Project Apex

by Michael Bray

  "My brothers," he said, his voice echoing around the chamber. "Today sees the start of a grand vision. A vision which together, we will realise."

  He paused for effect, looking out at the hundreds of eyes which watched him intently.

  "The world as we know it is broken. Ruled by secretive, greedy men who claim they know what's best. I, like the rest of you fell for their lies. I, like you, slipped into the daily routine of life. Of being told what I should like, told what I should eat or drink. Told the value of my life was judged by a pay grade. All of you know this. You know about the lies the governments of the world tell us, all to keep their secrets safe and their bank accounts filled with money which they don't need. Yes, my brothers. The world is broken. In fact, it is broken so badly by lies so convincing that many of us don't question them that it will take drastic action to rectify."

  He paused again, letting his words roll around the chamber until the echoes faded.

  "The truth is, I never expected there would ever be a time when these false leaders would be removed. I never expected any future to be possible where they didn't dominate and control the world and systematically destroy it at the same time. For me, all hope was lost....until something happened, and I was given a great gift. A gift bigger than their lies, bigger than their secrets. A gift which we share. A gift that takes the flawed, broken blueprint of man and changes it for the better. All of you here share this gift. A precious thing no money can buy. That no lies can hide."

  He turned in a slow circle, a half smile on his lips as he looked at the army of men above him.

  "We are the answer. A gift was bestowed upon me, and I have bestowed it upon each and every one of you. You are my brothers, my sons. You are the flicker of light in a world long shrouded in the dark. It is a world which demands change, not from me, but from us. I'm just one man. I cannot do it alone. Only with your help, with each and every one of you can we make a difference. As you know, the so-called leaders of the free world attack our own kind overseas and try to stop us. Why? Because they don't understand us. And because they don't understand us, they fear us. And because they fear us, they choose to try and destroy us. I ask you, do we accept this? Do we lie down on our sides and let these liars and cheats and fraudsters kick us into submission?"

  The room rocked as the men chanted a deafening 'no' in unison. Joshua went on without breaking his stride.

  "Do we let them eliminate us and harvest our unique gift for themselves?"

  "No," they chanted as one.

  "Or do we do what we were destined to do. Do we take our place as the next evolutionary step for humanity and ensure the survival of a species which is superior in every way to the men we used to be?"

  "Yes"

  Joshua paused and let the smile melt from his face. "Let me tell you about a vision I had, something shown to me as I was interred in the earth and waiting for my brothers to bring me back to the light. I saw a world of culture. I saw a world of understanding. I saw a world under one rule where everybody had a place. Where things such as money didn't matter. I saw a world of superior humans like us. People like us. Generations built on the foundations of what we are about to do. I saw a world that was better for being free of the self-destructing, mindless people who currently inhabit it. I ask you to answer me now. Do you want change?

  "Yes," The men roared.

  "Do you want change?"

  "Yes"

  "Do you want change?"

  "Yes"

  Joshua waited, again letting the blanket of silence envelop the chamber. "You should know it won't be easy. In order to fix the problems, we have to eradicate the disease. Much like a cancer patient will need to endure surgery to remove a diseased tumour, so we must remove the plague of mindless creatures who inhabit the future home of our children."

  "Yes."

  "Make no mistake. You will be asked to do things, things which seem despicable in order to make this happen. Blood will be spilled, it is unavoidable. There must be orphans, there must be widows. Some of you will die for our cause. But I say this. Do not fear death, for you will be honoured by us for all of time. You will be tomorrow's heroes, victors on the battlefield who sacrificed all so that we could enjoy the life we deserve. We must cull the plague of lesser humans who currently thrive on our lands and use up all of our resources. We must destroy them much like they destroy our home and each other. Your conscience may see them as women or children. I remind you that they are not. They are an inferior species, a plague which will destroy us if we don't strike first. Some will be turned and join us as masters of the new world. Most won't. "

  Again, he waited, letting his words sink in.

  "Don't think of them as humans. Think of them as vermin. Think of them as the last relics of a dead race. Destroy them without mercy. Grow our society. Let me lead you to a paradise which you and future generations can enjoy. All who oppose us are our enemies; all who stand against us or look upon us with fear are against us. Believe in me, and I promise you I will give you the world you always dreamed of. The blood of those who oppose us will soak the earth, and from it, our new society will grow. We will strike without mercy, destroy without conscience. Mark today as the final day of the old world. Tomorrow, we give birth to the new!"

  He threw his arms into the air as he said it, and all around him the chamber exploded with wild cheers which were even more deafening than before. Adrenaline surged through Joshua's veins, causing him to tremble.

  "Now go," he roared. "Go and make our statement. Go and show these people that opposing us is useless. Go now and let us take the world that as the superior species is ours by rights!" he screamed above the din. More cheers erupted as Joshua stood with his arms in the air, watching as the men started to file out of the silo and make their way above ground to the surface. When it was empty, and silence again enveloped the immense chamber, Genaro walked out of the shadows. "Do you think it's possible? Can we change the world?" he whispered.

