The Surviving Son (Valkyrie Book 2)

by Hawk, J. K.

  The answers never came, and as the sun slowly descended, I debated on heading back, or to wait a few minutes longer and see what behavior he would display next. However, I didn’t have to dwell on it for long, a cool breeze picked up across the mountainside and twirled the butterfly chaotically in the air. In a last ditch effort to correct itself the insect gently glided over and landed upon Elmer’s nose, slowly flexing its wind battered wings.

  The feathery assault did not bode well in the eyes of my new friend who lashed out violently, swatting the air, and stumbling backwards. He grunted with annoyance, and snarled in utter detest as the delicate monstrosity held tightly to its perch. For a moment I almost chuckled as I watched the hilarity ensue, but then, Elmer’s right fist landed a crushing blow, squashing the bug as well as breaking what remained of his own nose. Black infectious blood and butterfly entrails splattered across his face as the rage more commonly witnessed in the dead grew from a painful fire.

  Elmer roared in fury, his phlegmy voice echoing back from an adjacent mountain as a swath of birds took to the air. My curiosity and entertainment instantly melted away as his eyes locked upon my own and swiftly he lurched towards me, arms outstretched, reaching for an easy dinner. The ravenous monstrosity within had been reborn from the womb of pain, but for Elmer, the sensation was not perceived as we would such an injury, but instead it triggered his gluttony.

  Fumbling to raise the gun I stumbled backwards, tripping over a root and crashing hard upon a sharp ledge. Stinging pain shot up my back as I yanked the trigger back and the fifty caliber round blasted through Elmer’s shoulder, knocking him back a few steps before he resumed his attack. This time I focused on the shot, blacking out the pain, and slowly squeezing the trigger.

  The bark of the gun reverberated across the mountain, just as the echoes of the first round had faded. Surely Abel and Steph had heard it, and I surmised that he was already on his way before Elmer’s knees had buckled and his body toppled down upon me. Quickly I threw him off and rose to my feet, arching my back and rubbing the growing bruise. Elmer lay upon the ground almost lifeless, just a negligible twitch from his lower jaw as his rewired nervous systems quickly shut down.

  The bullet vaporized everything from his nose up, and putrid sludge gurgled and hissed up through its masticated airways. With the threat gone, I took a deep breath and examined the body, looking for more data to assimilate and assess. What caught my attention, scientifically rather than perversely, was his genitalia. Or what was left of them. I had never paid much attention to them in my previous close encounters, and what I found in Elmer was the beyond curious.

  Commonly, useless organs are shed or consumed, but between his legs remained both penis and testicles. However, they had shriveled and were encased with scar-tissue, creating a recognizable impression of what they once were. The same thing I found of his belly button and nipples, a shallow cavity and two dismissible lumps. Simple curiosities that have no importance except for the infatuation of a wondering mind. And as my examination concluded, a bubbling putrid sludge expelled from Elmer’s bowels and I turned to walk away before the stench could waft my way.

  ‘A friend of a friend who became my enemy.’ I thought to myself as Abel’s juvenile voice cracked up and over the palisades.

  “STUPID FOOL!”

  ECS 43.

  The sun breached the Appalachian skyline casting a myriad of light like a blast from a fourth of July firework. Brilliant and blinding, a welcomed contrast to the pitch black of night, for which we have hiked through non-stop. I was rudely awakened by Abel well after midnight, but not quite dawn, far too early to be navigating the treacherous landscape of these mountains. But the boy was on a mission, and would not be deterred.

  Steph was left behind to sleep, and my mind was constantly thinking back on that night she gave herself to me, but in away the thought create more guilt than bliss. It was as if I had betrayed Abel, even though his crush was both juvenile and fleeting. But there was something else growing from within, adoration, I was falling for her. And although we have not spoken about that night, we do occasionally share subtle winks and flirtatious smiles. I fear, though, her infatuation with me may too be fleeting, just a simple affair fueled by circumstance.

