Ryan Shepherd woke to a sharp pain in his cheek. He was on his back looking into the sky. The air was cold. What had happened? Where was he? Above him, flakes of snow fell from the grey storm clouds. A jagged line ran horizontally across his vision. He closed his left eye and the line disappeared – a crack in his goggles. Lightning flickered within the clouds. Thunder followed. Then boots racing toward him.
“Sir!” Wilson appeared above, his helmet missing and hair sweaty. “Sir, can you hear me?”
Shepherd sat up. His body ached liked the mornings after an intense workout or a foot march. Everything came back. They were on the northern side of the Broadway Street overpass in Kansas City. The members of the team were scattered. A few stood looking around but most were just beginning to pick themselves up from the asphalt. Behind him, the southern half of the span had collapsed into the interstate. Smashed and broken buildings had replaced the once-elegant skyline. Downtown Kansas City lay in ruins. One Kansas City Place no longer resembled a torch burning high above the city. Instead, the building leaned precariously to one side against the roof of another skyscraper. To the north, the bridges leading toward the downtown airport dangled half-in and half-out of the Missouri River. The nearest span was a snapped bone jutting from the water. The orange luminescence of the flames along the city outskirts had given way to the white fog of falling snow. And it was quiet. The howls of the wind and the low voices from the men had replaced the sounds of war.
Wilson stared at him. Shepherd started to speak but the movement of his jaw caused the chinstrap of his helmet to rub against his cheek. The pain was a needle jabbing into his flesh and then a deep burn as if his face had caught fire. He unhooked the chinstrap and carefully removed his helmet. Wilson’s expression became even more worried.
“I can bandage that.” Wilson reached for the medical pouch on his plate carrier.
Shepherd held up his hand and shook his head. He gently probed at the wound with his fingers. Each touch brought more pain. Then he remembered. He pushed himself to his feet. Dizziness forced him to close his eyes but he quickly steadied himself and looked around. Alex lay on the pavement a few feet away.
Ellzey glanced up as Shepherd approached. He was crouched at Alex’s side and appeared none the worse for the wear. Shepherd knelt beside Alex. She lay curled in a fetal position, sick and wasted. Her skin was pale. Perspiration dampened her forehead. She was gaunt as if something was eating away her body from within. He touched neck and found her pulse faint but steady.
“She’s alive,” Ellzey said. “Better than the NEA at least.”
“How long have we been out?” Each word and movement of his jaw brought back the pain.
Ellzey shrugged. “Not long.”
“What the hell happened here?” Shepherd looked to see Murray approaching from the east side of the overpass. His loud voice broke through the stillness. “Did someone drop a goddam nuke?”
“Your nuke is right here in front of you,” Ellzey said.
Shepherd surveyed the broken bodies on both sides of the overpass. The remains were mostly bloody skeletons wearing torn NEA uniforms. Blackened husks had replaced the tanks and APCs.
Murray and Wilson came up and stood next to Shepherd. “She saved our asses again,” Murray said. “She going to be all right?”
“It’s not her I would be worried about,” Ellzey said.
“What do you mean?” Wilson said.
Ellzey gestured to the north. “Your forces were staging at that airport for one last hurrah. What do you see now?”
Shepherd looked. There was no more airport. Ruined airplanes and rough formations of burned-out military vehicles sat scattered across the broken tarmac. The hangars had collapsed along with the terminal and control tower. Everything was still.
“You mean…” Murray’s voice trailed off.
“Collateral damage,” Ellzey mused. “I suppose we should count ourselves lucky.”
Shepherd keyed his microphone. “This is Echo 1-6 to Kodiak Main.” No response. He tried a second time but the result was the same. He toggled the radio’s frequency and broadcast, “Net call. All Directorate units, this is Echo 1-6. If you receive this transmission, please respond. Over.” Again, silence.
“Shit,” Murray said. “Everyone?”
“Afraid so,” Ellzey said. “But I suppose you did complete your mission. Ms. Bedford certainly stopped the NEA in their tracks. So that’s something, isn’t it?”
“Go check on the team,” Shepherd said to Murray and Wilson. “I want full accountability. Tell Atkins to get on the radio. I need comms with Topeka or Peterson.”
The men nodded and left. Shepherd looked at Alex and then at Ellzey. “What the hell happened here? You caused this. What did you do to her?”
“Me?” Ellzey said, innocently. “I… how shall I put this? I served her an appetizer. She ate the main course herself.”
“Cut the shit. She was fine until that kid slit his throat. You gave him the knife. Did you know this would happen?”
