Tallos - Episode One (Season One)

by Brian D. Anderson

  Mark laughed. “Hell, no. You think I’m stupid? What do you think happened to everyone? Why didn’t any of them come home? The Army killed them, that's what.”

  This was impossible for Jim to accept. He shook his head. “I was in the Army. All we did was patrol the streets and keep peace. We didn’t kill anyone. And no one was forced to leave. Anyone who did go made that choice themselves.”

  Mark sniffed. “Yeah. But only when they thought they’d starve to death if they didn’t. I mean, why force people to go if you can convince them to head there on their own account? If you ask me, it’s all a big conspiracy. An extermination.”

  Jim groaned. “I’ve heard this shit before. Let me guess. The New World Order has finally made their move.”

  “New World Order? Who are you trying to kid? No government did this. No way. No way in hell.”

  He slurped down the remainder of the peaches and tossed the jar aside. “Think about it for a minute. In just one week, all communications, power, and everything else we rely on turns to shit. No one knows anything. No one is saying anything. And no one has seen anything. Government officials start turning up dead left and right. I heard the President was among the first to go. Then those fucking clones show up. And when help does eventually arrive, all we keep hearing is: 'Go to Atlanta'. And just like dumb sheep, people herd themselves straight off to the slaughter.” He sat back on his heels. “You think mere people could have done all that without anyone knowing? Without so much as a rumor escaping?”

  “Who then?”

  Mark lowered his eyes and shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. I've got my suspicions though.”

  Jim could guess what he was driving at. He'd often had similar thoughts himself. But it was ridiculous. Surely a foreign attack was the most logical explanation - the Chinese or the Russians perhaps? Countries who might have the technology to make the killer clones, and the resources to successfully plant them. But even that didn’t seem to fit when he thought about it for too long.

  “I get it,” scoffed Mark. “You’re just like the rest. You’ve stopped wondering; just decided to accept it. Not me. No way. I want to know what happened.”

  “And how do you plan to do that?” asked Jim.

  “After I get what I need from Mobile, I’m going to Atlanta. That’s where the answers are.”

  Jim chuckled. “Didn’t you just say that no one should have gone there?”

  “Yeah. But they won’t know I’m coming. And if anyone sees me…”

  He tilted his head toward the Winchester that he'd leaned against a tree, then regarded Jim for a moment. “You could come, too. You were in the Army. I saw how you handled those clones.”

  “I can’t. I’m needed here.”

  “Needed? By who?”

  Jim spread his hands. “I don’t know. By everyone at the platform I guess. It doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving.”

  Mark shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Jim looked up at the sun; it was well into the afternoon. By now people would be wondering where he was. Mark insisted on walking him back, and on the way he spoke about the hazards of the road since leaving Miami. Apparently there were several groups of cannibals scattered about, as well as roaming gangs who preyed upon anyone they saw as an easy target.

  “It ain’t like the movies,” he explained. “If they see that you’re armed, they’ll leave you alone. They won’t risk getting shot. But if they think for one second you’re weak, they’ll come after you big time.”

  Jim sighed. “I’d always heard that hardship brings out the best in people. But if you ask me, it just fucks them up in the head.”

  “Can’t say I disagree with that.”

  They were drawing close to downtown when Jim first heard his name being shouted out repeatedly. He recognized Red’s voice at once.

  “Your friend sounds worried,” said Mark, grinning.

  Jim furled his brow. Red didn’t sound worried; he sounded absolutely desperate. He broke in to a run, with Mark hard on his heels.

  He spotted Red coming out of the old hardware store, a .38 gripped in his trembling hand. He had never seen his friend looking so upset. The instant Red saw him, he came running over, barely pausing to glance at Mark.

  “They've taken him,” he cried. “They've taken Liam.”

  Jim stiffened. “Who's taken him?”

  “The fucking wranglers,” he replied, tears streaming down his face. “They snatched him right out of the garden.”

