by Rod Porter
The sun felt amazing on Jackson’s face. The artificial sun rays down in the colony could not compare. Nor could the atmosphere underground equal the natural smell of the outdoors. He had wandered to the surface with Stephanie and a handful of other colonists. There was a field where crops grew nearby. Once a month, small groups of the colonists ventured to the surface, worked in the fields, and brought the crops back down to Hivestown.
Hivestown had its own fields, but people grew tired of the blandness of the artificial fields and crops. Plus, the natural fields produced three times as many crops and also contributed to the hospital medicine stock that was used. Initially, Jackson had been opposed to going to the surface with Stephanie. He had been appalled at some of the stories of raids on what nomads viewed as the ‘treacherous colonies.’ But no group of them had ever been attacked while harvesting crops. The angels protected them while they worked in the fields, so their would-be attackers stayed away.
Hivestown used what remained of an old grocery parking lot to store its vehicles. Stephanie had to explain to Jackson that the angels watched over the site and killed any nomads or mercenaries who tried steal the vehicles. Jackson had doubted her at first, but when he saw that the lot was in plain sight of everything, he started to believe her. The angels, or aliens must have been keeping this site protected. There was no way that a bunch of cars would be able to sit out in the open like this and not be disturbed. Of course they were covered by long swathes of tarp in groups of three, but still they were out in the open for anyone to see.
They piled into two vans. All in all, there were fourteen of them. Stephanie had described the fields as quite a majestic place. Not counting the artificial greenery of Hivestown, Jackson had never seen such a green, healthy-looking field.
Yet Jackson was still an outsider. He was blindfolded before the vans left. These fields were of vital importance to the food source of Hivestown, and while Jackson had been accepted into their society, they still felt it a necessary precaution to keep the route to the fields a secret from him. Maybe after he had started a family they would finally trust him enough. Everyone in the vans had laid down roots in Hivestown. It was really a favor to Stephanie, in recognition of all her good work at the hospital, that Jackson was even allowed to join them.
After at least forty-five minutes of driving, Jackson’s blindfold was finally removed. He could not believe what he saw. He was looking into a valley of green plants, brown soil, and trees. There was even a stream of water that no doubt contributed to the healthy shades of green and brown that covered everything. It was a small paradise. He was fortunate to have been given a second chance to enjoy some of the few pleasures left in the world.
***
Jackson had been partnered up with a charming man named Richard, who appeared to be in his mid-forties. Their work was backbreaking, but it was made easier by their conversation. Richard had taken to telling Jackson how he himself had been accepted by the people of Hivestown, and how it was going to be the best thing that ever happened to Jackson.
“I feel very fortunate to have been found by the Hivestown scouts. I would have never met Stephanie. Never have had a child,” Jackson told Richard as they carried their bags of crops. The bags were heavy, and their clothes were soaked through with sweat from the hot sun.
“Well, the key to marriage is-”
There was a clicking noise that cut Richard off. This clicking noise was very familiar to Jackson, as was the sound that came after it: Richard’s bloodcurdling screams of pain. He had stepped into a booby trap. It was a snare trap, steel in construction, with serrated edges like the teeth of piranha. When a person stepped in the trap, it clamped shut on their leg. Richard’s wails of agony drew the attention of the rest of the colonists.
Jackson looked down to see blood oozing from Richard’s leg. The middle-aged man collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain. Jackson reacted quickly, jumping on top of Richard to prevent him from looking down at the wound. “Stay calm, Richard.” But that did no good. The man screamed even louder when he saw the blood staining through his pants.
Jackson was not doing any good like this. He needed to get some tools from the van, then maybe he could free Richard’s leg. The other colonists were rushing towards them to help. At least now Jackson did not have to feel bad about abandoning Richard to get to the van.
“Richard, I have to leave you for a minute. I’m going to get tools from the van and get you out of this thing.”
Richard grabbed him. “It hurts!”
“I know. I know. Look.”
Jackson gestured to the colonists that were running towards them.
“They’re coming over to help you. I’m going to run to the vans. I’ll grab some tools and we’ll get you out of this thing.”
With that, Jackson left Richard in a sticky puddle of blood. He was about halfway to the vans when he stopped dead in his tracks. He remembered why the click and the design of the trap were so eerily familiar to him. Frozen with fear, he developed goose bumps over every inch of his body. He turned around and started running back toward Richard. To his horror, he could see Richard, and the seven people who were at his side, reaching for the trap that was clamped to his bottom leg.
“No!” Jackson yelled as he ran toward them. “Leave it alone!”
He was almost there.
“Don’t touch-”
Jackson’s warnings were cut short by an explosion that sent him flying and blew Richard and his would be saviors to pieces. The trap had been rigged to explode if tampered with, as Jackson had sensed.
On the ground, covered in ash and dirt the only thing Jackson could hear was a constant ringing in his ears. The explosion had a small blast radius, but it had been very powerful. He could not see anything. His vision was nothing but a blur of colors as he stumbled to his feet. Running in the direction where he’d last seen Stephanie was only possible through adrenaline. Finally, his vision half returned. Jackson made out what looked like two armed men advancing on the lower fields where the colonists had been working. Still he could hear nothing, but he felt something thud against the back of his skull.
