A Congress of Angels (The Collective)

by Fore, Jon

  Chapter 2

  Three days of trail riding, like some ole' time range-rider or cowpoke or whatever, and Gabriel found route 91 heading south. He crossed into Vermont without ever realizing it and he thought had a few more days still until he found Route 91. But there it was, the highway plugged with silent cars, like some graveyard of fuel inefficiency.

  Staying off the beaten path, Gabriel had so far avoided the bugs, or any sign of them until right now. Still, he wore the two Colts in the western style holsters on either side. Lance carried the modified hunting rifle in another holster along the right side of his saddle. The rifle was rolled in a soft leather wrap, oiled against the rain. Big Guy followed behind them, tethered to Lance's saddle. Gabriel was sure he looked like some guy playing cowboy, dressed and outfitted as he was. Hell, he even wore his wide brimmed Doc Holiday hat, for a reason not even he could figure out. It just felt right. If there had been sunlight, that would be different, but there was no one around to give him grief about wearing a hat anyway.

  He spurred Lance towards the cars some hundred yards away, and Lance fretted against the rein before strolling forward. Gabriel did not miss the fact that the horse was leery of the line of immobile and silent cars, and absently lifted the leather strap from the hammer of the Colt on his right. Most likely there were dead in those cars, and the horse could smell them from here.

  The sky glowed, but in a pale gunmetal gray, which took the shadows from him and Lance and the cars ahead. It also gave the entire scene that graveyard veneer. Even the trees were denuded of leaves, prematurely, giving them a grayish tone. All about him was death; the death he carried in his head, the death in his heart, the death he seemed to bring with him like a little fatal rain cloud. It was his curse to suffer the death of his closest friends, to cause the death of absolute strangers, and now to survive the death that everyone else seemed to have shared.

  Gabriel rode alone in a world entirely of death.

  He stopped Lance about twenty yards from the disorganized line of cars. There had to be hundreds stretching both north and south on 91. Each had either open windows or shattered windows. Each had either one or more corpses, torn, shredded, and left to rot within their metal coffins. Gabriel felt a wave of nausea culminate as an ache in his chest and too much spit in his mouth. He knew it was bad, back home he convinced himself it was bad, but not like this. The softness of his musings lacked the sharpened points of the reality splayed before him. He knew, but didn't. He understood, but didn't. He had prepared himself for this, but failed. He simply lacked the imagination to include the child sized body parts, splashes and smears of blood, the retched rotting-pork stench that hung suspended in the air.

  That and the overwhelming feeling of guilt.

  Few people understood what one well trained man with a rifle could do, yet he stayed at home and let it play out. He allowed his hurt pride, the pride wounded when they kicked him out of the Marines, get in the way of his better judgment. Maybe, if he had come here two weeks ago, he could have given one or more of these cars a chance to get away. He had almost four hundred rounds of high velocity hunting rounds. He could have done something. It would have been what his father would have done. Even to his own end, he would have done it.

  Gabriel should have done it.

  Stupid, Marine, real stupid.

  Fug was sniffing around the tires of the closest car, a minivan whose side windows were busted out. The side panels were also torn and ripped, like the little corpses inside. Lance jerked his head up and down with impatience and Gabriel lowered his, turned the horse to the left, and began heading south. "Come on, Fug. Let's get out of here."

  The line of cars continued to stretch, to stink, to remind him of his pour decision, so he eventually cut left again and returned to the thick, naked trees. It wouldn't just hide the horror but it would give him cover. He could always get his bearings from the highway if he needed to. It also seemed to out distance the stench of rotting human flesh.

  It was obvious to Gabriel's veteran eye that whatever attacked the line of cars were not one or two bugs, but a whole bunch of them. In very few places did cars try to leave the highway and make a break for it, so they must have been overwhelmed in nearly an instant. Civilians weren't normally as tactical as a Marine, or tactically aware, but how could you not notice the shattering glass, the bursting tires, the metal being peeled back like a can of human-boyardi? They had to have seen, the car in front, the car behind, someone had to have seen it, but so few tried to leave the interstate. Some cars were bogged down in the ravine along both sides of 91, but not many. It had to have been a rush of attackers all at once, and the thought that kept haunting Gabriel's mind was he might run across the same bugs.

