Darkness on a Pale Blue Stone

by D. T. Peterson

  "So, if I believed that Santa gave me purpose, you would find that an acceptable, logical belief?"

  "I doubt you could have faith in Santa the way I have faith in God."

  "You're saying a belief is as valid as the amount someone believes it?"

  "No. All I am saying is that God is the only way to have purpose outside our selfish reasons."

  Jake scoffed. "Selfish reasons?" He turned to Lash, who in no way wanted to join the conversation. Regardless, Jake asked, "Lash, why are you here?"

  "Jake, please..." she objected.

  "No, really. Why are you with us?" Jake insisted.

  "Didn't we already talk about this?" she said, hoping he would interrogate someone else.

  "Yeah. And you said it was because we all needed protection."

  "I said... Look, all I know is that my energy is better spent helping Gresson and Michael do what they are doing, not sitting around just trying to survive. Especially after seeing what we are up against," Lash said.

  "See? No selfish reason. No God," Jake said to Lucas.

  "I did not say people cannot do things that are unselfish. People just cannot know the true reasons for their actions the way believers know," Lucas explained.

  "But how do you know there is a 'true reason?'"

  Lucas sighed. "I can't explain how I know. I just... know."

  Jake scoffed. "Of course you do."

  Much to everyone else's relief, the conversation failed to continue. It did, however, spawn questions of "purpose" in the minds of everyone there, questions most had already asked before. Why am I doing this? most wondered. Clearly the Exterminators needed to be stopped, but why were they the ones to stop them?

  The group ended the day by camping on the side of the road. No suitable shelter was nearby and the sky was cloudless, leaving little fear of rain. Everyone agreed to take shifts watching the road for any danger.

  The night was uneventful and they continued their journey the next morning. Within an hour, they crossed into Georgia.

  "One more state," Sean commented, somewhat anxious about what lay at their destination.

  Late that afternoon, they passed a pack of coyotes on the highway. There were four of them, sniffing through trash that littered the road between cars. It was the first time the group had encountered any wild animals besides birds on their journey. They stopped to watch.

  "They certainly don't seem to mind all that's going on," Adam said.

  Lash, with her gun drawn, said, "Should we, I don't know, scare them off or something?"

  "Aw, they look cute," Marie said. "They can't be that dangerous. Why don't we just walk around?"

  They crept closer, though they stayed to the far side of the highway. Lash, Adam, Gresson and Jake all kept their guns ready.

  "Oh, wonderful," Jake sighed. It was now clear the coyotes were not only devouring trash, but the remains of a human body.

  "I take it back. They aren't cute," Marie said, looking away.

  Lash looked over at Gresson, who seemed very unsettled. "You okay?" she asked.

  "I'm fine," he replied, not moving his eyes from the animals.

  They eventually passed, leaving the coyotes alone. The animals extended the same courtesy.

  The group found a motel that night a few miles south of Savannah and stayed there. They had little interest in staying outside, now conscious of the wild animals that could be nearby.

  The following day displayed the same weather as the last two and the Cases began to miss the cooler temperatures in New York, along with their climate control at home. When the group stopped for lunch, they saw a soldier on horseback riding along the highway, heading south. The soldier cautiously approached what appeared to be a formerly deceased president.

  "Are you..." he began to ask.

  "Gresson, yes," Gresson responded. "Where are you headed?"

  "Uh, to find you. Colonel Valdez from Quantico sent me."

  "I assume he told you to find me at New Salvador like I asked?"

  "Yeah, that's what he said."

  "Well, I expected to be there by now, but we had to take an extended detour. Tell Valdez to add four days to my other instructions."

  "Okay..." the soldier said, not sure what other instructions Gresson might be referring to.

  "Any news from the north?" Gresson asked.

  "Well, the Exterminators hit Philadelphia," he replied.

  "What?" Lash asked in shock.

  "Oh, do you not know about the Exterminators?" the soldier asked.

  "We do. We even saw them just a few days ago," Michael said.