The force of the blow knocked him to the ground. A man gripping a carbine assault rifle stood over Jackson. The man aimed his gun down, poised to shoot Jackson, when he was riddled with bullets from an unknown source. A second man came to stand over Jackson, holding a pistol.
“Hivestown Bureau of Investigation,” the man said in his victorious stance. “Don’t be alarmed, you’re safe. It was just a small band of raiders. My men have killed the other two.”
That did not make sense to Jackson. Grateful that his senses were returning, he did the math in his head. An advanced booby trap, rigged to explode, leading the band of raiders to them. Followed up by an armed assault with only three men? It took a minute for him to work it all out in his head. The goose bumps returned.
“Listen,” he said, sitting up, still in pain. “You’ve got to rally your men. This is the beginning. That was just the first wave.”
The Bureau agent was shot from afar and dropped dead on top of Jackson in a bloody heap. Now that his senses were back, Jackson’s training kicked in like lightning. He rolled the dead body off him and hopped to his feet. In a matter of seconds he had analyzed the entire scenario. He and the rest of the villagers were at mid-ground level. The remaining villagers were heading towards the two vans. Jackson was surprised that they had known to head for cover, but he had wasted enough time thinking. He thrust the dead agent’s pistol in his waistband and relieved the marauder the agent had killed of his carbine and its ammunition. Scooping up the other two dead banditsweapons, he made a dead sprint to the vans. He could only hope that his wife was one of the few remaining colonists huddled against the vans for cover from the shooters in the hills.
“Push!”
The colonists did.
“Push!” Jackson yelled.
The colonists did again. Finally the van toppled on its side. Now they ha
d total cover.
“Everyone on your stomachs,” Jackson ordered. To Jackson’s relief, Stephanie was one of the remaining colonists and she was uninjured. Also to his relief, one of the remaining colonists was an agent of the Bureau of Investigation, and it had been his quick thinking that had led the civilians to cover and saved their lives.
The gunfire had finally subsided. Jackson knew that the shooters in the hills had a decision to make. They could not snipe their targets from a distance, as the van on its side now provided total cover. The shooters could either wait out their targets, or they could come down from their perches and engage them. Most likely they would choose the second. There was no way that they were going to wait them out; of this, Jackson was certain. The conflict had been very noisy, and it was bound to attract attention from other bandits, cannibals, or nomads. Whoever was trying to kill the villagers, they were not going to let someone else claim their prize. Jackson tried not to think about what the bandits wanted from them. All he knew was that he had defenseless people to protect, including his pregnant wife, and luckily, at least one armed individual at his disposal with some type of combat training.
“What’s your name?” he asked the agent.
“Billy.”
Billy had answered the question calmly with a steady look in his eyes. That confidence and calm told Jackson that they had a chance to get out of this alive.
“Okay, Billy, I’m going to need your help. We are not going to let these bastards kill us or these civilians. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going to need you to do exactly what I say, when I say. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now let’s see what we’re up against.”
The civilians put their heads down and huddled against the van’sundercarriage, as Jackson and Billy leaned their heads out to the side. Sure enough, there were four armed men advancing on their position from a distance. They had made the decision to come out of the hills and kill their targets rather than wait. Jackson would have waited for nightfall, but the bandits must not have been equipped for that.
“Okay we’ve got four targets, Billy. As far as we’re concerned, there are only four. We kill them and it’s over.”
Billy nodded gripping his carbine tighter.
Jackson pointed to a thick boulder about fifteen yards from the vans. “See that boulder? When I tell you, you make a run for it. Keep your body low and your feet fast. I’m going to cover you.”
“Yes, sir,” came the response. Jackson felt a pride he had not felt in a while. Billy was very brave.
Prone against the ground, Jackson took aim. He lined one of the advancing four bandits in his sights. The bandits continued to advancecompletely unprepared for what was about to happen. Jackson breathed to gain a better more fluid handle on his rifle. This was going to be a close call. He gave Billy a fifty-fifty chance that he would make it to the boulder without getting shot. If Billy didn’t make it, they were all going to die.
“Get ready,” Jackson intoned rhythmically. He continued to take aim. “Ready.”
He did not notice Stephanie watching him in total disbelief.
“Go!”
Billy took off. The bandits took aim from their distance of about seventy yards and fired at the moving target. Jackson squeezed the trigger and put a bullet right through the forehead of his target. One down, three to go. At the death of their comrade, the remaining three dropped to their stomachs.
“I’m good,” Billy called out, signaling that he had made it to cover safely. Jackson kept his sights on the field. The marauders were well trained. Dropping to their stomachs in the high weeds protected them from Jackson. But now they were at a disadvantage. A marksman had engaged them in an open field with no cover in sight. Not only that, but there was now a second gunman that they could not keep tabs on with their stomachs in the dirt. They did not dare raise their heads. They were dealing with a marksman. Jackson had scored a headshot from long distance with only one round.
