Chapter 34

0800 hours, local time,
Saturday, 28 February, 2015
Magnolia Manor (Temporary Howard Residence)
Free City of Cairo, (formerly Cairo, Illinois)

“That was ... amazing last night, sir ... Prophet, you know,” Kennan O’Hara told the Prophet David Howard, who included her and her husband Brian in a helluva orgy the night before, though they were now at breakfast, among many guests in the house chosen by the city fathers as their temporary lodging in the city-state.

David Howard looked up from his plate of eggs and bacon, a smug smile playing on his lips. “It certainly was,” he replied, his voice smooth as velvet. The other guests, a mix of local officials and dignitaries, chuckled awkwardly, mostly accustomed to the increasing number of orgies and swapfests and clusterfucks that kicked off since they converted to Havenism, baptism and all, embraced the Prophet as the true emissary of Heaven in these dark, post-apocalyptic times, contracted Schumacher Syndrome, witnessed a baby boom, organized a civil defense and growing military force, and launched successful raids into Hell’s Angel’s territory.

Kennan’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, her eyes sparkling with the memory of the passionate night she had shared with the Prophet and her own husband. She took a sip of her orange juice, trying to calm her racing heart. The atmosphere in the grand dining room of Magnolia Manor was a strange blend of tension and camaraderie, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the next revelation or command from the charismatic leader. She winked at Andrea Howard, the Prophet’s first wife and the first of said wives to enjoy Brian’s ... goods.

“Brian’s cock felt terrific in my ass for sure!” Andrea licked her lips at that memory as they ate their breakfast.

Brian, who sat a few chairs away, looked up from his plate, his cheeks burning, but his cock stirring at the memory of banging the Prophet’s most senior wife, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t be so formal with my wife, Brian. Same with you, Kennan. We’ve ... shared bodily fluids. We can be on a first-name basis for sure,” David smiled as he stroked her hair.

Kennan giggled, the sound a mix of embarrassment and excitement. She had never felt so alive, so ... free. The Prophet’s seed inside her, filling her up, that was a helluva memory, knowing that she was likely pregnant by him and by her own husband at once, maybe more than that. At one point, she could have sworn that angels and even a white-haired man who seemed suspiciously like Almighty God himself had been among them, but he had an Irish accent, which was odd for a deity. Well, they had a demon helping lead raids and taking a major role in war councils, so why not angels and God Himself, right?

“Of course, I still call him ‘Uncle David’ sometimes because, hey, it’s pretty hot, knowing that I’m one of my own uncle’s wives, and he’s a motherfucking Prophet, no less!” David’s niece, Denise, who was actually a niece by marriage rather than by blood, bit her bottom lip before biting into more bacon.

The room erupted into laughter, and the tension lifted slightly, though the undercurrent of anticipation remained. The Prophet’s charm had a way of making everyone feel both at ease and on edge, like they were part of something grand and secretive, something that would change the course of the world. The smell of food and the clinking of silverware filled the air, a stark contrast to the conversations about the divine visions and holy battles that had become commonplace at the breakfast table.

“So, on a different note, the Hell’s Angels have been pushed back from Wheaton, Vandalia, Springfield, and Cook County. due largely to Copper’s and Toz’s raids. They have disrupted the chain of command and sown chaos behind enemy lines and those fucking biker sons of bitches are scrambling to hang on to whatever turf they can. Call me crazy, but it appears that the Land of Lincoln might soon be free of those bastards some time by the end of this year or next,” Colonel Arnette, the commandant of the local military forces, announced while drinking his coffee.

David Howard nodded, a gleam in his eyes. “Excellent news, Colonel. Our prayers and hard work are paying off. But we must not become complacent. We need to keep pushing forward, fighting and working to rid this state of those vermin. We’ll have to figure out the post-war dynamic, of course, but I might not be there for that, whether because the road has taken us onward, or because, well, I have been ... informed that I will die later this year. I’m not sure when, how, why, or if I will stay dead or become an angel or what. But I will die ... violently.”

