by Kyle Noe
“PUNCH THIS THING!”
Samantha turned back just as her truck blasted through the metal fence that wreathed the airport. The flechettes were directly behind the truck which shotgunned forward, heading directly for the metal Quonset hut.
It was a race against time. Eli leaned back, his mouth dropping open. He shielded Samantha’s body with his own and threw up his hands as if that were sufficient to stop the flechettes. Samantha could literally see a thousand metal spikes headed directly toward her.
WHUNK!
One landed at the end of the truck and another between Eli’s legs as she closed her eyes and shrieked and—
WHAM!
The spikes hit and bounced off the metal exterior of the Quonset hut as the trucks drove into it. Samantha opened her eyes, shocked that they were still alive. She peered up and realized the metal in the building was of a sufficient gauge and was able to stop most of the spikes. The trucks skidded to a stop, and everyone jumped down and cowered. They sat silently, listening to the cacophonous sound of metal hitting metal. A few of the spikes managed to pierce the rugged roof, but they dropped harmlessly to the ground, missing the trucks. In a matter of moments, the metal storm was all over.
“The bastards,” Hawkins sneered, standing. “Carpet bombing a town full of children.”
“A town full of children that tried to set us up,” Eli said.
“Lilly warned me,” Samantha replied. “The girl back there. The first one we saw. She was the one who told me what was about to happen. She saved us.”
THE TRUCKS DROVE SLOWLY OUT of the Quonset hut, weaving around the areas that were filled with flechettes. They stopped before the last truck, the one that was still on fire. Samantha turned away from it, but listened to Hawkins mumble a prayer for the men and women who’d died. Then they cut back across a side street, avoiding the areas that had been hardest hit by the flechettes.
The children were out once again as if nothing had happened. Samantha watched them gather up the fallen flechettes and stack them on the crude metal statue she’d seen earlier at the end of the boardwalk.
Eli was pissed, muttering that the kids had tried to kill them, but Samantha didn’t think so. They were just doing like everyone else. Trying to survive. It dawned on Samantha that the kids knew when to hide, and for those who didn’t, they’d die in the metal storm. Then the kids would reappear and take whatever the dead had left behind and trade that with neighboring towns for food and other supplies. It wasn’t right, but it made sense.
Samantha crawled to the edge of the truck and looked out. She noticed Lilly standing by herself on the boardwalk, red hair clip and all. Lilly hesitated, then she lifted a hand and waved at Samantha who waved back. Lilly moved out in the street and continued to wave, and Samantha held her look until she’d vanished from sight. Full of fuel, the trucks sped away from town, headed toward the mountains that loomed in the distance.
13
LOOSE LIPS SINK SHIPS
The Marines exited the glider and entered the command ship. Quinn was at the rear of the procession, lugging her rucksack and other gear. She was overwhelmed with emotion after receiving a message on her HUD from Giovanni. Samantha had been found! She was safe and being taken to a place called Shiloh, a community housed in an old Air Force base in Wyoming whose coordinates he’d shared with her. Her jaw set in a look of grim determination, she drew strength from an image of Samantha. No matter what happened, she’d find a way back to her. She would find a way to Shiloh.
Marching forward, Quinn kept her eyes down, not wanting to draw any attention. She’d assumed the Syndicate would be closely watching her, and chose not to bring back the silver object in her rucksack. Rather, she hid the object in a cavity behind a bench in a glider denoted with four vertical Syndicate markings.
Her paranoia paid off when they entered the main deck in the command ship and were greeted by General Aames, Marin, and a phalanx of Syndicate soldiers. There was another group of Marines already waiting in line, a small detachment led by Harlan, the bald warrior who’d questioned Quinn earlier in the day.
Harlan and his Marines were jawing with the Syndicate soldiers who were waving electronic wands over their bodies.
Harlan gestured at Marin. “This is an invasion of my goddamn privacy!”
“The only rights you have, Marine, are those that spring from the Syndicate,” Marin replied.
