The Third Wave: Eidolon

by John O'Brien

  As the minute hand rounded the next hour and passed, he slumped his head to the table, the effects of the caffeine having worn off some time ago. The sailors crowding the control room had thinned as time passed, heading back to their bunks as fatigue won out over curiosity. Hours before the sun was due to rise, he was shook awake.

  “Sir…Sir. Sorry, but it’s back and readable,” the radioman said, Lawrence coming alert.

  “This is Master Sergeant Kevin O’Malley, US Army, calling in the blind. If you’re a Marine and can hear this, pick up the part attached to the cord and put it to your mouth. Press the button, then speak,” a man with an Irish accept said.

  Lawrence chuckled and grabbed for the microphone. “Sergeant O’Malley, this is Commander Lawrence of the USS Washington, over.”

  Lawrence felt a sinking feeling in his chest at the distinct pause, thinking that they were missing an opportunity of contact.

  “Sir, I have to say that your voice is like an angel calling from heaven. I don’t suppose there’s any way you can wing your way over here and pick us up,” O’Malley inquired.

  “And where would that be, Sergeant?”

  “We’re on the far side of the ‘Stan, sir,” O’Malley replied, giving his coordinates and team composition.

  “Well, we’re positioned off the Bahamas,” Lawrence responded.

  “How’s that Piña Colada holding up?”

  “Not bad, but it’s difficult to get it in the hammock. However, I’m sorry to say that we haven’t reached the point of flying submersibles, so we’re going to have to do it the old-fashioned way and take the necessary time getting to the area,” Lawrence said.

  “Not even if you go really fast? Never mind, sir. If you bring a drink with an umbrella in it, all will be forgiven. So, what in the hell happened?”

  “I’m not really sure, Sergeant. We’re trying to figure things out on this end as well. You’ve been our only contact to date,” Lawrence answered, elaborating a little on what they’d encountered.

  “Well, that’s not good. We’ve seen much the same on this end. One large encampment and a smaller one, as well as a couple local communities. It’s all the same,” O’Malley mentioned.

  “How are you for supplies?”

  “We’re good for now, but if we have to truck through too much territory, it could get a little sporty,” O’Malley stated.

  “How is it that you and your team survived?” Lawrence inquired.

  “Well, sir, we were in a cave when the solar storm hit. The Army seems to enjoy sending us into those. We emerged into this shit…sorry, sir…situation. Went to our base camp, found that we weren’t welcome there, and proceeded to a secondary one. We weren’t received well there either, but that’s our current location.”

  “Is anything working on your end?”

  “Nothing, sir, other than what we had with us.”

  “Now, for the big question. Can you make it to the Arabian Sea?”

  “That will be quite a hike, sir, but we can try. Do you have anywhere specific in mind?”

  “It has to be remote, and given that our comms may run out at any time, we need to establish a primary pickup point. Standby.”

  Lawrence headed over to the nav table, running his fingers along coastlines.

  There, that’s the place, he thought, tapping his finger on a spot on the map.

  “Sergeant, there’s a place called Gaddani Shipbreaking Yard on the Pakistani coast,” Lawrence stated, giving the coordinates. “How long will it take you to get there?”

  A pause. “Sir, if I were to father a kid right now, you should meet up with my grandkids,” O’Malley replied. “We have pretty rough terrain crossing the mountains, then avoiding populated areas while staying in reach of water supplies. Give us thirty days and we can be there.”

  “Very well, Sergeant, thirty days. We’ll see you then.”

  “I’m going to give you a big kiss when we link up, just be prepared for that,” O’Malley said.

  “Please don’t do that, Sergeant.”

  “Nope. It’s going to happen, sir, so I’d appreciate it if you shaved prior,” O’Malley quipped.

  They ended the conversation by setting times for communication but knowing that may be impossible and that the team in Afghanistan didn’t have a lot of remaining battery power. Given that VHF didn’t normally bounce off the ionosphere to cause atmospheric skip, Lawrence knew that the odds of them talking again before meeting up were slim at best. He’d keep the schedule and meeting place, hoping that the others would be able to make it.

