Beyond Armageddon V: Fusion

by DeCosmo, Anthony

  “Shut up!” Jorgie hurried to his father’s side and grabbed hold. “You aren’t real! You’re a phony!”

  “How does that feel, little one? I bet it scares you. I bet you would do anything to keep your father and mother together. You need them to love each other. Nothing can stand in the way of that: no one. Especially not another woman who isn’t Mommy. You’d do anything to keep your parents together because if Mommy and Daddy don’t love each other, maybe they don’t love you, either.”

  Trevor felt his strength return in no small part from the hug of his son. His jagged breath eased. The wobble in his legs steadied.

  “It’s okay, Jorgie. You’re right, don’t listen to him,” Trevor wiped his hand across his eyes as if clearing his view. “Truth is, he’s powerless.”

  “Powerless?” Washburn’s voice shook in the slightest. “I have more power than you can comprehend. I am eternal. You are frail and inferior.”

  “You are nothing,” Trevor insisted and he recalled words Lori Brewer once used. “Power is never taken, it is given. You have only the power that the others have given to you.”

  “Leave!” Washburn ordered. “Leave now and maybe you’ll live a while longer.”

  “You’re the one who is going to leave. You’re the one who doesn’t belong here.”

  “You sound so sure of yourself, Trevor. Do you really think your little surprise army means anything to me? I’m not the Hivvans. I’m not the Duass. I don’t have to play by the rules, Trevor. I wrote those rules.”

  The thing that wore Danny Washburn’s body glanced up at the crackling energy between the two orbs. The power there grew to a frenzy. Glowing, shimmering tendrils reached from one of the spheres across to the other. The clouds of black inside writhed back and forth in pain.

  Strands of energy intertwined and formed a glowing image. In that image Trevor saw the waterfront of a modern city. It took him a moment, but he recognized post-Armageddon Seattle with blasted buildings, abandoned cars, and debris strewn across the streets.

  On those streets slithered over-sized snakes with metal fins along their spine; large ape-things with a cluster of spider eyes and four arms; glowing red worms the size of a city bus with barbed ribs along their sickening body; and legions of other nightmares.

  “I can summon infinite reinforcements. I can reach back through the time line of this universe and grab what I need…” the creatures disappeared. No flash. No slow fade. Just wiped from existence. “…from a time that would not have served me. And deposit them here.”

  The view shifted to outside the temple. From the brief glimpse afforded in the pool of energy, Trevor saw the European force driving across the black plain with piles of dead monsters before them. Clearly a victory in the making.

  Then blobs of green appeared in their path. The monsters of Seattle from a time past emerged from the vessels and took to battle immediately. The human strike faltered and split then withdrew; a victory turned back.

  “That was easy, Trevor. No limit. Nothing to stop me.”

  This time the image between the orbs showed Grand Forks, North Dakota. The Red River had climbed its banks and flooded most of downtown. The western stretches of the city, however, were flooded with a different catastrophe: hordes of demons, some walking upright, others crawling or flying. Angry, snarling beasts that sought prey not for sustenance but by impulse; an impulse to inflict pain. To destroy for destruction’s sake.

  They disappeared from Grand Forks, leaving it exactly as The Empire would find it a few weeks later: half-flooded and fully deserted.

  The army of beasts re-materialized outside the temple walls in blobs of green from which they quickly burst forth and joined the battle. The Europeans were forced wholly off the plain and sent scrambling to the west.

  “Go. Take your—take your son with you. Go into seclusion and never return. You may live out the end of your sad existence without interference from me.”

  Trevor tilted his head and studied the body of Danny Washburn. The demonstration of power did not intimidate Trevor. In fact, it had the opposite effect. Trevor now knew his choice to confront Voggoth had been the right choice. He knew because history demanded fulfillment; a circle waited to be closed.

  “We’re not going anywhere. I came here for you.”

