Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset

by James Hunt

  “And men?”

  “Our biggest concentration is in the Midwest, more specifically here in Kansas, but we have almost no one in the northeast or the west coast.”

  “What about in terms of numbers?”

  “Combat ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Two hundred thousand, but that’s including the soldiers we acquired through the Army. The Navy still has enough firepower to pose a threat, and the aircraft we have are strictly transportation with the exception of a few Black Hawks we managed to get our hands on.”

  “If I can get us the jets, can we take out their ships?”

  “Depends on who we get to fly them.”

  Gordon’s fingertips dragged across the edges of the map as he walked the north border and down the eastern seaboard to Virginia, where he circled Washington D.C. with the tip of his nail. He bent his knees until his eyes were level with the table.

  “All right. We’ll see what the President has planned first. No need to show our cards just yet,” Gordon said.

  Dean trailed closely behind Gordon as the two walked toward the administrative building reserved for the President’s staff located in Topeka. The weekly meetings had always been a point of discontent, but lately it had escalated to the point of viciousness. Both Gordon and the President could see the long wick that was attached to the ordnance of war.

  Jared, and his old watchdog Marcus that growled whenever Gordon got too close, had already taken their seats at the table when Gordon and Dean walked into the conference room.

  “Always have to be at the head of the table,” Gordon said, taking a seat at the opposite end from where Jared sat. Dean took the chair to Gordon’s right, and its legs seemed to buckle when he sat down. “So, what do we have today?”

  Jared’s shoulders stretched as broad as the table before him and looked as though they would break free from the suit in which they were encased. His face was decorated with the same controlled, statuesque reserve that had commanded so many conference rooms in his days in the weapon’s industry. His fingers were laced together comfortably in front of him on the table’s slick surface. “The farm camps will be moving away from the Soil Coalition’s control and into federal jurisdiction.”

  “On whose authority?” Gordon asked.

  “The President’s.”

  Gordon leaned back in his chair, smiling. “And how does the President plan on accomplishing that? Every farm camp from Topeka to Wyoming is under the control of my sentries. My men. The only authority they recognize is mine.”

  “Gordon, food production is down, you have yet to find a cure for the soil, and we’re being pressured by China to begin debt payments. The President believes it’s time for a change.”

  “Change is what got us here in the first place, Jared. It didn’t work out then, and it won’t work now.”

  Gordon kicked his chair backwards and stormed out of the room with Dean stumbling behind him. Once they were away from the prying eyes and ears of Jared and his staff, Gordon turned on Dean, shoving his finger into the man’s muscled chest. “I want patrols doubled at every farm camp, and I want our reserves put on active duty and watching our supply routes. You tell them to blow away any unauthorized force that tries to interfere with their work. Understand?”

  Dean nodded and immediately started calling every squad leader on his phone. Now that Gordon knew the President’s position, he could maneuver his men. The first chess piece had been put into play, and now it was their move.

  ***

  The moment Gordon walked out of the meeting, Marcus and the rest of Jared’s staff went into crisis mode. “These were the latest numbers as of yesterday,” Marcus said, pulling out a booklet encased in a clear plastic cover. “We’ll have enough to last us a few weeks, but if we can’t get the farm camps, then we’ll starve.”

  “What about the fisheries?” Jared asked.

  “They’re running at capacity. We just don’t have enough people with the ability to catch them. We’ve started a few training programs out in California, but it’ll be a while before they’re up to par with the rest of them.”

  “Will it be enough to offset the farm camps?”

  “No, it’ll be at least six months before that happens.”

  “We may not be alive by then.”

  Jared’s chair rolled backwards across the firm carpet as he stood up. The Soil Coalition that started out as a humanitarian organization had quickly replaced what army and police force remained in the country. The militarized state was never supposed to last.

  “I’ve scheduled a meeting with the Joint Chiefs,” Marcus said. “They’ll be video conferencing with us in a few minutes.” The projector’s screen descended from the ceiling, and Jared connected his laptop to the projector. When the video feed finally came through, Jared was faced with four war-weathered faces.

  “Joint Chiefs, thank you for taking the time to meet with me today,” Jared said.

  “How did he react?” General Mears asked.

  “He doubled the number of sentries around the farm camps. He’s not going to give up control of the Soil Coalition willingly.”

  “We didn’t think he would,” General Mears replied. “The President wants to avoid a civil war, but if Gordon’s not willing to step down quietly, then we’ll have to respond.”

  “How many ground forces does the Army have left, General?”

  “Roughly thirty thousand, but Admiral Frizen controls the coasts, and General Cooley has made a considerable effort to maintain our jets.”

  Admiral Frizen, the youngest of the group, but still well into his sunset years, nodded in agreement. “His men will hurt just as bad from our blockade of imports as much as ours will hurt from his control of the food production. But so will the nation’s people.”

  “The President doesn’t want us to prolong this, but he wants to minimize loss of life with regard to civilian casualties,” General Mears said.

