2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent)

by Robert Storey

  Samson increased their speed again and the heavy-duty four-by-four barrelled on into the night. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’

  Chapter Twenty Six

  ‘Where are we going, Colonel?’ Steiner asked the SFSD commander in weary resignation. Samson had been driving for hours, intentionally avoiding the interstate network, citing their passage would be less conspicuous on the smaller roads.

  ‘Are you heading for the western coast? If you want my help, you need to tell me something.’

  Samson stayed silent, as he had ever since they’d begun their impromptu journey. Reaching down to his waist, without taking his eyes off the road, the colonel popped open a pouch on his belt and withdrew something small and red, placing it in his mouth.

  Steiner gritted his teeth, the Colonel’s obstinacy getting to him. What is this madman up to?

  ‘Colonel, I will need your help to rescue those in Steadfast. On my own, the chances of success are greatly reduced. Whatever it is you need to accomplish, it is clearly important to you. If you tell me what your plans are I might be able to help you achieve them more quickly, which will, in turn, let us return our attention to our main mission.’

  Samson glanced in Steiner’s direction, a reaction that told him the man was at least listening to what he said.

  ‘Give me something, damn it, man!’ Steiner raged at him, unable to keep his emotions in check any longer.

  Samson looked over at Steiner again, appraising him. ‘There’s an army outpost in the city of St. George,’ he said, breaking his silence.

  ‘And what is it you want in St. George?’

  ‘Supplies.’

  Steiner’s hopes rose. ‘To replace the communication systems we lost?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  A lorry whooshed past them in the opposite direction, its cab lit up like a Christmas tree on crack.

  Steiner’s mind raced, seeking a way to phrase his questions that would elicit more than monosyllabic responses. ‘You need me to help you, don’t you? I’m a key part of whatever you’re planning to do. Don’t you think your chances of success will go up if you let me in on the details? You might as well make use of me now that you have me.’

  Samson snorted in derision.

  Steiner frowned. ‘What, you don’t think I can improve your chances, or I’m not necessary to achieve your goal?’

  ‘Pick one.’

  Steiner gave up; he knew Samson wasn’t about to let him in on his little secret anytime soon. I’ll just have to play along until I find a way not to, he thought. At least they’d evaded the army’s forces in and around Dulce and those deployed from Fort Bliss; they were well away from that threat now. Would Joiner’s forces discover two people had escaped Steadfast and the fight on the surface? Hopefully not; he just prayed Norroso had the good sense to reconsider his warnings and leave town, or better yet, the state.

  Steiner was well aware this major diversion in his plan, instigated by Samson, would severely delay his efforts in rescuing Nathan and everyone else left behind in Steadfast; but he also knew it was eight months until the next meteorite hit, time aplenty to get things back on track. The problem was, the more time he dedicated to Samson’s agenda, the greater the chances of being apprehended by Joiner’s agents, or the army acting under his control. As various scenarios unfolded in Steiner’s head the roadside scenery sped past, briefly illuminated at the extremities of the pick-up’s main beams.

  Another hour faded from reality, the conversation continuing its previous incarnation of non-existence. Steiner, exhausted by recent events, felt himself dosing off, his head heavy and his eyelids drooping.

  ♦

  Professor Steiner awoke with a start, his concept of time foggy and skewed. Rather than the brightly lit road ahead, only blackness remained. The non-existent engine noise belied the sensation that the car still moved at high speed, felt by Steiner through the seat and floorpan. Looking to his left, the faint glow from the instrument panel barely registering, the outline of the armour-clad figure of Samson still sat at the wheel. Steiner, his faculties returning, deduced the colonel had switched to the vehicle’s electrical power train and was using his helmet’s night vision capabilities to continue driving in the dark.

  Steiner sat up straighter in his seat. ‘Are you expecting trouble?’

  ‘Checkpoints,’ Samson said.

  Steiner assumed they must be approaching the city limits. As if on cue a signpost drifted by, a single light suspended over the lettering, which read: Welcome to the City of St. George, Utah.

