Project Terminus Enigma

by Nathan Combs

  “Do you know where the Ham radio is?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Good. First thing I need you to do is destroy it. The asshole’s been using it to send coded messages. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah. It’s next door. Should I smash it or shut ’er down?”

  “Just turn it off. Then get back here.”

  Ransom nodded and walked the six feet to where his former boss lay sprawled in the chair. He stared at him for a few seconds, then unleashed a vicious kick to his groin that sounded like a boxer punching a hog. Thud. “You mutha’fucker.”

  When Ransom left to take care of the radio, Horst started rummaging through the Colonel’s belongings, and when the door opened three minutes later, he said, “Did you know about this shit, Ransom?”

  “What shit?”

  “This.” Horst handed him several porn magazines depicting sexual acts between grown men and young boys.

  Ransom stared at the pictures. His jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide in horror. “I swear. I had no idea. None o’ us did. We’d o’ kilt the prick if’n we knew.”

  “Okay, Ransom. I believe you. But the only cocksuckers allowed around here are women. You got that?”

  “Hell, yeah, I got that.” His head started bobbing up and down. His jaw clenched and he started grinding his teeth. Without warning, he strode to the dead man and started kicking him in the head, screaming, “You fuckin’ faggot! You dirty prick! Ah wish you were still alive. Get up so ah can kill you again!”

  Horst almost burst out laughing at the line from the original Halo: get up so I can kill you again, but he held it in check and pulled Ransom away.

  “We don’t have time for this shit, Ransom. Is there a chain of command?”

  “A chain o’ what?”

  Horst dropped his head to his chest, took a deep breath, looked Ransom in the eye, and asked, “How far did you go in school, Ransom?”

  “I di’n’t. Well… got through the second grade ’fore the shit hit the fan. Why?”

  “Because my right-hand man has to be smart. He has to know what I’m telling him to do and then be capable of carrying out my orders. Can you do that?”

  Ransom seemed insulted. “Mr. Nagel, ah know ah ain’t the smartest guy here. Ah admit that. But ah ain’t no dummy either. Ah mean, ah don’t un’erstand all the fancy words you edjacated guys use, but ah kin follow orders. Whaddya need me to do?”

  Fuck me runnin’. “Okay, Ransom. I got it. I don’t think you’re a dumb ass. I’ll use smaller words. Okay?”

  “’Kay.”

  “First thing. How many men are there in Nirvana that are smart? By that I mean, how many are there that are capable of being real soldiers? That can lead other men?”

  “Well… each little group has a guy who’s kinda in charge. Then they’s a few guys who know ’bout radios, engines, ’n stuff like that.”

  “Any doctors?”

  “Um, dunno if’n he’s a real doctor. Ah think he was a medic or sumthin’. He’s purty smart.”

  “Get as many of the smartest guys you can find, especially guys that have military experience. There should be a bunch of them, right?”

  “Yeah. They’s a few o’ them.”

  “Good. Round them up. Include the doctor. Get them over here as fast as you can.”

  Bill said, “So that’s about it, Wade. The morons we talked to are straight out of the movie script for Deliverance, except they’re ten times as dumb. My opinion, and Tyler agrees, is that these guys couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag. The captured women are a concern, of course. They’re kept in three separate enclosures along with kids under ten. Kids over ten are absorbed into—for lack of a better word—the army. Bottom line? They’re not good guys, but they’re nowhere near the caliber of Nina and The Light. The Colonel is a porker who seldom leaves his lair. He issues his orders through a lieutenant named, of course—Ransom.”

  Bill was obviously amused, but Wade wasn’t smiling. “Bad guys, no matter how inefficient or stupid they are, pose a threat. Maybe not now, but down the line? For argument’s sake, suppose somebody steps up and actually leads them. Consider too that the weather may preclude the planting of crops and game could become scarce or non-existent. They can’t catch fish. What are they gonna do for food? Do they starve or do they resort to cannibalism? They won’t have an alternative. Given their combined intellect, it’s well within the realm of possibility. And if their last meal consisted of Aunt May a week ago, I think it’s safe to say they would then become a threat.”

