God Of The Dead

by M. C. Norris

  Cecile looked up and away from her human body, and she didn’t guess that she would ever look at it again. She rejected it. Her glare swept back to the mask, and she suddenly yearned to be back inside of that cold countenance of black angles, so hard and resolute. That was her new face. The Kevlar helmet was her head. The hazmat suit was her body. The gloves, her hands. The boots, her feet. Outside was a world of death forced upon her, and this synthetic new body was her answer to it. Humanity was extinct. This was the new race that crawled through the primordial sludge. This was the last life form that would tramp the surface of a ruined planet until it was unfit for inhabitance by anything.

  Cecile dragged the hulk of bloody rubber up over her body, cinching down the waistline hasps. She pulled the muddied boots over her toed, monkey feet, affixing the seal of her pant cuffs so tightly that it hurt. The gloves, the mask, and at last the Kevlar helmet with the radio crackling in her ear. She stepped over to a sheet of metal mounted to the ambulance wall that served as a mirror. It was dented, as though more than one fist had punched it. She glared back at the distorted image of the merciless black insect, and the sight of this entity satisfied her. Inhaling fiercely, she relished the percolating flow of chemically filtered air into her lungs. Yes, this was Cecile Raquet, now and forevermore.

  The train lurched, canting briefly to one side before settling back onto the rails. Something large and solid tumbled beneath the passing cars, slapping violently against the undercarriage of the ambulance caboose. Cecile grabbed hold of a hanging strap, and pivoted to peer out through the rear windows. Something darkly concave with a fatty, orange lining rocked indignantly to one side of the tracks. Steaming Khepra remnants bordered the railway, where a band of masked militiamen armed with pikes and gaffs labored to drag the toxic rubbish to a safer distance.

  Smoke billowed from the carcass of a butchered city, spewing skyward from its scorched and shattered bones. The forms of dead Khepra were impacted into deep craters in the rubble, marking the spots where they’d plummeted from the skies. Wounded monsters still struggled, kicking their legs where they were impaled on rebar. Cecile’s gaze crept over the ruinous skyline, down to the river, where the collapsed Heart of America Bridge looked like the neck of a smashed guitar. Khepra, entangled in the mess of sprung cables, paddled their legs in the boiling green water.

  Kansas City had evidently gotten the reaction that they wanted from the enemies, but their defenses were insufficient. Their militia was unprepared for the massive scale of the Khepra response. Were the dragons just mindlessly reacting to the electric signature of that generator, or was the second wave something more of a personal attack with drones retaliating against the slaughter of their brethren? Cecile didn’t know what to believe anymore. Clearly, there was some level of collective intelligence governing the behavior of the Khepra colony, but there was no telling whether that direction was coming from the ghost of their original matriarch through the Green Man, or from her successor, hidden somewhere in the living world. A colony of drones without a living queen seemed doomed and directionless, and the drones certainly seemed to have some clear direction.

  Cecile sat down on a padded bench on one side of the railcar. She strapped herself in with buckled harness across her chest. It appeared as though the Khepra drones had focused the brunt of their attack not in the vicinity of the river, where the Klystron generator had been floating on a barge, but rather, they’d swarmed on the heart of the city. Downtown looked to have been the target of the second wave. The drones had overridden their sexual impulses, their strongest and most basic natural instinct, to bombard a different target with what looked like suicidal abandon.

  “Ms. Raquet, do you copy?”

  Cecile flipped the toggle on her headset, and adjusted the volume to a conversational level. “I copy.”

  “We’ve got a dispatch for you over the military band, from General Cobb of the Midwest Militia.”

  Cecile raised her eyebrows. “What’s it say?”

  “Says he’s going to be looking for you on base, over in St. Louis. He’s eastbound, riding with a balloon squadron out of Fort Riley. Look out your windows to the southeast.”

