End Times, Inc. (A Great & Continuous Malignity)

by David S. Wellhauser

  Where the dream broke into sleep Matt wasn’t exactly certain. Still, there was a point where he recognised he was no longer alone. As his eyes fluttered open there was a delicate pressure on his mouth; then there were China’s eyes—almost flush to his own. Normally, he would rise to consciousness hard, alert, and tense. This was the pattern since she’d been stolen from him, but again with her the old calm returned; the peace he’d not known going on five years washed over him. Releasing his mouth, the woman leaned back and he saw Leonor watching him—smiling. “You shouldn’t papa.”

  “What?”

  “Cynthia—you shouldn’t.” China answered, but there was no reproof in the voice.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, papa—we understand.” This, coming from a child not yet five, was disconcerting; coming from his daughter it was humiliating.

  “We’re not upset, Matteo.” He turned back to Bob. “We understand how it is—but if she gets pregnant, or is working for Zakara...”

  “I understand.” As Feargal looked down at his feet the woman’s hand touched the side of this face and the response was, again, electric—just as it was so long ago in Shea’s. Just as then, he was unable to disguise his response. There was something unnatural about the dream and as though reading his thoughts, as she probably had, China smiled and nodded.

  “It is true. Here we are almost a physical presence.”

  “It’s a special place that momma has made for us all—a place safe from grandfather.” The child presented the word with a bitterness which was odd for one of her years. Still, Botrous had stolen Leonor from her mother; then convinced the child her father had murdered her. That kind of duplicity had an effect and this affect would haunt Zakara in what was coming down on them all. What that was remained unclear, but it would be archetypal—of that he was convinced.

  China adjusted the blanket over him so Leonor wouldn’t see; at least that is what he supposed. It was only now, that Matt was secure in the knowledge they were safe from the prying eyes of Botrous and the Cinn’s vermin that he looked about the room. It was the same as the Three Rivers—it was the motel. “Just,” China answered the look, “a representation from your mind.”

  “I see. Just the image?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, papa, but we’re not good at filtering, yet.” The child’s vocabulary was worrisome.

  Leonor laughed, but China was pleased. Then the woman’s face darkened and Feargal knew something was coming. “Until the birth she was protected from my change—but during the birth the change came full on me and in the process Leonor absorbed some aspects of the conversion and all of my memories; all of my experiences.”

  “What aspects?” Perhaps Matt should have been more concerned with the memories, but for the moment he was worried what the change had done to her.

  “Psychic abilities, for one—her skills are getting stronger, too. However, there have been no physical transformations—internal or external.”

  Matt breathed easier and sat up, aware that he was naked under the blanket, pulling Leonor to him. “It isn’t that I am upset with the change, or that I do not want your mother.” China stroked the side of his face with her animate hair.

  “I know, papa. It’s what grandfather wishes to do with me in a few months.”

  “A few months?”

  “When I turn five.”

  “Are you sure?” China asked.

  “No, but there’s been a lot of whispering.” Matt nodded, not wanting to believe it, but seeing no reason to believe that Zakara would offer her a reprieve of a year or more—even a few months.

  “I’ll find you.” Stroking her hair, Feargal tried to reassure the child.

  “You can’t promise that, papa. I know you want to but it isn’t possible.” It was clear in most ways Leonor was no longer a child—perhaps she’d never been one.

  “But, still, I will find you.” What struck him wasn’t his determination to find her, but that this was all he wanted. If only he could put his family back together Matt would forego revenge—if only. With his back against the headboard and Leonor in the crook of his arm, China crawled between his legs and rested her head upon his chest.

  It were as though the eternity separating them had vanished in this instance and the trio experienced a sense of wholeness they’d never had as a family, and that China and he had only experienced those brief months in Dilmun. The moment was perfect.

  “We need to speak of Zakara.” China said.

  “There goes the moment.” The woman tagged him playfully on the chest; then sat up and looked at him.

