Dissension nw-6

by John O'Brien

  Dissension

  ( New World - 6 )

  John O'brien

  John O'Brien

  Dissension

  Prologue

  She ‘hears’ another message. It’s one of danger from fire above. The message conveys the danger of the sound she faintly hears. Hide. And then come, the ending message says. She turns in the direction of the one she senses. She can only feel him from this distance because of his strength. She begins to run through the night in his direction. She will come.

  The chilled night air blows against her face as she jogs through the darkened streets. Her pack follows behind, the sound of their many feet echoing off the silent buildings. She still feels caution at bringing her pack to join with others but the call is persistent. The faint rumbling from the night sky becomes louder as she heads north towards the strong one she senses. Periodic flashes of light materialize from the sky in the distance. The horizon lights up a second later followed by a thunderous roar. She feels the earth beneath her feet shake with each explosion. She doesn’t know what is causing the light and roars from above but carries the image sent by the other one telling of the danger and the demise of packs. Whatever is in the sky is dangerous and to be avoided at all costs.

  She and her pack continue through the streets. Gazing up into the night with each explosion, she senses her pack’s apprehension with each flash of light and roar. If the sounds draw closer, she will scatter them into the neighboring buildings as per the images she “heard” earlier. Smells of food rise from time to time, coming from side streets as they pass but she only hesitates for a moment and then pushes on. Her goal to reach the other one stays strong with her. She senses the other pack leaders who joined her earlier hesitate with each fresh scent and they query her. “Push on” she sends back. They hesitate a moment longer and pick up their pace to catch her.

  She rounds a corner and comes to a stop. A large, domed building rises in front of her. This is where she senses the other one along with many other packs. Her caution deepens as she inspects the structure and outlying area. She’s wary about joining a larger pack as she doesn’t know what position that would put her in. She knows she will be taken care of as she is carrying a young one but she enjoys leading her pack and is secure in the knowledge that they can support themselves. If she joins another one, it will be more difficult to hunt and find food for so many. On the other hand, she knows with so many, they can track and trap food easier but they will have to journey far to find enough for all of them.

  The others around her sense her apprehension and mill about scanning the heavens as the droning nears from time to time. She shakes her head dispelling these thoughts. She answered the call so she will continue on knowing she can take her pack and leave at any time. A thunderous explosion fills the night and shakes the ground as if signaling that it’s time to get inside. Sending a signal that she is arriving with her pack, she steps forward and trots to an entrance door.

  She enters the building as another booming explosion from nearby vibrates the ground. Proceeding through another door, she enters the interior. The room is vast and will easily hold both packs with room for others. Pack members mill or stand still on the steps and seats surrounding a large wooden floor. With each blast outside, they stop and gaze nervously at the high ceiling. She strides across the polished wood floor which feels cool and slick beneath her feet toward the one she sensed. He is squatting in the middle of the floor with others around him staring at the ceiling like the others. His eyes meet hers as she draws near. Her hand drops and subconsciously rubs her stomach as if consoling the young one who resides there. With her pack fanned out behind her, she comes to a stop before him.

  “Welcome. I’m Michael,” he says, rising.

  His introduction with a name confuses her. She has never heard of a “name” before and his naming himself in such a manner ripples through her mind. It jars something loose in her. The remembrance of another language comes to her, one that is sound rather than images. Then, as if a dam breaking, a torrent of images and thoughts flood her brain. She recoils and feels her knees grow weak as dizziness descends. Thoughts race through in an unrelenting rush. After several moments, they steady and the dizzy feeling ebbs. She knows she can speak and understand the language of sounds. The name Michael makes sense and she knows it is a form of identification. Images swirl haphazardly, memories flicker.

  “I’m Sandra,” she sends.

  “You and your pack are welcome here,” Michael says.

  A muffled blast from outside causes a tremor to run under their feet. Their heads turn toward the entrance door as the sound rolls over the building like thunder fading from an angry sky. The rumbling dwindles into nothing with leaving only the perception of something droning in the sky outside.

  “What is that?” Sandra asked, sending her images to Michael.

  Michael looks around as heads turn towards him waiting for his answer. He says nothing contemplating his answer. He doesn’t want to have the others around him “hear” his answer. Even if he turns down his projection of images to a near whisper, those close by would still “hear” him. He switches to the vocal language hoping she can understand.

  “Can you understand this?” He asks, looking back to Sandra.

  The vocal language sounds both familiar and unfamiliar to her. She has a hard time at first even understanding that words are spoken but, after an internal struggle, her mind clicks and understanding follows. It seems to her to be a more cumbersome way of communicating. The images she was accustomed to convey so much more in a shorter period of time than the sounds and words of the language that Michael is using.

  “Yes, I can understand,” she says, tentatively.

  The sounds that issue from her throat and mouth feel strange. They come out raspy and feel like an unused and rusty part of her as if they haven’t been used in a long, long time. She has a hard time not converting the words to images.

