End Times, Inc. (A Great & Continuous Malignity)

by David S. Wellhauser

  “Don’t know—but they seem to want us all dead.”

  “Has to be Zakara.” Salt added.

  They wouldn’t know for a bit, at least.

  Meanwhile, the hallway was heating up. Matt couldn’t be certain but he thought some had... Then there was the blast following the vapour trail. Fucking RPG—are they trying to bring the whole floor down? Matt didn’t like this at all. Following there was a thick silence, punctuated by collapsing debris. Taking the silence for an opportunity Matt crept toward the door and peeked out—nothing. Turning back to Roberto and Jonah—“Who’s out there on our side?”

  “Dragoste and Ajutor.” Roberto answered. Though this didn’t help Matt much, since he’d no real idea, beyond Halton, who these were.

  “Coral’s people and a few other teams.” Salt answered. Matt smiled; they were to have all shown up alone as a sign of good faith. It occurred to him—it there was only good faith they would all be dead now. Laughing, he called out into the ruins of the hall.

  “Coral, this is Feargal—you okay.”

  “Yeah—you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dragoste—Ajutor?” There were several unfamiliar shouts.

  “The Transhumanists still out there?”

  “I,” an unfamiliar male voice answered from another room, “believe the RPG was to cover their withdrawal.” Feargal was unhappy about the sentiment—whoever was behind this could be just waiting for him, or any of the others, to stick their noses out the door and that would be it. But there was no other choice—staying here with the end of the floor ripped open and the structural integrity in question wasn’t realistic. By the time he’d screwed himself up, Matt had been joined by Roberto and Jonah. If courage has more bravado in company, then with these two pressing his self-consciousness from behind steeled his.

  With a single, large stride he was in the middle of the hallway. Nothing. Then from behind there was the crunch of rubble. Turning, several figures stepped from the other rooms toward the now open air end of the hallway. Down by what remained of the elevators there was no movement. “We’re going to have a bit of a walk to the lobby—unless you want to try the elevators?” Matt smiled back over a shoulder. There was a chuckle from the two. Twisting around, he saw the two were speaking, quietly, and then shook hands. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve agreed to a limited alliance.” Roberto answered.

  “What does limited mean?”

  “Roberto has agreed to an alliance with Sansa, but not the Archaics.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s something, but perhaps we should leave that until we’ve sorted this out.”

  “They’ve gone?” Roberto asked leaning out the door.

  “They’ve left the floor, but the elevators aren’t of any use—so whoever they are might be waiting in the stairwell.” Neruda nodded as he stepped forward. Doing this, Salt followed and Coral approached with more weapons and bandoliers of grenades, as well as extra clips of ammunition. Taking a few of these Salt discarded the Tec-9 clone.

  “You know those are crap, right?”

  “They’re not so bad if you keep them clean. Truth is I didn’t think I’d need it, but was curious as to how well they work.”

  “Satisfied?” Roberto asked.

  “Not really, the damn thing bounces all over the place. Luckily I never had anything I needed to hit.”

  “Blessing,” Matt smiled, “for all of us. Could see you bouncing across the room.” Privately, he considered how much of the last month had turned from tragedy to farce to low comedy.

  “So, let’s get down those stairs.” Coral began.

  “You may wish,” Matt proposed, “to toss a few frags down there first.”

  ***

  The group made it down to the lobby without incident but it took them longer than they’d have wished. There was some concern about the locals and what questions would be asked, and what questions they might come up with in their attempt to keep the new alliance quiet. Matt wasn’t certain this was at all possible. However, Roberto and Jonah were convinced the Archaics were less perceptive and informed than he. This was normally the attitude, as far as Matt was concerned, just before everything went to hell, but he’d no way of convincing them neither of it, nor of being confident chaos would follow.

