Free World Apocalypse - Genesis

by T. K. Malone

  The shaft began to drop away gently, the walls punctuated by small alcoves and side chambers, the floor strewn with rock rubble, old timbers and rusting metal. They eventually came to a small passage that ran off to one side, its floor laid to a pitted and rust-encrusted, narrow-gauge railroad track.

  There was no sign of Kirk, as though the man had simply vanished into thin air.

  “Oi!” Zac shouted into the passage, his echoing call remaining unanswered. “This is all fucked up,” he muttered to himself, while behind him, Byron Tuttle babbled on.

  The passage gently curved away under its own string of rooflights, so it was impossible to see that far. After following it for a short way, though, it eventually opened out into a broad tunnel and to what looked like a sidings of sorts, where the track split at a set of points.

  “Byron?” he called back, and waited for the three men to catch up.

  “Zac?” Byron finally replied.

  “How long have these mines been abandoned?”

  Byron stroked his chin. “This old place? Well over a hundred years, I’d imagine. There wasn’t a decent seam to mine in this valley, just enough ore to keep them digging in hope. Over the ridge was a slightly different story, but the pickings around here were fairly frugal at best.”

  “So, a hundred years.”

  “More like two, thinking about it.”

  Zac pointed at the siding. “Then tell me, why are those rails all bright and shiny?”

  Byron stepped over and bent down, sweeping his finger along one of the rails. “And,” he furnished, “with a coating of oil, if I’m not mistaken. The problem with all these mines was one of ventilation. Without a good supply of dry air, well, the humidity from…” But then Byron looked up at them. “Sorry. I suppose you want to hear that they’ve been used recently.”

  Zac nodded and walked on, following the siding, the air still moving past him, but not like the strong breeze that had cleared the smoke, more a passive breath now. Every now and then a lateral shaft would lead away, hewn into a golden-colored rock. Each time, Zac thrust his wetted finger in, testing for any movement of air, but each time finding it only dank, musty smelling and stagnant.

  “Saggers reckoned this mine was cursed, that it killed that Lester bloke,” Connor mentioned.

  “Which,” Byron chimed in, “would have afforded Lester plenty of privacy. I wonder why he needed it.”

  Zac pushed on, the passage continuing to curve gently until a set of iron gates slowly began to come into view. His frustration with Kirk, for having just walked off without any explanation, was now beginning to get the better of him, and so he was growling under his breath when he noticed a new padlock and chain dangling from one of the gates. “Kirk!” he yelled, picking up his pace, so much so that when the passage came to an abrupt end around the sweeping bend, he almost ran straight into a rust-pocked iron wagon. Little more than a large half barrel on wheels, it sat on the siding’s track, tight up against two decrepit iron doors beneath which the rails vanished. On either side, cut high up into the surrounding sheet-metal wall, were two, large, square grilles.

  Not for the first time that day, Zac muttered “What the fuck?”

  He edged closer, noting that even Byron had now shut up, though the librarian did wander over to one of the grilles, and held his hand up. Then he nodded, and Zac took it to mean that the flow of air came from them. As neither doors offered a handle or latch, Zac just knocked loudly upon one and stood back, waiting.

  Before long, the door swung in and Kirk’s head poked around. “Ah,” he said. “There you are.” He gave them a uniquely disarming smile. “Just the four of you? I expected more.”

  “What is this place?”

  Kirk’s brow furrowed. “This? Well, it’s probably easier to show you rather than explain, and seeing there’s only a few of you, we might grab a mug of tea as I do.” He swung the door fully open and declared, “Welcome to Lester’s little secret.”

  The first thing Zac noticed was that the smell of the mine had been replaced by the taint of machinery—not the oily twang of greased cogs and oiled chains, more the tinny, ozone smell of aircon units and electrical generators, then he noticed he’d stepped onto a smooth floor. The tunnel had retained its original shape and continued on into the distance, but more like for a freeway than as an old mineshaft. Even the two large pipes that fed the air grilles were coated in bright and shiny silver foil. The track ended at a buffer some six feet beyond the doors.

  “What is this place?”

