BLUEMONT, VIRGINIA
152030RJUL31:
After about an hour on the range (to which Chrysalis, once again, showed off with her skills on an M38 SDMR), the two headed back to the office, where Keith was busy talking on the phone; the conversation did not look like anything fun. After a few minutes, he hung up, leaning back in the chair and groaning.
“You don’t look very happy,” Jessica stated as soon as he saw them.
“There are days when this bird really isn’t worth the weight,” Keith replied, pointing at his rank device. “I just got off the phone with the Admiral. Both the planning officer that I’d wanted to bring aboard, as well as the logistics expert, have both been nixed. The planning officer, because she apparently just made full colonel, so she’s expected to take over command of an airwing because there’s a dire need for expert officers. As for the logistics officer, the Admiral found out an hour ago that the officer in question was killed during the attack at Guantanamo Bay three weeks ago, but no one really bothered to update us on that information.”
“Back to square one?” Chrysalis asked, feeling sympathy for his situation.
“The Air Force is willing to cough up a brand-new second lieutenant for the billet, but I need someone a little more seasoned for that. As for logistics, the Marines say they’ll prioritize trying to get us a replacement as soon as possible, but with the Marines being in desperate straits in terms of manpower, you know how that’s going to go.”
“I hear you there. I lost about six of my people in Rome, and it’s going to take time to get replacements sent from SEAL Team NINE, especially since they have their own dedicated missions they need to deal with in addition to their duties as the SQT unit for female SEAL candidates.”
“Well, let’s worry about that later,” Chrysalis suggested. “I take it we’re still good for tonight?”
“Yeah. I talked to several folks and they’re still planning to show up tonight,” Keith told her. “And speaking of which, I need to hit the commissary before we head to our place.”
“That should give me enough time to head back to my BOQ room and grab a change of clothing,” Jessica told them.
“Good idea,” Keith said. “Enjoy the downtime while you still can, Jess. It doesn’t often come around here.”
At that moment, as if to underline his words, an alarm went off, the ear-splitting shrill tones roiling through the room. “What’s that?” Jessica asked as Chrysalis darted towards her desk.
“I have a report coming in from one of my teams in the field,” Chrysalis said nonchalantly. “They use a particular encrypted channel that we’re fairly sure the Octos aren’t monitoring.”
“You sure about that?”
In response, the spymaster turned her monitor so that Jessica could see it. “It’s on the same frequency as old AM band radio waves. There’s enough of that still rebounding in the upper portions of the atmosphere that the Octos probably dismiss it as electromagnetic junk. And for the most part it is…except if you know what to listen for.”
Across the screen was a bunch of radio signals, their frequencies and channels denoted by different colors and shades. Chrysalis slipped on a headset, then started clicking on each one, then removing them from the possible sources. Finally, she narrowed in on a particular signal. “Okay, I think I found it.”
“How can you tell?”
In response, Chrysalis reached over and turned on the computer’s speakers. A ragtime song rang out, both strange and oddly familiar at the same time.
“Well,” she said with a grin, “unless Michael Jackson somehow recorded a 1920s ragtime version of ‘Billie Jean’, I’m pretty sure I have what I’m looking for.” Tapping a few more keys, she began to speak into her mic. “This is Checkmate. We are on signal isolation.”
“Hey there, hot stuff,” a smooth voice on the other end said. “Like my newest tune? Gotta be the hit of 1926, dontcha know!”
“I’m sure it is, Barstool. What do you have for me?”
The voice on the other end switched from joking to businesslike. “Reports check out. This Byron guy has been trying to find ways to smuggle people out of the city, but they’re getting caught in the dead zone between Mesa Verde and the combat line just north of Ute Mountain. Apparently, there’s a whole lot of corpses sitting around in Mars Junction, the suburb directly south of the city limits, so they’ve been trying to keep people alive by preventing them from leaving, which is never a good thing.”
“Tell me about it,” Chrysalis agreed. “What else?”
