Kharon

by Wayne Marinovich

  Shredder and Smithy walked forward to the small gate in the side railing, their SA80s carried across their arms. The man stepped on deck and chatted to them briefly before putting his arms out as Smithy frisked him. A Glock was removed from a holster on the man's belt and handed to Shredder.

  'I take it that you are Kyle Gibbs?' the man said as he strutted over, sticking his hand out.

  Gibbs nodded and shook his hand. 'Bob Dweck?

  'The very same,' he replied, a sparkle in his blue eyes.

  'Nice to meet you, Bob. Andrei said that you would be our eyes and ears on the ground while we chase this lunatic.'

  'That's correct. I am a junior minister in the New American Government so have fingers in all manner of pies,' he said.

  'Good to hear. So you from New York then?'

  'I am. I hail from a small family import and export business in Manhattan, before it was flooded of course.'

  ‘Good to have you on board with us,' Gibbs said. 'What can you tell me about Butler's whereabouts?'

  'I have over twenty scavenger informants scouting his factories and watching out for men who match his description. He is proving to be very elusive. The New York warlord is not co-operating either. He is one of you British fellows and rules the city with an iron fist, so people who work for him are too scared to help us for fear of floating out to sea if you catch my drift.'

  'I do. Andrei seems to think that his rise to power was engineered way back when Butler was still leading the Phoenix Council.'

  'That may be true. I can check up with some of the seasoned campaigners here in the NAG. Leave it with me. You don't happen to have any photos of Butler do you?'

  Gibbs frowned at him. 'I thought Andrei had provided you with all that kind of intel.'

  'It's a photo from five years ago. I am sure that a man of his means, who is on the run from global governments, might have made some changes.'

  'True, but see what you can get from your New York contacts anyway.'

  'Will do, buddy. I'll let you get on your way to Newark and meet up with your trucks and men. It’s a tricky sail at low tide, so good luck.'

  Gibbs shook his hand and smiled. The tall man walked towards the railing, stopping at Smithy to retrieve his Glock, which he stuffed into the holster in the back of his pants.

  Chapter 23

  Queen of Sheba, Massachusetts Bay, Atlantic Ocean - 2033

  Wooden slats from the bunk above her made her heart sink. Squirming to her right, she tried to get comfortable after a night of being tied down to the bed. The silver tape cut into her wrists and ankles, and she was numb from inactivity. Grinding her teeth, she winced at the pain in her jaw from the beatings that Woolf had dished out to her. What is Butler planning?

  'Hello!' she screamed for the umpteenth time.

  Hunger and an urgent need to go to the toilet had kept her awake for most of the morning, but it had to be getting closer to noon.

  A distant clanging noise of metal on metal gave her some joy as she recognised the sound of the anchor and chain being lowered. Outside the ship, the air was filled with the child-like cry of seagulls.

  She lay in silence. A few minutes later she heard footsteps and the door opened. Mike walked through. He slipped a large hunting knife out and leant over her to cut the silver restraints.

  'Your journey‘s over, princess. Time to go and meet the man with all the plans,' Mike said.

  'I need to use the toilet. Do you mind waiting outside?'

  'I do actually, get in there and hurry the fuck up.'

  He was still waiting as she walked out.

  'Turn around. I need to bind your wrists,'

  She slowly turned and placed her hands behind her back.

  'When can I see my son, Mike?'

  'You'll see him soon enough, but that is about all. The boss has told us that no contact of any kind is allowed between you two.'

  'Why?' she said.

  'You can ask him when you see him. Maybe he will allow you that as a last request,' he said and laughed, pushing her out the door and leading her down the corridor. They walked along the gangway where the containers were being boarded up by more soldiers. A sealed up container was already being hoisted out of the hull by a crane that spanned over from the quay. She felt for the poor people as the icy air filtered down through the hold's open doors.

  Mike shoved her through one of the plain metal flood doors, and she slipped on the salty sea-sprayed deck, banging her knees. The cold air whipped through to the bone, and her teeth started to chatter as Mike pulled her to her feet.

