by James Sperl
A trio of Humvees retrofitted with armored spikes and equipped with manned .50 caliber gun turrets drove directly through the center of the parking lot toward the crowd. The drivers showed little regard for the medians and dead bodies that stood in their way.
The lead Humvee came to a stop at the edge of the crowd, the two behind it moving into flanking positions, one on either side of their leader. Heavily armed men dressed in full battle armor sprang from the vehicles. Even more emerged from the line of transports and Humvees behind them, the combat-ready men and women there sprinting forward and forming a defensive line that concentrated their impressive firepower not only on the crowd in front of them but also on the people that gaped open-mouthed from the surrounding rooftops.
Clarissa stood in breathless, rapt attention. She looked at the faces of this new group of militants who pointed guns at her and the others. She recognized some of them from New Framingham. The realization should have made her feel safe, protected. Instead, it left her with a troubling question: Were they saviors, or were they here as adversaries? It concerned her that it was too soon to tell.
No one spoke a word. Not even Inferno.
The front passenger door to the lead Humvee opened. Four armed men rushed to protect the person who climbed out.
A collective breath of surprise rose up from the crowd as Donna stormed forward, her gaze fixed on Inferno. The New Framingham residents who recognized her scrambled out of her way. Inferno's followers were less eager to give passage, but they acquiesced without incident in the end.
Clarissa saw some people break into tears of relief upon seeing Donna. She and her army had thrown a wrench into Inferno's plans, but they didn't fool Clarissa. Her presence was a self-serving act of desperation and nothing more. She was trying to preserve her beloved project and its nascent technology, and Inferno threatened it.
Donna's sudden appearance also served as a reminder—she didn't know about Clarissa and Dustin's success. As far as she was concerned, they perished in the Nothing Place. It was possible she suspected that something had changed, as others did, but she hadn't impressed Clarissa as someone prone to placing all her eggs in one basket. She was shrewd and someone who erred on the side of caution. In short, Clarissa didn't believe Donna was totally convinced the Sound was gone. In her mind, she still had a problem to solve. The fact that she was here proved that.
After what she had done to both Clarissa and Dustin—hell, after what she had done to all the people before them—Clarissa found herself rooting, however small and misplaced it may have been, for Inferno to succeed, if for no other reason than to see him destroy everything she valued.
Donna stopped in the middle of the crowd and folded her arms determinedly. She didn't see Clarissa glare at her from behind the line of people that had pulled away to circle her. She was dead focused on Inferno, who stood patiently at the edge of the truck cab and waited for her to speak.
“My name is Donna Quinlin!” she shouted at Inferno. “I am a co-founder of the community of New Framingham. You and your people are not welcome here. On behalf of those whom you have violated and those who wish to live in peace, you are ordered to leave this place at once.”
A deathly silence hung in the air. Inferno stared at Donna for what seemed an eternal moment. Finally, he raised the megaphone.
“And if we don't?” His voice was ice cold and unsettling in its lack of emotion.
Donna cracked a smile. She held out her hands and pivoted at the waist, indicating the army she had brought with her.
“I would think that's self-evident.”
“I see.” He paced along the roof of the cab. “And what would be the sense in that?” Donna cocked her head and frowned. “You shoot at us. We shoot at you. Everybody shoots. There are no winners, but there are many losers.”
“I would argue that there are already many losers,” Donna replied. “But things don't have to get worse. If you leave right now, everyone—yourself included—gets the chance to live.”
Again, Inferno waited to speak. It was as if he savored the space between exchanges and the tension that came with it. He leveled a finger at Donna.
“You're from Rosenstein.”
By Clarissa's estimation, Inferno's declaration was a flat out guess. How else could he know about Rosenstein or Donna's role in it? The answer was, of course, Valentina had told him everything. But she hadn't been at New Framingham long enough to put together that Donna was involved, which meant Inferno was making an assumption. It turned out to be the right one.
