Children of the Spear (Novella): Origin

by Gervais, Rhett

  Staggering to his feet he held the smart device tightly, choosing his words carefully. “I’m sorry. They took me by surprise. I lost control of the situation,” he said, wincing the moment the statement left his mouth. Nothing was said on the other end of the line, just a sharp intake of breath and then silence.

  Bobby waited, chewing the inside of his cheek, not daring to speak. Any excuse he gave would be just that, and would only make things worse.

  When the man on the other end of the line spoke, his voice was slow, measured, like he was discussing the weather. “You said she would listen to you, that you could contain the situation. It was the only reason you were not executed for your myriad of sins.”

  “You don’t understand, Michael! She—”

  “It’s Bishop Washington, Robert!” he said, his deep voice hitching up an octave. “We are not equals. You will address me with the proper respect.”

  “Yes, Bishop,” he said automatically, grinding his teeth, wanting nothing more than to crush the phone in his hands and throw it into the boundless pit. He wondered for the thousandth time how it had come to this, wishing for a way to escape Michael’s control over his life. “Can you see the situation on the ground here?”

  “No, whatever she did was like an electromagnetic pulse from a nuclear weapon. The electrical grid is down all over the city, and satellite feeds show only static. We’ve managed to convince local first responders that there is a threat of radiation fallout. We’ve ordered a perimeter a few miles back; the rest of the city is largely intact. Explain to me precisely what happened.”

  A wave of relief washed over him; he didn’t just kill millions of people. “What they did doesn’t make any sense. They destroyed Boston Common, sir, the park and everything around it. All that's left is a crater so deep I can’t see the bottom.”

  For a moment Bobby thought the line went dead. He had known Michael for almost two years now, he was never short for words. When he began, Bobby could hear a tremble in his voice, sparks of rage. “When you find them, I want them dead! Do you understand me?”

  “You said to bring them in alive, if possible.”

  “I am rescinding that order. Dead! Only dead!” he shouted.

  “As you wish,” said Bobby in a flat tone. “Are they showing up on any of our tracking systems; I’ve lost them.” Bobby wondered about that. He could sense they were still connected, but had lost all sense of direction as to where she was.

  The line was silent for a long time with just the sound of the bishop’s breathing. “They’ll be going the valley of the gods,” said the bishop finally.

  “Where?” said Bobby, his brow narrowing in confusion.

  “It’s in Utah. If you leave immediately you can get there before they do. Stay where you are, a transport is on its way.”

  “Why would they go there? Utah is nothing but rocks and sand since the Mormons were driven out of the country. None of this makes any sense! What are they trying to do?”

  “That’s none of your concern. You have your orders. Carry them out!”

  Before Bobby could say another word the line went dead, leaving him alone on the edge of the desolate crater with more questions than answers.

  Chapter 7: The Bell Tower

  2061

  Bobby sat alone on the rough wooden bench, his heart beating out of his chest. Each time he glanced back at the empty stairwell that led up to the bell tower his heart broke a little. She was late, and in all the months he had known her she was never late.

  He checked his phone for what seemed the thousandth time, drying his sweating palms on his pants. He tried to keep his spirits up by telling himself she had just lost track of time, or that something had come up. He had always been good at deluding himself.

  Exhaling slowly, he stood, wearing out the wood as he paced back and forth in the tiny space beside the bell, tapping his fingers against the ancient metal every time he passed it, telling himself it was just coincidence that she wasn’t here, that she hadn’t abandoned him. It had happened often enough growing up that he should be used to it by now, or at least he thought so. Everyone left him at some point. His father was gone before he was born, and he could barely remember his mother, mostly flashes of a kind face with icy-blue eyes like his own, and old before her time.