  “Did you see them?”

  “No. But we followed their trail. It was them. I’m sure of it.”

  Jim could see the despair etched deeply into Red’s face. He knew that expression well enough. It was the same one that had been on his face when he'd discovered his wife and child missing. “Calm down,” he said. “We’ll get him back.”

  Exhausted and desperate, Red dropped to his knees. “How?”

  “I can help,” offered Mark.

  Red wiped his eyes and looked up.

  “This is Mark DE Chico - the man who killed the Shadow People,” Jim told him. He turned to Mark. “You don’t have to do this. I can handle it.”

  Mark laughed derisively. “Are you kidding? They’ll kill you before you get anywhere near your friend. If you’re serious about getting him back, you need my help.”

  Red dragged himself back up and grabbed hold of Mark's arm. “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care,” he said. “If you can save Liam, I'll owe you everything.”

  Mark allowed the grip to stay in place for a couple of seconds before pulling away. “Not yet, you don’t. And just so you know, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart either.”

  Jim eyed him suspiciously. “So what do you want in return?”

  “Nothing much,” Mark assured him. “I just need you to go with me to Mobile. Watch my back until I pick up my things. Do that, then you’re free to come back here.”

  Jim hesitated. He hadn't traveled more than a few miles away from Fairview in a long time. And in spite of the fact that Mark had saved his life, and was now offering to help save Liam’s, he still didn’t completely trust him.

  “I’ll go with you,” offered Red.

  “No,” Jim said. “That’s all right.” He extended a hand to Mark. “You've got a deal.”

  They shook on it firmly. “Now we need to move fast,” Mark said.

  “I’m coming too,” insisted Red.

  “Oh no you're not,” Mark told him. “You’d just get in the way. If we’re going to do this we need to be fast and quiet.”

  Red opened his mouth to protest, but Jim placed a hand on his shoulder. “He’s right. Go home and wait for us there. We’ll get him back. You have my word.”

  Red's shoulders slumped. “Please,” was all he could manage to say.

  Jim handed Red his AR-15. “Hold onto this for me. I don’t think I’ll be needing it.”

  After taking the weapon and giving them both one final desperate look, Red slowly made his way back toward the pier.

  “Doesn’t seem like the type,” commented Mark. “To have a boyfriend, I mean.” His tone was not judgmental, just matter of fact.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” said Jim.

  * * *

  They returned to Mark’s camp and gathered up the claymores. Mark packed his things and hid them near the highway.

  The wrangler camp was a good ten miles away. They were cautious and moved slowly, which meant that it was well past dark when they finally caught sight of Fish River. Jim could hear the cattle in the distance. Soon, the smell of rotting leaves and mud caked along the river bank, told him they were getting near. They kept to the thick brush, stopping every few yards to listen for guards or patrols.

  “They don’t keep a close watch at night,” Jim whispered. “No one’s fool enough to come around here, and they know it.”

  Mark breathed a quiet chuckle. “Morons. That should make it a whole lot easier.”

  “Danger
ous morons though,” Jim warned.

  A series of harsh laughs suddenly sounded off to their left, pinpointing the camp.

  “We’ll show them who’s dangerous,” Mark said.

  He took the lead. As the sounds of the wranglers grew louder, they dropped down and began crawling forward on their bellies.

  The camp was situated in a large pasture surrounded by dense pines. A dirt road at the north end led to the nearby county road in one direction, and the river in the other. Mark eased his way to a vantage point at the east end so they could get a better look at the layout.

  Several dozen tents were scattered haphazardly about, with a large bonfire blazing away in the center. Just at the edge of the firelight, Jim could see a metal A-frame on which four bodies had been left hanging upside down. Two of them had arms removed, and all were clearly dead.

  He gave a sigh of relief after establishing that none of these unfortunates was Liam.

