5 Onslaught

by Jeremy Robinson

  Why are you there? I ask. I would prefer that Luca be far away from the action. Someplace safe.

  I’m a general, he thinks. Well, not really, but I’m important. I’m coordinating everyone.

  With your thoughts, I deduce. Luca is just six, but he has my extraordinary mind and a telepathic ability given to him by Xin. A regular Professor X.

  I’m not controlling them, though, just giving orders.

  Well, that’s good, I think to myself. But in the heat of battle, Luca might not fare so well. He might have my mind, but he also has my six year old temperament, which was about as tough as runny mashed potatoes. Of course, he was also raised in the underworld for a time and then trained by Tobias, who was loving, but demanding. He’s probably tougher than I was at his age. He might even be tougher than I was at thirteen.

  Well, here’s my first orders for you to issue, I think to Luca.

  What is it? The thought is so powerful that I can actually feel his excitement.

  Open the gates and try not to shoot us.

  Open the gates! The thought explodes from the center of the base and reaches the mind of every single soldier, including Em, Kainda, Kat and Mira.

  “The hell was that?” Kat says, rubbing her head.

  “Luca,” Em says, smiling.

  “He’s practically running the place,” I tell her and then start down the slope toward the side of the base where a gate is swinging open.

  Our pace quickens and we reach the open gate at the same time as a welcoming committee that has hurried out from beneath the pyramid. Mira reacts first, seeing her parents. She breaks ranks, runs the distance between them and leaps into their outstretched arms.

  Em runs next, scooping up Luca, who is dressed in green camouflage. If not for the wild, long blond hair that matches my own, he’d look like any other kid from the outside world. Em wraps her arms around her little brother and spins him in the air.

  As I pass through the gates, I glance up at the watchtowers to either side. Both contain a mix of hunters and black clad snipers. The ones I don’t know just watch. Then I see Adoni, the Australian Aboriginal teacher, now wielding an assault rifle. He gives me a smile and a nod.

  Next to Adoni stands Zuh, her pom-pom of curly hair now tied back against her head. She once tried to claim me as her own, vowing to beat Kainda in combat for the right of being my wife. I told her that wasn’t going to happen, and she seemed to respect that choice, but just in case it might come up again, I hold my hand up to her, revealing the wound on my hand. She looks momentarily surprised, but then smiles ruefully and nods in greeting.

  A man next to Zuh, a big smile on his face, leans over the rail. “Chica!”

  Mira waves up to him. “Cruz!”

  “Am I glad to see you alive and kicking,” he says.

  I recognize him as one of the men from the team that raced toward the South Pole and rescued Aimee along with Wright, Kat and Merrill. He sees Kat next.

  “Dios mío!” he says. “Kat!”

  She nods up to him, stoic, perhaps knowing what his next question will be. But Cruz doesn’t ask it. His eyes wander around our small band and he frowns. Wright’s absence speaks for itself.

  “Relieved to see you in one piece,” he says.

  “Likewise,” Kat says, and offers him a casual salute, which he returns.

  General Holloway stops before me, looking me up and down before staring into my eyes as though evaluating my worth. He’s got at least a week’s worth of growth on his face and bags under his eyes. The man has been pushing himself.

  “You look...rested,” he says. “Been on vacation?”

  “If you don’t mind me saying, sir, you’ve looked better.”

  This cracks a smile in his grim demeanor. He nods toward Mira.

  “Got her back, I see.”

  I nod.

  “The Clarks are good people. They deserved it. But now it’s time to get the house in order. We don’t have much time.”

  “How much time?” I ask.

  He looks at his watch. “Eight hours. Give or take. We’ve been tracking them by satellite.”

  “Then you know what we’re up against?”

  He sighs and looks defeated for just a fraction of a second. “It’s going to get rough, but we couldn’t have asked for a better position. We’ve got cliffs on both sides. If they want us, they’re going to have to come straight down the middle. It’s a natural bottleneck, a half mile across. Call it the shooting gallery. It’s ten to one right now, but we have more men, weapons and vehicles arriving every hour.”