“From what I gather, his wife is close to term, so he’s desperate to get her out of here. No word on if there’s anyone above him, so I think he may be the one in charge of it all. There is a smuggling unit that he’s using, but they’re very good, so we haven’t been able to tag them just yet. Maybe we should look into recruiting whoever that is?”
“One thing at a time, Barstool, one thing at a time. But what’s your overall assessment?”
“All things considered, I think he’ll work with us. Do you want us to approach?”
“Do not approach,” Chrysalis cautioned. “If he finds out we have forces within the city already, it might set him off. Things are precarious, and I don’t want shit to go south because his precious fee-fees got hurt.”
“Well, you’re the boss lady; we’ll back your call.”
“Good. Anything else I should be aware of?’
“Yeah, but we don’t know what it means yet. There’s some movement around the eastern side of the city. Spotted a few cuttlefish and even a Kraken. It might not be anything in the long run, just some training with the Octos or maybe the company picnic, but if it’s a new weapon they’ve deployed or something that could be used against us, we should look into it.”
“Don’t worry about that; we’ve got a plan to nip that in the bud in the near future,” Chrysalis ordered. “But you guys be careful: I expect to see all of you alive when I get there.”
“So you’re finally coming back out to play, huh? Knew you couldn’t live without me.”
“More like you’re lucky I keep you alive, Barstool,” Chrysalis laughed. “Anyway, give my regards to the others and do what you gotta do. Secreta semper. Checkmate out.”
“Secreta semper – Barstool out,” came the response, then the line went dead for a second before classical music replaced it, hiding their tracks.
Chrysalis slipped off her headset, then looked absently at the screen. “That can’t be good.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. If they’ve got some way of getting to the survivors, that means there has to be a reason they’re using it there, whatever it is,” Jessica commented. “I wonder if they’re trying to clear out the city.”
“Couldn’t they just level it?”
“Not if they’re looking for the same thing we are, assuming there’s something to look for,” Jessica said grimly. “Or worse, if they’re planning to clear out the city using something developed for that express purpose.”
Chrysalis sighed. “Great, just fucking great. Okay, have a seat at a keyboard – you know how to type, right?”
“Not a yeoman, but I’ll do my best, why?”
“We need to get a report done quickly, and with staff still short, everyone’s pitching in. I want to make sure we get this to the intel community before we call it a day.”
=+=
ROUND HILL, VIRGINIA
152133RJUL31:
It was amazing, sometimes, how some parts of a house felt so sacred. Sure, houses were for everyday life and for people to live and love in, raise their families and grow old in. But there were some parts of houses that seemed to be altars of a sort, memorabilia of a life gone from this world or something from the past. Jessica had once known that sort of existence when she was younger; her family was very tight-knit and it wasn’t uncommon for her parents to have pictures of her uncles, aunts, grandparents and even cousins around the house.
And now, as she stood in the living room of the house that Keith and Chrysalis called home, she knew the presence of a de facto family altar when she saw one.
She reached over and picked up the portrait, an image from what she guessed was the early 2020s, or what seemed like a lifetime ago. In it was a younger Keith, posing for a picture, with a beautiful young woman next to him, a woman with beautiful olive skin, warm brown eyes and long chestnut hair. The two between them held a bouncing newborn, an adorable little child with her father’s eyes and her mother’s features, and as the three sat in the picnic area of Greenvale Park in downtown Mesa Verde, the future looked so bright and cheerful.
“There isn’t a day that doesn’t go by when he doesn’t miss them,” a voice said behind her. Jessica turned to see Chrysalis, holding a beer for her.
“I’m….” Jessica began to explain, but the other woman shook her head.
“You looked as though you knew what that kind of experience is like – losing everything and never being ready for it.” Chrysalis took a swig of her beer before continuing. “I’m lucky. I grew up with a charmed life in Albuquerque. My siblings are still alive and I’m sure my parents were fine until Decimation; they weren’t happy about me joining the Agency, but I like to think they were proud in the end. But Keith….” She sighed. “He loved Sheridan – that was her name – more than he could ever say. And his daughter, Laura? I just look at her and…well, I know this is going to sound strange, but it makes me angry. Angry to see that I have a stepdaughter that I’ll never get the chance to know.”
