The Alpha Chronicles

by Joe Nobody

  Diana nodded, “I’m on it,” and then hustled off to organize some men.

  Just as Nick turned to see how the small hoses were doing, a man raced toward Nick, grabbing him in a panic. “There are people in the second home. I just talked to the neighbors, and they’re sure. At least two adults and one child.”

  “Are you sure? How can anyone be sure?”

  “The neighbors and I have looked all around for them. I’ve circled the house twice and asked everyone. They have to be inside.”

  “Shit!”

  Nick ran to the golf cart where he knew Diana kept a blanket. Being cold natured, she often wrapped herself in the spread while riding in the open-air vehicle at night. Rushing back with the quilted wool cover, he approached one of the men using a hose and yelled, “Soak me!”

  “What?” responded the surprised man.

  “I said, ‘SOAK ME!’ Spray me down with your hose. I’m going inside. Spray down the blanket, too!”

  Shrugging his shoulders, the man turned the water on Nick and began drenching the big fellow from head to toe. While Nick was receiving his shower, Diana realized what he was going to do and scurried over.

  “What are you doing? You’re not going in that house, Nick!”

  “There are people inside, and I have to try and get them out. I need an axe or crowbar or something heavy.”

  “I’ve got a big axe in my garage,” offered the man operating the hose.

  “Get it, please, and hurry.”

  Handing off his hose to Diana, the gent hustled off.

  Nick, now dripping wet, pointed to the blanket lying on the ground and instructed, “Soak that, too. I’m going to use it as a cocoon.”

  Diana could tell there was no talking him out of it. Shaking her head in disgust, she redirected the water. While Diana worked the hose, Nick ran dripping back to the cart and began digging around in his chest rig. He found his goggles, gloves, and baklava mask, quickly pulling the gear on.

  By the time he returned, the axe owner was back, and the blanket was ready.

  Nick looked like some sort of robotic mass murderer as he approached the burning home. With the pickaxe on his shoulder, blanket hood, and only a goggle-covered, masked face visible, Diana wondered if he wouldn’t scare the occupants to death before the fire could overwhelm them.

  One kick from his size 14 boot made short work of the door, the breech greeted by a new column of dark, toxic smoke rolling from the top of the threshold. Stay low, he reminded himself. Heat rises, and the poisonous air will go with it.

  The living room was dense with confused clouds of brown and black haze. Nick dropped to his knees, the blanket-shield making it difficult to crawl. He guessed the layout of the two-story home would position the master bedroom on the first floor, the child’s room above.

  Deciding to bend low at the waist rather than crawl, he could see flames spreading through the kitchen area and the back of the house. Despite his wrapping of wet cloth, the heat was intense. The rapidly spreading blaze suddenly illuminated the staircase, and Nick headed that way. His passage was blocked by a completely engulfed china cabinet that had collapsed across the hall, two of its legs weakened from incineration. Using the axe with one hand, he quickly splintered the blockage and then hopped over the smoldering remains.

  He passed the door to the master bedroom on the way to the stairs. Peering inside, the smoke cleared just enough to make out the outline of at least one person lying in the bed. The curtains and part of the carpeting were already fueling the fiery beast, and visibility was degrading by the second.

  Nick leaned the axe against the wall and moved to the bed. A man, probably in his early 30s, was lying in the hazy air, his mouth wide open as if grasping for breath. Nick pulled back the covers and watched for a moment, relieved when the fellow’s chest shuddered with a weak inhalation.

  Nick scooped up the man, effortlessly tossing the unresponsive body over his shoulder. His intent was to return to the front door, but the living room ceiling was now engulfed and sagging. Turning back, he realized the back door leading from the kitchen was an inferno and impassable.

  Using his left hand while holding onto his limp cargo with his right, Nick swung the blade hard at the bedroom window. The glass gave way without any problem, the remaining shards removed with a few circles of the axe head.