  'Don't you start acting up again.'

  A young blond soldier walked up to them and took her arm. 'Hi, Christina. I am going to accompany you for the rest of your journey. My name is Jonathan.'

  'Where is my son?'

  'He will be in the truck behind us. So you might get a glimpse of him as they load him up.'

  Christina scanned the long concrete quay below that had been built out from a flooded five-storey building. At the end of it was a gigantic blue crane that towered over the Queen of Sheba and was unloading containers, two by two, out of the hold and onto awaiting green trucks. Three additional vehicles slowly reversed down the quay next to the others and parked near the metal gangway that was being lowered from the hull.

  'Those trucks are for you and our other special guests,' Jonathan said and grabbed her arm to walk her towards the gangway.

  She inched down the steep incline slowly, trying not to slip. She could not stop herself with her hands bound, and it was a long drop to the water. Inching her way down onto the slimy concrete quayside, Jonathan guided her between the two rows of trucks.

  'Keep walking to the first truck.'

  'Please, Jonathan, I just want to see my son. Even just a glimpse would do.'

  'Woolf will kill me if I disobey him. I am sure you heard about what happened to the last man who was assigned to look after you.'

  'I feel terrible about young Owen. He was such a caring young man, and I am indebted to him for everything he did. I understand if you feel it would endanger your life to help me.'

  Jonathan stopped her at the back of the first truck then lowered the big tailgate, flipping out a small ladder.

  'Just wait right here. Owen was a friend of mine too. Don't look around until I tell you to.'

  He climbed into the back of the truck and shifted two wheat-filled sacks to the left side. He kneeled on the edge and looked up every few seconds.

  'Okay, turn around now.

  Christina turned to see a soldier carrying Stuart in his arms. Her son was sleeping peacefully with his head on the man's shoulders, his mouth open slightly. The soldier turned in behind the back of the second truck, disappearing from view.

  • • •

  Christina tried in vain to get comfortable. Drifting in and out of a troubled sleep, it was early morning, and the temperature had dropped during the night. The back of the truck was open, and she looked out at the shape of the second truck that was in convoy behind them. Woolf was sitting next to the driver, puffing away on another cigarette. Looking across to the other side of the vacant motorway, Christina saw a faded I90 sign disappearing into the distance as they drove along. Being back in the country she had grown up in had a bittersweet taste to it. Rocking her body to and fro, she tried to swing herself up into a seating position.

  'Here, let me help,' Jonathan said and pushed her up.

  'Thanks, Jonathan,' she said. 'Do you have any idea where we are going?'

  'I have not been told that, Christina. I wish I had more information for you, but I'm pretty new to Styx Enterprises.'

  'Do you have any idea why I am still being separated from everyone? Is there any news of the other women who were with me?'

  He smiled and shook his head.

  The fusion truck shuddered and started to slow down. Christina looked at Jonathan then back out to the truck with Woolf in. It narrowed the gap to within a few feet of them and then Christina fel
l over as their vehicle turned off the I90. Woolf waved and smiled as his truck carried on past them.

  'Oh my God, Jonathan. Where are they going? Why are we not going with them?'

  'I don't know, Christina,' he said and walked to the back of the truck to look out.

  'There is another sign. We are still on the I90 to Onalaska. They've carried on driving on the I94 to Minneapolis.'

  Stuart! Utter despair at the thought of no longer being near Stuart washed through Christina. A part of her was missing. She started sobbing. 'I just don't understand what is happening.'

  'Neither do I. Styx Enterprise has its headquarters and a few factories in Minneapolis. Maybe they are going there. I'll ask the driver when we stop again.'

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat in silence. Where are you, Gibbs?