  Abel has said little to me on our journey, for which I concluded hours before was not one of his daily hunts. But I did not question him on the matter, but instead put trust in his supernatural abilities, such that has protected us so far through this Devil’s landscape. He brought no gear, only a make-shift spear and a stag-handled knife, and with trepidation I followed the perpetually cryptic child, unknowing what was in store for us, in store for me.

  Almost immediately after losing sight of the cabin the Prowlers were upon us. Although not once did they show themselves, instead they clung to the night like shadows upon a summers scorching black-top. Visible, yet hidden. And if it were not for their unearthly articulation, we may have never sensed their presence. At least not myself, the boy on the other hand sensed their emotions from a mile away, and was phased none by it.

  For the last hour we have followed atop a flat and patchy alpine ridge which horseshoed just below the peaks of two mountains, connecting them as one. The view of the valley below us was both breathtaking and brilliantly divine, a thick morning fog scarcely covered the canopy below, yet cloaked the river from sight. And off in the distance, Bigelow Mountain towered over all the rest, it’s five peaks watching over the land like mother-natures guardians.

  The sun had pulled itself up and over the horizon when we abandoned the ridge and slowly ascended to the summit of the adjacent mountain. Not and extremely steep climb, yet an obstacle ridden march of fallen trees and unstable boulders. The ground cover, so brittle and dry, seemed to constantly slip out from under by boots with a deafening raucous and easily giving away our position to the Prowlers, yet still they never once charged us.

  My old and weathered bones creaked with each step, and ached with persistent fire. I was not built for this type of adventure, I was a lowly lab rat, a geek, not a survivalist. It was now obvious I may have bitten off more than I could chew, and in hindsight I contemplated alternative actions to the mission before me. An impenetrable fortress for instance, a Zombie Proof Metropolis where we could bide our time as they slowly starved to death. But I had to be realistic, and reserved my complaints as I curiously followed the unhindered and unrelenting Abel.

  “There!” The boy finally exclaimed, as he pointed further up the slope and through the trees.

  Beyond the thickets, just a couple hundred yards away, barely visible through the dense and ancient timber was the summit with the telltale supports of a fire-tower at its center. A man made structure deemed obsolete many years before The Great Outbreak, and a now a skeptical sight after a full nights hike up a treacherous landscape. Why have we come here? How will this withered and unmaintained tower benefit our cause? But still, I held in my questions, and heeded my trust in the boy.

  Breaching the crest the boy did not hesitate to climb the ladder towards the enclosed lookout above. I myself waivered at the sight of the brittle, dry-rot rungs that lead upwards, but after a moment of consideration I followed. As I ascended, the ladder barked at me in agony, creaking and cracking with each step and thoughts of plummeting to my death clouding my mind. But the old cedar spire held its own, and I sighed with relief as I pulled myself into the lookout and slumped down upon the floor in exhaustion. “Here! Will this help?” The boy screeched.

  I did not immediately look, and to a degree ignored the boy’s excitement. My curiosity was buried beneath a euphoric state of pain and fatigue, Abel was a distant memory, my mission forgotten. But only momentarily. Soon my racing heart slowed, my blood-pressure equalized, and I rolled over to see what the boy had for me. Upon a desk that sat below a clouded and dusty window rested a masterpiece of technological engineering. A dusty yet heavenly hand-crank Ham Radio, and as the image sunk into my muddled thoughts, I leaped to my feet and
vigorously cranked life back into its corroded circuitry.

  “Smart boy.” I commended.

  After a few moments I flipped on the switch and sluggishly the dials lit up, for which I proceeded to adjust them to the GFS emergency frequency. Years ago we had constructed a network of radio outposts between our colonies and several secured towns, and I just hoped we were in range to reach them. The boy watched as he gloated to himself with a big smile of triumphant satisfaction, and I smiled back, without a word this was his way of letting me know that he would return with us. With my mission back on track, I took a deep breath and grabbed hold of the microphone.

  “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is an emergency message for the Global Federation of Survivors, does anyone read?”

