Fireworks

by James A. Moore

  The people in the distance scattered, and one of them spun twice before falling to the ground. Another bottle came sailing through the air, clearly defined by the night vision lenses in his faceplate. Jack stepped out of the way, calling into his radio for the others to avoid the bottles. The heavy silhouette that threw the bottle went down in a hail of bullets from several of the soldiers. He must have been carrying more of the explosives, because his body went up in a spectacular fireball that swallowed the armored car he was trying to hide behind.

  Calloway ordered Fitzpatrick and Walters to move to the sides and flank the retreating figures. Both men moved to follow his orders and took off at high speed. Two more of the silhouettes fell to their gunfire, but the others were breaking into the woods. A few more seconds and they'd be gone.

  "Move it, people! I don't want those fuckers getting away! Fan out and cover the woods! Arlbuck! Get me air support, now. I want three 'copters in the sky and looking for these bastards!"

  Arlbuck must have been ahead of him, because even as Jack spoke, he saw two of the black helicopters rising above the tree line. He wondered why he hadn't heard anyone else issuing commands, and called to Arlbuck to discover the reason.

  The answer was all too simple: the first explosion he'd heard came from the other wing of the building. The place where the off-duty officers slept and ate.

  "They're using some kind of poison gas, Sergeant. Not everybody over there's dead, but we've got a lot of incapacitated men."

  "At least they ain't dead." Calloway's mind was whirling. Now that the initial threat was ended-at least he hoped it was-he had to give serious thought to what to do next. He was about to radio Colonel Anderson when the explosions came from the building next door.

  He turned to look, and watched with eyes gone wide as the Dew Drop Inn exploded. Jack had just enough time to register what was happening before the shock wave hit him full in the chest. A hot wind like the fist of an angry god lifted him from his feet and threw him through the air. All around him, the other soldiers were experiencing the same difficulties. Jack held tightly to his firearm, praying for a soft landing. His prayers were rewarded with the hard thump of his ass and back bouncing off the top of an abandoned RV, right before he flopped to the ground.

  Despite the breathing gear surrounding his face, Jack found he couldn't take in any air. His lungs adamantly refused to allow the fresh air in. He gasped like a fish out of water and tried to stand. His body flopped bonelessly on the ground and he groaned. Fuck this, he thought. Maybe I'll just stay here for a spell. Hell, it ain't even my watch.

  After giving the matter a little more thought, Jack decided he could move after all. It was just a matter of convincing all his functioning parts to work together. He groaned and sucked in air. Despite being canned and recycled, it tasted sweet. The sound of ringing faded enough from his ears that he could acknowledge the screaming calls coming through his radio. He reached up and toggled the switch to SEND, and called out for order. After a few moments, the noise calmed down.

  "Give me a status report, Corporal Arlbuck. What's the situation over at the storage dump?"

  "There's nothing left, Sergeant. It's gone. Those bastards blew it sky-high."

  Jack sighed, going over in his head just what the hell had happened. "Patch me through to Anderson, and while you're at it, get me a status report from the search teams working with the helicopters."

  "I'm on it."

  The radio was silent for a time, and Jack took a moment to assess the situation at the Collier House. Several soldiers were already putting out the fires that had started under numerous windows, but in one case a room towards the far end of the wing was burning ferociously.

  "Arlbuck?"

  "Yes, Sergeant?"

  "Get the Collier Fire department down here. We're gonna need help to contain this mess. If there's no one there, have four of the boys in town commandeer a truck and bring it out here,"

  "Already taken care of, Sergeant."

  Calloway smiled under his respirator. "Good man."

  Arlbuck gave no response to that, and Jack went back to barking orders. Men were deployed to extinguish the fires where they could, and to move all supplies from the areas where the fire was already too large for them to handle. The good news was that the survival suits allowed them to attend to the matter with minimal risks.

  Arlbuck's voice crackled in his ear. "Sergeant…" The man's voice was hesitant, almost but not quite fearful.

