Alien Game (The Thousand Worlds)

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Alien Game (The Thousand Worlds) Page 4

by Rod Walker


  Unfortunately, I didn’t know any of this at the time.

  “What do you think is wrong with him?” I said.

  The trooper was striding towards us, unblinking black eyes fixed upon the SUV.

  “He looks sick, I think,” said Maggie, shifting her grip on her pistol. “Do you think we should stop and help him?”

  “No,” I said. “If he’s sick, he might transmit it to us. And look at him. That black stuff in his eyes looks like something from the Dark.”

  “Then get us out of here,” said Maggie.

  I still really didn’t know how to drive properly, but after several days of handling the SUV by myself, I was at least more competent. I pushed on the gas, and the big vehicle surged forward. The trooper ran towards us, and I steered around him. He threw himself at the SUV, and his hands scraped against Maggie’s window, but he wasn’t able to find any purchase on the smooth glass and soon I saw him the rearview mirror. He ran after us, then he turned, stopped, and resumed his position.

  “He’s just waiting there,” said Maggie, looking back over the seat.

  “Yeah,” I said, looking at the stubby pine forest on either side of us. This part of Washington State was pretty dry, and the pine trees looked a bit stunted, but there was plenty of cover for either Darksiders or zombies to be hiding on either side of the road. “He must be a lookout. Which means…”

  Movement erupted from the trees in front of us, and nearly a dozen zombies in State Trooper uniforms sprinted onto the road, moving to block us.

  The zombie on the road had been a lookout.

  My sister screamed. My initial impulse was to hit the brakes to keep from hitting anything, but my foot missed and hit the gas instead. The SUV roared forward, and we slammed into the zombies. I heard an awful crunching noise as the fender smashed into two of them, followed by a jolt as we ran them over. Another zombie jumped onto the hood, but rolled away.

  A fourth one threw itself forward just as we passed, and it smashed through the driver’s side window, its hands coiling around my throat. The fingers felt hot, so hot that it was almost painful, but that was barely noticeable next to the pain as the hands cut off my breath.

  I would have screamed, but I couldn’t draw breath to do it. The SUV swerved as I fought to get the zombie off me, and I desperately tried to steer with one hand while shoving at the zombie with the other. The thing heaved itself forward, so close that I could have kissed its face. It had once been a state trooper, and I saw the black veins threading beneath the gray skin of its face, saw the eyes filled with blackness, and a strange sickly-sweet smell came off the creature.

  The creature opened its mouth and vomited on me.

  Absurd as it was, my first thought was annoyance that the thing had sprayed black slime all over my face and chest. I didn’t have that many clean clothes, and there was no way I could get that Darksider goop out of my shirt.

  Then the pain exploded through my head, because the black slime it had sprayed on me was moving of its own volition. It surged into my nostrils and mouth. Panicked, I tried to clamp my jaw shut, but it was too late. The zombie was strangling me, and in my desperate attempts to draw a breath, I sucked the black slime down my throat and into my chest. It felt cold, horribly, horribly cold, yet I suddenly felt feverish.

  I was clawing at the zombie’s hands, so the SUV was swerving over the road back and forth as our struggles bumped against the steering wheel. My vision darkened, and then a roar filled my ears and the zombie’s forehead exploded in a burst of brains and black slime. The iron fingers around my neck loosened, and the former state trooper fell from the side of the car, hit the road, and bounced away.

  “Roland!” screamed Maggie. I couldn’t tell if she was shouting a warning, expressing dismay, or telling me to drive better. Since the SUV was about to veer off the road and into the trees, I was pretty sure she was telling me to drive better. I got both hands around the wheel and swerved, getting the SUV more or less into the center of the road.

  “What happened?” said Maggie. “Did it bite you? Are you hurt?”

  “It…it didn’t bite me,” I said. My tongue felt thick and heavy, and I could still feel the remnants of that black slime sliding down my gullet. Mercifully, the stuff had neither taste nor smell.

