West - Dr Morgan

Copyright 2019 by Terry M. West

Published by Pleasant Storm Entertainment

Visit the author at http://www.terrymwest.com

Originally published under the title All of the Flesh Served

All rights reserved. No part of these stories may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

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.

Also by Terry M. West

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Dead Aware: Before Gate 4

GRUESOME

Night Things: The Monster Collection

Baker: Demons and other Night Things

What Price Gory?

Journals of Horror

Dreg

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For my hero, Rod Serling

For my other two heroes, Regina & Terrence

Special thanks to

Michael C. Schutz for helping me whip this novella into shape

And also Zachary Walters, Hunter Shea, Timothy Hemlin, John T.M. Herres, Tony Harlan, Jeff Rausch, Mitch Workman, Kelli Gilmore, Christina Cooper, Fans of Modern Horror, Andrew Liebling, Bob Milne, Heather Omen, Kurt Marquart, Jonathan Woodrow, Shaun Hupp, CA Hoaks, Valerie Hemlin, Betty Rocksteady, DS Ullery, Chad Lutzke, Vitina Molgaard, Matt Molgaard, Michael Donner, Kerry Black, Donna Marie West, Becky Narron, Tim Meyer, Jeff O'Brien and too many others to list. It can be a lonely trip, but these friends make me smile along the way.

Those who can make you believe absurdities, can make you commit atrocities.

Voltaire

For God and the 45th!

I pledge thee my life!

And if I should fall

do not mourn.

My ascension is guaranteed!

Death will not end my duty

for all of the flesh serves!

Let my empty vessel strengthen you

on the battlefield.

God bless the 45th!

God bless the Red Guard!

God bless the Soviet Union of America!

We shall make the world great again!

-Oath of the Red Guard

D r. Morgan had no first name. His title was a label affixed to his tube when he was engineered. His lifebrand was medicine , though he suspected a clerical error had occurred. He felt mercenary would have been a more appropriate calling. His large body could be quick and violent.

Dr. Morgans temperament was wrong for his job. But his superiors forgave the rough edges, for he had outlived every field doctor in service. He was not as tolerant and compassionate as he could have been. His anger could boil. He often envisioned himself unleashing his rage upon another in a glorious and grotesque fashion. But, bloody fantasies aside, Dr. Morgan played the cards in his hand like a good and obedient soldier. The inhibitor buried at the base of his skull insured his compliance. It was an internal shock collar that he no longer tested.

Even though his hide wasnt an always comfortable place, he knew there were worse skins in which to dress. Hell, he could have gotten a bad shake from the vortex mixer and ended up front line fodder for the Red Guard. The Screaming Short Cutters , they were called. Couldn't wait to strap on bombs and fling themselves at paradise. Mental, they were.

But deficiencies didnt spare you, Dr. Morgan realized. Because all the flesh served and there was no wasting it in these dark times. He had watched many soldiers become corpses and long pigs, and he could see where stupidity fit in all this. Still, he envied the dim men who could kill.

Killing was something he was sure he could be proficient at. He was a doctor, after all, and so he was familiar with the brush strokes of death. His hands were grossly overqualified.

Dr. Morgan was with the Red Guard troop 468 for a month or so. The group cobbled survivors from three other subunits. The squad had started with twelve men and was now down to five. Reinforcements were coming, but not for a day. The enemy was called many things. Children of Cain and topsiders were the names the Chancellor used. The boys in the field used the more colorful slur of mutards . It was frowned on by the Ministry. But it wouldn't land a soldier in the brig.

They were sweeping the capitol again. It was the headstone of a dead nation but still the Ministry refused to let it endure mutard occupancy. It was holy land.

The hot wind lashed the angry sand into a storm with teeth, but it kept the sun off of them. He switched the goggles of his mask to night mode, but still saw little more than the soldiers ahead.

Dr. Morgan made out the dark remains of the Constitution Hall beyond his comrades. The pillars had crumbled and the stone eagle ledge lay on the steps. He left the symbolism there to wiser men.

"Ridgway, turn on your thermal and see if we're alone," Timpone, the commanding officer, spoke on the commlink.

Ridgway fiddled with the controls on his wrist pad. He smacked the side of his helmet and shook his head. "Fucking chem-light battery I got going here! Can't get readings in this shit storm," he said. "But if the mutards were around, we'd know. By their stench if nothing else."

"We're chasing our asses out here," Timpone decided. "It's time to hat up. Woodrow, find us a place to ride this out."

Woodrow broke off and disappeared in the brown haze.

"The Godless whores have given up," Carmichael spoke into the commlink.

"Not likely," Timpone said.

"This place holds no reverence for them. Why provoke us?" Carmichael said.

"How long have you been out of the pod, Carmichael?" Timpone asked.

"Six weeks, sir," the soldier replied.

"They know it distracts the Chancellor. The topsiders come back every time we get too close to their core refuge," Timpone explained. "It keeps us busy and gives them time to find a new sanctuary."

Dr. Morgan watched as Carmichael, ten or less yards away, regarded something on the ground.

"Sir, come see this!" Carmichael said, excitedly.

Carmichael bent down.

Dr. Morgan reached toward the soldier and his lips formed to issue a warning. He couldn't see the bait that Carmichael had tugged from the earth, but he knew what it tethered. The soldier disappeared in a blinding flash of heat. The force of it threw Dr. Morgan to the dead earth. His head slammed against the hard soil. Frantic voices overpowered the commlink.

Finally, after a long howl from Ridgway proclaiming, Fucking rookie , things calmed.

Dr. Morgan stared up at the churning brown air and a high pitched drone rang his head.

Timpone's gas mask stared down at him. "Morgan? Are you okay?"

Dr. Morgan nodded. It started a rally of pain in his skull. He offered his arm and Timpone helped him up. The commanding officer handed Dr. Morgan his med kit.

"I've pissed myself," Ridgway confessed in the commlink.

"Who was hit?" Dr. Morgan asked. Smoke still permeated around them.

"Carmichael, the poor bastard. And what you caught of it," Timpone said.

"Take me to him. Let me see how bad it is," Dr. Morgan said.

"At ease, soldier. Carmichael has ascended."

Dr. Morgan and the rest of the troop gathered around the blast area. Carmichael lay scattered in burnt pieces. The corpse looked like a half digested offering spit back from the devil's belly. A taunt from Hell. Nothing inspired a rumination of the infernal regions stronger than a tour of the holy land. There was comical irony in that. But Dr. Morgan's head ached too heavily for a proper snigger. And it was a tad sacrilegious. The capitol wasn't a good place for that.