  Tired of pacing he looked out over Copley Square, trying to see if he could make her out among the crowds. The church’s bell tower had been fully restored a few weeks ago, and the boards that had once covered up the magnificent structure were now gone, revealing the ancient church bell that glowed in all its glory in the midafternoon sun. The open space where the bell sat gave him an unrestricted view of all of Back Bay depending where he stood. On days like today it was clear enough that he could see the Charles River to the north, the splendor of blooming trees in Boston Common to the west, full of bright green leaves. The spring air was warm and pleasant. The streets were packed with folks who had spent the winter cooped up hiding from the cold, strolling, and taking advantage of the warm weather. To Bobby it looked like the whole world was out and about, except for the one person he wanted to see.

  By the time Bobby heard footsteps coming up the stairs of the tower he had given up hope. It was well past the time they met each week, and he assumed the worse. He had been too miserable to head back downstairs and preferred to stay by the bell and wallow in his misery. When he saw her emerging from the stairwell his breath caught in his throat. Without thinking, he rushed to wrap his arms around her, only to be stopped by a stern look in her dark eyes and a light touch on his chest. It took him a moment to realize she wasn’t alone. Behind her followed Father Gary and a round-faced man dressed in beige military khakis too tight for his thick frame. Bobby stepped back, trying to catch her eye, only to see her look down at her hands twisting in knots in front of her.

  The military man looked him up and down with deep-brown eyes that looked too small for his head, staring him up and down like Bobby was a prize horse, he half expected him to pull back his lip to check his teeth. “This son of a bitch better be worth me draggin my ass up here,” he said in a strange southern drawl that Bobby had never heard before. Before anyone could answer, he snorted, his large bulbous nose making him look like a pig. He stuck a hand out in Bobby’s direction, giving him a quick wink. “You must be Robert. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, son.”

  Looking blankly at him, Bobby took his hand, his jaw hanging open. “Yeah, that’s me, but I go by Bobby, Bobby O’ Connell.”

  “Lieutenant Angus Young, United states Marine Corps, officially. Unofficially, well, that's a different story,” he said, crushing Bobby’s hand with an iron grip. “Sorry, your file said Robert. I’ll get my girl to fix that up right quick when we get back to base and get you tested.”

  Bobby glanced around in confusion, not sure where any of this was coming from until he caught Father Gary’s eye. His former abuser had a smug look on his face, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Base? What test? I don’t understand. I’m a church volunteer—”

  Lieutenant Young pushed out his lower lip, glancing over his shoulder at Father Gary. “I thought you said the boy complied with the test, provided you with a sample and all, Gary. What kinda horseshit you playin’ at?”

  “He did!” said Father Gary, looking as though he’d swallowed his tongue. “These street kids; they want one thing one day and then change their minds—this one especially. Who knows what he was on when he spoke to me about it a few months ago.”

  Crossing his arms across his chest, Bobby shook his head. “I never gave a sample for anything, sir. Can I ask what this is all about?”

  “Sure you can ask, but that don’t mean I’m gonna tell ya,” said the lieutenant with an easy smile. “All I can tell ya is that you and the girl are gonna be comin’ with me. You’ll get a heads-up when we get to where we’re supposed to go.”

  Bobby felt his face flush, his hands balling into fists at his side. This was the story of his life, and he should have
known better. No matter what he did, every time he thought he found some happiness, the world spit in his face and laughed. “I don’t want to go with you. It's still a free country, and I haven’t done anything. You can’t just take me away.”

  Lieutenant Young cocked his head, rubbing a sausage-like finger under his bulbous nose. “Hasn’t been a free country for a long time, son, and from what Gary tells me, you done lots, shameful stuff. So, let’s not pretend you’re some lily-white saint. You’re comin'. Got it?”

  A flutter of worry turned his stomach over, his gaze flicking to Elizabeth who stood silent, a frown on her beautiful face. Bobby tried to catch her eye, his blood rushing to his head and making him dizzy at the thought that Gary had told her the truth about him. The idea of losing her terrified him more than any beating. Failing to get her to look at him, he turned his attention back to Lieutenant Young.

  “What about her? why do you need her? She hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s not like me; she’s a good person,” said Bobby.