  Kirk tutted. “Really, Zac, I’ve already told you: Lester’s secret. You act like you’ve never met Josiah Charm, but I know that’s not the case. There are several facets to Charm that might not be apparent to the uneducated—no offence—and one of those is waste: he absolutely abhors waste.”

  “I suppose the destruction of Black City doesn’t count.”

  Kirk smiled, a kind of reticent grin, then ambled off farther down the tunnel, drawing the others after him. “Pull the door to, but leave it slightly ajar, Connor, if you would—who knows, but we may have more inquisitive noses poking through. So, waste, Zac. Black City, eh? I see where you’re coming from, truly I do, but that can only be construed as a waste if we don’t end up using it to our advantage—and some of that rests on your shoulders. No, the waste I’m talking about is Lester Avery Savage.”

  “The stiff,” Zac spat.

  Kirk wagged his finger at Zac, although he didn’t turn around. “Now, now, just because he caught Daddy there’s no need to hold a grudge. What if I told you that he saved Teah’s life—might we then enjoy a more respectful conversation about the man?” He quickly glanced around. “Good. As you no doubt know, Connor’s AI effectively ended his life—certainly accelerated his demise. Now, if you needed a mine guarding, a fugitive training, and a valley spied upon, would you or would you not think that Old Lester doing all three would be a mighty bang for your credit? Value, Zac, is a friend of the frugal.”

  Kirk stopped and turned around, holding his hand up to halt the four of them. “Walk any farther, and you can’t go back,” he almost sang. “But before you do, I want to go through a certain scenario. Who wins the next bit? That’s the question that needs answering, and I think you, Zac, are uniquely placed to provide the answer. You’ve seen Irving and Walter’s army, your father’s, Banks’, and that of The Free World, so, what’s what? Oh, but you haven’t seen the preppers’ troops yet, now have you?” He drummed his fingers on his lips. “Never mind. Let me show you what we’ve saved for you.”

  “We?”

  “Of course we: me, Josiah, Jake, Lester, Jenny—and the rest of the gang, really. Oh, and you, Byron; it’s time you dispensed with your anonymous persona.”

  Zac turned to Byron, but the librarian was already stepping forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Kirk. Connor’s mouth was agape and Sticks was shaking his head.

  “All this time?” Connor then whispered.

  Byron inclined his head in apparent confusion. “Are you surprised at my inclusion, Connor, knowing what you know? What if I told you it was all my idea?” At which Byron instructed them to follow him and then walked away down the tunnel. Beyond the next curve, it reduced to the size of a concrete corridor, paint adorning its walls and vinyl lining its floor. The ventilation pipes vanished into its wall and a door ahead intimated at some form of room beyond. Zac walked on with more than a little trepidation.

  “Hang on,” Connor suddenly shouted. “How the hell did you get out of the compound?”

  Kirk started laughing. “Why don’t you ask Miss Meyers—no doubt she’s studied the plans.” He nodded to behind them.

  Zac swung around to see Laura edging along the corridor. “Zac?” she nervously called in a flat tone.

  Zac scoffed. “Are you in this with them, too? And your father?”

  Laura stopped and stiffened. “Me? I told you I left that life long, long ago.” She appeared to be struggling to contain herself, and then she shou
ted, “You knew our destination lay up this valley.” Hate now seemed to fill her words. “You were going to follow my lead until you found Connor, remember? But that’s fine—forget the plan. So, what are you going to do now? Abandon the folk trapped in that bloody compound?”

  Her body trembled at her held rage.

  “Laura?” Zac could only say as he wondered what had come over her, but she strode forward, barging Zac out of the way.

  “As you know, Zac, there’s a way out of the compound that brings you to about halfway up its valley, a couple of miles short of the pass over the ridge, and you saw the map too. This is quite obviously that place.” And then she turned to Byron. “Mr. Tuttle, I’ve had a chance to think on your words—I’m all in. It’s time to forge a new path, to create a new way.”

  “Welcome aboard, Miss Meyers. Doctor Charm will be pleased. Zac? Where do your priorities lie?”

