Overrun Page 14

  "We will survive it. We will heal. We will become stronger while they just struggle to live. We will have eradicated what has been holding this country down. The sick, weak and dying are all the J.G.U. will have left.”

  “You are talking about a genocide here. Goddamn it! And it’s not other countries doing it. We are doing it. The United States. Right here!”

  “Tuttle, how can you not see? When these people are gone, those that have been protected from the radiation will populate outward. In less than a generation or two we'll have healthy populations of people living on the outside again.

  “And by then, there won't even be an ‘outside’, because the domes will no longer exist. The world will be like it once was. Those people out there, their deaths are necessary. We, those in power, those with the technology, we have a responsibility.

  “It is not a genocide in evil’s sake. It is a necessity. We have to make this choice and follow this course. We owe this to those we govern. To the country we protect.

  “Once the J.G.U. have retreated completely back to their homeland, we will launch the new ozone. We will embark upon our own foreign soil offensive. We will offer mercy to all governments and countries in return for their unconditional surrender and submission to our rule."

  Tuttle just listened in sick horror to Faulken further preach.

  "There will be no bloody conquests. These countries, these governments, they will come to us. Many will unconditionally become our allies in return for the protection we offer from the sun. The J.G.U. will be left alone to whither away with what they have left until they are forever removed from this Earth.

  “War will never occur again once the world becomes united under one U.S. rule and the way of life of the J.G.U. disappears forever.”

  "How can you justify the murder of millions of innocents?" Tuttle could barely talk. “Our innocents. Our people. Those that through the years our government has taken the responsibility to also protect.”

  "Tuttle, I just goddamn did!” Faulken’s voice bellowed.

  A few of the command room personnel on the other side of the windows turned their heads up at the noise.

  "You are doing this in the name of world domination, you crazy arrogant fuck!" Tuttle roared back at him. “You are not doing this to heal or bring salvation to the goddamn world.”

  "For Christ's sake, Tuttle. What will become of these ‘innocents’ when this war is over? They are irreversibly poisoned. What will happen when healthy people run out of room and need to start making their homes in land occupied by those that are sick and dying?

  “Our country will be divided like it always has been. It will hammer at the heart of our strength. We cannot leave the possibility of becoming undone from within. These people only have short years ahead of them. Not long healthy lives, but short years filled with physical pain and severe emotional distress as they watch their loved ones slowly become afflicted and die.

  “The world that we are going to build is going to be full of life. It can’t be done while being surrounded by those that are already dead. They will hold us back and keep us weak. Make us susceptible to attack. If this is not addressed now, in the end no one is going to live.”

  "You are fucking crazy, Faulken," Tuttle said turning his back to him.

  He walked listlessly to the other side of the room and poured another cup of coffee. He stood facing the wall and let its smell drift into his face. He downed the entire cup with his back turned not even sure if Faulken was still in the room behind him.

  “And you know what needs to be done," Faulken replied after a long while. “Regardless of what your beliefs or opinions may be. What is happening now is way past what you can decide.”

  Faulken made his way towards the doorway. His footsteps scuffed softly across the floor.

  Tuttle still did not turn around.

  "Make sure vehicle housing units are hit first. There is one right at the center of town. It is the closest concentration of artillery and troops to Dome 15. If we cripple their means of transportation in that area we can limit their movements at least for the time being."

  Tuttle turned his head halfway around and watched Faulken leave. He was almost out the door when he paused and faced Tuttle once more to speak.

  "Intel gathering ops from all over the country have also indicated that some are surviving the blasts. In some areas, it has been described as ‘many’. They’ve gone down into the old sewers. Sectioning off entire areas like bomb shelter units. Some feel supplies have been brought down there well in advance, and those that are there could survive down there for years."

  "We've heard the same," Tuttle replied.

  "We all have,” Faulken’s tone became more threatening. “The J.G.U. cannot be allowed access to alternate mobilization routes beneath the city. Down there we can’t track them. They will survive the blasts. And then they’ll be able to easily surround and ambush us once we get inside.”

  Tuttle felt a slight chill settle around his soul.

  “This is a situation that must be given top priority and dealt with. It is a grave security risk and severely threatens the success of any operation you launch in there.”

  Faulken walked in front of Tuttle and stared him straight in the eye.

  “Am I making myself understood, General?”

  "Understood," Tuttle said quietly. “It’s understood.”

  Faulken turned from him then and quickly walked away.

  Tuttle stared at his back while he left the room. He could feel his own heartbeat in his throat.

  He stepped over to one of the command screens and watched Faulken board the air transport that had brought him in. It quickly lifted away into the blackness of the death-drenched night.

  Chapter 15

  Kirken walked silently next to his son. Since they had left the city to meet the supply drop, there were less soldiers and vehicles along the streets.

  Kirken reached back to adjust the heavy load of weapons and gear across his back. Its weight pulled the straps holding it to his body painfully tight against his skin.

  They both wore dark military fatigues they had found in the supplies. Brandon had even gone a step further and painted his face black to blend himself even more into the night. The tire iron dangled from a clip on his belt alongside his right hip. It made a soft clink against the buckles of his gear when he stepped.