  “Listen, son, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. Right now, let's just say if things work out, you’ll be thankin’ me for your good fortune.”

  “And if they don’t?” asked Bobby.

  Lieutenant Young shrugged, pushing out his lower lip once again. “Well, if it don’t, I imagine you won’t be doin’ much talkin’, or much of anythin’ else for that matter. Now git, before I put my foot in your ass.” Without another word the fat lieutenant grabbed him by the elbow, shoving him in front of him.

  Stumbling down the stairs, Bobby at last managed to lock eyes with Elizabeth, whose face was a mask of worry that matched his own. A shudder of relief ran through him when she gave him a tight-lipped smile full of warmth and affection. Gary didn’t tell her. She was with him still. For better or worse she hadn’t abandoned him, and wherever they were going, they would at least be together…for now.

  Chapter 8: Fifty Thousand Feet

  2063

  The hollow roar of the transport's engines accelerating to full power tore Bobby’s attention away from the shattered city. As the transport banked and picked up speed, he felt like he was trapped under the building again, powerful g-forces crushing him back into his seat. He let out a low whistle as he caught sight of the holographic display in the center of the control panel, indicating they had just ripped past Mach II and were still accelerating. It only took moments to reach cruising altitude, and he suddenly had an unencumbered view of the Eastern Seaboard. At this height he could make out the massive blooms of sargassum sitting offshore—a brown seaweed that covered most of the shorelines down the coast and thrived in the open ocean, only to stink of rotting eggs once it made landfall: in some places piling over six feet high. There had been stories on the news about it for weeks now, and most people he knew had assumed it was all made-up bullshit designed to scare people. Seeing it was real was a shock.

  “Is this your first time on an Odin class transport, sir,” said the pilot next to him, humming a pleasant tune under his breath.

  Pulling his gaze from the awful sight, Bobby gave the pilot a quick nod, gripping tightly the four-point harness that held him in place. “Yes, this is amazing. This thing looks like something out of a sci-fi holovid,” he said, looking around. When he had entered the cockpit earlier his eyes had lit up. He had expected analog controls, dials and knobs to go with readouts of speed and altitude and a million other things, but that wasn’t the case. Every surface was smooth, polished to a high-gloss shine, looking like onyx or obsidian, without a single display; everything was holographically generated, allowing the pilot to configure the controls to his liking.

  Bobby still couldn’t believe something so massive could get off the ground, much less fly. When Michael had told him he was sending a transport he expected a helicopter or at best a Peregrine, a small VTOL the size of a school bus used to hop around cities. The Odin was anything but small. The beast was massive, larger than the biggest bombers of the previous generation, the length of half a football field and looking more like a missile than a plane. It had been designed from the ground up for suborbital hypersonic travel, with small fixed wings and massive thrusters at the rear, and another set affixed to the underside; hence, they were still capable of vertical takeoff and landing, although he didn’t understand how such a thing was possible.

  “Well, don’t worry about a thing, sir. The Odin’s are state of the art. Fusion powered with plasma-based propulsion, which means that we got a cruising speed of Mach III. The frame is a one-piece graphene composite that’s harder than diamond and nigh indestructible. I could take this thing into orbit if I needed to, so sit back and enjoy the ride, or if you prefer, now that were at cruising altitude, you can head to the back. This bird is usually reserved for transporting top brass, so we've got a kick-ass officers' lounge. Go pour yourself a drink, and we’ll be in Utah in no time”

  “Thanks,” he said, shrugging out of the harness and stretching to his feet like a cat.

  Bobby was just at the door to the cabin when the pilot rotated away from the controls, cocking his head. “What’s it like?” he asked

  “What’s what like?”

  “You know, having powers, being a hero? I saw you on the news last year I think, you know when you guys saved all those people at Blackwood Church.” the pilot said, his brown eyes bright with admiration.