  Cecile swiveled in her seat. Beyond the smoldering ruins of what General Cobb had envisioned as being a new transportation hub, the cornerstone of his dream for the resurrection of civilization, hovered a dark squadron of cylindrical blimps, backlit by the fiery effervescence of a rising sun. Cecile smiled. Cobb was perhaps a little too faithful in humankind’s potential, but nonetheless, he was one of the good ones. He was a true patriot without a country, who mourned the loss of that nation he’d loved. She was glad that he’d survived the attack, and had managed to make it out of the city. On the other hand, she was skeptical about his motives for contacting her. She’d barely known him. They’d only spoken for a few moments, and during that interlude, it was probably no coincidence that she’d aroused him by unzipping the front of her hazmat suit. That was most likely what was sticking in his mind from their brief meeting, and it was probably rooted somewhere in his interest in incorporating her into whatever new plan for the future he might be concocting.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Where is Captain Gann?”

  Cecile stared across the conference table at the agent. His unmasked face was like a feast of betrayed emotions, flickering nuances of greed, hope, uncertainty, annoyance and cowardice. When she’d first met this man, she’d liked the flavor of his smoke. Now that flavor struck her as being somewhat disagreeable. It was as if her opinion of him had shifted suddenly for the worse during the last forty-eight hours that she’d spent out there in Hell, while he’d remained hunkered safely down here in the bowels of a gas-lit bunker amidst his maps and classified documents, muddling over simplistic theories built on a foundation of ulterior motives. She distrusted him for the being the scheming human male that he almost certainly was, and for the exclusive bureaucracy that he represented. Seated before her was a relic, a living vestige of that same charter of man who had, over five-thousand years, willfully pushed worldwide civilization into a precarious state of imbalance.

  “Dead,” she replied.

  She watched his expression change, his eyes flicking as though in search of the perfect, politically correct reply. He adjusted his rigid position in the chair, easing forward, lowering the guard of his arm, and softening the edges of his face. All of these were probably nothing more than the learned expressions employed by a disingenuous mind whenever a situation arose that required him to appear more deceptively human. The truth was, he was just as human as a quintessential human could be, and there was nothing admirable about that.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” the agent replied, dropping his chin. “He was a good man.” He glanced up with an earnest visage that he’d positively mastered. “One of the very best.”

  Behind her mask, Cecile was smiling. He was so desperate for information that he could barely maintain his concerned charade over her wellbeing. She wondered how long she could sit here and watch him squirm, choking in a cloud of suspense, in some metaphor for the deaths suffered by so many billions, up above. She saw things differently now. She recalled that when she’d first witnessed Malcom’s emotional backlash toward this man, she’d been confused and surprised by his evident resent. At the time, she’d prejudged him. Malcolm had struck her as being more than a little unbalanced, maybe even unfit for the rigors of the task at hand. Now, after having survived for just two days in Malcolm’s world, she sympathized with his outright disdain for governmental officers.

  “I imagine that you must have experienced some pretty tough moments out there in the field.” The agent cleared his throat. “If you’d like a little help, moving forward, I can recommend a staff counselor right here on base.”

  Cecile shook her head from side to side. Behind the mask, her smile faded. She wanted to punch his face in. How dare he imagine what she and Malcolm had endured. He couldn’t possibly imagine it, even if he genuinely ca
red to try.

  “You can take off the mask down here, you know.”

  “No.”

  “Very well.” The agent leaned back in his chair, and sighed. “I’d like to talk about the mission, if that’s alright? Did you find anything of value?”

  Cecile had to think hard about that question. Both of them. She wasn’t sure that she could handle the task of relaying all that had happened on the mission, not here at this conference table, not to this governmental agent with a missing arm. Now, she found herself wondering how exactly he’d lost it. Did he accidentally slam it in a file cabinet? Did he get gangrene from a tragic stapling accident? Speaking to a veteran soldier about all they’d endured would be difficult enough, but his obvious level of naivety was an obstacle that she just couldn’t make it past.

  “Did you learn anything about the Green Man, out there? Anything new that the IDC might be able to use to build a solid case against him?”

