“What are Russians doing here? I thought this was Chinese territory?” AJ quickly asked, as he too tried to shuffle his large body into some form of cover and concealment.
“It is, only time Russians are allowed in this territory is for diplomatic matters.” Lance paused as he heard a noise coming from one of the nearby houses. From their vantage point, he could see a glimpse of light escaping from a door which was slightly ajar. “I should have known,” He said in anger. “There!” Lance said as he threw a knife hand towards the lighted doorway. “Ms. White, you’re with me and one of your men. Zeke and the other two make your way around to the back. He lives there alone, but I don’t want him to rabbit out the back door and get lost in the darkness.” He slowly stood up, and then spoke up again, “We’ll have to cover the distance quickly. If he shuts that door and locks it, we’ll be out in the cold, possibly more ways than one.”
The six people arose as one, and slowly fanned out. Zeke, Dave and the Sheriff, started to slide off to the right and picked up their pace, to get around back before Lance and his team hit the front door. Lance took the lead of the other three, Ms. White an AJ was a step behind, one on each side of him. There was just under a hundred yards of open field to cover before they hit the front door. If they didn’t get in, and the man behind the door was able to lock it, there would be no time for them to try to breach their way in. Their only hope would be that the man in the house didn’t recognize them, and by time the Russians showed up, Lance and the rest hopefully would be gone. Worst case is that the man does recognize Lance, and when the Russians arrive, he sends them directly to Mrs. Jackson’s house. Then upon arrival, everyone there would be rounded up and systematically slaughtered.
When Lance got within what he felt was adequate closing distance, he took off at a full sprint. The door was still open, though only a few inches, but he could still see a thin sliver of light that outlined the door within the frame. He knew the man who resided in that house, someone most in the neighborhood avoided. Unlike the many who joined, either during the Fox Wars, or who actively assist the resistance, this man was the exact opposite. He was what many referred to as a Loyalist, a name originally used to refer to those during the Revolutionary War who were loyal to the British crown, instead of those fighting to establish an America. Lance’s heart was racing, pounding harder than it has in a long time. Though a veteran of the Fox Wars, and at the forefront of the operations undertaken by the Hive, it had been some time, since he was in direct fire. But there was no time to reflect upon that or have second guesses about his action. His lot had already been cast, and it was all or nothing.
Ten more feet and he’ll be there. Just a few more steps and Lance will be able to secure a footing within the house and get to the bottom of what is going on around here. Eight more feet, his hands tightened into fists, each step pulled him closer. Almost there, then when he was three feet away, the man turned his gaze and saw Lance rushing towards him.
The man's eyes widened, as he let out a yelp of surprise. He shifted his weight so that he could forcefully slam the door shut. He was an older man and would need to put all of his weight behind the closed door, and hold it in place till he could secure the latches. Holding onto the doorknob with his right hand, he rapidly placed the palm of his left hand on the back of the door, to slam it shut. He moved as fast as he could, fear coursed through his old body. His heart raced and he breaths became ragged and staggered. Despite his age, and the surprise of the attack, he was able to slam the door shut, just prior to the approaching threats arrival.
Anger rushed through Lance as he watched the door slam shut in front of him, but it was too late. He had already covered the distance he needed and built up the energy required to slam his full weight against the door. His right shoulder made contact with the door, a split second after it had shut, and a moment before the man behind it could latch it. He hit the door with such force that the door threw the man behind it, a good ten feet from the entrance. Lance himself fell to the ground, once the door gave way. There Lance laid, flat on his belly, as he looked over and saw the older man, sprawled out on his back. He watched at the old man tried to wiggle away, like a fish as it attempted to regain its position in the water. In his mind, he told himself to hop up and grasp this traitor, before he could slink away, but where the mind was willing, the body was unable. Pain had already began to radiate outwards from his shoulder and side, leaving Lance momentarily paralyzed in pain.
“Going somewhere?” Ms. White asked as she stormed into the house and stood above the man, her H&K VP Tactical pistol pointed at the withering man's head. “AJ, shut and lock the front door then go let the other in the back.” Ms. White gave a quick glance over to Lance who was slowly getting up from off the floor. “You okay over there?”
Lance let out a hump, as he raised himself up to his feet, “I’m not as young as I use to be.”
AJ reached the back door, let in the others, then quickly shut and locked it behind them. The four men made their way into the front room where Lance hand regained his strength and now stood above the cowering man, along with Ms. White. The man held his hands up, while he continued to lay flat, his back on the floor. He showed signs of supplication, though hatred still resided in his expressions and behind his eyes. Even when all six team members were standing around him, he still stayed defiant.
Lance stood there a moment longer as he looked down at this man. He never really knew this stranger, only recognized him from passing. Lance had no feelings one way or another towards the man if anything he only had confusion towards him. “Did you call them? The Russians?” Lance waited, but the man said nothing. Lance looked around the front room and noticed a very worn couch. A red floral pattern was stitched into the fabric that covered the cushions. There were four throw pillows, each laying haphazardly upon the couch. Lance reached and picked up one of the throw pillows, then turned back to the man. He knelt down and lifted up the man's head as he placed the pillow underneath. “Don’t want you to be uncomfortable. So, why is there a Russian patrol roaming the streets?”
