The Third Wave: Eidolon

by John O'Brien

  “Is he surrendering?” Reynolds asked.

  “I don’t pretend to understand them. He could be praying for all I know,” O’Malley answered. “Keep your wits about you, lads.”

  “Americans in the rocks. I am Hamed. We do not wish to fight,” the man yelled in English.

  “Well, we won’t need a translator at least,” Hanson quipped.

  “It doesn’t look much like that to me, Hamed. Your men are in the rocks on the high ground and armed. It looks plenty to me like you want to fight,” O’Malley shouted in return.

  “And your men are hunkered in the rocks, armed as well. Does that mean you want to fight, or merely defend yourselves?” Hamed replied.

  “He has a point,” Dixon stated.

  “So does your head. Now, shut up,” O’Malley said.

  The man walked forward, his hands still raised.

  “That’s close enough,” O’Malley said. “I can hear you just fine where you are.”

  “As I said, we do not wish to fight you. We were enemies once, but now there is a greater one. Do you not agree?” Hamed yelled.

  “So, why even talk to us at all? Why not just go do your thing and leave us to ours?” O’Malley said.

  “Because, how is your phrase…the more the merrier,” Hamed responded.

  “The more the merrier, my ass. I don’t trust this shit,” O’Malley muttered.

  “Why not, Sarge? They could have shot us anytime. They have the high ground and numbers,” Reynolds said.

  “And they’d have lost a few. They can follow us and take us when we’re not aware,” O’Malley replied.

  “Then why haven’t they already? Look, I’m not saying that we toss our weapons out and go dance naked in the road. But, let’s hear what he has to say. They know this area and can possibly help. Besides, in a way, this war was over when we emerged from that cave. We just didn’t know it at the time. There are obviously very few of us left, so why not hear him out? They could have ambushed us at any time and easily killed us, or set an IED, or hell, mortared us, I guess. And, you know it.” Reynolds stated. “And, before you plant your boot in my ass, I’m not arguing against you. I know the risks. I’m just suggesting that it won’t put us in a worse position than we already are. And, every minute he talks puts us a minute closer to night.”

  “I wouldn’t say easily,” O’Malley countered. “But, I do hear you.”

  O’Malley turned back toward the man in the road.

  “Trust is scarce, Hamed. You have what? Twenty men in the hills, maybe more. I’ll admit it takes a big pair to come out like you did, but that doesn’t make us best friends,” O’Malley said.

  “Twenty-three,” Hamed stated.

  “What?”

  “There are twenty-three men and women,” Hamed replied. “And, is it okay if I put my hands down?”

  “As long as they don’t come back up with a weapon.”

  “I am the leader of these men and women. They will listen to what I say. You may take me hostage, tie me up if you feel the need. They will not attack unless I directly give the order to. Or, if you shoot at us. Then they will attack.”

  “Okay, walk closer so we don’t have to bloody shout,” O’Malley said.

  The man walked toward the team and halted a few yards away.

  “There are few left. These men and women are all that’s left in these mountains. The cities and villages, they are full of demons. While they may not survive the summer, they are a very great danger. Together, perhaps we can live through this,” Hamed said.

  “So, then, the question begs to be asked. Why do you need us? Why don’t you just retire to your caves or homes, or wherever you live? Why even make contact with us at all?” O’Malley inquired.

  “We saw you when you entered the mountains and it looked like you were trying to leave. Your government is no longer in Afghanistan, so there is no need to fight any longer. You are the only ones remaining, but I see no reason for killing you. With so few, we need every survivor. The past is the past. We contacted you to help if we could,” Hamed said.

  “What he says makes sense. And, with twenty-nine, it will be a lot easier to fend off any reapers that we encounter,” Hanson responded.

  “We’d also attract a lot more attention,” O’Malley countered. “Look, I’m not against it, but I am against putting us in a situation that puts us at greater risk. Let’s not forget that we have a sub to catch. If we show up at the rendezvous with a boatload of Taliban, it’s going to look like we’ve been captured and they want to take over the boat. If I were that sub’s captain, I’d sail right on by if I saw that.”