  ‘Won’t it look suspicious if we cruise up with no lights on?’ Steiner asked.

  ‘I want to get the lay of the land before we enter,’ Samson said.

  Wow, a whole sentence, it must be my birthday, Steiner thought to himself, a bitter smile creeping onto his face.

  In the distance a large barrier had been erected, floodlights all around, as the road they were on merged with the larger interstate converging from the right. Samson pulled the Dodge Ram over to the side of the road and onto the sparsely vegetated dry earth of the Mojave Desert, the wide off-road tyres crunching to a quiet halt. To Steiner, all was dark except for the faint light from the dashboard. In the deep shadows he could make out Samson putting his hand to his helmet, pressing a combination of buttons on its side.

  A minute passed before the colonel opened the car door and got out, the vehicle’s interior light switching on and a cold breeze gusting inside as he did so. ‘Get out,’ Samson told him.

  Steiner unfastened his seat belt and stepped down from the pick-up, his movements restricted by the black body armour he still wore. Samson moved around the car to meet him and then slipped a long-bladed dagger from its sheath.

  Steiner’s eyes widened in fear and he took a step backwards. ‘What are you doing!?’

  Samson advanced and the knife flicked out towards him. Looking down, Steiner waited for the searing pain to begin and the blood to flow. Neither happened, instead his armour covering his chest and back, fell to the floor with a clunk. Steiner looked up in surprise. ‘What—’

  ‘Turn around,’ Samson said, cutting off his question before it had formed.

  Steiner did as he was told and the rest of the bulky gear was sliced free, until Steiner stood, wearing only the red climbing coveralls he’d started out with back in Steadfast.

  Samson put the knife away. ‘Drive into the city, I’ll meet you inside, six blocks in. Don’t park near the street lights, keep to the shadows.’

  ‘I only have my GMRC paperwork,’ Steiner said while Samson scooped up the obsolete protective clothing and deposited it in the rear passenger seat foot-well.

  ‘Tell the checkpoint guards, you’re a mechanic passing through town and you need some gas.’ Samson attached his gun to his back-plate and then tapped at some buttons on the inside of his wrist armour. ‘They’ll give you a temporary pass and let you through. On your own you should be fine; if I was with you we’d stick out like sore thumbs and they’d note down our passage in their log book, or worse, report the entrance of an unauthorised military officer from an unheard of regiment to their superiors and then try and detain us.’

  Samson activated his armour, sending tendrils of miniature lightning discharging over each panel, the camouflage system shimmering over his entire body like a stardust encrusted cloak. ‘I’ll see you on the other side.’ The ghostly figure of the colonel jogged away into the darkness.

  Steiner stood for a moment gathering his thoughts before shutting his door, walking round the vehicle and getting into the driver’s seat. Adjusting it so he could reach the pedals, a thought sprang into his mind. Why don’t I just turn the car around and head back to the Darklight compound in New Mexico? Samson can run off and do what he likes and I can get on with helping those stranded in Steadfast. The idea was very tempting, but he knew he might never make it to the Darklight base and, even if he did, there was no guarantee there would be anyone there to help him. It coul
d even be staked out by the U.S. Army. If he approached on his own, his lack of military nous might lead him straight into the arms of those he wanted to avoid. He needed Samson, as the colonel, no doubt, still needed him.

  Turning the combustion engine back on, Steiner turned a knob to activate the car’s headlights and then pulled back out onto the road. In no time at all he drew to a stop in front of a slim, yellow and black chequerboard barrier.

  Two men in National Guard uniforms approached from either side of the vehicle, their assault weapons held in their hands with a nonchalant ease. Steiner wound his window down.

  ‘Good morning, sir.’ The man withdrew a flashlight from his breast pocket and shone it into Steiner’s face, making him squint.

  ‘Morning.’ Steiner conjured up a tired smile as the second man shone his own torch into the front and back seats of the pick-up.

  ‘Nice truck,’ the first soldier said, ‘anything in the back?’

  Steiner swore inwardly, he had no idea if anything was stored in the flatbed. He shook his head a fraction.