  “Gordon will hit the Gulf Coast first,” Admiral Frizen said. “That’s where our presence is the weakest. He’ll try and commandeer as many villages and refineries as he can. We need you to gather as much intel as you can in Topeka.”

  “My staff is working on it, Admiral,” Jared said.

  “I have a Coast Guard unit just outside of Galveston,” Admiral Frizen replied. “I can have them start establishing a base of forward command at that location.”

  “Very well, then,” Jared replied. “I’ll inform the President of our meeting and you can give him a breakdown of the specifics. If he chooses to go through with it, then we’ll already have the assets in place. Thank you, gentlemen.”

  The video call ended and Jared leaned back into his chair. He knew Gordon would manipulate the oil manufacturing to begin choking out the rest of the country’s military that could pose a threat to him. And Gordon also knew that the military wouldn’t attempt any bombings in the area that could potentially damage what was left of the infrastructure. All Gordon had to do was surround the refineries with enough men to prevent any ground infiltration.

  “When do you think he’ll make a move?” Marcus asked.

  “He already has,” Jared answered.

  Jared’s secretary opened the door, exposing the quiet room to the chaos in the hallways. “I’m sorry, Mr. Farnes, but I received word that your son was sent out to the field again.”

  “Sydney?” Jared asked. “Where?”

  “I wasn’t given a location.”

  “Well, try and find one.”

  She nodded and then closed the door. Marcus’s face showed more concern than Jared’s at the news. “Do you think he’ll use Sydney as a hostage?”

  “No. Gordon knows that wouldn’t work.” Jared grabbed his cell and dialed his son’s number. It went straight to voicemail.

  Chapter 4

  The door to Alex’s room was sealed shut and the curtain was pulled over the only window. Alex sat huddled in the corner, the glow from the laptop’s screen revealing a smile
across his face. The laptop’s screen had multiple windows open, each containing data from different members of his community. But what triggered the smile wasn’t the data but a window that Alex had maximized, which contained a message, riddled with spelling errors, from Meeko.

  Deer Alex,

  They gayv me a compewter! I didnt even half one of these before coming to the community! Everything is good hear. Im living with Harper now. I don’t know how much he likes it though. He cries a lot. But I think that’s just because he misses Alice. Peeple keep asking about you and how youre doing. I keep telling them that I haven’t heard from you yet, but that I hope you well message me soon. I miss you. And I miss Warren, even though I know he’s not coming back. The food here has gotten better. We get three meals a day now. And they turned the water on! The latrines out back still smell though and I don’t think they’re going to do anything about it though. I hope youre OK. Message me.

  Meeko

  Ps They gave me chocolate, but don’t think I’ll be able to save any for you. Sorry.

  Each time he read it, he could hear Meeko’s voice in his head following the same rambling line of thought and spewing whatever came to mind out of his mouth and onto the page. And even after the hundredth time reading it, he still couldn’t help but smile.

  Alex had hit the reply button after his first read through, but its only content was the blinking cursor. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t find the right words. He couldn’t tell Meeko the truth, but that was the only thing he could focus on. In the end, he chose an omission of truth rather than a lie.

  Dear Kid:

  I’m glad you’re doing well, and don’t give Harper too much of a hard time. Everything’s good here and I will hopefully be done soon. Tell everyone I said hi, and make sure you save some hot water for me when I get back.

  Alex

  He clicked send and the message disappeared. The boy didn’t need to know everything else, or that his life was at risk. That was Alex’s burden to bear.

  Just before Alex powered down the laptop to conserve the battery, a notification hit his inbox. His heart leapt, thinking it was Meeko, but when he clicked on it the elation faded. It was from Jake. There were no words in the body of the email. The only message was in the subject line.

  DON’T FORGET

  Alex powered down the laptop and slammed it shut. He tucked it into his sack, which he then stuffed under his mattress. Tomorrow morning, the hard part began.

  ***

  The sound of footsteps pattered across the old floors of the house. Alex could hear his housemates going through their morning rituals before heading to work. He just lay there, listening from his cot. Once he heard the front door open and close he sat upright, the bones in his back and legs popping from the sudden movement.

  Alex stretched his arms high above his head, letting the blood flow circulate through his stiff body. During his sleepless night, he’d studied every inch of the ceiling above him. He could recreate every groove, crack, and line that twisted and turned above him. He rose from the cot, still fully dressed from the day before, complete with his shoes on, and walked into the living room.

  Everyone had gone, and the only thing that remained was the old man’s paper and pencil. Alex picked up the faded newspaper and tried to make out the date. It was four years old, and it was thick. He opened it to the next page and a handful of advertisements fell out. Sunday edition. He picked up one of the sheets that advertised big sales for televisions, computers, and clothes. The models in the ads were disfigured by the effects of time. Random eyes, mouths, and limbs appeared on the pages from companies that had long since closed.

  Alex made sure to set the paper back down and noticed a crossword puzzle on the back, and written in most of the boxes were crude penciled letterings. Most of the puzzle had been solved, but there seemed to be one section that eluded its seeker. It was twenty-three across. He looked over at the hint, which read “a person who renounces their beliefs.” Two letters were already filled in, and Alex finished the rest. Apostate.

