Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (235 page)

***

Machine gun fire blasted behind the truck’s armor-plated siding. Its protection wasn’t going to last much longer. The back window was so shattered and riddled with cracks that Alex couldn’t see how many sentries were in pursuit. Both of his side mirrors had been blown off, and he could feel the engine straining to keep up the hurried pace. Alex kept his foot floored on the accelerator. They were so close to the woods.

“This was a bad idea,” Meeko said, trying to keep himself from falling out of his seat from the swerving, jerking ride, even with his seatbelt on.

“Oh, and would you have liked me to just leave you there?”

“You didn’t have to hit me so hard.”

“And you don’t have to be so ungrateful, punk.”

An explosion of shattered glass signaled the final blow to the rear window, sending some of the shards over the backs of both Alex and Meeko as they ducked. With their back side now exposed, the bullets started peppering the truck’s back row of seats.

“Yeah!” Meeko said. “This is SO much better than the farm camp!”

Alex swerved left and right, giving the sentries a moving target. The front windshield was cracked, but through the broken lines, Alex could see the cluster of dead trees.

“We’re almost there!” Alex yelled.

The boom of gunshots echoed louder now that the rear window was gone, and when another volley of bullets came speeding their way, Alex felt a hot, singeing pain strike his right shoulder. His entire right arm went slack, and before Meeko could scream, the wheel slipped out of Alex’s left hand, and the truck barrel-rolled. It toppled end over end, spraying dirt and glass into the air. Pieces of metal and bits of the undercarriage flung wildly into the sky. The high speed rolled the truck half a dozen times before it finally came to a stop upside down.

The seatbelt drew tight across Alex’s waist as he hung in midair. His right arm was slick with blood that flowed in random patterns down to his fingertips then dripped onto the truck’s ceiling below him. His head throbbed. “Meeko?” He gathered his bearings and finally managed to get a good look at Meeko in the seat next to him. The boy was out of his seatbelt, lying sprawled out on the truck’s ceiling. “Meeko!” Alex couldn’t tell if the boy was breathing or not. His arms and legs were cut up pretty badly, and there was no telling whose blood was whose.

Outside the flipped truck, tires skidded to a halt, and the shouts accompanying the harsh voices snapped Alex back to the situation at hand. The AR-15 he kept was nestled next to Meeko’s lifeless body. He reached for it, his fingertips barely close enough to grab the strap. But by the time he had a good grip on the rifle, the sentries had cracked the door open with a crowbar and yanked him out of the truck.

Alex’s body hit the dirt with a thud, and he could feel the warm, sticky liquid mixing with the dirt and clumping along his body. He tried pushing himself up, but his limp shoulder wouldn’t allow him. His fingers grabbed at the dirt around him, attempting to find anything solid to hold on to, to give him strength. But the dead earth around him offered no such gift.

***

Alex’s head rolled to the left and right on his neck. The thick, blood-soaked sentry uniform had been removed from his body and was replaced by the standard rags given to community members. His body was propped against a wall, with an IV bag hung above his head, dripping its solution into his veins. He slowly opened his eyes, very aware of the throbbing pain still in his shoulder.

The blood and metal that had covered his arm had been replaced by bandages and a sling. There was a clang of a door opening, and a blurred figure, followed by a few others, walked briskly toward him. Alex blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to make the images come into focus.

“It’s good to see you alive, Alex.”

Even though Alex still couldn’t see the man, he recognized the voice. It was Gordon.

“We had the doctors patch you up as best they could. You almost lost that arm, which would have been bad for both of us,” Gordon said.

“Meeko. Where is—”

“The boy’s alive and well. In fact, he’s going to come inside and join us in just a little bit. Your people, this community,” he said, exposing his palms openly to the walls around him, “they love you. They’re loyal to you. Those other seeds you told me about, no one gave them up. Not a single person, and trust me, we were very, very thorough.”

Flashes of screams and gunshots began to break through Alex’s mind. He could feel his body start to tremble. He shut his eyes, furiously trying to quiet the noise.

“It didn’t matter how many times we beat them. Or what we threatened to do to them. They just wouldn’t betray you,” Gordon continued.

