Brutus: Then I shall see thee again?
Ghost: Ay, at Philippi.
Brutus: Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.
General Garrett "Stonewall" McAllister’s eyes wandered away from the conversation in favor of the scenic vista viewable from his position along the ridge.
In one direction-behind and below Yost and his men-stretched the massive bowl of Crater Lake filled with cold blue water. Not far from shore sprouted Wizard Island, a volcanic cinder cone covered in evergreen trees and scattered patches of stubborn snow belying the mid-March warm spell.
McAllister spied the sagging wooden huts and dirty canvas tents of Yost’s kingdom on that island. Flickers of light came from morning campfires as the people there marked another day under the thumb of a warlord.
Further off-away from the six-mile-wide caldera-stretched green wilderness as far as Garrett’s eyes could see, beneath a roof of gray, drizzling clouds from which waved spindly strands of misty vapor.
The isolated location, the rugged crater walls, and the natural moat surrounding the island created the perfect redoubt for the warlord and those unfortunate to fall into his grasp. Garret witnessed the same scenario dozens of times across the continental United States. The organized alien armies sought heavily populated areas, leaving much of the mountainous regions to the mercy of monsters, extraterrestrial and otherwise.
Stonewall returned his attention to the task at hand.
"Ah yes, where was I?"
As usual, he sat in the saddle wearing a Confederate uniform borrowed from a Civil War museum a decade before. Benny Duda hovered at Garrett’s side, also on horseback. Benny had grown from a boy to a man but still sported the freckled face of a kid. A kid, Garrett reminded himself, with a wife and children.
"Oh, I remember. You will be brought before a tribunal that will include members of your…of your…" Stonewall searched for polite words. "…of your community. They will testify as to whether or not you and your men have committed any crimes against humanity."
As Stonewall expected, Yost chuckled and glanced at his followers-a dozen armed ruffians-to share the joke. After all, a crazy fool dressed in a Confederate uniform offered no real threat, especially with Yost’s modified armored car lurking next to a picnic table in the field. That metallic monster brandished a. 50 caliber machine gun. The word 'Totenkompf’ had been spray painted on the side.
Yost, standing in front of McAllister’s steed, stroked his goatee and mocked, "Well, I guess you’ve got me on this one. Yup."
The warlord broke into a laugh that sounded more an asthma attack.
"I do not believe you grasp the seriousness of your situation. If found guilty by this tribunal you will be sentenced to death. The Empire has executed more than two hundred persons for crimes against humanity in the years since the invasion."
The word ‘executed’ grabbed Yost’s attention. He stopped laughing.
"Listen here, General. I’m starting to lose my sense of humor over this. Now you see back there," Yost pointed over his shoulder to Wizard Island. "I made that from nothing. The army and police got wiped out. Me and my men here, we’ve kept these folks alive for the last ten years, fishing and hunting for food and shooting any of the weird things that come this way. So I ain’t going to be lectured by the likes of you."
"Saved them? My scouts have been observing your little kingdom for several weeks now and have painted a clear picture of forced labor and other misdeeds. Would the women of your camp testify to your chivalry? I notice the population of your paradise is out of proportion."
Yost's eyes widened. "You know how the song goes, two girls for every boy."
The brute again glanced to his followers and they shared another laugh.
"You, sir, are no gentleman. I have seen much suffering but none disgusts me greater than those who took advantage of the chaos to serve their own ends. I will make it a point to be at your trial and, I suspect, your execution."
"I told you, I’m done listening to your words. Go away while we’ll still let you."
To emphasize the point, Yost raised his hunting rifle. His men made similarly threatening moves, raising more hunting rifles and shotguns.
Stonewall asked, "I wonder, Mr. Yost, as to the vintage of the bullets in your weapons. Will they fire? The bullets in my pistol were made last month in Scranton, Pennsylvania. I have confidence in their effectiveness."
Yost growled, "I don’t need to fire. The Death’s Head over there will cut you and your boy to pieces before you can draw."
On cue, the driver of the armored, modified Jeep revved the engine and a man in the homemade cupola aimed a. 50 caliber gun in the newcomers' direction.
"Now you and your boyfriend need to turn tail and take your Empire fantasies with you."
Stonewall sighed as if regretting the situation but, in truth, he enjoyed the next part most of all. The General spoke into the small microphone clipped under the lapel of his uniform.
"Captain Kaufman, it appears our friends doubt our mettle. A demonstration is in order."