  Joshua half turned towards Genaro. "It's already started. Tonight the world will sleep easy. Tomorrow, they will know their end is near."

  "And how do we maintain it? How do we keep control?"

  Joshua took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Genaro. The scientist unfolded it and read the list of names written on it.

  "You know these people," Joshua said, a statement, not a question.

  "Yes, or, at least, I've heard of them."

  "Good."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Bring them to me."

  "For what purpose?" Genaro asked, a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

  "Because when the time comes, we will need them."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  BAGHDAD SEWERS

  IRAQ

  TREMBLING AND AFRAID, AKHTAR was just waiting to die. Whoever had grabbed him and his brother whilst they slept had been carrying them for what felt like an age, although he had no real concept of how much time had passed. It could have just as easily been hours or minutes. The stagnant wet stench gave way to a more dry, musty smell which gave him the impression he was somewhere off the main tunnel. He was lowered into a chair, and only then started to fear for his life. The hood was removed from his head, and he squinted at the light which although dull was much brighter than the tunnels.

  "Who are you?"

  Akhtar blinked, waiting for the man who spoke to him to come into focus.

  "I asked you a question, who are you?"

  "I’m nobody," Akhtar mumbled, finally getting a closer look at the soldier who stood in front of him.

  He was young, Akhtar guessed no more than early twenties. He had piercing blue eyes and a short buzz cut, and despite looking much too young for active service had an air of authority about him.

  "Let me speak to him," another man said in Arabic from behind Akhtar's chair. "It's plain enough he's just a boy."

  The owner of the Arabic voice came into view. He was tall and slim, with deep brown eyes and a t
hin hooked nose. His eyes were brown, his skin the colour of coffee and framed by a long black and grey beard. "What's your name?" The man snapped.

  "Please, where is my brother?" Akhtar said.

  "He's fine. First answer my questions."

  "Hey, easy," the soldier cut in. "We don’t do things the same way as you people."

  "Us people?" The Arabic man said, glaring at the soldier. "Remember, this is our country and you are in it. Perhaps our way is better."

  The soldier looked like he wanted to respond, then saw Akhtar watching the exchange and decided against it. "My name's Branning, I’m in charge here," He said.

  The Arabic man snorted but said nothing.

  "What are you doing down here?" Branning asked.

  "We had to flee the streets," Akhtar replied, recalling the way those men had killed without mercy.

  "Nobody sent you?" The Arabic man snapped.

  "Hey, go easy on the kid. Can't you see he's scared?"

  "Yes, of course." The Arabic man said irritably and then turned his attention back to Akhtar. "Forgive me. My name is Ali Hamada. You can relax. You and your brother are safe here. Now please, tell us your name."

  "Akhtar, Akhtar Mahmood. I was with my brother Youness on the street when those men attacked."

  "You were lucky to survive," Hamada said. "Many of our people have been lost."

  "Don’t tell me you're suddenly growing a conscience." Branning hissed.

  Akhtar shuffled in his seat. The tension between the two men was palpable, a very specific and obvious dislike was simmering between them and Akhtar hoped he wasn’t around when it finally exploded.

  "Where is my brother," he asked again, knowing how Youness would be stressed if he was left by himself with people he didn’t know.

  "Come on kid, I’ll take you to him," Branning said, shoving past Hamada and helping Akhtar to his feet. Branning led him out of the bare-walled room he had been taken to, which to Akhtar's surprise opened up into a large open underground space. Beds were strewn across the floor as well as a small supply of food and weapons. Akhtar counted around a dozen people. A couple were military like Branning, the rest were locals, a mixture of women, children and market traders.

  "What is this place?" Akhtar asked.

  "For now, it's home," Branning replied as he led Akhtar across the room to another door. "This building was supposed to be an underground pumping station for the new sewage system. It's been empty for a couple of years, so, for now, it's where we are staying."

  "Were you on the surface too?"

  "He was interrogating me," Hamada said, jogging to catch up with them. "It seems any Muslim man is a terrorist in the eyes of the Americans."

  Branning kept his mouth closed, although Akhtar could see him grinding his teeth as the trio crossed the room.

  "When the attack happened we were forced to work together to escape. Many lives were lost."

  "Was it those men? The ones dressed in black?" Akhtar asked.

  "Yeah, it was," Branning said. "Although we don’t know why. Communications are all shot to hell. Nobody seems to know anything."

  "Who are they?" Akhtar asked.

  "Who knows, kid," Branning said as he opened another door leading to a short corridor. "More terrorists most likely trying to push their agenda through fear."

  "Is that remark aimed at me?" Hamada said.

  Although he was physically inferior to Branning, there was an enigmatic air about Hamada. Akhtar imagined him to be a man used to leading rather than following, and one used even less to being spoken to in the way Branning was addressing him.

  "You can take it however you want. Where I come from, we have a thing called freedom of speech. I’m used to calling a spade a spade, scum scum or-"

  "A terrorist a terrorist, is that it?" Hamada interrupted.

  "If the shoe fits." Branning hissed.

