Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one

by Rhett Gervais

  “Diomoxicin: we call it D for short,” said the doctor, his voice clinical. “It’s a painkiller like morphine, but much stronger. It was designed specifically for you folks. As you can imagine, when you’re injured, it’s almost impossible to treat you, but with D, it’s a little easier. Actually, if you could get some more out of the cabinet over there, we should give him one more hit...don’t want him waking up again, and we’re a little short on staff,” he said, motioning to the cabinet in the corner of the room. “And be careful with it, that’s a new batch we just got in. That stuff is pretty hard to come by.”

  Gwen nodded absently, making her way to the cabinet. Her jaw dropped as she opened it, a small smile on her lips. It was stocked with every drug imaginable, and some she couldn’t begin to fathom. “Oh my god,” she whispered, hands trembling as she searched. She had known almost two weeks of peace now, clear horizons. No urges, no hungers: her mind was clear and calm as a summer’s day. Ascension and the major bishop’s cash had taken away her need to get high. Rummaging through the cabinet, her mind fled to the past. How she had loved the feeling, the glow, no worries. Nothing could come close. It was like being inside pure joy. God, she missed it. It repulsed her and excited her at the same time, drawing her in like a flame. Gwen took a deep breath, doing her best to shake off the memory. She wasn’t sure if it was even possible to ever get high anymore. She pushed it from her mind and focused on the task at hand, ignoring the memories. After a few moments of searching, she came across a case of the drug the doctor had described, each dose measured out in a small red vial with a stopper on the top. She hesitated only for a moment, staring, wondering. “Why not,” she whispered to herself, taking a vial for the doctor and slipping a few more into her jumper, her hands trembling and heart fluttering. They told her she was near invincible now, and she doubted the drug would do anything to her. But she hoped. After the nightmare of the last few days, it might feel good to relax, and it was a long flight to Boston, and she was pretty sure Arthur would want to talk. Her smile widened as she returned, handing the vial to the doctor. “It probably won’t even work,” she whispered again under her breath.

  “Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” said the doctor, his gaze intent on his patient.

  “No, nothing,” said Gwen. “He seems better already—clear horizons ahead.”

  Nodding, the doctor barely noticed as she stepped over the broken body of the forgotten medic and slipped out of the operating room, tiny red vials clinking in her pocket...hoping.

  Chapter 14: What We Face

  September 2073

  His fork scraping the metal plate was like nails on a chalkboard, making her cringe. “Do you have to eat that way?” she said, shoving her pinky in her ear to stop the ringing, imagining ways to kill him.

  Gibbs looked up from his meal, his eyes darting around like a cornered rat. “What, everyone eats like this, fork, knife—it’s that way it’s done,” he said in his rapid tone, not slowing, even with a mouthful of food.

  Her father had ordered her to a week of bed rest, and Gibbs had spent almost every waking moment with her. She had learned two things about him in the last few days: he never stopped talking, and he spoke so fast that she understood only about half of what he was saying.

  “Use the fork like a normal person. You’re not digging a hole to China, so take it easy,” she said, poking at her own meal, scratching at the bandages still clinging to the side of her face, grateful that the pain was fading. She was already dreading the day they would come off. The suture pulled and tugged every time she spoke, or smiled, or actually did anything normal. She wanted to take them off and look at them, praying that it wasn’t as bad as she remembered, but she hadn’t had the guts to do it, so she waited.

  A burst of static from an old FM transmitter her father was working on brought her back to the moment. “You two are lucky to have a meal and a safe spot to eat it,” said her father in his deep baritone, not bothering to look up from the tablet he was working on. Her father had scouted the city above every day since the attack, looking for Jonah. He had managed to scavenge some canned goods along with some water, but from what he told them it was chaos in the city, and they were very lucky to still be alive.

