by Rob Horner
And his force grew.
He didn’t know how many miles they traveled in this fashion, reaping all the way. He heard the steady chop of helicopters, but they hovered like worried moths and didn’t attempt to stop his march.
The cars eventually stopped lining up, and Austin knew.
Silently, he gathered his become. And silently they came.
Spread out to either side, they were an army without uniforms, marching out of step, as unstoppable as an avalanche rolling down a hill.
They met his become as they traveled between Spartanburg and Greenville, just south of the city of Greer, an army of Humvees and police vehicles strung across the Interstate like an oversized dam. And like a dam, they sought to stem the rolling tide of progress as his become filled the lanes behind him, thousands strong.
The road followed a gentle rise, guardrails to the right and left giving out onto open space as a secondary street rolled beneath.
What must they be thinking as he approached, Austin wondered.
He reached out for the answer, but of course he couldn’t touch the minds of the unbecome.
It wouldn’t matter. All that was needed was for some of his people to get to them, even if only one or two. The change could be hurried. It could be forced. Doing so left the new become less than a slave, mindless as a drone, but desperate times and all that.
Later, the slaves would still find purpose in the new society, honorable work as the become strove to establish in a hostile world.
“Stop where you are!”
The words were loud, amplified through speakers mounted on the top of the lead vehicle, a tan-painted Humvee probably made for the streets of Iraq but repurposed before it could be shipped.
Austin continued walking, the bright sun overhead making his shadow pool at his feet. The murmuring thoughts of ten thousand become surrounded him, lifted him, and carried him forward. They walked beside him on the elevated asphalt. Their legs whispered through the short scrub of the median or dodged the stunted trees and brush along the sides of the road. All north and south bound lanes were filled with his people. It would take an army to stop them all, but only a few to stop the army.
Austin smiled at his mental wordplay.
Bitsy called to him, pulling him onward.
This show of force wouldn’t stop him.
More become fanned out on the secondary streets. Those few people who hadn’t joined his growing community, hold-outs stupidly braving the roads rather than hunkering in place in their homes, were pulled screaming from their cars. A little bite was enough to sustain a become. A little bite was more than enough to add to his force.
The mixed force of guardsmen and police heard the screams. Nervous soldiers peered left and right over the embankments, straining for a view of what might be happening below. Private and police officer, already worried about firing on unarmed civilians despite what they were capable of, itched and twitched, eager to be anywhere else. Austin felt their doubts, relished their fear.
“Tell your people to stand down!”
The words were meant to sound authoritarian, but he wasn’t fooled. There was a quiver in the voice of the man with the microphone.
Forward! Austin sent, and felt the order flow out of him.
He wasn’t afraid, but there was more to be done which only he could do. He couldn’t risk dying here.
He stopped while the multitude rushed forward, arms and legs brushing his, a vast ocean of become swirling around a single island the size of a pebble. Within seconds he could no longer see the military men with their sand-camouflage vehicles. The voice of the man with the megaphone shouted once, twice, cracking with fear, then came the deafening crash of several dozen machine guns interspersed by the individual pops of the lesser armed police. The become weren’t carried away with fervor nor lost in a battle-induced blood rush. They didn’t shout as they charged or cry out as bullets tore through them. Most took numerous rounds before being too damaged to function, though some fell immediately if a lucky shot took them in the head.
Blinded by the press of his forces, Austin watched through the eyes of his become, jumping from one mind to another as fast as a toddler with unfettered access to the television remote could change channels.
Within seconds the concentrated fire petered out, no longer a pressing cannonade but now the rattle of random snares beating an asynchronous tattoo. The men who’d poured death at his become only a moment before now screamed in fear, the realization of their mortality full upon them. There could be no lingering death for them, no waiting to see what kind of become they would be. As soon as one was scratched or bitten, Austin called to the truth in his or her veins, forcing the change.
Men dropped their pistols, turned, and attacked their comrades.
The one with the megaphone fell choking as a hand raked across his throat; the electric amplifier carried his final sounds across the makeshift battlefield, a fitting serenade for the defeat of his forces.
All along the crossing street running beneath the Interstate horns blared and people screamed as the wings of his army closed in.
Greer was lost. The Guard was defeated.
Greenville was next.
Austin smiled.
* * * * *
Something happened early in the evening on the third day, noticeable even to a become with no interest in, or need for, technology or its products. Just because a person became didn’t mean they experienced a sudden desire to rid themselves of earthly materials. No, they rose in the clothes they died in, and walked into the street just as they’d done a thousand thousand times before. Whatever they carried when they became went with them until they dropped it.
She and Carolyn had left Kilmichael far behind. After setting her thirty to work, Bitsy led her mother farther along the road, not stopping to rest until they reached Eupora. It took most of twenty-four hours to convert the twenty-two hundred people living and working in the small city, but they were hers, or they were dead.
