Godkill: Book1 'Hammerfall'

By W.Wm. Mee

Welcome to the Godkill Chronicles. Book 1, ‘Hammerfall’, tells of the months before and the first year after the gigantic meteor, Ho-Tep 5592, better known as 'Godkill', struck the earth. The ‘Chronicles’ follow the misadventures of Jake Hammer and his small band of friends as they explore what is left of the late, great US of A. Jake isn’t always a nice guy. He drinks too much, fights too much and always speaks his mind, but when the you-know what hits the fan he is exactly the kind of guy you want on your side!

• Language: English
• Publisher: W.Wm. Mee
• Release date: Mar 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311847447

W.Wm. Mee

Wayne William Mee is a retired English teacher who enjoys hiking, sailing and walking his Beagle hound. He is also a 'living historian' or 'reenactor'. You can see Wayne's historical group on Facebook's 'McCaw's Privateers' 18th Century Naval Camp' page. Building & sailing wooden sailboats also takes up a chunk of Wayne's time, but along with his wife Maggie,son Jason and granddaughter Zoe, writing is his true love, the one he returns to let his imagination soar.Wayne would like you to 'look him up' on FACEBOOK and click the 'Friend' button or even zap him an e-mail.If you enjoyed any of his books, kindly leave a REVIEW here at Smashwords and/or say so on Facebook, Twitter, Tweeter or whatever other 'social network' you use.Thanks for stopping by ---and keep reading!!Drop him a line either there or at [e-mail]'ll be glad to hear from you!'Rest ye gentle --- sleep ye sound'

Book preview

Chapter 1: ‘The Paladin’

‘Have Gun - Will Travel’

Reads the card of a man.

A knight without armour in a savage land.

His fast gun for hire, he's the calling wind.

A soldier of fortune is the man called, Paladin.

A year before Godkill

The Hammer ranch,

in north-western Wyoming

Jake Hammer preferred revolvers. Oh, he ‘liked’ the automatics with their sleek looks, their fancy laser sites and the dozen or more shots per fast-loading clip --- but the bastards could jammed and leave you standing out there with your willy in the wind!

Jake much preferred an old fashioned ‘wheel-gun’. But then Jake Hammer was an ‘old fashioned kinda guy’. He liked meat and potatoes, dogs not cats, cabins in the woods, bass fishing, deer hunting and long haired girls with big bazoombas --- and oh ya, people that kept their word.

That last one was a real biggie with Jake!

‘Your word is the only thing in this life some bastard can't steal from you, son!’ his father had told young Jake one day while they were out hunting Georgia White-Tail. ‘The only way you can loose it is if you toss it away yourself.’ Jake Senior had then leaned in close to his young son and spoke firmly through the grey-yellow smoke that drifted upwards from his home-grown, home rolled cigarette. ‘See that you don’t!’

Another biggie with Jake was swearing.

His Southern Baptist mother had frowned on profanity and had taught her hard-headed son to do the same. Jake’s rather ‘testosterone heavy’ lifestyle, (first the Marines and then the Georgia State Police), had brought him into contact with various groups of foul-mouthed people --- including most of his fellow cops and marines --- yet he had ‘resisted the temptation to blaspheme’ --- at least on a regular basis.

The list of other things that Jake didn't like was both long and varied, but at its very top was rap music. ‘Rap is crap’ the late, great Ray Charles had once said, and Jake fervently agreed with that fine old gentleman from Jake’s home state.

Next on that long list of dislikes was taking orders.

Jake’s rather ‘independent’ nature and his aversion to following orders had gotten him in trouble all his life: in school, in the Marine Corps, in his short lived marriage and in his years as a Georgia cop. When he’d became too emotionally involved over a little girl’s kidnapping and told his tight assed police chief just where he could shove his orders, Jake’s promising career as a police officer went swirling down the tubes.

That’s why he started his own company --- so that he could call the shots. Jake and his crew focused on ‘high profile, very rich’ people. Abductions, kidnappings and personal protection were their specialities and the motto on his business card said it all.

Jake had ‘borrowed’ it from a very old T.V. show his dad had grown up with. The line had been changed ever so slightly by adding a ‘s’ to the word ‘gun’.

