by Chris Ayala
As they munched on bowls of squirrel stew around a campfire, Adam reflected on today. Today was his birthday. Twenty-eight didn't physically feel much different than twenty-seven. But mentally…much had changed. Planning a government ambush with thousands of people could make anyone "grow up". Mr. Declan used to say Adam barely had the guts to be a follower, much less a leader. If only he could see his adopted boy now. Adam became a major leader. An unconfident leader, but a leader nonetheless. But the words of Zharkova reminded him of the truth. The truth that the rebellion needed a more solid plan. A plan rooted in the ground that couldn't be ripped out or fall apart. Ideas could only go so far. Adam needed to organize opposition from around the world with limited communication and extreme caution.
Before bedtime, Adam drank a large amount of water from the stream. The bladder alarm clock, like always, woke him up six hours later. Hidden behind blackened clouds, the sunrise often didn't wake anyone. But Adam's bladder kindly reminded him in the morning to get up and urinate. After a long bathroom break, he awoke the others and their final day of travel began.
Pierre barely spoke. Either he wasn't confident in his English or he didn't have much to say…or both. Using his walking stick, he moved through the forest with more ease than Adam and the others. Blindness gave him heightened skills that the others couldn't possibly understand. Dangerous animals had started making their ways back into the wilderness. Thanks to Pierre, the group had avoided desperate black bears and starved mountain lions.
The People of Bliss had invented an ingenious way of finding the compound. Fallen trees had been placed symmetrically on the ground around a single rock axis, forming a clock. The closer the tree structure was to midnight, the closer they were to the silo. Since the stars, moon, and sun hid behind black clouds, relying on a compass had to be the only reliable navigation. Journeying through these woods for the good part of a year, Adam became more familiar with the surroundings. His home was close.
Sideways cars and upside-down helicopters were the norm, but the occasional skittish deer or scavenging raccoon were not. Adam felt pleased to see wildlife return to their native lands. Yet, he wished he felt just as enthusiastic to return to his dwellings. Certainly, he'd be bombarded with questions about the next course of action now that this part of the plan had been complete. Even though funding the trip overseas was met with criticism from the People of Bliss, he promised finding Victor, Bruno, and Pierre would help their ambush of the Union. The next course of action wouldn't be so easy.
The forest had become somewhat of a junkyard for the nuclear weapon that spat out debris in this direction. The gang had their own catastrophic events on Doomsday and only heard of the United States on the news. Pierre, who usually stayed ahead of the gang, was suddenly found sitting on the ground in the distance. Hearing Royal's voice in his head about staying on time, Adam opened his mouth to object to Pierre's sudden break. Until he saw what made the Frenchman to sit down. Laying on the ground next to him was the familiar stench and stiff shape of a dead body.
When Adam walked closer, he noticed flowers had been placed in the wound of the corpse's stomach. Pierre understood the world differently, so what must've death been like to him? Could he feel their souls? Smell them? See them? As much as Adam had seen the dead, it still never settled that bubbly feeling in his gut. Billions had perished around the world because of the Union. Because of Marcel Celest and his vision. Nothing was said. Nothing could be said. The group stood over the body for several minutes before silently gathering their backpacks to leave.
Several more hours passed until the cold became more bitter and the clouds became slightly darker. What Adam would give to see the sunset one more time. Normally, this would be the time to find a place to camp, but they carried on more north. Just one more mile.
Thirty minutes later, he stopped.
"We're here." Adam exhaled. He walked up to several shrubs and pushed them aside. Hidden underneath the mess of foliage was a rusted metal door in the ground, slightly larger than a sewer manhole.
"There's a rebellion here?" Victor asked, sounding more like a grievance than a bafflement.
Adam paid no mind as he unlocked the door with a slight twist. He tossed his rucksack down before climbing inside. The first room was big enough to fit a chair, desk, and a watchman. A watchman that never seemed to stay awake. Adam sighed at the snoring old man that somehow slept with his head straight up.
"Some security," he griped as he kicked the watchman's chair. He barely woke up the elder. Adam reached down and grabbed the keys.
