CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The main wall around Webster City was fifty miles long, thirty feet high and topped with electrified razor wire. High guard towers stood a mile apart and a 50-yard-wide minefield lay in front of it.
The South Gate was one of five access points into the City. Like all the others, it had several machine-gun bunkers clustered around it and a heavy boom-gate across the road. The main users of the gate were farmers living in the rural belt around the City and troops sent out to sweep the hinterland for FA fighters and Outlaw brigands. Until quite recently, it was also a popular exit point for citizens who wanted to camp or hunt in nearby forests. However, when unknown assailants - probably FA fighters - started murdering them, their number dwindled rapidly.
Colonel Prentice handed his ID card to a fresh-faced soldier standing next to the boom-gate. The soldier lifted his clipboard to make a notation.
Prentice said: "Don't record me leaving."
"But sir?"
"You record it and you'll spend the next five years walking around an exercise yard, understand?"
The kid's lower lip trembled. "Yes, sir." He handed back the ID card. "Umm, sir, I should warn you that FA fighters have been sighted in the forests. Be careful."
A smile. "Thank you, son. In your shoes, I wouldn't have bothered to warn me. I'm grateful."
As Davidson drove under the boom-gate, Watkins said: "Nice kid."
Prentice said: "Yes, but too nice to beat the Freedom Alliance."
Davidson drove past a big sign that said: "YOU ARE NOW LEAVING WEBSTER CITY, THE ARK OF HUMANITY - PLEASE DRIVE CAREFULLY". Better advice would be to watch out for snipers. He followed the highway south under a full moon. After about twenty miles, the farms on each side slowly gave way to forest.
Prentice said: "I think we should offer Captain Handsome to the crows, don't you?"
"Yes."
Davidson turned up a dirt trail and stopped after twenty yards. He and Prentice dragged the rug-wrapped corpse of Captain Delray out of the trunk and into a clump of fir trees, where they sat it up against a tree.
Davidson tried to summon up some anger at Delray for sleeping with his wife, but couldn't manage it. Delray had paid a big enough price for the sins he committed and Barbara wasn't worth the emotional energy required.
Prentice looked pensively at the rolled-up rug and, to Davidson's surprise, launched into a eulogy of sorts. "Well, Tony, I guess I should say a few words before we go. To be honest, you weren't much of an officer, and you weren't much of a mole either - it didn't take me long to see your game. But you were the most handsome man who ever served under me. I guess that means something. In fact, I bet you thought you were too good-looking to die - God would always smile on you. Doesn't work like that, I'm afraid." Prentice stepped back and gave Davidson a sly look. "Anything you want to add?"
Davidson considered castigating Delray for sleeping with his wife. But Prentice didn't need to know about that. "No, I think you've covered everything."
A smile. "Good, then let's get moving."
They climbed back into the Cadillac and Davidson reversed onto the roadway. As he did, Helen Watkins said: "What was all that about?"
Prentice said: "What?"
"Talking to the corpse?"
"Oh, just saying goodbye."
"You don't seem very upset."
"I'm not."
Davidson drove along the road for another ten miles, until the forest thinned out and they entered Old East Chicago. He followed Prentice's directions and slowly drove through suburbs uninhabited for 300 years. The roads were cracked and pot-holed, and littered with rusted-out vehicles, tall grass and some trees. Most of the houses were tumbled-down wrecks buried in dense foliage and grass. Dogs and wolves prowled along the sides of the roads and eyed them suspiciously. Davidson had driven through Old Chicago several times, during daylight, without feeling concern. Now though, he sensed the ghostly presence of the millions who died agonizing deaths in this place during the Great Plague. Most never reached the medical help that wouldn't have saved them and their bodies became food for animals. Adding to his discomfit was the real possibility that Freedom Alliance fighters or Outlaw robbers might lurk in the shadows and, without warning, hose the Cadillac with gunfire.
After about fifteen minutes, Prentice ordered Davidson to stop in front of a large brick building marooned in the middle of a weed-encrusted concrete carpark. The twisted cross above the gable said it was once a church. The shattered building looked like it was etched on a gray background.
Prentice said: "Got a flashlight?"
"In the glove compartment."
Prentice pulled out the flashlight and turned it on. "Alright, let's go."