“Complex much?” Jessica asked as she accepted the beer from her coworker.
“Sorta. I know if she was still alive, Keith and I wouldn’t be together. Hell, if Decimation hadn’t happened, we probably would have never even met. But I’m not jealous – I don’t have a right to be, nor am I that petty. I don’t begrudge him the fact that he still loves them, and I know he loves me. After all, the heart is too big not to love what you’ve lost and yet still care for what remains. Maybe that’s what makes us human, which is more than I can say about the Octos.” She smiled sadly and asked, “What about you?”
“After what happened at Hallenbeck and Tessa, I kinda lost myself,” Jessica told her. “I had a very close-knit family and after the whole issue, while I didn’t lean into a bad crowd or anything, I was certainly a basket case, the kind that therapy wasn’t going to help. I lost contact with my best friend, I stopped speaking to my older brother, and my parents before that. Left a full scholarship at a prestigious art school behind when I joined the Navy and even though I’ve done more than good for myself, I broke off contact after I got in an argument with my brother literally the day before Decimation. To be honest, I don’t even know if any of them are still alive. I’d like to think they’re proud of what I’ve made of my life, but it’s not like I can ask them or anything, you know?”
“It never hurts to try.”
“They have to be alive still in order for me to do so and like I said….” Jessica trailed off, leaving it at that.
“Well, here’s to the dead: may they rest better than we do,” Chrysalis said, holding her beer up. Jessica clinked her bottle against the other and both downed it. “So, you hungry or anything? Keith’s almost got the burgers done, and we probably should make an appearance out there before any of the others start talking his ear off – especially Dugan.”
“Dugan?”
“Yeah.” Chrysalis pointed out the window where a thin, reedy guy was chatting up a storm…and apparently boring the hell out of others, not that the speaker seemed to notice. “Lt. Col. George Dugan. He loves to tell people about how he picked up Ace-in-a-Day during a major air battle over Germany, so they pulled him off the front lines to use him as a propaganda piece. He claims to hate it, but I’ve never heard him say he wants back in his fighter.”
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Jessica laughed. “Yeah, French whores always do that.”
Chrysalis raised an eyebrow. “French whores?”
“Navy nickname for fighter jocks because they carry themselves differently from other pilots. Don’t know if the Chair Force calls them anything similar.”
“I’m sure we can ask,” Chrysalis said as she ushered the SEAL towards the backyard, where Keith and Dugan were already bickering over which service was the best. Jessica decided to stay out of the conversation; after all, everyone knew the answer to that – it was the Navy, obviously.
Still, as burgers were had, friendships were established and old stories were told, Jessica’s mind went back to the picture of Greenvale Park and a younger Keith, taking a picture with his wife and child and unaware of the horrors that were yet to come just two years later. Jessica had already long left Mesa Verde by that time; in 2023, she was already a SEAL and deployed to hot spots around the world, back when the enemies were still fellow humans and things seemed so much simpler than they were now.
But that in itself was a lie, she knew – she’d betrayed all she’d known back home and had her own regrets.
There wasn’t really something “simpler” for her.
=+=
MESA VERDE, COLORADO
151933TJUL31:
Sitting by the wreckage of the drone, a USAF RQ-180 Wraith, Byron was busy pulling open the broken bay doors. Mia had been right; this was a message sent by the assholes in the government. The payload had far better protection than the rest of the aircraft, a clear sign it was meant to be a cargo drop, not ordnance. He wished he could save the whole of the wreckage – Lord knew what they could do with kitbashing the electronics and firmware into something they needed, but with a ruin slightly larger than a minivan, that was a non-starter.
Besides, he’d already spent far longer than he’d liked dealing with all of this. Best to set explosives and take the whole thing out.
“Hey, big guy, want to give me a hand with this?” Byron turned to look at one of his own friends, the one code-named Hesychia. Though Paxton Everett had been a mountain of a man in his high school days, that always hid the gentle giant that he truly was. Somehow, adulthood had made him even bigger, and paradoxically even more gentle, almost timid. In any case, in the time before Decimation, Paxton had run a hair salon and was known for his gentleness with his expansive female clientele, many of whom it was rumored he’d been intimate with. Now, he served as muscle for the resistance, though it was a passive sort of muscle, given that he was practically a conscientious objector.