***

Shortly after it was discovered that Ho-Tep 5592’s path through space would bring it ‘relatively close’ to earth, Jake and his crew had been hired by William Kiddle as consultants and survival experts to help Kiddle make his latest electronic creation as realistic as possible.

Kiddle, a young man who had already made several millions in the ‘extreme action’ video game business, wanted to exploit the growing worldwide fear surrounding Ho-Tep 5592, the rock the size of Manhattan that was fast approaching earth. Kiddle wanted to know such things as how to best survive tidal waves, earthquakes, and of course the mobs of crazed people that had somehow lived through the waves and the quakes and were now banding together into savage pacts or ‘tribes’.

"I want this as fucking ‘real’ as we can get it! Kiddle had said on their first meeting. You know, Zombi-itis real! Walking-Fucking-Dead real! The grosser the better! Food riots; old ladies being trampled my hungry mobs; random killings, beheadings and of course, anything with tits and a twawt gets raped! The fucking sky’s the limit! I want to make this game so fucking real that you not only see the blood, but you feel it, taste it and get a hard-on at the same time!"

Jake didn’t much care for the little shit or his colourful language, but then he wasn’t usually over fond of foul mouthed, poor little rich boys who thought their money gave them the right to do and say anything they pleased. Still, a fella needed to make a buck, and William ‘Billy the Kid’ Kiddle was one rich sonovabitch!

Jake had done his best to ignore the swearing and he and his team had supplied Kiddle with various ‘survival scenarios’. Then Kiddle’s small army of computer geeks had ‘done their thing’ and within three months ‘GODKILL’ had been conceived, created, tested, marketed and unleashed on an already ‘meteor impact'’ frightened world.

The first week ‘Godkill’ sold over fifty million copies. The second week news of this ‘ultra-realistic new survival game’ went viral. By the third week over half a billion copies had been downloaded from the Net! It was then that various religious, pacifists and liberal groups world wide started denouncing the game as a ‘vile distortion of the truth, an insult to women and a corrupter of innocent children’!

Soon after that the death threats had begun.

Jake and his crew had gone into ‘code red’ mode then and had managed to foil two actual attempts on William Kiddle’s life. After that Jake insisted that his client leave his luxurious New York penthouse overlooking Central Park and retreat to Jake’s ‘ranch’ nestled deep in the foothills of Wyoming.

The ‘Ranch’ had been in the Hammer family since 1868, when Jake’s namesake, his great-great grandfather, Jacob Paladin Hammer, had rode north with Charles Goodnight on one of his famous cattle drives up from Texas. Apparently Jacob senior had taken a Blackfoot arrow in the leg that had festered and needed to be amputated. With his ‘wild cowboy-days’ now behind him, Jake’s one-legged ancestor had sold his share of the herd to Goodnight and bought a sprawling log cabin on 500 acres of timbered land in Wyoming on the eastern slopes of the Rockies.

Over the years, generations of Hammers had added to the ranch. Back in the 1970’s, Jacob’s grandfather, a rich, Wall Street tycoon turned Hippie, tree-hugging , Green Peace Activist, had a large, cement bunker built under the cabin. The ‘shelter’ was built for a dozen but could manage twice that, had stockpiles of food, solar powered generators, air and water filtration systems. Jack’s father, an ex-marine that had married the daughter of a well off Georgia farmer, had pretty much left the place empty, save for a few weeks of deer hunting every year in the fall with his teenage son.

Years later, after Jake left the Georgia State Troopers, he used the Wyoming ranch as his base of operations for his newly founded Hammer Protection Agency. Well over half the considerable amount of money Jake had made over the last few years had gone into further upgrades, till now ‘The Ranch’ had all the latest state of the art survival and security equipment up the wazoo! Charley Blackfeather and his wife Brenda, both from the local Shoshone reservation, worked as live in caretakers and looked after the animals and the ranch itself when Jack was away.

***

Hey Boss, check out the TV! That blonde reporter you’ve the hots for is interviewing a couple of eggheads! The speaker was Tara O’Grady, a fiery red headed lass from Belfast --- a survivor of the never-ending Protestant/Catholic bullshit wars that had killed off most of the male members of her family for the last seven hundred years.