  It was just very, very cold, which was strange because I felt myself becoming feverish.

  “That black slime,” said Maggie, wiping at my face with her fingers.

  “No!” I said. “Don’t touch me! It might be poisonous…”

  “It’s gone,” said Maggie, dread filling her voice.

  Gone? I looked up at the rearview mirror and flinched. The slime was gone, but I could still see it spreading in black veins beneath the skin of my face.

  Just like the state troopers who had attacked us.

  “Roland,” whispered Maggie. “Are you…are you going to turn into one of those things?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I should have been frightened. Mostly, I felt numb. I realized I was going to die. Dad had died, I was going to die next, and that would leave Maggie alone in a collapsing world full of the Dark and awful men like that pervert at the rest stop in Idaho.

  That cut through the numbness. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to make sure that Maggie was safe. That meant getting her to Castle Base before I succumbed to the poison the zombie had pumped into me.

  Or before I became one of those creatures.

  With cold clarity I realize that I might have to kill myself. For an instant I thought about asking Maggie to do it, but I rejected the idea. I couldn’t do that to her. She would have to live with that memory for the rest of her life. I would have to do the hard thing, the cold thing, and make sure that she was safe from both the Dark and from me.

  Just like Dad would have done.

  Fortunately, there was a solution to both problems. Based on Dad’s map, I thought we were only another sixty or seventy miles from Castle Base. I just had to get there. Then the Army could take care of Maggie, and if I was going to turn into a monster, they could shoot me.

  “What are we going to do?” whispered Maggie.

  “Castle Base,” I said. “We have to get to Castle Base. They…they will know what to do. It’s not much farther.”

  I managed another five miles before I began to have trouble driving. The muscle cramps were starting in my legs, and I was so feverish that sweat was pouring off me in rivers. Despite that, I was shivering so violently that I almost took the SUV off the road a few times. Maggie and I had to trade places. She took the steering, but she was just a little too short to reach the pedals, so I sat next to her and operated the gas and the brake with my left foot while she steered.

  It was just as well that she was able to steer, because my fever got worse and worse, and as it did, I started to hear voices.

  At first it was only a whisper, sibilant and insistent. Then it became a harsh rasp, stern and full of command. And then it became a mighty chorus, a hundred billion terrible voices joined in titanic unison, and I felt the overwhelming urge to obey that colossal voice, or maybe to fall down my face and worship it. The great voice wanted me to kill, to kill and to kill until my heart burst within my chest.

  It didn’t matter. The part of my brain that remained rational pointed out that I was feverish enough to start hallucinating random crap.

  I didn’t do anything that the voices said. There was no way I was going to do anything else until I got Maggie to Castle Base. Then I could shoot myself in the head. Or, since my hands were shaking so badly, I could get one of the soldiers to do it for me. Dad had expounded with disgust, more than once, on idiots who tried to kill themselves with shotguns or drain cleaner and only wound up maiming themselves for life.

  I was feverish enough that I found this funny, and I kept giggling. It says something about my state of mind that I was looking forward to getting shot in the head because then at least the stupid voices would shut up.

  I don’t remember
the rest of the day clearly, only fragments.

  First fragment: a large metal sign that said CASTLE BASE US ARMY ACCESS RESTRICTED, and a chain link fence topped with barbed wire in the distance. Dry hills rose around us, dotted with scrub and ugly little trees.

  The next thing I remember is lying on the pavement, the sky gray and overcast, the air dry against my face. Four men in camouflage stood over me, Army-issue M4 carbines in hand. Next to the soldiers stood a thirtyish man with a major’s golden oak leaf on his uniform, and his nameplate read RANDOLPH.

  I heard Maggie talking.

  “My father sent us to find you,” she said, the words tumbling out of her in a hurry. “We’re supposed to see General William Culver at Castle Base. Daniel Kane, my father was named Daniel Kane.”

