A House Divided: Book 3 of The Of Sudden Origin Saga

by C. Chase Harwood

  “Fifteen. Maybe twenty.”

  Mason hadn’t spoken a word during the entire escape. He had insured that his boss was fed, but otherwise kept to himself. Looking at Councilman Pelham, he asked, “So to the North you will go, sir?”

  Dietrich looked at his servant like he was short on cards. “Did you have another plan, Mason?”

  “Yes, sir. Fighting for my homeland would be my choice.”

  Dietrich looked at the man for a long beat. “Walter, you’ve never struck me as suicidal.”

  “My nation it is, Dietrich. Pledged I have, like all citizens, to defend her.”

  Dietrich cocked his head slightly, then waved at the thousands hoping to flee along the shore. “They all took that pledge as well.”

  “And failing they are, to uphold it.”

  Dietrich looked at the choppy water. “I’ve never asked if you can swim.”

  “Competed in high school, I did.”

  Again, it dawned on Dietrich that he actually knew nothing of his servant’s past life — had never bothered to inquire. He looked at the black water below. “Like the boy said, that’s cold ocean down there.”

  Mason nodded reluctantly. “I’m sure it is, sir.”

  Once again, they got within a few throws of a football from the shoreline. Dean pointed the boat head-to-wind. They were just one of many vessels, people streaming at them from the shore, possessionless, terrified, many of them drowning as they crawled over each other to get away. The sound of their massed voices crossed the water, enhancing the sense of riot.

  Mason, wearing a life vest, stood with the M4 that he’d been carrying. He looked at Nikki and Dean, indicating the gun. “Can I get it wet?”

  Dean said, “It will work fine. Just point the muzzle down when you leave the water and let it drain.”

  Nikki said, “And engage the bolt a half inch or so. That will help. You’ll want to clean it when you can. The salt will eventually corrode it.”

  Mason kicked a backpack full of loaded magazines. “May I?”

  Dean nodded. “You’ll need them. Better take some of those homemade food bars as well.”

  Jon helped by stuffing some of the food in with the ammo. As Mason lifted the sack to his shoulder, Billy called out. “Bunch of people coming our way.”

  Mason stepped to the side of the boat and nodded solemnly at Dietrich. “Good it’s been to be under your employ, sir.”

  Dietrich stood and patted the man on the back. “Wish I could send you off with references, Walter. Good luck to you.”

  The man jumped, the weight of his gear at first pulling him several feet underwater. When he surfaced, he breathed in deeply and began swimming up river against a tide of people coming the other way.

  Dean switched with Billy, grabbing his rifle and stepping to the bow. He yelled down to the approaching people. “We can take twenty of you, not one more. Children first!”

  Jon, Nikki and Dietrich all aimed their guns menacingly. Jon said, “This is going to be hard.”

  “They did horrible things to us,” said Nikki. “Not so hard.”

  Then the pleading chaos from the people below took over all of their senses.

  Hansel and Gretel were hungry. They’d passed several mutilated human corpses as they walked up the coast. Most of them had been thoroughly butchered, as though hyenas roamed the land — which they did in a way. They saw several knots of wandering Fiends — mostly sick looking, some deathly so. Then they saw Chosen — dead ones. No signs of violence, just dead by the dozens and then the hundreds — anguish on their faces. Their final moments hadn’t been pleasant. The twins guessed gas until they noticed the red patches on the skin; it looked like burns, like what had shown up on the doctor’s face.

  They agreed that they had no appetite nor desire for eating human flesh — at least for now. When they finally came upon a cluster of abandoned houses, they raided one of the kitchens, finding plenty to fill their bellies.

  Perhaps they had misjudged where to swim to shore. The invasion was well to the north of them. Discouraged and exhausted, they nevertheless continued on, hoping to catch up with the bulk of the army. As they walked, they kept calling out in their minds to the Four of The Five, receiving only a vague sense of anger in response. While they could feel the presence of all Chosen as an entity, reaching out to individual minds was not working. There was fear in every fiber of the air — not just human fear — Chosen fear.