All three got out of the car.
Prentice looked around at the ghostly suburban landscape and sighed. "I could do with a glass of Scotch right now."
Davidson said: "Why are we here?"
"You'll find out. Don't worry, if it's not worth your while, you'll get a refund."
A wave of fear rippled through Davidson's body and washed up against his heart. Maybe Prentice brought him and Watkins out here to kill them. But that made no sense. Prentice could have done that long ago. Still, his hand hovered near his pistol.
Prentice used the flashlight to lead them across the overgrown carpark to the crumbling brick steps. The entrance was just a big gaping hole. Prentice led them inside, where they found a near-empty shell, with scorched walls and a smashed tile floor. Weak light dribbled through huge gaps in the roof and broken stain-glass windows. It looked like a monster had tossed the few remaining pews against the side walls. A statue of Jesus on the Cross was mounted high on the back wall.
Prentice realized he didn't need the flashlight and turned it off. "I brought you here because this is where Webster City really began."
Watkins said: "What do you mean?"
"This was originally a Presbyterian Church. Then Alexander Webster seized control of it and turned it into the headquarters of his cult."
Davidson said: "His cult? What are you talking about?"
Prentice half-smiled. "What do you know about Alexander Webster?"
A shrug. "What I was taught at school and read in Saving Mankind … oh, and saw in dozens of movies and mini-series about his life."
He looked at Helen Watkins. "And you?"
"Pretty much the same."
"Well, none of that was true. All lies."
Davidson felt giddy. "What?"
"Everything you've been told about Alexander Webster is a lie - everything. You've been brainwashed into believing he was a great man. He was not. In fact, he was a genocidal maniac. He did not create a vaccine to protect mankind against a super-virus. In fact, he released the super-virus that destroyed humanity."
Davidson's mind was in free-fall, corkscrewing wildly. "He released it?"
"Yes."
"Who told you that?"
"I found out myself. You see, about five years ago, I arrested a historian at Webster U call Daniel Kline. I suspected he was a Freedom Alliance sympathizer - which he was. His field of expertise was Ancient History, of all things. He certainly didn't study the Dark Years or the Great Plague. In fact, no professional historians study those events. Only the Church does that. Have you ever asked yourself why? Anyway, I searched his apartment and discovered he'd been privately researching the life of Alexander Webster, and had some documents which cast doubt on the official version. I confiscated them and told him to return to studying Ancient History, which I assume he did.
"However, I caught his disease and started doing my own research. The Great Plague tore history in two. So I spent years searching Old Chicago for abandoned computers that might mention Webster and then restoring them. Webster also made numerous enemies when he established Webster City. Several fled into the Badlands and wrote alternative accounts of his life and deeds which were not complimentary. Those accounts have floated around out there for centuries. I paid some Scavengers to look for them and the
y got their hands on a few."
Helen Watkins said: "Wow."
Davidson had trouble breathing. Oxygen crawled into his lungs. "What did you find out?"
"For a start, Alexander Webster - the real Alexander Webster - was not a biochemist. He knew as much about biochemistry as you or me. He was born in Chicago at the beginning of the Dark Years. His father was a cop, shot dead in the line of duty when he was four, and his mother an alcoholic who worked dead-end jobs. It seems he left school at twelve and joined one of the many street gangs killing and robbing to survive.
"At that time, not surprisingly, doomsday cults were springing up everywhere. One was a white-supremacist cult called the New World Church. Ring a bell? It believed the day of judgement was nigh and only chosen members of the white race would survive. Webster joined the church and discovered he had a gift for fire-and-brimstone preaching. Within a few years, he was its leader. Soon, he had about 20,000 followers. A familiar number? I even found a few photographs of him delivering a sermon in this church."
Prentice took a photograph out of his breast pocket and showed it to Davidson. Alexander Webster stood behind a pulpit, wearing a purple and gold robe, mouth open and arms outstretched. He had wild hair and looked much younger than in the photos of him that Davidson had seen.
Prentice said: "Anyway, he eventually decided to turn his prophecy of the end of the world into a reality. By the middle of the 21st century, the US military had made huge strides developing biological weapons, particularly genetically engineered plagues. Most of the work was done at its Institute for Biological Weapons near Chicago.
