Apocalypse Austin

by David VanDyke

  A small group of survivors had gathered around Toombs. The armored vehicles stopped, not firing, clearly knowing their heavy weapons would blow holes in the valuable fuel tanks. Instead, ramps dropped from the rear of each. Fireteams of infantry deployed and made ready to advance against those Edens remaining. More parachute flares flew upward into the night, lighting the scene with harsh radiance.

  “What’s Toombs doing?” asked Rachel. “He should run for the woods!”

  Anson saw Toombs leaning against one of the trucks, wounded. Three Edens fired their rifles at the advancing infantry, who didn’t yet fire back. “No time. We don’t have radio detonators. He was supposed to use the wire spool, but…”

  Toombs pulled the detonator close to his chest and flipped the switch.

  A huge fireball erupted into the sky, casting gigantic shadows in all directions. Toombs and the Edens vanished, obliterated. The enemy infantry was blown backward, sheets of flame washing over them. Anson wanted to vomit as some stumbled backward, covered in fuel, burning alive.

  Rachel hissed, “We have to get out of here. There’s nothing we can do for them.”

  Anson wanted to argue with her, but couldn’t. Even if any Eden were left alive down there, they’d be captured. His squad’s only hope was to run. “Yes, fall back to the rally point. Prepare for a forced march.”

  Did this prove Edens could make good troops? Not just a few special ones, but any kid off the street, given the proper training? At best, only eleven of us will survive this mission. Did we make a difference? Was it worth it, losing twenty-three good men and women?

  Anson pushed those painful thoughts aside. Time enough to second-guess himself later.

  For now, they had to run.

  Chapter 23

  Reaper awoke, coughing and disoriented, to find herself looking up into the sky from within a vast open pit.

  “I think she’s waking up,” said a voice.

  “Water,” Reaper rasped, feeling as if her vocal cords had been sandpapered.

  A small cup was pressed against her lips and she drank eagerly until it was gone. “More,” she said her voice stronger.

  “I’m afraid that’s all we have,” Hawkeye said.

  Rubbing the remnants of unconsciousness from her eyes, she looked at her team gathered around her. Hawkeye and Flyboy leaned toward her while Livewire knelt over the huge prostrate form of Hulk and the smaller one of Shortfuse. Bunny and Tarzan stood nearby, as if they were guarding their little section of rocky ground.

  “Where the hell are we?” Reaper asked, struggling to sit up.

  “Hell is pretty close. Best we can tell, an old copper mine,” said Flyboy. “I visited the one in Bisbee, Arizona when I was a child and this looks the same. Not as big.”

  The pit could have easily contained a football stadium. Sheer orange rock walls rose upward for hundreds of feet. Only one winding road spiraled its way around the wall until it reached the top. There, Reaper could see a fenced gate and a building. A dozen more guard towers dotted the rim of the depression.

  “Our new home for a while, it appears,” said Hawkeye.

  Reaper gazed out over the ground and saw hundreds of ragged, dirty, thin men, women, and children. They clustered around tiny pools of bilious water. “Let me guess. An Eden camp.”

  Flyboy grunted. “Worse yet, I suspect this is simply a place to put Edens until they conveniently die. It’s a death camp.”

  Hawkeye scowled at the scene. “It makes a brutal sort of sense. It’s a maximum security prison at minimum cost. Only a few guards at the top can keep everyone bottled in. Don’t even have to feed them.”

  “No food?” Reaper asked.

  Flyboy shook his head. “We talked to some who have been here for almost a month. The only water they get is from dew and rain. The only food is the occasional bird or rodent they catch. Except when someone dies.”

  “Cannibalism?”

  Hawkeye’s jaw tightened. “The guards don’t even have to worry about bodies or evidence. A thousand starving Edens take care of it, immediately. I imagine the meat’s much better when fresh, and they can’t afford to lose the fluids.”

  “Sickening.”

  “Don’t be too quick to judge,” said Bunny. “We stay here long enough, who knows what we’ll resort to? The drive to survive is mighty powerful.”

  “I vote we eat Hulk first,” said Tarzan.

