by Hawk, J. K.
How and when these two strains became one may forever be a mystery, but that event caused such mishap that it has provided Valkyrie with a master-key to the whole of our brain. Giving the Infected the ability to work together, communicate with each other, to plan their hunts. Mindless no more, and our new promising society is once again put on the endangered species list as every week leads to more colonies falling prey.
Along with identifying this new demon we have also revisited our prior research, going back to my own original logs, and even reanalyzing samples taken from The Battle of Fort Rockland, all for nothing. Except for one vial of blood, taken from the placenta of a young woman’s after birth. Mia, the maiden of New England, the heart of one man. It is from her crimson remains that we’ve discovered an olive branch, one that had been overlooked years ago.
Originally we presumed that Valkyrie, for unknown reasons, was unable to transmit through Mia’s veins fast enough to take over. Her heart stopped just before the spread could take hold. But after we reinvestigated further we noticed the truth, that the virus had in fact infiltrated her systems, but had no effect on the individual cells. Valkyrie could not take hold, Mia was immune to the Devil’s hails.
- ‘How could we miss something this important?’ You ask, and Iask myself this daily. The reality is that an Immunity was never considered to be a possibility, at the time it was just a preposterous concept.
Sadly and with regret, we do not possess enough viable cells to experiment with, nor to uncover the reason for her immunity. But not all is lost, somewhere, out in the mountains of New England, there is another source. We must return to the secluded landscape of Maine, we must scour the mountainsides, leaving no stone unturned. As we push to reach our objective, we will also uphold the GFS Values that we hold dear, seeking out other survivors and directing them towards our fortified communities. Be prepared to welcome them with open arms, and be prepared for our own return, for we will be right on their heels.
Revelations, Chapter Twenty Verse One.
“And I saw an angel coming down out of heaven, having the key to the Abyss and holding in his hand a great chain.” The Nameless Survivor escaped Fort Rockland with his newborn child in hand, abruptly yet sparingly torn from its mother’s womb. That child is the Angel who came down from heaven. And the key to the abyss represents the blood that flows through its veins, as the chain held firmly in hand refers tothe child’s own DNA. It would seem there is truth in those same Archaic Beliefs we have shunned for many years. So, looking beyond the glaring contradictions of scripture, take comfort in this;
"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has come to pass."
Chapter Twenty-One, Verse 4; The Survivor’s child, is HE who will wipe away our tears, our pain, and end all of this death. The corruption of man is the Old Order of things, and right now we are in the midst of the transition, for HE has the genes that will lead us to the New Order. So now we must step back into the shadows, we must pass through them, and upon returning to the light we shall find what has been promised to us so long ago… Paradise.
My own administration, as well as the all of the colonial chiefs, have recently called me out as irrational. They have nicknamed me Ahab, searching for my own white-whale. – So be it, for in my own deep seeded vengeance lies determination and ultimately triumph. I vowed years ago to see this through, to end our misery, and I pledge once again to do just that. I will sail out into the night upon my barge of conviction and with a harpoon of malice in my hand.
So in conclusion, and without further discussion, as of today - the Tenth day of the Eleventh Planting Moon - I, Patrick S. Zimmerman, officially and humbly resign my presidency. In turn, I shift all power over to General Tony A. Mason as our new President. He will be the face and voice of the GFS and direct mediator for the redistribution of power to the Colonial Chiefs. The future of the people, will be the path chosen by the people. And I promise that in time I will return to all of you with the cure to this dreadful blight, - or I will die trying.
Tomorrow I commence on a long journey to find the infamous survivor, and the savior he guards with such diligence. In admiration and my deepest respect, I thank all of you. My pride in what you have become fills me with the greatest of solace. Do what you must, do what you do best - Survive.
With regards;
Patrick S. Zimmerman… Survivor.
Dawning
“She’s yours, take good care of her.” I said to little Ana as I scratched Nova gentle behind the ears. The girl was only six, but she had the maturity of a ten year old. She has become the granddaughter that I never had, and has grown very fond of the domesticated and highly loyal wolf that has been by my side every day over the past few years. And Nova adores her as well, in a way, she is reminiscent of Mia I presume, and I am more than confident that they will be good for each other.
Taking Nova on this journey was extensively considered, the idea of her getting the chance to be reunited with the man that had adopted her so long ago filled me with pride. But this gentle beast is just too old, arthritis has begun to plagues her hips, and besides, she has seen too much of man’s blunders already. More than any life should see, more than any sane person should be willing to endure again.
‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends…’ With a quick pat on her head, I grabbed my backpack and opened the door, glancing back in time to see Ana cradling the old mutt in her arms before I closed it behind me. My eyes welled with tears as I prolonged my stroll down Zimmerman Blvd and towards the GFS Air Base. Chances are that I may never return, and the thought of dying out there without Nova by my side ached every ounce of my heart.