  “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

  “I know exactly what you are. You’re the rot that remains when something living decays. You’re the after-birth of the big bang; a side effect of the creation of the universe. You come from some void where you’ve been since before time. And you’ve watched us. You’ve watched the living. You’ve watched species rise from bits of bio mass into mighty civilizations and that scares you. Ever-changing, getting better, improving with each generation.”

  “You wither and die. I am eternal.”

  “You are stagnant! You never change. Since the moment you existed you have been all that you will ever be. And you look out from your void and see life flourishing and growing and experiencing the universe. You are filled with nothing but envy and hate. That’s why your ‘children’ are cruel and vicious; that’s their purpose, to punish life. That’s why you tortured me for the sake of torture. And that is all you have to offer: violence and misery.”

  The thing that looked like Danny Washburn answered, “I am filled with envy and hate? Look at your ‘evolving’ life—look at your species. You divide into sub-groups of race and culture, always searching for reasons to call your own superior; better.”

  “And that’s how you’ve done it, right? You tapped into the dark nature of each of the races and used it to your advantage. You are a master manipulator and with your bag of parlor tricks you’ve convinced them that your sad corner of existence is some kind of immortal paradise; that you are a king-maker that can bring all manner of wonders if they are worthy, when the truth is that you are no more than a cast out.”

  The image of Dallas, Texas appeared in the energy current between the spheres. Another batch of creatures disappeared from the past and re-appeared in the present.

  Danny Washburn’s voice warned, “Soon your species will be wiped from time and space. Or belong to me.”

  “That’s the only way for you. You can’t reproduce or evolve, so you conquer and subvert. You turn the living into the soulless dead. The only way you can expand your reach is by convincing the others to submit to you. Like I said, a master manipulator. But your puppets made a mistake last year, didn’t they?”

  “You are wasting your time. Go now, or I will kill you.”

  Jorgie scrunched close to his father who slung an arm around his boy’s shoulder. Trevor ignored the threat and continued, “A little of that good old human greed and ambition remained in those you mutated, enough so that your Missionary Man wanted to earn your favor. Taking me—that was for your amusement. You’ve been obsessed with hurting me since this began. But you did not count on my son. When the force of life inside this child’s body touched the great machines of Voggoth, what happened?”

  “Go now!”

  “He took control. He manipulated your tools. Life proved superior!”

  Jorgie chimed in, “It was empty! YOU are empty!”

  The thing that resembled Danny Washburn nearly glowed red with anger. Its eyes bulged to inhuman size. Its arms flailed in the air. And in a voice that cried out from the void it screamed, “I am older than the first atom of the universe! I am eternal! I—am—a GOD!”

  The body of Danny Washburn erupted and the thing hiding inside grew like an airbag exploding from a dashboard. It filled the room in a second, stretching from one side to the other of the massive hall; towering high between the two glowing orbs of enslaved Nyx.

  A giant mass; a mountain of creature not quite solid, not quite liquid. A brown and black building-sized alien organism from the darkest hole of all existence. Its surface rippled and the faces of a trillion swallowed souls pushed against the flesh from the inside out, wailing a chorus composed by
the devil himself.

  The energy from the orbs filled the chamber in a brilliant glow. The giant creature hovered above father and son.

  Voggoth.

  22. A Line in the Sand

  The Eagle air ship flew low and fast along the banks of the Mississippi River. To the east, clear blue skies and a low-hanging morning sun. To the west, a line of dark clouds rolling and rumbling like an incensed tide.

  General Brewer and General Shepherd shared a row of seats while a small contingent of soldiers and technicians filled the remainder of the passenger compartment.

  Jon stabbed his finger into the map on his lap and asked, “How did this happen?”

  Jerry Shepherd could not be sure if Jon really wanted an answer. Nonetheless, he provided one.

  “Lack of aerial recon. So many of those damned Spooks flying around we can’t get a horsefly close enough to spy what they’re doing. We’re damned lucky Cassy’s scouts saw it when they did.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re going to need a lot more luck before this is over,” Jon grumbled without pulling his eyes from the map.

  “I’ll see what I can whip up, General.”

