by Greg Krojac
The sergeant led the seven newcomers away from the tracks along a hidden pedestrian tunnel until they arrived at a large steel door. He rapped on the door in a pre-agreed rhythm and the door swung open just enough to let the returning group pass through it. Sitara was surprised – as was the rest of the group – at what she saw before her. Sergeant Lavisser could see their amazement.
“This is a replica of the POEC room at the White House, all the way down to the finest detail. So our secret service agent tells us anyway. I’ve never seen the original. The furniture, comms, and everything else up there has been duplicated down here. We have electricity, thanks to a couple of generators, but we don’t have comms with the outside world. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Probably a good thing. If we could transmit to the outside world – what’s left of it – the Argon could maybe hone in on our signal. As for food, we’ve enough food and water down here to last a couple of years. You’re the first new people we’ve seen for a while. Anyway, take a look around and make yourselves at home.”
For the first time since the plague had broken out, the group felt normal again and the holocaust that they had witnessed seemed to belong to another world. Within the walls of this hidden lair it was almost possible to forget that, outside, humanity was facing a threat to its existence such as it had never confronted before.
DAY EIGHTEEN
11 May
Jason stared with disbelieving eyes at the scene of devastation before him. It was hard to believe that such carnage could have happened in so short a time. Torn limbs and mutilated bodies were everywhere, testimony to the superior physical strength of the Argon.
Sitara clung on to him, fearful that the immediate danger hadn’t yet gone. She felt a need to hold a fellow human being, a need for the warmth of a human body not only to protect her but to remind her that she was still alive. Jason, in turn, responded by holding her even tighter, confirming his own survival. Everybody needs a hug sometimes.
The room had become eerily silent after the chaos that had enveloped it just a few minutes earlier. Tears were trickling down cheeks, but nobody was audibly sobbing. All they could do was look around them and thank their particular gods – if they had any – that they were still alive.
A Marine picked his way through the dead bodies and pointed his Heckler and Koch HK M27 automatic rifle accusingly at Jason.
“Your Argon did this. We had no trouble until you came here. It’s a helluva coincidence that you turn up and we get attacked. We’ve been safe here, but you turn up with your Argon friend and all hell breaks loose.”
It had been a bloodbath. The large boardroom table was on its side and the chairs that had once been placed tidily around it were strewn all over the place, many of them broken, mirroring the broken bodies of their fallen friends and colleagues.
Jason just stood there, saying nothing, casting his mind back to the bloodbath that they had just experienced. The humans had fought valiantly but had been thrown around the room like rag dolls. Skulls had been crushed and limbs ripped from bodies, as if an angry child in a tantrum had taken his bad mood out on its dolls. But these had been living, breathing human beings who were now just a pile of random body parts strewn haphazardly around the room. There was truth in what the marine was saying, someone had led the Argon warriors to the hideout, but he didn’t believe for one second that Enak was the traitor. Rather than simply relive the battle, he concentrated upon the role that each Argon had played in the melee.
He glanced over at the crumpled bodies of the Amish couple, Jacob and Ruth, entwined together in a tragic lovers’ knot. Ruth had known that she and her husband were about to die, calling out to her creator for mercy. Jason wasn’t a religious man – far from it – but he would never forget how her faith had been strong to the very end, imploring her god for mercy with the words Dear Holy Father, have mercy on us, just as a loving father has mercy on his children. He respected her strength of belief even though he didn’t share it.
Jacob had tried to protect his wife from the ravages of the Argon attackers, attempting to protect her with his own body, but he had paid the ultimate price. His head had been almost severed from his torso, a vice-like grip twisting it free from his body, before a similar punishment was meted out to Ruth. They looked peaceful enough now, but their deaths had been anything but.
Jason had tried to save them but had been pulled away at the last minute by Enak, as a huge Argon fist was about to pile drive its way through the Brit’s skull. The attacking warrior lost his balance and Enak saw his opportunity. He smashed his own fist into the Argon’s chest, shattering the ribcage and driving shards of bone directly into his adversary’s heart, killing him instantly.
He remembered seeing Eled scoop up a young six-year-old girl, Jasmine, and literally throw her across the room to her father, just before a Argon warrior could stamp on her. Eled then squared up directly to the Argon, allowing the father and daughter enough time to run into an ante-room where they would be safe – for the moment, anyway. After a terrifying struggle, that personal battle had ended with the enemy Argon pinned down by Eled’s knee across his throat, ramming it against his windpipe with all the force that he could muster. Once he was certain that the Argon was dead, Eled staggered to a wall and leaned against it, grimacing with pain.. His arm was broken in three places, and he needed a few seconds respite before he launched himself back into battle once more, handicapped by his injury but not allowing it to force him out of the fight.
