Steele stood in the middle of the narrow aisle. His arms were folded tightly over his chest. “What happened?” Steele asked. He eyed them all in turn. Someone had to have known who shot first. Everyone sat silent, knowing that no matter the perpetrator the results were dire for all.
“I’m standing in the middle shaking hands with Peter, and some lackwit fucking shoots one of the Chosen. If that isn’t bad enough, the whole motley crew jumps in and a gun battle starts. How the fuck am I going to get these fools to come to the table again with that breach of trust?”
“They’re crackpots anyway,” Tess said from her corner.
Steele pointed a finger at her, shaking his head. “No, Tess. You saw their camp. The crackpots are the majority, and we just killed eight of their men. How do I bring that to the table? Of all people, you should want to negotiate. Pagan’s life is at stake, and they have no reason to not kill him now.” She put her chin back down on her knees, admonished by him. He turned toward Thunder.
“I thought you had them thoroughly scared enough to not shoot.”
Thunder coughed into his fist. “It was their first fight. Everyone was jumpy.”
Steele clenched his jaw. “It’s their second fight I’m worried about. Can we still count on your men?”
Thunder’s eyebrows tickled one another like two caterpillars mating.
“I don’t like the way you’re talkin’ to me. But I like you, so I won’t lie to you. My club is tied to this place. A few of the boys have girlfriends and the like in the camp, but if it’s time to leave then we won’t hesitate to go.”
And I have no choice but to let you, even if I wanted to stop you. Our fragile experiment is unraveling.
Tess didn’t look pleased, and why would she? The community she had started was now at war with one that was vastly larger. Now, the men responsible for its security were discussing the option of leaving.
Steele ran his fingers through his beard. The situation couldn’t get any worse.
“Well, I’m open to suggestions. What do we do?”
Silence met him. “Kevin? Ideas? Some historical plan that worked for an ancient hero or general?” The lanky man shook his head no. “You mean in the history of the world, there is no nation, state, or city that has had to deal with anything like this?”
Kevin shrugged. “Well, of course, there’s plenty of examples of smaller forces defeating larger opponents. Roger I at Cerami in 1063. Aussies at Long Tan in Vietnam. But those were trained armies. For us, I got nothing.”
“Of course. Now you’re quiet.”
“I mean there were the Hussites led by the famous Jan Žižka at Viktov Hill?” Nobody said anything and they sat in silence trying to decide if Kevin had fabricated the man and battle.
“Please, enlighten us.” Steele demanded.
“A poor Protestant peasant army withstood an attack by crusading knights in the 1420s.”
“That sounds closer. How’d they do it?”
“Scholars debate. But the untrained peasants held fortifications of battle-wagons, and a host of town militia surprised and flanked the attacking knights in a vineyard. Not sure what we can do with that.”
“I’ll keep it in mind for what it’s worth.”
He looked at Ahmed. “Any tricks up your sleeve?”
“No,” he said flatly.
“Gwen?”
“We could give our captive back and tell them it was a misunderstanding.”
Steele turned his lips down. “You want me to walk into their camp, tell them it was an accident, and give their man back. Sorry, Pastor. I killed eight of your men, but you can have this one back.”
Her mouth closed. Her lips were pensive. “I didn’t say it was great, but it’s something.”
“Any other ideas? This is supposed to be a debate. A meeting of the minds. I would appreciate an idea that doesn’t get me and you all killed in the process.”
“We could kill the captive, ditch their gear, and if any more of them come a knocking, tell them we never heard of ’em,” Thunder said.
“They asked for me by name. They know we’re here,” Steele retorted. He sighed.
“I’ll leave you to it, but I’m going to talk to Peter. See what intel I can gather from him. Numbers, strategy, anything that will give us an edge. Please try and figure something out. Double the guards at the gates. Ahmed and Kevin, grab Margie and Trent and take turns in the lighthouse.”
“I’ll do it,” Gwen said.