“Spring this!” Harlan shouted, grabbing his privates as the other Marines roared with laughter.
Quinn watched the Syndicate soldiers frisk Harlan and his men. Numerous items of contraband were confiscated, including weapons, money, various items of loot, and a tiny kitten that Harlan was hiding inside a backpack. Quinn was relieved, satisfied that she’d made the right decision in leaving the temporal totem behind. Quinn strode forward and was patted down and wanded by the alien soldiers. The only thing they removed was the Pez dispenser that Cody had given her. Thinking it just a toy or trinket, the dispenser was tossed aside as Quinn continued forward.
General Aames greeted her, nodding and smiling. “We watched the fireworks celebration in real time, Sergeant. The Potentate was impressed.”
Quinn nodded. “We destroyed almost their entire cache of weapons, sir.”
“And not a single Marine KIA or wounded.”
Quinn summoned a weary smile. “Just another day at the office, sir.”
For the first time, General Aames saluted Quinn and the other Marines who shambled past, overcome with exhaustion. Quinn was utterly spent, the surge of energy and awareness brought about by her ingestion of Black Sunshine was over. She realized she’d taken more of the drug, but its effect hadn’t lasted as long this time. She felt jittery, on edge, paranoid that people were looking at her and talking behind her back. She worried whether the Syndicate knew that she’d spoken with Giovanni, or that the Marines were plotting against them and had hidden one of the silver objects in a glider. She also worried for the first time that it had all been so easy. Sure there’d been a few setbacks, but how was it that she’d been able to keep so many secrets from the aliens? A voice spoke to her, whispering that it was all a set up, but Quinn didn’t want to believe that, so she banished the voice away. Wiping a line of sweat from her brow, Quinn put her head down and willed away the intrusive thoughts as she soldiered forward.
After grabbing some food at the mess hall, Quinn was feeling lethargic, so she popped four more of the Black Sunshine pills Cody had given her. Immediately, she felt invigorated, but worried that she seemed to have to take more of the pills to get the same impact as before.
She followed a circuitous path through the belly of the command ship, paying special attention to things she’d missed before. Lighting, the craft’s architecture, and the materials used. She noticed, for instance, the holes and grooves in the inner gallery staircases, walls, and ceilings. Cody mentioned that these were designed for sonic suppression, but also surmised that they could be used to heighten eavesdropping.
She admired the glass-like material of the windows, the way the four-inch thick material was spotted with hundreds of tiny, gray dots that were only noticeable up close, that purportedly kept harmful rays from entering the ship. Overhead were rows of reflectors that bounced light from concealed LED-like lights onto the walls, casting them in a diffuse light that was warm and somehow dreamy. She was imprisoned inside the ship, but she nevertheless appreciated the Syndicate craftsmanship. Everything appeared to have been designed for beauty as well as function.
So, too, the communal showers that filled a lower level on the vessel. They were situated aside a locker room of sorts that seemed like a spa to Quinn. The space was octagonal and immense. It was so large, in fact, that it was impossible to see one side from another once the steam from hundreds of disparate, oscillating shower heads filled the room. The showers were deserted as Quinn doffed her gear and stepped into the space, naked as the day she was born.
She moved across the reactive tile-like mate
rial on the floor that either warmed or cooled based on body temperature. Soon, the water began, a fine mist at first, followed by soft pulses from the shower heads from above and below.
Beads of rainwater began falling, the lights dimming and the mist swirling. Quinn lathered herself up, admiring her form in a faraway mirror that was slowly fogging. She hadn’t been eating and had lost some of her muscle, but her body was still lithe and full in all the right places. She cupped her breasts and felt a warm current, then the water, almost buttery, streaming over the contours of her frame, everything heightened by the black sunshine. Her fingers traced the outline of bruises and welts on her flat stomach and thighs which were hard but feminine, not the kind of muscle achieved by machines, but by real work, hard work.
