Dark New World (Book 1): Dark New World

by Henry G. Foster

She sat in her lean-to with her chin on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs, and cried.

  - 22 -

  0800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +5

  DURING THE NIGHT, Cassy had heard explosions to the west, which continued for an hour almost nonstop. The horizon had lit up in flashes. Each boom and thump caused her to jump a little, and it took quite a while after they stopped before she calmed herself enough to finally slide into a fitful sleep.

  In the morning, still exhausted, she had a difficult time convincing herself to get up. Adding to her building fatigue, a deep melancholy settled over her with a simultaneous rage she didn’t know how to handle, all of which sapped her will. Eventually, she forced herself to get up and packed her things, all the while fighting an urge to scream.

  After packing, she decided to travel south toward Concordville and Highway 1, then west to Birmingham and, finally, north. She was not very cautious as she walked, doing little to take cover and, in fact, barely noticing the things around her. It was all she could do to force herself to put one foot in front of the other, to just keep going.

  The fields she passed through, after leaving the belt of woodlands she crossed yesterday, only made her more somber. The once-lush crops were hardly recognizable. Whatever had been growing in these fields was now a thick brown, slimy mush. She tried to avoid it, with little success. Once, her shoes kicked up a blob of the brown goo that landed on her hand; she wiped it away, but it left a faint rash that itched even from so short a contact with her skin.

  She also passed the burnt ruins of buildings, mostly grain silos, which were now twisted slag from which wisps of smoke still issued. No food would be found here, nor for miles.

  She tried not to think of how many people died beneath those missiles, or from the defoliant spray itself. If it still burnt and itched now, what must it have done to those farmers it landed on? She shuddered and put the thought away, silently vowing to kill any of those invading bastards she came across, yet knowing she was powerless to actually do anything about it even if she did find the enemy.

  She stopped when Highway 1 came into view, with Concordville just to the west. There was no noise at all from the town, and fear replaced Cassy’s mental fog. She crept towards the town under cover of the greenbelt that bordered the highway, but soon wished she hadn’t. As she approached the town she saw smoke from numerous houses that had caught fire and were still smoldering.

  Worse, she saw bodies littering the roads in town. Not dead bodies, she amended when she saw most still moved. Horrified, she realized they would be dead soon. Townspeople crawled along the sidewalks and in the roads, and now she could hear their cries of pain as they called out to one another. Not only could they barely crawl, they seemed mostly blind as well. They waved their hands in front of them, and bumped into the buildings, the cars, and each other.

  Cassy saw that the buildings had a dull brown tint. God be merciful, she thought, the defoliant must have drifted over the little village last night and the tragedy unfolding in front of her was the result. She was thankful she hadn’t fallen in the fields she had passed through, the deadly fields, but her relief was quickly replaced by a sense of guilt; she told herself it was only survivor’s guilt and she would get over it. It was yet another thing to stuff into the box of pain and shame she carried inside her heart.

  Tears came to Cassy’s eyes, but there was nothing she could do for the dying. She stared at the scene for over an hour, crying the while, desperately considering one plan after another to try to help some of them, but she could think of nothing. No, these Americans were soon to be casualties of war, and there was not a goddamn thing she could do about it.

  It was time to cowboy up, she told herself. She was out of time for grieving, and now it was time to again focus on getting to her kids and her mom. She had to get them away from all this. Somewhere, somehow, she swore she would find them and get them to the farm. If it hadn’t been sprayed...

  * * *

  Ethan sat at his computer and pressed the satphone’s power button. He waited patiently while it booted up and connected with a “weather satellite”. As the phone’s home screen popped up, the dialog box on his PC popped up as well, and showed a couple of messages waiting for him.

  > ATTN: Dark Ryder. Require status update. 20s remain secure, for now. Pls reply.

  > ATTN: Dark Ryder. Decode: 23490-193487-1-9374598-39876. Ack.

  > ATTN: Compliance required. Duty calls, DR. 20s activated. Decode prior and Ack.

