Swarm

by Devon C Ford

  He could hear further conversation before the gates began to open and an elderly man flanked by two younger warriors stepped through the gap and walked toward him.

  The older man extended his hand and the two greeted each other. “I am Travis, one of the village Elders. If our leader is absent the Elders assume his role collectively.” He smirked before continuing. “And I was deemed expendable enough by my people to be the first to meet you”—he looked Weber up and down again with comedic appreciation—“in case you were hungry.”

  Weber returned the smile, knowing the old man wasn’t telling the truth as he was most likely the senior Elder and wouldn’t ask another to put themselves in potential danger.

  “I understand, my friend,” Weber replied with a wink. “I think that this ist why I am here as well, no? Not to eat you, of course.”

  Travis smiled in response and indicated to the gateway. “Please come in. We’re all eager for news of Harrison and Tori.”

  Weber followed the man into the settlement. It seemed that everyone had gathered to catch their first glimpse of one of the arrivals from space as the central area they led him to filled with people, all clamoring and crowding around the large, weapon-draped, imposing soldier.

  Travis shooed them away from their path, pushing through the crowd and leading Weber to a raised platform. He spoke with the German for a few minutes, the conversation awkward and stilted as they realized they existed in different times, before standing beside him and calling for quiet. It took some time for the excited crowd to calm down enough for him to be heard.

  Holding his hands up to finally subdue the crowd he spoke, his voice strong enough to reach all. “This is Dieter Weber, and I formally welcome him under our protection to the Three Hills community. He has news of Harrison and Tori. I am relieved to inform you all that they are both safe.” Most in the crowd gave a relieved cheer which told Weber the high esteem they held the pair in. Though he couldn’t fail to pick out a few who didn’t seem as pleased and committed their faces to memory for later. “He will now tell you what he told me,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing for Weber to step forwards and address the people.

  Thirty minutes later, a relieved but concerned community were persuaded to return to their jobs as Weber wanted to set up the radio so they could talk to Harrison themselves.

  Chapter 22

  Fire Discipline

  Tanaka and his two most trusted men staggered exhausted up to the walls of the Springs as the sun dawned on the eastern horizon. He had left the rest of the survivors at the entrance to The Source telling them he would send reinforcements to help them with the barricade. Anger had soon replaced the dazed and bewildered relief he had felt when he had first reached the surface. The newcomers had humiliated him, slaughtered many of his best fighters as he tried to overpower them, but he didn’t care about that; all they had done was fail him and let him down.

  Approaching the closed gate, his hands subconsciously caressed the weapons he carried. They were his new symbols of power, and nobody could stand against him now.

  The hairs on his neck rose as his mind tried to catch up with his instincts. No one was on the walls and that unforgiveable failure turned into anger which rose as he banged his fist on the metal sheeting of the gate and shouted for them to be opened. Someone looked over the wall as the dull, reverberating noise created by his fist smashing against the gate receded.

  “Open the gate!” he demanded angrily, his voice shrill with fury. Further shouts and the sound of fighting behind the walls prompted him to pull the pistol from its holster as he continued to bang his free fist on the gate. The unmistakable clash of steel and shouts of pain as a fight raged between his people triggered a sense of panic.

  Unable to gain entry he screamed incoherently venting his rage and rising panic on the gate, until eventually the sound of the locking bar scraping back in its brackets made him stop. The two men with him, exchanging glances of fear, stepped forwards as Tanaka pushed them in front. As the gate swung open a man burst through. It was Smith, one of the survivors from The Source and one of Tanaka’s inner circle of warriors.

  He was bruised and beaten, blood dripping from numerous wounds as he staggered and fell at his leader’s feet. “It’s Byrne,” Smith choked, pausing to spit blood into the dirt. “He tried to take over as soon as he returned. We’ve been fighting him and the bastards who joined him.”

  Tanaka dragged him upright. “How many are with him?” he snarled.

