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Rise Once More

Page 5

by D. Henbane


  CHAPTER SIX

  Prepare For War

  “Is this really necessary?” Eve questions Alex, as she drops a loaded magazine into the duffle bag.

  “Allzeit bereit” Alex says.

  “Cut the crap, you know I don't speak German.”

  “Always prepared...” Alex says.

  “This isn't world war three, we are going to save my mom, and all of these guns won't help.” Eve tries to hide her nervousness, but this was Alex's plan all along. Eve stares at Alex, attempting to read his intentions, but couldn't find any sign of emotion. What else should she expect, from a man who has spent his entire adult life killing?

  “Ignorance... Another reason I fell in love.” Alex says.

  “Ignorant? You're an asshole. I will take my ignorance, over your apathy, any day.” Eve says.

  “What makes you think that peace is even a solution? It never happens; mankind has been at war for over 8,000 years. There is no peace, humans can't live without war, they crave bloodshed.” Alex says.

  “People can live without war, fear, death, or crime. Pure love will resolve any conflict.” Eve says.

  Alex reaches around his neck, removes his necklace, and places the golden locket into Eve's hands. “What do you know of love?” Eve recognizes it immediately, it was his grandmothers, she opens the antique locket to reveal a prom picture of the two of them.

  “We were kids.” Eve says.

  “Well, you loved me once, and I have never stopped.” Alex says.

  “High school crushes, they rarely last, and we're adults now.” Eve says.

  “You sent me a Dear John letter, while I was deployed; didn't I at least deserve an in person let down?” Alex says.

  Eve looks down at her hands, knowing in the back of her mind, that she chose the easy way out. “I screwed up. I know that now, I was a mess, and I didn't think you would come home.”

  “Thanks for having faith in me.” Alex says.

  “Why are you being so open about your feelings? You never said any of this before. This isn't like you at all Alex.” Eve questions.

  “This time is different.” Alex says.

  “Different? What do you mean different? You could have talked to me before, but the mission was always your focus, or the gun range with Amos. You say I am important to you, and that you have always loved me. Why didn't you make time for me? If this is your idea of love, it's a funny way of showing it.” Eve says.

  Alex sets aside his weapons of choice, and focuses on Eves face. Her rebellious hippy mind set had always drawn him in. A welcomed storm of spontaneity and disorder. The polar opposite of his rigid and structured life. A part of him craved her fun loving view of life, but the anchor of duty always held him back. This time it is going to be different. “Trust me Eve, I can prove to you I have changed.”

  Eve reaches out and lays her hand upon his hand. She slowly prods each finger from the grip of the duffle bags handles; one finger, then two, three, and finally the last. “No more guns...” she whispers into his ear.

  “Everything is ready to go.” Reese says as he opens the door. Eve is startled, and withdraws from Alex's side. She does her best to avoid eye contact with Reese, but he can see her flushed face.

  “When do we leave?” Alex says.

  “Chopper is on the tarmac, leave when you feel you are ready.” Alex grabs Eve's hand and heads for the door. “Aren't you forgetting something?” Reese points to Alex's bag full of guns and ammo. Alex starts to lean forward, but retreats back after two steps. He turns back to face the door, hesitates for a moment, and looks over his shoulder at his father.

  “I don't need them this time.” Alex says.

  “A bold move son, I hope you're right.” Reese says.

  “I have enough blood on my hands, I had plenty of time to wash it off and I don't want to create more.” Alex picks up the remaining bags of supplies, throws them over his shoulder, and leads Eve out of the room. The door closes behind them, the tick of the latch echoing in the stagnant air.

  “I'm proud of you.” Eve stares into Alex's eyes, the fire in her eyes pierces into his soul, and he is reminded why he came back. It wasn't for his father, his mother, or even to save anyone. It was for her, to gaze into her eyes, and feel what it was like to be alive again.

  “We better get moving; if we are gonna catch that bird. It's a long flight, and the day is slipping away. You got everything you need?” Alex says.

