by M. L. Banner
Camilla was not only fiery in look and personality; she was bright and took on the responsibilities of teaching his now eight boys and six girls. She also organized (at John’s suggestion, Frank figured) some of the other women to copy pages of the Book so that others could read it and feel its importance. Because of the ongoing nature of the revelation, they were told, this was a job that would never be complete.
Daily, Camilla would teach from one of the copied pages. Zachary, Frank’s middle child, was the brightest of her students; he always asked questions, always wondered whether something was right or wrong and he always loved stories, often play-acting them out in front of the rest of the children. Zachary could read as well, which was pretty good for an eight year old. He even read difficult texts, like the Bible. Unfortunately, this text was forbidden, so it was the one secret they kept from the other followers.
After the Book was established as the sole sacred text of God’s Army, the Teacher declared that all other religious writings were forbidden: “There is only the Book; No Follower can be in possession of or quote from any other religious text.” Frank and others collected up the Bibles, Torahs, Korans, Books of Mormon and other religious-based texts and gave them to John, who burned them all.
Frank kept his portable military Bible for himself. He hadn’t opened it in years, but he couldn’t let it go, as he had written notes in it and read it so many times. It was more of a keepsake—he’d stopped believing. But he just couldn’t part with it. So, he kept it hidden, until one day Camilla found it and asked if she could read it. Frank allowed it, but said she must keep it quiet. And she did.
Today, with his stomach grumbling as he prepared his mind and body for war, he watched with pleasure as Camilla gathered his children and had them sit in a circle around her as she taught from the Book.
“She’s great with our kids, isn’t she?” Sam asked as she sat by him on a fallen tree stump.
He put his arm around her and squeezed. “Yes, she is.”
“You’re worried about the battle?” She always knew him better than he did himself, and by the time he got back to his family, word had already reached their cluster and Sam.
“Not really; this shouldn’t be much of one. The devil leader in Bios-2 has someone on the inside who will make it easier for us, and they do not have defenses like Bios-2.”
“So what’s troubling you, husband?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, he took her hand and kissed it, saying, “Do you ever question whether or not you chose the right path?”
Without hesitation she answered, “Other than marrying you, all the time. But, do not worry yourself, my husband. Our path is currently the right one; it is the one we were meant to follow, right now. And in the future, I am sure you will choose the right path again. And if you don’t, you will find the right one and get back on it.” She squeezed his hand and slid her arm around him.
He rested his head on her shoulder, and they watched Camilla and Zachary argue.
“So, if all of us will be gods, won’t heaven be crowded?”
“But heaven is limitless,” Camilla responded.
Frank felt someone walk up on them quietly; he turned, his hand on his sidearm, ready to defend his family, and rested. It was Peter. He leaned over to Frank and said, “It is time, Brother.”
21.
Cicada
“There’s another Cicada out there, and it’s very close to here.” Max was standing on the first step of the stairwell in the reception room of Comms. He had personally greeted everyone before beginning, thanking them for being a part of Cicada, and then he stepped up so he could be seen and began speaking to the forty-five in attendance. Most were scientists, including Dr. Ron and Monty. A few were in IT, one was an auto mechanic, there was a plumber and one schoolteacher. Other than Tom, only two that they knew of had any previous military training or combat experience. Preston was there; so was Magdalena, who flashed a quick smile when he looked her way, and of course Bill and Lisa. He hated for them to hear what he was about to say, but it was necessary that they knew what was at stake.
There were maybe a dozen others not in attendance—all performing various duties vital to Cicada—including five manning the wall, and Shingles. Sally had opted to not be a part of the meeting, saying she wanted to jump right into the work inside Comms and the server rooms. Yet, Max heard the door open when he first addressed the group and knew that she sat just inside the Comms room’s doorway, behind him, listening and looking out at the room and everyone’s faces, which changed from nervous fear to wonderment. A few dialogs rippled through the room.
Max held up his hands and patiently waited for the buzz to die down.
“I always suspected this, when I found out that someone had made a copy of my plans for Cicada. Then, when the Protocol message was sent, we found out that some of our scientists were somehow being redirected away from Cicada and sent to this Cicada copy. That told me someone was purposely trying to disrupt our plans, but I had no idea why.
“Earlier today, Dr. Ron and Dr. Monty, right there…” He pointed to them sitting on the largest loveseat. They were looking at a set of plans rolled out on the coffee table, pointing at a structure, when they heard their names called and they looked up. They raised their hands and then ignored everyone again, focusing on their assigned task.
“…these two scientists approached me with some disturbing news.” He paused to make sure he chose the right words. “The Event that occurred almost a year ago continues almost every day… with solar storms, disruptive electrical discharges throughout our atmosphere and a perpetual summer. Some of you know that our magnetosphere has not been protecting us the way it should. Until today, we didn’t understand why—until Dr. Ron and Dr. Monty discovered why.
