The Missionary scrambled to escape and ordered, "Purify him! Purify him with your blades!"
Both monks unsheathed their swords and descended on the young boy who greeted their approach with a devilish smile. As they raised their weapons for the kill, a pair of thin black poles, or maybe they were legs, unstuck from the top of the machine and seemingly stepped down, skewering the monks.
The Missionary placed his remaining hand against his temple and cried, "I am infected! Get out of my mind! Get your poison out of my mind!" Gannon saw a patch of the Missionary's head turn gray as he hurried toward a side hall shouting "Defenses!"
Those defenses came to life. A woeful alarm that sounded similar to a dentist's patient howling through a mouth of cotton reverberated through the base but it could not match the shaking and roaring machine in volume.
High up a section of wall bulged and then stretched into the form of a barrel.
JB glanced toward the weapon. A rash of gray patches grew on the barrel.
JB looked to Gannon as the human turncoat staggered side to side like a mouse caught in an open field below the shadow of a hawk.
The gun barrel curled and straightened, literally spitting bullets. The rounds slammed into Gannon one after another, tearing apart his body into chunks of flesh. The one-time actor turned quisling disintegrated into a pile of steaming garbage.
More monks tried to enter the chamber from side corridors. The gun swiveled and fired, killing several and forcing others to retreat.
JB jumped from the platform and approached his father. As he did, the fibrous bands over Trevor's eyes withered and withdrew as did his bonds.
"Father! Father! Can you hear me?"
No response.
The machine grew unstable. Something popped; another something hissed. What remained of the working appendages at its top snapped apart spewing debris.
"Father! Wake up! I can't control it much longer! It's going to come apart!"
He grabbed Trevor's head with both of his tiny hands and shook. Gray splotches popped up on the machine walls as if a disease like chicken pox infected Voggoth's contraption.
Trevor's eyes opened then shut.
"It's me, Jorge! Your son! We have to go!"
The gun fired again, blasting to pieces a spider sentry as it marched into the room. Gooey alien innards mixed with the remains of Brad Gannon.
Trevor tried to open his eyes again; then again. His hands flexed then fidgeted as unused nerves and muscles struggled to reactivate.
"Please, father! Please…"
Finally his eyes stayed open, but they were not the eyes of JB's father. They were not the eyes of the Emperor. They were the eyes of a madman, driven beyond the edge of sanity by the machine that had amplified all his guilt and fear and shame and turned hours of torment into weeks; days into years.
The body of Trevor Stone rolled off the platform as some combination of mental impulses caused a physical reaction. He fell to the ground with a heavy thump. A forlorn groan—a beast's groan—slipped from his lips.
As small as he was in comparison to his dad, the determined son grabbed his father's arm with both hands and tried to drag him.
"We have to go! We have to get out of here! Please, oh please…"
The splotches covering the great machine spread as the infection multiplied and advanced. Patches of gray formed on the walls of the chamber which splintered like drying skin creating lacerations spilling vile liquids and jells.
The basic instincts that remained in Trevor Stone allowed him to blindly react to the boy’s shouts. He tried to stand but fell, and then crawled on all fours like a wild animal; then he stood again but took only two steps before stumbling once more.
Jorge pulled and tugged, willing his dad from the room in steps, crawls, and staggers. As they moved, the walls of the complex cracked and trembled as the contamination spread.
Others came to stop the father and son, but the defenses of the base belonged to the boy. Gun emplacements, binding tentacles, and all the machines inside Voggoth's lair turned against The Order, controlled by a child.
25. Lines of Battle
After several days of cloud cover, the sun finally broke through to kick off a hot and humid North Carolina Saturday. As the temperatures rose and the air turned sticky, Nina walked on wet ground through a small patch of woods to the north of Causeway Drive. There she came upon the damaged Eagle transport hidden among the overgrowth and drooping branches. Hauser—after regaining his senses—had done an excellent job in wedging the ship into cover.
They had been living at Jim Brock's since Thursday and Nina felt pinned down. She worried about moving in fear of exposing themselves, but also feared that one of Brock’s friends would eventually turn them in.
"What's our status?"
Hauser knelt just inside the open door of the transport, Nina stood on the ground below.
"We're good," the pilot with the burn mark on his forehead answered. "There are a couple of accessory systems that are still out but nothing important. The rest is just cosmetic. We can get going any time we want."
"Going? I guess," she answered. "But I think we're out of places to go."
Jim Brock caught the end of the conversation as he approached the hidden transport with a brown bag in hand and a frown on his face.
He said, "You've got to get going. And soon, too."
Nina sighed and apologized for the one-hundredth time, "Listen, I'm sorry we just dropped in on you like this."
"I know. I'll bet it was just about the last thing you wanted to do," he handed the bag to Hauser and explained, "Breakfast."
"Hey, thanks man."
While Hauser accepted the gift, Brock and Nina walked around the nose cone of the silent ship. A large frog hopped off while a song bird of some type crooned in celebration of the new day.
Nina started, "Your wife probably isn't too thrilled about us being here, I'll bet."
"She's not. But you've got to get moving for more than that. Your friend is in bad shape."