  “Good. I don’t know what it is. It’s something in the sky that flashes light and I feel packs vanish whenever the flashes occur. I think it has something to do with the two-legged ones,” Michael answers, his words also raspy.

  “Then we should attack and eliminate them,” Sandra says.

  “I’ve scouted their lair and didn’t find a way in. Right now, we need to avoid the two-legged ones to save the packs and hunt,” he says.

  Sandra doesn’t agree. Her thought is to attack the lair with all of the pack members and eliminate them but she doesn’t voice her opinion. She wants to look at the lair for herself first. Memories arise of the two-legged one who brushed her mind not so long ago. A flush spreads through her body with the remembrance and her hand once again unconsciously drifts to her belly. No, this is not the right time. She and her pack will attack to keep the packs safe but she envisions having the two-legged one for herself.

  “You’ll keep your pack as we hunt but will take your direction from me,” Michael says, switching to image communication.

  Sandra compresses her lips together and nods. Yes, later I will lead the packs against the two-legged ones.

  Surfacing In Wonderland

  I am being shaken but it’s a while before I realize someone is trying to wake me. I am barely able to open one eye but make out Lynn standing over me.

  “Jack, wake up,” she says.

  “I had better be on fire,” I say hearing my voice as if at a distance.

  “Come on, Jack, wake up,” she says again.

  “I don’t really want to do that just now,” I answer.

  “Okay, Jack, you’re on fire,” Lynn says.

  “Fine, just roll me over then,” I say but my mind has now caught up to my barely open eye. “What time is it?”

  “Time for y
ou to get up. You’re going to want to hear this,” she says.

  “No, I’m actually not,” I say but rise to a sitting position anyway. “Okay, what is it?”

  “There’s someone calling on the radio. Seriously, shake yourself out of it and come downstairs,” Lynn says planting her hands on her hips.

  I know this is her ‘I’m being serious move’ and does more to wake me than anything else. I ignored that posture once. That will never happen again.

  I make my way wearily down to the radio. Squelch breaks from the speaker and I hear a voice calling, “This is the USS Santa Fe on UHF guard. Anyone read?”

  I stare at the speaker as if I have discovered an alien being but the call does shake the last of the sleep from my head. All eyes go from the radio to me and back again. I don’t know why the call sends a jolt of electricity through me or causes stress to permeate my body. I am thinking that an actual military unit showing up could throw our leadership into disarray. Not that I don’t welcome them, it just could mean changes. And the fact that it is a naval vessel could upset things even more. Navy ships operate in a closed environment and are usually run very tightly by their Captains. They don’t like sharing authority.

  “I’m no sailor but aren’t only the older fast attack subs named after cities?” I ask the group standing around.

  I am met with blank stares and a few shoulder shrugs. I didn’t even really think of subs escaping this disaster. I wonder how many actually did. I know we didn’t have a lot out at any one time because we weren’t facing the threat of the Soviet navy anymore. I think most of them we deployed in recent times were to provide a vanguard for the fleets. However, the brass didn’t see fit to brief me on sub deployments so I haven’t the foggiest idea. The fact is that at least one did and is broadcasting from nearby. At least I assume so unless the UHF is skipping.

  “This is the USS Santa Fe on UHF guard. Anyone read?” The radio squawks again.

  I reach for the microphone that is being held out to me by Kathy. I don’t even really know how to answer the call. Should I answer with my name or throw my previous rank in to establish dialogue. There’s no doubt that a sub will be handy to have and I would welcome its members and the expertise but how to handle the situation. I haven’t really thought about coming across a regular, intact group of the military. Sure, there was Kuwait but that seems a little different here and now.

  “USS Santa Fe, read you loud and clear, go ahead,” I answer, deciding not to give my name or previous rank.

  “This is the USS Santa Fe, stand by,” I hear.

  Captain Raymond Leonard glances through the periscope seemingly for the hundredth time. Nothing has changed onshore. He doesn’t witness any movement of personnel or vehicles that would normally be associated with an active base. Turning the scope slowly, the waters remain clear of any surface craft. Not that any craft normally transition through the water so close to the sub pens but there are usually some that patrol the waters. Everything remains still as if the world is holding its breath. Gulls wheel about but that’s the only movement he sees. Turning back to shore, he increases the magnification. Captain Leonard sees only an occasional bit of paper swirl, pushed along by the afternoon breeze.

  He is uncomfortable with his fast attack sub lying in the shallow waters barely submerged. The observation satellites overhead can easily pick out his position with their MAD (Magnetic Anomaly Detection) detectors. What makes him even more nervous is the absolute lack of communication. He should have heard something by now given that he was scheduled for this arrival. The fact that no one was at the rendezvous, along with the absolute silence of the world around only increases his anxiety.

  He removes his eye from the scope and glances at the communications gear. It has been silent for weeks. Even if it was a fleet-wide communication, it should have picked up something by now. His only assumption is that there has been some sort of act against the United States which must have happened quickly. The sub’s radiation detectors indicate normal levels and he is at a loss as to how so many people could have vanished in so short a period of time. The absence of any traffic on the normally busy routes into Seattle, the silent airwaves, and the lack of people dockside cause the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes to become more pronounced with worry.

