Exodus: The Final Testament of Mankind, #1

By W. B. Biggs

She won't stop until he's dead.

With the power to break reality at her finger tips, will Hecate's thirst for vengeance push her too far?

The brutal murder of her mother sends Hecate, a witch with the powers of creation and destruction, on a crash course with one of the god Presidents of the United Americas.

An assassin, a devout tribesman and a lovestruck fool are swept up in her turbulent wake. Their lives and fates become inexorably intertwined in a journey across a post-apocalyptic America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chaos Forge Press LLC
• Release date: May 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223956839

W. B. Biggs

Born on a lonely outpost nestled among the far reaches of the stars, W. B. Biggs grew up searching for cosmic space wizards. Looking for magic, he found it nestled safely between words. His wife and children remind him of the majestic magic that binds all reality together in a complex weave of beauty. He currently resides on an obscure branch of the great tree Yggdrasil which roots burrow deep into the Mississippi soil.

Book preview

Exodus

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The Final Testament of Mankind

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By W. B. Biggs

Copyright

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Copyright © 2022 Chaos Forge Press LLC

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All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission of the author, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

Dedication

To God, my family and all those that have been forced to flee into the wilderness

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Part One: Chasing Vengeance

A Promising Lead

A Bright Day Turned Dark

Letane

Glasco and Sons

Booking Passage

A Midnight Ride

TransAmerican Express

The Survivor

A Bar Fight

Message

The Carving of the Wooden Bird

Chasing Hecate

Men with Briefcases

Contract

One-Eyed Jill

The Field’s Bounty

Hildeburg

Banditry on the Road to Hildeburg

The Hunt Begins

A Reunion of Sorts

Parting Ways

The Great Divide

Part Two: Into the Wilderness

Debrief

Alyeska (The Land Against Which the Sea Breaks)

Ventus

The Goddess from the Sea

Manaba

Here There Be Monsters

The Canoe-Man

The Gate of the Sun

With a P.O.W. and a Bang

Into the Dark

Conjunction of Souls

A Bear Tale

Fire Burns Brightest in the Dark

A Presidential Meeting

The Path Upward Is Fraught with Danger

A Battle of Ones and Zeros

Captivity

Like Sheep

Into the Sunlight

Transcendence

Over the Wall

Reunion

The Trap Is Sprung

Reality Breaks Down

Negotiations

The Death of a God

Bonding Ceremony

Calming the Storm

The Birth of a Nation

The Old World

Acknowledgments

Also by W. B. Biggs

W. B. Biggs

Part One: Chasing Vengeance

A Promising Lead

The day Hecate’s mother died had been beautiful. In retrospect, she felt it should have stormed and been miserable. A day when life goes through an upheaval that shatters everything shouldn’t be beautiful and sunny. It should be wretched; it should be shite. It should have been a day like today.

Dark clouds churned overhead looking close enough to touch. They poured out a deluge of water upon the earth below in thick, sodden sheets while the wind whipped the dark masses of trees into a frenzy of chaotic movement.

The rain struck her with the persistence of an unwanted lover. And though this need not be the case, she let it. It soaked her clothes and obscured her vision. It made traveling hard, and her legs and feet were covered in mud. Her mother’s words rang in her head, To stand out is to invite death, not that those words had saved Hecate’s mom.

Ahead patches of light showed in the gloom. Dark, wooden buildings hunched together in the mud around a cramped, central thoroughfare that passed through the small town, perhaps more a hamlet.

A hand painted sign hung from a post rammed into the mud. Lightning flashed and illuminated the sign well enough to be read. The words, Wel’cum 2 Brihton, were painted on its saturated surface.

Hecate snorted as she read it, the sound lost in the downpour. She doubted most of the population of Brightown could read. She knew that the sign maker couldn’t spell. She just hoped this miserable trek would be worth it.

A nameless tavern squatted off to her right, a sign of a tankard overflowing its contents the only clue of the building’s purpose. A single horse tied to its hitching post looked as miserable as she felt. She held out her hand which now had a bright, red apple, a bit of color on a drab day.

The horse ate the apple greedily. Hecate smiled and then stepped up the two thin steps that led to the tavern’s porch. Noise from inside spilled out, and she braced herself before stepping into the tavern’s dim light.

Her pail skin glistened with drops of water, and her wet shirt clung to her breasts giving a group of men huddled around a table something to gape at as she approached the bar. The bar stretched across the back wall. A door behind the bar probably led into the kitchen. On the west wall a tiny fire looked in need of more logs while lanterns provided a piteous light. The low light probably favored some of the patrons, and the barkeep who watched her approach. He wiped his hands across a soiled apron.