Alex could feel the heat of fire. The flames licked his arms, legs, chest, and face. More screams. More gunshots. More pounding. More pleading. More heat. More gunshots.

“And the fact that they didn’t betray you tells me either one of two things: one, there are no seeds, which would make sense, seeing as how most seed silos were burned down by the extremists in the first few months of the famine. But with your history and track record, you were never the kind of man to bluff. So that leads me to option two: you do have the seeds. Your community does know where they are. And you were such a powerful, polarizing figure to them that they would let themselves die before they’d betray you,” Gordon said, his hot breath beating down on Alex’s ear.

The visions started to subside, and Alex felt himself come back to the moment. He slowly opened his eyes, and the smooth, rounded features of Gordon’s face came into view. “I still want my deal,” Alex said.

“Oh, the seeds for Meeko and Harper’s freedom? Well, I want a new deal.” Gordon turned around to his associate in a black leather jacket and nodded. The man walked out of the room and wheeled in a man with bandages on his face, neck, and arms.

“Warren?” Alex asked.

“And he was worried you weren’t going to recognize him,” Gordon said, slapping Warren on the shoulder. “So here’s the deal, Alex. You’re going to do something for me, or I’m going to kill Warren.”

“Not until you coordinate a release for Meeko and Harper approved by the representatives and the President’s office,” Alex said, his upper lip quivering. “You hear me? You’re not going to get the seeds until that happens.”

“Alex, you really think what representatives are left have any jurisdiction here?” Gordon squatted down to his knees, making sure he was at eye level with Alex. His voice softened. “And what makes you think I still want the seeds?” Gordon extended his hand behind him, and the man in the black leather jacket handed him a pistol. Gordon rose and pressed the end of the pistol’s barrel into the side of Warren’s head. “You’re going to come back and work for me again, or I pull the trigger.”

“What?”

“There’s a community in Wyoming that has something I want. And if you don’t go in there and get it for me, then I’m going to bring in your community members one by one and shoot them in front of you until you agree. Starting with him. I’ll give you to the count of three, Alex.”

“Don’t make me do this. Please.”

“One.”

“The seeds! I can still give you the seeds.”

“Two.”

“GODDAMMIT, LISTEN TO ME! The seeds are buried out behind—”

The high-pitched ringing that filled Alex’s ears following the gunshot silenced his own voice. He could feel the pain in his throat, the pressure in his head, and the thrashing of his limbs, but no matter how hard he screamed, he couldn’t hear himself.

Warren’s body was dragged out and replaced with Meeko, who broke down in tears at the sight of Warren’s lifeless body. Alex could see the stitches on Meeko’s cheeks. Gordon had given everyone medical attention to make sure they were alive and well for when he put a gun to their heads.

The man in the black leather jacket positioned Meeko right where Warren had been. Bits of blood and brain matter still soiled the floor. The ringing in Alex’s ears slowly subsided, and Meeko’s sobs grew louder. Gordon placed the gun to Meeko’s head. Alex became aware of Gordon mouthing his countdown. He didn’t let him get to two.

“I’ll do it,” Alex said. The words came out hoarse, tired. “I’ll do it.”

Gordon lowered the pistol. “Excellent. Now, everyone here in your community will remain alive and well as long as you do your job. We’ll let you heal up and then brief you on the specifics. We’re going to need you healthy.”

The bits of dried wax from the candle were crushed in Todd’s grip as he picked it up from the barrel. He lit it, and the candle illuminated the still-healing wounds on his face. He spit on the plaque and entered the community hall. He joined Emma, Nelson, and Ray at the bench, where Billy’s spot was vacant.

The orange glow of the candle cast half of their faces in shadow and half in light. Everyone was sullen, quiet.

“When did it happen?” Todd asked.

Ray’s voice caught. “Last night. Ben said he thought it was some kind of aggressive cancer. There wasn’t anything he could do.”

Todd remained silent. Billy was the community’s hunter, and the only way for Todd to stay in contact with the other communities in Wyoming. “If we move forward, we remain on guard. The process doesn’t change. Does everyone understand?” Todd asked. Everyone agreed.  “We start back up in the lab tomorrow. Normal time.”

