The Third Wave: Eidolon

by John O'Brien

  The only truly open area was near the Victoria Hill Settlement in the northwest sector. To get the most bang for his buck, Lawrence wanted the most open area he could find to draw the reapers to. If there were too many trees, they’d absorb some of the blast and shrapnel, thus decreasing the amount of damage inflicted. The soft sandy shores wouldn’t be a problem if they set the cluster munitions to go off several feet above ground.

  “Turn us about and set a northerly course at three knots. Keep us far enough away that we can get up to speed and run away if any reapers begin teleporting like the one up north. Blow the foghorn every ten minutes. I’d like to gather all of the ones on this side of the island in one go. Reset our GPS and ready the missiles. The plan is to fire one, analyze the results, and go from there,” Lawrence commanded.

  The foghorn blasted, resonating across the clear blue waters of the Atlantic. Reapers began gathering on the shoreline as the Washington slowly worked its way north, a sleek black object riding low on crystal blue waters under a cloudless sky. Several reapers braved the warm waters, the gentle waves splashing against their pant legs. Some moved even deeper, up to their chests, and then flailed madly in a series of splashes as the water went over their heads. The lookouts kept a sharp watch on those entering the ocean, looking for any signs of teleporting. None of them did, but a few bodies began floating, the waves slowly carrying them back toward shore.

  This time, the sailors on deck were armed with carbines, ready to fire should any get close. That may or may not have been a better solution, but Lawrence planned to turn and make a run out to sea should things get too heated. There wasn’t any crew ashore to hold him in place this time.

  The sun climbed higher as they rounded the point separating the community and resort, more reapers showing with each passing minute. Club Med slid to the rear, the gathered throng filling the beach, their screams echoing across the intervening water. Coming to a halt off the northern settlement, Lawrence ordered the deck and bridge cleared, and the Washington dove completely under even though there was a chance of the reapers dispersing once the sub vanished underwater.

  The serene, calm day was interrupted by an explosion of water offshore, followed by a sudden roar and tail of flame. Trailing white smoke, the long cylinder gathered speed as it raced across the pristine waters. The smoke plume ceased, the cylinder becoming a dot before vanishing from sight. Below the water, crew members watched monitors, tracking the bird they had launched from its nest. Ashore, figures thronged the beaches, white apparitions floating in the air, their hungry and agonized screams reverberating off nearby establishments.

  Lawrence watched the horde through the periscope, listening as missile waypoints were relayed. They’d managed to gather several hundred, the weight of those behind pushing the ones in front deeper into the waters. The splashing along the shoreline looked much like a school of feeding piranhas.

  A streak flashed across Lawrence’s line of sight, ejecting small dark objects along its path. They settled among the mass with a string of explosions. Reapers were pushed as if punched as shrapnel tore through their bodies, arms and legs severed by white hot metal. Sand was thrown into the air. Amid the rising smoke, the air turned pink as blood sprayed from ruined bodies. The explosions traveled from one end of the horde to the other, bodies tossed into the air and catapulted to the sides. Then, it ended.

  Dark smoke drifted down the beach, leaving behind small wisps rising from the midst of torn, blackened bodies. The churned-up beach was clumped with destruction; arms, legs, heads, disemboweled torsos. The white sands had been turned a muddy red, the gently rolling waves pink. Lawrence stared, searching for any that lived through the devastation. A few were crawling slowly through the mess of bodies, but Lawrence knew they wouldn’t be moving for long. It had taken hours to gather them, but in less than a minute, most of the island’s population was either dead or not far from it.

  A few hours later, more plumes of smoke erupted on the eastern shores as a smaller group of reapers was eradicated. Lawrence and the crew spent the rest of the day prowling around the island, foghorn blaring, but no more reapers appeared. They sat off the southern tip and then the western shores, the low rolling blast of the foghorn echoing across the waters and palm tree-forested island.

  Lawrence leaned against the upper rail, watching the yellows, oranges, and reds of the sun setting on the horizon. It was a sight he never tired of, but being in a sub, he rarely had a chance to observe it at sea. For some reason, the sunsets on the open water seemed more intense and glorious than those on land. Glancing along the sleek hull of the Washington, he was thankful for such a vessel. It was their home, their sanctuary; he’d never seen anything so elegant. Had any of them been in another vessel, or ashore, they would have been counted among the masses of dead—or become reapers.

  As the sun dipped lower, the waters glimmering in the last of its rays, the twilight gave him a forlorn feeling, compounded by the empty expanse of ocean. In all likelihood, he and the crew were all that was left in the world once populated by over seven billion people. And, for the moment, they were stuck with one tiny island that didn’t appear to have the capability to sustain them in the long run. Waiting for the winter weather to clear out some of the reapers was a roll of the dice. It may end up that an island was where they’d have to stay; this or another one like it.

  The earth’s rotation was easily visible, emphasizing the relentless movement of time. And he was powerless to stop it. The last tip of the sun slunk below the horizon, the light slowly diminishing along with it. Overhead, darkness marched across the sky, revealing the bright pinpoints of twinkling lights. The stars and the vast expanse of the universe made him feel still smaller than the ocean had.