  Ethan frowned, and typed into the dialog box: DR ack receipt. Will decode and ack. Require cipher #.

  The response came immediately. Ack. Cipher P-1776. You couldn’t figure that out?

  Ethan laughed. Of course they’d use that cipher. It was a couple hundred years old, but would be nearly impossible to break if intercepted, not without knowing the right key to use for the cipher or weeks of effort. He pulled out a dusty book—of which he also had a PDF on his satphone—for cipher 1776. Opening it to the right page, he knew by heart which letter positions to use for sub-cipher “P”.

  He typed in the correct response, based on the code numbers given, and text flooded the rogue dialog box.

  Dark Ryder. 20s activated level Alpha, auth code 942-A. List of friendly and enemy asset movements coded into prior .txt file, auto-updates. You must decipher and recode, then transmit via HAM. Patriot groups waiting for the intel. MOST URGENT. The transmission will put you at risk, so recommend relocate local prior to broadcast, and pray collateral dmg avoids installation. Est enemy response @ under half hour, likely aerial response. 80% likelihood armed drones rather than planes, so you won’t see them coming.

  God dammit, Ethan cursed to himself. The only freakin’ reason they would need him to risk exposure was if things were way, way worse than they’d expected. Obviously the invaders were wiping the floor with Uncle Sam’s finest, faster than anyone thought possible in risk assessments, even with hypothetical EMPs. And his HAMheads told him of entire towns and cities getting bombed out, from Pennsylvania to New York.

  He could only hope things weren’t so bad in Orlando and Alaska, if rumors of invasions there were true. Which he thought likely. But for Ethan, here in this red-zone, things were definitely bad. Very bad. And about to get a lot worse.

  He walked to the back of the bunker and drew aside a decorative curtain that showed a huge picture of a scene from his favorite online multiplayer game. Behind the curtain lay a brick wall. He touched one brick, then another, and finally a third brick, and the wall split down the middle and opened outward. Behind it lay another segment of the bunker. It was lined with high shelves stacked with radios, mines, solar panels, segments of antennae. Tons of random bullshit. He frowned. It would take him a couple of hours to find and assemble the components to complete his assignment.

  * * *

  Frank walked back from the makeshift latrine they’d dug. He stepped on a twig and Jaz, sitting by the coals of the morning’s fire, jumped up and spun around, her eyes wide. Frank thought she looked like a startled deer. “Damn, Jaz, you sure have great reflexes. We should make you the scout and let Michael sleep solid for once.”

  Jaz blushed and smiled, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I just... I’m on edge. I don’t mean to be, like, scared about things.”

  Frank stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “Jaz, don’t you worry. We’re all scared. But you’re one of us now, right? We’re safer with another set of eyes and another gun ready, and you’re safer with a family to watch your back, a group to belong to. So don’t ever be embarrassed about what scares you, and just know that we have your back.”

  Jaz nodded and sat back down with a smile, and Frank caught sight of Mary nearby nodding in approval. It was good that Jaz had been accepted, Frank mused, because they sure as hell really did need another body in their group watching over his family. Of course, that made Jaz family too now, and so she was another person for whom they would all expect him to be responsible.

  A tou
ch on his arm took him out of his thoughts, and he saw that Jed stood next to him. “Hey, Jed. What’s up?” Frank asked with a slight smile.

  “I got a bone for you to gnaw on, Frank. See, me and Amber, we ain’t doing real well right now, you know? I reckon the stress is getting to all of us. But she’s the mother of my daughter, and I love her. I just ain’t in love with her anymore, if you get me. I don’t think she is, either. But we’re all in this crap storm, so we stay together, thick or thin.”

  Frank nodded slowly. “Yeah... What’s your point, Jed? Anything I can do, you know I will.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m talkin’ to you about this. See, if’n I catch the golden bullet or something else happens to me, I need to know you’ll take care of my family. Kaitlyn loves you like an uncle, and I need to you be that uncle for her. And she’ll need her mommy, so I need to hear you say you’ll do it.”

