Lost Hope (The Bridge Sequence Book Three)

by Nathan Hystad

  Bugs already surrounded me, and Tripp waved a hand near his face. “I hate the jungle,” he said.

  “I assume you spent your fair share of time in them?” I asked.

  “In this life and the one before. I can’t tell you how many swamps I’ve crawled through, and how many snakes I’ve roasted over an open firepit.” He spat on the ground in distaste and pulled out his 9MM, checking the magazine was full. “This better be quick.”

  I had my own series of jungle nightmares, but I didn’t see them quite the same as Tripp. His time with the SEALs had made him imagine enemies around every corner in places like this, where I saw opportunity. Hidden artifacts from fallen empires. Communities that had once thrived out here were now overgrown with thick vines and damp moss, and riddled with rodents.

  I closed my eyes, briefly envisioning a town with large stone walls, and a courtyard where the locals met to dance and sing their gods’ praises. There would have been love and hate, drink and food, birth and death. The cycles of our very existence. Would modern cultures be lost like the ancient civilizations I’d studied my whole life?

  “You coming, Rex?” Veronica’s question broke me from my reverie.

  “Yep.” Gren passed me one of the squat guns, and I gawked at it. I’d lost my gun, so it would have to do. “How do I use this?” I asked.

  It had a screen above the handle, and he selected it, bringing it to glow. “The gauge shows your charge. It’s full.”

  “Where’s the trigger?” I asked, finding nowhere to tap my finger.

  He indicated a button along the edge of the barrel. “Here.”

  “Okay.” I glanced at Tripp, and he requested one as well, shoving his 9MM into a holster.

  “The Umir is a mile that way,” Baska told their group. They were all huddled in a circle. That made Baska the quarterback. “You eight approach this direction.” He ran a finger over a radar screen on a clear handheld tablet. “We will take the opposite.” He hit the device on the opposing side.

  “And how do we capture an Umir?” Tripp asked.

  Lewen pulled a tool from her jumpsuit and snapped it in her hand, extending the device four feet out. Energy zapped from the end. “We neutralize it.”

  “As long as you know what you’re doing.” I turned to Veronica. “You should stay here with the ships, in case things get out of hand. We may need to be rescued.”

  “Do we have communication?” I asked Gren, who nodded to one of his soldiers. He passed out visors with built-in headsets. I slipped mine over my head, and everything grew brighter—almost like night vision, but without the green undertones.

  “Can you hear me?” I spoke, testing the comms.

  “Loud and clear,” Tripp said.

  “I’m coming with you.” Veronica had her own gun locked and loaded.

  I was about to argue when Gren set a hand on my arm. “I’ll stay with the ships. If an extraction is necessary, I’ll be prepared.”

  Veronica smirked at me and flipped her own visor into place. I glanced around the group. I was with a group of aliens, wearing something like a VR helmet, heading into the Thai jungles in the middle of the night. What could go wrong?

  The ground was damp, but my boots kept my feet dry as we started away. Our group consisted of Tripp, Veronica, and me, with Lewen and five of the soldiers. They ran like ghosts, despite their sizes. The dark jumpsuits kept them hidden in the night, and as we walked on, the canopy above us grew thicker, blotting out any chance of moonlight from reaching the ground.

  I nervously watched for signs of snakes. These jungles would hold a lot of things wanting to kill us, and not just the Umir.

  “It’s on the move,” Lewen said in a whisper. She showed me the screen, where the Umir’s icon had drifted closer to the village.

  “Damn it.” We couldn’t let that thing harm the people out here. They’d have no defenses against a monster like that.

  Our group hurried, but we could only go so fast through the rough terrain. We met an obstacle, and the only way around was to climb slick rocks. Water tumbled down them in a trickle. It was steep, but one of the soldiers dashed over, nearly losing her footing. She tossed a rope to us and fastened it to a tree trunk above. We took turns using the rope to assist our climb, and we were on the move again.

