by Alex Myers
Jimmy looked at the man-thing that had turned his life upside down. He was thinking clearer than he had at any point since the change. Abaddon looked pathetic, weak, and disgusting. The hatred of the atrocities done to his sister and to him stung like acid in the tears that fell from his eyes. One person had hurt so many; held so many people prisoners in their own bodies. They were like his pets, there for his amusement. He made them sleep in dirt. He made them kill other human beings; and for what end? To kill his eighteen‑year old sister after violating her virginity, her pride?
Abaddon didn't move or struggle. He simply retreated into himself. His eyes were glazed over yet a thin smile was still mockingly plastered on his deformed lips.
Jimmy continued to squeeze on his neck. It felt to him as though he was squeezing a lifeless tree‑trunk. Abaddon's grinning lips puckered and he spat a into the boy's face.
With his free hand Jimmy swept over Abaddon’s head and raked his long nails down the front of his torso.
Abaddon continued to smirk.
Jimmy's fleshy lips rolled back and he took on the appearance of a rabid dog ready to strike. He turned his head sideways and closed his yawning jaws onto the exposed corpulent flesh of Abaddon's neck.
Abaddon was helpless as he watched the large boy sink his enamel daggers into the susceptible skin of his throat.
Jimmy bit down hard.
Abaddon shrieked, with it still echoing in his ears, Abaddon didn't hear Jimmy's a second later. He was surprised when the boy released the death grip hold on his neck.
Jimmy fell to the carpet shuddering in a fit of violent spasms quivering like a piece of bacon frying.
The second of the two guards stepped out from the shadows and was mesmerized by the floor show.
Phil Goshen entered the room in the company of a clean‑cut twenty‑five-year-old man.
Everyone, including Abaddon, watched the strange event taking place. Jimmy floundered on the floor like a freshly caught fish in the bottom of a boat, but something far stranger was taking place. Abaddon's already-healing neck and torso still bled an Apoc ooze. The blood acted like an acid on the boy. Vapor rose off the spots where the skin was it leaked. He was having an adverse reaction—a bad one.
Jimmy was still alive and still conscious as he struggled to his hands and knees. His face looked as if it were melting as he gazed with hatred at Abaddon. The boy tried in vain to speak.
"What's happening to him?" Colin Black asked. His question was ignored.
Colin, Phil, the other Apoc guard, and even Abaddon gawked at the spectacle in front of them.
"Can't somebody help him?" Colin pleaded. Yet he conspicuously didn't step forward to lend assistance.
Jimmy Barnes continued to glare at Abaddon and grunted a throaty “Help”. Jimmy made a last ill‑fated attempt to rise up toward Abaddon. He barely moved an inch.
Abaddon, like a field goal kicker the man's head.
Jimmy emitted a last muffled grunt. His eyes rolled back into his head and he settled to the ground a sack of broken bones.
"YOU!" Abaddon shouted at the Apoc guard. "Get these two pieces of shit out of here!"
The guard didn't move.
"And make sure you burn them too!"
The guard dragged the remains of Jimmy out and then returned for the girl. Colin Black watched without saying a word.
"Now Mr. Black I believe you have something to tell me, and let me warn you I'm not in a very good goddamn mood."
The first time in his life, Colin Black fainted.
When Colin Black awoke he was in the living room of the darkened suite slumping upright on a sofa. Abaddon was staring incredulously into his eyes. Colin could see the man holding his arm as it appeared to heal right before his eyes. Colin knew that it had probably been a mistake to volunteer for this mission, but it meant getting the scholarship to law school to eventually become the church's lawyer. Reverend Ira had told him so, and besides, God and his faith would protect him—he hoped.
"Mr. Black it's so nice to see you back in the world of the living." Abaddon said through an intimidating smile. "Now what the fuck is it you have to say?"
After explaining to Abaddon he was sent personally by Reverend Ira he divulged the nature of his offer.