  “He'll be tough and stringy,” Bunny replied.

  “You look tender,” Flyboy said with a tired leer.

  “Anyone get interrogated?” Reaper asked.

  Hawkeye nodded, pointing to a yellow bruise on the side of his own head, and then at Hulk and Shortfuse lying on the ground. “Everyone except you, Shortfuse and Hulk. It was pretty short. No one said anything, though. We stuck with the cover story and they bought it.”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “Shortfuse will be fine. He woke up before you, took some water, and went back to sleep. Hulk is in worse shape. Fought the Border Patrol agents after they got rough with him. They shot him eight or ten times with live rounds. Lucky they didn’t kill him.”

  “Damn maniac.” Reaper forced protesting legs to work as she made her way over to Hulk. “How is he?”

  Flyboy looked at her critically before turning back to the gaunt giant before him. “Most of his wounds are nearly healed, but he’s slipped into a coma from lack of calories.”

  “Will he be okay?”

  “That depends. He’s in no immediate danger. A coma is a very efficient way to stay alive while consuming a minimal amount of calories. As a matter of fact, he may fare better than us, but we’ll need to keep him hydrated. Bastards took everything, or I’d rig up a drip.”

  “They even stole my lucky elephant hair bracelet,” Tarzan said.

  “I think we can safely agree that it wasn’t lucky after all,” said Hawkeye.

  “Or,” Tarzan countered, “we’re in this spot because I no longer have it. Did you ever think about that?”

  “I think if I had an elephant hair anything right now, I’d try to eat it,” Bunny said.

  Reaper looked out over the camp. “We’ve got to get some food, water, or both. Has any type of camp or gang boss approached us yet?”

  “Yeah,” said Bunny. “We faced off against a large group about an hour ago, but as they’re far weaker than we are, they let us be after a little posturing.”

  Hawkeye snorted. “Eden gangs aren’t that intimidating anyway. They have to have a good reason to overcome their aversion to violence. I think they were more curious than anything.”

  “What did they want?” asked Reaper.

  Hawkeye snorted. “Welcome to the neighborhood. Now give us your food. But we didn’t have any.”

  Tarzan looked around at the masses of skeletal wraiths. “It takes Edens less time to die of starvation than non-Edens, but we’re still looking at weeks of misery if we don’t get out of here.”

  Reaper stared at the guards at the end of the road. “That doesn’t look likely. Think we could rush them, get through, if we organized everyone?”

  “Like the Ethiopians at Mega Mountain?”

  “Yeah.”

  Hawkeye narrowed his eyes. “It would be ugly, but it’s our best play as I see it. Wait until everyone has recovered, but not lost too much strength. Organize a mass rush. The key is talking all the Edens into joining us. They have nothing to lose, but it’s hard to convince people of that as long as they have some kind of hope.”

  “What about the walls?” Reaper asked Tarzan. “You’re a rock climber. Could you get up there?”

  “It’s not impossible. But those are sheer granite walls. This wasn’t a copper mine like Flyboy thinks; this was a quarry. They likely cut out stones for use in construction.”

  “But can you climb it?” Reaper asked.

  “I can climb butter-covered sheet metal,” said Tarzan.

  “Then why haven’t you already?” asked Bunny.


  “Jeez, dude, the worse things get, the more of a smartass you are.”

  Bunny pouted. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me ‘dude’?”

  “The climbing,” Reaper snarled, shooting Bunny a warning look.

  “Dude, if I start now, a guard’s gonna shoot at me. That means waiting until nightfall and climbing in the dark by feel. But even if I can do it, the rest of you can’t.” He held up his fingers and made them like claws. “Takes years to build up this kind of hand strength.”

  Livewire cleared his throat for attention. “I hate to say it, but it may come down to deciding how many of us are going to die, or at least how. I’m not a pessimist by nature, but this is a tight spot and all the ways out seem like long shots.”

  “Any chance of a rescue?” Bunny asked Reaper.

