Beyond Armageddon: Book 01 - Disintegration

by Anthony DeCosmo

  Nina growled, "Get away from me. Get out of here!"

  Plasma shots sounded from outside the door as Boylen fended off a threat.

  "Oh, to hell with this," Jon had little patience for Nina Forest at that moment.

  Nina saw a rifle butt. Then she saw stars.

  ---

  Trevor lay on a blanket underneath the cover of a white canopy, his eyes blinking occasionally but otherwise staring at nothing.

  Jon Brewer stood overhead with Reverend Johnny at his side. Tyr lay at his Master's feet watching. Waiting.

  "He hasn't said a damn thing since we pulled him out of there," Brewer mumbled through clenched teeth. "What the hell is wrong? You found some bruises and sores, that's it."

  "I fear he endured an ordeal far greater than anything I might detect. Sometimes the greatest trauma is to the mind."

  Jon turned sharp on the Reverend. "What the Hell does that mean?"

  Reverend Johnny did nothing other than return Jon's stare. The latter finally bowed his head, patted the Reverend on his shoulder, and the two walked out.

  Crisp twilight air greeted them outside the white canopy strung between a wagon and a barren tree. Another wagon and another canopy waited on the other side of the camp, a camp assembled on dying grass next to a parking lot and the vertical kilns of the historic Coplay Cement Company.

  Jon walked at a fast clip. The Reverend tried to keep pace.

  Horses stood tied to tree branches; supplies lay scattered about; Ames struggled to start a fire and Whiskey drank from a bottle of something while tending to a bloody ankle wound.

  "We can only wait, Mr. Brewer. And pray."

  "You pray, Rev. Pray I don't get my hands on Nina Forest. She did this."

  "Ms. Forest is a victim in this plot, Jon," he grabbed Brewer's shoulder, spinning him around. "Your anger for what has been done to your friend is best directed at those responsible. Last I saw, those responsible were being consumed by the fire raging at their outpost."

  Jon huffed a big, frustrated breath.

  "You think they'll follow us?"

  "Mr. Brewer, the blow we delivered unto their facility was mightier than we could have hoped. I believe they will abandon that outpost and start anew elsewhere."

  Tolbert—the large black man who once worked as a prison guard and who had covered their retreat from The Order's compound earlier in the day—approached.

  "She's not happy about being tied up, I can tell you that," he spoke to Johnny. "I'm not sure how much longer those ropes are going to hold."

  "Yes, it's about time. I spotted the implant on her back. It should be easy enough to remove if the blasted girl will hold still."

  Brewer's radio crackled to life. Stonewall McAllister's voice called: "I say, is there anyone about who could guide us?"

  Reverend Johnny and Tolbert headed to the other tent. Brewer raised his radio and walked the opposite direction toward a main road adjacent to the parking lot.

  "Hello, McAllister? This is Brewer. Where you at?"

  First static and then, "We are in the parking lot of a super market. There are several pairs of hungry eyes watching from the confines within."

  "Okay, yeah, look," Jon walked faster. "We're about a quarter mile—not even—northeast of you. Just follow Coplay Road and you'll see the parking lot and our camp to your right."

  Brewer waited. First, he heard the clop-clop of the horses, then he saw Stonewall and Shepherd riding toward him.

  "Anything?"

  General Stonewall McAllister reported, "The rear guard is pleased to report nothing, Sir. Although we did see several scavenger-types heading toward The Order's facility. Still," Stonewall glanced at the fading sunlight overhead. "Sunset nears. No doubt, the nightmares will be out in full force. Perhaps we should endeavor to leave the city confines before then."

  "Can't be helped. The team is exhausted. We're better off trying to defend a position here than keep moving."

  "What about Nina?" Shep asked. "Did the Rev get that thing out of her yet?"

  "He was just going to do that. He said it should be easy, though. Must've been some sort of sleeper implant that didn't balloon up until activated. He grabbed those enzymes he needed from the facility before we bugged out; took the shit right out of the walls."

  Shep dismounted and handed the reigns to Cassy Simms who stood watch on that side of the camp. Like the others, her eyes sagged and she walked sluggishly. Pure exhaustion.