  Deciding to pick up their pace, they began to jog in the odd loping way of this new version of humanity. Despite their custom made clothes, the movement was awkward with the material surrounding their legs. They paused and tore off the bottom portion of their pants, creating knickers of a sort. After an hour of constant motion, they could hear the front. A thick stand of trees cut across the road they were on. Beyond them raged the full throated sound of gunpowder and screaming voices.

  A heavily armed drone buzzed over the forest, aiming itself toward the battle ahead. Then it suddenly came back into view. The machine hesitated, hovered left, then right. The twins ducked behind trees, certain they’d been seen, only to watch a flock of birds smash into the drone, sending feather, flesh, bombs and advanced composites hurtling into the trees. The twins ran as it all came crashing down behind them and set a line of long dead trees aflame.

  As they approached the far side of the wood, caution slowed them down again. In a vast fallow farmer’s field, a mass of Chosen were concentrated in two areas, their ire directed at a sentinel that was mowing them down with massive firepower. The Chosen in return were hurling hundreds of rocks at the machines, causing the spider legs to buckle and twist, the auto-shotguns to fire wildly into the air. A second sentinel could be heard further on, its location hidden by the mass of Chosen. Blazing steady firepower, the nearer drone ran out of ammo, its auto shotgun spinning uselessly. This was followed by the distant sentinel also running out of ammo. The sudden shift in sound ended with an echo of gunfire through the surrounding forests. The machine the twins could see, lifted its front legs up, exposing sharp tips in a defensive posture. The Chosen voices rose up again and they concentrated their stoning in a hail of rock that smashed into it with devastating effect. Like a spider slapped by an agitated hand, the machine crumpled and twisted onto the ground and became still. The second drone was revealed when the mass of Chosen parted, creating a channel through their ranks. This was filled by a herd of deer that burst out of the adjacent forest. With the animals fully under their control, the Chosen sent the beasts crashing headlong into the remaining sentinel, demolishing it in a gruesome meat grinder of animal flesh.

  It was then that Hansel and Gretel noticed the royal retinue a little further along the tree line. The Four of The Five stood out front watching the final events unfold. The twins noted some weakness in their posture, some diminishment of their stature. The brother and sister stepped out of the trees and walked with purpose in their stride. As they approached, the Four, and the entire entourage, turned as one to look at them. The one known as Extra One held a small Chosen child in her arms. The child lay at an awkward angle and appeared to be dead. The one known as Paul looked ill, as did the other leaders. The twins recognized on them the same pallor and red splotches as on the one called Littlefield.

  Thoughts flew between Hansel and Gretel and the Four — the twins speaking as one mind, the Four as another. It began with the Four. Welcome home. We have been waiting a long time to see your faces. Paul then spoke aloud with forced strength to the other Three of The Five. “What shall the story be for these Chosen?”

  Peter said, “That they provided nourishment.”

  John said, “That they provided nourishment.”

  Simon walked around the pucks and sniffed at them. The creature had a distinctive limp and was clearly covering for some pain. He looked out at the field of battle and watched a Chosen bring a large rock down upon one of the ruined sentinels. He turned back to Paul. “That they are of us.”

  Paul reache
d out and rubbed the fabric of Gretel’s shredded pants and coat between his fingers, noting the dampness. In his minds eye, he took in Gretel’s memory of swimming to shore and the mechanics of the act. You come bearing a very great gift. Because of you, all Chosen shall share in this knowledge of how to cross the water. He smiled with a mixture of satisfaction and gratitude, then spoke out loud again. “What say you of the Fresh?”

  Hansel and Gretel looked at each other, then back at the Four. They sent thoughts about hundreds of moments of joy and happiness that they’d observed and experienced during their time with humanity. Being a species that could function on the run almost from birth, they also recalled moments from their earliest days. Hansel and Gretel chose a moment just days after their birth; a moment that all Chosen could relate to; a moment when their mother went off to hunt and left them cold, hungry, and afraid. In their memory, days went by and they feared that they would never see the creature that bore them again. The hunger was overwhelmingly painful and they almost died. Their thoughts then jumped to when Eliza, their human mother, took over their care after their capture — the sweet smell of loving comfort, safety, warmth and full bellies, filled the minds of all the Chosen around them. It was an introduction to something that none of these feral beasts had ever known — unconditional love — the swelling heart of it, the heady sense of euphoric fulfillment in knowing they were safe and cared for.

