Beyond Armageddon: Book 01 - Disintegration

by Anthony DeCosmo

  Trevor struggled in vain against his bindings as the spider-thing dangled closer.

  A thick attachment—an umbilical cord--stretched away from the creature’s abdomen to the ceiling, suggesting it was part of the room, not an independent entity.

  A thin tube extended from the monster toward Trevor's face.

  "There is some debate within The Order as to the greater weakness of your kind: is it your attachments and emotions, or is it--as I believe—the physical attributes of your body? We shall now test my theory by using what you would call 'agony'. The suffering you endure will open your mind to programming of our design."

  The tube stuck into Trevor’s mouth. A clear, gooey liquid oozed from the sides of the tube and covered his lips. As it oozed it solidified, creating a seal. He could not move his mouth, yet he could breathe through the tube.

  The Bishop bent close to Trevor's ear.

  "You will wither and break, Mr. Stone, a demonstration of your weakness for all to see and then you will be programmed to serve The Order. They will find no implants, yet in the end you will deliver your entire race to blessed Voggoth."

  More of the gooey substance poured over Trevor’s head, sealing first his nostrils then his ears, then gluing his eyes open. More liquid came, poured over his crotch and oozing around the middle of his body. The secretions sealed every orifice.

  A bloated, organic sack drooped from the torture-spider above Trevor’s feet.

  "No permanent damage will be done. We do not want your body harmed. We only want to open the door to your mind."

  The sack burst and thousands of tiny red and black insects poured out. They swarmed his body in a creeping blanket, digging at his skin, burning and itching as they moved. The gooey mask muffled his screams and he disappeared beneath the horde.

  ---

  Jon pushed the workshop door open before Omar could remove his key from the lock.

  "Oh, yes, please, do not worry about breaking my wrist; this is of no big thing."

  Jon ignored him and walked inside. Omar switched on the fluorescent lights.

  "Wow, lots of toys here."

  "Toys? Oh, certainly, so simple a child understanding them would be of no problem."

  Brewer turned and stomped directly to Omar. The professor thought maybe Jon had finally suffered enough sarcasm and aimed to whack him.

  "I’m just kidding! I’m just kidding!"

  "Me and you have to have a talk. I’ve only got a couple of hours and I need your help."

  Omar searched for a cigarette.

  ---

  Stonewall McAllister surveyed the assembled group of eight with Woody "Bear" Ross and Kristy Kaufman at his side. Dustin McBride also hovered nearby.

  "I had the pleasure of commanding some of you during my trek north. Others are new to me, but I am already quite sure of your valor. You would have to have valor—or extreme mental deficiency—to volunteer for this undertaking. It has been my experience that those with valor or those with extreme mental deficiency tend to fight well."

  Many of the group smiled. Others cast their eyes around nervously.

  "I fight well. I will leave it to you to judge if it from valor or deficiency. You should know this adventure will not be under my command. Mr. Jon Brewer will hold the reigns and I have pledged allegiance to him. Together, we will deliver a blow to our enemies."

  Ross boomed, "Who’s with the General?"

  Several of the volunteers—including McAllister’s officers—yelled, "Hoo-rah!"

  Ross stepped closer to the group and glared at those who had not yelled, eliciting a cough, a snicker, and finally more "hoo-rahs".

  "Mr. Ross, take a team to the farm and retrieve our mounts and wagons. Ms. Kaufman, dust off our collection of things that make big bangs. Impress a few of our volunteers here to help with the heavy lifting; you mustn’t damage those pretty nails of yours."

  "Right away, General." Her voice spoke first soft then roared, "All right, I need four strong backs who ain’t afraid of work! FALL IN!"

  The group dispersed. Jerry Shepherd approached.

  "How goes assembly, General?"

  Stonewall tipped his head politely. "My group will be ready in a few hours. I believe Mr. Brewer’s decision to go on horseback to be sound. We can not depend on fuel resources out there in the wilderness."

  "Agreed. You’ve been outside of this valley, Garrett. You’ve seen things."

  "Indeed."

  "Both Trevor and now Jon, we’re following fellas who haven’t seen much of what really is going on out there."