  "Here, Corporal. What's up?"

  "Colonel Anderson's on his way. The trucks should be with you in a few minutes."

  "Affirmative." Damn, this is gonna get nasty. Jack prepared himself for the worst. Anderson wasn't going to like what he saw. No sir, he wasn't going to like it one little bit.

  Four minutes later, Calloway was proved correct. Neither Colonel Anderson, nor his second, Major Hawthorne, were the least bit amused.

  4

  The firemen were still working on what was left of the Dew Drop Inn, which was little except a crater filled with smoldering debris.

  The actual damage to the Collier House wasn't hideous, but it was bad enough. One full wing had been lost to the blaze, and almost half of the officers were out of commission; either wounded or dead. Every Humvee not out on patrol was ruined. In some cases the gas tanks were polluted with sugar, in others, the vehicles were burned beyond repair. The guards positioned to protect the vehicles were dead. Each and every one of them appeared to have died in extreme agony. Several still had the darts from their lethal injections sticking from their sides or, in three cases, from their necks. Total casualties for the night were at forty-three and counting. On the brighter side, they'd managed to capture or kill nine of their assailants. So far no one was talking.

  Anderson was just shy of ballistic. He moved stiffly, as if in extreme pain. Calloway'd known his commanding officer long enough to understand that what could be interpreted as discomfort was actually a sign of extreme tension in his superior. He didn't need to see a face to know the truth: Anderson had now been pushed too far. The kid gloves were off, and now they'd be replaced by brass knuckles.

  From behind his faceplate, Anderson coughed harshly once and pointed towards the hole where his supply station used to be. "This stops now, gentlemen. Right fucking now."

  Hawthorne, God love him, took the hook and spared Calloway any more verbal explosions. Jack knew the anger wasn't meant for him, but he'd taken quite enough lumps for one night, without opening himself up to any more.

  "How do you want this handled, Colonel?"

  "Complete shutdown. Nobody leaves their homes from this point on. Anyone caught outside is to be shot on sight."

  "I don't think they'll go for it, Colonel." Calloway couldn't believe he'd just spoken, but, in hindsight, he had to admit that'd been his own voice. "What I mean is, the people of Collier aren't going to sit still for this. They'll do everything they can to escape or get to the newsies."

  Anderson turned his way, and Jack swore he could actually hear the man's teeth grinding through the hard shell of his faceplate. "And when they try, Sergeant Calloway, you and your men will to shoot to kill. We don't need any more people in the damned infirmary, so make sure you kill 'em right the first time."

  "P-permission to speak freely, sir?"

  "Granted."

  "We've got less than three hundred soldiers left, and there're still over two thousand people in Collier." Jack shook his head and raised his shoulders in an effort to express the futility of the matter. "Colonel Anderson, we can't be every where at once."

  Anderson turned towards him fully, and the spider-like lenses of his faceplate glittered coldly in the heat. "That won't be a problem for long, Jack. The reprogrammers have already begun their work."

  "Reprogrammers, sir?"

  "The 'conditioning experts.' They've already started making sure that we won't have problems for very much longer."

  "How so, sir?"

  "You captured f
our men alive tonight, Jack. They'll be talking over every detail of tonight's little encounter with our new friends from on high."

  Jack grew cold just thinking about it. His mind flashed back to the faces he couldn't quite remember, and the…

  Corporal Calloway, it is our job to make absolutely certain that you understand the gravity of the position you've been offered…

  … voices which spoke coldly of his duties. He found himself shivering again, despite the heat.

  "Sir? How does that help the problem with the townsfolk?"

  "Simple. Every name those fine, upstanding citizens mentions is going to be executed."

  Jack shook his head. "That'd be a mistake, Colonel. I don't think you want to do that."

  Anderson leaned forward until their faceplates were almost touching. "Why not, Calloway? You think the rest of this town'll come hunting us down? You think maybe the police will arrest us?" The man's voice fairly dripped venom. "These are just ordinary people, Sergeant. They don't have many weapons left to them, and they'll have a good deal less once we've found out who the hell's been supplying them with the few pistols they did manage to gather."

