Someday Soon

by Brandon Zenner

  He breathed in and out, in and out, trying to focus his thoughts. Whatever mindset he was able to tap into that night so long ago on Nick’s front lawn seemed impossible to reclaim, almost like Simon was a bystander watching a stranger hack across the trenches. Each time a small munition ricocheted off the Hummer’s bulletproof armor, he flinched as if the bullet had found its way to his heart.

  Reports came in that the Red Hands were falling back from every position, cramming together close to the river’s edge and the ocean behind, although it was hard for Simon to decipher most of what Jeremy was shouting to the officers with his own pulse vibrating in his eardrums. Alice’s armored wing was approaching the collapsed bridge when Jeremy took his ear away from the microphone and announced that Nelson Barnett’s brigade was making fast progress to their location, having effectively cut off the enemy’s fallback route. Casey Edmund’s division was setting up a defensive line to eliminate the possibility of enemy reinforcements coming out of Hightown, and awaiting the order to proceed north to liberate the city.

  Jeremy studied their position against a map and called in for Louisianan’s armada, which had reported they were in firing position, ready to unleash their missiles on the enemy’s location. The ships reported no signs of the Red Hands’ destroyer.

  Jeremy opened the door to the Hummer to follow the rush of ground troops, when again the driver again put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  “Sir—”

  “You want to keep me safe? Pick up your rifle!”

  Jeremy ran from the Hummer, and for a moment, Simon sat there, staring out the open door. Then Bethany said, “Move your fuckin’ ass!”

  Bethany was kneeling outside the Hummer, scanning the area ahead, and Simon came up beside her, his rifle at the ready. A sergeant called for soldiers to form a perimeter around their general, much to Jeremy’s protest. Simon’s toe hit something and he stumbled, looking down at a torn and dismembered leg. There were bodies everywhere, both from Alice and the Red Hands, along with shredded machine guns, vehicles, and crater holes. In a world full of death, witnessing corpses was nothing new; the fear came from their freshness, knowing that he could easily join their numbers.

  Come on, Simon told himself, Get it together. Stop fucking shaking. He tried repeating mantras like he had during the battle at Nick’s mansion—Bethany, Bethany, Beth—but it was no use. It wasn’t coming naturally, subconsciously.

  They fell to a crawl inside a crater as they neared the front line, with explosions raining down nearby. Simon’s cheek hit the dirt, his sweaty skin turning it to mud.

  The collapsed bridge was in view, with the Red Hands’ flotilla somewhere behind. Bullet fire peppered the rim of the crater, and Simon pressed up against the side, wishing to meld into the soil and disappear from sight. The Red Hands were across the highway, where they seemed to have a secondary hardened defensive line in place.

  Bethany lay beside him, her rifle and head peering just over the rim, firing into the distance. Simon took a deep breath and glanced over. From his vantage, there were no enemy soldiers visible, but still he aimed and fired into the wooded area across the road. A portion of Nelson’s armored wing was mixing with their own to the north, on the opposite side of the enemy’s flank, further crushing the Red Hands into a crevice. Jeremy shouted to the sergeant, “Stop all advancing troops before the bridge! The armada will be targeting east of the road! Call in the strike, now!”

  Overhead, one the Red Hands’ helicopters streaked across the sky, trailing a cloud of black smoke. Tracer rounds followed its retreat, and the smoke grew heavier and heavier, until the aircraft burst in a flower of fire high in the air.

  “Holy hell!” Bethany shouted. Simon pressed the side of his body up against hers as they watched the flaming debris trail to the ground.

  The noise of the explosion was overtaken by loud and terrible shrieks from Louisiana’s missiles, and the first explosion rattled the ground so fiercely that Simon’s vision blurred. More missiles fell, and a wall of dirt blanketed them in the crater. A burst of firelight came from Nelson’s armored wing, followed by smoke so thick that the rest of the squad fell over in coughing fits, rubbing at their eyes. Simon spat dirt out of his mouth and rubbed it from his nose as more and more missiles fell, and bright strobes became blinding. Bethany pressed in tight against his chest.