  Kirken tried to ignore the sound.

  They stayed close to the sides of the overhanging buildings and wound their way through the decayed alleys when they could. Neither spoke while they trudged along. Brandon kept his gaze straight ahead into the dark.

  After two hours of travel through the overrun city and three hours since the supply drop, they reached a large group of trucks, jeeps and troops blocking the main roadway leading into the town.

  Several soldiers watched from crudely constructed elevated metal towers while others stopped and searched the vehicles coming and leaving the city. Still others stood on the ground behind the trucks with their weapons raised. Bright light from the towers sprayed out across their shoulders towards the vehicles being checked.

  When they were about a quarter mile away, Kirken stopped and reached out to stop his son. Leading him with his hand across his shoulder, he pulled Brandon after him to the back of an overturned flaming jeep.

  The fire still burned high and hot offering a good temporary place to hide. Kirken glanced briefly at the charred bodies still inside being consumed by the flames.

  He dropped to his knees and groped along the ground. Brandon stared wide-eyed into the blaze. Even when Kirken pulled him down next to him, he did not look away.

  "There's no way we're going to get around them," Kirken said running his leather-gloved hands through the dirt. The heat from the ground's surface warmed his fingers despite the protection offered by the thick gloves.

  Brandon didn’t respond. His breathing was rapid and short as he continued to watch the fire.

  "This is what I wa
nt," Kirken said mostly to himself while setting his weapon down at his side and lowering his shoulder to the ground.

  With a sharp tug, Kirken lifted at the handle along the ground. The movement brought a piercing screaming pain from his injured shoulder.

  At the same time, Brandon raised his weapon towards the soldiers at the roadblock. He rested his elbows on the trunk of the burning car and aimed it through the flames.

  Kirken wrestled the manhole cover by its bulky handle and pulled it carefully aside to reveal the dark opening beneath. There was the faint sound of scraping metal as Kirken pulled it away and a dull clink when he lowered it gently to the ground.

  "C'mon, Brandon, let's go," Kirken said and dropped his legs inside.

  Brandon pressed on Kirken’s head and shoulders when the large pack on his back hooked across the edge of the street’s surface keeping him from sliding all the way through. When he was finally free, Kirken fell through the open air and rolled quickly to his side. Brandon dropped immediately through after him.

  Kirken pulled a light from his pack and a schematic of the tunnels running beneath the streets. Brandon used his own light to find a ladder leading up the wall.

  "Let's go on back and get her," Kirken whispered while Brandon clambered quickly up the ladder back to the street and pulled the manhole cover back across the opening. "We can go through everything there. Get everything settled before we go back out."

  Brandon nodded when he came back down, but he still did not speak.

  Another explosion ripped from the quiet outside above their heads.

  Kirken pointed his light down the tunnel ahead and tugged lightly at his son’s shoulder. Brandon turned and followed him into the shadows of the underground corridor until they were both consumed by the dark.

  * * *

  Mel's hands shook as she groped along the smooth tunnel walls in the gloom. She had been venturing out deeper and deeper into the deserted corridors waiting and praying for the safe return of her father and brother.

  The darkness taunted her. The few shadows she saw tried to make her scream. Every now and then she could make out the smell of what could only have been rotting flesh.

  She was about to head back when a hand reached from somewhere in the nothingness that surrounded her and tugged at her shirt. A short shriek slipped from her lips.

  The hand grabbed at the clothing near her belt, and she quickly seized it at the wrist. With her free hand she pulled at a flashlight she had crammed in her back pocket before she left. Blood raced from her heart to her brain and hammered violently against the drums of her ears.

  The hand wrapped itself around her waist and did not let go. The grip was strong but not forceful or violent.

  Mel pointed her flashlight downward and flipped on its switch.

  A young boy stood in front of her and squinted in the glow. Judging from his height, Mel thought he might have been five or six years old. It was hard to tell through the thick layer of dirt caked across his face.

  Mel swung the light around illuminating the rest of the tunnel. There was no one else around. The boy stood shaking in front of her. In the dark passageway, he was totally and absolutely alone.

  "Oh, honey, I'm sorry," she said lowering the flashlight and crouching in front of him. “I am so sorry.”

  Startled, he pulled his hand from her and tried to dart away.

  "Please don't be scared."

  Mel reached quickly down and lightly grabbed his hand. She lowered her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close to her body. His hand was cold and damp against her own. His breathing came slowly against her chest.

  She held him like that for a long while and stroked his hair quietly in the dark.

  Blood trickled from his nose, and the start of a fresh bruise puffed under his left eye. His face, arms and legs were completely covered with mud. One his shirtsleeves had been torn off at the shoulder. And looking further down, she saw he only had one shoe.

  His young eyes were blank as he stared past her into the surrounding gloom.

  "Is there anybody else with you?” Mel asked softly. “Anyone else that might be hiding right now?"

  The boy shook his head slowly.