  Like at Norfolk, there wasn’t a single light visible ashore. The rising moon silhouetted the island, the rays highlighting the tops of the palms and a silver glimmer dancing on the ocean’s surface. The darkened outline of the island showed just how small it was, and how low it truly sat. Any tropical storm was sure to swamp the place. Lawrence reminded himself that if they found that they had cleared the reapers when the sun rose again, this little plot of land was only a temporary solution. With a last look at the moon over the horizon, he ordered the sub further out to sea, cleared the bridge, and submerged the boat for the night.

  The next day, the Washington circled around the island, scouring it for any sign of reapers. Though the beaches were crowded by dead bodies, the island was entirely still other than the palm fronds waving in the light breeze. Seagulls hopped among the corpses, beaks diving into the grisly remains. With a measure of anxiety, Lawrence sent a team ashore.

  * * * * * *

  Grieves and five others paddled past an anchored recreational boat. A couple of corpses clad in bathing suits were draped across the front deck, one with its arm hanging over the side, nearly touching the water. The life raft was guided toward the beach in front of the resort, the destruction they’d rained upon the reapers out of sight a couple of miles up the same stretch. With a kiss, the raft slid onto the sand.

  The teams stepped out into the small waves, forming a semicircle in front of the raft. A couple of birds called and there was the soft hiss of the waves rolling gently to the beach, but everything else was quiet. Grieves scanned the buildings and palm trees, looking for a hint of movement. If he saw anything, they were pushing off and paddling as quickly as they could, hoping that they could outrun any pursuing reapers.

  Minutes later, he gestured, and they hauled the raft out from the reach of the waves. They wouldn’t be able to clear every building, but they were there to find out if there were any reapers that hadn’t responded to the call of the foghorn. If there were any trapped in the hundreds of rooms, then they’d be long dead from dehydration. Even if they’d managed to drink the water in the toilet bowls and such, that would have run out by now. Electricity was needed for water to flow, and the heat of the summer in these parts without air conditioning meant that the
y would have required a lot of it to survive.

  Even in the early morning, Grieves felt the intense heat of the sun. It was like being under a broiler set to high; he could almost feel his skin sizzling. Every breath he took felt like he was inhaling fire. He walked across soft sand strewn with blue chaise lounges and white umbrellas, his carbine aimed to the front. Tension tightened his gut, the memory of his last time ashore fresh in his mind.

  Leaving the beach proper, they crept through the curved trunks of palm trees. The windows of the nearby apartment-like buildings looked pleasant enough, but carried a foreboding aura, as if they were hiding dark secrets. Several of the balcony rooms had curtains gently fluttering through open sliding glass doors. Dark lumps of figures clad in little clothing lay on lawns and patios, their bodies ravaged. Grieves and his group weren’t close enough to verify for certain that the dead had been eaten, but the dried blood, shredded limbs, and open torsos left little doubt.

  Keeping his distance from the buildings, Grieves led the team in a circular path around them. All of the quad units, two upstairs and two down, stemmed off a central covered hallway that extended all of the way to the main lodge. The hall angled back and forth like a huge W with an extra V, the units projecting out.

  Slowly, Grieves and the five others worked their way around the buildings, watching both the units and the area through the surrounding trees without any contact. His rapid, heavily pounding heartbeat was because he knew that if they ran into reapers at this point, they wouldn’t be able to outrun them back to the raft. If they stood and fought in the open, there was a great chance that the distance would be quickly closed and they would be overrun. However, it was imperative that they check the place out before any more crew members came ashore.

  The shadows of the surrounding trees grew shorter as the sun wended its way overhead and the team made their way to the main lodge. The mutilated bodies they encountered along the way made the resort look like a cult Kool-Aid party visited by a pack of hungry tigers. Working around the outside, the pool area amplified what they’d already come across. Corpses were scattered around the pool, the lounge chairs overturned. Broken glass lay everywhere, glittering under the noon sun. Splotches of dried blood covered the concrete with a couple of bloated bodies bobbing on the surface of the red-tinged pool.

  “This is going to take some work,” one sailor commented.

  The others merely looked on in silence, not bothering to reply. Grieves directed them into the main lodge, where more corpses lay on polished floors covered with fine layers of sand. Out of the direct sunlight, the interior was much cooler, but still sweltering. Gift shops, restaurants, and various recreational activity places branched off the main lobby, all looking inviting if it weren’t for the dead bodies. Grieves walked past the glassed shops and into a wide hallway with numbered doors branching off at intervals. He pressed against the wall at the first room he came to, motioning for another to get ready on the other side of the doorway. The remaining team members kept watch up and down the corridor.

  With a nod, Grieves reached out, grabbed the handle, and swung it open, sweeping into the room with his carbine raised. A darkened bathroom opened to his immediate right, a small foyer leading into a wide bedroom. The smell hit him immediately, his senses recoiling. His SEAL-team-like tactical maneuver was instantly arrested as he gagged on the stench of foul air. While backing out of the room, he noticed a pair of rotting legs stretched out on a bed, the rest of the body hidden by a wall. Another corpse lay on the floor next to curtains hiding the sliding door that led outside. He closed the door, gathered his breath, and they moved on to the next room.

