Enslaved

by N. W. Harris

  When he looked up again, rain spit down on his face through the opening above. The air flowing into the sub was cool, warning of the coming winter. He wasn’t happy about being soaked and freezing until they made it to the hidden base, but maybe it would work to their advantage. The rain might keep some of the kids whose minds had come unhinged at bay. At least that was what he told himself, though after what he’d seen in Cairo, he doubted the weather would be enough to force them to take shelter.

  The clone helped him climb out of the upper hatch onto the curved topside of the black submarine. Shane swung his weapon off his shoulder and held it ready, scanning the pier around him. The clouds were thick, blocking out all the starlight and preventing him from spotting the alien ship that he hoped still orbited overhead.

  Even straining his eyes, he could only see a few yards. After everyone made it topside, he had them wait until their eyes adjusted to the darkness. The red lights in the mess deck did their job, and it didn’t take long for Shane to be able to see the silhouettes of the buildings sprawled across the port.

  He imagined this area of the Carolina coast hadn’t been this dark since before the light bulb’s invention. Jones’ clones inflated a life raft and placed it in the water between the pier and the boat. Shane slid down the side of the sub into it and climbed the rusty ladder up onto the dock. Then he helped his team and the Russians ashore. Jones was the last one to leave the relative safety of the submarine. The clones slipped back down inside and closed the hatch behind them.

  “Aren’t Lily and Dr. Blain coming?” he whispered.

  “We’ll meet up with them later,” Jones replied.

  The rebel didn’t explain, stepping past him. Shane wasn’t excited about leaving the doctor behind. He expected Jones had one of her healing pens in his backpack, but if someone were seriously injured, he doubted the captain had the training to bring them back.

  “Let’s make good use of this darkness,” Shane said just loud enough for everyone to hear.

  He turned and jogged down the pier, holding his gun across his chest so he could raise it and fire in an instant. The soaking drizzle provided some cover for his team, but it also made it hard for him to see more than ten yards.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Anfisa give hand signals to her team. The Russians staggered out on either side of the pier, each one guarding a wedge of their perimeter. His team did the same, but they were a little more random in settling into their positions, lacking the military school background of their foreign counterparts. Jones fell in behind the Russians. He seemed disconnected from the teens, an observer following them on their mission.

  “Jones, get in front of Anfisa,” Shane ordered.

  The rebel was the only one who knew how to get to the base. He didn’t want to lose the captain, and he didn’t want to look over his shoulder every few minutes to see if the weaker alien was keeping up. After the bombing incident in Giza, he was also curious to see if the captain would obey him. He needed to know he could rely on him to support the team if they went into battle. The captain jogged forward, coming in front of the Russian team’s leader as he was told.

  Satisfied, Shane focused his attention on the road ahead. He stepped off the pier and followed the street between large, metal warehouses. The route Jones had laid out for them was simple. Shane had memorized the roads that would take them to a National Guard armory near the freeway. He hoped they’d find suitable transportation there and could continue heading west at a quicker pace.

  He ran through the open gate into the city, and a flood of memories hit him hard in the chest. He’d been to Charleston on vacation once, and he had fallen in love with the place. The mix of palm trees and live oaks promised the coastal city never got as cold as Leeville did in the winter, and Shane couldn’t get enough of the town’s delicious seafood. The lightly colored buildings oozed history, and the generally mellow attitude of the people made it one of his favorite trips. It was also the last vacation they’d had before his mother died. She was pretty sick then, but she had been determined to make sure they all had a good time and didn’t think about her health. Both Shane and his dad loved her immensely, and they’d done their best to abide by her wishes. But he and his dad had slipped out to the beach early one morning while she slept. It was the only time they ever cried together over losing her.

  When he found out the sub was going to drop them off in Charleston, he’d only remembered the things that had left a good impression on him. The quaint city he recalled was gone. Even in the misty darkness, he could see the buildings were charred, and the rotting corpses of adults and murdered children littered the streets. Breathing through his mouth to avoid the stench of decay, he glanced down at a bloated corpse. The adult’s clothes had been torn away, probably shredded by scavenging animals.

  Shane guessed by the body’s size and what remained of his Dickies that it had been a man. Glancing at the man’s face, he saw that it had not been cut away. Hopefully, they wouldn’t run into any of the deranged kids who wore the skins of the adults as masks. They represented the harshest effects of the slave gene, and just thinking of them made him ill.

  The next body he passed was dressed the same, though this decaying adult’s shirt was still intact. Shane guessed they were shipyard workers. He couldn’t read it in the darkness, but the man’s name was embroidered over the right pocket. His night vision was good enough to make out a patch of the American flag on the man’s sleeve. His dad’s work shirts were decorated the same way. Shane had resented his father for wearing his uniform to his grandmother’s funeral. He wouldn’t resent anything now. He was a good dad before Shane’s mom died. That he fell apart afterwards only showed how much he’d loved her. Shane shouldn’t have been so hateful towards him. If he’d only realized how little time he had left to spend with him.

