A shadow moved at the end of the hallway. Someone was waiting around the corner. His enemy, the man, or men, who dismantled the soldiers knew Conrad was there. It didn’t make sense, but it’s a feeling he’s felt many times before; the most difficult prey is the one who knows it’s hunted. Usually, it was the most dangerous as well. He could shoot through the corner of the wall, the plaster on these walls couldn’t stop the bullet, but he chose to wait. He wanted to see his enemy.
“You there, show yourself.”
“Not yet,” his voice echoed back to Conrad.
“What do you want?”
“Are you in charge?”
“My name is Conrad Greene, I’m the Constitutional General of the United Sta—”
“I don’t care. I’m here for my friends. And I’m here for Marshall. If you’re in charge, then give them to me and I won’t hurt you.”
“Why do you want Marshall?”
“Because I’m going to kill him. And his pets, Nino and Jordan.”
“No deal. Sorry. But I’m going to set my gun down. We need to talk about this.”
“Not until they’re dead and my friends are safe. If you were in charge, you’re not anymore. This is my show, and I’ll make the decisions. You can either deal with it standing, or tied up like the rest of them.”
Pop pop pop.
Three shots. Conrad squinted, hoping none of them landed. They weren’t his shots. A different soldier was shooting from the other end of the hall. “Hold your fire!” He rushed down the hall, pointing towards the corner. If the man jumped out, he would shoot him. Not because he disagreed with his intentions, but for protection.
Pieces of white plaster filled the air.
Pop.
Another shot, this time Conrad felt the bullet zoom passed his face and into the wall beside him.
“Hold your fire!” he yelled again.
A soldier raised his rifle at Conrad as he came into view. Conrad loosened his grip on his pistol and showed his hands. “Friendly!”
“Look out!” the soldier yelled.
Conrad turned around, back towards where the man was talking, and saw the man rushing beside him. In a moment, his pistol became lighter and his knife pulled out from his belt. He saw the blonde haired male kick the side of the soldier’s leg, strip him of his weapons, and unload his rifle in what felt like a blink of an eye.
The soldier was tied up before Conrad opened his eyes.
His gun was light, but not completely useless.
The man turned towards him and nodded. “I left you one in the chamber. This is where you make your choice. Pull the trigger, and you die. Otherwise, set the gun down and stay out of my way.” His eyes didn’t match; one was bright blue while the other was completely black. Along his neck and up the left side of his cheek were thin black lines. It looked like the effects of what happens when Marshall gets his knife into someone. Except, this man was alive, and no one survived Marshall’s knife.
“I’m not here for a fight.” Conrad set the gun carefully on the ground.
“I am.”
He walked passed Conrad and headed down the filled hallway. Conrad watched him, amazed.
Now wasn’t the time to get in the way. He wasn’t going to make progress by asking questions or offering to help. This man was on a mission. The last thing a good soldier wanted, when he was dialed into battle, was an amateur offering to help.
Compared to him, Conrad was an amateur.
Instead, Conrad picked up his pistol and walked towards the opposite end of Union Matis. The man was headed away from the survivors and towards Marshall’s quarters. Conrad would find his friends and have them ready. This was the best chance to build a loyalty between them.
A man with this kind of ability would change the world. He didn’t know much about the Subas, but they didn’t move like that. Even they wouldn’t stand a chance.
*******
Greg/Seth
Afternoon
Union Matis, WV
Greg peaked into the cell and saw Chapman tied to an upright table while a soldier stood in front of him. It was oddly reminiscent of when Greg dissected the young Wolf in Salt Lake City. However, the Wolf was stoic while Chapman cried and humbled snot all over himself. The soldier seemed to be having a crisis on consciousness, as he continued to lower his gun each time he pointed it at his captive.