  “It’s grandfather.” China nodded as the child spoke.

  “I so need to finish with him.”

  “You do, but that may be more difficult than you think.” China answered. “Zakara may be Shaitan.”

  “I do not understand?”

  “The leader of the Red Cinn.” Leonor again.

  “The Red Cinn are the most dangerous of the Cinn. Captivity has its perks.” China, kneeling before him, spoke.

  “Why...”

  “They’re the ones that wish to return to the Earth as conquerors.”

  “Make humans slaves.”

  “No,” Leonor was emphatic on this point, “they want to convert humans and enslave the Metahumans. Any humans left over they intend to kill.”

  “Oh, those Cinn.”

  “But we can’t be certain.” China said, pulling the child to her for comfort. Bob wanting the comfort more than the child seemed to need it.

  “How do I find out?”

  “You could always pick up some members of Dragoste or Ajutor—or the H+ leadership.” Leonor answered.

  “That’s not so easy.”

  “No, but it seems our best chance—short of you confronting Zakara; that you wouldn’t survive.”

  “Don’t be so sure. He doesn’t seem to be able to hurt me.”

  “That’s true!?” Leonor gasped.

  “Seems to be. He tried at the spring, when they took you and your mother, but couldn’t—with his magic, at least.” The two women stared at him in disbelief.

  “Matteo,” China whispered, hoarsely, “I’ve seen him deconstruct people with that—literally.”

  “Doesn’t work with me.”

  “Then confronting him might be a good idea—if you can get him alone.”

  “Not so easily done.” Leonor from within her mother’s arms—eyes wide from the revelation.

  “But there are others I might try first.”

  “Such as?” China asked.

  “Melissa’s no longer possible...”

  “And that,” China interrupted, “has caused havoc down here.”

  “Where?” Voice hopeful.

  “Mexico,” China answered, hesitantly, “I believe. Not sure because I recognise no landmarks and have been kept in rooms without windows—mostly.” Looking down at the child, the woman stroked her head. “She’s probably on the Southwest Coast—but we’re not certain.” Matt knew they’d not be much help there; Zakara was a lot of things, but he wasn’t sloppy.

  “About the havoc,” he continued, “what kind?”

  “Thin Man...” China began.

  “Patrick Wilson.”

  “His name?” Leonor wondered, and Matt smiled in answer. The woman seemed to be unaware of his relationship to Wilson, or what had triggered their interest in him—if she even gleaned such an interest. Apparently, it was possible to keep part of himself locked away from the pair. Yet, it was possible they knew of Patrick, but just weren’t saying.

  “What of Thin Man?”

  “He’s pissed and tried to hurt me, but the others stopped him. That’s not the real concern. Everyone’s concern is what Halton will do—Melissa and he were genuinely in love.”

  “This is what happens when you play both sides.”

  ***

  The dream faded when all three went to sleep and he woke the next day with the experience still fr
esh in his mind; nor did it fade over the drive to Portland.

  Cynthia had been right about Burlington, at least in part. But as long as they didn’t attempt to enter the town from any of the Cascade Highway exits the town militia allowed them to pass. There were a few tense moments when they saw the woman was a Meta, but in the end they chose the path of least resistance. Having her out of their county was enough, but Matt was certain such largesse would not last much longer. Still, they were allowed through the Cascade barricade and caught the I5 ramp with no problem.

  Not only was the I5 choked with abandoned vehicles, but it ran a gauntlet of towns and cities. After Mt. Vernon, just south of Burlington, they gave up on this. If the Vernonites were more hostile than the Burlingtonians they were less organised—which allowed Feargal to bluff his way through with an empty AK he picked up beside an abandoned Hummer. South of Vernon they hopped onto the 534; then the 9. Afterwards, they followed the Stillaguamish River for a while; with that giving up, or pushing too far east, the pair, with the help of a local map app chased a series of country roads, with varying degrees of success. There were the occasional encounters at small towns along the way with what few citizens remained in them holding the few roads in and out of these. Most gave them directions around, but some had driven the pair off with gunfire.

