It was with a certain amount of trepidation that the group set sail the next morning. They were very far from home, with more unknown ahead. Then again, they’d already traveled thousands of miles doing just that. The hardest choice was deciding whether to go home at all. They reached a consensus that they owed the news of what they had found to their brothers and sisters up north.
As Sanders took the helm, the rest of the group kept glancing back at the Nicaraguan shore until it finally fell over the horizon. Stewart Dean felt Eliza’s arm wrap around his waist. His son stood before him leaning against the rail, and he rested a hand on Billy’s shoulders while letting his other hand gently massage the back of Eliza’s neck.
Hansel and Gretel stood at the bow with their faces into the wind, their eyes darting about for fish.
EPILOGUE
The national bird of Nicaragua is the Turquoise-browed Motmot or Raven Guard, called the Guardabarranco by the locals. It has beautiful multihued plumage and a long racketed tail. As dusk darkened the jungle floor below, one such bird was returning to its nest. It cocked its head back and forth as it observed countless dots of fire moving through the foliage. Closer inspection revealed biped creatures that it instantly feared. They were walking North by the tens of thousands, and filled the landscape as far as the bird could see. Suddenly the bird felt the grip of something pulling its flight path down. It continued to fly with grace, but with the compelling need to fly directly at one of the bipeds that stared up at it with a wide-open mouth. With a final spiral, the Guardabarranco lost its tug of war and flared its wings to alight on a row of sharp teeth.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
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The third installment in the Of Sudden Origin universe - Hostile Intent - is in the pipeline. An excerpt from the book follows this page.
Cheers,
C. Chase Harwood
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C. Chase Harwood made a career in Hollywood, decorating sets for film and television before turning his passion for story telling into clicks on a keyboard. While scaling the walls of the screenwriting world, he chose to experiment with prose and found a fondness for Scifi-action-adventure. Within that framework he gets to explore the countless ways that humans interact while under duress. "Life is all the more lived when the consequences are high. When told as a tale it can be quite a page turner," says Harwood. He lives in Los Angeles with his costume designer wife and young boy girl twins.
The following are some other storytellers with whom the author finds a kindred spirit: HUGH HOWIE, STEPHEN KING, SCOTT SIGLER, DJ MOLLES, RHIANNON FRATER, SEAN PLATT, JUSTIN CRONIN, JAMES S.A. COREY, PETER CLINES, SUZANNE COLLINS, ERNEST CLINE, MAX BROOKS, VERONICA ROTH, LOIS MCMASTER BUJOLD, ORSON SCOTT CARD
"Pretty big shoes…”
AN EXCERPT FROM HOSTILE INTENT
THIS JERRY
It remembered That Jerry. It remembered That Jerry the systems analyst for a major insurance firm. That Jerry had worked out of a satellite office in Hoboken. It remembered That Jerry had a wife and son who That Jerry had watched being torn and hacked limb from on the front lawn by a mob of Fiends while That Jerry hung helplessly from a telephone pole, a pole That Jerry had frantically shimmied up, all thought of his family wiped clean by raw mind-bending fear. It remembered That Jerry had once been a field tech for AT&T and that’s why That Jerry still had the pole-climbing rig in the garage. The pole-climbing rig which That Coward Jerry had used to reach safety while his family was butchered beneath him. It remembered That Jerry making a break for it when a National Guard unit had mowed down the pack of rabid Fiends that had surrounded the base of the pole for six days while feeding off his wife and kid and Mrs. Waters next door. It remembered That Jerry on the run for weeks, months, hooking up with other runners, always overrun, always just escaping, always with survivor’s guilt built onto layers and layers of a toppling self-hate-cake. It remembered the end of the struggle, when the tide was turning in New England, when safety could really, actually, legitimately be sought. It remembered that that didn’t mean danger wasn’t still everywhere. It remembered That Jerry’s giving up day; That Jerry running until That Jerry’s lungs seared with agony and the muscles in That Jerry’s legs were awash in lactic acid, collapsing, adrenaline no longer providing enough boost to make a difference. All of it twenty yards away from a team of soldiers cheering his mad dash on. It remembered how excruciating it was to have a mouthful of flesh taken off the top of That Jerry’s shoulder. It remembered That Jerry waking up in the Army mobile medical tent, the surgery, the recovery, the therapy, the pills, the never-ending pills. It remembered That Jerry’s new life, the exiled life, strapping on a pair of pole climbers and maintaining the wires, the lifeline electrical grid of Nantucket. It remembered the pills. So many pills, and then That Jerry felt sick, like the pills were no longer working. Then it woke up as This Jerry.
This Jerry, remembered so much more than what was expected of a Fiend. As was standard in the destruction of so much of the healthy brain, This Jerry had lost its ability to speak, lost its connection to the personality that was That Jerry, but This Jerry remembered the life that had been That Jerry. This Jerry was different than most of the Others, and the Others could sense it. The it that was now This Jerry was capable of giving direction where chaos otherwise reigned.
