by Vossen, Doug
I don’t understand why people would pay so much for something that sucks, thought Jessica. I remember that one time mom’s old boyfriend brought me to a music festival at Sinatra Park. An older guy tossed bottles onto the stage, stopping the music, and then he threw up all over himself before the cops took him away. The whole time his pregnant girlfriend was yelling at the police until she got put in the car too. How could Ray have thought it was OK to bring me to that while he was watching me? I don’t like this place.
“So what is your shitty job?” said Trent, careful not to take his eyes off the road ahead.
Callie breathed a deep drag of her joint before tossing it onto the ground. “I’m a dancer.”
“Really? I love dancing! What kind of dancing do you do?” asked Jessica.
“Well Jessica, I do the kind you don’t want to get into.”
Who doesn’t want to dance? “Ummm, OK.” Jessica turned her attention back to the fractal presence over the city.
“Aaahhh, OK,” said Trent.
“Oh please, don’t make this weird. I do it for the money. It’s just a means to an end,” said Callie.
“No, not at all. I love strippers! I lost my virginity to a stripper in New Orleans when I was 19 years old!” Trent said, thinking how awkward he sounded.
“Oh Jesus, you’re one of those.”
“One of what? I’m not some creep!”
What are these guys talking about? Jessica wondered.
“No,” Trent continued, “what I meant was, I am the last person to judge a stripper. I mean, it’s not like I go around fucking strippers all the time. I was 19 and she wasn’t a hooker and I didn’t pay her,” said Trent.
“Alright, so, just the way you said ‘last person to judge a stripper’ makes me feel terrible. That and think about how you basically just equated being a stripper to being a prostitute. Come on man, look at the obvious. This is why you should be smoking this weed with me. Right now, emotionally, you’re like if you took a twelve year-old kid with Down syndrome and put him in an antique store with a lot of expensive shit, and then gave him a sledgehammer to play with. And you‘re doing all this thinking, nah, he won’t use his retard strength to break anything. He’ll just play quietly.”
“I’m really sorry Callie. You’re absolutely right. I didn’t mean any offense. I put my foot in my mouth all the time. I’m trying to be better at recognizing it nowadays, but I still fuck up a lot.”
“I know. I can tell you’re not a bad dude, but just think, man. Clearly, I’m not pleased with the way events transpired in my life. I’m just trying to make some quick money while I still have my looks, so I can move onto bigger and better things.”
Wow, she’s kind of smart, in a weird way. She’s really pretty too. Jessica was quickly taking a shine to Callie.
“I get it. Again, I’m really sorry,” said Trent.
The sky turned overcast in a matter of minutes. Prior to this, the weather had been some of the best any of the three had seen in autumn in a long time. Now, tumultuous clouds began expanding from the stationary phenomenon over the city. Each point of the storm looked as if it were the perfect spiral of hundreds of miniature galaxies, swirling in limitless patterns. None of it made any sense.
“Dude, shit’s getting weird now. I mean, it’s been odd, but what the fuck is all THAT?” said Callie.
I feel sick. It’s coming back. The red feeling is coming back. “Trent, I don’t feel good,” said Jessica in barely more than a whisper.
“I have no idea what that is,” said Trent. “I don’t think it’s anything we know of yet.”
“What the hell do you mean, man?” Callie asked.
“Well, I know we didn’t make it… There was this thing I saw in Braddock Park yesterday,” said Trent.
Callie looked extremely puzzled.
“Trent. Callie. I think I’m gonna throw up.” Jessica’s nausea began to overtake her.
“Jess, c’mon. Those MREs from earlier weren’t that bad,” joked Trent.
Oh my god, he doesn’t understand again. It’s coming back. Mommy, help me. “Guys, help. I can’t kee-,” Jessica stopped and threw up all over her shoes. She fell to her knees as dead weight, lacking any strength to brace her fall. She heaved again. Her high-pitched child’s cry was shrill enough to be heard over the gagging and spitting as her vomit hit the ground. Squeak, gag, splash – again and again. It was clear that Jessica was in immense pain.
