The Dying Time (Book 2): After The Dying Time

by Raymond Dean White

  Jim reached out to comfort her.

  “Look, you have to...,” Michael began, but Jim interrupted him.

  “C’mon man, back off.”

  Startled, Michael turned his angry stare on his friend. “What the hell do you mean, back off! What these two know is so important the King has sent hundreds of men out looking for them. Back off? The Haleys are dead. God knows how many others are dead. All because of what’s in their heads.”

  “And they’re willing to die, man,” Jim pointed at the black death in Michael’s hand, “die a particularly nasty death to keep their secret. What more can you ask?”

  The Garcias had gone quiet while the two friends argued. Untended, the fire was dying down, the shadows closing in. Michael ran the fingers of his free hand through his graying hair. He took a deep breath and let it out slow.

  “Trust, Jim, trust. We’re taking these people home and I damn well mean to know how much trouble they’re bringing with them before we do.”

  “If what Daniel Windwalker said was true, we’ve already got more trouble than we can handle,” Jim argued. “So what’s a little more compared to the skills they’ll bring to the Freeholds?” Sara and Raoul exchanged a quick glance at the mention of the Freeholds.

  Michael mulled Jim’s argument over briefly. Sara was a surgeon and Raoul was a scientist. Maybe Jim was right. His hand closed on the pill. No! Not until this was resolved. And suddenly he knew what to do.

  He pulled out his .357 saying, “We can’t risk taking them home.” Sara and Raoul froze. “And we can’t leave them running loose for the King to find.” He cocked the pistol.

  “Now come on, man! Michael?” Jim couldn’t believe this. Raoul’s shoulders slumped. Sara wiped tears from hollow eyes.

  Reversing the gun, Michael handed it across the fire to a startled Raoul. “You’re both willing to die to preserve your secret,” Michael said, his head coming up. “And I’d rather die than endanger the Freeholds.”

  A few glowing embers were all that was left of the fire. Darkness threatened to swallow them. Raoul’s hand trembled.

  “Trust is a two-way street,” Michael said. He shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “But since we helped you out of a jam, I’d sure like to know why we’re entitled to know less than the men hunting you.”

  Raoul stared at the pistol in his hand like it was a viper, but Michael’s words hit home.

  “Umm...I see. Well...impeccable logic.” He blinked, nodding to himself. “Yes, you’re right.” He un-cocked the pistol and handed it back to Michael with a shudder.

  “I can tell you this much,” Raoul began in a shaky voice. “The Dying Time was just the beginning. In about eight years, the Earth will be hit by the other half of Havoc and we’ll all have to go through yet another Dying Time. How many of us do you think could endure that?”

  Jim and Michael sat frozen, stunned expressions growing horrified. All they had suffered. All they had accomplished. It was unthinkable to live through such an experience again.

  Raoul continued. “We have one chance, one hope and that hope is all that has kept Sara and I going these past years. We are the only ones who know of a weapon so terrible, so destructive, so...” He faltered as distress overwhelmed him, staring into the dull, red-orange embers of their fire. He shook his head, freeing his mind from haunting visions and resumed talking, his voice sunk almost to a whisper, “It’s our only hope. But the King didn’t believe us and with the world in its current state there could be no defense against it...no defense...” His plea faded into silence and the blackness that now enveloped them all.

  Michael leaned forward and stirred the dying embers, adding fresh kindling and blowing the fire gently back to life. Bright yellow flames pushed the darkness back, exposing the black pill Michael had placed on the ground while tending the fire.

  “Too much power,” Sara breathed. “When the King learned about The Weapon he wanted to use it to enslave the world. But it can only be fired a limited number of times and each shot needlessly expended is one less chance we’ll all have when…” She shrugged helplessly, unable to voice the horror and shook her head slowly before continuing. “Grandpa and I have been on the run ever since--twelve years!” Pointing to the pill she added, “But we’ve both sworn to kill ourselves rather than reveal where The Weapon is, or how to control it. And if I wasn’t asleep when they came that’s what I would have done.”