  "All the way down here?" the soldier exclaimed. "We heard a report about them being farther south, but figured someone had been wrong about the direction."

  "But... what happened in Philly?" Lash asked, concerned for the few others she knew there.

  "The Exterminators came in with their flame-throwers and lit up the whole place," the soldier explained, giving an undertone of awe and fear when he said the now-popular name of the invaders. "After a few days they had completely destroyed nearly half the city. The nearby troops and some locals prepared to attack, but the day they went out to mount a defense, the Exterminators were gone,"

  "Damn..." Jake said.

  "Is the army preparing to attack them?" Adam asked.

  "I don't know. To be honest, most of the folks in DC are still struggling to build a perimeter. Seems worthless, though, if these things can just burn it down," the soldier said.

  "Well, tell the colonel that defense alone is the objective right now, and again, add four days to my instructions," Gresson ordered.

  "Yes. Yes, sir," the soldier said, still hesitant about talking to a former president who had been shot in the head two years ago. He slapped his horse and rode back in the direction he came.

  "So, what instructions?" Jake asked.

  "You'll see soon enough," Gresson replied.

  They camped along the road that night as no suitable buildings were around. They made assignments for keeping watch, this time paying particular attention for any wild animals. The waxing moon loomed over them as they laid their sleeping bags down on the asphalt of I-95.

  Chapter 28

  Georgia - August 24, 2072

  They continued their journey the next day, eager to make good progress. Gresson estimated they were only a few days away. Their goal was to end up in Brunswick, Georgia by sundown.

  After walking for several hours, they arrived at a bridge. Halfway across, there appeared to be a small group of people relaxing on both sides of the road. Unfazed, the group continued on, paying little attention to the others until they began to come closer.

  "Okay everybody. There's a toll for crossing the road here. Lemee see what you got," one of them said. He was one of the few wearing a shirt, and it was missing sleeves. Nothing seemed to unite this group except for a small yellow symbol crudely drawn on their shoulders.

  "That is very cute," Jake teased, pointing at the shared tattoos. "But..." Jake, Lash, Adam, and Gresson all pulled out their guns. At the same time, those standing in the way pulled theirs, but it was clear the would-be bandits were not accustomed to resistance.

  "Whoa, whoa. This ain't us, man. This ain't what we want. We should just let 'em go," one said.

  "You should listen to your friend," Gresson said.

  "Alright, everyone relax," a woman said. She stepped forward with her gun still drawn, but after a moment of eyeing the group and curiously looking over Gresson, she lowered it. "You look really familiar."

  "What the hell? You're that president! The one that got shot!" another on the bridge exclaimed.

  "Damn. Uh... okay, you can go on. No charge," one of the men said. He motioned for everyone to lower their guns.

  "Smart," Lash said. Adam, Jake, Gresson, and her continued to keep their guns raised as they led their group across the bridge. Only until they were a fair distance away did they put away their weapons.

  "You see all that stuff the
y had?" Jake asked.

  "Yeah. Looked like they'd been pulling that off for a while," Lash said.

  "Should we go back there?" he asked.

  "And do what? We take care of them, another group comes along to replace them. At least they don't seem to have the guts to do anything all that bad," she replied.

  "Makes you wonder how the rest of the world is reacting," Lucas said.

  "We discussed long-term reactions in electronically deprived communities when researching Project Blackout," Michael said. "As much as I don't want to say it, a majority of people are going to be dead within months, at least."

  "You really think people will get that violent?" Sean asked.

  "Not everyone, yet. But once immediate food sources run out... Who here knows how to grow crops?" Michael asked. No one answered. "How to raise animals?" Again no answer. "How to build, well, anything?" In silence, the group began to realize how irrevocably damaged the world really was. Not only had they lost access to this information, but the information itself no longer existed. Every electronic piece of knowledge humanity had saved was gone, and physical books were rare. The group had known all this before, but, now, weariness from the journey was taking its toll.

