Abyss (Songs of Megiddo)

by Klieve, Daniel

  What about the other major lunatic-fringe theory, then? The United Nations? This theory had posited a UN attempt to overthrow the nation-state system and establish a global government. But...again...how would The Disappearances fit?

  Then there was the ‘Objectivist’ theorem – my theorem – that, of course, simply raised more questions than it answered. It was a hydra; there was no getting around that.

  I sighed. It was hopeless to speculate.

  The entire world seemed to be waiting. Waiting, and hoping that something would come to light to prove that it was all a big mistake.

  And for those of us who saw the pattern...we were hoping – praying – even harder. Because, regardless of what the pattern meant, or who was behind it...there was one thing that there didn’t seem to be any doubt about: it was bad.

  X – Yvonne

  ~ Yvonne ~

  26/11/2023

  Yvonne and Smoke stood side by side against the bench. In front of them, a carefully arranged wall full of firearms spread out to either side. Their hands moved fast, but their fingers slid and twisted around the parts almost faster than the eye could make out. With a slight exhalation, Yvonne jammed her palm up against the bottom of the magazine, forcing it into place. She smiled with satisfaction as she heard that rich, familiar ‘click’. Turning, she pointed the gun toward Smoke’s head. Smoke stopped reassembling her own handgun and rolled her eyes.

  “Fuck it. Fine. You’re faster.”

  “Damn straight I am.” Yvonne nodded briskly.

  “How did you get so good? You hit that gun like a fucking lightning bolt.” Yvonne was surprised to see Smoke smiling brightly – even playfully – in her direction. The Israeli had, from the start, had her pegged as a stone-cold bitch...but, apparently, a Browning 1911-22 in hand and she was like an American sorority girl braiding hair and talking about boys. Yvonne, considering that characterisation, quietly admitted to herself that she might have had something of an off-kilter perspective on American women.

  She probably shouldn’t have been quite as surprised as she was. Over the last couple of days, they hadn’t really talked much...but Yvonne had noticed Smoke slowly softening; letting down her guard, and, just generally, being less abrasive and hostile. The tension between them had been almost entirely diffused. Yvonne had put it down to the two of them being out of Palatine Hill. She was well aware that, the longer she stayed topside, the more her anxiety decreased. It was, more than likely, a similar situation for Smoke.

  Smoke’s current, bizarre level of peppiness and enthusiasm, though, seemed like a new facet of her personality altogether. That morning, when she’d dragged Yvonne out of bed at four in the morning to drive out to ‘the compound’, as she called it, Yvonne hadn’t known quite what to expect. Smoke had promised ‘fun’; but Yvonne wasn’t sure exactly what that term, for the cold, mean little blonde, actually entailed. She’d been pleasantly surprised to find that Smoke’s idea of ‘fun’ seemed to closely resemble her own.

  “I had a couple of years with YAMAM.” Yvonne explained. “That’s Yehida Merkazit Meyuhedet; translates as – ”

  “ – Special Central Unit.” Smoke nodded, slowly finishing the last of her own reassembly; in no hurry, now.

  “You know Hebrew?” Yvonne looked over at her: surprised. The blonde woman laughed.

  “I know Counterterrorism.”

  “Right. Well, YAMAM likes a Browning. So do I.”

  “It shows.” Smoke confirmed. “They’re gorgeous guns.”

  “The weighting?” Yvonne held the gun up again, this time aiming it off into the non-specific distance, bringing her shoulder up beside her cheek. “Can’t beat it.” Smoke nodded enthusiastically. “I think I was...twenty-four when I got pulled up and into the Patzan; Pikud Tzafon...that’s – ”

  “ – Northern Command. You were in the Golani Brigade, right?”

  “Right.” Yvonne met Smoke’s eyes, returning her coy smile. “Egoz Reconaissance Unit, specifically.”

  “Yehidat Egoz.”

  “I feel like I should be giving you treats or something.” Smoke chuckled to herself, angling the muzzle of her handgun upwards and away from them, before slotting the magazine in until both women heard the click. Smoke sighed a happy little sigh. “Anticipating unconventional tactics, we had to be comfortable with any weapons we might have encountered in the field. But we all had our specialties.”

  “And you were a Browning girl?” Yvonne nodded.