  Reaper shook her head. “This is a covert op, and the first rule of covert ops is, you’re on your own. The Free Communities can’t afford to be openly affiliated with an attack on a U.S. facility. That’s the sort of thing that could start a war between the U.S. and the F.C. Besides, we don’t even know where we are. How would anyone else?”

  The team sat in silence for long minutes, pressing themselves close to the rock wall for its slight shade and coolness.

  “Granite’s not the only thing here,” said Shortfuse abruptly. He climbed to his feet and began to examine some of the boulders here and there. He scraped at them, sniffing and tasting his fingertips. “See these yellowish streaks in the stone?”

  “Yeah,” said Tarzan. “So?”

  “It’s sulfur.”

  “I don’t smell sulfur,” said Bunny.

  “Only impure sulfur has an odor. This is pure sulfur crystal. Odorless.”

  “That’s great,” said Flyboy. “I love geology as much as the next person, but can we get back to talking about our limited choices on how to die?”

  Shortfuse’s face took on an intense look, along with a slight smile. “You get me enough pure sulfur and urea nitrate, and I can make something that goes boom.”

  Everyone stopped talking and looked at him.

  “Are you serious?” asked Bunny.

  Shortfuse shrugged. “Sure. The trick will be getting enough urea nitrate.”

  “How do we do that?” asked Flyboy. “Also, what is urea nitrate?”

  “It’s something that’s left after urine dries.”

  “Do you have any idea how much urine you’ll need for that?” asked Livewire. “Even after the liquid evaporates and you’re left with the nitrates, you’ll only get a miniscule amount.”

  Shortfuse smiled, pointing at the populace. “Fortunately, we have hundreds of bored people who piss every day. Also, since everyone is dehydrated, it will be easier to evaporate and collect what’s left.”

  Bunny made a face. “So we need to get everyone to piss in the same spot – where, on a flat rock? And then scrape up what’s left after it evaporates?”

  “That’s pretty much it,” said Shortfuse.

  They looked at each other in awkward silence.

  Hawkeye raised his hand. “Who else votes for Tarzan trying to climb the wall at night?”

  Three hands shot up.

  Chapter 24

  Sergeant Major Silas Crouch’s hands shook as he looked over the stack of award recommendations. He hadn’t even known the Texas State Guard had a special Eden detachment, much less that it had been sent on a near-suicide mission across the border.

  He scanned the folders again and was appalled at the number of posthumous award recommendations. Only the detachment’s commander was over twenty years old. Another phrase jumped out at him: bodies unrecoverable. That meant of the two dozen reported missing in action, some of them might still be alive. In the heat of battle, especially in one like this where they had to retreat in a hurry, soldiers often assumed what they needed to assume. Some of these posthumous award recommendations could be for people left behind.

  It wasn’t a completely unthinkable scenario, especially when dealing with Edens.

  Silas forced himself to take a deep breath and read through the reports again. It wasn’t just the stupidity of the mission and its lack of support, but that the Texas State Guard had sent so many newly trained youngsters to perform a task fit only for highly trained and experienced commandos.

  The military jargon phrases were clichéd, telling a story to those who could read between the lines. Accomplished mission against overwhelming odds...sacrificed herself so that others could live...fought valiantly until overcome by enemy fire...refused to surrender...successfully evaded through enemy territory...continued to fight...willingly assumed command...

  Silas froze on this last award recommendation. The name. Anson. Anson Crouch. The age was right.

  Thankfully he was sitting down as the strength left his legs.

  Could it be? he wondered. After all this time, thinking Anson and Kevin were lost? Here, after joining that forlorn hope of an Arkansas Free State, he’d joined another forlorn hope?

  “Probably a coincidence,” he surprised himself by saying out loud. He wanted too much to believe. What parent wouldn’t? Believing this could be his lost son was a forlorn hope all its own.

  Gathering the paperwork, Silas shoved it back into the large binder and marched down the hallway to General McAllister’s office. As he walked, he thought about all those dead teenagers and his anger burned anew.

  What a senseless, stupid loss.

  The general’s aide turned as he saw where Silas was going and called out, “Sergeant Major, the general’s resting right now. He didn’t get back from Amarillo until late last night.”

