Children Of Fiends - Part 4 The Dark Heart: An Of Sudden Origin Novella

by Harwood, C. Chase

  The Earth, and being on it, felt impossibly heavy for Dean. He rapidly became aware that he was in hell again, only slightly cognizant of the place he had just been, the wisps of nirvana still clinging to his being. The dozens of priestly pucks were looking at them, their arms stretched out in exultation. A thought filled his mind: AND NOW WE SHALL KNOW OF THE CHOSEN AS WE PASS OVER. Hansel and Gretel spoke aloud as one. “Mother, the other two crosses are for Hansel and Gretel.”

  Eliza didn’t need to be told. The intent was quite clear. She yelled at the priestly pucks, “No! This must stop! Have you children learned nothing?”

  Hansel spoke. “When they are finished experiencing this gift that is our dying” Gretel continued, “they will burn all of you.” She turned her head toward Billy who was being escorted toward them. “Your son also, Stewart Dean.” This was punctuated by three streaks of fire and the sound of triplicate roars that came in low over the trees and then disappeared over the mountain horizon.

  Gallagher, bouncing off of sharp edges, hatchways and rails, covered himself with small lacerations and bruises as he ran like a speeding pinball through the ship. He threw open the door to the Special Ops room and continued counting off the seconds to impact. It was a pure guess, but he figured that after the roughly 10 seconds of solid fuel booster rocket needed to eject the missiles, he had about 30 seconds for the Tomahawks to reach cruising speed and altitude; 20 seconds of arming their warheads and turning, and another 30 to come back. Counting down from eighty, he barked out, “Seventy-nine, Seventy-eight,” and kept counting as he hit the rear hatch button and felt his heart leap as it began to slowly open. At 15 seconds he hit the button for the boat launch ramp to drop. He dove for the inflatable as it began to roll on the bearings below. The boat hit the water with a stealthy splash and he dropped the engine down from its stowed position. “Six, Five.” The engine quietly roared to life and churned the water behind him as he slammed the shift selector into forward. As he counted to one and held his breath for impact; nothing happened. Then suddenly, three low flying subsonic missiles came over the Eastern horizon, shot over his head and slammed three, two, one into the Lyndon Johnson’s rear deck.

  The big Chosen guards had been untying Gretel and Hansel when the missiles flew back overhead, causing all the Chosen to instinctively drop to the ground or duck. When they stood again, there was general confusion. Then the night sky lit up in the West like a sunset. A moment later the sound of massive explosions reached them; the shockwave bending the treetops and shaking their feet. The Chosen stood in awe as secondary explosions went off and the sunset that couldn’t happen in that direction grew bigger and bigger.

  Stewart Dean had lived through many types of combat, surviving purely through his ability to think fast when everyone else had their feet covered in concrete. He was able to quickly make some rough conclusion about what Gallagher had done, briefly regretting the fact that the missiles hadn’t landed on him. He yelled at Hansel and looked into the puck’s eyes to pass on instructions. For the moment the spell was broken. The Chosen were in disarray, the Five in their awe, unintentionally holding the Chosen collective mind hostage - The Lamb was angry. Both children immediately understood, grabbed the spears from their shocked handlers and gleefully, quickly stabbed them in their necks. Billy, watching this, ran to the posts. He freed his father first, who then untied Eliza, who helped untie the others. Hansel and Gretel killed two more Chosen while laughing in delight. Both Dean and Sanders picked up the fallen spears. Then a chorus of yells, howls and screams came from the beyond the hills.

  Billy said, “The Ancestors are free.”

  Dean yelled, “Move it!” while waving his motley band toward the water. His only hope was the canoes and rowboats that he knew must be down on the banks somewhere. Secondary explosions kept rocking the earth and lighting the sky. Then the debris began falling.

  Gallagher was just waiting to be instantly killed as he raced eastward and the water around him churned and splashed as lethal shrapnel smashed into the water. He half noted that though the boat was getting swamped, the inflatable element kept it well afloat. Then again, balloons pop. In the next moment he was face down coughing up water. A chunk of shrapnel had glanced off his helmet, nearly snapping his neck. As the boat turned lazy circles under a shower of steel, he shook off a woozy sensation and looked at the super heated destruction behind him. His sudden sense of isolation was profound as the machine that had been his last tenuous connection to home, tore itself to pieces. An instant depression filled his heart. Only the continued splashes of falling debris brought him back to action. He righted the tiller and continued East.

  The church was located several hundred yards above the canal. As Dean led his band of refugees through the worn out streets of what was once a village of brightly colored cement and tin roof buildings, he and the rest were amazed and relieved to see the hundreds of pucks they passed stand distracted and transfixed by the fireworks on the horizon. Dean told Gretel and Hansel to tell the Chosen over and over that The Lamb was very angry and the giddy puck children said it with false anger that barely hid their glee. The agitated and astonished Chosen ignored the refugee’s flight, hardly flinching when a large chunk of steel crashed through or zinged off a rooftop or even killed one of them outright.