  Bill grinned. “Well, hell, Wade. I didn’t think of that. That’s why you make the big bucks.”

  Stuart, Randal, Cole, and Tyler all smirked.

  The picture of getting a paycheck caused Wade to grin back and he said, “Thoughts?”

  Randal said, “Bill’s right. They’re not likely to attack us in the near future. And by the sound of it, if they did, they’d regret it. Of course, Dad’s right long term. The women and kids are definitely a problem, though. My suggestion is we decide what we ‘re going to do, if anything, about the captive females. Do we liberate them? If we do, what do we do with them? Do we let all of them come to Fort Hope, knowing we may have problems feeding the mouths we have now? Do we release them to fend for themselves? How many of them are as dumb or even dumber than the men; and a bigger question is how many of them will prove trustworthy? Some of them may even want to stay where they are, even under the conditions they’re living under.”

  “Those are good points.” Wade paced the room for a moment. “Randal’s right. Let’s figure out the female angle first. Keep in mind, if we take their women, we’re probably going to get into a firefight with several thousand berserk rednecks. I don’t want to kill several thousand guys just because they’re stupid.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Overhaul

  An hour and a half was as fast as Ransom could gather thirty-three men, including “the doc,” former army medic and civilian veterinarian, James L. Peters, and return to Horst’s new office with them.

  While Ransom was gone, Horst searched every nook and cranny of Simmons’ room. When the men entered, Horst was sitting, feet crossed on the desk now stacked with gay porn magazines, DVDs, and various sex toys.

  Horst said, “Here’s some more of the Colonel’s bounty, boys. Have a look. The man was a deviant, traitorous faggot.”

  The men crowded around and stared at the desk display.

  “What the fuck?” said Ransom.

  Every face showed the same disgusted look. Their jaws locked, their eyes narrowed.

  Horst said, “Gentlemen, before we get down to business, we need to clean this mess up. Wheel this piece of shit outside and you can bury him after the meeting. Ransom, put this garbage”—he nodded to the porn collection—“in the grave with him.”

  Two men grabbed the Colonel’s blood covered chair and pushed it toward the door. Halfway across the room, a wheel broke and Simmons flopped left. Inertia took over. The sudden sideways movement of four hundred fifty pounds of dead weight tipped the chair and his body crashed to the floor. Two of the men seized the opportunity to practice front kicks using Simmons head as a target.

  Thwack. “Mutherfucker.” Splat. “Faggot.” Blam. “Prick.”

  Horst said, “That’s enough, Goddammit. Drag his worthless carcass out of here. On second thought, dig a hole and bury his ass now. Before the meeting.”

  One of them said, “Cain’t we jest burn him?”

  “No, we can’t burn him. There isn’t enough fuckin’ firewood in Tennessee to roast his lard ass.”

  Laughing hysterically, two men grabbed Simmons’ arms and two more took his feet. They dragged the corpse through the door while the other twenty-nine watched.

  “Ransom, take this shit
off the desk and put it in the hole. Get his chair out of here too.”

  Ransom looked at the stacks of porn and toys like they were coiled rattlesnakes. “Huh?”

  “I said, get this asshole’s porn collection out of here. Bury it in the hole with him.”

  Ransom said, “Gimme one minute, boss.” He walked out of the room.

  He returned with a pair of surgical gloves and a bag. Picking up a magazine with gloved thumb and forefinger, he gingerly dropped it into the sack.

  Horst yelled, “Jesus, Ransom, they’re not contagious. Hold it open.” Horst scraped the stacks of magazines and DVDs into the bag and then reached for the sex toys. Fingers within inches, he hesitated, then withdrew his hand. “Put those in there too, Ransom. And hurry the fuck up.”

  Simmons’ dead body and the bag of porn waited on the patio while six men dug a hole on the other side of a short hedgerow of honeysuckle. When the hole looked big enough, they dragged the corpse the short distance and rolled it in.