  Stonewall smiled, "I suspect we will have to provide assistance. I have thrown my lot in with Mr. Stone. I will do what I must."

  "I reckon that’s true. I’m just not quite sure all of these folks know what they’re in for. This ain’t no Saturday night cruise."

  "Indeed not, Mr. Shepherd. Indeed not."

  ---

  Jon Brewer, Danny Washburn, Reverend Johnny, and Kristy Kaufman gathered in the Command Center

  Jon told them, "We're keeping the party to a minimum to not attract attention."

  Danny asked, "Will you have enough fire power when you get there?"

  "Fear not, for He shall guide the faithful with his sturdy hand," Reverend Johnny added his voice to the discussion. "This is one disciple of the Lord who is never short of two things: faith or ammunition. We will cut a swath through the fields of--"

  Jon interrupted, "Gotchya, Rev," and then to Kristy and Washburn: "You two will be in charge of things around here for the time being. Hunker down and keep a low profile. Your biggest worry is the K9s. So far, they’ve been keeping with their standard patrols and whatnot. Who knows what will happen the longer Trevor is away."

  Washburn said, "Hey, don't worry," then threw an arm around Kristy who scowled. "Me and the little lady here will keep a light on for ya'."

  ---

  Trevor awoke in the room bound to the table. The bugs were gone—perhaps a long while ago--but it did not matter: the sensation of the crawling mass remained, ingrained into the nerve endings throughout his body.

  The hideous torture-spider had vanished, possibly hiding nearby in the dark. The room still rumbled that scary sound as if he were inside the belly of a living being or a giant machine.

  "Our great leader faints at the sight of a few bugs." Nina appeared at his side but he did not see her at first; his attention remained on his ordeal.

  Stop it! Stop it! I'll do anything you want! Make the pain stop!

  The sight of her cut a tiny path of awareness through the howling in his head.

  "Nina...?" He heard his own words and realized the seals were gone. That gave him small relief and he took hold of that; focused on it and muffled the anguished cries in his mind.

  She spoke but, again, sounded as if she ticked off bullet points: "You killed Scott. You're a murdering bastard."

  He heard the raging hatred pervading her voice as if a fire burned inside and threatened to consume her.

  "I don’t understand what's happening," he croaked through a dry mouth.

  "I saw you kill Scott. I saw you kill him in cold blood. You didn’t think I’d remember but I have a clear memory now. I hate you!"

  "Nina, listen, somehow they gave you—they gave you these memories. It's a lie."

  He closed his eyes and heard Lori Brewer say, "She just a lonely little girl."

  The Bishop walked into the room and quietly watched the exchange.

  "Oh Nina, what have they done to you? I’m sorry…I’m sorry we didn’t find you quicker. It had to have been when the helicopter crashed. They got to you first."

  "Go to hell."

  "I care about you, Nina. I have for a while now. I just didn’t admit it to myself. Maybe if I had said something earlier. I’m sorry I let you down like I let Sheila down. "

  Trevor did not see any of the telltale blotches on her skin.

  "You don't have any blotches. You haven't started turning yet. You might still be saved
. Fight them, Nina."

  She ran a hand over her cheek as if searching for deformities.

  The Bishop stepped forward and grasped her shoulders.

  "It’s okay, my dear. You are getting your revenge."

  Nina's anger returned. She glared again at Trevor and then stomped away.

  The Bishop watched her go. "Amazing, isn't it, what these emotions can do to your kind."

  Trevor spied the torture-spider creeping o the ceiling. The screams in his head grew louder. Soon they would grow louder to his ears, too. Nonetheless, he stiffened and tried to play his role.

  "Who are you? Why—why have you invaded Earth? Who is Voggoth?"

  "Oh blessed Voggoth! Your people often speak as if there is a part of your God in you, but that is not true. Voggoth gives of himself and spreads his word by spreading himself. Voggoth is the greatest of the nine. He was the first, he is immortal, and he remains the only true God. The others desire to be him, but they are unworthy."

  Trevor trembled uncontrollably as the torture-spider stopped overhead.

