave some volunteers fer yer lit'le mission. Ease up on tha' thing, will ye'?" 

Job didn't want to let up on the pressure, he wanted to push this as far as he could take it. "I'll calm down when I feel like. Do you have cars? Vehicles? Anything with a running engine?" The Mayor looked lost in thought for a moment before he commented on some old motorcycles out back that might be salvageable. "Bring them to the church before sunset. And if anyone does anything to Jedidiah or the church they WILL answer to me. Understand?" The Mayor answered silently with a smile and a nod. 

It wasn't over. There needed to be an example. The old soldier turned to the rest of the posse against the wall, waiting for them to nod their agreement. All but one did, exactly as he predicted. Muscle memory kicked in, the pistol with the silencer whipped through the air and found the man. There was barely any time to react, on anyone's part, Job pulled the trigger, sending three lethal rounds out. The man who didn't nod took all three bullets to the chest, the wall was sprayed red, viscera clung loosely for a moment and then succumbed to gravity. 

The man slumped over, his head hitting the floor with a thick thud, exposing what was left of his back. Three giant exit wounds showed white bone, a severed and fractured spine, and what was left of his internals. Every face, except the one hidden behind military grade technology, was in terror and drained of all color. Job's robotic voice came again, breaking them out of their trance. "Don't disappoint me." 

Job's exit was quick and unhindered. The church was his base of operations, for now, and then in the morning he would begin to take the steps necessary to find out if he could do anything about this burnt world. As he walked back, taking in all the information from the various displays on his Heads Up Display, the thought of telling Jedidiah he'd killed men today weighed heavily on him, for some reason. He knew the news would come, eventually, but for some reason, he didn't like the idea of the old man knowing. 

Jedidiah was sitting on one of the front pews of the church, his hands atop the cane that helped him walk. The old man looked up as Job entered and gestured for the soldier to sit with him. And he did. With a click the visor came up and the world was back to normal. There was no words coming to the soldier, so he waited. He didn't have to wait long. Jedidiah spoke with the same softness and kindness he'd always had. 

"Job, my boy, I want you to know that I will never judge you. You must do what you must do, as a soldier, and as a human. This world can be cruel, hate-filled, and violent. And one must adapt or be pulled under foot of those who have. I will never begrudge you trying to keep alive, or trying to keep others alive, by any means you deem necessary." He ended his sentence with a soft pat on Job's shoulder, smiling up at him, and nodding. The ancient soldier was grateful for the words, but he felt he was compelled to tell his benefactor.

"Jedidiah. I...have something I have to confess. I-" The old man cut him off, "You don't need to confess a thing to me, my boy. I'm no god, and I am not without my own sins. Just help, if you can, and want to, and live as well as you can." Job was taken aback. Those simple words, free of judgement, and want, made the idea of the old dogma his old life held over his head seem simply vile. Job nodded, "I will, Jedidiah, I will." With that, the white eyed old man stood up and shuffled off into his room, leaving with a smile. 

The sun started it's slow descent into the horizon while Job waited for the Mayor's cronies to show up with what he'd requested. The idea of killing all of them didn't bother him too much, for some reason. He also wondered at the nature of the vehicles they were bringing, and if they could be repaired. Memories of summers with his father and uncle repairing cars and dirt bikes seeped into the edges of his mind, playing old sounds and smells, making the memory of them being gone all the more painful. He diverted his memories to the repairs they used to do, and to his training and education from the military.

Determination started to set in as the sky was turning to the color of wine. Job would play the part of the executioner, and like one, he'd have no mercy. One last deep breath, to steel himself, and he was ready. As soon as he stood, the breath still filling his lungs, sounds of a cart being pulled up the dirt road, accompanied by shouts, started to play. Relief washed over the armored soldier and the deep breath became one of almost total alleviation. He walked out to meet them, taking his rifle and pistol with him, just in case, hoping he wouldn't need them.

Three men, all of their clothes rags and tatters, hauled a cart with what looked like the remains of five dirt bike like motorcycles. They all but ignored Job as they walked by and left the cart in the yard next to the church. The effort was filled with grunts and curses before it was finally done. The complaints continued as they walked off, stares of discontent aimed at Job only brought a smile. The soldier began to study the contents and make his assessment. The parts were all there, but it would take work to make maybe three whole bikes out of the five.  There was even some tools included, all rusted, but they seemed useable. 

