Children Of Fiends: Book 2 of the Of Sudden Origin saga

by C. Chase Harwood

  The sergeant leading the squad offered Blakely a frown in response. “Welcome to Plum Island, sir.”

  Wen continued, “Thanks, but really? Nature’s bounty?”

  He was whisked via Humvee into the interior to the main labs and greeted by another soldier who reconfirmed Wen’s identification with a retinal scan before escorting him into the building. Colonel MacAfee and two people wearing lab coats, one holding a cocktail, stood inside. MacAfee said, “Marshall Blakely, Colonel Dusty MacAfee. We spoke briefly on the phone. I’d like you to meet Doctors Tina Freigh and Nathan Schiller.”

  In total contrast to his lab coat attire, Schiller offered Blakely the cocktail (complete with mini umbrella) and said, “Welcome to Fantasy Island, Marshall Blakely.”

  “Nice to meet you. Call me Wen.” He held the straw to his lips, then hesitated, looking at the drink with suspicion.

  Tina said, “Everyone is a guinea pig on Plum Island, Mr. Blakely.”

  “Tina is joking, Marshall,” said MacAfee

  “No I’m not,” said Tina. “But the cocktail is meant for what it does; takes the edge off.”

  Wen shrugged and took a long sip.

  “Glad you could make it,” said MacAfee

  Wen let the straw drop from his mouth. “Colonel, the only thing getting me here was an order from the Justice Department. Apparently, I still follow orders.” He smiled at Schiller. “Real rum.”

  Schiller gestured at the doors behind him. “This way please, Marshall Blakely… Wen.”

  As they entered the conference room Wen stopped short. Two rugged looking men wearing surgical masks sat on one side of a long table. Their cocktails sat on the table untouched.

  MacAfee smiled and waived his hand in the direction of the men. “Marshall Wenfrin Blakely, meet Captain Stewart Dean and his first mate Mr. George Sanders. The Captain and Mr. Sanders are infected with Cain’s, thus the precaution. And yes they are from Nantucket.” Dean and Sanders took in the new arrival as MacAfee said, “U.S. Marshall Blakely, is an expert in trains among other things. He also hails from the Port of Los Angeles.”

  Wen nodded while taking a step back toward the door. The two men nodded back.

  “Introductions made, let’s cut to the chase.” MacAfee indicated for Wen and the scientists to sit. Wen sat with deep reluctance. MacAfee grabbed a remote off the table and nodded at a technician who stood behind a window inside a projection room. “If you’ll all direct your attention to the screen in front of you.” The lights dimmed and a PowerPoint presentation came up. The first image was of the former Continental U.S. with a purple line indicating the border of The Seven States of America and the Eastern Canadian provinces. The rest of the map had a gray overlay with the word UNKNOWN stamped across the expanse of it. MacAfee pointed at the map. “By unspoken consent of both the people and the combined governments of Canada and the U.S., those of us who have survived the last decade seem to have chosen not to acknowledge the fact that we are amputated from the rest of our nation. Despite reports to the contrary, with the exception of a few observations from mostly unmanned surveillance posts that are out at the periphery, the government has no working knowledge of what lies beyond the Terminus Zone. What those posts reveal is sketchy at best, but what we do know is too disturbing for public consumption.”

  “Too disturbing?” asked Wen.

  MacAfee clicked the remote. The map became an animated video showing the frigid but healthy parts of the nation and its bustling infrastructure: electric vehicles on highways, massive vertical green houses built into former skyscrapers, industries of many types – a working population of modern humans. “Now obviously this is a virtual representation of the nation, given that Satellites are either no longer operational, have fallen out of orbit, are incommunicado or subject to partial blindness due to perpetual cloud cover.” The video settled on a wind farm where hundreds of wind turbines turned in huge lazy circles. “The primary source of all of our energy.” MacAfee nodded at Dean and Sanders, “including for our friends on Nantucket. We’re rapidly running out of parts for existing units and the rapid rise in birthrates and general productivity is putting an unsustainable strain on what we’ve got.”