  “Yes, Zac,” Laura said. “Or do you and your mob merely side with who is more likely to win, like you did with my father?”

  Zac felt his own rage rising. “I went wherever I needed to go, to keep Connor safe.”

  “And now? Now you’ve a son?” Byron asked.

  “Don’t forget the girlfriend,” Laura spat.

  “Is that…” But confusion now roiled in Zac’s mind. What the hell was up with Laura. “My loyalty goes with the folks back there,” he finally said.

  “Can we all just stop!” Connor screamed, and everyone looked at him. “We have an army out there, hell-bent on our destruction. What the hell are we doing here? We’re all on the same side, for God’s sake.”

  “Are we, Zac?” Byron asked.

  Zac looked from an impassive Kirk to Laura’s fixed stare, then to Connor’s confused frustration, but finally rested his gaze on Byron. “Where’s Josiah Charm?”

  “By now? I’d imagine he’s somewhere near the Meyers' retreat.”

  “Why?”

  “To surrender and beg Oster Prime’s forgiveness, of course.”

  “What?” Zac shouted. “To do what?”

  “Zac, Zac, Zac,” interrupted Kirk, his head inclined as though he was feeling sorry for him. “Don’t you ever see the nuance in a word? Doctor Charm is doing what he must—trust him. He will not be on his own for long.”

  “What? More of you going to line your pockets? What are we all?”

  Kirk tensed, as though his patience was fast wearing thin. “We’re all playing our part,” he said, stiffly.

  Sticks strode into the breech between them, both his hands held up. “Time out, Zac. My turn.” His country lilt carried a curiously authoritative edge to it. “Laura, did you just say that there was a way into the compound from here?”

  Laura nodded.

  “Kirk, did you and Charm use it to escape?”

  Kirk, too, nodded.

  Sticks squared up to him, his face right in Kirk’s. “Then what I want to know is this: why the fuck did I lose two good men escaping from the bowels of this mountain?”

  Kirk loosened himself up, as though preparing for an inevitable fight. He leaned into Sticks until their noses nearly touched, and then in a voice that betrayed no fear—no emotion at all—he answered, “Don’t you see? Can’t you appreciate the art of meticulous planning? We couldn’t just let you out of the bunker. Where’s the fun in that? You, for a start, and that Molly woman, and all your men, wouldn’t have left unless there was a challenge. No, you would have pleaded, and bargained, and spilled the secret, until all of them were let out. The preppers would have been overwhelmed and the captives more than likely dead by now. Those folks aren’t fighters. They aren’t conscripts, Mr. Sticks. They’re the future. That’s why. It was the safest place for them.” At which Kirk took a step back.

  “And now?” Sticks asked.

  “Now? Well, by my reckoning, Banks will be on the verge of storming the place. Croft should be ready to blow the staircase and seal the upper chambers, and we have a war to win.” He continued to stare at Sticks. “Where would you rather be?”

  Sticks slowly shook his head. “That still don’t tell me everything; don’t explain it all.”

  Kirk inclined his head. “Probably not, but it’s all you need for now.” Zac noticed that Kirk gave Byron a furtive glance, but Sticks stepped up to Kirk again.

  “There’s a couple of hundred good men down there—men used to fighting, men we could do with.”

  “Perhaps. Point taken. However, what we really need is a commander. Zac? What military experience have you got?”

  “You know the answer to that,” Zac growled.

  “And you? Are you a commander?” Kirk leveled at Sticks, still nose to nose.

  The soldier took a step back, seemingly defeated. “No,” he muttered.

  Kirk relaxed somewhat. “And you’re just a DJ, Connor. Such a shame.” He drummed his fingers on his lips. “No matter; follow me.” He spun about and walked off up the corridor. “Let me show you some things.”

  The corridor now ran straight, ending about a hundred yards farther on, doors at regular intervals along each wall.

  “Apart from being Lester’s secret,” Zac asked, “what the bloody hell is this place?”