“Oh, honey! Come here, baby. Come to Callie!” Callie mustered every ounce of maternal instinct she had as she ran to Jessica and pulled her long brown hair behind her head, clearing it from the path of vomit.
“Callie, I’m sorr-” Another bout of vomit emptied out onto the pavement, splattering across Jessica’s hands as well as Callie’s clothing and face. Callie, Trent, Mommy. Anyone. Please. I’m dying. Please help me. I don’t know what to think. Please god! Mommy said you were real that one time and that you help little girls when they ask for help! Why aren’t you helping me? Jessica had no strength left to keep herself upright. She fell forward onto her forearms, her forehead resting on the ground. She shivered and expelled the remaining contents of the morning’s meal.
“Holy shit, Callie. This is not good,” said Trent.
“THANKS DR. HUGHES, IS THAT YOUR PROFESSIONAL OPINION?”
“Callie seriously, we need to move. We need to haul ass. I already couldn’t save this fucking kid’s mom yesterday. I refuse to lose another one or you or anyone! Enough is e-fucking-nough!”
“Dude, wait. What happened to this kid’s mom?”
“Some tweakers tried to assault her on the Boulevard. One of them got her before I could get him.”
“Shit Trent, what do you mean GET him? What happened to the ‘tweakers’?” Callie said, putting “tweakers” in air quotes. She was not convinced. She placed her hand on the Beretta she had only shot once.
“Look, I need to get this girl medical attention. Fucking come with me or don’t!” Trent picked up Jessica and held her tight to his chest. Trent didn’t seem to care Callie was seriously considering the prospect of shooting him.
“Did you kill them?” asked Callie.
“Yeah, I did. Trust me, what the fuck do you think I am, some pedo trying to steal a kid during the end of everything? I just want to find my goddamn wife and not be responsible for anyone else dying today. Or for the rest of my life. Now, are you going to fucking shoot me or not? I am going to turn around and start walking. We are a little over half a mile out.”
Callie was silently analyzing Hughes.
“Look, Jessie is whimpering. She’s in pain. I am walking the rest of the way to JC with or without you, but I’m asking you to take a leap of faith here. I have never, nor will I ever, hurt this girl, you, or anyone else that isn’t trying to fuck our shit up.” Trent’s voice cracked; he began to tear up.
Callie was dumbfounded by this outburst of such unbridled emotion. If nothing else, she respected him for it.
Trent lowered his voice and composed himself. “Callie, I’m turning around now to get us to safety. I sincerely hope you follow and don’t shoot me in the back with that pistol you keep groping like it’s some scumbag’s hog at your club.”
“I’ll do you one better, dude. Let me carry her. I’ll keep an eye out behind us. You just keep that thing you got raised and pointed up, doing that scanning thing you’ve been doing for the last few hours.”
“Fuck you, bitch! You expect me to give you the kid AND my back?”
“Trust for trust, right?” said Callie. “Leap of faith?”
How come they can’t just be friends? The red is too scary! Mommy!
Callie and Trent were locked in their own version of a Mexican standoff. Neither would allow the other to win this battle of wills. Both were so emotionally damaged that they refused to be the first to fully confide in the other. It was a display of the horribly deteriorated state of society.
“Trent, please help me. You promised,” w
himpered Jessica as she cried into Trent’s shoulder.
“Fuck this. Callie, kill me if you want. I got shit to do. Offer still stands.” Trent turned around and began walking with the longest strides he could muster, carrying his gear, the child, and her small knapsack. He walked about one hundred meters toward Jersey City. His legs and lungs burned. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Hey dude, you made a new friend. If you ever call me a bitch again, I will fucking cut your dick off and shove it down your throat. Give me the girl and her backpack.”
Thank God. The red…
“Thanks, Callie. I’m sorry. Here, take her. Imagine you have my kid now. That’s how important her not dying is to me. I will fall apart if I make another one dead.”