  The man whimpered, not wanting to be the one to tell him the extent of the treachery. “Most have joined him, but many have stayed loyal to you. We barricaded ourselves in the guard post at the gate and have been fighting them off for hours. When they knew it was you at the gate, most of them fled giving us the chance to open it.”

  Reeling from the shock of betrayal, his rage grew to a level even he had not experienced before.

  “Where are they now?” he screamed, spittle covering the man as he pulled on his clothing to bring his face close to his own.

  “I think they went to your private quarters, sir,” Smith, quivering with fear, replied.

  Tanaka let go of him to see him stagger away, recoiling from the venom he saw in his leader’s face. Tanaka pushed the pistol he was holding back into its holster. Using both hands to grab the gate he gave it a mighty heave and it swung back on its hinges to clatter against the walls. He grabbed the rifle he had strapped to his back and, raising it to his shoulder, ran through the open gateway screaming an incoherent rage at anyone who dared to betray him. The two men with him stalled for a moment in shock at his actions, then ran after him screaming their own battle cries.

  Not trained in fire discipline, Tanaka shot at anything that moved. Men, women and children scattered before him as bullets flew in all directions. The sight of blood spraying and bodies falling, to lie crumpled and still on the ground, as the high velocity projectiles indiscriminately claimed their victims, filled him with a huge sense of indestructible power. He was a god.

  A warrior ran out of a doorway to his left, discarding his weapon as he rushed toward Tanaka and threw himself to the ground before him, howling for mercy.

  But The Tanaka did not grant mercy.

  They had risen against him and the only punishment was death. He aimed and pulled the trigger. The gun fired once, missing the man as the bullet raised a plume of dirt by his head before clicking empty. Initially confused by the click, it took him a few seconds to work out what had happened. The warrior, still begging for his life, tried to scramble away from the look of pure evil Tanaka fixed him with as he fumbled with the unfamiliar weapon. His guards did not need ordering what to do, they had seen their leader try to kill the man so with weapons raised they ran screaming at him swinging them at his head. He stood no chance, and in seconds he lay dead, a pulverized mess of bone and oozing brain where his head had once been.

  The pause to reload gave Tanaka the chance to restrain his racing mind and bring his rage under control. He looked up and saw his private quarters ahead of him, the door slamming shut. Sensing movement behind him he spun, raising his gun, finger tightening on the trigger. Around twenty warriors threw themselves flat on the dirt, all shouting their loyalty to him. The gun fired before he could release the trigger, sending a stream of bullets into two of the prone figures who screamed in agony before lying still in death.

  “Don’t kill us,” voices pleaded. “We are with you.”

  Tanaka slowly lowered the gun.

  Is this all? he thought with despair. He had hundreds of warriors. Many he knew had died at The Source the day before, but he had left twice that number behind to guard the Springs. He forced down his horror and disappointment and spoke to the men still lying prone in front of him.

  “My brave warriors.” He indicated for them to stand. “Thank you for your loyalty. The Tanakas are the rightful rulers of all the tribes: this is known and set in our laws and customs.” He pointed to the closed door to his quart
ers. “Those disloyal scum in there, those traitors, have dishonored all of us while I was bravely fighting the Newcomers.” He held up the still-smoking rifle. “I took this from the body of their greatest warrior after I killed him in single combat,” he lied. “Nothing can stop us now, so who will help me kill these traitors?”

  His men, desperate to show their loyalty, roared their agreement. Tanaka, knowing that this time he had to lead from the front and not wanting to lose any momentum his solo charge through the settlement had gained, turned and ran toward his quarters, screaming his battle cry. Firing his gun as he ran, his men faltered briefly as most witnessed for the first time the power of such a weapon as its bullets splintered and shattered the wooden façade of his quarters.

  Bounding up the short flight of stairs leading to the wide veranda that wrapped around his quarters, he charged the door with his shoulder. The door creaked and a panel splintered but the lock held. In frustration he emptied his gun at the door. The bullets blasted ragged holes in it before he slammed his body into it again, but still it held.