The man laid there, pillow under his head, and his hands still slightly raised. Then a thin smile started to rise from under his defiant demeanor, till finally, he let out a little chuckle. After a moment or two, he finally spoke up, “You’re all going to die.” The words were thin, and laced in malice.
Lance just shrugged, and answered, “Everyone eventually does. But my question is, why is my demise such a laughing matter to you?”
“I saw you,” The man said as he guested towards Ms. White. “I ant never seen a woman looking like you before around here. The rest of your lot could have melted into the background, but not you. Not a pretty thing like you.” He said as he allowed his eyes to run up and down Ms. Whites figure. “I called the Regionals, but come to find out, the Russians are in charge around here now. So I told them where to find you. They are heading to that crazy old lady’s house as we speak. They kill everyone there.” He let out a devilish laugh as he continued to look at Ms. White.
Ms. White smiled, and in her best Texan accent she looked down at him, “Aww, thank you, dear.” She then took a step closer as she placed her right foot down hard upon the man's crotch, and pointed her pistol right between his eyes. “Well, go ahead and get one last look, because my fabulous figure will be the last thing you’ll ever see.”
“Ha! You won't shoot me,” The man defiantly said, his lips parted showing his coffee stained teeth.
Lance looked at the man, then at Ms. White, and finally back at the man. “Russians are heading to Mrs. Jackson’s house?” Lance asked calmly.
“Yep!” The man said proudly, his glare now locked on Lance.
Then in a single instant, Lance grabbed the pillow out from under the man's head with his left hand and quickly snatched Ms. White’s pistol with his right. Then in one motion he threw the pillow firmly over the man's face and shoved the threaded barrel of the pistol deep into it, pressing the pillow in pl
ace. With a single pull of the trigger, a muffled round was fired into the man's face. The mans body jerked, as a final terrified thought raced thew his body, before he died. Blood began to rapid spill out from underneath the mans skull, as Lance stood up and handed the pistol back to Ms. White. He gave one last look down, smoke slowly rose from the seared hole in the pillow where the pistol round had passed through. Lance looked at the others. “We have to get everyone out, now!” He turned then to Zeke, “Find something to burn this place down.”
11 Humpty Dumpty
The Kings Quarters
As Edwin Magness laid there, he realized that his body felt heavy, as if a blanket made of led, similar to those in the dentists office had been draped across him. He could hear the familiar sounds of medical machines beeping and churning away in the background. His vision still seemed a little off, but not as bad as it was when he fell over just a few moments ago. But what he couldn’t understand, was how did he get form his study to his room? He tried to lift his head, but only did little more then release some of the pressure put on his pillow. Almost as soon as he started to move his head, it began to swim in circles.
Edwin laid there a moment longer, his eyes closed, as he tried to replay the last event recorded in his mind. His ability to recall the smallest of details from conversations to life events, was one of his greatest weapons within his personal arsenal when conducting trade talks and negotiating contracts. Internally he could always go into his mind, find the tape from the moments in question, and simply replay it. Not only could he then review the details, but he could do it with an aspect of disconnected perception. However this time it was different, something seemed, wrong. He recalled wanting to get out of his study, unhooking the medical wiring, and then attempting to stand.
The light, there was a flash of light. Was it coming from behind him? From the fire? Was someone in the room with him, someone he had forgotten about or didn’t see? There as nothing, no answers, no clues, just nothing. As he attempted to replay that moment, to call up the recorded file, it was, well, corrupted. It reminded him of being a child, and when the teacher would bring in the old reel to reel projector to show a film in class. If you left the film sit in a single spot too long, the heat from the lightbulb projecting the image could melt the film, destroying it. That is how he felt when he tried to play back that moment.
With his eyes closed Edwin tried again, he relaxed his body and his mind. He could visualize the hallways within his mind, and the rooms within his mental memory castle. A structure he had created within his mind to store all his thoughts and memories. It was within these walls that he wondered till he came to the records room. He entered to find endless shelving of film stored in the slim, circular, metal containers. The rows upon rows of film, stretched on for years, for nearly his entire life.
He had been tested at one time by some of the top neuroscientist, phycologist and others who specialize in the process of storing memories. They all had determined that he didn’t pose an eidetic memory, for he didn’t remember every detail of every aspect of his life. However, he did possess an uncanny ability to recall with exact details, moments, incidents that seemed significant to him. Within the walls of his metal labyrinth, he had constructed rooms, whose sole purpose was that of storage. They covered the whole spectrum of emotions and utilities.
He had rooms where upon entry, he could be back home as a child, feel his mothers embrace and smell freshly baked bread. He could hear the kettle on the stovetop and hear his father practicing for a lecture. Other rooms were more practical, designed for business. Within these rooms, he constructed replicants of his numerous business partners from around the globe. They ranged from World Leaders to shipping managers. This allowed him to enter every business meeting, with an extensive knowledge of who he was speaking to, and how he should tailor the conversation to get exactly what he wanted. He would walk up to anyone in any of his business and know the name of every man and woman who worked for him. That is quite a feat for someone who owned a single business, it is nearly imposable for someone who owned half of the business currently in operation through the entire world.
