by Reece Hinze
The two black Apache gunboats circled high in the air as Colonel Fennimore Devreaux approached Sergeant Cooper Brickson and his men. His pace was slow and deliberate. His tall boot smashed a severed eye that lay amongst the carnage. Clear liquid squished out of the side like a grape. Several buzzards, who braved the violence for the change at a feast, squawked protest as they took flight from the Colonel’s path. Like the helicopters, James’ helmet automatically scanned the Colonel’s face and presented a bold red letter readout: HOSTILE.
“You’re a hard man to find Sergeant,” Devreaux said with a casual smile. He paused no more than a dozen yards away from Cooper’s suited men and leaned his high boot against a pile of corpses. He surveyed the massacre with amusement. The priest, who was introduced to James in the prison as Bishop Richelieu, hovered closely behind. “Unless you start a battle in the middle of a golf course.” He laughed.
Suddenly, there was a swishing of feet. A white lab coat shot past James before he could reach out. “No!” Cooper shouted but the Doctor was already past them.
“Colonel, Colonel!” The Doctor pleaded. He fell to his knees in front of the Colonel, grasping his skeletal hands together. Devreaux ignored the man, never breaking eye contact with Cooper, twirling his mustache and grinning. “Colonel,” the Doctor repeated, grasping the coat tails of Devreaux’s black military duster. “These men kidnapped me. All I want is to be in your service again. Please Colonel!”
Devreaux slowly tilted his head towards the man crawling and crying in front of him. The smile vanished from his face. His eyes were empty, void of anything at all. “Thank you for the kind words Doctor but…” Devreaux planted his boot in the middle of the Doctor’s chest, hurling him backwards to the ground. “I’m afraid your use to me has expired” And with that Devreaux pulled the pistol from his belt and shot from the hip. A single bullet caught the Doctor directly between his eyes. “Enjoy your time in hell.”
The Doctor never saw it coming. He did little more than gurgle before falling backward to the ground, lost instantly amongst the mangled corpses littering the field. The man who helped spread this plague took his final rest amongst the victims of it.
“You son of a bitch,” Cooper growled. The violence in his voice startled James. Both Cooper’s and Devreaux’s soldiers aimed their weapons at each other.
“Careful now big fellow,” Devreaux replied. His exosuited warriors stepped forward a pace. “We don’t want anyone else to get hurt now.”
“He could have helped cure all of this!” Cooper screamed.
“Why do you think I killed him Sergeant?” Devreaux said. He shifted his weight to his other leg. “I bore of talking of subjects in which we both know the answer so instead sir, I will propose an offer in which the outcome rests solely in your hands.” The Cajun grinned, twisting his mustache casually.
“I will give you thirty seconds to give me the hybrid. Captain James Lasko is my creation and you stole him from me. If you do, I will leave you and your treacherous followers to live out whatever useless existences you have in this world. If you do not, I will kill you all and harvest the hybrid’s blood after the slaughter.” Devreaux looked back to the Bishop who slid back his sleeve to reveal a watch. “The time begins now.”
James heard a computerized female voice in his helmet.
Internal communications activated.
“What the fuck, Sarge. I don’t want to die out here man.” It was the voice of Tupac Breaker.
“Twenty seconds,” the Colonel said.
“None of you are going to die on my watch,” Cooper growled.
“Then you’re going to give him the Captain?” Westlake asked.
“No,” Cooper growled again, staring at Devreaux with weapon in hand. “That won’t happen either.”
“Ten seconds,” the Colonel called.
A buzzard cried out in the distance. The men shifted nervously in their exosuits. A huge swarm of flies hovered above the nearby corpses. James couldn’t help but wonder how they always found the dead so quickly.
“Five seconds.”
“What do we do?” Breaker asked.
It was a wasted question for Captain James Lasko was already stepping forward. “Hold your fire,” he called, dropping his rifle to the ground.
“No!” Cooper roared.
“I have to,” James replied without looking back. “I won’t let you all die for me.”
This was it. He would die here today on this field of carnage or perhaps on an operating table years from now, tortured and drained. James was ready for the pain. He was ready for this nightmare to end. He was ready to die.