“There may have been some slight miscalculations on my part. I suppose your face is proof enough of that. But it was better than the alternative.”
“Are you insane? If she killed all of our people, then…”
“Then what? As I said, mission accomplished. You’ve bought yourselves the time you need to regroup. The NEA suffered far more here than the Directorate.”
Shepherd clenched his hand into a fist. Striking Ellzey had felt so good back at the medical center at Peterson. But it wasn’t the time right now. He needed to take care of Alex. What is she going to do when she wakes up and finds out about this? She can’t have killed our people on purpose. But was that true? For an instant, he was flying back into the pavement and screaming while she tore apart his cheek, her eyes red, that demonic expression on her face. Could that happen again? If she woke up, she might lose control and attack him or someone else on the team.
“Sir!” Fred Atkins had extended the meter-long radio antenna from his assault pack and held the receiver to his ear. “I’ve got something strange on the radio. Sounds like a code.”
Ellzey went to Atkins and held out his hand for the radio receiver. Atkins glanced at Shepherd, who nodded. Ellzey took the receiver and listened. Then he spoke shortly in a quiet voice before handing the radio back to Atkins.
“Ms. Bedford and I will be departing,” Ellzey said to Shepherd. “A Black Hawk will arrive from Topeka within the hour to retrieve the rest of you.”
“If you think you’re taking her anywhere—”
“This isn’t a suggestion. I have orders from the Committee to evacuate Ms. Bedford to a secure location. You should be glad you don’t have to march out of here.”
“What do you say we commandeer this asshole’s bird when it lands?” Murray said. “We can let him march home.”
Shepherd considered the idea.
“We can stay here and talk or you can help me move Ms. Bedford to my LZ. She may be alive for now, but…” Ellzey paused for a moment and shrugged, “who knows what might happen if she receives improper care. Your leadership has already cost you three men today. Would you like to lose her as well?”
Shepherd didn’t answer – couldn’t answer. There was nothing to say. He thought back to the intersection. He saw the men, Jordan Williams and James Fletcher, young corporals barely in their twenties, one married and one getting there, both in line for promotion to sergeant. He imagined their bodies, bloodied and broken in the middle of the street, buried under piles of rubble from the remains of the surrounding towers. And Specialist Benjamin Park, the even younger marksman who was always quiet and professional, who had enlisted against his father’s wishes, and who had bled out from the cavernous wound to his chest.
All you had to do was stop before that intersection and take a look around the corner, a tormenting voice said. They would still be alive. You screwed up, and they paid for it.
“Well, Captain?” Ellzey said.
“Where are they landing?”
Ellzey gestured toward a parking lot to the north. “ETA is ten minutes.”
“Where are you taking her?”
“You’re not cleared for that information. But… we will take care of her. She’ll be safe.” There was a surprising tone of sincerity in Ellzey’s voice.
Shepherd glanced at Murray and Wilson. Both men met his gaze. For an instant, he thought he saw an accusing look in their eyes. He shook it off. “Get everyone ready to move.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Pick it up!” Murray shouted. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”
Shepherd unhooked the straps of Alex’s assault pack and pulled apart the Velcro holding together her ballistic vest. He set the equipment aside and then picked her up. She felt light in his arms, much lighter than she should have been. Around him, the team finished gathering. To his surprise, Ellzey picked up the vest and slung the assault pack over his shoulder.
“Let’s go,” Shepherd said.
---
Alex sat in the uncomfortable chair at what had once been her mother’s bedside. The hospital room was empty. The mattresses were empty. The only light shone through the windows. Outside, the sun had begun to set beyond a mountain ridge. Hues of red painted the sky, darker – almost black – at the horizon and becoming lighter as the gradient rose, turning first brown, then blood red, then orange. The edges of the clouds were the same bright yellow as the setting sun. The light picked out the dust in the air and cast long shadows toward the open door and out into the hallway.
She stared at the mattress. The sheets were white, unruffled and unused. The impression of her mother’s body was gone. No evidence anyone had ever been there. Yet it was the same room, the quiet, sterile space where her mother had gone to die. The same chair where she had sat and held her mother’s hand, feeling the waxy, pale white skin against her palm. This was where she had looked into what had once been beautiful blue eyes – eyes that had turned cloudy and grey. The same window where she had stood looking out at the landscape each time her mother drifted into unconsciousness. She had watched the sun set when she had no longer been able to hold her mother’s hand or look into those eyes. The smell hadn’t changed – that lemony scent of disinfectant. Hazy memories, details that never fully came together, but often in bits and pieces. Now, it was all clear and focused.
