by David Brush
“Oh shit,” said James, scrambling to get his rifle back out from hiding. He grabbed his weapon and tossed the second rifle over to Haley, who had taken up position behind the open door of their jeep. Megan leaned out from her own cover on the other side of the vehicle and fired off another salvo towards the armored truck. As she did, return fire rushed past her, clipping her exposed datacuff. Tiny slivers of metal and glass rained down from her otherwise guarded wrist.
“Fuck,” she said, hitting the damaged cuff in a fruitless attempt to bring the display back online. “Matt, you have to input the activation sequence.”
Matt crawled against the front of the armored regime truck, caught between the two parties exchanging slug after slug. Off in the distance, he could just make out a stream of lights rounding the bend in the road, approaching the ambush point. Shit, he thought, noticing his datacuff lying on the ground in between the two groups. Must have come loose when I went down.
“HOLY SHIT!” he yelled, jerking involuntarily as the headlight next to his actual head exploded from the impact of a stray shot. “Could you assholes aim? And while you’re at it, WOULD SOMEONE THROW ME A GODDAMN WEAPON PLEASE? ”
Megan stopped firing long enough to toss a handgun out over the door that she was ducking behind. It landed just in arm’s length of Matt, who greedily scooped it up. He went prone and squeezed a shot off into the first black boot that caught his eye. The rebel marksman was rewarded with a yelp, as the wounded soldier hobbled back in pain.
“Matt, it’s now or never. Activate the fucking relay!” shouted Megan.
He looked back out over the highway and saw that they were about to miss their one shot at Truman. Pushing back onto his feet, he lunged out of cover towards the datacuff, slapping the device towards Megan as he came down near it.
“Do it now! Do it now!” he yelled to her. She snatched the still functioning cuff out of the air and punched the code in as fast as she could, bringing the system online. Matt had just enough time to hear the weapon relay fire up and rend metal before the blinding pain of the bullet passing through his body caused him to black out.
“Matt!” screamed Haley, spinning out from cover to lay down suppressing fire for her wounded friend. As she finished emptying her clip, she too was struck, taking a shot clean across her upper torso. She spun from the impact, hitting the side of the jeep that she had been ducking behind.
James watched as Haley’s limp body fell into the sand next to him. Blind with rage, he darted out from cover, firing wildly and charging straight at the hostile position. Megan did her best to cover the mad rush, sending another torrent out from behind the riddled door she was shielding herself with. Halfway across the expanse that lay between him and the regime fighters, James heard his rifle go dry, but he pushed on all the same.
As the soldier who had shot Haley realized the enemy fire had let up, he leaned out from behind his truck door and squeezed off another volley at James, hitting him twice. The young rebel stumbled and dropped his empty rifle into the sand, but didn’t seem to realize that he had been struck as he regained his footing and flew at the door, ramming full force into it and pinning the man in between his vehicle and the metal that he had been using for cover. James heard a satisfying scream from his assaulted foe as he rounded the door, quickly bending low to grab the fallen pistol. Without a moment’s hesitation, he spun, firing a clean barrage into the other already wounded soldier, killing him instantly. The young rebel then turned his attention back to his last remaining target, bringing his foot down hard on the man’s shin. A loud crunch filled the air as the bone gave way, sliding out of position. He grabbed hold of the wounded soldier by the dark cloth of his shirt and tossed him aside with a bestial strength. The man landed in a heap, rolling onto his stomach and trying to pull himself across the sand, away from the jeep. James took a moment to check the clip of his newly acquired handgun before walking slowly towards the now sobbing soldier that was desperately crawling away from him. Realizing that he’d never escape, the man rolled over to face his pursuer, as James brought the barrel of the pistol up to his head.
“Please, please!” moaned the soldier, raising his arm as if to shield himself. “I surrender.”
James spat on the man whom he’d seen shoot Haley, then pulled the trigger. As he heard the dull thud that emanated from the projectile parting flesh and skull, he felt something new welling up inside of him, an animalistic pleasure as his opponent’s life slid out through the back of his head. The feeling passed, giving way to lightheadedness. James looked down at the dampened sand, illuminated by the light of the moon, and realized that the thick red soup staining it wasn’t just the soldier’s blood, but his too. He smiled for a moment, lost in his own head, before collapsing into darkness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dr. Nightrick studied the glowing monitor intently, trying to get a read on his old friend. He doesn’t look like he’s changed much since the Uprising. His hair is as dark as ever, a bit thinner maybe, but he still looks ready for war. I guess some people never lose it…
The doctor crossed the hall and entered the small detention room that his captive was being held in. The chamber was empty, save the table, two chairs, and camera tucked into the rightmost corner of the cube. He flashed a warm smile. “Omar, it’s been too long.”
“Or is it not long enough?” said Dr. Karich. “You know you could have just asked me to come, I wouldn’t have denied you. The theatrics of stealing my records and kidnapping me were totally unnecessary.”
“Maybe, but your adopted son has been confirmed as an agent of the Consciousness Liberation Front. I wasn’t sure where his allegiances began and yours ended,” replied Nightrick, sitting down across from his captive.