  Jon sighed, ran a hand over his face, and then turned to Shep to see the older gent with a half-cocked grin. He could not refuse to return it.

  “We never get a break, do we?”

  Shep told him, “I reckon it’d be too easy if we did. So we just got to roll with the punches,” and he patted Jon on the shoulder. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

  ‘There’ meant Quincy, Illinois, about 100 miles north of St. Louis on the eastern bank of the Mississippi. If humanity survived the day, Quincy would most certainly join the ranks of Waterloo, Gettysburg, Stalingrad, and Five Armies as history’s most important battlegrounds.

  Shepherd asked, “So you figure ol’ Voggoth channeled Erwin Rommel or something? Getting fancy isn’t usually his style.”

  “Yeah, well, he pulled a quick one at the Rockies so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He tried to stretch us thin there. That’s what he’s trying to do now.”

  “You’re not worried it’s a feint?”

  Jon considered the possibility. But human eyes—from Cassy Simms’ Stonewall Brigade—spotted two Leviathans and a host of The Order’s core units crossing Route 63 north of Long Branch State Park just before dawn. Correspondingly, the last transmission from a Predator UAV identified the third Leviathan and a mass of Voggoth’s irregulars fording the Missouri river and moving east through the “Spirit of St. Louis” airport; about 20 miles from the Mississippi on the outskirts of the airport’s namesake.

  “No, no,” Jon shook his head. “It’s a two-pronged attack. St. Louis and Quincy. I hoped he would come after our army in St. Louis and we could make this into a street fight. But wow, I didn’t figure him splitting up like this. Under most circumstances I’d see this as a blessing; nothing like a superior force dividing to improve our odds. But we don’t have enough troops to cover both areas. And up here—Quincy—it’s wide open. Perfect for the Leviathans.”

  The transport ship descended.

  Shep completed the thought, “So he hits us in both spots at about the same time.”

  “You want my guess? If I’m Voggoth I beat up St. Louis to keep us pinned while I ram across the Mississippi up here then haul ass to the southeast to circle behind St. Louis. Hell, if he manages that he could finish us off by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “And we can’t retreat.”

  Shepherd did not ask so much as observe, but Jon replied nonetheless, “The next real natural barrier would be the Appalachians, maybe. But that’s no good. The civvies would be all crammed along the east coast and he could cut us to pieces. No, this is the best ground for a stand. Besides, we pull out now and start running he’ll just pick us off from behind. We stand here.”

  “What about the rest of them?”

  “The Geryons are camped a few miles north. Not far away at all. Same with the Centurians to the south and I’m guessing the Chaktaw, wherever they are. Sooner or later they’ll find their way to the front. The way I figure it, they’ll all be fashionably late. By then we might be minced meat and they can walk right through and take the credit. I’m thinking we’re going to get this on before lunch time.”

  The landing gear touched ground and the Eagle rocked. A moment later the side door slid open and the general’s escort of well-disciplined career-soldiers led the entourage outside.

  They landed at Bicentennial Park on the grassy river banks of Quincy, Illinois. A large gazebo with a blue roof and a miniature steeple served as HQ and provided a beautiful—but exposed—view of the river. The Mississippi stretched nearly 2,000 feet wide between the east bank at Quincy and ‘West Quincy’ on the other side.

  Two bridges crossed the waters. The southern span was a truss bridge that brought the east bound lanes of Route 24 into town. Armageddon and Father Time had taken their toll on this relic. It appeared unsafe for travel. Only a handful of engineers dared work the bridge. Jon had half a mind to save the demolitions and challenge Voggoth to cross it.

  The second bridge—a cable-stayed bridge in much finer condition—crossed the banks of the river a mere 200 feet north of the gazebo and shepherded the westbound lanes of 24 to the far side.

  As for that far side, it offered flat, barren farmlands broken only by the remains of industrial buildings to either side of the highway and a patch of woodlands right along the coast. Jon hoped those trees would provide some measure of wind break but feared that, more likely, they would become deadly projectiles.