  Three days though. Three days without a single bug. It was like they were gone, but he knew all too well that couldn't be true. You don't move a force through without securing what you've taken. If you failed to do that, you risked becoming surrounded, losing your supply lines, communications with command--things like that. They had to be around her somewhere. In fact, they were probably watching him right now.

  One of the assignments he was given repeatedly, especially in Afghanistan, was to secure an area that forces were either going to move through or had moved through recently. His and his spotter's job was to setup a hide, somewhere high if possible, and watch for insurgents, and make sure no one planted an IED or set an ambush. Normally, they would have a small detachment of men--regular infantry if you could call a Marine infantrymen regular--to secure the hide. It was usually four, but sometimes six or as little as two. Either way, it was enough to put a wall behind you while you stared for endless hours through a sniper's scope.

  If he was leading this bug invasion, it's what he would do. Set hidden watch posts of snipers and ambush any threats as soon as they are realized.

  Once this thought set in, it grabbed his paranoia knob and turned the volume up in a painful way. He was just one guy on a horse riding south. The highway next to him had to account for thousands of people heading south. He was in no better position than they were when they were attacked. But the other thing was, whatever was left to watch, it had to have some brains in it. It would not come tearing out of the forest or from behind a car full of corpses. It would sneak up, all stealthy and whatnot, and attack. Like a sniper.

  Gabriel looked down to make sure Fug was there, and he found the dog padding softly at a slow walk along side. The forest didn't allow for speed, but that was fine. It gave him a bedding of freshly rotting leaves to travel over, and that made the horse hooves nearly silent. Even Fuggly was making very little noise, which allowed Gabriel to listen, listen like he learned in sniper school.

  But then again, the rotting leaves would give the watchers the same advantage.

  Anti-sniper operations were always the most dangerous. That and scary as all hell. It was a shame to Gabriel, he had really looked forward to a cooking fire tonight. It was so damn cold now, even though it was the middle of summer.

  The trees around him were mostly large oaks and elms, but with some evergreen trees and birch sprinkled about. The evergreen trees seemed to be holding needle better than the others were holding leaves, which Gabriel wondered about. He was no horticulturalist, and had trouble growing even the hardier crops for himself. It just seemed odd. Maybe they were slower to react to whatever poison the bugs brought with them to ruin the forest.

  In the needles of one such tree some distance yards away, Gabriel caught sight of a flick, a glimmer of metal, or something in the branches and it was gone. He reined Lance to a stop and stared for all he was worth. Fug passed him, stopped, and then came back to lie down near Lance. After long minutes, Gabriel's eyes began to water and he did not see the glimmer, that sparkle again. It could be a blaze a hunter left, a nail someone left stuck in the tree, but Gabriel was sure it had a gold hue to it.

  Without looking, going by feel alone, he drew out his sniper rifle and unwrapped the oiled leather. Laying this
across the front of his saddle and on Lance's neck, he brought the rifle up to his eye. Then he slowly closed his other eye, sure now that he had the correct tree in the scope. He ran the crosshairs up the length of the tree's trunk, looking for that telltale glimmer, but there was nothing. The hairs on his neck were raised and standing at attention. He knew something was there, it had to be there. Crazy or not, he was no fool when it came to the scope.

  Suddenly, he saw it. Just a movement. A shadow adjusting itself along the bark of the main trunk, and then it froze. His eye, his brain struggled to find that human silhouette that was not there, should not be there. It was one of those damn bug things, Gabriel was sure of that, but the contour was too liquid to tell exactly what part of the thing he was looking at. If he just shot into it, he could miss or only wound it, but more importantly, he would have shown what this one man on a horse could actually do. He wasn't sure if he liked that idea or not, but to him, it felt kind of good.

  Then Fug growled a low rumbling growl.