“You weren’t sure of my allegiance? I thought I made it pretty clear when I saved your life eleven years ago,” said Dr. Karich, looking down at the plain metal cuffs binding him. “And was it really necessary to chain me to the table?”
“I’ve seen what you can do, Omar. It was very necessary,” said Nightrick with a small smile. “But in the interest of keeping this friendly, I’ll untether you.” The doctor tossed his old friend the keys to the cuffs. “Do you know where we are right now?”
“I have a few guesses,” he replied, working the key into the rusted slot on the left cuff. “Based on the bland décor and the archaic method of confinement, I’d guess that we’re in one of your prison complexes. Based on your penchant for the dramatic, I’d guess that it’s the Charon Detention Facility.”
Nightrick nodded, allowing a moment for the fact to settle in.
“I remember the rebels used to call this place the Toxic Truth,” said Dr. Karich without the faintest intonation of fear. “They said that if you had a tight lip, the sadists here would be more than happy to remove it for you. Apparently your people are enthusiastic about their jobs.”
“They’re not my people, really. I gave control of this complex over to Special Branch near the end of the Uprising as I transitioned into the main campus. I never really cared for the heat here. The Brukan Desert is absolutely sterilizing. Good for keeping prisoners in, but unpleasant to say the least. I don’t know how the people over in New Haven can stand living near this giant oven.”
Dr. Karich finally managed to turn the key in the rusted lock, freeing his left arm. “Well, from what I understand of things, you run Special Branch now, so in effect any installation of theirs is still an installation of yours. I never took you for someone who would tolerate the mentally unstable manning one of your facilities. I thought you were more about curing lunatics than encouraging them.”
Nightrick tensed up, doing his best to hide it. “The only way to deal with an extremist is with an extreme response. Who better to interrogate and break lunatics than other lunatics? In my opinion, anyone who maintains the old adage that you can’t fight fire with fire has never heard of back burning.”
Dr. Karich smiled at his old friend’s retort. “There’s the sharp
wit I remember so fondly. Glad to see that not everything has changed.”
“And yet so much has. Tell me, Omar, how is it that you came to be a father? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I never really thought of you as being cut out for parenthood. You were always more of a fighter than a coddler.”
He laughed. “Is there a right way to take that? The Uprising turned more children into orphans than I care to think about. I promised the boy’s parents a long time ago that I would watch over their son if anything ever happened to them. As for me, I never wanted to be a fighter or a coddler, but the war made soldiers out of everyone who survived it.”
“So it did,” nodded Nightrick. “Now, as much as I’ve enjoyed the pleasantries, let’s get down to clearing things up so that we can get you back to work, Doctor.”
“As you wish,” said Dr. Karich, finally managing to free his other hand. “If you brought me here to ask me where James is, I can honestly tell you I have no idea. But, between you and me, even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you. He’s my son, John. I’ve seen how you handle people that you consider threats.”
“I’m not going to allow innocent people to die because you want to protect your child from facing justice for his crimes. James was involved in a very deadly raid a few weeks ago on one of our processing plants. Your son killed nearly thirty people with a chemical weapon, then proceeded to destroy literally tons of valuable chemicals and make off like a thief in the night. He used a volatilizer of his own design, and we have reason to believe that he’s begun producing said chemical weapon for the CLF, which, as I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, is a capital offense and a breach of the Darion Conventions. Now listen to me very carefully, Omar. Your son is a brilliant chemist and I respect that. The boy could have a bright future at Neuro Corp, but I can’t help him if he continues to aid and abet terrorists.”
“I have trouble believing that you’re interested in helping him,” said Dr. Karich, rubbing his wrists where the harsh metal had chaffed his skin. “Anymore, I think the only person you’re interested in helping is yourself.”
Nightrick shrugged. “Even if that were true, working with your son would be beneficial to me, and so naturally I would be willing to overlook his past indiscretions if I could convince him to join me. I have the power to pardon whomever I please. If I will it that James’s crimes go unanswered, then that’s exactly what will happen. Sometimes true justice isn’t about getting even, but finding something good in the wake of something bad. The boy is young and impulsive, which is an inclination I understand all too well. When I was his age, I was fighting a war of my own. I did a lot of stupid things at that point in my life, and I’m lucky that I survived to see the end of the conflict. If it hadn’t been for some of the people that I looked up to, I might well not have. I see a lot of myself in your son. I want to help him, but I need you to make that possible.”
“Let me be as clear about this as I can possibly be, John. If you expect me to side with you over my son, you can go to hell. If that means that I have to suffer in his place, so be it.”
“So be it. Perhaps tomorrow you’ll be more open to reason. I’ll be back at dawn,” said Nightrick, standing to leave. As the doctor exited the room, he sealed the door and grabbed the first technician that he could find. “Ensure that our guest is more inclined to speak to me tomorrow. Be as gentle as he allows you to be, but under no circumstances are you to let up until he’s feeling more agreeable to sharing what he knows with us. Understand?”
The technician nodded and smiled the same sadistic smile that the doctor had seen over and over again on every face that he’d encountered since arriving.
Nightrick frowned as he walked away.