  Changing the magazine, he realized with a shock he only had two full ones left. Only being able to get the ones Collins had left in the pockets of his vest he knew until he defeated those at the compound that they were an irreplaceable resource. Without knowing it he was learning fire discipline. Holding the reloaded gun ready, he indicated to the ones crowding around him on the veranda to try and beat the door down. He would have to pick his shots carefully now. The gun had proved its worth in galvanizing his men back onto his side, solidifying that they had made the right decision not to abandon him. He would now only fire when it would have the greatest impact. He still had three full reloads for the pistol but those also needed to be used carefully.

  His men were roaring their battle cries as they crowded around the door, those at the front swinging their axes at it whilst others threw their whole weight against it. It couldn’t hold for long under such an onslaught and it didn’t. With a piercing crack and a splintering of breaking timber the door gave way.

  The defenders inside, knowing that now The Tanaka was back and that their lives were most likely forfeit, had nothing to lose but fight to the end and maybe, just maybe, win a victory. The doorway developed into a vicious bloodbath as neither side wanted to give ground and the bodies began to pile up. The veranda, where he usually sat observing those following his and his men’s will, became awash with blood and viscera that spread in an ever-growing slick across the wooden deck.

  Screaming and slipping, the fury of the attackers slowly beat the defenders inside allowing more to enter the fray. Tanaka waited for his moment before entering the building where he saw Byrne fighting at the center of the line. He was a big man and had been one of his inner circle of depraved individuals, who reveled in his position and the power he held over the community. He was roaring and wielding his double-headed axe with a fury born from desperation. His blade sliced through flesh and bone, cutting men down with every stroke.

  Raging at the betrayal, Tanaka raised his gun and aimed carefully to wait for the right moment. When the red dot of the holographic sight centered on Byrne’s chest, he pulled the trigger.

  The hail of bullets hit him and threw him back across the floor, his ruined chest a mess of ragged red holes that sprayed blood over his fellow traitors as he fell. The loud bangs of the gun being fired in the enclosed space caused a brief, shocked pause in the battle.

  Some decided they had had enough and dropped their weapons, falling to their knees and immediately begging for mercy. His loyal men were deep in the madness of battle and cut them down without the mercy for which they pleaded. With their leader now dead the tide of battle turned dramatically. It became a rout as most turned and fled further into Tanaka’s private quarters. The ones who stayed to fight now found themselves hopelessly outnumbered and were killed easily, screaming as blades hacked into their bodies. Not wanting any to live, Tanaka urged his men onwards screaming for them to, “Kill them all!”

  His main living area, where he entertained his inner circle of sycophantic followers, ensuring their loyalty with unlimited drinks and free use of any of his carefully selected women and girls, resembled an abattoir as outstretched arms begging for mercy were severed by swinging weapons, spraying arterial blood in wide arcs, covering every surface as, one by one, his men hunted down and massacred everyone who had stood against him.

  Beyond this massacre Tanaka spotted a few figures ducking through the door to his inner bedchamber. A feeling of panic overcame him—beyond his room was his inner secret sanctum containing the briefcase that controlled The Swarm. The door wasn’t locked. No one would dare enter it upon pain of death, so such a precaution was not necessary and the two trusted guards permanently on duty in his quarters would allow only their leader to enter the bedchamber.

  “My bedchamber,” he yelled and pointed, panic making his voice sound like the screech of a bird. “Stop them.”

  The warriors nearest to him obeyed, kicking and hacking a path through the dying survivors. Tanaka followed close behind them, stamping his steel shod rawhide boots on any person that got close to him as they recoiled from the attacks of others. Letting his rifle drop on its sling he pulled his pistol from its holster.

