The New Assault

by Steven Spellman

  He knew it, but he couldn’t say it, not even in his head. Not yet.

  He wanted to rush back up the lengthy wooden staircase to his home. But was it still home, now that his father, the last thing on earth that had given the unnecessarily huge house any sort of importance was …? No, as difficult as it was, he could not go back. He had to walk on, and most importantly he had to avoid thinking about what awaited him when he did climb the staircase again.

  He walked on with no path to lead him, for hours. When he finally looked up, he noticed that he had walked clear to the other side of the mountain. It had been an incredibly long walk, but Sam wasn’t completely surprised that he’d made it without noticing. He was more distracted than he’d ever been in his life. But now that he did notice, he felt tired. He didn’t want to walk anymore. He didn’t want to think anymore. He didn’t want to exist anymore. There was simply so much bad that came along with existing. You thought, so that you could realize that you didn’t know. You felt, so that you could understand that all was futility. You gained so little so that you could lose it so absolutely, and then you risked losing it all so that you could gain so little in return. Only to lose again. He turned toward the city. He couldn’t see the spires and buildings, but he could still hear the fruitless thoughts of the city’s inhabitants. What was the point? Why was any of them here? Why was he here? Tomorrow, they would all disappear like the fume of an extinguished candle. Did the single quivering flame that was their life really matter?

  Then Sam thought of his father. His mother. The quivering flame that had been their lives did matter. It mattered a very great deal. Suddenly, Sam felt more deflated than ever. He turned from the city that he could no longer see. The voices were still rattling around in his head, but he didn’t bother to block them out. It didn’t matter right now. Instead, he continued walking around the base of the mountain. He had no idea where he was going—there was no city on the other side of the mountain, no place for him to live—he only knew that if he stopped he might never get started again. It wasn’t until he’d arrived at a large pond that he realized he had not been wondering aimlessly after all. He knew the pond. He had been there, once before, back when he and his family had first come to live upon this mountain. It was a beautiful pond, a standing spring really, fed from pure glistening ground water trapped deep beneath the mountain. But Sam’s father had expressly forbidden him from visiting it, and with good reason. If anyone from the city ever discovered there was a standing body of water on the other side of the mountain and that Sam or any of the other Simmons visited it, it would instantly become a holy well to the city’s population. It would become the holy well. The townspeople would surround it day and night, waiting for the angel to descend from heaven and disturb its surface so that the first one to enter might be healed forever of whatever ailment they had.

  No doubt, scavengers would peddle vials of the holy water back into the city for ridiculous prices. No doubt as well that anyone from the city, or from the rest of the world, who could not reach the pond would gladly pay those ridiculous prices. It had been years since Sam had laid eyes upon the pond, but it was still as fabulously beautiful as he remembered it. There were thick, lushly green grasses surrounding the pond amongst scattered rush plant bushes nearly as tall as Sam himself. Frogs leapt across huge lily pads here and there in corners of the pond and insects in the grasses chirped as fish splashed the pond’s surface into gentle ripples. It was an impossible oasis in an otherwise barren stony landscape. Sam had been struck with the same impression that first day he’d seen it. It was the impossibility of it. A lush indigo ecosystem surrounded on every side by barren earth and rock. It shouldn’t have been there. It was a place of life and beauty and it shouldn’t have been able to exist amongst such inhospitable terrain. But it was there. It had been there then and as unbelievable as it was, it was still there now. It was a testament that life happens wherever it chooses, no matter the odds or obstacles. Same continued walking. He liked the idea of visiting the pond once more to sit quietly upon its edges. He thought he could stair out upon its calmly lapping waters, listening to the sounds of life that shouldn’t be there, forever.

  But as he rounded a particular bend, he froze in his tracks. There was someone already sitting upon the pond’s banks, already basking in the scenery! It was a girl. Her back faced Sam and though her hair was cut very short, he could tell she was a she by the way she held her knees to her chest, huddling herself close as if she were struggling for warmth. It was comfortably warm here at the base of the mountain, too warm for this young woman to be huddling upon herself like this for heat. Sam could read in the girl’s mind that she was incredibly heartbroken over something. Odd as it was, her anguish involved her parents, though Sam couldn’t yet tell exactly how. According to her thoughts, her parents were still alive, but they were distant somehow, as if they’d moved very far away and she had no idea where they’d gone. It wasn’t that exactly, but that’s the most that Sam could make out from the girl’s jumbled thoughts. One thing was clear above all else, that she was in pain and she had been in that pain for quite a while now. Sam was tempted to focus his abilities and listened more intently. He could’ve eavesdropped on the girls many thoughts, most of them conflicting—for one thing, she loved and hated her parents, both to equal extremes at this very moment—and separated them until he could hear every word, experience every sensation, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to. It felt…wrong.