  “Given the choice, I’d take a Browning over most anything. I just like them. I don’t know what it is, exactly. But they seem to like me, too: I never met anyone who could handle one like I could.”

  “You probably never will. Takes a lot to impress me, and...” Smoke rolled her eyes, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Colour me impressed.”

  “Thank you.” Yvonne blushed. She’d never been good at taking compliments.

  “I’m guessing you shoot as well as you field-strip?”

  “I’m okay.” Yvonne shrugged, looking down with a small smile.

  “That good?” Yvonne shrugged again. “Well let’s see, shall we?” Smoke pushed the safety catch to ‘on’ and tucked her reassembled pistol into the back of her jeans. Yvonne did the same, before reaching for something a little more formidable off the wall. She’d always liked an AK-47...and they were definitely important to stay familiar with, given the sheer number of them in the hands of Islamists and other probable targets. She let her hand drift away from the assault rifle, remembering that she was, these days, a world away from the IDF...the Palestinians...the Syrians. Smoke grabbed her wrist. Looking over at her, confused; Yvonne’s hazelnut-and-chocolate-brown eyes meeting Smoke’s ice-and-steel-blue ones. Yvonne cocked her head. “Just these.” Smoke grinned; clearly meaning the handguns. Yvonne shrugged.

  “Suits me.”

  “I’ll bet it does...” Smoke laughed. Turning, moving to the door and pushing it open, Smoke led Yvonne outside. The two women strode confidently out into the light. Yvonne shielded her eyes: it was an incredibly bright, cloudless day in Colorado. She could already tell it was going to take awhile to get used to it. Her eyes stung as she tried to...but she was too glad to be out of eternal darkness of Palatine Hill to really care.

  A good number of buzz-cut sporting soldiers in camouflage-pants and a diverse array of T-shirts and wife-beater singlets were there to greet them. From the way they deferred to Smoke, Yvonne could tell – with not a shred of doubt – that everyone present answered to her.

  “My new friend and I are going to do a little live-fire sparring.” Smoke said loudly enough for them all to hear. In response, there were a few cheers and the odd whistle. “Hey. Liam. Gimme your sunglasses.” She singled out a tall, sinuous kid who couldn’t have been more than maybe nineteen. Taking them from him, Smoke passed them to Yvonne without a word. Yvonne took them, mouthing a ‘thanks’ to – apparently – Liam. Smoke looked around, her smile rapidly; reforming as a perturbed snarl: “What the fuck are you all waiting for?! Set us the fuck up!” She yelled. Yvonne raised an eyebrow as the group scattered.

  “Is that your ‘drill sergeant’ voice?” Smoke smiled like a little girl whose doll collection had just received a compliment.

  “You like?”

  “That depends. Are you my C-O?” Smoke shook her head. “Then I love it.”

  “Come on. I’ve got a present for you.” Smoke grabbed for Yvonne’s hand, leading her up some rickety wooden stairs that were held in place with rusted iron supports. Glancing off to either side, Yvonne realised that the stairs were part of a much larger framework of scaffolding, running up and around the sides of a rickety perimeter wall. When they got to the top, there was a simple platform – about three metres wide, with an aluminium siding rising to just above head-height on each side – overlooking a pit. In the pit were stacks of rubble and scrap metal. Yvonne watched the soldiers scaling their way up to the top of the scaffolding on all sides, watching Smoke and herself
expectantly.

  “What is this?” Yvonne asked, half-expecting to see Christians and lions emerge from behind the stacks of rubble.

  “The guys call it ‘headshot alley’. It’s like...a shooting range meets a Holodeck. Y’know?” Yvonne shook her head. “Okay. Basically...there’s a whole lot of sensors and micro-projectors hidden in the rubble and around the edges of the pit. We can simulate a range of targets...make them behave in certain ways...whatever we like.”

  “Useful.”

  “Really, really useful. Palatine has maybe fifty training camps like this up on the surface, and then more down below for the elites.”

  “How do you stay off the radar?”

  “Why would anyone be actively looking at what’s going on in a bunch of derelict farmhouses?” Smoke chuckled. “Cause that’s what these camps look like from the top down. America isn’t a small place. It’s really as simple as not giving anyone a reason to scrutinise. Beyond that, we’ve got enough people in high enough places that we’ll get wind of any issues well before they result in anything, and...” She banged on the light-weight aluminium panelling: “It only takes the better part of an hour to strip down anything we’d rather keep away from prying eyes and lug it back down to Palatine Hill. Or...y’know...” She shrugged suggestively. “...wherever.”