  “I just need my necklace...” Eve reaches around her neck, and realizes that it is gone. She pauses with her hand near her collar bone. Mummified, as her mind replays memories of Haus, the night she gave him the necklace burns into her retinas.

  “The one your mom gave you? Where is it? We got time, let's go get it.” Alex says.

  “No it's fine, I lost it.” Eve says.

  “You lost it? That necklace meant everything to you, how can you just lose something so valuable?” Alex says.

  “I didn't lose it that long ago, I am just so used to having it, that I forgot what it was like, not to wear it. It is in the past, and I am ready to go.” Eve says.

  “Well, we are off, time to get to the bird.” Alex says. The two walk down the hallway, soon they pass Haus's room, and Eve is overcome with emotion. Eve bursts into tears, whimpering as she slowly moves away from his room. “Are you going to be ok?”

  “I'm fine. I just need to say goodbye.” Eve says.

  “Say goodbye to whom?” Eve panics, she couldn't possibly tell Alex about Haus. The times they spent together, or the fledgling romance they once held. Eve justifies her feelings in her mind, the past is gone now, and Haus is only a memory.

  “Rednek.” Eve says.

  “Fair enough, I haven't seen him since I got here. Is he still cooking that god forsaken gumbo?” Alex says.

  “With a passion, he thinks we actually like it...” Eve replies.

  ***

  “Omegawak, returned from the mission, and I have a bit a problem on my hands.” Reese says.

  “So that is what brings you here.” Olaf Sly says with a chuckle. His long platinum blonde hair forms small wave like curls around his face. His large nose, pitted cheeks, and wrinkles remind Reese of a man he met that was working on a fishing boat. “So what does your little problem have to do with me, and my freaks?”

  “You are in charge of the Xwing now, and I don't have the resources to deal with it.” Reese says, a grimace crosses his face, and he grinds his teeth. There was once a time, when Reese could have handled anything, then came the politics, followed up by special favors.

  Not long ago, Reese controlled it all, but that was the good old days. He had devoted himself to his country, sacrificed everything he could, and was rewarded the position for outstanding service. Things have changed; it started out small, a contractor here, an expert there. Soon the whole place was being over-run by the private sector.

  Politicians were more than happy to give it up. No longer did they have to hide the funding in obscure bills, but they could also reward the corporations that gave them massive campaign contributions. They also lined their own pockets, and awarded lavish contracts to family, friends, and anyone that could boost their own investments.

  Reese tried to keep things in check, but he was powerless to the never ending onslaught of vouchers, tax exempt status, and the multitudes of paper work. The culmination of his life's hard work, sacrifice, can now be bought, and even traded as a commodity for those privileged enough to know about it.

  Olaf was the new face of clandestine warfare. A true company man, molded to specification, with no other interest than the bottom line. A moral compass exchanged for profit margins and ROI yields. A sense of duty, cast aside for standard operating procedures.

  “There was once a time, when real men, were given your position. Real men, don't envy power, money, or self gratification.” Reese says.

  “Reese, you still cling to the idea of chivalry. I can admire that, but you ignore the real truth of the w
orld. Money. Money controls the world; money makes the factories produce, money makes the workers work. You can't hold it against me, I know how to manage money, and that is why I took over Xwing. With some tweaks it was able to turn a rather nice profit.” Olaf says.

  “You still don't get it, and maybe you never will. Until the day your pansy ass has no choice but to point a loaded weapon to someone's skull, and demand some answers, will you ever understand, and even then I'm sure you will try to find a way to make a quick buck. I don't deal with money, I deal with souls, and the more souls I can protect, the better I feel about the ones I had to take.” Reese says.

  “So what happened?” Sly asks.

  “I sent the boys into a biological hot zone, for a recovery mission, and there was an unforeseen event. They are in isolation at the moment. I need you to send in a crew to scrub 'em clean.” Reese says.

  “That was a foolish mistake Reese. I don't know what you thought was worth exposing your men to pathogens, but lack of planning on your part...” Reese interrupts Olaf mid-sentence with a right hook to his chin. Olaf falls backwards onto the floor of his office, clutching his jaw in his hands.

