by Byrd, Daniel
“It is rare that we get to stand together like this,” Rhyzov wheezed, “and I would like to know what Hamilton’s decision will be.”
Hamilton flicked the butt to the ground and played with the phone in his left hand. “You three have interesting ideas for how the world should be. Most people with differing ideologies such as you wouldn't be able to stand one another.”
“This is a flawed world, Hamilton,” Sam said to him, “and I want to fix that.”
“Is killing everyone the answer?”
“I told you, I'm not killing everyone. There has to be someone left, and from there we will start again.” He finished his cigarette and actually kept the butt between his fingers. “We've ruined this world. Species are disappearing at an alarming rate, and the next mass extinction is only so far ahead of us.”
“So you're an environmentalist?” Hamilton mocked. Sam shook his head.
“I'm a man who is tired of seeing mankind tear itself apart. That's where Tuefel and I disagreed; stopping war by instilling fear isn't the answer. Starting over is the only alternative we have left. I'm just speeding up the process that will soon eradicate us all in the future. That’s why I want to be rid of the people of this world, Hamilton. Consider what I'm saying! The imprisoned are either made worse by flawed judicial systems or don't want to change to begin with! Reform!?” He laughed. “Even in the U.S. we only jailed rapists and murderers! We expect people to just find the wrong in their actions, but that isn't ever a guarantee! We all innately have the ability to be evil, and that includes us! Then there are the revolutionary ideas of the new generations all over the world! Many want change, and many don't want it forced down their throats! People can't agree, Hamilton! We're in a stalemate of progression because new ideas threaten the old, and old ideas are being pushed out at the expense of tradition! Even our own country was becoming sensitive to itself! New generations challenged older memes, and division occurred on a cultural level!”
“Like the ‘60s Spider-Man one?” Hamilton inquired. “I love that one. It's always sarcastic.”
“Not those memes, Hamilton. The genetic code of a society. The media has been running rampant with their focus on murder and politics, and plastering senseless propaganda on the screens of the masses! They feed on the cruelty of the world, and it only proves entertaining to everyone! Don’t even get me started on the carbon footprint. Nature can repair itself if people aren’t here to push it beyond the limit.”
Hamilton was busy motioning for another cigarette, and Sam obliged with a sigh. Hamilton lit it up before responding. “By that logic you should just be targeting news networks. That, or you're just blaming society for the actions of evil individuals.”
“Everyone is a target, Hamilton,” Sam insisted. “You’re focusing on only some of my words. The reasoning for all of this is simple enough; people create conflict, and they’re dooming us all in the process. If we cut out the majority of them, then there will only be so many of us left to have to keep in check. The world is full of evil. Assad in Syria, Rahmon, Mugabe, Mswati, and Mbasogo, al-Bashir, North Korea, and even the U.S. are all good examples. You've seen it too, Hamilton, but here's the difference; I've traveled the world and seen these evils with my own eyes. We want to set it all back to the start.”
Hamilton nodded. The guy wasn’t entirely wrong. Evil never died in the world, but that was also the flaw in his plan. “And the undead?”
“They won’t be around forever. The bodies will give out eventually. Everything is a matter of time. The bacteria? We have plans to keep ourselves safe, and just in case, a final resort.”
Hamilton clung to those last words as Rhyzov hissed laughter. “Time heals and kills all. The only question, is how much time?”
“Wise words,” Lewis said, patting Rhyzov on the shoulder before he walked away from them. He called out over his shoulder on the way back to the tunnel. “Russian saying?”
“No,” Rhyzov replied weakly, “American, actually. Found it in a book.”
“Reminds me! Did you hear about the Germans, Rhyzov?” Lewis said from yards away. “They bombed an American hospital. Landstuhl. Americans sent planes to shoot them down. Whole mess over there. Guess your plan was effective after all. Sorry I doubted you.”
“Even when facing overwhelming odds, the world doesn't know how to work together,” Rhyzov commented. “This is why I wish to see all of it gone. Nations, governments, military forces. All of it needs to go to pave the way for one world.”