  Tripp was at the lead, taking charge like he’d probably done on countless occasions throughout his career. He lifted a hand, and pressed his back into a tree. We hid while something rustled in the trees ahead. Bugs fluttered around my face, and it took all my control not to slap at them.

  A leopard emerged from a hundred feet away, striding in the open area. It raised and tilted its head before continuing on. Two small cubs trailed it. Tripp kept his hand raised, and we waited another five minutes to confirm their departure.

  “Where’s Baska?” I asked Lewen.

  “Near the village.”

  Ten minutes later, we saw the lights from the town’s fires. A body of water was on the far side of the area, and I assumed they fished out of the pool. Despite the late hour, there were people gathered around, talking softly. This village wasn’t anything more than a dilapidated town, a respite for the locals to call home in the middle of a dangerous world.

  I counted five structures, each pieced together with plywood and aluminum sheets. Clothes hung from a rope tied between two trees, and I surveyed the area, searching for signs of the Umir. I caught the glint of its metal hull reflecting off the firelight. I slipped the visor off and watched in horror as the Umir unfolded behind the unsuspecting villagers.

  It spun out of the ball and into the ten-foot robot. The guns emerged, lifting from its sides.

  “No!” I shouted, drawing the attention of the townsfolk. They stumbled from their seats, trying to see who was yelling at them.

  The Umir fired.

  It all happened so fast. The heavy-caliber bullets tore through them. One second, there were ten people sharing stories outside; the next, they were riddled with holes, faces planted on the dirt.

  The Umir turned in my direction, and the guns, still smoking, prepared to shoot. Tripp tackled me just in time, sending us to the ground as the bullets struck a tree.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Tripp called.

  I glanced up and saw Baska behind the Umir. Two of the soldiers had wrapped a metal rope around it, and they pulled tightly, keeping the robot in place. Another joined in, bashing its shorter appendage with his rifle. It broke after three strikes. The other gun fired, the bang loud across the water.

  A brave Rodax rushed it, trying to disarm it, and the Umir swung the weapon like a club. The soldier fell in a heap. He was dead.

  The rest of them rushed the Umir, securing it with another two ropes. They managed to bring it to the ground. Lewen jabbed the electrical current from her stick at the Umir. The robot gathered enough freedom from the rope to curl up halfway. It was trying to protect itself by returning into its sphere shape, but they didn’t let it.

  Lewen pressed the arcing energy into the robot’s thin torso, and it flinched, going rigid, then slack. The eyes burned a hot red and went dark.

  Tripp helped me to my feet, and I nervously went over to the group of soldiers. Lewen had another device plugged into a panel on the back of the robot. It was warm, steam rising from its exterior.

  “We’ve found the hub,” Baska said. “Gren, we have the location. We’ll be right there.”

  People emerged from their beds, the noise rousing them from sleep. I watched as husbands, wives, and children cried over their loved ones’ dead bodies. They shouted accusations at us and beat fists against Baska’s chest. The soldiers confiscated two of the men’s firearms, after they jabbed the barrels in our faces.

  Veronica said a few words in broken Thai, assuring them we weren’t the enemy. She pointed at the unmoving robot, and they seemed to understand.

  We left them to bury their dead. Four of the Rodax dragged the Umir back with us, pulling the heavy weight with ropes. Anothe
r draped their dead friend across his shoulder and hefted him to our ships.

  My heart was heavy by the time we returned, but despite the terrible night, Gren was grinning at us.

  “What’s there to be happy about?” Tripp asked him.

  “We know where the hub is. We can stop the Umir from creating their network,” he exclaimed, showing us the map.

  It was in another hemisphere, in northeast Mexico.

  ____________

  The trip had taken four days, one longer than Saul had originally suggested, but they’d arrived in Georgia. Bill couldn’t believe the state of the country. He’d been right to choose his cabin as a hideout. The power was off nearly everywhere, but they occasionally crossed into a county where the locals used their own self-contained grid.

  The first had been in Kansas, but they’d had little information to share with Saul and Bill. The radios were dead, no one transmitting. They used the CB in Saul’s truck, picking up the occasional spike, but mostly it was speculation or private conversations.