  “I didn't ask for your opinion Sly, I am still your boss, and you will follow orders.” Reese barks loudly, as he leans in over Olaf's swelling face. Reese's eyes set ablaze with fiery determination, meet with Olaf's and he realizes he has crossed a well drawn line in the sand.

  “The board will hear about this, and I am sure the chairman will not be pleased.” Olaf says.

  “I don't answer to the suits, you spineless pussy, and don't spell my name wrong on the investigation form.” Reese speaks menacingly into Olaf's face, clinching his teeth, while small spatters of saliva fly out. Reese storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  ***

  “Isolation. Been a while since we had to do this eh boys?” Roger says, his anxious gaze scanning the tile floor, as he walks over to the double containment door. Peering out, he stares at the tarmac, and yearns for the thrill of battle. Bio-hazard missions always made him nervous, too easy to catch a little bug, and end a lucrative career early.

  “Boring as fuck if you ask me.” Stan replies.

  “Easy bro, it's all standard protocol. Everything is gonna be fine. Let 'em send in the banana suits to scrub us down. We know you like watching the soap suds running down the crack of my ass.” Jerry says jokingly.

  “Would it be too fucking much to ask for a water fountain.” Stan says, as he paces around the room. Stan stares up at the small camera imbedded in the wall. “Edith! You hear me? Get us some damn water!”

  “Stan, take a freaking chill pill, no sense in getting worked up over nothing. Just relax dammit.” Roger says.

  “Fuck you Roger! I don't need to calm down, it's you guys that need to chill. We are getting treated like shit, and you're okay with it.” Stan draws his bowie knife from his leg, and points it at Roger. “You got a problem with me bro?”

  “Be careful what you wish for Stan. That is insubordination.” Roger says.

  “Mutiny in my books.” Frank says, as he positions himself between the two of them. Jerry cautiously circles around behind Stan. Stan looks back at him, and then thrusts his focus back on Roger, his knife held tightly in his hand.

  “So this is what it comes down too. I thought you guys were with me. Chicken shit is what you are! Yellow bellied cowards. Every damn last one of you. As god as my witness, I will save your souls from this demon.” Stan says.

  “You're bleeding soldier.” Reese's voice sounds over the intercom.

  “Doesn't amount to shit sir! A minor flesh wound, nothing to be concerned about.” Stan says, as tranquilizer darts pierce his flesh, rendering him unconscious.

  Reese turns facing Olaf, still nursing his swollen jaw, while standing outside the containment room. “These are my men, your are to save as many of them as possible. They are not part of your freaks. They are good men, do you understand me?”

  “Yes sir. I will take good care of them.” Olaf says.

  Reese pushes the intercom button once again. “Roger. It ain't over till my mother-in-law sings. You boys will be just fine, hang in there a little longer.” Roger turns about-face, thrusts a salute towards Reese, and tosses him a wink.

  ***

  “Chairman Dale Hayden please. Yes, I can hold, thank you.” Olaf rocks back in his deluxe office chair, lifting his feet up on his designer desk. He finds the phone agitates the pain in his lower jaw and opts to place the call on speaker phone. He returns to his relaxed position, confident that has the evidence he needs to gain the upper hand on Reese.

  “This is Hayden.”

  “Excuse the interruption sir. I called to report an incident that requires your attention. I was assaulted by the director, and I was uncomfortable reporting it to the HR open door hotline, due to his position of authority.” Olaf says.

  “Unfortunate. What do you want me to do about it?” Dale says.

  “Reese is a liability, and doesn't see the big picture. He sent a unit into a known hot zone, and I discovered something else. This makes our current project look like a waste of time. I am talking creating a more devastating weapon than even our nano-chemical technology.” Olaf says.

  “You've got my attention...” Dale says.