  “They could remain hidden while we made contact. Then, we talk with the commander and go from there. While we may not like it, we’re already outnumbered, and I seriously doubt we’d escape from these hills even if we escaped tonight. We’re already in trouble, so why not go along with it? In for a penny, you know,” Reynolds said.

  “Look, I know it makes sense. I know it would be easier. But, how do we trust what they’re saying?”

  “Because we’d probably already be dead if they wanted. There’s no reason I can see to lure us into a trap. We’re already in one. Sure, the ground would be littered with their own dead, and they know that, but we’d be dead nonetheless,” Reynold said.

  “Okay, I get that. It’s my job to be the devil’s advocate here. I’ve been around the block a few times,” O’Malley responds. To Hamed, he said. “So, what assurances do we have that you mean what you’re saying?”

  “Assurances?” Hamed laughed. “You and your men would be dead if I did not mean what I am saying.”

  “Fair enough. This is going to be tough for a bit. Both your men and mine will be trigger happy, so I think it best if we don’t make any sudden movements for a while,” O’Malley said.

  “Okay, American. Where is it that you are heading?”

  “To the Gaddani Shipbreaking Yard.”

  “The shipbreaking yard? Why is it that you want to go there? There is nothing but dead ships.”

  “We’re meeting some friends there.”

  “Well, we will show you a quicker route, then. Will your friends take us with you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Why would you want to leave your homes, though?”

  Hamed again laughed. “You have seen Afghanistan. It’s beautiful to me, but why stay? All my life I have fought. The Russians, the Americans, others. To me, Afghanistan means only fighting, and I wish to stop.”

  “I hear you there, buddy. I’m pretty much done with it myself,” O’Malley answered. “Okay, let’s get your men off the hills. They make me nervous.”

  With a call from Hamed, men hidden across the ridge tops moved from their positions, gathered horses, and descended at angles down the steep inclines. In the middle of the mountains, deep inside what used to be a Taliban stronghold and only a few miles from the Pakistan border, twenty-nine men and women who used to be mortal enemies stood together in the middle of a lonely road.

  * * * * * *

  The freedom fighters led the team through a series of ravines and over ridge saddles as they worked their way south. The paths they followed were mere tracks, but the going was much quicker with the horses. Several of the guerillas spoke broken English, but the language barrier kept the two groups mostly separate.

  The wariness felt on both sides substantially subsided after each found themselves alive following the first night. That night was spent in separate camps with watches set and little sleep attained, but as the days followed, trust was gained in slow increments. Even with the horses, the actual miles traveled each day toward the rendezvous were low due to the number of cutbacks they had to make through the mountains.

  After crossing into Pakistan and descending the final steep section of east-west ridgelines, they were able to make better progress, and the two groups were more relaxed with each other. Conversations were attempted with mixed results due to the language barrier. O’Malley and Hamed rode t
ogether for the most part, talking about their various experiences and previous lives.

  “We fled the country and moved to England when I was twelve,” Hamed had recounted. “When the Russians invaded, I returned to fight for my country. Then it was infighting among the warlords, and then against the western nations when we were again invaded.”

  “I can respect that,” O’Malley replied.

  They continued the conversation, ending up agreeing to disagree about the American involvement in Afghanistan. By the end of the trip south, O’Malley and Hamed were inseparable.

  Leaving the group they’d met at the bottom, Reynolds and the rest of the team crawled atop a small hill overlooking the miles of beach that made up the shipbreaking yard. A short distance toward the ocean, a paved road ran the length of the beach with ramshackle buildings and walled houses on both sides. Concrete walls segmented the entire beach into large lots with piles of rusting scrap metal dotting the sand for miles on end. The most impressive features were the enormous hulks of ships that had been beached, all in varying states of being broken down, section by section.