  Exiting the stairwell, they created a minor panic with their weapons and appearance—covered in dust, debris, and sweat. Coral was leading the way, followed by her team, and trailing behind Matt, Roberto, and Jonah were Roberto’s people. Coming out into the foyer, security backed away—hands to their weapons, the guests that had been vacating the hotel on fear of a terrorist attack and seeing them feared the worst. Then anxiety and confusion turned to blind panic and hotel security were swept away in a flood of humanity. Matt had attempted to help a few of those that had fallen but was pushed back by Barney and told to keep within the security perimeter. This had been tightened about the three men. Normally Feargal would have pushed back, but that would only create one more problem for everyone, and all he wanted now was out of Birmingham as quickly and quietly as possible.

  The last was not going to be possible, not now, but they might still manage quickly, given the foyer had been emptied. Still, there cars were out front according to Coral, which meant they were going to have to continue into the crowd again. Apparently, the plan for egress had not counted on an assassination attempt. So they turtled toward the front doors—doing so there was a familiar voice from the far side of the room. “You’re okay; I’ve got the trucks around the side, Roberto.” As Neruda moved forward Matt put a hand on his forearm and shook his head. At that moment the room behind Edwards was filled with armed, black clad figures. Barney cursed as Halton pulled another machine pistol and the hard, wild reports danced over the room. Lincoln took a round in the shoulder, but managed to return fire while supported by Noir. Then a grenade flew over Matt’s head toward the advance group. Half turning, Jonah was smiling as he pulled another from the bandolier.

  “Halton, what the fuck are you doing?” Matt didn’t see the point in a debate at this time, but could not help himself.

  “There’s no longer anything for me with Neruda—but Zakara was more than willing to help me kill you.”

  “Don’t you want Leonor and China first?”

  “Order is no longer important—Leonor, besides, will be utterly ruined by the ritual and China can wait.” Feargal wasn’t surprised—Halton had gone so far down the rabbit hole neither of them knew who he was any longer, or what he might do from one moment to the next. Never had it been meant to be this way—not for Roberto; not for Halton; not for Matt. However, for nearly six years now they’d lurched from one improbability to the next.

  At this point, as with all monologues, Coral took the opportunity to rid their world of the man. Her round only appeared to graze his hip, because another of Salt’s grenades exploded and startled the woman. With that, Halton fell back behind his people and disappeared. The assault team pushed their last opportunity hard and a number of the Dragoste and Ajutor fell, or were injured. Eventually, helped by a few lobs by Salt and Neruda the Transhumanists were either killed or driven back through the side entrance. Salt had wanted to stop to see if he recognised any of them, but as he did so there was one last surge. From the hotel’s front doors came a Transhumanist team. In the lead was something that was flickering in and out of Matt’s vision. At first he’d no idea what it was, and then it occurred.

  “Wilson!” He shouted. Though Salt understood, no one else did. Firing he attempted to explain. “Thin Man—it’s Thin Man.” This everyone knew, and there was a hesitation as the group was gripped by the myth bearing down on them, followed by a fresh team. Then Matt tore the bandolier from Salt’s faltering grasp—pulling the pin on one of the grenades, still in the belt, and throwing the bandolier before the charging two dimensional flicker. Feargal hoped it would catch Patrick as he folded back into this dimension, but could only pray for the best. When the belt went off in a
series of explosions the group fell back rather than catch some shrapnel. He couldn’t be certain, but it appeared that Wilson was staggered by one of the blasts; then fell to a knee. Doing so he was fully in phase and Matt took careful aim at a shoulder.

  Before he could fire, however, someone put a couple of rounds in his chest. Falling backwards he disappeared for a moment and then, as they pushed forward against the retreating Metas he could see him lying flat as cardboard at the entrance to the hotel, just before the doors. Wilson appeared to be breathing but his chest was not moving, there was, nonetheless, much about his physiology Matt was not capable of understanding—still, he was aware and grimacing up at him. As Matt looked down at the Meta he could see something was wrong. “Patrick?” The Meta smiled, there was thick, black blood on his lips and in his mouth—though in was more trope than fact, since he possessed no depth. Bending down, Matt picked the Meta up by the back of his neck. He’d no idea what he wanted to ask, but at that moment the eyes fixed and the pupils dilated.

