Project Terminus: Destiny

by Nathan Combs

  “Doing what?”

  “Allow me to ask you another question. What do you think is the most effective form of government?”

  Randal appeared to give it serious thought. He had read Mein Kampf and also remembered what Stuart had told him about the late King Jackson and how his mind worked. After a moment, he said, “At the risk of sounding antisocial, at this time in history, I think a kingdom, or some form of fascism or communism, would be the best way to go.”

  Shelton’s eyebrows went up. “You’d better explain that statement.”

  “Well, sir, it’s obvious that people aren’t ready to own anything, much less make decisions that will benefit society. Can any of them even ensure their own safety? That’s doubtful. In my opinion, they need a strong and courageous leader—or king. Someone who is wise and just and who can control and provide for them. A benevolent leader who can disseminate food and essentials, designate living facilities and the like—for the good of all, of course. That man, whoever he is, would have to be able to manage the security forces to enforce his edicts and ensure they were carried out. Again—for the good of all.”

  Shelton was beaming. “Those are my thoughts exactly, Randal.” He stood, sat back down, and then he rose again. He placed his hands flat on the desk, leaned toward Randal, and said, “You are the first man I’ve met that gets it. Well…actually, you’re the second, but you’re the first since David, and I find that to be nothing short of amazing.”

  “David?”

  “David McNulty. He’s my right-hand man. Allow me to give you a brief history of my organization.” Shelton had become highly animated. His voice went up two octaves. “Since the plague abated, I’ve managed to create the aforementioned new society. I call it Texas Nation. We’re over 10,000 strong, and I have an affiliation with a group in Reynosa, Mexico, that has about the same number of people. We will be merging shortly.”

  Randal, looking duly impressed, said, “That’s quite a feat. I’d be interested in hearing how you accomplished that.”

  Moving from behind the desk, Shelton began pacing. After five steps, he performed an abrupt and militarily correct about-face, then walked exactly five steps in the opposite direction and repeated the maneuver. He talked as he paced and about-faced. “It’s not terribly complicated. I simply forced people to join my nation. In short, I didn’t give them a choice. Some balked, of course, but it was in their best interest to become citizens, and in the end, they did. As you know, no one lives in the north anymore, but I’ve brought together every settlement and every survivor I could find in the habitable zone from California east to Mobile. Those that…uh…survived are now contributing citizens of Texas Nation. And as I mentioned, I’m about to absorb what’s left of Mexico.” He stopped pacing, looked at Randal, and grinned. “They just don’t know it yet.”

  Randal grinned back. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “No, not at all. It’ll be a bloodless coup. Within a matter of days, the Mexicans will be living here as an integral part of my nation.” He stood to face Randal and leveled a serious glare at him. “You see, Randal, I believe that if humanity is going to survive, and she will—I like to think of humanity as a female—we can’t be at each other’s throats. We simply can’t run the risk of conflict of any kind. There can be only one society, and there can be only one leader. I’m that leader.”

  Randal nodded thoughtfully, and in his most respectful tone said, “Yes, sir. I believe you are.”

  “I intend to incorporate every survivor in the USA and Mexico into one nation.”

  “And if they don’t want to join?”

  “They’ll join.” He shrugged. “Or…well, they’ll die. Their choice.”

  Randal shrugged. “I have no problem with that.”

  Shelton moved close and put his right hand on Randal’s shoulder. “I have some capable men, Randal. A few are extremely capable, but they’re tied up with the Mexican merger and will be for some time. In the interim, I have a small problem that needs to be taken care of. Like, immediately. Have you ever been to Florida?”

  “Many times.”

  “There’s a group of about 500 in the central part of that state that I need to bring into the fold, and I need someone of shall we say, the right temperament, to show them the way.”

  Randal nodded. “I’m not a killer, Mr. Shelton, but I’ll do what I have to do, or what I’m ordered to do. What are the rules of engagement?”

  “Engagement? Engagement is such a combative word. But I digress. The ends, whatever they are, will justify the means. But to answer your question, there are no rules of engagement. They give us what they have and join us, or they suffer the consequences and we take what we want. For the good of all, of course.” He smiled a Cheshire-cat smile.