She felt tired. Part of it came from the stillness, the quiet in the tiny space and the strange, oppressive atmosphere from the setting sun and the orange glow that colored the room. But there was something else, too. She felt drained, out of energy, starved and dehydrated. Her arms were thin and bony. The usual light tan of her skin was a sickly white.
The chair creaked as she stood. The pain in her joints, in her shoulders, arms, and legs, even her chest and neck barely registered. She sat on the bed and then lay down. A familiar mattress. She stared at the ceiling, at the tiles, some clean and smooth and some with water stains and cracks of age. After a moment, her eyelids shut and the hospital room disappeared.
She was unsure of how long her eyes remained closed. Eventually, she heard footsteps. They were quiet and far away, coming from out in the hall. The pace was slow with long pauses as if whoever was approaching was nervous or worried about what waited at their destination. The footsteps stopped outside the door, hesitated, and then continued into the room and stopped at the side of the bed. Alex heard breathing, followed by sniffles, then sobs.
Her eyes opened. Dark now, the orange sunset glow was gone. The only light came from somewhere in the corner of the room. Slowly, she turned her head. A man knelt at the bedside, face buried in his arms on the mattress. He had brown hair with traces of silver and white. He looked up, and even though the shadows covered him, she knew the face of her father. He was younger, as he had looked before her mother had died, before the outbreaks, before the world had ended.
“You’re awake?” His voice was weak and trembling.
“Henry,” a voice replied, not her own, but soft and low, the voice that sometimes spoke from distant, fuzzy memories.
“I’m here,” he said.
“I know.” She was aware her lips – her mother’s lips – were struggling to curve into a faint smile.
Tears glistened in her father’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
He again buried his face in his arms. “Yes, it is.”
She placed her hand on his thinning hair. He looked up as her fingers slid gently down his cheek. “Take care of Alex.”
“I will.”
“I’ll always be with you, Henry.”
Her father didn’t reply.
“Tell John goodbye.”
He nodded and then gently placed his hand on hers and held it. “I love you.”
Her eyes closed but she felt her father’s grip. He began to cry again. The sobs were loud and uncontrolled. The sounds began to fade.
When the world returned, her father was gone. The lights were off. The only illumination came from the faint rays of moonlight.
To her surprise, she again heard footsteps in the hallway. The sound was the same as before, a slow, steady pace except now there was a chill, slowly overpowering the warmth in her corner of the room. She had the sudden desire to hide under the covers. The footsteps grew louder. They were coming from just beyond the door. At first, she could barely make out the figure. A black aura shrouded him, nearly invisible in the darkness of the adjoining corridor. As her eyes focused, she saw his outline and the tiny details: the buttons on his coat, the shiny nameplate over his left breast, and the polished silver stars on his epaulets. Then the figure disappeared past the doorway.
She’s gone. Her father speaking again, older now and tired, the words coming to her as if whispered into her ear.
What would you give to have her back? A strange echo accompanied the second, unknown voice.
Anything.
Your world?
Yes.
Your daughter?
There was no reply.
She got up from the bed. Her body, frail and weak, carried her into the hall. She looked around, trying to spot the shrouded figure against the darkness, but he was gone. Dust and dirt covered the floor, and the fluorescent lights on the ceiling were broken or burnt out. The doors had disappeared from their frames, and the windows were cracked or shattered. Vines and weeds grew from fissures in the walls.
She whirled around toward a loud creak. Her father stood several feet away. The black aura was softer now, letting her make out more details. He wore his dress blue uniform, adorned with ribbons, rank insignia, and service medals. The life support tubes, IVs, and electrodes were gone but he looked gaunt and worn.
“Dad?”
Her father was silent.
“Dad? What’s going on?”
No answer. She took a cautious step toward him. He appeared lost, like a child. As she approached, the hallway grew colder. Tears persisted in the corners of her father’s eyes. He reached out as if he wanted to embrace her but then his arms stopped and fell. He retreated and began to turn away.
“Wait!” she said and dashed toward him.
An invisible wall of ice slammed into her body. The chill pierced her skin. Her vision clouded and went white. Fiery pain spread through her body. Something inside screamed at her to flee back into the hospital room. Her father kept silent although tears flowed down his cheeks. She tried to call to him but her lips were frozen. He opened his mouth and spoke two silent words: Help me.
His expression went blank as his gaze shifted down to the floor and his shoulders slumped. He seemed on the verge of falling but then his head snapped up and he looked straight into her eyes. That’s not him. That isn’t Dad. That’s—
Her father’s figure flashed out of existence and reappeared inches away. The eyes, no longer her father’s, stared into her own, and in another slideshow-like flash of movement, his hand rose up and touched her forehead.
