by Hunt, James
Dillon had spent his entire life trying not to misstep or mis-speak, doing his best to fulfill his mission, his purpose. And he knew that if he screwed up here that he’d only be making that little blotch on the floor bigger.
“I take full responsibility for the failure of my platoon. But I knew that it was important for me to come back here and inform you of the failure, so you could prepare accordingly.” Dillon lifted his eyes up from the stain on the ground and stared at the wall, still refusing to look Khan in the eye. “I now await my punishment.”
Dillon remained still and rigid, arms at his side, still staring at the wall. He was getting in his own head now, and he could have sworn that he could smell the stain of blood on the ground. It smelled fresh.
He knew what happened to people who came back to this place with their tail between their legs. But he hoped that keeping some pivotal information to himself about who had bested him might provide useful as leverage to keep himself alive long enough to prove himself once more.
Khan stood, and the rest of the lieutenants stood at attention. He walked around the table and over to where Dillon stood. He wasn’t a big man, only slightly taller than Dillon. But he was thick as a boulder.
Dillon had heard stories about the man long before he met him. How Khan had pulled together different factions in South America with sheer will and strength. He would walk into those groups and challenge the leader, forcing him to fight. And he would kill them. Every time. And then he’d kill anyone who didn’t accept him as their new leader.
In only eight months, Khan had grown from obscurity to the top of the CIA’s watchlist for terrorist leaders of threatening organizations. And his people moved with such precision and accuracy that it was nearly impossible to keep up with all of his movements. He had built an army from sheer brute force, and those that had survived his culling throughout his conquering of groups had remained incredibly loyal to him. Because everyone knew the price of betrayal.
But like most of the people that had joined Khan’s cause, they knew little of the man he was before he became a conqueror. It was the reason he had earned the name “Khan,” like the great Mongolians conquerors of Asia.
Dillon thought that because of the man’s massive build there might also be some physical correlation, what with the bald head. Though he lacked the long facial hair that Dillon remembered from the history books.
But even with Khan standing directly in front of him, looking him in the eye, Dillon didn’t dare try to return the gaze. Not until he was spoken to.
“I remember you,” Khan said. “From training. We’ve met before.”
“Yes, Khan,” Dillon answered. “For a humble recruit, it was a great honor.” He finally looked at Khan in the eyes and then offered a light bow.
Khan nodded. “Bottom of your class during the physical requirements of your training. Poor use of weaponry. When I saw you in the mud pits, I remember thinking that I would have to kill one of my recruiters for allowing such a weakling to enter the ranks of our officer’s training. But then I saw you in the strategy portion of the training and you dominated the other recruits. It was the best work I’d ever seen, and I came over to you and shook your hand.” He grimaced. “Your grip was weak. There is no room for weakness in our cause. I have made that expectation clear from the beginning.”
“You are a wise and—”
Khan gripped Dillon’s throat, squeezing tight, choking the words from his lips. A steady pressure built up in his head, but Dillon did his best not to squirm and show any sign of the weakness that Khan despised.
Dillon’s cheeks turned from red to purple, and his vision tunneled as the airflow was cut off from his brain. His knees buckled but Khan held him up with his one arm, further choking Dillon.
Khan released Dillon and he dropped to the floor on his knees, gasping for breath. The pinhole of his vision widened, and his eyes immediately found the blood stain.
Khan kicked Dillon’s ribs, knocking him to the side. Dillon whimpered and curled up in the fetal position.
After a few more seconds of wallowing in pain, Dillon was lifted from the ground and was kept upright by the pair of sentries that had plucked him from the desert.
Khan once again stepped into Dillon’s face, his expression of contempt carved out of granite and marble. “If you were as clever as you thought you were, then you wouldn’t have come back here unless you thought you had something to give me. So what it is? What have you brought to bargain for your life?”
Even with two men keeping him upright, Dillon couldn’t straighten his back all the way. The pain in his ribs kept him hunched forward, and when he opened his mouth to answer, there was only raspy noises that escaped. It was like Khan had cracked his vocal chords.
Khan landed a hard punch across Dillon’s body that knocked him back to the ground. The pain was bright and hot against his cheek, and his vision exploded with a bright light, then flashed darkness. His vision slowly returned, with bright spots dancing across the ground like shooting stars.
Dillon had always prided himself because he feared no man. But as Khan stopped directly in front of Dillon, staring him down with those dark, soulless eyes, that pride vanished.
“I can fix this,” Dillon said.
“You can fix nothing,” Khan said, his voice a terrifying whisper. “You can only atone for your failures, and you above all people understand that only fire can absolve you of your sins.”
Dillon rubbed his fingertips together, the charred and disfigured flesh that had been burned away by war. A constant reminder of the betrayal that was the foundation for his fight against the very country that he had sworn to protect and defend, the scars that propelled him to seek out Khan and enact his vengeance.