Yost fidgeted; unsure to whom the eccentric spoke.
The sky rumbled. Everyone on the ridge of the crater froze and threw their eyes upward. The clouds bulged from a great mass. The quilt of gray splintered into strands and spinning wisps as a gargantuan object of steel and light dropped from the heavens: a rectangle stretching nearly five thousand feet from bow to stern and half that distance in girth descended upon the stage, casting an even darker shadow across the already dreary morning.
Dozens of circular protrusions lined the undercarriage of the war machine in rows, between which flashed pinpricks of light. Dominating the forward edge of the ship's belly hung a pair of protruding domes where two holes glowed threateningly.
Stonewall forced his eyes away from the hovering dreadnought and took note of Yost’s expression. The man no longer wore the cocky face of a petty tyrant.
Of course, Stonewall appreciated the trepidation. Indeed, it had taken him almost two years to grow accustomed to the sight of a dreadnought. It did not seem right for such a large machine to hang in the sky. To see one overhead…it made all below feel puny.
The General cast aside his musings and decided to finish the demonstration.
"I say, Mr. Yost, what an intimidating car you have there. I imagine you have used its firepower to coerce a fair share of slaves into your camp."
Stonewall’s voice cut through the stunned silence. Yost shot an expression of bewildered fear toward his modified armored car. Despite their brutish nature, Yost’s thugs managed to piece together the equation and dismounted their war wagon in frantic jumps.
Silvery plasma sparkled then spat from the forward belly guns of the dreadnought in two football-shaped blasts. Yost’s men scattered like cockroaches caught in the kitchen light. The bolts hit the picnic grounds, enveloping the armored car.
The glow from the impact forced hands over eyes and the heat flash felt as if a gigantic campfire suddenly burst to life, but no flames erupted. After a moment, the light faded revealing metal shavings, smoldering rubber, and hissing steam in place of the Totenkompf.
"Now that I have your attention, be so kind as to place your weapons on the ground."
– Lori Brewer returned the phone to its cradle with a satisfying clunk. She knew the Internal Security moron on the other end of the line did not hear nor feel that clunk, but the slam provided a small vent for her frustration.
She ran a hand through her brown hair; hair she had cut short over the winter. Between work and an eight year old daughter, she found that long hair simply got in the way.
On her desk waited the work load of the Chief Administrator, including a stack of memos covering new housing policies, agriculture priorities, changes to the penal system, and-as usual-a dozen regarding transportation issues.
A hollow, wooden rap sounded at the doorframe of what had once been a dining room but now served as her office. She raised her eyes slowly in dread of yet another task, interruption, or complaint. Fortunately, the man standing in the doorway carried a platter of wrapped sandwiches and a pitcher of water, not memos.
"Howdy Miss, am I interrupting?"
That man at the door with the sandwiches could interrupt all he wanted. He was, after all, Trevor Stone, Emperor to the millions of saved souls living under his tutelage.
Yet no matter how grand his empire, how powerful his fleet, or how mysterious his connection to the forces behind Armageddon, Lori Brewer knew him best as that childhood friend named Dick.
"All-rrriiigghty then," she jibed. "I guess you’re a mind reader, too, huh? My stomach is grumbling for lunch."
"Mind reading is my specialty," Trevor placed the platter on her desk.
Lori did some mind reading of her own. Her first clue came from his forced smile. The second came when he closed the office door behind him.
Lunch with Trevor had become a weekly tradition in recent years. Most of those weeks they sat with the door open and shared a delicacy from one corner or another of the burgeoning nation. Sometimes crab meat trucked in from Maryland, other times beef steaks from the ranches of Texas.
A few of those luncheons-apparently like today-involved a closed door.
Lori peered at the platter. He had brought sandwiches but at first glance they seemed ordinary. She unraveled one from its wax paper wrapper.
"Roast beef?"
He nodded. She examined the bread. Fresh baked but nothing exotic. "Take a bite." Lori shrugged and bit into the thick meat. Her mouth found another taste. She chewed, thought, then burst, "Cheddar cheese. You’ve got cheddar in here." "Real Wisconsin cheddar."
Trevor sat in one of the two chairs facing her desk. He pulled his own sandwich from the plate and took a healthy chomp. Lori produced two plastic cups from a drawer and filled them with water from the pitcher.
"So the dairy farmers are in business, huh?"
