Zen's War: Captivity

Zen and Colonel Krakowski had stayed awake the entire night. Aurora slept in the single bed, while Hector, Derek and Pablo slept on the ground in sleeping bags. The candlelight had eventually gone out, leaving the cell in darkness. Both the Colonel and Zen spoke in whispered tones. They spoke of their lives before the war, and how wonderful things had been. The Colonel of course blamed Mohammed’s Martyrs, and the way the American government had dealt with them, for the way things had turned out. Zen blamed the CIA for funding them during the eighties to repel the Russians in Afghanistan, and destroy communism. In his mind it had not been about fighting communism; it had been about oil and money. He claimed that the enemy of communism had simply morphed into terrorism. The CIA may have pulled the wool over the eyes of the majority of the American public, but not his.

Zen spoke of his job as a professor of anthropology at the University. He had worked there for twenty years, during which time he had educated hundreds of students. His main area of expertise concerned the fall of the Roman Empire. He compared the rise and fall of the American Empire to that of the Roman Empire. He cited many of the same reasons for both empires’ demise. A large majority of former Americans pinned the blame on the terrorists. After all, it had been they who had been responsible for the nuclear bombardment. Some conspiracy theorists said that the nuclear attacks had been an inside job; however, this was an unlikely scenario.

The fall of Rome had been blamed on the barbarian hordes by the majority of historians and anthropologists. To Zen both the barbarians and the terrorists had been convenient scapegoats. No one wanted to admit that such supposedly technologically and socially advanced civilizations had been responsible for their own downfalls. He claimed that both empires fell as a result of their own arrogance and corruption. For centuries there had been innumerable theories formulated for Rome’s fall from grace. For Zen Rome’s fall had also happened because of unequal wealth distribution. There had been no middle-class; there had only been rich and poor. The rich and the ones in power took advantage of their positions. They used the lower classes and slaves to build their empire. The rulers had become masters of their own universe. The lower classes had simply become cogs in their masters’ machines. He proposed many similar reasons for America’s fall as well. It was when Zen mentioned the causes of America’s decent into oblivion, that Colonel Krakowski became defensive.

“So, you’re going to sit here and blame America for its own destruction. It was those damn Muslim fundamentalists that were responsible. I’m so sick of these damn conspiracy theorists, and their lies. I thought you were better than that; I guess I was wrong,” the Colonel said with a sneer.

“Think what you like. It already happened; we can’t change the past. It doesn’t matter how it happened. Let’s focus on the here and now and work on what we can change,” Zen said, trying to keep the peace. “So you said this Presidio is a mile south of here.”

“That’s right. It’s kind of easy to miss. They built it after the war when El General seized power. It’s an old Adobe style building.”

“I’m surprised I’ve never heard of it. I do know what a Presidio is though. The Spanish built them in case of Apache attacks.”

“I don’t need another history lesson; we need to ready the troops,” Colonel Krakowski said, with a glimmer in his eye.

Zen tried not to laugh at such a comparison; they were hardly soldiers. Dawn would be in about three hours. If they were going to make it to the Presidio before dawn, they would need to hurry. Zen then began waking the so-called troops. He first woke Aurora, then she woke Hector, Derek, and Pablo. After they were all up and ready, they left the cell with the Colonel in the lead. Derek, who was the last to leave the cell, shut the door behind them. They walked down the candlelit hallway that they had entered the cell from. As they left the monastery the sense of danger began to set in. As they walked through the nave, they noticed that Sister Mary was standing near the vestibule, by the narthex.

“You shouldn’t go. It’s not safe to go out at this hour,” Sister Mary warned them, her voice echoing through the nave.

“No offense ma’am, we appreciate all you’ve done for us, but we have to be on our way,” Zen responded.

“Good luck finding your daughter. We’ll all be praying for. God bless you,” Mary told them, then unlocked the door of the monastery.

As they left, Mary focused all of her attention on Aurora. She came up to Aurora and gave her a hug, then kissed her on the forehead. Aurora thanked her, and followed the rest of the group out the door into the night’s darkness. After they had all had made their way out the door, Mary swiftly locked the door behind them. They quickly descended the stairs and headed south down the crumbling asphalt of Countryclub Avenue.

As they walked towards their destination, Zen thought about their plan and how ridiculous it seemed. Why was he listening to this psychotic American war vet? Maybe, he was because he had lost his own sanity. Or, maybe Zen was listening to him out of desperation. Zen guessed that it was probably the latter. He knew from his studies, that people would do unspeakable things in times of desperation. Even though the specter of death loomed on the horizon, he would not surrender hope. Hope was the only thing remaining that kept him going. He guessed that it was the same for the rest of them.

Looking at the faces of the rest of his motley crew, he could see the different personalities reflected in their eyes. Aurora looked like worry was beginning to take its toll on her. He could see a look of loss in her eyes. She was an extremely empathetic person. She cared deeply for others. Thoughts of the pain and fear that Sahara must be feeling were beginning to drain her emotionally.

The face of the Colonel told a different story entirely. His blue eyes were alive with excitement. You could tell that he loved a good fight. In his mind the war had never really ended. For him this was just another battle of a never-ending war. He gripped his shotgun, ready at any time to put a hole in someone.

Hector and Derek looked tired, but their youth was in their favor. They still had energy to spare. In their eyes was a look of vitality and strength that would outlast the rest of theirs. They were nowhere near giving up. Their resilience and ability to adapt to changing circumstances would keep them going.

Pablo looked almost indifferent to the situation. Zen found it incredibly difficult to read him. Regardless of his appearance he seemed dedicated to their group and the mission to find Sahara.

The moon was full above them. Judging by the size and brightness of the moon Zen guessed that this was a harvest moon. It followed them, like the eye of a voyeur, watching their every move. As a child he had been frightened of the moon when it reached its full size. Now looking back, he realized why he had feared it. He had feared it because it made him realize how insignificant human life was. It made him realize how large the universe was, and how small he was in comparison.

His thoughts then turned to the Nocturnes. He suddenly remembered the Nocturnes blood moon ritual. The name of the ritual was not only attributed to the fact that there was human sacrifice, but that the moon appeared red, especially during the harvest moon. They needed human blood and flesh to satiate the appetite of their moon god Luna. How had these people reverted back to such a primitive lifestyle? Zen guessed that it was a number of factors that had contributed to their lifestyle change. Desperation and lack of mental health facilities had been two key factors. They were probably psychotic people feeding off of each other’s insanity.

Just as these thoughts passed he spotted a shadow in an alley to their left. No one else in the group seemed to notice, and they kept walking as if nothing had happened. He said nothing, not wanting to provoke fear in the others. Somewhere off in the distance he could have sworn he could hear the sound of drumming, but he tried to ignore it.

As they approached the alleyway, suddenly a figure lunged forward out of the darkness. He came forward at the Colonel with a spear raised forward at him. He was completely naked, and he had intricate tattoos all over his body. The tattoos resembled the tattoos of the Maori of New Zealand. This was the closest that Zen had ever been to a Nocturne. He was frightened yet at the same time fascinated. His teeth were razor-sharp, and glistened in the moonlight. Around his neck was a necklace that looked to be made of human teeth.