  As the group got closer to the water they could see that they weren't the only ones who had thought of such an escape; hundreds of human slaves where flocking toward the canal. When they arrived at the water's edge, the ragged group watched the last rowboat pull away. Dozens and dozens of people were swimming to reach the dense jungle on the other side. In the distance the moon lit up the bridge to the group’s right, just enough to reveal even more people racing across it. Then Cookie pointed to the west with excitement. "Look!"

  Gallagher was bailing with a battery box cover in one hand while steering with the other. Upon seeing the fleeing people pouring off the shore he began to weave and angle away from the south side. Cookie swung his arms wildly, yelling toward Gallagher. The rest began to wave as well. Gallagher either ignored them or didn’t see them so Dean reached down, picked up a rock, and taking a pitcher's stance, threw what he hoped was a toss that would get Gallagher’s attention but which had enough arc as to not hurt the man should it actually hit him. The rock landed harmlessly short. Dean picked up another one and threw it harder and it glanced off the boat without Gallagher noticing. In another moment the Shoreman would be too far away and that would be that. Everyone began to pick up rocks to throw. Hansel hefted a lemon sized stone and hit the man right on the helmet. Gallagher jerked in surprise and looked at the shore. His display showed him the green glowing bodies of people waving frantically and he was about to ignore them when he noted that two of the wavers were pucks. The display automatically zoomed as he thought it and he was stunned to see the captain and the others alive. He wasn't going to have to go through all of this alone after all. He angled the boat toward them and swerved around people who were desperately reaching out to grab hold. As he pulled closer, he saw more people running for the shore followed by something that he hadn’t seen in a decade and which almost made him wet his pants. Fiends. Countless Fiends were right behind the fleeing people, their wild lopes, gestures and screams more than disconnecting them from those they pursued. Running people were being pulled into the packs and torn limb from limb. Gallagher screamed out to Dean, "Swim for it!"

  "We cannot swim, Captain Dean," said Gretel.

  "Get in the damn water. We'll help you."

  "We should just stay. These are our people," said Hansel.

  "That’s bullshit," said Eliza. 'Listen to your mother and get in the water."

  The desperate running humans were almost upon them, with Fiends right behind. Sanders grabbed Hansel and in one swift move, tripped him and dragged him into the water. The puck sputtered as Sanders began to swim, holding the puck in a deadman's float. Gretel, seeing her brother being dragged away, gingerly stepped into
the water only to be shoved by Eliza and Maggie Tender. Brandy swam with strong strokes followed by Cookie, who was a surprisingly good swimmer himself.

  Dean stayed until his people were all in the water and then found his eyes looking down on Billy. They jumped into the water together only to be followed by dozens more. The boy was a strong swimmer and he yelled above the cacophony. “You are my dad?” He said it as a question, but it came out as stating a fact. “So I can come with you?”

  Dean almost lost his rhythm with the question. He finally said, “I will never leave you again.”

  Gallagher found himself lifting and cocking the Northern assault rifle and reluctantly aiming at the swimming humans behind Dean. In another time, he wouldn’t have given mowing them down another thought. Now, as he spotted individual devils amongst the Fiends reacting to the fleeing slaves by physically grabbing and eviscerating some while apparently forcing others into some kind of paralysis, Gallagher found himself looking at his fellow humans as part of his own tribe. Shooting them was going to be very hard. The water along the shore churned with all the swimmers. Brandy got to the boat first throwing off his aim. He lowered the gun and reached down with one hand to pull her up. "Swamp the boat they will, girl. Only our little group will it fit.” Then he saw the girl’s eyes go wide and her body contort. A glance toward the shore showed a lone devil dressed like some kooky priest staring in their direction. Then Brandy was upon him, grabbing the gun out of his surprised hands, throwing it overboard and leaping on him, grasping for the clasp on his helmet. Gallagher smacked her hands away and shoved the girl down in the watery bottom of the boat, putting his knee into her chest. He grabbed at the second SCAR that had been lying unused and forgotten. He aimed in his best first person shooter fashion and fired. The devil dropped to the ground clutching its chest. Brandy gasped, spitting out water, saying to him, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

  “Not you that did it. Help me with the others.”

  The fast swimming but bulky Cookie proved to be incapable of pulling himself aboard even with Gallagher and Brandy’s help. Maggie Tender arrived and pushed from below while Eliza continued to swim holding Gretel who looked like a wet and terrified cat.

  “Diet for you, Cook!” Maggie groaned while shoving. The man fell in and Maggie nearly jumped in after him.

  Sanders arrived with Hansel. Dean and Billy caught up and they all poured into the now over-laden inflatable. Others refugees were right on their heals.

  “Nope!” said Sanders, prying a man’s hands off the side. “Sorry.”

  Gallagher throttled up, but the boat moved with agonizing slowness with its burden and more people grabbing on. The water behind churned and boiled to little effect. Dean threw off one of the packs and nodded for Cookie to keep it up as he went back to repelling boarders. Finally, he yelled at Hansel and Gretel who were still sputtering over being dragged through the water, “For crying out loud, use your power and fend these people off!” The pucks looked at him without understanding. Dean found himself losing to a huge man who was forcing himself aboard. “Your mental shit! Use your minds to keep them back, for Christ sakes!”