  “Ca—” Jeremy tried to say, coughing and shielding his head as another wave of dirt fell over the officers, along with wood fragments and rock particles. A soldier’s body careened backward into the crater, shot like a cork from a bottle. “Call the armada!” Jeremy yelled. “They’re firing on us! Call—” He grabbed the sergeant’s shoulder, but the soldier’s head lolled to the side, dripping red.

  ***

  Louisiana’s ships navigated as close to the shore as they could before hitting the bottom, and the convoy ships released. A swarm of landing vessels rebounded over swells as they reached the eastern shore, and close to four hundred troops made landfall. The general and founder of Louisiana’s naval colony, Greg Ubel, traveled in the second reserve of soldiers, rather than wait on the destroyer and send an emissary in his place to make contact with their allies.

  Officers called out orders, assembling tactical formation. His men were hardened, genuine military, not unlike the soldiers from Hightown. Many of Alice’s population were also trained soldiers, but most were not, making them the weaker of the two forces. From everything he’d gathered, the Red Hands were something of an enigma. The vast majority were common lowlifes with the knowledge of how to point and fire weapons. However, they had conquered Hightown and brought a new age into the colony’s existence.

  Through sheer brutality and anger, Karl Metzger had transformed bands of deviants into a capable fighting force. Not just capable, but dominant. They fought with disregard for their own safety; they fought with a passion to see their enemies slaughtered. They were terrifying.

  The clamor of warfare echoed to the landing area, and trails of smoke blended into each other to form a semicircular wall in the distance. Loud shrieks tore overhead from the missiles fired from Greg’s vessels, and the explosions were loud.

  If the plan was succeeding, as he was led to believe, the Red Hands would be less than a mile from the shoreline. His men formed a bulky formation with reinforcements in the rear, and it didn’t take long until he heard over the radio, “Soldiers in sight.”

  This was the first assault that Greg was personally overseeing, and it felt good to be holding a rifle again. His legs were aching already, and his hips weren’t as limber as they had been all those years ago when he’d been in active combat, but still, the rush of warfare was euphoric.

  He spoke to his lieutenant, “We get a bead on ’em yet?”

  “Yes, sir. Right on target, less than a half click.”

  His men held up, assembling in mass behind derelict homes and buildings.

  “They’re spotted, sir,” his lieutenant said, and offered a pair of binoculars. Greg didn’t take them. He could see the movement across the short expanse in a dense row of homes.

  “Advance,” Greg ordered and stood from his crouch. The lieutenant spoke into a radio, and all at once, the army emerged from the woods and behind the homes into full view. The opposing line of Red Hands turned and pointed to their procession. More men appeared at various window openings and from behind corners of buildings.

  The distance between them was short. A tall man stood in the center of the line of soldiers, a cigar clamped between his teeth. Greg took lead, and as he neared, the man with the cigar stepped forward.

  “General Ubel, I presume?” The man had a deep, baritone voice.

  Greg nodded. “Karl Metzger.” The men reached out and shook. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Sir General.”

  The two armies met in the field, looking each other up and down. Some nodded, a few shook hands.

  “Time is of the essence,” Greg s
aid. “Catch me up to speed.”

  “Yes,” Karl said. “Your missiles are doing just as planned; Alice and Hightown are being shredded to pieces. And even more, their confusion is causing further disarray.”

  Greg followed Karl with his army in tow. Various faces permeated his thoughts, all the people he’d known prior to this terrible mess and the people he’d met or heard of since: General Albert Driscoll; Nick Byrnes; Jeremy Winters. He had turned on them all, and had done so with an ease he would never have thought possible.

