Monsters of the Apocalypse

by Rawlins, Jordan

  - Jacob Rothschild, "Thoughts on The Art of Ruling"

  Chapter 63

  ***

  Victor Moreno had nowhere else to run. He stood on the sand, the crest of the waves glowing eerily white behind him. The crashing of the waves was deafening this close and, had he had the breath left to scream, would have drowned him out. The mutant moved quickly over the sand and stood a few feet away from him, waiting for him to gather his breath.

  "Why don't you just kill me already? What are you waiting for?"

  "I wanted to allow you the time to make peace with whatever it is you believe in. To say a last thought or realization perhaps," the mutant hissed.

  "I don't believe in anything anymore. It's one of the things so cruel about what we did. We managed to make the world so strange and terrifying that you can't even believe your own eyes. As for last thoughts, who am I sharing them with? It's only the two of us here."

  "For some people it seems to make the next part easier."

  Victor Moreno laughed, his breath finally back, as he stood up straight and looked the mutant in the eye.

  "Nothing comes to mind that I could say that will make being eaten alive any easier."

  The mutant nodded and charged forward sinking his fangs into the man's throat until he heard a wet snap and felt the rush of hot blood burst into his mouth.

  The pitch black of the night hid the mutant as he walked back to his apartment, the head of Victor Moreno hanging limply in his hand. This had been the last of the list and thankfully the easiest. The man had died honorably. Not like that Dr. Taggert who had cried so much, begging. The mutant would try to remember to tell that to the big Indian and the small Asian woman when they brought him his cure, not that he thought it would do much good. How you die only matters when there's an audience to remember, otherwise, in the morning, you're just another severed head.

  Chapter 64

  ***

  It was the beginning of an army, which isn't an easy thing to see. It takes a special kind of eyes to see past a gang and see the seeds of an army. It takes a special kind of eyes to see past fear and anger and see the potential for focused violence and strategic attack. It takes a special kind of eyes to see past life and see the potential for death. Jacob had those kind of eyes.

  The core of the army was the remaining members of his Shadow Army. Fearsome looking during their human existence, their mutant forms were a level of nightmarish that was as effective a weapon as the fighting techniques they were teaching the new comers. Arian stood beside Jacob, watching as the training ran its course.

  "What is that? Spetsnaz?"

  "A little Spetsnaz, a little Jiu-Jitsu and of course some Apache…"

  "Our claws are too big to shoot a gun," Arian interrupted with a laugh. "We don't have drones, the Islanders do. So, your plan is to use martial arts to counteract that? Use our hands to defeat the Islanders? Is that it?"

  "No, no," Jacob nodded, "it's an issue of confidence. Soldiers only follow orders if they feel powerful. Fighting capabilities breed confidence and a feeling of power. We need them to follow orders. In truth, most wars are won before they're ever fought. The army with greater firepower and greater numbers wins nine times out of ten. The one time out of ten, if you read the history books, is generally accredited to one of three things: genius, innovation, or the hand of God. Of course it's the winners of wars who write that and winners are always reluctant to admit the debt they owe to betrayal, cheating and subterfuge."

  "Some would say that guns help, as well," Arian shrugged.

  "Fair point. I have a plan for that though."

  Arian nodded. His laptop made a quiet chime that indicated that a message had been returned. He opened the device and showed the screen to Jacob.

  "What does it say?"

  "Do you find that people have flavors, Arian? Do you find that a Chinese person tastes different than a Mexican person? That a Thai man and a Polish man blend into east-west fusion?"

  Arian turned away and stared down at the fledgling army, while Jacob chuckled.

  "That's funny," Arian sighed. "Very funny. Is there a reason why instead of answering me you're telling sick jokes?"

  "I don't know, Arian. Sometimes I look out on the army of mutants I am going to lead across the wasteland that is all that's left of humankind and its thousands of years of civilization, all the way to The Island where my contemporaries have created some sort of twisted utopia and I think, perhaps a joke would ease the tension."

  Arian turned back, glaring.

  "No? Oh okay, Arian. It said that the mutant we sent to The Island just ate my second cousin." Jacob burst into hysterics.

  Chapter 65

  ***

  "Mr. President, there's bad news."

  "When is there anything else? What now?"

  Miho handed him the read out.

  "All of them? You found all of their heads?! Where are their bodies?"

  "We suspect… eaten."

  "What do you mean eaten?! You mean there's a mutant on The Island?"

  "There have been cases of cannibalism known to mankind before The Shot. Perhaps there's just a cannibal on The Island, not a mutant."

  "You should work on your comforting skills, Miho."

  "That's not part of my job description, sir."

  "What does it mean? My uncle and his security guards, who happen to have been two of the more elite soldiers on the planet, are killed in the street by, what appears to be one man with a knife. And now, The Island's greatest code breaker and all of my carefully selected allies among the Founders have been eaten. What the hell is going on?!"

  Miho put an arm on the President's shoulder and steered him to the edge of his bed where he willingly sat down and stared at the screen mounted on the wall.