  Jake stopped walking. He stood, staring at the road.

  "Jake?" Lash questioned.

  He gave no response for a moment, then mumbled, "It's really hopeless, isn't it."

  "That's not..." Lash tried to say.

  "No, really! Say we stop the Exterminators. Say we send 'em back to where ever the hell they came from. We're still screwed. They still won. Mike, you said a majority of people die in months. What about years?" Jake asked somberly.

  Michael ran his hand through his hair. "Years won't be significant number-wise. For any technologically advance culture... remember that majority I mentioned? Well, for cultures suddenly separated from technology they are dependent on, we theorized the number dead in four to seven months could be... up to 90%."

  The number hit everyone like a brick. Jake's sentiment became shared by everyone.

  Michael continued. "For less developed cultures, they could experience far less impact. But with a non-existent international community, territorial warfare will have little to oppose it. So, to answer your question, Jake, in the best possible scenario... Years from now the few million survivors on Earth, if that, will be scattered and struggling to survive, probably attempting to relearn things previously known for centuries. Maybe a few people will get things like batteries, rudimentary machines, and basic medicine put together, but limited access to knowledge and resources will make things hardly sustainable. My guess, for whatever the hell that's worth, is that for generations, humans will merely be scavengers. And that's best case scenario. If we don't figure out how to turn off the interference signal, or stop the Exterminators..."

  "Gresson, you said you have a plan. You said there's a reason for all this," Alice said.

  "I..." Gresson started. He stared off into the horizon.

  "Gresson, what is our plan?" Lash demanded.

  "I... I don't have a plan for all that," he said.

  No plan? Was there a purpose to all this? The dark hopelessness set in among the group in a way it had not since the blackout, exactly 3 weeks ago. They stood on I-95 for nearly twenty minutes, staring across the landscape surrounding them. The road stretched out in two separate directions, but neither way called to them anymore. None of them had ever felt quite so lost, and alone.

  Lucas was the first to move. He said nothing, but walked south toward what had been their source of hope for the past three weeks.

  "Come on," Adam said. "We can't just stand here." With blank stares, everyone slowly began to head south. They walked for the rest of the day in utter silence, while the world around them seemed dead. The only movement they saw came from the sun, receding behind the horizon by late afternoon. They had arrived at Brunswick and stayed the night at an abandoned house.

  The next day's travel was equally detached. There was little moving the group forward, except for Lucas' persistence and the fact that they had no where else to go. Anyone walking nearby was met with blank faces and limited responses. The group drudged on the full day, but their pace far slower than it usually was. The highway exit numbers became single digits and by sunset, they had passed the final exit in Georgia. They camped along the road, just before the bridge that marked the border of Florida. That night, each member of the group took a turn keeping watch, scanning the darkness for movement, and listening to the nearby water run by.

  Gresson couldn't help but feel jealous of the running stream as he sat on the side of the bridge during his shift. The water had its purpose laid before it; its own personal destiny was to simply go with the flow. He wanted so much, in this moment, to simply be pushed in a direction, right or wrong. He wanted to be able to release the responsibility of leading those who followed him and for those he would be with again tomorrow. A light breeze rolled across the river, blowing the trees on the shore. Gresson felt it pass over him. As much as he wanted nature itself to take him away, there was some small part in him that refused. He gripped the railing, not just to steady himself from the wind, but to ground his own mind to the idea that he had to define his own purpose. No one was going to do it for him, regardless of whether he wanted that or not. He would find a way to save this world, predictions, others, and reality itself be damned. He still had no plan, but for now, his purpose was to find one.

  Chapter 29

  Florida - August 26, 2072

  "I see you brought along quite the entourage."

  It was early in the group's journey for the day and they were now approaching two people, a man and a women, both wearing smiles. It was the woman who had spoken and Gresson laughed when he realized who it was.

  "I suppose I'm good at making friends," he replied. He embraced them both. "It feels like it has been a long time."