Trevor replied, "Yeah, the first batches are on their way to stores now. Enjoy this free sample, because it’s hitting the shelves at five contys a pound."
Contys, Lori knew, meant "Continentals" and that might as well mean dollars. She also knew that much of the high price reflected the cost in transporting dairy products hundreds of miles in refrigerator cars on steam trains. The bulk of that transportation cost, in turn, revolved around security. The Empire had grown across what had once been the continental United States in patches, leaving dangerous wilderness between islands of civilization.
Lori enjoyed the free sample but sensed today’s lunch did not fit the profile of a friendly chit chat. Before the world had gone to Hell, Lori Brewer was as a social worker and counselor. In recent years, it seemed as if she served as Trevor’s personal therapist. She saw him glance toward the wall calendar as he washed down the last bite of roast beef and yellow cheddar. Saturday, March 15. He said exactly what she expected: "Well, it’s been just about three years now."
Lori Brewer had come to know that, to Trevor Stone, the year divided into three parts: ‘nearly,' 'now,' and 'more than.’ Those parts related to the moment he had returned from his trip across dimensions to an alternate Earth.
Since December, he often remarked that it had been ‘nearly’ three years. At some point in April, he would change from ‘now’ to ‘more than’ three years. The cycle, she figured, would continue until he could let go of his guilt and his fear. She agreed, "Yep, I guess so." Lori, done with her lunch in record time, waited. Trevor hesitated, paused, then mumbled, "Well, you know, just remembering and all."
Lori did not dance with words. Sometimes that served her well as a counselor, other times it chased people away. Trevor, however, had no where to run.
"Wait a second," her eyes drooped a little, then narrowed, and her head tilted slightly as she put on her counselor’s face. "This is about California, isn’t it?"
Trevor fidgeted. Lori pushed.
"You know, Jon’s been telling me you’ve been moving really slow on California. He couldn’t figure out why. He says you could have made it to their border months ago." "Well, um, we had to secure supply routes and make sure our flanks were secure and all." "Uh-huh," Lori clearly did not believe him. Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose between an index finger and thumb. "I take it your ambassadors haven’t made any progress." Trevor, still pinching his nose with his eyes shut, shook his head. Lori said, "So that means we’re heading to a confrontation. They won’t back down." "The Witiko won’t let them back down," Trevor spat.
"Well, wait, the people there aren’t slaves. The Witiko and the humans share the government. It’s not like the Hivvans or something."
Her observation struck a cord, exactly as intended.
Trevor let go of his nose and stood. He paced as he spoke, his fingers flexing.
"The Witiko are in control, I don’t give a damn what that Governor says. They can call themselves a Cooperative all they want, but the Witiko and a handful of people pull all the strings. The average guy isn’t much more than an indentured servant, doing all the shit work while the elitists live in ivory towers."
Lori suppressed a smile and pushed more buttons.
"So, you don’t think this is like New Winnabow? We shouldn’t just let them be?"
"Hell no, it’s not like New Winnabow," his angry tone wavered only a little at the reminder of sending his personal army of K9s into that enclave of pacifists. "New Winnabow… they were human beings like you and me who chose a different path. If it weren’t for the Hivvans, I would have left them alone. But California-The Cooperative-is different. The Witiko managed to trick a bunch of idiots into thinking they’re our friends. They’re not our friends. Every damn alien has to go, either through the runes or by my sword."
"They have to go? They must? Are you sure?"
"Damn straight, I’m sure. The invasion, Armageddon, this war has never been about killing off mankind. They came here for another reason. To beat us. To subjugate us. The Cooperative is just one way of doing that. Instead of conquering California, the Witiko bargained their way to power. If they stay in power, they stay in control. I can’t let that happen. Earth belongs to humanity." "You’re sure?" "I’m sure," Trevor insisted. "Then why are you worked up about this?" His anger eased in heavy exhales and he sat again, realizing she had played him perfectly.
Trevor Stone held the reigns of leadership reluctantly. She knew he had access to strange powers, from his ability to communicate with dogs to his uncanny knowledge of technology and skills. Indeed, it had been those gifts that had unlocked the confidence inside an apathetic young man and allowed him to muster human survivors from the ashes of the Apocalypse, then grow those ashes into an Empire. Yet since his return from an alternate dimension, self-doubt and a morose disposition plagued him.
"I don’t know," Trevor lied.
"You don’t trust yourself. You leave more and more of the decisions to your Generals."