  “I learned a great deal about the Green Man,” she eventually replied, “but I’m afraid that you might not enjoy hearing what I’ve learned.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “He uses ham radio, for one, communicating freely over your military band. I’d say he probably controls a repeater or two, somewhere between Kansas City and Hays. I’d even say it’s possible that he’s embedded somewhere on Fort Riley.”

  The agent grunted and shook his head. His eyes dropped to his stack of paperwork, where his remaining hand shuffled the ears of documents, as though operating on its own accord. “I’d say that’s highly unlikely, Cecile.”

  “Call me Ms. Raquet. I told you that you wouldn’t enjoy hearing this.”

  “Did you—did you find that personal object? The object that you said that you could use to pinpoint his location, help us apprehend him?”

  “I didn’t need to, Honey. I spoke with him over your radio system on numerous occasions, which implies that he’s close, and that he’s tapped right into your network. All you need to do to find the Green Man is start poking through your own backyard. By now, he could be right here in St. Louis. Maybe even here on your base. In fact, I’d almost be willing to bet some money on it.”

  The widening expression over the agent’s face was something priceless to behold. What she’d told him wasn’t a lie. It was closer to the truth than the lie he wanted everyone to believe, that the Green Man was an international terrorist, a tribal warlord, hiding out in some Middle Eastern cave. He wanted Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, but not St. Louis, and certainly not on his own military base.

  “He does control the Hunters, and he probably controls the dragons too, but it ain’t really him pulling the strings, Honey. The Green Man is nothing but a puppet. Cut his strings, and there’ll soon enough be another hanging in his place. Maybe it’ll be me.” Cecile cocked her masked head and stared at the agent. “The one thing I learned for sure out there, is that I’m the primary objective. In the eyes of the Green Man, the Hunters, and the dragons, I’m Public Enemy Number One.”

  “I don’t—understand what you’re trying to tell me, Ms. Raquet.”

  “Don’t feel bad, Honey. Took me a while to understand it all, too.” Cecile placed her gloved fist on the table. When she spread her fingers, a single bloodstained handcuff with a severed chain slid off her palm, and clattered to the synthetic surface. “Wasn’t until I rode back through Kansas City, and I saw how hard they’d been hit just after I left that it all just started to make sense.” She shoved the bloody handcuff across the table, where the agent involuntarily raised his arm to keep from touching it. “This is all about me. New Orleans was the first and hardest city hit, back on Z-Day. In the year since, I’ve been doing nothing but running, and they’ve been doing nothing but chasing me. Innocent people getting cut down all around me, everywhere I go. Kansas City got sacked because I was there. They were an hour too late, but they focused their attack right on the center of the city, exactly where I’d just been. Western Kansas was full of Hunters, when there was no earthly reason for them to be there at all.” Cecile tapped her chest. “Me. They were out there waiting for me. They knew I’d be coming. It knew. It knew that I was on the Green Man’s trail, and that soon enough I’d find my way to Zurich. It knew well before I even knew, and when we I got there It waiting for us. It was waiting for me. A whole pod of dragons, way out in the middle of western Kansas, circling over one house in particular … how about that? Wherever I go, It will follow me, and I believe that I’ve figured out why.” Cecile crossed her arms upon the table, and leaned inward. “It’s scared, Honey. Scared of me. Because It knows that I’m one of the few people left on this world—maybe the only one—who can get to it, over in the Land of Nod.”

  The agent matched her glare from across the table. His repertoire of masking visages had evidently run dry, and the only expression that remained was his true one. It burned from behind his eyes. He stared at her as though she owed him money. “All of this,” he replied, waving his one hand in the air, “is nothing but circumstantial evidence. Dragons attack structure. Hunters kill people. To suggest that you’re somehow at the center of the apocalypse tells me your ego has gotten way out of control, and has compromised a very important mission. You’ve wasted the last two days, Ms. Raquet, and the life of a damned good soldier.”

  Cecile leaned back in her seat, cocking her head to one side. “Just what are you trying to say to me, when you’ve been hiding down here in this hole of yours doing nothing?”