  A corner of his mind is busy with long-range plans. Raymond isn’t sure what he will do if he can’t contact anyone. Restock, that’s number one, he thinks placing his eye once again on the scope. He zooms in on the warehouse buildings close to the submarine pens. It’s from there that he will draw supplies. He stares at the structures as if he can see inside of them and they’ll give up answers as to what happened. They stand blankly gazing back. Leonard wants to surface the sub, dock, and send a party out to see if they can ascertain what is going on. But having spent his whole career in the submarine fleet and in fast attack boats, he is reluctant to surface just yet. His whole life has been focused on concealment and stealth and surfacing, even in friendly waters, goes against his very nature. No, he will wait for a while longer to see if he can gain radio contact.

  “Captain?” A voice says from behind.

  Captain Leonard backs away from the periscope and lowers it. It’s been up too long but it hasn’t drawn any attention. Turning, he sees the communications officer and nods.

  “Sir, we’ve raised someone on the UHF guard frequency,” the communications officer says.

  “Who is it?” Leonard asks.

  “They haven’t identified themselves. We told them to standby as I thought you would want to be present.”

  “Very well. Lead on and let’s see what they have to say. Clear out the comm room,” Leonard says.

  “Yes, sir,” the comm officers says, and turns toward the cramped radio room.

  Holding the microphone in my hand, I wait seemingly forever. I’m not sure how this conversation is going to go or what they know. I guess I’ll just wait and see. I’m assuming the delay is to notify the Captain. I stare at the mic as if it will give me a glimpse of what they are thinking on the other end. The squelch breaks.

  “This is the USS Santa Fe. Who am I speaking to?” A different voice calls over the speaker.

  “This is Captain Jack Walker. And to whom am I speaking?” I ask, choosing to provide my previous rank thinking it will be easier to establish a rapport with another military person.

  “Captain Walker, what unit are you with?” I hear. I notice the other person doesn’t answer my question as to who they are. I suppose I would be very hesitant as well were I in the commander’s shoes.

  “I’m not with any particular unit. We have a few soldiers from various Army and Air Force units in addition to civilians,” I answer. “Again, I ask, to whom am I speaking with and what is your location?”

  “Captain Walker, I’m not willing to divulge that information over the open airwaves,” the answer comes.

  It’s quite apparent they don’t know what has happened or is going on. It’s possible they were submerged, providing they are indeed in a sub, when everything happened and don’t have a clue as to the new world they now live in. I think of how confusing that must be. As remote as I was when it happened, at least I had some news. For them, this must be like living a Twilight Zone episode.

  “I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as national secrets anymore nor much of anyone who is going to hear what is said. I’m gathering you haven’t been briefed and don’t know what happened, right?” I say.

  “Perhaps you’d like to fill me in then?”

  “I’m not sure I could do that in a week but I’ll give you the cliff notes version. About five months ago, a flu pandemic swept over the world. Four months ago, a vaccine was developed that subsequently wiped out over seventy percent of the world’s population. A major portion, and I mean a major portion, were genetically altered. They are now a different species that are ferocious and attack on sight. We’ve dubbed them night runners because they can only be out at night. A miniscule one
percent of humans proved to be immune although that has been whittled down substantially due to starvation, illnesses, and from the night runners,” I say. There is so much more to say but this will give them some information about the new world in which they surfaced. A silence ensues. I’m guessing whoever I am talking to is in a semi state of shock.

  Captain Leonard stares at the radio. He can’t believe what he just heard and imagines he is on the receiving end of some hoax. Perhaps some kid has tapped into the UHF emergency frequency and is playing a game with him. Although, the situation onshore and on the usually busy waterways lend credence to what he just heard.

  “Captain Walker, stand by one,” he says, trying to keep any disbelief from his voice.

  He wills himself to hold the microphone steady. Although there is only the communications officer in the radio room with him, it wouldn’t do to show any nervousness.

  “Go fetch the Blue Team leader and bring him here,” Leonard directs the communications officer.

  “Yes, sir,” the officer says and leaves quickly.

  Captain Leonard mulls over what he has heard and compares it with what he has seen. The two seem to mesh into a consistent story but the story it presents is a far-fetched one. It’s as far-fetched as the one the Blue Team leader told him upon his return from the Philippines. It’s still too far from the reality Leonard left for his mind to wrap itself around. He has been trained to think outside of the box for many years but to return to this? There must be a different plausible explanation but he decides to keep his mind open to any possibility. He wouldn’t have made it through the cold war intact if he wasn’t able to do so.

  “Chief Petty Officer Krandle reporting as ordered, sir,” Leonard hears the Blue Team leader report at the door to the radio room.

  “Come in Chief. I want you to hear this,” Leonard says. CPO Krandle steps into the room making the tight compartment even more cramped with his bulk.