Thus Job began his work. For three weeks Job slaved away, tolling almost day in and out. From dawn until the winged things emerged from the sand dunes his work continued. Working on the bikes gave him hope, igniting in him a sense of purpose. The engines were different from combustion ones of the past, but the concept was close enough for the soldier to figure out how to get them to run on some alcohol from the mayor's hall. The first time the engine sputtered to life and hummed steadily Job couldn't help but smile. It was time to collect his crew and do what needs to be done. 

Job walked to the mayor's hall, this time he walked in unencumbered. He took notice of the shoddy job that had been done to replace the lock and the mechanism on the door where he'd blasted it in earlier. He also took note of some of the men trying to armor themselves by tying pieces of metal to themselves. The old soldier wanted to smile, but kept his face straight. The door to the Mayor's office opened before he arrived, the guards all giving him wide berth as he walked.

The soldier took the lead, speaking before anyone else could, "Where are my volunteers?" The visor was down, the voice was distorted, the HUD gave him all the information, there was no wiggle room for the leader of the town to exploit. The Mayor had his hands on his desk and a nervous look on his face, "You've got them, boy-o, you've got them. When d'ya want t'get goin', thar Job?" The plans had already been laid out by the soldier, "We ride out at dawn. I need two people to go with me, that's all. No more, no less." 

Business was concluded, as far as Job was concerned, so he turned to leave, but the Mayor still had something to say, "Sorry, thar, Job. But thar is still some...unfinish'd business tha' ye need t'address." Anger began to rise, but Job kept his cool, turning back to the Mayor, waiting for the rest. "The man ye kill'd not t'long 'go had a brother. An' he wants his pound o' flesh. I kno' tha' yer not from 'ere, but thar are rules tha' must be follow'd. Ye fight 'im. Ye win. Ye get t'go on yer pilgrimage. Ye lose. An' we bury ye nex' t' tha church." 

Job strode back to the desk, his grimace hidden by the helmet. The Mayor shot up from his seat, putting his hands out in defense, "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! This needs t'be done! This ball o' dirt we call home has some rules! Ye may not be from 'ere, but they are!" As much as the man behind the mask wanted to decimate the mouthy mayor, he knew that this was a situation he couldn't avoid. 'When in Rome.' was the old saying. "Where?" he growled through the electronics. "He'll be waiting fer ye outside." Job turned to leave, again, and again the Mayor interrupted, "Oi! Be fair, yea'? Leave yer toys out o' tha fight."

Out  in the dirt street of the little town there was even less people than usual. They'd all sought some kind of shelter, eyes peered out of windows, others hid behind whatever they could grab. In the middle of street there was a giant man, his body was misshapen, mutated by the radiation of this world. His body was twisted up, flesh dragged and stretched out, the right arm was huge, triple the size of a normal mans. On the opposite shoulder the arm was equally warped, but instead of huge, it was emaciated to the point of being almost skeletal. Strands of thin hair stuck out from calcified boils atop the equally warped head, the mouth going from normal to a gaping maw, drool hanging from the separated lips.

The giant arm raised and pointed at Job while the mutant man spoke, "You...murderer. Me..kill. Brother...dead! You...MURDERER!" With that the creature launched forward, closing the distance quickly, bowed and twisted legs carried the man at a rapid pace. Job reacted as quickly as he could, letting his fighting instincts take over, running towards the mutant charging him. As much as he wanted to just draw his rifle and let his bullets rip apart the goliath, he resisted, instead drawing two knives. Where Job's run was steady and straight, the giant's was awkward and stilted. It made the soldier's strike easy to plan.

While the massive limb swung back, ready to come down on the much smaller man, a roar came forth. Job's speed and frame made it easy to avoid the hammer-fall, ducking under and going to his knees, sliding between the goliath's legs. The two knives in the fight made deep and horrific cuts into the flesh of the inner thigh, near the groin of the mutant, instantly bringing huge spurts of blood, and a cry of pain. Job recovered quickly on the other side, turning around and shifting his weight back towards his opponent. Using the built up momentum the soldier jumped on the broad back of the man, burying one knife under the shoulder blade, and using it as a hoist up. Another cry of pain came forth and Job let his voice join in, a furious yell as he brought down the second knife, plunging it hilt deep into the top of the skull of the creature. 

Silence swept through the world swiftly, leaving only the slight whistle of the wind. A sickening thud resounded off the scrap metal buildings, dust kicked up from the massive weight. Job stood upon the fallen corpse, his hands shiny with blood, and looked at the denizens that had come from the club, the mayor included. They all stood in silence and in awe of the spectacle that had just happened. Job's voice broke through the silence like a pane of glass shattered in the middle of a quiet night, "We ride out at dawn."