"Are you trying to tell me that Swanson wants me to help him?" Abaddon asked. He was still wincing in pain from the mending of his broken arm. "He wants me to do a show with him? What are the restrictions?"
"That is exactly what I'm telling you. And the good Reverend told me to make it clear that there weren't to be any restrictions. You can talk about whatever you wish."
Standing next to Abaddon's chair Phil Goshen said, "I don't know. It's got to be some kind of trap."
"Shut up Phil or you can leave. Mr. Black what kind of assurances can we have that this is all above board?"
"Actually, sir, it is really Reverend Ira and the church that are taking all the chances. Pardon me for saying this but, you and your people are creating a nationwide‑‑if not worldwide panic."
Abaddon's obvious interest gave Colin the fortitude to go on; his law degree was getting closer by the minute. "The show will be broadcast live from the Hampton Coliseum. The Reverend wanted me to inform you that he has already talked to the networks. They all plan to be there to cover it. It will be a rock and roll concert and the press conference is set to start beforehand." Colin adjusted his thick glasses. They were starting to fog.
"But tell me now Mr. Black, why would the Reverend put himself in this kind of danger?" Abaddon was still trying to find the flaw in the proposition.
"I'll be frank with you, the Apocs have not only saved the church, but interest has never been higher. The church will probably enjoy its best year this year. You have brought unprecedented prosperity to us. The Reverend Ira feels that your cause and his cause are really one and the same. He can guarantee you all the live coverage you need to get your message to your people. Anything you say or do, will only foster new interest in both of our interests. About the only thing that wouldn't work is if you went on the air with a kitten in your arms and said that you were going to destroy yourself."
"I can assure you that . . . " Phil was cut short by a contemptible glance from Abaddon.
"Mr. Black, what makes you church people think that I need you? What makes you think I couldn't do all these things on my own?"
"At this point we're actually pretty sure that you could," Colin said. He reclined back into the soft cushions of the sofa feeling more confident by the minute. "We even have an idea what your plans are. All we're doing is trying to help you while helping ourselves."
Abaddon scanned the young man's mind and was surprised to find that he spoke the truth‑‑or what the young man believed to be the truth. He was also surprised to find out how much the man knew of the Apoc operation.
"When does the Reverend this thing to take place?"
"It's one week from today at the Coliseum in Hampton."
Abaddon thought that if he decided to go with this plan he'd miss his window of opportunity with the naval project. It also gave him another whole week to plan and organize. Organize! That's what I need to do, he thought. With Phil leaving for Washington tonight . . . . Yeah, it could work. There would be a lot less chance of a counter-strike by the government this way. I could achieve my objectives by manipulating their system. "Tell the Reverend that we might be able to work out a deal."
"Then you'll do it?" There was a schoolboy glee in the man's voice. He never thought it would have been this easy, and to think he had actually feared for his life.
"Tell the good Reverend Ira we'll do the show if he can get all the details over to me. My email is down. No electricity you see."
"You'd be surprised at the connection the church has. I'll see what he can do about your power problem," Colin said.
"What is the name of the band that'll be playing at the concert?"
"Devil's Reich. They're a heavy-metal group."
Ab
addon smiled. "Yes this could work out for all of us. Is there anything else you need from me right now?"
Colin was speechless. It was more than he could have hoped. He still had another thing to ask.
"Might I ask you one small favor?"
"I'm in a generous mood ask away."
"Actually there are two things I'd like to ask. Number one do you think I could tape you today?"
"Tape? What for?" Abaddon asked, flabbergasted at the request.
"For promos . . . commercials so we can advertise your appearance."
"I'd be more than happy to." Abaddon said swelling with pride. "And what is your second solicitation?"
"Was the thing I saw when I came in today for real . . .or was it staged to frighten me?"
"I assure you Mr. Black it was all quite real"
"Do you think you could do something like that again. You know, the night of the concert?"
"I guarantee it," Abaddon said.