  The presentation zoomed back out to the map of the Continental U.S. and paused. “So here’s the deal. In some records office in Boston, a clerk dug up the manifest for a shipping company and, based on a purchase order from a now defunct wind energy company based in Maine,” the map zoomed to the port of Los Angeles where miles of massive docks and cranes hung over hundreds of tankers, container ships, general cargo, roll on off vessels and even a few ocean liners, “we think we have isolated a vast cargo of wind turbines and parts in this vessel here.” The video zoomed to a huge cargo ship at the end of a commercial dock. “This is a satellite image that was taken approximately one month before the Russians went for their suicidal bid to stop Cain’s, and gave us this fucking decade long white Christmas.” He glanced around. “Sorry. It still irks me. At that time, this ship,” MacAfee looked at his notes, “The Delfshaven, had been left in port for more than a year after Los Angeles was lost to Omega. Obviously, we have reason to believe that it hasn’t left this position. I’ve been asked to put together a team that is capable of getting this cargo and bringing it back.”

  Wen put up a hand, “Here is where I get off the bus. It sounds very heroic and exciting, but I’ve sworn off that kind of stimulation since retiring from chasing drug runners.”

  MacAfee offered a patient smile. “Let’s discuss your options when I’m done, Marshall Blakely.”

  Wen shrugged and gestured for the man to continue. “Suit yourself. Just sayin’.”

  The map zoomed out again and paused over the East Coast. “The mission is more than just bringing back badly needed and difficult to manufacture parts for our energy infrastructure, it’s also about finding out what’s out there. The president has fashioned himself as a new Thomas Jefferson. We’re the new Lewis and Clark Expedition. We all talk as a nation about taking our country back, but from what? Do Fiends still roam the countryside? Doubtful. Zombified madmen have little hope of surviving a ten-year nuclear winter, but what of their children? We’ve all heard tales of their children.”

  On the screen an animated dotted line traced its way from Plum Island down to Richmond Virginia. “In addition to his crew of mostly former military personnel, Captain Dean has offered up his schooner, Ginger Girl, for the trip south where we will make port in Hopewell, Virginia and, from there, utilize his whale boats to row up the James River to Richmond and Old Town Manchester. There we will rely on your masterful knowledge, Marshall Blakely, of the Nineteenth Century wonder that was the steam locomotive.” Another satellite image zoomed in on an old rail station located next to a major rail line, then zoomed tighter to an attached modern glass and steel building. A long commuter train was stopped on the tracks. The entire area around the train was covered in dead, mangled bodies - hundreds of people. “Sorry. This was the only available image. It was taken when Cain’s broke out of the last Southern containment zone. Focus on the building if you please. Inside is a 1919 P-5-A Atlantic Coast Line Pacific tank engine. The building is a museum. They converted the engine for rides in 2016. Chances are excellent that despite the harsh climate of the past years, this well built old machine is still operational. Assuming so, it will provide us with the basic transportation needed to make our way across the country. They were offering tours right up to the months when the shit hit the fan. It’s possible that the coal tender is full and if not, there are additional supplies to be had.” He clicked the remote and a satellite image of a coal-fired power plant came up. “This is the Contex power plant just down the main line from Hopewell and the museum. Note the line of loaded coal cars on this spur. As a back-up, if these cars are no longer there, the engine can run by burning wood. Given that we can’t count on a consistent supply of diesel fuel, it has been deemed logical that we use this older but proven tech.”
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  Dean interrupted. “Forgive me, but what kind of bullshit intel is this? The government still has access to aircraft. You got tar sands for fuel. Why not do a proper recon on this?”

  MacAfee paused, the light from the projector illuminating half his face. “Yes, that’s the rumor anyway.”

  “Wait. Are you saying the U.S. government has no ability to fly a plane down there?”