  “That was my fault,” Raoul’s voice was choked with emotion. “I should never have left you alone.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he explained, “and the moon was bright so I climbed the mountain to look for a better trail. By the time I saw them they had my Sara. I followed them for two days, hoping for a chance to free her...or kill her.” Raoul hid his wrinkled face in his hands as his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

  Jim caught Michael’s eyes and nodded.

  Slowly, Michael picked up a fist-sized rock and raised it high above his head. He hated the glistening black pill and the secrecy and deceit it stood for. He slammed the rock violently downward, pulverizing the sinister capsule.

  “You’re done running,” he said. “Welcome to the United Freeholds.”

  *

  Aurora Two

  “Henri, do you copy?” Mary Adams asked from cockpit of Aurora Two. The space plane was docked on the far side of Iota from Henri’s Aurora One.

  “I read you five by five,” Henri replied. He was outside in an extravehicular mobility unit (EMU) jetting from point to point to anchor his Aurora to the city block-sized hunk of rock that was Iota.

  “Pauolo wants to know how much longer?” Pauolo Guzman-Garcia, their machinist and inventive genius was anchoring Aurora Two on the opposite side of Iota. Properly balanced thrust was necessary to move it into orbit around the moon.

  “Tell our little boy we’ll get there when we get there,” Elena Montoya chimed in. She was a lunar geologist, crewing for Henri in Aurora One. She’d come on this mission after Pauolo mentioned her expertise might be needed to help find the best anchor points on Iota, so the Auroras could move the rock.

  “I’m a lunar geologist,” she’d protested, thinking Iota is a piece of Earth, and it was--a big chunk of black and white, zebra striped, banded gneiss ejected by The Impact.

  “Rocks are rocks,” Pauolo replied with a shrug.

  She’d shuddered at such heresy but swiftly volunteered. She’d never admit it but Pauolo was right. Besides, the moon itself was a chunk of Earth, formed by an ancient impact millions of times more powerful than that generated by Havoc.

  “Tell Pauolo I’m almost done,” Henri said. He finished tightening the last anchor and jetted smoothly from under his Aurora and up toward the access port.

  He’d been born at McConnell Air Force base courtesy of a military mom who waited too long to head for a hospital. McConnell sat right beside Wichita, Kansas, which billed itself as the aircraft capital of the world, since Boeing, Beech, Cessna and Lear Jet all had large and bustling plants there at the time. He often told his friends he was destined to fly.

  He’d graduated from Cessna 180’s as a high school aged pilot to F-22 Raptors in the Air Force and finally, to the top secret Aurora space plane as an astronaut. He and Captain Mary Adams were the two luckiest people alive as far as he was concerned. It was the only plane ever designed that could take off from Earth’s surface and climb into orbit under it’s own power, rendezvous with the International Space Station and return to Earth. And while he’d have preferred a sexier design, like the X-wing fighters from Star Wars, his Aurora was big and strong, with huge cargo capacity--the eighteen wheeler of space.

  In part that was why he loved going out in the EMU so much, zooming from place to place like a hawk hunting rabbits, totally free to feast on spectacular views others who hadn’t experienced the glory of space could only imagine.

  He paused before the hatch, admiring a lightning storm flickering like fireflies on a full Earth when something hit him harder than
a blitzing linebacker and suddenly he was spinning out into space, his steering jets no longer under his control.

  “Mayday!” he shouted.

  “Henri?” Elena’s voice cracked.

  “I’ve lost steerage--spinning. Can’t get oriented.” He drifted away, stars whirling crazily in his faceplate, thinking, if it wasn’t for the damned spin it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

  Aboard Aurora Two Mary Adams radioed for Pauolo to get his butt inside. “Stay suited up in the loading dock, hook yourself to a tether. We’re launching.”

  “We’re what?” Pauolo yelled, flying through the open hatch, clipping a carabiner to a guard rail and grabbing it for good measure.

  “Brace yourself,” Mary said, her voice calm and smooth, a Captain in control of her ship.