Colin smiled.
They taped the promos in the lobby of the Beachcomber. They turned out perfectly. Colin placed the video-equipment in his trunk and drove off trying to decide whether he wanted to attend Yale or Harvard Law. He was very pleased with himself. He procured everything the Reverend Ira asked for and more. In the commercial he filmed Abaddon was particularly vicious while at the same time sounding quite intelligent. It was just what the Reverend wanted. Colin felt like he had been to the devil's lair and was still alive to boast of it. He still couldn't believe how easy it had been.
The two Apocs watched the young man drive away. Phil said, "Somehow I feel Reverend Ira is going to get more than good ratings come next week."
Abaddon smiled.
CHAPTER 16
A CHANGE IN PLANS
"Ava, I'm so glad I caught you."
"Dr. Puck, I just called the Center. They said they had no way of reaching you."
"I had to go out of town on some urgent business. Listen, that's why I'm calling . . . it seems as though there has been a change in plans. I won't be needing that specimen we talked about earlier, after all."
"But Dr. Puck, I don't understand? We've had some, what I feel, are real breakthroughs. I've just finished meeting with a gentleman named Pigott. He's in complete remission."
"It has nothing to do with your performance Ms. Porter. In fact your performance has been outstanding."
"Then I guess I don't understand?"
"It's just that there have been some drastic changes in plans and I won't be requiring this Abaddon fellow."
"Then what am I supposed to do, sir?"
"Take a few days off . . . relax. You've earned it."
"Take a few days off? In the middle of what is quite possibly the worst virus epidemic ever? What's going on?"
"I'm not at liberty to say just yet. But I can tell you that it will all become quite clear to you soon. Like I said, take a few days off, visit your family."
"I'm not going anywhere! I was going to go try to meet with Bell, the writer, tonight."
"Well, if you are going to stay in town please promise me this . . . stay away from Oceanview for the next couple of days." He sounded as sincere as she had ever heard him. He was more than asking, he was almost demanding.
Ava heard voices in the background from Puck's end of the phone.
"Listen Ava, I have to go now. Remember stay away from Oceanview. I'll check in with you again in the next day or so. But if I can't reach you, have a good vacation." His end of the phone went dead.
She'd keep her plans all right. She'd meet with Ethan Bell. Maybe not to find Abaddon, but definitely to find out what the hell was going to happen in Oceanview.
She grabbed her stuff for the beach and tried to put her job and her boss's strange behavior out of her mind. Have a good vacation, pfffft.
CHAPTER 17
OCEANA
The C-130 Hercules, C-5 Galaxy, and stretched C-141 Starlifters thundered into Oceana Naval Air Station one after another. These specialized planes belonged to the SOW and any information, even to the existence of the 1st Special Operations Wing, was highly classified. The C-130s were actually Hercules gunships. The gigantic plane was developed for use in the Southeast Asian wars and armed with a variety of weapons ranging from Gatling guns to 105mm. howitzers. The special operation’s version and has greater range and payload, improved armaments and fire control devices, special avionics, together with other devices to suit it for low level operations. They are able to fire very close to their own troops and with great accuracy. The pilots fly their machines like fighters flying very low in rough terrain, even though they were built as long-range transports.
The civilians in the flight approach to Oceana found sleep impossible. During ordinary times the air base was home to the carrier-class A-6 Intruders and F-14 Tomcats and the difference in sound was like comparing a car backfiring to sixteen tons of TNT. Admiral Tex Prescott watched another C-130 land like a giant elephant belly whopping onto the runway and glanced at his watch; it was 3:15 a.m. and the men and precious cargo had been arriving for two hours.
He was a lone silhouette on the tarmac; standing legs apart, hands behind his back and never moving. This gave him time to go over his plan’s most minute detail. He was the blood and guts leader of the world's foremost military power. Now, into the third hour, he was as much apart of the nighttime vista as the landing lights that stretched out hundreds of yards in every direction. After a while people stop saluting every time they passed by, attentions seemed to focus on the unloading of the big transports.