  “Captain. Transportation on the mainland is reduced to electric vehicles only. We have not had the ability for several years now to create enough biomass for all the food we need, much less fuel. The tar sands you speak of were either made radioactive by Russian nukes or are locked in permafrost with weather so extreme that… Suffice to say that poor planning by the previous administration as well as wonton wastefulness, and a general unwillingness of the surviving population to accept our circumstances, has left us mortally short. Only our ability to produce electricity through alternative methods has kept the lights on. Every mission, including chasing around a Nantucket whaling schooner, needs a sign off from the top. We have satellite pictures. The chance that anything has moved out there since these were taken is close to nil. Now, may I continue?” The US map suddenly filled with overlays of color, each with a skull-and-crossbones on top. A yellow line zig-zagged its way across the nation through the Southern States. “You will note the highlighted jagged line. That is our intended route. It doesn’t skirt every potential hazard, but a lot of number crunching was done, and this seems to be the best way to avoid the various nuclear melt downs and toxic waste zones that resulted from or hasty exit ten years ago. We will occasionally have to don our hazmat gear and drive fast.”

  “This just gets better,” blurted Sanders.

  Dean said, “Assuming that this intel sucks, what’s your plan B?”

  “Whether we go or not is not an option. As far as transportation - the commuter train next to the museum is plan B. We locate whatever diesel we can as we go. There are options via the whole route but nothing is guaranteed. As I’m sure you recall before being bitten, in the end every type of fuel was being rationed.”

  Wen gestured at the screen disapprovingly, “Can I go home now?”

  Putting on a stiff smile, MacAfee continued, “Four hand picked volunteers from my own Special Forces unit will be along for the ride and will be responsible for shaping us into a fighting unit that can handle itself in this unique circumstance.”

  Dean offered a wary look. “Fight what?”

  MacAfee signaled for the lights to be brought back up. “Part two of our presentation. If everyone will follow Doctors Freigh and Schiller, they will escort us to the laboratory.”

  An elevator descended twenty stories to reach a maximum quarantine zone, requiring the passage through two airlocks and a decontamination chamber before the group came to a stop in a foyer that could have been the entrance to any dentist office in America, sans magazines. Tina said, “What you are about to experience is more than top secret. There is no paper that you will be required to sign nor is there a penalty that you will be threatened with if this information makes it to the general public. The nature of this is such that few would believe it anyway.” She put her eye in front of a retinal scanner and a door opened to a small room with two desks, each outfitted with a computer. A large frosted window took up one entire wall. There was a well-used sofa with a bed pillow and a coffee table with the crusts and crumbs of a meal or two. Seated at a desk was a woman who finished dictating into a headset. She looked up, removed the headset and smiled... and such was her stunning beauty that Stewart Dean found himself almost floating off his feet. She was perhaps in her mid-twenties with soft shoulder length brown hair and deep hazel eyes that in the low light of the room were dilated into dark pools. The smile was of a genuine nature, both open and inviting. Dean had to scold his heart, commanding it to slow down even as he could feel a flush rising through his neck. The woman took no notice of this. Despite Dean and Sanders’ masks, she warmly parted her lips in anticipation of an introduction.

  Tina said, “Captain Stewart, Mister Sanders, Marshall Blakely, this is our chief research assistant, Elizaandra Sherr.

  Elizaandra offered a quick wave and spoke with a deep voice. “Hi. Eliza, if you like.”

  Tina nodded to Schiller. “Nathan?”

  Schiller put his hand on a switch by the wall. “Please keep your voices in check and observe the window.” He flipped the switch and the frosting disappeared revealing a one-way mirror. They were looking in on what seemed to be a fairly nicely furnished apartment. Then Wen Blakely gasped as a figure moved near a desk in the corner. “What the fu…?” And everyone gasped. A man, or sort of a man stood up on legs shaped like that of a gazelle. They were covered in human flesh, but they were unquestionably bent, made for running or perhaps leaping at high speed. That was just the legs. The man, if that was what it was, wore only a pair of customized boxer briefs. He had a broad, hairy chest and a long thick neck that led to the head of a predator. Long sharp teeth filled a casually chewing mouth while huge deep-set eyes looked out from under a heavy brow. Large pointed ears seemed to cast about for extra information until they suddenly focused, along with the eyes, on the mirrored wall.

  “Fuck me,” barked Sanders, his voice muffled under his mask.

  “This,” said Tina, “is Hansel.”

  A door opened and a female version of this being stepped out of a small bedroom. Her focus briefly scanned the male, then she too poured all of her energy into looking at the mirror. “And that,” continued Tina, “is Gretel.”

