The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  Jones moved his hand an inch up Carlton’s forearm as two of Truman’s troops carried Weiss’ body outside. While he respected the man Weiss had been, Truman also couldn’t forget the preventable tragedy of Raddock Boyd’s death and the cavalier manner in which Weiss had dismissed it.

  After the Attorney General’s body was loaded into the jet-copter, Cookie Monster carried Devereaux outside, Sister Ezekiel following to “say her goodbyes.” Truman watched the Elite Ops gather up the bits and pieces of the blown-up trooper. They modified their scanners to locate even the smallest parts, placed them in a body bag and sealed it up. Carrying it to the other copter, they laid it on the floor. Then they brought the other dead troopers out, laid them alongside the body bag. A few at a time, the surviving Elite Ops troopers walked over, the one with the gold cross on his chest wobbling unsteadily. Each of them touched the body bag, then placed a hand on each dead man’s chest. When they finished, the one with the gold cross removed his helmet and held it against his side. The troopers flanking him did likewise. Together, they turned to face Jones—three handsome men with hate in their eyes.

  They held their pose for a moment, then said goodbye to each other. All but seven climbed inside the copter. One of those leaving was the trooper with the gold cross. He stepped over to Sister Ezekiel before boarding and said something Truman couldn’t hear. Sister Ezekiel reached up and put a hand on his chest. She spoke to him briefly. When she finished, he bowed his head and returned to his copter. He was the last to board. The seven who would be staying behind maintained position in a circle around the copter, facing outward, their weapons leveled.

  As Sister Ezekiel came over to Truman and Jones, Jeremiah said, “I’m concerned about you, Sister. And your men too, Colonel.”

  Carlton bristled. “They’ll be fine as long as you keep me healthy. We don’t wage war on innocents. They stay calm, they stay alive. You have my word of honor.”

  Truman nearly choked at the man’s audacity, but he said, “We’ll be meek as lambs, though I’d appreciate it if you’d resolve things quickly.”

  Carlton said, “We all want this resolved quickly and peacefully.”

  Jones stared at Carlton for a moment, as if ascertaining the veracity of Carlton’s statement, then turned to Truman, who could only shrug. “He seems sincere,” Truman said.

  “Because I am,” Carlton replied. “Now that my advantage is gone, negotiations are the only sane option.”

  After Lendra was put aboard, Jones walked Carlton to the jet-copter. Jeremiah kept his left hand wrapped around Carlton’s broken arm, his right holding the particle beam cannon pressed against Carlton’s stomach. The seven Elite Ops troopers turned as one to watch Jeremiah’s progress. One swung his particle beam cannon to follow Jones as he passed. The trooper next to him barked a command and he lowered the cannon, swinging it back around to face the soldiers as Jones nodded grimly to Truman and stepped into the copter, pulling Carlton in behind him.

  When the jet-copters lifted off, Truman’s eyes wandered back to the seven.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Arms outstretched, Doug stared at the Elite Ops troopers’ weapons, gritting his teeth. His body shook. But the Elite Ops didn’t fire. Doug looked from one to another—flashes of nightmare robots winking in and out of the darkness brought by the strobe lighting—fighting the panic of the gas. Yet he stood his ground. The Elite Ops remained motionless for a few seconds, then retreated, stomping up the stairs.

  “That’s right, I’m bad!” he shouted at their disappearing feet. “Don’t you be comin’ back now, neither!”

  As the lights returned to normal, Doug bent over Dunadan. The big Escala’s chest was a pulpy red mass; his arm had been severed just below the shoulder. Doug touched Dunadan’s neck, but found no pulse. Before he could move on to the others, Quekri, Zeriphi and the remaining Escala emerged from the tunnels.

  Quekri knelt before Warrow, Zeriphi examined Shull, and Keelar lifted Paddon to a sitting position; Paddon’s eyes opened briefly.

  But the Escala tending to Probst dropped his head and became still.

  Doug moved over to Temala, who had rescued him from the cage, who had bought him time to gain his courage by attacking an Elite Ops trooper with a shovel, sacrificing herself for him. He couldn’t think of her as ugly anymore.