  Chapter 24

  Churchill, Manitoba, Canada - 2033

  Lord Butler looked at the man staring back in the mirror. He clenched his jaw and saw the muscles twitch. The emaciated wretch that gazed back at him was someone that he once might have recognised, but not anymore. The darkness swirled around inside him at the prospect of the Kharon plan. Walking over to the bed, he picked up the sawn-off shotgun and clipped it onto the shoulder strap that was placed over his black waistcoat. Grabbing his long down jacket with its fur-lined hood, he eased his left arm in first, trying not to rub his forearm stump against the inside of the sleeve.

  All his belongings had been packed up into three plastic boxes and were piled near the door. He walked out his room and left the building, out into the freezing Churchill air. It was beautiful. A clear, crisp night after a few days of whiteout blizzards and the fresh snow crunched beneath his snow boots. Two armed men in green overcoats, green pants and black boots fell in behind him. They crossed the road together and walked past the Styx laboratory complex.

  Local villagers were already queuing out through the main door of the small town hall as Lord Butler made his way down the street. Walking up the steps, two more soldiers appeared from the left and pushed ahead of him, clearing a path for him to enter the small vacant foyer. Two heavily armed men stood, arms crossed in front of their chests, guarding the wooden double door that was the entrance to the hall itself. He felt like royalty, greeting a few men and women who were queuing inside. He smiled like he knew they expected him too.

  'Open the doors and start letting everyone in, gentlemen,' Lord Butler barked to the two men. 'It's freezing out here.'

  He scanned the smiling faces as the townsfolk filed in from the cold and went in to take their seats on the rows of wooden chairs. Professor and Dr Anderson plus three of their research assistants were detained to one side.

  'Francis, what is going on here?' Professor Anderson asked.

  'I am going to address the town, Pehr, that’s what.'

  'What could you possibly still want from them?'

  'Just going to show my appreciation for all they’ve done. You have work to do, so don't concern yourself with the people of Churchill anymore. Start focusing all your thoughts and energies on the production and quality of product that is going to make us famous, and very, very rich.'

  'What is going in there? I heard one of them say that you said the meeting was about creating more jobs here. I thought we were finished up here.'

  'You are done here. Styx Enterprises is not, however,' Lord Butler snapped. 'Men, escort the Professor and his esteemed team to the waiting trucks. I will be joining you shortly.'

  He watched them leave the foyer and walk down the outside steps. Three trucks had just pulled up, and twenty men jumped down, walking past the confused group of scientists. A good-looking captain, with short black hair, walked up to him and saluted.

  'Good evening, Captain. Have you briefed all your men?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Fantastic. Now follow me,' Lord Butler said, and turned to walk into the hall.

  It had a high wooden ceiling with large panels, yellow painted walls with curtains hanging to the floor. The hall had two blocks of wooden seating, with aisles on the sides, and a wider one down the middle that ran up to a metal lectern at the front. Lord Butler felt a spring in his step as he walked past the empty back rows, up towards the front of the hall. The first ten rows on each side were filled with what was left with the population of Churchill and they all chatted excitedly amongst themselves. A little boy sitting on a chair right on the aisle waved to him, his white blanket clutched in his other hand as he sucked his thumb. Lord Butler smiled back and slipped his hand out of his pocket and ruffled the little child's blond hair. He stopped at the front of the group and turned to greet them.

  'Good evening, everyone. Where is Clive?'

  A man who was sitting three rows back stood up.

  'Come on up, Clive. Don't be shy,' Lord Butler shouted. 'While your hardworking mayor makes his way forward, I just wanted to thank each and every one of you for your patience and continued help. Styx Enterprises thanks you for your valuable contribution. You will not be forgotten.'

  Shaking Clive's hand as he stepped forward, the tall black-haired man turned and cleared his throat.

  'I know that many of you have been worried since you heard the news that the lab was no longer going to be in operation. I spoke to Lord Butler earlier today, and he has promised…'

  Lord Butler drifted off as the darkness swirled around inside him. He felt his hand reach the zip for his jacket and started pulling it down. Flicking the right side of the jacket side backwards, he felt the cold comfort of the shotgun. The darkness growled and egged him on. He lifted the shotgun towards Clive's head. A distant scream from one of the villagers made Clive turn as the recoil flicked the barrel upwards. The first two rows of people in front of Clive closed their eyes as the beads of blood covered them. The dead mayor collapsed forward onto a cowering woman. Lord Butler swung the gun around and shot the nearest villager, a tall teenager, who had stood up from his chair and reached for his hunting rifle. The force of the close range blast pushed him backwards, toppling into the second row, a moist dark mess where his face had been.

