“Air forces? Tanks?” Gunther craved the knowledge yet every answer seemed to fill the man with more fear. His eyes widened, his hand trembled more.
“Equipment for entire divisions parked on bases,” Dante told them. “Armories still locked and convoys of unused supplies. We only have a few planes because we don’t have many pilots, but we have a flight school going, every few weeks we can put another plane or two in the air. Fact is we found hangers full of fighter jets and fuel from the Pennsylvania and New Jersey National Guard.”
Elizabeth Doss said, “As if they were meant for you to find.”
“No,” Dante corrected. “They were there because the soldiers and pilots they were meant for never received the proper orders. The bureaucracy failed our troops while the aliens appeared everywhere out of thin air. There was little time to muster and organize. It wasn’t our troops who failed us, but a disorganized chain of command.”
Robert Parsons nodded. “So that is why you are an Empire? One Emperor controlling it all. No chains of command to be thrown into chaos. No confusion. One man in charge, one man making the decisions.”
“Yes.”
“Very efficient,” Gunther surmised. “Very brutal, no doubt.”
Dante answered, “It can be, yes.”
“And so you think your Emperor will send his troops here?”
“Gunther,” Parsons interrupted. “Let us save those questions for the entire council. I think Mr. Jones has given us a good idea of how his people have come to be here. Perhaps we should return to a pleasant meal and talk of other things for now.”
Gunther Faust appeared ready to protest but the glares he received from both Parsons and Doss silenced him. The older man shoved beans in his mouth and chewed…
…Evan descended the stairs and walked outside in a fast trot. Sharon Parsons stood across the small street leaning against a brick wall biting at her thumbnail.
“With everything you have here, you’d think you’d have a decent pair of nail clippers for that,” Evan said lightly as he approached her.
“Why are you out here? Go back inside and tell them the tales of your great victories. Tell them how your soldiers march and kill everything in their path. How glorious it must be.”
“Not so much,” Evan answered. “I find it depressing.”
She stopped biting her thumb and looked at him.
“Your father told me that your husband was killed in the fighting. That he was a soldier.”
“He was a killer,” she spat. “A brute of a killer. It was him and people like him that brought this down on our heads.”
A bird flew overhead between buildings, the flap of its wings echoed along the empty passage.
“Your son says he was a hero.”
“A child’s illusions,” she answered. “What should I tell him? The truth?”
“The truth? What is that truth? He wasn’t a Marine?”
“Oh, he most certainly was a Marine. He was stationed north of here at Camp Lejune. How charming he was with the ‘yes ma’ams’ to me and the ‘no Sirs’ to my father. Perfectly cut hair, a stiff upper lip, and he always opened the car door for me. A real gentleman.”
“And?”
“Why am I telling you this?” She wondered aloud and looked at him as if he might know the answer.
“Because I’m not like the others who have come here,” he assured her. “I’m not like the Generals and that tin-pot dictator. I’m different. That’s why they asked me to come down here. They figured maybe I could do what they failed to do.”
“And what is that?”
Evan said, “No, not yet. First, you have to tell me. What is the truth about your husband?”
She bit at her nail again.
“You don’t want to do that.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
“Because you have lovely hands, you don’t want to ruin them.”
She glanced at her fingers and palms. They were strong but far from lovely; rough with callus’ and hangnails, feint traces of old cuts and even a small, fresh bruise on the back of her thumb.
“Lovely?” She found the idea that her hands were ‘lovely’ hysterically funny.
Sharon Parsons laughed as she said, “My hands are scarred and battered. They haven’t been lovely in a good many years.”
Evan told her, “They are lovely because they wear the marks of a person who works with her hands in the Earth. They are lovely because you have used them to build something amazing. They are lovely because I can see how strong they are.”
“You have quite a way with words, Mr. Godfrey.”
“The name is Evan, and you’re avoiding the subject. Tell me the truth about your husband.”
She nodded as if saying, ‘okay, okay,’ then she glanced skyward, perhaps hoping to find the right words there.
“He was certainly a gentleman. How handsome he was on our wedding day in his perfectly pressed uniform marching me in his arm down the aisle. Little did I know that the perfectly pressed uniform and the ‘yes ma’ams’ and the chivalry hid much. We weren’t married a year before he hit me for the first time.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, Evan, ‘oh.’ That wasn’t quite my response, of course. By the time I realized that his backhands were becoming a regular occurrence, Tory was born. Then I hoped our child would change things. It did, for a week or two.”
“I’m sorry,” Evan said honestly.
“And I realized then that there is no such thing as a weekend warrior. There are two kinds of people in the world, Mr. Godfrey. Those who live by the sword and those who don’t. A man cannot spend his day training to kill and then come home and be a peaceful husband, a peaceful father. It is not possible.”
“No one? Never?”
She sighed. “Not in my world, no.”
“That’s why New Winnabow is so important to you, why you are so quick to protect it from all outsiders. This is your personal refuge.”
“Not all outsiders,” she countered. “From those who resort to violence. From those who live by the sword. Which are you, Evan? Are you a man of war or a man of peace?”
“I am a man of peace.”