  Stonewall split off to help Cassy with the horses while Jon and Shepherd approached Reverend Johnny's tent. They found Tolbert outside on his hands and needs coughing.

  He struggled to tell them, "I never saw her coming."

  Johnny stumbled from the tent with a hand grasping the back of his neck.

  "I didn’t get it yet…ouch…blasted girl."

  Jon glanced to his left and saw Nina running toward the rows of ninety-foot tall vertical red brick kilns.

  Tolbert mumbled between hacks: "My pistol…she's got my side arm."

  Jon muttered a curse and joined Shepherd in pursuit…

  …Nina darted between the old vertical furnaces that resembled smokestacks, dashing in and out of the long evening shadows. Her eyes worked back and forth, the handgun wobbled nervously; she stumbled every few steps. Finally, she navigated the maze and emerged at the rear of the tightly grouped structures. A short patch of woodland that might provide cover beckoned.

  Nina sensed movement behind. She turned and pointed the gun at Jerry Shepherd.

  "Nina," Shep spoke with his hands raised palm-out. "You put that gun down, and get back here so we can fix you up."

  Brewer stood off and watched.

  "All I can feel is anger. Is hate! Why is that?"

  Shep said, "It's that thing they put in you. We have to get it out."

  "Is it? Are you sure? All I've ever known…all I've ever done is hurt and kill. Is that all there is to me?"

  He stepped closer. Just a little. She backed off.

  "They used that against me! Programmed me like some kind of robot!"

  Shep said, "Once we take that thing out of you, you'll be fine. It will all be fine."

  "I…"

  "No. You do it. Now."

  Nina batted her eyes and cast them to the ground in an expression of guilt, dejection, and embarrassment, like a contrite teenager accepting punishment.

  Shepherd grabbed the hand holding the pistol. He slowly twisted her wrist. Nina did not fight but she did not willingly surrender the gun, either. She grunted as the older man forced the weapon from her grasp.

  Nina staggered to one knee and held her wrist.

  "Trust me, Nina. Whatever that thing has done to you, you still know you can trust me."

  She stood again, sheepishly, and let Shepherd lead her away…

  …Except for Tyr, Trevor lay alone on a blanket under the white canopy hastily hung between a tree limb and a wagon. His expression did not change. His eyes saw, but not the tent: they saw hours of torment. They saw the torture-spider and bore bugs. The instruments of anguish long gone but the feeling remained; ingrained in the memory of his skin and his nerves and the pain centers of his brain.

  A visitor entered the tent. Tyr raised his head but lowered it just as fast.

  The Old Man sat on the ground and crossed his legs.

  "Dirty pool," he said in a hushed voice. "That’s what this is, Trevor. The rest of us have been playin' by those rules but it seems some think they don't need to be following the script. And that's how we got here, Trev. Nothing right about this. No, Sir."

  Trevor did not respond.

  "Can you even hear me? I 'spect not. Not over the sound of all them screams. Yeah, I can hear them. Not a scratch on the outside, but your insides are more scrambled than an omelet, ain't that so? Your soldier-girl, they're yanking that slug-thing out of her right now and she'll probably be right as rain. But what they put in you…well, ain't no cure for that."

  The Old Man held his hands over Tr
evor's body, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath…but the breath sucked in something other than oxygen.

  "A man can take a lot of pain, but what they did to you…you can still feel all of it, can't you? That was the point. Get to your mind through this body of yours. Trevor—you listen to me—this wasn't supposed to go like this. Ole' Voggoth pulled a fast one. Now I can go and cry about him breakin' them rules but by the time that gets all sorted out this thing would be done and over with you on the sidelines. So here's what we're going to do, Trev. We're going to right the ship, as it were. We're going to settle the score. Now I can't make the nightmares go away; they're a part of you from now on. But I can dull them a little. Make them bad dreams: old, old memories. Take away the bite, as it were."

  The Old Man sat next to Trevor for several minutes, but before he faded away, Trevor's eyes slid shut and he slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.

  ---

  The raiding party traveled for four nights to reach home. Trevor spent most of that journey asleep in the rear of a wagon. For him, the trip took the form of flashes from explosions and flares, and sounds from gunshots and roars.