Siroll had fought like a woman possessed, with just as much vigour as her male colleagues. Jason recalled her grabbing two Argon warriors by their necks, smashing their heads together with such force that their skulls exploded in a cloud of blood, brains, and sinew. She then turned her attention to the main entrance of the room where a warrior was about to leave the fight with a screaming and flailing Miriam tucked securely under his arm. Siroll wasted no time and bounded after the Argon as if her life depended upon it. She was under no illusions as to what the man’s intentions were and she wasn’t going to let that happen while she still had a say in the matter. The Argons were distant cousins of these humans, and their weak points were the same. The Argon sensed somebody coming up behind him and turned to repel an impending attack, loosening his grip on the Amish girl and allowing her to drop to the floor. He bared his teeth at Siroll and lunged forward to engage her in hand-to-hand combat. But Siroll was too quick for him, parrying his attempted blow and reaching between his legs. She clasped a super-strong hand around his testicles and squeezed with all her might, until the twin orbs shattered in her hand. The pain was excruciating, and the warrior collapsed in a sobbing heap, before Siroll bent down and broke his neck.
Although it seemed that much more time had passed while Jason replayed the battle in his mind, it was, in reality, only a few seconds. He moved in front of Enak, a human shield protecting a friend.
“You’re right, mate. I agree that we were betrayed, but it wasn’t Enak. I trust him with my life.”
The Marine kept his rifle pointed at Enak, although if he fired the weapon now, the bullets would hit Jason rather than the Argon.
“So who did betray us then? It has to be an Argon. No human would betray his own species.”
“You need to get out more if you believe that, but I think I know who gave us up.”
Jason couldn’t remember seeing Alemal in the fray. Of course, the room had been a maelstrom of confusion, but his military training had kicked in and he had become acutely aware of his surroundings and what was going on, even while he himself was fighting the intruders. Enak, Siroll, and Eled had all fought valiantly, but he had no recollection of Alemal even being in the main room of the POEC while the battle was raging. He suddenly had an idea of how to prove his Argon friend’s innocence. He turned to Enak.
“May I have your translation device, Enak?”
Enak removed the device from behind his ear, its removal making a slight popping sound as it disconnec
ted from his head. He didn’t know exactly what Jason’s intention was, but he trusted the ex-paratrooper. Jason placed it on the seat of the only unbroken chair.
“And yours too, Eled, Siroll, Alemal?”
Eled and Siroll removed their devices and placed them alongside that of Enak.
“Alemal? Can you take your translation device out please?
Alemal glared at the rest of the survivors.
“This is a waste of time. You have got the guilty one. Enak is the traitor.”
It was true. In her eyes Enak was a traitor. He was fighting with the humans against his own people. What greater betrayal could there be than turning on your own blood? She lunged to her right and pulled Miriam in front of her, holding her tightly so that she couldn’t escape. She drew her pistol and held it to the poor young woman’s head as she edged her way towards the door with her hostage.
“If anybody tries to stop me leaving, I will kill the girl.”
The survivors knew that she wasn’t bluffing. She was the Argon spy, and that meant that she had no compassion. She wouldn’t hesitate to kill Miriam. There was no point in trying to negotiate with her.
Enak’s reactions were cat-like. In one swift motion he drew Jason’s sidearm from its holster, aimed it at Alemal’s head and fired. Miriam fell to the floor, for the second time that day, as the bullet rocketed through Alemal’s eye at such an angle that it obliterated what once had been her brain. The group turned as one, to see a tear trickle down Enak’s cheek, before he turned away to hide his face from his friends. Siroll picked up the translation devices from the chair, helping Eled to reconnect his – his broken left arm was next to useless – before replacing her own. Sitara, who had moved closer to her, leaned in towards the Argon and whispered.
“Was Enak crying?”
Siroll responded in an equally quiet voice, not wanting to highlight Enak’s sorrow at what he had just done.
“Alemal was his ekm - what you humans would call his wife. Enak did what was right and necessary – he knows that – but it was at great personal cost.”
Eled had been gritting his teeth, trying to ignore the pain that wracked his damaged arm, but it had become too fierce to bear. The two surviving nurses had noticed the blood starting to drain from his face and rushed over to help him, but he needed better medical care than the POEC room could provide. Siroll crouched alongside the Argon and took an object from her pocket.
“Here, let me help. I have something that can fix this.”
The two nurses moved a little away from their patient. Argon and humans were of the same original genus, but it would clearly be better if he were treated by someone who knew the Argon physiognomy. Siroll looked into Eled’s eyes.
“You know this is going to hurt, do you not, Eled?”
“Yes, I understand. Please do it. Now. Azimuuh amak eherehs ay ajnuvuk apufm.”
Sitara whispered to Enak.
“What did he say?”
Enak looked on, as Siroll checked for the specific locations of the breaks.
“He said that it hurts like the bone-breaking ceremony. Ajnuvuk apufm is one of the few rituals that we still maintain from the old days. Nobody believes that it’s really necessary, but it seems to be one of the few rites that we have not been able to extricate ourselves from. It is what you might call a coming of age ritual, in which both males and females have all four limbs deliberately broken to show their inner strength. They are then repaired using the tool which Siroll is holding in her hand. We are given the tool after the ceremony and can use it in the future if we are injured.”
Eled’s face screwed up in pain as Siroll placed a pen-like object over the first break. She pressed a button on the shaft of the device and Eled screamed out in pain.