  Static… Once again I repeated the message, only to be met again with the depressing analog snow, but I did not give up. Multiple times I had to crank the power as the lights slowly faded, but with each recharge I repeated the same message. Over and over for what seemed like hours before I halted my efforts and lay my head upon the desk in defeat.

  “Keep trying.” They boy exclaimed.

  “I will.” I answered. “Let’s give them a moment.”

  “How far away are they?” He asked.

  “Very far.” I said, looking over into his shadowy eyes. “How did you know about this?” I asked.

  “Papa brought me here once.” He said, his smile diminishing. “But, you wouldn’t let me play with it. He said it was dangerous.”

  “He may be right.” I said with a smile. “What made you decide to come with us?” I asked.

  “I decided a long time ago.” He answered. “But you keep wandering off and are gonna get yourself killed. So last night I figured it was time.”

  Reach over I rubbed the top of his head, his greasy hair tangling up upon my fingers, and then with a smile I patted his shoulder. I might have called him a brat for holding out on us, but at this point I was too ecstatic to complain. Better late than never, the cliché was most welcome. And as I gazed down at the boy, I pulled the mic back up to my mouth for another round of calls, only to be pleasantly interrupted.

  “This is… station 43… please adjust… 1104.5.” The faint voice broke through the static, and feverishly I readjusted the dials for the proper station.

  “Is this the GFS?” I called back, “Over.”

  “This is ECS 43 of the GFS, please identify yourself… Come back.”

  “This is Patrick Zimmerman of Operation Upper Hand. It is imperative that I speak with President Mason ASAP!” I called back, and was briefly met with silent static once again as my request sunk into the mind of the speechless service woman.

  “Call sign and service number… come back.” The young voice finally stuttered.

  “Alpha One, service number One-One-Three-Two dash FiveZeroVictor… over.” receiving once again a minute of silence.

  “One moment… Mr. President.”

  * * * * * ECS 43, the Emergency Communication Service stationed just across the border, but not the border I needed. Although nestled atop Mt. Washington in New Hampshire, it would take time for them to locate and connect me to Ash. A couple of hours at least, and the time did not pass quickly as our patience ran thin and the afternoon drew over us, heating up the lookout like a sauna. Sweat poured from my brow, and the all too common smell of roughing it overpowered my nostrils. However, the boy seemed unaffected by the heat, and showed no signs of perspiration. But his nose did crinkle with distaste as my pungency wafted his way.

  Waiting, we chit-chatted about this and that, yet Abel was more interested in the life history of Nova, for which I had little to tell. Unlike her adventures with Adam and Mia, I gave her a more quiet and lazy life. Although she never complained about the dullness, never took off to find her own adventure, never cared to be a part of the dead world again. She was content to lay about or get fat off the scraps of food her admirers would toss her.

  “They’re here.” Abel said after a long pass of silence. “Who?” I asked.

  “The dark ones.” He said calmly.

  I shuffled over to the window, looking down into the dense

  mountain top below, yet saw nothing. Not even the slightest movement, not a scampering squirrel, nor the flutter of a bird. The forest was silent and dead, nature was hiding from the presence of death. We were in the worst possible place to fight off an assault, and I feared the call we waited for would not come until after the light faded, which would make our survival even more farfetched.

  “Alpha one, do you copy?” The familiar voice broke through the silence just in time, and jump started my heart. Without hesitation, I dashed back to the radio.

  “Ash! Damn good to hear your voice, my friend. - over.” I called back. “Yours too. We presumed you dead weeks ago. Where are you? over.”

  “In a rickety fire-tower just east of bum-fuck. - over.”

  “How many are left? Where is Garrison?”

  “Dead, they’re all dead. It is just Steph and I... Oh, and the boy!

  - over.”

  “You found him? - over.”

  “I did,” I took a moment to process how I would advise further. “He is the hope we came for. - over”

  “You have the cure?- over.”