  Sam recognized the hypocrisy of not wanting to eavesdrop on this person’s private thoughts, considering that that was exactly what he had been doing to the townspeople for last few months or so. In fact, with his father’s leading he’d been listening in on the townspeople’s private thoughts as practice. But somehow this one girl was different. The minds of the townsfolk seemed to be filled mostly with urban preamble and fabrication. They expended so much energy and effort to hide their real selves that it was more a matter of inconvenience than morale to listen in on their private thoughts. This girl, however, was distraught but genuine. Just as hunger had given the bear a refreshingly singular and sincere quality, so pain had led this girl here where she could drop whatever pretense she might’ve been carrying and be totally herself. Her crushed self, but her self. She seemed cleaner than the other townspeople because of it. She was innocent, completely exposed. Sam watched her for another moment—even though he had yet to see her face, she appeared more beautiful to him the longer he looked into her mind—and then turned and left without a sound.

  He listened in on her private thoughts until he was certain she had not noticed him and then he closed the ears of his mind to them. He still had no idea why, but he felt emphatically that it was part of his responsibility to hone his telepathic abilities, just not upon her. There was something special about this girl and if he were going to find out what he would just have to discover it the old-fashioned way.

  CHAPTER 7

  The armed guards stationed at the staircase’s entrance at the bottom of the mountain had not been expecting Sam. Other than to collect necessary supplies it was never known when one of the Simmons was going to show up, and since in recent years the reclusive family had begun collecting enough supplies to last for months, any sighting of one of them was even rarer. So rare, that guards were now posted on twelve-hour shifts, instead of six. The guards on duty now had been at their posts for over ten hours already. There were large booths set up for them, booths with powerful intercom systems, large bullet proof glass viewing windows, and a much smaller rectangular open near the middle of the booth. These little glassless windows extended nearly across the entire facades of each booth. The viewing window were for spotting a threat. The intercom systems were for warning off said threat. The smaller glassless windows were for steadying and firing military grade weapons through, should said threat continue. The guards were all specially trained and deliberately chosen from a select few for the task of protecting the staircase. They were like the secret service
with one very relevant exception; they could use deadly force with much less provocation.

  Many people had been shot over the years for testing the guard’s sworn resolve, and Geoffrey had never approved of any of it. Now, decades later, people still came from time to time, some of them very insistent. Some of them even certifiably insane enough to push through past the blaring warning of the intercom systems. Besides what the Simmons’ family represented to the world at large, there was another reason they were protected so fiercely. Should the Virus be sent again, or should it mutate, the world may need more of Sam’s blood to synthesize a new cure. The original Virus had been taken care of definitively, and it was unlikely that the alien intelligence would attempt the same kind of attack a second time, but it was a possibility in the eyes of the public. A terrifying possibility. After all, they said, the unbelievable had happened once already. If anything ever happened to Sam, what remained of the world’s population would certainly panic. There would be at least as much destruction and loss of life as the Virus itself had caused. The world was simply too ravished already to survive another catastrophe like that. It was all far too much weight of responsibility for any young man to bear alone. That was how Geoffrey felt, and Sam had agreed, but as his father had taught him, what should be was too often irrelevant against what was.

  Once Sam had walked far enough down the staircase, once he was close enough to the booths to see and yet not be seen, he opened the ears of his mind and listened for anyone who might be passing by. There was no one other than the guards in the booths. One of them was sleeping soundly and oddly enough he was dreaming about shooting someone that was trying to break through to the staircase. Sam wasn’t totally surprised. He could read in these men’s minds how terribly bored they always were after a few hours on a shift where the most difficult thing to do was stay awake. They trained and trained and trained more, for a position where it was becoming more unlikely by the day that they would ever use that training. How could they not fall asleep and dream of shooting people? Wasn’t that what they had been drilled to do?

  Sam wished that there had been no need for armed guards or gun booths in the first place. For whatever reason, destiny had chosen him to play an important part in earth’s history but that didn’t mean that he was any kind of messiah, which was how most people saw him. The truth behind their idolization was even more distressing. People didn’t worship him, didn’t idolize him, didn’t even love him, because they knew him. They did it because it was easier than accepting responsibility for their own lives. He saw it in their thoughts. They’d set him and his family as idols in their minds because it made life simpler; there was less pressure to think for themselves when they were worshiping idols. They thought that if they could but touch the hem of his garment they would be forever healed of every ailment. It was a much easier exchange than learning to live with those ailments. As Sam stood upon the staircase, gazing down at the gun booths, he could feel ire rising deep inside his chest. He’d never thought about it like this before, but these people were using him. Using him to shirk their own responsibilities. Here he was, forced to live in isolation at the top of a mountain, and now laboring beneath the weight of unreasonable responsibilities and here these people were, heaping their own responsibilities upon him as well.

  Who were they that he alone had to stand against the approaching storm when they stood to get swept away just as surely as he? Hadn’t storms ravished his family enough already? Who were these people, or any people, that he should suffer such great loss and confusion his entire life and they live out theirs in relative normalcy? But as Sam scrutinized the city and noticed how many abandoned buildings there were, how many people slept on the streets, how much that was still waiting to be repaired, he was reminded that these people were like him, just struggling to survive another Today. There was no normalcy here. Things would never be normal again, not after the Virus. These people were all just like beast Sam had encountered. Beneath the make-up and false smiles, they were just frightened animals looking for food. Their lives felt as overbearing as his even if some of them didn’t let it show on the outside. Sam straightened himself and walked down toward the guard booth. He approached the booth of the sleeping guard first. He tapped softly on the bulletproof glass façade. The guard didn’t stir.