What Tara really wanted Jake to ‘check out’ wasn’t the long haired blonde with the nice bazoombas, but the latest news report on the large meteor that was supposedly heading for a close encounter of the nasty kind with earth. For weeks now scientists had been disagreeing on whether the massive chunk of extraterrestrial rock they called Ho-Tep 5592 would actually hit earth or just provide a rather spectacular fireworks display as it passed close by. In a rather twisted homage to the giant rock that had supposedly killed off the dinosaurs sixty-five millions years ago, the media had taken to calling it ‘Dino-Two’. The cyber-world and anyone under forty however was calling it ‘Godkill’, after the young billionaire William Kiddle’s extreme survival game that had been sweeping the globe for the last six months.

The Ranch’s wall-sized TV screen was showing a computer simulated view of Ho-Tep / Dino-Two / Godkill as it tumbled like a lost mountain through the depths of space --- heading directly for the little blue third rock from the sun. The one thing different about this interview compared to all the others was that these two eggheads were not arguing over whether or not the massive mountain would actually strike the earth, but about the amount of damage it would cause when it did!

***

Excuse me, doctors, the well dressed, well stacked young woman conducting the interview asked, "but are you gentlemen now saying that Ho-Tep will indeed hit the earth?!"

They both looked at her as though she was a drooling idiot on her first day in St. Retardville Elementary. Why, yes, Dianne, we are, Doctor Ping, the smaller, younger, more arrogant of the two replied, his voice dripping sarcasm. How very astute of you to pick that up.

The taller, older man flashed a grandfather smile and looked deep into the blonde’s baby-blues. Dianne, what my esteemed colleague means is that our earlier information about both the size and especially the path of Ho-Tep was rather, well, shall we say, ‘optimistic’?

Optimistic my ass! the shorter man put in. "It was just bloody well wrong! Ho-Tep, or ‘Dino-Two’ as you people call it, will most certainly hit the earth! Just where is still unclear, but the fact that it will hit us is now undeniable!"

Dianne, clearly struggling to both regain control of the interview as well as herself, flashed her own nervous smile at the all seeing camera. Doctor ‘Sing’ is it?

It’s ‘Ping’, Dianne --- that’s with a ‘P’.

Of course. Doctor Ping --- how can you be so sure that Ho-Tep will not just pass us by?

Ping rolled his eyes. "Because, Dianne, even though it isn’t aimed directly at us now, it will pass so close the earth that it will be captured by our gravitational field and sucked in towards us just like a shooting star. He leaned forward for emphasis. A very BIG shooting star!"

"So it definately will hit us?"

Ping turned away in disgust, leaving the still smiling ‘grandfather’ to fill in the void. Yes, my dear, Ho-Tep 5592 will most definitely impact with the earth. Doctor Ping believes it will land either in the South Pacific or the Indian Ocean. My own calculations have it touching down somewhere in Russia.

Impact. Touch down. You make it sound like a plane landing on a runway, Dianne replied nervously, her blue eyes now wide with a mixture of shock and fear. Will there be --- much damage?

Gramps turned his warm smile towards the camera. Yes Dianne, I'm afraid the damage will be quite extensive.

Such as? the beauty managed to ask.

The old man’s smile became suddenly quite sad --- almost. Earthquakes, tidal waves, severe storms. Fires and explosions of all kinds. Communications and power will be sporadic. In many places there will be none at all. Gramp’s voice dropped even lower. The loss of life and property, Dianne, will be catastrophic.

Like --- like Dino-One and the dinosaurs? Her voice was now trembling.

Jesus-Kee-Riste woman! Ping suddenly shouted. "Dino-One was only a half mile across! Ho-Tep is more than ten times that! This one is going to kill the majority of all life on the planet and knock the few of us that do survive all the way back to the bloody stone age!"

Gramp’s smile was suddenly back; white, warm and reassuring. "Come now Doctor Ping, you’ll frighten our good listeners. I very much doubt things will be that bad. He turned to the camera once again, his silver locks and smiling face looking very ‘grandfatherly’ indeed --- yet his eyes had the look of a snake-oil salesman pitching his bottled dreams. With inner courage and God’s help, I’m sure most of us will be just fine!"

Ping’s derisive laugh was heard off camera. "Christ man, you’re as bloody thick as she is! Don’t you get it, dude?! This is the BIG ONE! This fucker is going to take out over three quarters the planet! That’s four or five billion people! --- and those that do survive will soon wish they hadn’t! It’ll be just like that disgusting video game, ‘Godkill’ --- only the real thing will be much, much worse!"