This Jerry had focused the hundreds of Others that had been fully involved in a raging orgy of food and sex in the now demolished Stop & Shop- focused them on This Jerry’s desire. This Jerry knew that there was one Fresh One on the Island. It remembered That Jerry watching the young Fresh One playing in a yard, watching it from up a pole while doing routine maintenance. That Jerry had never cared a wit about the young Fresh One…. Other than the maddening way that it brought back the nightmares of That Jerry’s son pleading with his daddy to save him, screaming with his mother as they were pulled to the ground, dismembered and feasted on. Now, every fiber of This Jerry’s being wanted to feast on that young one, the young one who had played in the yard. Feast on it. Feast on it like a live suckling pig and listen to it squeal. This Jerry knew that the Others that were with the young one wouldn’t just let that happen. This Jerry knew that those Others were immune. Plus, This Jerry had felt the Children in the house, the Children with the pointy ears and sharp teeth, felt their minds wandering. This Jerry had no fear of these special Children. This Jerry knew exactly where it would hide a Fresh One on the island. This Jerry would need some help ferreting it out. This Jerry had a gift. This Jerry could give order to the chaos. This Jerry had a potential army of naked raging Others to follow it.
As the pucks tentatively stepped into the kitchen, Nikki and Jon both stood from their seats and backed up toward the mudroom door.
Having gotten used to Hansel and Gretel’s presence, Dean watched the proceedings with renewed eyes. Putting himself into the newcomer’s shoes, he felt a mild sympathetic constriction in his chest. The children, the offspring of the infected, the pucks as they called them, were astonishing to behold. As they entered with hesitation, the twins were unable to contain their naturally sharp toothy grins. Gangly and tall, their already huge dark eyes were dilated even bigger to allow for the maximum of information. Their pointy ears were articulated forward and he felt their minds briefly reach out then snap back as Eliza gave them both an admonishing look. Most astonishing was their legs. Built for speed, the puck legs were hinged like the rear legs of a fourlegged predator; more catlike than human. Actually, thought Dean, more like a raptor.
Jon found himself reaching for a pistol that hadn’t traveled on his hip for a decade or more.
Eliza held up a hand in a calming gesture. “They won’t harm you.”
“See. They hate us,” said Gretel.
“We can feel it all over,” said Hansel.
Eliza said, “They just haven’t met you.” She continued to hold her hands out, beseeching calm. “Hansel, Gretel. This is Nikki and Jon. They are immune to the disease so you needn’t worry about that. Jon, Nikki - Hansel and Gretel have been with me since their infancy. They have been extremely helpful during our long travels.”
“Just don’t make any quick moves toward Eliza,” snickered Sanders.
“Or Billy,” said Gallagher with what he hoped was a disarming smile.
Eliza scowled at the men who both looked to the floor like scolded toddlers. She said, “Children, and I’m talking to Hansel and Gretel, won’t you please introduce yourselves properly?”
Gretel offered an awkward slight curtsey, saying, “How do you do?”
Hansel offered a curled lip and a half bow while saying the same. Both of them looked at Jon and Nikki for the expected answer to the polite query.
Jon cleared his throat. “Um. Hello. Uh, nice to meet you.”
Nikki said, “Hi.” Then looked at Eliza. “How is it that you have trained Fiend children? Are there more?” She looked at Jon. “You think the president knows about this and didn’t tell us before sending us over here?”
Jon shrugged, “How would I know?”
Nikki took a deep breath while quietly counting to ten. She looked at Dean while pointing in a generally western direction. “Let’s just lay our cards on the table, hum? Jon and I came here to find out what you know about out there. You claim to have urgent information. This island is now a disaster zone. Whatever leverage you think you have to save the Halflies here is moot. You need to say what you have to say so we can try to get the hell out of here.”
Dean said, “Fair enough.” He gestured at Hansel and Gretel. “There is a massive population of these beings out there. We don’t know how many, but we do know that they have a presence from at least Central America all the way up to the very outskirts of the Terminus. They have enslaved survivors from both North and South America, they are watching us, they are merciless, they have a twisted theology that is being used to unite them and they will take over your mind in a blink and devour you alive while enjoying the pleasure of your agony. We have every reason to believe that they intend to eat us all. Oh, and they keep their Fiend parents alive. Worship them as ancestors who need taking care of. They use them as soldiers of a sort. So there’s that too.” He gestured at Gallagher. “And then there’s The Shoremen. There’s an entire island of survivors on what was the Delmarva Peninsula who have not only carved out a new nation that they call The Shore, but who are also quite hostile to the notion of the surviving United States and any meddling that that country might do. Mister Gallagher here is a member of that society and the sole survivor of a group of them who dogged us all the way across the country and down to the Nicaragua Canal. There you have it in a nutshell.”
Nikki grew a bit pale. Almost ignoring the pucks who remained warily standing in front of her, she pulled out a chair and sat.
Jon grew red faced, saying, “You… You people have this life and death information and you’ve been withholding it?”
Dean said, “We wanted to save all of the people, including those on this island. It was the only bargaining chip we had.”