  A very gentle surf rolled between the resting ships and onto the shores. Looking west, the blue waters stretched unbroken to the horizon, sunlight shimmering off the calm surface. Reynolds looked out at the waters, searching the endless blue for any sign of the sub they were supposed to be meeting.

  “Looks like they aren’t here,” Dixon observed.

  “Fuck! I really hope we didn’t miss it,” Mendez added.

  It had taken them thirty-two days to reach their rendezvous, but surely the commander and his crew would have waited a little longer.

  “Patience. If you were a sub captain, would you loiter on the surface? These weren’t exactly friendly waters,” O’Malley remarked. “Hook that battery up to the radio and see if there’s any juice remaining.”

  Several reapers prowled among the junk piles in the walled lots to their front and sides.

  “If we do make contact, we’ll have to wade through that. Clear them out,” O’Malley said while waiting for the radio to be set up.

  Reynolds looked through his scope, zooming in on the first one in sight.

  “Range the one by the large pile directly to our front,” Reynolds said to Hanson.

  “Three hundred twenty yards, heat shimmers showing, wavering to the left,” Hanson responded.

  Reynolds lined up the shot, holding over the target as the reaper moved to and fro. The wavering apparition was a constant companion. The man knelt, grabbing at his temples, then lifted his head and screamed. A muted cough preceded the bullet striking home, sending a spray of blood, bone, and brain outward. The man slumped to the side, falling into the goo soaking into the hot sand, his shriek silenced.

  Hanson called out the next target, Reynolds moving the barrel until his crosshairs centered on another man, then waiting. A moment later, he fell into a pile of rusting metal, blood pouring from his mouth and nostrils. Seven shots later, more bodies joined the others already laying on the beach.

  “That’s all I see,” Hanson stated.

  “Okay, make the radio call,” O’Malley ordered.

  Minutes later, a black shape silently rose from the depths offshore.

  “Fuck yes!” Dixon exclaimed.

  Messages were exchanged, O’Malley charged with ensuring that the beaches were cleared before a raft could be sent ashore.

  “We also have company, sir,” O’Malley reported, explaining the presence of the still hidden guerillas.

  Commander Lawrence was obviously not happy at first with bringing Taliban aboard his vessel, old instincts dying hard. Even with the downfall of humankind, the prejudices and security concerns were hardwired.

  “Can you vouch for them? And I mean each and every one of them, Sergeant?” Lawrence asked.

  “Yes, sir. Without them, we’d still be trudging through those damn mountains. We’ve had absolutely zero problems with any of the men and women. For them, the war is over,” O’Malley answered.

  “Very well, Sergeant. In a way, we’re lucky for the skeleton crew, as it gives room aboard. They have permission to board, but I want them unarmed. That’s not negotiable,” Lawrence responded.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

  “Okay, boys. We need to ensure that the area is cleared,” O’Malley continued, speaking to the team.

  “So, we have to wade through all that junk and look for reapers? That’s not going to be a fun ride,” Hanson commented.

  “No, actually. I was thinking that you’d walk out there and make some noise,” O’Malley told Hanson.

  Hanson chuckled. “Yeah, right, okay.”

  O’Malley stared at him without saying a word.

  “Oh, fuck! You’re serious, aren’t you?” Hanson said.

  “Reynolds here is a good shot. They’ll be dead before taking their second step,” O’Malley stated.

  “Sarge, I’m not that good. That seems an unnecessary risk,” Reynolds commented.

  “I’ll go with you,” Dixon volunteered.

  “Me, too,” Mendez added.

  “Okay, it’s settled then. Head down to the open ground and make sure you have plenty of room around you, then make some noise. If it gets too thick, run back into our waiting arms,” O’Malley said.

  Hanson, Dixon, and Mendez rose and descended onto the barren plain. Near the road and walled compounds, the three men hooted and hollered. Dixon actually began to dance while yelling.