He defended, "That’s not true. I’ve been on the front lines these past few years. If we invade California I’ll be there to do the killing myself, not just read about it in reports."
That, Lori knew, to be true. Much to the chagrin of the Imperial Council, the Senate, and most especially his military officers, Trevor showed a renewed interest in battle.
"I’ve noticed. Good for you. How easier that must be."
Again her words bothered him. "Easier? You think combat is easy?"
"Easier than sitting behind your desk and passing out orders. Easier because when you’re fighting you know what you have to do. You can see the enemy, you can shoot him and order your men forward. But when you’re behind that desk you have to deal with the implications of those battles. What a relief it must be to set aside that responsibility." "You don’t understand." "Then explain it," she invited, expecting a story she had heard many times. He held his hands aloft, clenching and unclenching his fingers in frustration.
"Over there," his voice came in forced calm. "The other Trevor…the other me…he was a horrible man. Vicious, cruel, even to his own people."
She helped him along, "And when the people over there gave you his same power..?"
Trevor closed his eyes and saw visions of alien bodies hung from crosses, the ruling Committee dying in the coup d'etat he led, the alternate Nina Forest fearing an abusive and controlling Trevor Stone.
"I began to turn into him."
"Turn into him?" Her question did not ask for clarification, but suggested an improper choice of words on his part.
"That’s wrong," he admitted. "I let loose that part of me that my alternate had let loose. I threw away my conscience, indulged my every whim because I could. Because I had the power." "And who gave you that power?" "Gave…gave it to me?" "Power is never taken, Trevor. It’s always given."
He nodded and answered, "They did. The people of Thebes. The humans over there. But I did the things I did. They didn’t force me."
"They deceived you," Lori reminded.
"It was my fault. The truth of that other Earth still can’t excuse what I did. How I acted."
Lori knew most of what he had done including many stories left out of the written reports; stories told behind closed office doors over lunch.
She knew he had shared a passionate and self-destructive relationship with an alternate Nina Forest, a woman he had loved on his Earth only to lose her when her memories had been stolen. In that other dimension, that Nina had unlocked his most hidden desires; desires hanging on the border between lust and violence, between love and possession.
Lori also knew Trevor had killed his enemies without mercy, only to learn that his crusade over there had not been one of a just people but of an unjust invader.
"You keep thinking you’re going to become that evil dictator?"
"I am a dictator, Lori. I’m the Emperor. I have all the power."
"Your friend Senator Godfrey might disagree. He’s got a fair amount of power these days. Most of it you’ve given him. I guess it’s because you don’t trust yourself."
Trevor stared at the ceiling.
"That other Earth…they weren’t different people, they just made different choices. What choice did I make over there that made me so bad? What choice will I make here, that changes me from the hero to the villain? Maybe it’s California."
"But you’re so sure. You just told me that."
"That’s the problem. I was so sure over there that I was doing the right thing, and I wasn’t. How can I trust myself to know where the line is?"
Lori shook her head and said, "Things are a lot different here than they were over there. Look across this desk from you. Think about your life here. Think about the decisions you’ve made on this Earth. Think about your memories."
"What are you talking about?"
"You have me, Trevor. And Jon. How different is Jon from the advisors you had over there? Your Jon, here, had to deal with his own demons, and it made him a better man and a better leader. You can trust him to tell you when you’re crossing that line. You can trust me. What about Dante? He’s on your case all the time."
Trevor smiled. His best friend prior to Armageddon had been Dante Jones. In The Empire, Dante served as the head of Internal Security and he constantly questioned Trevor’s actions, but fell dutifully in line when decisions were made.
Lori pressed, "On that other Earth, the other Trevor had everything he desired. Do you have everything you desire, Trevor?" He closed his eyes and pinched his nose yet again. "The best advice I can give you is this: get over it." His eyes shot open. "Oh, that’s great, counselor."
"We make mistakes. All of us do. It’s what makes us human. You’ve made mistakes, you’ve made hard decisions, and you’ve lost a lot. That’s what keeps you from crossing the line; your humanity. When you begin to believe that you’re a god, that’s when I’ll worry. Until then, I’ll place my faith in you, just like everyone else does."
Stone relaxed in his chair.
She doubted her words could cure all his doubts and she knew that allowing him to vent his fears was not enough to make them go away. Her words, she figured, would sound hollow and distant in the middle of the night when he lay awake questioning his decisions; they would carry little weight when his armies marched into California and killed fellow human beings.
