This caught Cassy off guard. Usually she received one of two responses. The first response might be disbelief, either in shock, or in fear of deception.
The second response was normally a flood of questions or requests such as “do you have food?” or “we need medicine” or even “help us, there’s a horned monster with glowing red eyes that keeps stealing the town’s women.”
Occasionally they would stumble upon warlords running a colony of slaves, usually with a three to one female to male ratio. In such instances, bullets met scouting parties.
This response—one of indifference—came as a surprise.
Cassy eyed this man a little closer, trying to see beyond the redneck physique and the beatnik clothing.
No malnutrition, clean grooming, and his teeth appeared in decent shape. This was not a struggling survivor.
However, she followed the first contact playbook and said, “Why would you care? Well, because we can get you food, medicine, and all sorts of supplies. If there are any hostiles around here bugging you, we’ll hunt them down and wipe them out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I know we don’t look like much but there are a couple thousand soldiers, vehicles, and big guns that’ll be here before the day is out. You’ll see. You’ll be impressed.”
A different man said, “I don’t think so.”
This older man sported gray and white hair around a balding scalp. He stepped to the front of the group. As he did, the redneck told him, “She says she’s a Captain in some army. I think they’re thieves or something, Chief. We should run them out of town with buckshot in their behinds.”
Cassy’s mind raced as she realized she had completely misunderstood the situation. Her thoughts turned to shooting and she decided the redneck would get an extra shot in the face just for talking tough.
The older man, however, quickly diffused the situation.
“Calm down,” he told the redneck/beatnik hybrid. “I don’t believe a fight is in anyone’s interest.”
“No, it’s not,” Cassy jumped in. “We’re not here to fight. We’re here to help. Honest. If you don’t believe me, just wait and the rest of my formation will be here in a few hours.”
“Oh, I believe you, Captain.” the Chief said. “I believe every word you’ve said. Especially the part about your soldiers coming along this road later.”
“I’m sure General Shepherd will be happy to discuss all of the benefits to your town that we will provide,” and she realized her words came out jumbled and silly sounding, the result of befuddlement at the townspeople’s disposition.
“I do look forward to speaking with this General Shepherd,” the elder told her. “In fact, if you would not mind, please see if he will join us as soon as he is able. And please, ask him to leave his army behind.”
–
Shepherd walked amidst the buildings of the town and found himself impressed both with the place and with his guide, Robert Parsons, Chief of the New Winnabow Council.
The structures stood close together, packed in tight along narrow stone streets except for Rt. 17, which drove directly through the middle of it all. Those structures included a community arena that was surprisingly large for something built after the fall of civilization without the benefit of the most modern construction tools.
They called the area surrounding the arena The Commons, and it included ‘public’ buildings such as the council chambers, a school, and what Parsons called a necessary evil, the armory.
During their thirty-minute tour of “New Winnabow”, Shepherd learned that five hundred residents lived here, mainly in rebuilt homes within the town’s borders or in the temporary housing of a trailer park to the southwest.
The swamps to the north and west harbored many dangers, but also provided a cornucopia of natural medicines and food. The coastal plains to the east were deserted, almost entirely free of people or monsters.
Within the limits of ‘New Winnabow,” Shep observed old and young, families and single adults, and residents from just about every “race” (if that term meant anything anymore).
At the same time, utopia remained out of reach. He saw sick and injured in the small hospital, some dying from simple infections that the town’s meager medical supplies could not control. In a corner graveyard, he read tombstones for those lost to predatory alien animals as well as markers for children who never grew up because of a soaring infant mortality rate.
Yet overall, he witnessed a functioning town with order and purpose for each citizen, making it the first time outside of Trevor Stone’s estate that Jerry Shepherd saw survivors thriving.
He could not help but smile to himself and think well done.
The two men arrived outside the council chambers, a brick and stone building with a wooden roof. No doubt, many skilled masons lived in the town.
