Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset

by James Hunt

  Luis had received orders to continue his campaign into Oklahoma, then Kansas, but he first needed to find two men stuck somewhere in the untamed land of north Wyoming. These men knew who betrayed his sister, putting her in Gordon Reath’s twisted hands.

  Ben, the old man who guided Luis to the hidden lab where Emma and Todd had completed their work, did the best he could in giving a description of Alex but had no exact location of where he was.

  The Coalition wasn’t known for pardoning its community members or granting any sense of mercy. Reath ruled his subordinates with a spiked, poison-tipped iron fist. He didn’t just hurt people—he mutilated them. The farm camps were built on a foundation of corpses. Each day they added to it, raising their factories of death higher.

  “There,” Ben said, shouting from inside the tank. “Just to the east.”

  A significant piece of earth had been dislodged and exposed an opening, which revealed a staircase. The tank came to a stop, and Luis jumped to the ground in one swift, powerful motion. When he landed, the large piece of metal that was used to conceal Todd’s lab rattled. They were the only people around for miles, but Luis drew his sidearm out of habit and descended into the dark cavern below.

  “Who’s there?” a voice called.

  “Commander Luis Claire, United States Navy.”

  “Christ, Luis! It’s Ray!”

  Luis hurried down the steps and found the generator. He cranked it to life, turning on the lights that revealed both Ray and Nelson, bound together at the end of the lab. Luis holstered his pistol and pulled out his knife to cut the men free. “You two all right?”

  The blade sliced through the rope used to subdue the two of them, and they both rubbed their wrists. “Yeah,” Ray said. “We’re okay.”

  “Ray, I don’t have a lot of time. I need you to tell me everything you know about the man who was here. The hunter.”

  “Fucking two-faced traitor is what he is,” Ray answered, sulking around the lab’s main table, still rubbing the tender flesh under his wrists and working out the stiffness in his legs from being bound up for almost an entire day. “He was from some community in Kansas, at least that’s what he told us. I don’t know if it’s true or not.”

  “I need to find him, Ray. And I need to find him quickly.”

  “I could probably hack into the database and see where they’re keeping them,” Nelson said.

  “You can do that?” Luis asked.

  Nelson wiggled his way around Ray and took a seat in front of his computer. A few quick keystrokes and hundreds of lines of code and pieces of data flew across the screen. “It shouldn’t be too difficult.” Nelson’s fingers turned into blurs over the keyboard. “There, it looks like Alex was taken back to his community in west Kansas.”

  “What about Emma and Todd?” Luis asked. “Can you find them?”

  Another few quick strokes, and a massive error message filled the screen. Nelson quickly backtracked and tried another way in but was met with the same result. “They’re not coming up.”

  Luis gripped the table next to him for support, hoping the other two men didn’t notice. The same sturdy legs that had weathered countless storms on the unforgiving ocean waves could barely keep him upright on level ground. If they weren’t in Gordon’s databases, then he wasn’t sure what Gordon was doing to them. They were most likely in Topeka, which was the heart of the Coalition’s infrastructure. It was surrounded by farm camps and communities armed with tens of thousands of sentries.

  Invading Topeka was the endgame for the military’s push against the Coalition, but it would be some time before they could take the Coalition’s capital. And Luis wasn’t even sure if Emma and Todd would be alive by then.

  Chapter 2

  The decorated chests and five-starred bars stretching across the shoulders of the president’s chiefs of staff remained reserved in the stone-etched expressions of the war-weathered generals in the president’s war room. Each gave their strategic advice to the president for his decision in taking control of the Coalition. At the helm of that top military brass was Admiral Frizen, who’d taken the lead as the official commander of the United States war efforts.

  Last year, Admiral Frizen celebrated his thirtieth anniversary as a member of the armed forces and his fifty-ninth on this earth. Despite the patches of white and gray that had woven their way onto his head over the past decade, he still retained some remnants of the brown hair of his youth. His face and body, however, had maintained youthful exuberance, despite accumulating six decades of life lived. Of all the joint chiefs, he was the only one who still looked like he could join his men on the front lines.

  “Mr. President, the Navy’s countermeasure for the Soil Coalition was put into place during the first few months of the Coalition’s existence. It was kept off the books in case the Coalition ever became a threat, and to also help supplement the research efforts set forth to find a solution to the damage done by GMO-24. The team was assembled through a mixture of military and civilian personnel. Heading that team for the Navy was Commander Luis Claire, who was stationed at Everett Naval Base, a low-key military installation where infantry assets were stored to stay out of the reach of the Coalition during their acquisition of many of the Army’s resources,” Admiral Frizen said.

  Outside of Commander Claire’s unit, there were only a handful of other people, both military and civilian alike, who knew about the countermeasure. It was a hand that Frizen played close to the chest. He had advised against the formation of the Coalition since the beginning, but reelection fears overpowered the decision-making process.

  “Wyoming was originally chosen due to its distance away from the earlier Coalition communities, as well as the soil quality during that same time. The civilian team that Commander Claire organized comprised Nelson Willow, PhD in computer science and analytics, Ray Nickle, PhD in statistics, Todd Penn, PhD in biochemistry, and Emma Claire, MD. Their task was the research and resolution of the soil effects created by GMO-24. Now, the last communication we had coming out of Wyoming from that team was one of success.”

