High Stakes: Book 1 Blitzkrieg

by Lucien Black

  When the car finally pulled into the driveway of the White House, Turner exited the car and walked towards his private entrance; he did not bother to close the door behind him. Once inside, Turner let out a long breath and leaned up against the door. He was exhausted, slightly hung over and felt like a fool for not seeing the bigger picture so many years before when he allowed the Protectorate to take over.

  Turner pushed himself off the door and walked to his bedroom. Along the hall, he passed several employees and security agents, all of which were on the Protectorate payroll. There was no one he could trust…no one to vent to even. When he reached his bedroom, two agents stood outside and greeted him with a nod. Turner ignored them, keyed his security code and stepped through the now unlocked door.

  Once inside, Turner kicked off his shoes, removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie, in that order. Then he walked over to the small wet bar and poured himself a full glass of scotch. He downed the bitter alcohol and then poured himself another. The booze did little to assuage the fears and anger. He wanted to be numb. He needed to be numb. The news he would to deliver to the American people tomorrow was shocking…devastating…and all at once bizarre and preposterous. Turner grabbed the carafe of scotch and carried it and the glass with him as he walked to his bed. Without removing his clothes, Turner dropped down onto the side of the bed and polished off another glass of scotch. Turner set his glass down on the nightstand, leaned over and picked up a picture of his wife. He stared at the picture for a few minutes and then set it gently on the bed. Then he opened the top drawer of the nightstand. Inside, he retrieved a small black box, which he placed on the bed next to him. Grabbing his glass, Turner filled it once more; the booze almost depleted, and swallowed it in one gulp. He set the glass back on the nightstand and opened the box. Inside was a small black handgun with set in a velvety padded case. Turner pulled out the weapon and the clip and readied the handgun.

  Turner took the carafe, ignored the cup and drank the contents down. Satisfied he drank enough to pass out, Turner lay back in bed and closed his eyes; the gun gripped in his right hand.

  Chapter 39

  A low fog rolled in over the countryside as the Protectorate readied for their upcoming fight against the Resistance. Some PSF agents rallied together and removed a set of large spotlights from the back of one of the transport vehicles. Others tended to their weapons, and kept steady aim on the doorway that led into the sewers. As time wore on, Card began to pace back and forth, his frustrations from the day’s events weighed on his nerves. It didn’t help that Lacerate lost two of his Elite and he was down two as well. He was confident in his own abilities, and even Lacerate’s, though he would never admit it to anyone. He was still unsure about Dense. Though the big man had followed Card around the entire day without complaint, he had yet to be of any real use. He was also unsure about the PSF agents and their Lt. Butler. Card knew that the PSF forces were nothing more than mercenaries with flashy uniforms. Their allegiance was to money not the State. If things went south, could he rely on them to stand up and fight?

  Just then, Lacerate approached and said, “They’ll have the lights up and running soon, but this fog is going to make this tough.”

  “The fog isn’t my concern. My concern is how did the Resistance employ enhanced humans?” Card asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lacerate replied. “What about Carnal? Can you believe he turned on us?

  “Carnal was always weak,” Card said. “His mind was always filled with compassion for the enemy and justice.”

  “Well, with Carnal on their side,” Lacerate started but stopped short and said, “Do you hear something?”

  Card lifted his head to try to locate the sound. “It sounds like a faint whistle.”

  The noise increased louder and louder and Card watched as everyone around them began to hear it too. The noise grew louder still until suddenly it stopped, immediately replaced by the crunch of metal and then an explosion that destroyed one of the PSF transport vehicles. Card spun around and saw that a boulder, at least ten feet in diameter, had demolished the vehicle. The truck whined and groaned under the weight of the giant stone.

  “What the hell?” Lacerate said when suddenly two more boulders soared through the air and sent the PSF scattered in all directions.

  “NOWWWWW,” Percival shouted as he stepped into sight, another boulder, of the same size, hoisted effortlessly on his shoulder. With his command, four members of the Remnant charged forward, ready for battle.