  ‘Papers, ID.’ The soldier held out a hand and took his eyes off Steiner when his colleague flipped down the tailgate and climbed up onto the tray area, sending the suspension rocking.

  Steiner made a show of looking in the glove compartment. ‘I’m sorry, I must have left it in my other car.’

  The soldier glared at him and then the car bounced again as the other man, after finishing his inspection, jumped back down to the ground.

  ‘Would it be possible to get a temporary pass?’ Steiner asked, following Samson’s instructions. ‘I just need to refuel, I’ve got a job on in the next town along and I’m not sure if I’ve got enough gas to go back to—’ he stuttered to a halt. What was the name of the last town they came through? I don’t know, he thought, I was asleep at the time! ‘Everything okay?’ he said to the second man, who’d come to stand by his window, wheedling out of his faltering lie with aplomb.

  ‘What do you do, exactly?’ the second soldier asked.

  ‘I’m a mechanic, work on cars, mostly classics like this one.’ Shut up George, he said to himself, the key to a good lie is in its simplicity.

  The two men looked at him with what Steiner thought must be intense suspicion. Do I even look like a mechanic? he wondered.

  The first man got out a paper pad and started scribbling on it. He walked round to the rear of the car, came back, tore off a sheet, and handed it to Steiner, the thin paper rustling.

  ‘That’s your pass,’ the man told him. ‘You’ve got two hours before you need to exit the western boundary of the city. If you stay any longer than that you may be arrested for a violation of GMRC curfew regulations.’

  Steiner thanked the men and gave them an appreciative wave when they lifted the barrier, allowing him to pass underneath. Steiner drove through the outskirts of St. George, its centre blazing with light in response to the dust cloud created by AG5. This was the first time Steiner had witnessed the daytime measures actually working, having been ensconced in Steadfast ever since the asteroid collided with the planet many months before.

  Passing the fifth road on the left, Steiner brought the truck to a stop down a side road, away from the street lights. Twenty minutes later Samson had still not reappeared. Has something happened to him? I hope not, he thought, otherwise I’m in serious trouble. Contemplating his concern for Samson’s welfare and the perversity therein, Steiner nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked to his left, to see two green glowing eyes peering back at him.

  Samson opened the door and Steiner shuffled over to the passenger seat, letting the Terra Force commander enter. A potent smell of stagnant water and refuse wafted inside, forcing Steiner to put the back of his hand to his nose.

  Samson dumped his weapon on the back seat and removed his helmet. His armour was covered in mud and dirt; coupled with the foul aroma, this suggested he’d been through an assault course, doubling as a cesspit, rather than running across an arid desert plain.

  ‘You took your time,’ Steiner said. ‘Did you find the outpost?’

  Samson ran a hand over his sweaty scalp, his short hair spraying out a fine mist. ‘I did. Do you have a pass?’

  Steiner nodded, handing over the scrap of paper.

  ‘Good, I’ll drive in and you’ll stay inside the vehicle. If I can, I’ll requisition some communication equipment to replace the kit we lost.’

  Was Samson trying to make up for his past transgressions? If he was, he had a long, long way to go, but it was a start.

  ♦

  Samson drove up to the small U.S. Army compound, stopping at the metal mesh gate which served as its entrance. A soldier dressed in green and brown camos appeared out of a rectangular Portakabin to greet them. Samson had prepared for such an eventuality back in Steadfast and held out his identity badge for the man to read.

  The guard noted something down on his clipboard and handed the card back to Samson. ‘Thank you, sir. Parking is straight down, second turning on your right.’

  The soldier unlocked the gate, swinging it back and in, and then snapped into a bolt upright stance to salute Samson as he moved the pick-up inside. Samson nodded to the guard as he passed, throwing him an easy salute in return.

  ‘Haven’t you just declared our location to all and sundry?’ Steiner’s grating voice said, as Samson followed the empty road into the tiny base.

  Samson fought down the urge to jab his elbow into the man’s face. ‘I handed him a doctored ID badge.’ He looked left and right, searching the brightly lit area for his intended destination. ‘Some of us came prepared.’