Sucking it up, I sauntered forward, ignoring the memories and regaining focus on my mission. Operation Upper Hand, one last effort to find a cure, one last chance to end this curse once and for all. Six volunteers await for me to begin our journey into the depths of the Appalachia’s, to seek out what may be the shining hope to over a decade of fear and misery. I had to compose myself, to not show fear, for these volunteers are about to risk themselves for the greater good. They must stay strong.
The GFS Air Base at Mirabel Quebec was once an international airport, now it is governed under the Blue and Green flags of our new society. Daily cargo planes take off for supply drops throughout the eastern seaboard; GFS Colonies, allied factions, and even small villages that have been lucky enough to be untouched by this plague. Although they are few and far between, there are still those who desperately await our guidance and support.
Approaching the front gates, a mournful presence walked by my side, it was as if angels were escorting me towards destiny. Their chorus of gloomy chants filled my ears, like my own daunting motif, stepping in tune with the beginning of the end. If there still is a God above, I prayed that he shrouds this mission with all his glory. As with any undertaking such as this, we will need it, and more.
Respectfully I was greeted by two GFS soldiers with a strong salute before they grabbed my pack and ushered me through the checkpoint and towards the helipad. There stood Vesta, our chariot, battered and beaten, the Blackhawk chopper was still the toughest beast in our arsenal. At attention along her side was my team, an assorted bunch, working together for a single cause. Ahead of them, standing tall with a rigid salute, President Tony A. Mason, my successor, and my closest friend.
“Good to see you, Ash.” I said with a quick salute then followed it with a firm and admiring handshake. “Or should I say, Mister President?”
“You’re Mister President, sir, I have yet to live up to your stature.” He acknowledge.
“Bullshit.” I barked. “You’ve done more for mankind, you’ve shed both blood and tears.”
“With honor, sir.” He said with a mercenaries smirk, barely visible.
“Is everything in place?” I asked.
“As you ordered. Everyone is ready and await your briefing.” He said, ste
rnly steppingup to the first grunt in line. “This is Lieutenant Garrison, he served with dignity during the Albany Purge. He will take good care of you.”
I nodded in acceptance, and Garrison threw me a solid salute.
“Down the line,” Ash continued, “We have Privates Tellar and Stetson, and Chief Mills. All seasoned veterans, all willing to die for you, sir.”
“Let’s hope it does not come to that.” I responded.
“The last two are your Pilots, Monk and Trevors, you will find them to be a bit eccentric with their flying techniques, but do not doubt their skills.”
I gazed over the men, scarred and tortured, yet still eager to fight. It gave me a feeling of accomplishment, goose-bumps and shivers in the fact that we still have men like these on the front lines. Although their efforts are geared more towards their loyalty to me, rather than the rest of the world, having such presence over them is both fulfilling and shameful. It is they who should be honored with such loyalty.
“It’s early, but the dawn quickly approaches,” I addressed the men. “We are all tired, and moreover we are all afraid. So I do not speak to you now as your leader, I speak to you as a fellow survivor.” I paused as I looked at the pride in their faces. “Operation Upper Hand may be our last effort to squash this infection. As you all know, Valkyrie has recently altered her tactics, and is more lethal now then it was five years ago. My own work, our saving grace if you will, has turned against us. So we must resort to more archaic means of annihilation,” I paused, throwing them a sinister smirk. “Fire and lead.”
“HOOAH!” The men bawled.
“In a few moments,” I continued, “we will embark on a journey into Valkyries territory, the shadowy confines of mother nature. Our mission is to seek out The Nameless Survivor, in the hope that his son still lives, and that he has the key to our future survival.” I took a deep breath. “I will not lie to you, the chances of success are incalculable. This may be a one way trip. And even if we do succeed, I fear that most of you will fall along the way. So I say this now, all of us have lost something in this conflict, and I cannot ask you to risk what is left on my behalf. If you are having second thoughts then I beg of you to return to your homes. Return to your families, be at peace that you have done more than your share. No one will think less of you.”
They all stood strong and proud, not a waver among them, and my stomach churned because of it.
“They will follow you to hell and back, sir.” Mason roared.
“MORS PRO MORTUIS!” Their battle cry echoed in my ears. Death for the Dead, a common motto these days.
“Let’s load up then.” I commanded as everyone hustled onto the chopper. Mason immediately approached me, along with a young women with eyes of ferocious meekness.
“Patrick, this is Stephanie, your assistant.”
“You are a little young to be a virologist?” I asked while shaking her hand.
“Does age really matter?” She balked. “I’ve been studying your work for years.”Sheretorted without allowing me to answer. I threw Mason a concerned glare.
“She’s all brains, sir. Her IQ is through the roof.”
“I can recite your research, word for word, I’ll be a valuable asset.” She stammered.
“You have not yet had an opportunity to live, Stephanie.”
“Has anyone?” She said, smart indeed.
“Okay then. Get on board.” I ordered.
Stephanie scampered onto the chopper, eagerly naïve, but determined to be a part of our efforts today.
“She’s got heart.” I muttered to Ash.
“And an ass that could crack a walnut, sir.” He mentioned with a chuckle.
“How prestigious of you.”
“Hey, you vouched for me.” He retorted.