Sitara winced and looked away.
“What is that thing? She’s torturing him.”
Enak took an identical item from his own pocket and showed it to the scientist.
“We call it an izimutam ahc obmohc. It puts the disturbed molecules back to where they should be. And yes, it is very painful.”
“How does it work?”
Sitara winced as Eled let out another shriek of pain.
“It uses electro-magnetism to relocate displaced molecules. For example, the molecules of the bones of the arm of Eled have been pushed out of position, causing the break. The tool simply returns those molecules to their original position. It is quite simple really.”
“It looks barbaric. It’s like a piece of torture equipment.”
“As a medical procedure, it is very efficient, but as a superstitious ritual, I agree. It is barbaric. However, Argon society does not appear to possess the communal will to cease the practice. I do not know why. There is no logic to its continuance.”
Eled returned to health, the survivors had to decide what to do next. Staying at the Metro station was out of the question. Jason’s mind was momentarily distracted as his mind drifted back to the last meeting back at the Square when he and his neighbours had decided to leave their homes in search of fresh supplies, shelter, and safety. He wondered how his life would be now, had that small community survived that night. He’d have been able to share the responsibility of guiding the group with Patrick and Marshall, for sure. But that was a moot point now – they were all dead. His military training had brought his small group thus far, although the best soldiering skills in the world couldn’t have prevented the massacre that had just taken place.
He looked at the five surviving Marines who were, in turn, looking at him. Neither Jason nor the soldiers seemed certain of what to do next. They’d lost their sergeant in the battle and, as Privates, now felt like a rudderless ship and could really use some guidance. One of the Marines spoke up,
“I saw you in that fight. Are you ex-military?”
Jason nodded.
“I was a Captain in Number Two PARA; Second Battalion, Parachute Regiment.”
The Marine was impressed.
“That was you guys in the Falklands wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was.”
The five Marines huddled together in a quiet but important discussion; they respected the reputation of the elite British Army Regiment and came to an agreement. The Marine held out his hand to Jason.
“If you’re willing, we’d like you to take charge. We’re not long out of boot camp.”
Jason didn’t particularly want to lead this new larger group, but he could see in the Marines’ eyes that that was exactly what they were hoping for. Jason was forced to accept that the role of leader had been thrust upon him once again. Reluctantly, he opened the discussion about their immediate futures.
“This place has been compromised so we know we can’t stay here. But we can’t just leave and run around like headless chickens. Anybody got any suggestions of where we should go?”
He looked at each of the faces before him in turn.
“Anyone?”
Silence. Jason didn’t know if they were still in shock or just felt that they had nothing to offer.
“OK. I think we should find a high vantage point. Is there a very tall building in this city?”
One of the Marines found his voice.
“Skyscrapers aren’t allowed in the city, but there are some tall buildings in Arlington. It’s about four miles away. The tallest is at 1812 North Moore Street. Not many companies have offices there. Don’t know why – it’s a nice building.”
Jason was interested.
“Is it a good vantage point?”
“Well. As I said, it’s tall. Thirty-five stories, five low-rise elevators, five hi-rise elevators, three jump elevators, and two freight elevators. Floor to ceiling windows, 360 degree vision, typical floor size…”
Jason stopped him before he could reel off any more of the building’s specifications.”
“How do you know all that?”
One of the Marine’s colleagues laughed.
“He’s a nerd. Obsessed with architecture.”
&nbs
p; Jason turned back to the nerd-Marine.
“So you think it’ll be a good vantage point? I don’t want us to be surprised again.”
That was the most important thing. Jason had felt a little uneasy about being underground, but he had taken solace in the fact that the hideout was an official government shelter and should have provided top quality protection. He much preferred to be up high, where he could see if anyone approached.
“Anyone else got any suggestions?”
The group murmured amongst themselves, but the consensus was that they had nothing else to suggest.
“Right. We’ll head over to this building in Arlington then. Get your stuff together. Pack only what you can carry, and we’ll head out under the cover of darkness.”
With the Argons having superior night vision, Jason wasn’t sure that moving after dark would make much difference, but at least it should make the rest of the group feel a little more secure – even if it was only an illusion.
The Potomac River was going to cause a problem. Whichever route the group of survivors chose would entail crossing the river, and that brought with it additional risks. If they took the southernmost route, they would have to negotiate the Arlington Memorial Bridge. The northernmost route meant crossing the Francis Scott Key Bridge. The third alternative was to cross via the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge which meant crossing Theodore Roosevelt Island. Crossing a bridge meant there would be no cover once the group were on it. All three possible routes were more or less the same length – about four miles long, so it didn’t really make a difference which bridge they used, in terms of time, but the amount of time that they’d be on the bridge would be the deciding factor. Jason turned to the Marine who had suggested moving to 1812 North Moore.
“What’s your name, Marine?”
“US Marine Private Tyler Roberts, Sir. But you can call me Geek. Everybody else does. It’s kinda a friendly nickname. I like facts and figures.”
“Well, Geek. Which route do you think we should take?”