  Sam tapped the glass again. The guard was sound asleep. One of other guards noticed Sam and immediately leapt into action. “Attention!” the guard shouted through the powerful intercom system. His voice sounded like the voice of a god, the voice of thunder, as it exploded from the speakers. The sleeping guard awoke instantly and, to his credit, assumed formation instinctively. He stood rigidly, his weapon held stiffly at his side. He glanced just slightly to his side and noticed Sam. His eyes widened just noticeably and only for a brief second and then he stared straight ahead. His lips moved just slightly, quickly. Neither of the other guards needed to be in close range to know what their comrade was mouthing beneath his breath; “Shit!” They would’ve felt the same way. The guard was relatively new to the job. He’d been assigned to his post for less than a year. It wasn’t enough time to acclimate to the special rigors of the job of Special Guard for the Simmons. It could happen to anyone at some time or other, but every one of the seasoned guards knew that it happened most in a guard’s first year of duty.

  Meanwhile, the guard who’d fallen asleep remained rigidly at attention. A single bead of sweat budded upon his brow. Sam could hear the thoughts racing in his head. The certain loss of his job, the complete inability to ever get another job in security, the loss of income, the loss of the upper middle-class lifestyle this job afforded him. Providing security for the Simmons’ family was like no other job in the city. The high pay, prestige, and generous benefits packages—all the things necessary to attract applicants back when things were much more dangerous—all carried over, still, even though the danger was largely a thing of the past. It was a good time to secure a job in The Special Guard now, that sweet spot before the wages dropped to match the threat level.

  The guard had made it into this coveted post and had lost it all before he’d been on the job a full year! That’s how he felt, like all had been lost. If he’d died in the line of duty his family, his wife and son, would’ve been entitled to death benefits for the rest of their lives. They would have never had to sleep on the streets, as so many others had to. The guard and his wife had already experienced that horrible reality. That had been back before the birth of their son. The guard had vowed to never sink so low again, not with a child, a son, now dependent upon him. The experience had inspired him to train for The Special Guard as if his life had depended on it. It had been a long and arduous journey and words could not describe how elated he was when he’d first discovered he’d landed the job. There had been so many other applicants, many of them in better shape than he was. There had been so much training, so many drills first thing every morning, so many physical challenges. He had made it through every one of them.

  And he had lost it all for a nap! He couldn’t barely keep his angst hidden behind the expressionless face of duty they’d taught him to assume so well during training. Meanwhile, the other two guards left their booth and assumed positions around Sam. His unannounced presence had caught them off guard as well, but luckily for them they had not been sleeping.

  Only once they’d assumed their positions did the final guard leave his booth. He held his head high, but his faltering steps betrayed how he really felt. He had been assigned to lead the group should one of the Simmons come down, but one of the other guards had already assumed that position. It was a clear indication of what the sleeping guard already feared, that his position here was already lost. Without a word of protest, he began to move in on Sam’s free side. Sam stopped him. “Aren’t you assigned to point position?” Sam asked. The guard looked surprised, but only for a moment.

  “Yes, I was, sir!” he answered briskly. Sam held his hand out toward the front, as if asking why wasn’
t he there, then. The guard glanced at the guard already at the front. Both of them looked unsure of what to do now. They received their orders from upper echelon but weren’t they bound to obey if one of the Simmons themselves gave a direct order? Neither seemed to know. The guard already standing point opened his mouth to speak, but it was Sam who spoke first.

  “I understand the procedure…” Sam interrupted, and to an extent he did. He knew as much about the procedure as any of these men did, since he could clearly read their thoughts. Whatever they had learned, he knew, if only second hand. “If Marlin Saunders has any problems I’ll clear them up myself…” Marlin Saunders was the guardsmen’s coordinating officer. He was personally responsible for the entire program that supplied Sam’s personal security detail. He answered in-directly to the president himself. He was not a man whose orders you disobeyed lightly but these guards stood to get in at least as much trouble if they got on Sam’s bad side. That’s what they all felt. It was the unspoken fear in each of their minds. “I understand you guys are just trying to do your job. I really do.” Sam pressed on “I promise, if there’s any problem with your superiors I’ll take full responsibility for it.”

  Sam looked on at the men, as they remained where they were, struggling to make a decision. Sam could’ve easily pressed his own thoughts into their minds, swayed them and left them to believe it had been their own reasoning that inspired whatever decision they made, but he didn’t. It wasn’t right. That’s why his father had waited so long to teach him telepathy in the first place, because he felt no man, no person, had the right to be in another person’s head unless it was absolutely necessary. Sam could certainly appreciate the temptation. Here he was, presented with his first real difficulty concerning real people, not just the thoughts in their head, and he could easily see the benefit of simply using his telepathy for manipulation. It certainly would make things run more efficiently. It would also be very difficult to stop once he got a taste of it. No. Sam decided he would do things the hard way.