  Ransom tried to take charge. “That ain’t deep ’nough, you guys. Come on, drag his fat ass outta the hole and git it at least a foot deeper.”

  “Fuck you, Ransom. You git yer ass down here ’n dig. I ain’t diggin’ no more.”

  Ransom capitulated. “Okay. Fuck it. Throw sum dirt over his ass.”

  Since the Colonel’s residence was over fifty yards from the nearest habitable home, and because the entire compound was fenced and gated, news of the death of the Colonel was limited to the thirty-three men Ransom had brought back with him. When the last shovelful of dirt covered Simmons’ face, Horst faced his “new army.”

  “My name’s Horst Nagel. By now, you know the deal. What you don’t know is what’s coming.” He explained the dangers of Fort Hope. “Coltrane will kill every one of you. You won’t stand a chance. If you do what I tell you to do, you might survive. I know you have a macho image of yourselves. Get rid of it. Trust me. You will be outgunned. I need to know if you guys want to become an efficient fighting force or want to continue with this way of life and die. Should I walk away and let Nirvana fall? It’s your choice. I’m good with either option.”

  They stared, open-mouthed.

  “Well, that’s it then. I’d say good luck, but luck won’t protect you from Coltrane. You’re all walking dead.”

  Ransom said, “Sir, wait. None o’ us wanna give up what we got here. We jest don’ know what t’ do.”

  Horst nodded. “What about the rest of you? Doc, what do you say?”

  James Peters said, “My point of view might differ from the others’. Seems to me, if these guys are as bad as you say they are, there’s nothin’ we can do except to get outta here before they arrive.”

  At least this guy can put two sentences together. I’ll start with him. “Ransom told me you guys were the best of Nirvana. Is that true or not?”

  Several heads nodded up and down with a bit more enthusiasm than Horst had seen so far, and several more said, “Yeah, that was true.”

  “Okay, then. By a show of hands, who wants to keep a restructured Nirvana intact?”

  Some men raised their hands immediately. Most looked at each other, then slowly, hesitantly, raised their hands.

  Horst nodded. “Good. We can’t defeat these guys in battle. That’s not possible. When they come, they won’t be coming for you. They’ll just shoot your asses before you even see them. They’ll be coming for the women. We don’t have time to reorganize three thousand men and keep tabs on a couple of thousand women, so I want you to select up to five hundred men who don’t have kids. Choose the most intelligent ones. Ransom, how many of the women in the Bitch Pool are okay with this lifestyle?”

  Ransom looked confused.

  “Let me put it another way, Ransom. How many women are happy with their life in Nirvana?”

  “They’s a few.”

  “How many’s a few? Twenty-five or five hundred?”

  “I dunno. A bunch, though.”

  Addressing the group, he said, “You have exactly four hours. Get as many men as you can. Be selective. Go to the Bitch Pool and find an equal number of willing women. Muster them where I can address them privately.”

  Doc said, “The high school gym.”

  “Good. Four hours. Ransom, you and Doc stay here. Everyone else, go.”

  Alone with the doc and Ransom, Horst said, “Doc, you’re my second in command. I want you to ensure the directives I issue are coordinated. Ransom, you’re my staff officer. It’ll be your job to see my orders are carried out. Let’s go check out the gym.”

  It was dark by the time Horst met with four hundred forty-two men and women in the dilapidated high school gym. By the light of three Coleman lanterns, he stared at his ragtag army.

  Emotionless faces stared back.

  “I’m assuming you were informed of the problem, but just in case you weren’t, or if you’re confused, I’ll give it to you again. These guys from Fort Hope are merciless killers. I used to be one of them. They just killed over nine hundred people whose only crime was refusing to live by their rules. When I complained about the murders of so many innocent people, they branded me.” He removed his hat so they could see the TL carved on his forehead. “Then they banished me. I know for a fact they’ll be coming. They want your women and they’re gonna kill everyone here. There’s no way we can defend four or five thousand people. We don’t have the time, and even if we did, they’d still kill all of you. You guys have been selected as the best of Nirvana. We have to leave before they get here.”