  Dean found his voice. “These are the children that only exist in fairy tales and the nightmares of those who have seen them as infants.”

  Eliza said, “Like you, Captain Stewart, I had one of these infants stare me straight in the eye ten years ago. We had no idea then that this,” she nodded at the creatures, “was what would come.”

  “They’re so fucking big,” said Wen. “Pardon my French, but what the fuck am I looking at?”

  Schiller said, “Though they are only eleven years old, these twin Children of Fiends, Homo Telepathus, or Pucks as we’ve nicknamed them, are for all intents and purposes fully grown adults. We have been studying them since they were captured just before the Terminus was complete. They are the progeny of two infected persons. An evolutionary leap that is far more than the physical attributes that you see before you. They can’t hear us or see us, yet they sense us. If we were to be in the same room together, they would be inside your head the moment they noticed you.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Dean. “What do your mean in your head?”

  Tina said, “Hansel and Gretel, as well as the rest of their species, are telepaths. They have voice boxes, but they don’t really need them. They have an overwhelming power to enter each other’s, as well as other people’s, minds.”

  “You got to be shitting me,” said Wen, backing up against the couch arm. “What the hell kind of science fiction shit are you people pulling here?”

  “Marshall Blakely, this is quite real,” said Schiller. “We didn’t create them. They came from the union of two people infected with FNDz. These people… These sentient beings, are the result of a massive shift in DNA.”

  “Yeah? So can you get infected from them too?” Wen briefly glanced at the masked Halflies.

  Eliza stood on long legs and buttoned her lab coat. “Yes sir, but it’s different. It’s not as easily transmitted as it was when their parent’s contracted the disease.”

  MacAfee had remained silent until this point. He gestured at the pucks. “We have conjectured that there are millions of them still surviving today. If that is true then they are such a threat to humankind that even Cain’s will seem tame. From peripheral observations… yes we have seen some with our remote surveillance stations - they are… remarkably resilient, cunning, resourceful, and… merciless. It has been theorized that given the chance, they will naturally replace us on this planet.” He
looked at Tina for confirmation.

  “Your words, sir. But it’s certainly possible.”

  Hansel and Gretel moved closer to the mirror, scanning it with curiosity. Suddenly Gretel picked up a heavy looking chair and heaved it at the glass. The chair bounced off harmlessly. Still, everyone but Schiller, Eliza and Tina had stepped back expecting the worse.

  Gretel spoke. Her voice was loud and clear over the speakers. “Get in here Eliza! You know that we hate being looked at through the mirror.”

  Eliza turned to the guests, “Like I said. They have vocal cords.” She looked at the assembly and said, “I need a volunteer. Captain Dean, since you’re already infected?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Meet Hansel & Gretel

  Dean stood with Eliza in an anti-chamber to Hansel and Gretel’s apartment while the others watched them on a closed circuit monitor.

  “You can remove your mask, Captain Dean,’ said Eliza. “Like yourself, I am infected.”

  In the next room Wen slapped his hand over his mouth and said through his fingers, “What the hell?” He pointed at Sanders then at Dean and Eliza. “If they’re sick, what about the rest of us?”

  Schiller replied, “She is not contagious.”

  Eliza began fitting Dean with a visorless black helmet that covered his head to his shoulders. She said, “Forgive the industrial version. It works just as well as the latest tech that the Colonel’s people have. What you’re wearing is not unlike a Virtuhelmet; only this processes three hundred and sixty degree A/V in real time. Without it, Hansel and Gretel can overcome your mind the moment you step into the room; something they can do even at great distances. If they are aware of you, they can lock on you.” Dean found some of her words slipping past his attention as he tried not to be affected by her physical closeness. The woman was like a colorful coral dwelling fish: beautiful and completely unaware of it. She seemed unconscious of the fact that her breasts were brushing against him as she snugged up the strap. She was saying, “Though we have raised them since toddlerhood, they are very distrusting of strangers. They mature at a very rapid pace. Though they are post-pubescent, which occurs around age five, emotionally, they aren’t very different from eleven-year-old humans. For your safety, unless I instruct you otherwise, please keep the helmet on the entire time that you’re in the room.” She finished tightening a strap. “How does that feel?”