  There was a long moment of jumbled thought; the creatures minds stumbling over each other in reaction to this notion.

  Finally Paul thought, Stop. He smiled. “That is useful. We can use that.” Then he probed Hansel and Gretel’s minds. But you are hiding the whole truth.

  Torture — the twins being tortured in the farmhouse basement was right there in the front of their thoughts. Hansel’s agony; Gretel being forced to observe it, feel it; the woman that they called their mother tied down and twisting in pain; and most of all, the feelings of pleasure that had emanated from the minds of the Fresh Ones who were doing it to them.

  Paul took a step back to fully take in Hansel and Gretel. “As foretold in the book of The Lamb, we are His Chosen. The Fresh are evil and ours to do with as we wish.” Then he smiled in greeting to them. “You are Chosen. You are of us.” A trickle of blood leaked from his nose, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

  In the distance, the sound of small arms fire echoed across the landscape. Paul began walking in that direction, the rest right behind. He said, “Arthur says eat.”

  Hansel and Gretel and the others responded, “Arthur says eat.”

  The massive army of Chosen thought as one, ARTHUR SAYS EAT.

  Then Paul faltered and sat with the help of Simon.

  Dean wasn’t certain that they would make it; the rusting gray wall of steel that was a hastily recommissioned destroyer was a mile or less away, yet his own boat sat so low in the water — with forty-one cold and miserable people crammed onto it — that a decent swell might sink them. He and his comrades hadn’t been able to stomach turning anyone away. They’d taken aboard as many as would fit. The cockpit was filling faster than the scuppers could empty the water out, so they closed the gangway that led below, keeping most of the sea from getting in. With the breeze diminishing, they were making no more than 2 knots.

  The Navy ship had nets rigged to her sides for taking on people such as these. A line of small boats was pulling up, dumping refugees and sailing back for more. When finally it was Dean’s turn, a Navy ensign with an old fashioned megaphone barked out orders for him to come along side. A phalanx of enlisted kept an assortment of ordinance pointed down at them. As they got within thirty meters, Dean called out to the people on his boat. “We’re going to come along side. If you all rush to get off, you’ll likely capsize us. Only the people on port…the left, will climb first. Only when I call out, may the people on the right step across and climb as well.” He indicated Nikki, who kept her gun ready. “If you start to panic you’ll risk killing us all. If that happens I give this Marine here permission to shoot you.” He called up to the sailor with the megaphone. “Where to next for these people, Ensign?”

  “Everyone, including yourselves, goes to Nantucket Island for quarantine.”

  Dean looked at his comrades with slight dismay.

  The sailor, sensing their understandable fear said, “It’s clear of all infected now. A ghost island until these people show up.”

  Dean made eye contact with Dietrich. The man swallowed and glanced at the sky in contrition. He said, “It was a monstrous thing we did. I had no part in it, but, as a Shore Councilman, I am no less guilty. I promise I will make certain that those who where responsible will be held accountable.”

  Dean said nothing, his focus instead on the sloop banging against the thick netting along the hull of the destroyer and people climbing up. He called out, “Steady now. Those on the right may carefully begin to step across.”

  Despite the jostling of the sea, the drop off was textbook. As the last refugee dragged herself up, a team of sailors lowered a stretcher for Dr. Littlefield.

  Dietrich climbed up along side the doctor as they hoisted him, making certain that the man stayed safely level as he went. Littlefield looked up at the sailors hauling him to safety and smiled through his pain and weakness. He knew he was done for, understood his symptoms better than anyone, but he had made it home. He briefly thought of the girl Marlena and sent a prayer for her to a God that he didn’t believe in.

  When the time came for the rest of them to climb, Jon, Nikki and Billy looked to Dean. The aging warrior stood tall, his hands gripping the boat’s lifelines and the net, attempting to keep the smaller craft stable as it bounced and bumped. He stared down into the water that sloshed and splashed in the trough between the vessels. Eliza was gone. She was part of the sea now. He slowly lifted a foot as though he might step over the side — let his body get mashed between the boats — then felt a hand firmly on the back of his belt. In his periphery, he saw that it was Nikki. At almost the same moment, Jon stepped over and gently took his arm. Billy did the same.