  “Attack,” Card shouted and sent two blasts of purple and black energy through the air at the Remnant. The lead Remnant attacker, the man called Brian, raised his arms in front of him and waited for the blasts to arrive. A second later, the two blasts shattered into tiny fragments of energy and dissipated around Brain. Brian and his three comrades continued their charge forward.

  Percival leaned back and hurled the boulder through the air, aimed for Card and Lacerate. Lacerate jumped to the side and Card activated his powers to create a portal when suddenly Dense jumped between him and the boulder. Card noticed that Dense was noticeably bigger then he was before. The man’s giant fist took aim on the boulder and the two met with colossal force. The blow from Dense split the boulder into three large pieces and several smaller chunks, all of which fell to the ground with a thud, but missed Card completely. Dense turned and asked Card, “You ok, boss?”

  Card shook his head in acknowledgement.

  “Then if it’s ok with you, I’m gonna take that guy apart,” Dense said.

  “By all means,” Card said.

  Dense charged Percival’s position. As he did, Card watched the man’s size increase yet again. This time to almost seven feet tall and, Card guessed, several hundred pounds of muscle.

  Percival smiled and shouted, “Finally, a formidable opponent.” Then he ran forward towards the oncoming Dense.

  Everyone on the battlefield hesitated for a few seconds as the two men, as large as bulldozers, charged one another; their large feet left divots in the ground as they ran. When they reached striking distance, both men heaved back and swung their fists forward. The sound of the blows sent a shockwave across the battlefield that kicked up a cloud of dust.

  Dense’s fist fell heavy against Percival’s chest, which caused the tall man to take two quick breaths to compensate. Dense then threw a left hook at Percival’s head, which he was able to lean away from and catch Dense with a retaliatory overhand right that caught Dense on the forehead. The blow stunned him for a second and allowed Percival the opening to land two more quick blows in succession. Dense staggered backwards, his head dizzy from the blows. Percival lunged forward and hoped to kick the big man to the ground. Though dizzied, Dense was not yet out of the fight. He grabbed Percival’s leg mid-kick and swung the Remnant leader through the air and against the side of one of the Protectorate transport vehicles.

  The vehicle crumbled under Percival’s impact. Shards of metal littered the ground and the sound of grinding metal filled the air. Percival rose from the newly wreaked vehicle, a dribble of blood trickled down from his nose, past his lips, and down his deeply scarred chin. He smiled brightly and said, “Good fight.” Then he rose up, the muscles in his legs thick and meaty hoisted his body to his full 6’6” frame upright. With all his strength, Percival lifted the remains of the truck overhead, held it for a second and then launched it through the air at Dense. The six-wheeled vehicle moaned as it reached its apex and then descended towards Dense.

  Seconds before impact, Dense reached back and threw a solid right hand. The blow splintered the metal and sent debris scattered about him. Several of the sharp pieces cut into his flesh and left thin, snake like wounds.

  With Dense fully occupied with Percival, Card turned his attention to the rest of the Remnant that approached. The first man he fired at was able to deflect his energy blasts, so Card targeted one of the other Remnant, this time, a girl. Tapping into another facet of his power, Card waved his hands in the
air and opened a small tear in the fabric of reality. From the black and purple tear, two globules of black jelly slipped out and hurtled towards the girl. Caught by surprise, Rebecca, the Remnant girl ran right into the two orbs. Immediately, the black jelly covered her from neck to knees. As she struggled to move, the jelly became tighter and soon began to cut off her breathing. Card watched as the girl closed her eyes and with a pop created an exact duplicate of herself, free from the black jelly. The Rebecca inside the jelly turned a pale shade of grey and stopped breathing. The clone, paused for a second, looked at her own corpse, and then started towards Card.

