by JK Franks
That man’s death had not weighed on Scott as he had expected. Something inside of him had gone dark and cold. He did ask Jack to check in on the family, and eventually, he had heard that they had made it to a nearby farm and were eking out an existence as day laborers. Choices. Everything in life came down to choices. It always had, but in the old world, there were safety nets to protect us somewhat. Now your life depended on every one of them—on making the right choices. In Scott’s case, many lives depended on it. Right now, he had decisions to help make, but he didn’t have sufficient information on which to base those decisions.
He needed to know where the Messengers were heading. He wanted to know what was up with the Praetor forces. What could he and his community do to ensure their safety? The large ship they called home was a decent enough fortress, but it gave people a false sense of security. Those on the council all knew it: the ship had many vulnerabilities. While it made a good castle, castles often fell under siege. Someone could cut off the fresh water supply, and they would be dead in a week. Explosives placed strategically on the hull near the diesel intakes could turn the entire ship into a roaring inferno in minutes.
Scott wanted to be able to move the ship out to sea, but that would be incredibly difficult. It would also be pointless if the Messengers were not coming. If he was honest with himself, he still wasn’t convinced they were even real. They could just as simply be an urban legend or, at the very best, someone else's problem. America was big. This little speck on the coast couldn’t be worth the effort to reach and to attack.
But if they were real, they would need to keep feeding and expanding. Like a plague of locusts, they would eventually consume everything around them.
Bartos had said little when he came urgently to find Scott. Entering the communications room, Scott could hear his niece’s plaintive voice. Kaylie was right: the voice on the radio did sound like Scott’s brother, Bobby’s. Both were listening in to the faint broadcast. “Dad? Dad, are you there? It’s Kaylie!” Her voice was desperate and heartbreaking. Radio discipline was forgotten as they tried to talk to the man. Unlike the handheld radios they used for local communication, the high-end system in the AG’s communications room had a tremendous range. You could also talk and listen at the same time. While Kaylie was transmitting, Scott could hear the man’s voice. But the man could not hear them.
“Stop, Kaylie, just stop. He’s out of range of us. Let’s just listen to what he’s saying for a moment.” She reluctantly lowered the microphone and leaned toward the speaker. Scott clicked a button on the computer screen to record. The man’s voice sounded so much like his brother, but it faded in and out, and many of the words were mere fragments. It sounded like someone giving a news report or a weather forecast.
Then they clearly heard: “Front coming,” and something else that sounded like “God’s army,” and then faintly, an almost unbelievable sound. “Kaylie?”
Kaylie reached again for the microphone, but Scott was already responding. “Bobby is that you, bro?” they waited, but there was no response. “Scott and Kaylie for Bobby. Do you read?”
The voice on the other end said, “Hello . . . is someone there? Hello?”
Kaylie grabbed the mic from her uncle’s trembling hands. “Daddy . . . Daddy, please talk, please respond. It’s me! It’s Kaylie!”
Scott was trying to get a fix on the signal, but the system was not designed to triangulate over land. He could tell the direction, though: just west of due north. The man’s voice picked up an echo, then bits of another broadcast cut over, nothing legible, then a stronger signal—probably someone on a nearby frequency—drowned it out entirely.
Tears were pouring down Kaylie’s face. She desperately wanted to talk to the man; she knew it was her dad, but she could tell her uncle was still not fully convinced. “Dad, can you hear me?” she tried once more.
The silence stretched out to eternity, then the background noise faded. “I hear you, Kaylie, I am here.”
Scott and Kaylie looked at each other in disbelief. They knew his voice, and that last bit was clear and strong. It was Bobby. “Where are you, Dad? How is Mom?”
The signal faded and returned. “Thank God you guys are alive. I am still . . . near home. Things are really bad. Your mother . . .” The signal faded out. “ . . . try to get to you . . . void roads.”
Scott picked up the handset to talk to his brother. “Bobby, your signal is weak, not getting everything, but try and get here. If you can make regular contact, I can meet you somewhere. Do you copy?” The channel was silent. “Bobby? Bobby?”
Kaylie leaned over and closed her uncle’s fingers around the transmit key. “I love you, Dad. Tell Mom I love her. We are doing well, but . . . we need you.”
Scott saw there was no longer an incoming signal. He began to make notes of the direction, time and weather conditions. He would later be able to take a bearing, and when conditions were similar, maybe they could make contact again. It was him. They still had family. Kaylie still had parents.
He pulled his niece in for a tight embrace. They clung to each other as they both cried. “They’re alive,” she kept saying. Scott nodded. Bobby was still alive, but they had not heard him say the same about Jess. Scott elected not to mention it to his niece.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Todd looked grim. “I have some news from Naval command. I won’t lie, it’s not good. As we assumed based on the intel from DJ, a few days ago Commander Garret launched a mission to take control of the campus and labs at FSU. They sent in drones ahead of four tactical teams. When the troops went in, they found nothing. No labs, no soldiers . . . nothing, but students.”