“A man of peace? And you’ve been sent here to convince us to let your war machine march through our lands. I suspect that you will also tell us that if we don’t comply, your armies will come here and kill us. Is that not so?”
“That’s what they want me to do, yes. They sent me because they figured I could relate to you better than they could. The truth is that Trevor does not trust me and does not like me. I am—I must admit—his rival.”
“So why doesn’t your all-powerful Emperor have you killed?”
Evan told her and himself at the same time, “Because even he must live with political pressures and consequences. Even he knows he cannot kill off his rivals, or slaughter a town full of innocent people.”
“So what is it you propose to do?”
Evan drifted into thought. He saw the lines of his life, the lines of the new world, the lines of Trevor’s Empire…converging to a single point. He saw it perfectly clear and in that moment he knew fate delivered to him the chance he waited for since the first monster stepped foot on Earth.
“I’m not sure,” Evan lied. “But I’ll save New Winnabow, I promise you,” he lied again.
–
Evan eventually convinced Sharon to return to the dinner table where three hours of conversation followed the meal.
“So you have a basic plurality vote?”
“Have you considered the Borda count?”
“Transitivity of the process was a concern…”
“Reversal symmetry is encountered in any of the advanced electoral models but…”
On and on they droned about election and political theory. Dante nearly fell asleep.
In any case, the evening turned into night. Parsons postponed the council meeting until tomorrow and the two ambassadors from The Empire accepted an invitation to spend the nigh
t in a guesthouse.
Despite the lack of guards, helicopters, and tanks, the two men felt safe and slept peacefully.
–
Dante and Evan occupied single beds in the same room. A solitary window offered a view north toward an old barn turned workshop. That’s the first thing Dante saw as the alarm bells shocked him awake so fast that he jumped to his feet before realizing he was not dreaming.
“Wh—what? What is that?” Evan said groggily as he pulled his head from under a pillow.
Dante shook away the cobwebs and pulled on his pants and shirt. In addition to the bells, he heard people running through the streets shouting.
“Sounds like they’re calling out the garrison. Must be an attack of some sort.”
“Trevor? Did Trevor attack the city? I can’t believe it!”
“Evan,” Dante interrupted as Godfrey started pulling together his clothes. “If The Empire were attacking it’d be over by now.”
The two men jogged out from the guesthouse. The morning dew gave the fresh air a sharp cold sting.
They saw groups of children, women, and men running southeast. They saw smaller groups of armed men and women running northwest.
Dante and Evan followed the latter group.
As they crossed an intersection between a pottery shop and barber, they saw Billy Ray Phelps, the Sergeant-at-Arms. He glanced at them but did not stop. He held a shotgun.
“What is it? What is going on?” Evan called as he and Dante ran to keep pace with the armed man.
“Something came out of the swamp,” he said. “A big red and black bug of some kind. Go back to your room. We don’t need your help.”
Billy Ray accelerated away from the men. Evan and Dante stopped and glanced at one another.
“A Skip-Beetle I’d bet,” Dante figured.
“We’ve got to go help! Hey, wait up,” Evan chased after the militiamen rushing toward the scene.
Dante did not follow. Instead, he glanced around and realized he was surrounded by what might be considered a shopping district. One store in particular grabbed his attention…
… A strip of land that changed from golden fields to a thin tree line to wet ground and then to pure bog comprised the northwestern quadrant of New Winnabow.
A Giant Skip-Beetle came out of that bog: a massive beetle with rear legs resembling a grasshopper’s.
The mouth garnered the most attention. At first glance, it looked as if the creature had a tarantula stuffed in its maw. Further observation proved that its mouth was, in fact, surrounded by a tangled mass of furry leg-like appendages.
Above that gruesome orifice watched two red eyes appearing more mammal-like than insect or arachnid.
This Giant Skip-Beetle stood taller than a bus and as thick as a doublewide, making it slightly larger than average. It had come out of the swamp, pushed through the trees, and grabbed a cow from a grazing herd.
As Evan, Billy Ray, and a group of ten militiamen approached, the Skip-Beetle swallowed one last bite of its bovine treat.
“Set up a defense line!” Phelps ordered his militiamen who carried hunting rifles and shot guns.
The group did so but only after prodding. A few of the men—unable to pull their eyes from the creature—stumbled over stones or their own feet while moving into position. Part of their fear came from the size and hideous appearance of the creature. Another part from the noxious odor it exuded.
The Skip-Beetle hovered fifty yards in front of the defensive line. That line stood, in turn, another fifty yards from the buildings of New Winnabow.
“It ate something already,” one of the militia said hopefully. “Now it’ll just go away.”
The giant bug did not go away.
In the blink of an eye, the huge beast ‘skipped’ across the field, moving from fifty yards to ten feet in front of the militia without warning, without a chance for them to react.
Furry tendrils from the mouth grabbed for one of the men. He stumbled backwards, cringing from the reach and nearly incapacitated by the smell coming from its orifice.
The group fired. Most shots went wild, missing the target despite its close range and massive size.
