by Franks, JK
“Okay, they have money, we figured that already. Lots of people are rich, and it doesn’t make them evil. My friend, you see, that is where the problem lies. I would not say this group is necessarily evil.
Much of what they have done throughout our history was very beneficial to this country. Have you ever stopped to think about how America went from British colony to a world superpower in just a couple hundred years? It seems they may have been instrumental in paying Washington’s Army after the Revolutionary War—the country was essentially flat-broke back then. They helped set up the state university systems and even appear to have pushed the right buttons to end slavery, although they did apparently start the Civil War to bring it about. This group doesn’t just have money. They got the laws changed so they could create money.”
“They started the Civil War?” Scott asked with incredulity.
“Yes, of that I am quite sure.”
“They started it to end slavery?” Scott asked.
“Oh, no, no, that was just a side benefit for them. They started it to collapse the American banking system at the time.”
“WTF, Tahir, you are taking too many sharp turns for me to follow. What are you talking about, and how does that all tie into this?”
“Follow the money, Scott. You see, money is a tool, and in this group’s hands, they have used it to build and shape the US into what it has become. In the 1800s, there was no real national banking system. Banking was mostly a state-sponsored activity, sometimes even a local one. Some cities even coined their own currency. About half of all banks failed back then. Someone in one state may or may not accept currency from another. It was a cumbersome and weak system, to say the least. This Council knew that had to change for the country to grow, but most likely, the states wouldn’t change unless forced to. The states still had too much power for the federal government to affect much control.
“Now, keep in mind, war is terribly expensive, the Shadow Council took steps to profit from the war efforts and to weaken the local banks to the point of collapse. To do this, they supported both sides in the war, and, in many respects, also opposed both. The end result was the states that were opposed, mainly the South and the West, were too weak to fight the changes, and the US then had a strong federal banking system. Wall Street was now the second biggest financial market in the world.”
Scott had heard a bit of this before but not quite in this context. “So, slavery had nothing to do with it?”
Tahir shrugged in that damnable way he had, “Scott, from what I know of politicians, none are that altruistic. Slavery had its opponents in the South and the North. The Council simply looked at it as another tool, one that had served its purpose and probably one that would be too costly to maintain for much longer. The slave economy had helped jump-start the US well ahead of most of the world. To keep growing, they had to put on the front of respectability and sweep all that unpleasantness away. The war gave them a perfect opportunity to do so.
“These people play the long game, they play to win, and they are damn good at it. At least until recently.”
“What do you mean?”
“Leaving the plans to Catalyst where they could be found, taking out the former president and successors, possibly even allowing that Chimera virus to get loose. None of this is like them. Something has changed for them to be this sloppy.”
“Well, shit, Tahir, doomsday happened. Didn’t you hear?”
“I am very certain they had contingencies for that, worst case scenarios and such. No, something else is at work. The Shadow Council is losing control, and that scares me more than anything else that has happened.”
“This is what is happening with the NSF rounding up people and raiding farms?” Scott asked.
Tahir nodded. “Somehow, they underestimated how much food would be needed, or the level of resistance, or numbers of survivors outside the camps. Maybe even the pandemic, although that one…may not have been unplanned. Either way, Scott, we still have to leave.”
They had been making repairs to the ship. Bartos was working on ways to collect and even make fuel, but the idea of leaving the US was still hard to accept. “I know,” Scott responded. “It just seems like we are the rats fleeing a sinking ship.”
Tahir shook his head, “No, very much not true, my friend. We are rats swimming to a very much still floating ship.”
Scott cocked his head slightly. The man had a point.
Chapter Twelve
Pearl River Valley, Mississippi
“Hey, LT,” one of the uniformed men in the rear of the Humvee yelled.
“What?”
“Are we really going to engage these guys?”
Garret shook his head. His men, no, not his men, this was the remnants of Commander Ramos’ old SEAL team. They were so mission focused, but the idea of possibly fighting against another US based force was inconceivable. Despite the hours of briefing, he was unsure the men would follow orders. “Look, we are just here to make a quick look-see and hopefully rescue that family. We only fight if we are cornered.”
Besides the Navy team, Skybox, Todd and Scott were along for the ride. They had Scott’s jeep, an armed Humvee and a battered old church van. It had taken longer than expected for Garret to get the green light from command. Bobby had gotten only one other garbled call from someone named Tasha. It seemed like whatever survivors were left had gone to ground and taken refuge farther back, up along the Pearl River.
As they neared Jackson, Mississippi, Garret motioned to them all to pull over. Taking out a large plastic case, one of the SEAL team members assembled half a dozen sparrow-sized aerial drones and launched them into the late morning sky. Each rose to several hundred feet, then sped off in a pre-programmed pattern to map out the route ahead. Scott looked quizzically at the series of tablets showing the camera feeds from the little drones. “These two,” one of the men with a name patch reading ‘Rollins’ said, “they are the ones scouting the route to the Pearl.”
“What about the other four?”
Lt. Garret looked at Skybox. “Those were his suggestions. If there is an internment camp nearby, we would like to know where it is. The drones are semi-autonomous, we don’t have to wait on them. We can go on with our mission as soon as the route is clear. We can recover them on our way back.”