The camera zoomed in on the little man’s frowning face, picked up the brief flash of madness in his eyes, then suddenly switched over to a Budweiser commercial.

Well, Boss? red headed Tara O'Grady asked Hammer. What do you think? Time to bend over and kiss our asses goodbye?

Jake’s own frown matched that of Ping’s --- then he shrugged and smiled. Tara, me darlin’ girl, it does indeed look like the moo-poo is about to hit the fan, so I think it best that we get ourselves ready.

***

Five days before Godkill

The Hammer ranch in

north-west Wyoming

Spittle came from William Kiddle’s mouth as he yelled at Jake. "What the fuck do you mean that ‘things have changed’?! I pay you a shitload of money to fucking protect me! So fucking protect me!"

Jake smacked the man hard enough to make him stagger. I've told you before about that swearing. Now, sit down and listen.

Kiddle’s eyes were wide with shock. You fucking HIT me!

Jake did so again, this time knocking him down. ‘Stan the Man’ Nolan, one of Kiddle’s male followers and so-called ‘body guard’, seemed about to step forward, but upon seeing the look in Jake’s eyes, quickly change his mind.

You can’t hit ME! I'm your FUCKING BOSS!!! Kiddle turned to Nolan. Well, shithead, for Christ sake, DO something!

That’s when Jake pulled his Smith & Wesson from its shoulder holster and casually hefted it in his calloused hand. His closed mouthed smile spoke volumes.

Kiddle’s wide-eyed stare went even wider. What the fu --- ?!!

Click! The hammer on the revolver was pulled back and the barrel was pressed against Kiddle's forehead. Go on, Billy-boy, Jake said through clenched teeth. "Swear once more --- please."

‘Stan the Man’ Nolan, though he had three ‘dans’ on his black belt, a snub-nose .32 Browning five shot in the small of his back and considered himself a ‘real bad-ass’ kind of dude, wisely decided to lower his eyes and live to fight another day.

At the same time Kiddle’s belligerent face suddenly became all nervous smiles. "Jake. Buddy! It’s me, your old pal Billy the Kid! You know me! Mouth like a sewer! It don’t mean nothing, man! Nothing at all!"

Jake held the smaller man’s gaze, drew a deep breath, then gently uncocked his gun.

Kiddle let out a breath of his own that he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and his shorts could use changing, but at least he was still alive!

Jake holstered the gun and continued as though nothing had happened. Like I said, things have changed. Have you been watching the news?

Some; not much. Kiddle shrugged. It’s always the same old shi --- , er, stuff.

Ya? Well, look at this. Jake turned to Tommy Black, the team’s communications expert. Tommy, the clip if you please.

CNN flashed on the large screen in the spacious living room of the two hundred plus year old ranch. The digital image showed a large grey rock slowly tumbling through the inky blackness of space and heading directly for the cloud covered watery planet in the background.

The surround sound filled the large log room with the eerie whisper of solar winds while the symphonic sounds of ‘2001 Space Odyssey’ slowly grew to an ear shattering crescendo.

All that was missing was a hairy ape tossing a well gnawed leg bone high in the air!

The scene then switched to a well know anchorman with a movie star smile, a million dollar voice and the personality of a hungry shark. The anchorman --- let’s call him ‘Chet’ --- went right for the juggler.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. My topic tonight is the meteor Ho-Tep 5592, or, as most are now calling it, ‘Godkill’. Each of my three guests are specialists in their own field. Ms. Beverly Blake, head of astrology at Yale University; Cardinal Francis Frenzetti from the Vatican and Lieutenant-Colonel William F. Billings from the Pentagon. Ms. Blake, let me begin with you. Godkill is going to hit earth, correct?"

The woman’s large brown eyes went slightly larger at Chad’s mental jab, but the recovery was fast. No slouch was Mizz Blake in fending off cheap shots --- as a female scientist in a predominately male field of study, she’d been doing it her entire career. Why, yes Chet; that does now appear to be the case.

Chet immediately went on the attack. "Appears, Ms. Blake? Are you saying that Godkill might not impact with earth?"

The brown eyes allowed a ray of warmth to flow outward. "No Chet, I am not saying that --- and please, call me Beverly. What I am saying is that we think Ho-Tep will strike earth, but there is always the possibility that it will be a rather spectacular near miss."