  They’d encountered a roadblock when entering Missouri. Hundreds of armed soldiers had greeted them, and Bill had watched in amusement as Saul acted natural. He’d casually mentioned the Believers, and his close association with someone called the Sovereign. After speaking to three or four people, they were face-to-face with a dour-looking colonel.

  “You’re doing good work,” Saul had told him.

  “Prepare for arrival,” the colonel had replied, patting the door of the truck. Saul had rolled up the window and driven off, heading farther east.

  Bill had asked him what that was all about, and they’d briefly discussed the cult Bill had become fascinated with.

  The storm came a day after. Meteor showers. Rain and hail the size of baseballs. Saul had managed to park under an overpass, and they waited it out. They talked about what the meteors might have been, and Saul assumed they were shattered pieces of the Objects that had breached the atmosphere. Bill doubted that.

  Now, a full day after the most horrifying night of Bill’s life, they entered the Peach State. He expected to face another blockade.

  “Where are the troops?” Bill asked Saul. The bald man rubbed his head and hit the blinker, pulling to the edge of the road. The highways were nearly vacant. The majority of the country was under a stay-at-home order, but that didn’t stop the odd person from disobeying the rules.

  A car approached them from behind, and a woman emerged, waving her hands frantically at them.

  “What do we do?” Bill asked, and saw Saul already had a gun in his lap.

  “Follow my lead.” Saul climbed from the truck, taking the keys with him. Bill copied him, stepping out onto the road. His legs ached from the hours in the seat. Saul wasn’t keen on taking breaks, and Bill thought about finding a cup of coffee. Most of the stores were closed, but some businesses were still operating. When the power goes out and shit hits the fan, cash is king. And Saul had a pretty good stash, from what Bill could tell.

  The woman was crying, her eyes red and puffy. “You have to help me. My kid… he’s sick.”

  Saul peered past her, toward her old Buick. “Where are they?”

  “He’s back a couple miles. I saw you go by, and…” She started to blubber, and Bill caught a few words about insulin and that the pharmacies had been ransacked.

  “Why didn’t you go to the next town?” Saul asked her. “Drive the car? Bring the boy?”

  She shook her head like she didn’t understand. “Are you going to help me?”

  Bill looked around the Georgia border. How quickly society crumbled. One sniff of trouble and the people took to the streets, looting the grocery stores, hoarding the drugs, alcohol, and anything of value. They’d all seen too many post-apocalyptic movies. But without some semblance of structure, the wild came out in humanity. Bill was different since he’d met Saul, like he’d changed into a new man, a harder version of himself. If he was truthful, he felt better than he had in years.

  “Come on. We’re going.” Saul left the woman there, and she chased after him.

  “Come back with me. He won’t make it—” She stopped as she faced the barrel of Saul’s heavy chrome revolver.

  “Show me the gun,” he whispered.

  “What?” she asked, but Bill heard an inflection in her voice.

  “The gun. It’s in your pants under the jacket.” Saul motioned to her belt.

  “You have it wrong.”

  “What was the plan? Get us to follow you? Take our gear? Is it really that bad out there?” Saul asked.

  Her tears stopped. “They took everything. I wasn’t lying about that. We’ve gone as far as three towns over. I can only get the drugs if I give them something of value.”

  “There is no kid, is there?” Bill asked her.

  She met his gaze and broke it. She kicked at a pebble on the shoulder of the road. “Can you spare anything?”

  “For your drug habit? So you can give it to some local two-bit hustler? Go lock yourself in a room. Sober up, and stay out of trouble.” Saul turned, and Bill was about to shout a warning when the woman pulled her gun.

  Her hair fell over her face, and she blew at the greasy strands. “I don’t want to do this.”

  Saul was calm. “Then don’t.”

  “I…”

  “Did you see that storm? Everyone is scared. Go into hiding for a few days, and it’ll all blow over. Things are getting worse. Wait it out.” Saul started walking toward her, but she raised the gun, pointing it directly at Bill’s new acquaintance.