Admiral Prescott watched as millions of dollars worth of equipment was unloaded and reassembled on the secured quadrant of the airfield. Secured to keep the occupants of passing vehicles on Oceana Parkway and surrounding areas from casually peering inside. The aircraft were loaded with Apache, Cobra, Chinook and a number of other modified helicopters. Units of this wing took part in the Grenada rescue mission, as well as all the wars in the Middle East . All the specially equipped rotary-wings had armor protection, self‑sealing fuel tanks, various weapons, rescue hoist, and a retractable in‑flight refueling probe, all optimized for special operations. The men loaded, assembled and in some cases reloaded the aircraft. They worked with nearly the same precision and speed as the machines themselves. And through all the blur of activity the Secretary of Defense kept a silent vigil from the base of the control tower.
Tex Prescott was wrestling in his mind the morality of the mission he and his men were about to embark on. Oceana was the base of Operations for the attack of the Apocs. From here the modified transport planes would fly to their destinations across the Eastern Seaboard. A third of the planes were meant to carry the special forces troops, while the other two-thirds were to carry CDSs. CDS, is a container delivery system developed originally to enable a fully-stocked resupply container to be delivered to troops of the 82nd and 101st Airborne. These CDSs, however, had been drastically recast. Half of these containers were going to be filled with a payload of 20,000 pounds of a napalm-like incendiary containing a mixture of thermite, liquid soap and honey. Upon exploding, they burned at a temperature twice that of the sun.
The men who had developed this mixture had dubbed it "sticky-fire" because of its characteristic of adhering to any surface. The other half of the containers going to be filled with ordinary sea-water. To the Apocs each would have the same devastating effect. Each container could cover blanket a 100 x 400 yard area, and the pilots would drop these with pinpoint accuracy. The C‑130s would carry up to sixteen containers each and C‑141s twenty-eight.
Admiral Prescott had it worked out with his advisory staff that after the "sticky-fire" was dropped and burned itself out, then the containers with the water would drop next. C-130s and Chinook helicopters would then drop in his hand-picked special forces to clean up the area. The men would go house-to-house, building-by-building, and exterminate all survivors, shooting on sight, killing at will.
The massive operation was coordinated with t
he police and National Guard units in each of the districts. Large Apoc congregations were centered in Washington, Baltimore, New York, Philadelphia and the Oceanview section of Norfolk. While on the West Coast operations were to take place in San Diego and Los Angeles. The known Apoc centers had been and were being, as inconspicuously as possible, quarantined off and the non-infected people evacuated. Crews in the infected areas were now stringing razor wire and other restraining devices. The quarantined areas were much easier to secure than Tex had hoped. In the heavily-concentrated Apoc sections people had already left on their own accord or had been changed-over. The Apocs themselves instead of spreading out seemed to flock together in relatively small areas.
Despite the built-in safety precautions designed to protect the general public, Tex and his staff expected widespread collateral casualties. Hundreds, possibly thousands of innocent, uninfected men, women and children would perish—and death wouldn't come easy. This was what was weighing so heavily on Admiral Tex Prescott's mind this evening.
It seemed to him even his most hardened senior officers were looking to him for extra support and guidance. The people around him were growing increasingly edgy, even unraveling as the time for the attack grew near. They looked to him as the thread that held the sanity of this situation together. How could he tell them his own rope was beginning to fray? How could he tell them he found it as intrinsically wrong as they did to kill Americans on American soil? Yet, the longer the bedlam went unabated, the more innocent people would become entangled in its deadly web. To Admiral Tex Prescott this was totally unconscionable and unacceptable.
Tex knew what a public relations disaster the mission was going to be. There were already protesters in many cities as well as the vocal outcries of the liberal press. But with the go-ahead from the President and the backing of the CDC and World Health Organization, the strategy was full steam ahead.