  The end result of their drunken shimmy down the back roads of Washington and Oregon was to turn what should have been less than a four hour drive into a good 12 hours. They’d left Sedro-Woolley sometime after six and it was almost seven when the pair first saw the skyline of Portland. There were no spires; no Meta-magical high-rises; no wonder; no breath-taking vistas beyond what was on offer on a regular basis. However, it was the journey’s end—for the moment—and after the day on the road in the wake of the DPs this was more than enough. It would take the Northwest months—years—to recover from the last several days; that was if the incursions stopped. Much of this would depend on the Canadians. Most Americans did not believe his people had it in them, but there had been no rumour of what was happening north of 49.

  Somewhere northwest of Portland, on the eastern shore of the Columbia they pulled over. It was plain to both that rolling up to a barricade with nothing but an empty AK, a smile, and a bluish Meta was not going to win them entrance; could well earn them several rounds in the face. Matt fired off a text to Jonah and they waited.

  The shadows were lengthening significantly and they were less than a couple hours from sunset, but neither wished to risk a nervous picquet after dark. While they waited, both climbed out and stretched their legs. They were just on the outskirts of Woodland, Portland and east of the I5. There was a lot of fir, hills, scrub, and the smell of the ocean was clean and strong. As Matt twisted there was a satisfying ricochet of vertebrae; taking a pull on the water-bottle he passed this to Cynthia. Matt’s phone chirruped and he read the message. “What’s it say?” Cynthia asked, setting the bottle on the hood.

  “Wants me to turn the GPS on.”

  “A moment of truth.” Matt smiled, but it was just that. He’d been losing a lot of trust for about everything since Milwaukee and here he was asked to embrace it again. This he did, but his gut tightened over the effort. Then there was the waiting. By the time Cynthia saw the SUVs—always SUVs—hammering up the road the sun was sinking in the West. In a couple of minutes the pair was standing beside the vehicles anxiously when the doors popped and out climbed no one Matt knew. He had supposed there wouldn’t be a familiar face with the fall of Cody, but they were such an odd mixture of youth and age—some nearly geriatric. All were human, as far as both could tell, but that was to be expected.

  Quickly enough, Matt received a confirmation password from the team leader and all were on the road back to Portland. More news, that’d he been missing since leaving the herbal shop in Seattle, came out in the ride. Metas had been keeping a low profile in the city because of Archaic anxieties and government crackdowns on any supposed disloyalty. The perception of this came in any form of denunciation by an Archaic or local government. There was now only one reaction to this and that was placing the suspect on a reservation. There was a counterpoint to this overreaction and that was that Meta controlled regions were doing something similar to the Archaics, but these were more cattle pens where they were kept until transformation could be effected.

  There was some open disagreement about which of these strategies was worse. Matt, for his part, didn’t really care because there was nothing to be done about it for the moment. Luckily no one was asking his opinion. But he was happy enough, when they reached the piquet, they had their passes ready. Once through this it was a quiet ride down the often darkened streets. The local power stations had been compromised by H+ provocateurs; as a result the city was experiencing rolling black-outs. Consequently, there had been a lot of rioting since and this had only been recently brought under control.

  Every now and then the SUVs would pass through a neighbourhood with power—by this time the evening had deepened so there wasn’t even a strip of purple scraping the skyline—and the signs of rioting were everywhere. Some houses were still smouldering; while others had been riddled with hundreds of rounds from what appeared to be assault weapons. It seemed as though the Northwest between the Rockies and the Pacific was in a state of siege, or a smoking ruin. What must the rest of the country look like? The south-western border was rumoured to have been devastated, but the Great Lakes were holding. Still, there were suggestions southern Florida was in jeopardy from the Caribbean; then there were the Atlantic boat people.