Amazingly, she found a half-dozen who became like her, able to communicate, capable of reasoned thought. One planned to remain in the area, since it was the largest city in Webster County. Another moved west, to gather become along her backtrail and begin expanding toward the Pacific. Others followed Route 9 north or south. All of them remained in contact, sharing a growing network of interconnected thoughts.
Her father was there, too, a welcome presence pulling her as a magnet drew iron filings.
Most of the residents of Eupora were gone, hunting along the same routes, but no small number ranged east with Bitsy and her mother. She didn’t need them and hadn’t compelled them to follow her. It was a simple matter of a lack of options. Despite its status as a city, Europa was still an island of civilization in a sea of gray asphalt, painted lines, and planted soybeans. Once you explored beyond the boundaries of its radius, you either set off north or south or followed Highway 82 east or west.
As their shadows lengthened before them, stretching to a dwindling point like the tip of a sharpened pencil, dozens of small electronic devices issued a braying klaxon of warning. Their owners ignored the noise, much as they ignored anything that wasn’t an immediate threat or would satisfy the drive to spread. Bitsy might have ignored it, too, if it had been only one or two. But no, this was a surrounding wall of sound coming from every direction at once.
She tried to pinpoint a source for the annoying noise, but there were only small squares of light, one shining through the ripped denim of a girl’s jeans while another glowed on the wrist of young man. Other squares flashed or vibrated, and sudden insight filled her mind. The sound came from all of them at once.
These were mobile devices, cell phones like those her mother and father carried. She didn’t have the worldly knowledge to know what could make every phone light up at once—such a thing hadn’t happened before she became—but knowing what they were eased her thoughts.
A mental command caused the young girl walking in front of her t
o stop momentarily. A second command saw Carolyn removing the square device from the girl’s back pocket, turning and showing the lighted screen to Bitsy.
She was a smart girl, before she became. But even smart, Bitsy had only been six, far too young to comprehend the complex vocabulary and sentence structure used in the public health warning flashing on the screen of the smartphone. Becoming gave many things, including a wisdom and fundamental knowledge beyond her years. But it didn’t grant her an increased reading facility.
Her newfound connection to other special become didn’t allow anything as intricate as dictation. She knew where other become were and could get a general sense of their needs and their pains. There was a sense of concern over this flashing missive, and a dawning comprehension. They knew what it meant, and it didn’t seem to be a good thing for her or her new people.
It might endanger her ability to reach her father, if she couldn’t puzzle it out.
The become didn’t need air, but they could use it. Bitsy knew that just as she knew so many other things.
“Can you…read it?” she asked. Her voice surprised her, breathy and soft, not at all the squeaky rush of rapid-fire chatter she used before.
Her knowledge did not extend to the physical capabilities of lesser become. She could command them but wasn’t aware of their strengths and limitations.
Just because she retained enough of herself to speak didn’t mean the lesser become did as well.
The meaning of her question came through to Carolyn more by way of her new ability to command, rather than from the words themselves. Slowly, the taller become maneuvered the phone so its bright screen painted her face in a garish light.
Her chest made popping/crackling noises as she consciously inhaled, dried and atrophied alveoli expanding for the first time in days. Her first syllable was an explosion of sound, “Puhb,” with the rest of the word lost in a whisper. It wasn’t so much learning to speak again as it was remembering how to control breath and pacing.
Undaunted—because the become had no concept of failure—Carolyn began again. “Pub-lic huh…Health War-ning.”
* * * * *
The first twinges of discomfort came as Priya sidled up beside a handsome young man standing alone at the long bar of the Fantail Nightclub.
Well, young was relative. With the light smattering of gray in his close-trimmed hair, he could be an old thirty or a young fifty. Either way, he was tall, looked fit, with a straight back and nice, wide shoulders, and had a pleasant face.
She was about to ask the bartender to refill the young man’s drink when something…uncoiled…through her stomach.
It was a decidedly uncomfortable feeling, but not painful, rather like a snake rolling over than a viper striking.
But it came with a rushing sensation as of a dam bursting and a placid lake becoming a raging river roaring to a rapids.
Oh Dhanvantari, tell me I don’t have what Chelsie has, Priya thought as she pushed away from the bar. The club was large, with three dance floors on three separate levels, though only sparsely populated this early in the day. She spotted the sign for a lavatory—don’t the sailors call that a head?—and walked toward it with all the decorum she could muster. For a woman of her heritage, even squeezing her cheeks and moving fast, that still resembled more a glide along the carpeted side of the dance floor than an unceremonious rush.
Bemused, the man at the bar followed her with his eyes for a moment, then turned back to his drink.
* * * * *
“This just came across the wire,” Radioman Koals said. Dick accepted the twin sheets of paper, which came off a fax machine and not through a teletype. Old habits were hard to break, and lingo was the hardest of all, especially in the aviation and nautical fields.
“Oh crap!” Dick muttered, seeing the bold words at the top.