Donna straightened. “I am. And we have too much invested, too much at stake, to allow you to come in and destroy it.”
“Rosenstein...” Inferno said ponderously. “I've heard a lot about you. My friends and I looked for you in Ashland, but alas, your facility—if it ever truly was a facility—was no more.” He paused to stare at her. “You and your people have been up to some very naughty things.”
Faces frowned. Donna swallowed.
“If you've heard about us then you know how important the work we do is.”
“And what work would that be?”
Donna hesitated. Inferno was calling her out in front of God and the world. She couldn't be secretive now, not if she wanted to gain favor with the vacillating crowd.
“We're trying to stop the Sound,” she said. “To prevent it from taking anybody else and to keep it from ever happening again.”
Inferno nodded as if considering her reply. “A very noble endeavor,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “But as I hear it, you people are the motherfuckers that caused it in the first place.”
An audible rumble of disapproval drifted through the crowd. Clarissa had made a similar accusation only moments ago, but it didn't garner nearly the same response as it did now. Inferno's followers growled their protest and scowled at Donna, who shifted uncomfortably. Whether Inferno believed what Clarissa alleged didn't matter. Merely suggesting that he did was enough to sway opinion away from Donna.
“As a matter of fact,” Inferno continued, “as we hear it, there is no more Sound.”
Donna looked from Inferno to the crowd in blindsided confusion. “And who has made such a foolish claim?”
Clarissa's head felt light and her heart jackhammered. She groped for Dustin's hand, which was cold and damp. He blinked profusely and nodded at her reassuringly: It's okay. The people around them backed away, the space between the pair and Donna opening until Clarissa and Dustin shared the same cleared ground with their captor. Clarissa could almost see the smile beneath Inferno's mask as he singled her out.
“She did.”
Donna followed Inferno's finger over to Clarissa and Dustin—her face dropped into a blank canvas of disbelief.
“You...” she said. Her eyes narrowed into slits of incredulity. “But...that's impossible.”
Clarissa inhaled a jittery breath, and her hands shook. It was all she could do to contain the anger that coursed through her like jet fuel.
“Why?” she said, stepping toward Donna. “Because you tied us down and locked us in a room? Because all the others you abducted before us couldn't do what you wanted? Well, guess what? We did.”
Donna could barely speak. “So...is it true? The Sound...it's gone?”
Clarissa stood tall. “We blew that thing nine ways to Sunday. It's over.”
Over Donna's shoulder, Clarissa found Andrew again. Valentina joined him and held a fretful Naomi. Clarissa could barely conceal the elation that exploded in her heart. Their friendship required mending, but it was worth the effort. It was too precious to abandon. If the world truly was on the cusp of new beginnings, Clarissa felt obliged to be the first to wipe the slate clean.
Donna searched the ground. Relief and confusion competed for dominance on her troubled face, as she reconciled this new information. She walked toward Clarissa. Her entourage attempted to follow her, but she waved them off.
Clarissa stiffened but not from a perceived threat. All
she saw was a woman broken by questions she couldn't answer. It was in her eyes, this irrepressible pursuit of scientific endeavor, tainted as it was by morally and ethically dubious methods. Clarissa felt no responsibility to ease her suffering.
“I believe you,” Donna said. “I feel it even.” Clarissa said nothing. “But...I must ask you: How is it that you're here? I left you alone... away from this place. Please, you must tell me.”
Donna was no longer concerned with the public's opinion of her. Her inability to conceive of a logical explanation for how Clarissa managed to escape a locked room and appear at a location more than a mile away from where Donna had imprisoned her ate at her like voracious cancer.
It filled Clarissa with vindictive joy.
Leaning into Donna's ear, Clarissa spoke so only Donna could hear her say, “Now we both have our secrets.”
* * *
Inferno couldn't take his eyes off Clarissa. Even after Donna showed up to flex her military muscle, he could only concentrate on her.