  When Gabriel lowered the rifle, he found what he first thought was a giant salamander standing on its hind legs and staring at him. He also knew immediately that the thing was too close to take a shot with his scoped rifle. The thing stood for a moment, considering this strange looking four legged human before it fell to its four legs and charged.

  In the well-practiced, lightening flash his father taught him, the colt came out of its holster and fired once, one handed, and directly into the black skinned lizard thing. He hit it right between the eyes, which was no big deal since the eyes were so far apart, but it was a head shot nonetheless. Lance reared slightly, then landed hard, swaying his head back and forth. Gabriel could feel between his legs that Lance was as terrified as he was. Oddly, a sour stench reached him, sharp and tangy and a bit like brine. It made him think immediately of pickles, only the stench was more like rotting potatoes.

  The lizard thing froze for a second, then fell to its side thrashing, clawing at its face, the mouth opening and closing rapidly, showing Gabriel the hideous teeth and blue tinged blood. Gabriel was mesmerized for a minute, then quickly panned around himself to make sure there weren't others. When he looked back at the thing, it was still chewing at the air, but now one of its stubby front legs had found its way into the creature's maw, and was being shredded by the short, nubby teeth.

  Gabriel leveled the Colt and fired again, aiming for the snout this time, hoping to scramble whatever brains the thing had and kill it once and for all. The second shot exploded, tearing a flap of snout open and the creature fell still. Gabriel looked around himself again, scanning the trees and dead underbrush before holstering the Colt and raising the rifle again.

  He found the tree right off, having stared at it for so long, but the shape was gone. Great, he thought, now there is another one out there stalking me. He wasn't all that unused to being stalked, being hunted, but he hated it. That, and he still didn't know what the fuck these things were. Snout-shot meant death, or so he guessed. At least he could hope for that much. But he hadn't heard the thing come up on him at all.

  Fug was still sitting next to him, his ears perched high on his head like little sound sails, and he stared into the forest. "Good boy, Fuggly. You're a good boy.” Gabriel said, then pulled a strip of venison jerky from his pack. "Fugster." he said, and the dog looked up at him, and the offered treat. Fug stood on his hind legs just long enough to get the strip of meat in his mouth, then returned to his staring competition with the distant trees. The only difference now was the dog chewed slow and contemplative.

  Gabriel looked back at Big Guy, who was standing locked leg, a bush of grass hanging from his mouth. His eyes were wide and staring, clearly terrified. Gabriel felt bad for the old fellow, but they had to keep moving.

  As a sniper, if someone is stalking you and you have no clue where they are, then one had to get the hell out of Dodge. Moving his position would force the other to move theirs, or should. Not always, but it was better than staying where you were, standing perfectly still and waiting for the bullet to tear through you, then the distant bang of the other sniper's gun as you fell to the ground. "We got to move, Fugs.” He said and clenched Lance with his heels, egging him onward.

  Big Guy almost tore his shoulder out of socket before he moved to catch up. That old guy was afraid, that was obvious, but there wasn't anything anyone could do about that now. He had to get this other bug-lizard to move, show himself so he could die like his friend.

  For the next few hours, Gabriel paid as much attention behind as in front. He trusted Lance to pick a safe path, for both he and Big Guy, but it wasn't until nearly nightfall--if that is what you could call dark grey getting dark dark--before he saw the stalker slink between two trees, and scurry up the bole of a large elm.

  Gabriel pulled Lance to a stop, and turned him in the other direction and watched the lizard bug scurry up the tree, about twenty yards up, then turn itself over like a squirrel and freeze. For all of him, Gabriel saw the thing vanish into the bark, and the hair on his neck rose with the hairs on his arms. He locked his eyes on the spot and brought the rifle scope to his eye again.

  There it was. Just a vague outline and two large bulbous eyes, like a frog's eyes only the color of diseased piss. He ran the math through his head, adjusted the mil dots on the scope, and guessed where the things brains might be, and fired a cracking belch of flame and copper jacketed lead.

