by D. J. Molles
“Sometimes you keep doing things far past when you’re ready to call it quits.”
Lee was silent.
Abe put a hand on his shoulder. “We should get back. Important things are happening today. Wouldn’t want to miss them.”
Lee stood at the back of the crowded auditorium, near the door. He could feel the icy air slipping in through the cracks. Cold and ice lay outside. Wet and miserable. Inside, it was hot from burning kerosene heaters and from the hundreds of bodies packed in so tightly together. The vast majority of the people inside of the auditorium were observers. Concerned citizens, in a way.
But the front section of the auditorium nearest to the small stage had been roped off, and in there sat only the representatives. There were four distinct groups, only one of which Lee was very familiar with. That was the North Carolina group. The other three were from South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida, respectively. Each group was comprised of representatives from small and large groups alike. And from each of their groups, they had elected a chairman, who would speak for the entire state.
At the front, and all the way to the right, the group from North Carolina sat. Civilian representatives from Fort Bragg and Camp Lejeune, as well as several smaller groups. Camp Ryder was well represented. Marie was there. And Angela sat as the chairman for North Carolina.
She didn’t want it, but she got it anyway.
News of how Camp Ryder had fought back, stood their ground, not only against the hordes coming out of the north, but against Briggs, had spread across the state. Even among the other states represented, North Carolina seemed to hold a special spot—the northernmost state, the line in the sand. And Camp Ryder was credited with much of that.
Angela had been a shoo-in.
She glanced backward, perhaps feeling someone’s eyes on her. She met Lee’s gaze and gave him a bewildered smile. These were large things to discuss. Big decisions. He nodded back to her, his face very serious.
Amid the rumble of subdued conversations, Angela turned away from him, and then she rose, somewhat stiffly, straightening her jacket. For what was being referred to as a “congress,” everyone was dressed much alike. There was no room for suit jackets and nice dresses. They all wore what they normally wore—jackets worn out and patched, guns still slung on their hips and backs. But you did not need suits and ties to feel the gravity in the air, the seriousness of what was about to be discussed. All the representatives and state chairmen might be dressed as normal, but what they were discussing was very unusual.
As Angela took the stage, the crowd quieted. People in the back craned their necks to see. People in the front jostled for position. But the quiet swept through and people watched, and people listened, because the words that were spoken would push them onto one unstoppable path or the other.
Angela stared out, still incredibly uncomfortable with the position that she’d found herself in. She alleged she was deathly terrified of public speaking, but all she showed now was some hesitation, maybe a little bit of nerves, but nothing debilitating. Lee knew that she was stronger than she gave herself credit for. She would find that out. But it would be on her own.
She cleared her throat, and her voice sounded small in the auditorium.
Silence in the crowd, everyone straining to hear. There were no microphones or speakers to amplify the voices.
“Thank you everyone for coming,” Angela said, eyes cast downward at the podium as she addressed the hundreds of faces in front of her. “I know that the weather is not very nice outside. The fact that so many of you showed up today is proof to me of the importance of today’s discussion, and how seriously we’re all taking it.”
She paused for a moment—gathering her thoughts or overcoming her nerves; Lee wasn’t sure which. “We’re on the cusp of something we never anticipated seeing again. Our country has changed. Physically, emotionally. Spiritually. Borders are being drawn up, and for the first time in almost two hundred years, we live in a nation that is militarily divided against itself. Acting President Briggs sits on the other side of the Appalachians, and we all know his position. We know what he claims. And we know that he is eventually going to come for us, those eastern states that he abandoned so many months ago. I don’t think there’s any denying that. Every account we have from those that have left Colorado says the same thing. He is there, and he is gathering his strength, and he intends to unite America again. Which includes us.
“I know this is difficult, and it should be. We should not approach this lightly. I believe that most of us consider ourselves to be patriots of this country, and it is part of our identity that we see ourselves as one nation, and not separate states. But we have to be careful of blind loyalty. We have to guard against accepting anyone’s version of America simply so that we can feel safe and protected. That’s what we’re here to discuss. And I intend to make my position, and the position of those people from North Carolina that I represent, very clear right from the get-go.
“Many of you know Captain Harden, or you know of him. And if he’ll let me, I’d like to tell you all something that he said to me when our group first arrived here from Camp Ryder.” She found him again, in the back of the auditorium, and offered him a quick smile. Some of those in the audience followed her gaze and glanced back at him, but then they focused on her again. “This was after we’d managed to cut off the hordes from the north. I brought him an American flag that had been hanging in Camp Ryder. I took it down before we evacuated. I didn’t know whether he wanted it or not, because of everything that had happened with President Briggs. But he took it and he told me, ‘America is not its government. It’s not something that’s held together by politicians and bureaucrats.’ And I think that we need to come to that realization once again.”
She paused for another moment, and Lee could feel her nervousness about what she was going to say. But when she spoke, it was firm, and it was forceful. “Knowing what I know now, and having been through everything that I have been through, everything that my family, that my group, that my entire state has been through, I can only give you advice as you move forward in these deliberations. And my advice would be this: Do not love your country. Love your God-given freedoms. Don’t fight for a government, but rather fight against anyone who would threaten your liberty, and your right to be alive. Government does not exist to be served, but to serve, and to be a physical manifestation of common ideals. And to protect those ideals through the forceful hand of the people that espouse them.”
