Overrun (14 page)

“It was a risk we couldn’t
afford not to take.”

“You have no authority to take
that risk. There is no room for the unexpected or the unplanned in what has
been set in motion. Any deviation from design has the very real potential to
kill us all.”

“How else were we going to
convince a man that what we are doing here is the right way to win a war?”
Tuttle’s temper again began to flare.

“Again, it is not your place
here to judge or decide!” Faulken’s face was red.

“He is saving my men!” Tuttle
roared back. “Men that you came all the way out here to tell me that I am
recklessly and needlessly allowing to die. I entrusted him, because we had to.
We had to tell him. Or he never would have done it. Even after we told him, he
still was not completely sold on even making the attempt.

“We had to press him further by
telling him we would get him and his children out of there alive if he should
happen to succeed in everything we’ve asked him to do."

"You have no authority
whatsoever to do what you have just done!” Faulken now raged. “You should have
just left him out there to die. He can only blame himself for not returning for
the recall."

Tuttle clenched his fists
together at his hips. He turned away from Faulken towards the giant window
overlooking the command room and the holovid screens on the other side.

"This could cost you your
command." Faulken said to his back.

"Go ahead and goddamn take
it.” Tuttle’s voice was nearly hoarse with fury. “This war is going to be lost.
We are past anything else."

"General, this war is not
for us to lose."

Tuttle walked over to the War
Minister and faced him toe to toe. His gaze was hard. His eyes did not blink.

"If I decide to remove you
from command…,” Faulken sucked in a deep angry breath and returned the glare.
“Charges will be severe for what you have caused to be at stake. Your actions
could be construed as treasonous. Your own execution could result. You wouldn't
have to wait for the outcome of this dispute.”

“I know what would result, War
Minister,” Tuttle returned softly. His voice was level. His look remained
focused and filled with an intense bitter hate.

“A traitor’s death for going
against what we are about to do. The cause is great. And can be done.”

"When this is over, we are
all going to be dead. By initiating this plan, we have already killed
ourselves.”

"How can you not understand
the importance of what we are trying to undertake? We have a responsibility to
the world. To the entire human race to ensure this is carried out.

“Once the cannons are in place,
we can launch an artificial ozone layer over any part of the globe that we see
fit. It will provide an opportunity for a regeneration of life on our dying
land. And we can build a stronger nation by excluding those that oppose us. The
J.G.U.., they do not think, and they do not act the way we do. Their people,
their entire culture, have always been antagonistic towards us and our way of life.
Their government has always been cause for concern.

“When this is over, we will have
inflicted a wound on them so severe they will never recover. Their losses will
be astronomical. When this war ends, they will be lucky if anyone returns alive
at all. Those that do will attest to the others. The United States
Administration. Our way. Our government. Our culture. It must never again be
questioned or threatened."

"When this is all over, our
losses will be just as severe," Tuttle responded. “We will also be
extremely weakened in might.”

"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.

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 want,"
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.

"What’s going on,
Daddy?" Mel asked him when Brandon had finally left. Her voice shook
slightly and again she was close to tears. "What's wrong with him?"

“I don’t know…,” Kirken said
dropping his eyes. “…right now it’s everything. I think it’s just everything.”

He walked silently away to the
other side of the bunker leaving Mel to finish bandaging and dressing the small
boy. When he was well away from everyone, he wedged himself tightly against the
walls in the corner of the room and pulled out the new holovid unit from his
pack.

He flicked its activation switch
and watched its tiny control pad stretch out to him. With shaking fingers,
Kirken jabbed his personal military security clearance code across the keys and
listened half-attentively to Tuttle's image drone from the screen.

He couldn't get the bloody image
of Brandon beating the two soldiers to death out of his mind. The sight was
completely incomprehensible regardless of the fact Brandon had done it to save
his life.