Nearly seven minutes went by. Jackson was going to have to improvise. At least he knew that the remaining three were the only ones left of the band. If there had been more, they would have come to assist their comrades.
“Billy? You still there, soldier?”
“I’m here,” came the cool, confident reply.
Jackson kept his sights fixed on the open plains. “Can you make out any of the targets from there?”
There was a pause before Billy replied.
“No. I don’t see them.”
Suddenly one of them emerged from the weeds! Jackson shifted his sights to the left and fired on the bandit. It was odd that he was now further away. Jackson had to turn his back on Billy’s position to fire, not realizing that he had made a fatal mistake in doing so. The lone target he was shooting at was out of range, he realized, just in time to hear gunfire from behind him. Billy! The two other marauders had crawled through the tall grass and flanked Billy!
Jackson stood and ran for Billy’s position. He could see the valiant agent exchanging gunfire with the two bandits. Finally Jackson arrived at Billy’s side. The two bandits were confidently exchanging bullets with Billy, recognizing that he was not the marksman. Jackson dropped to a knee and pumped three bullets center mast, dropping one of the two. Two down, two to go.
The other panicked now that he realized the marksman had him in his sights. He began to run east, as he was no longer in the tall grass and dropping to his belly would not provide him cover. Jackson drilled him in the back with two shots. One left.
“I’m hit,” Billy said.
Jackson took stock of the situation. Billy had been shot in the side. “You’ll be fine,” Jackson said.
Billy smiled. “Just make sure you hit the bastard.”
Before Jackson could shove him back onto the ground, Billy had risen to his feet. Pressing his wound with his palm, he broke into a flat-out run back towards the vans.
“Damn it…” Jackson shouldered his carbine, waiting for the remaining soldier to take a shot at Billy.
Jackson scanned the terrain.
“Where are you?” he whispered to himself scanning.
“Where are you? Where are you?”
Billy continued to run, and was almost upon the van when Jackson heard the crack of a branch. Someone was coming up behind him. The shooter had doubled back. The goose bumps returned.
Jackson turned around like a flash and put a bullet right in the jugular of the fourth and final bandit.
It was over.
Jackson advanced cautiously on the marauder. He had been careless. If the bandit had not snapped that twig, Jackson knew that he would have been killed. He came to stand over the man, who was slowly bleeding out from the neck. There was something familiar about his face. It was very grizzled and bearded. Clearly, they had been a band of nomads who lived off the land; maybe slavers, judging from their unkempt condition and hygiene. The man was trying to say something. Jackson bent down and looked into the face of the dying bandit, and it finally hit him. He knew this man.
Blood gushed from the dying man’s neck and throat. They looked deep into each other’s eyes. There was a look of total confusion on the man’s face, as Jackson got down on one knee.
Along with blood and spit, one word escaped from the marauder’s mouth. The man’s voice and eyes showed uncertainty and heartache.
“General?”
Jackson reached out and took the man’s hand in his. They stayed that way, hand in hand, looking one another in the eye, until he gasped his last breath and died.
SEND-OFF
The day finally came. Troy would be making the trip on a carrier plane, piloted by Myriad herself, who had left Sergeant Michaels to oversee training at the flight academy in her absence. Accompanying Troy was Delta squad, a battalion of thirty five troopers, and Mickey, the emissary for the Catholic Church. Troy still needed a first officer. Major Cartwright had unofficially assumed the posi
tion. The newly promoted Colonel had proved his loyalty in the island offensive. Things had not gotten personal for him when Troy had assumed command of that mission on the ground. Cartwright recognized the need for order and chain of command above his own personal feelings. On that basis, Troy felt the colonel a suitable candidate for now. He would be making the trip as well.
Demoskeena had made a surprise appearance to see the group off; a surprise to everyone but Troy. He knew what the Prime Minister’s gripe would be.
“I find this unacceptable, General,” said Demoskeena. He had been accompanied to the takeoff site by his new eight-man security detail. “I was under the impression that the Church would be granted an emissary on each of the departing flights.”
“You were mistaken, Prime Minister.” Troy was not going to bend. “I am sorry for the confusion. You will have one emissary accompanying my unit on the trip to Africa. Mickey will be representing the Church on the ground. Unless, of course, you have changed your mind?”
Demoskeena was livid but he had no cards to play. He had come out publicly in support of the Unconformed, and he had been given his security detail in return. Troy and he would have to continue their political dance when he returned. The Prime Minister and head cleric figured he would give one more attempt.
“I really must insist,” he said, “that I send two aides to accompany Father Mickey. One man cannot hope to shoulder the entire burden of representing the Church on his own. And since none of my other people are cleared to accompany the other departing groups, I would look on it as a personal favor if I could have two aides accompany my lone emissary.”
It was a shot in the dark.
“Sorry, Prime Minister. One emissary is all we will be taking.”
Clearly, Troy had decided. The entire team began boarding the plane. Troy nodded to Tommy now a full-fledged member of Demoskeena’s new security detail, before boarding. Troy was relieved that, for the first time, he would have at least one person who could keep tabs on the Prime Minister in his absence.