  Jon said, “I gotcha, big guy. Wouldn’t want you to fall. You’ve got a son to take care of.”

  Dean’s body, which had locked up with stiffness at being held, relaxed. He set his foot down and gently extricated himself, letting go of the netting, the sailboat breaking away from the mother ship. He turned to hug his son; the boy’s wide-eyed concern for his father melting away with reassurance.

  Billy said, “Dad, I want to go home.”

  “Home?”

  “Norman’s Cay.” He glanced up at the ship. “We. We can’t go to Nantucket.”

  “You won’t have to. They’ll let you come home. I’m sure.”

  “Without you. That isn’t home. Nantucket’s home.”

  Dean held his son away and looked into his eyes for a long breath. “OK. Let’s do it.”

  Jon and Nikki did the same.

  A Sailor called down from the deck, interrupting them. “You folks coming aboard or heading back for more? Got more waiting behind you.”

  Stalling, Jon called up to the Sailors. “Uh, think we’re gonna head back for more.”

  He looked back at Nikki. A decision was silently reached. She turned to Dean. “We’re coming with you if you’ll have us.”

  “You’re sure? It’s desolate. Very.”

  Nikki squeezed Jon’s arm. “We do better with desolate.”

  They asked for water and any food the Navy could spare. It would be enough. Dean would live in the place where he and Eliza had found peace. Billy thought with longing about the girl named Brittany that he’d left behind. Nikki and Jon deserved a rest. Their relationship deserved a reset.

  If the breeze held, it would take them roughly a week, perhaps a little more, to sail down to the Bahamas and a little island called Norman’s Cay; a place once known for buried treasure, tropical vacations, drug running, and now — a new start for a small group of survivors who’d had enough of the
Apocalypse.

  Norman’s Cay

  It was twilight when the sloop approached the short weathered pier that served the small atoll. The refugees stood on deck and looked longingly at the tropical paradise. The low Sun cast long shadows and left deep voids of darkness among the trees. As they got closer, green water gave way to pale, with just enough light to see the soft sandy bottom. Fish moved around down there. The ocean was alive and unaware of the harsh world above. A light breeze blew the scent of land and abundant life across the water. There was something else there as well, something… rancid.

  A brief but wicked storm had tested, not only the four people’s endurance, but that of the small sloop as well. The boat rode low in the water. Fierce waves had pounded the hull over and over, causing small fissures in the old fiberglass. For two days, 24 hour hand-pumping had been required to keep the sailboat afloat, exhausting the already overwhelmed crew. Now, as they abandoned the effort, they knew they would make it to the safety of shore.

  With the old pair of binoculars, Dean scanned the few buildings that were visible. There was no sign of life, no surprised greeting — friends waving happily, rushing to the pier with open arms, promises of hot food and good cheer.

  “Probably all sitting down to dinner,” said Dean to himself.

  Billy said, “My stomach is doing backflips. I can’t wait for some of Cookie’s food.”

  They dropped the main and tied up along the pier, habitually turning the boat around to face out so that in an emergency, the prevailing wind would fill the sail and quickly whisk them away. Even though the pier was firmly fixed into the sand and coral bedrock below, eleven days at sea, compounded by the storm, had them all still feeling the boat’s movement.

  As they stepped off, Nikki took Jon’s hand. Prior to the fierce storm, the couple managed to find a few small windows to reconnect. While the boy and his father had been on watch, the Marine and the reporter closed the door to their forward berth and quietly reminded each other of their love and commitment. In the beginning, their lovemaking was urgent; like the first time, when they’d escaped from the power station prison, and in a moment of mindlessness, screwed under a rowboat during an intense rainstorm. Later, they took their time, moving slowly, and remembering everything that mattered to them. They weren’t concerned that Nikki was no longer on any birth control. A baby…a baby would be good. As they held hands on the pier, a silent communication passed between them — they needed to find a bed, fast.