  “Which nations are involved?” I ask.

  “Hell,” he says. “Son, you got everyone. Well, everyone in range. The Russians found this place and set up shop early. They never intended on leaving without a fight. But once we all knew what we were facing, well, here we are. Chinese, Arab Nations, the EU, the Brits, Japan, Brazil, the Koreas and at least ten more.”

  “Whose idea was the flag?” I ask, pointing to the largest of the bunch, flying from the top of the pyramid.

  He motions toward Luca, “That would be your brother. Said you would like it. Also said that Antarctica was your land. And that you were the King.”

  “He was right,” I say.

  “About the flag?”

  “About all three.”

  We stare at each other for a moment and then he just shrugs. “We can talk about that if we don’t die.”

  “Sounds fair,” I say. “Now about Luca.”

  “I know what you’re going to say,” Holloway says. “And normally I’d agree. This is no place for a child. But here’s the thing. We’ve got an army made up of folks who speak fifteen, twenty languages. A lot of them can speak English, but at least fifty percent of our force doesn’t understand a word of it beyond Coke and Pepsi. It was a real problem at first, but then he figured out that thought has no language. A Spanish speaker receives the boy’s thoughts just as clearly as an English speaker. With his ability, he can give orders and direct troops with more efficiency and clarity than the confusing mix of radiomen and translators we were going to have to use. I’m sorry, but the boy is essential.”

  I look at Luca, still wrapped in Em’s arms, excitedly telling Kainda a story while she rubs his hair. “If he gets hurt...”

  “He’ll be by my side the entire time.”

  “Beneath the temple?”

  “It’s the safest place,” Holloway says, “Which brings me to my first question. Where will you be?”

  I point beyond the wall, to the battlefield. “Out there.”

  “Solomon!” Aimee shouts, running up and giving me a hug.

  Merrill follows her, clapping me on the back. “My boy!” He wraps an arm around me and gives me a squeeze. “We can’t thank you enough for bringing her back.”

  I lean back from the both of them and say, “I just have one more promise to keep. You’re all getting off this continent alive and together.”

  Aimee smiles and shakes her head. “The man you’ve become. You’re parents would be proud.”

  Would be proud? Does that mean... I push the concern from my mind. Being distracted by the fate of my parents, good or bad, will only distract me from what needs to be done.

  Over the next ten minutes, I reunite with Luca and share a little bit about what we experienced while we were away. The Clarks and Luca, and even the General listen to our tale, but when it’s over, everyone is all business.

  We retreat to the temple. A tunnel runs through the center of the structure, stopping at a chamber that has been transformed into a command center. There are thick stone walls all around and above. The tunnel is too small for a Nephilim, the structure too sound to easily destroy. Aside from a behemoth attack, the temple is the most secure location in the base. Despite the ancient surroundings, which were likely built by the same pre-flood human civilization that painted the record found in the nunatak, the space is full of modern computers, weapon racks and cables that snake across the floor befo
re disappearing underground.

  A dog barks, spinning us around. A large black Newfoundland charges toward Mira. She drops to a knee and greets the now whining dog.

  “This must be Vesuvius,” I say, crouching next to the massive canine. He eyes me cautiously, but I hold my hand to his nose and let him get a good sniff. After a moment, he lowers his head and slides it under my hand: permission to pet, granted. I scratch behind his ears with both hands, saying, “You’re a good boy.” This outside world tradition of greeting friendly dogs with expressions of how good they are feels oddly normal. Feels good.

  I spot the Jericho shofar atop a desk that is bolted to the stone floor. It’s wedged in a large chunk of foam and covered by a clear case that’s hinged to the back side of the desk and locked on the front, like it’s some kind of museum exhibit, which it might actually be some day.

  Merrill notes my attention. “It’s the best we could do to protect it and still have it available.”