A banging against some of the planking that they had futilely hammered over the windows and doors caused them all to jump. A man’s muffled voice called through from outside. “Captain Dean, Captain Dean, please let us in. Let us in, please. It’s Ballantine, sir. Ballantine and five more. Captain, you’re in there right? Your dock cart is out here, sir.”
Sanders looked at Dean. “Ballantine’s a good man, Cap.”
Dean stepped to the back door and spoke to be heard outside. “Who’s with you, Ballentine? Any got fever?”
“My crew, sir. Hap and Gin.”
Another voice interrupted. “Williams here, Captain Dean. And my crew, Page and Benson. None of us are sick, sir.”
Dean spoke out of the side of his mouth for the others in the kitchen. “Fishermen.” He called back out the door. “Are you followed?”
Ballantine again, “Don’t think so. Can we come in and get out of sight? We have sacks of salt haddock.”
Dean looked back at Sanders who nodded. He called out, “If anyone is just a little sick-“
“We’ll do ourselves, sir. Nobody wants to become one of them.”
Dean glanced at the pucks and paused before putting his hands on the cross brace that held the door shut. Calling out again, he said, “We have a situation in here that I’m not going to hide from you. You’re not in danger, but you’re going to be in for a shock.”
There was a pause on the other side. They could hear the men’s muffled murmurs then Ballantine said, “No one in there with the fever, right?”
“No. A different kind of shock.”
There was a pause and muffled conversation. Then, “That’s fine, sir. Just please let us in. Most of the folks that’s turned are leaving the ones who haven’t alone. But some aren’t. We’ve seen some pretty terrible stuff.”
Dean looked at Billy and kept his voice low. “Usual drill. These guys are contagious either way. You and Gallagher need to go upstairs and stay there. Keep watch. More are likely to come. It’s going to get out of hand faster than I hoped.”
Billy and Gallagher didn’t question Dean’s wisdom. They left the room and headed upstairs. Dean looked at Eliza and the pucks, “Are you okay with this?”
Eliza nodded slowly. Hansel said, “You will do what you will do, Stewart Dean.”
Jon and Nikki knew they didn’t have a say and so kept their mouths shut. Instead they moved to the most neutral part of the room and stood ready.
Dean lifted the brace and opened the door. Six terrified looking men varying from thirty to sixty stood outside loaded with backpacks and carrying fish pikes and filleting knives. They lowered the weapons to appear as less threatening. Dean said, “Sanders will collect your arms. You’ll get them back soon enough. Just don’t need any mistakes.”
Sanders stepped to the door and held out his hands. The men reluctantly passed him the weapons.
Dean said, “Well, in with you.”
As the men poured into the now overcrowded kitchen, Hansel and Gretel stepped back so their backs were to the hallway. Nearly as one, the newcomers stood up straight and stepped back into each other at the sight of the pucks.
“Jesus, fuck!” said Williams.
Dean pushed through and put himself in front of the pucks. “No worries. They are not hostile.”
This Jerry could feel the blood coursing through its veins, heard the rush of it in its ears. Its sense of smell was nearly overwhelmed by the richness of the sea breeze, the scent of the beach grass, the burst of bacterial growth on the stranded ocean life left behind by a retreating tide. This Jerry’s hearing picked up the rustle of every branch and blade as the wind lifted a neat layer of sand and scrubbed the land with an abrasive gust. That Jerry had never had great eyesight, had always relied on glasses to make things out in the distance. This Jerry’s eyes were no better, but its nose, ears, its skin filled in the gaps left by poor sight.
This Jerry felt deep hunger as it marched across the dunes with a retinue of followers trusting in its guidance. This Jerry smelled the blood that dribbled down the leg of the young Other that limped along side it. The young other had snagged itself on a long forgotten piece of wire fencing that had become part of an abandoned plan to break up the island’s north shore into smaller parcels. The young Other had thought nothing of how to free itself, only that it needed to get free and thereby yanking so hard as to tearing a flap of flesh away from its outer thigh. The smell of the blood was salty and iron rich and t
he bright red color acted like a flashing light of distraction in the corner of This Jerry’s right eye. When This Jerry suddenly turned and bit into the neck of the young Other, the young one squealed in agony and tried to bite back in return. In the space of a heartbeat, the thirteen Others who also followed This Jerry, dove on the squealing Other like a flock of carrion birds, their arms flapping as they muscled their way in to tear and chop chunks of flesh from the howling victim.
As This Jerry sat on the sand and slowly chewed on soft cheek meat, it continued to think on the young Fresh One that That Jerry had observed from the telephone pole. Though its hunger had slackened, its desire for uninfected flesh was just as intense.
As the Fiend stood, its faux-fur-fringed coat hood hung round its neck in bloody testament to the kill. With his face full of gore, the lion marched off, its royal retinue forgotten as they shoved and snapped over the feast. The Fiend that had been Jerry lifted his nose into the breeze, he picked loose flesh from between his teeth and savored chewing it once again as he disappeared over the dunes.
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Children Of Fiends: Book 2 of the Of Sudden Origin saga Page 32