  Nick started to climb out with his survivor, but a thundering collapse sounded behind him. Realizing he wasn’t going to be able to climb the stairs if he waited much longer, Nick lowered the rescued body out the window as far as he could and then flung it with a heave. The man landed with a thud, but Nick was sure the guy would prefer sore to dead.

  Nick turned to find the firestorm had fully invaded the bedroom and was blocking his exit. The now open window was a magnet for the smoke, which blocked everything from view except the red-hot flames sprouting through the poisonous fog. Twisting low to the opening, he took two breaths of the cleanest air available and then held a final lung full.

  Charging like a linebacker, Nick entered the inferno moving as if he were being chased by hell’s hounds. It was only a few steps to the stairs, but those were some of the most frightening footfalls he could ever remember. Red embers filled the air, competing with hot whisks of fumes and boiling, angry spouts of flame. Foul, sulfuric-thick vapors swirled around his head, the venomous clouds riding the thermals generated by the incineration of tinder. By the time he reached the bottom step, his blanket was steaming, and he could sense the heat through the soles of his boots.

  Taking the steps two at a time, Nick found himself in even denser haze. Going prone, he could barely detect four doors surrounding the small landing. Picking the closest one, he again held his breath and found the knob, feeling for the latch more from memory than being able to see in the dense, toxic fog.

  The door yielded, but inside was a bathroom empty of inhabitants. As the smoke hadn’t filled the room just yet, Nick took the opportunity to exchange the air in his lungs, the effort burning his throat and filling his mouth with a foul, metallic taste.

  Nick bent low again to get a bearing on the next entryway. As he attempted to stand, he became dizzy for a moment. I’ve got to get out of this hell, he thought. The fumes are getting to me.

  Heat wasn’t helping Nick’s body either. Even away from direct contact with the flames, the ambient temperature upstairs was approaching 150 degrees. Sweat streamed from every pore of his body, instantly evaporated by the super-heated atmosphere. He was being boiled alive.

  He hit pay dirt inside the third room. Lying on the floor was a woman in a nightgown, her body acting as a shield while covering a small boy. Nick didn’t check to see if either was breathing – there just wasn’t time. Already his stomach was churning, and he had a headache unlike anything he’d ever felt. Throwing off the now dry, worthless blanket, he lifted the woman off the child and then managed to get both to his shoulders.

  The trip out of the building was accomplished from memory without benefit of sight. Every cell of Nick’s body screamed with protest as he lunged down the stairs. Pain racked his chest and head, his muscles protesting the lack of clean, usable oxygen. The heat was overwhelming. The loss of vision reminded Nick of swimming under water in the dark. The roar of flames and blinding smoke deprived him of sensory input; the only thing registering in his brain was pain and heat.

  When he reached the bottom step, he didn’t pause, but just kept moving. The flames had actually died down in the kitchen, and Nick moved that direction thinking of the back door. Without the rolling billows of smoke, moving to the rear of the home was like entering the dark world of a blackened forest, simmering ripples of heat radiating from every direction. Nick’s mind conjured up visions of wolves with smoldering red eyes and fur of toxic fumes – the ferocious animals nipping at his heals with white-hot fangs. Like so many nightmares, he couldn’t outrun the beasts while carrying his heavy cargo.

  A vision of the back door suddenly appeared in front of h
im, the threshold to life and cool air just a few feet away - but the path was blocked. Part of the second floor had collapsed, heaps of smoldering boards and drywall hanging at odd angles.

  Nick didn’t care anymore - he couldn’t. He wasn’t going to die in this place. After all of the battles… all of the firefights… wounds and wars, there was no way he was going to burn alive. Dig deep, you son of a bitch, he thought. Go down deep inside and live. Bring it all out and live. Leave any of it here - and die.

  One boot lashed out against the blockage…and then another. Despite the two bodies on his shoulders, he threw everything he had left into the strikes. Timbers cracked with the impact, embers swirled around his legs. Another landed… and then another… and then he arrived at the door. It was too late. Nick felt his knees buckling, the weight on his shoulders too much for his severely dehydrated frame. The poisonous smoke ached in his stomach, and his chest felt like it was in a vise.