Billy Phelps performed better. His shotgun hit the mouth as it loomed over his man. The pain of the pellets forced the beetle to hesitate for a second. After overcoming the minor pain from the shotgun blast, it again stretched down to gobble its next meal.
“Hey, over here!” Cried Dante Jones’ voice.
Jones ran into the field carrying two lit torches. He ran directly at the Skip-Beetle.
To the shock of everyone—particularly Billy Ray Phelps and Evan Godfrey—the beetle retreated a step, like an elephant fearing a mouse.
“Shoot it all you want, boys!” Dante yelled. “But unless you got something bigger than them pop guns you’re in for a bad day!”
Dante flung a torch at the tangle mess of furry tendrils around the monster’s mouth. It hit the target and the front face of the creature lit up faster than charcoal coated in lighter fluid.
The Skip-Beetle, its mouth burning, hopped away. It nearly reached the bog before it perished. The smell of burning giant insect would drift over New Winnabow for days.
The militiamen and Evan stared at Dante.
“Didn’t you smell that thing? What’d you think that odor was, bad breath?”
They waited for more of an explanation.
“Its saliva is like gasoline, burns real good.” Dante smiled a big cocky grin and told Evan, “Maybe you should pay more attention at the council meetings.”
–
“We appreciate all of your efforts to bring this to a successful settlement,” Robert Parsons spoke to Evan Godfrey and Dante Jones from the center of the head table in the council chambers. “However, as we told your Emperor, we cannot allow your army to pass through. It would go against all we hold dear.”
Dante burst, “Even after today? Even after a giant bug nearly killed some of your people? You won’t make this one small concession?”
Parsons held his hand up, clearly annoyed at the breach of protocol.
The fourth councilman, a younger fellow named Brad Case, spoke to Dante, “Hey, that was great what you did today. Thanks and all.”
Elizabeth Doss added, “But that has no bearing on our decisions. Besides, there are some of us who think—” she stopped, embarrassed.
Dante Jones finished for her, “Some of you think the Skip-Beetle was a sign. A sign Evan and me shouldn’t even be allowed here. Right?”
The council—which prided itself on rationale thought and well-considered procedures—refused to admit to any such thing.
“I can’t believe that,” Jones said. “It’s like you’re refusing to listen to reason because you’re too stubborn.”
“Mr. Jones,” Parsons wrapped things up. “I am sorry that we cannot end this on a mutually agreeable note. You must understand this is the life we’ve chosen. We have not traveled to Pennsylvania and asked you to change for us. This is our land. We ask you to leave it, and us, in peace.”
“That might not be possible,” Dante tried.
Evan put a hand on his shoulder to stop him and said, “I see your mind is made up. I will have to inform Trevor of your decision.”
“We understand, Mr. Godfrey. We wish you a safe journey home and we hope that we do not see one another again, unless you desire to come live with us.”
“Make no mistake,” Elizabeth Doss warned. “We will defend our borders. Tell that to your Emperor. If he decides to force the issue, human blood will be shed. Blood that will be on his hands.”
Dante glanced at Billy Ray Phelps who stood to the side of the chamber. The man enthusiastically nodded in agreement with Doss. Dante realized the man did not understand what he faced. On some level, Phelps must be entertaining a fantasy that determination and shotgun shells could hold off attack helicopters and tanks.
Of course, that assumed General Jerry Shepherd and his men would follow the orde
r to fight their way through this town. Would Shep do that? Could his men shoot fellow human beings, or run people over with tanks?
Dante closed his eyes and shook his head. He saw no good outcome no matter which direction this went. And why? Because the leaders of New Winnabow were as stubborn and self-righteous as Trevor Stone.
Parsons dismissed the council and ended the discussion.
Dante turned to Evan. “We have to get back and tell Trevor we failed. These poor people put us in an awful position.”
“He is supposed to be a great leader,” Evan said as they stood in the emptying chambers. “He must find another way. He must.”
Dante insisted, “You heard what he said. He has no other choice. We had to convince these people of that. We failed.”
Evan noticed a man walked toward him, but doing so in very tentative steps. He recognized him as Gunther Faust, the older, German-accented councilman they met at dinner the night before.
“Please, may I have a word with you?” Gunther looked over his shoulder as if afraid someone might hear.
However, Doss and Parsons stood in the far corner discussing something with Phelps. Case, the other member of the council, had left the building.
Evan told Dante, “Why don’t I meet you back at the transport?”
Dante put a hand on Evan’s shoulder, “Remember what we just talked about, Evan. Remember.”
“I will.”
Dante left.
Gunther led Evan out a side exit. They found a quiet courtyard surrounded by flowers under a blue sky.
“Mr. Godfrey, do you know what I’ve been doing the last few years?”
“What is that?”
“I have been building this town. Brick by brick, layers of mortar upon layers of mortar. Concrete and stone…that’s what I have been doing.”
“You’re a mason,” Evan surmised. “Your work here is outstanding.”
Gunther appeared both angry and frightened.
“I do not want to see it smashed down! We have built more than buildings, this I know. But are our convictions so weak that they will not withstand the passing of your army? I find this something hard to believe.”
Beyond Armageddon: Book 02 - Empire Page 24