Her head swam, and she staggered for a moment. Had she taken one too many Black Sunshine pills? She cursed Cody and threw up her hands as a mini-waterfall fell from some compartment in the ceiling and then the steam in the room turned pink. Quinn smelled a faintly sweet odor, realizing that she’d just ingested something, some chemical.
Her vision blurred, and her speech slurred. She could feel the drug working its way down into her marrow, causing every neuron to fire all at once. She was somehow aware of the rhythms of the water, feeling the droplets slither across her body and then she sensed that she was no longer alone.
There was someone else in the shower with her.
The lights flickered, and she felt the press of skin against skin.
A pair of hands were on her thighs, working their way up. Running up the sides of her legs, squeezing her muscles. The fingers on the hands were long and delicate, definitely not those of a man. She blinked and caught sight of a figure behind her in the mirror and nearly screamed.
It was Marin.
Marin was naked and smiling, holding a finger to her lips as if urging Quinn to keep a secret. Quinn’s eyes danced, watching Marin twirl around her so quickly that it looked as if she wasn’t real, but instead, some ravishing seductress who’d been conjured up out of the steam.
Whether it was the pills or whatever agent she’d breathed in, Quinn felt paralyzed, as if she were trapped inside her body looking out.
Marin moved around and Quinn watched the water bead on Marin’s flawless, olive toned flesh. The juxtaposition of Marin’s coppery flesh against the whiteness of Quinn’s skin was momentarily jarring. Marin brushed back a lock of Quinn’s hair, and Quinn was helpless to react. Then, they were kissing, their mouths fitting perfectly. Quinn pulled back, and Marin held her and squeezed her ass, pulling her in again.
“I know what happened,” Marin cooed, her tongue flicking against Quinn’s ear.
Quinn was unable to speak, the words collapsing in her throat.
Marin pulled back this time and ran her fingers over Quinn’s nipples.
“You were silent down there for nineteen minutes. Your entire unit just vanished from observation and detection.”
“We were underground,” Quinn whispered meekly.
Marin grinned. “I think you’re lying.”
“And I don’t think you’re real,” Quinn replied.
“I’m as real as you want me to be, Quinn. All you have to do is tell me the truth. Just… let me in.”
Quinn closed her eyes and made a movement to turn and then she felt her right foot sliding. In an instant, she’d crashed down onto the shower floor. The impact was jarring, and Quinn tasted a mouthful of water that she quickly spat out. She lay there, silently for several seconds, and then turned back. Marin was nowhere to be seen. Had any of it been real, or was it something else, a holographic psychological operation designed to test Quinn’s mettle?
Either way, she took the episode as a warning. That the longer she and the others delayed in taking action, the likelier it would be that their plot would be uncovered. Rising unsteadily to her feet, Quinn realized the time for waiting was over. She had to see Cody and find out whether there really was a way to defeat the Syndicate.
POTENTATE BENNO REPLAYED footage of the interaction between Quinn and Marin that had been shot via a tiny camera. The shower was honeycombed with cameras, hundreds of them. He stared at the images on a small screen, taking no personal satisfaction as the women, glistening, beaded with water, stood locked in an embrace. He was more concerned with what had been said or left unsaid. The Potentate had hoped that Marin would be able to coax some information from Quinn, perhaps an admission or two, but that, unfortunately, was not the case.
“I didn’t want to push things,” a voice said. The Potentate turned back to see an approaching Marin, clad in a loud, golden robe. “I could have pressed further, but she would have grown defensive.”
The Potentate considered this. “There was an empire on Earth many centuries ago. I’m sure you know it. The Roman Empire.”
Marin nodded.
“Their reach extended to the British Isles. They invaded Scotland in A.D. Eighty-Three, and there they confronted a great army led by a Caledonian chieftain named Calgacus.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“The Caledonians were routed by the Romans, and Calgacus gave a speech where he said the world should tremble at the feet of the Roman Empire because it destroyed things, turning them into the desert while calling it peace.”