"How spectacular?"

A cool smile flitted across her face. Very.

Chet swivelled dramatically in his chair to face the man in uniform sporting a chest full of medals. General Billings, can you tell us briefly how the country’s armed forces have prepared for Ho-Tep striking the earth?

Briefly, Chet? Yes, I suppose I can. The general leaned towards the camera and spoke like an impatient parent talking to a group of pimple faced adolescents. The combined army, navy and air force are on full alert. The national guard has been mobilized and every policeman, fireman and medic in every city, town and village is ready, willing and able to do their duty. The general sat back with a satisfied smile, but Chet continued to press.

"And that duty is exactly what, general?"

The answer came just as quickly. To protect, defend and assist the people of this great country.

"What about martial law, general?"

What about it? the soldier shot back.

Does the Pentagon foresee declaring martial law if things get out of hand?

The general smiled coldly, seemingly enjoying Chet’s verbal attacks. The Pentagon, the Chiefs of Staff and the President himself, Chet, will do what needs to be done to keep order. Food, water and medical supplies will be our first priority.

What about looters, general? Chet asked. How will you deal with them?

The general’s steely stare suddenly fixed on the camera. All looters, rioters and any other lawbreakers will be dealt with swiftly and severely.

Chet, sensing an opening, went in for the kill. Does that mean the suspension of human rights and imprisonment without trial, general?

The general however countered with a sucker punch of his own. No, Chet, it means that they will be shot.

Bazing-gaa! Score one for the Big Guy!

Chet, always one to roll with the punches, turned his golden voice and cutting tongue on the well groomed man in the red robes and funny hat. "Cardinal Frenzetti, what is the Vatican’s position on this meteor that many are calling ‘Godkill’?"

***

Cardinal Francis Antonio Frenzetti considered himself a ‘moderate man’ --- at least compared to all the other narrow minded, self-seeking and frightened old fools that shuffled around the ‘Heart of Christendom’. He prayed daily but briefly, sinned regularly but moderately, drank sparingly, paid his whores well and made it a point never to question too deeply either his own faith or the oft times illogical doctrine of the Roman Catholic Church --- for he knew in his heart of hearts that: ‘beyond that point there be demons!’

He knew also why he had been sent here to be interviewed and not some bald headed, pock-marked, swarthy skinned, hair shirt wearing old fart --- because he had an easy manner, a pleasant face and a deep, soothing, and above all else, a believable voice. The millions of Catholics listening to this broadcast would hear his words and believe them --- but what the Pope and all those old fools at the Vatican didn’t know was that it would be his words, his thoughts and his ideas, not the weak, frightened, watered down tripe he had been sent to say! He would use this media opportunity to let the true meaning of God’s ‘Great Plan’ be known! Then he’d hop on his private plane and fly out to Cody, Wyoming where he and Billy-Ray Oswald would watch the unfolding of God’s retribution from the safety of their mountain compound.

***

"Cardinal Frenzetti? Chet repeated a little louder, the anchorman’s golden tones cutting through the cardinal’s thoughts of the Great Event soon to come. I was asking what the Vatican’s position is on this large meteor that’s about to hit earth?"

The cardinal drew a deep breath, marshalled his thoughts and smiled warmly. Well, Chet, both the Holy Father, and we, his learned advisors, firmly believe that this meteor is a sending from God.

Chet-Baby almost did a double-take --- almost. He did however repeat the cardinal’s words. "A ‘sending from God’?! Did I get that right?"

Cardinal Frenzetti turned to the camera; his voice calm but firm, his smile almost angelic. You did indeed, Chet. A sending from God Our Father --- the Creator of the world and all the life upon it. The deep voice suddenly took on the concerned tones of a loving parent. As we all know far too well, Chet, this world has once again degenerated into a very sinful, unholy place. Sadly there are countless Sodoms and Gomorras in every country on the planet. Evil abounds and wickedness once again walks openly in the world --- a world where honest, God-fearing Christians are beset by the devil’s works at every turn! There was a pause and he managed to rein in his growing zeal before he continued. "But fear not, my friends --- for God the Father has a plan!"

He then turned towards a zooming camera and graced the lens with his beatific smile. "As He did with the Great Flood back in the time of Noah, God is sending down his wrath once again on all the evil doers of the earth! Yet