  “There is even a chance that we could merge the two projects. We can take the modified organisms from the Chimera project, turn them into a double threat and really spice things up on the battlefield. Just imagine a small harmless puppy, placed at the edge of a field, found by an enemy combatant; its coat of fur secreting Ricin toxin and its saliva packing a pathogen, more devastating than the bubonic plague.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bad Hangover

  The light of the midday sun damn near blinds me as I step outside the vent shaft, free at last from my earthen prison. My vision is blurry, my head is pounding, and I struggle to stand up straight. I literally feel like I stepped out into the desert after a three day bender with the fine girls of the bunny ranch.

  I look down at my tattered clothes, and realize that I make a Chicago bum look well-dressed. We do share something in common, both of us are drenched in urine, and of course, rat shit. My surroundings don't fare much better. Several bodies lay strewn about the ground, and spent brass casings litter the ground.

  What the hell happened here? The once familiar surroundings of the base, completely leveled, an alien landscape of multicolored craters. Fallen trees, scorched earth, and misplaced boulders have replaced the tranquil mountain side. “Trixie...” I mutter, as I begin my trek towards known civilization.

  I need to find food, water, and some form of shelter. There's nothing like a sweltering summer day to remind you, just how much you love central air. There is only one person who can help me right now, the good father Randy Mcfeely. Luckily, his house is only a few miles from here.

  It feels like an eternity has passed when I finally reach his door step, I prop myself up against the siding, and press the buzzer. The sound of dogs barking only makes my head pound even worse. It amazes me the man can hear anything at all. How can one person have so many damn dogs?

  The door slowly opens, and I fall to the ground, my strength has sold me out to the cheapest bidder. The last thing I can remember seeing, were the father's bare feet rushing towards me. Thankfully, death submitted a high bid, and unconsciousness threw out a low ball offer.

  Tonight's top story is again focusing on the man hunt for terrorist Trixie Evans, who is believed to have been the person responsible for the bombing at the former Homestake mine. The aftershocks of the event have left many local residents to question how this could have happened in their hometown. The governor has issued a statement, urging residents to remain on alert for any suspicious activity, and to report anything unusual to local authorities. Sheriff Dan Myles, has stated that he does not believe Trixie is still in the area, but advises residents to be on the look out.

  “That is a crock of crap.
” I say, lifting my head up, blinking my aching eyes.

  “You're awake! How are you feeling my son?” Mcfeely says.

  “Like death warmed over, but that news story is steamy pile of bullshit.”

  “The terrorist attack?” Mcfeely asks.

  “There was no terrorist. It was the military, trying to cover their own asses, and I can prove it.” I say.

  “I think you are suffering from a concussion son.” Mcfeely says.

  “I need water father...”

  “Absolutely, try not to move, and for the love of our heavenly father, please lay back down.” Mcfeely says. I can hear his footsteps walking away from me, each step growing more distant. I force myself back onto the pillow, and take a half-hearted look around the room. I am laying on a couch, in what I assume is the fathers living room. The walls are adorned with framed pictures, one picture is much larger than the rest, and features a much younger father smiling with the Pope.

  “We need to get you to a hospital.” Mcfeely says.

  “NO! No hospitals father. I am better off in the desert than at any hospital. I would be dead within a few hours of being admitted.” I say.

  “Are you running from someone?” Mcfeely asks.

  “Not exactly running... Let's just say I don't want the wrong people to know I'm alive.” I say.

  “I don't like this at all. I knew it! Drugs! You're tangled up in those damn drugs, and you want me to help you. I will not stand by and allow any god less thugs desecrate my home!” Mcfeely says.

  “RELAX! I am not on drugs. I am not involved in any drug activity, but let's just say I don't exist...OK?” I say.

  “Then you had better tell me what is going on, otherwise, I'm calling the sheriff.” Mcfeely says.

  “Ok, you want me to tell you the truth?” I can't tell him the truth. He would never believe it, but what choice do I have? I don't have anywhere else to go, no means to support myself, or any way to make contact with someone who could help me. I continue to stare into the father's eyes, hoping for him to give up the interrogation.

 

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