Hamilton listened, but couldn't say he completely agreed.
The World to Come, huh?
“What makes what you're doing now different from Tuefel?” Hamilton demanded.
“Tuefel didn't know what he was doing. He was just going to kill off everyone because he was sore.”
Hamilton didn't doubt him there. “And you?”
“I want people alive. I want to see this world prosper. The fewer criminals and ill-minded people there are, the better off we’ll all be. We aren't free anywhere, and people are taught to hate. Our world will be a better place, where all can live without the evils we've created throughout our history. Languages will die, along with borders and older cultural ideas.”
“And those who would harm others in your world?” Hamilton challenged.
“Will be executed without remorse. We're not tolerating any hatred. That is my vision.”
Hamilton nodded. “And how would someone like me fit into your vision?”
Sam considered that question, and gave it plenty of thought before he spoke again, “Well, what would you like to do, Hamilton?”
You’d like to kill everyone and just run this world yourself, right? Fuck these guys, and fuck Houseman and everyone else.
“I’d like to do what I want to do, and not have a gun at my head. I'd like to not be lied to, and I'd like to be free to pursue knowledge as I see fit.”
Rhyzov moved towards him with Ren cautiously following behind. Rhyzov gently pushed Ren’s arm away before stopping feet from Hamilton. “You are threatening to others, are you not?”
“Yeah, I'd guess that's what some people call me,” Hamilton said, grinning.
“You're crazy,” Sam said. Hamilton’s grin went away, and he met Sam’s gaze before he blew smoke into his face.
“Why yes, I've been called that too.”
“Watch your manners, punk,” Ren threatened, moving forward as his hand went for his sidearm.
“Relax, Ren,” Sam said as he wiped the smoke away from the air between them. “I'd say there's a place for you in our world.”
With a lab, I hope. Right?
“It is better than the world the Americans are living in at the moment,” Rhyzov added.
“As much as you will hate hearing this, Loft is the reason you're in this position, Hamilton. Not Frank.”
Hamilton couldn't agree there. “What's your reasoning?”
“Loft is the one who gave Frank what he needed to proceed with his research,” Sam explained. “Frank had an idea, and how ironic that the very information he was given to fuel his ambitions came from his father.”
“His father?”
The Nazi bastard? The Nazi bastard!
Rhyzov heaved as he drew in air to speak. “The information on the virus was brought to America by me. I gave it to Frank’s father to keep safe, since it belonged to the Germans to begin with. Karl Tuefel worked with the team that created the original formula at the Institute for Scientific Research. It was tested on prisoners Himmler supplied from the concentration camps. After the war, Tuefel intended on keeping it away from everyone who would actually use it before I came upon the information when my unit raided the facility. He was one of the few who believed it to be a great threat to the world due to his firsthand experiences with the contagion.” Rhyzov chuckled sickeningly. “When a Nazi believes something to be terrible, it should be taken seriously.”
“Then why did you have it?” Hamilton asked. Rhyzov drew another breath.
>
“My country was going to use it against the West, had they perfected it. I did not wish to see such a horror.” He hobbled over towards Sam. “Nuclear weapons. Contagions. Bullets. All of it. War is pointless.”
“Then what the hell is this, then?” Hamilton demanded, waving his arm for emphasis. Rhyzov began to sway, and leaned against Ren for support. Hamilton knew the man wasn’t going to last much longer in his current state. He was two feet in the grave and sinking.
“This is the war to end all wars,” Sam replied. “God said he’d never send another flood. He never said anything about not resetting the world again in general. If man was meant to thrive, God wouldn’t have erased most of his creations to begin with.”
“We will condense,” Rhyzov wheezed slowly, “and we will unite. That is what we stand for. No more war. No more restricting freedom.” He took another deep breath. “No more evil. Even if we must construct a new Tower of Babel, all will be united in a new society that will be manageable versus what exists. Resources will be controlled, and we can be rid of old concepts that inspire deviation from our plan. I will not rot before I see this vision come to fruition.”
