She pauses. For the first time, she looks unsure of herself. “We believe so.”
“Let me guess. You’ve never done it before.”
“No. It would have killed anyone else.”
“But not me.” I frown, trying to figure this out. What makes me different? I lift one arm. “Because of the suit?”
“It will protect you from the dust. You will not smother in it.” As she speaks, the swirling murk around me grows denser, the sand and flakes of ash whirling around me like a tornado. I’m standing in the eye.
“All right.” I curl my gloved fingers into fists. “Let’s do this.”
“Try to relax.” She dissolves from sight. At the same time, I feel myself float upward. I can’t help reaching out to steady myself—only there’s nothing to brace against or hold onto.
Blind to the battle below but able to hear every gunshot, I’m carried up into the sky like a hot air balloon in a strong gust of wind. The altitude has to be over a hundred meters, judging by the sound of weapons fire beneath me. Then without warning, I’m hurtling through the air, surrounded by the swirling dust, flying over the scorched earth as fast as a jet.
It’s as though my mind has gone into standby mode as a way of protecting my sanity. I can’t think about this. I can’t question it. I just have to accept it. I’m flying, carried by a giant dust devil.
Should’ve thought of this before now. Would’ve saved some travel time.
There’s no way to tell how fast I’m moving, but it’s obviously quicker than staggering across the barren wasteland in my hazard suit.
Suddenly my wife materializes before me, floating in midair. I do my best not to be taken aback. What is this now—the third time she’s appeared? Fourth? I should be used to it. She smiles, somehow able to see my startled expression through the dark face shield.
“We will set you down at the easiest entry point into Eden. With your suit on, climbing through sewage tunnels would be difficult. So we’ll avoid that.”
“Thanks.” I’ll contact Captain Mutegi as soon as Willard shows me to his radio room.
Hey. I’m here. My team’s dead, but we’ve got some babies...
“We are not able to penetrate manmade materials.” She pauses. “So we will not be accompanying you into Eden.”
I wasn’t expecting her to. “Will you go back and help Luther’s people?”
She smiles again. “We never left them.” She laughs at my confused expression. She sounds so much like my wife. “There are many of us, and we share a telepathy of sorts. We know what each other is up to.”
The part of my brain that I put on pause is now warming back to life. “Is it true what Luther says? That you gave his people their abilities?” I regret asking as soon as the words escape. I won’t believe whatever she says. I can’t. None of what I’ve seen and experienced here makes any rational sense.
She dips her head forward slowly. “In a way, yes. Our essence, endowed by our Creator, remains locked in the dust of the earth from which we were made, and to which we returned. When Luther’s people—and Cain’s as well, though he chooses to believe in a false god—breathed in the dust of the earth, they were changed.”
“So you didn’t change them. Not intentionally. It was a biochemical reaction or something.”
She shrugs with a slight movement of her shoulders. “Semantics, James.”
As much as she looks and acts like my Emma, the sound of my name on her lips is somehow wrong.
The whirlwind around me dissipates, and my boots touch down gently on solid ground. As I turn to take in the view, I’m overwhelmed by the magnitude of this city’s destruction. The ruins extending in all directions were once a major metropolitan center, comparable to Eurasia’s Dome 1. Now caked in dust, they’re ancient-looking. Heaps of rubble where buildings stood before; cracked streets exhibiting signs of tectonic upheaval; twisted spires of iron and steel charred black where skyscrapers covered in mirrored glass pierced the skies long ago.
“There.” She extends a slender arm and points a finger I would know as well as my own—if it was actually my wife’s.
I pivot to find the substructure of a blown-out building behind me. It may have held hundreds of offices at one time, but all that remains now beneath its broken skeleton is an underground parking structure. Inside, burnt-out hulks of vehicles sit in various stalls. I note the slope of the main entry as well as the downward angle beyond. How many sublevels are there?
“So that’s the way into Eden?” Surprising. There are no guards stationed anywhere outside, and not one of the collared mutants Luther mentioned before.