Brushing a dark, wet lock of her hair off her forehead, Hecate sat down at the bar.

I need something to drink and information, she said when the barkeep walked over.

What you be wanting? he asked. His eyes took her in as she sat there. He eyed her like a piece of meat or a prized horse at some country fair.

Something strong, she replied, doing her best to ignore the look.

He sat a glass of questionable cleanliness on the bartop and poured an amber colored liquid. Flecks floated in the liquid; the sight turned her stomach.

That will be a quarter.

She slapped her empty hand down onto the counter. She lifted her hand to reveal two pennies, their greenish tint shown in the dim light. Once, pennies were said to have been a copperish color though Hecate had never seen one that wasn’t a shade of green. The two pennies were worth enough to keep her in drink all night.

For the drink and the information.

Didn’t promise to give any, the barkeep replied. However, he snatched up the coins and stuffed them into a pocket of his dirty pants.

Hecate poured the contents of the glass into her mouth, changing the drink to clean water. She needed a clear head though it might not hurt for others to see her drinking.

I think you will give me the information and a room for the night. Hecate dropped another penny onto the bartop.

The barkeep grabbed the coin before it stopped rolling. I got a room upstairs. He reached under the counter and fished out a key which he handed to her. What you wanting to know?

I’ve heard you know a man named Malcom. I need to know where I can find him.

The barkeep’s face tightened at the name. She caught a bit of fear in his eyes. At the drop of that name, a man two barstools over stood up and left in a hurry.

What do you want with em?

Just a little talk... I have a few questions only he can answer.

There be questions best left unanswered. And this would be one of them times. You’d be better off, I tell ya.

Hecate placed another penny on the bartop. The barkeep snatched it up with a shake of his head. He glanced around the bar, a hint of unease around his eyes.

The next town over, Letane, that’s where you’ll be wanting to go. City squats on the river like a chicken on eggs. Head northeast till you hit the river and follow it east. You can’t miss it. It’s said he’s got a warehouse down near the docks. Just remember that I warned you. Best to leave him well enough alone.

Thanks, Hecate said before rising to find her room upstairs. She could feel the barkeep’s eyes on her as she went.

A narrow staircase led upstairs to a hall with six rooms, three on either side. A number four was scratched into her key. Weary from the road and the nauseating looks from the bartender, she found the corresponding room, glad for a rest. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. Leaning against the door, she rested a moment before taking in the room.

The cramped room left much to be desired. A lone window with dirty panes of glass looked out into the storm. Lightning flashed, illuminating a bed with a hard, bug infested mattress that took up one wall. A faint smell of mildew permeated the room.

With a thought, Hecate replaced the mattress with a clean, soft one. She looked at the door and its flimsy lock; an image of the barkeep eying her hungrily flickered in her mind. With another thought, she had a sturdy bar across the door and secured into the wall on either side. Her vision swam from the exertion. She was more tired than she thought.

Stripping out of her clothes, she dried them. She found a basin and visualized warm water inside. Washing herself off, she found the physical activity relaxing. The bed seemed to rise up and meet her. Her exhaustion took over. She had neglected her powers for too long. She was rusty and worn out after what she felt was too little of their use.

Though exhausted, Hecate found sleep eluded her. The thought of finding Malcom, a man she believed at least partly responsible for her mother’s death, played again and again in her brain.

The sounds below died down as the tavern closed. It wasn’t long after when Hecate heard movement in the hall. Is another guest going to his room?

Her body tensed when she heard the faint sound of a key entering her lock. The door knob twisted as someone tried to enter. The bar across the door held as the intruder pushed against the door. With a muffled curse, she heard footsteps moving away from the door.

Her body relaxed. When she reached the point she thought she might never sleep, she succumbed to dreams of when her mother died.

A Bright Day Turned Dark

Hecate remembered the day her mother died, every detail. How could she not when she dreamed of it so often? She would dream of it and then wake with fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. She dreamed of it now.

Close to ten years had passed since that day. She had been twelve or thirteen at the time. Her mother had never been one to celebrate birthdays or anything that might draw attention to one’s self.

The sun crested the horizon in shades of pink and orange. The light set the ocean on fire below the embankment where she played. Hecate twirled, and her dress changed to those vibrate hues of the sun before she quickly changed it back to the drab gray cloth her mother insisted she wear. The thought irritated Hecate. It rubbed like a rock in a shoe: incessant and unforgiving. With all the myriad possibilities she could wear, this was what her mother wanted.

Her mother didn’t want her to stand out, but why couldn’t she see that these drab clothes made her stand out as much as if she were clothed in a rainbow? The other children of Salem avoided her like the plague.