  Guilt and sadness weighed heavily on him as he jogged past a gas station that was burned into a twisted heap. In the darkness, it looked like a giant predator, crouching in the shadows and waiting to pounce. Shane ran softly, his ears straining to pick up a threat. He glanced back and saw his team and the Russians slipped along as quietly, like wide-eyed ghosts searching the darkness.

  The fire that had consumed the gas station had spread down the street. Oak trees that used to offer a reprieve from the sun were scorched, and the colorful old three- and four-story buildings were reduced to jagged spires. It looked like the place had been carpet-bombed.

  Fire had pardoned the next block. They entered the street with the buildings standing tall on either side. As depressing as the burnt block was, Shane felt safer there. He scanned the storefronts and the wood-sash windows of the apartments rising above. There was just enough light for him to see that most of the windows were broken. Beyond the jagged teeth of glass, the old buildings’ dark interiors caused hair to rise on his neck. Hundreds of crazed kids could be hiding in there, looking out and taking aim at him and his friends.

  The next block was the same. Careful not to trip on the bodies of the adults who’d worked in the stores and lived in the apartments, he continued. His eyes ached from straining them to see any movement in the buildings or down the side streets. Charleston appeared silent and dead—a wet tomb.

  “Let’s cross it,” Shane said. “I want to get a higher view, and I don’t think we should wade through that stuff.”

  They’d come to a freeway. Two overturned big rigs blocked the underpass, one of them a tanker that had spilled some toxic-smelling liquid all over the place. They’d covered a lot of distance in an hour. Jones managed to keep up, but as his breathing became labored, Shane could see the alien needed a break.

  The rain let up and cracks formed between the clouds, allowing light from the moon and stars to filter down onto the old city. Shane kept his head low, crossing the on-ramp and climbing the wet grass up onto the freeway. At the top, he looked northeast. The interstate’s sign, a red, white, and blue shield with the number twenty-six on it, c
omforted him. This road would take them past Columbia and Ashville. Jones said it would take them straight into the Smoky Mountains. Those mountains had been home to his family for generations, and they beckoned him back once again.

  Slipping between abandoned cars, he climbed over the concrete barrier between lanes and made his way to the opposite side of the freeway. The high ground of the overpass afforded a view of the surrounding city.

  “A few miles in that direction, and we should find the armory,” Tracy whispered, pointing to the northwest.

  “Take cover.” Steve raised his gun and dropped behind the guardrail. “Look there.”

  Shane and the others ducked so the metal guardrail hid them and studied the street crossing under the freeway and heading south. A few blocks down, he made out shadowy figures running along the street.

  “They look to be in a hurry,” Maurice observed.

  “Something’s agitated them,” Jones said, still huffing from the run. “It’ll keep their attention off us.”

  “Let’s go.” Shane wanted to take advantage of the distraction.

  He ran down the other side of the overpass and headed toward the armory. Seeing kids on the street put him on edge. Charleston had been so quiet thus far—it had almost seemed abandoned.

  “Left side,” Anfisa hissed as they crossed an intersection.

  Shane looked over and saw teenagers wearing rags spill out of a brick building. He dropped behind a car and took aim. The wrecked vehicle had collided with the rear of a truck, the hood crumpled into an upside down V-shape so he could look beneath it and not be seen.

  The rest of his team and the Russians settled into hiding places around him. His heart thumped in his ears. He didn’t need a fight right now. He wasn’t afraid of losing, expecting his experienced friends could take on ten times the number of kids scurrying into the street in front of him. But a battle would slow them down and draw more of the crazies to the area. Kelly had already been on the Anunnaki ship too long. He needed to get to the base as fast as possible, and the thought of any delay made him ill.

  The kids coming out of the building ran toward Shane and his friends. He took slow breaths, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. When the kids were fifteen feet away, he could see their dirty faces. Their eyes were wide, the whites reflecting the dim light. The one in the front who appeared to be the leader stopped.

  It was a tall girl carrying a length of steel pipe. Darkness obscured the weapon at first, but when a break in the clouds let moonlight into the street, Shane saw discoloration near the end of the pipe. He knew it was blood. Kids behind her carried makeshift weapons as well, and they all wore strips of rags tied around their heads, like a badge to show they belonged to the group.

  The number of kids who’d survived this long dwindled around the globe. The few kids who remained were the ones who’d teamed up and defended each other. Only the meanest and toughest were still alive.

  The girl scanned the area, seeming to sense someone watched her. Months ago, this situation would’ve caused adrenaline to flood through Shane’s veins, and he’d have been holding his breath the entire time. Now, facing down a fight and the possibility that the dirty teens might bludgeon him and his friends with their carnage-covered weapons didn’t faze him. It was the moments of peace, like when they were safe in the submarine cruising across the Atlantic, that made him anxious.

  A boy stepped ahead of the girl and listened, putting his hand back as if to tell her to stay in her place, that he was the leader. She looked at him with crazy, angry eyes, and then swung her pipe around into his arm. The boy yelped and cradled his injury. Having asserted her authority, the leader of the group turned left and away from Shane, heading down the street at a trot. The rest of her thugs followed, moving silently like a pack of wolves on the hunt. The scolded boy kept his head low and followed at the back of the group. It wouldn’t be long until these kids ran out of people to kill and turned on each other.