  Randal smiled back. “Of course. When will this, uh, meeting of the minds take place?”

  “I don’t have their exact location yet, but they’re somewhere around Sebring. I have a patrol looking for them as we speak. They should be checking in at any time. As soon as they report, I’ll initiate the integration procedure.”

  “What type of forces would I have at my disposal?”

  “Whatever you need. We have satellite communication, two Blackhawks, a Little Bird, armored vehicles, and as many men as necessary to ensure compliance.” He shrugged. “However, I doubt such extremes will be necessary. We’ve been in contact with them. They’re primitives.”

  “I saw the birds and the armor on the tarmac. How do you manage fuel?”

  Shelton beamed. “Ah, yes, fuel. Liquid gold.” He started pacing again. “There’s considerable oil stored in a tank field here in Corpus, but we also had the good fortune of three super-tankers that made port during the plague, and we restarted one of the refineries. One of the ships carries 14.5 million gallons of refined gasoline, and the other two hold a combined 29 million gallons of crude. Fuel is not a problem.”

  “I’m impressed. I assume I would receive a few perks?”

  Shelton grinned. “Such as?”

  “A room of my own would be nice. And it’s been a long time since I had a woman.”

  Shelton smirked. “Trust me. Women are not a problem. How about a suite instead of a room?”

  Randal grinned and offered his hand. “Sign me up.”

  Shelton beamed and grasped his hand. “Welcome aboard, Colonel. I’ll have Jerry get you situated. I’d appreciate it if you’d join a couple of lady friends and me for dinner and drinks this evening.”

  Randal beamed back. “Colonel? That’s very generous. Thank you, sir. I’d like to have dinner with you very much. What time?”

  Shelton pushed the button that released the door lock, slapped Randal on the back, and walked him to the opened door. “Let’s make it seven. We can eat, have a few drinks, and then…” Grinning, he turned to the Weasel standing at attention in the hallway on the right side of the entrance door. “Jerry, see that Colonel Collins gets everything he needs. He’ll be staying in my old suite.” As an afterthought, he said. “And take him to see the quartermaster.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Shelton, sir.”

  After the door closed, the Weasel looked like he just found out he would be facing a firing squad. His shoulders drooped and he hung his head, unable or unwilling to look Randal in the eye. “Colonel, I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Please forgive my actions when we met.”

  “Nothing to forgive, Jerry. Don’t give it another thought.”

  “I am so sorry, Colonel.”

  “It’s okay, Jerry. Drop it.”

  “Thank you, sir. Thank y—”

  Randal held his hand up, palm out.

  The Weasel nodded. “Sorry, Colonel.” Pulling a radio handset from his belt, he gave instructions to have Colonel Collins’s gear and firearms taken to his new digs pronto, then turning, he beamed as he said, “Your gear will get there before we do
, sir. It’s about a ten-minute walk. Do you need anything before we head out?”

  Randal shook his head, no.

  “Right. Then off we go.” The Weasel literally bounced toward an exit door and Randal shuddered and thought, Balls, then followed.

  The rain had stopped during Randal’s interview, and while the sky was beginning to clear, the wind gusts had increased significantly. During the walk across the tarmac, the Weasel endlessly extolled the God-like virtues of Sir Gabriel Shelton. As he rambled on, he punctuated the air for emphasis with one hand while holding onto his ball cap with the other. Randal was seriously considering strangling him by the time he shut up and waved his arm in a sweeping gesture in front of a remodeled hangar.

  “Here we are,” Vandenberg said.

  After unlocking the door, Vandenberg entered like the courtier of a five-star hotel, opened the drapes, entered the bedroom, turned down the sheets on a California king, fluffed up a pillow, pointed to the bathroom, handed the keys to Randal, and then stood as though waiting for a tip.

  His arm made another sweeping gesture. “Sir Shelton’s old suite.” He emphasized old. “Nice, huh? While you’re cleaning up, I’ll have some food brought over. Would you like anything special?”

