by RW Krpoun
“That’s how I see the Yard Gnomes: tailor-made to win in this sort of conflict. I think there is a tremendous future for the corporate war force in this conflict. Not to slight the US military to any degree-they’ll fight like hell, they always fight like hell, even the squids. But this is a war unlike any we’re ever faced, either as a nation or as Mankind, and I think we will need a new type of force structure.”
“You ought to run for office, sir,” Marv shook his head, a little dazed at the intensity and speed of the man’s delivery.
“Dirk. I’ve thought on it. In times like these every honest man must ask himself how he can apply his personal resources towards helping solve the crisis. But as a ‘celebrity’,” Dirk made air quotes. “I have a soapbox and few considerations as to what I can or cannot say. If I say something that offends PETI or some liberal think-tank made up of cloistered academics who have never heard a shot fired or seen an infected subject in the flesh, well, that’s par for the course for reality TV. But a junior Representative on his first term? Suicide.”
“So you’re an irregular as well.”
“Exactly. Some things irregulars can do better than the professionals. I know a lot of folks see me as something of a joke, a stereotype, a buffoon in front of a camera, and I cannot deny I use theater to my advantage, but in the final summation I get to talk to millions of Americans, more than any single member of Congress will, and my viewers will listen closer. Regardless of whether they like me or ridicule me they listen, and lemme tell you, Marv, if you can get their ears then you have a shot at their hearts and minds. I know its just one sandbag in a breached levee, but if enough of us throw their one sandbag in, then maybe we can contain the flood. You and yours got their sandbags into place in Minnesota, and you should never forget that.”
“I try not to, sir.”
“Dirk.” The big man clamped a large hand onto Marv’s shoulder before hopping down to the deck. “You know, if enough of us keep at this we might just win this war, Marv. Now I have to go pretend to interview Walters so that ninny will stop nagging me. I look forward to riding with the Gnomes on the missions between here and Texas.”
“You’ll be very welcome to come along, Dirk.”
Addison sat in the lee of the PVC and plastic windbreak which was showing signs of an expiring service life, cleaning his weapons at the patio table designated for that purpose. Nearly all the Gnomes had withdrawn to the shipping container to sleep, but he had felt the need for solitude and contemplation.
The last few days had been game-changing. Since he was very young he had believed that his mother was determined to capture his teeth by any means possible, gradually ramping up to employing hired assassins and now the viral outbreak. That had been the central lynchpin of his life.
Then they had captured Hodges, clearly and verifiable one of the key men in the viral assault on Mankind, and while Addison had not had time to interrogate the virologist, he had spent several hours in the man’s presence and looked deep into his eyes. And he had, before erasing them and destroying the drive, examined copies of Hodges’ research and plans. He was no virologist, but like many self-educated men Addison had sharp intellectual instincts and a broad base of general information on a wide variety of subjects.
The facts had been laid out for him in black and white and he was still struggling with the implications, with the complete alteration in his world view: he had believed that his mother was after his teeth, that she would kill him to secure them, and that she had been behind the viral outbreak. After meeting Hodges and reading the captured material, Addison was at last forced to confront the awful truth: his mother wanted to destroy Mankind.
It was bigger than him, bigger than his teeth. That was hard to face after all these years, but the truth was undeniable. His mother had moved on- she had given up on his teeth, and was going for a straight annihilation of the Human race. He had no doubt she had been behind FASA, and had created the counter-group of the ERF and their subverting of the FASA plan by the creation of the 619 virus as a back-up. She was always clever, cunning, and organized, and a plan-with-a-plan was as good as a signature in identifying her.
On one level it was a relief to realize his mother was not hunting him anymore, having moved on to greater game, but on another he felt a strange pang of loss as well. Ever since that awful summer he had felt a strange bond for his mother, and it had only strengthened as he had grown and her attempts on his life grew more open. Even on the run, living off the grid, with her assassins snapping at his heels it had been there. It was as if two great masters had been sitting at a chess table playing a game for years, move and counter move, sacrifice and exchange.
And now the chair opposite him was empty: his mother had gone on to other games, other plans, other foes, and he was alone. It kind of hurt, in a way; despite her murderous intentions she was his mother, and he had hoped that on some level she had felt some pride in his ability to foil her plots for so long.
He could just walk away, vanish into the maelstrom she had created, live out his life, but he wouldn’t. He would remain with the Yard Gnomes, he decided, remain with them and bring his skills, knowledge, and abilities to bear in the ongoing conflict, to oppose his mother’s plans as he always had.
A lesser man would have cut and run, a lesser man might have gone mad under the terrible pressures of his life, but he was not a lesser man. He was his mother’s son, and he would see the business through to the bitter end.
About the Author
Born and raised in the icy wastelands of North Dakota, RW Krpoun joined the US Army, serving two enlistments before being honorably discharged at Fort Hood, Texas. Delighted to discover a land where snow was a novelty, he settled in Texas and took up a career in law enforcement, serving twenty-five years to date and counting. His service includes a Sheriff's Office and two Municipal police agencies, as well as two enlistments in the Texas National Guard as a Criminal Investigator.
RW lives on lakeside acreage with his lovely and amazingly tolerant wife Ann, and a band of ill-mannered animals who are all highly photogenic. His hobbies include reading, history, various forms of shooting, collecting battle-ready examples of medieval weaponry, and learning to use such weapons.
Rolling Hunger is his tenth published work.