The corridor distorted. The empty doorframes, the broken windows, and the overgrown walls all vanished. Her father’s face lingered but then it was gone, too. Then everything came back into focus. The cold remained, less intense, but still a constant presence. Not unlike the Colorado winters. Except this was far from Colorado.
She stood on a rocky hill overlooking a busy Arctic station. The buildings, mostly warehouses and prefabricated structures, appeared tan and grey, blending with the snow and ice that covered all but the plowed dirt roads. Tiny figures bundled in thick coats moved about the station, hurrying between buildings to seek shelter from the cold. Bulldozers worked to clear mounds of snow from paths and streets. The station sat near a frozen bay, which extended out into an ocean of fragmented ice drifts and glaciers. A giant white mountain occupied the horizon, clearly visible against the blue sky.
She started toward the station but then a tremor threw off her balance. Pebbles rolled down the hill, and clumps of snow shook loose from the station’s buildings. The men and women outside stopped and looked around. People operating vehicles pulled over or slowed in the middle of the road. The sky brightened – blue turning to pure white. A second tremor came, then another, each more violent than the one before. As the whiteness intensified, she heard a tearing sound, like cloth ripping apart. But the sound was continuous, growing louder as if the fabric of the air were rent asunder. Her eyes hurt from the pure white and the sting of freezing wind. She held up her hands to ward it off.
There was a flash, brighter than the sky, brighter than the snow, brighter than the sun if she had looked directly at it. The light should have burned her retinas to carbon but instead, it buried itself into her eyes, seeming to burrow its way through her skull. An instant later, the shock wave hit. The tearing noise was now so loud she could hear nothing else. The sound became a presence in her brain, like the light she could not have seen. The blast tore her from her feet and blew her to the ground. She struggled to stand but could only get up on her hands and knees. She put a hand up to shield her eyes against the freezing gale and flying shards of ice and rock.
A mushroom cloud of smoke, fire, and ash rising from the heart of the continent now dwarfed the titanic glacial peak on the horizon. The cold winds grew warm, heated by the inferno miles away. One of the structures at the base of the hill collapsed, and a section of its wall sliced into a nearby warehouse, weakening the building enough for the wind to tear it apart. She felt the heat in the air and heard the terrifying roar of the world ripping itself apart.
As she stared at the growing pillar on the horizon, she saw something within: a massive shape, which folded and broiled within the cloud, changing from a glowing blue-gray eye into a billowing face before consuming itself to nothing. Gradually, the shape reformed with a red glow, shifting with the motions of the toroid but also retaining a distinct oval mass from which undulating whip-like tentacles extended and retracted. She felt herself moving forward, no longer blown back by the wind. The rocky hill, the crumbling station, and even the giant mountain of ice all faded away. The expanding tower of darkness was the only thing left. Then her father stepped out of the pitch-black haze of soot and ash.
Look.
The voice echoed in her mind, somehow audible over the cacophony of sound. She looked at her father. He stood impassive on the far side of the bridge. His eyes stared past her, focused on something unknown.
“Dad?” she said.
Look! His lips did not move. The voice sounded disembodied, like her father’s but void of all energy and humanity.
“At what?”
She flew upward, propelled into the chaos of snow, fire, noise, and light. The winds should have torn her apart, but instead, she rose up above the storm, above clouds, above the frozen continent. She saw everything. The barren, snow-covered plains became a hellish landscape tinted blood-red by the changing and darkening color of the sky. Plants, wildlife, and scattered research stations melted from the shockwave and heat. Near the explosion’s epicenter, winds howled at speeds that would have torn her body apart, and above it all, she heard a nightmarish scream.
Far above the ground, the black mushroom cloud expanded into the sky before leveling out at a height impossible for her to put into perspective. As the winds carried the smoke and ash outwards, covering the continent in darkness and creating an artificial night, the clouds swirled into a great hurricane-like formation. Soon, the writhing black mass encircled the continent, creating gale-force winds that rent the already battered terrain. She saw flashes of terrified survivors, helpless without power in their flimsy outposts of metal and steel. The only illumination for the doomed men and women were the red bolts of lightning that arced across the sky. A huge eye appeared in the center of the storm to grant her a view of the frozen continent below. In the center of the eye, and in the middle of a crater carved deep into the ice, a black sphere hung motionless above the ground.
In the back of her mind, the empty, inhuman voice spoke a single word: Come.