Trevor sighed and stood.
"You’re a real pain in the ass, you know? How does Jon put up with you?"
"Well, it helps that you’ve got him out leading armies half way across the country, so he’s not around to have to put up with me." Her light hearted tone did not mask the truth in her words. "Yeah, well, I wish I could say it’s going to end soon. California is just the next battle, it’s not the last." "You’re not going to stop at the Pacific Ocean?" Trevor told her what she had heard a dozen times over the years.
"This war isn’t about the United States; the United States doesn’t exist anymore. Mexico, Canada, South America, Europe. Those are the battlegrounds our children will fight on."
There had been a time when those words sounded defiant. Now, after a decade, they served merely as a reminder of how great their task. "Okay," she walked him to the door. "At least that means we might have Chinese for lunch some day." He smiled, laughed, then placed a kiss on her forehead. "You’re a good friend." "No, I’m a pain in the ass, remember?" "Good friends usually are." He straightened the black and gray shirt he wore, one that mirrored the uniforms of his officer corps. "Big meeting next week," he reminded as he grasped the knob. "That means big decisions. Can you handle it?" "I think so, yeah." "Well, if not be sure to bring me some Florida oranges for lunch next time. They’re hard to get around here."
Trevor opened the hall door, sending a small breeze across the office. That breeze gently pushed one of the discarded sandwich wrappers to the floor.
Lori watched him go then bent and retrieved the wrapper, brushing the bottom of the desk as she reached; brushing within an inch of the small silver object stuck to the underside of that desk. An object the size of a watch battery but with a silver, wiry face.
She threw the garbage in the waist can and mumbled, "Back to work."
– Nina Forest stood in the dark amidst a cluster of White Ash trees, doing what she did often: watching and waiting. This time she watched a second floor window and waited for movement. Her task tonight revolved not around infiltration or assassination, but surveillance.
Unlike her combat missions, the rest of the Dark Wolves commando unit did not accompany her on this night. Instead, she waited alone. A disposition that, she had come to know, came with the territory called motherhood.
The gentle, peaceful gong of chiming bells drifted through the night, no doubt from the spires of St Anne’s over at Church Circle. Those bells rang out twelve midnight.
The bells, Nina suspected, served as the signal. A sudden squeak as the second floor window edged open confirmed those suspicions. A moment latter a rope fell from the tiny concrete ledge and swayed against the brick wall of the apartment building. Two young legs dressed in faded blue jeans swung over the ledge.
Nina’s heart would have jumped, but she knew those young legs to be agile and athletic. She had trained them herself.
Sneakers pressed against the brick and gloved hands clasped the rope, then Denise-Nina’s adopted, teenage daughter-descended so quietly that the professional soldier in Captain Forest could not help but be impressed. She jumped the last two feet to the ground, her sneakers made a muffled thump. The blond haired girl peered through the darkness. "Jake?" A cricket answered. "Jake?" Nina summoned the mother inside, furled her brow, and stepped forward. Her footfalls drew the girl’s attention. "Jake? Is that you?"
Denise’s hand rested on the pistol grip protruding from a hip holster. There had been only one attack by hostile, alien creatures in the greater Annapolis area in the last six months. Nonetheless, the survivors of the post-Armageddon world knew that danger sill lurked.
Nina moved out from underneath a drooping branch.
"Jake won’t be here tonight."
Denise froze. Her eyes shot in every direction except at Nina. Mom could nearly see the cogs and wheels churning in the daughter’s mind searching for an excuse, a lie, a story.
"I, hey, mom, hey, yeah, well I was just-"
Nina raised a hand in the universal signal for stop.
"Don’t bother, Denise. You’ve been doing this just about every night now for the two weeks I’ve been home. Lord knows how many times you snuck past Barney." Barney, a vet who had lost an arm on the battlefield, served as the resident nanny and hall monitor in their apartment complex. Denise stopped babbling, stuck her lip out, and threw a hand on her hip. "You’re not going to go running off with boys in the middle of the night." "Boy." "Huh?"
Denise spat, "Not boys. Boy. One. Jake. And I’m sixteen."
"That’s right. Sixteen," Nina agreed. "That’s too young for skipping out in the night like this, especially with a boy a couple of years older than you. I won’t have it."
