The Inroad Chronicles (Book 1): Legion Seed

by Erickson, Brian

  “Yes.”

  “And who sent it? How did it get there? For what purpose?”

  “I don’t know. I think that’s really where it becomes a military problem, Sir.”

  “Well, it damn well doesn’t stop being a scientific one!”

  “Do you understand what I’m saying, the implications? I’m just following the evidence, and it says this wasn’t an accident. It points toward a virus that was altered from its original form, maybe something along the lines of Rabies, as far as I can tell. It was then manufactured into a virulent new disease, what we see outside.”

  The General leans back in his chair, runs his hands through his hair, and scratches the back of his head. “You’re really comin’ at me from left field here, Doctor.”

  “Well think about it, Sir. You’re a military man. How would you obliterate all life on a planet, if you felt so inclined?”

  “Well, viral warfare would be one way I suppose.”

  “A very effective way.”

  “Okay, let’s suppose you’re right. What are we talking about here, aliens?”

  “Sir, I can’t speculate on that. I’m just telling you that it arrived here already altered. It’s up to you to draw the most logical conclusions.”

  “All right, why do you infect an entire population? You want them out of the way for something, a raw landscape to live on or excavate. Saddam used poison gas on a population of Kurds in Iraq, just to test its effectiveness. A test perhaps, to see if it’s an efficient killer?”

  “It’s certainly that.”

  General Riggs exhales and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, Doctor, it’s just not clicking.”

  “Well look at what it does from a military point of view. It doesn’t just kill everyone. It reanimates them and forces them to seek out and infect other people. Unchecked, it invariably spreads around the entire planet. Then there’s the way it arrived here and started. The asteroid struck, and an airborne pathogen flew up into the atmosphere. Everyone outside, or exposed to outside air, got infected within the first forty-eight hours, globally. Since then it has been safe to go outside, breathing-wise anyway. It doesn’t transmit to dogs, cats, or any other animals that we’ve come across, only humans. It was engineered for us, for one purpose. And those things out there, they’ll probably die off once their food runs out, leaving a barren planet. It’s the most brutally efficient thing I’ve ever seen. Who knows, maybe all those people who claimed aliens abducted them really were taken and examined. Perhaps they harvested our DNA and tissue samples in order to use them against us.”

  The General raises his eyebrows. “Hmm, well, I hope you can understand if I take this with a grain of salt. It’s just a little bit difficult for me to look at the plague out there and then jump to the conclusion that aliens sent it, in order to…ah…lay the foundation for an invasion, or something. I’ll keep it in mind, Doctor, and expect you to continue your research to find a cure for the virus.” He slaps the report on the table in front of Doctor Linkmen. “Rewrite this! Leave your observations in and cut your flimsy hypotheses out; especially everything that even hints at a weaponized virus being sent to this planet to obliterate us. Understood?”

  “Yes Sir.” Doctor Linkmen looks at the document and frowns.

  The General plants his fist on the table. “In the meantime, I have a country to fight for and a war to win. I also expect a full report about your progress in finding a cure on my desk ASAP. That’s what the Joint Chiefs really want to see—progress on the cure. Welcome to military politics. Suspend all other work until it’s done. And nothing about those mutations either. Let’s leave that out for now until we learn more about them. If there’s nothing else, you’re dismissed, Doctor.”

  “But…”

  “Dismissed!”

  “Yes Sir.” Doctor Linkmen scoops up the report, slowly turns, and walks toward the door.

  “Leave the report. I assume you have a copy.” The General extends his hand.

  Doctor Linkmen hands it to him and shuffles out silently.

  The General sits alone and stares at the door for a while after it closes. His eyes convey the energy of orbs of fire, and his jaw muscles pulsate under the skin. He picks up the phone on his desk and dials an extension, and a man’s voice answers. “This is General Riggs. I want Doctor Linkmen watched. He is not to leave the base. As a matter of fact, he is to go nowhere except the lab, the mess hall, and his quarters. And for Christ’s sake, keep him away from the soldiers, and cut off his correspondence. He'll need permission from now on. And seize his research, all of it. I'll decide which bits he can have back and when. Did you make copies of all his correspondence with the other labs? Excellent, pick up his report in my office and send it all to Sector B13 for analysis immediately. That’s all for now.”