  Given that it would take three weeks, give or take, they had seven days to make supply runs between the annex and the island. They headed north, going up the York River under the cover of darkness, submerging after they passed the highway tunnels under the bay and waiting out the night adjacent to the annex. At dawn, they surfaced and checked out the area by the light of day. After assuring themselves that the reapers hadn’t gained access, they went ashore and began loading the Washington as full as they could, then they began the journey south.

  While loading up on their second supply run, Lawrence was approached.

  “Sir, I have to inform you that I’m picking up increased radiation levels in the area.”

  “How bad?” Lawrence inquired.

  “Low levels at the moment, sir. But, it has been increasing. If it continues at its present rate, then we can expect it to approach harmful levels within a week.”

  Lawrence pondered the information for a minute. If there had been a nuclear exchange, the base at Norfolk would have been targeted, so he ruled that out. That only left the numerous nuclear power plants operating on the eastern half of the nation. He had an idea what might have been causing the increased radiation.

  “Speculation?” he asked, wanting verification for his thoughts.

  “Well, sir. Given the breadth of the outbreak and the fact that Norfolk is still standing, I have to forgo the idea of a nuclear attack or accident. That leaves me thinking that the spent fuel rods stored at many of the nuclear power stations have evaporated their cooling ponds. If the pressure builds too much, then there’s a chance that they’ll cause an explosion. At the very least, they have to be emitting radiation at high levels. With the predominant wind patterns, that radiation will flow to the east and northeast. If enough of those plants go, then I’m guessing that we could be looking at the eastern part of the US becoming uninhabitable.”

  “I concur. How long do we have?”

  “I mentioned a week, but that depends on whether the current rate changes. I have little data with which to compare. If we make another run, I’ll have a better answer, sir.”

  “And the supplies we’re bringing on board? In particular, the canned goods. Are they safe?” Lawrence asked.

  “Aye, sir. The current levels are low, so they’ll be okay and won’t put the crew at risk. However, I’d like to measure the levels on any subsequent trips before we commence bringing anything aboard.”

  “Very well. Thank you.”

  As they motored down the river on their way back to the island, Lawrence stood atop the bridge, gazing at the clear skies and trees along the riverbank. Their beauty was undermined by the presence of an invisible threat. Each breath of wind carried a deadly menace. This may well be the last time he saw his home port. Somewhere in the wooded hills and concrete jungle was his wife. With the increasing radiation levels, there would now be no way to look for her. Not that the abundance of reapers hadn’t already ruled that out, but there had always been a small hope. Now, there was none; no chance for closure. A deep sadness folded around his heart.

  “Slow to two knots and remain on the surface. All hands on deck,” Lawrence ordered, trying to hold back the tears that welled up.

  The crew scrambled through hatches, pouring out onto the fore and aft decks. Other than the required few inside the control room to operate the vessel, all eyes turned to gaze expectantly toward the top of the conning tower.


  With a deep sigh to steady his emotions, Lawrence grabbed the mic.

  “We all know the state of our current world. You have held your fears and sorrows in check in order for us to survive. I’m proud of the professionalism that you’ve maintained, and for that, I thank you.

  “There’s no easy way to say this next part, so I’m just going to say it. We’ve detected increasing radiation levels in the area. Inside of a few days, they’ll approach harmful levels that will render this area off limits. This will be our last time here. Once we exit the bay and enter the Atlantic, we will depart these shores, never to return. If you have loved ones ashore, this is your time to say goodbye. For now, we are not sailors, nor do we wear any rank. We are grieving men and women. We will return to the outstanding naval submariners you are once we depart and turn south. I wish I could take us closer, but that’s not possible. I’m sorry,” Lawrence broadcast.