  Her eyes twitched as she glanced at their truck, then at the gun in Saul’s grip. Bill could read her like a book. She could see they had valuables on them, especially to the drug-dealing type.

  “Lady, go to your car and get the hell out of here.” Saul had finally added some edge to his voice, but she didn’t falter.

  “Give me the keys. Drop your gun and kick it over,” she said.

  So far, Saul hadn’t aimed it at her. Bill had never seen someone so calm in the face of adversity. He noticed Saul’s feet turn slightly closer to the woman, his knees bend just a tiny bit.

  “I said drop—”

  Saul fired once, and the woman’s gun fell from her hand, landing on the road. Her eyes were full of disbelief as she crumpled. Bill was frozen, watching in horror as blood dripped from her forehead.

  “Get in the truck, Bill.” Saul took the woman’s gun, emptied it, and tossed it into the field beside the road.

  Bill didn’t move.

  “In the truck!”

  He peered at the old car, the engine idling. Bill started walking to it, and made the mistake of looking at the woman’s corpse. The back of her head was blown out. That was it. Bill bent over, puking up his lunch. He could still taste the tuna and mayonnaise.

  Saul spent the next couple of minutes throwing her body into the car’s trunk, and when he was done, he wiped a smudge of blood off his black vest. Bill didn’t offer to help. The other man disappeared, and Bill heard the door closing.

  Saul reversed the truck, coming to pull up beside Bill. “Climb in.” The window was down, and Bill squinted up at the man he barely knew. The man who’d so easily killed a woman, a down-on-her-luck person who was only doing what she thought she had to do to survive this… whatever it was. Invasion. The word clunked into Bill’s mind, and he peered at the sky, finding the sun was lowering in the west.

  “It’s an invasion,” Bill muttered.

  “No shit. You about done?” Saul threw the truck into drive, and Bill figured he’d better climb in or be left behind. Maybe worse.

  A minute later, Bill was chugging water as they ripped farther into Georgia.

  “City’s only a couple of hours from here. Can you try the radio? See if you can connect with Roger?” Saul asked.

  “You killed her.” Bill watched the fence posts race by in a blur along the sides of the road.

  “We don’t have time for this. There’s a lot more at stake than a
gun-wielding druggy’s life.” Saul was cold.

  “She was a person,” Bill said.

  “Who wanted to shoot me. Toughen up, Bill. You talk a big game on the radio.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m an animal,” Bill said defensively.

  “Oh, and all those times you lobbied against the recovery clinics in metro centers? Using your platform to secure votes on important issues? Do you think those were devoid of consequence?” Saul asked.

  That grabbed Bill’s attention, and he snapped back into his body. “This isn’t like that.”

  “Whatever. I don’t really care. Can you contact Roger?” Saul pointed at the CB.

  Bill nodded, trying not to think about Saul’s comment. He was a radio personality, paid and syndicated because of his ideas and platform. He had people listening from across the country, and if he sometimes used that to back someone’s agenda, what did it matter? The fact that he often took payments as a result wasn’t a big deal either. Everyone in the biz did that.

  He used the CB, heading to the proper frequency.

  “Go for FE Sector Nine,” the voice on the other end responded.

  The Freedom Earthers had sectors scattered across the country, relaying messages between them. They must have been far enough from Roger to connect to the bordering group. “Sector Nine, this is Bill McReary, trying to reach Roger.”

  “Roger that.” The man laughed, clearly amused at his own joke. “Patching you through, Bill. Love your show.”

  Bill just glanced at Saul and shrugged. A moment later, the Freedom Earthers’ leader inhabited the speaker. “Bill, how did you manage to contact me out of Sector Nine? You on the road?”

  Saul shook his head once.

  “I wanted to help. Where can I meet you?”

  A slight pause. “Are you alone, Bill?”

  Saul frowned, and Bill remembered how casually Saul had disposed of that woman. “Alone, and hungry.” He wiped his lips with his sleeve.

  “Head down seventy-five until the twenty exit. Five miles out of Canton, north. Campground.” Roger was gone.