It was a Shakespearean tragedy. How the course of his life could be charted by the misdeeds of a single night—of a single moment—was something for which he would never forgive himself. What future the two of them could have had together if only he had been able to control his demons, to worship her the way she deserved rather than to try to serve his self-inflated ego and give in to his twisted sense of entitlement.
But he couldn't fix the past. No repairing damage already done. Compromised vessels, be they human or human-made, never worked right again despite all efforts to return them to their original selves. Because of his actions, Inferno had been forced to set Clarissa free, though, in his heart, he had never really let her go.
None of it mattered anymore. Inferno saw the future, even if his army of hopped-up disciples was too far gone to notice—the Sound wasn't the only thing to end.
Things would start getting better after today. Short-term memory loss was an inevitable side effect of unrelenting horror. Everyone forgot how terrible the world was before the Sound, but its daily dose of warfare, genocide, xenophobia, murder, and all around intolerance seemed downright idyllic in comparison to what everyone had been through these past months. People would try to rebuild their lives, to be more accepting of one another as they worked shoulder to shoulder in their efforts.
For a time.
Once complacency returned, and people were able to jettison their reliance upon others like spent rocket boosters, so would return the old ways. It would take years, perhaps decades, before the distaste of foreign cultures, the effects of proselytizing, and rampant self-righteousness drove people to circle their wagons with like-minded individuals and cast vitriol and aspersions upon those who differed from them. But it would happen. Man didn't know any better.
Inferno couldn't wait that long.
His time was at an end. He didn't belong in an optimistic world, no matter how short-lived its intentions were. He looked from Clarissa and Donna's conversation—what had Clarissa just whispered in Donna's ear?—to the restless people who regarded them impatiently. Inferno took note of the large number of souls crammed into the parking lot: Donna and her army; the ineffective citizens of New Framingham; his warriors of the wasteland. Even after the initial onslaught of his offensive, thousands remained standing. A smile on loan from Death crept onto his masked lips.
“So now you see,” he said, his voice pulling Clarissa and Donna, as well as the crowd, back to him. “We have been set free. Thanks to Clarissa, you are no longer relevant. Your enigmatic organization has reached its end. Now the old must make way for the new. Things, as they have been, can't continue.” He zeroed in on Clarissa.
“Perhaps in another life, you would have hated me less. Maybe I would have liked myself more. Regardless, our paths are forever intertwined, yours and mine, whether they conjoin...or they diverge. That is enough for me.”
No one knew what to say to this, Clarissa least of all. The crowd stood in contemplative silence. Those who fought to protect New Framingham gaped at one another promisingly (was it over?), while those who had chosen to overthrow it wondered if their leader had completely lost his mind.
“My devoted brothers and sisters,” Inferno said to his followers, “we have come a long way together. What we have achieved cannot be measured. Our voices have been heard, our frustrations realized.” Heads nodded. People cried out in support. “Be assured. After today, you will all be remembered for your sacrifice, for the suffering you endured and the blood you shed. You have represented the plight of the undervalued.”
Heads nodded enthusiastically, and arms raised in solidarity. Shouts of approval sputtered from around the parking lot from stern-faced warriors.
“The Sound is no more. We all feel it. We all know it to be true. From this day forward, change will be the new norm. And so, our time together has come to an end.” Frowns and hopeful scowls accompanied a stadium's worth of confused chatter. Inferno raised his hand and quieted his people. “But there is one last thing we must do together so our efforts are not overlooked. One final action so that we may become legend among those who speak of us in the days ahead.”
Inferno paused to remove his mask. He unzipped it then slid the neoprene cover from his face. His unveiling elicited an audible gasp from the crowd but cheers from those who followed him. He dropped the mask and lifted his chin to inhale a lungful of nighttime air. It was sweet, despite the plumes of black smoke that choked it and drifted by like phantom reapers.
