The Julian Year

by Gregory Lamberson

  O’Brien parked and they got out of the vehicle. Each man put on his riot helmet and secured its strap.

  Ethridge pressed the button on his intercom. “Testing.”

  “Loud and clear,” O’Brien said.

  Hearing his partner’s voice over the intercom inside his helmet, Ethridge nodded. “Let’s go.”

  The two policemen, outfitted in Kevlar vests, crossed the project grounds.

  Ethridge scanned the terrain. “No one’s out today.” No kids, no drug dealers, no adults pushing shopping carts. No soldiers.

  They entered the building’s lobby. Few projects had working door locks anymore.

  “Shouldn’t someone be on duty?” O’Brien said.

  Ethridge palmed the elevator button. “There should be. Call it in.”

  O’Brien called in the status update, which the dispatcher acknowledged, and the elevator door opened. They boarded it and Ethridge almost vomited from the stench of urine. He pressed the button for the eleventh floor, and the door closed.

  “People are flocking out of these projects now that apartments are opening up in standard buildings,” O’Brien said.

  “They’re crazy. These suckers are like fortresses.”

  “Maybe they don’t want to live in buildings with elevators that stink like piss. They’re using squatters’ rights, just like the settlers did.”

  “Good luck using that defense in court.”

  “What court?”

  The elevator stopped, and they exited into a corridor constructed of ceramic blocks illuminated by dull green fluorescent lights. With their footsteps echoing, Ethridge searched for the proper door. As soon as the elevator door closed behind them, the lights went off, enshrouding them in darkness.

  Drawing his Glock, Ethridge heard O’Brien’s voice over the intercom: “Oh no . . .”

  Then, through his helmet, he heard the sounds of doors opening and closing all around them, the slams echoing.

  Ruby-red spheres of light appeared in pairs, suspended in the darkness like planets in space, and moved toward them at head level. The glowing eyes reminded Ethridge of Christmas tree lights. When the approaching people blinked, the red light glowed through their eyelids, turning orange.

  Oh, my God, Ethridge thought. “Switch to night vision.” He slid the dark plastic shield on his helmet into place and pressed the toggle switch on the side with his free hand. The shield blossomed with green light, enabling him to see a dozen adults closing in on him. In the lime glow of the night vision, their eyes and the blades some of them wielded appeared black.

  “They’re all around—”

  Before O’Brien finished his sentence, Ethridge fired his Glock in an almost continuous burst, the muzzle flashes confusing the night vision’s sensor, which caused the shield to flare white, the reports creating static over the internal speakers.

  Gunfire erupted behind him as O’Brien followed his cue. Ethridge stopped firing and the shield went green again. He couldn’t tell how many figures he had brought down, but he saw two men standing within arm’s reach. After firing two shots into one man’s head, he turned to the other as his face shield flared white again. Ethridge fired twice more, then unsnapped his chin snap and tore his helmet from his head and discarded it. He saw a pair of horrible red eyes now and fired a round between them, the muzzle flash illuminating the bloodied countenance of a Chinese woman as she melded into darkness.

  Three reports followed an identical number of flashes, and the impact of two gunshots to his chest drove him backward. His Kevlar vest absorbed the rounds, but he rebounded off O’Brien like a pinball, slammed into a wall, and felt a blade drive into his side. He cried out but doubted O’Brien heard him over his gunfire. Then another blade penetrated his gut, and a third sliced into his neck. He toppled groaning to the floor, with hot blood flowing from his wounds, and gasped at the sight of the red eyes hovering above him in the darkness.

  Ethridge managed to hang on to his Glock, but it no longer mattered; the last thing he heard was O’Brien screaming.

  President Rhodes stared at the data in the report.

  “We knew this was coming.” Stoker pushed his glasses up his nose.

  “I know. I just didn’t expect it this fast.”

  “The first quarter of the year has passed,” Donna said. “We’ve made no progress at all from a medical or scientific standpoint.”

  Rubbing his chin, Rhodes tried not to look at the vice president for too long. Her intensity had begun to make him uncomfortable.

  “One-quarter of the world’s population has become possessed,” Stoker said. “Factor in the homicides, and we’ve lost one-third of the functioning population. Our prisons, including makeshift facilities, are filled to capacity. The number of prison breaks and attempted prison breaks are on the rise. Thirty-four states have used the death penalty on possessed persons with zeal in some cases. All the governors, including those in states without the death penalty, are pressing us for a decision.”

  Rhodes sighed. “I’m opposed to the death penalty, and those executions are being affected without any due process. It’s called state murder.”

  Stoker and Donna stared at him. He waited for them to glance at each other, but they were too disciplined.

  “We’re at war,” Donna said.

  “I know that.”

  “And in war there are casualties.”

  “I know that as well. God knows we’ve suffered enough of them already. But prisoners of war have rights. The Geneva convention still guides us. There’s a difference between combat casualties and executing prisoners, and there’s an even greater difference between executing prisoners and practicing genocide.”

  “It’s them or us.”

  “Wrong. It’s us no matter what,” Rhodes said. “We’re a doomed race.”