  Wood exploded from beneath its head, but it still hung there; waiting, holding, hiding. Just before Gabriel decided to load the next round into his the barrel, it finally fell limply from the trunk of the tree, crashed through the leafless limbs and to the ground. It landed with a sickening hollow thud.

  Still using the scope, Gabriel tracked the thing as it fell. Then he stared at where the beast landed. He needed to reload, but the light was failing. If he left the scope now, he would lose the landing spot, or miss it thrashing, or worse; getting up and fleeing. So he stared until he couldn't see it anymore.

  He brought the scope down and blinked the fatigue from his right eye as he reloaded the rifle. If it was still alive, whatever it was, then it would of had to have moved by now. After thumbing the safety on, he rolled it back in the leather wrap, and stowed it in the holster on the Lance's flank. Then he reloaded the Colt, holstered that, then stroked Lance’s neck. "We got to get a bit further before we can stop, Kid. Can you handle that?"

  Now he was talking to the horse. Was that worse than talking to a dog? He decided it wasn't.

  "Come on, guys. A little further and we'll stop," he said and turned Lance's nose south, a bit closer to the highway, and sent him forward with his heals. Big Guy didn't fight the reins this time, and followed obediently.

  Using the vague contour of the interstate on one side, and the thickened darkness of the trees on the other, Gabriel led his animal crew south. After three miles or so Lance began to test the ground in front of him with his hooves after each step. It was too dark even for a horse anymore, and Gabriel decided it was time to stop. Worse thing for him right now would be a lame horse. He was deep in it, and there was no way he was getting home or to Virginia on foot. A lame horse would mean not only the horse's death, but probably his own.

  He climbed off Lance and removed the heavy saddle bags, then the saddle, which he laid with as much care as he could on the ground. Following Big Guy's reins, he found him standing, still rigid with fear. Gabriel said, "I'm here, Big Guy," and ran a hand down the horse's neck. He could hear the sigh of a released breath and patted the animal on his massive shoulder before removing his pack. This was much easier than removing a saddle. Then he removed the bridal, which he dropped on the large pack.

  Gabriel thought about tying the horses to one another, but decided against it. If something bad happened in the night, Lance would be able to get away but he doubted Big Guy could outrun anything. It would at least give Lance a fighting chance. In the end, he let the horses roam as they wanted to eat whatever grass they could
find. When he turned to find the saddle, the best thing he had to rest his head on, he tripped over Fuggly and almost went down.

  He felt in the dark for Fug's face, and stroked him behind the ears a moment before dropping to his knees and crawling through the grass until he found the saddle. He searched one of the bags for his Surefire flashlight, which he palmed in his left hand and then laid on his back. He brought the holster of the right side Colt forward a bit and rested his hand on the gun's grip. It was the best he could, even though now he knew the bugs were out here, or the lizards or whatever they were. The world had become such a stranger.

  Fuggly lay down next to him, making Gabriel feel much more secure as he tried not to doze too deeply. Tomorrow, he would have to pick the pace up a bit. It had been too long without seeing another human being. Too long without a conversation where the one he was talking to could actually talk back. Besides that, this was a no man's land, and he was a man after all.

  Chapter 3

  Gabriel, like the many nights before this, found no sleep or solace in his rest. The horses did not stray from the tight circle they made around him, and Fug slept with his face laid across Gabriel's lap. Gabriel felt as though he were encased in sacrificial flesh, and after a few moments of thought, supposed he was. If something crept close in the night, something bent on killing him or any other human it found, these animals would fall first. But when the sky began to lighten again, sleep or no, he woke Fug with a rub on the back of the dog's neck and stood, intent on being ready to go as soon as he could see the ground. Really, as soon as Lance could see the ground.

  The horses cleared the grass within a tight circumference from where Gabriel unsaddled them the night before. That was good. They had to eat, probably should eat more than this. He didn't know what to expect, but intended to be in southern Vermont or northern Massachusetts by nightfall. It was an impossible goal, way too far for the tired, underfed animals, but something was drawing him, poking at the back of his mind with a gaunt finger, urging him to keep moving and to get south.