Half of those gathered applauded, aggressively.
The other half mumbled among themselves, unsurely.
Split, right down the middle, Lee thought to himself as he scanned the crowd.
Then he looked to his left. Standing with him was his small team, all wet and snow-crusted, and they watched with concentration, and perhaps some trepidation, but if they agreed or disagreed, they did not say. Nate glared on. Julia was more relaxed, though her face was tight—perhaps from the pain in her freshly healed leg. Tomlin and Abe were whispering in quiet conference together. Carl stood stone-still against the wall, arms crossed. He glanced at Lee, and his lips pursed.
Agree, or disagree? Lee thought, but Carl was remaining enigmatic, as usual.
Suddenly, Lee needed to be out of that auditorium. Away from all of those people. Away from their opinions and the things that they thought they knew, and all of the arguments that those opinions would spawn, and all of the shouting and yelling that was only minutes around the corner, as soon as people realized how divided they were when it came to this ultimate decision. And in the end, it was not his decision to make.
As Angela continued to speak, Lee turned away and pushed out of the door. The cold, whitewashed world met him. Deuce had stayed close to his legs inside, but once outside he ran and began sniffing the wind. Lee stood at the entrance to the auditorium for a moment, acclimating himself to the cold.
He heard the door open and close behind him.
Abe stood next t
o him again, shrugging against the wind. “Not interested?”
Lee scratched at his beard, grown a bit longer now. “No, I’m interested.” He looked behind him at the closed door of the auditorium. “But it ain’t up to me. I’ve done my job. I got them here. I’ll keep them safe while they decide what to do with themselves.” He hiked a thumb behind him. “That’s government in there, Abe. That’s what we were supposed to rebuild. And there it is. So I guess…” Lee shrugged. “I guess mission accomplished.”
Abe stayed quiet for a moment, then just: “Hm. Mission accomplished.”
Lee looked at him with a quirked brow. “What?”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Abe blew warm breath into his cupped hands. “Our work is never done, my friend. They’ll always need us to keep them safe. And we’ll always do it. Because it’s what we do. It’s the way we’re wired. We’re always looking for the good fight.” He worked his injured shoulder a bit, grimacing. “You think you want to rest, but you’ll just spend it wondering when the next battle will come along. We can’t help ourselves. It’s in the blood. We do the right thing, not because it serves us best, but because it is right. And without rightness, without honor? There’s just every man for himself. And that’s just anarchy.
“Trust me,” Abe said, some finality in his voice. “Our work is never done.”
Lee’s expression was tired, but accepting. “Yeah. I know.”
The man walks to the edge of the open field, the dog by his side. Acres upon acres, covered in brilliant white. The snow will melt, the ground will thaw, and the seeds will be planted. But for now it lies dormant. Just promises, waiting to be fulfilled.
The snow clouds thin, and the sky breaks. The sun is muted coming through. It is not exactly the moment in the sun that he wished for so long ago, but it will just have to do. He closes his eyes and looks skyward. Behind his eyelids, he sees red. His own blood. Behind his eyelids, he sees loss and gain and struggle. Endless struggle.
When he opens his eyes, he sees the dog is no longer with him.
His eyes follow the tracks in the snow that cut a wide circle, following the edge of the open field. He spots the brown-and-tan shape, moving swiftly and deliberately. The dog is doing what he was bred to do. Patrolling the perimeter. Nose in the wind. Smelling for the next threat. Searching for the next fight.
Always watching.
Always ready.
extras
meet the author
D. J. MOLLES is the bestselling author of the Remaining series. He published his first short story, “Darkness,” while still in high school. Soon after, he won a prize for his short story “Survive.” The Remaining was originally self-published in 2012 and quickly became an Internet bestseller. He lives in the Southeast with his wife and children.
introducing
If you enjoyed
THE REMAINING: EXTINCTION
look out for
THE LAZARUS WAR
Book 1: Artefact
by Jamie Sawyer
In the twenty-second century, mankind has spread out into the stars, only to find themselves locked in eternal warfare with the insidious Krell. On the farthest edges of known space, a stalemate has been hard won, and a Quarantine Zone is being policed by the only people able to contain the Krell menace: the brave soldiers of the Simulant Operation Program, an elite military team who remotely operate bioengineered avatars in the most dangerous theaters of war.
Captain Conrad Harris is a veteran of the Sim Ops Program, a man who has died hundreds of times running suicide missions inside his simulants. Known as Lazarus, Harris is a man addicted to death, and driven by the memory of a lover lost to the Krell many years before. So when a secret research station deep in the Quarantine Zone suddenly goes dark, there is no other man who could possibly lead a rescue mission.
CHAPTER 1
There was something so immensely wrong about the Krell. I could still remember the first time I saw one and the sensation of complete wrongness that overcame me. Over the years, the emotion had settled to a balls-deep paralysis.