Cool, Scott thought.
The route into Jackson was surreal. It was one of the largest towns Scott had been in since the CME, and the absence of people and the scenes of destruction were overwhelming. They bypassed the main part of town. Too many spots for ambush, and the drones spotted what looked to be buses and troop carriers on several of the major highways. It took until noon to get near the area where the Simpsons were supposed to be.
“I hope they know to expect us,” Skybox said. Scott looked out at the group all in tactical gear and nodded his head.
“We’ll scare the shit out of them otherwise.”
So far, they had avoided any of the enemy forces but saw plenty of evidence that this was an occupied area. The drones had spotted countless roadblocks and encampments as well as what might be regular supply routes as small convoys of trucks were apparent.
The group of soldiers deployed into the deep woods following the crude map Bobby had provided. The drones were no use over the heavy foliage.
One of the men to Scott’s right threw up a hand signaling to stop. He whispered, “We got movement ahead.”
All of them froze and slowly went to ground. He followed the SEAL’s eyes and saw it, too. A flash of black uniform, then another. It appeared to be a full squad of Security Forces moving through the forest. Scott had an earpiece to listen in on the tactical channel. Cryptic and whispered conversations were quickly voiced and hushed. Scott got the gist of it. Stay concealed, but, if discovered, they would engage. Two groups of SEALs moved to the north to get on the opposite side of the NSF squad.
Rollins crawled up next to Garret and showed him the incoming drone feed. Scott eased over closer
to get a look, too. “Too many of them.” The feed was now in infrared. The heat signatures of the enemy clearly visible.
Garret nodded, “I count at least twenty-five scattered through here. Any sign of transport?”
“Yes, sir, here,” Rollins pointed to several faint yellow-orange spots near what looked to be a dark blue curving line.
“Boats on the river. Looks like they are headed back to those. Is there any way to see if they have prisoners?”
Rollins shook his head, “We can go visual on the birds once they are back in the open, but no way we can spot that now. Maybe when they are on the river.”
“Do it. Also, tag them to track. Can’t the drones do hand-offs? I want to know where that group is heading.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll route the other birds to pick up the trail when the target enters their sector.”
“Mr. Montgomery.”
He had told the lieutenant countless times to call him Scott, but the man rarely did. “Yes?”
Garret held out the tablet. “The target location is here,” he pointed to a location perhaps a mile away. “We are giving those federal guys ten minutes to clear the area, then we are moving. Would you mind taking the lead? If there are friendlies out here, you look a lot less threatening.”
Scott wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not but agreed. He hadn’t told Gia he was coming with the rescue team. She would have been furious. Truthfully, it was probably stupid for the community leader to be heading into enemy territory, but he owed the Simpsons for saving his brother. Also, like the Navy, he wanted to know who they were up against, too.
It was mid-afternoon when they reached the area. The Simpsons had said they were taking refuge in a hidden cave system. But Scott’s team hadn’t seen any caves anywhere. Several of the men searched the ground for any sign of them. Garret and Rollins were watching drone feeds as they searched for heat signatures. Scott walked away from the group to think. He found himself on the riverbank looking across the peaceful looking waters of the Pearl. The family or families had been forced to flee from their homes. They would need fresh water, and they’d need food…maybe fish. Probably fish.
His thought process made him start scanning for certain objects. He’d walked almost 200 yards before he bent to pick something up. A scrap of nylon fishing line coiled around a small stick. Kneeling there, he scanned the immediate area. A worn place in the weeds possibly where animals or maybe people came down to get water. Then, a faint odor that was out of place. Something of old cooking fires or bacon fat. The mere thought of it made his mouth water. He keyed the mic on his chest. “LT, I believe I see it.”
He stood and approached the large bushes. They looked the same as all the rest, except it was much darker behind this group. He got within fifteen feet before seeing the shotgun barrel pointing at him from between the leaves. Slowly, he raised his arms.
The smiling muddy faces of Mahalia Simpson and Tasha as well as five other people looked out of the church van. She had seen the resemblance of Scott to the man her nephew had saved. She lowered the gun and walked out gingerly to Scott with arms outstretched. It had taken them only a few minutes to gather the few belongings they had and head back to where the vehicles were concealed.
Scott and the others helped them maneuver through the woods. “Mahalia, how did you survive all this?”
Someone on the radio had filled Bobby in on the events in the cabin that day. “Honestly, Mr. Scott…I have no idea. The Lord wrapped his protective arms around me, dat’s all I knows. Tre was there, I knows it was him firing up into those…those bastards.” She spat the word as if it was stinging her tongue.
“He was a man of faith, ya kno, but I didn’t think either of us had a prayer that day. Maybe…” she broke into tears. He knew she hadn’t seen if Tre had survived or not. “Dey dragged him off, I know dey did. Sister Tasha and the others found me, took us to the caves. She treated me best she could. Dem soldiers been searching for us ever since, though. We know da woods, dey don’t. Only reason we still heah. Dat was where the radio and guns wus hid.”
“Sorry to hear about your nephews―I know Bobby will be, too. We should have gotten here sooner.”