“This is the only way you would be able to enter while wearing that suit of yours.” She glances at it with disdain.
I’m sure you’d like me to take it off, just so you can watch me turn into a freak.
I’m already halfway there, hallucinating like this. Thinking I’m talking to a physical manifestation of some kind of spirit. Enough to warrant a psych-eval at the soonest opportunity.
“Good luck, James,” she says.
I turn my back on her and prepare to enter the parking garage. Keep calm, stay in the moment. Focus on the mission. Sure, there’s plenty going on at the coast and out in the Wastes, but more than enough is going on right here, right now.
I’m finishing this. Then I’m going to see my family again. I know it, I can feel it, it’s going to happen. I’m more than ready to see this through.
But I’m not ready for the emaciated mutant that stumbles out of the dark and heads straight for me, staring vacantly and gnashing its teeth. I stumble backward a step, acutely aware of how unarmed I am.
The creature halts a couple meters away as a voice barks from the blinking steel collar on its neck: “Who goes there?”
I clear my throat, forcing myself to sound in charge of the situation. Because I am. “Sergeant James Bishop. Sorry I’m late.”
“Figured you were dead...” The voice sounds both amazed and annoyed. “You’re the only one left, huh?”
“There were a few unexpected setbacks along the way. But I’m here now, ready to discuss terms.”
“Captain Willard’s already discussed the terms. He’s waiting to hear back on the Chancellor’s decision.”
“That may very well be,” I reply, as patiently as possible, “but you’re not aware of the present danger those fetuses are in. I’ve come to warn you—”
“Danger? What the hell are you talking about?”
I don’t have time for this. “To whom am I speaking?”
“The name’s Perch. And you’d best watch your tone with me, soldier.”
“Mr. Perch, the parents of those babies are on their way here to take them away from you.”
Perch chuckles on the line. “I think we can handle a few sand freaks.”
I pause. “They’re bringing some friends. A lot of them, well-armed. I’m sure Arthur Willard would be interested in hearing what I have to say.”
“The UW hasn’t told us anything about—”
“Mutegi is sending in support, but it won’t arrive before your enemies do. You won’t be able to hold them off.”
“And you think you can help us? One man?” He scoffs.
“I’m not here to help you. I’m here for those incubation chambers. If protecting them means aiding you in the process, then so be it.”
Silence holds the line, dragging on. The gruesome mutant’s fangs glisten as its oozing yellow eyes stare at me hungrily. Eventually Perch grunts something unintelligible followed by, “Head down into the parking structure, five sublevels, and wait there. We’ll send a vehicle to pick you up.”
“Very well.”
“One more thing. You’d better be wearing a ventilator under that suit.”
“Check.” The breather is still working—for the moment.
The mutant jerks as if shocked by an electrical pulse. Then it shambles off aimlessly, away from me and the parking garage, out into the street. Cursing und
er my breath, I press forward, fighting the suit’s stiffness and my own sore muscles for every step. I shake my head. All of this is too much—the mutants, the spirits, the underground bastion for uninfected humanity. Yet again, I feel like I’m losing my grip on reality.
When reality itself is unraveling, it’s the sane man who fails to unravel along with it.
One foot in front of the other as I delve into the desolate parking structure, I try to convince myself I’m that much closer to the mission’s end. Even so, I can’t help but feel that matters are more insecure now than ever before. With Luther and Cain on the way and Mutegi’s assault teams fast behind them, it’s unlikely the situation will end peacefully. Add to that Willard and Chancellor Hawthorne’s last-minute talks. What’s that all about? Has she promised the man something I’m not aware of? Since they can’t reach me on comms, my superiors are acting without my input. Because my entire team has perished. Because they’ve lost confidence in my ability to see this through.
Paranoid much?
For now, I have to assume nothing’s changed. I will represent the UW’s interests and discuss the terms necessary to transport the fetuses out of Eden and onto the Argonaus as quickly and safely as possible—assuming this Willard character and Perch his guard dog cooperate. These are the men in charge of the United World’s future. The hopes of the civilized world have been set squarely on their shoulders.