This was a primary-form, the lowest strata of the Krell Collective, but it was still bigger than any of us. Encased in the Krell equivalent of battle-armour: hardened carapace plates, fused to the xeno’s grey-green skin. It was impossible to say where technology finished and biology began. The thing’s back was awash with antennae—those could be used as both weapons and communicators with the rest of the Collective.
The Krell turned its head to acknowledge us. It had a vaguely fish-like face, with a pair of deep bituminous eyes, barbels drooping from its mouth. Beneath the head, a pair of gills rhythmically flexed, puffing out noxious fumes. Those sharkish features had earned them the moniker “fish heads.” Two pairs of arms sprouted from the shoulders—one atrophied, with clawed hands; the other tipped with bony, serrated protrusions—raptorial forearms.
The xeno reared up, and in a split-second it was stomping down the corridor.
I fired my plasma rifle. The first shot exploded the xeno’s chest, but it kept coming. The second shot connected with one of the bladed forearms, blowing the limb clean off. Then Blake and Kaminski were firing too—and the corridor was alight with brilliant plasma pulses. The creature collapsed into an incandescent mess.
“You like that much, Olsen?” Kaminski asked. “They’re pretty friendly for a species that we’re supposed to be at peace with.”
At some point during the attack, Olsen had collapsed to his knees. He sat there for a second, looking down at his gloved hands. His eyes were haunted, his heavy jowls suddenly much older. He shook his head, stumbling to his feet. From the safety of a laboratory, it was easy to think of the Krell as another intelligent species, just made in the image of a different god. But seeing them up-close, and witnessing their innate need to extinguish the human race, showed them for what they really were.
“This is a live situation now, troopers. Keep together and do this by the drill. Haven is awake.”
“Solid copy,” Kaminski muttered.
“We move to secondary objective. Once the generator has been tagged, we retreat down the primary corridor to the APS. Now double time it and move out.”
There was no pause to relay our contact with Jenkins and Martinez. The Krell had a unique ability to sense radio transmissions, even encrypted communications like those we used on the suits, and now that the Collective had awoken all comms were locked down.
As I started off, I activated the wrist-mounted computer incorporated into my suit. Ah, shit. The starship corridors brimmed with motion and bio-signs. The place became swathed in shadow and death—every pool of blackness a possible Krell nest.
Mission timeline: twelve minutes.
We reached the quantum-drive chamber. The huge reinforced doors were emblazoned with warning signs and a red emergency light flashed overhead.
The floor exploded as three more Krell appeared—all chitin shells and claws. Blake went down first, the largest of the Krell dragging him into a service tunnel. He brought his rifle up to fire, but there was too little room for him to manoeuvre in a full combat-suit, and he couldn’t bring the weapon to bear.
“Hold on, Kid!” I hollered, firing at the advancing Krell, trying to get him free.
The other two xenos clambered over him in desperation to get to me. I kicked at several of them, reaching a hand into the mass of bodies to try to grapple Blake. He lost his rifle, and let rip an agonised shout as the creatures dragged him down. It was no good—he was either dead now, or he would be soon. Even in his reinforced ablative plate, those things would take him apart. I lost the grip on his hand, just as the other Krell broke free of the tunnel mouth.
“Blake’s down!” I yelled. “’Ski—grenade.”
“Solid copy—on it.”
Kaminski armed an incendiary grenade and tossed it into the nest. The grenade skittered down the tunnel, flashing an amber warning-strobe as it went. In the split second before it went off, as I brought m
y M95 up to fire, I saw that the tunnel was now filled with xenos. Many, many more than we could hope to kill with just our squad.
“Be careful—you could blow a hole in the hull with those explosives!” Olsen wailed.
Holing the hull was the least of my worries. The grenade went off, sending Krell in every direction. I turned away from the blast at the last moment, and felt hot shrapnel penetrate my combat-armour—frag lodging itself in my lower back. The suit compensated for the wall of white noise, momentarily dampening my audio.
The M95 auto-sighted prone Krell and I fired without even thinking. Pulse after pulse went into the tunnel, splitting armoured heads and tearing off clawed limbs. Blake was down there, somewhere amongst the tangle of bodies and debris; but it took a good few seconds before my suit informed me that his bio-signs had finally extinguished.
Good journey, Blake.
Kaminski moved behind me. His technical kit was already hooked up to the drive chamber access terminal, running code-cracking algorithms to get us in.
The rest of the team jogged into view. More Krell were now clambering out of the hole in the floor. Martinez and Jenkins added their own rifles to the volley, and assembled outside the drive chamber.
“Glad you could finally make it. Not exactly going to plan down here.”
“Yeah, well, we met some friends on the way,” Jenkins muttered.
“We lost the Kid,” I said. “Blake’s gone.”
“Ah, fuck it,” Jenkins said, shaking her head. She and Blake were close, but she didn’t dwell on his death. No time for grieving, the expression on her face said, because we might be next.
The access doors creaked open. There was another set of double-doors inside; endorsed QUANTUM DRIVE CHAMBER—AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY.
A calm electronic voice began a looped message: “Warning. Warning. Breach doors to drive chamber are now open. This presents an extreme radiation hazard. Warning. Warning.”