Being so late at night, the team didn't have the opportunity to meet many of the People of Bliss. After showers and a warm meal at the cafeteria, Adam found a few empty rooms for them to sleep in. Finding a bed big enough for Bruno seemed impossible, so he settled on the couch in one of the break rooms. Victor and Pierre shared a room; Victor practically fell asleep the moment he hit the cot. Pierre gave a kind smile and hug to Adam. "Thank you."
It took him almost an hour before Adam made the way to his own room. Janice would, no doubt, be awake. Why didn't he feel pleased to be back home to his girlfriend and her baby? Their baby. Well, possibly their baby. Truth was, Janice had no clue. And it wasn't like they could order a DNA test.
Without knocking on the steel door, Adam entered room 113. Like all the rooms in the missile silo, it seemed like what it was…an office. No matter how much decor was added to it, it didn't have the comfort of an actual bedroom. He wanted more for the People of Bliss. Actual homes. But how? How when everyone was in constant hiding from the Union? What would Brent do? How would he free these people from the slums?
Janice's eyes looked tired. Old. She showed her age in the shadows of a single candle lighting the room. When they first met, Adam couldn't see how this woman could be 42. Now he could clearly see it; reminding him of their nearly two decades of age difference.
"Hey," she whispered.
"Hey," he answered with his mind elsewhere. Zharkova could gather enough forces to storm the Union castle. But how would she get them here? Doubtful that American Airlines would give "rebellion" discount flights.
"You seem distant."
"Hmm? No. I'm good. Just a lot of work to do." He said, preparing a cup of tea. Being the stereotypical coffee addict in college, Adam didn't care for the bitter taste of tea. But Janice loved it; which meant he had to enjoy it. "I had another precog."
Always the disbeliever in the supernatural, Janice blinked several times before uttering, "About what?"
"Your brother."
She sat up slightly from the dent in the mattress and placed her back to the concrete wall. Adam could see her mind juggling rapid thoughts, but what about he had no clue. "When…in the future?"
"Long time from now. Really long time. He was super old. We were…friends." Adam said friends nastily because saying it tasted worse than the tea. "He was dying. From some cancer or something. He said he made a mistake. Something about…he absorbed all the darkness in the world to save us."
Janice's twisted her lip. "Sounds like something he would do," she said sympathetically.
Adam had enough of drinking this disgusting tea and being told what he should believe. He spat out, "You're defending him? Seriously?"
Caught of guard, she whispered so the baby wouldn't wake. "I didn't insinuate that –"
He didn't let her finish. "Brent's dead. By his hand, remember? His bloody fucking hands." Adam slammed the cup down and the baby stirred in his crib. "Billions are dead. He could've saved us from Doomsday. I know it. You know it." He walked toward her, his shadow growing next to the candlelight. "In my vision, he dies. And from his corpse, an enormous black…monster grew. Like nothing I've ever seen. It had skeletal wings, dark red eyes, sharp teeth…That's what Marcel Celest has created. Not peace and tranquility, but a demon. A demon so full of rage that it attacks us all. Devours and kills everyone! We have to kill him first. We have to murder Marcel Celest!"
The baby
bursts out into tears. It stops Adam's blinding wrath. Janice had swayed back into the corner of the room, eyes wide. His head spun. "I'm sorry," he said.
His child, his supposed child, kicked his legs in the air and wriggled his fists. Adam stared over the edge of the crib. "What do…I do? How do I…"
"Hold him, he probably had a nightmare." Janice asked.
He stared, watching the boy eyes water. What it must be like to enter this world. Strange noises. Strange emotions. Strange sights. Adam mumbled, "I can't do this. It's too much."
Without another word, he grabbed a pillow and blanket then left the room.
Oatmeal tasted God-awful with water. Especially cold since the damn hot water wasn't working again. Adam munched loudly because he could. No one else was here. He sat at a table in the kitchen where frogs had just been cut up for tomorrow's dinner. The blood-stained knife still sat on the cutting board unwashed.