  As they burst through into his bedchamber four of the five warriors inside leaped toward them, screaming their own rage and frustration as they chose to die in the way of a true warrior: facing your enemy no matter how hopeless the odds with your own blade wet with your enemies’ blood. The fifth ran in panic, pushing aside the leather curtain and entering his secret room.

  Tanaka ducked under the hissing blade of a warrior’s axe and shoved the barrel of his pistol hard up under the man’s bearded chin as he tried to recover from the missed hit, pulling the trigger and blowing his brains across the walls behind him. Pushing the falling body out of the way he leaped at the door, ignoring everything else in the room. He kicked the door open as he fought against the heavy curtain obscuring it. The man who had tried futilely to hold it closed was propelled across the room and fell against the steel desk.

  His rage clouded his judgment and, without thinking, he raised his pistol and pumped round after round at the man sprawled over his desk. His body bucked and twisted as the heavy caliber rounds tore through his body spraying the wall behind him almost black in the low light of the interior.

  As his gun clicked empty, he pulled the trigger a few more times until realization dawned on what he may have done. With a cry of torment, he took a pace forwards and pulled the dead, bullet-riddled man from the rusty steel desk and let him fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.

  Tanaka stared in horror.

  The battered steel briefcase, for so long displayed in pride of place in the middle of the desk, was covered in blood. Much worse, it had two holes punched through the outer casing.

  Tears of panic filled his eyes as his mouth worked silently, repeating, “No, no, no, no, no…” Not wanting to but knowing he must, his shaking fingers pressed the release catches and he yanked the case open.

  He closed his eyes and howled in mortal, heartfelt anguish. One of the bullets had smashed through the middle of the case. As he watched through despair-filled eyes a light blinked briefly on the panel, but it stopped as a crackling sound emanated from the case and a small puff of smoke rose into the air.

  His way of controlling The Swarm had gone, destroyed by his own hand. Standing and staring at the case one of his men who had heard his cry rushed into the room. Without thinking he turned and smashed his still smoking pistol into his face and screamed at him to get out. The man turned and fled.

  He was not sure how long he stood staring at the ruined device, his mind trying to comprehend the enormity of the disaster, but eventually the shouting and other noises seeping through the open door slowly brought him out of his trance. As usual his primary emotion was anger and this reared its head again, filling every pore and cell of his body with the need to avenge the di
saster that had befell him. Giving the briefcase one last look he turned and strode from the room. He needed to be the leader again.

  His men, the ones who had remained loyal, all stood uncertainly in his living quarters. They had all heard the anguished scream and could tell by the look on his face what mood he was in. Not one of them wanted to bear the brunt of his venom and so avoided his stare and looked anywhere but in his direction. Bodies and body parts still littered the room bearing testament to the desperate battle fought and won. They all knew that the fact they had stayed loyal would not protect them from his wrath.

  Tanaka took in his surroundings, the blood, gore and human offal that covered every surface did not affect him. He was accustomed to such sights. The bodies lying everywhere, intertwined in death were difficult to identify as friend or foe. He did not care about them now; they were dead and of no further use to him.

  What mattered was how many warriors he still had under his command. His eyes searched and found a man whom he knew was loyal to him without question. He shot his arm out, pointing at him.

  “Sanchez. You are my new captain.” He watched carefully the reaction of the others as Sanchez smiled and nodded his acceptance. Some looked relieved not to have been selected, but others shot envious and angry glances at the man who now ranked higher than all of them. His mind stored all the information in an instant for use later.

  He looked around the room. “We don’t have time to clear this up now, I need to know how many remained loyal. Gather the community.” When no one moved, he pointed his pistol at them and screamed, “NOW!”

  Electrified into terrified action they turned and fled.

  Standing in his now quiet and empty, if ruined, butcher-shop living quarters he forced himself to be calm and consider his next move. Eventually the rising noises and shouted commands from outside indicated that the community had gathered and drew him to the door. Slowly making his way through the room he stepped over bodies as he finalized in his mind what they must do next.