  "Only three weeks and three days. But the world's a little different now, isn't it?" the man said. He had tousled black hair, a frail frame, and pale skin. With his dark green eyes he scanned the group that stood behind Gresson.

  "Yes, yes it is. There is a lot we... we all need to talk about," Gresson said.

  "I'm sure," the woman said. "How about you start with why it took you so long to get back. And why you have eight people following you..." Her appearance was quite different from her companion. She was very attractive, with straight black hair, dark tan skin, and bright hazel eyes.

  "I suppose introductions are in order," Gresson said. "Jordan, Marcus, this is Michael Case and his family. He was working on Project Blackout."

  "We got your message right before the Arrival. Project Blackout wasn't in New York?" Jordan said. She brushed her hair behind her ear as she eyed the container in Gresson's hand.

  "No, and it was being modified. The original was not intact. I have the newer model, and hopefully Michael can help us figure out the differences."

  "Really? How did we miss that?" Marcus asked, frustrated.

  "It was last minute to begin with. We're lucky Alex got anything," Jordan replied. It was the first time since the blackout that Gresson had heard his first name.

  Marcus sighed and shook hands with Michael. "I guess we'll be working together, then. I'm sort of the tech person."

  "Okay, so everyone else is...?" Jordan asked.

  "I'm Alice, Michael's wife. This is Adam and Marie, our kids," Alice said, rolling forward in her chair.

  Marcus noticed the bandages and said, "I take it that chair is a new addition?"

  Alice nodded. "One I'll be thrilled to get rid of."

  "Alright, well, this is Sean, Lucas, Jake, and Lash," Gresson said. "Everyone, this is Jordan and Marcus. If it was not obvious yet, they are from New Salvador."

  "Not trying to be an ass here Alex, but... um... they are here why?" Marcus asked.

  "Being an ass just comes naturally, apparently," Jordan interjected.

  "Hey, I'm just..." Marcus said,
attempting to defend himself.

  "They are here for mutual benefit. I think the situation calls for us to finally accept some outside help," Gresson said.

  "Hey, it's fine by me. Just don't know if it will fly with Adron, that's all," Marcus said, though the way he crossed his arms suggested he was uncomfortable for more personal reasons.

  "Adron is not in charge..." Gresson argued.

  "Okay, let's talk about this back home," Jordan said. "For now, it's good to see you, Alex. I'm glad you're back."

  "Same here," Marcus concurred.

  They continued to New Salvador, which was only a few hours south. They conversed among each other, giving more detailed introductions, though Marcus and Jordan said little more besides their names.

  That afternoon, as they began to pass the first signs for Jacksonville, the group left the highway. A few backroads later, they arrived at the entrance of what appeared to be a small military base, partially hidden among nearby trees. It was surrounded by large, tan walls and signs warning trespassers to stay away. Derelict vehicles served as barriers the group had to navigate around to reach the sole entrance. A solid steel gate towered in front of them.

  Marcus issued a short phrase to those behind the gate. It consisted of several quick, short syllables. To Michael it sounded like, "Op - Hm - We - Ree," though there seemed to be tones he did not recognize as anything from English. The password was immediately answered by the steel doors opening.

  As the group stepped inside, Marcus said, "Welcome to New Salvador."

  Chapter 30

  International Space Station - August 26, 2072

  Andre rested his head against the glass as he peered out into space, looking at the brightly lit moon, moving past at an imperceptible speed. The dark maria, scattered craters, and rising mountains of the lunar surface. They were far more peaceful to look at than the clouds on Earth, which hid unknowable horrors.

  It had been almost a month since the world had gone dark, but no one aboard the station was any less rattled. Days were filled with consuming rations and wandering the bays. Most of the research the scientists had once been preoccupied with had been abandoned, only passively dealt with to pass the time for those who could set their minds to it. Andre occasionally dealt with small maintenance issues that sprung up, but most of his time was spent like it was now, staring outside, hoping for some purpose to present itself and free him from the hell that life on the station, high above the silent world, had become.