I wish Margo was here. Not sure exactly why I trust her, but I do, and I could really use her expertise when the time arrives to transport those incubation pods. Mutegi better be sending in another medical and science officer with the ground teams.
The dull clunking of my boots echoes throughout these lifeless sublevels as I trudge downward. The farther I descend, the more vehicles I find. I glance at the elevator shaft as I pass by, wishing the power was still on. Obviously, it hasn’t been in use for over twenty years.
As I round a concrete support pillar on the fifth sublevel, the sound of tires squealing against pavement echoes from the level below. I halt and face the headlights as they approach.
The vehicle is the same make and model as Margo’s, but this one is in mint condition. No dust, no bullet scars, no fractured windows. How many of these Hummers does Willard have at his disposal?
Another short squeal from the tires as the large vehicle pulls to a stop, engine idling. My face shield darkens in the headlights’ glare. They flicker twice as the driver taps the high beams. I raise one hand in greeting.
The passenger side door drifts open automatically, and a stocky figure steps out: a man in blue fatigues and a black beret. He wears a transparent ventilator that covers his entire face.
“Well now, get a load of this.” The man chuckles, his voice making him Perch. He wears a firearm holstered at his hip, and he carries a handheld electronic device of some sort. “No chance the demon dust will get you inside that thing!”
“It’s done its job so far.”
“So have you.” Perch leans back on his heels, sizing me up. “Man alive. It’s been a while since I’ve laid eyes on your kind. A true blue United World marine. Semper Fidelis or something, right?”
There’s no insignia of any kind on Perch’s uniform. Is it nothing more than a costume? “How close are we to Eden?”
Perch squints. “You in some kind of hurry, marine? Cuz if so, I would’ve thought you’d have gotten here a hell of a lot sooner.”
“I’d like to see Arthur Willard as soon as possible.”
For a moment Perch looks like he’ll either cuss me out or beat me senseless. Then he seems to make up his mind, and he does neither. “Hop in. You won’t need that suit once we’re inside, but for now you’ll want your own air supply.”
He climbs into the passenger seat and hits the manual release for the rear door. It floats upward to receive me.
The backseat’s empty. My only traveling companions are the silent driver and Perch, who doesn’t seem able to stay quiet for very long.
“So you lost your whole team, huh? You must be some kind of leader, marine.” He guffaws as his own door drifts back into place and locks itself with a quiet whir. “But seriously, you’ve got to tell me what happened with Margo. When we lost contact, we thought for sure you’d all been killed.”
I grunt as I heave myself into the seat. “She’s fine. We were attacked—”
“Wild mutos, yeah. We’re doing what we can to round them up. Got most of ‘em collared.” He raises the remote. “Our own special army of freaks. But plenty are still out there, roaming around. Hope to God they can’t breed.”
The rear door closes automatically, and the driver takes us in a crisp three-point turn, heading back the way he came. Down two more sublevels until we reach the mouth of a tunnel that opens into the lowest level, just wide enough to squeeze the vehicle through. No option of opening any doors until we reach the other end.
“Groundwater channel.” Perch points at the concrete washed white by the headlights. Only darkness beyond their range, no end in sight. “We pumped it dry and directed it elsewhere. This is our main route to the surface—not that we ever go all the way up. On occasion, we meet a straggler or two who’ve managed to hoof it down into the lower levels. Always spot ‘em as soon as they arrive. We’ve got thermographic imaging monitoring the structure twenty-four seven.”
“Stragglers?” I remember Luther’s story of being caught by these people.
“Wild mutos, mostly, looking for fresh meat. It’s uncanny how well they can smell. But we sic the dogs on ‘em and get ‘em collared, and they’re no trouble at all after that.” He clears his throat. “So where’s Margo? And where the hell is that Hummer we sent with her?”
“I’ll share everything I know, but I’d like to wait until I meet with Mr. Willard.”