  Yellow muzzle blasts from the twenty machine guns of the soldiers who had walked down the side aisles blocked out the screams. The roar from the juddering weapons continued until the magazines were spent. Metal clicking against metal as they soldiers eagerly reloaded then sent a second wave of bullets ripping into the congregated villagers.

  The darkness let out a low rasping scream from Lord Butler's lungs as he stood with his arms spread, face pointed at the ceiling. Men, woman, children, young and old, screamed, saturating the air with fear and terror as they fell amongst the splintering hall chairs. Orgasmic euphoria flowed through him as he looked back down to see people racked with pain. Warm blood splattered across the side of his face as a nearby fleeing man’s head exploded in a red hue. Lord Butler felt baptised, reborn. He had overcome everything in his life. His time had come.

  A woman crawled up to him, and Lord Butler reached into the jacket and pulled out his Beretta and fired into her spine. She screamed and clawed at the slippery ground. Jamming the Beretta under his left arm, he pulled his mother’s dagger out of the scabbard, reached down and slit her throat. Laughter resonated from his chest as he cleaned the blade on the back of her jacket.

  A younger teenager sprinted past him, and towards the fire exit doors. He placed the blade on the woman’s back and grabbed the pistol again, firing twice in quick succession. The momentum sent the boy sprawling on the shining floor as his body slid up against the exit door.

  A few seconds later the echoes of the screams and gunshots died away into the corners. Silence. Lord Butler stood at the front with his eyes closed taking all the chaos in. He was the darkness now.

  He smiled at the soldier nearest to him. ‘Here, son. Load my weapons please.'

  The young man with eyes blinking with adrenaline, blood splattered across his face, walked across and helped to load the shotgun and pistol.

  'Light her up and let
her burn,' Lord Butler screamed.

  The men laughed as they started setting the flimsy curtains on fire and Lord Butler walked down the centre aisle, stepping over countless bodies. He stopped and looked at the small boy who was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Kneeling down he flicked a tassel of blond hair out of the boy's eyes, then grabbed the blood-splattered white blanket and reached up to wipe the blood and sweat from his face. He walked out of the burning hall.

  The cold air welcomingly seeped through him as he walked outside and down the main steps. Standing near the first truck were the five scientists. Looking to his left, he noted the orange glow from the roof of the laboratory. More of his orders being carried out.

  The first few snowflakes drifted into view. Another blizzard.

  'What have you done, Francis?' Ruth Anderson screamed as he walked up to them. Tears streamed down her face.

  He wiped the sweat from his face once more with the blanket then stood staring at the blood all over it. Tossing it aside into the pristine snow, he walked past them.

  'I did what was necessary. Now, stop whining and get into the truck. Let's get to the planes and go back to the good old US of A.’

  'Where are we going?' Pehr asked.

  'Minneapolis. Back to Styx Headquarters.'

  Lord Butler climbed into the cab next to the good-looking captain. The cab was warm, and he slowly took off his jacket. Throwing it onto the dashboard in front of him, he reached down into the side pockets of his pants and pulled out a folded envelope.

  'Make sure you leave this on the steering wheel when you get out,' he said.

  'Yes, sir,’ the man said, looking at the handwriting on the front. ‘May I ask who Captain Kyle Gibbs is?'

  'No, you may not.'

  • • •

  Pehr Anderson looked across at his wife as she sat back on her ankles, staring out the back of the truck. Her hair was still in her ponytail, but her fringe was windswept from standing in the gusts of icy wind at the private airstrip north of Minneapolis. It had been a few hours since they had left the massacre in Churchill, and she hadn't said a word.