As a boy pulling a cart filled with seeds and flowers walked by, Chief Parsons finished a thought: “Our food mainly comes from agriculture, hunting, and fishing.”
“Fishing, eh? Nothing like drowning a few worms to pass a day.”
“If you like to fish, General, I recommend Town Creek just north of here. You’ll find a nice stock of herring and catfish. That would make for a good dinner, I’d say.”
“I reckon it would.”
“I hope you’ve enjoyed your tour of New Winnabow, General.”
“You seem to have done a fair sight well for yourself, Mr. Parsons,” Shepherd conceded as he admired the peaceful but busy surroundings.
“We have done so, General, by rejecting everything you stand for. As that is the case, I must ask you and your men to turn around and never come back.”
“I don’t understand. We mean you no harm. In fact, I think you’d like being—”
“A part of The Empire?” Parsons tried to be as nice as he could when he said it, but his distaste for those words carried on his tongue.
“Well, yes,” Shepherd wondered yet again why Trevor chose that name. “Like I said, seems to me you’ve done well for yourself. But most people haven’t in these hard times. That’s what The Empire is about. Rebuilding our society and kicking the aliens off the planet. So far, we’re doing a pretty fine job of it.”
Parsons shook his head in either pity or disappointment.
“Man never learns, does he?”
“I don’t rightly follow you.”
“General, I am sure you are an honorable man. Nonetheless, we are not in need of liberation. We are armed—not as well as you, no doubt—but armed enough to protect ourselves from the creatures in the swamp. We are not in need of protection.”
Shep scratched the back of his neck absently and told Parsons, “That may be so, but a few dozen miles away there’s a whole army of smart lizards that enslave people like you and me. If we don’t kick them out of the Carolinas, I reckon some day they’re going take an interest in your little community.”
“The Hivvans—that’s what you called them, right?—they have never bothered us. And I know why.”
“Why is that, Mr. Parsons?”
“What happened to mankind was brought upon us by our violence and taste for war. We have rejected all of that here. We do not fight among ourselves and we do not go searching out aliens to kill. We only kill to hunt and to defend our town, not to conquer or seek retribution against the invaders.”
“That’s mighty noble-sounding, Chief,” Shepherd said with just a hint of acid.
Parsons narrowed his eyes. “Do you know what happened to the original Winnabow, North Carolina?”
“Near as I can tell, something burned the place to the ground. Smashed over the walls. What was it? I’ve seen a thousand cities like it and I know a thousand critters that could do it to Winnabow.”
Parsons raised his finger.
“Ah, but there in lay the answer, General. Winnabow was not burned to the ground by a monster of this new order. No, the people of Winnabow did it to themselves. They did it in fear. In anger. For greed or just for t
he sake of violence. When the fires of Armageddon touched our planet, the people of Winnabow decided to throw kindling on the blaze. Riots, fights. The town died of its own hand. Of its own human failings.”
“I see,” Shep could think of nothing else to say, but it was not the first time he heard of riots and looting even as aliens captured and exterminated.
“The survivors of that community and others from all around this area came together in fellowship and built a town not only from brick and wood, but from a commitment to change our ways.”
Shepherd sighed and scratched at his ear as he considered his mission and the bigger picture. Truth was, whether or not New Winnabow remained independent from The Empire was not his concern. He did have a concern, however, about moving on to Conway and closing his trap on the Hivvans in the pocket. Trevor and the others on the governing council could decide how best to handle New Winnabow.
“Well, Chief Parsons, I see your point. I don’t agree with it, but I see it.”
Parsons responded in a soothing voice, “I hope someday you do agree. If you do, come back here to stay with us. Lots of good fishing on Town Creek.”
Shepherd smiled. “Thank you. I’m afraid that in the meantime, I have a job to do. I must get moving. I’m on a time frame. We’ll get through as quickly as we can. I don’t want to disturb your people any more than necessary. The main body will probably get here around—”
“No.”