  But Karl had offered him what the colonies could not. The age of hiding behind walls was over. The disease had done its damage, and with help from the war, humanity had become threadbare. But that did not have to continue to be the case. In the past, Greg had used examples of famous conquistadors and colonizers, Cortez, Magellan, and Dias, when trying to persuade the other colonies to venture out from behind their walls. What if these famous explorers had never taken the leap to find new worlds? Humanity must progress with a swift and forwarding movement at all times. But the colonies wanted to remain sedentary. They didn’t want to expand to new locations, to once again cover the earth.

  They refused to explore this new world.

  There were two types of people left: those who were content to wait in hiding, guarding what little they could maintain, and those who were ripe to explore it to new advantages, be it by force or not. Greg’s pleas to the other colonies for growth had been ignored—and there’s only so long a person can go neglected. In the end, his colony was being used for their fuel, and nothing more. Karl told him as much. They spoke for hours on end over the radio, after the fuel ships docked, unaware that Hightown had fallen.

  Karl greeted the apprehensive sailors with a full smile and no weapons raised. He offered them a drink, and although they refused to deboard the ship, Karl was permitted to address Greg via radio. It then became clear that there were others out there who saw the world much the same as he did. Together, they could spread their wings and cover every corner of the world, if they so wished. The time was ripe for further colonization. Together, General Ubel and General Metzger could lead a new dawn. One that they dictated.

  After hours of consideration, along with tallies of numbers, armaments, and past victories, Greg returned to Karl after holding a meeting with the officers. They would join the Red Hands to see Alice fall, and after, they would help it rise back up again. In the end, Greg knew that betraying his alliances was the best course of action to ensure humanity’s continued survival. As it were, the United Colonies did nothing to help one another. Never once did they come to each other’s aid. The Colorado territory died screaming for help, but did Albuquerque offer them assistance? No. Under Karl Metzger’s rule, under the methods of the Red Hands, a true alliance was formed. The next step in humanity’s continued evolution was at hand. This was the era of exploration. Of growth.

  Karl offered Greg and the Louisiana territory a proposition that they could not shy away from. He gave him an invitation to turn his back on the other settlements, and realize it was time for change.

  Karl Metzger offered Greg Ubel the world.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Realization

  A strong hand grabbed Simon’s shoulder and pulled him to his feet. Before he could clear the dirt from his eyes, he was shoved, dragged, voices shouting in his ears, cutting through the roar of explosions and terrible screams.

  “We need to fall back!”

  “We’re getting torn to shreds!”

  “What do we do, sir?”

  “What do we do?”

  Simon halted, rubbing his eyes, and making sure Bethany wasn’t injured. Weary faces stared back at him, recoiling at each succession of blasts. They were speaking to both Simon and Jeremy, but Simon could only stare back. The world around him was on fire, the air stifling, twisted, and burning scraps of armored vehicles streaming dark smoke like spilled ink.

  “Fall back to the bridge!” Jeremy shouted, even though the soldiers were already falling back without his command. “Call the armada! Find out what the fuck is going on!”

  The huddled group began to move, running away from the front line. An officer said, “They’re not responding, sir.”

  “Keep trying!” Jeremy replied.

  Back on the road, a Hummer idled, waiting. The back door was open, and Simon was shoved inside, followed by Bethany, Jeremy, and a crush of men. The vehicle accelerated fast over the pavement, in a convoy escaping the hellish bombardment.

  “How did they get the wrong coordinates?” Jeremy yelled to the occupants.

  An officer sitting in the passenger seat held a radio to his mouth, calling the boats to no avail. Once they got to the bridge, they could reevaluate their position, try to find out what had happened, and hopefully get the armada to start firing on the correct position.

  A half a mile out, the wooded section disappeared into a neighborhood of derelict homes. As the army fell back, a ball of fire erupted ahead of the line, and the Hummer swerved around a massive crater in the pavement and the burning wreckage of a troop transport. Unrecognizable bodies and parts littered the ground.