  “Temala,” he said. “I remember you.” He got to his feet and looked up the stairway. “What the hell happened there?”

  Quekri said, “I don’t know. Perhaps Devereaux or Quark bought us some time. We have to get packing—be ready to go ASAP.” Three Escala moved forward to help Keelar with Paddon. They lifted him up and carried him down the hallway that led to the rooms. The rest of the Escala followed. The dead were left where they lay. Quekri saw Doug looking at them and said, “We’ll take care of them later. But we have to be ready to move quickly. The Elite Ops will be back.”

  “Where we goin’?” Doug asked.

  “I don’t know. You, at least, must return to your people.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Doug said. “I’m one a you now.”

  “I’m sorry.” Quekri put a hand on his shoulder.

  “But the Elite Ops are still out there. They’ll get me.”

  “We can’t protect you,” Quekri said, smiling sadly. “We can’t even protect ourselves. If they want to kill us, we’re dead. And if you stay with us, you’ll be killed too. Your odds are better away from us. Besides, they already had their chance to kill you and they didn’t.”

  “But I…we…”

  Quekri squeezed his shoulder. “That fight was just survival. It’s not who we are.” She looked at the massive bodies sprawled on the ground and sighed. “You have your duty and we have ours.”

  * * *

  Doug found Zeriphi in her room, packing two duffel bags. He stopped at the open door, waited for her to notice him. When she looked up, he said, “If I coulda taken his place, I woulda.”

  Zeriphi’s eyes glistened brightly. She rubbed them with the backs of her hands and said, “You’re a good man.”

  Doug stepped inside and took her hands in his. He began caressing them—slowly, softly—feeling her tears. “We survived, Zeriphi. Now let me help you. Together we can raise the baby. And in time, perhaps you’ll come to care for me the way I care for you.”

  Zeriphi shook her head but didn’t pull her hands away. “I belong to Zod.”

  “But he’s…” Doug squeezed her hands, pulled them to him. “We had a connection. I still feel it. Don’t you?”

  Zeriphi’s hands were non-responsive lumps of flesh. She said, “I can’t take you where I’m going.”

  Doug gripped down harder as if hoping to press his will upon her through his fingers. “Isn’t that my decision?”

  Her hands remained lifeless. “You would not…have a pleasant life.”

  Doug leaned forward, stared deep into her eyes. “I want to come with you.”

  “You belong here. We don’t.”

  “I belong with you,” Doug said.

  He squeezed her hands again, but this time Zeriphi squeezed back, clamping his fingers in a vise grip until he heard the joints popping. He grimaced. Then she relaxed the pressure slightly and said, “You belong to Earth. Your duty is here. Remember the ladder of enlightenment and your obligation to fulfill your greatest potential.” She released his hands and turned her head away. “Now let me finish.”

  As she returned to her packing, Doug watched her for a moment, trying to memorize her profile. Out in the hallway, Quekri hurried by with a bag from another room. When Doug caught up with her, she said, “Temala liked you.”

  “Temala?” Doug recalled that dark, homely face staring at him. He’d never forget it now.

  “But you only saw Zeriphi. And Zeriphi only sees Zod.”

  He nodded. Together they walked back to the main room—t
he cavern he would probably never see again. Looking around at the walls, the furniture, he said, “What are you gonna do? You still think they’re gonna let you go to Mars?”

  “I don’t know. But we can’t stay here. Devereaux believes he can get the Mars Project reinstated. He and Quark are on their way to Washington now. Quark thinks Devereaux will get an audience with the President. And Devereaux can be very persuasive. Who knows? In a few days, we might be on a lunar transit vehicle, stopping off at one of the Moon bases and spending the next several months preparing for the trip.”

  “And then what, you go to Mars and don’t never return?”

  “Yes,” Quekri said. “It’s where we’re meant to be.”

  “I could live there too,” Doug said. “People have lived on Mars before.”

  “For short periods. And they all had health problems, even after they returned to Earth. As for you, your genetic profile won’t allow for the modifications necessary to be successful there.”

  “How do you know that? You already check me out?”

  “Of course. But don’t worry. Your daughter will be fine.”