"However, as society fell apart, so did the institute. Eventually, it only had a few staff and no guards. Webster and some of his followers seized its most potent bio-weapon: a genetically engineered super-virus called Agent Pandora, and a vaccine developed to neutralize it. You see where I'm heading, don't you? Webster inoculated all of his followers and released Agent Pandora at every airport and transit hub still operating. Within months, he was the lord of all creation or, at least, what was left of it. That was the original sin upon which Webster City was built."
Davidson was so stunned he could hardly breathe. He desperately squeezed air into his lungs. "You mean, the plague didn't start in Russia?"
"Of course not. It had nothing to do with Russia. It was a homegrown catastrophe. I can see you're both shocked; I'm not surprised - I was stunned when I found out. Everything I was taught to believe was swept away. My whole world collapsed. But, at the same time, I knew I'd discovered the truth. It all fitted together. I felt like I'd recovered a long-lost memory. Then I got incredibly angry." He stared at them. "Are you alright? Do you need time to recover?"
Davidson took a few deep breaths. "No, keep going."
Helen Watkins nodded dumbly. "Don't stop."
A shrug. "OK. After the Great Plague, Webster decided, not surprisingly, that he wanted to be remembered as the savior of humanity, not its destroyer. So he claimed he was a heroic biochemist who invented the vaccine. That was easy, because few people knew the full story and the rest didn't want to know it. Then, after he died, his son, the second Chancellor, got someone to write a fake autobiography that repeated all of the lies he told."
"Saving Mankind?"
"Yes. It's a fairy tale from beginning to end. But the second Chancellor couldn't tell everyone they were alone on the planet because the founder of their city committed genocide. That wouldn't promote obedience. So, within a generation, the true story disappeared and Webster became the man who saved humanity from extinction."
"And gave the City its special mission to rebuild civilization."
"Correct."
After trying hard to push away what the Colonel was saying, Davidson gave up. The Truth penetrated him like a barbed spear. He thought about the billions of people Webster murdered, and those he killed in the name of Webster and his city, and shook with rage. "And that was why you switched sides?"
"It was one reason. I didn't want to keep hiding such a monstrous lie. But it wasn't the only one. When I joined the ISB, I truly believed in the City and its mission. I thought it was the ark of humanity. Then I fell in love with the cloak and dagger, and lost sight of myself for a while. But I eventually had to face the truth: the Chancellor and his cronies are evil men crushing human freedom. They've turned the City into a prison and the Freedom Alliance is the only hope of escape. After that, my only loyalty was to my uniform, but that wasn't enough."
"I've had the same journey."
"I'm not surprised. You see, the City made a big mistake when it recruited us into the ISB, because we're true believers. That means we're capable of disillusionment. It should have stuck to recruiting nasty opportunists. They're far more dependable. Anyway, that's why, a couple of years ago, I offered my services to the Freedom Alliance."
"You did the right thing."
"I hope so. But, whatever I do, I won't be able to wash all the blood off my hands." The Colonel loved pretending that life was a big game, so his somber tone was surprising.
"Does your wife know you're a traitor?"
"Hah. Of course not. She's a simple creature: she shops, plays tennis and gossips. I tell my mistress more than I tell her."
"You have two children, don't you?"
"Yes, both adults. I worry about what will happen to them if I'm caught. So I tell myself I'm doing this for them."
Watkins sounded raspy. "Are you the only person who knows the truth about Alexander Webster?"
"No. There are, of course, people in the Badlands who have a good idea, but nobody in the City hears from them. And, of course, every Chancellor has known the truth."
"Really? Joshua Webster knows?"
"Yes. You see, a secret dossier which contains the true story is kept in a safe in the Chancellor's office. There's only one key. When a Chancellor dies, the Palace Chamberlain takes the key off his corpse and gives it to the new Chancellor."
"How do you know that?"
"The present Chamberlain was recently accused of raping one of his staff. He told me about the safe, the key and the dossier. In return, I made his problem go away."
"My God."
A shrug. "Chancellors have to know the truth so they can guard against it ever surfacing. The dossier also reveals the location of three sealed containers of Agent Pandora that Alexander Webster did not use, and a sealed container of cultures that can be used to manufacture a vaccine against it. The contents of those containers will last for centuries if kept closed."