"Mom. It’s no biggy. I mean, you’d like Jake. And I like him," Denise considered her words then drove her eyes onto mom’s and said, "I love him." Nina’s jaw dropped. "Love? You love him? Denise, you’re only sixteen. That’s too young-" The teenager cut off her mom and broke into a tirade that began with well-chosen words but ended in poorer ones.
"Too young? Too young to love someone? Is that what you think? But I wasn’t too young for you to teach me to shoot, or how to fight, or how to kill with a knife. I’m too young to care about anyone but I wasn’t too young for you to teach me all about the bad things out there and how they can kill me and how nasty they are. I was never too young for you to make me into a little soldier just like you!"
"Denise…"
"And what do you know about it? What do you know about love? Every man who’s ever tried to get close to you you’ve driven away! You don’t know anything about people and relationships! Well I’m sorry, mom, but I’m not the same robot you are! I have a heart!"
The teenager stopped ranting. Her breath eased in and out and in and out in big deep huffs. Her fists clenched but her angry eyes wavered in the slightest, as if fearing she had driven their confrontation over a cliff. Nina stood still, her eyes fixed on her daughter, her brow pulled taut. Two seconds, then three, then five past. Nina finally spoke a grumbled order. "Go to your room. And stay there."
Denise grunted and stomped off, pushing through the lower branches of the White Ash trees. Nina listened to the angry teen march away until she heard the front door close, confirming Denise had made it safely inside.
After hearing that sound, Nina exhaled and closed her eyes.
What do you know about love?
Nina knew Denise’s words had been spoken in frustration. She knew her daughter loved her. She knew that, in the morning, they would share a joke over breakfast then maybe play racquetball after school, or go to the bay for a crab dinner at night.
She also knew Denise’s words held truth.
Over the last five years she taught her daughter to be strong, to protect herself, and to understand the deadly world in which they lived. But she could tell little of relationships.
Before the world had been invaded by a host of alien wildlife and extraterrestrial militia, Nina Forest had been a shy woman who always felt the outcast. She committed herself to the one natural talent she possessed; a talent for fighting.
She found direction as a pilot in the National Guard and as an officer on a Philadelphia SWAT team, maturing far beyond her years when it came to soldiering. Yet the world of passion, love, and heart eluded her understanding.
Things had improved in the years after Armageddon. In man’s old civilization, an expert woman soldier had been an oddity. Not now. The war to save humanity allowed her to truly be herself, to explore her natural instincts to their fullest.
The more comfortable she became with the new world, the more she felt willing to take chances. She dated on occasion, dabbling in both serious attempts at building lasting relationships and short-lived affairs. Both always ended in failure.
The latter simply felt wrong; she would not give away her body and heart lightly.
As for longer relationships, she could not decide what she wanted and thus walked away, or the man grew frustrated in trying to break through her armor-plating.
At thirty-three years old, Nina knew it strange that her heart remained sealed away. Even a broken heart would be better than a hidden one.
Still, she knew something lay dormant inside. Sometimes she felt it, struggling to break free. Alas, she could not find the combination to that lock.
Nina strolled through the trees as she considered her daughter’s words. She wondered if, in a world of monsters and alien armies, it might be too much to expect Denise to be the same sixteen year old girl Nina had been. A recluse. An outcast. Why would she even want Denise to be the same? Perhaps this whole motherhood thing had been a mistake after all.
She shoved aside those thoughts and approached the figure bound to the tree.
He wore the gray pants and white dress shirt of an academy cadet. His complexion hinted at Middle Eastern descent but the new world taught that things such as ethnicity, religion and race were thin, unimportant shells painted over the common bond of humanity. Nina sighed and pulled the gag from his mouth. "I’m sorry Captain Forest I’m really sorry I’ll never do-" "Listen," she forced the words. "You want to see my daughter? What is it…Jake?"
He stopped babbling. The cautious gaze in his eyes suggested he could not be sure she honestly wanted an answer, so he stayed silent.
"Okay, look, if you want to see my daughter you come by tomorrow night at a decent time. But you come to the front door, understand?" Again caution kept his tongue in check, but the young man nodded slowly. "All right then," Denise’s mom finished. "We’ll see you tomorrow night." Nina took a step, stopped, and then added, "Bring her some flowers or something. Flowers are nice." Nina walked away, nodding to herself in agreement with that line of thinking.
Jake relaxed as he realized that the woman’s threats to his body parts were not to be carried through. He only relaxed for a moment, however.