  The sat around an empty FEMA container that had become their kitchen and communal space. Her father and Gibbs had managed to rig together a number of radioisotope generators in sequence, giving them ample power for their makeshift home. At first, she was terrified of being sick from radiation poisoning, but her father had assured her that radioactive decay was an extremely safe way of generating power, as it had no moving parts, and that the isotope used was perfectly sealed. FEMA had brought them on-site to serve as power sources during Hurricane Otto almost twenty years ago and had never bothered to recover them. As a result, the Forty-Second Street subway platform had ample light and heat, feeling almost safe despite the nightmare going on just above them in the city.

  Watching her father work, she couldn’t help but wonder if he blamed her. She certainly blamed herself. He hadn’t said more than a few words to her in the last week, only that he was happy she was alright. In a single day he had lost his sister and his only son, not to mention his wife a few weeks before. He was left with just her, an ugly little girl with a torn-up face, a burden. He was a quiet man at the best of times, but now…

  “What are you trying to do, Dad? That old thing can’t still work, can it?” she asked, breaking the painful rhythm of Gibbs dragging his fork on the metal plate.

  He looked up, draping bunches of spliced fiber-optic cables over his shoulders. “Trying to mix something old and new,” he said, using a knife to cut away the plastic covering from some wires sticking out of the old transmitter. “None of what’s happening makes sense. We need to find out what’s going on, communicate with US Central Command if we can, and since the fiber-optic network is down, we’ve got to find another way.”

  Rowen frowned, not really understanding. “Why can’t we just transmit a message from a tablet?”

  “Whatever’s going on up top, I can’t even turn on a tablet, much less send a message. The city is dead, no power, so we can’t use the fiber-optic network to transmit,” said her father.

  “They’ve got tech we’ve never seen before,” said Gibbs, chiming in. “It doesn’t reach below the surface, but up above, New York looks like it’s been thrown back to the stone age.”

  “So can’t we just leave?” she asked.

  Her father shook his head, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “We’re behind enemy lines now, I think. The city is heavily occupied. I’ve seen them rounding up people, don’t know for what, but it can’t be good.”

  Rowen blew out her cheeks, wincing from the suture, surprised by how often she forgot it was there. “Can I do something to help?” she asked, not wanting to spend another day staring off into the darkness on the grimy subway platform.

  Her father looked up again, cocking his head, shrugging before handing her the tablet. “Yeah, maybe. Here, I want you to scan the frequency bands I’ve input into the tablet. I’m going to try to connect to the old communications network from the subway system. With luck, it will have been overlooked and be deep enough that we can use it without running into whatever jamming is going on up above. Scotty, you’re with me.”

  Rowen watched them go before turning her focus to the tablet, happy to have something to keep her mind occupied. It felt complicated at first, but she soon fell into a pattern and found it almost relaxing. Analyzing frequencies made her feel like she was doing something important, part of the unit and not just a burden. Just as she started to hit her stride, a deep weariness started behind her eyes, and her head began to throb constantly. She knew it would be better to rest and start back later, but she fought sleep, not wanting to face her dreams. Jonah was always waiting for her when she slept. Sometimes he was with her, that he made it. Other times those final moments replayed themselves over and over again, with her powerless to stop what was abou
t to happen.

  She put down the tablet and was rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hands when it chimed, letting her know a call was incoming. Not having a clue what to do, she swiped her hand along the bottom of the device. “Rowen, are you there; can you hear me,” asked Gibbs, his too-young face suddenly filling the screen.

  “You got a signal to work,” she said, stating the obvious. “Does that mean we can call in the cavalry?” said Rowen, smiling despite the pain.

  “Not quite yet,” said her father’s voice from somewhere behind him. “We’ve found the rail control center and managed to power up a portion of the comm system, and tied in the tablet. We can send a signal out, but I don’t want to risk directly using a military frequency. Gibbs is going to give you a block-chain calling code. After you get off with us, I want you to test it. It’s a long shot and probably a waste of time, but you never know. We’re on our way back. Be there soon,” he finished, keying off the call from his end.