  The pucks looked at Eliza for permission. She was about to be overwhelmed herself. “Do it!”

  Suddenly, the boarders began to fall away from the boat, still swimming, but backing off. The boat began to pick up speed. Dean made a quick head count to be sure his people were all there only to find his eyes resting on a boy a bit younger than Billy attempting to hide behind one of seats. The child was clearly of Central or South American decent, his eyes huge with fright and hope. The rest of the rattled crew found themselves glancing at the boy but then ignoring him as they kept their eyes peeled for more trouble. Dean decided to ignore the boy as well. They were approaching the bridge. Above them, the last of the humans who where trying to escape were being pursued and pulled down by an even bigger mob of infected. Some of the infected were looking down at the boat. Dean lifted the SCAR off the floor, thankful that someone hadn’t tossed it over as well, checked that it was loaded and began picking off the potential jumpers. It became a pointless exercise as the mob that wanted into the boat gained critical mass and began falling off the bridge like a herd of panicked buffalo. Dean looked back at Gallagher. “Kick the fucking thing in gear!”

  “Maxed I’ve got - It’s already maxed!”

  Dean dropped the gun and stumbled to the stern. “It’s in fucking stealth mode.” He flicked a switch and the engine suddenly burst to life, nearly tossing him overboard. Flailing hands of drowning Fiends reached out as the boat shot under the bridge and out past a few human swimmers. Then suddenly they were past it all; the noise of chaos mostly overridden by the engine. The light of fires and explosions quickly diminishing as dense jungle muffled it all.

  The water ahead was glass smooth, occasionally broken up by assorted flotsam and sprinkled with the dazzling pinpricks of the Milky Way above. As Gallagher drove, Dean found himself sitting down between Eliza and Billy and putting an arm around both. Utter exhaustion shown on everyone’s faces. Maggie Tender found herself holding the young boy and Brandy tight while Cookie and Sanders kept vigil.

  Hansel and Gretel kneeled side by side at the bow, letting the breeze rush across their faces. Hansel opened his mouth and happily munched on a wayward moth.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bluefields

  As it turned out, the canal would have never offered passage for the big ships. A route that had been dug in anticipation of the rising seas of global warming had become a shallow river, barely navigable by the shallow assault boat. At dawn the next day they reached the Caribbean port of Bluefields only to find a ghost town mostly reclaimed by the jungle. A search of the docks and coves offered not a single viable boat that could take them home. They made one foray into a touristy area in hopes of finding food and finally settled on collecting coconuts. By noon they left the safety of the harbor and headed north along Nicaragua’s stunningly barren coast, taking turns keeping watch while letting each other sleep. The driver would wear the helmet while the rest kept their heads down.

  At the start of the third day, the boat’s battery gave up and the engine came to a halt. Forced to beach the boat, they were greeted by screaming monkeys. The sand was teaming with crab running almost in unison, claws in the air in protest. They roasted and ate as many as they could catch and marched on. On the fifth day they swam across yet another of a seemingly endless number of small rivers swarming with insects and continued to keep to the beach, finally arriving at Puerto Cabezas. It was abandoned and overgrown, but their luck held: no Chosen, no Fiends, and edible food in cans inside a storehouse. They ate and slept and began to assemble enough gear and food to push on for what they hoped would last a week until they found another town. As a rule, they stayed together and worked as a group. The boy, Ricardo, was of particular help. He had been born in Nicaragua before the Chosen came. He knew how their towns were organized. He spoke little, but he and Brandy quickly became friends and they took it upon themselves to protect each other.

  The group tried in vain to discover some kind of transportation that would keep them off their ruined feet. A small airstrip was empty of planes (not that any of them could fly one). Lacking a proper protective harbor, the town had once had a very long dock for boats to tie up to, but it was submerged and the only boats were very small and rotting on the shore nearby. There were vehicles, but time and weather had long ago made them inoperable.

  Like his father, Billy was born with independence in his soul. His circumstances had only made that stronger. After allowing himself to be held by his father that first night of their escape, he chose to keep his distance afterward, scouting ahead, but never out of sight. Even that changed while they searched the town, and to Dean’s consternation, the boy would disappear for hours at a time, proudly returning with one useful item or another. The father had little understanding of the job that the name father implied. As a commander he was a father of
sorts, but with his own flesh and blood he was at a loss. He didn’t want to insult the boy (who was clearly capable of taking care of himself) by telling him what to do. It was Eliza who came to the rescue. A certain level of intimacy had returned in their interactions and she came and sat with Dean as he scanned the town from the second floor of a dilapidated beach bar; the deck providing a 360 degree view of the town and the sea. She gently laid a hand on his knee and said, “He doesn’t know you, but wants to. He is out there finding things to make you proud. You need to tell him it’s enough now. We all worry.”

  Dean looked down at her hand on his leg and covered it with his own. He smiled at her briefly and looked out at the town again.