  “My daughter? I’m gonna have a daughter?” Doug felt like laughing, like picking Quekri up in his arms and twirling her around. He probably couldn’t even lift her.

  Quekri smiled. “Your daughter will always link us to you. But if we stay here, we’ll die. Our bodies aren’t meant for Earth anymore. We’ve evolved. We’re still evolving. And the Elite Ops want us dead. Sooner or later, they would kill us. You must return to the shelter. Tell your people why we’ve gone—spread Devereaux’s message to as many people as will listen.”

  “What about Devereaux? Can’t he spread the message?”

  “I think he’ll be coming with us.”

  “But Devereaux’s no different than me. He’s not Escala, is he?”

  “No,” Quekri said. “And his genetic profile won’t allow for the modifications necessary to become one of us. So he won’t live a long life.”

  Doug shook his head. “I never got to meet him.”

  “Yes, you did,” Quekri said. “People called him Rock Man.”

  “Rock Man,” Doug said. “I shoulda known. He was always hangin’ ‘round with Cookie Monster.” Pulling the small, polished agate from his pocket, Doug held it up. “He gave me this.” Doug rubbed the rock between his fingers. It felt warm to the touch. Comforting. He said, “Cookie Monster and Rock Man—Quark and Devereaux. It makes perfect sense. But he looked so different. And he never said a word.”

  “Surely you saw people who had changed their appearance in prison.”

  “Yeah, it ain’t that uncommon. Height, weight, eye color, skin pigmentation, voice. I just didn’t put it together. Clueless. As usual.” Doug flipped the small rock up in the air and caught it. “We hung out together—the three of us. But he never spoke to me.”

  “He was protecting us. You might have done or said something that would have given us away.” Quekri put a hand on Doug’s shoulder. “It’s time.”

  Doug nodded. “I still don’t wanna leave.”

  “I know,” Quekri said. “But it’s best. You can carry the message. Through us, you’ve seen what humans can become in a short time. Imagine the possibilities for the next generation.”

  * * *

  Doug stood in the main cave, Quekri’s arm over his shoulder, as the Escala emerged from the hallways. They approached him, one at a time. And each of them said only four words: “Doug. I remember you.” As he absorbed their goodbyes, hoping somehow to delay the leaving process, he soaked in the musky smell of the cavern and its people. He had trouble swallowing and his nose suddenly ran. It all went by so quickly.

  Lastly, Zeriphi stepped forward.

  Doug’s voice quavered as he said, “A daughter. We’re having a daughter.”

  Zeriphi grabbed his shoulders, leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. When she straightened, she said, “Doug. I remember you.”

  Doug croaked, “Zeriphi. I remember you.”

  When Zeriphi turned away, she said, “Take care of yourself.” Doug wiped his eyes but said nothing. He let Quekri lead him up the stairway and through the broken trapdoor. They climbed out together, into the electrical substation’s basement, then up another stairway to the ruins in the forest, where the evening sun looked orange. They walked west through the woods that had so recently been a battleground.

  Quekri wore a small device on her belt. When she saw him looking at it, she said, “An old scatterer. Not very effective but I won’t be out long.”

  As the thinning forest gave way to the road, Doug spotted what remained of the giant statue—Emerging Man—off to the right. It stood only a few feet above the ground in a jagged stump. Shards of stone littered the area. To the left, the road led to the shelter, to Sister Ezekiel and the life he thought he’d left behind.

  Quekri stopped before they cleared the trees and put out her hand. He’d noticed that the Escala didn’t shake hands but, as he took her warm hand in his, he was grateful for the contact. He said, “I didn’t realize how empty my life used to be until I met you people. Sister Ezekiel and Henry—they’re kind—but their life revolves around religion. And there’s nothin’ wrong with that. But that’s not who I am. I’m like you. How can I just let you go?”

  Quekri shrugged, then looked upon the shattered statue. “It’s a shame,” she said. “It was such a beautiful piece.” Doug turned to follow her gaze. As he did, he heard the rustle of leaves behind him and knew she was gone. He thought about Devereaux, about his daughter, about the life they would have on Mars—a life he wouldn’t share—then he blinked his eyes until his vision cleared. Without looking back, he stepped out onto the debris-cluttered sidewalk and turned left toward home.