Nina ran a hand over her forehead to wipe away moisture forming there.
As a favor to Jim, one of the local doctors made house calls to treat Gordon and actually engaged in what might qualify as low-level surgery.
She asked, "What's the doc say today?"
"He said there's nothing more he can do. The bullet is lodged in his spine. There might be some internal bleeding and there's probably an infection because he's been running a fever and drifting in and out of consciousness since he's been here. Mrs. Stone says he's barely spoken more than a few words and most of them haven't made sense. Point is he needs real medical attention. You should get him to the hospital in Raleigh or he is going to die."
Nina snapped, "And if I take him to the hospital in Raleigh Internal Security will pick him up and he'll die anyway. Damn it."
"You have to do something."
"I know. I thought maybe you could have helped me get in touch with Shep."
Jim said, "But he got arrested," referring to the headline 'TOP RANKING GENERAL ARRESTED IN COUP PLOT’ from yesterday’s paper.
"So I don't know where else to turn."
Brock leaned against a tree and said, "But you came to me. You trusted me, even though you know I’d support the new President and what he stands for. Why?"
Nina scratched the back of her neck and answered, "Listen, we don't agree on a lot of things. I know most of the people around here never liked Trevor or what he did. But I also know you people aren't traitors. I mean, I guess I just figured you wouldn't turn us in."
"I'm flattered. It's also good to see you again, regardless of why. You really haven't kept in touch much these last few years."
Nina said, "What do you mean? Denise has been down here to visit you a bunch of times and the two of you are always talking on the phone. Well, when the connection holds up."
"Denise, sure, but you and I don’t talk much. Whenever I’d catch you at home you’d hand the phone to her lik
e it was a hot potato."
Nina furled her brow and confessed, "Well look, every time we talked it always seemed to get down to how Trevor was doing this wrong or the war should be over or whatever. I kind of got sick of being preached to."
He chuckled and mocked, "Me? Preach? I guess so. That's the teacher in me always trying to lecture. Sorry about that. But you still trusted me."
"Like I said, I knew you'd do the right thing. I know that no matter what you think about Trevor or Godfrey, you want what's best for us. I guess I think you're just about wrong about everything but you've still got a good heart."
"Thanks. I think. But don't trust me too much. Or rather, sooner or later the doc is going to talk or someone else is going to figure out what's going on and who my strange house guests are. Sooner or later Internal Security is going to get a tip. I'm saying--"
"You're saying we can't stay here forever, even if it weren't for Gordon. Look, I get it. I'm just not sure where to turn. I don't know who else to trust."
"Like I told you when we first met, everybody needs someone. Even the strong."
"Problem is my people are either locked up or on the run."
"Even Denise? Are you worried about her?"
"Yes I am," Nina nodded.
"Wait a second," Brock hit upon an idea. "Denise. That's it. I know someone else who thinks pretty highly of you. Someone well connected. I bet you can trust her."
"Who's that?"
"I helped you adopt Denise, but so did someone else. Someone who made the final decision. And if I remember right, she might be in a position to help. It's worth a chance."
"Listen, I don't like to take chances."
"Nina, sometimes in life you have to take chances on people. You took one by coming here. You trusted me. Now you have to trust someone else, or Knox is going to die and sooner or later the people chasing you are going to catch you."
"And what about that, Jim? If everything I've found out is true, it could mean the end of President Godfrey and maybe even the return of Trevor Stone. Would you like that? Are you willing to be an accomplice to that?"
"Well I might not get invited to the good parties down here anymore."
Her stare would not allow him to blow off the question.
He answered honestly, "If what you told me is true, then Godfrey has gone against everything he's stood for since I started listening to him. If it's true, then he's worse than Trevor Stone ever was. So yeah, I'll help. As much as I can. Besides, I don't think I could say no to you.
"So then," she asked. "Who is this person I'm supposed to trust?"
---
The sound of the phone ringing startled Lori Brewer from the trance-like state she had fallen into while reviewing file after file of adoption records. What had once been a small part of her job as Administrator had become the focus of her entire existence since the change in governments morphed her position into Regional Director of Adoption and Child Placement.
The phone rang again. She eyed it suspiciously, worried her mind played tricks.
She cautiously lifted the receiver. "Hi, um, hello, this is Lori Brewer."
"Mrs. Brewer, you have to listen to me. There isn't much time and I'm sure your phone is bugged."
Much to the caller's surprise, Lori recognized the voice immediately. "Nina?"
The familiar use of her first name by Mrs. Brewer caught Captain Forest off-guard, but she had no time to get side tracked.
"Yes. There isn't much time. Ashley Stone asked me to get involved. Listen, I need your help. That is, I need your husband's help, especially. Do you remember that you helped me adopt my daughter?"
"Yes. Yes I do."
"Do you remember who I adopted her from?"
Mrs. Brewer stumbled then answered, "I might. Either way I've got the records here…somewhere." She thought of the archives piled in the garage.
The caller warned, "You have to know what's going on. I mean, things aren't the way the news is covering them. I've got nowhere left to turn."
"Alrighty then. Tell me what you need."