  The quiet seal of the room broke open as the president’s staff erupted with a slew of questions and accusations.

  “How could you keep this from the president?”

  “What were the civilians’ credentials? Were they vetted?”

  “When was the last point of contact?”

  “Where is Commander Claire stationed now?”

  Out of all the shouting and questions that Frizen took on the chin, none of them asked the most important question until Jared Farnes, who sat just to the right of the president, rose and quieted the room with the commanding presence of a general, without the want or need for the title. “Gentlemen! Please!” The waves of clamor quieted instantly.

  “Admiral,” the president said, his words sullen and low. “Does Gordon have the soil solution that you and Commander Luis’s team were working on?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  A collective sigh escaped the room, which refueled the barrage of blame and frustration. Every syllable that was thrown toward Frizen simply plunked off the front of his uniform and fell to the floor. Words in a time of war were about as useless as a bail bucket full of holes. In his experience, bullets were much more effective.

  “Enough!” the president ordered, slamming his fists on the table, silencing the childish nonsense. “If it weren’t for Admiral Frizen’s actions, we wouldn’t have the upper hand on Gordon’s sentries.” The scolding was enough to shut the rest of the room down and the president gestured for Frizen to continue.

  “As of right now, Commander Claire’s campaign in Wyoming has been successful. We believe that success to comprise two reasons: that area of the Coalition’s control wasn’t as densely populated, and we were able to catch them by surprise. Now that Gordon is aware of our strike, he’ll be quick to retaliate. Our strategy is to continue to have Commander Claire push southeast, while the Navy’s Atlantic fleet repositions itself in
the Gulf, where we will retake the fishing villages of Louisiana and Mississippi and the oil refineries of Texas. Once we have a strong foothold on the coast, we will push north into Kansas, and our forces will meet in the middle, where we’ll take Topeka.”

  “How many men, Admiral?” The president asked, his cheeks continuing their sullen dip into the sides of his face. “How many will we lose on both sides?”

  “Our initial assessment is ten thousand, Mr. President. But because most of the Coalition sentries were former army and marines, we believe they’ll join us once the real fighting begins. However, there will still be significant support for Gordon as long as he’s able to keep the sentries fed.”

  “General Mears,” the president said. “Do we have enough ground troops to combat the sentries at Gordon’s disposal?”

  “The Coalition ground forces outnumber us three to one at the moment, Mr. President, but our Naval and Air Force support will give us the edge.”

  “Let me make one thing clear, gentlemen. I don’t want us dropping bombs on civilians,” the president said. “Collateral damage must be minimal, and when this is over, I don’t want the American people to return to homes that were destroyed by the very military that was supposed to protect them.”

  “Or course, Mr. President,” Mears answered. “The installations we’re targeting with our air support will be strictly military. We’ll be using a combined effort from our reserves and the Navy to squeeze the Coalition out of the local civilian populations, minimizing loss of life and infrastructural damage.”

  “That’s something Gordon knows as well, sir,” Frizen replied. “He’ll use the oil refineries and the fishing villages as shields against our missiles. It will be crucial that the ground forces we have in those engagements understand the risk they’re facing.”

  The United States’s first civil war spanned over four years and claimed the lives of over 620,000 soldiers. It was the bloodiest conflict in United States history. However, if Gordon felt cornered or threatened that everything he had would be taken away, then there was the very real possibility that he would resort to a scorched-earth policy, burning anything and everything in his control.

  “Mr. President, every second spent waiting is one less we could be using to turn the tide in this conflict. We have our resources in place in the Gulf, and we’ll need you to authorize the use of force against American citizens,” Admiral Frizen said. “I understand the gravity of that decision, and the weight it will carry on you and everyone in this room. But we must act now.”

  ***

  The lab was dark, distorting the outlines of the equipment inside into deformed shapes. Sydney, with all of his limbs curled into a ball with the exception of his left wrist, which was cuffed to the desk next to him, hadn’t closed his eyes since Gordon locked him up. His beady pupils roamed over the instruments of science forced under the shroud of darkness.

  He wondered what Gordon would do to him if he wasn’t able to deliver the same soil solution Todd had created? What would happen to him if they couldn’t unlock the encrypted files Alex had stolen? Maybe Gordon would use him as a bargaining chip with his father, exchanging Sydney’s life for escape to another country, or immunity. But in the end, Gordon would most likely just kill him. That was the easiest and most popular way Gordon enjoyed tying up loose ends.

  The door to the lab opened, and a flood of light blinded Sydney. He blinked repeatedly until he adjusted to the light, and he saw the grinning face of Jake towering above him.

  “Rise and shine, asshole,” Jake said. “Time to go to work.”

  Jake dropped a folded piece of paper in Sydney’s lap that had random letters and numbers scribbled on it. “What is this?”

  “The password to Todd’s encrypted files,” Jake answered.