The Potentate turned to her.
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“That’s understandable because Calgacus never gave that speech. In fact, he likely never even existed. He was a creation of the Romans.”
She arched an eyebrow. “For what purpose?”
“It was an extension of their soft power. A way to get their enemies to lay down their arms without using a single weapon. Sometimes, the greatest implement one has is a gentle word, a whisper that sows fear, confusion, paranoia.”
The Potentate turned back and pointed to the image of a haggard Quinn leaving the showers. “That’s what you did, Marin. You have confused the good Sergeant and forced her, largely unwittingly, into action. You have accomplished something significant without firing a shot.”
“What do you think she’ll do, sir?”
The Potentate leaned back. He flicked his wrist and the images faded. “That is something for which we shall have to wait and see.” He then waved for Marin to leave.
Alone with his thoughts, the Potentate touched his right hand to the mask that concealed his face. Even if he could take it off, his true face wasn’t really there anymore. A shame. He’d had such a nice one.
The sight of the two women so intimate reminded him of a time when women and men, beautiful on the outside and inside, had thrown their bodies at him. So long ago. Now, all he had was power and a purpose.
And if he were to succeed, perhaps, his younger self would have a chance to relive all that pleasure. And he almost let loose a soft chortle, but stopped himself and marched out of the viewing room.
14
A MOTLEY CREW
Giovanni grabbed his rifle and ammunition and secured both in an oversized rucksack that he flung into a modified, Gurkha armored vehicle that was parked in an underground, casino garage. The Gurkha was driven by Mackie who was busy securing extra plastic drums of gasoline in the back. The resistance had appropriated a dozen such vehicles, modified with larger engines, and covered their exteriors in olive paint that was supposed to deflect radar.
“Doing a little camping?” someone asked.
Giovanni peered over a shoulder to see Luke appraising him from the edge of one of the garage’s massive support columns. Luke’s face was set in a scowl.
Giovanni smiled. “Hawkins found her.”
“Quinn’s daughter?”
Giovanni nodded. “Sam’s safe for now. Little monster fought her way through three states.”
“And I suppose you’re going to bring her back?” Luke asked.
A moment passed between the two. “I’ve got to bring her in. I’m going to Shiloh.”
“You and what army?”
Giov
anni’s eyebrows met as Luke gestured for him to follow. Luke turned and trotted up a ramp as Giovanni accompanied him. The men detoured into a cement stairwell and crept up until they were on the third floor of the parking garage. They crouch-ran down toward the far end of the garage that had several open spaces that afforded views of downtown Vegas. Giovanni knelt before one of the openings and looked out. Luke frowned as he gestured at the horizon, which was aglow with shades of purple and orange.
“Bastards are doing a sweep of the area around the airport,” Luke said.
“The hell are they after? Every person of fighting age that isn’t with us has already been taken.”
Luke sat silently, mulling this over, and Giovanni watched him peripherally. He’d been instantly intrigued by Luke. A Cary Grant look-alike. Always calm. Always with a plan. And always with those knowing eyes like he was looking out for those around him.
How could someone like that ever like someone like Giovanni? Wrong side of the tracks. Scraggly. And a tad too much attitude. Yet, he did like him, despite Giovanni’s doubts. And in the middle of all this ravage bloodshed and chaos.
Luke just didn’t give a shit what others thought, as long as they followed his lead to a victory he kept promising. And he was completely dismissive of anyone who had an opinion about him and Giovanni, if not downright confrontational.
Giovanni even wondered if it compromised his authority. He had, on more than one occasion, considered breaking things off for the sake of Luke’s continued leadership. That was a commodity greater than any weapons cache, but Luke wouldn’t hear of it.
He’d even told Giovanni that he would rather lose him as a fighter than as his partner. Still, the doubts about whether their growing relationship could interfere with the cause burdened Giovanni no matter how many reassurances Luke gave.