  “I’m not much of a hero,” said Bobby, hanging his head. “Just a guy stumbling along, doing too many wrong things for what I hope are the right reasons.”

  The pilot's brow knotted, a shadow passing over his features. “But you have powers right. You can do some awesome things, no?”

  Seeing the wonder in the man’s eyes, a wave of nausea washed over him, the taste of bile rising in the back of his throat. How could he tell him what he saw on the news simply wasn’t true. The man’s spirit would be crushed if he found out what really happened, that they were all just monsters dressed up to look heroic for the cameras. Swallowing hard he gave his best tight-lipped smile, repeating the lie he had been told by his superiors since that horrible day. The lie the press repeated so often, the public believed it, even when given evidence to the contrary. “We did our best; I just wish we could have saved everyone.”

  The pilot gave Bobby a salute, a wide toothy grin plastered across his face as he returned his attention to the controls. Taking one last look at the dirty coast, Bobby headed past the passenger area, stepping gingerly at first, but gaining confidence with each step, amazed that there wasn’t so much as a vibration in the deck plates. Given the speed the Odin traveled, he was surprised to find it so smooth. He kept expecting to lose his footing or in a worst-case scenario, be liquefied as his body was sucked through a small hole in the cabin due to loss of pressure.

  Entering the officers' lounge at the rear of the craft, Bobby’s eyes went wide, a small smile creeping onto his pale face. The room was nothing short of sumptuous, with Brazilian walnut flooring polished to a high shine. The area was drenched in a warm glow from recessed lights in the ceiling and along the walls. Stalking around the room, he brushed his fingertips along the ash-gray velvet chairs that sat in semicircles, placed in a way to elicit intimate conversations. The whole area was designed with relaxation in mind, with a massive, polished oak bar taking up a portion of the wall. Without thinking, Bobby vaulted behind it, his eyes wandering over the labels of vintage wine and fine scotches that must have cost a small fortune. Scanning the selection, his jaw fell open when he found a bottle of Bowmore, twenty-five-year-old, single-malt whiskey. His hand trembled as he grabbed a crystal tumbler from the overhang and opened the bottle, breathing in deeply the smoky-dark aroma, a shiver running down his spine in anticipation. Once, when he was fourteen, he and a friend had found a secret cellar in one of the old, long-abandoned townhouses of Back Bay. The dark basement room had been missed by squatters and looters, perfectly preserved, cool and dry, full of row after row of fine spirits, untouched for years. The area,
having once been home to some of the wealthiest people in Boston, was full of hidden treasures like that if you were lucky enough to find them. They had spent the summer drunk and happy, and he had developed a taste for very expensive scotch that he could never afford on his own.

  Swishing the amber liquid around in his mouth, he was amazed by the deep flavor of peat and a slight nutty taste. He swallowed with almost no burn, enjoying the aftertaste of oak with hints of prune, a warm sense of relief washing over him, the horror of the day washing away. He poured another, settling in one of the armchairs looking out over the ocean. The Odin didn’t have any windows, but the designers had been kind enough to install flat-screen panels that resembled them, allowing him to enjoy an unparalleled view of the coast.

  He remembered when he had never been farther from Back Bay than the south side, and now he was barreling along at mind-boggling speeds far from home, a world away from the person whom he used to be, on the way to hurt someone he loved. Bobby wondered what his life would have been like had Father Gary not been so cruel, bringing him to the attention of the likes of Lieutenant Young in hopes of getting rid of him. He wouldn’t have been responsible for the deaths of all those people back in Boston: the old lady, the family with the beautiful children, or people on the street he was barely aware of.

  Swallowing the last bit of scotch in his tumbler he scrubbed a hand over his face, returning to the bar to pour himself another. His mind wandered into a fantasy as he imagined a life with Elizabeth. Building something together, children, a real home, a regular nine-to-five routine, he could be normal, not a weirdo, not a murderer. If only they had just a little more time they could have run off, found a way to make it work, away from the shit they had been mired in.