Seeing a man struggle with murder was a reminder of Greg’s own strength. Many were unable to pull the trigger while Greg was resolved in his commitment to the plan. It wasn’t supposed to feel good, but success rarely leaves one in want. The young soldier in the room didn’t understand the magnitude of his objective; it is either kill or be killed in this life. He wanted to reap the benefits of survival without having to embark down the New World’s dangerous road. Sadly, it doesn’t work like that.
Greg unsheathed the poisonous knife and contemplated his next plan. A normal man would have felt the need to hurry to save Chapman, but Greg was convinced the soldier had already proven himself to be incapable. Greg would force his reaction if he surprised him. There would be no ambush. Greg was stronger than the soldier, but not physically. Even a cowardly warrior was still better prepared for combat than Greg.
Instead, he would use his wits. It was how he’s survived thus far. The reality was simple; he was weaker than his opponent and unable to even open the door. He would need to be invited inside while not becoming a target. The only way of victory was to instill proper chaos.
Greg knocked on the door and waved. He tried his best to smile like an idiot, thinking back to Mickey and his simple optimism. He hung his arm low, as if it were broken or in pain. By doing so, he was able to keep his knife behind him and out of view. It was a childish maneuver, but his best option.
The soldier was shocked to see a civilian looking at him through the small peephole. He set his pistol down and walked to the door. “Can I help you?” It was a beautiful sight to see him remove his own weapon.
Greg heard him clearly, but he acted as if he heard nothing. Rooms like this could be sound resistant, and Greg thought it was a clever way to have the door opened.
The soldier took the bait. In a moment, a code was entered and the door was opened. Greg was now looking at the man, face to face. Greg solemnly rubbed his pretend-injured arm. “Thank you.”
“How did you get here?” the man said, looking up and down the empty halls. Distant sounds of gunshots and grown men crying echoed.
“President Watt asked me to come. He needs you. We’ve had a breach. All hands are on deck.”
He looked at Greg with disgust. Such a person would never respect someone like Greg. Not in high school, not now. Greg was a second class citizen to this individual. He was weak. He was puny. Men like this soldier were always the ones to rule the roost. They were unwilling to submit to the feeble end of the species. Greg would have been better suited to try to fist fight him. “I’m not taking civilian orders.”
“It’s not my orders. Do I look like a guy who wants to make orders? Do you hear them? They need you.”
The soldier looked down the hall again. The cries grew louder. Greg was preying on his faults and lack of urgency to survive. He believed he was strong, while his weakness filled his veins. A man like this doesn’t deserve to live in the New World.
While he was still looking away, Greg drove the knife into his stomach.
At first, there was urgency in his desire to survive. The soldier pushed back against Greg and attempted to punch him.
However, the poison moved fast enough to where his fist barely rubbed against Greg’s shoulder before the soldier dropped to the ground, dead.
“Seth!” Chapman shouted. “Get me out of here!”
Greg stared down at the body, amazed at his accomplishment. It was a feat he never would have accomplished if it weren’t for his strength. And Adam.
Chapman shouted again, as if Greg didn’t hear him the first time. “Hey! Come on! Hurry!” It was his voice G
reg was here to save. Chapman, despite his minuscule talent and uneducated opinions, possessed the internet following necessary to spread the news of Adam’s dominion. His writing, his audience, would change the landscape of the US.
“Sorry, I can’t believe I did that.”
“I’m glad you did, buddy. Thank you so much. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine,” he answered. He was fine. He was completely fine. Committing murder, again, should have felt terrible, but it didn’t. It felt fine.
“Okay. Listen. We have got to get out of here. There’s a little girl in the basement, second level, who is being held captive. They’re going to kill her unless we get there.”
“How do you know this?”
“One of the soldiers was teasing me about it, some psychopath with a mohawk. He thought we were friends. Apparently, President Watt moved her to a secret location because some of the soldiers wanted her dead. If we’re going to survive, we need to save her and hope the President grants us immunity. If that’s even possible.”
Greg reached down and untied Chapman’s legs. “How do we get down there?”