  The camp was made up mostly of men: rednecks, some of whom Jim had known from his youth. He had never gotten along with any of them, but it had still taken him completely by surprise when first discovering what they had become. The few women visible were busy distributing pitchers of homemade wine and bowls of food...their kind of food. Jim shuddered at the thought.

  They waited, watching for any kind of clue to tell them where Liam was being held. Jim felt he could be almost anywhere, but after an hour Mark motioned for them to withdraw.

  “I know where he is,” he said, once they were a safe distance away.

  “You do? What makes you think that?”

  Mark ignored his question. Instead he asked: “How big is this guy we're rescuing?”

  “He's pretty small,” Jim answered. “Why?”

  “Because I saw men going in and out of the same tent over and over. Each one that left was laughing and smiling. That tells me they must be having some mean kind of fun with your friend. He may not still be able to run on his own.”

  Jim felt sick at the thought of Liam suffering like this, but he nodded grimly. “I can carry him if I need to.”

  Mark gestured for him to stay put and disappeared into the darkness. Thirty minutes later he returned with a pleased little smile on his face. They crawled back to the edge of the tree line. From here, Mark pointed out a tent two down from the one nearest their position.

  “He’s in there,” he said. “So listen up. Once you've got him out, you have to make your way back to this exact spot. Understand? No mistakes. This spot. I've set claymores on either side of here. Don’t fuck up and hit the woods somewhere else. Get me?”

  Jim nodded.

  Mark tapped his rifle affectionately. “I’ll be watching with my cutie here, just in case.”

  They waited for another two hours. Jim hated leaving Liam at the whim of these bastards for so long, but he knew their best chance was to sneak in once everyone was asleep. As the pair of them lay in position the wind changed, forcing the foul stench of rotted flesh and unwashed bodies into his nostrils. It took a great deal of will power not to empty his stomach there and then. How could people live like this? And more importantly, what the fuck had happened to them to make them want to eat other people?

  They had captured a few wranglers over the past two years. Each time they did, they tried to question them in order to discover what had driven them to do such terrible things. And each time, their questions produced nothing. The wranglers simply laughed and cursed them, their incoherent ramblings raving on endlessly. Ultimately, they were forced to shoot them: a task that usually fell to Jim. Not that he had ever minded doing that particular duty.

  Eventually, the camp went quiet. After waiting for Mark to take up his position a short distance away, Jim drew a deep breath. Time to go, he told himself.

  From the tree line to the first tent was about fifty yards, but the tall grass most of the way made it easy to crawl up unseen. After that however, it would get tougher. He’d need to creep in the shadows and pray that no one heard him or woke up to piss. Any one of a thousand things could go wrong.

  After reaching the edge of the grass he took a long look around before scrambling rapidly behind the nearest tent. The snores and mumbles of the men sleeping inside came to him easily through the thin canvass.

  The tent Mark had indicated was only two more down. He drew his knife and peered cautiously around the edge of his present cover. Three men lay sleeping on the open ground a few feet off to his right. Barely breathing, he inched his way past them to the next tent and crouched there for several seconds to eye the third one in line. There would almost certainly be someone in there guarding Liam. Probably more than one person. Each tent was big enough to accommodate about six men, so he’d need to act quickly. It would be a knife to the throat. Press hard and slice clean through the windpipe before his victim could scream.

  Silent as a shadow, he moved up to the third tent and listened for a few seconds. Just like with the two before, all he could hear coming from inside was regular coarse breathing and the occasional grunt. After easing the loosely hanging flap to the right just a little, he peered inside.

  His first emotion was one of relief. Mark had been right. Liam was in there alright. He was tied in a standing position to a post in the very center of the tent with a sleeping man stretched out on either side of him. Quickly though, anger took over. Jim's face grew tighter and tighter as he took in the state of his small friend. The poor guy had been stripped naked and must have suffered numerous beatings. There was blood all over his chest, legs and arms, and the area around both of his eyes was grotesquely swollen and bruised. After glancing back over his shoulder one final time, Jim slipped quietly inside.