“Huh? What say you?”
Parsons tried to smile to soften the blow, but he could only soften it so much.
“We will not grant your army permission to pass through our town. These are our lands. We would be facilitating the violence we so vehemently oppose. I assure you, should the Hivvans come in the other direction we would not grant them passage, either.”
“Hmm, well we have ourselves a problem,” Shepherd said. “You see, Chief Parsons, Seventeen is the only direct way to get around the Green Swamp down here. There is a reason we came this way. I really don’t have any choice.”
“General you do, in fact, have a choice. A choice between violence and peace. A choice you and your Emperor will have to make. It may be that the fate of humanity itself will hang in your decision. I hope you choose wisely.”
11. Hostage Situation
Airlie Gardens covered more than 77 acres east of downtown Wilmington and west of Wrightsville Beach, providing an oasis of nature in the midst of the city.
Old world visitors enjoyed vast gardens of azaleas and camellias as well as pleasant strolls along the forested grounds while swans and other aquatic fowl made homes on ten acres of freshwater lakes.
Alas, five years without upkeep took its toll on Airlie Gardens. Weeds and unwelcome species of wildflowers mustered in the shadows of the exquisite gardens, tainting the beauty with a wild look.
A band of Mutants moved in to Airlie Gardens after the world came to an end. All that natural beauty provided cover and the central location made it an ideal area for staging raids on the city’s dwindling population and then, later, against camps of survivors.
Around the same time that Cassy Simms made first contact with the people of New Winnabow, Nina Forest and the Dark Wolves waded across Bradley Creek on the southern side of Airlie Gardens.
Dressed in slick black wetsuits, the team swam a considerable distance until the water grew shallow enough to walk to the western bank. They stayed low, allowing only their heads, shoulders, and plastic-covered weapons to poke above the boggy surface of the water.
Two black and gray Norwegian Elkhounds came with the team, Odin and Phobos.
Not a breed known for their swimming acumen, the Elkhounds learned through training and experience to cross short stretches of water.
Nina led the group of four commandos and two dogs through the tidal creek until they arrived at the riparian buffer lining the bank. The trees and thick growth afforded the Wolves cover as they slipped off their wet suits to reveal green camouflage underneath.
They believed the aliens held the hostages at the Mt. Lebanon Chapel, a historic old house of worship in a clearing not far from the banks of the creek.
To get there, Nina would have to cut through the tree line of the creek buffer, follow a wooded walking path, and find the perimeter fence of the graveyard to the south of the chapel. From there they would reconnoiter the area to ascertain the situation.
While the specifics might change, the strategy would remain simple: kill the Mutants, free the captives.
As for those Mutants, they occupied a middle ground between the organized extraterrestrial armies conquering land and enslaving humans—like the Hivvans—and animal life, both predators and prey, now a part of Earth’s ecosystem.
In appearance, Mutants were bipedal humanoids. Oversized mouths filled with jagged teeth and a forked tongue dominated their oval heads. A pair of small eyes sat above round nostrils
As for disposition, Mutants acted something akin to a motorcycle gang, wreaking chaotic destruction wherever they rode on their speedy hovercraft bikes. They wore clothing resembling leather and carried a variety of blunt and edged weapons as well as a firearm similar in function to an 18th century flintlock pistol.
In the five years since the aliens arrived on Earth, Nina came to know that Mutants preferred to avoid battle. Instead, they employed the tactics of terror: harassment, torment, and murder. As if they lived to inflict suffering.
In that regard, their taking of hostages felt out of character, as did their decision to leave a survivor to dictate terms. For that matter, just trying to communicate came as a surprise, she knew of no other such instances.
Nina guessed that, perhaps, The Empire’s reputation preceded it into Wilmington, putting such a fright into the bastards that they grew desperate.