“Babe, please. It’s cold and windy, no place for someone in your condition.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a condition. I’m pregnant. I’m a good shot, just as good as Ahmed, and I want to help.”
Ahmed smiled in defeat. “She has a point.”
“Then be my guest,” Steele said in a short manner. “What would I know?”
He let the screen door bang closed behind him as he left the camper. I guess this is the new definition of shit creek. The wind whipped his borrowed Army Combat Uniform, stinging his cheeks red as he walked. He shuffled past the red-brick lighthouse, making his way to an abandoned semi-trailer at the farthest end of the enclosure. A small number of tents and cars sat parked there. Only a few people would be close enough to hear this.
Max stood guard like a goofy child’s doll with a gun. He stood at attention as Steele approached, puffing his chest out as far as he could. He threw a hand up in a terrible mock salute almost dropping his gun in the process.
Steele inspected him and gave him a once-over. “No need to salute, Max. We aren’t in the military,” he said.
Max’s knuckles half-hovered near his forehead, blinking, trying to decide if Steele was testing him or not. After a moment, he finally let his hand rest at his side.
“The d-d-door has been locked the entire time, s-sir.”
Should I fight the ‘sir’ battle again? Or leave him be?
“Good work, volunteer.” Steele jangled the key in his pocket, wrapping his hands around the silver lock. Max watched him with renewed interest. His eyes leapt from the lock to Steele’s face. Steele tried to ignore him.
“I shot one of them today. I pulled the trigger and I saw him grab his chest,” Max said half to himself and half to Steele. It sounded like he was searching for validation for his actions. It was as if he were asking Steele to explain the cascading emotions roiling inside him.
Steele stopped and set the opened lock down. He’s not ready for this. This is as much my failure as it is his emotional immaturity.
Steele looked down into the young man’s eyes. “A lot of people were shooting out there today. It probably wasn’t you.” Max hung onto his every word as if he spoke the gospel.
Volunteering had put them on a collision course to change their lives. How could I have prepared them for the psychological battle for their humanity? How many teenage men had suffered the trauma of killing another human being, and not the dead, but the living during wars throughout the ages? How did the men who had been through it counsel them? How did they bring them to the acceptance of what they had done? How did they help them digest what they had done in the name of the greater good? How will you digest it, Mark?
Max’s eyes stared out past Steele into nothing as he relived the incident. “He look-looked right at me as if he knew it was-was me. I-I-I’m sure of it. Like he blamed me for killing him,” Max said, the side of his mouth twitching.
Steele gripped Max by the shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Max, those men could have lived through today, but fate was not on their side. Things went wrong, and we had to kill them so they wouldn’t harm us.” As much as I’m pissed about that entire situation.
Max nodded feverishly, seeking any sort of relief from his internal anguish. “How’d you do it? I mean. How do you make it so it’s not always on your mind?” The boy blinked rapidly.
By listing out their names in my mind and making sure their memory goes on. Jarl. He touched the chain around his neck carrying his hammer necklace. Havi
ng the lives of the fallen haunt me until I join them. Steele released Max’s shoulder. “As we continue to train, you will build a camaraderie with the other men and women within your unit. You will deal with the enemy’s death by making sure your unit lives. You will learn to do anything for your brothers and sisters in arms. It isn’t about the enemy because the enemy will always be there. It’s about the people to your left and to your right. Bring them home safe and you’ll bring yourself home safe.” Just like my team, Jarl, Andrea, Wheeler. Just like Mauser. All gone.
Steele set the padlock down. “It’s not about them. It’s about us. Remember that. Always.” Heaving, he pulled on the heavy semi-trailer door. It creaked as it swung open. Max moved to the side, still watching Steele like a puppy.
Steele glanced back at him over his shoulder. “How about you take a break? I can watch this guy for awhile.” Max looked up into his eyes, excited to be relieved of duty, distraught that he couldn’t spend more time with Steele.