  Card cursed under his breath, the tide of the battle turned against them. He didn’t want to find out what else the girl was capable of, so he spun around and ordered a squad of PSF Agents to open fire on the girl and the approaching Remnant. He then ran towards the sewer entrance, using that as a fallback position where he hoped to regroup. He cursed wondering how such a simple operation turned into such a fiasco. If he survived this fight, he was sure to be punished for failure.

  Chapter 40

  A few moments after Percival commanded the attack, Carl Hunter stepped from the bush and into the field, ready for action. There was something oddly different about him. His face, less wrinkly and his hair slightly more pronounced with brownish highlights. His body was also less frail and more mobile. Overall, he was a much younger version than the man that joined forces with the Remnant a few short hours earlier. Behind him stepped a young woman from the Remnant. She placed her hand on his shoulder and asked, “How are you feeling?”

  Hunter looked at her, smiled and said, “Like a new man.”

  She smiled; her demure features wrinkled slightly, and said, “Remember, the effects of my ability will wear off. This regression is not permanent.”

  “I know. But if it gets me through this fight and helps my friends, it’s worth the price,” he said back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some Protectorate ass to kick.”

  She laughed to herself and then said, “Good luck.” Then she turned and dashed back into the bush.

  Hunter hoisted his PIKE rifle and ran towards the battle. He fired off a few quick shots as he did. He couldn’t believe how he felt…renewed…invigorated. He was twenty years younger and ready to take on the world. He cared less about the price she warned him of and blocked out all thoughts of his future. Today, the Protectorate faced Carl Hunter as a younger man. Across the battlefield, he spied his first target. It was Lacerate, battling one of the Remnant.

  The man, called Becker, slowed when he came into range with Lacerate and then lashed out with his mind. Lacerate readied himself to fight but then realized the man’s attack was coming from inside his own mind. Pain ripped through his psyche and sent Lacerate to the ground, head in hands. Becker approached, concentrating on his ability to increase the pressure inside Lacerate’s mind. He struggled against the attack but to no avail…he was losing. Just then, a bullet whistled past Lacerate and tore through Becker’s shoulder. The wound distracted Becker just enough for him to lessen the assault on Lacerate’s mind. This was the opening he needed. Lacerate, still under enormous pressure, lunged forward and thrust the blade of his knife deep inside Becker’s stomach, then tore the blade upward to the man’s chest. Blood gushed out of Becker’s chest and covered Lacerate’s arm. Becker gurgled and moaned in pain for a few seconds, then slumped to the ground dead.

  Lacerate wiped his arm and the blade against Becker’s tattered clothes. “Lucky break,” Lacerate said.

  “Maybe you should try that with someone a little more equipped to deal with you,” a voice said from behind Lacerate. When he spun around, Lacerate was shocked to see Carl Hunter standing before him and he looked at least 10 years younger.

  “Surprised to see me?” Hunter asked.

  “Not at all,” Lacerate said. “Ready to lose the other arm?”

  Chapter 41

  Deep underground, beneath the Protectorate headquarters at Fort Sumter, Interact, the Protectorate techno-guru, sat in a dark room at a bank of brightly glowing computer monitors. He sat motionless, with the exception of his eyes, which darted back and forth from screen to screen. On the monitors, different feeds from security cameras monitoring the headquarters gave Interact a complete view of the activity on and around the base. Other monitors flashed with news reports, emails, security protocols, programming languages and even a few music videos from old artists. Interact’s uniform, of his own personal design, granted him the ability to communicate with multiple computer systems simultaneously. Through the integration of microscopic circuits of nanotechnology, the black jumpsuit intertwined with Interact’s nervous system. Without lifting a finger, Interact could assimilate any computer system and navigate effortlessly through the microsphere. The suit also had built-in defensive and offensive systems, which made Interact a dangerous foe.

  He was an average size man, standing around six feet tall. His loosely curled hair, brown and slightly long, hung down over his ears and past his neck. Interact’s scientific expertise made him responsible for much of the Protectorate Technology and a key component of Purge’s master plan. As he tinkered away, a communication came through from one of the field agents.