According to the people of Wrightsville Beach, a pack of these Mutants happened upon a group of kids from the town’s orphanage taking part in a ‘learn to fish’ outing. They gathered them into a school bus and forced it to the gardens, leaving behind a terrified eight year old with terms: safe passage out of the city.
As her team approached the Bradley Creek Overlook, the Mutants surprised Nina yet again; she spied two sentries keeping watch. A more organized and more thoughtful move than she expected from these fiends.
On the other hand, it came as no surprise to Nina to see that the two sentries were not very alert. They shuffled about kicking at the wooden slats, swatting flies, and occasionally shoving each other; doing just about anything other than watching for threats.
The wooden overlook included a walkway and a viewing patio designed to observe the tidal creek ecosystem without disturbing it. Using binoculars, Nina scanned the forest and shrubs around the overlook for any hidden guards. She saw nothing.
“Um, Cap, we going to do something about these guys? It’s a long way ‘round,” Carl Bly whispered as the four humans and their K9 compliment lay prone under cover of heavy brush.
Satisfied no other surprises waited, she said, “Okay look, we snipe them.”
Nina produced a scoped M4 and attached a sound suppressor.
“Vince, you take the one on the left, I got the one on the right.”
Vince Caesar followed suite, silencer and all.
“On three,” Nina commanded. “One…two…”
Bullets flew across the open terrain without a sound. Both shots found their mark. Both targets dropped, thudding to the floorboards.
Nina’s team waited. No sound of alarm came.
“Pack it up, let’s go.”
The Dark Wolves crossed the open terrain to the darkness under the overlook.
Oliver Maddock and Carl Bly—with a boost from the other two—scaled the wooden structure and threw the dead enemy bodies over the railing into brush.
With the first obstacle overcome, the Dark Wolves proceeded with their mission…
…Built in 1835, the Mt. Lebanon Chapel was a small white wooden building one-story tall with a sharply pointed roof, a s
hort steeple, and rows of large stately windows.
A dirt and gravel field separated the chapel from the forest. A road cut a tunnel through the woodlands as it headed away from the area but an empty yellow school bus blocked that path.
In front of the chapel, Nina saw a large bell atop a wooden post that looked at home on the grounds of the quaint church.
On the other hand, she saw something that did not match the surroundings: a Mutant refueling station in the form of a tall sharp pillar that reminded her of a miniature version of the Washington monument. Several unattended Mutant hoverbikes floated at its base.
One adult man and eight children sat huddled on the front steps of the chapel wearing the same type of patchwork clothing Nina had seen on the spokesman for the Wrightsville Beach survivors.
Whimpers came from the children as they clung together; their shoulders slumped in what had to be exhaustion from hours of terror. For his part, the man sat with his arms on his knees and his head slung low.
Nina expected to find two adult women with the group but did not see them. As bloodstained Mutants moved periodically in and out of the chapel, she guessed the worst.
She counted four of the aliens loafing around the perimeter and occasionally stopping to glare at the captives. More came in and out of the chapel to the extent that tracking individuals for an accurate count proved difficult. She guessed more waited inside.
The Mutants sported a variety of weapons. Two of the perimeter guards carried flintlocks capable of punching through the toughest human body armor. Another carried a spiked club and the fourth an axe. She noted one particularly large Mutant enter the church with a pair of nasty-looking swords strapped to its back.
In addition to the guards, two unarmed Mutants stood by the refueling station, perhaps repairing or operating it in some fashion.
She split the team, sending Vince Caesar to circle around to the bus where he would wait to extract the hostages, and Oliver and Carl to points around the perimeter. Nina kept the two hounds with her.
She took a deep breath, and then sent the two Grenadiers running out of the woods directly for one of the Mutants armed with a flintlock. It heard the fast pat-pat of the dogs’ feet and turned in time to see them racing at him. It panicked and fired its flintlock wildly, hitting nothing but distant treetops.
Beyond Armageddon: Book 02 - Empire Page 16