  "Um, sir?"

  "Yes, Calloway?"

  "They didn't use guns against us today, sir. They used tranquilizer darts and homemade explosives."

  "Then I guess we'll gave to just do what we can with our assault rifles, Sergeant. Unless you'd rather take to carrying a baseball bat."

  "Point made, sir."

  "Hawthorne? You've been awfully quite throughout this little conversation. Anything you'd like to add?"

  "We have control of their water, Colonel. Maybe we should start adding something to keep them calm."

  Anderson stood stock still for several seconds. Hawthorne looked at Jack and shrugged as if to say 'this is just the way he thinks, it'll pass,' and then Anderson replied. "So do it. Talk to Hendridge over at the clinic. I want it taken care of."

  Hawthorne nodded, and Jack breathed a heavy sigh of relief. At least there'd be fewer casualties if the people were too doped up to fight back.

  Then Anderson spoke again, and sent more chilled water coursing through his veins. "Besides, the reprogrammers won't mind if we make their work a little easier. There's no way the people in this town can go on without being told to forget everything they've seen."

  A few minutes later, Jack was dismissed and allowed to get the rest he so desperately needed. He slept in the same room as before, with the window open and the acrid smoke smell clinging to his nostrils. It was that or a tent near the command post, and he didn't have the energy to get set up. When he finally closed his eyes and fell into the soft darkness of sleep, his mind was filled with the images of faces half-seen and needles reaching for his arms. Corporal Calloway, it is our job to make absolutely certain that you understand the gravity of the position you've been offered… Jack understood what Anderson meant. Collier was as good as dead.

  CHAPTER 10

  1

  In his dream, Jack was once again a teenager, barely old enough to shave. While a part of him understood on a primal level that he was only dreaming, most of him simply marveled at how little the town of Collier had changed. Over near the diner, the Williams Brothers' Barber Shop sat placidly, with half a dozen men waiting for their turn to get their crewcuts trimmed down again. He looked at the old brick building with a sort of heavy sadness, knowing that the place would be gone again when the dream ended. He'd always liked the Williams brothers; they always had a nice word for a passing kid, and often had a piece of licorice to offer with the friendly greeting.

  Where the new municipal building stood in the town he'd gone to sleep in, a squat, two-story wooden house perched, the home of Martin Collier, the last remaining member of the town's founding family. Old Mister Martin was about twice as old as should have been possible, in Jack's eyes, but still managed a lazy wave and nod whenever anyone went past.

  Down the road a stretch, the gravel trail leading to the lake was shimmering in the summer's heat, promising relief to any boy who could sneak past the construction workers who were building what would later be the docks. Mister Carlson was the foreman, and he always acted like a hard ass when any of the town officials were around. But all the kids knew if they waited until the mayor was out of sight, Carlson would let them pass.

  But today he wasn't off to go swimming in Lake Oldman. He was on his way to see Karen, the girl he knew he'd marry someday. Karen didn't know it yet, but Jack did. They were meant to be together, just as sure as the sun would rise every morning.

  Karen was a beauty, and no one in town could deny that. She was only fourteen, same age as he was, but she carried herself like one of those Miss America contestants. She was pretty enough to make grown men notice her, and she had a smile as sweet as the smell of honeysuckle carried by the August breeze. Just being around her made Jack's heart beat a little faster, and on those occasions when he managed to hold her hand, he felt certain that he'd found the finest pleasure life had to offer.

  Down the road a ways, he heard the sound of Eric Mobley's Chevy Nova rumbling towards the road out of town. Eric worked over at the textile mill, same as just about everybody in Collier, but he often went on road trips for Mister Brightman. Eric was okay for a grownup; he treated the kids as they were real people instead of like they were five-year-olds with a hearing problem. Like just about everybody in Collier, Eric figured on living his life in town and dying there too. Somehow, the knowledge that Eric would die pinned beneath the wheels of a tractor trailer wormed its way into Jack's dream, and everything seemed a little darker for that knowledge.