“Sure thing,” Paxton said in that strangely soft voice of his.
“Careful with that thing – could be valuable,” a third voice chimed in. Hearing that, Byron chuckled; figured of all people she would be the most likely to freak out about it.
“Figures you’d show up.” He looked up into green eyes, flecked with brown.
“Someone has to watch out for you.”
“I can take care of myself, you know,” he said simply, acknowledging her.
Alice Bloom looked back down at him, her long dirty blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. To most people, she looked like the girl next door, the preacher’s daughter, the ideal girl in her twenties. Hard to believe that she was, for her young age, at one time one of the youngest prostitutes in Mesa Verde, then after that one of the most influential drug dealers in the Southwick neighborhood. Even funnier that she and his wife Mia had once been the fiercest of enemies, especially after the bust that put Alice behind bars. But like all things that had happened in the wake of Decimation, time had changed things and now Alice was one of the most trustworthy people he and Mia knew and moreover, not only did Mia trust Alice like a sister, but Alice in turn had also done every bit to ensure that trust.
“Is that the payload?” she asked him as Paxton pulled the first box free.
“Yeah, funny how that worked. Those jackboots shielded and padded the thing in order to make sure that we’d get it,” Byron told her. “We’ll have to open the box later when it’s safe, but I get the feeling that if they wanted to kill us, they would’ve just dropped a nuke on us now and wiped their hands.”
“While I agree with you, I’d like to think they’d save those for emergencies,” she replied casually.
“Federal government pulled out whoever would run away and just left the rest of us to rot!” he spat back. “And now, suddenly they give a fuck? There’s maybe, what, ten K of us left in this festering shithole that used to be our hometown and now they want to play nice? Fuck that.”
“Look, I’d be more than happy to agree with you – remember that I was going to be serving a dime at Elk Springs Correctional,” she told him. “But then the war happened, and I made it back here to practically the only family I have. Well, at least the only family I have that didn’t sexually assault me at nine years old, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“And we’re glad you’re here, Alice,” Paxton stated with some strain as he pulled the second of the cargo units clear. Hefting one over his shoulder, he waved over a couple of guys to help with the second one. “Can’t carry both of them and navigate the terrain,” he apologized.
“The fact that you’re able to do so in the first place is a miracle in and of itself,” Alice said with a grin. “It’s about the only good news we’ve had today.”
“Something wrong?” Byron asked.
“Think about it: it’s early evening, the drone crashed earlier today and isn’t it strange that the freaks really haven’t come out? Sure, we’ve got a couple of slagged corpses over there,” she said, pointing into the slight distance where some of the other resistance fighters stood, “but that was just wreckage from the drone and that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Maybe it’s a day off for them?” Paxton suggested.
“Somehow I doubt that,” Alice shot back.
Byron thought about it. “No, she’s right. Given that this was a major tactical issue, I would think the freaks wouldn’t ignore it.”
“Maybe you’re just thinking too much like a human would,” Paxton reasoned. “I mean, do we really know how they think?”
“They’re pretty much trying to kill us all,” Alice snarled. “I’m not really inclined to give a damn about how they think.”
The trio was about to argue more when a voice came over the radio: “Hey guys, you’d better hurry – something is going down over by the main entrance to their base.”
A second later, a keening cry rent the air, a sad yet high-pitched tone like nothing they’d ever heard before.
“That can’t be good,” Byron said. “Okay, let’s wrap this shit up! Pax, follow the others and see if you can get this to the subway station; we’ll take the shit underground to camp.” He pointed to two others. “Okay, you three give them cover. Do whatever you have to do to make sure this shit gets to camp safely, am I clear?” They nodded and got into position.
Alice looked at two others. “You two cover us while we install the explosives.” She then pulled out her own radio. “Atropos, what’s the eye in the sky say?”