  As for the town of Quincy that sloped down toward the east bank, a great fire during the days of Armageddon leveled much of downtown but a significant population remained in the neighborhood until a week ago. At that time evacuations removed the 5,000 residents living in the general area most of whom had resided close to the rail station on the northeast side.

  Jon approached the gazebo where a cluster of soldiers and equipment worked frantically. Beyond them, across the river to the west, a threatening line of black clouds approached.

  Cassy Simms met Brewer and Shepherd at the edge of the command center. She saluted. Jon returned the gesture and then got right to work.

  “Cassy, can we stop them from crossing here?”

  She appeared baffled; afraid even. Jon, however, could not question either her bravery or dedication. This was the woman who had sat in the shadow of Voggoth’s Leviathans as they pushed through the Rockies at Wetmore, Colorado. Somehow she had survived that Charlie Foxtrot and returned to command the best cavalry unit in Trevor’s army.

  “I don’t know, Jon. I mean, I’ve got good people here. The town will provide a little cover for the 3rd Mobile Artillery brigade. The streets are kind of tight and there’s a park—Washington Park—a few blocks from the river. I’ve got the guns moving in there and they should have no trouble finding range.”

  “But?”

  “But there aren’t too many hard points. This isn’t like St. Louis. Lots of the buildings downtown burned to their foundations and there aren’t many reinforced structures. A good puff from one of them Leviathans and this place will go first little pig.”

  Jon said, “Use those burned out basements as pillboxes and artillery emplacements. Get whatever Patriot batteries you have left in them, too. I’m guessing we’re going to trade bombardments with the bastards before they try to get across.”

  Shepherd jumped in, “What about your riders, Cassy?”

  “We’ve got ammo and grease for the guns. We’re digging in as best we can,” she swept her arm in a wide arc that referenced the trenches and sandbag bunkers hurriedly springing into place along the banks. “But our horses aren’t going to do us much good here and we don’t have the numbers to be very effective dismounted infantry.”

  Jon told her, “The 14th Mechanized Infantry brigade is to the south opposite Hannibal. They’re packing up and coming here.”

  “What about the rest of Third Corp? Ca
n we get some more of their pieces up here?”

  General Brewer told her bluntly, “No. They’re dug in around St. Louis. Besides, that’s more than one hundred miles south of here. Even if we pulled them out they couldn’t get here in time to make a difference. But the first and second tactical wings are going to run some sorties up here. That, and, well you heard it here first: your old friend Kristy Kaufman is on her way. She should be here just in time.”

  “The Chrysaor? She’s back on the line?”

  Shep smirked as he told Cassy, “C’mon now, you rode with Kristy back in the days of Stonewall. Think she’d miss a fight this big?”

  “Okay, good,” Cassy relaxed, a little. The thought of a dreadnought floating overhead inspired confidence. Jon, however, knew it to be a small consolation. The odds remained steep.

  The trio of Generals moved into the shade of the gazebo. Soldiers worked on lap tops, studied maps, and barked orders into transmitters.

  “Say, Cassy,” Shepherd spoke to the general but eyed the storm clouds on the horizon. “Time to find a new command post.”

  “There’s a hospital at the center of town with an old fallout shelter in the basement. We’re moving things there. I’m just worried about freedom of movement once this starts.”

  She walked to one of the bulky radio sets on a table inside the command post.

  “All personnel,” Jon and Jerry heard her voice echo from radios up and down the river bank at Quincy. “Enemy contact estimated in less than two hours. Dig in, check your ammo, and confirm lines of supply and communication before things get hot.”

  Shep whispered in Jon’s ear, “Before she breaks all this down, now might be a good time for you to send some final instructions to the boys.”

  “What? Oh, well, I think everyone knows what to do.”

  Shep stared at Jon. It took a moment, but he came to understand.

  “I’m not really good at that sort of thing. Never have been. That’s kind of Trevor’s bag.”

  “Jon, I reckon it’s your job today. Time for you to step up to the plate.”