  Fortress America? Could it be that simple, and if simple then how likely would this be to succeed—especially if Zakara opened the rift for the Cinn in North-eastern Mexico? Shaitan? The drift he’d been experiencing split open and Matt was back in Portland flowing through another blacked-out neighbourhood. Then the truck slowed and pulled to a stop. Looking over to Cynthia he smiled in the darkened cab and thought he could almost see a glimmer of her bright white teeth against the blue of her lips and the darker pink-blue of her gums.

  “What,” leaning forward, “are we stopping for?” A woman, maybe 20, smiled casually from the passenger’s seat.

  “We’re to be met here.” The voice had the vague flutter of a Southie, but Feargal could not be certain.

  “Jonah?”

  “I don’t know who that is.”

  “We were just hired to bring you here.” This might have explained the great variety in age, but none of those riding with them, nor any of those they’d seen in the other truck, seemed to have the hardened look of mercenaries. Early days.

  “Any news about what happened up north after Blaine?” The driver swivelled in his seat at the question. He was in his late 30s and looked to have been living rough for some time.

  “The Canadians,” flat Midwestern, “have retaken Alberta and BC from the East and US forces from the South; this halted an invasion of Alaska.”

  “Alaska, fuck this was a lot bigger than I thought.”

  “Apparently, the woman answered, it was a lot bigger than anyone thought. They’re rushing troops from the East and the South to reinforce the borders and the Canadians, but it seems to be over.”

  “Do you think this might be a feint?” Cynthia asked.

  “It is possible,” the man answered, “but it doesn’t seem likely what with the numbers that headed south and north. All the same, we’re going to have to wait and see what happens next.” Always seemed the way with Zakara, and that was the biggest part of the problem—Intel. Seemed the Metas had all kinds of information about the Archaics and their plans, but it was not working, effectively, the other way round. That would have to change if they were to push back and stop what Botrous had planned in the New Year—if he were planning it so soon after Leonor’s fifth.

  “Have there,” Matt asked, “been any H+ prisoners.”

  “A lot of prisoners.” He answered. “At the moment the Canadians are sorting them out. They’ve put the lot in a deten
tion camp on the western shore of Vancouver Island. They’re being interrogated by both Canadian and US Intelligence; apparently the EU government that had been relocated to London wanted access but that isn’t being allowed. The UN either.”

  “Why’s that?” Cynthia asked.

  “We’re not interested in them cluttering up the procedure with ethics and laws.” Matt smiled in the dark, but he could sense the anger in Cynthia. Perhaps he should have made an observation, but not being certain on which side she was thought better of this.

  “You are upset?” The woman asked cautiously from the front seat. Even in the imperfect light of the night sky, Matt could see her hand moving to her sidearm. Matt leaned back, hopefully out of the line of fire, and waited for whatever was coming.

  But the driver reached out a hand to still her. Cynthia seemed to have gleaned the danger. “No, but it may not be the most effective manner to gather Intel.”

  “Probably not, but we’re beyond subtly and certainly beyond psychological warfare.”

  “Now,” Matt offered, “it is all blood and mayhem.” The woman leaned between the seats and smiled.

  “You see it.” Matt nodded—this appeared to be one of the few truths they’d all be able to accept moving forward.

  “Until this mess is sorted out, yes.” Relaxing. “When do you believe this mess will be sorted?”

  “You mean?” The driver asked, twisting around behind the wheel.

  “I’ve travelled down from Lynden, near Blaine, and what I’ve seen is all authority; all services; all State infrastructures have collapsed. Towns and cities have blockaded themselves and very soon there will be food riots and raids as the reality of the collapse sinks in.”

  “As we said, forces are moving into the Northwest—they’ll restore order immediately and all services, it has been suggested, should follow in a matter of weeks.”

  “Weeks?” Matt grumbled in disbelief. “The damage has been massive in the far north—Blaine is about gone—and civil order in Seattle is toast.”