  Randal deadpanned, “A Big Mac would be nice.”

  “Ha, ha. A hamburger it is.” Nodding to the pack on the bed, Jerry said, “As promised, there’s your gear and firearms. And I took care of your horse. As soon as you’re ready, we’ll see the quartermaster and get your uniforms and badge.” His smile grew in intensity. “I told you Mr. Shelton was God.”

  God, my ass! Despot, yes. Ruthless, undoubtedly. Deranged, definitely. God? No.

  “Anything else for right now, sir?”

  Randal smiled. “No, thank you, Jerry.” As Vandenberg turned to leave, he snapped his fingers and said, “Oh, there is one thing, Jer. My horse is more than a horse to me. I’ll want to see her later.”

  Jerry smiled, bowed, and backed out the door. When it closed, Randal checked his M4 and Glock to ensure they were loaded and functioned, then grabbed his pack and withdrew the two-way radio from the side pocket and turned it on.

  It was dead.

  He removed the back cover.

  No batteries.

  No problem.

  He had assumed his bag would be searched at some point and was glad he hadn’t brought the sat phone. Pulling back the inner lining, he removed four new AA batteries, snapped them into place, moved the channel selector to channel 27, and keyed the mic.

  “Tyler, copy?”

  “Go for Tyler.”

  “Worse than we thought. There’s a patrol in Florida looking for us right now. I don’t know how many, but they have sat phones. The head honcho here’s a megalomaniac named Shelton. Makes King Jackson look like the little drummer boy. They’re planning an assault as soon as their patrol checks in. They have two Blackhawks, a Little Bird, and plenty of armor. Wade has to take them out. They stabled my horse somewhere, searched my pack, and took the batteries. I think that was SOP, but as soon as I find my ride, I’ll hook up. Call it in and prepare for egress within the hour.”

  Two days after Randal departed for Texas, Bill had posted Chris in Sebring and Cole in Lake Placid to await a potential Texas Nation patrol. Wade gave them both the heads-up from Tyler’s report, then called Stuart and Bill to meet him in the Powwow Room.

  “We’ll know more after Randal checks in. In the interim, we have to make certain that patrol doesn’t find us. In case they get around Cole and Chris, I want additional sniper teams at all points surrounding the fort. This is a kill order. They cannot be allowed to make a call. Randal says they have air assets—Blackhawks and a Little Bird. And that is very problematic. I want the Apache you found at Patrick AFB functioning yesterday, Stuart. I’m rusty, but if you can make it operational, I can fly it. So can Randal. Get on that right away. Priority one. Bill, adjust the watches in Sebring.”

  Randal showered, ate a Texas Nation version of a Big Mac, and went to see the Weasel. He entered Vandenberg’s office through the rear door to find the man in the same position as the first time he’d seen him, sitting in his chair with his feet on the desk, eating his boogers. The thought crossed Randal’s mind that maybe they lacked salt in their diet.

  When Vandenberg realized it was Colonel Collins, he jumped up and attempted a salute, but in his haste, he inadvertently stuck a finger in his eye. Randal stared dumbfounded at the man’s ineptitude as he put on his Weasel face and muttered, “Owie, owie, owie.” Fortunately, the show only lasted a few seconds before the Weasel gained control, stood tall, gave a proper salute, and while rubbing his eye with his finger, said, “Before we get your uniforms, I’d like you to meet Mr. McNulty, sir. He’s our number-one ambassador and second in command.”

  A five-minute walk to the main terminal ended at a glossy purple door and the Weasel knocked, then entered.

  Seated at a desk, was David McNulty, the voice of the Texas Nation.

  Vandenberg made the introductions and McNulty stood. As the man rose to his full height, Randal repressed a smirk. Stuart had been dead bang on. McNulty was a 450-pound, five-foot five-inch clone of Rush Limbaugh, every bit as overbearing and just as pretentious.