  "Soon Voggoth will encompass this world and many more like it. Then his glory will be even greater for he will be one of only eight and your people will be his children."

  The torturer pounced, encircling the platform like a cage and brandishing a massive, fury orifice throbbing with vile liquid.

  "This sensation will be quite disturbing, Mr. Stone. It may feel as if you’re being eaten, but rest assured it is only a feeling."

  ---

  The sun remained behind the eastern horizon yet licks of orange teased the sky. A mist hung over the lake and the cold morning dew made everything feel fresh and new.

  The rescue force gathered on the grounds to the sound of freckle-faced Benny Duda—Stonewall's 12-year-old bugle boy—playing assembly on his trumpet. Or something like it.

  Shep, Reverend Johnny, Stonewall, Ross and eight volunteers comprised Jon's team.

  Shep shouted, "Okay, let’s do a little roll call. Ah, you there, get things started."

  A Hispanic male saved from the Red Hands raised his left arm and called, "Sanchez!"

  A man in his early thirties with a potbelly and a cowboy hat: "Name’s Gruder."

  "Tolbert!" Cried a broad-shouldered black man who had served as a guard at the nearby Chase maximum-security prison.

  The remaining five all belonged to Stonewall’s original troop.

  A slightly older fellow with a bald scalp whistled and answered, "Whiskey!"

  "Huh?" Shepherd tilted his head to hear better.

  Stonewall clarified, "That’s his name."

  "Oh."

  Next came a black woman in her early twenties. Before she spoke, Stonewall McAllister said, "We are familiar with you, Miss Simms. Please endeavor to shoot the correct people."

  "Don’t worry Garrett, I only shoot the ones who deserve it." She directed a wry smile and narrow eyes at him. Stonewall swallowed hard.

  A burly man in a plaid shirt and hunting cap shouted enthusiastically, "Tucker! Sir!"

  Stonewall said, "Mr. Tucker is an accomplished rider and a fair shot."

  A big, middle-aged redheaded fellow said, "Boylen. Now get me a bigger gun."

  An older brunette woman with fire in her eyes called her name; "Ames!"

  Shepherd scratched his ear and told Jon, "That about sums it up."

  Nine horses and two wagons lined the drive. Reverend Johnny loaded a last box aboard one cart. When he saw the stocks inside-- including several large, tarp-covered objects--he said, "It appears we are bringing the All Mighty’s fury upon those godless bastards."

  With Shep at his side, Jon Brewer tentatively approached a horse.

  Shepherd asked, "Never, huh?"

  "No. You?"

  "Two years Philly mounted patrol," Shep beamed.

  "I think I’ll stick to the wagon."

  A "hey" from behind turned Jon around. Lori stood there, her hands wringing. She had that "see how strong I’m being" lie in her eyes.

  "Hey," he echoed.

  They looked at each other the way two people who have been together for a long time can look at each other and say a thousand words without a sound.

  "I’ll be back."

  "I knew you'd say that. Don't make it a lie."

  "I love you, too."

  She grabbed him with a hug; the strength of her grasp surprised him.

  "I can be a real pain in your ass…" she started.

  "I wouldn’t have it any other way," he finished and then boarded the lead wagon next to Boylen who held the reigns.

  Tyr and Odin raced to the group and jumped onboard Jon's ride. They brought four Siberian Huskies with them and a couple of Rottweilers. Apparently, they were going regardless of what anyone else thought.

  Spurs jingled and the clop-clop of horseshoes clattered on the drive as the train started off from the isolated estate toward the unknown wilderness of the new and deadly world.

  18. Torment

  The rescue party traveled in a southeasterly direction. The plan looked easy enough on the map: cut across the fields, forests, and hills of the "Back Mountain" and then cross the river. Eventually they would meet the Northeast Extension of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. That would be their navigation point for the rest of the trip to Allentown.

  It had looked easy enough…on the map.

  Jon soon found himself surprised at the challenge in keeping the small group together. Horses threw riders, false alarms proved distracting, and the piss breaks never ended.