“I atone through my sins only by the destruction of my enemy,” Dillon said, finding the strength in his voice. “You and I have the same enemy.” He raised his hands next to his face, exposing the scars. He gestured to the pyre. “You burn me and you burn all the information about your enemy—”
Khan snatched Dillon’s throat, the strike quick as a cobra, Khan tightening his hand around Dillon’s throat like a vise.
The pressure in Dillon’s head bulged his eyes from his sockets and turned his cheeks purple and with one arm, Khan lifted Dillon effortlessly off the ground.
“You do not tell me what I can and cannot do,” Khan said. “You think you have suffered? You think that you’re entitled to some revenge because of broken promises to you?”
Dillon kicked his feet desperately, and just when he thought that his head might explode from the pressure, Khan let go.
Dillon crumpled to the ground and gasped for air.
“I believe you do not fear the fire because you have forgotten what it feels like.” He turned back to Dillon, then gestured to the burned and charred hands. “The flames dancing across your skin, the shock from the pain, and the beauty the fire leaves behind on the canvas of your body.” Khan reached for Dillon’s cuff and yanked the sleeve up his arm, exposing the line between charred skin and the fresh, untouched flesh. “And look at all of the canvas that your body still has to offer the fire.”
One snap of Khan’s fingers summoned three others from the circle, and Dillon was restrained to the ground, his clothes stripped from his body, and then he was carried over to the pyre where his hands were tied behind his back.
Dillon didn’t scream, he didn’t cry, because he knew that both were useless. A calmness had blanketed his frayed nerves. And when he was finally secured to the post, the people who bound his hands together stepped backward and handed a torch to Khan as he approached the pyre. The light from the flame was swallowed whole in Khan’s eyes.
“The fire will burn what is not needed,” Khan said. “The fire will purge you of your failure. But you will not die, comrade. You will live. And you will suffer, as those who fail are meant to suffer.”
Khan stepped closer and slowly brought the flame toward Dillon’s skin, and Dillon remai
ned calm until the fire finally touched his flesh. And then he screamed.
37
The river babbled softly, the stream steady as it flowed toward the Gulf in the same winding path that it had done for centuries.
The sun rose in the east the same way it always did even before the world transformed into darkness and despair. Before civilization collapsed. Before the EMP.
But the sun was a constant. No matter what happened to humanity, the sun would still rise, and that brought an unexpected comfort to James Bowers. The knowledge that in a constantly evolving world, there still remained a few absolutes.
After graduating high school, James had taken a few courses at San Antonio’s community college. He hadn’t wanted to go, but his mother wanted him to brush up on the business aspects of ranching.
James wasn’t dumb, but he had never had the patience for a classroom. And while he picked up a few things in those classes, he didn’t stick around for very long.
But during his time at college, James had met one student in the cafeteria. He was smart as a whip, but friendly.
The guy’s name was Bernie, and he was majoring in astrophysics. He said he wanted to work for NASA one day and help advance the space program. During their lunches together, Bernie would tell James all these facts about the universe and their solar system. And he told James that one day the sun would burn out, and that gave James new meaning to the phrase “everything has a beginning and an end.” But Bernie also told him that the universe was always expanding, and would continue to expand, which meant that the whole journey of beginning and end was constantly repeating itself.
“Life might end here one day, but that just means it’s started somewhere else,” Bernie said. “Isn’t that amazing?”
And while James didn’t share the same level of excitement about the end of the world and life as they knew it, there was something oddly comforting about what Bernie had said.
As a Christian, James had always thought that just because God created man didn’t mean he had only created man. If he had made the universe such a big place, then James figured it would be a waste only fill it with rocks and dust.
Once the sun and risen swiftly into the light blue sky, James stood, dusted the dirt from his pants, and secured his Stetson to his head.
James climbed onto his horse and headed toward the bunker, knowing that people wanted answers and knowing that he was the only person who could provide them.
When he arrived he saw Nolan, Luis, and Zi conversing with one another, but it was his son, Jake, who walked up to him first.
“Mom’s up,” Jake said. “She wants to talk to you.”
James placed his palm on the top of his son’s head and then looked to the bunker where everyone had stayed the night. “Is she all right?”
Jake nodded. “I think she just misses you.”
James smiled. “All right.” He looked past his son and to his trusted confidants, who looked to him with eagerness. “Why don’t you go tell Luis and Zi I’ll be over in a minute. You’re in charge till I come back.”
Jake scoffed, showing those teenage emotions that were starting to creep in. “Yeah, right, like they’d ever listen to me.”
“Hey.” The sternness in James’s voice surprised his son, who snapped to attention. “You act like that and no one will ever listen to you.” He placed a firm hand on his son’s shoulder. “If you don’t believe you can do it, then no one else will. Understand?”
Jake nodded, tilting his chin up a little higher and dropping his voice an octave. “Yes, sir.” He spun around and marched toward the others.
James watched him leave, unsure if the boy was being sarcastic. He’d never done well in trying to pick that kind of thing up.