  “Sir, he’s been contaminated,” said one of the soldiers, his M4 pointing in my direction.

  “I can see that,” said Major Randolph. He squatted down to look at me, eyes narrowed. “What’s your name?”

  “Roland Kane,” I said.

  “He’s stage three,” said another of the soldiers.

  “Let me guess,” said Randolph, ignoring the soldier. “Someone with black eyes attacked you and spewed black slime into you, and then you got sick.”

  “Yes,” I croaked.

  “How long ago did that happen?” said Randolph.

  “I…I don’t remember,” I said.

  “About nine, ten hours,” said Maggie. “Are you going to help him? He needs help.”

  “Nine hours?” said the first soldier. The man sounded incredulous. “That means he’s been in stage three for at least seven hours. Maybe longer.”

  “Roland,” said Major Randolph. “Do you hear voices inside your head?”

  I managed to nod.

  “What direction are they coming from?” said Randolph.

  I noticed something that I had not earlier. Randolph had the usual insignia for a major in the United States Army, but there was something else. He had a little microphone pin on his collar. I don’t mean an actual, working microphone, but a little bronze badge of an old-fashioned snowball microphone.

  “The direction?” said Randolph.

  “That way,” I said, waving my hand towards his left.

  Randolph and the soldiers all shared a look as if I had said something significant.

  “He’s just a kid, sir,” said one of the soldiers.

  “Get the general,” said Randolph. “This is his call.”

  “Are you going to help my brother?” said Maggie. She sounded on the verge of tears of frustration.

  “Yes,” said Randolph. “If we can.”

  I blacked out for a while.

  When I woke up I was in a hospital bed in what looked like an emergency room. My clothes were gone and I was wearing a hospital gown. There were a bunch of tubes and wires hooked up to my right arm, and I heard something beeping behind me. That should have alarmed me, but I was too tired to care.

  A man in medical scrubs stood over me, frowning.

  “He’s awake, sir,” said the medic, “but you’ll have to be quick.”

  A paunchy, bald man with four gold stars on the shoulder of his camouflage uniform stepped to my side.

  The way Dad had described General William Culver, I had expected him to look like the star of an action movie. In person, Culver looked like a slightly disheveled insurance agent, but a few details didn’t ring true. No insurance agent had eyes that cold and hard and clear. When he spoke, even in a quiet voice, everyone in the room paid attention.

  And the first time I saw him in Castle Base’s gym, he could deadlift an astonishing amount of weight, so much that the bar was starting to flop like a noodle. He might have been able to break a man’s neck with his bare hands without even needing to strain.

  “Can you hear me, son?” said General Culver.

  I managed to nod.

  “Good,” said Culver. “My name is General William Culver, commanding officer of Castle Base and the Black Division.”

  “My…my sister,” I croaked. “Is she…”

  “Safe,” said Culver. “Some of the soldiers’ wives are looking after her. I give you my word that whatever happens next, we will look after her and keep her safe here.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I thought about what he had said. “What happens next?”

  “You have to make a decision,” said Culver. “And you have to make it right now, I’m afraid, because you’re out of time. Did your father explain what happened to you?”

  “No,” I said. “He was killed before…I think it was Wyoming. We got hit by some flying Darksiders.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” said Culver. “Daniel Kane was one of the most effective soldiers who ever served under my command.” He stepped closer to the bed. “The Dark, as you may have guessed, use organic-based technology, and are part of a hive mind. The particular weapon that was used on you was designed to overwrite the DNA of your nervous system, converting you to a drone connected to that hive mind.”

  “The zombie,” I said. “The zombie threw up some black slime into my face. Was that the weapon?”

  “Technically, they’re called the ‘converted’, but we usually just call them zombies too,” said Culver. “Yes, that was the weapon. The length of the conversion process varies from victim to victim, but the ability to resist seems to depend on the native willpower of the victim. I shouldn’t be surprised that Daniel Kane’s son has lasted this long. But in the end, it will overcome you and you will become one of the converted.”