"Um…Captain Forest…um," he wriggled his hands in the tight ropes. "Um…Captain Forest…I…uh, could use some help here…with the…ropes…"
– The Bell UH-1 "Huey" helicopter produced a steady chop-chop-chop bouncing off the flatiron foothills to the west and echoing around Boulder Valley.
Jerry Shepherd rubbed frost from the window and eyed those famous tilted slabs of sedimentary stone for a long second, allowing the impressive sight to steal his thoughts away from the reason for his side trip to Boulder.
Shep knew that, somewhere deep in his soul, lurked the heart of a cowboy. There had been a time in his life when he pictured himself retiring to the Rocky Mountains. What a way to cap off his military and law enforcement career with a couple of years of fishing, hunting, and napping in hammocks in the shadow of grand mountains.
Such dreams evaporated when the extraterrestrial armies and alien animals came pouring through the gateways.
Shep sighed and pulled the zipper on his parka another inch higher.
The foothills he admired remained capped in white frosting that reflected the sun brilliantly. For all its beauty, the snow in a place such as Boulder, Colorado, often grew into an impenetrable barrier. He wondered why any settlers would choose to re-open a city that not only sat in isolation, but had suffered so many horrors in the early days of Armageddon.
To Shepherd, much of The Empire’s push westward had felt like McArthur’s 'Island Hopping' campaign during World War II in that the military commanders carefully picked where to strike and where to leave alone.
Boulder had been one of those islands left alone during the push to the Rockies. Denver, on the other hand, had been cleared, particularly the sections east of Interstate 25, including the International Airport and the Buckley Air National Guard Base. Both of those locations became important military facilities and supply points.
The distance between Denver and Boulder could be driven in minutes…if the snow plows cleared Route 36. The snow plows had done no such thing in years. The people of Boulder could not count on contact with the outside world until spring, except for the occasional flight into the airport and sporadic mounted couriers.
Part of the decision to leave Boulder alone had come from the cursed aura surrounding the city. Survivors from across the region told stories that made even the most battle-hardened warriors cringe. Stories of monsters-not animals-but monsters.
During the first days of Armageddon, creatures from the realm of Voggoth descended upon Boulder Valley and turned it into a nightmare. Unlike the animals and predators from the other alien environments, Voggoth's beasts killed for fun, as if inflicting pain served as a goal unto itself.
Perhaps the colonists saw themselves as a cleansing agent. Shep heard that the Boulder settlers hailed from a religious sect, although he could not remember the specifics.
"General Shepherd, we’re approaching the LZ, sir."
The transport flew over the remnants of Boulder proper. Shep eyed crumpled buildings and charred homes; rusting hulks that had once been automobiles on streets that had cracked and twisted from years of frost and thaw with no street department to patch potholes.
A stream of orange smoke rose from an open area to the north of the University. The helicopter swung about and descended into a small park filled with bare, broken trees. An old basketball court served as a makeshift landing pad.
The downdraft from Blackhawk scattered the signal flare’s smoke as the craft landed. Shepherd gathered his thoughts, checked his side arm, then exited the transport escorted by two well-groomed soldiers dressed in winter jackets and clean BDUs.
Soldiers of a different creed waited for the General outside the chopper.
They wore heavy gray uniforms with red sashes, many with an added wool coat. They carried swords and carbines and heavy packs on their back. Several sat in saddles atop gorgeous stallions. They all sported rough stubble on their cheeks; a sign of life in the cavalry, life always on the move in the wilderness.
Shepherd admired the men and envied their work. To be out in the wilderness… living off the land for weeks at a time…with only their guts, guns and brotherhood to face the unknown…yes, Shep admitted he most certainly had a little cowboy in him.
A short man with a thin mustache, narrow eyes, and an upturned cowboy hat greeted Shep. Something dangled from the man’s lips, perhaps a small cigar or maybe a kind of homemade cigarette. A feint trace of breathing embers glowed at the tip.
"Corp-o-ral Law-rence Brown, sir," the horse soldier made a lazy salute that matched his lazy words. "Captain McBride is waitin’ for ya, over on Pearl Street."
Shep did not know the difference between Pearl Street and any other street in Boulder, but Corporal Brown’s knowledge suggested the area had been thoroughly scouted.
"Well then, I reckon I should get on over to Pearl Street."
Shepherd had served two years in Philadelphia’s mounted patrol, so he knew what to do with the horse presented to him.