“Two halls down, take a right. Two more halls, take a left. There’s a door, key code is 2410. It’s the only room down there.”
“Wow. You got all that from him?” Greg pointed at the dead body. Already the smell wafted into the room.
“Not just from him, I overheard a bunch of them talking about it before the alarm went off.” Chapman stepped away from the table. “Thanks, man. I never should have doubted you.”
Greg bent down and picked up the gun. “No worries, friend.” The gun fit awkwardly in the back of his jeans. It rubbed against his skin and would eventually cause a blister.
“No listen, I need to apologize. And get this off my chest.”
“Now isn’t a good time. Let’s go.”
“Wait. Listen, this might be our only chance. Before I drove to Pennsylvania, I ran a little background check on you.”
Greg turned. “And…?”
“And I know you’re not Seth Porter.”
Humiliation. Anger. Embarrassment. Self-indignation. Emotions raged through Greg as he realized his lie was poorly crafted and executed. Chapman knew he was a fraud all along, yet he did nothing. He played along with Greg’s game acting as if he was a fool; when in truth, Greg was the fool.
His face must have shown his disdain, because Chapman quickly followed up. “Listen, I don’t know why you did it. But I know it was for a good reason. Everything you’ve done, hey, everything, has been for the right reasons. I know you’re a good guy. You saved me, buddy. So your secret’s safe with me, okay? Don’t sweat it. I’m not going to hold it against you. I just wanted to apologize for the lack of trust.”
There was no need to justify doing his homework. Greg was an imposter. His decisions jeopardized his objective and exposed his weakness; pride. The desire to cry flooded over him. From the depths of his being he wished he were anywhere but there. How could he force himself to partner with someone who knew his true colors? How long before Greg became a topic in one of Chapman’s little Chats? Who else would he tell? What would he say? There was little doubt Chapman has already relished in the secrets and act of Greg’s foolery. How could Greg trust him to adequately support Adam’s plan?
“Thank you for telling me.” Greg wiped the wetness from his eyes. “I suppose I should be open with you, as well.” Instead of walking into the hallway, he traced his steps back to Chapman’s table.
“Really? Like what?”
He looked at the empty wall and smiled. His mind finally felt clear. Seconds ago, he felt dismay in the exposure, but now he felt free. There was freedom in honesty, or at least, selective honesty. “Yesterday I killed a man with his own knife.”
“Hey man, you did what’s necessary. I’m not going to get on a high horse. I’m sure you had your reasons,” Chapman walked over and put his hand on Greg’s shoulder.
“Reasoning cannot explain murder. Nothing can. But it was an odd sensation. Amazing, even. At first, I felt fear. I was hopeless, weak, out of control. The rash decision began to break me, until it didn’t,” Greg placed his hand against the wall, moving it back and forth. “What began as a quiver, became a steady hand. My muscles grew strong, even stronger as he fell to the ground. And in that moment, I was an agent of proper chaos. The exposition of death in order to create an evolution of life was beautiful and rewarding. It has not left me. The old world, the one you have thrived in, would say I should feel guilt, or regret. But I don’t. I feel proud. And then I killed this soldier, and I feel wonder. I’m amazed at how easy it is.”
Greg looked back to Chapman, who stared ahead with a blank expression. “Um, okay. I don’t think I understand.” He held out his hands and shrugged.
“Of course you don’t.”
He didn’t understand because he wasn’t listening. It was the exact reason he failed to properly relay the information Greg had demanded be posted on The Chat. Bryce Chapman wanted his voice to be heard. Not Greg’s. Not Adam’s. This arrogance would never properly serve the plan, despite the audience size.
Greg removed the pistol from his back pocket. It was a rushed decision. One he would surely come to regret in the future. However, proper chaos doesn’t wait for ideal moments; it creates them.
It was hard not to smile at Chapman’s confusion. For all his research and forethought about Greg, he never saw this coming. He might know Greg’s real name, but he didn’t know Greg. No one did.