  “Yeah, Jed, no worries. You have my word that if anything happens to you, I’ll take care of Kaitlyn and Amber the best I can. Same with all of us, here. I think things are getting a lot worse before they get better, so now all of us here, we’re a clan, Jaz included. And the clan will survive even if one of us doesn’t. I swear on the Bible, or a short stack of rocks, or all the gods in heaven that we’ll get through this together or not at all.”

  Jed nodded, and smiled. “That’s right proper of you, Frank. I appreciate you for it.” Then he wandered away.

  Frank watched as Jed left, and thought to himself that it might be needful to have some sort of meeting to formalize this whole “clan” thing. But now wasn’t the time. Right now they had to pack and get moving while they still could. The hungry must be coming, and he didn’t mean for his family to be there when the mobs arrived.

  * * *

  They were making poor time, Jaz noted. The kids weren’t used to walking so much, especially over rough ground, but that couldn’t be avoided. Frank had decided to head west before cutting up north between Chesterbrook and King of Prussia, on up to I76, and then they’d go west toward Lancaster, either on or near the freeway.

  On top of minding the kids—who were the sweetest little things ever, Jaz thought with an almost wistful smile—they had to carry a rifle each, bullets, and a backpack. The men even carried two packs, one over their chests. They sure were good peeps, even though they made her carry so much. Frank said they would need all this stuff, and Jaz believed him because Frank was sharp as a tack. And they were all nice to her, so she could do a lot worse than this group. She had done a lot worse only a few days before, she reminded herself, and shuddered at the thought of the attentions showed her by those rednecks she’d been with. Okay, sure, she wouldn’t mind taking care of Frank, or Michael, or even Jed, if that’s what they wanted. It was what all men seemed to want. But these guys were different, they were married and gave a shit about that. None of them looked at her like a beer-and-taco happy meal. Maybe Jed did sometimes, but that was ok; Jed was probably the cutest of the guys, even if he wasn’t as smart as Frank. But she’d never move on him—she’d managed to get Amber to like her, but that would change in a minute if she thought Jaz was prowling for her man.

  Jaz lost her train of thought and nearly stumbled, but Jed caught her arm in time. “Careful, little missy,” he said in that so cute cowboy accent of his, and she smiled and thanked him.

  Looking around, she saw that the ground had suddenly begun to rise up, which was why she’d stumbled. They must be coming up on a road, Highway 202 if she remembered right.

  Michael stopped the group then and snuck off toward the road. Jaz took a small sip of water while they waited, earning a frown from Frank. He’d said he would tell them all when it was cool to drink so they didn’t, like, use up all their water on day one. Fair enough. She put the bottle away.

  * * *

  Frank waited patiently while Michael scouted out the highway ahead of them. He held his rifle at the ready, as did the others, but after the earlier ambush he knew they all hoped never to have to use guns again.

  Michael returned in a few minutes, gliding almost ghost-like down the embankment toward the group. Frank slung his rifle as Michael approached him.

  “So what did you see?” he asked as his eyes darted back and forth between the road and Michael.

  “Well, I’ll keep it simple. There’s a lot of cars, all dead of course. Things are scattered all over so I’m sure the cars were picked over real good already. I don’t think we’ll find anything useful in there. But I didn’t see any people, or at least, no live ones. Two dead guys on the road, but they look like they killed each other in a knife fight. That’s actually very common, Frank, so if you can avoid a knife fight, do it. Better to back up and live than be brave and die. The guys on the road didn’t get that memo, I guess.”

  “Did you see what’s on the other side of the road?”

  “Sure did, Frank. It must be some dink town called Chesterbrook, if I remember the area right, but it looks pretty deserted. A few people were wandering around, but mostly one or two at a time. We should be safe enough if we skirt the town to get to I-76, which takes us the way that lady told you to go to get to that farm.”

  Frank nodded and waved at the group to move out.

  * * *

  As the sun rose, SSgt Taggart looked around the remains of his unit. The day before, he’d had thirty soldiers from both his own unit and another unit they’d met up with from some other base. Today, only four other soldiers and two Humvees remained, along with plenty of ammo and one light machine gun to back up their M4 rifles.