“You don’t even have the eyes to see this vision, friend,” Sam told him, “and you’re falling apart by the day.”
Rhyzov made a sound that Hamilton thought was laughter, but the air in him ran out halfway through. “I am more alive than I have ever been.”
The fuck you are.
“So, Hamilton,” Sam pointed to the phone. “We’ve both lost someone important to us. We have nothing left to go back to. Frank went back to his old ways when he lost Naomi. I know what I’m doing. What about you? You have no restraints now. Nothing but the past is keeping a hold on you. What will you do now? I could use your help in recreating Tuefel’s strain. It would prove beneficial to our cause, that is, if you truly understand everything we've explained to you.”
Hamilton clinched the phone in his right hand, looking at the stub where his finger was missing. Frank had put him through hell. The military had put him through hell. Now, he was the only man who had the power to stop this. All of that power had been given to him by the enemy.
“We are in the mountain range to the west of Albenga, Italy,” Rhyzov hissed. “That should give them a starting point.”
Or a center to drop a nuke on.
“Then I suppose I’ve heard all I needed to know,” Hamilton said, holding the phone up and ensuring the number was entered correctly. Sam watched closely as Hamilton looked to them both, smiling. “I’ll bet everyone in Ramstein would be excited to know all of this. Then I suppose old Houseman will finally finish this his way. I admire the man in one aspect, in that he is very persistent in accomplishing his goals, and doing whatever it takes to reach it. He's been fair, and given me a second chance to correct my mistakes. Now you want me to throw all of that away?” Hamilton tossed the phone back to Sam. “Get me a lab, and no assistants.”
Epilogue - Resolutions
Max lay awake in bed for what he was sure was an eternity, listening to the sounds of a cane thudding around the first floor below. Apparently Mikhail didn’t sleep too much for an old man, because he was already up and moving again before Max could even drift off. Every thud built pressure up in the front of his head, and he swore he felt a tooth crack in his mouth from grinding. Toss and turn as he might, sleep wouldn’t caress him and take him away from it all. Every time he tried to calm his mind and think of something pleasant to let his mind slip away from the waking world, the sight behind his eyelids kept coming back to the explosion. The one time he almost left for his subconscious he was kicked out by the screams of the dying and hurt after the eruption of an entire city. He took a deep breath and tried to think of anything else, but the only other options were all related to the catastrophe three months ago. He put an arm over his eyes and fought against the urge to sob, his heavy thoughts falling away on one more regret. His dad had been working in a hospital when all of this began, and Max was certain he was gone. That left more questions. Was he a good enough son? Had he let his dad know enough that he loved him? Should he have gone there to try and find his dad before fleeing Florida?
It was too much. Max kicked his covers off and sat up on the side of the bed. Jackson was sound asleep, probably used to crushing defeat by now. Hell, he’d spent the last three months in a cell after everything else he’d been through, trapped with his own thoughts. Maybe he’d just surrendered to the idea of moving forward no matter what? Maybe he was just a better soldier, or a better man?
Max put his boots on and crept over to the door, opening it and slipping out into the hallway. He made his way downstairs and towards the front door, careful to avoid the old Russian moving about in another room. Max stepped outside into the cool night air, expecting to see the younger Russian guy stalking around. If he was truly watching for threats out here, he was damned good at concealing himself. Still, the air felt wonderful, and that only set off Max’s survivor’s guilt once again. He walked around to the left, around the corner of the house and looked out into the dark land that rolled for miles. He wondered how close the nearest zombie was? That ruined whatever tranquility could be found.
“Max?”
Jackson was approaching, having come from the same direction. He leaned against the side of the house and rubbed his eyes as he yawned.
“Did I wake you up?” Max asked.
“Eh, wasn’t the best sleep anyway,” Jackson replied. Max scratched the back of his head and nodded.