  He did not see the statue-like stone soldiers, the flying flower things, or the hippopotamus monsters with eyes on stalks.

  Late in the afternoon of November 22, Jon Brewer’s successful rescue party arrived at the main gates of the estate. There the wounded, bruised, but ultimately victorious group received a welcome deserving of heroes.

  To the surprise of all—particularly the rescue party—Trevor stood and walked off the wagon under his own power. He had not spoken a word for four days; Reverend Johnny figured he was locked into a waking coma of some kind, or completely insane. However, when the wagon stopped in the driveway, Trevor Stone stood and walked—with a stumble—into the mansion.

  Trevor offered no explanation because he had none; he did not know how he had escaped the prison of screams in his mind.

  Eventually, however, night came. Trevor would spend those nights alone in his bed, haunted by images of spidery shadows slinking along dark ceilings; of sickly mouths gnawing; of deadly swarms creeping. More than once he woke with a scream muffled behind locked lips and sweat dripping from every pore on his trembling skin. Yet they were only dreams, and they held little power over him. As if, perhaps, he had imagined the whole ordeal.

  While the people welcomed Trevor home as a hero they eyed Nina with suspicion, no matter how many times Johnny proclaimed her free of implants.

  Nina slipped away quietly to the sanctuary of her apartment, and there she stayed for a long time.

  20. Storm

  Jon Brewer faced his biggest decision of the conflict. His next move would determine victory or defeat.

  A field blanketed in dead leaves served as the battleground. Overhead a blue sky, but in the distance gathering clouds suggesting that the surprising warmth of the afternoon was a prologue to an evening of storms.

  But that would be later. For now, all depended on Jon’s next move.

  He shared his plan with his unit: Tolbert did not like the idea but Benny Duda (Stonewall’s 12-year-old bugle boy) and Kristy Kaufman appreciated the creativity of the strategy and felt certain the enemy would be taken by surprise.

  Jon moved his troops forward and grabbed the oblong, air-filled weapon from the ground.

  Across the line of scrimmage waited the enemy: Dante Jones in front of Jon; Dustin McBride guarded Benny Duda; Woody "Bear" Ross squared off against Tolbert; and Kristy had drawn coverage from Anita Nehru.

  Jon shouted, "Hut one! Hut two! Hike!"

  He pulled the football close to his chest and dropped three steps back.

  Dante Jones counted fast: "One-Mississippi…two Mississippi…"

  Kristy ran the perfect buttonhook, exactly as diagramed in the dirt. Jon fired the ball just above the outstretched arm of Anita Nehru. Kristy bobbled it but held on.

  Dustin McBride abandoned his coverage of Duda and lunged to tag the receiver. Tolbert, downfield by the end zone, engaged the larger Ross with a blocking move.

  Kristy feinted to run but—as planned--flipped the ball to Benny Duda.

  The unexpected move left Benny clear to race for the end zone…except Woody Ross threw Tolbert aside and blocked the kid's path.

  The freckle-faced 12-year-old gasped. Ross, a first-round draft pick out of the University of Miami and one-time starting strong side linebacker for the Washington Redskins, stood between Duda and the winning touchdown.

  Bear played it perfect. He stomped his feet, snarled, then let howl a cry of battle.

  Duda yelled, "Ooo…shhhhhh….iiiiiii…ttttt…"

  Ross reached to make the two-hand touch tag and…swatted air.

  Duda spun away and pranced between the two bushes marking the endzone. The resulting celebration included knocking knees then spinning the ball on the ground and shooting it with pretend guns.

  Woody "Bear" Ross stood alone in the field, the subject of intense scrutiny from the handful of people who played the role of the roaring crowd.

  "God damn it, I won a national championship." He shook his head and smiled in an "awe shucks" sort of way. "Hey Bugle Boy!" Ross yelled with false fierceness. "Let’s play tackle!"

  Benny's eyes grew wide and frightened as Ross ran at him like a charging bull. The kid raced off through the woods and down the slope to the parking lot behind the Methodist Church.