  The town of Norfolk came into view, the powerful carriers and sleek warships lying in their berths with buildings and forested slopes behind. The black hull of the Washington slid through the waters, lined on top with sailors gazing toward the shore. Several sailors fell to their knees, sobbing, their eyes glistening with tears. Those adjacent crouched and wrapped their arms around their grieving compatriots. Without closure, the grieving process would be much more difficult. Lawrence rotated the crew inside so they could get their chance on top as well.

  The black sub slowly passed the mouth of the harbor, sailors gazing toward the city that held memories of drunken nights, laughs with friends, hopes, dreams, and loved ones. Looking up from the grieving sailors below, Lawrence gazed toward the shore—toward the base housing area. It wasn’t visible, but he held the images of what it looked like in his head. Somewhere out there, dead or one of the reapers, was his wife Karen. Gripping the rails, he let the tears flow, his heart feeling like was being torn from his chest.

  The town slid past, the ships and base slowly becoming hidden from view. The last vestige of the flight decks vanished, feeling like a door was being closed. Below, sailors grieved, their bodies shaking from sobs, held by others. They passed over the tunnel of the last highway bridge, the wide bay entrance ahead leading to the open waters of the Atlantic. Lawrence turned back once more.

  “Goodbye, Karen. I hope you didn’t suffer. I love you.”

  Rounding the point, the city of Virginia Beach came into view, the hulk of the grounded submarine visible with its propeller still churning up silt.

  “Clear the decks. Make heading one-six-zero, speed twenty-five knots,” Lawrence ordered.

  They reached the island a day later, the crew going about their duties, but subdued. Offloading the supplies, they set a course to head across the Atlantic to round the Cape of Good Hope and on to their appointed rendezvous.

  Sergeant Reynolds—Part 2

  After a couple of days, the catatonic people ceased their redundant activities and began collapsing to the ground. Their faces became gaunt, their skin sunburned. Reynolds attempted to pour water into their mouths, but damn near drowned the first ones he tried. The vacant look in their eyes never left, even as death was drawing near. There were many conversations about what to do, but no one could bring themselves to put them out of their misery. Reynolds wasn’t even sure they felt misery, their expressions betraying nothing.

  The team continued looking through the camp for any clue as to what had happened, but it was not productive. That led them to believe that whatever occurred had happened in an instant—otherwise there would have been a note, a log entry, something. In the evenings prior to the sun setting, they contemplated the world and what they were going to do.

  “What about just staying here?” Hanson suggested one morning. “I mean, we have plenty of water and food, at least for a long while. Why do we need to set out at all?”

  “As much as I hate to say that I agree with anything Hanson says, I have to in this case,” Reynolds said. “I mean, look at it. If we move out, we’re going into an unknown. There’s more risk out there than there is here. The only reason for going would be to find a way back to the states. And, let’s face it, that’s just not going to happen in our present circumstance. As tough as you may be, O’Malley, you can’t pull five men across an ocean.

  “Test me,” O’Malley interrupted.

  Ignoring the comment, Reynolds continued. “We could find a large enough vessel, but what good would that do without power? We’ll have to find a sailboat or something. Who here knows how to sail? And, I’m not talking about a jaunt around the lake. I’m talking about a vast expanse whichever way we go. With currents and shit. Sure, we’ll have a compass, but no GPS or navigation system. We’d just as likely end up in South America or never see land again. That’s aside from running into some monster ass storm. No thank you!”

  “We have to figure that most shorelines, especially those where we’d find said boat, will be heavily populated. Now, maybe we could find one anchored and swim out to it, but what then? We’d likely sink the fucker in the first five minutes,” Hanson quipped.

  “So, what then? We sit around here in this fucking desert for the rest of our lives? The food won’t last forever. However, as vast and remarkable as my talents are, sailing isn’t one of them. But what the fuck else are we going to do? While we may not make it to the states, we’re going to have to find better accommodations at some point. Someplace with game, fishing, water, and no people. So, my suggestion is…” O’Malley began.