  Another bomb fell behind them, followed by another, and then several all at once.

  “Fan out!” Jeremy commanded, and the driver jerked the Hummer onto the lawn of a home and crashed through a fence onto the adjacent property. They’re following us …

  “They’re following us,” Simon said to no one in particular. “The bombs, this is no accident … Jesus Christ. Louisiana and the Red Hands, they’re working together.”

  Jeremy looked at him with a grim demeanor. A streak of smoke trailed downward across the sky, followed by a boil of machine gun fire. Simon didn’t have to look out the window to know they were being strafed by the helicopters. How many of those damn things did the Red Hands have? Every time they blew one up, another appeared. By previous calculations, they had acquired three from Hightown’s arsenal. But what about Louisiana? What terrible toys did they possess?

  The bridge came into view, and a procession was already passing swiftly to the other side. Please, God, in all that is holy, let us cross this bridge before the bombs find us.

  The robotic machine guns on the rooftops fired back at the helicopters, along with dozens of small arms from soldiers on foot, and rockets were discharged from shoulder-mounted launchers. Jeremy gave the order for the bridge to be blown once their army made it over, as there was little doubt that the bulk of the enemy’s forces were following their trail.

  As the Hummer crossed to the other side, the soldiers in Alice were ordered to open the gates for the coming army to make a swift entrance, and for all defenses to be manned. A combined air and land assault was expected, and those helicopters had to be taken down if they were to keep the walls intact.

  “Is everyone over the bridge?” Jeremy asked the officer in the passenger seat.

  “It’s believed so, sir.”

  “Give the order for detonation. Have we heard from General Edmunds or General Barnett?”

  The man shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Simon looked at his friend—his best friend, other than Winston—and knew that numbers and tallies were going through Jeremy’s head to such a degree that he must feel lightheaded. How many men were lost? Were Nelson and Greg dead? How many officers survived … did they have enough of a force left to ward off an assault from both the Red Hands and Louisiana? Could Louisiana’s armada target locations inside Alice?

  “Sir,” the man in the passenger seat said, looking over his shoulder. His eyes were huge. “Alice is under attack, eastern section, near the trade grounds.”

  Simon’s chest tightened, and he saw Jeremy’s lips purse. The small vessels must have gotten through the fallen bridge.

  “Jesus … how many?” Jeremy asked.

  The man held the corded headset for Jeremy to take. Before he could speak, a voice on the opposite side shouted so loud that Simon could hear it, “… breaking the line;
they’re breaking the line!” Jeremy’s mouth was open, but he didn’t say anything. “… hundreds of them …” the voice continued. “… we’re falling back to secondary positions … the helicopter …”

  The explosion from the bridge never occurred, and Simon didn’t have to hear a report to know that something went wrong. With the enemy now infested inside Alice’s walls and fast on the heels of the retreating army, they would be crushed before the day was done.

  Jeremy gave a visible, dry swallow, and said to both the passengers and into the headset, “Code thirty-five, one-o-six.”

  The officer in the passenger seat looked back and said, “Is that your order, sir?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant.” Jeremy removed his headset and handed it to the officer. “Give the order to everyone who can hear it.” The man nodded and took the receiver. The Hummer halted, and the vehicles all around him veered fast to the south.

  Simon caught Bethany’s distressed gaze. Her eyes were large, glassy, but she didn’t say a word.

  Carolanne … Connor … Winston …

  Jeremy sat back in the seat rubbed the bridge of his nose. Then he removed his pack of cigarettes and offered them to the car. Every grim-faced individual took one, including Simon. It was entirely possible that no one in Alice would make it out alive, but they had a better chance fleeing to Albuquerque than they did trying to fend off the invaders. The thought that it was gone—all gone—was too much to bear. The Red Hands’ filthy fingers desecrating the gardens and water, which had taken so long to build. So many lives lost over a piece of land. And just like that, it was taken from them by force.