The bunker had emptied, and the only person left inside was his wife, Mary. It was infinitely roomier with only her inside, but a damp warmth clung to the air, the kind that lingered after a large room had been cleared out.
Mary smiled as James approached, and he felt the returned strength in her touch as she grabbed his hand. “So?”
James pulled over a stool and sat by his wife’s bed, still holding her hand. He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t think they’d leave something so valuable behind and not come look for it.” He rubbed his calloused thumb over her smooth skin. He had already told her what he found, and he had gone to the river to decide what to do about it.
Mary nodded and then clutched the blanket, balling it up with her fists in tiny bunches. “Okay.” She looked to him, and he could tell that her mind was already churning over the different ideas in her head, going through the scenarios, preparing for the possible outcomes.
James reached for her hand once more and held it gently in both of his. He massaged her palm and then glanced down at the wedding ring still sparkling on her hand. He remembered when he gave that to her all those years ago. He remembered how nervous he was and how calm she seemed. She was always the calm one. Now it was time for him to return the favor. “We’re going to figure it out.”
Mary finally exhaled, relaxing. “You’re right.”
James drifted his eyes from Mary’s hand to her stomach, and the life that he prayed was still growing inside. “Did Nolan say anything?”
“He still doesn’t know,” Mary said.
James nodded, then kissed her hand and stood, returning the stool out of the pathway in the bunker’s only walkway. “Do you want someone to stay down here with you, or do you want some time to rest? I doubt you slept well down here last night.”
“It was like sleeping in a sauna,” Mary said. “I’ll just rest. Thank you.”
James pressed his finger to his lips and then transferred the kiss to her fingers as he walked away, and then she touched her fingers to her lips. It was their way of saying goodbye without actually saying goodbye. It was a word that neither of them liked. Goodbye always seemed to sever the moment, while a touch made it linger long after it passed.
Topside, the quiet morning murmur had transformed into a roar of questions. They were questions born from fear and the unknown.
Once the chatter had quieted, James placed his hands on his hips while Zi, Luis, and Nolan stood alongside him.
“I know we’ve all gone through a lot over the past forty-eight hours.” James scanned the crowd, Ken, Mick, and their families, along with the people they had rescued from the town. Most of them were still covered in blood. Their gaze was unsettled, yet attentive, like a man listening to the judge who would hand out their punishment.
“But we are alive,” James said, his voice thundering with that same confidence he’d spoken to his son about. “And we are going to stay that way so long as we continue to fight.”
“And what good is fighting going to do us?” The question came from a man in the back, who stepped forward when every head turned to him. He was one of the bloodied townspeople, some of the blood starting to run again from the heat and their sweat. “There’s nothing out here except for some dead cattle.”
“And how are we supposed to protect ourselves if those people come back?” One of the women stepped forward, again from the town, looking like Carrie from Stephen King’s novel after she was crowned prom queen.
James stepped forward. “I know you’re scared. And you have a right to be. But we can show you how to protect yourselves. Right now, our greatest strength is our numbers, and if we start squabbling amongst ourselves, then we lose that advantage. A unit is only as strong as its weakest link. We don’t just survive for ourselves. We do it for each other.”
James studied the group, including the two townsfolks that had spoken up, and they nodded as they slunk back into the crowd.
“Now,” James said. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
James broke them off into groups and had Mick and Ken show folks the day-to-day jobs of the ranch. Everyone worked. That was part of the deal if people wanted to stay. No one objected.
Once the groups were squared away, James turned to his trus
ted advisors - Luis, Nolan, and Zi.
It was quiet for a moment, and then Luis arched his eyebrows and lifted his arms. “So, I guess no one is going to address the elephant in the room?” He pointed back in the direction of the barn. “We’ve got a piece of a nuclear bomb just sitting in the back of a truck trailer.” His eyes grew even wider. “A nuclear bomb.”
“We heard you the first time,” Zi said, crossing her arms, then looked to James. “Do you think they’ll come back for it?”
“If they don’t have a replacement, or if they think it will give away the rest of their plan, then they’ll come back for it,” James said, nodding as he came to the conclusion. “We need to be prepared for them if they do.”
“Prepared?” Luis asked. “James, we need to get rid of that thing. We don’t know where they plan on detonating, or if they have another one. Something like that goes off, and it completely changes the game. We can’t stick around if half of Texas is a radioactive wasteland.”
James understood the risks. But what the others didn’t know was the community of individuals that James had come to know as a prepper. There were others out there like him, and while he wasn’t sure they would help him, he had to try.
“There’s a man I know,” James said. “He doesn’t live too far from here. He’s a survivalist, he built a community off grid. I don’t know the exact location, but I know the general area.”
“Are you talking about Banks?” Luis asked. “That guy is just as likely to shoot you as he would help you.”
“If more of those people come back, then we need more people to fight them,” James said. “Banks is the closest thing to help we can get.”
“And why would he help us?” Luis asked.
“Because of what I can tell him,” James answered. “Because of what we found. It should buy us some good faith. I hope.”