The three faces looking back at him were unsure what the news meant. Kaylie spoke before anyone else. “What about DJ, was he there? Is he okay? Where did they go?”
Scott was wondering much of the same. “DJ said something was up. They must have known the attack was coming.”
Todd answered, “It seems likely they were warned or caught wind of it somehow.” He looked over at Kaylie and in an apologetic tone said, “Kaylie, I‘m sorry, but there was no sign of DJ or the doctor or any of the other people from the labs. Hell, the labs themselves were gone. No sign that Praetor was ever there.” He paused and looked around the table. “One other thing, the SEAL team searched DJ’s dorm room and found his clothes and the handheld radio we left him. Wherever they took him, we have no way of getting in touch.”
“Well, fuuuuuuck,” Bartos exhaled. “The kid could be anywhere now.”
Kaylie was nodding as she struggled to hold back the flood of tears. Her voice was tiny when she finally found the words. “He was there as a volunteer, not . . . not a prisoner. They trusted him—they need him. They wouldn’t have hurt him . . . right?”
Todd was standing near her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I sincerely believe you are right. They have no reason to wish him harm. Most likely they transported him to a more secure location. Maybe they have another lab somewhere else.
“The Navy guys are tearing that campus apart looking for clues. As soon as they know something, they will get in touch. You can’t have a logistical move of that size and not leave some clue as to where you went.”
Kaylie looked at Todd, a man she had tremendous love and respect for, but right now doubt and suspicion infused her words. “Did you know your friends were attacking?” Standing, she walked to the large window and looked out toward the Gulf. “Did you know the Navy was sending in SEALs and drones and not bother to tell us or warn DJ?”
“Kaylie . . .”
“Did you?” Her tone was unflinching, and her eyes were wide and bright.
Todd sat. “I warned him about the drones. I gave him strict instructions. But no, I promise you, I did not know about the rest. Mission security would have prevented them from broadcasting that, much less telling a civilian like me. I will admit, though, that I have known for some time that the option was on the table.” His voice had crac
ked, and he knew he had not convinced her.
“Why didn’t you tell someone then?” Kaylie said, her voice filled with hurt. Scott wanted to calm his niece, but he was getting upset as well.
Todd looked at them both. “The truth is, I know Scott feels differently about what the Praetor unit is up to. Kaylie, I think . . . I know you are too personally involved to be unbiased. I had sketchy information, nothing conclusive. I thought they were going in for a quick recon with the drones… nothing more. I felt that mentioning it, even as a possibility, could have put DJ in even more danger.”
Bartos spoke up, “I know it sounds fucking ridiculous for me to be the voice of reason, but isn’t the real issue where did they bugout to? None of this other stuff helps us right now. Unless the Navy can come up with clues, we may have to wait and hope he makes contact.”
Kaylie got up and left the room without further comment. Scott looked at Todd and said, “Bartos is right. Whatever your reasons, I don’t disagree with you. You did the right thing. Please keep pushing for any information they have, though. We need to know what Praetor is up to. And try to keep DJ safe.”
“’Of course, Scott, you know I am.”
Scott looked even more fatigued. “Why does surviving this shit just keep getting more complicated? We have disappearing farmers, pirates along the coast, too little food, some disease outbreak overseas and a bunch of Bible-thumping crazies declaring a fucking holy war. Did I leave anything out?”
Bartos raised his eyebrows, “I’ve been a bit constipated lately. I mean . . . if you’re making a list or something.”
The three men were silent for a few seconds until Todd started shaking his head and they all three burst into laughter.
“Constipation, huh? Geeze. My problem’s gas. If I don’t get something other than dried beans to eat soon, I’m going to explode,” said Todd.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Little Rock, Arkansas
Bobby gripped the small radio tighter, hoping to pick up the signal again by sheer will power. Kaylie was okay. That thought alone was enough to get his feet moving again. His brother had indeed reached her and kept her safe. Scott had been mostly lost in his own world the last few years—a world of pain and hurt and self-doubt. He was a good man, but Bobby had not been sure he could rely on him until he heard both their voices.
He switched the radio off and slipped it into his pack. From the hole in the ground, he removed several other items that he had stored there over the previous years. Jess had thought he was nuts; he had more gear and equipment for surviving “The Big Crunch” than any of his crazy-ass prepper friends. A lot of good it’s done me, he thought bitterly. What was left in the small hidey-hole were just the bare essentials. A true emergency-only bugout bag that held a small Japanese-made dual-band radio, a water purification kit, a pistol and ammo, a portable solar charger, a FireSteel, batteries, a flashlight, a knife, a small fishing kit and several freeze-dried meal kits in a small, sealed plastic bucket.
He had loaded the old pickup with his real supplies when he and Jess fled to the mountain cabin—his primary bugout location. The cabin itself was a hidden fortress, and he had spent years stocking and modifying it to be almost completely self-contained. It had a spring-fed natural water source and a soundproofed generator room with a dual-fuel generator and a large but well-camouflaged solar array: power, water—it even had satellite TV. Everything worked great for the first few months. They worried about Kaylie but hunkered down in the cabin on the side of a hill, convincing themselves that Scott had been able to reach her. They had all they needed.