  Nick felt the hot floor on his knees, and realized his legs had given out. He sensed his upper body swaying and made a determined effort to fall backwards so his face wouldn’t burn on the floor.

  And then hands were reaching for him - many hands, seemingly coming from every direction. They’re angels, he imagined. Angels coming to pull me from the burning pits of Hades.

  The first sensation Nick noticed was of cold grass on the back of his neck. His next recognizable impression was the strong smell of rubber, competing with the odor of noxious smoke. The smoldering stench reminded his brain where he was, or at least where he’d been, and he attempted to sit up. Voices echoed in his ears… voices that he couldn’t quite place, but knew he should recognize. Kevin! His son was here!

  “Dad, stay right where you are. Just stay down.”

  Nick opened his eyes for a moment and initially believed himself to be blind. Only small, hazy pinpoints of light in a coal-black background filled his vision. At the same time, the taste of new rubber grew in his throat. A few blinks later, he realized he was looking up into the night sky, the stars slightly obscured from the smoking ember remains of the house nearby. Kevin’s face appeared in his line of sight, the look of concern on the boy’s face changing to an expression of sheer joy over seeing his father’s eyes open.

  The new rubber belonged to the Ambu bag covering his face, the breathing balloon steadily pumped by Diana. Nick’s sudden spasm of coughing dictated the removal of the device.

  After clearing what felt like several large hunks of steel wool from his chest, Nick managed to tilt his head slightly where he saw other people kneeling over the prone bodies of a woman and a small boy. Before he could ask any questions, Diana held a bottle of water to his lips while helping him lift his head.

  “You scared the living shit out of me, mister,” she hissed. “If you ever… ever do anything like that… I’ll never speak to you again. God help me. I love you, Nick.”

  The big man managed a smile and then nodded toward the other patients.

  “The father is going to be okay. The last two are breathing on their own, but still out. You saved three lives, Nick. You ever pull a stunt like that again and I’ll….”

  Diana’s pending threat was interrupted by a collapsing wall of the nearby home. Hot cinder fireflies danced skyward, quickly doused by a thick stream of water arching through the night. Nick could make out three men struggling with a large hose, spewing volumes of water onto what little remained of the structure.

  Twenty minutes later, Diana and Kevin assisted a weak, wobbly Nick on the golf cart. His jeans and t-shirt smelled so strongly of scorched ash, the Deacon forbid him to enter the sanctuary, instead forcing him to undress and then shower in one of the auxiliary buildings. Kevin refused to leave his father’s side, closely observing his every move in case his dad became weak or dizzy again.

  Two large containers of water and a double dose of aspirin later, Nick crawled into bed.

  Early the next afternoon, a grumpy, aching, and slightly singed Nick finally joined the living. After brewing a cup of coffee and swallowing a couple of additional painkillers, the big, grouchy bear located Diana in her office. Three gentlemen occupied the visitors’ chairs facing the deacon’s desk.

  Nick’s foul mood was nothing compared to Diana’s. The scowl on her face and tone of her voice warned the ex-Green Beret he was within range of a dangerous woman. He determined silence was the astute tactic of choice, even before he managed a seat on the couch.

  “I want to know why the fire truck wasn’t a higher priority. I think the townspeople deserve an explanation from all of us, and I think they deserve it immediately,” Diana said in a serious tone.

  “But… but Diana, we have so many projects going on, and our resources are tapped. The only fire engine we have left had its tank spiked to loot its fuel. No one has lubricated or maintained the equipment in months. The tires are flat, and the battery is dead. On top of all that, our welder – Alpha’s own ‘McGyver,’ has been overwhelmed by the volume of work required of him. I don’t know where we would be without his creative solutions, fixing machinery without the luxury of ordering parts over the internet. The fact is, Miss Brown, we just hadn’t gotten around to repairing the engine as other priorities took precedence.”

  Diana sat her elbows on the desktop, both hands massaging her temples. “I know we’re all doing our best, but we’ve got to organize and do better. Last night’s fire could’ve turned into a complete disaster. We were lucky the wind was calm. We could have lost that whole side of town. Who knows how many bodies we would be burying this week if that had happened?”