“Someone has built a device, the purpose of which we don’t know, but it is most likely destroying our magnetosphere.” Conversations erupted everywhere. “And that…” Max projected his voice and waited until the din died down and he could be heard again. “…and that device is located at the other Cicada. So now we know there is another group of people, occupying a copy of our facility, who not only have malevolent intentions for Cicada, they are intent on damaging the entire world.
“The Event was real, but these people appear to be the reason why our magnetosphere hasn’t recovered. So, they are the ones who are causing the problems we’re experiencing now!”
Sally had been inching forward from inside Comms, drawn into the room by Max’s speech. First into the Comms doorway, until now she was out in the hallway, directly behind Max. She heard some of this earlier, but not all of it. She had heard about the other Cicada, but not the rest. As she heard it and absorbed its ramifications, dread began to creep back into her. She really had thought she would be safe here at Cicada, believing from Max that the outside groups—so-called “Squatts”—could be controlled. It was one of the main reasons why she left her sister’s family in New Mexico. That and she didn’t know spit about farming, nor did she have any interest in that way of life. She worked with computers and was offered a chance to use her technical skills here at Cicada. But most important, was feeling safe, something she hadn’t felt in almost a year now. It just occurred to her that most likely, no place would be safe as long as those people in the other Cicada existed. They had to be stopped!
“Let me have your attention!” Max’s voice boomed, like a lighthouse’s horn in the fog. Everyone almost swallowed their words. Max had been calm and reasoned, full of compassion, until now. He was speaking as their leader; what he was going to ask was important, and he needed them to understand.
“Now that we know all this, we also know what we have to do. This device and the people who built it must be stopped.”
Most heads nodded in the affirmative. Even Dr. Ron and Monty, who had looked up from their papers.
“I’m putting together two assault teams and we’re going to do our best to take thi
s device down.”
Silence.
“Most of you know a little about me, but what you may not know is that I served a tour in Iraq, just before Iraqi Freedom. I have led men and women into combat before. Also joining us will be Tom Rogers, who you may know works with Preston to manage our security. What I’m asking now is, are any of you with any military or police training willing to volunteer for this very important mission?”
If there had been any crickets in the room, their chirps would have been considered loud.
“If we succeed, we not only give Cicada a chance, we will potentially save our world. Keep in mind that all of our own personal safety will always be in peril because of this threat. The sole purpose of Cicada, and our common goal, is to find the answers to and solve the problems that led up to and caused the apocalypse. We now know the reason why and how to fix it. I need your help to carry this out. Failure may mean the end of all of us.”
Max paused to let all of it sink in.
“All who are willing, please meet us over there at the coffee table, where we will be planning the assault. Are there any questions?”
“When will this assault happen?” asked a disembodied voice within the crowd.
“Tonight. Thank you.” Max stepped down from the steps and walked over to the coffee table.
When the room cleared out, the group at the table numbered twelve. The Kings (minus Sally, who’d left to clear her head with a walk, or so she said) stood alongside Preston. The two scientists remained, standing next to Tom and Max. Mags, and four others neither of the Kings recognized, stood a little bit apart from them.
Max looked straight at the Kings. “You are welcome to be present at this discussion, but don’t think you’re coming tonight.”
“Look,” said Bill, “I know neither of us have any military training. But you know we know how to handle a rifle and”—he looked a bit perturbed—“we’ve been through a lot of crap this past year. I think we can handle it.”
“I appreciate the offer, but even if you were both members of Seal Team Six, you’re still not coming.”
“But—”
“But nothing. End of discussion.”
“Fine,” Bill snapped, noticeably pissed. “We’d like to at least see your assault plans.”
“Agreed.”
Max turned to another face in their small group and smiled. Magdalena smiled back, warm and inviting. “Let me guess, in between taking care of your mother and fixing computers, you had a stint in the Mexican military?”
All eyes turned to look between the pretty woman with a dark complexion and Max. Was this a girlfriend we didn’t know about? they wondered. Bill and Lisa, having met Mags and seen their interplay, winked at each other, enjoying the brief respite from the stress they all felt.
“Ha! No, but my father was a hunter and took me and my brothers out hunting for deer every year. I, what was the term you Americans use—bagged! I bagged more deer than my brothers and father then. I’m a good shot, and you know I can handle myself.”
“Magdalena, I mean this sincerely. I really do appreciate your volunteering, and I know anyone that went up against you would have a bad day, but I really want someone with combat or hand-to-hand training or experience. So, I’ll say the same thing I told my friends; you’re welcome to stay, listen, even offer your opinions, but you’re not coming.”
“I understand. I’d just as soon not kill anyone anyway.” She smiled sheepishly.
“Okay, let’s get to the matter at hand.” Max clapped once and looked around the table, gesturing toward Tom. “This is Tom Rogers. Tom and I have already spent time with each other. Suffice it to say, he is battle ready and will lead one of the two assault teams. Thank you both, Sue and Rob, for volunteering. I know you’ve had some time in the services. And thank you, Felix and Pel; although not military, you’ve both had some other weapons training.” He was careful to not mention that neither had any military or police training, so that he wouldn’t slight Magdalena, based on the reason he’d given for not including her in this op. “So that makes six, which is actually a very good number. Let’s talk about the plan, and then just the six of us will go to Operations.