In one hand, he used a bent spoon to scoop up another bite of oatmeal. With his other hand, he wrote more notes. Need encryption for correspondence. Just another task on the growing list of a rebellion. Four question marks were drawn next to the first item on the list: Contact followers. How in the Hell could they hide against the "all-seeing eye" of the Union? Cameras were everywhere with undoubtedly a staff of enforcers watching. And it wasn't like Adam could simply put out a Facebook group or garner Twitter fans.
Something creaked behind him. Adam spun around and saw nothing. The kitchen was vast. During breakfast times, it could fit a kitchen workforce of twenty. But at four in the morning, no one should be here. "Hello?" He said to the darkness, immediately regretting that he had only brought one candle downstairs.
Being thousands of feet underground in a silo brought some of the strangest noises. Adam wanted to dismiss it as just that, but something didn't feel right. He remembered a year ago, when him and Brent had planned a sneak attack to maim Marcel Celest. This must've been how the politician felt. A feeling of being watched by eyes that couldn't be seen. Adam stood up slowly.
"I've gotta a gun," he said to the empty air.
From the shadows, someone snorted and whispered. "You don't have a gun."
Startled, Adam fell backwards and nearly knocked over the table. He reached for the candle. He needed light.
The person in the kitchen with him flicked a match. Adam was stunned. This man didn't belong here. With the ignited match, the intruder lit a lantern on the other side of the room. "Must be tough living without electricity for most of the day. My home's got endless amounts of power. And I don't even have to pay for it."
The last moment these two met was months ago. When Adam had been discovered as a member of Servo Clementia, locked away, and this very man before him had laughed.
"What are you doing here, Gerard?"
That same suppressed giggle came from his throat. "If I remembered right, you should be dead. I arrested you. The last I heard was that prison got destroyed during Doomsday. Then, lucky me, I found your record on the Union's database."
The pieces of the puzzle came together in Adam's head. "You're the reason they stopped us at the border. How'd you find our hideout?" Truthfully, Adam didn't care but needed to buy time to figure out what to do. One of the top leaders in the Union entered their establishment; most likely to kill him. Adam could only think of all the regret he had for angering Janice.
"I've known about it for months," Gerard shrugged as he circled the room. Adam backed away in the opposite direction. "By the way, every facility has a sewage exit. It wasn't a pretty climb in here, but an easy one."
What would Brent do? Adam's head scattered in a tornado of actions. He could scream for help. He could run. Or…he could fight. His fist clenched.
Gerard looked down and noticed Adam's aggressive stance. "From my investigation, Brent trained you. But from your arrest, he didn't train you well." With a smile, he whispered, "You'll lose."
Brent would fight.
Adam dashed at Gerard. He leapt over the kitchen counter. Gerard grabbed his leg and twisted. Everything became a blur as Adam's body flung across the room. He crashed into a pile of pots and pans. Without thinking, he began tossing them. Gerard swatted them away as he charged at him, like a storm approaching that seemed more lethal at closer range. Quickly, Adam ran. The knife! On the counter. In one swoop, he sprinted and picked up the still bloody knife. He turned, then started swinging the blade blindly. Gerard, ever cunning and in perfect shape, dodged every swing. Before Adam knew it, he'd been disarmed and thrown to the ground. The brute held him down with his weight.
"Where's my wife? Where's my boy?" Gerard shouted.
"Is that why you came here?"
Gerard held Adam down and looked to the door. He stared for too long. Maybe this was an opportunity for Adam to get the upper hand and run, but he saw sympathy in that aged face. As quickly as the emotion came to his face, it disappeared. "No," he spat out. "No. No. Not yet." He gazed into Adam's eyes. "I'm here for you."
"Me? Why?"
"Because," he panted, "I need a digital registry. A registry of every known deflector of the Union. Every damn person that we know is on the side of the rebellion. Every…single…one."
Improbable, but not impossible. Adam could collect such a list. But for what purpose? Whatever his plan was, Gerard couldn't be trusted with such information. "I'll never do that."