  ✹✹✹

  Doctor Linkmen rushed back into his lab and jumped on his computer pounding the keys furiously. An antiquated form of email popped up with basic colors and dot matrix squares. He wrote a message to a Doctor Flynn. ‘I'm going to be silenced. This is everything.’ He quickly loaded multiple files and upload progress bars tiered down the screen. After several seconds the screen read ‘Message Sent.’ Doctor Linkmen highlighted and purged most of the emails in the system and sat back with a sigh of relief.

  Seconds later a tall, well-built man in camouflage fatigues entered and marched to his desk. “Apologies, Doctor, but I've been ordered to seize your work. You'll get your computer back soon to write your reports later.”

  Doctor Linkmen stood up with a gleam in his eyes and raised his hands with a grin. “Please, don't break the computer, or we might never find the cure.”

  “Understood.” He grabbed papers and the computer and walked out.

  Doctor Linkmen sat down and frowned but nodded his head.

  Epilogue

  Lieutenant Owens washed gasoline off his hands and wiped them on his pants as he looked out over the valley. He reached into the cab of his Humvee and retrieved binoculars. As he squinted through the lenses, he could make out some figures wandering aimlessly near a derelict convenience store, and across the street another one ripped the head off a life-size sign of a person in the video store. Owens nodded, tossed the binoculars on the seat, and strapped on his helmet. He turned around and stepped to the side and took a long look down the column of Humvees in tow. He raised his hand and threw it toward the small town, then jumped into his vehicle as engines roared to life up and down the line. They started down the hill, and gunfire followed shortly.

  A helicopter whirred over their heads, and the pilot inside spoke into his mouthpiece with a big grin. “More Romeos goin’ down! Yeehah!” He listened into his headset and his eyes narrowed, then an even bigger smile crossed his face. “D’you hear that? We found a family!”

  Minutes later the pilot set the machine down gently in a field as four soldiers escorted the family out to the chopper. The kids got in first and looked around before sitting slowly.

  The pilot watched their timidity, and a frown formed on his face. “Don’t worry, you’re safe now.” He yelled over the engine’s roar, and the family slowly nodded with wide eyes. The pilot turned back and closed his eyes. “Jesus they look half-dead. How’d they even survive out here?” He looked over at his co-pilot who shook his head, and softened his eyes. “Let’s get ‘em back to base.” He turned around to the family. “We’re takin’ you back to our base in Kingsport. You’ll be safe there. Don’t worry everything’s gonna be fine.” He gave a thumbs-up and the father returned a smile through teary eyes and nodded. The pilot worked the controls and the helicopter lifted up and tilted away, gradually disappearing beyond the trees.

  As the helicopter topped the horizon and Kingsport came into view the family looked down and saw columns of vehicles moving in and out of the base. The helicopter set down softly on a helipad and two soldiers ran out and opened the doors. As the family stepped out and looked around, they huddled closer to each other with eac
h passing second. The parents held their children’s shoulders as they took in their new surroundings.

  A private stepped up to the father and took off his cap as the helicopter’s blades whined to a halt. “Welcome to Kingsport. I just want to assure you that we have this base fully under control. You are not in danger anymore. We’re going to take care of you.”

  The father let a short smile creep out as he held out his shaking hand. “Thank you. We’ve been through a lot.”

  The private shook his hand and smiled. “Now let me take you to where you’ll be staying. It’s temporary until we can put you in a house in a green zone.”

  He escorted them to a spread of tents. As they approached a woman in civilian clothes looked over a clothes line where she was placing a pin on a shirt. She watched the family walk in and smiled, but the family walked on, giving sideways glances at everything in their field of vision.

  “This tent will be yours.” The private pulled back the flap on a large tent with several cots inside. “I know it ain’t home, but it’s safe.”