Boom.
The pistol kicked back, but his aim was right. Chapman dropped dead to the floor with a bullet lodged in his temple.
He walked over to the dead soldier and placed the gun back in his holster. Greg wouldn’t need it.
His damage was done.
Now, he needed to find Mona.
*******
Harry
Late afternoon
Union Matis Field, WV
His leg was throbbing and he wasn’t even at the door yet. Who would have thought hopping through the woods would be so exhausting for a beer-bellied geezer? The Pulse might be living inside him, but it certainly didn’t prevent him from falling over every few hops. Fortunately, Old Man Mason gave him some Percocet to cover up the pain of a missing leg.
It would have been nice if his Pulse worked on his own body, or at least worked faster. The wound had scabbed over already, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He could bring Asher back from the poisonous dead, but couldn’t grow back his leg like a salamander. Beggars can’t be choosers, though. He would rather be a living unicycle than a dead man.
He hopped through the minefield of hog tied soldiers and appreciated the reversal of fortune. Two days ago, he and Asher were tied up and carted to an open field to be left for dead. Now, these pistol-jockeys were down for the count. They squirmed, cried, and struggled against their ties, but they didn’t acknowledge Harry. If they would’ve, they would’ve witnessed a gloating goat bouncing passed them.
Thanks to Asher’s quick entrance the door was left open. The sounds of struggle bellowed from inside. Old Harry would have been afraid, but New Harry trusted Asher would take care of them. Mona was in danger and Harry was the guy who needed to save her. That’s all that mattered. Any soldiers who stood in his way were dead, dying, or hog-tied. He didn’t worry about how he knew what he was knowing. He didn’t worry about anything other than keeping Mona safe from a mohawked maniac. At least, that’s what the hallucination of a burning Jordan told him.
Last time Harry had a vision, he was given a reason to live. While the others were watching from the hotel room, Harry was bleeding out on the streets of Salt Lake City, but having a complete change of heart. He knew what it was like to climb out of depression’s depths, and he knew he could do it again. Besides, his redemption story was going to change the world. He just needed his friends to be there, too.
Harry stopped for a minute to catch his breath, and looked back to the f
ield of men. It was satisfying to see this level of peaceful destruction. Those Shadows weren’t going to receive the same mercy, and neither would Marshall or Nino.
A loud beep came from the speaker over the door. “Men! There has been a breach, I repeat, there has been a breach. Shoot to kill all non-military personnel. They are dangerous. Even the child. Shoot to kill. They are here to assassinate the President.”
*******
Jenna
Unknown
Union Matis Field, WV
Another man in uniform came in with wide eyes. He was older and distinguished like Marshall, but he wasn’t as intimidating. Jenna thought he was handsome, in a silver fox kind of way. He carefully shut the door and walked towards her with his hands up.
You might not be scared of him. But he’s pretty worried about you.
The role reversal was pleasant. It was nice to finally be respected by a man in uniform. Jenna wasn’t some dumb puppet, like Marshall said; she was strong and brave.
Let’s not go that far. You’re about as strong as a wet noodle and you weren’t so brave when Marshall was snipping on your feet.
Jenna looked down to her toes; they were still attached despite the cuts covering each.
“I’m Constitutional General Conrad Greene. I’m going to get you out of here, and I need your help.”
A man needs your help? This should be good.
He didn’t wait for her to answer before he began loosening her straps. “Your friends have broken free. I’m here to release you as well. I’m not an enemy.”
“Why should I believe you? Every soldier here has either threatened me or worse,” her voice sounded nasally, even when she was brave she still sounded like she was whining.
“I came here with your friend, Seth.” He reached his hands under her back. “You’re going to have to trust me. That’s all I can say. I’m going to unstrap your arms, don’t hurt me. When I loosen you, I’m going to help you find your friends. President Watt is with Mickey. Seth is finding Mona.”
Dark Divide (Shadow and Shine Book 2) Page 34
