Muster

by Christoff Orr

  It all happened so fast, that crowd didn’t even realize what had happened. If it wasn’t for the attenuated layer of red mist that now covered the inner portion of the clear protective barrier, or the thick layer of red fluid now seeping into the Presidents white shirt, they might not have really even known that any had happened. As it was, the President still stood there, the smile he once had, now hung crooked and splintered. He attempted to speak again, but as he moved his mouth, his jaw fell slack, as blood now begin to pool and overflow out of his mouth. His right arm fell limp, the nerves severed. He blinked once with both eyes, then again but the second time only his left eye functioned. There was a bizarre mask of surprise now hurriedly plastered on his face, his eyes locked in an expression of shock. He took one last ragged breath, which sounded wet and uncontrolled. Then, just like that, the first President of the newly formed Peoples Republic of America, was dead.

  30 The Fallen

  Six Miles from the Hole

  As soon as they were rested up, and needed supplies acquired, such as all eatable food from Stacy’s indoor garden, the group left North Dakota and made their way to Kansas. There was a short debate, if Stacy should join them, but in the end it was agreed to bring her with them. Anyhow, it was really the only way she would agree to let them take all of her food. Plus she pointed out, that her position at the church building was most likely just temporary and sooner or later she would end up in the fields again or worse, in one of the local Field House’s. She was more than willing to risk her life on the road, then chance that fate again. Oddly enough, Alberto was very eager to offer Stacy a ride on his mount, where she could hold on close to him. Alberto reiterated that it was for her safety of course.

  It had been a relatively smooth trip, as they headed due south to the land of Jayhawks. The whole group was eager to head towards a warmer climate, even if only by a few degrees. The change in the direction provided the change they had hoped for. They had spent an extra day’s rest at Stacy’s house in North Dakota and filled their bellies with warm food, but what they really needed was rest, something that was in very short supply. The first few days on the trail wasn’t too bad, they were able to avoid any issues with the Russians, Chinese, Regionals or any other sort of faction that might want to take what they had. However, Alberto still was feeling the effects of the chilling weather and never ceasing winds of the North, took their toll on everyone.

  With the sun perched itself high above, as it proved to be one of the good days, at least that is how it started out. They were able to have a warm breakfast and assumed that by nightfall they would reach their destination. Unfortunately though, by the time the sun tucked itself back into the horizon, they will still be short their goal, and one of them will have joined the sun into the ground. But for now, the group sat in a loose circle, trying to finalize their plan of attack.

  “When?” The question was sharp and hostile when the Commander shoved them into the handheld radio. He turned back towards the rest of the group and angrily took a seat on the ground next to the others.

  “I assume bad new’s?” Lt. Preen asked in between bites of a bell pepper.

  The Commander clipped the radio back onto his vest. His face was twisted with a look of frustration drawn across it. “Mixed bag you might say.” The Commander chewed on his words a bit longer before spitting them out. “The President is dead, someone just assassinated him.”

  “It’s true then,” Miguel said, shoving his comment in between the Commander and Lt. Preen.

  Lt. Preen peered over at the ever inquisitive man, “What’s true?”

  “The information found on the hard drive, at the hospital. It mentioned an assassination attempt on the President. So if that has happened, you have to assume the other information is accurate as well.” Miguel said as a matter of factly.

  Lt. Preen finished nibbled his bell pepper, “So, what is our plan?” In-between bites.

  The Commander snagged the question from Lt. Preen and then quickly redirected it towards Alberto, “This one is your kid.”

  Alberto, a bit shocked mishandled the question, nearly fumbling it and losing it all together. He let out a light cough as he was able to push back a single word, “Me?”

  The Commander let out an un-characteristic smile, “You wanted to be part of the team right?”

  “Yes,” Alberto quickly shot back.

  “You found the location, looked over what was coded, brought us here, so…?” The Commander said, letting the final word slowly roll across the open ground between him and Alberto.

  Alberto saw his opportunity roll towards him, like one of those big red balls kids would play kickball with in elementary school. It was his turn to step up to the plate, to be rewarded with the sound of air infused red rubber ball flying through the air, after a hard swift kick. He dared a quick glance at his dad, Miguel, who was nearly exploding with pride as a smile from ear to ear was plastered across his face. He let a smile sneak in and a little bit of pride before he opened up his backpack and focused the task at hand. With a fist full of papers in hand Alberto began to pass out the gathered intelligence. “Basically there is an underground research facility nearby, located in an abandoned silo. It’s,” he paused as he ran some numbers in his head and checked the time on his watch, “approximately five to six miles from our current location.”

  For the next hour and a half, the group discussed a plan of attack, who would go in and who would provide cover. Before they left North Dakota and the comforts of Stacy’s grandma’s home, Alberto had printed out multiple pages from the dark web which contained detailed instructions. For the next bit, the group performed a healthy debate on how best to use the information to their advantage. The information on the printed pages provided a detailed map which not only exposed the single weakness to the Hole but also how to exploit that weakness to gain entry to the formidable underground fortress.