  This was her forte, performing under pressure. A former Olympic gymnast from Peace River, Canada, she had immigrated to the U.S. to become an astronaut--to follow her lifelong dream to reach for the stars. Her path to the pilot’s seat of Aurora Two was far different than Henri’s. Put simply, her dark brunette hair, pale green eyes, porcelain skin and slender build made her the PR darling of NASA’s administrators. The “Canadian Pixie” the press called her, as she and the even more beautiful Olivia de Garza became the public faces of Project Genesis.

  When she announced her intention to become a pilot it was politically impossible to deny her a chance. Then her instructors at NASA discovered she was simply better than anyone else at any task involving hand/eye coordination, had lightning reflexes and didn’t get space sick. These traits, coupled with her confident attitude and calm, disciplined mind, made her perfect pilot material.

  The fact that she and Henri had been on and off lovers for the past dozen years and she was seriously considering having a baby with him didn’t slow her down at all. To save him she had to act fast.

  She blew the explosive bolts holding Aurora Two to the anchor cables and slammed the throttles forward, blasting away from Iota. She flipped the plane so it was facing toward Aurora One.

  “You got eyes on him, Pauolo?”

  “Eyes on who? What the hell’s going on?” Pauolo, who hadn’t been able to hear Henri’s mayday call and who had been jerked around by the emergency launch was getting angry.

  “Henri’s EMU malfunctioned and he’s lost control. He’s blasting off God knows where and if we can’t find him before he runs out of oxygen...”

  “I’m looking,” Pauolo said, voice tight as a trip wire.

  So was Elena from Aurora One, her heart pounding and eyes frantically scanning the heavens, but Henri was a miniscule dot among a vast field of stars.

  Chapter 11: Osaka’s Patrol

  U.S. 285, South of Buena Vista, CO.

  Late October, 12 A.I.

  Dan Osaka could swear he heard bells. With a swift silent hand signal, he motioned his men off the narrow road into the trees. Broken pavement, littered with the remnants of rusting automobiles, was all that remained of U.S. 285. One of the wounded groaned, a sound quickly stifled by the man nearest him.

  The groan reminded Dan that he had to get his men home quickly, as if he needed another reminder. Several required medical attention over and above first aid. They had been homeward bound for better than a week now, ever since they’d been ambushed outside of Taos.

  The memory sent a flash of anger through Dan. He ran his gaze over his men. Only twelve left, most of them wounded. He’d started out with thirty, their mission to see if the homesteaders around Taos had any knowledge of this so-called King. Dan’s secondary mission was to locate and shadow some of the King’s men to determine their methods of operation and what level of military technology they had available.

  “I found out how they operate, all right,” he muttered under his breath.

  The settlement at Taos had been sacked. Dozens of men, women and children had been killed. From the tracks remaining, it appeared dozens more had been carted off into slavery, though the freshness of those tracks and the still-smoldering ruins made it clear the attack was only a few hours old.

  Craters indicated the village had been shelled by some form of artillery. That information alone had been worth the trip and Dan had dispatched three couriers back to the Freeholds by different routes to ensure the news got through. He and the rest of his men had set off in pursuit of the King’s men. Dan had hoped to overtake them and free the captives.

  He had personal reasons for wanting to do so. His wife’s family lived in Taos. Her 21-year-old brother was among the dead. There had been no sign of the rest of her family, so he’d hoped they were still alive.

  Now, more families have lost their men, he thought angrily. He blamed himself, of course; most good military commanders blamed themselves for their defeats. The really good ones learned from their mistakes. Dan had been leading patrols for more than a dozen years and he knew better than to hurry. But he was certain some sense of his urgency and desire for haste had leaked through to his men, making them careless. They paid a stiff price.

  The soldiers they were tracking set up an ambush at a creek crossing, where Dan’s men were out in the open. His point men rode right through the trap without seeing it. The main body was caught in midstream by automatic weapons fire and the creek ran red with their blood. Dan and three others fought like tigers, mounting a courageous rear guard action that allowed more than half of his force to escape. Six of his men died of their wounds on the way back, most of them during the first two days when the enemy’s pursuit was so furious they couldn’t stop and rest.