“What is it?” Captain Carver asked, swiveling in his chair.
Wordlessly, Navigator Davis handed the pages over. “Print off a few more copies,” he whispered to the radioman.
“Belay that,” the captain replied. “Let me get my head around this before we go distributing it anywhere. We don’t want to start a panic.”
By the look in the young sailor’s eyes, Dick thought a little panic might already be setting in. Thinking quickly, he moved to block the door leading out of the bridge. “Let’s just wait and see what he wants to do,” he said by way of explanation when Koals tried to push past him.
The satellite phone buzzed, and a message flashed across its screen, bright green on dark.
“The cells will be next,” the radioman said.
“We’re in international waters,” the captain commented. A split-second later, his face fell as every smartphone on the bridge, his included, buzzed with the harsh sound reserved for a governmental announcement.
“Won’t matter,” the young man replied, holding his phone up. “Half the cells double as Wi-Fi repeaters. If they’ve logged onto the ship’s network, they’ll still be able to make and receive calls.”
“Close off communication,” the captain said. It wasn’t a question.
“This’ll start a panic,” Dick said.
“Doesn’t matter. Do it.”
The radioman twisted in his seat, tapping keys on his console.
“Bring up the 1MC,” Carver ordered.
More keys clicked as the captain reached for a black telephone receiver.
“You’re live, Sir,” the radioman said.
The captain cleared his throat.
* * * * *
PUBLIC HEALTH WARNING
D.H.S., D.O.J., D.H.H.S., C.D.C.
From the Office of the President of the United States
Seventy-Two hours ago, an as-yet unnamed organization committed an act of biological warfare against the peoples of these United States. The initial exposure area includes the city of Atlanta, Georgia and the surrounding suburbs. Air currents carried the biological material north and east, following the Jetstream, with steadily diminishing fallout over the states of Kentucky, Tennessee, Florida, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, the District of Columbia, and the southern areas of Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Delaware.
Symptoms of exposure include abdominal pain, nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea, which can lead to dehydration and possibly death. There have been reports, fueled by uninformed bloggers and rumormongers, of incidents of aggression and violence stemming from the exposure. These reports are unfounded and categorically false. There is no risk of contagion, as direct contact with the biological fallout is required for infection.
At this time, there is not enough information to report how long the fallout will remain infectious, though experts warn that some bacteria can survive an outdoor environment for up to 28 days. Weather patterns can influence this time frame, and wind currents can vary, so while the expected pattern affects those states listed above, it is for the protection of all Americans that the following is put into place and instituted immediately.
Martial Law has been declared over these United States, including the territories of Guam, Puerto Rico, The Northern Mariana Islands, the U.S. Virgin Islands, and American Samoa.
All border crossings are closed. Violators will be dealt with harshly.
All travels VISAs are temporarily suspended.
All air travel not directly related to the support of ongoing anti-terrorist investigations is canceled.
Avoid unnecessary travel until Martial Law is rescinded.
A curfew is in effect across all States and Territories from dusk until dawn. Unauthorized persons found out after curfew will be dealt with harshly.
All public Internet access and communication is hereby suspended. Communication via landline and mobile (cellular/digital) phone will remain active, including the ability to send and receive text messages.
The United States Military, active-duty, reservists, and National Guard have been activated. All military personnel should report to their common duty locations for further in
structions. Hazard Duty pay is authorized for the duration of the Emergency.
Criminal activity, to including looting, will not be tolerated.
The writ of Habeus Corpus has been suspended.
This announcement will remain on your digital device for five minutes at a time and will be re-broadcast every four hours. During the time the announcement is active, no other functions of your device(s) can be accessed.
The offices of the President of the United States, Department of Justice, Department of Homeland Security, Department of Health and Human Services, the Centers for Disease Control, the Federal Bureau of Investigations, the Central Intelligence Agency, and all related functions and offices may change or update this announcement at any time. Changes will be pushed through to these same devices in this same manner as required.
* * * * *
“Attention guests and crew of The Island Belle. This is Captain Carver speaking. First of all, allow me to welcome you on board The Belle.”
Behind him, a radio crackled to life. “Bridge? This is Woods, Security.”
“Go ahead, Woods,” Koals said.
The captain listened to the secondary communication while trying to keep focused on what he needed to say. “With that aside, allow me to address the recent…um…announcement some of you might have received on your phones.”
“Listen,” Woods said, “we’re seeing a lot of people coming out of their cabins, flooding the passageways.”
“Just listen to the announcement,” Koals said.
“Despite the…um…official-looking nature of the message, we don’t know if it’s the real thing. Our people are on the phone with the home office, trying to ascertain its validity. Let me remind everyone that it wasn’t very long ago when a false alarm sent the citizens of Hawaii into a panic.”
“What are you waiting for?” Davis whispered to Koals, who was staring at the captain like he’d grown two heads. “Get on the phone to corporate; find out what they know.”