  I nod. Makes sense. But what I’m confused about is the next table over. I give Vesuvius one last scratch and stand. I move to the table, which is covered in what looks like stereo equipment. Several thick cables run down to the floor and out through the hallways. “What’s this?”

  “The ancient Israelites had several horns and had to sound them over several days for the impact to be significant.” Merrill grins. “We have a speaker system pillaged from an aircraft carrier.” He points out a microphone. “This is my station. My contribution to the war effort, if you will. I’ve been practicing with the shofar. It’s not pretty, but the effect should be impressive.”

  “Is the effect the same through the speakers?” I ask.

  “I, uh, I don’t know,” he says.

  “We haven’t found a red head to try it on,” Holloway adds.

  “A red head?” I ask.

  “It’s what they call the Nephilim and hunters,” Merrill explains.

  “Then I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” I say.

  We spend the following three hours beneath the temple, developing contingency plans to any number of unthinkable situations. As each plan is documented, it is given a name, and then transmitted into the minds of every soldier by Luca. If he gives the command for contingency Red Bravo, every man on the ground, pilot in the air and captain at sea will know what to do.

  With everyone as prepared as they possibly could be, Holloway orders us all to get some rest. Apparently, he was joking when he said I looked like I’d been on vacation, and a few hours sleep, according to him, would work wonders. When I argue that he should rest too, he points out that he’d be spending the following day shouting orders, not fighting thirty-foot tall monsters. So I give in and I’m directed to my personal quarters, which is a sturdy looking tent covered in gray camouflage.

  When I enter, I find Kainda already there, waiting in one of two cots that have been pushed together. There might be other items of interest inside the tent, but I don’t see them. My eyes don’t stray from Kainda.

  “I thought outsiders were pre-occupied with comfort,” Kainda says. “These could use a few feeder skins.”

  “Huh?” I say, focusing my thoughts for the first time since laying eyes on her. Despite all I’ve been through, all the enemies I’ve faced and horrors I’ve endured, my nerves churn violently through my gut. This is my wedding night, after all. Kainda smiles up at me and erases all my fears. I remove Whipsnap and my ancient looking Batman-like utility belt, lying them next to the bed where they can be quickly recovered. I climb in bed next to Kainda, pull the blanket over me, place my hand on her cheek, and say, “I love you.”

  She rubs her hand through my hair—just once—and I’m asleep before she has a chance to reply.

  27

  “Solomon!” My name, shouted in a way that exudes desperation and encroaching danger, launches me from the cot. Confused by the dull gray space around me, I stumble and trip over Whipsnap, falling to the floor in a heap. As adrenaline fuels the return of my memory, I look up to find the cot empty. Kainda has gone.

  Hearing footsteps rapidly approaching, I climb to my feet, pick up my belt and weapon and strap them on just in time to look put together for whoever it is coming to get me.

  The tent flap snaps open. It’s Em, who is one of the few people I wouldn’t mind seeing me sprawled out on the floor. She’s seen me at my worst and never thought less of me. Not that she would have noticed. Her eyes are full of concern.

  It’s begun, I think.

  Em confirms it, saying, “They’re here.”

  “What time is it?” I wonder aloud.

  “The sun is just rising now.”

  They made good time.

  “Take me to Holloway.”

  She nods and leads me out. “He’s at the wall.”

  Men and women rush in all directions, hauling weapons and ammo, taking up positions all around the camp, watching the distance and the sky. We work our way through the bustle, past the side of the temple and toward the front of the base. As we approach an ancient staircase carved into a massive stone, I spot Luca by its base.

  “What are you doing out here?” Em asks him. “Get back inside!”

  “I needed to tell Sol something,” the boy says, looking at me.

  I kneel down to him and take his arms. “What is it?”

  I’m expecting a “good luck,” or a “goodbye” or even just a hug, but he levels a serious gaze at me and says. “This is how it’s going to work. Think your orders to me, and I’ll send them to everyone else. We’ll try to use the plans as much as possible—” Luca and I share the same perfect memory. We’ll be able to change tactics with a thought. “But there might be some things we haven’t thought of. If something comes up, like if you need everyone to focus on a target, just think it. I’ll be listening.”