The room grew quiet, the clinking of silverware on plates halting as if by an unseen conductor’s hand. The Prophet’s revelation cast a shadow over the victory they had all been celebrating. David smiled at them and went around, kissing the ladies at the table and fist-bumping the men. He wanted to eliminate the pall that he just cast over them. It was a prophecy and an important one, but he wanted to make the best use of the time that they had together, for labor, recreation, and procreation, naturally.

“But let’s not let that get us down, folks,” David said, his tone lightening the mood slightly. “We’ve got work to do, and we’ll deal with that when it comes. For now, let’s enjoy what we’ve got. We’re blessed to be here, in this house, in this city, and with each other. I don’t even know if I will be here or on the road when it happens, of course.”

The group nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of his words but also the urgency to live fully in the present. They knew David’s revelations were to be taken seriously, but they had learned to appreciate the joy in each day. David felt the hands of Jenny and Claire, two of his other wives, on him, pulling said hands to their lips. It was their way of making it clear to him that they would see everything through, even if they had to mourn him for however long.

“Mimosas, anyway? We did just have a great victory, after all ... if that doesn’t call for breakfast mimosas, what does?” Moira Barnes, the Mayor’s wife already began mixing and pouring the cocktail.

The room brightened up at the mention of alcohol. The clinking of glasses and the popping of champagne corks echoed through the grand dining room as the group toasted to their successes. The sweet tang of orange juice mixed with the bubbly sparkle of champagne danced on their tongues, a celebratory symphony of flavor. The mood had shifted from solemn to festive, the impending shadow of the Prophet’s revelation temporarily banished by the warm embrace of camaraderie and victory.

“I have to confess ... it was fun to liberate Bridgeport,” Tozroman, the demon who led their raid on the Hell’s Angels detention camp, smirked.

“So was knocking out the central command, Grand Hetman and all,” Sergeant Major Jackson Copper grinned.

“Too bad about Narain, though.” Corporal Castillo added, choking back some tears in her eyes over Private Narain kicking the bucket, the Peoria raid that cost her comrade his life.

David Howard nodded solemnly, his expression turning serious for a moment. “We will not forget his sacrifice, or the sacrifices of any of our brothers and sisters who have fallen in the common cause. They will be remembered and honored.” His hand reached out to pat her shoulder in comfort, his eyes holding hers for a brief moment before moving on to the others. The room fell silent once more, each person lost in their own thoughts of the friends and family they had lost in the ongoing struggle against the Hell’s Angels, any refugees among them especially.

Then, as if on cue, the conversations around the table grew more vibrant, a collective effort to drown out the sadness with tales of valor and hope. The clinking of glasses and laughter grew louder, as if trying to shake the very walls of the manor. The scent of food was replaced by the sweet aroma of the mimosas, as the celebration continued. The Prophet’s words had reminded them all that life was fleeting and that moments of happiness should be cherished.

“Kennan O’Hara, you have now conceived quadruplets, one by Brian, one by the Prophet David Howard, one by Chief Constable Gunderson, and one by the demon Tozroman,” the angel Lavelle now told her after revealing his presence to everyone’s gaze.

The room fell silent, the only sound being the occasional clink of a mimosa glass against a plate. The angel’s words hung in the air like a heavy fog, thick with shock and awe. The Prophet’s smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and divine amusement.

“Quadruplets? Well, I’ll be damned,” Brian said, his voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. He looked at his wife, his eyes full of love and admiration. “You’re going to be a mother of four, sweetheart,” he whispered, taking her hand in his, “sure, only one of them will be mine, but I’m sure that I’ll have other chances, and it’s an honor to get to raise these great men’s spawn as mine.”

“It really is a beautiful thing. Also, one should know that the Hell’s Angels are being completely expelled from Peoria now. It’s just one more phase in the liberation of the state from their rule,” the angel Ariel put in his own update.

With that, the angels vanished, leaving everyone’s mouths wide open for a minute or two, but they soon relaxed and returned to finishing breakfast. They had the day mostly open that Saturday, but they would still need their calories after all ... When refounding civilization along new foundations, there was always some kind of work to do, so best to pace oneself.