“Which I hoped would give you some sensible and distinguishing character.”
“Never.” He laughed as he patted me on the back. “Good luck, and God speed.”
“God?” I questioned, but did not wait for an answer before following the others.
Ash threw the Vesta and her crew a strong salute as we rose gracefully above Maribel, I gazed back down upon the civilization which had risen from the ashes, and finally shed a single tear. I only hope that I can lay my eyes upon this town again someday, under better circumstances. The chopper pitched forward, and the scarce speckling of lights below slowly faded into the morning darkness. We were on our way, our success unknown, and our courage at odds.
* * * * * “Where are we headed, Mr. President.” Stephanie shouted over the deafening whirr of the chopper.
“I’m not the President anymore, Steph, just call me Patrick.” I responded.
“Yes, sir.” She said and I chuckled.
“Coburn Gore.”
“And that’s where this survivor is?”
“No, from my calculations he should be approximately fifteen miles south, if he is even there. However Coburn Gore should provide a safe landing area and possible refueling point.”
“What do you mean, if?” She asked.
“I’m assuming that he returned to his home. Praying is more like it. This just maybe a big waste of time.”
She asked no more and focused on a little notepad, jotting down our conversation I presume. A very attractive young woman, maybe only eighteen or nineteen years old, yet she had an odd gaze in her eyes, as if everything around her was being absorbed through them, filling her mind like a water balloon that could burst at any moment. She was a fish out of water, and I believe that she finds little comfort among others. At least not among us. For her sake, I hope this proves to be an uneventful journey.
The rest of the crew, hardened soldiers, personally picked by Mason himself. A team of ‘Rag-Tag Gritty Grunts’ he called them. And they all stared at me, they revered me, unjustly I must add. I do not believe I will ever understand nor accept the dignity beset upon me. For these soldiers, all of man, should be honored above all else. I am no hero, I have never truly faced this villain on common ground. Only on the sidelines or controlled settings. I have never felt the fear that they can invoke on the human soul.
As we roared through the skies, into the rising morning sun, the hours seemed to pass by in seconds I gazed down upon the landscape below. Thick forests, stretching between two great, yet dead countries, the only evidence of man are that of lost industry. Land stripped of its resources but slowly recovering, regaining strength. In the words of The Survivor, ‘Nature will always endure.’
“Welcome home, sir.” One of the pilots called out from the cockpit. “We’ve crossed the U.S. Border.”
“There are no more borders.” I cried back at him.
“Yes, sir.” He pause a moment, then returned with, “Thirty seconds till PONR.”
“PONR?” Steph leaned over and asked.
“Point of no return.” I answered. “We’ve reached the peak of our fuel consumption, there is no going back.”
“But, how…” She paused, concern in her eyes.
“We will improvise.” I stated, “Find more fuel, find other transportation, or even hike back if need be.”
Steph returned back to her notepad, but did not write, she stared at in fear. My warnings of this possibly being a one way trip were just now sinking in. A part of me felt guilty, but yet, if she is as smart as they say, then I need her. Two great minds are better than one. Shrugging off her concerned gaze, I laid my head back and closed my eyes, letting what sleep possible to wash over me.
Over the raucous of the chopper I could hear the soldiers boasting their successes with each other, and razzing one another with their failures. Some may find their taunts as bullying and cruel, but to these men, it is nothing more than caustic bonding. It’s what keeps them sharp, and reinforces the brotherhood that they have formed. Although their words say otherwise, it is that offbeat cruelty that makes them tough as nails. And none of them resent one another for it.
* * * * * The haze of that dream did not invoke despair, it was har
dly discernible over the complete and utter feeling of happiness that had befallen me. I was back at Fort Detrick, some ten years ago - maybe more. The place that I constructed the weapon that gave humanity the edge against the plague. Back on the very same day that I saw Melissa, my daughter, standing just outside the facilities lobby. It was the first and became the last time I would be in her presence since The Fall. But unlike the real thing, she was not infected, that shimmering visage of her was almost like that on the day I escorted her off to college. Happy, excited, and nervous. The only difference was the golden hue that shined about her like an angel descending from the suns light.
She stared at me, her lips repeatedly calling out, ‘Daddy!’ Even though no sound escaped them. She was beautiful, as much as the day she was born. For a moment, all I could think of was how her mother would be so proud of the woman she had become. On the other hand, her untimely death may have been for the best. Abigail never knew this world we live in, never saw what her lovely daughter had become…
Although miraculous, it was nothing more than a delusional mirage, and soon I would awaken to reality, but I prayed to never leave that dreamscape. My hand stretched out to the pane of glass that separated us as I attempted to caress her soft and perfect skin one last time. But my touch was met with the transformation of her perfection into dead flesh and diseased bones. Behind her, the former barracks, erupted into a furious explosion as the ground shook and rumbled. Alarms blared painfully in my ears as the glass shattered from the shockwave, and Melissa’s hand reached out and grasped my shoulder.
“We’ve been hit!” She screamed, and instantly the veil of my subconscious illusions was lifted, revealing the chaos that ensued.