  The sounds of Newark echoed around them, mostly scattered small arms fire, and a small explosion in the distance. But also, the roar of lethal jets flying in and out of enemy-held JFK Airport.

  Traveling through Newark had been a nightmare. Hordes of hungry people thought the soldiers had surely come to deliver supplies, or rescue them. They tended to get unreasonable when told to back away, and more than once they’d had to repeat the earlier tragedy of firing on Americans. He’d never forget the sight of a woman carrying a baby, both mowed down by a single bullet from one of his men. She wore a look of surprise as she fell.

  Such scenes added fuel to the burning hatred he felt for the bastards who were responsible for all this. The enemy. Every man and woman in his unit had wanted a piece of those assholes, and by God they were going to get it. Or so the soldiers had thought.

  They’d made an effort to get to the Hoboken area, where they were to find some way to the island. The last intel they received said the enemy hadn’t yet broken out of New York City, but the devil knew what Taggart thought of “intel”.

  They’d made it to the east side of Newark, traveling through what looked like any other warzone he’d been in, except for the odd “20” spray painted here and there. Then they finally ran into the enemy. The firefight lasted only about ten minutes. His unit was taking some casualties, but the enemy was getting the worst of it. Taggart had known that once the enemy broke, he and his soldiers would slaughter every last fucking one of ‘em. They never got that chance though, because two jets came screaming in low and mean from the east and unleashed hell on his soldiers.

  Probably two full residential blocks were leveled in a heartbeat, along with virtually all of his boys and girls. And God only knew how many terrified civilians ate fire and lead, but the presence of civilians hadn’t been a factor to the enemy birds, not when American soldiers were there for the killing.

  The four soldiers with him were all he’d been able to round up as he fled through the fire and the smoke with enemy soldiers surging after them. He and the four would have been killed too, he had no doubt, had not some Puerto Rican with neck tattoos led them to safety in a section of abandoned tunnels. The guy said his name was Chongo, and he was part of the resistance. That there was any resistance was news to Taggart, but welcome news. Chongo said there were a lot of resistance fighters, and they were organized. It seemed his little resistance movement was the reason the
enemy only wandered around in squads or more, like the ones his own men had fought and died against.

  Chongo also said the leadership was not what Taggart would expect. Wait here, he’d said, and a leader will come to brief and debrief. Chongo told him that when the leader arrived, Taggart shouldn’t stare or look him in the eyes; he was a criminal, and the only help Taggart would get in Newark, so behave. Taggart agreed; the operational parameters had changed, and he and his remaining soldiers would change along with them.

  The soldier next to him, a Spec by his rank insignia, interrupted Taggart’s thoughts. “You know we don’t stand a chance as long as they got the airport.”

  Taggart nodded. “True, son, not in any kind of meeting engagement. But we’re a long way from having the assets to engage the enemy like that. We’re doing something else, now.”

  “What’s that, Sarge?”

  Taggart, sitting on the floor of the tunnel with his back to one wall, let out a long sigh and rested his head against the wall. “We’re going unconventional, and we’ll use this so-called Resistance to do it. They’ll be our scouts, guides and local diplomats, after they get around to sending this leader guy to chat us up.”

  * * *

  Peter Ixin sat just below the crest of a hill with three other scouts. They sat well away from him for fear of his anger, which still overflowed. First that bitch of a spy had killed one of his scouts, and wounded him. Then, after the vet had stitched up his scalp and announced that he had only a mild concussion, he’d been ordered on bed rest for two days while they kept an eye on him for complications. Screw that, he had told them, he was damn well going back out after her. She’d seen their stockpile, and had to be stopped.

  But his Supervisor, or commanding officer, had said another team of scouts would be sent after her within the hour. Well, that had only given ol’ Peter a deadline to get the hell out of that semi-prison. As if a few stitches were worth two whole days of bed rest! What kind of man sat by while others did his job for him? Not where he came from, no sir.