He and an escort of a dozen riders galloped through the empty streets of Boulder. The sight at ground level matched the vision from the helicopter: many homes destroyed by fire, others crushed by explosions or blunt damage dealt by marauding devils. The cold air kept an inch of snow intact over most of the ground, but the late morning sun melted away isolated patches, revealing either muddy ground or warped pavement.
It did not take long for the entourage to reach the historic district of Boulder, a stretch that once attracted shoppers and architecture buffs. The colonists had made the walking mall area the center of their new community.
The Corporal led Shepherd to a corner building built with red and white sandstone and brick as well as tattered old awnings lining one side and smashed plate glass windows lining the other.
Several more soldiers loitered in front, one of whom Jerry Shepherd recognized: Captain Dustin McBride of the 1 ^ st Cavalry Brigade, also known as "Stonewall’s Brigade."
While Stonewall carried on the fight with the rest of his division in Oregon, the 1 ^ st Brigade had been left behind for several weeks of well-earned rest and reconstitution. Unfortunately for them, they had been nearest when a unit was needed to check on the residents of Boulder. Shepherd reigned in his ride and dismounted. His boots crunched on the snow. "General, sir." "Well look at you," Shep eyed the man head to toe. "Growin’ a beard, Dustin?"
A beard-little more than a thick goatee-sprouted from the black man’s face. It made him appear slightly older, but in truth Dustin remained a young man, even after ten years of warfare. He had joined Stonewall’s army during the first months of the new world, leaving behind a street life with gangs in Washington D.C., for a leader’s role in the fight to save humanity. That fight had cost Dustin his right ear during the battle for Wilkes-Barre.
McBride smiled. "Just a little peach fuzz, man." But the smile changed fast to a frown. "Think you’d better see this, General."
Dustin led him inside the historic National State Bank building, circa 1899.
Piles of bodies-some covered and others not-lay around the lobby. Any antique furniture or historic ornaments had long ago been looted or lost, making the interior feel open and bare.
"I think they used this place as a town hall type of thing," McBride explained. "They must’ve decided to make, well, a sort of last stand here."
Shep nodded as he took note of the bodies, discarded small arms, and the carcasses of several K9s.
Dustin said, "We found fifty dead in here, another thirty or so up and down Pearl Street. I think they used this whole section as sort of their downtown. Anyway, there’s a couple of bigger buildings nearby that were, like, factories for stuff."
"What’d they do here?"
Shep knew that everyone who lived under the protection of The Empire contributed in some fashion. The colonists, despite their isolation, did something that generated Continental Dollars which, in turn, kept fuel, ammunition, and even mail coming their way.
"Textiles. They made wool coats and stuff like that. There’s some sheep farms on the outskirts of town. They got wiped out, too. I also think they did a lot of scavenging. There was a company up here that did a lot of wireless stuff before ‘all this’. I think they were selling the leftovers back to the army." Shep stroked a finger across his gray mustache. "Okay. Wiped out by what?" Dustin McBride motioned toward a heavy tarp and said, "Agarn."
Corporal Brown responded to that nickname. He pulled away the covering, revealing three bodies. Each corpse wore heavy animal hides but even through the winter clothing Shepherd spied pale skin, elongated fingers, and bodies lacking any hair.
"Red Hands."
Shepherd knew the Red Hands to be a primitive tribe that could breed and spread fast, lived as one with nature, hated technology, and fought bravely despite using primitive weapons. Still… "You’re telling me Red Hands wiped out this colony? With bows and arrows?" "Looks that way, yeah." "How many colonists here?"
McBride answered, "The info I’ve got says about three hundred. Far as I can tell, we’ve found about three hundred dead bodies so far, too."
"They were armed, right?"
Corporal Brown, a smoke still dangling from his mouth, answered, "Piss-tols, ri-fulls, a couple o’ Jav-lins, even got one of them pinballs ‘case a Shadow came callin’. They used to come ‘round here back in the day, or so I heard."
Shepherd grunted. The Red Hands existed like cockroaches, as soon as The Empire thought they stamped them out a new band appeared somewhere. Red Hands moved through the wilderness expertly, usually staying out of sight for as long as they wanted to stay out of sight.
"What a sec," Shep jumped. "Three hundred people with guns wiped out by Red Hands? How the Hell many Red Hands would it take to do that?"
Corporal Brown-"Agarn"-answered, "A shitload or two."