“Are you sure, sir?”
Steele nodded. “I am. Get on out of here.”
Max hustled off like he had been let out for recess for the day. I have to try to keep the idea alive. Enough innocence was lost today.
Steele grabbed a handrail and hoisted himself inside the dark trailer. He could hear the other man breathing at the far end. Steele gave one glance through the opening before closing the doors with a clank.
Steele’s feet echoed between the hollow walls of the trailer. Peter’s frame appeared first, kneeling, hands chained to a hook on the floor as if he were kneeling in prayer. Steele flicked his flashlight on, shining it in Peter’s eyes. He turned his head and shied away from the light.
Bottled water sat in the corner out of Peter’s reach. Grabbing one, Steele handed it to Peter, removing the light from his eyes. Holding the water in his chained hands, Peter let his head fall back then poured the water into his mouth, never taking his shadowed eyes off of Steele.
“Where are the rest of my brothers?” Peter croaked, setting the water down.
Steele waited a moment. “There’s no way to put this delicately. They’re dead.” Steele watched the man absorb the bad news. Peter gradually shook his head, acknowledging that his friends, comrades, and men had been murdered.
“May their souls rest in peace,” Peter said aloud. He mumbled more prayers inaudibly under his breath.
“That was a mistake,” Steele said down to him. He let his flashlight drift down, pointing it at the ground.
Peter didn’t acknowledge him, his head bowed in prayer.
“We never planned to kill your men. Hell, they almost shot me.” Steele showed a quick smile, but Peter’s curly head stayed down, hands chained together, fingers locked in prayer. Steele sighed. It was a mistake. Peter’s prayers grew quieter, his lips hardly moving.
“I hope your neck isn’t hurt too bad. I had to react fast when the shooting started. Probably saved your life,” Steele let out a short laugh. “Can we talk?”
Peter’s head bowed lower. “Peter, man. Come on, let’s talk. This world is crazy. Mistakes happened. The dead have risen. I need you to talk to me.” Steele’s voice turned stern toward the end, his request becoming a command. Peter raised his chin up, meeting Steele’s eyes. His eyes lacked fear. His lids dipped low in meditation, and his mouth continued to move.
“How many people are in your camp?” Steele watched the man as he continued to pray, ignoring his request. He crouched down in front of him. “We have to talk, one way or another.” I’m glad I sent Max away. He shouldn’t have to hear this. “I want this to be easy, and it can be, but we have to have a conversation. Who’s the pastor? What does he want?”
Peter’s eyes had a sad, tired look to them as if he was generally worn out. Steele set his flashlight on the floor, letting it partially light up his captive.
“I don’t have time for this God patty-cake game. Talk to me.” Peter breathed in heavily and continued praying.
I didn’t want this. I don’t want this. But if I don’t do this, I’ll be blind in a fight that is already out of hand. Steele balled up a fist and swung hard into Peter’s cheek. The sound was like the slap of raw steak on a plate. Peter crashed onto his side, his shoulder banging into the floor.
Shaking his hand, Steele stared down at the man. Damn that hurt. “How many fighters are in your camp?”
Peter’s voice grew louder. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” he said up at him.
Steele walked closer, grabbing Peter by the scruff of his shirt.
Peter stared defiantly up at him. Steele’s fist rocketed into the man’s eye and his head bounced off the metal floor. I don’t want to do this.
“How many fighters?” Peter looked up at him, seeing stars, his eyes almost crossed.
“I fear no evil for he is with me,” Peter said louder.
“Stop with that mumbo jumbo. Give me a number and I’ll get you some water.” Steele lifted Peter by his shirt off the floor, raising his fist high in the air. This hurts me too.
Peter’s eyes were those of an unrepentant man. “The Army of the Lord is guided by angels. Our numbers matter not for our cause is just in the eyes of God.”
“Peter, please. Don’t make me do this.” He meant every word. “We can still come out of this as allies.”