She huffed at the thought. Who needs the other children anyway? They are all boorish and stupid.

Hecate reached down and picked a flower that had grown by the sheer force of her will. She stuck it in her hair. There, at last a little color to liven the day. Hecate spun away from the ocean; her gaze looked east toward Salem. The loud retort of gunfire and screams rose up to meet her. She crept forward, trembling in every cell. Peering down the winding path to Salem, a single black ribbon of smoke twined upward with the blue expanse above.

Deep down she knew what her mother would want her to do. Run. Hide. Protect herself. But she couldn’t; she needed to make sure her mom was okay.

She took off down the narrow path that led to the city below. Loose rocks and dirt tumbled from the path’s edge as she ran. The flower she had stuck in her hair fell in her mad dash downward, forgotten as the color of the day drained away in her fear. More sounds of gunfire could be heard. It sounded to her ears like a battle raged in Salem.

She hit the streets heading to their hovel in the poorest section of the city. Many homes and businesses had windows and doors pulled shut which was unusual for this time of day.

Her fear intensified as another round of gunfire went off. She pushed her way through a crowd of people heading the opposite direction. The crowds thinned as she neared the slums, and smoke from multiple fires now rose in black, billowing threads up into the azure sky. Where are the constables? They spend less time in the slums, but shouldn’t they be here for this?

A crash of  burning timber, Hecate spun to take in a hellish nightmare. Fire and smoke raged behind her. Another turn, another path blocked. Smoke obscured her view as it moved and twisted through the air like black, oily snakes.

She lost all sense of direction, and the dark smoke now blotted out the light from the sun, creating an unnatural dusk. A gust of wind pushed at the smoke revealing a pathway. Hecate ran forward down an alley between two burning buildings. The sound of gunfire rang out over the crackle of flames.

She ran toward the sound not thinking of her own safety. Soon the surrounding hovels looked familiar. Her home was close. A body lay sprawled out across the road. Its arms twisted in an unnatural way. His body split in twain. His different sections on opposite sides of the street with a long, bright-red trail connecting them.

She had seen animals dead before. She had even helped her mother skin and clean a few for their supper, but seeing a human dead was a different matter. Hecate retched, falling to her knees. Hot vomit and bile dripped from her chin. She retched again, a dry painful motion.

She would have to cross through the bloody trail to continue forward. She froze and looked at the bits of intestine, flesh and bone scattered across the street. Bile rose in her throat as the smell of death and defecation mixed with the charred smell of wood.

A woman’s cry sounded out, her mother. She ran through the dead man’s blood, her revulsion forgotten, replaced by fear. She ran past more bodies of armed men. She ran through the wake of a maelstrom of destruction. Broken bodies and buildings, fire and death. At its center, she found her mother lying dead in a pool of her own blood.

Hecate screamed in the dream and found herself screaming when she woke. Tears ran down her cheeks. She had found her mother that day and held her corpse as it grew colder and colder, and the slums around her burned and burned.

People had come much later and stared at her with a mixture of pity and fear. One thing she remembered clearly about the blurred faces of those that came to stare. One of them had whispered a name, the tone low and fearful. The whisperer had mentioned the killers. The ones that had slain her mom, they had been Malcom’s men.

Letane

Letane sprawled alongside the Columbia river and spilled across to the far bank. The buildings’ construction consisted of wood from the nearby forests. There was some wealth here brought in from river trade, but like all wealth, the distribution was not equal.

Hecate walked into Letane behind a wagon laden with goods. The driver wore a wide-brimmed hat that shaded his face from the sun, and the creak of the wagon’s wheels filled the air.

Her feet slowed. She was so close to finding Malcom. Was he the one responsible for her mother’s death? Hecate wanted answers but feared what those answers might be. She didn’t know what was worse, the not knowing or the knowing. It gnawed at her as she went.

Malcom’s warehouse was near the river if the barkeep’s information was to be trusted. Hecate fell into the pedestrian traffic as it winded its way toward the river. She observed the women and men of Letane as she walked, taking particular interest in the way the women dressed. The more affluent women wore colorful sundresses with low cut tops revealing ample bosoms. Hats adorned with accoutrements kept the afternoon sun off their faces while still providing a sense of style.

She thought about a design that would suit her. She split off from the flow of traffic and stepped into the shade of a narrow alleyway. When she didn’t see anyone watching her, she let her clothes change to the design she held in her mind.

She stepped out of the shadows and into the traffic.

Excuse me, miss, a man said, stepping to the side, so they didn’t collide.