  “Makes sense. So...how does this work?” Yvonne looked curiously down into the pit before looking back up at the blonde woman beside her. Smoke winked.

  “Hey! Guys!” she called out. “Run the ‘Sudo’ simulation.” A wave of laughter went up from around the edges of the pit. Yvonne was surprised to see the woman from her vision in the white room – frumpy blouse, long skirt, clipboard and all – materialise by one of the piles of scrap, down in the pit below. “See? I told you I had a present for you.” Yvonne’s eyes narrowed.

  “Kind of like a photograph on a dart-board?” She asked, watching the woman – ‘Sudo’, apparently – wandering aimlessly around below.

  “Mmhmm.” Smoke confirmed. “See...I looked in on you and that kid you hung out with in the Esquiline Division while you were under. Or...well, I watched the recordings after the fact. Where she took you – and, more to the point, what she made you see – reminded me of when I went through intake. I figured that...y’know...maybe I misjudged you a little. So I wanted you to have this. It’s something that I would have liked, a few days after going through that fucking mind-fuck bullshit.”

  “What’m I meant to do, here?” Yvonne thought she knew, but she wanted to hear it first. Smoke shrugged.

  “Well, it’s really up to you, Yvonne,” She smirked with an air of challenging condescension. “But if I were you, I’d fucking shoot the bi – ”

  “ – Done.” Yvonne muttered. As she grabbed for the 1911-22, Sudo looked up at them. For a split second, Yvonne paused. The hologram’s eyes were startling, glowing purple. They seemed to emit a kind of gravity; drawing her focus deeper...and deeper...and deeper still. Yvonne shook off what she was feeling with a sneer and a shrug of her shoulders, set her feet, smoothly flipped back the safety, prepped the hammer, and leaned into her shoulder. She squeezed down on the trigger: a single bullet winding its way down and into the space between the hologram’s startling, illusory eyes.

  It had been – admittedly – awhile since she’d had the chance to fire an actual gun. About a year. But, apparently: her skills were still almost exactly where she’d left them. Faux-Sudo flickered as the back of her holographic skull exploded outward, before falling to her knees and then pitching forward into the dirt. After a couple of seconds, the body – and associated gore – glimmered and then disappeared. Around the edge of the pit, the soldiers burst into applause. Yvonne felt a familiar wave of intensely satisfied calm.

  “Hope you boys are paying attention!” Smoke called out to the soldiers. “That’s how a real soldier does it!” The applause intensified. “Want another go?” Smoke grinned.

  “No,” Yvonne returned the smile. “Now I wanna see what you’ve got.”

  “Then lock and load, hot shot,” Smoke laughed, pulling out her gun, disabling the safety, and prepping the hammer. “Try and keep up.”

  §§§

  “Did you have fun?” Smoke teased. “C’mon. That was fun, right?”

  “Right.” Yvonne rolled her eyes, watching herself smirk at Smoke in the mirror. They’d gone through the better part of ten full clips of ammunition each; a full clip being, in this case, ten rounds. Yvonne’s ears were ringing. From experience, she assumed it would last for the next day or so.

  After that, Yvonne and Smoke had joined some of the ‘jarheads’, as Smoke seemed to enjoy calling them, for some random training exercises. Yvonne knew how out of practice she was. She’d managed to stay in some kind of shape during her year in the bunker, but – as she was well aware – she was far from being ‘combat ready’. While she’d managed to keep up, for the most part...at her best – or so she suspected – she’d still have been a distant second to Smoke when it came to speed and reflexes, if not endurance. Even in her sub-optimal state, she’d run rings around Smokes’ men...though that wasn’t saying much: Smoke’s preferred nomenclature notwithstanding, professional soldiers they were not.

  “Say it.” Smoke pressed; bouncing up, turning, and hoisting herself up and onto the bathroom bench-top. Her back and the back of her head pressed up against the mirror...that tight ponytail of hers splaying out at the top, forcing her head to angle slightly downward. Glancing over at Smoke, Yvonne saw heavily lidded eyes – accentuated by the slight downward slant of Smoke’s face – and a broad, mischievous grin. Yvonne rocked back on her heels, looking appraisingly across at the bizarrely girlish version of Smoke now sitting in-front-and-to-the-right of her. “Say it.”