The group extinguished their candles, exited the community building, and headed their separate ways. As Todd made his way up to his house, he saw a sentry truck drive by, splashing his ankles with mud. The vehicle stopped by Emma and rolled down the window. Todd watched the two go back and forth, then the truck pulled up to the sentry housing. Todd waited for Emma to catch up, and the two of them headed back to their homes. “What was that about?”

“It’s the new hunter,” Emma answered.

Todd looked back at the man getting out of the sentry vehicle, grabbing his bag out of the back seat, and favoring his right shoulder.

The fences beyond the bunker teemed with rioters, extremists, and any other citizen fueled by the sharp pain in their stomachs. They shuffled their feet in a slow stampede through patches of dead grass and dirt in search of something to eat or someone to blame, which ended in a crash against the barricade of the chain link fence surrounding the seed silo guarded by the newly formed Soil Coalition.

The sentries stationed at the compound were dressed in black, riot gear-like uniforms, armed with assault rifles and protected under a sheath of Kevlar. The sentry’s garb offered a look more akin to a militarized police force rather than the peaceful protectors the Soil Coalition Commissioner Gordon Reath sold them as.

As the crowd of extremists grew, so did the bend of the wire mesh that separated the angry mob from one of the last remaining seed silos in the country. Hundreds of starving, desperate bodies outnumbered the sentries on duty fifty to one. Most of the sentries were younger, fresh out of high school when the soil crisis hit. Each of them had a “Class 1” patch etched on the chest of their uniform, a symbol of their new vows and completed training. With no job prospects, joining the Soil Coalition was the alternative to starving to death. But now faced with the possibility of violent conflict, each of them did their best to hide the slight tremors in their hands.

The only sight that offered them any sense of confidence was their squad leader. The “Class 2” patch embroidered on his chest was a symbol of strength and competence. With each pat on the shoulder he doled out, the hands of his men grew steadier. “Easy, son. They’re just blowing off steam.”

Alex Grives took in the sight of the mob slightly different than that of the young men under his command. The people on the other side of that fence were just scared. Most of them probably had kids at home that were hungry and crying with no understanding of why their parents couldn’t feed them. But that’s why Alex was there. He wanted to make sure that the soil crisis was solved. And his small part in that mission was to make sure the research team inside the seed silo behind him remained unharmed and could continue their work to find a solution to the devastation that GMO-24 had caused.

The GMO-24 strain was a miracle heralded as the solution to world hunger, giving a seed the ability to grow in any soil, in any environment, and yield a crop that had triple the nutritional value than its non-altered kin. And it worked. But the cost of the miracle came at the expense of the land where it was planted. Once the roots of a GMO-24 plant had drained the nutrients of the soil around it, nothing else would grow in that patch of earth again. And soil wasn’t the only life GMO-24 destroyed.

Tens of thousands of cases of children and the elderly were reported with fatal side effects from the consumption of GMO-24 plants. But with no way for the general public to identify which foods were grown using the GMO-24 strain, the number of cases grew exponentially. The combination of doctors linking these deaths to GMO-24 and farmers realizing the destruction these altered seeds caused to their land revealed GMO-24 as a false prophet. But with the winds carrying hundreds of thousands of seeds to farmland all around the country, there was no telling how much GMO-24’s evangelical carnage would destroy.

The scientists and researchers in the seed silo Alex and his men protected were hard at work attempting to find a cure for the rotten soil GMO-24 left behind. However, the hungry stomachs of the mob facing Alex had overrode their ability to reason. 

Alex wiped the sweat from his forehead as the hot Kansas sun continued its brutal assault. He fidgeted awkwardly under the weight of the bulky uniforms. The heat was irritating everyone, and Alex knew that it was only going to get worse as the day progressed. Finally, the heat and hunger caused one of the extremists to begin climbing the chain-linked fence despite its height and the fact that swirls of barbed wire lined the top.

Alex grabbed two sentries and pulled them close. “You keep your weapons up, but your fingers off the trigger, you get me?” Their slack jaws swung slightly as they bobbed their heads up and down in understanding. “Good. You do not fire unless I fire. I don’t care what they call you, your mother, or your sister, you do not react. Understand?” Both their voices cracked in a dry, nervous tone as they answered, “Yes, sir.”