  “Negative. I have something … else.” I looked at Abel and smiled. “Something better than a cure. But we need rescue ASAP. - over”

  “Can you get me coordinates, I can have a chopper to you in two hours. - over”

  “Negative.” I said. “There is no LZ here. We require a new location for extraction. - over”

  “How close are you to the original LZ? - over”

  “Not close enough, my friend. We can make for Rangeley, but it will take a couple of days…” I paused a moment. “And bring a gun-ship as well. We may have others to rescue. – over.”

  “I’ll see what I can scrounge up, sir. Our forces are pretty thin right now – over.”

  “Why? What’s going on? over.”

  “War, sir. - over.”

  “War with whom? - over.”

  “Everyone sir. Factions have popped up all over with their own selfish agendas. The Republic of Texas is currently at war on both sides of their border, with one group claiming to be the United States of America, as well as the Democratic Republic of Mexico which is evidently run by the former Juarez Cartel. The Christian Alliance and the Islamic Coalition of Social Cleansing have begun their own campaigns and have sacked three of our outposts. Those are just the big players, its complete anarchy all across the country, not to mention overseas. - over.”

  “After everything we’ve gone through...” My head dropped in silence.

  “I take full responsibility sir, I should have seen this coming. over.”

  “And done what, Mason? Start your own campaign? The best thing you can do is defend what is ours and try to open up diplomatic lines of communication. – over.”

  “I have no confidence in my diplomatic skills, the people want their leader. They want you, sir. - over.”

  “Then our rescue is all the more important.” I took a deep breath, thinking of a way to lighten the mood. “I may have to doc you a few day’s pay for failure to keep order, my friend. - over.”

  “Copy that.” Ash called back with a chuckle. “Although I warned you that I was not cut out for this job. - over.”

  “You’re the only man for it.” I said. “Tell the pilot to keep his eyes open, they have RPG’s. - over.”

  “Copy that. I’ll be seeing you in two days. Over and out.”

  That conversation with my old friend, although not containing the best of news, was uplifting and gave hope that we still had a chance. Yet the thought of leaving the safety of this tower and venturing deep into the forest on a long and treacherous journey did not bode well for me. Exhausted and with almost no supplies, it would take a miracle for our survival. But, Abel may be that miracle, only he could get us through this.

  “Where we going?” He
asked.

  “South.” I answered with a smile. “We need to go back and get Steph first.”

  “No, you stayand rest. Iwill go.” Hesaid as he crawled through the hole to descend the tower. Before closing the trap-door he threw me a quick smile, “Keep it locked, stay low.” And with that, he slammed the door shut and was gone.

  Man in the Box

  As the sun sailed towards the west, my sealed coffin turned into an oven of delusion and rash desperation. The windows were fixed tight from weathered neglect, and the fear of the Prowler’s prevented me from venturing below. Adrift in my own theorization, stripped down to my skivvy’s, and sweating profusely, I lay upon the lookout floor and basted away in molten misery.

  My past, the present, and the future racked my brain with constant cross examination. Dizzy and weakened by the haze, my work, my life, all presented before me as Exhibit one thru eternity within a diseased judicial trial. My crime, guilt by association, a scientist condemned by science. Why? Why had I not found the answer? Why did I let them all die? Why do I survive to fail, and all others wither and kill?

  Occasionally, between each adjourned session, I would peak down below from the windows only to catch a glimpse of shadows on the move. They skulk within the foliage, cunning and covert, they circle my prison like vindictive wolves. Yet, not once did they approach, not once did they attempt to climb the supports and smash through the fragile glass before me. They were cautious as they plotted and schemed just beyond my line of sight, unsure if they had found an easy meal, or a trap. Tactics of the self-aware.

  Eventually the sun faded, and night rolled over the hills, but the heat remained persistent. If not for the bottle of water Abel had left behind I would have surely succumb to the effects of dehydration hours ago. But instead, I sat there peacefully, sipping away and watching the liquid slowly fade. The night was calm, and with comfort the local owls began their nightly hunts and ghostly conversations. Whether it was just one, or a whole legion, their hoots echoed amongst the peaks like a chorus from the damned.