  Sydney recoiled as Jake bent down and invaded the personal bubble Sydney had always preferred to keep between himself and other people. He could smell the coffee on Jake’s breath, and the leather of his jacket. Sydney’s body curled inward to avoid Jake’s presence until his spine wouldn’t allow it to collapse any further.

  “Gordon wants you working on it now,” Jake said. “And I’ll be here watching you to make sure it’s done properly this time.”

  Sydney felt the jiggle of his wrist as Jake unlocked the cuffs, and the tension in the small bones of his wrist was released. He rubbed the tender, bruised flesh and stumbled to his desk. The password on the paper was surrounded by faded, red blotches placed sporadically around the numbers and letters. He stopped typing and looked up to Jake, who was watching him like a hawk. The more Sydney stared at those blotches on the paper, the more he realized what his fate would be if he failed.

  Ever since Sydney’s first discovery of Todd Penn, he’d known the man was a genius. He’d done what Sydney and no other scientist in the world was able to accomplish, and he did it in an underground lab in the middle of nowhere. It was a remarkable feat of science and ingenuity. If this invention had come about three years ago, or even right after the soil crisis started, Todd’s name would have been in every science publication around the world. He would have been a household name, a savior of the people. But he wasn’t. No one would ever know his name or see his face. The only thing that was going to be left of Todd Penn were the dried blotches of blood on a crinkled piece of paper. Sydney was holding all that was left of a great mind. “Did you kill him?”

  “What’s the matter? Feeling sorry for the guy?” Jake asked.

  A tear escaped from the corner of Sydney’s eye, and he quickly wiped it away before Jake noticed. But he couldn’t hide the trembling in his thin arms and legs underneath the lab coat. A slow, internal struggle of morality raged inside him. Everything he’d stood for as a scientist, the idea that the pursuit of knowledge was the highest form of morality and those who prohibited it were crusaders of death, was begging him to stop his work. He wanted to run, he wanted to hide, and he didn’t want to be here.

  “Hey!” Jake snapped. “Let’s get to work. Gordon wants all of this done yesterday, so let’s move it!”

  “No.” The word came out in a mouse-like squeak, almost too quiet for even Sydney to hear himself. His fingers stopped entering the code, and he crumpled the bloodstained piece of paper in his tiny fist. Despite his rebellious act, Sydney kept his head down, afraid that looking Jake in the eyes would make the repercussions of his actions real.

  Jake leaned his chest into Sydney’s shoulder, and Sydney could feel Jake’s hot breath on the side of his face. “Enter the code.”

  “I won’t help Gordon anymore,” Sydney replied, the lump in his throat catching slightly as he spoke.

  Jake grabbed Sydney by the collar and easily lifted all of Sydney’s 120 pounds into the air and slammed him up against the wall. Jake’s jaw was clenched tight, and his words escaped from the thin spaces in his teeth. “We don’t have the fucking time or patience to deal with your little moral crisis, so I’m going to make this simple. If you don’t get off your ass and compile the solution that’s on this file, I’m going to kill you.”

  “No, you won’t,” Sydney answered, his shaky voice escaping through panicked breaths.

  “And why the fuck not?”

  “Because I’m one of the only scientists you have left who could figure out the organic code sequences Todd put together in that data.”

  Jake let go of Sydney’s collar, and Sydney collapsed to the floor. Jake towered over him, the side of his jacket swinging open, exposing the gun and holster underneath. “Yeah, you might be right about that.”

  A wave of relief washed over Sydney. He wiped the sweat on his forehead, his fingers trembling, and his body shook in spasms of dwindling adrenaline. But the quick moment of safety was swiftly dispelled when Jake pulled a pocketknife.

  “But you don’t need your balls to do your job.”

  Sydney scrambled on all fours in an attempted escape, but Jake pounced on him, squishing him into the floor. He squirmed to break free, but Jake was just too h
eavy. Jake pressed the flat end of the blade against Sydney’s right cheek. The cold steel caused Sydney to end his struggle.

  “Now, you have two options right now. Option one, I cut your balls off then have a doctor sew you up, and then you can work on getting this solution done. Option two, you keep your balls and start the project now. What’s it gonna be?”

  “Okay,” Sydney said, his voice muffled from his face being smooshed into the floor.

  “Okay you wanna keep your balls? Or okay you don’t want to keep them?”

  “I want to keep them.”

  “Good boy.”

  ***

  The crude map of drawn lines projected on the wall of Gordon’s conference room, which had turned into the Coalition’s war room, was the very best artistic effort of his Chief of Sentries, Dean Grout. And despite that best effort, Dean did little more than what a fifth grader could accomplish on a homework assignment of similar scope.

  “They took us by surprise in Wyoming, but their advances have slowed now that they’re pushing into Oklahoma,” Dean said. “However, we’re going to be hard pressed on both sides. We’ve received confirmation that the Navy’s Atlantic fleet has finally made its way into the Gulf.”

  “They won’t risk using their ordinance as long as our sentries are intermixed with civilians,” Gordon said. “We’ve got our human shields, let’s use them goddammit!” Gordon accentuated the point with his fist slamming into the table. The only other attendee allowed in the meeting besides Dean and Gordon was Jake. The lack of competence through the rest of the Coalition was too frustrating to deal with.