  “You failed. That’s what I’m telling you. You failed your mission. You failed to find anything of value because you’re a fraud,” the agent said, pushing himself away from the table, rising from his seat. He snatched up his stack of paperwork, and moved toward the elevator door. “I had my doubts about bringing a ghost hunter into our fold from the onset. Thank you for validating my concerns, Ms. Raquet.”

  “You’re the one who likes chasing ghosts.” Cecile smiled, winking at the agent from behind her new face of rubber and plastic. “Not me.”

  ###

  With a roar of superheated air, the great balloon lifted off from the ground. Cecile peered over the rim of the steel basket. She watched the activity of the base shrink below them, as their bloated aircraft rose past the St. Louis Arch. The monumental gateway to the old American West glimmered in the muted rays of an evening sun. Militiamen, the very best of them, according to General Cobb, coiled loosed ratlines around their arms. Others readied the guns that lined the basket rim. They propped armored hatches, securing steel rods into their footings. A window panel in the basket floor afforded a view into the enclosed cockpit below, where rows of pumping knees pedaled furiously, like oarsmen in the channel of a Viking ship, provided human power to the blimp’s chain-driven propellers.

  “These balloons,” General Cobb said, gesturing to the rest of the squadron, “they’re all artifacts from the Cold War era, when we reckoned we’d be needing some new options for our air force in the event of an electromagnetic pulse from a nuclear attack. We were pretty sure that day was coming.” Cobb chuckled. Streams of bubbles fluttered through his cartridges. “Turns out we were about half-right. I kind of like them, don’t you? Something awful pretty about the sight of a bunch of them in the sky.”

  Cecile gazed at the distant squadron, riding the winds ahead of them. She nodded. Like the Khepra, the massive blimps of hot gas, bristling with an arsenal of deadly weapons, were both beautiful and ominous to behold. “They are pretty.”

  Cobb strode over to the edge of the basket, and placed both his hands on the rim. Somewhere along the line, he’d managed to find a new cowboy hat. Or, maybe it was the same hat that had been stolen from him. He looked good in a wide-brimmed hat. Even with a mask, it suited him. As though he’d suddenly remembered some important detail, he quickly lifted his hands from the rim, and turned her way. “I’m sorry, Cecile, damned sorry to hear about your loss.” He removed his hat, and slicked back his thin coating of silver hair. “As a lifelong soldier, and a veteran o
f two wars, I can assure you that I understand the pain of losing someone close to you in combat. Even though I can sympathize with you on that level, I know I can’t ever relate to what happened. You were there, and you alone experienced it. I didn’t, but, I’m truly sorry.”

  “Thank you.” Cecile wished that she could wipe away the tears in her eyes, but she couldn’t. Killer bugs cry on the inside.

  “No one can ever replace the soldier and the friend you lost, but every man and woman in this squadron is a good one, handpicked, by me. They’re the best of the best folks. You can trust your life with anyone in this company.”

  “There—there are other women?” Cecile’s eyes brightened. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to another woman.

  Cobb nodded. He placed his beloved hat back atop his balding head. “Eight of them, including you, and three children.”

  “Children,” she whispered.

  “I suppose I ought to tell you about where we’re headed, now that we’re in the air.” Cobb clasped his hands together, and stepped closer to Cecile. “There’s a little known region of this country that’s yet unblemished. Located up northeast, seems it’s a blind spot in the dragon’s eye. Wild sort of place, where a lack of human presence and a pattern of polar winds have kept everything pristine in its natural state. Scouts report clean air, drinkable water, even plants, trees and animals, just like old times. That’s where we’re headed, you see, where I intend to make a fresh start. I’m calling it Fort Sinai.” General Cobb outstretched his hands. “Welcome aboard the Ark. I guess you can call me Noah.” Cobb stepped forward, and he placed a gentle hand on Cecile’s shoulder. “Once we get there, you don’t have to stay, but I’d appreciate it if you kept Fort Sinai a secret. The balloons will go on, and they’ll take you further eastward, if you like, but I’d appreciate it if you’d consider staying with us.”