With a sly smile, Gerard whispered. "Oh…yes…you…will."
CHAPTER TWELVE
It started to snow. Being that frigid temperatures blanketed the entire world, it wasn't a surprising phenomenon. But the discolor of the snow was. Nelson grasped a chunk of it from the ground with his thick gloves. He wiggled his fingers through the ball until it crumbled. Black, almost gray, the snow looked more like coffee grinds. After a quick sniff, Nelson immediately regretted. Nuclear fallout and charred cities sure stained the clouds thoroughly. It stunk like a dead raccoon left on the driveway for a weekend. The thought made his stomach grumble, either from disgust or hunger.
Walking these forests now for a week, with nothing but secondhand clothes and navigation equipment, made Nelson regret his decision of leaving behind a vehicle at the silo. The People of Bliss had only a handful of transportation, taking just one of them seemed selfish. Especially since this mission was anything but selfish. He stopped once again to yank the map out of his back pocket. The snow dirtied up his goggles and smearing the snow just made it worse. He removed them briefly, squinting at the compass in his hand. According to his calculations, it should be close. It should be visibly easy to see, even as the snow fluttered and blocked his eyesight.
After he climbed a hill, propping himself with a thick branch he found miles back, he saw it.
Planted in the center of the city of Newport, Rhode Island, was a circular structure that towered above the ruins of tumbled buildings. From afar, the nuclear missile almost looked like a skyscraper, that it somehow belonged to the city skyline. But it didn't. The missile buried itself so deep into the ground, that it would take a city effort to remove it. Like a confederate statue, the missile, as well as the other dozens across the nation, were left standing to remind everyone the horrors of history.
Nelson caught his breath, observing the destruction for perhaps the first time. As President, he never experienced the calamity of war. Not like this anyways. His visits were secured by Secret Service and tidied up with no chance of a dead body or threatening presence to be around. But at this moment, Nelson didn't have that luxury. For whatever reason, that made him feel alive.
He walked down the hill, hurried past the empty freeway like a car could actually come at any minute, and entered the city grounds. It didn't take long before he nearly tripped over a dead corpse. A mother grasping a child. Nelson hadn't intended it, but his foot tapped their burnt bodies just enough to make them crumble. Their bone hands seemed to be reaching out, asking for help. He fell backwards and landed on the side of an upside-down car.
When he was Presid
ent-Elect Celest, the prior President gave him advice that stuck to him even today. It gets easier. Everything gets easier with time. As much as Nelson had traveled through ruined towns, it never got easier. He got up, wiping the snow off his coat, and lifted his neck up to view the missile. He'd visited the Freedom Tower many times, but never lifted his head that back. Snow had coated most of the missile's surface, including the mechanical vents that extracted air and shot it out at 300-500 miles per hour, but the American flag symbol could still be seen. Someone had spray painted Fuck America on the smooth metal surface.
After a few hours, and not a single survivor passing by in this town, Nelson found his way to the port. He used a set of wire cutters from his backpack to snip open the chain fence. It wouldn't be hard to find the ship, since it was the only one docked.
Staring at the vast naval boat, with the stenciled letters U.S.S. JOHN F KENNEDY printed on the side, Nelson found something peculiar. Snow had not collected over it. This was unfortunate, because that meant it was manned when he hoped it had been abandoned. Wherever the fleet had been recently didn't have a bit of ice, because the deck looked clean. Why on Earth would there still be a crew on this vessel? Were the crew members replaced by Union Keepers? Does the Union even use ships anymore? Questions like these would have to wait. With no food left and water even scarcer, Nelson needed a place to camp. Even more than that…he needed the jet. It was his whole purpose here and his only ride home, a walk back would be futile.
Using a pair of binoculars, he tried to survey the boat. He could see no movement through the port holes or on the surface. But after several minutes of searching, he got a clear view of the jet. His heart fluttered. It was just like he imagined, and how Adam had described in his precognition. Black, slick, gray outlines, sharp wings, pointed nose, six external armaments, and four engine inlets made the vehicle look like it was constructed on a different, more advanced planet.