Suddenly his suit lurched and James saw a huge mechanical arm wrapped around his chest. “What are you doing?” James demanded.
“Saving your life,” Cooper replied. “Tupac?”
“Yes, Sergeant?” His voice was uneasy. It was the first time James had ever heard Cooper called the man by his first name.
“Keep this man alive. As soon as I’m aboard that helicopter, get the holy fuck out of here.” Cooper handed his gun to James and stepped forward. “Captain, you’re in charge now.”
“My dear Cooper, you surprise me.” Devreaux beamed a wide smile. His eyes aglow with the thrill of victory.
“You can take me but not the Captain. You will never take him again.” Cooper walked towards Devreaux’s men, unarmed but clad in full battle suit.
Devreaux held up a wary hand. “Wait,” he commanded. “First, take off your helmet.” Cooper paused for a long moment, staring at Devreaux, no more than a few yards from him now. Several of the Colonel’s men stepped forward, pointing their rifle’s menacingly.
The red glowing L.E.D. lights, his helmet’s eyes, powered off and he cast his helmet aside. It rolled until it smashed into the body of a fat man wearing the working uniform of a fast food restaurant.
Soon, Devreaux’s smile turned into a chuckle which turned into full on laughter. “Oh Cooper, you devil.” He pointed to the ground before him. “Kneel,” he commanded. Cooper did as he was bade. “A noble sacrifice but all together quite meaningless I’m afraid. Your life is forfeit and I will take my old friend the Captain anyway.”
Devreaux smiled and reached for his pistol. He was lighting quick but Cooper had anticipated the move and was already lunging for his arm. The pistol fired harmlessly into the sky. Devreaux, warrior that he was, was no match for Cooper but managed to wrench away before Cooper could smash his arm. Cooper reeled back for a pulverizing blow but the Cajun’s men were all over him.
“No!” Breaker shouted.
The quiet peace that had fell over the golf course was shattered. Gunfire erupted. “Take them out!” James ordered. Cooper’s men opened up on the soldiers who dogpiled their Sergeant. The bullets plinked away harmlessly.
Suddenly, like a whale erupting from the ocean, Cooper flung the men off of him, roaring defiance as he stretched to his full height. He slammed a fist into one man’s helmet, smashing it instantly. Another tried to slam the butt of his rifle into Cooper’s face but Cooper seized it from him and fired a burst point blank into his neck. From such a close range, the armor was shredded like butter.
“Get to the A.P.C.,” James shouted. His helmet’s view finder picked up one of the attack helicopters swinging in for a clear shot. A high pitched wine sounded from the open bay of the Colonel’s helicopter. A man clad in black B.D.U.s and gas mask aimed the door mounted Vulcan machine gun. The bullets came fast like a lightning bolt from Zeus himself. James lurched to the side with the impact of the heavy bullets. He felt a loud ping. Red and orange warning lights sounded in his view port. His suit was depressurizing.
And then it hit him, as the red hot bullets smashed into his armor. A cold heart clutching fear. A surety that your life is at an end. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to die after all. There is work to be done yet. James saw Foster take heavy fire and fall to his back as the bullets zipped by. James grabbed the back of Foster’s armor and pulled him towards the A
.P.C., expecting the last, life ending spray of molten metal.
It never came.
James risked a backwards glance towards the helicopter and was astounded to see the helmetless Cooper, exosuit smoking, crush the door gunner’s face with a clenched fist. He turned to look at James and smiled, a grin that looked more a grimace on his scarred face.
Suddenly, the Bishop appeared behind him pulling a long knife from his sleeve. James called out but Cooper’s eyes went wide as the man of God plunged the knife into his exposed neck.
“No!” James shouted. Cooper spurted a glob of blood from his mouth. Bishop Richelieu smiled as he pulled the knife from Cooper’s body. Coopers eyes never left James as his body crumpled.
“You son of a bitch!” James screamed.