  Rowen nodded excitedly, keying in the number she had been given, and waited. She sat there, her palms sweaty, sure that whatever Gibbs and her father had done was a bust. When the tablet chimed once again, she almost fell out of her makeshift chair, saving herself only by grasping onto the FEMA crate.

  “Who the hell are you, and where’s Scott? Is this some kind of joke!” said an angry-looking man whose face had filled the screen. Rowen could immediately see the resemblance; he had the same clear blue eyes as his son, only older, more wary.

  Not knowing what to say or do, Rowen smiled, giving the older man a small wave.

  His eyes narrowed, a frown crossing his features. Rowen could see him reaching to key off. “Wait, sir, we’re with your son in New York,” she blurted out.

  “New York? Don’t say another word, get off this line now! Don’t try to contact us again, we will contact you shortly,” he said, cutting the transmission.

  Rowen threw up her hands, shaking her head, dumbfounded. She had no clue what she had done wrong. She buried her face in her hands, the sense that she was a burden swiftly returning.

  ***

  “What exactly did he say?” said her father, pacing, his wide frame looming above her.

  Rowen scratched at the bandages on her face, feeling small as her father wagged a finger at her. “Just what I said the first ten times, to get off the line, don’t call us we’ll call you. He was really angry.”

  “He’s always mad,” said Gibbs, looking at the floor. “In this case, he’s probably pissed that he has to get me out of this mess. He says I’m always getting into trouble.”

  Her father took a deep breath, crossing his thick arms across his chest. “Well, it’s not your fault. So we wait. It’s not like we have anything but time anyhow.”

  After the excitement of the call, their small group gathered for a simple meal of military rations, or MREs as civilians called them. Her father had found hundreds of storage containers filled with them on his way to the rail control center. The packaging had an endothermic reaction, heating up when exposed to air, giving them their first hot meal in days.

  Not having anything else to do, they sat around the old container, waiting. Gibbs poked at his meal, sticking out his tongue in disgust. “This is vile. How can you eat this stuff?”

  Her father glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re kidding me, right? I know you’re young, but these meals are light years ahead of the rations they had when I started in the service. We used to call them ‘meals ready to eat.’ Three lies for the price of one: it’s not a meal, it’s not ready, and you can’t eat it,” he said, wolfing down his meal of shredded barbecue beef.

  Rowen’s own lemon-pepper tuna was pretty good. She’d eaten worse. Her family usually took MREs when they went hiking or camping, since they were easy to pack and made for a quick hot meal. “C’mon, you can’t be in the military without at least one story about MREs...‘meals rejected by everyone.’ They used to give them to us at the school on base sometimes. I remember one teacher who would assign them as punishment. I ate them every day for a week once,” she said, giggling at the memory.

  Her father smiled back at her. “I remember that. Your mother called them ‘meals refusing to exit.’ She hated them with a passion, said she would rather get shot than eat ’em.”

  “I think I’ve lost my appetite, excuse me,” said Gibbs quietly. “I think I’ll go get some sleep.”

  “What did we say?” asked Rowen, watching him trudge down the platform. He had made his bed away from the light, claiming that he couldn’t sleep when it was so bright. Rowen thought it was more likely that she had begun to snore since she’d been injured.

  Just as they finished their meals, the data pad began to ping with an incoming message. “Round two,” she said, eyeing her father, rubbing her hands worriedly. Her father took the data pad and accepted the call. “Let’s hope they’re a little more friendly this time. My patience is running thin.”

  They all gathered around the screen, Gibbs out of breath from running back. Her father hit the icon to accept the call, and on the screen appeared a square-jawed man with chestnut-brown skin that was so smooth he looked ageless despite his tight silver curls. He wore oversized, black-framed glasses that he adjusted nervously.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Cardinal General Michael Washington. I am looking for whoever is in charge,” he said with a preacher’s tempo, his voice deep and smooth.