  The father shook the soldier’s hand, squeezing with both hands. “Thank you. You don’t know what this means to us.” He wiped a tear away. “We’re forever in your debt.”

  The private nodded and smiled as the family walked in and sat down on their cots. The sounds of laughter and crying followed him out.

  The private looked around then his radio crackled to life, and a voice cut in as he raised it to his ear. He listened and nodded. “Copy that, over and out.” He walked over to a couple other soldiers at the entrance and stopped in front of them. “Gather some men. I just received word that another batch of survivors is comin’ in tonight. Better have those tents ready or we’ll get an earful. Tell ‘em we probably oughta go ahead and put up another couple dozen tents. The way these folks are comin’ in, we’ll use ‘em sooner or later anyway. I’ll check back in a few.” They nodded, and he turned away while scrolling through a list on a tablet.

  ✹✹✹

  “We have nearly completed our sweep of east Tennessee, Sir. I’m starting to look to Nashville.” Captain Gruger hands a folder to Colonel Bravara and steps back, hands behind his back, and fixes his eyes forward.

  Colonel Bravara, a middle-aged man of Italian descent with a round face someone might expect to see on a food connoisseur, instead of a career military die-hard, flips through the pages as he chews his lip. “Okay, Captain, this is fine. You’ve done good work controlling such a large theater of operations. Of course you normally would have been doing this in collaboration with me and dozens of other captains, but these are extraordinary times. You’ve really stepped up to the plate and conducted yourself admirably.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” Gruger’s chin sticks out and his shoulders slide back, and he puffs out his chest.

  “You know I wish I could say well done; now it’s time for an overdue vacation, but…” Bravara shakes his head and snaps his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “On top of Nashville hanging over us like a dark cloud, we’ve got reports coming in of pirates, land pirates, west of the city spread out all the way to the Delta. At least the Mississippi river keeps them sort of contained. Once we take Nashville, we have to settle these brigands down, or we’ll end up shooting them too. I don’t know.” Bravara’s hands collapse on his thighs. “Everything that should be upright is turned over, and everything that should be facing down is turned up. It’s absolutely crazy.” Two ice cubes clink in a tumbler and a brown liquid glugs from a bottle. “Care for a drink?”

  “No thank you, Sir.” Gruger keeps his stance.

  He licks his lips after a swallow. “So, anyway, these pirates are crazy and on the loose. It’s going on in several states mind you. At least we don’t have to deal with those as well, not yet anyway.” He shakes his head as he eyes his drink and takes another swallow. “I just found out that an old culture has reemerged in several of these pirate groups—gladiatorial games. They’re holding Romanesque, gladiator competitions between people who have been recently bitten, but are still alive. It was described to me by a man on the inside. They fight or the people watch them get ripped apart by wild dogs, guaranteed blood lust satisfaction. The winner gets put down. Apparently, if they have family, there's some sort of compensation, betting proceeds or some such thing. They’re giving them labels like: Tainted and Blighted, calling them infected scourges of the New World Order. Can you believe that? Take away the rules for one second and society reverts to a pack of animals. I don’t think this will ever end.”

  “Compensation? What's the currency?”

  “Probably food, I don't know.”

  “We’re making progress though, Sir. We’re receiving daily, even hourly reports, and responding to threats immediately. We’re taking it to them, and they’re losing. We will take back this country, Sir. I can feel it. Our progress has been too great to lose now.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” Bravara sets his drink down on his desk and looks up. “I want you to begin planning the assault on Nashville and have a tentative plan on my desk within forty-eight hours. Once again, in a perfect world we’d be telling you the plan, and you’d just have to execute it. But this is just how it is right now. The only way to keep our head above water in this thing is to just focus on one task at a time, first Nashville, then the rest. Do you have anything else to report, Captain?”

  “Ah, he's here.” Gruger turns toward the entrance and faces Ron as he steps in.

  Ron stands at attention somewhat awkwardly. “Reporting for duty, sir.”

  “At ease.” Gruger faces Bravara and points his hand at Ron, “This is the civilian I mentioned, sir.”