  He moved to stand in front of the group of females. “You women will pair up with the men. I don’t care how you make that happen. Everyone gather your belongings, take extra weapons, ammo, and essential gear. Find extra horses and load them with as much food as they can carry. Be back here in two hours. If anyone asks what you’re doing, tell them you’re following orders and nothing more.”

  Horst knew the rumor mill was inevitable and he didn’t want to deal with the entire tribe, thus he hoped to be long gone in less than three hours. He wasn’t worried about Coltrane. He knew how to evade him. Nina was really good at that shit. One thing was certain: battling Fort Hope’s finest was a losing proposition. The problem was he didn’t have a game plan. He was winging it. He considered his options for thirty seconds, then made a spur of the moment decision. They were going south. Way south. As far from Coltrane as he could get. Someplace warmer. That meant the ocean. If things changed in the future, the ORNL wasn’t going anywhere and neither was Coltrane. He pulled out a map and selected Savannah, Georgia, three hundred fifty-five miles away. A four or five-day ride.

  After a lengthy debate, it was decided that Fort Hope could not handle the influx of several thousand women and kids, and Wade made the final decision.

  “We can’t be responsible for what’s left of civilization. Liberating several thousand women and children is admirable, and I know it’s in our DNA to fight injustice, but this isn’t twenty-first century America. The civilization clock has been reset. This is first century survival. We are not going to risk the lives of our people for a sense of chivalry. Our mandate is to ensure survival of the people in this society. That said, we aren’t going to allow Nirvana to continue with their ways and prosper, either. Randal, you, Bill, Cole, and Tyler are going to Fort Oglethorpe for a pow-wow with the Colonel. Take a Bradley, two Hummers, and as many riders as you deem necessary. Let them see the Bradley. Keep the other armor back. Explain our concerns about slavery. Depending upon his reaction, take it from there.”

  At 1700 hours, Randal’s patrol arrived in Fort Oglethorpe and stopped north of Red Bud road. He and Bill left their Hummer and glassed the fields from a hillside thicket of sumac and poplar.

  Bill said, “Looks just like it did three days ago. Nothing’s changed. They’re scattered all over hell and go
ne.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Why don’t Tyler and I pay a visit to our friend Tobin and find out where the Colonel lives?”

  “Good a plan as any.”

  Dressed in full SPECOPS battle dress, Bill and Tyler stood outside the firelight. The same men, Tobin, Poop, and Maury were sitting around the fire drinking the same swill, and Clyde, still wearing his Donald Duck hat, looked as stupid as before.

  Tyler said, “Doesn’t look like they even moved in the last two days.”

  Bill stepped out of the darkness. “Hey, Tobin.”

  Tobin jumped and spilled his shine. “What the fuck?”

  “Relax, Tobe. Clyde, Poop, Maury—sit easy. We only want information.”

  Tobin didn’t recognize either man, but the big guy’s voice rang a bell. “How do you know us?”

  “We were here a couple of days ago. Bill and m’ little buddy Tyler. ’Member?”

  “Holy shit, Bill. Where’d ya git all that gear?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I need you to take me to the Colonel.”

  “Colonel’s dead. Some big blond-haired mutha-fucka done kilt his ass.”

  “Does the big blond-haired mutha-fucka have a name?”

  “Horse is what ah hear.”

  Son-of-a-bitch. “When did this happen?”

  “Same day you all was here.”

  “So where is this guy, Horse?”

  “Near as ah kin tell, him and couple hun’rd of our guys took wimen out the Bitch Pool and took off.”

  “When was that?”

  “Think it was las’ night. Don’ know fer sure.”

  “I need to go to where the Colonel lived. Can you take me there?”

  “Sure. Guess so. What the hell’s goin’ on?”

  “Come with me and I’ll show you. The rest of you guys chill out. We’ll be back.”