“Captain!” James turned his head towards Tupac’s panicked voice. One of the black Apaches leveled with him, only thirty or forty feet in the air. Smoke plumes traced deadly tails as the pilot fired his missiles. James leaped with all his might. The missiles exploded. His body landed with a clunk into the open belly of the A.P.C.
“Betsy!” Tupac shouted. Almost as soon as the words came out of his mouth, the Apache disappeared into a ball of fire. The big tank moved like a ghost across the grisly field, leaving broken bodies in her path. She fired her belly mounted machine gun at Devreaux’s men in their exosuits. Through blurred vision, James saw the Bishop pulling an unconscious Devreaux aboard the Blackhawk.
“Foster, close the Goddamn door!” Tupac shouted. The ramp creaked up with surprising speed. James saw with horror the last Apache leveling straight at them. Smoke plumes stretched towards him.
“Brace for impact!” Westlake screamed. James clenched his teeth. The missiles exploded and the heavy armor of the A.P.C. along with them.
Chapter XV: High Noon
By the time they found him, Paul was in a tortured world of his own. He held his father’s lolled head and screamed for him over and over. His vision was blurred by tears, both past and future forgotten. His soul knew only pain. That’s how we found you, Wade told him later. By screaming for his father’s life, he had saved it.
“Y’all need to give him some rest now, ya hear?” The big boisterous woman Wade and Luke had found on the side of the road just a day earlier, told them she was as skilled at healing as her troubled grandson was at commanding dogs. She placed a tender hand on Tim’s forehead and looked at him with concern. Her double chin stretched into four as she looked down. “He’s a strong man,” she said before looking up at Anne.
“He sure is,” she replied, never taking her eyes off of her husband. Momma had pulled the branch from his shoulder before sloshing antiseptic into the wound, and bandaged his shoulder with some torn bed sheets. Mercifully, the rest of the Atwood clan did not accompany her to the house.
“Thank you for helping him,” Wade said. He forced a smile but the truth was, the Atwoods weirded him out.
“Oh, it’s the least I can do for you folks,” she said. Momma’s mouth opened in a wide smile but her eyes darted around suspiciously and without warmth. She waited a few awkward moments before she lifted herself with great effort. “Alright, I’ll leave y’all to it,” she said, waddling out of the room with her muumuu swishing from side to side.
The door closed and almost immediately, Anne burst into silent tears. Luke stared daggers at his brother Paul. “Why did you come back?” Luke asked. Hatred was etched across his face and the stench of whiskey on his breath.
“Luke, this wasn’t his fault,” Wade said.
Bridgett reached out to put a comforting hand on Luke’s shoulder but he shrugged her away. “Why… did you… come back?” He repeated, his words full of venom.
It was getting dark and Anne had drew the curtains to the bedroom. Candles flickered on each of the twin night stands. Swirling shadows danced across the walls. Paul looked into the flames with distant eyes. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” he said truthfully.
“You didn’t have anywhere else to.. hah?” Luke spat, rising to unsteady feet. “You didn’t have anywhere else to go? How about hell?” He shouted and swung at Paul but the drink made Luke unsteady on his feet so his blow had no power. Nevertheless, Paul allowed his brother’s fist to crash into his cheek. Luke connected a second time but Paul simply closed his eyes, a tear running down his cheek. Luke raised his fist again but Wade stepped in between his brothers and caught Luke’s drunken fist in his palm.
Luke did his best to swing at Paul with his brother in between them. Bridgett cried for him to stop. “Everywhere you go, everything you do, hurts people!” Luke said. Bridgett clawed at Luke and Wade was shouting for him to stop. “I hate you!” Luke’s face was flushed red. Tears of rage trickled down his cheeks.
“Stop it, stop it!” Anne screamed. She never took her eyes off of her unconscious husband. She strangled the bed sheets with clenched fists. “I lost…” She choked up. “I lost so many kids. So many parent’s lost their world.” She glanced at the Bible laying closed on her night stand. “By some miracle, my family is together. Now, you strike your brother and spit in God’s face? Stop it!”
No one in that room had ever heard Anne Slaughter speak in such a way. Her words shamed Luke. Clifford shook his head from his chair in the corner of the room.