  Trevor and Lori Brewer, standing amongst the dissipating crowd of spectators, laughed at the sight as they walked across the field. Jon joined them.

  "Here comes Coach Lombardi," Stone, limping, joked.

  "Chuck Knoll," the lifetime Steelers fan corrected.

  Tyr and several other K9s trailed Trevor and the Brewers. The dogs did not understand football. They did not understand Thanksgiving either, and they certainly could not comprehend how a feast and a sport were so closely tied together. However, they did understand that hunting parties had been under special orders to catch wild turkeys.

  Three days had past since Trevor’s return. During that time, Omar worked wonders with the power systems and K9 patrols indicated the surrounding area lacked any major threats. Add in the stories of victory brought home by the returning heroes and Trevor could understand why confidence once again soared.

  Only one thing felt out of place.

  Nina Forest barely saw or spoke to anyone, spending most of her time hidden away in her apartment above the A-Frame’s garage. She even changed her schedule so that she often ate in an empty dining hall.

  As the trio left behind the football field, Trevor’s thoughts turned to the missing woman.

  "She won’t see me," Lori explained. "I’ve tried, but she won’t talk to me. She won’t even talk to Shep. I think the only one she talks to is your dog, Odin. I see him following her around everywhere but that’s about it."

  Trevor nodded and, as if trying to convince himself, said, "She’ll be at dinner tonight. She’ll be there."

  Two hours after Benny Duda scored the winning touchdown on the gridiron, the community gathered for a Thanksgiving feast spread out among the rooms of the mansion. The only ones missing were the residents of the farms and Nina Forest.

  They dined on slow-roasted wild turkey, instant mashed potatoes, stale "Stove Top" stuffing, as well as cranberries and vegetables from cans.

  Everyone loved it.

  They uncorked a dozen bottles of wine and enjoyed a Champagne toast.

  For a couple of hours things felt…normal. Not even the approaching thunderstorms could ruin the evening.

  Dinner did not so much end as fade away. Some stayed behind, such as Danny Washburn who desperately hit on Cassy Simms, and Evan Godfrey who cornered a few of the new arrivals to discuss ‘politics’.

  Trevor, with Tyr by his side, left the church basement and walked alone in the darkness toward the mansion. A cold breeze ruffled his windbreaker. A flash of heavenly fireworks illuminated the churning waters of the lake.

  O
din the Elkhound intercepted Trevor at the main gate and presented his Master with disturbing news.

  Trevor listened and then turned north on the perimeter road as fast as his wounded legs would allow. The dogs followed at a discreet distance. The lightning flashed again over the lake; a rumble of thunder shook the night.

  He followed the black top driveway on the grounds of the A-Frame house. He stopped outside of the garage where a solitary security light generated a circle of illumination around a Jeep Grand Cherokee, the one Trevor had hot-wired to evacuated Shepherd from the helicopter crash long ago.

  Nina, dressed in her tactical outfit, descended the stairs from her apartment. She carried a duffel bag over her shoulder and held a camouflage jacket in her hands.

  "What are you doing?"

  She threw the bag and jacket in the rear seat of the Jeep.

  "I’m leaving. I figured no one had used this Jeep in a while so I thought I’d take it."

  "No you’re not."

  She sighed and retrieved her bag and jacket from the rear seat.

  "Okay then, I’ll walk."

  "Why do you want to leave?"

  Nina stopped.

  She placed the bag on the ground with her jacket on top. Her eyes scanned everywhere but at him and she gently bit her lower lip.

  A flash of lightning strobed the area. Thunder followed two seconds later.

  "I don’t belong here."

  "What? What the hell makes you say that?"

  "I’m not like everyone else. I don’t fit in."

  He told her, "We need you to stay. I want you to stay."

  "After everything I did? I can’t believe you mean that."

  He took a hesitant step forward. She finally glanced—briefly--at him.

  More lightning. More grumbles of thunder. The wind whipped faster. The storm prepared to break.

  "Damn it, Nina, what are you afraid of?"

  "Afraid? I’m not afraid of anything."

  "Then why the hell are you running? That’s what you’re doing, you know. Running away. You belong here more than anyone else does."