He leveled his gaze at the crowd. His people looked up at him with worrisome yet anticipatory expressions. They didn't understand what was happening—what was about to happen—but that was irrelevant to Inferno's purpose. They would listen. They would obey. That was all that mattered.
Lifting the megaphone to his fire-blistered lips, Inferno issued his final directive with unnerving calm.
“Kill them all.”
CHAPTER 75
Violence was immediate. Inferno's followers sprang into murder mode as if a switch had been clicked from “off” to “kill.” Gunfire exploded in all directions, bodies dropping at an obscene rate. Tremendous screams saturated the air, as people attempted to flee the massacre. But they had nowhere to run.
Clarissa plastered herself to the ground when the firing started. A woman standing not five feet from her flopped over, her body dotted with bullet wounds. A man beside her spun in a ghastly pirouette then crumpled on top of the woman; a bite-sized wound in his neck pulsed deep red blood in a thick flow.
Clarissa winced and crammed her hands against her ears. She didn't know what to do. Fear paralyzed her, her body and mind in full retreat from what was happening all around her.
A hand grabbed her arm. Then Dustin was on the ground in front of her face.
“We need to move!” he screamed.
She had barely processed what he said before he yanked her to her feet. He pulled her through the scattering crowd, ducking bullets that buzzed the air and dodging the downed, blood-soaked bodies that hadn't been fortunate enough to avoid them.
Dustin veered toward a car that had crashed into the base of a parking lot streetlight. He shoved Clarissa hard to the asphalt, but she understood his aggression came from a place of protection. He rooted inside the vehicle for anything he could use as a weapon, which left Clarissa to stare at the horrendous scene before her.
Donna's army had suffered astounding losses. Many of her troops lay on the ground, and the vehicles they had arrived in crawled with war-painted individuals consumed with bloodlust. Inferno's people may have been drugged and duped into doing his bidding, but they understood how to recognize a potent threat, and up until a few minutes ago, Donna's efficient yet woefully outnumbered army had been it.
Blooms of defensive fire popped from the rooftops, but their sporadic light paled in comparison to the sparking sea of total warfare that took place on the ground. Machine guns, shotguns, and handguns—all fired unabated, the result of their damage raising th
e body count to a nauseating level.
With so many dead and wounded, the number of active fighters dwindled. Even in the short amount of time since Inferno commanded his people to commit genocide, the battle had abated. But it was far from over.
Clarissa panned over the dead-filled battlefield when the sight of someone waving to her from across the lot drew her attention.
Andrew.
She sat up. Andrew crouched in front of a smoking, bullet-riddled truck, Valentina and Naomi tucked behind him. He gestured wildly, pointing away from the heart of New Framingham's ravaged community. He mouthed something Clarissa couldn't make out. She frowned at first, his message unclear. Then it came together: northern exit.
Assessing the situation, Clarissa discovered that the eastern checkpoint—the nearest checkpoint—was flush with fighting. Donna's army and their vehicles had formed a barrier, which blocked off the southern border and corralled people either east or west. The only option left was to head north.
Clarissa craned her neck and scouted the exit. With so many vehicles and smoke clouding her view, she couldn't see well enough to judge whether it was viable. Still, anything had to be better than here.
Dustin climbed from the car empty-handed.
“There's nothing!” he said, breathless. “Going to have to pick up something.”
Clarissa wrenched him around to face forward. “It's my friend, Andrew!” she said, pointing. “He wants us to go to the northern exit!”
Quickly evaluating the checkpoints, Dustin appeared to reach the same conclusion as Clarissa. He sought out Andrew and made the “OK” sign. Andrew nodded.
Dustin took Clarissa's hand. “Come on!”
They stayed low—their knees bent, their backs bowed—as they traversed the parking lot. Dustin dropped down in front of a dead man and tried to wrest a machine gun from him, but its strap became entangled around the man's bloody neck and severed arm. Dustin abandoned it in disgust.