  He'd just managed to get to Karen's door when everything went wrong. As he lifted his index finger to push down on the doorbell, the sound of automatic gunfire exploded from behind the screen door, drowning out the sound of the football game that the reverend was watching. Jack stepped away from the door as he heard Missus O'Rourke screaming. He turned away from the house, his body shaking with adrenaline and fear, and ran towards his own home a few blocks to the east.

  Jack only made a few paces before his world grew darker again, and his peripheral vision disappeared. He was suddenly taller than he should have been, and the smells of summer faded, replaced by the sterile, cold scent of recycled air.

  Jack looked around, wondering for a second what could have gone wrong. Where the street had been almost empty a few seconds earlier, there was suddenly a crowd. He recognized all of them. They were people he'd spoken to every day when he was growing up. Even the black folk from the bad parts of Collier were there, looking towards him with grim frowns on their faces. He tried to remember how his father always told him not to be afraid of the niggers, 'cause they were just people too, but seeing their nasty expressions, and seeing the same looks on the faces of all the white folk in town, the lesson lost a bit of its impact.

  The longer he watched, the more people showed themselves. Towards the back of the gathering crowd, Jack thought he saw his parents. (He knew they were dead, though they shouldn't be, not with him only fourteen years old, but there they were just the same.) They too looked disappointed in him. Karen O'Rourke was standing there, looking much as she had on the day they'd said their final goodbyes. She was crying, and her tears fell from her face, leaving crimson blood trails instead of the clear streaks he expected.

  "We trusted you, Jack. We loved you. Why are you doing this?" Her words cut into him like lightning strikes. All around him, the people of Collier smoldered, their skin growing red and starting to blister. When Karen spoke again, her voice was surely as loud as the end of the world, "I loved you, Jack, and you let this happen." He looked towards her angelic face, and watched in dismay as the skin began to peel away from her skull and her hair caught fire.

  Jack woke to the sound of his own whimpers. He sat up and sighed, feeling the muscles in his body quiver. Though he made the effort to sleep again, it wasn't meant to be. An hour later, he finally climbed from his bed and went to grab some
breakfast. Though the food smelled good, he couldn't bring himself to eat. He kept seeing Karen, crying tears of blood as her face burned away.

  2

  Rotation time again. In an effort to make certain that no one grew too familiar with the local citizens, the soldiers working for ONYX were relocated every day. Today Jack had the dubious honor of working in Colonel Anderson's office. Despite the fact that he'd worked other locations around Collier, Jack knew he'd been assigned here for a reason. Hell, he'd requested it. There were too many names coming up in conversations, too many faces that were familiar enough to make him pause. Even if he hadn't asked for the relocation, Jack knew he'd have ended up here eventually anyway.

  Anderson wanted Jack where he could keep an eye on him. Oh, he'd never say it out loud, but Jack knew what was going on. In Anderson's eyes, he was a weak link. Not because he couldn't perform his job well, but because he was from Collier. He knew too many people for the Colonel not to consider him a risk.

  The whole idea was sort of funny, really. Jack might have known the people in town when he was younger, but most of them were just strangers with familiar faces. Almost twenty years had passed since he'd been a part of the community, and he had more in common with the people in ONYX than he had with the locals. Most of them wouldn't be able to even recognize him; years of harsh physical training and two decades of life away from the small town had long since removed any traces of the boy he once was, at least in his own eyes.

  Still, Karen was in town. So was Pete. They were risks to his ability to function as effectively and, to be blunt, as ruthlessly as he might need to.

  In the exact same position, Jack would have done the same thing Anderson had done. Or better still, he would have left Jack behind, made him stay at the base. There was good reason for that sort of decision, as Jack's nightmare the previous night had made abundantly clear. Even if it wasn't on a conscious level, there was some part of him that wasn't very happy about what was happening to his hometown.