"You mean, the Chancellor used those cultures to create the vaccine against Agent Pandora that will be injected into every citizen during Immunization Week?"
"Correct."
"Then he'll release the Agent Pandora and wipe out all the Outlaws, including the Freedom Alliance?"
"Yes."
"He's insane."
"Of course. But there's logic to his madness. After 300 years, Webster City is on the verge of collapse. The birthrate is falling and morale is crumbling. The Outlaws are out-breeding us and the Freedom Alliance is getting stronger. Unless the City turns the tide of battle soon, it will be crushed. Then the Chancellor will end up swinging from a lamp-post, along with his family and friends. He has a lot to lose."
Davidson grinned. "It's no wonder we're losing the battle when the head of the Internal Security Bureau is a traitor."
A sly smile. "I must admit that I haven't been earning my paycheck recently. Unfortunately, my poor performance has been noted. I don't think the Chancellor trusts me as much as before. Indeed, my days in charge of the ISB may be numbered."
Watkins said: "If he releases the Agent Pandora, everyone in the City will know he's a mass murderer."
"No, they won't. They'll be told the plague originated outside the City, among the Outlaws, who are diseased creatures vulnerable to plague. Indeed, the plague will prove it's safer to live in the City. Beautiful, huh?"
"But you don't know where the Chancellor keeps the last th
ree canisters of Agent Pandora?"
"Correct."
"How can we find them?"
"I'm not sure. I want to discuss that with the Freedom Alliance."
"When will you do that?"
Prentice smiled and glanced around. "Very soon, I hope. That's the other reason I brought you here."
Davidson spun around and looked into every dark corner of the church. "They're sending someone?"
Prentice studied his watch. "Yes, he should be here in a few minutes."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Nobody move," a deep voice growled in the darkness. Davidson resisted the temptation to grab his pistol as five men wearing the standard red berets and khaki camouflage uniforms of the Freedom Alliance stepped through the facing side doors. They formed a horseshoe around the three from the City and cover them with automatic rifles. One false move and a withering cross-fire would cut down all three.
The closest FA fighter was a tall guy with a heavy beard. He waved his rifle. "Take your pistols out, very slowly, and lay them on the ground."
All three did as he commanded, very slowly.
"Now take two steps back."
They obeyed.
The man turned and stared at Prentice. "You're Colonel Prentice?"
"Yes. Were you sent to talk to us?"
"No, I'm just a grunt." The FA fighter turned towards a side door. "You can come in now, Commander."
Everyone turned and watched a man in an FA uniform enter the church. Normally, Davidson would have been impressed by his huge frame. However, he barely noticed that, because the guy was the first black man he had seen in the flesh. His skin was just dark enough to reveal his Afro-American heritage. It was like meeting an extra-terrestrial. My God.
The man looked at Prentice. "Hello, Colonel."
Prentice smiled. "Commander, I didn't expect you would turn up."
"We have important matters to discuss. I'm sorry you all had to lay down your weapons. However, this is the first time I've met your two comrades."
"I understand." Prentice turned to the others. "Let me introduce Commander Solon, the military leader of the Freedom Alliance."
Davidson realized the rumors that the military chief of the Alliance was called Commander Solon, and he was black, were true. For once, myth and reality meshed perfectly.
Prentice said: "Commander, let me introduce you to Helen Watkins, who's been working for the Alliance for some time."
The Commander turned to Watkins and nodded. "Please to meet you. Thank you for your help."
"A pleasure."
Prentice said: "And this is Major Davidson, from my bureau. He is, umm, a recent convert to your cause."
Solon said: "You vouch for him?"
"Yes."
"He shot several of my people yesterday?"
"I know. But he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and just doing his job. If I knew about the attack, I would have kept him well clear."
Solon frowned at Davidson. "They were a crack team - my best - so you must know what you're doing."
"I'm sorry that happened. It was a big mistake."
A shrug. "Nothing we can do about it now. Fortunes of war, I guess. You were surprised when you saw me. You've never met a black man before, have you?"
"Of course not. I heard rumors you were black and didn't believe them."
"Why not?"
"Only white people survived the Great Plague."
