Children Of Fiends - Part 2 A Nation By Another Name: An Of Sudden Origin Novella

by C. Chase Harwood

  As the tracks and the border nearly converged, the ‘organic wall’ was revealed for what it was: death. Thousands upon thousands of crucified human remains were sewn into the steel wire. Dean found himself dumbly standing in the observation level surrounded by Eliza, Kile, Sanders, Palmer and Jamesbonds. “Jesus,” he finally said.

  “The rumors were true,” said Palmer.

  “Rumors?” asked Jamesbonds.

  “The cartels made sure Americans didn’t head south.”

  “You think the Mexicans did that?” asked Kile.

  “It wasn’t the infected.”

  Eliza called down the stairs. “Hansel, Gretel, can you come up here please?”

  The children ascended the steps with glee on their faces. Hansel said, “It’s beautiful isn’t it?”

  No one had an answer for that. Eliza asked, “Would pucks do that?”

  “How could we know?” asked Gretel.

  “What does your gut say?” asked Dean.

  Hansel said, “Yes, maybe.”

  “What the hell for?” barked Kile.

  Eliza put a hand on Kile’s rigid shoulder and asked the children, “Are there pucks in this city?”

  The children’s eyes sort of glazed over and their ears began to perk up. Hansel said, “There are some.”

  The energy in the room instantly shifted. “When were you going to tell us?” asked Sanders.

  Gretel said, “We only just felt them when Eliza asked.”

  Within sixty-seconds, those who weren’t, were helmeted up, armed and alert, each at a predetermined battle station. Fifteen minutes later, Wen brought the 1218 to a stop in a massive rail yard adjacent to a water treatment plant. Despite the mental weight of countless skeletons hanging on the fence to his left, he was thrilled by the sight of the nearly full water ponds. As the big black machine settled, Abner released some deafeningly loud pressure from the pistons and eerie quiet replaced the hours of chugging clickety clacking. Wen noted the ringing in his ears and resolved to find something to plug them for the next leg.

  Green yelled from the roof, “I’ve got movement.” He keyed his mic. “I’ve got movement. Two o’clock. Maybe half a click.”

  Hernandez was between cars. “I got it. The train station. Two, no three, ducked into the building.”

  They were male pucks, longhaired, heavily bearded and dressed in clothes that had clearly been manufactured; the pants modified to match the angles of their bovid legs. MacAfee ran to the observation deck, getting there as Hansel and Gretel were silently attempting to reach out. Finally Gretel said, “It…Hmm. They… They don’t know English. They don’t…They feel.”

  Hansel said, “We can’t be certain, but we think that they are not going to kill us. Not right away.”

  Dean pointed at the fence. “Did they do that?”

  Gretel’s eyes cocked up and to the left. “Don’t think so. The feeling is of the people before us.”

  “But they like it,” said Hansel.

  “You like it, Hansel,” admonished Gretel. “You don’t know what they like.”

  “I can feel it. They like it.”

  Jamesbonds said, “You said, right away. That they won’t kill us right away. If not now, when?”

  “It’s just a feeling,” said Gretel.

  “Perfect,” said Kile. “That’s out fucking-

  “Tone, Mister Kile,” said Sanders.

  Kile held up his XM25 Punisher and tapped his helmet. “Between this and this I can drop those three fuckers jiminy quick.” The gun was a clever beast that fired an exploding projectile capable of taking out opponents hidden behind all manner of cover.

  Dean smiled at Kile and put a gentle hand on the gun, lowering the weapon. He asked Gretel, “Is there anyway that you can tell them that we are only stopping for the water?”

  She looked at Kile with distrust and continued to look at him while answering Dean. “I can try. I don’t know how to feel that thought. They know that Hansel and I are among you and that is what keeps them from being...violent.”