  They had stopped walking and Hamada and Branning were nose to nose in the corridor.

  "Please, I just want to see my brother," Akhtar said.

  The two men stared each other down for a few more seconds, then Hamada averted his gaze and took a step back. "Let the American show you." He spat. "I'm sure he wouldn’t want terrorists mixing with the children."

  Branning glared at Hamada as he retreated back into the room they had just come from and began to unpack supplies. "Come on kid," he said as he walked down the corridor to the steel door at its end. "Let's go find your brother."

  Akhtar did as he was told, conscious of not getting on the bad side of Branning. He had heard horror stories about some of the things the soldiers did to locals or, at least, things they were said to have done. His father told him they were just stories – propaganda designed to make sure the local population didn’t trust the soldiers. Despite his friends saying otherwise, Akhtar tended to agree with his father and thought the notion of American and British soldiers murdering civilians for sport was ridiculously far-fetched - especially when they were out here risking their lives to protect civilians like him.

  Branning opened the door at the end of the hall and pushed it open. "He was screaming and crying for you, so we had to sedate him," Branning said.

  Akhtar peered into the gloom. Youness lay on a rough looking steel framed bed, covers pulled up to his chin. He was sleeping, his nose wheezing slightly as he exhaled.

  "Is he alright?" Akhtar asked.

  "He'll be fine. In a couple of hours, he'll wake up. It's probably a good idea you're here when he does."

  "I will."

  "Where are the rest of your family, kid?"

  "I...I don’t know." Akhtar replied. "We were trying to get back to our home via the tunnels, but we got lost."

  "Where were you trying to get to?"

  "We live in an apartment in Thawra."

  "Sadr City?" Branning said.

  "Yes. Do you know it?"

  "Yeah. I was here back in oh-nine when the Muraidi bomb exploded. I helped with the clean-up."

  "My uncle was killed in that attack," Akhtar said. "I don’t remember it, but it was one of the only times I have ever seen my father cry."

  "I’m sorry," Branning said.

  "Are we close? I mean can we get to the surface and go get them? Bring them here?"

  A shadow of uncertainty passed over Branning’s face. Not quite a frown but enough of a change for Akhtar to notice.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "I didn’t realise. “Branning replied.

  "Realise what?"

  "How little you knew."

  "About what?"

  "What's happening out there?"

  Akhtar didn’t reply. He simply watched and waited.

  "Come with me," Branning said, gently closing the door and leaving Youness to sleep and returning back the way they had come. Akhtar followed as Branning walked straight past Hamada, the two ignoring each other. Branning led the way to a table in the corner and switched on the television. The picture faded in from black, and when it arrived, Akhtar half wished he had remained ignorant. The footage was grainy and shot from a helicopter high above the city. Smoke and fire billowed from buildings, others still were reduced to rubble. Without the censorship of other countries, the news had no issues showing the violence on the streets and the bullet-ridden bodies which littered it.

  "What's happening?" Akhtar whispered.

  "Nobody knows for sure. They say it’s some kind of uprising or revolution, some shit like that. Either way, going topside isn’t an option."

  "What about my parents?"

  "All you can do now is pray for them."

  "But surely you can help, you and the other soldiers," Akhtar said as he stared at the news footage.

  "There are no other soldiers or, at least, none we have been able to make contact with. We're on our own."

  "But surely, someone will come to help us?"

  Branning looked Akhtar in the eye, and the young Iraqi saw something he never expected. He saw fear.

  "I don’t think so
," Branning said. "This isn’t just us. This is happening everywhere."

  "All over Iraq?"

  "All over the world. Whoever these people are and wherever they have come from, they mean business. All we can do now is stay hidden and ride it out until we know what we're dealing with."

  "But we need to go, to get out of the city," Akhtar said, fear and desperation making him angry.

  "I agree, but we have to be realistic. We have no transport, barely any weapons or food and no idea where these people are who are attacking us or what they want. For now, it's best we stay here."

  "But if we stay here they'll find us. It's only a matter of time." Akhtar said.

  "I know. That's why I'll do everything in my power to make sure we're ready. Trust me, if there's one thing the United States Marine Corps teaches us, it's not to give up."

  "What about my brother? He's not like us; he needs to be looked after. He won’t understand."

  "I need you to make him understand. I need you to be ready to go when the time comes."

  "What if we don’t make it? What if we can’t escape?"

  "Then we end up like that," Branning said, nodding towards the television screen.

  Akhtar looked at the images of the dead littering the streets, unable to comprehend the scale of the loss of life, how many who had been alive just a few hours ago were now extinguished. He wondered if he had seen any of them in life if any of those anonymous faces he had seen passing in the street just before the chaos began were now immortalised on the television screen. Akhtar had decided not to mention what he had seen at the roadblock when he was playing football to anyone, such was the sheer craziness of the situation. However, for better or worse, he trusted Branning, and such information might make the difference between life and death. He wasn’t sure it would make things better, especially since the situation already looked bleak without adding how the men in black seemed impervious to pain, even when shot, however, it was still information which might help.