“You got it, dude. Let’s roll,” said Callie.
JACK
Jack sat reclined onto the back two legs of a folding chair. He was inside a tent that had become the brigade intelligence shop. Shitty Panasonic Toughbooks he wouldn’t give to a four year-old rested atop folding tables crammed together to form makeshift workstations. There was no connectivity, meaning any information transmitted via the secure web based intelligence network (SIPR) was nonexistent. Local files included detailed maps of the New York metropolitan area, along with a slew of dossiers, targeting packages, and debriefs. Maps are always useful. The rest of it is crap. The other materials would have been extremely beneficial were this a conventional terrorist attack. Holy shit, I just called a terrorist attack conventional. At what point does something become normal? When will that thing above the city be normal to me?
A projector screen stood on the far side of the tent. Temporary lighting stands were constantly picked up and moved by people who needed to do work. The tent was a hive of activity. Everyone had a job and knew what to do. Jack stared intently at a soldier he had never met as he worked diligently connecting one of the laptops to the projector on a table a few feet back from the screen. That kid is a brand new private. He doesn’t look any older than 18. Jesus Christ. I remember when Williams died back in ’08. He was 17. His parents signed the paperwork. They must have been so proud the day he left. They can be proud of the kid’s intentions. They were pure. He was a good dude. Unfortunately, he bought into a line of bullshit fed to him by retarded politicians. That’s the deep south for you, I guess. Fuck, the kid saw me looking at him. Now I have to go over there.
Jack looked above the soldier’s right breast pocket for his name as he walked over to him. Over the years he’d become adept at stealing subtle glances at nametapes. Most people thought he just knew everyone. Either that or they were humoring him. “Private… Soss. How are you this afternoon?”
“Sir!” The soldier snapped to attention, locking eyes with Major Rugerman.
Ugh, this kid is just out of basic. I remember what that was like. He just wants to please everyone. “Relax, man. Chill. Keep doing what you’re doing. You’re doing fine. Where are you from, Private Soss?”
“Sir, I’m from Florida.”
“What part?”
“About 100 miles outside of Tallahassee, sir. Closer to Alabama.”
Of course you are. “Excellent. I know the area well. My friend got married there last year. It’s beautiful in the summer and the people are so nice. You must miss it very much.” Nope, never been to Tallahassee before. Never will.
“Roger, sir. I miss my girlfriend so much. We’ve been together for almost a year.”
“That’s awesome, Soss. Really, it is. Think of it this way - you’re here so she can stay safe.” Cue the verbal diarrhea. “I bet she’s really proud of you. You’re going to do great, man. Don’t hesitate to stop me if you have any questions. I’m the S2, Major Rugerman, in case you didn’t know.”
Master Sergeant Michael Martin, Jack’s second-in-command, stormed toward them. “Fucking Christ, Soss. I can’t leave you alone for two fucking minutes without your ass going off and talking to people you have no business talking to. Why the hell is a private talking to a major and not his team leader? I should grab you and Harrison and smoke the shit out of the both of you!” Martin was a large man, slightly out of shape, with thinning hair masked by a close-cropped military haircut.
“Sergeant Martin, a second please?” asked Jack.
“Sure sir, what’s up?”
Jack turned back to Soss. “Good meeting you, private. Keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t worry about Sergeant Martin here. He’s a giant softie. Did you know his favorite movie is ‘Love Actually’? He just loves anything with Hugh Grant in it. He celebrates his entire catalogue. And I just realized you were probably still shitting your pants when that came out, if you were alive at all. Anyway, Sergeant Martin, let’s walk and talk.”
Jack and Mike Martin were great friends. They understood each other’s roles and duty positions; they had been through a tour of duty overseas together. They always worked together, and they had come from the same battalion before landing their current jobs. 10th Mountain was pretty good at keeping people together like that. Many units seemed to separate people on principle, to give them a broader spectrum of experience, or to keep them from getting too familiar. When something worked, 10th Mountain believed in leaving it alone until it was time for the soldiers to move on with their separate careers. Even then, more often than not, they moved to another unit within 10th Mountain. Fort Drum, New York was a shithole; the temperature was below zero for most of the winter. But no one could deny the strength of the division’s track record. It was doing something right.