  “Where do you suppose they’re going?” Steve whispered.

  “Probably looking for some other kids to attack,” Shane answered. “Looks like they’re the last ones standing in this area.”

  Anfisa slipped through the shadows, moving next him.

  “They’re headed in the same direction as we are,” she said. “Should we change our route?”

  “I don’t think so,” he replied. “We should follow them.”

  “Let them clear the path for us,” Tracy agreed.

  They continued down the street. Shane kept a safe distance, expecting to hear the sounds of a clash. After a few miles, they broke away from their pipe-wielding escort, turning up the street toward the armory. A hill gave them a higher vantage, and in the distance to the south, a fireball erupted above the buildings.

  “Looks like they found an adversary,” Anfisa observed, sounding as casual as if she talked about the weather.

  “Let’s get out of this city before they turn back,” Tracy said.

  The gate to the armory was unlocked. Shane pushed it open.

  “Take Steve, find us some transportation,” he said to Tracy.

  She nodded, trotting into the lot with the linebacker on her heels. He turned and faced the city, watching the road that led up to the armory to make sure no one followed them. The rest of his team and the Russians took up a defensive position around him. He didn’t need to give them orders; they all knew what to do.

  Dawns’ light pierced cracks in the clouds, illuminating the city below him.

  “I see our friends,” Anfisa said.

  She handed Shane the binoculars and pointed to the south. He held them to his eyes and saw a park beyond the antiquated buildings. Between the trees, he could see the group of teens they’d followed through the city. They held their weapons in front of them, and they defensively backed up. He looked beyond them and saw another group of teens advancing.

  “Looks like they met their match,” he observed, not taking the binoculars from his eyes.

  He didn’t see any weapons in the hands of the pursuing mob, but they clearly outnumbered the teens who threateningly waved their makeshift armaments. Shane saw something that made his blood run cold in his veins.

  “I see red armor,” he whispered.

  “What?” Anfisa gasped, snatching the binoculars from him and pressing them to her eyes. “Only one, and she’s got a black cross.” She shoved the binoculars back to him.

  Shane looked again, focusing on the plus mark on the breastplate of the soldier. “It’s a human slave soldier,” he said. The escaped recruit ship carried over ten thousand teenagers, but the remote chance that the slave soldier he saw was Kelly started his heart racing.

  “It looks like they’re gaining control of the humans,” Jones observed. He had his own set of binoculars.

  Shane tore his eyes from the armored slave soldier and looked at the other teens marching across the park. The slack expression on their faces sent a chill through him. He didn’t see any more teens in red armor besides the one in the center.

  “What have they done to them?” Shane’s voice cracked. He’d seen a lot of bad stuff, but something about the teenagers’ eyes ignited dread in him.

  Anfisa took the binoculars again. With unaided eyes and the help of the waxing light, he saw the crowd in the park below. They moved forward at a methodic pace, approaching the group of teens who waved their pipes and machetes above their heads. He could hear the shouts of the deranged teens. They wanted blood, but they also sounded frightened.

  “They have no weapons.” Anfisa sounded confused.

  “But they have the numbers,” Petrov said.

  The enslaved human dressed in red armor carried a plasma rifle across her chest. She walked behind the first few rows of blank-faced teens, seeming to command the entire army.

  “Do you think she’s controlling them?” Anfisa asked.

  “Perhaps,” Jones replied. “Or she is a conduit for control.”


  The teens with weapons charged at the catatonic army. They bashed down the front row with ease. The mob continued to advance, undeterred by their bloody colleagues who lay motionless on the ground. The teens swung their weapons, beating down the advancing group, who encircled them. The outnumbered teens fought off their emotionless opponents. One of the blank-faced kids stepped in after a boy with a bat bashed the kid in front of her. She touched him with something in her hand, and light flashed where she made contact. The boy with the bat dropped.

  “They’re carrying some sort of weapon,” Anfisa observed. She still looked through the binoculars.

  Shane heard a diesel engine roar to life in the armory behind him, muffled by the buildings between the gate and the parking lot.

  “Not sure we’re equipped to deal with that,” Petrov said with uncommon agitation in his voice. He turned to see Tracy’s new toy.

  “We’d better get out of here while they’re distracted,” Shane agreed. He ran into the armory, passing between the buildings and flagging Tracy. “Shut it down,” he yelled, slicing his hand across his neck.

  Tracy’s eyes widened with confusion, but she slammed on the brakes and killed the engine.

  “Looks like a pyro’s wet dream back here,” Steve said and let out a low whistle.

  Aside from the truck Tracy climbed out of, every vehicle in the lot bore the scars of fire. Most of the vehicles’ tires sat in melted puddles around their charred metal rims, and the glass in their windows had fractured from the heat.

  “This’ll get us out of here,” she said, slamming the door. “What’s the plan?” Her down-to-business tone reassured him. What he’d seen in the park below gave him a fright, but with people like her and Steve by his side, he still felt like they had a chance at winning in this nightmarish game.