  “To the far right, coming out from that building near the road,” O’Malley reported, his eye to the spotting scope.

  “I see it,” Reynold responded.

  Hearing the range and condition read-offs, he took aim at the figure racing across the pavement and onto the sand, this time aiming for center mass. Reynolds adjusted his aim and fired, the reaper stumbling to its hands and knees in the deep sand at the same moment. The bullet sailed high over the man and struck the pavement with a spark before caroming off and impacting the side of a building.

  “Fuck,” Reynolds exclaimed.

  “Steady, lad. His luck will run out with your next shot,” O’Malley said.

  The next shot impacted center mass, the dirty white robe the man was wearing blossoming with red. The reaper was thrown off his feet and landed on his back. The wraith lunged upward and forward, the man’s body blurring. He rematerialized on his feet a few feet ahead, stumbling as his feet tried to keep up. Red flowed outward and down the robe, turning it into a lopsided bullseye. Two steps later, the man fell face forward, the apparition misting above his body and vanishing like just another heat shimmer.

  “Well, that was…interesting,” O’Malley remarked, searching for another target.

  They waited a few moments, but no other reapers appeared.

  “All clear. Wright, go tell the dancing circus bear down there that his job is done. I have a conversation to have with Hamed.”

  * * * * * *

  With Hamed and his group settled, but eyed warily by the crew, O’Malley and the team sat in the mess, grateful to have something to eat that wasn’t MREs, savoring their steaming cups of coffee. Mostly, they were thankful not to be standing a mile from the sun in its direct rays. Sitting at the table with Grieves and Lawrence, they related their stories as the Washington worked its way south, retracing their route back around Africa and into the Atlantic. O’Malley thought to invite Hamed, but Lawrence wanted their first chat together to be just among them.

  “Well, first, I have to say that it’s good to have you on board. We could use your combat experience. We can sail around the world and put a missile up a gnat’s ass, stalk an enemy fleet unseen and unheard, or infiltrate enemy waters, but put a rifle in our hands ashore and we’re like babies having our candy taken. Those additional supplies you brought will also come in handy,” Lawrence said.

  “Thanks for driving out here and picking our sorry asses up, sir. I think I can safely speak for the rest of us and say that
we’d have killed ourselves if we had to remain in that country. Along those lines, let me iterate that Hamed and his group are trustworthy. They could have taken us down at any time, and they’ve been nothing but helpful and cooperative,” O’Malley responded.

  “And, Sergeant, did that trust happen all at once?”

  “No, sir. It did take some time,” O’Malley answered.

  “Then, give us time as well.”

  “Fair enough, sir. So, where are we heading?”

  “We have supplies we pilfered from a naval supply depot and stashed on a remote island. That’s our destination, and where we’ll stay for a while. We’re hoping that the winter months will kill off any reapers in the northern states. But, that really doesn’t help us as much as it would seem. We’ve detected increasing radiation levels along the eastern seaboard, which will soon, if it’s not already, be lethal. I suspect that the nuclear reactors have gone critical and are leaking tremendous amounts of radiation. I suspect the same will be happening across the world. That leaves very few habitable areas where we can live for the long-term.

  “The way we figure it, the missile silos will still be viable, but those are in the north-central US without an easy way to get there. With the east coast out, that leaves the west coast, which is a temperate zone west of the Cascades. That means reapers will most likely live through the winter, creating a barrier we’ll have to go through. Another question we don’t have an answer for is how long they’ll be able to survive, or how many will,” Lawrence briefed.

  “And miners. They’ll likely to have lived through it, but when they came to the surface, well…” Grieves added, shrugging.

  “So, what about other places? Given the radiation fallout, that leaves the South Pacific, Australia, New Zealand, Africa, and parts of South America and Mexico. Not to mention Canada and Alaska,” O’Malley said. “We’ve found that those near water are the only ones able to survive. Plus, there has to be food. Are they chasing down prey? Do you know how and what they’re eating?”