  After crossing Follies Road in Jackson Township, the K9s onboard Jon's wagon broke into a fit of barking just as a putrid smell of acidic rot fell over the travelers. A moment later—as the horses and wagons moved across an open field—a fifteen-foot tall crawling mass of tendrils and squirming appendages spilling from a conical carapace slithered from an abandoned barn with the apparent aim of snatching a late breakfast.

  Jon directed riders to circle the beast; one tendril slapped Shepherd off his mount. Woody "Bear" Ross intervened with a well-lobbed Molotov cocktail that splattered on the creature’s exposed feelers and burned.

  Reverend Johnny fell the final blows in 12-gauge blasts from a Street Sweeper shotgun.

  Jon's posse cheered as the dead monster burned. Their first victory.

  Progress slowed as they climbed the mountains of the valley's southwestern perimeter via the Lackawanna State Forest. As they descended the eastern side around noontime, Jon and his team arrived at the Route 29 bridge spanning the Susquehanna River south of Plymouth.

  They were half way across when beetles the size of cats crawled from beneath the span. Rifle fire and shotgun shells killed more than twenty of the oversized insects but they managed to injure two horses, one seriously enough for Shepherd to put down.

  With the bridge and the bugs behind them, the convoy followed the elevated freeway east. They saw many different alien animals roaming the streets and fields to either side, most seemingly docile herbivores or scavengers.

  In a case of serendipity, a group of six thin but alive survivors picking through a jack-knifed Sysco Foods trailer flagged down the convoy. Jon provided the extended family with directions to the estate but could not help them more; he had a mission to accomplish.

  They turned onto Interstate 81 and climbed the eastern mountain wall of the valley, passing Lake Nuangola then cutting southeast through Wright Township on Route 437.

  Late that afternoon, the convoy slowed for a break northwest of White Haven. Jon stopped his wagon along the berm and stared at creatures gathered in a field. Shepherd and Stonewall maneuvered their horses to his side.

  There grazed a quartet of beasts each the size of a small elephant with big seal-like faces, soft fuzzy hides, and jagged backbones. They scooped dying grass into their round mouths and sifted through the bites, perhaps extracting nutrients or insects.

  "It boggles the mind what has happened to our world," Stonewall remarked. "If a man were to pause and reflect on thes
e events he would have to question the rhyme or reason."

  Shepherd said, "Seems to me that whatever caused all this wasn’t lookin’ to just take the planet like Martians in those 50’s sci-fi flicks. No, someone was aimin’ to do a right bit more."

  Jon thought aloud, "To erase our world."

  The oversized fuzzy seal-beasts hurriedly closed ranks. A flock of Earthly birds fluttered away from the barren trees and bushes at the far end of the field.

  Shep recognized the nervous state of prey animals and urged, "We need to get goin’."

  Too late.

  A pack of three predators pushed through the tree line to the east and sent a wave of sheer terror through the ranks. At first, Jon saw only teeth: a massive circular array of teeth dominating the entire front of the creatures; jaws easily the size of a tractor-trailer grill on bodies bigger than a full-size van. Patches of brown fur sprouted between plates of dull-gray armor covering their bodies and they walked on four muscular legs. Jon saw two black eyes set just above the monstrous maw completing the image of some warped cartoon wolf from a nightmarish Little Red Riding Hood myth.

  The hunters circled the prey huddled in the field. As the attackers closed, one of the herd lost its nerve and bolted from formation.

  One of the jaw-wolf things pursued, closed to a few yards, and opened its massive teeth like spreading fingers on an unclenching fist, revealing a matching set of smaller—but equally sharp—teeth within.

  Jon watched it happen—they all saw—but it took him several seconds to comprehend.

  The smaller set shot from the hunter's mouth on a red tendon, clamped into the escaping seal-beast, and bit it in two. As the tendon retracted, it hauled a chunk of meat and gore into the predator's mouth and the larger teeth folded in to help chew. The monster stood over the kill, its attention fully focused on dinner.

  Predators, yes, but predators straight from the depths of Hell.

  Stonewall prodded, "Mr. Brewer...?"

  "Jesus Christ," Jon regained his senses. "Let’s get out of here before--"