His father threw his hands down at his sides and stood there resigned.
“And by the way,” Carl continued, changing the subject, “at what point did you start living like this? Pete didn’t tell me anything about this.”
Barry looked sheepish. “He didn’t want you to worry.”
“Come on, Dad. You’ve got to start taking better care of yourself. Let me help you clean up. Then we’re going to go out for lunch. My treat, of course.”
Carl began to help his father clean up the kitchen and then the living room. It was such a herculean task that Carl sent out for lunch, and they went out to dinner later that evening.
Carl recognized that Fiona was right. It did feel good to see his father. His dad needed him. He’d never understand what Carl had been through or why Peter died, but Carl needed to be a son to his father.
He’d have all the time in the world to be a fearless warrior on the battlefield. But being with his father reminded him of what he was doing it all for, and his resolve grew even stronger.
***
Somewhere in Mexico
A man sat alone in the dark, hands tightly bound behind his back, drenched with sweat, with a burlap sack over his head. He found it difficult to breathe, his hot, uneven breath hitting the inside of the burlap and bouncing back on his face, smothering him.
If the Navajas had wanted him dead, he would have been dead already. They were keeping him alive, but to what purpose he was not certain. He had been moved around, dragged in and out of vehicles blindly. There had been no contact since he had been taken, save for an occasional sip of water in the dark. But whatever it was, he was resolved not to cooperate, even if it meant his demise.
He heard a door open and footsteps in the dirt. He braced himself for whatever was coming. He was forcibly bent forward at the waist so that the person was able to grab him by his bindings and hoist him up. He rose to his feet with a grunt of pain and was shoved forward, stumbling as he went.
They left whatever structure he was being kept in, because sunlight began to penetrate the gaps in the burlap and he began to hear the ambient sounds of the outdoors. After a few minutes of being led blindly, his captor yanked him to a halt by his bindings, and he stood there waiting for whatever was in store for him. He whispered a silent prayer for the strength to resist whatever came next.
After standing for some indeterminate amount of time waiting, he heard multiple sets of footsteps approach. The burlap sack was yanked off of his head. As sunlight flooded his vision, he struggled to make out his surroundings.
He was correct in concluding that he was outside. He was in a sizable clearing, about the size of a football field, with lush vegetation surrounding it. There were men in tattered black outfits, approximately sixty of them, standing motionless at attention.
They looked like soldiers, but as his eyes adjusted he saw that they were not human, and they were not standing at attention…they were completely still. The commander of this outfit, a Navajas, approached him accompanied by a smaller man. The commander began to bark at him in Spanish. A heartbeat delayed, the smaller man began to translate.
“You will help us to use these monsters. You will teach us how to make them follow commands. You will teach us how to control them. You will teach us how to make them kill. If you do not, you will be tortured.”
Although the smaller man was translating, the prisoner never took his eyes off the Navajas commander. He hesitated, gathering saliva in his mouth, and spat on the ground, spraying the commander’s boots. The commander sneered, baring yellow teeth, and struck him hard on the side of his head, catching his ear. The ringing was so loud that he could not hear what the translator said next.
The translator apparently realized this and began to speak in hushed tones to the commander. The commander nodded. The man who dragged the prisoner out shoved him forward towards the decrepit men in black standing in rows.
The prisoner was guided right up to one in the front row and was shoved face-to-face with it. It had no breath, but a stench emanated from its mouth that nearly made him lose his lunch.
He was then pulled away, and again the commander barked at him. The smaller man translated. “You will teach us, or we will feed you to this one piece by piece, and you will watch as it feeds on your appendages.”
Shit, these guys weren’t playing around. The prisoner shrugged. “I don’t even know what these things are. How the hell am I supposed to teach you how to use them?”
The small man translated back to the commander, who shook his head in defiance. Then he got in his face and shouted, covering the man’s face with spittle.
“He says that you will teach his men, or he will start by feeding the monster your…manhood.”
Certainly not the way he wanted to go. He was thinking of something like a decapitation, or being shot in the back of the head. Maybe there was another way out of this, a way that if he was going to die he could take as many of these bastards with him.
He smiled wryly. “When do I start?”
The commander, upon hearing the translation, smiled triumphantly. He signaled to another man, who handed a small apparatus to the prisoner. The prisoner looked down and saw a remote control with a button. He held it up towards the monsters standing in rows and pressed the button. They began to move forward, reaching out for the commander and his little translator.
The translator shouted, “Stop!” The commander backed away behind his translator, training his gun on the prisoner and shouting in Spanish.
The prisoner smiled defiantly, “Go ahead and shoot me. You won’t escape.”
“We have someone important to you,” shouted the translator.
This got the prisoner’s attention. What did they have up their sleeves now? He had a feeling he knew, but he hoped he was wrong. “Prove it.”