  The professor made a huffing noise, perhaps in disapproval of his comment. Samson didn’t much care what the professor thought; he had a job to do. Now, where is their supply depot, he wondered? The vehicle crawled along the primary avenue, rolling past the turn for the car park suggested by the corporal on the gate. There! Off to one side, he saw a heavily fortified building. Samson kicked the car up a gear and took it round to the rear of the structure. Reversing it up to a secured loading bay entrance, he switched the ignition off, the purr of the engine rumbling to silence.

  Without a word to the professor he got out, slamming the door shut behind him. A small square metal box hung on the wall to the side of the up and over door. Pulling the front panel open, its rusty hinges screeching in protest, Samson hit the intercom button located inside.

  ‘Yes, what do you want?’ A voice crackled through the antiquated system.

  ‘I need access to this facility,’ Samson said with authority, ‘crack open loading bay two.’

  ‘There’s no one scheduled for a pick up today, who is this?’

  ‘Colonel Hemmingway,’ Samson replied, quoting his pseudonym.

  A lengthy pause followed. ‘Can you put your service badge up to the camera please, Colonel,’ the man’s voice said, the tone more respectful than before.

  Samson stepped back, turning his head left, right and then finally up, to see a CCTV mast protruding from the upper storey of the three floored structure. He held his card up to it and waited.

  A few more moments passed. ‘Thank you, sir,’ the voice said.

  Soon after, a deep hum vibrated through the thick metal door, an internal mechanism hoisting it up to reveal an expansive loading area. Samson returned to the car, reversed it inside and then got out once again, at no point speaking to his passenger.

  Leaving his helmet and rifle behind, Samson stomped up a flight of concrete steps at the rear of the garage and into a narrow corridor, which brought him to the acquisitions desk. During his jog into the city, he’d taken the opportunity to cover his armour in filth and soil from a drainage ditch; the purpose of such action, to hide the emblems on his armour from prying eyes. He may have had the rank of Colonel in the U.S. Army, but he was also deployed in a top secret underground base and a member of a highly classified Special Forces team. Operating on the surface for the Subterranean Detachment was not unheard of, but w
andering around amongst regular army staff was, and since he wanted to fly below the radar he’d decided to take the appropriate measures.

  The bulk of the room in which he now stood was blocked off by a counter that ran from one side to the other. Behind this substantial piece of furniture, rows upon rows of shelving stood in alignment, jammed full of crates and brown cardboard cartons of all shapes and sizes. Interspersed throughout, a muddle of vacuum wrapped clothing and all manner of sundries and surplus. On the wall behind Samson, a large depiction of the regimental insignia for the United States Army Ordnance Corps had been painted. The flaming black bomb, combined with two crossed cannons, surrounded by a red circular belt and containing the inscription ORDNANCE CORPS U.S.A., in gold lettering.

  ‘The design was approved in 1986,’ a croaky voice said from behind the desk, making Samson turn to see a haggard, balding veteran hobbling into view, dressed in plain green combats. ‘Although,’ he continued, pointing with a gnarled hand, ‘the branch insignia, the shell and flame depicted by the flaming bomb at the top there, was commissioned in the eighteen thirties, over two hundred years ago. It’s the oldest insignia in the army.’

  Samson looked back at the emblem again. ‘I always liked the 504th’s myself.’

  ‘Ah, don’t tell me.’ The ordnance officer waggled his finger in Samson’s direction. ‘Parachute infantry, a blue shield with a flaming yellow sword. Am I right?’

  ‘Almost.’ Samson walked over to place his armoured gloves on the desk, while he scanned the shelving for any sign of the equipment he desired. ‘The sword is actually yellow with a white blade, surrounded by yellow fire.’

  ‘Yes, yes! A white blade, you’re quite right, Colonel. Now let me see, their motto is—’ The aging sergeant removed his U.S. Army embossed baseball cap and rubbed his chin.

  ‘Strike Hold,’ Samson said, after giving the man ample opportunity to recollect it.