Bobby repacked the backpack and lowered the now-loaded 9mm Heckler & Koch VP9 into his CrossBreed IWB holster. Shouldering the pack, he walked back to where the motorcycle lay and pulled a few items from the saddlebags. Then he headed off toward the shelter of a nearby forest.
He took shelter under a large elm tree. A cold, steady rainfall matched his mood. He would not try to reach Scott again today. The little radio had good battery life, but the rated range was only about 100 miles. He got lucky reaching them at all today; the storm clouds may have helped boost the signal. He was almost 600 miles from the Gulf Coast. Thinking more clearly now, he felt stupid for his lack of radio discipline. He had just been so happy to hear from his family. He would have to move south and stick to high ground to reach them again and keep his emotions in check while he was at it. It was a bad idea to risk giving away locations over an open channel.
The ham radio he’d had in the house had been state-of-the-art. He could talk to others around the world. The radio room itself was isolated and grounded so even the CME hadn’t affected it. They’d had no time to take it when the shit hit the fan, though. At first, Little Rock looked like it was going to be fine. Then the rioting started.
Then, the power went off for good, and it was every man for himself. They had just managed to get word to his brother, Scott, asking him to please go to Tallahassee to get Kaylie. Then they were on the run. All his mechanical tools had to be left behind, along with the nice ham radio and hundreds of other things. He and Jess had taken his dad’s old pick-up. It was old, and he’d been restoring it. It was one of the few vehicles that still ran. The three-speed transmission was on its last leg, though, and they barely made it into the valley near the cabin when it went out completely. But, they had gotten out, and they were alive.
Bobby ignored the rain as he finished off the cold MRE. He had no idea what it was he had just eaten; he didn’t give a shit. He felt marginally better for getting some protein into his body and much better for hearing his brother’s and daughter's voices. He had to keep moving, though. The Judges would be looking for him. The Messengers were relentless. They did not let people go willingly, and he knew they had a special desire to see him dead. Looking down, even in the darkness, he could see the outline of the tattoo on the back of his hand.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
December, the previous year
Karachi, Pakistan, Gulf of Oman
The captain of the boat was a small Asian man with fierce eyes. With one look, Skybox knew this man had faced many demons of his own. As he approached, Skybox scanned for weapons and potential exits.
In heavily-accented English, the man spoke. “I am Wei Xiou. You are the commander, no?” Skybox nodded. “You lost your entire platoon?”
It was a company, not a platoon, but that mattered little now. He was unsure what the official role of the man or this ship was to P-Group, but they had been there waiting for him when he reached the port city. The ship seemed to be falling apart: rust flaked from every metal surface, and you could not tell from any of the occasional patches of paint what the ship’s original color may have been. But looks could be deceiving. Deception was always the first weapon of choice for Praetor. Even as he thought that, he felt the big, diesel marine engines come to life and start hammering away several decks below.
Chances were that Wei Xiou was just a contractor, not an operative. That meant he would have the barest of information from Praetor or about Talon Battlegroup. Skybox’s eyes fell once more on the diminutive man. “Thank you, Captain, I am grateful for the pick-up. I am unaware of your level, but you are not incorrect. Things went badly out there . . . very badly. Can I ask, where are we headed?”
Wei Xiou looked at the tall man. He knew much, but debriefing the commander was not his job. “You infected?”
Skybox looked perplexed, but gave the safer answer, “No, of course not . . . I would be dead. Your entire ship would be dead by now.”
The Captain nodded and gave an almost-imperceptible smile. “Of course, of course, but must ask. We are to give you physical exam. We then rendezvous with command vessel out at sea. They will transport you stateside.”
So, is was just a feeder vessel, Skybox thought. Used normally for gun running or smuggling tactical gear and assault teams into unfriendly regions. Non-western ships and crews were usually best for such roles. “Thanks, Wei. Tell me, do you have
a vidcon link to the ship or Control? I need to speak with them about the situation on the ground.”
Wei Xiou smiled, revealing an unpleasant array of crooked and stained teeth. “We have no links to P-Command other than for basic tasking. The EMP took out much of our ship’s electronics. We were not hardened to those attacks like the more official Praetor vessels. We have not even had much news of the outside world ourselves since the blast.”
That was frustrating, but not unexpected. “Your English is impeccable, Captain. Would you, in fact, be American?”
Wei’s smile disappeared, but he knew better than to answer. No one answered those kinds of questions. “The doctor will be in shortly to retrieve you and begin the exam. We are ninety-six hours until rendezvous.” He turned abruptly for the door and was gone.
The doctor was an older woman. An anomaly on the crew, she was tall, blonde, slightly heavyset, and very Australian. She also appeared to be very competent in her job. She took a seat and for the first hour did nothing but ask him questions. She questioned everything having to do with his physical health. Nothing was off limits. Her questions ranged from what he had eaten for breakfast to the last time he had masturbated. As any good soldier would, he assumed there were reasons for the interrogation, but she was not going to let on as to what they might be.