The translator took out his Mini-com, activated the video feature, and tossed it to the prisoner. The prisoner looked down at the screen, and his face went white.
The monsters were closing in on the commander, who now had his handgun trained on them. The prisoner pressed the button, and the monsters came to a stop. He was furious as he looked down at the Mini-com screen. They weren’t bluffing.
“Do you see that monster standing over him in the wedding dress?” the translator gloated. “We will feed him to it, and you will watch.”
“And what makes me think you won’t harm him if I do what you ask?” the prisoner asked through gritted teeth.
“He will die quickly, senor…” the man looked at his rank on his uniform, “…Lieutenant. But if you don’t, his death will be slow and painful.”
Peter Birdsall looked down at the screen, as if one more look would reveal that the scene depicted was not real. He looked around to see if he could figure out where they were keeping Carl. They had him by the short hairs…for now.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
The video was looped, which suggested that the footage was not current. Carl was probably dead. But he would bide his time and discover the truth of all of this. And then he would catch these bastards off guard and turn the drones on them. For some unknown reason God had given him nine lives, not that he felt he deserved it. But he’d keep on keeping on…for Carl.
Chapter 18
Carl returned from his visit with his father refreshed and energized. He submitted to the neurological testing that Captain London ordered.
He lay down and was pulled into the MRI. It was tight, reminding him of a coffin, but he wasn’t dead yet. The sensation caused him mild discomfort, but it quickly passed.
The voice of the technician talked into his ear. “We are going to begin. It should take approximately twenty minutes. Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now remember, it is important that you do not move.”
“Okay.”
Within seconds, the machine began to bang all around him. It began with a series of five bangs and then six clicks, five bangs and six clicks, an
d on and on. He closed his eyes, hoping the time would pass quickly.
The sequence of bangs and clicks eventually turned into a rat-tat-tat, like the sound of a machine gun. With his eyes closed, scenes of Tijuana and Xcaret flooded into his mind.
He saw Peter firing his gun in training, and then he saw him one last time before entering the ventilation shaft. He heard the yelling and gunfire of the terrorists by the Convention Center.
When he was pulled out of the MRI, he was rigid and pale as a ghost.
“We’re done. Are you alright, sir?”
Carl sat up and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
He picked up with the training exercises. Another week passed, and they had mastered live insurgents and surprise attacks, moving targets, and cave extractions. In fact, the extractions became simpler as the ID simply followed Carl out of the simulated “caves” like he was the Pied Piper and kindly collected themselves back into their crate.
Carl found himself back in Major Lewis’ office making quite the unusual request.
“You want to do what?” Major Lewis gasped.
“I want the ID to come from the bodies of victims from the terrorist attacks.”
“You must be…do you know how difficult…we can’t just ask their families for their bodies,” Major Lewis said horrified.
“Any organ donors?”
“Organ donors. Captain, what you are talking about is a little more than organ donation.”
“Well, where do we get these bodies from, anyway?”
“That’s classified.”
Carl sat forward menacingly. “Did you forget our arrangement?”
“Listen, I can’t tell you everything.”
“Try me.”
“Let’s just say that some of them are our citizens. Some are bodies presumed missing from the rubble of past attacks. Some are the bodies of indigents without any family.”
“So bodies can be exposed to the virus posthumously. And the rest?”
“Remember when the Camp X-Ray of the Guantanamo Bay holding facility was shut down?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let’s just say that it never really shut down.”
Carl sat back and smiled widely, barely hiding his amusement. “So you mean to tell me that we’re training the corpses of terrorists to hunt their own down?”
Major Lewis nodded.
“I love it!” Carl laughed. “This’ll be another great PR piece when it goes public.”
“Public? I don’t know if it can ever go public.”
“Trust me, after we hit the caves of Afghanistan without expending American lives and bring back the heads of dozens of those tunnel rats cowering in the mountains, the public will be behind us every step of the way. Maybe not the bleeding hearts, but most everyone else.”
“Captain Birdsall, I don’t know if there is a right way to spin all of this, even with good results.”
Carl was losing patience. “Then why the hell did you get involved with this, anyway? To turn the tables. This isn’t like dropping the A-bomb on soft targets. You don’t get any more precise than what we’re doing. We’re not raiding villages, raping women, and looting. We’re going into the caves, away from any innocents. Sure, it’s ugly. But we’re talking about terrorists. Political correctness is wavering, and the world is finally trying to find a way to deal with them.”
“I know. This is what we’ve been working towards. But when you talk about bringing back heads and then publicizing it all…”
“No mercy. They don’t show us any mercy. Shit, they’re hitting soft targets. Not us.”
“I know. I know. You’re preaching to the choir. But the public…the media won’t be won over so easily. Let’s run our first mission in Afghanistan, see how it goes.”
“My men are almost ready. We don’t have any of the old problems with the humpers.”
“But there’s your…ability.”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“We haven’t done enough testing. We don’t even know if it’s stable.”