  Six more, he thought, adding them to the nine he lost in the ambush. Half of his force gone, a force composed of friends and neighbors. It made him want to cry, but he bottled it up the way he’d been doing ever since the ambush. It angered him that he was wasting time feeling sorry for himself and he used that anger to pull himself out of the depression that kept threatening to overwhelm him. He wondered how many more would die before he could get them to a doctor. His patrol was still at least two days from medical attention in the Freeholds.

  The pain of his men’s deaths had etched deep lines in Dan’s face. His normally calm, almond-shaped brown eye showed the depth of his hurt--the other eye being covered by a well-worn leather patch that imparted a slightly sinister air. The pain from the scars on his slender body, the results of numerous superficial wounds suffered covering his men’s retreat, was nothing by comparison. He had lost men before. But never from sheer stupidity.

  At six-feet, one-hundred forty pounds, Dan’s lean body didn’t inspire visions of a bold and fearless leader. In better times he would laugh and say when he turned sideways he didn’t offer much of a target. But the way he had recklessly charged his horse back and forth across the clearing, drawing enemy fire to himself and away from his men, showed his grit. Every man who survived that ambush owed Dan his life.

  Tinkle. Tinkle.

  There it was again, the bells he heard earlier. He strained his eyes trying to see through the screen of juniper and scrub oak between him and the road. The trees they were in bordered the west side of the road near Hecla Junction, about a third of the way between the ghost town of Salida and the small settlement in Buena Vista. He and his men were heading for Buena Vista in hopes of finding Dr. Fariq since it was closer than the Freeholds.

  Tinkle. Ting.

  A team of horses pulling a wagon came into view through the trees. Three similar teams followed closely. Dan saw the large red crosses painted on the sides of the wagons and the Santa-looking figure driving the lead team: Doc Merriman and his traveling hospital.

  “Christmas came early this year,” Dan muttered, stifling the hysterical laughter that bubbled up inside him.

  Dan hailed the doctor and led his wounded men from the trees and up to the wagon.

  Ten hours later, the doctor was out of surgery. Several of the hospital staff had set up a rudimentary camp right there in the middle of the road. Dan poured the doctor a cup of chickory coffee and handed it t
o him.

  “Thanks, Dan,” Merriman said, taking a sip. “Looks like your boys caught hell. King’s men?”

  Dan just nodded. Now that his men had received medical attention his mind was on other things, like how to tell his wife, Vivian, her family had disappeared. Dan stood up beside the doctor and looked into the man’s face, meeting Merriman’s sympathetic eyes with his own haunted one.

  “I know this won’t make you feel any better about those you lost, but the rest of your men will be okay,” the Doctor said.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “It’s never easy losing men,” Merriman said, placing a pudgy hand consolingly on Dan’s shoulder.

  “I know Doc,” Dan said softly. “Listen, let’s change the subject, shall we?”

  “Sure, Dan,” Merriman tucked a loose strand of white hair behind his ear. “I just wanted you to know I understand how you feel.”

  Dan nodded and started to turn away, then remembered something he needed to tell Doc Merriman.

  “Say Doc, you really ought to lose those bells on your horse’s harness,” Dan said. “I heard you coming for at least a mile. Sound like that carries a long ways.”

  “That’s exactly the point, Dan,” Merriman replied. “Those bells announce to this entire sorry world that we mean no one harm. They let strangers know that we aren’t trying to sneak up on them and friends know that it’s us coming instead of some enemy.”

  “Well I’ll be...like the red crosses on your wagons.”

  “Exactly,” the doctor nodded. “You know, Dan, my people and I traveled up here all the way from Flagstaff and even the worst of the scum we’ve encountered have been afraid to harm us, knowing they might need us again some day.”

  “It’s brilliant, Doc,” Dan said, shaking his head. “Absolutely brilliant. But say, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what are you doing out here without a Freeholds escort?”

  “We were on our way to Pueblo from Buena Vista,” Merriman explained. “A rider came in about two weeks ago saying they needed medical help in Buena Vista so I volunteered to deliver the needed medical supplies to Doctor Fariq there.”