  “Deacon, everyone is working extra hard to get civilization back on track, but the priorities are difficult to determine and manage,” pleaded one of the gentlemen. “We’re working down our list, but people don’t always agree which is the most important task. It’s impossible to override the opinion of others when everyone is a volunteer, and there’s no structure or hierarchy of authority.”

  Nodding at her visitors, Diana stood and moved around her desk – a signal the meeting was over. “Okay, gentlemen, thank you for stopping by. I’ll not keep you any longer this afternoon. If anyone has any suggestions on how to improve our situation, please, please bring them to me.”

  The three elders pushed back their chairs and executed the proper social amenities. Hands were shaken, Nick was robustly thanked for his heroism, and his health was verified.

  Returning to his perch on the couch, Nick studied Diana as she escorted the three men from her office, trying to determine her frame of mind. Obviously, the pressure and workload of running a small town was an extreme burden, but he detected something deeper was troubling her.

  The deacon-turned-city-mayor returned, avoiding eye contact with Nick. She hurried past without a word, silently returning to her desk where she unfolded her laptop and focused on the display.

  Nick let the tapping of Diana’s keystrokes dominate the room, sipping his coffee and staring at nothing. After a few minutes, he decided Diana needed solitude and rose to leave.

  “We’ve got to change something. This isn’t working,” sounded a cold voice from behind the computer.

  Nick paused mid-step, unsure of Diana’s meaning. “What isn’t working? Us? The town? Your computer?”

  Pivoting to face the woman he loved, Nick’s face exposed more concern over the potential answer than he intended.

  Diana reached up and closed the laptop’s cover, her eyes locking with his. “Oh, don’t be silly. I’m not talking about our relationship. Unless you’ve found some hero-groupie on the side, I’m as much in love with you as ever. I’m talking about the town… our society… how we’re rebuilding Alpha.”

  A sigh escaped the big man’s chest, his eyes mellowing. “You had me worried there for a sec. I thought you were still mad at me over last night.”

  Grunting, Diana waved him off. “Oh, I am, but not super-duper mad. That was a reckless stunt you pulled. It could’ve turned out badly. I’ve already lost my son a
nd my father because of this mess – I’m running out of loved ones to donate to the cause.”

  Diana sauntered over to Nick’s side of the room, extending her arms for an embrace. He welcomed the invitation, holding her close and relishing the moment. With her head against his chest, the deacon summed up her current municipal dilemma. “Everyone’s heart is in the right place, but we’ve got to change how we’re organized. There needs to be leadership, structure, and guidance.”

  “Go on.”

  Looking up, Diana continued. “The fire truck was listed as a critical project weeks ago. The reason why half the town almost burned down last night was that no one had the authority to follow up. No one pushed here and pulled there. Our volunteer force ultimately isn’t accountable to the town.”

  “I don’t know about that. It looked like those three gentlemen were answering to you just a bit ago. They all left here with their tails between their legs; at least it looked that way to me.”

  “That’s just the problem, Nick. I’m not officially in charge of anything. I am just leadership by default. There are groups of people who are starting their own projects that the church elders and I don’t even know about them. There’s a vacuum of authority, and it’s going to keep hurting everyone until it’s filled.”

  Base Hospital

  Fort Bliss, Texas

  Terri’s body couldn’t tolerate the bedside chair any longer. Being close to five months pregnant, her back and shoulders eventually demanded that she locate a more suitable place to rest. The couch in Bishop’s room was actually a luxury compared to both the hard-bottomed chair and her bunk back at the camper. She glanced longingly at the cushions.

  The steady rhythm of the heart monitor provided a background of white noise. The constant tempo of the machine worked on the exhausted woman’s mind, a hypnotic effect similar to a train’s clickity-clack wooing the weary passenger to sleep. The contraption’s beeping provided a secondary benefit as well; Terri could relax, comfortable in the knowledge that she would hear any change in Bishop’s condition.