  “Guess you had better shoot me, then,” I said, surprised at how calm I felt.

  “That may not be necessary. There is a treatment for it,” said Culver. “Normally, we would ask your father for permission to use it.”

  “But he’s dead,” I broke in.

  “And there is no one else to ask,” said Culver. “I doubt there is much left of the government at this point, but I would be within the scope of my authority to administer the treatment to you regardless of what you think. Still, you got your sister here alive and well, which is more than I would expect of a sixteen-year-old boy. So, I will put it to you plainly, and tell you the truth. The treatment may not work, and it might kill you. That being said, your death would be quick and painless, and it would certainly be preferable to living as one of the converted.”

  “Suppose I can’t argue with that,” I said. I didn’t want to die. But I didn’t want to turn into one of those things on the highway.

  “If the treatment works, I will have to insist that you join Black Division,” said Culver.

  “Why?” I said, puzzlement overruling my fear. “I mean, it’s like you said, sir. I’m just a kid. Yeah, my dad taught me to shoot and some other stuff, but I wouldn’t be as useful as a real soldier.”

  “If the treatment succeeds,” said Culver, “it will leave you with some unusual abilities that will be highly useful in our war against the Dark.”

  “Sir,” said the medic, pointing at one of the displays alongside my bed.

  Culver grimaced. “We’re about out of time. Let me assure you that if the treatment works, you will acquire some abilities that will be of immense tactical and strategic utility against the Dark. To put it bluntly, we will need you. Your country will need you. Mankind itself, what is left of it, will need you.” He spread his thick hands. “Those are your choices, Mr. Kane. If you prefer, we can euthanize you now. Or we can administer the treatment and give you a fighting chance. And if you survive, you will join us and help stop the Dark from doing worse than they’ve already done.”

  I didn’t hesitate. I was too much my father’s son to go down without a fight. And if it did work, well, the Dark had killed Dad and tried to kill Maggie. They had killed almost everyone I had ever known.

  If there was going to be payback, then I wanted to be one of the ones dishing it out to them.

  I looked the general in the eye and made myself speak as clearly as my aching throat could m
anage. “I understand the risks. I would like to take my chances with the treatment, sir.”

  “Good,” said Culver, looking at the medic. “Do it.”

  The medic took a deep breath, nodded, and lifted an IV bag holding a purplish fluid. He crossed to my beside and hooked it up to my IV line, and I watched as the purple stuff flowed down the clear plastic tube and into my blood.

  “All right,” said the medic. “This should induce unconsciousness in another minute or so. We’ll know right away if it will work or not. And if not…”

  He stepped aside, and for the first time I saw the two soldiers standing behind Culver, both of them holding M4s leveled at my chest.

  “Good luck, son,” said Culver.

  “Thanks,” I started to say, and then unconsciousness took me.

  It wasn’t sleep. It was something more profound.

  And in that darkness, I dreamed.

  I’ve never done drugs and have no desire to do so. Whenever I think about it, I heard Dad’s voice lecturing me about the dangers of drugs, not because they were immoral or illegal or dangerous, but because they might impair my physical and mental capabilities in a moment of crisis. Before Invasion Day that had seemed like paranoia. After Invasion Day, it just seemed like good sense.

  So I had never done drugs, but if I had, it might have been able to compare what I saw while unconscious to an LSD trip or perhaps a bad reaction to hallucinogens. A few of the other recruits who survived the process had more experience with recreational pharmacology, and they said it was just like smoking mushrooms.

  Anyway, it wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t an acid trip.

  It was real.

  In the vision, I could see time, and I could see how it was connected to gravity and space. If I had been lucid and had the proper mathematical knowledge, I could have sketched out the equations explaining it all. My mind expanded, and I saw the entire world floating in space, a sphere of blue and white in an infinite black void.

  Black smears were spreading across the entire surface of the Earth.

  The Dark. In my dream, I could see them, and I could feel them.

 

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