  “Fine.” She smiled. “That was a lot of fun.”

  “I totally underestimated you when we first met.” Smoke admitted. “You’re a fucking badass. I think you were just standing too close to your little boyfriend, there...got a bit of green on you, maybe?”

  “He’s not as green as you think he is.” Yvonne was surprised at the defensive undertone she heard in her own voice. She shouldn’t have been, she realised: the two of them had spent almost a year together in that musty little Esquiline bunker. They were more than merely close. He was, in a way, like the little brother she’d never had. “Dio’s been through some dark times. Some very dark times.”

  “Yeah,” Smoke chuckled. “Yeah, maybe. I did take a peek at his little tête-à-tête with Sudo, after all. He’s definitely seen some things in his time. But let’s get real: he’s not like us, is he?”

  “No.” Yvonne’s eyes narrowed as she weighed Smoke up. “No, he’s really not.” With a knowing smirk, she went back to slowly, carefully washing dirt and dust from her face and neck. “Also? Not my boyfriend.” Smoke hmm’d hmmfully at that little revelation.

  “Come here. Let me do that.” Smoke muttered, pushing a finger into the v-front of Yvonne’s tank top, dragging her over so she was positioned between her knees. Smoke held out her hand expectantly. With a sigh of mock-exasperation, Yvonne handed over the washcloth. “It’s a pity, though,” Smoke said...letting the statement hang in the air; the hook baited and ready for Yvonne to bite down on...if that was what she chose to do. Smoke began to – with surprising delicacy – dab at Yvonne’s skin with the cloth. Somehow, the warm water felt warmer when the blonde did it. The warmth pressed deeper, as well; penetrating beneath the skin and into the supple flesh and muscle of her cheeks...and her neck...and around her collarbone. Yvonne fought the urge to close her eyes; enjoying the sensation.

  “What’s a pity?” She took the bait. Smoke smiled.

  “Hmm? Oh...I just meant that you look good with a little dirt on you.”

  “Do I? That’s interesting.” Yvonne chuckled, throwing Smoke an innocent little smirk that made the blonde growl...just a tiny, muted, almost involuntary growl from the back of her throat.

  “Do you have dog-tags in I
srael?”

  “Most of the regular IDF units still use them.” Yvonne said. “Egoz doesn’t. RFID only since...I think...twenty-twenty?”

  “After the second Damascus Incident, yeah?” Smoke said. It wasn’t a question. Yvonne nodded anyway. “Well...that’s a pity, too.”

  “Is it?” Yvonne asked. She imagined that they both knew exactly where the conversation was going.

  “Yes. Yes it is.”

  “And why is that?” Smoke paused, setting down the washcloth. Yvonne felt the big, clunky boots Smoke seemed to love so very much pressing against her hips...beginning to slide back and around her waist. Smoke shuffled her own hips slightly forward. Again, Yvonne fought the urge to close her eyes. It had been a very, very long time since she’d been this...intimate with someone. With anyone. Even before the bunker, there’d been a long period of time where...even if there’d been opportunities, she wouldn't have been in the right ‘place’ for them. Emotionally or mentally. Which was, she knew – even as she thought about it – a gargantuan understatement.

  “‘Cause you’d look fucking hot with dog-tags around your neck.” Smoke hissed out through that lascivious, sparklingly tooth-filled, and delightfully evil little smile of hers.

  “Is that right?” Yvonne leaned in. Their faces were separated by only the width of a feather. Yvonne could have sworn she felt the atomic membranes of the tiny hairs on their forearms sparking static against one another as Smoke reached down, fumbling for the hem of her tank top.

  “Yeah.” Smoke murmured distractedly. “Yeah, that’s right.” Yvonne clamped her arms inwards, effectively locking Smoke’s wrists at about waist level. She wasn’t quite ready for the game to end, yet.

  “So what you’re saying is...I don’t look hot...now?” Smoke rolled her eyes melodramatically.

  “I think you know the answer to that.” And Yvonne did. The top of Smoke’s chest – just below her neck – was flushed with pale crimson; her cheeks, too. Her mouth sat slightly open: plump lips edged with a thin sheen of needy, expectant moistness. Yvonne knew perfectly well.