“Turing,” he called. He watched as the AI rose from the nearest hub, casting its brilliant green light against the reflective metal walls of the hallway. “Keep an eye on the rabid dogs running around here. I meant it when I said that I didn’t want Omar excessively harmed. If any of the interrogators go overboard, I’ll have their head for it.”
“Yes, Doctor,” replied the AI.
“I’m beginning to remember why they call this place the Toxic Truth.”
After days on the road, the ravaged rebels finally made it back to Fort Condat in the dead of night. Megan brought her jeep to a halt just outside the rusty double doors leading into the small medical center attached to the facility and hopped out.
“Megan, glad to see you made it back in one piece,” said Commander Fluron as he approached with the emergency response team that she had called ahead for. “Is everyone still alive?”
“For now. I was able to stabilize Matt and Haley pretty well before throwing them into the jeep. I think their wounds are superficial. James though...James is a different story. He took a full burst across his chest. It’s a miracle that he’s survived for this long, to be honest. I did my best to stop the bleeding before loading him, but I’m not exactly running a triage center here, and I had to get us away from the ambush site as quickly as possible. After we were safely away, I started pulling over every half an hour or so to try and stem the bleeding, but no matter what I did he just kept leaking out onto the floor.”
The medics opened the door of the jeep and pulled James out first. His skin was pale white, save the blood smeared all over the front half of him. His chest just barely continued to rise and fall as they laid him down across the stretcher.
“Wow,” said Fluron, taking a puff of the thick cigar he had tucked between his forefinger and thumb. “I wouldn’t hold my breath, he looks horrible. I’m not sure they’re going have the resources here to do anything for him.”
“We’ll do our best,” said one of the physicians that had appeared next to the gurney. “Let’s get him inside and get to work. I’ll send another team for the other two shortly, as long as they’re stable.”
Megan nodded, and the group wheeled the young chemist off into the medical center. “This is all my fault. The attack was too rushed. We didn’t have enough time to plan things out like we should have. If he dies...”
“Then he dies having proven himself loyal,” said the commander, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “At least we’ll know that we can trust him then. Don’t beat yourself up, Megan. I feel bad about your friend, but you guys took out one of the top officers in Neuro Corp. That’s worth bleeding for. Hell, it’s worth dying for.”
Dr. Nightrick looked up from the notepad that he had been scribbling on as he heard a knock against the heavy oak door that led into his private chamber in the inner sanctum of the Charon Detention Facility.
“Come in,” he said, watching the door swing open before one of the numerous attendants that served the upper echelon at the facility.
The servant took a moment to straighten his grey blazer before introducing the newcomer. “Sir, the director of Central Intelligence, here to see you.”
“Thank you. Leave us.”
The attendant bowed, closing the door behind the spymaster.
“Welcome to the Brukan Desert, Director Fox. I hope this trip down here was worth your time,” said Nightrick, standing to shake the man’s hand.
Dario Fox nodded, grasping the doctor’s hand in a firm embrace. His black suit and brimmed cap were tailored with the great care of a man who valued appearance as much as substance. He wore his thirty years of service well, with a thin face that had a certain reptilian quality to it, except for the warmth that radiated from his eyes. He sat down on the other side of the doctor’s lavish desk, taking in the rest of the opulent furnishings: beautiful paintings, a four post bed, and, of course, the magnificent cherry desk, all standing in sharp contrast to the rest of the wretched prison that lay just beyond the walls of the chamber.
“Forgive the interruption, Dr. Nightrick. I know how busy you’ve been these last few weeks, but I wanted you to hear this directly from me. Three nights ago, around four in the morning, Dr. Truman’s convoy was ambushed on the outskirts of Tanzeer.”
Nightrick’
s jaw tightened. “A Western airstrike?”
“No, sir. It appears to be the work of one of the insurgent groups operating in the region.”
“Of course, no women or children died so it couldn’t have been the West. Which group is responsible and what is the condition of Dr. Truman?”
“We believe that the CLF is behind the attack. The insurgents used a laser relay to slice the vehicles as they drove around a particularly sharp bend. The weapon matches those used in similar attacks by the group over the last few months. The relay is crude, but it bypasses our vehicle’s armoring in a way that conventional improvised explosive devices couldn’t. As for the condition of Dr. Truman…He survived, but barely. He’s in critical condition right now after being airlifted back to Dovaruss.”
Nightrick rubbed his forehead. “Keep him alive if you can. I don’t give a damn about Truman, but I don’t want the CLF taking credit for another high profile assassination. They’re getting bolder by the day. We need to capitalize on all of this naked courage that the insurgents are finally feeling, or they’re going to overrun us with it. I need you to do something for me, and I need it done with the highest level of discretion.”
Fox leaned forward in his chair. “Anything, Doctor.”
“I want you to leak to the Crusaders that Dante is to be executed at this facility within a fortnight. Once you’ve done that, leak to the CLF that Dr. Omar Karich is to be hanged alongside him.”
Fox nodded. “As you wish.”
“Once you’ve finished, I want you to head back to Dovaruss and keep a sharp eye on any buildup in or around New Haven. I want to know when the Crusaders are coming to pick up their prophet.”