  Liam was unconscious, but at least still breathing fairly regularly. With each new breath, fresh little bubbles of blood dribbled from his lips and dripped down onto the already congealing mess splattered all over his chest. His right arm was hanging at an unnatural angle and was almost certainly broken. Aside from this, it was hard to tell the full extent of his injuries. But whatever they were, it looked unlikely that he would be able to move very far without assistance.

  Jim tip-toed over to the wrangler on his left, the larger and tougher looking of the two guards. Grim faced, he positioned his blade just above the man's throat. He had never killed a sleeping man before, but this did not deter him even for an instant. These people were not humans any longer. They were no more than rabid wild animals. With a single motion, he slashed hard down and all the way across from left to right. He felt the windpipe pop as it separated.

  Incredibly, the wrangler's eyes shot wide and he jerked upright. Blood was gushing in rapid spurts from the severed arteries as he gurgled futilely for air.

  Although not particularly loud, the noise he was making, together with the sudden movement, was sufficient to rouse the other man. But Jim was already on him. He sank the knife deep into his neck, pulling hard. This time though, the movement wasn't quite so clean. The wrangler twisted, and the blade slipped downwards, lodging in his collarbone. At the same time, he managed to let out a short, strangulated yelp. Desperate to keep him quiet, Jim quickly covered his mouth and leaned all of his weight forward to hold him down.

  The first wrangler, although rapidly fading, was still twitching around and clutching at his throat. Jim prayed that no one outside the tent had been woken. But there was no time to think about the possible consequences. As soon as the second man stopped moving, he jerked his knife free and scurried over to Liam.

  Whispering his friend's name, he cut the ropes holding him to the post. The moment he was freed, Liam pitched forward, forcing Jim to hold him upright.

  After an agonizingly long few seconds, Liam slowly lifted his head. With the swelling around his eyes allowing him to see only through narrow slits, he squinted at Jim. “You came,” he murmured.

  “Sure I did. But we need to get moving. Can you walk?”

  Liam nodded. “I think so.”

  In spite of his words, it quickly b
ecame apparent that Liam was not even able to stand up properly without support. “I’m going to throw you over my shoulder,” Jim told him. “It might hurt, so try not to cry out.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whimpered.

  Jim gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’s all right, buddy. I’m getting you out of here.”

  With Liam’s light frame hoisted over his shoulder, he peeked outside. Everyone still appeared to be asleep. Praying that they would stay like that, he stepped out and started back the way he had come. Just as he passed the next tent he saw one of the three men sleeping in the open beginning to stir.

  Don’t stop for anything, he told himself.

  “Who’s that?” a drunken voice called out. “Hey!”

  A cold chill shot down Jim’s spine. Light as Liam was, he knew he did not have a chance in hell of outrunning anyone for very far with more than a hundred pounds on his back.

  “Get the fuck up!” the wrangler shouted. “Trespasser!”

  Jim instantly burst into a run. His only hope was to get far enough away before the sleeping, intoxicated men fully recovered their wits and energy. While racing past the last tent in line he caught a glimpse of three drowsy looking wranglers emerging through the flap. The next second a gunshot rang out and there was the whine of a bullet passing just over his head.

  “Get that son-of-a-bitch!”

  By the time he was only fifteen yards or so into the tall grass he could already hear the thumping of dozens of feet running behind him. Liam was groaning loudly from being jostled about so much, but there was nothing to be done about that. Several more shots were fired; one of these hit the ground just in front of his left foot, kicking up a cloud of dirt and grass particles into his eyes. Partially blinded, all he could do was keep moving as best he could, and pray he was not veering off course toward where Mark had laid the claymores. But from the sounds behind closing in, he didn’t think he’d even make it that far anyway.

  “I got you now,” a gruff voice growled. It came from even closer than expected - a mere pace or two behind.