However this time, it was different. As he entered his mental storage to review the events, the shelves were vacant, the films were not there. Not as if they had been removed, but as if they were never recorded, to begin with. Confused, he ran his hand across the shelves where the recording should be. He replayed the last few minutes before the missing section, and as before, it was the same. He stood up, disconnected the cables, turned, bright light, floor, the floor. He looked down at the floor and there, on the floor, he found an open canister and a roll of film which had spilled out of it. As he held it up, the spool of film began to unwind and fall freely from the center of the spool, down towards the floor. He watched in amazement as the individual slides slipped past his eyes. What he saw didn’t make any sense, and only added to his confusion.
That was it, Edwin turned and stormed out of his cerebral fortification. He opened his eyes and yelled out for help. “Nurse! I need help! Anyone?”
Almost instantly someone was by his bedside, “Yes sir? What’s the matter? Are you in pain, do you need something to eat or drink?” The voice asked. They then paused as they spoke to someone else in the room as they called out, “Go get the doctor. Tell him that Mr. Magness is awake.” The voice then turned back to Edwin, “Can you hear me, sir? Node if you can hear and understand me.”
This just infuriated and already frustrated situation, “Of course I can hear you. Now where are you, why are you…?” Edwin asked, his words originally covered in anger, quickly softened and took on a more somber tone. He was unable to even finish his final question. When he spoke, he did not hear his typical tongue, highly educated and exact, instead, he heard a mumble of noises and sounds. It was as if someone was trying to speak Latin, while they had a mouth full of mush. He rushed around within his mind, back within the confines of his mental domicile, his memory castle. Running now within the hallways, lost in the darkness of his own creation.
“Mr. Magness, this is Dr. Stevenson. I need you to try to look at me please sir.” Dr. Stevenson said as he slightly leaned over Mr. Magness. The good doctor held up a pen light, as he shined it on Edwin’s eyes.
Edwin blinked his eyes rapidly, as one would when there was a bit of dirt or something logged in it. After a few moments of this, he stopped and tried once again to see. On the left side of his field of vision, he could sense a bit of light, but was still unable to clearly make out shapes. Though on the right side of his vision he could see nearly normal. It was a very disjointing way to view life. It was like someone had cut his life in half, one side was murky and blurry, the other clear and normal.
As he looked up from his bed, he could hear the doctor but was unable to see him. Till finally the doctor moved to the other side. There he was able to see the body connected to the voice that was talking to him. His lips felt dry, his tongue chalky. He pressed his thin lips together, and tried to moisten his tongue before he spoke, “Wwwwahhttthhh, wwwaaahhhhtttt?” Was all he was able to get out, orally. In his mind, he screamed the word, within his mind he heard every word clearly yet external, in the real world, nothing. It was just gibberish.
Dr. Stevenson patted Edwin on the right shoulder, “Don’t worry sir, it will take time, but you will be able to talk again. At least better then you are now. We will work on it, every day, I promise you.” Dr. Stevenson continued, “We are working on something to allow you to better communicate, but for now, we’ll have to resort to a bit more remedial form of communication. I need you to blink once for yes, and two for no. Do you understand?” He waited to get a visual indication of understanding from Edwin. “Great, that’s great. You suffered a serious stroke. Do you understand?” Again, he waited for Edwin to show he did indeed understand. “You have been out for a few days. We wanted to wait till you were alert again before running any tests. I promise you, we will do our best to get some form of normalcy resto
red to your life. But for now, the best thing you could do is rest.”
Stuck in his mind, Edwin was in disbelief. All of his planing, years and years of sacrifices, working every angle he could, only to be taken down by a single blood vessel in his brain. Still, within the confines of his mental mansion, he ran about from room to room, shouting at that tops of his lungs, “Let me out!! Damn you, let me out!” But no one heard anything, no one did anything. He just continued to lay there, as the doctor walked away. It was at that moment it hit him. Now, now he was nothing. Worse then nothing, he was trapped, within a fortress of his own building. He slowly walked to the porch of his internal home and sat down on the porch, lowered his head into his hands and wept. Alone, he sat there and wept like a child. Ruined, he thought, everything is ruined.
12 Redirect
Outskirts of Tooele, Ute Territory
Off in the distance the sun began its ritualistic decent into the horizon. It almost appeared as if the sun was melting, when it came in contact with the Great Salt Lake, the rays of the sun being absorbed by the water within the lake. The crew from the USS Michigan and the team from Zion, had been on a grueling, nearly nonstop march. They applied the fifty/ten approach to their trek. In this, they would hike for fifty minutes and then take a ten-minute rest. This combined with only getting approximately four total hours of sleep a day, they had been able to cover an eminence amount of ground in a relatively short amount of time. Jay, and Trigger continued to felt the brunt of this rigorous agenda, yet to their credit, neither complained or slowed down.
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