“We have our folks engaging what looks to be like….” The voice faded off into nothingness before it became frantic. “Holy fuck! Get out of there, now! Our guys are getting slaughtered over there. I’m going to provide cover, but you need to get out of there quicktime!”
Alice and Byron looked at each other worriedly. “Atropos, what’s going—”
“Not now!” came the response, followed by gunfire on the other end. “I’m busy!”
That was enough to get the groups to spring into action. Alice took off her backpack and opened it, pulling out pipe bombs, as well as some electrical tape. “What do y’ think, one or two?”
“All of them,” he told her. “We need to make sure nothing’s left.”
“Gonna take a while to make new ones,” she told him.
“Yeah, but better that than letting this fall in their noodles. I don’t want them to get any more advantages on us than they already have. We’re hanging by a thread already, and if the fucksticks in Washington have finally deigned to help us proles, then we can’t let their stuff be exposed either.”
The strange cries rang through the air again. In the distance gunshots could be heard, as well as screaming.
The group worked faster.
=+=
ROUND HILL, VIRGINIA
112309RJUL31:
Dinner had wound down and the four were now just outside, watching the night sky and generally chatting about nothing and everything at the same time. In the old days, this would have been called “team building” or some bullshit like that, but Jessica just felt it was the calm before the storm. And at the moment, she certainly felt like she was being rained on.
Currently, Chrysalis held a small picture that Jessica carried with her, one of her teenage years. “Seriously? You were one of those fashion-types? I always hated girls like you in school,” she half-jested.
“That’s just the person I was, and everyone I knew was okay with it, all things considered. I know Colorado’s always been somewhat permissive, but even as big as it was, Mesa Verde always had a small-town feel.”
She handed the picture back. “And here I thought that being in my school’s debate club was weird. You’ve got me beat, girl.”
“At least your choice came in handy. I really doubt the aliens are ever going to need fashion advice,” Jessica laughed, which somewhat morphed into a yawn. “Well, it’s late and I need to start planning for my unit to get here. We’re probably going to need to look into housing for my own troops and if we’re adding this much to the team, we’re probably going to need to find a new operations center.”
“Way ahead of you,” Keith told her. “They’re looking to put us out at the old Winchester Regional Airport. It’s apparently been turned into an Army Airfield, and it was either that or Naval Air Station Ashburn – also a reclaimed airfield as well. Unfortunately as much as I would have preferred Martinsburg Air Force Base, that’s probably a little too far for our needs, plus the bomber group there needs all the room they can get.”
She stood up and drained her bottle. “Well, I’m gonna get going. Work to do in the morning.”
“No, tomorrow’s a day off,” Keith told them. “Even we need to have some downtime.”
“There’s a war going on, Keith,” Jessica replied. “Downtime just means we get to plan slightly slower.”
=+=
MESA VERDE, COLORADO
112309TJUL31:
The cargo recovered from the downed drone turned out to be far more of a treasure trove than Byron or the others had even imagined. Within the two crates were six military-grade hardened laptops running the latest edition of Windows, as well as enhanced solar panels and a few other things that had been developed or advanced in the outside world since they’d been cut off so many years ago.
But the biggest surprise had come on an accompanying tablet: a message recorded by Cotton Lucas, President of the United States (wasn’t the president Joseph Loughton? Had something happened to Washington?) Seated in a location that didn’t look like the Oval Office, he faced the camera as he gave his speech:
“To the brave people of Mesa Verde: we know you’ve suffered, that you’ve put up with a lot to protect your homes and loved ones even as the war has raged on. But America has not forgotten you and now we aim to keep our promise to come back for you. Enclosed on the computers within are part of the plan to return to Mesa Verde and take back the city. We hope you’ll be there to join our forces when we do. Until then, Godspeed, and God Bless America.”
“Well,” Byron said with disgust, “that has got to be the biggest line of bullshit ever. Wonder how many takes it took him to say it with a straight face? Goddamn jackboot.”
“And yet they supplied us with the stuff necessary to contact them,” Alice told him. “He might be telling the truth, you know.”