The shouts and jeers from the rioters intensified the closer Alex and his men moved. Thin, beet-red faces screamed every curse under the sun, but Alex kept his attention on the man now nearing the top of the fence. Alex’s voice barely broke through the hysterics of the crowd around him. “Get down from there now!”

The man persisted in his defiance by rattling the barbed wire with his extended left hand. The crowd below cheered his subversive gesture, egging him on. The frenzy spread through the extremists like wildfire, igniting the rebellious spark within to test the boundaries of authority, and a few others joined in the climb. Fingers poked through the holes of the wire mesh, clawing their way to the top. Each added body that scaled the fence caused the barrier to buckle from the added weight.

Alex’s shouts now fell on deaf ears, and his only answer was a glass bottle thrust from the back of the crowd, which exploded against the fence and rained shards of broken glass on both Alex and the extremists at the front. The bits of glass plinked against Alex’s helmet and when he turned around, the two sentries were slowly walking backwards.

“Masks on!” Alex said, reaching for the gas mask on the side of his uniform. He secured it around his face and once his men had theirs masks attached, he popped a tear gas can and rolled it into the fence. The toxic gas ejected from the canister and the rioters that had climbed the fence froze and held on for dear life. The faces that breathed in the noxious fumes twisted and distorted as snot and tears escaped their noses and mouths. Finally, the climbers' grips loosened and they fell into the scattering crowd below.

Alex pulled two more canisters from his belt and rolled them all along the rest of the fence’s perimeter where the other extremists were fleeing. The thick cloud of smoke blanketed the ground, dissipating what rage was left in the retreating crowd, slowly crawling its way forward until the canister ran out. Alex clicked his radio on. “Silo one, the crowd was getting a little too rambunctious out here. We had to deploy tear gas to disperse them. Just wanted to give a heads up for everyone inside, in case anyone thought they needed some fresh air.”

A rush of static crackled in Alex’s earpiece. “Thanks, Alex. We appreciate the heads up.”

The deafening shouts from earlier had transformed into fading coughs and hacks as the rioters disappeared into the brush beyond the fences, heading back to wherever or whatever they called home. Alex wished he could join them. He hadn’t slept in his own bed for weeks. The cots provided by the Soil Coalition were about as comfortable as a sack of sand. Alex turned his attention back to the two young sentries, both wheezing quick, short breaths. “You guys all right?”

But before they had a chance to respond, a bullet shattered one of the sentry’s gas mask and he dropped to the ground. Alex ducked for cover, dragging the other sentry down with him, and aimed his rifle in the direction the shot had come from. He squinted his eyes, trying to see through the thick mist the tear gas had created, to locate the shooter, but he found nothing.

“What the hell was that?” the young sentry asked, his voice rife with panic, staring back at his fallen brother in arms. The sentry’s answer was another volley of bullets that ripped through the hazy gas that continued to spread.

“We have gunfire! I repeat, we have gunfire!” Alex radioed. The rest of the squad provided a blanket of blind cover fire at whatever lay beyond the brush. Just before Alex made it behind the barrier, he felt the pinpoint accuracy of a bullet collide into his upper back with the force of a freight train and he face planted into the ground.

Alex tried moving his right arm to push himself up, but everything felt numb. Even wiggling his fingers was too much of an effort. His left hand clawed into the earth, a slight sting burning his face. The gas mask had cracked from the force of the blow, leaking tear gas residue inside. He ripped it off, coughing and hacking from the lingering vapor. A stab of pain knifed his forehead. He dabbed his fingertips at the point of pain and when he pulled his fingers back, they were covered in blood. Alex quickly turned around to grab the sentry that had fallen, but what he found in his place were dozens of masked individuals wielding bats, knives, and guns.

The distinct rag of a Molotov cocktail caught fire and was hurled over the fence toward the sentries. Alex covered his head as the makeshift firebomb exploded twenty feet from where he lay, covering him in a blanket of heat. Alex planted the toe of his right foot firmly in the dirt and pushed himself forward. “Fire!” Alex said, pivoting to shoot behind him as he ran for safety.