  Hansel said, “There are more than three. There are many more, but maybe not more than twenty.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Borderlands

  Plimpton found himself spending nearly all of his waking time in the command car. After enduring a two-hour benediction, which he and the troops were required to hear before finally pulling out of the Dover station, he was already done with the vicar and his minions. He had heard almost nothing of the religious ceremony as he sweated out the notion that O’Connor might change his mind and arrest him after all. As they followed their quarry across the country, he rapidly abandoned his own car. The holy men went to bed too early, rose too early and spent countless hours in prayer meetings and Bible study – and they didn’t drink – frowned on drinking. Then overtly, they began implying that people who commit rape and murder are most definitely going to hell – unless said people made atonement. It was if the clergy had been informed of his misdeeds – but maybe he was just being sensitive. Either way, they were an insult to his intellect. The fools were hopelessly naive and downright medieval. Even as a child, Plimpton had scoffed at the notion of some vain and jealous old robe-wearing magician in the sky. Plimpton was a scientist, period. That he had so meekly acquiesced to the holy men’s presence was completely against his character and he cursed himself as they left the borders of The Shore. Moving to the command car had solved the issue and it wasn’t until they were passing through the wastelands of West Texas that he gave it any further consideration. Boredom was Plimpton’s enemy. Boredom set his mind to wandering. Constable O’Connor had been quite certain that Niles would die on this mission. Any number of possibilities were before him, yet the detective had said it with a conviction that could only be born of firsthand knowledge. Sudden paranoia grabbed a hold of him. He would be murdered. The only people who could be counted on for such a deed were in the room with him, the drone operators and Major Thompson, or maybe the engineers up front. He didn’t doubt his man Hanson. The trusted servant had been with him every time he had entertained himself with a young girl. Niles looked at the drone operators differently as they watched the video feed; the enemy train shown clearly on several monitors. Plimpton resolved to move back in with the clergy that night. So what that they worshiped a deity that amused itself with bedlam, reeking havoc on his progeny? After all, Niles could appreciate such a being. When he hadn’t been rebuilding a whole society, his life had been devoted to the pleasure of killing some of the very souls that he had saved. For a moment, he sort of got it; perhaps a God could exist as written in the Hebrew mythology. If indeed the being had made man in his own image then Niles Plimpton was a perfect example of that. He suddenly felt an oddly warm sensation run from the back of his head along his spine and radiate to the extremes, and he caught himself, for the briefest of moments, allowing for the notion that the Universe could contain more than just cold facts. He chuckled softly at his petty conversion.

  “Something funny, Councilman?” asked Thompson. Plimpton’s vision focused on the major standing over the shoulders of two of the four drone operators. Hanson remained like a statue near the door. Thompson continued, “Are you seeing something I’m not?”

  “Nothing, Major. Ironic thoughts hopping about.” Plimpton stifled his mild spiritual glee as he reconsidered the notion that he was sitting amongst his potential killers. He decided that prudence was indeed the better side of caution and reminded himself to move back into his coach. “As interesting as it is to see the outskirts of yet another abandoned city, I’m finding that, unlike our fine fliers here, my lack of training causes the mind to stray. Since I highly doubt that El Paso is the ultimate destination of our quarry, you will forgive the slight disinterest.” Then he saw the border fence on the monitor and he stood, tapping Beckman on the shoulder. “Zoom in on that.” The display sharpened up on the fence and Beckman had the drone continue videoing along its length. The men mar
veled at the scope of death. Even Hanson was on tiptoes trying to see the spectacle. Plimpton said, “Now that is a remarkably effective border fence.”

  As they watched the 1218 come to a stop, Thompson relayed the news to Sandusky and Lake. The engineers brought the train to a halt.

  Plimpton turned to his footman, “Let’s get a stretch.”

  Thompson said to driver Timbs, “Bring up Bertie and keep an eye out for the councilman.” (Bertie being the nickname for one of the two Sentinels. The Major did this every time that Plimpton chose to go out for a walk.)