  The priceless pages also pointed out that their main goal would be a computer server, the preverbal gold at the end of the rainbow. Everything prior has been nothing more than crumbs along a nearly imperceivable trail. The vague emails, the book review post, the prized book and the UV ink, all were nothing more than stones that directed. Each was a clue, and each reviled another clue, so on and so forth. All leading up to this, to a deep hole in the ground. The irony that the King himself, and those within his employment were keeping safe the one item that could bring everything crashing down was not lost on the group. All Alberto and the rest of the group had to do was get it out, and keep alive doing so.

  “That’s the kicker isn’t it?” Dave said as he sat on an oblong shaped rock, holding one of the pieces of paper. “We have to get into this place, steel some piece of computer and get out alive. Then, once and if we get out alive, we still have to get it back to Free Montana where it can be reviewed to see if anything truly of use is on it.” He took another thought before he asked, “What’s the size and weight of this thing?”

  Alberto took another look at the provided paperwork, flipped through one then another till finally reaching the required information. “I don’t have the official specs, but from the description I would say it’s about a foot and a half deep by about two feet wide. The weight, I have no clue. But from experience in working with these type of servers back at MIT, I’m guessing around twenty, maybe thirty pounds.”

  “So this thing has some heft to it,” Dave said, more of a matter of fact than a question.

  “If the job doesn’t fit your liking, you are more than welcome to start heading back,” The Commander quickly said. Tossing the insult and challenge towards Dave.

  Dave took the insult squarely on his chin, yet stood his ground. “I just want to make sure we all understand what needs to be done.” He slowly let some of the anger seep from his gaze, as he casually turned his attention towards Miguel and Alberto. “If you two want to stay back, it might be for the best. We need someone to watch the horses.”

  “I could help,” Alberto
quickly protested, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm.

  “Dave is right son, we are not fighters like they are, and we would only get in the way. Anyhow, none of us would be here if it wasn’t for you. You have already done so much.” Miguel said with a proud smile.

  “He’s right,” Lt. Preen said as he pulled his attention away from the piece of paper he held in his hand. “It does bring up a question though, how many of us are going in and who?” He looked over at his men, then at the others, “I’ll go, Thumper I want you with me. Digger and AJ I want you two to find a good spot to set up an overwatch. I don’t want to have to worry about running into any trouble on our way out. Miguel, you, Alberto and Stacy stay back and Jacob, we need you to stay with the horse. We need someone who knows how to handle them, make sure they don’t get spooked or anything.” He stalled on the last name, knowing that there might be some pushback. If he was still officially in the Navy and if he was putting together his own strike team, there wouldn’t have been any hesitation, but that was then and this is now. Finally, he looked over towards the Commander, “I need to stay back, to help call in any strikes that might be needed, plus if this all goes tits up, figure one of use should survive. You good with that?’’

  The Commander lets a small smile raise on his lips, it was a mixture of being happy that he would get to go down into the hole to fight, but also the trepidation of not knowing what to expect and that he might never see the sunlight once he goes down in. “So myself, Dave, Conall, and Thumper going in? Sounds good. Though I would like to make one small suggestion, Miguel, I really think we could use your knowledge down there. If we have to go up against another riddle from your old buddy, I feel you would be the best at decoding it. Don’t worry about fighting, we will have enough guns down there to take care of any threat, you stay behind us when the shooting starts, but it’s your experience and your mind we need. Does that sound acceptable?”

  Miguel thought it over, long and hard. He truly wanted to help and he felt he could provide key insights that might very well help and prove to pivotal information. But then there was his son, Alberto, despite who much Alberto had grown and all that he has been through, he will always be Miguel's son and he will always worry. Oddly enough it was Alberto’s hand, upon Miguel’s arm that calmed him down.

  “You will be fine. I’ll be waiting for you out here, ready to go.” Alberto softly said, placing the whispered words at the entrance of Miguel’s ears.

  The simple word injected vigor into Miguel as he eagerly sat upright and answered, “Yes, I will go.”

  With the teams set, all that was left to do was to reach the entrance, get the computer server and get out. Then, of course, there was the whole getting back home.

  “There is one more thing,” Thumper said, his words popping up from the edge of the group. He waited a moment till everyones attention was directed towards him. “How are we going to blow up this underground secret laboratory?”

  The question was so obvious, yet completely overlooked that everyone just sat there and stared blankly at Thumper. Finally, it was Alberto who spoke up, “Why? I mean, can’t you just go in get the info and get out?”

  “No, he’s right, we can’t just leave it operational,” Lt. Preen quickly jumped in. “Even if we get in and out without being detected, the very fact that such a place exists is a threat to any of our future plans. After all, we have no clue what they are doing down there, what they are planning, or what they are capable of. Thumper is right, we will have to destroy it.”

  “The Michigan, I can radio her and when everyone is clear, have them send a Tomahawk in,” Digger answered.