  “Interact here,” he said.

  “Sir, this is Agent Nelson. I have word from the Defiler,” the soldier said.

  “Go ahead,” Interact said with a shudder. He too feared the power of the young Goth girl.

  “The target has been eliminated and confiscated.”

  “Well done. Tell her to return to base,” Interact said remembering Purge’s orders from earlier in the evening.

  “Affirmative,” the agent said as he disconnected the call.

  Interact leaned back in his chair and said, “You can let Purge know that Scott’s dead.” The room remained quiet for a few seconds and then silently, like a cat stepping from the shadows, Genocide walked into view but said nothing.

  “Even you can’t sneak up on me Genocide,” Interact said with a snarled smile.

  Genocide said nothing, but an incoming message appeared on one of Interact’s screens. Genocide preferred not to speak to anyone other than Purge. He instead chose to communicate through the encrypted messaging system designed by Interact.

  He quickly read the message from Genocide and said, “Don’t worry; I’ve got control of all of the local and national radio, TV and internet communication boards. Come tomorrow morning, the whole world will watch history repeat itself,” Interact said. “With the Resistance nearly gone, they don’t stand a chance.”

  A second passed with no response. Interact said, “G.”

  There was still no response.

  “Genocide,” Interact said, all the lights in the room came to life and revealed that the room was empty. Genocide was already gone.

  Chapter 42

  “Stop,” Sight shouted. His sudden outburst caught Carnal by surprise and he had to adjust his grip to prevent the frail man from tumbling to the ground. “Stop. Stop you must,” shouted Sight again.

  Everyone in the tunnel came to an abrupt halt. Sara rushed to Carnal’s side and said, “We are almost out of here, what the hell is it?”

  Sight continued to flail and thrash in Carnal’s arms. The big man knelt down and set Sight down on the ground.

  “What is it?” Sara asked again.

  “Battle,” Sight said his throat dry and scratchy.

  “Battle,” Sean Gartner said as he walked up. “What battle?”

  “The Wilds…battle.” Sight said and suddenly the walls of the sewers came alive with the vision of the battlefield just outside the exit. The limited light from the flashlights made it difficult to see, but they could make out the scene.

  Sara’s amazement of Sight’s ability lasted only a few seconds as she walked the area and studied the vision. “It’s definitely the Protectorate. Those are the guys who attacked us in the sewer,” she said pointing out Card and Dense. “God,” Sara said.

  �
�What?” Jack said.

  “That’s Hunter.” She and her team stepped close to the scene being played out before them and Sara was correct; it was Carl Hunter.”

  “He looks so…young,” Sean said.

  Carnal walked around as well and said, “It can’t be.”

  “What?” Sara said.

  “Do you see these warriors here and here fighting against the Protectorate?” Carnal said referencing the Remnant. “I’ve heard rumors of their existence but I certainly didn’t think they were organized enough to fight.”

  “Who are they?” Jack Ander said stepping forward.

  “Waste. Refuse. As you know, the Protectorate has been using these children to create their own superhuman army. Interact, our technology expert, created a process for removing powers from one, mostly children, and imbuing them to another. The process works, but there are, how shall I say, occasional failures.

  “Meaning,” Sara said.

  “Meaning that the new host sometimes rejects the new power or that the transference process is too much for them physically or mentally. If the process fails, the hosts are…discarded.”

  “Sick,” Jack whispered.

  “What are we waiting for?” Sean Gartner said from the side. “Let’s go help finish them off.”

  Sara looked at Carnal and then at Jack. For a few seconds she hesitated and then said, “Ok. Here’s what we do. You two stay with the children. Jack, Carnal, and Sean are with me. We go out first. Sight stays here and he’ll be able to let you know when the coast is clear.”

  Everyone started moving and Jack stepped up to Sara and said, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Sara paused then said, “Me too.”