  The sun was well into the sky as he made his way toward Main Street to find Todd Penn. Aside from the name, he didn’t have anything else to go on. The community was busy completing their daily tasks, ranging from stitching clothes at the factory or prepping the daily rations at the meal station. He figured starting at the factory would be his first stop, and if he couldn’t find the man there, in another two hours the streets would fill with the bony skeletons making their way to the food trough, ready to down their slop.

  The hum of the sewing machines was deafening when Alex walked inside the factory. The community members hunched over the small desks running pieces of fabric together, with the needles on the machines working as tirelessly as the fingers pushing the cloth forward. Those that didn’t sew gathered the newly stitched cloth from the baskets by the sewers’ feet and took them to the back to be folded and packaged. Then they would return with more raw fabric for the sewers to stitch.

  The room was split in half. One side focused on the sentry uniforms, which required more time due to the intricate nature of the clothes, and the other half handled the rags that everyone in the room was already wearing. It was all the same color, the same shape, the same scratchy material. Those that still managed to keep some clothes before their relocation wore them sparingly, because once they were torn or ruined, they’d be replaced by the rags their blood-pricked fingers sewed together here.

  Alex spotted his bald, older housemate in the back, those blue eyes focused on the task at hand, and for good reason. The needle’s speed for stitching was incredibly fast. The needles had already sliced the fingers of workers twice since he entered, and they were quick to stop the bleeding and continue their work. The sentries in the factory watched over them like hawks. Any community member not meeting the hourly quota was warned, then beaten, then taken to a farm camp and replaced by someone more efficient. By the looks of the operation, the sentries hadn’t needed to replace anyone in a long time.

  After a few passes, Alex couldn’t spot Todd, so he left and investigated the other community buildings. He passed the town hall, the meal station, and the sentry headquarters, but his eye caught a peculiar building that he hadn’t noticed before. It was smaller, with only a single window out front. The roof sagged heavier than its neighbors, and the wood was much more worn, revealing its age.

  The door was open and Alex stepped inside. Simple, plain wooden caskets stood propped up along the sides of the walls. Alex ran his hand across one of them, feeling the rough grain of plywood under his fingertips. All of the boxes were the same size.

  “Can I help you?”

  The picture that Jake had shown him must have been dated, but despite the beard and thinner frame, Alex recognized his mark. “Sorry. I was just looking around. Is this a morgue?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “So you’re telling me that the people who die in your community are buried?”

  “Yes.”

  Alex was speechless. He couldn’t keep track of the number of bodies he’d run across over the past three years. Thin, emaciated, lifeless carcasses that were picked up by a sentry and thrown into the back of a truck to be burned in a pile. With the lack of food, nobody wanted to waste the energy in burying someone when they barely had enough strength to walk down the street.

  “You looked surprised,” Todd said.

  “Did the Coalition build this?”

  “No. It was an abandoned post office before they showed up. The Coalition chose this location because this building provided the only piece of infrastructure for thirty miles, and with the number of farms that used to be around here, they needed somewhere to set up shop to control what population was still here. You’re our new hunter, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It looked like you came back empty-handed the other day.”

  “Well, there’s not much left out there anymore.”

  “Not much left here either.”
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  Alex walked over to one of the caskets. “Where do you bury them?”

  Todd led Alex out back where dozens of wooden crosses were stuck into the earth. Mounds of dirt outlined the boxes that were buried six feet under. “How’d you get the sentries to agree to this?” Alex asked.

  “I do most of the work, and then a few others usually help me dig. It requires no extra work for the sentries, and in the beginning I think they only agreed to help build some good will. Not that they needed it with the amount of guns they brought with them. When I’m not here, I work at the meal station.”

  Each cross had a name etched on it. The letters were chiseled neatly and orderly. Alex ran his fingers over the indentations of the closest one and then dropped to one knee. The name on the cross was Mary. The woman buried underneath was someone he had never met. He didn’t know what she looked like or the type of life she had and the things she enjoyed before the soil crisis. He didn’t know if she had been surrounded by the people she loved and cared about when she died or if she even knew the community members that buried her. The woman six feet under had a life, and the fact that these people gave her a final resting place meant they had respected that life.

  Alex bowed his head where he paused for a moment before pushing himself off the grey earth and brushed the ash from his knee. As he walked back to the building, he noticed another cluster of crosses. The mounds of dirt there were smaller. Smaller mounds. Smaller boxes. As he passed them, Alex noticed one of the names etched on the cross. Evelyn Penn.

  Alex wasn’t sure if Todd noticed, but when they walked back to the building, Todd stopped him. “You know, our old hunter was a great man. Everybody here in the community misses him, me included. If you want to start earning some good will, then I suggest you start bringing some food back from your hunts.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” Alex turned to leave, and the combination of the large caskets on the walls and the small mounds of dirt in the back made him stop at the door. “I haven’t seen any kids here.”