“What do you mean stable? Of course it’s stable. Why wouldn’t it be stable?”
“How are you so certain that it is stable? Do you even know how you are doing it?”
Carl shrugged it off.
“You shouldn’t be so glib about it, Captain. What if we sent you into combat based on all of your training with your ability, and then it stops or wears off? American soldiers can get hurt.”
Carl couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This “ability” was exactly the break they were waiting for, and now this bureaucrat wanted to wait some more. “This is our chance! What if it does wear off? My men are prepared just in case. We still have the AI kill switches. We still have all of the safety measures in place.”
“We just need to tread carefully.”
“We need to mobilize soon. How many more attacks on soft targets on U.S. soil do we have to endure before we strike back?”
Major Lewis knew the kid was right. This was why he got involved with the ID Program in the first place. They had come so far, there was no turning back now, and he knew it.
“We will mobilize soon. Work out all of the bugs. Get your platoon in tiptop shape. We won’t have a second chance. Xcaret almost shut us down permanently.”
“Xcaret won’t happen again,” Carl snapped. “We have good men this time. I chose them, not you.”
Despite the major breach in protocol in addressing a superior officer, Major Lewis let it slide. The kid was their best chance at implementing the program, and he was right.
“Dismissed, Captain Birdsall.”
Carl stood up, saluted, and left Lewis’ office all charged up. Major Lewis had to admit that the kid got him all fired up as well. Not only had he gotten the platoon functioning at an optimal level, but Carl and his ability was beginning to become the stuff of legend.
All of the other men looked up to him. They both admired and feared his leadership with the men and the ID. There was a new energy disseminating amongst the ranks, and for once, soldiers were beginning to believe that they might actually win this war.
The man was fierce, determined, and had a good command over his platoon. He inspired confidence and boosted morale. For such a young man he was a natural born leader.
Major Lewis was jarred from his private reverie by a call from Captain London. “Yes, Captain. What can I do for you?”
“I’m holding the results of Captain Birdsall’s MRI.”
“How does it look?”
“I think we should meet in person, sir.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
Captain London was hesitant on the other line. “Would you like me to come to your office, sir?”
“No, Captain, I’ll come to you. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Very good, sir.”
He terminated the call. What could the MRI have shown that she was unwilling to discuss over the phone? He got up from his chair, straightened his uniform, and left his office, telling Mary that he would be at Captain London’s office on his way out.
***
“He has a tumor?” Major Lewis asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” replied Captain London, “in his temporal lobe. It’s quite large and extensively vascular.”
“So it would be difficult to excise via surgery?”
“Yes, Major, quite. But it’s pressing on his brain, particularly in areas heavily involved in speech and hearing.”
Major Lewis looked perplexed. “But his speech and hearing seem unaffected. I just had him in my office a few minutes ago.”
Captain London was reluctant to offer her explanation, which only exasperated Major Lewis.
“Oh, out with it, Captain. We’re talking about anti-terrorist zombies and a man who seems to control them with his mind. Nothing will shock me at this point.”
“Okay. Well, just because the tumor hasn’t detracted from his speech and hearing doesn’t mean that it hasn’t affected it.”
“You mean you think there’s a possibility that the tumor is enhancing his speech and hearing?”
“Think about it, Major. It makes sense. Maybe he can hear the ID, in an extra-sensory way, and perhaps he can communicate back with them using a similar pathway.”
“Jesus. You mean this large tumor allows him to talk to them? Is it dangerous? The tumor, I mean?”
“Yes. The neurologist states that it’s at an advanced stage of growth, and there’d be a significant risk in removing it.”
“And if it were to be removed, would he lose his ability to communicate with the ID?”
“Most likely, sir.”
Major Lewis appeared deep in thought, and Captain London thought she knew the direction his thoughts were taking. But little did she know that this was news to his ears.
“We have to tell him, sir.”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose we do.”
“He’ll have to decide whether or not to operate once he’s been given all of the facts.”
“I’d like to be present during this meeting with Captain Birdsall.”
Captain London knew this was a bad idea the moment she heard it. She knew that he was going to try to discourage Carl from consenting to operate on the tumor.
But, unbeknownst to her, Major Lewis’ motives were two-fold. True, the ID Program would certainly benefit from Carl’s ability to control the ID. But the prospect of Carl’s premature death meant that there would be no one else who knew of Major Lewis’ scandalous involvement with the Navajas. Carl would take it to his grave, and Major Lewis would be free from Carl’s constant threats of turning the ID on him.
“Sir, I don’t know if…”
“Are you refusing a commanding officer, Captain London?”
“No. No, sir. Of course not.”
“I also want this information to be kept confidential. If Captain Birdsall declines surgery, we don’t want to dissolve the mystique that his ability has cultivated around him. The program and morale would surely suffer.”
I Am Automaton Page 24