  The search throughout the rooms of the main lodge found that about a quarter of them held bodies in varying states of decay, the others empty. A further search of the outlying buildings revealed only more dead bodies. Not once did he hear the shriek of a reaper or find any evidence that any remained in the area. The odds dictated that some must have lived through the destruction visited upon them the day prior, or that some just flat out wouldn’t have responded to the summons, but there weren’t any within the resort grounds.

  Shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun, he and the others pushed the raft into the sea and paddled back to the Washington.

  * * * * * *

  Flames crackled, fat from the bodies sizzling as it dripped. The huge funeral pyre sent a vast pillar of black smoke into the sky, the column bending in the breeze. With a team positioned on the lodge roof watching over the area through binoculars, others of the crew accomplished the grisly task of removing bodies from the rooms of the main lodge, from the large foyer, and from around the pool area. They stacked them farther up the beach and set it alight. Once the fire was set and commenced blazing with the help of fuel siphoned from nearby tanks, they retired to the sub, watching in case the flames brought hidden reapers. In the last of the light, Lawrence partially submerged the sub to allow the crew to plunge into the warm waters in an attempt to remove the smell that clung to each and every one of them. The horror of what they’d seen and did wasn’t something that could be washed off. That taint would remain with many of them for some time to come, especially when they had time alone and thought of loved ones.

  With the crew aboard and the black pillar still rising but showing signs of dying down, Lawrence guided the sub further offshore. Tomorrow, they’d offload supplies and begin the journey back north. After a couple of trips, they’d have enough for some time; then they could go ashore, finally having a chance to relax while waiting for the winter months to arrive. One more week of little sleep.

  “Sir, you’re requested in the radio room.”

  Just as he was about to pass out with thoughts of relaxing under the sun, he rose from his bunk. With leaden legs, he made his way to the cramped radio room.

  “Okay, I’m here. What do you have?”

  “Sir, I had something on VHF, but I’ve lost it now. The message was full of static and came in broken, but I did hear the sender identify themselves as Army personnel,” the radioman answered.

  “Where did it come from?” Lawrence asked, his fatigue forgotten.

  “I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t get the entire message. I tried replying, but haven’t heard anything in return. I’m guessing that we’re dealing with atmospheric skip, so they could be anywhere. I was able to plot a bearing of two-nine-three degrees.”

  “Is the radio mast fully extended?”

  “Aye, sir. I made sure of that.”

  “Can you determine an approximate location based on the skip?” Lawrence inquired.

  “It’s possible, but I won’t be able to plot an exact location. It will be multiple possible locations, each one a couple hundred square miles wide. The message arrived on the hour and lasted five minutes, so, sir, it’s my guess that whoever it is might be broadcasting on a regular basis on the hour and minimizing their time to conserve their battery, although I’m not sure how they have a working one.”

  “Will you be able to pick it up if they broadcast again?” Lawrence questioned.

  “I honestly don’t know, sir. VHF usually doesn’t skip, so even if they do broadcast, we may not receive it.”

  “And if we move to try and get a better signal, we may move ourselves out of the reception area,” Lawrence mused. “We could be on either edge of the signal.”

  “Precisely, sir.

  “Very well, keep the mast raised and monitor it. I’m to be notified immediately if you hear it again,” Lawrence stated.

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Lawrence ordered the Washington on a course of two hundred and ninety-three degrees for ten miles, taking a chance. If they didn’t hear anything in four hours, he left orders to reverse course for sixty miles. Someone was alive and he was bound and determined to do his best to find out who. It could be that it was a small military unit in the same straits as them, or a larger force remaining that was coming awake after a period of time. If what he’d seen so f
ar was any measure, whoever it was must have had their hands full and taken time to consolidate their position.

  Three hours later, Lawrence found himself once again in the radio room, attempting to wipe the fatigue out of his eyes.

  “I had it again, sir. Clearer this time, but still broken and without a clear response to my return message. Then, they were gone. I did hear something after I replied, but I can’t be sure if it was more of their message or a response to mine.”

  “Three hours? So, we’re either missing an hourly one or they’re really trying to conserve. You say it was clearer this time?” Lawrence asked.

  “Aye, sir. Still broken, but clearer.”

  Lawrence ordered the Washington to push out another ten miles. Many of the crew, having heard rumors of the radio contact, found suddenly important things to do in and around the control room. Lawrence slumped in an extra seat in the cramped room, contemplating sending the crew back to their bunks. But, he knew they’d just lie there, restless. He let them stay, but ordered a few to go fetch coffee for the others.

  As the minute hand rounded the clock and approached the hour mark, he felt anxiety stir. The hand passed, the second hand rotating a full five times. No signal. Lawrence forced himself to leave the Washington in its current position. In escape and evasion training, they were taught to broadcast every hour on the hour. This situation wouldn’t be any different, and he was afraid that they were missing transmissions. He understood about wanting to conserve any remaining battery power, but protocol was protocol. Maybe because so much time had transpired, they were forced to spread the signals apart.