  Then how’s Lincoln?” Matt asked. It had been a few days since they’d returned from Birmingham.

  “He’s good, better all the time.” Jonah answered, tapping a finger on the RPG. They were back in the M&W warehouse, sorting ordnance.

  “Good enough for this trip?”

  “Have to be. I don’t want either of us making it without those we know and trust.”

  “We can still slip away?”

  “For the moment, but there are suspicions of what went on in Birmingham and what we were doing meeting with Roberto without sharing our intentions.”

  “Thought as much. So it is only a matter of time before they learn what we were up to, or convince themselves they know?”

  “The latter most likely—nearly all of whom could explain what we were up to are dead or may not be trusted.” Normally Matt would have disagreed, but if there was one group of Sansa he did trust it was Coral and her people.

  “It has to be soon.” Matt answered in a distant, soft voice. Salt looked up at the tone.

  “News?” Matt shook his head.

  “Just a feeling; it’s been growing since we got back.” Jonah nodded, checking the grenades in the case.

  “You want to take this?”

  “As many as we can—after the thing we met up with in LBL I’m not taking any chances.”

  “Federals have been through there since and didn’t find any more spiders, but about a dozen of those tentacled creatures.”

  “Doesn’t mean there aren’t others out there—you heard Carla. Wilson was supposed to have a whole garden of anomalies.”

  “Very well, RPGs it is. Then you’re going to want Dragon’s Breath shells?” Matt nodded.

  “Flechettes, Armour Piercing Incendiaries, Bolos, Dragon Slugs, and anything else which may do massive damage. And explosive tipped rounds for everything else. Whatever we meet out there I’m taking a scorched earth policy to.”

  “Say,” Jonah began, as he rooted through the cases looking for the rounds, “if we find the ritual site, what do we do then?” Matt was piling the P90s in the cart with the ammunition.

  “I’m starting from the premise Leonor must be close. We will use the site as a point from which to begin a search.”

  “That could be a large area for a small group.”

  “Of course, we will interview all we come across and I’m hoping, but not counting on, more contact from the women the closer I get—Leonor, at least.”

  “It is thin.” Matt sighed, more from resignation than frustration.

  “Yes, but we’re approaching to the endgame here, unless we begin taking some long chances we’re screwed.”

  For a moment—piling boxes of shells in the cart, alongside vests, knives, and on top of the RPGs—Jonah appeared to be considering this. “If we’re heading down to Mexico and it’s held by the Transhumanists and Metas in general then wouldn’t we want US/UN forces? Seems we’re heading into trouble down there.”

  “I have been considering that part of the problem. Once we’ve located Leonor or have narrowed her location down then we can call them in to help us get out—but only if the situation gets tight.”

  “Don’t know if it’s worth mentioning, but I’ve been hearing a rumour about a push south—right along the border with a view to taking back north-eastern Mexico.” Dropping the last of the ordnance in the cart Matt stood there, hands on the side of this and thought for a moment.

  “That could be useful. Do you think they might be after Leonor?”

  “Could be—I’m not certain what they know about the ritual time frame, and their intentions on finding the child remain questionable.”

  “We should assume the worst—which means I have to get there first.”

  ***

  “Matt.” The voice was clear and familiar, but he was still in the grip of sleep, though rising from this. “Matt, wake up.” His eyes cracked open on the same ‘70s atrocity he’d woken on last time. What was it about this place that he repeatedly reconstructed it for their meetings?

  “Hey, China.” He smiled sleepily at her and as what was going on sunk in, he sat bolt upright. Pulling her in he hugged her, tightly.

  “Hi, papa.” And he took Leonor in the same embrace.

  “We have to hurry; we’ll be blocked soon.” China urged.

  “Okay,” pushing his hair back and rubbing his face, “what’s up?”

  “You need to go to Talimena State Park in eastern Oklahoma. It’s, I believe,” China continued, “about three hours west of Little Rock.”

  “You sure about this? We’re getting ready to head to...”