  "Are you alright?" Mel sniffed once trying to blink away a light mist of tears forming across her eyes.

  The boy didn’t respond. He looked down at where he kept his other hand inside the torn pocket of his shredded jacket. He shifted around uncomfortably on his feet. Mel looked down and followed his gaze.

  "What do you got in there?" Mel pulled gently on his arm while the boy looked nervously away. "Can I see? Please, can I see?"

  The boy nodded slightly and allowed Mel to reach for his arm. With his free hand inside of hers, she put her other hand inside his pocket.

  "Oh, sweetie," she gasped lightly when she had helped him pull his other hand from the damp material lining his jacket.

  Her hands and both of his were covered instantly with warm fresh blood up to their wrists. It still flowed freely from a newly-cut wound.

  “Oh, sweetie, it’s going to be o.k.,” she said trying to hold back her tears. “You’re going to be o.k.”

  She held his hand to the light. She was barely able to make out its small shape there was just so much.

  "You're going to be o.k." she tried to say calmly again.

  The boy didn't seem to listen. There was a nothingness behind his eyes as the stench of fresh blood thrust itself ruthlessly into Mel's face.

  "Are you hurt anyplace else? Is there anywhere else I need to look?"

  The boy didn't answer.

  Mel tore pieces of fabric from her shirt and wrapped them firmly around his hand. She pressed the makeshift bandage tightly over the wound, but it wasn't enough to keep the flowing blood from quickly soaking through.

  The boy's expression still did not change.

  "Honey, do you know what happened? Did someone do this to you?"

  The boy didn’t speak.

  The bandage in Mel’s hand was already red and moist in her grip. She bent down and began ripping more strips of material from her pant leg.

  "I was with my mom," the boy said seemingly oblivious to the blood and mess. Mel stopped what she was doing briefly and looked at him. He talked like his mind had left his body, and he was in a very distant place.

  "Where is your mom?"

  Mel wrapped the material from her jeans around the first bandage which had already soaked completely through.

  "I don't know how you're still standing," Mel’s voice was almost a sob. She brushed more tears from her eyes and ripped the pieces from her jeans into smaller shreds.

  "There were people chasing us. She fell like I did. But she didn’t get back up. They were getting really close so I had to run.”

  The boy’s voice trailed off. A single tear slid slowly down Mel's cheek.

  “She had blood all over her front and back. I said goodbye. Her eyes were still open when I left her.”

  Mel put her hand over her mouth and tried hard not to openly cry.

  "She didn’t get up again,” he said looking sullenly up at her. “Not even when they went past. Or when I ran away.”

  "Oh, sweetheart."

  Mel used what was left of her torn sleeve to wipe the tears from her face and picked him up in her arms. She took only a few steps before the blood from his wound stained her entire upper body red.

  She put the flashlight in her mouth and ran back towards the bunker clenching his rigid body tightly against her chest.

  * * *

  A few people glanced up fearfully when Mel opened the large door to the bunker. Others gasped in surprise at what she carried in her arms.

  She walked across the room and sat the young bloody boy upright on top of a supply table that someone had quickly cleared.

  He stared at her blankly while she began to work on his arm.

  First, she took the scissors someone had handed her and cut away his sticky shirt. She then sponged most of the
blood from the top of his body revealing a jagged wound that stretched from the tip of his elbow to the top of his hand.

  In less than a few minutes and after using half the bandages in the medical kit, she was finally able to make the bleeding stop.

  She was dressing him in a clean shirt, when the doors to the bunker again creaked open and then abruptly slammed shut.

  Mel looked over at the two men dressed all in black striding purposefully towards her.

  "You alright?" Kirken asked while he hugged her.

  "I'm alright."

  "I can't believe how many people are down here," Kirken said looking around while she lifted her head from his shoulder. “I still can’t believe it. I had no idea anything like this existed.”

  He looked down at the stained table where the young boy sat and then around at the others milling about the bunker.

  "We're going to have to move them. Soldiers are close. It’s not safe here. We’re going to have to find them someplace else."

  "Dad, are you alright?"

  "I'm fine," he said and stole a quick glance at Brandon who stood rigidly next to her.

  Mel ignored her father’s look and stepped back to hug her brother close. Brandon stooped awkwardly over when she did. His hands did not leave his weapon grip.

  “Seen signs of them getting down here?” Brandon asked when she finally let go and stepped away.

  "It's been spooky around here, but we haven't seen anyone else.”

  "Anyone new to the group?" Brandon asked coolly.

  "A few people wandered in since you left,” Mel responded slowly to Brandon’s strange still tone. “But, I don’t think anyone that’s a threat. We pulled them in as they wandered by. They weren’t looking for us."

  "There’s too much going on up on the street,” Kirken said starting to pull his gear from his back. “We’re going to have to move them before we go.”

  "I’ll start looking for someplace else," Brandon said stiffly before turning and leaving the room. The tire iron dangled from the bottom of his pack behind his legs.

  When he was gone, the room became silent again. Only the occasional noise from those organizing the supplies into storage lockers interrupted the solemn silence.