“No way in hell he is. He’s a politician and you know how you can tell a politician is lying?” Byron seethed. “He opens his mouth.” He looked at the rest of those assembled. “Well, you heard our dear President. How many of you out there actually believe he gives a damn about us?”
The group was currently in the remains of the cavernous Downtown subway station, the only place large enough to fit all of the resistance fighters, as well as those of the survivors who wanted a say in how things were done. The underground structure had thus become a central meeting hall as well as the de facto City Hall, given that the original building was a burnt, ruined husk. Between the station’s labyrinthine corridors, walkways and platforms, it had become the true heart of Mesa Verde in this desperate time: part military-base, part gathering location and part market for those still working to survive in this hell.
For her part, another of the militia looked at the face of the president on the large screen Byron had displayed the message on. She took a drag of her handrolled cigarette, then threw away the rest. “Fuck that bastard,” she said. “Fuck them all. Where were they when our families were getting killed? Where was he when my baby brother died in my arms?” Her eyes narrowed, becoming amber pinholes of rage. “I’ll take the freaks over those fucking thugs any day – at least they’re clear and honest in their attempts to kill us.”
“I really doubt the government would contact us just to kill us,” commented a man with a shaved head and bloodstained clothing, the latter because he’d been one of the ones that had barely survived the earlier assault and was waiting to give his grisly report. “I say we get in touch with them and take our chances.”
“There was a time when we couldn’t trust you,” one of the older adults in the room pointed out. “Stupid stoner kid now suddenly thinks he’s hot shit because you’ve killed a couple of aliens. Why the hell should we listen to you?”
“Because I grew up,” the younger stated, giving the older man a glare. “Can you say the same?”
The older man stormed towards him. “I oughta smack the smug off you, kid.”
The younger man closed the distance. “Bring it on, fossil. I’ll dust you like I did them.”
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” a clear, commanding voice rang out. “WE ARE NOT EACH OTHER’S ENEMY – THE ALIENS ARE!” Everyone in the room turned to look in the direction of the voice, and at once, the room turned to face the speaker.
Zeus was present, a sad look in his eyes. “We are the survivors of Mesa Verde! We rest on the bones of those who were sacrificed so that we could live! We vowed to take our city back and to honor those who fell – and you wish to squabble between yourselves? Do you forget that is what the Others likely want? For us to turn on one another, so that we may finish the job they started?”
Zeus glared at the older man first. “Winston! You should know better than anyone else that these aren’t the kids that were in school when you were the chief librarian. These are adults with their own minds and own opinions, and you should respect that.”
His foe was the next target. “And you, Cooper – you should know better. You’re right that you should be respected as an adult, but you need to do the same for others as well. Winston has knowledge and experience that you don’t, and it has been vital to our survival. Do you want to end up in a world where your daughter has no respect for her own father, because he has never shown any to others?” Chastened, he backed down.
Firm eyes fixed on the group. “Everyone, this is a hard decision, I know. We’ve lost friends, family, loved ones…. We’ve lost too much. We can’t afford to lose ourselves as well: not as Mesa Verdians, not as people. We have to trust once more: not just each other, but the outside as well, or else the aliens win, whether or not we free our world.” Zeus spread his arms out in a friendly gesture. “As much as I understand the rage and the anger, we need to think about more than just that. We need to consider our children and our future, because we can’t have that future if we become what we hate.”
The room was quiet for the longest time. Byron himself sighed, kicking up dust, looking at his wife. He didn’t trust the government at all – but he did trust Zeus. Everyone did. And if that’s what Zeus wanted…
Somehow, Mia knew exactly what he was thinking; it was as if she was a natural at it. “It’s for our baby,” she told him softly.
“Fine,” he replied without heat. “For our baby.” He looked at their designated radio operator, who was seated at one of the laptops, listening for a signal. “Let them know we’re here.”
She looked up at him and nodded before turning to her task. “To any government operatives listening in on this channel,” she began, “this is the Mesa Verde Resistance – we are reaching out to make contact. Repeat, to any government operatives listening in on this channel, this is the Mesa Verde Resistance – we are reaching out to make contact….”