  “Inaction now will only expedite our fate.”

  Rhodes rose from his seat and walked to the closest window, where he gazed at the military blockade beyond the fence topped with coiled razor wire. “How would we do it?”

  “We’d leave that to each state,” Stoker said.

  Rhodes turned from the window and faced them. “At this point, with the prisons and makeshift facilities so full, the only solution is mass execution. Is that correct?”

  Stoker held his gaze. “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “And the only way for me to prolong the human race from its inevitable death is to order the deaths of millions of people.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re recommending that I become another Adolf Hitler so some of our people can live longer than the rest.”

  “Nothing about this situation is remotely comparable to Hitler’s ‘Final Solution.’”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Stoker didn’t answer.

  “What about my soul?”

  “We’ve been friends for a long time,” Stoker said. “If you’re not capable of making a decision for the good of this country, for the good of our species, then you should step down.”

  There, at last it’s out in the open. “How do you think we should do it?”

  “We have to increase the troop levels at each facility and coordinate simultaneous executions across the country so the possessed persons can’t warn each other. Outfit each soldier with a gas mask, and pump poisoned gas into each facility. You won’t tell the world until we’ve achieved our objective. Then we can begin the process of body disposal. From that point on, we execute new prisoners as soon as they turn.”

  “Jesus.” Was this really the man he had been friends with since college?

  “You need to make a decision,” Donna said.

  I know I do, Rhodes thought.

  The intercom buzzed and Rhodes pressed a button on it. “Yes?”

  The voice of his secretary came over the speaker. “Director McDonald is on the line from Langley. He says it’s urgent.”

  “Thank you.” He pressed another button. “Go ahead, Stan. I have you on speakerphone with Austin
and the vice president.”

  “There’s been a development,” McDonald said. “All our subjects are exhibiting signs of a mutation.”

  Rhodes’s stomach tightened. “What kind of mutation?”

  “Their eyes are glowing red. Glowing like lightbulbs.”

  Rhodes stared at his subordinates. “When did this happen?”

  “Minutes ago. Every one of them is laughing about it right now.”

  Examining his smartphone, Stoker raised his eyebrows. “We’re getting similar reports from other law enforcement agencies.”

  “Their eyes appear to be glowing regardless of how long they’ve been possessed.”

  “So much for them still being human,” Donna said.

  Rhodes pondered the development. “I think it’s time I paid another visit to Wilhelm Keiper.”

  “I think that would be ill advised,” Stoker said. “We have no idea what this mutation means. It could be a trap.”

  “I agree,” Donna said.

  “I want to hear what Mr. Keiper has to say,” Rhodes said.

  “Then send me. There’s less risk involved.”

  Rhodes smiled at Donna. “Thank you but I’d like to do this myself.”

  “Besides the obvious risk, there’s another to consider,” Stoker said. “Our people have ruled out the existence of telepathic communication as we understand it as a tool used by the enemy, but there’s no question they have some sort of heightened awareness, an information flow. Keiper knew things about your personal life he couldn’t possibly have learned on his own. If you get near him, we run the risk that he’ll also become aware of every plan you’ve made that needs to remain a secret.”

  “You’ve kept me out of the loop,” Donna said. “It’s safe to send me.”

  “I’ve kept things from both of you,” Rhodes said. “And I thank you both for your counsel. You’re right, Austin. I can’t go anywhere near these things. Director McDonald, please arrange a video conference between myself and Mr. Keiper.”

  Larry pulled over to the project, surrounded by army vehicles and soldiers. He had grown up in a complex like this and had never dreamed of the day when armed forces would be deployed to contain them. As he slid out from behind the wheel, he saw at least a dozen refrigerated corpse trucks parked along the curb. Soldiers transported a corpse on a stretcher, which they dumped onto the sidewalk with two dozen more.

  Anibal joined him and shook his head. “Just another day in paradise.”

  They crossed the grounds, flashing their shields at various soldiers. Closer to the building, they stared at the bloodied corpses on the ground. Some had open eyes, and sunlight glinted off their mirrored surfaces.

  “These are just the ones my men took care of down here,” a sergeant said. “There’s another fifteen upstairs that your boys took down. They put up a hell of a fight.”

  “Where are they?” Larry said.

  The soldier gestured at two figures on another sidewalk. “Over there. We separated them out of respect.”

  Larry led Anibal over to where Calvin Ethridge and Joseph O’Brien lay dead. Knife wounds riddled the body of each man, and blood stained their uniforms. Larry had become accustomed to seeing multiple corpses each day, but the sight of the bodies of cops he had worked with day in and day out made him clench his jaw.

  “Don’t you know not to remove bodies from a homicide scene?” Anibal said.

  The sergeant looked at him. “This was a skirmish, not a crime.”

  A whistle caused Larry to look back the way they had come.

  A familiar-looking figure stood near two soldiers holding machine guns. The man waved his ID in the air.

  “It’s okay,” Larry said. “Let him through.”

  “Let him through,” the sergeant said.

  A minute later Weizak joined them.

  “I thought you were done pounding a beat,” Anibal said.