“You’re right,” Paul said gently, after a long pause. A fresh tear rolled down his cheek as he looked towards his brother Luke. “You are right to hate me. I have caused this family nothing but pain. What happened that night was my fault Luke.” Paul glanced over Luke’s shoulder at a Polaroid picture of a long ago Galveston vacation framed on the wall. “My actions drove you down a path that you were never meant to walk.” Luke looked away, saying nothing. “I didn’t deserve to survive but somehow I did and here I am. I wonder to myself why? Why did I survive when so many good people died?” Paul looked back at his brother. “Perhaps I have survived this long to tell you how sorry I am. I am sorry Luke. I am so sorry.” The air went out of the room. The candles flickered as if they might be extinguished.
“Sorry ain’t the half of it son,” Clifford said, his rickety arms pushed him to his feet. “We know you’re sorry. Even a drunk like Luke can tell that.” Luke stared at the old man, not sure if he heard him right.
“Yeah, I called you a drunk. And your brother’s a killer.” He let the words soak in. Even Anne looked over, shocked. “But this is a different God forsaken world now and not even God forsakes, so why should you, Luke?” He turned to Paul who stood there with his big muscles and tattoos. “Who will forgive you Paul if you don’t forgive yourself? As a great man once said, a house divided cannot stand and this is a strong house. Strong enough to accomplish a great amount of good. Even a crippled old half-blind black man can see that.”
He pointed out the draped window. “Y’all got more important things to worry about than the past. You got those young souls out there in the barns that need feedin’, shelterin’, and protectin’. God knows how many we lost to this plague. Maybe everybody.” He pointed an accusing finger at Luke. “You know how many people live in a fifty mile radius of this farm? Hmm?” Mr. Worsby looked at Paul. “You?”
He walked to the bedside and nodded his cap at Anne. “Tim is injured. You three boys are strong.” He turned his narrowed eyes on each one of the Slaughter sons in turn. “The only thing stopping all of us and all those kids from getting killed or worse is the grey matter between your ears so stop worrying about what ya can’t change and focus on whatcha can.”
With that, Clifford nodded to Bridgett and Anne and opened the door. Momma stood just on the other side with her ear inches from the door. “Oh excuse me,” she said. A wide smile appeared on her face. They stared in silence, as she swished away into the darkness.
“What in the hell was that?” Corporal Tupac Breaker had been looking through an old newspaper, the last newspaper that would be printed for some time, when he heard it. Now he held his rifle at alert, looking towards the door.
“
Calm down Tupac,” Foster replied. “It’s just another Goddamn plague carrier.” They had lit a small fire in the middle of the room. Flames danced across his face. Sparks flew into the air as he prodded the fire with a stick.
“We are safe in here,” Captain James Lasko said. The men took shelter in an abandoned feed and convenience store after draining the pumps outside of their fuel. The sun was setting and even though a vehicle had punched a big hole in the wall of the place, the group decided it was the best place to rest for the night for everything else in the small downtown had been burned to the ground. It only took a second to clear the corpses from the gravel lot, a policeman and two women. The four had barely escaped the killing fields with their lives. The loss of their leader, Sergeant Cooper Brickson, the indestructible warrior of legendary proportion, hung over the men like a black cloud.
The A.P.C. and nearly all of their supplies, save a small bundle Tupac had been able to salvage, were destroyed at the golf course. Blood and gore and grime and all the things of battle still clung to the men and their suits but no one seemed to notice. They were too exhausted.
“Quit prodding that fire, Foster.” Tupac snapped. He raised a small soldering gun to the back of James’ helmet. A large crack in the back had depressurized his suit during the battle. “I need the light man. Can’t you see I’m working here?”
“Yeah, and what for?” Foster asked. His eyes turn to James, full of scorn. “That son of a bitch is the reason we’re here. He’s the reason the Sergeant’s dead!”
The venom in his voice was enough to rouse Westlake, who was napping comfortably on a bed of feed bags. His beard puffed out of his suit like a sleeping cocoon. He opened one eye, hidden underneath a bushy eyebrow, sighed, and went back to sleep.