  “Don’t!” Leonor almost shouted. “We may no longer be private.”

  “Okay...” And sleep again took him before he could ask anything more.

  ***

  Sitting up, Matt swung his legs off the M&W office sofa and stood groggily. His first step stumbled as he went into the washroom to throw some water on his face. Then he was out the door and rattling down the Metal stairs to the main floor where Jonah and Coral’s people were suiting up. “Jonah,” yelling over the rattle of the slightly loose and reverberating steps, “change of plans.” The Meta waited quietly, but the look on his face was one of exasperation.

  “China needs me to go to Talimena State Park in eastern Oklahoma.”

  “Should I,” voice tired, “ask why?”

  “I don’t know myself.”

  “Well, let’s get going.”

  “You should go on to Monterrey and I will find you when I get there.”

  “I’m not letting you off on your own. Never works out well for anyone.” Matt knew he was thinking of the Northwest.

  “You need to begin looking for Leonor as quickly as possible. For the moment I’ve no idea why she’s sending me there—could be nothing.”

  “I doubt it’s nothing—but here, you take Coral, Daniel, Prester, and Bell. I’ll take the rest with me.” Excepting Barney, he got the hardest and most reliable members of the team.

  “Okay.” He wanted to argue but time was tight.

  “Be quick, though—I don’t know how much time we have.”

  ***

  The meal had been good, not what Matt would have normally had for lunch, but he could always find a place for barbecue. As they rolled out of the front door of the Smokehouse-Bar-B-Que in Conway, Arkansas Matt and Coral had eaten more than they should have. The lot was pretty full with the lunch-hour traffic, but the street was utterly silent. It wasn’t a large town, with no heavy industry Feargal could see, and seemed to be, for the most part, either working-class or lower middle-class—if the housing was anything to go by. The silence, through the fatted calf, did not register at first, but as Matt reached for the door handle on his SUV something tweaked, and he jumped back from the door. A round scratched where his hand had been a moment before.

  “Ambush.” He muttered, as Coral stared at him blankly. Then louder—“Ambush.” Grabbing the woman by her collar, they’d taken of
f the vests to avoid emptying out the place, he pulled her behind a Chrysler. Pulling the P250, Matt shouted for the others to take cover. By this time Prester, Daniel, and Bell had figured out what was going on, and had grabbed their weapons. Apparently the focus had been on Matt, and he was surprised by that—shouldn’t have stopped for lunch. Looking from the team gearing up and back across the street what could only have been Transhumanists, all covered in black, were emerging from between the houses firing. Somehow Daniel had managed to lob a frag, and the line was broken. When this happened, the others with their P90s stepped into the parking lot and toward the Metas. Several were injured or dead, from the blast, and the others, staggered, were breaking and running.

  ***

  Having collected the injured and put some distance between themselves and the Smokehouse they found their vehicles a couple of blocks south. They also found a large box truck filled with prisoners—some human and some Meta. This hadn’t been expected. Beyond the vehicles, however, the surviving operatives weren’t talking. Most of the prisoners were in good shape, if somewhat frightened and dehydrated. From the smell of the box and those in this they’d been there for some time. A middle-aged woman from Decatur said they were being taken to north-eastern Mexico but beyond that they’d no idea what was going on. What bothered Matt was this was a mixture of humans and unaffiliated Metas. Of course, Transhumanists were now abducting both—the humans for transformation and the Metas for re-education—but they’d not been known to transport them together. Still, here they were. He supposed what with time drawing toward a dénouement they were prone to taking whatever shortcuts were necessary.

  Letting the humans go they collected the surviving Transhumanists and H+, apparently this was a new effort to bring the two groups back together after their split in the early days in Dilmun, and put them into the box truck and turned back northwest. The plan was to circle the national parks—after LBL Matt was only prepared to go into these when there was no longer a choice—and come up on Talimena from the West. That would be, according to his map app, at least a three hour drive—more likely they’d be looking at twice that. Feargal’s plan in that case would be to spend the night in Talihina, if the town was secure.