"First, there are a few things you have to know; that your husband has to know, about Trevor, about his son, about who is really behind all this. But they'll be coming for you soon. There isn't much time."
"Then talk fast," Lori said. "I’m a good listener."
---
Jon glanced over the report again. The two divisions President Godfrey had ordered de-mobilized had been broken into smaller units and sent to their home bases. Their heavy weapons were secured in armories while most small arms went home with the individuals.
Having been a soldier for much of his life both before and after Armageddon, Jon Brewer empathized with the boys and girls leaving the fight. They were with their families again, would find real jobs, and get to watch their children grow.
Yet overshadowing his joy for the retiring warriors came a feeling of unease. Despite how strong the nation remained he could not help but worry that those two divisions made the difference between a quick response capability and forces spread too thin.
The dreadnoughts, of course, remained his ace in the hole. But they were limited in patrol areas and focused on the east coast for the time being, with his flagship undergoing repair and re-armament across state at the Pittsburgh shipyards.
His thoughts shattered as the door to the upstairs office burst open and his wife stormed in. The two dogs at the entrance jumped but relaxed when they saw a familiar face. However, Jon did not relax. He saw a fire burning in his wife's eyes and determination in her stride.
He stood. Lori spoke.
"You have to make a choice now, Jon. No more waiting."
"What? What are you talking about?"
Lori glared at her husband and said, "I just got off the phone with Nina Forest."
"Nina? Where is she?"
"You didn't do anything when Evan started tearing apart everything Trevor worked for. You took your orders like a good robot when they demoted you to a paper weight. You've put up with Dante Jones keeping you in the dark for weeks now and yesterday when you heard Shep was arrested you made a phone call. A god damn phone call! That's not the Jon Brewer I married. He could be an arrogant ass sometimes and a real stubborn pig head, too. But he didn't sit back and let things just happen. He made things happen, right or wrong. Is that man still in there? Can you stop being afraid of screwing up and do what you know needs to be done?"
"Whoa, hey, what did Nina say? Where is she?"
"Here it is in a nutshell, Jon. Dante Jones made a deal with the devil, I.S. tried to kill Gordon Knox but he's still alive, and a couple of days ago your President handed Trevor's son over to the Witiko; and they're just the front men for something worse."
Jon's face turned red, he blinked fast, and he ran a hand over his crew cut.
"How do you now this? Where's the evidence?"
"The evidence is Nina Forest. You remember her, right? Back when it was just a handful of us, we could trust her to guard our backs. She was our friend. You wanna know something? I believe her. I trust her a lot more than I trust Godfrey or Jones or any of those sonofabitches who've pissed away everything. But it doesn't matter what I think. It matters what you think."
"Wow, wait, slow down…"
Lori did not slow down. "You need to do something and you need to do it now because in a few minutes I’m guessing Internal Security is going to come looking for us and suddenly we'll be part of this phantom conspiracy."
"Jesus Christ. This is out of control!"
"That's right. Now you need to take control. Can you do it, Jon? Can you?"
His eyes wavered. His fingers drummed the desk and he muttered, "I've tried to do what I thought Trevor would want me to do; to keep it all going. The last time he left, we almost started fighting each other. I couldn't let that happen again."
"You're a good man, Jon, but you screwed up."
"I screwed it up last time, too, by not compromising. This time I bargain, and I fuck that up,
too. I'm not made out for this. I'm not a leader."
She warned, "Stop thinking too much. I hate to say it my husband, but that's not who you are. You do things. You're not a politician. You don't sit around wondering about every little detail. You're a soldier and you have a mission, now. Our friends are in trouble, our country is being run by a traitor, and if you don't take things by the balls we may never have a chance to fix it. So what is it going to be? Are you going to fight, or are you going to run away again?"
His mouth hung open for a moment as she tore open the old wound of his cowardice. The wound he had worked to heal every day since Trevor Stone had brought him to the estate.
The pain of that hurt—of that shame—stung. His heart beat fast. In a flash he saw Trevor taking him to track Devilbats in what was more a test of Jon's courage and trustworthiness than it was a hunt. He saw the Wyoming Valley Mall exploding in a massive fireball with an army of crazy mechanical Roachbots inside. He remembered leading an expedition to the Arctic Circle to capture the runes.
He could not have done any of that had Trevor Stone not trusted him; had his friend not re-energized Jon with spirit and confidence. And when the time had come for Jon to play caretaker of Trevor's dream he faltered and handed it over to Trevor's greatest adversary, all because he had been afraid to lead; afraid to fail.
Jon slammed a fist into the desktop. The pain felt good. It felt real.
The General of Trevor Stone's armies commanded, "Get our daughter over here. Our transport leaves in five minutes."
"What are you going to do?"
"What I should have done a long time ago."
---
In 1992 the one billion dollar Pittsburgh International Airport went on-line and became one of the most important hubs east of the Mississippi. In its wake remained the old Greater Pittsburgh airport. Allegheny County tore down the main terminal building there to make way for an air cargo center and business park. Nonetheless, neglected tarmac cracked to make way for weeds, chain link fences rusted and parking lots became black-topped wastelands, and all that happened before the end of the world.
Beyond Armageddon IV: Schism Page 40