“Captain Willard.” Perch twists in his seat to face me. “And you’ll answer my questions, or maybe I’ll just crack open that helmet of yours and leave you topside! How’s that sound?” He grins.
The man is obviously unstable.
“I’d rather not repeat myself.”
“Fair enough.” Perch faces forward. “But keep in mind the fact that you’re our guest, marine. And truth be told, your mission ended the moment we lost contact with Margo. You’re—what’s the word for it?” He snaps his gloved fingers. “Superfluous!” He nods. “Yeah. At this juncture, you would definitely be superfluous.”
I don’t have anything to prove to this lunatic. When I meet Willard, I’ll let the man in charge know what’s headed his way, and we’ll go from there. Regardless of whatever deal Willard is attempting to make with Chancellor Hawthorne, the UW still needs me here to act as liaison. Matters must be handled quickly and efficiently.
An intercom crackles on the dashboard. The driver taps a screen mounted on the console and says, “We have the sergeant in custody, Captain.”
Custody? I keep an eye on Perch’s holster.
“Bring him to my quarters,” replies a low nasal voice before the intercom cuts out.
“Welcomed in style!” Perch bellows, stretching his arms. “I think you’ll be impressed by our lifestyle here in Eden, marine. Captain Willard is quite the host. I’m sure you haven’t eaten so good since you left Eurasia.”
My stomach cramps as if on cue. Other than the protein pack Luther gave me, I haven’t eaten since disembarking from the Argonaus. “That was Captain Willard on the line?”
“Sure was.” Perch drums his thick fingers across the dashboard. “I wonder if he’s heard back from the Chancellor yet. That sure might change things around here!” He laughs out loud and punches the driver’s right arm. The fellow cringes, seeming to know better than to make a sound. “Holy hell, we’ve got the UW over a barrel, and that’s no lie!”
The driver nods, keeping his eyes on the tunnel. Up ahead, the headlights reflect against what appears to be a massive hatch built into the surrounding concrete at the tunnel’s end. The Hummer slows to a halt as the driver reaches toward the c
onsole.
The hatch shudders and swings slowly open. The driver didn’t touch the console. His hand hovers over it, not seeming to know what to do with itself.
Perch goes for his sidearm.
“Proceed with caution,” he murmurs, staring straight ahead. “Something ain’t right.”
The mood inside the vehicle has shifted. No one speaks as the driver eases us out of the tunnel and into a vast subterranean dome a hundred meters in circumference, as bright as day thanks to lights mounted along the concrete ceiling. I take a quick survey of my surroundings, noting the details I may need to remember later.
There are large cubicles built out from the walls with steel catwalks and ladders leading down to the main floor, upon which a myriad of crates and boxes sit plastic-wrapped in rows, like in a warehouse. Three forklifts sit empty, as if they’ve been abandoned mid-job. Everything is still and silent, with no one in sight.
“So much for your red carpet welcome, marine.” Perch keeps his voice low and his eyes darting, semiautomatic pistol in hand. “Stop the vehicle,” he orders the driver. Then he faces me, aiming the weapon at my cracked helmet. “Get out.”
The hatch slams shut behind us with a resounding clang. Both Perch and the driver jump in their seats. I’ve got an uneasy feeling they’re more confused than I am.
24 Milton
18 Months After All-Clear
We watch the widescreen monitor mounted above a gas-fueled hearth in the captain’s quarters. Jamison sits on the sofa with a 9mm jammed into the ribs of the man seated beside him, Arthur Willard. I stand off to one side, between the monitor and the front door leading to the catwalk outside. On the screen, one of Willard’s men drives the Hummer out of the tunnel and onto Eden’s main floor. There it sits idling, tinted windows too dark to see anyone inside.
“You’re going to pay for this treachery,” Willard grates out for the fifth or sixth time. I’ve lost count.
“Someday you’ll thank me,” Jamison says. “When you’re able to see past your own ego.”
“How dare you? I’ve given you life!”
Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 74