  “I’m here, Cardinal. I’m Captain Joshua Macdonald, Tenth Special Forces Group out of Fort Carson Colorado. I was expecting Mr. Gibbs, or at least someone from the military or civilian authority.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, Captain. The president has appointed the Council of Cardinals to oversee military matters in this time of crisis. I have been tasked with the gathering of information. I represent the highest levels of military authority and speak for the president in this matter. You are in good hands.”

  Rowen could see her father blink in confusion at the screen. She had never heard of such a thing. Why would the church be involved with anything to do with the military?

  “I’m not sure I understand, Cardinal,” said her father, holding the screen tight. “I understand our current president is a devout man, but this seems—”

  “Rest assured, Captain, that all is as God wills. Now, it is my understanding that you are transmitting from the city itself?” the cardinal asked, cutting him off.

  “Where is my father, and what’s going on? This is our private line—” started Gibbs, interrupting.

  “The senator is fine, Scott. Communications since the start of this incident have been difficult at best,” he said, raising a hand to calm the agitated lieutenant. “We were unaware that this avenue of communications existed, and are taking advantage of, as you say, a lucky break. We have had limited intelligence as to what is going on in the city. You and your family have done the country a great service.”

  “Cardinal Washington, can you give us any intel as to what is going on? How is any of this possible?” asked her father.

  “Yes, of course, you all have been very patient. Three days ago, Russian Federation troops attacked cities up and down the Eastern Seaboard. We’re not sure how, but they bypassed every early warning system we have. At no point were they detected before the initial attack. For the moment we are assuming they had inside help, either from a high-ranking government official or military officer.”

  “That doesn’t measure up!” said her father, his dark eyes flashing in irritation. “We’ve scouted parts of the city. No matter how coordinated their attack, that doesn’t explain how they managed to avoid every early warning system we have. That doesn’t explain the loss of power to the grid since the attack began, nor the lack of military response. All we saw was one feeble drone attack that was a complete and utter failure that killed thousands of innocent people...including my son!” he finished. Rowen could see that although he appeared calm, his knuckles gripping the tablet were bone white.

  The cardinal s
ighed deeply, plucking off an invisible piece of thread from his robes as he spoke. “I am sorry for your loss, Captain. This has been a difficult time for us all. I myself have many friends in the city, and our thoughts and prayers are with you all.”

  Her father’s eyebrows shot up, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “Thoughts and prayers! There are bodies rotting in the streets, Cardinal. Mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters, and you offer thoughts and prayers? Fuck your thoughts and prayers! They won’t do anything to help the dead or save the living! Get me an officer, any officer in the United States Armed Forces with some goddamn authority. I don’t answer to or take orders from religious zealots who have done nothing for this country, who have never sacrificed to protect it.”

  Cardinal Washington recoiled from the screen as if slapped, adjusting his glasses. “Typical soldier, turning back kind words with hate speech. You should be ashamed of yourself! It’s no wonder the American people have lost faith in you—”

  “Enough!” shouted her father, his booming voice echoing throughout the abandoned subway. “We need evac. Can you provide it? The city is lost, it’s best to retreat before the enemy finishes consolidating its position. We will provide whatever intel we can as soon as we are out of this hellhole.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Captain,” said the cardinal in a solemn tone. “You are currently far, far behind enemy lines. The reason you have not seen a response is that our forces are currently engaged with the enemy. They have pressed their attack far beyond the city; they have moved into Massachusetts and currently dominate air and ground space as far as western Pennsylvania.”

  Her father cocked his head in confusion, trying to understand what he had just heard. “The United States military is the greatest fighting force in the world. How is it possible we’re being pushed back in our own territory?”

  “Captain, we are asking ourselves the same question,” said the cardinal, adjusting his too-large glasses. “The enemy is employing a very effective strategy of attrition. The bulk of their fighting forces are combat drones, which are formidable and—”