She smiled at him from beneath the hat she now wore. Her floral print dress swished against her ankles as she walked. Ahead she could see the dark brown water of the Columbia, and the smell of muddy water and fish drifted through the air. A wide barge, weighted down with goods, hung so low it was nearly awash as it floated down the river.

She turned along the riverfront and saw an eatery. Stools lined a long bartop with an overhang that could be pulled down when the eatery closed. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of others eating. Perhaps she could get a bite to eat and learn about the whereabouts of Malcom’s warehouse.

She approached the eatery. A man, stooped from age, worked behind the bar, his skin tanned and leathery from long years in the sun. Take an empty seat if you’re here to eat, the man said before walking down to hand a bowl to a seated gentleman.

Hecate found an empty stool and sat down. The proprietor approached. Welcome, all I’ve got left is fish soup. Comes with a slice of bread and your choice of ales. Got a dark and a light ale.

How much? Hecate asked.

Three quarters.

Hecate placed three quarters on the counter in front of her. The man nodded and scooped up the money.

I’ll be right back with your food. And, what to drink?

The dark ale, Hecate replied.

The man disappeared into the back behind a thin curtain, and Hecate took the time to study those around her. Two fishermen argued over the weather and what it meant for the fishing. Another man, probably a dockworker, sat alone eating a bowl of soup.

The elderly man returned and set a bowl down in front of her. A chunk of bread stuck out of the bowl like a mast of a ship; the soup around it was a dark brown like the river. Next to it, he sat a dark ale.

Thanks, Hecate said.

Chunks of vegetables and fish floated in the dark, brown broth. She took a bite of the soup. A strong vegetable flavor with an aftertaste of fish followed each bite. She tore off a piece of her bread and dipped it in the soup as she saw one of the fishermen do. She found this to taste better than the soup alone. She took another bite of the bread dipped in soup before sipping at her ale. The ale was bitter but palatable.

She placed another quarter on the table as a tip. The cook and owner of the establishment nodded his appreciation when he came to check on her.

Anything else you need? he asked.

Can you direct me to the warehouses along the river?

Any particular one you’re looking for?

Owner goes by the name of Malcom.

The man shook his head. Miss, you seem nice enough, but I’d steer clear of his lot if I were you.

But you’re not me, Hecate replied, trying not to snap at the man.

No, I’m not.

Can you tell me? she asked. Please.

His expression softened at the tone of her voice. Not sure what you want there, but it’s not far. Follow the river. He pointed toward the west. There’s a group of warehouses that way. Malcom’s will be the one with the goons out front guarding the door. Be careful, miss. They’re not a nice sort.

And who said I was? Hecate rose and walked in the direction indicated.

Finding the warehouses was as easy as the man had made it sound. A group of dock workers loaded goods from a barge into one of the warehouses, its large doors thrown wide. The warehouses were lined up in a tidy row, so she walked along the riverfront till she saw a warehouse with two brutes standing on either side of the door. Both had thick, wooden truncheons strapped to their belts.

Hecate took a deep breath trying to settle the churning feeling in her gut. Her recent meal bubbled and gurgled in her stomach, threatening to come back up. Thinking of her dead mother, she steeled herself and approached the guards. The two men watched her with a mixture of boredom and lust. She could use that.

I’m here to see Malcom, she said as they eyed her.

He ain’t mentioned expectin anyone, the brute on her right said.

From the way he spoke she thought forming sentences might cause him physical pain. She leaned forward slightly to give the men a better view down the front of her dress.

Of course not, she replied. I’m supposed to be a surprise. She winked for good measure.

She hoped they weren’t too stupid to figure out what she alluded to.

A surprise from who?

How would I know? I just take the money and go where I’m told.

The two looked at each other with knowing looks. We’ll have to check you for weapons.

Hecate nodded, and the one who spoke came over to frisk her. She gritted her teeth as the man patted her down, his hands lingering longer than necessary on her breasts and bottom. She wanted to strike him dead right there but needed to make sure she got to Malcom first.

I might have something for you later after Malcom, she said trying to sound sweet and alluring.

He grinned. Follow me.

The grin made her wish to kill him even more, the lingering feel of his hands still on her.

What’s your name? she asked. I want to make sure to find you later.

Ed.

One syllable, something short enough for his brain to remember. Probably fit the size of his manhood. She followed him through the door and into the warehouse. The other guard waited outside.

The warehouse was an anthill of activity. Workers loaded and unloaded boxes, the contents of which remained a mystery from her angle. And all throughout the space, guards watched and patrolled.

Ed led her through a maze of crates. The space opened up, and a set of stairs arced upward. Malcom would be somewhere he could survey his domain. At the top, Ed led her to a door on which