  "And this… this too… Nestor, turning my own people against me with his every step, but we can't kill him without everyone seeing it. A resistance of un-inoculated survivors we can't find! One hacker outpacing teams of computer specialists! Someone using our own satellite feed to pass secret messages! I don't know how Jacob has done this, I don't see how it's possible, but I also see no other possibility. We are defeated by Jacob, or some other unseen villain."

  He put his head into his hands and moaned. Miho waited a few moments for the sound to end and then sat down beside the President. He spread his fingers ever so slightly so that he could secretly glimpse her tan thigh.

  "If you're done declaring defeat, we should discuss options."

  "What options, Miho?"

  "Look at who is dead. Your allies. Everybody knows that these were your allies. Just last week Victor Moreno stood in front of the United States military and praised your tough leadership and now, he's dead. When people hear about this, no one in their right mind could look at this list of deaths and blame you. These murders hurt you, which means they were committed by an enemy. An enemy that can arrange for a mutant to be smuggled through security to the mainland. A powerful enemy."

  October raised his head from his hands, the curve of Miho's thigh briefly forgotten and stood up, his energy renewed and coursing through him.

  "Yes. But, which one? Any of the remaining Founders could manage it. They all have the sway and the motivation. Which one would actually do it, though?"

  "Alone? None. But together…"

  October spun and looked at Miho who smiled knowingly, her finger tapping the edge of her glowing tablet.

  "The Founders have brought a mutant to The Island? That's treason. The risk that poses to all of mankind is unfathomable."

  "Indeed. Treasonous. Punishable by death even."

  October reached out and finally regained his footing after placing his hand flat against the wall. He looked at the screen and for the first time he envied the simplicity of Nestor's world. The simplicity of the reflexive pull of a trigger that carried none of the nausea that planning a massacre brought with it.

  He took a few breaths until he had regained his stability and then stood
tall as he turned to Miho.

  "I am going to execute the remaining Founders. We will need to proceed carefully, publically, but we'll succeed and when we have… when we have…"

  "There will only be you, Mr. President."

  "There will only be me."

  Chapter 66

  ***

  Nestor had been walking for weeks. It had been a month since he'd left Bragg and the safe house. He hadn't seen anything alive in days. He smelled the fire hours before he was able to glimpse the last traces of smoke disappearing into the sickly night sky. He squatted down and scanned the edges of the horizon. He spat on the ground and felt the stubble on his chin. He glanced over his shoulder at the glow of a hidden sun rising. He moved forward slowly and stayed low to the ground.

  A dot appeared on the horizon, gaining form as he slowly approached. From this distance the figure was only definable from the dead trees around it by its occasional movement. Nestor waited, watching for signs of more living things. In time, he continued his approach.

  Having walked half of a mile he stopped and watched the man, still distant on the horizon and hoped he wouldn't have to kill him.

  Nestor took the last few steps slowly, his rifle in hand, but not pointed directly at the man who stood at the edge of a riverbank, staring, transfixed. When Nestor finally came to a stop, his eyes scanning his barren surroundings, he saw that the man was fidgeting and as he drew closer he could hear the man mumbling to himself.

  Nestor looked across the horizon, but saw no signs of ambush. Nestor spat on the ground. At this sound the man stiffened and slowly turned. Nestor raised his rifle, but upon seeing the fear in the man's eyes he lowered it slightly.

  "Oh, my God. Nestor Bravo. You're Nestor Bravo."

  Nestor continued his silent inspection of the small man.

  "You have to help me. I'm going to die if you don't. You have to help me."

  Chapter 67

  ***

  Jacob walked with his strolling gate up to the abandoned military base, spread out to his sides were five Shadow Army scouts. The rest of his Mutant Army waited. The posted signs warned of electrical currents and other threats now lost to history. Jacob studied the fence and could see no evidence that this location had been looted. There were craters on the other side of the fence where the vehicles the army had left behind had detonated. The closest hanger was nothing more than a bombed out skeleton.

  Silently appearing at his side one of the Indian scouts asked, "You sure there's anything here that still works?"

  "Oh, my friend, it's so easy to be pessimistic after the world ends. Lucky for you, I was born an unflappable optimist! There are things here. There are some things that can't be scavenged by humans."

  With one hand Jacob tore down the security fence. He pulled out one of the large cigars that he had found was the only form of tobacco his large immobile hand could manage. He chewed the cigar. At night the fire could be used, but during the day there was no easy way to light them.

  He continued his casual gate around the potholes and debris until he stood in the center of the Army hanger's skeleton. One of the main beams from the roof lay in front of him. With a nod, his scouts joined him and together, with effort, they managed to move it aside. Underneath, dented and dusty, was a metal door. Jacob ripped the locked door off the hinges and threw it over his shoulder. The scouts crowded around and looked down into the hidden bunker armory.

  "Those are beasts. What are they?"

  "Those," Jacob said, "are called M2 Browning Machine Guns. They used to mount them on ships and armored vehicles to shoot helicopters and tanks. These are specifically known as a "Hatchcock Specials" after the first guy to modify them with a pistol grip and scope. Of course, even he used a mount since it was far too heavy for him to hold up. He was only human."