  “Sergeant…I think I have someone on the radio,” Mendez breathlessly said, running into the ammo bunker entrance.

  They streaked across the compound, throwing the heavy flaps of the command tent open. On a desk, their VHF radio sat connected to the tall antenna that rose above the large tent. O’Malley grabbed the mic and spoke. There wasn’t a reply. He looked askance toward Mendez, wondering if the heat had affected him.

  “I swear I heard something. I broadcast on the hour at our three-hour mark, like usual. This time, there was a reply. It was faint and garbled, only parts of words, but it was there. I promise,” Mendez defended.

  “Okay, we’re going to keep up the schedule. I’ll remain here with Reynolds and we’ll keep trying at regular intervals. The rest of you, go find something useful to do,” O’Malley said.

  * * * * * *

  “Well, I guess that settles the matter of our discussion,” O’Malley said, setting down the mic and turning off the radio.

  Coming into contact with the sub and actually having a plan, something that would take them out of their hellhole, buoyed their spirits. However, finding out that whatever had occurred was worldwide didn’t sit well. Nor did the fact that they were going to have to hike through hundreds of miles of inhospitable terrain, and possibly have to deal with those apparition things—the commander had called them “reapers”—as well as any guerillas that could still be holding out in the hills. There were many, many cave systems in the adjacent mountains, home to thousands of armed men and women who wouldn’t take kindly to six American soldiers strolling through. While they were glad to have had contact, they knew the odds of making it to the rendezvous point were slim.

  “So, we’re heading through that?” Reynolds said, pointing to the tall mountains rising immediately to the east.

  “Unless you’ve figured out how to teleport like those reaper things, yes, we’re going to have to go through at some point,” O’Malley replied. “Go round up the others so we can plan this expedition.”

  With the nearly dead soldiers laying on the ground across the encampment, the team gathered around a large table with maps spread across it.

  “Okay, ladies, here’s the gist of it. We’re meeting a sub at the Gaddani Shipbreaking Yard in thirty days. That’s over six hundred miles of fucking sand and mountains filled with sand that we have to negotiate. Part of through which we won’t have a viable water supply. Twenty miles a day. That may not seem like a lot, but that’s each and every day, all while maintaini
ng a low profile.” They could have proposed a less grueling timeline, but had to weigh the potential risk of remaining stranded versus a forced march. “Make no mistake about it, there are hostiles other than reapers out there. So, we treat it like we always do. If we decide to cross the mountains, the going will be even slower.

  “So, we have two choices. Both involve traveling south and hooking water and supply trailers up to camels. We’ll backtrack to that village if we have to. We remain near the ridges, keeping on the hard pack as much as possible, and avoid any inhabitance by a wide margin. Here, at the Gomal River, is where we need to make a choice. We can cross the mountains into Pakistan by taking the southern fork and working our way toward the lake. If we choose this route, we’ll have to find a track north somewhere before reaching the lake, perhaps this waterway here,” O’Malley pointed, “and intersect this highway leading through the mountains. Most of the road looks unpopulated, but that may or may not be true.

  “Once through the mountains, we’ll turn south and follow the contour of the range. It’ll be dry and we may have to leave the camels at some point along the way. Now, along the Indus, Pakistan has numerous canals so they can irrigate their crops. That means people. We’ll follow that south until we reach Manchar Lake, and then beeline it across to Gaddani.

  “The second option is to continue south, taking the roads and keeping close to the foot of the mountains. It’s the more populated route in some places, which will mean having to go out of our way when we bump up against the towns and villages. It’s also the dryer route and passes next to the Kandahar, which by the way, is awfully close to the Helmand region. I don’t have to tell any of you what that means. It’s going to be tough whichever way we go.”

  Hanson chuckled. “So…what? You’ve finally found something that has you stumped and you’re calling for a vote?”

  “Hanson,” O’Malley began with a deep sigh. “I was really hoping that you’d take after me, at least just a little bit. But, I see you’ve taken after your mother after all.”