“New guy?” asked Jack.
“Yeah,” said Mike.
“Ours?”
“Yep.”
“Good dude?”
“Not sure yet. Think so.”
“Good,” said Jack.
The two knew each other almost too well. They didn’t have to speak much. Often, each knew what the other was about to say. They got together after work, on the weekends. Their families knew each other well. In fact, if it weren’t for their families supporting each other back home during Jack’s and Mike’s previous tour, it would have been a nightmare for both of them. Their wives hung out and talked and their kids played together. The families joked that Mike and Jack were the ones who were really married.
“OK man, here’s the deal,” said Jack.
“This should be good.”
“Here’s what we know. That thing above the city is somehow making people sick and causing some of them to die. You could see that driving down the New York Throughway from Fort Drum. As we got closer and closer to the city, we saw more and more crashed cars, dead bodies, and general disarray. It didn’t make much sense, but I’m taking a shot in the dark and saying it has something to do with that thing over the city.”
“Yeah, we saw the same thing on our chalk coming down here. We got out a few times to piss and stretch our legs. I walked up to one of the cars that crashed into a guardrail and what the fuck, man.”
“Red eyes and fucked up skin?” asked Jack. “Pale as shit with those rashes?”
“Sir, it was insane. It wasn’t just one of them either. I looked around a little more before mounting up again. It’s everyone, kids too. Fucking kids, man.” Martin sounded exasperated.
“I know.”
“So what do we do? Have you met anyone with these symptoms who hasn’t died yet?”
“Not yet. But listen, there’s more,” said Jack, apprehension creeping into his voice.
“By all means, enlighten me.”
“Remember that thing I told you I did in Afghanistan a few years back when I was a battalion S2?”
“Yeah. With your friend the doctor, right?”
“Yeah. Well, the experience I had there and then again in the jungles of Peru took me to the same place over and over. Every time I saw things that looked pretty damn similar to the thing hovering over the city. I saw different types that were different colors. Each one had a distinct emotional feeling associated with it,” said Jack, hoping he didn’t so
und too ridiculous.
“OK.” Mike looked predictably skeptical.
“Shit, you don’t believe me even a little.”
“Sir, it’s not that I don’t believe you. I believe that YOU believe what you saw was the same as this thing. But how the hell do we really know? Objectively, it all sounds a little flimsy. I mean, think about what you would have thought if someone came to you describing that experience from Afghanistan to you before you knew what it was,” said Mike.
“Fair enough. But I know I’m right, Mike. We need to get some ISR (Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance) up in the air. I want to take a closer look. And I sure as hell know the colonel’s going to want a look when he gets back from that leader’s recon. See what we can get up in the air in the next hour. I don’t care if it’s fucking Harrison with a Raven.” I wish I could sit his ass down and make him smoke four pulls of DMT right here in this S2 shop. It would take fifteen minutes. I wouldn’t have to explain anything to him. Ravens were small, unmanned aerial vehicles at the lowest level of the military’s organizational structure. They were not the most high tech - they were more like model airplanes than anything resembling a reconnaissance asset - but they could be deployed very quickly.
“You got it, sir.” Sergeant Martin started moving. “Harrison! Where the fuck are ya?” He disappeared out of the tent.
Just as Martin was leaving, a group of four men walked into the S2 shop. They were dressed in uniforms that were unmarked except for call sign abbreviations - two letters and one number - on their right shoulder, on pockets canted down and slightly forward to facilitate easy access. They all wore combat gear that looked newer and better than anything Jack had ever touched in the 10th Mountain Division. He could tell that their M4s were not the standard Colt Firearms version; they were newer and more efficient, easier to clean, harder to jam, piston-operated and supplied by outside manufacturers, such as Heckler & Koch. Jack overheard one of them just outside the tent.