  Chapter 68

  ***

  "What are you accusing us of, Mr. President?"

  "I'm accusing you of being in league with the mutants, was that not clear?"

  "How dare you?!" Chen Hintao screamed. "Our families were the main investors that allowed for there to be a place for mankind to live and survive! We created The Island! Without us all of mankind would be on the mainland dying out!"

  "Yes, but, you and your families are also all here and well, while your enemies are all dead. Your enemies were all eaten by a mutant. It doesn't take a genius to put this together. You rose up and challenged my authority and those who allied themselves with me, suffered tragic losses. Those allied with you, did not. Correct?"

  "Yes, but…"

  "But Nothing! You smuggled a mutant onto The Island. You put the whole of mankind's survival at risk for a petty grab at power. You betrayed humankind!"

  Silence rang across the hall. The people who gathered in the seats that surrounded the makeshift courtroom stared on in horror. October turned with a flourish, hands held wide. He passed his eyes over the assembled crowd. He stopped and looked into the camera lens below the small red light.

  "We didn't build a courthouse on The Island. We had thought there'd be no need. We wrote no laws, for the laws of The United States of America move with its people. They're in their hearts wherever fate takes them. We may not all agree on what's best for the people, but we all do agree on the importance of the people, of the survival of the people. I have had to make choices that have brought me to my knees, alone and tortured. For the good of my kind I put my soul at peril. Perhaps I shall not get it back, but such is the price of leadership in times like this. Before you, before us, stands a question of the greatest simplicity: what is to be done with those who put their own power above the survival of their own kind? What is to be done to the traitors in our midst?!"

  The chant started with the simple statement of one young and beautiful red-haired girl.

  "Hang them."

  When the chant had grown so loud that it rang out overwhelmingly like the roar of thunder, October turned and faced the last living Founders.

  "You won't get away with this, October," Anderson Vanderbilt shouted. "You're insane. The people will not let you have absolute power! They will revolt, they will rise up!"

  "No I think not, Anderson. I'm the one who's protecting them from mutants and traitors like you. They love me for it."

  "They tolerate you, October. It's Nestor that they love and no degree of cleverness can save you from the death he's bringing for you."

  October blinked twice to try and regain focus to his eyes. He felt his hands wrap around the fragileness of a human throat. He heard a gurgle that was silenced by a snap as his hands closed painfully around the neck. He felt the spray of blood hit his face and cover his hands. When October finally managed to focus his vision, he was looking at the dead face of Anderson Vanderbilt, his head tilted lamely to the side, his throat mangled and bloody, crushed by October shaking hands. The chant had grown into a bloodthirsty roar behind him. October dropped Vanderbilt as Flores grabbed him and moved him quickly through the crowd that swarmed forward to get to the Founders.

  The Founders screamed as the mob carried them outside.

  "I really think that speech was going pretty well there!" October shouted to Miho.

  "Yes, very presidential, sir!" she shouted back.

  "It kind of took a turn when I blacked out with rage and choked Vanderbilt to death."

  "Not quite as presidential, no," she agreed.

  The gallows had been built only a day earlier. The workmanship had been of quality though and when October arrived into the safety of the Presidential Mansion, he looked down from his office windows, down to Carnegie Way, where the crowd gathered around the hanging forms, dangling in the wind, of all who had stood beside him in the beginning.

  Chapter 69

  ***

  "How are you going to die exactly?" Nestor asked.

  "Well, there are mines. You can't see them, but they'll tear you in half. I've been walking slowly. I've been lucky. Then there are the mutant cannibals. I think it might be better on
that side of the river, but I can't tell how deep it is and I don't swim real good. Plus… I'm starving."

  "I'm sure you'll be fine. You've survived on your own this long."

  "No, I haven't. If you leave me here I'll die, Nestor."

  "How did you even get here if you're this incompetent? How are you not dead yet?" Nestor asked with growing suspicion.

  "I lived in an underground city."

  "Why'd you leave?"

  "I had to. I was… they were going to kill me."

  "Why?"

  "I slept with the wrong woman."

  "Ah. Things never change, huh?"

  The man scrunched his face in disbelief and glanced at the endless wasteland around them.

  "They sort of change."

  "Well, look, I know Bragg, and I'm sure that he'll let you return to your city," Nestor shrugged.

  "The city isn't affiliated with Bragg."

  "How does it survive then? Why don't the mutants get in there?"

  "There's an agreement. They…" the man seemed to struggle with whether or not to say the next thing.

  Nestor scanned the horizon again; they still seemed to be alone. He pulled his handgun and pointed it at the man’s head.

  "Please don’t do that."

  "What's the agreement?"

  "Could you put down the gun?"

  "No."

  "Fine. A member of the town hacked your feed. If it wasn’t for him, only the government could watch this right here, but, he hacked it, so everyone can watch you kill me."

  "And the mutants are grateful?"

  "Something like that."

  "And The Island, why doesn't The Island bomb it?"

  "Did you ever hear about the tunnels under the Denver Airport? The ones where the reptilian overlords live?"