The older woman shrugged, “Wilson was like dat. Wanted to fight ‘em all. Tre, he jus wanted to save everybody, specially me, I guess. Reckon he did dat. I am glad to hear yo brother’s doing ok, though. And da boy?”
Scott grinned, “Yeah, they are both doing good. Can’t wait to see you, in fact. I can’t thank you and your family enough for what you did for them.”
“It’s ok, jus wish we could’ve done more for da boy’s mom. Hated to see her go like dat. Seen a lot more go since den, though. Dem damn Messenger folk got some of us, but dem black uniformed people took all da rest. Dey is some real bastards. Dis right heah,” she pointed to the people loading into the van, “dey all dats left of my church. All of ‘em…gone.”
Scott pointed toward Skybox, “We are working on that, too. Think we may have some ideas on where they took them.”
Mahalia nodded weakly. She held her side; a recent wound was leaking through a nasty bandage, and the smell was foul. Garret’s medic began to unwrap it and begin treatment. “One of dem bullets flying around my kitchen grazed me. Dat’s all.”
The medic injected her with an antibiotic and began to quickly redress the wound. “That’s no graze ma’am, it punched right through,” the medic said.
They were making plans to exfil the area when the radio, now clipped to Scott’s vest, made a small sound. “BikerBoi, you there?” The tactical team was all back together, so he was momentarily confused as to who it was until the voice registered.
Scott keyed the mic, “Preacher, that you?”
Chapter Thirteen
Harris Springs, Mississippi
“Kirk, obviously. What are you an, imbecile? Why would any self-respecting geek even mention Skywalker or any other Star Wars character in the same breath as ‘The Captain?’ Tahir smiled and
looked away. He was not the type to be upset with the lad, it wasn’t totally his fault—he was just an over-educated moron.
“Tahir, listen, Kirk was just a glorified driver. All the real work was done by actual competent officers. He was a glory-hog.”
“A glory-hog…a glory…HOG? Um, let’s see…maybe something along the lines of Darth fucking Vader maybe. He seemed to like showy shit and stagecraft. Face it, DJ, Star Trek was science, Star Wars was voodoo, witchcraft bullshit. Sorry if you are too smart to see the obvious. You like fairy tales where the hero rescues the princess from the evil witch…stick with Star Wars. You want science…then come over to the Trekkie side.”
Tahir was laughing now and bumped the arm against the table. ”Oh…oh, oh….that really hurts.”
DJ got serious and checked his patient over. “Sorry, man, Kaylie said you were coming over for an X-ray this afternoon, but I don’t know shit about broken bones and mangled tendons.”
“But you’re a doctor.”
Uh…yeah, well sorta, but dude, I am an epidemiologist, not a GP. Only patients I see are infected with something. Most of ‘em are dead. Even then, I am studying the infectious agent, not the person. I spent most of my time looking down the barrel of a microscope. You probably need Bones―he could wave that little swirly light thing over you, and you would be fine.”
Look, DJ, I don’t care if you are Scott’s future nephew…don’t be hating on Dr. McCoy.”
The two had gotten to be close in the months since Tahir had arrived on the Gulf, since the week of the massacre of the Messengers and Scott’s miraculous return from the sea. Besides both men possessing brilliant minds, both were somewhat obsessed with pop culture. The debate of the moment was pretty standard fare. The sad realization that all culture, pop or otherwise, was a thing of the past was a sad reality to both.
“So, what happened to your arm again?”
Tahir was still rubbing his exposed arm along the edge of the sling, his olive brown s
kin contrasting with the bright white plaster. “It is a bit of a surprise Scott and I are working on. Bartos kind of let something big slip and basically tried to kill me.”
DJ nodded, “Maybe you should stick to computers and leave the real work to the others.”
Not yet ready to relent, Tahir offered another verbal jab, “So, we both agree you are not a real doctor, and Star Trek is far superior to every other sci-fi series. Can you at least come up with something that can help this rash? This damn cast is making me miserable.”
“I’ll need to run some tests, make sure it’s not Chimera or some new form of STD. Have you taken on any new lovers lately?”
Tahir raised his middle finger in response.
DJ laughed, “Yeah, yeah…I think you’re number one, too.”
“DJ, stop being a dick and find me some cream or something.”
“Aight…aight, man, cool your jets. Don’t want to get your light saber over-agitated.”
“Phasers, nimrod. What kind of advanced culture would revert to swordplay? Even if they were made of light—ridiculous.” Tahir shook his head in frustration.
Dr. Gia Colton popped her head in just as DJ was finishing up with Tahir. “Hey, Boss,” he said without looking up. “What’cha need?”
“Actually, I need your patient if you are done with the x-ray,” the beautiful woman said. “Tahir, do you have a few minutes? I need to run a few things by you.”
“Absolutely, if I survive this imbecile’s healing ceremony, I will be there most pronto.”
She smiled. Although still infrequent, occasionally someone from the AG, like Tahir, did have to come out here to the Bataan. While the two ships were only a mile apart, the gulf between civilian and military was wider than just water. Out here, it was normally all business.
“Doctor?” Tahir said knocking on her door.