  “I could say the same for you,” Weizak said. Looking at the ground, his features grew sad. “Calvin Ethridge?”

  “Yeah, you knew him?” Larry said.

  “Not well but I spoke to him a couple of times.”

  Anibal pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “Let’s bag their personal effects since there’s no reason to expect a medical examiner to show up.”

  Larry put on an identical pair of gloves and searched O’Brien’s person while Anibal searched Ethridge’s pockets.

  Anibal removed a folded piece of paper from a worn leather wallet. “What’s this?” He scanned the handwritten letter. “It’s signed Rachel Konigsberg.”

  Larry turned to Weizak. “His former partner.”

  “I know,” Weizak said. “I’m pretty sure that’s a letter I gave to him on Konigsberg’s behalf.”

  Larry turned to Anibal. “What’s it say?”

  Anibal folded the paper. “She was letting him down easy.”

  Larry shook his head. “That sorry son of a bitch.”

  Facing the camera with Stoker and Donna off to the side and out of camera range, Rhodes stared at the image of Wilhelm Keiper on a large flat screen. The inmate sat with his head bowed, long hair obscuring his face.

  “I’m here, Mr. Keiper.”

  The figure on the screen did not move. “Did you just call to say you love me, Hari?” He raised his head, but his greasy hair masked his eyes. Red light glowed through the dark strands. He blew the hair out of his eyes, but half of it fell back into place. A single red orb glowed from within. A soldier stepped forward and brushed the hair out of the way. “You should have come in person.”

  Despite having been briefed on what to expect, Rhodes stared at Keiper’s hypnotic eyes with a mixture of fascination and repulsion. “That wasn’t practical.”

  “Are you calling to say good-bye to a condemned man?”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Aren’t you trying to decide whether or not to execute us?”

  Rhodes forced himself to meet the possessed man’s gaze. “I thought the One Mind already knew my intentions. You don’t seem so sure.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “You tell me.”

  Keiper smiled. “You’re too far away. Come closer.”

  “I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”

  “You’re holed up, aren’t you? All dressed up and no place to go. You’re just as much a prisoner as I am.”

  “Tell me about this mutation you’ve undergone.”

  “What difference does it make? I’ll be dead soon, won’t I?”

  “I thought I was asking the questions. You seem convinced I plan to kill you all. Why?”

  “Your back is against a wall. There’s too many of us for you to risk keeping us alive.”

  “Let’s get back to your eyes.”

  “If you want answers, why don’t you speak to one of us there?”

  “I feel like you and I share a rapport. I’d rather speak to you.”

  “I’m not the same person you spoke to last time.”

  “Because more of your kind have joined the One Mind?”

  Silence.

  “Is that why your eyes changed? Are they some sort of barometer of how many of you have been reborn, like a power indicator?”

  “You’re grasping at straws, mein president.”

  “I accept that you’re a soul who’s possessed Keiper’s body. What was your previous name?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m no longer that person. I belong to the One Mind.”

  “When we first met, you revealed personal information about me. How did you come by it?”

  Keiper’s eyes pulsed.

  Rhodes sat forward. “It’s not like you to be speechless.”

  “I so wish you had come here.”

  “That makes me glad I didn’t.”

  “Strike us down and we’ll only be replaced by others.”

  “We can kill them as well.”

  “Eventually we’ll outnumber you no matter what. It’s inevitable.”

 
; Rhodes’s lips formed a trace of a smile. “I arranged this conversation hoping to find a reason to spare your lives. All you’ve done is convince me that you become more powerful and dangerous with each day as more of you come into existence.”

  “I knew your decision before you did.”

  “No, you didn’t. Good-bye, Mr. Keiper—whoever you are.” Rhodes nodded to Stoker, who rose and switched off the camera.

  “They don’t know any more about why this is happening than we do.”

  Twenty-nine

  April 8

  Lynette pulled her Taurus over to the curb and gazed at her mother’s two-story home, where she had grown up. Light rain slicked the windshield, and the nervousness in her stomach swelled. As she shifted the car into Park, her fingers turned numb. She adjusted the rearview mirror so she could see Denny. Her son met her gaze with unsuspecting eyes, and her vision blurred with tears.

  I have to get this over with.

  She exited the car, took a deep breath of damp air, and opened the back door faster than she had intended, which caused Denny to flinch.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to startle you. Come on out.”

  Denny unbuckled his seat belt, hopped off his booster seat, and got out of the car.

  Leaning against the inside of the car door, Lynette embraced the boy. “Give me a big hug.” She crushed him against her bosom. “I love you so much. You mean the world to me.” Freeing him, she kissed both cheeks. “You know that, right? Mommy loves you more than anything in the world.”

  Denny nodded, and Lynette hugged him tightly again, her chest convulsing.

  Do not cry. Do not fucking cry.

  Closing her eyes, she fought back the tears. When she felt she could control herself, she released her son. With a weak smile, she brushed his brown bangs out of his eyes. “You be a good boy now, okay? Listen to Grandma. I’ll see you soon.”

  Denny nodded again.

  She kissed him on the forehead. “Bye-bye.”

  He took off.