  They debated back and forth the hows and who’s for the next few minutes till finally, they felt like they had a good enough working plan to move forward. Everyone finished their perspective snacks, packed up any loose gear and started to get mounted, preparing for the final push to the hole. Everything seemingly started to come together, finally, they felt like they could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

  Conall had just assisted Stacy get her mounted on the horse with Alberto when they heard the scratchy laughter coming from behind them. The sound was a mixture of a jackal and a cat choking. As Conall turned he was greeted by two, besmirched and maniacally looking Scavengers.

  In the food chain of new world of bad guys there was a multi tier classification. The tier one units consisted of both the Russian and Chinese military, ext came Regionals, then Highwaymen. Next would be animals, any type of wild or domesticated animals, and finally, at the very bottom would be Scavengers. Every other unit form tier operators to feral cats, each had some sort of organization to them, some form of order and responsibility. Scavenger, however, did not, they were nothing more than living zombies. They had no sense of loyalty, no comprehension of accountable. They saw something they wanted they took it. The only real semblance of unity they showed was a black ’S’ tattoo on the side of their face. Apparently, it was a way to show the rest of the world that they were savage and wouldn’t back down for anyone.

  “Oh, hello,” Conall said in a laid-back Midwestern accent, doing his best to shelve his fairly blunt cockney accent. His hands raised, but not high, he cautiously walked towards the two Scavengers. The one that stood closest to Conall already had his pistol leveled at Conall’s chest, but would occasionally let the weapon drift towards the others. The larger second man, stood a step back and off to the side, his weapon was still housed within the Kydex housing on his hip. Every time the gunman allowed the weapon to stray towards the rest of the group, Conall would quickly redirect the attention back to him. “Here buddy, you really want to keep that gun pointed at me.” With each word, Conall took another step closer and closer.

  “You got some nice horses there,” The gunman started to say, a tobacco-stained grin cut a thin line across his filthy face. The man's hair was shaved short, but not evenly. It had the look of a two-year-old after they had attempted their first self-service haircut. He wore a pair of glasses that looked slightly too big for his face and had a thin diagonal crack in the left lens. He had a round puffy face, that sat atop a thin structure of a body. It held a comical resemblance to a golf ball atop a tee.

  “Now why would you need our horses?” Conall asked, still taking slow, methodical steps towards the gunman.

  “Well,” the gunman started, “As you can see, we are limited in terms of transportation, and those four-legged pets you got over there, will do us just fine.” He kept the gun on Conall but now threw his attention over to the rest, who were all anxiously awaiting the next play. “Now, unless you all want to watch your friend here die slowly, I highly suggest you get down from your mounts and move along. That is except for that pretty little thing there, I think Cleat and I will have some use for her later.” The gunman nodded towards Stacy, his thin stained grin cracked a bit larger.

  “Now see, you shouldn’t have done that,” Conall said, now a few steps away from the gunman, “We had a calm and gentlemanly conversation, and you had to go ruin it.”

  “Look, buddy,” The gunman said, now drawing the pistol back towards Conall, pointing it directly at the Englishman's chest.

  The gunman didn’t get a chance to finish his verbal tirade, as Conall performed a move learned many years ago and perfected over decades of use. With his hands up, but his elbows low and pulled in tight to his side. He spun his hips, moving his chest out of the firing line, and at the same time grasped the pistol with his right hand. He quickly wrapped his left hand around the back of the pistol, then holding tight, he lurched his hands downward and in a drastic diagonal direction. The move took less than two-seconds to perform, and not only disarmed the Scavenger but broke the man's tiger finger in the process.

  It was performed instantaneously and nearly flawless. In the span of the two-seconds, it took from Conalls first move, till he held the weapon, there were two shots that were registered, each scoring a hit. The first shot was from the gunman, who fired out of fear and
instinct, with no direction planned to his motion. The second shot was just the opposite. It was fired by Dave, who atop his mount, had already loosed his .357 Blackhawk, and given the first opportunity, he palmed the cold blue steel weapon and leveled a solid shot at the second Scavenger. The round fired by Dave, struck its target between the man's nose and the top of his lip, shattering all the man's top front teeth as it lurched into the flesh. As it exited, it blew out the medulla oblongata, and killed the man instantly.

  The move performed by Conall was a basic self-defense tactic used to disarm a threat. When done properly, the gunman would be disarmed and typically injured beyond functional capacity. It is commonly excepted that the gunman might be able to get a shot off, thus the reason for moving one’s hips and redirecting the targeted area. What isn’t discussed is if there are friendlies in the close vicinity is that accidents do happen and that not everything can be accounted for. This was the case in this situation. The random shot fired by the Scavenger, found an unexpected target, Alberto.

  “Dad?” Albertos single syllable word leaked out of his mouth and gently fluttered in the air around him. His hands released their grasp upon the rains, his body slowly slumped forward a bit, before it began to slide off of the saddle.