  As they stepped off the train Niles heard the trap door on the roof of the command car open and a slight shadow spread across the ground. The Sentinel remained on the roof and took on the posture of casual observance. The action this time raised Niles’ paranoia up another notch. It was utterly unnerving and he wished he hadn’t had even considered the notion that his fellow travelers intended to kill him.

  They were parked in a semi-industrial area and a slight breeze rattled and animated bits of broken roof, metal, and loose doors; noises that brought a false sense of life to what was a very dead place.

  The priests stepped off the train as well and walked out toward the front, the vicar offering a priestly wave. Plimpton watched them for a moment and then steered Hanson toward the tracks behind. “Hanson, rarely I ask for your inner thoughts.”

  Hanson cocked an eyebrow. “I can’t recall when you have, sir.”

  “Indulge me. What does your gut say about our fellow travelers?”

  “In what way are you asking, sir? The question being broad, I mean.”

  Bringing his lips in close to Hanson’s ear, as though he might be overheard, he said, “The Vicar. What do you make of him? Don’t be shy. Between us.”

  Hanson slowed his pace and then finally said, “He strikes me as rather jovial for a man of his position. Kind of a Friar Tuck. I’m told he can be quick to anger.”

  “And the deacons?”

  “Not much, outside of Bible talk. Hoeg is…very Scandinavian. Jones: I don’t trust Jones.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “You asked me what my gut says, sir. I don’t trust Bible talk.”

  “Of that, we agree.”

  Thompson stepped off the train and called to both parties. “Gentlemen, the Northerners have made contact with the devils. They are not under assault, but assume we must that the creatures are near this area as well. Will you all please come back aboard so that we might seal up?”

  Naoto Kitta and Maggie Tender had run hoses from the waste treatment water pits to the canteen along with Bill Wall and Tom Murphy. They took turns on the hand pump that pushed the water along. It was grueling work, made the more so by the shattered nerves that they felt while being so exposed. It didn’t matter that they were protected by their helmets. It didn’t matter that the soldiers and the rest of the crew were armed to the teeth and keeping watch. They were yards away from a fence covered in the tortured skeletons of thousands and a pack of Fiend Children were staring at them from maybe a hundred yards away. Not three, but six of the monsters had come out to watch. They had no weapons and made no threatening moves, but the way that they watched…

  It was getting dark, and Hansel and Gretel’s huge irises gathered all the light that they needed, but something was wrong. Though they could still feel their kin out there, their fellow pucks had thrown up a wall. Communication was cut off. Hansel refused to admit to the failure so they pretended. Eliza and Dean watched as the six took a step forward as one and paused. Dean said, “Okay. They keep doing that. Maybe a minute or so and another step.” He turned to Gretel. “What’s going on?”

  “They are, um.” She looked at Hansel. “They are just curious.”

  Eliza asked, “They are telling you that?”

  Hansel said, “How many times have we said we can only feel.”

  The six stepped again. Dean said, “Okay. That was maybe ten seconds.”

  MacAfee’s voice came from atop the train. “We got more over here. I count another six.”

  “And here. Six more from the west,” shouted Hernandez from the engine.

  The original six stepped again toward the pumpers. Kitta looked at his companions and said, “You’re seeing this, right?”

  Wen yelled up to Bishop who was keeping the hose aimed into the train’s boiler. “How we doin, Bish?”

  “Long way to go. Maybe half full.”

  MacAfee stood on the roof of the observation car and keyed his mic for Wen. “Marshall, how long to get us moving again?”

  Wen said, “No steam with the boiler open. A while.”

  “Gonna have to be enough. Wrap it up and stoke that fire.”

  Wen called out to Bishop. “Close it up and put the water in the canteen instead.” He looked at the pumpers. “Focus. Others got your back. Need all the water we can get.”

  As one, the eighteen pucks took another step. MacAfee keyed his mic for Dean. “What the hell do we have from the kids?”

  Dean asked the children. “What’s going on?”

  The children were lost in their own heads. So exciting.

  My heart is pounding.

  Like hunting.

  We have not hunted.