  He’d gone no more than a hundred yards before encountering one of the Elite Ops. “Stop,” the creature said. It was the first time Doug had heard one of them speak. The voice sounded normal, only a little muffled by the helmet. Doug stopped and instinctively put up his hands. “Doug Robinson,” the Elite Ops said.

  Doug shivered. He asked, “How did you know my name?”

  “Drug addict. Gang member. Escaped prisoner. You were in the pseudos’ cave. Back to the shelter now.”

  “You gonna kill me?”

  “Move.”

  * * *

  The Elite Ops had brought in a tank-like vehicle to move the wrecked vehicles in the shelter’s parking lot into a sort of corral. They were now herding bewildered townsfolk into it. Wearing her spare pair of glasses, Sister Ezekiel stood at the center of the enclosure next to Henry, Chief McKinney and a shackled Ahmad. Her homeless men clustered at the west side of the makeshift corral, nearest the shelter. They frequently peered up at two of the Elite Ops who wore some sort of jet packs, flying in slow circles around the enclosure. Sister Ezekiel found her eyes drifting up to the two massive creatures every few seconds also.

  Colonel Truman and his soldiers gathered along the south side of the corral. The colonel had sent a few of his soldiers into the woods immediately after the jet-copters left, but one of the Elite Ops had gone after them and ordered them back to the shelter. So despite Carlton’s assurances, Sister Ezekiel believed that the Elite Ops might actually kill them. For a second, she considered escape. They might let her go. After all, she was just a harmless nun. She might be able to talk her way free. But almost before the thought reached fruition, she buried it. Her place was here. Her calling was to save these men—even from their own dark impulses. She turned to Ahmad and said, “Why?”

  Ahmad lifted his hands, stared at them for a long moment, then shook his head. “I don’t know, Sister. It’s complicated. I couldn’t think straight.”

  “Do you know what you’ve done? Not to Devereaux but to yourself?”

  Ahmad shrugged. “He ruined you, Sister. He poisoned your mind. I didn’t want to hurt
him, but…”

  “I thought you understood tolerance,” Sister Ezekiel said. “How can you face God with this stain on your soul?”

  Ahmad opened his mouth to reply. Then he caught her eye and looked away.

  Sister Ezekiel said, “By the way, Devereaux asked me to tell you…how did he put it? Oh, yes. ‘The path to enlightenment is long and torturous, wending its way past the confines of religion.’”

  “See, that’s what I’m talkin’ about, Sister. He’s convinced you that there’s no God. That’s the evil we have to destroy.”

  “No, Ahmad.” Sister Ezekiel shook her head. “I still believe in God. I always will. But I think perhaps our concept of religion needs to be re-examined. The old books—the Bible and the Koran, the Torah and all the others—limit our thinking. We need new stories and myths to celebrate the continuing evolution of our species. As Devereaux said, ‘We are not the final product. We’re just passing through this phase of humanity.’”

  Henry and Ahmad stared at her, open-mouthed. Ahmad said, “Sister. That is blasphemy.”

  Henry added: “God made us in His image.”

  Sister Ezekiel said, “The Koran states that ‘God changes not what is in a people, until they change what is in themselves.’ Doesn’t that allow for the evolution of humanity?”

  Ahmad’s head jerked back, his eyes blazing with intensity. “It also says: ‘Do not veil the truth with falsehood, nor conceal the truth knowingly.’ Allah will punish unbelievers, Sister. Even Devereaux. Even you.”

  “What if Earth was not God’s only project? What if it was just one design, one experiment? Isn’t it possible we’re just one of the species God created in his image…”

  A rapid movement drew Sister Ezekiel’s eye. She turned as Ernie Olsen stopped in front of Chief McKinney. “A couple of those big soldiers are movin’ through town,” Ernie said, “orderin’ people outside. They’re knockin’ down doors, pushin’ us here. They wouldn’t tell us anything other than to move to the shelter. I saw two teenagers try to run away and they shot ‘em, left ‘em lyin’ in the street. Don’t know if they’re dead or alive. What’s goin’ on, Chief?”