“Monty? Ron? Please tell me you found a point of entry and approximately where the device is located?”
The mole slid by everyone without them noticing—they were focused on Mr. Thompson—and carefully let himself into the Comms room. This was very risky, but once Bios-2 knew, they would see it was necessary. Making sure the door was secured, he sat in the console chair, unlocked the drawer and pulled out the phone receiver. Once again, he punched the fifth and sixth line buttons, illuminating both, and waited until he could finally say, “Bios-2, this is Cicada Comms. “
“You should not call us this often. You cannot risk getting caught. Vas is zo important?” The accent was thick. Lunder must be stressed.
“Mr. Thompson is leading an assault on Bios-Two tonight!”
“Do you know any details?”
“No, in fact they’re discussing it outside this room right now. I have to go before I’m discovered.”
“Thank you for the intel.” Lunder hung up.
The man nervously put the phone back into the cradle and shut the drawer.
A clicking and a shadow alerted him that someone was about to come through the Comms room door. He had to get out right away!
The Comms room door opening and closing caused Max to look; he hadn’t realized anyone was here. While Monty was pointing out their best guess of where the device was, Max watched Webber bound down the stairs and across the floor past them.
“Sorry to interrupt.” He shot a guilty look at Max. “Forgot something,” he said, waving a USB flash drive, “for Sally.” He scuttled out the door and out of sight.
Max refocused his attention on tonight’s assault plan. Their lives and the lives of perhaps everyone on Earth depended on their success.
22.
Bios-2
Westerling was in a celebratory mood. They had already planned to take down Cicada, and now a religious nut and several hundred of his idiot followers would do all the heavy lifting. Both Dr. Reids were on board and they would soon convince the rest of the scientists that it was futile to resist him. Everything was falling into place nicely.
Topping off his glass with an extra-large measure of bourbon from its decanter and sinking into his leather chair were his reward. After another puff from his cigar and a large gulp, he stared out the window and thought about what still needed to be done. At the top of the list was killing Cicada and that sonofabitch Thompson.
He put his glass down and fumbled with the buttons of his intercom, feeling a little light-headed from all the alcohol and smoke. His fingers, acting fatter than normal, punched what he thought were the office speakers—he wanted to hear it better and not have to scrunch over like some feeble old man and listen to the intercom’s little speaker—and heard a crackle in the conference room. Then he banged the button beside it for the office, both buttons depressed together, the static telling him the office speakers were on as well. He punched the call button and the number one.
“Found you, sucker,” he told the box of wires, winning another battle over one more object. He waited impatiently for Lunder to answer.
He started to suck on his fourth cigar of the day while taking another large swig of his giant bourbon and ice. He should feel at least a little guilty. Not that it was his health or that he was living high off the hog known as Bios-2 that bothered him; he was just a little worried that at this rate of consumption, his cigar and bourbon stock was going to disappear in a couple of years, maybe quicker if he didn’t slow down a little. It wasn’t like they were making the stuff anymore.
Where is that Kraut?
Lunder was busy with his normal juggling act, now directing Operations, when the phone started ringing. His boss couldn’t help himself and often had to call him about something insignificant. He wondered what it was this time. At least it
saved him the trouble of calling Westerling with the good news.
“Yes, sir,” Lunder answered, turning the volume on his radio down so he could hear.
“Have you found the Reids yet?” Westerling belched, sounding very toasted.
“No, sir. But they’ll turn up soon enough. I wouldn’t worry…”
Lunder’s radio squealed at him; Operations was reporting back.
“I have something more important to tell you.” He purposely sat back and made his boss wait, relishing this last morsel of information, which he knew would make him happy.
The radio screeched some more. “Hang on; I’m speaking to Mr. Westerling.”
“Got it,” Reynolds at Operations answered. “Call when you are done. Out.”
“Well, are you go… oing to make me wait all day?” Westerling’s words were sluggish from alcohol.
“Sir? Oh yes, of course. You don’t have to worry about killing Thompson at Cicada. He’s coming here, tonight,” Lunder happily announced.
“Tonight?”
Lunder could hear him take a long draw off his cigar and exhale little puffs—no doubt he was trying to blow drunk-happy white smoke rings, with little luck.
“Datsgoodnews!” he bellowed in one breath.
“Yes, that is the good news.”
“Lunder, good work. Are we set up for him?”
“I’m briefing Operations and the wall sentries now. We’re going to draw him in and make him feel like he’s snuck up on us, and then we will let them have it with at least two EMAs and our snipers and we’ll finish them off with automatic weapons fire. He won’t stand a chance. You’ll be rid of him tonight, sir.”
“Lunder, I’d kiss you if you were here.” Then Lunder heard Westerling’s phone drop, followed by a cheerful, “Whohooo!” Westerling yelled unintelligibly away from the phone, “Take that you fu—” Then the line went dead.