  But it feels…

  Like hunting.

  What do we tell them?

  Maybe the truth.

  We don’t know the truth.

  Who is Arthur? Why do they say Arthur?

  There again. Arthur. Arthur says eat.

  “Kids?” broke in Eliza. The pucks looked at her dumbly. Frustrated, Eliza started taking off her helmet.

  Dean grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to find out for myself.”

  He lifted his visor. “Stop. You don’t know what will -“

  She handed him her helmet. “Then don’t let anything happen to me.” She pulled his visor back down and looked at the six that she could see as they took another step. As one they turned and looked at her. In the same instant Eliza felt as though all twelve of their hands had latched onto her. It was almost real, like they were actually firmly holding her. She gasped with the sensation and her lungs felt suddenly crushed. Again they stepped toward the pumpers as her mind filled with sensations of desire and hunger and curiosity and fear. There was no language but for one sentence: ARTHUR SAYS EAT. ARTHUR SAYS EAT.

  MacAfee’s heads-up display told him that Eliza had taken off her helmet. “What the fuck is she doing? Dean, what the fuck is she doing?”

  Dean tried to put her helmet back on but she smacked it out of his hands, sending it across the room. Hansel started laughing and then Gretel joined in. “Funny,” said Hansel.

  “She’s like a puppet,” said Hansel.

  Eliza started taking jerking steps forward like a drunken marionette, saying, “Arthur says eat. Arthur says eat.” She smiled a toothy grin and then launched herself at Dean, her jaw snapping open and closed. He fended her off while Hansel and Gretel watched.

  Should we eat him?

  Dean quickly grabbed one of Eliza’s arms, spun her around and snapped her into a full nelson and she continued to kick and try to break away, her teeth snapping open and shut while saying, “Arthur says eat! Arthur says eat!” He looked at the suddenly hungry looking Hansel and Gretel and barked, “Don’t even think about it. Put her damn helmet on.”

  Outside, Maggie Tender broadcast to everyone, “Uh, they’re getting kind of close.”

  MacAfee said into his mic, “KK, go cover the pumpers. Everyone, if they get within fifty feet, warning shots. Another step and shoot to kill.”

  Kelly climbed down from the coal car and walked carefully to the pumpers.

  Inside, Gretel tried to put the helmet back on Eliza as she thrashed her head around. Sanders came running up the stairs, saw the situation and shoved Eliza down, sitting on her chest as she repeatedly batted the helmet away. She seemed to be in agony as
she pleaded, “Arthur says eat!”

  That’s when the six pucks broke and ran toward the pumpers. KK fired off a warning shot and the pucks pulled up short, all eighteen of them ducking as one. Whatever spell they had over Eliza was briefly broken and her thrashing stopped. Dean slapped the helmet over her head and snapped the buckle. She instantly hugged him to her, saying, “Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  The eighteen pucks suddenly hissed and charged as one. The humans opened fire. In three loud bloody seconds, they slaughtered the creatures, each absorbing multiple bullets. In the silence of the aftermath Hansel and Gretel screamed as though they were burning and thrashed about on the floor; their movements matching those of the wounded pucks in the dirt. A second round of shooting finished it. Hansel and Gretel stopped their screaming and instead, held each other in terror. “They died!” cried Gretel. “We felt them die!”

  The Vicar and his Deacons had joined the others in the command car as they watched the scene unfold.

  “Stunning that they waited as long as they did to shoot them,” said Thompson.

  “Clearly they haven’t had much interchange with the devils,” said drone driver Gallagher.

  The Vicar said, “God rest their souls.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A Change of Command

  “That was a fucking disaster,” snapped MacAfee as he pulled off his helmet and paced before the assembled crew. Dark had descended. They stood mostly in line outside the train. The steam was up and the building pressure was automatically released from the pistons with a loud whoosh. He turned to Hernandez. “Action report on my desk in one hour. We need to completely revise our tactics. That cannot happen again.”