  “Are you really that—”

  “Let me,” said Laura, who seemed to have calmed down, as though throwing her lot in with Tuttle and Kirk had settled some internal conflict. “If you’d looked at the plans, you’d know that this is the head of Project Firebird—its summit, the highest part—and you’d know the ventilation shaft, and air-filtration systems terminate here. Remember, the place was designed to withstand a natural disaster, not necessarily a nuclear one. But trust me, the risk of the place overheating far outweighs a few stray molecules of fallout getting in. Humidity, as I overheard Byron say earlier, is the killer down there.”

  “Yeah, but why the need for all this if it’s just a few vents and filters?”

  Kirk scoffed. “Don’t you listen? Charm abhors waste, which is what the military area was always going to be. Why do you think Charm kept the army outside?”

  “I’m…” but Zac had to admit to himself that he was at a loss.

  Kirk then stopped at one of the doors. “Allow me to show you.” He opened it to Zac.

  Zac gasped “What the fuck,” which was rapidly becoming his go-to sentence.

  Inside he found row upon row of stacked weaponry, ammunition and military clothing.

  “Josiah Charm,” Kirk said, “and I don’t want to go on and on about it, but he does hate waste. And when Banks finally breaks into Project Firebird, and when Croft blows the staircase, and when we blow the entire military area by detonating all those charges beneath it that you passed on your way out, then…well, all these guns and hardware won’t go up in smoke.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” said Sticks.

  Zac walked into the room. The sheer volume of it all made what the gang had stored in Christmas—or even what was on its way to his father—seem completely insignificant. He trailed his finger along the racks of machine guns and grenades, the AP mines and EMP cannons; an impressed whistle sliding from his lips.

  Kirk cleared his throat, almost as though relieved to be finally getting to this point.

  “The Free World army will follow on the heels of its destroyed drones, and their commander will be mighty pissed. Our advantage lies with the road, the fact it’s narrow, ill-maintained and treacherous for their heavier weaponry. As for the ridge, well, as far as we know Briscoe has that well enough defended. But things might be a bit fluid up there; it’s been a while since our colleague there has been in touch. Too busy, I’d imagine.” He strolled to the end of the room, hands clasped behind his back. “So, I’d say we have a day, two at most, to make our plans.”

  “So, what are we waiting for?” Zac asked.

  “Someone who’s used to close combat. Someone who’s used to heading a team. Someone, Zac, who gets the bigger picture.” Kirk’s porcelain cheeks broke into a grin. “Why, our fearless leader, of
course.”

  7

  Teah’s Story

  Strike time: plus 11 days

  Location: Lester’s Mine

  Cornelius pulled to a halt just shy of the ridge. Teah waited for the guards to show themselves. Jake jumped out of a Jeep behind and ambled up to her side.

  “Best show them who’s in charge. News of Spike’s demise wouldn’t have gone down too well up here.” Jake opened the Jeep’s door.

  She looked ahead, but the route appeared deserted. A resigned sigh escaped her lips as she got out, rifle in hand. Behind her, a small convoy of preppers had followed; she felt their untrusting eyes on her back as she walked forward, each step crunching on the mud and gravel of the road. She couldn’t help but think of Lester. Was it on this very strip of road that he’d ground her face into its stones? Glancing up at the ridge, she marvelled that she’d even survived. She’d only got ten yards or so away from the convoy when she heard the first safeties being released.

  She stopped and planted her legs apart, glancing at the tree lines along each side of the road, then planted the rifle butt on the ground and fumbled in her long coat for a smoke. Lighting it, she took a long draw and let the smoke drift from her lips.

  “Y’all know Briscoe’s dead. So, you gonna shoot me, or start talking?”

  Behind, she heard Cornelius grunt, and then he clicked his own safety off.

  “Morrow, Grizzly, now Briscoe—death follows you, lady,” a voice rang out from up the slope to one side of the road.

  “Nine million dead in Black City,” Teah shouted back. “Aldertown, Morton, down by Lester’s mine—all killed one way or another by The Free World. Briscoe: killed by one of their spies. My total seems insignificant against all that.”

  “Still follows yer,” the voice called back.

  “That it does.” She pointed at the black, billowing smoke just visible in the not-too-distant sky. “Looks like they’re beating on some more folk. You gonna let that stand?”