  Talking to Luca is surreal. He not only looks like me, but he’s smart like I was, and for the first time in my life, I can see why people thought I was strange. He seems far too young to be thinking in such detail or with such clarity. It’s a gift, I suppose, if you’re emotionally tough enough to deal with all that knowledge and the understanding that comes with it. I never was, but Luca seems to be handling his responsibilities just fine.

  Then comes the hug and a quick, “goodbye.” I watch him run for the temple for just a moment before heading up the stairs with Em. At the top of the wall, I find Holloway, Kainda, Kat and Mira, who now holds a dangerous looking assault rifle. She’s wearing body armor and a scowl to boot. When she sees me coming, I say, “Nice gun.”

  “XM29,” she says. “Wright taught me how to use it and trust me, you don’t want to be on the receiving end of its explosive rounds.”

  Holloway turns at the sound of my voice. As I step up between he and Kainda, she takes my hand and gives it a quick squeeze before returning to her vigil. Holloway motions toward the battlefield. “Have a look.”

  I turn forward, seeing the lines of tanks, which have expanded overnight, the trenches full of men, now aiming their weapons toward the distant jungle, the rows of razor wire and the mine field beyond. After that, I see trees and a distant gap where the two cliffs almost come together. But I don’t see any Nephilim.

  “Base of the trees,” Holloway says.

  “Looks like a lot of shadow,” I say.

  “They are the shadows.” He hands a pair of binoculars to me, but I dig into my pack and take out the spyglass that Ninnis gave to me so long ago. I raise the telescope to my eye and focus on the distant trees. When I see them, I flinch. They’re nearly invisible, covered in mud, but their white eyes almost glow in the morning sun now rising behind us.

  “Berserkers,” I whisper.

  “Those are the people who are lost, right?” Holloway asks. “Not like the hunters who can be—whatever the word is.”

  “Redeemed,” I offer.

  “Right,” he says.

  “But we can try,” I say. “We have to try.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?” he asks.
“What then?”

  The answer hurts too much to say aloud, so my response is to look down at the line of tanks. I can hear the hum of their engines.

  “Right,” Holloway says.

  “I don’t see any Nephilim,” I say.

  “They’re still an hour out,” he says. “These guys were hard to spot. Didn’t even know they were there until the sun came up.”

  “How many of them are there?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “No way to know for sure. Several thousand at least, but the canopy blocks our view from above.”

  As it blocked my view from the nunatuk. With the number of berserkers unknown, we have to assume the worst. If this is the Nephilim’s opening salvo, then they must believe the berserkers are a real threat, which means there must be a massive number of men waiting in those trees.

  Merrill, are you ready? I think, directing the question to Luca.

  Almost, comes the reply from Merrill. The voice is in my head, and sounds like Luca, but something about it, like a signature, says the thought originated from Merrill.

  A hiss of static fills the air, follow by the booming fumbling of a microphone and a whispered, “Sorry. Sorry.” Then, in my head. Ready.

  Stand by, I think.

  “How do you do it, General?” I ask Holloway. “How do you condemn men to death?”

  “We’re not condemning them to death, son,” he says. “We’re merely providing the means. They’re doing all the condemning themselves.”

  I suppose that makes sense, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m the one giving the order. Still, we’re doing everything we can.

  Go ahead, Merrill, I think.

  The speakers are so loud and the microphone so sensitive, that we can hear Merrill take a breath. And then, he blows. The shofar isn’t exactly a pleasant instrument to listen to, but Merrill manages to get a robust sound out of the thing. It’s so loud that I can feel my insides shaking. Several of the men below, put their hands to their ears. And then the effect kicks in. No one here is directly under Nephilim corruption, but neither is anyone here completely pure. The sound moves through me. Its effect feels something like Christmas morning as a child—magical and peaceful.