  “Then I’ll be kind enough to wake him. Be sure we are not interrupted.”

  He opened the door and saw McAllister asleep on his couch, his boots off but still in uniform, a blanket covering part of his body. He almost hesitated, but then slammed the door.

  The general popped half up off the sofa, disoriented. “What? What is it?”

  Crouch’s voice edged toward bitter sarcasm. “It’s just a little thing, General. Just a handful of soldiers lost. Nothing to really worry about. I mean, who cares about a few Eden children sent to their deaths?”

  McAllister sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Silas, what are you talking about?”

  “Twenty-one dead, general. Only one old enough to drink whiskey, for God’s sake, and some were so young I’m not even sure how they were allowed to join.”

  McAllister pulled on his boots, lacing them up firmly. “We’re losing people by the dozen every day, Sergeant Major, and as soon as the ground war starts, we’ll lose thousands. Why are these special?”

  Silas slapped the binder down on the coffee table. “Stupidity. Arrogance. Waste. Loss. All for nothing. Sending the young to slaughter. Unsupported and minimally trained.”

  The general put on his reading glasses and looked at the reports. “Ah, yes, I heard about this last night. Losing people is terrible, but it’s a part of our business. I wouldn’t say it was all for nothing. They did destroy the FARP.”

  Silas’ fists clenched. “How could you have approved this? If it’s that important, send special operators. Send attack aircraft. Hell, send me if you want, but don’t send the Texas State Guard and especially not some underage suicide Eden unit they cooked up.”

  “You need to calm down and look at this rationally. First of all, the Texas State Guard is filled with capable soldiers. Second, we’re fighting for our lives here and have to make tough decisions. Finally, you talk as if I cooked this thing up myself and waved goodbye to them at the border.”

  Silas looking at him closely. “Are you telling me you didn’t know about this?”

  “Of course not. Colonels plan missions like this, or even captains, not generals.”

  “So you’re saying a covert assault across our national boundaries, before the war has even started, isn’t something that you want to know about?”

  “The war started when the U.S. bombed our petroleum f
acilities, and when we sent two dozen ships to the bottom.”

  “I want someone held responsible.”

  The general’s face hardened. “I’ll look into it. That’s as much as you’re going to get out of me right now.”

  “Then give me a transfer. Send me to a combat unit so I can tell myself the lie that my leadership has some integrity left.”

  “What’s got you so riled up, Silas? You’ve seen death and tragedy before. Things go wrong. People make stupid decisions. It happens.” He picked up the folder and flipped through it, and then froze with one paper in his hands. He looked at Silas’ pained face with wide eyes. “Anson Crouch? Your son?”

  Silas turned away to look out the window. “It can’t be him. Probably lots of people with that same name.”

  “Well, at least I understand why you’re taking this so personal.”

  Crouch turned toward him. “I’d take it personal even if one of them didn’t have my lost son’s name. Every single one of those boys and girls is someone’s son or daughter or brother or sister.”

  McAllister glanced through the folder. “They didn’t recover the bodies?”

  “No.”

  “So some could still be alive. We’ll wait a bit before notifying next of kin.”

  “We’re not covering this up.”

  McAllister’s eyes narrowed. “Of course not, Sergeant Major. I just don’t want to make more mistakes. When the time comes, I’ll talk to them personally. I can’t fix this mistake, but I’ll do my best to tell everyone they didn’t die in vain. And you’ll help me do that.”

  Sergeant Major Crouch had to push aside a vision of his son before it overwhelmed him. “Yes, sir, I will.”

  Chapter 25

  “How long until we have more warheads ready?” asked Prudence Layfield, a sharp edge in her voice.

  Alana Cantrell didn’t seem intimidated by her new boss. Although her expertise lay in petroleum, these days Layfield expected her to know everything about everything, including nuclear weapons. “Unless we use ICBMs – and the President is standing firm against that – ten weeks at least, maybe twelve, to adapt more warheads for attachment to the precision guided munitions. Even then, they may not work. If you want something right away, the best option is to use standard air-dropped bombs. However, even if our bombers can reach their targets, the yield is too large to call them tactical.”