“Yeah. I just needed some fresh air, and to get away from the sound of that damn cane.”
Jackson chuckled. “Good, it wasn’t my snoring then.”
“No.” Max was quiet for a moment before Jackson said anything else.
“Guess you’re not doing okay, huh?”
“Should I be?”
Jackson shrugged. “Probably not. We left one shithole and ended up right in another as it’s sinking in.” He stretched and put his arms behind his head as he leaned on the house. “At least we get some quiet in all of this. Never sweat the small stuff in war.”
Max was swaying back and forth on his feet, swallowing hard before speaking. “This almost feels...wrong. Resting here while everyone else is fighting for their lives? Zach, we just watched an entire city blow the fuck up! That had nothing to do with zombies! That was pure terrorism and murder!”
Jackson stood quietly while the young man began to back and forth, head shaking and hands balled into fists. What was there to say in response? Max was right to be angry, but feeding fuel to the fire wouldn’t do anything to help. Apparently, Max didn’t appreciate the lack of a reaction.
“Zach? What the hell are we supposed to do? Answer me!”
“What do you want me to say?” Jackson asked. “Do you want me to tell you it’s going to be all right? That they’ll be avenged or some shit? Look, we both were in the States. You saw what you saw, and I...” he let out a long, low sigh and began to mutter to himself. Max stopped pacing and clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his flesh.
“I saw my best friend swarmed by a mob of those things, and I saw another friend suffer. Then we shot at people trying to get into the haven, and...Christ, is anything being done even close to fucking right?”
“I don’t know,” Jackson answered honestly. “Really, I don’t, but the only option we have is to hear what the old Russian has to say in the morning. Maybe he has a plan?”
“Do we trust him?” Max inquired, anger and pain in his eyes.
“That is a fair question, child,” another voice answered. Max and Jackson both jumped at the sudden interruption by Mikhail, standing at the corner of the house and leaning forward on his cane. Roman appeared behind him, standing taller over the hunched man.
“You two spying on us?” Jackson asked cautiously. Roman grunted.
“No. The whining of the brat was something I came to investigate. Mikhail is here because it is his turn to stand watch. You tw
o may continue your bickering quietly.” He cracked his neck and walked around the corner. “I am going to bed.”
Max bared his teeth, but the old man furrowed his brows at the sight. “A word of advice, child.” Mikhail pointed his cane at Max. “You have a lot of anger lurking in you. Both of you do. That is to be expected. I cannot fault you.” He pressed the cane into the ground and squeezed it firmly. “It is a dangerous burden. I have watched rage transform someone dear to me. It made him into a bitter man with only one goal in mind.”
“I’m not bitter,” Max argued. “I’m tired of being able to do nothing while people die.”
“Might be too late for me,” Jackson added with faint laughter, but no trace of a smile. “Three months too late. I already screwed up.” He pointed to the house. “If you’re comparing us to your pal, then with all due respect you don’t know us, and we don’t know you.”
“We just want to do something about this mess before things get worse,” Max explained. “People, the world, everything.”
“Something will be done,” Mikhail assured him. “An effort, at least. That is why I asked you to rest. If not your mind, then your body.”
“Why not talk now?” Jackson asked. Mikhail grinned.
“You already cannot sleep. I would hate to trouble you any further. You do not trust us, but I ask that you at least enjoy the solace while you can. This may be one of the most peaceful places left in Germany.” He rested both hands on the cane and looked around with his one good eye, a smile on his face. “I once wished to retire here. Well, I suppose that is the wrong word. Perhaps a second retirement? I am not sure. Either way, consider this as close to home as you are willing.” He turned and hobbled away, but looked back once more with his good eye at Max. “Anger eats away at everything else inside. I would be happy to talk with you if you cannot let the emotions go?”
Max crossed his arms. “No thanks. I’ll probably just try and sleep again.”
Mikhail sucked in his lips and nodded. “Very well. I will be on the porch if needed.”