"Not true. Alexander Webster was a racist who only vaccinated his white followers. But several thousand people in the Badlands who weren't vaccinated survived the plague. They were from all races. Not surprisingly, their descendants kept a low profile. That wasn't hard. The Badlands is an enormous place."
Colonel Prentice said: "Enough history. We'd better get down to business."
"Yes. Have you located the canisters of Agent Pandora?"
"Afraid not."
The Commander frowned. "Damn. That's bad news - very bad. We're running out of time."
"I know. Immunization Week is about to start, so we've only got about eight days."
"We've got a lot less than that, because I'm about to launch Operation Lightfoot."
"What's that?"
"A full assault on the City."
Prentice and his companions gasped. "My God, are you serious?"
"Yes."
"When does this operation start?"
"Tomorrow morning, at seven - just after dawn."
A hunched eyebrow. "Wow, that soon?"
"Events are in the saddle. I've got 7,000 troops and their equipment concealed in the buffer zone around the City. There's a huge danger they will be detected or betrayed. We must attack tomorrow morning."
"Do you have enough firepower to take the City?"
"Of course. We're not here to lose."
"What about the wall and the minefield?"
"I'm not worried about them. They make the City weak, not strong, because they breed complacency. General Patton once said that 'Fixed fortifications are monuments to the stupidity of man'. He was right."
"I suspected you were planning an attack on the City; I just didn't realize it would be this soon."
Commander Solon looked askance. "What made you suspicious?"
"Oh, bits of intelligence that came across my desk."
"Did you tell anyone?"
"Of course not." A wicked grin. "I really have been terrible at my job recently; I completely took my eye off the ball - the Chancellor should have sacked me."
A laugh. "I'm glad he didn't."
Davidson said: "What will you do to the City if you are victorious?"
"There will be no retribution. Many of my fighters fled the City and most still have family and friends inside it. The Chancellor and his clique are the only people with anything to fear. But, if they surrender, even they'll be spared."
Prentice shook his head. "I guarantee the Chancellor won't surrender. He won't trust your word and has too much to lose. In fact, if your attack looks like succeeding, he'll release the Agent Pandora."
"But, if he does, he'll die as well."
"No, he won't."
A frown. "Why not?"
"He's already been vaccinated."
A deep frown. "What are you talking about?"
"In Webster City, the elite get vaccinated before the start of Immunization Week. It's one of the little benefits that makes them feel special. They don't stand in queues."
"Damn. Have you been inoculated?"
"I had my seasonal flu shot a week ago. You can be sure that the Chancellor and his minions got theirs' about the same time."
Watkins said: "I'm sure the Colonel's right. About a fortnight ago, two officers from the Palace Guard arrived at the CDC building and asked to see Professor Fisher. I wondered why they were there. Now it's obvious: they were picking up a batch of the new flu vaccine."
Commander Solon looked at Prentice. "If he releases Agent Pandora early, he'll kill all the Outlaws and most of his own citizens. He'll end up ruling a few cronies."
"But he'll still be alive, he'll still have a few followers and he'll be victorious. Believe me, if the Alliance look like winning, he will release Agent Pandora."
"Jesus. What do we do? Like I said: I can't call off the attack."
Prentice's eyes gleamed. Despite the enormous stakes, he was obviously enjoying himself. "But we have to locate the three canisters of Agent Pandora and neutralize them before your attack starts. You must delay the attack to give us more time."
A vigorous shake of the head. "No. Our plans are in place. They can't be changed. At seven o'clock, we roll."
"Damn." Prentice glanced at his watch. "It's almost midnight now. That means we have seven hours to find the Agent Pandora."
"Yes, do you have a plan?"
"No. But don't worry, I'll think of something."
"Good. I'm relying on you."
"You don't have much choice, do you?"
Solon's boyish smile exp
lained why the Freedom Alliance chose him to lead 7,000 troops in a frontal assault on the only city left on earth. "I guess not. But I've got great confidence in you. I look forward to seeing you all on Pasteur Plaza around noon tomorrow. Don't be late."
Prentice laughed. "We won't be."
The Commander started to turn and stopped. "Oh, if you meet any of my troops tomorrow, and need help, our code-word is 'Black Fox'. Good luck."
Commander Solon and his men seemed to dissolve into the darkness.
Webster City Page 17