Peter spit blood on the ground. “Your actions are those of a true unbeliever, Mark Steele, corrupted and misguided by the devil.” Steele’s fist connected with Peter’s mouth. Pain shot through his hand and into his wrist, so he knew it must have hurt Peter. Peter lay on the ground, coughing up blood in painful hacks. He spit and two little white teeth tinkled onto the container floor.
“This is me being nice about it. You don’t want to see me get mean.” Peter kept his head low.
“While the devil roars and looks for someone to devour, you must stand to resist him in faith.”
Steele stood upright, shaking his hand. “Well, I’m tired of hurting my own hand.”
Steele turned around fetching a bucket of water and some rags. He wished it had been the first time he had utilized such advanced methods, but it wasn’t. The rags would muffle the screams, and hopefully, no one would hear. “This isn’t going to be fun.”
JOSEPH
Cheyenne Mountain Complex, CO
Joseph’s knuckles rapped on a white door that sounded like it was made of synthetic material, not wood, a more plastic substance than anything else. The inside of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex was covered in synthetic material. In particular, the BLS-4 lab was covered in clean white material almost as if they were in a spaceship rather than a mountain.
“Who is it?” responded Byrnes from inside. Even his muffled voice sounded morose through the door.
“It’s Dr. Jackowski,” he said into the crack of the door. Stay calm. We are on the same team. But are we? His mind battered away at any confidence he had.
“You may enter.”
Joseph pressed down on the flat-handled doorknob and entered Byrnes’s office. The ceiling lights were off and soft lamplight illuminated his desk. The colonel peered over spectacles, holding papers he had been reading. He set the papers down and leaned back in his chair. He wore combat ACUs as if he were ready to go into the field at a moment’s notice. The center of his chest was decorated with an eagle with spread wings.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he said. His words dripped with sarcasm.
Joseph shook angry thoughts from his mind. He gestured to a metal chair. “May I take a seat?”
Byrnes waved a finger like he swiped Joseph. “Yes.”
Joseph hastily sat down. He exhaled sharply and adjusted his glasses. “I’m going to put this bluntly.”
“I appreciate you valuing our time,” Byrnes said quickly.
Joseph adjusted himself in his seat, caught off guard.
“How’s Rebecca?” Byrnes asked. His mouth settled into a frown.
Joseph eyed him, trying to see if the man ha
d any actual concern for her.
“She’s hanging on.”
The colonel met his eyes. “She’ll be missed. Never met a smarter doctor.” He folded his hands in front of him.
Joseph rubbed his thumbnail with his other hand. The colonel unnerved him, sitting there almost smug in a depressed kind of way. The man even managed to look sullen while clearly happy with himself.
Joseph swallowed his pride. “I know we may have a difference of opinion on our methods of discovery, but we work better as a team than rivals.”
Byrnes looked away at the wall and back to Joseph. “That may be true, but I need people that are on board with our mission. Dr. Nguyen has already made some great progress. He has isolated the monkeypox gene. In time, we will be able to block it from transmission. With some slight modifications of the smallpox vaccine, we believe that we can prevent up to ninety-five percent of monkeypox infections from taking place. We’ll have a sustainable supply to be distributed.” He finished with a bit of a sulky smirk. “We never would have been able to accomplish this without massive tissue harvesting.”
“What kind of testing have you done on the satellite virus? Have you isolated it?” Joseph said. His mind quickly brushed over the thought of social amends.
Byrnes’s frown deepened. “The satellite virus needs the monkeypox virus to survive. It’s a parasite on the host virus,” he said.
“You haven’t seen it operate on its own?”
Byrnes licked his lips, uncertainty settling into his words. “Yes, only after the monkeypox virus has begun its gene transfer process.”
“Have you watched what the satellite virus does after the monkeypox virus moves on?” Joseph leaned in. He knew the bomb he was about to drop on the colonel would blow his mind. He put his hands on the desk, closing the gap between them.
The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 98