  “Oh right, what's your name?” He extends his hand.

  Ron shakes it, “It's Ron, Ronald Hawkins,” Ron stands straight and eyes Brevara.

  “Well, Ron, we really need your help.”

  “Of course.”

  “Gruger tells me you have some training and some serious weapons.”

  “Oh yeah, about that, um…”

  “Forget it, they're yours. We have no time for legalities. We need your help.”

  Ron shifts his stance and relaxes his shoulders a bit, “thank you. How can I help?”

  “Can you be a leader, Ron? Can you inspire people?” Brevara and Gruger both tense up and study Ron’s face.”

  “Well, honestly, before all this, I was a bit of a loner. But, under the circumstances, yes, people have been looking to me for answers. Answers I wasn't sure I had, and I've stepped up to the, I've tried my b… I've made it happen, and people seem to rely on me.”

  “Good,” Brevara scratches his chin and eyes his drink. “Well, I need you to keep doing that. Here it is, Ron, and this stays between us: there's no way the military can win this war on its own.”

  Ron almost takes a step back.

  Brevara paces and talks, occasionally driving home his meaning with hard eyes. “But we're going to win, we will. We just need help, help you can give, Ron. I want you to head up a paramilitary wing under my supervision. I'm sorry we lack resources for training. We can provide a little equipment but can't spare much.” He steps over to a flap on the tent and peers out. “See those tents there, Ron? Know what those are?”

  Ron peers out, “Those are the refugees.”

  “That's right. We've saved a good number now. And we've talked to them, and there are volunteers in there, volunteers for you. I want you to give them some training, Ron. Train ‘em, motivate ‘em, and kill those fucking, walking, diseased, dead fuckers, kill ‘em all and take back your goddamn homes and lives, no choices now. Fight! Ron, are you…”

  “Yes, I'll do it.”

  “Good to hear. I'll have the men gathered, so you can meet em’.”

  Ron nods and steps out.

  Bravara looks at Gruger and sips his whisky. “Give him what he needs that you can spare. We can't lose these guys’ trust. They're not soldiers. Don't forget that. Have to keep ‘em happy and get ‘em to work hard.”r />
  “They'll be loyal to each other.”

  “As long as they kill and kill and kill. Anything else?”

  No sir, that’s everything I have for now.”

  “Fine work, Captain. If that’s all, you’re dismissed.” They salute each other and Captain Gruger walks out. The colonel sips his drink and looks at the file. “One thing at a time.”

  ✹✹✹

  Ron and Ann set foot in their new home in an east Tennessee suburb, reclaimed from the grips of infection by the military to serve as housing for survivors. As they walk through Ron stops to rub his hand on a pillar. As he examines it, he knocks and pulls on it a couple times.

  “Well it won’t do us much good if you pull the roof down on our heads.” Ann cradles the baby closer.

  “I’m just checkin’ it for weaknesses. Ron looks at the walls and ceiling and nods his head. “Looks pretty good, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it seems to be in good shape.” She nods and sticks her lips out. “This will do nicely. I’m gonna make a cozy, little Breakfast Nook over there.” She points toward a wide set of windows letting light in.

  “Breakfast Nook, what is a nook and why do we have to eat breakfast in it?”

  “Oh stop ruinin’ it. They’re just words that make the house feel warmer.”

  “You mean Feeding Trough Nook isn’t warm enough?” He shoots Ann a toothy grin.

  “Oh you’re just askin' for it mister, keep talkin’.” She shakes her fist and scowls, but a smile breaks it. They move closer and Ron wraps his arm around her, and they close their eyes. “It will be good. Everything will be good. Wait and you’ll see.”

  “Things can only get better.”

  Ann looks down at the baby fast asleep in her arms. “And, I’ll make a nice bedroom for you too. You’ll have a lovely place where you can grow and play. I promise.”

  Ron steps up to the window overlooking the front yard and peers through the glass across the street. “I heard they’re planning to put a little park over there, and that somebody’s going to reopen that convenience store down the street. It’ll almost be like life again.”