  In a booming Rush voice, McNulty said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Randal, and welcome to Texas Nation where America will be reborn bigger and better than she ever was.” He pumped Randal’s hand continuously. “Jerry will see to all of your needs, my friend. I do apologize, but I have a meeting scheduled (he pronounced it shed-u-al) with Sir Shelton in ten minutes, so I must leave, but I would like it very much if you would stop by later and chat. In fact, I insist.” He beamed, cranked Randal’s hand one last time, then hauled his considerable bulk out the door.

  Jerry stood staring after the man, swooning. “He’s so awesome.”

  Randal nodded. “Awesome, yes. Where to now, Jerry?”

  “Let’s get your uniforms and badge.”

  The quartermaster facility was two doors down, a distance of twenty feet. In the center of the faded gray door was a black-and-white decal of a slavering wolf with a bright red tongue. Vandenberg ignored the wolf, opened the door, and entered. Randal followed and pulled the door closed. The room was dark and dingy and cold.

  The quartermaster, whose name was appropriately enough Lurch, materialized from a corner and stood to stare at Randal. He looked more zombie than human. After the Weasel made the introductions, Randal thought of asking him how long ago he’d died. Instead, he shook the man’s hand, posed for the badge picture, waited for it to be laminated, took the three sets of uniforms and colonel insignia that Lurch handed to him, and nodded.

  Lurch nodded back.

  Randal looked at the colors of his new threads and thought, Why do all these wannabes like black and red?

  On the way out the door, Jerry declared, “Officers’ uniforms are so cool, aren’t they?”

  “They are cool, indeed. Love the color. I’d like to see my horse now, Jerry, if you don’t mind.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  A ten-minute walk to the rear of the terminal ended at a hanger that contained the stables, and Randal was reunited with his Appaloosa mare. She whinnied when she saw him and stuck her head over the stall. He patted her cheek. “Hi, girl.” He spent a few minutes with the horse, then turned to the beaming Weasel standing a few feet away. “Do me a favor, Jerry. Saddle her up. I’m going back to my quarters and change. Then I’d like to look around.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Randal was on his way back to the stables wearing his new uniform and carrying his M4 and pack. The hanger was silent, and it appeared no one was in the building, but as Randal approached his horse, Jerry magically appeared from behind the animal and stood to grin like an extra in a low-budget B-flick. A moment later, a questioning look replaced his sm
ile, then was swept away by a frown.

  “Something wrong, Jerry?”

  “No, sir. Just…you know, wondering why…um…why you brought your pack?”

  Randal placed the pack on the floor and opened it. “Come here, Jerry. I need to show you something.”

  “Huh?”

  Randal spread the pack wider. “Come here. Look.”

  Vandenberg exited the stall, took three steps, and bent to look into the pack.

  Randal choked him out and caught him before he hit the ground, then dragged the man into his horse’s stall and trussed him hand-to-foot with some sisal rope he found hanging on a peg. Withdrawing a roll of duct tape from his bag, he tore off a piece and slapped it over Vandenberg’s mouth.

  Randal took the time to cover the Weasel with straw from an adjacent stall, then headed toward the airport entrance. As he surmised, his Texas Nation colonel’s uniform was the ticket through the gate. The guards barely looked up as he passed, and twenty minutes later, Randal hooked up with Tyler and the rangers at the observation post.

  Tyler grinned. “Wow. Cool uniform, Randal.”

  Randal grinned back and held out his hand.

  Tyler gave him the sat phone, and Wade answered on the first ring.

  After the update, Randal said, “When they find Vandenberg, they’ll start looking for me, Dad. They’ll probably send up one of the choppers to assist, so we have to get out of Dodge ASAP. They have no idea I’m from Florida, or that I’m with a team, so there’s that. Bottom line? This is by far the biggest threat we’ve ever faced. You have to take out that patrol. No calls. We’re going to hustle back. I’ll update you with details as soon as we’re clear.” He hung up and turned to his men. “Tyler, take point. Double-time.”

  The night was silent.

  The moon was full.

  The team raced north.

  Nearing Beeville, the distant but unmistakable whomp, whomp, whomp of a Blackhawk’s rotor blades slicing the air shattered the serenity of the night.