Shells ejected from the rifles spitting hot lead into the hungry flesh bent on destroying whatever was in front of them. The rioters split their group in two along the fence line to try and evade the gunfire. Bullets whizzed back and forth from both sides as every man refused to give up their position.

The tear gas was beginning to clear, but Alex’s eyes, nose, and throat still burned from the chemical reaction. The brush of leaves and branches where the extremists had emerged prior flickered to life. The movements grew more violent until an armored truck flattened one of the bushes and headed straight for the fence. Alex aimed his rifle at the truck’s windshield and fired, but the .223 ammo did little but thump against the bulletproof glass.

The chain-linked fence crumpled from the force of the truck, creating a gaping hole that was immediately flooded with the armed extremists funneling in behind the cover of the truck. Another flame-tipped cocktail flew through the air and erupted in a fireball just in front of the barrier where Alex and his men ducked to protect themselves from the scorching heat.

Alex waved his arms, grabbing the attention of his men. “Fall back into the silo!” He jumped from behind the barrier, aiming his rifle at the advancing mob. His crosshairs fell onto random limbs not protected by the truck’s armor. He fired, sending a bullet through an arm and a thigh. The sentries scrambled behind him, rushing into the silo’s entrance. Alex provided cover until every single one of his men was inside. Once they were clear, he joined them.

Inside, the sentries had clustered into a small group, slowly retreating deeper into the silo. Alex locked the door behind him. “Hey! We need to barricade this door. Now!” The booming authority in Alex’s voice snapped the group out of their cowardice and they shoved desks, filing cabinets, any heavy material they could find to stack against the door.

One of the researchers came rushing up from inside. He gripped Alex’s arm in panic. “What’s going on out there?”

“Tell everyone to head out the back. My men will escort you. Evacuate everyone!” Alex answered.

The lab didn’t have many windows, but it didn’t take long for the extremists to find and shatter the ones it did. Alex ordered two of his men to stay behind with him. The rest herded the scientists and researchers out the back to safety.

The concrete wall of the front of the silo vibrated with every bullet and explosion from the other side. The two sentries that Alex had ordered to stay behind looked at the shaking wall with hopeless expressions. Alex grabbed the two by the collar, only intensifying their fears. “We keep the militants busy and make sure they don’t head around back. Once we receive word the building has been evacuated, we’ll get the hell out,” Alex said, then pointed at the corners of the room where two windows had been shot out. “You two take the right side and concentrate fire on funneling them back behind the truck. I’ll take the left over here. I don’t think that truck will make it past the barricades to ram the door, but if it does, retreat with the others to the back of the building.”

Alex crunched the window’s broken glass under his boots that had littered the floor. He peeked his head around the corner of the opening and was greeted with a barrage of lead. He quickly ducked back behind the wall until there was a lull in the firing. He took a deep breath and then returned fire. He concentrated his fire on the edges, either killing the assailants on the spot or sending them back behind the cover of the armored truck. After squeezing off six shots, he ducked back down and the rapid thump of more bullets peppered the wall between him and the extremists. From what Alex could see, the armored truck had already made a few attempts at ramming the concrete barricades, but it lacked the power to completely run them down, so a small group had made their way to the door and rammed it with the butts of their rifles and shoulders.

Another cascade of hot shells smacked against the floor as Alex fired at the group advancing on the door, killing two, with the rest limping back behind the cover of the truck.

With the assailants dropping like flies or hiding behind the safety of the truck, Alex concentrated his fire on the tires. The bullets plunked against the wheel well but failed to puncture the thick rubber. The next squeeze of his trigger sounded the click of the firing pin. He ejected the magazine and ducked under the window to reload. He rose to the sight of a grenade being chucked at the front entrance.

“Fire in the hole!” Alex said, ducking below the window and covering his head with his hands. The explosion shattered the makeshift barricade of office furniture into splinters. The vibration of the blast rippled through Alex’s bones. He rolled to his side, his ears filled with a high-pitched ringing that voided everything else. He looked over to the corner to see the two sentries rolling around in similar condition.