Chapter 39- The Dragon's Teeth

Chapter 39

The Dragon’s Teeth

Cavill, Virginia

A terrible shriek split the night air.  A pair of doves broke from their tree and flew away as fast as they could, finally settling on a telegraph pole.  Above the central junction of this two horse town, they looked down on the desolate high street.

Smoke was rising from the chimney of one house and floating up into the sky, obscuring the silent stars above.  In the backyard of another building, a man was digging a hole and putting bloody rags into them.

The apparent serenity was shattered again as there was the rumble of “distant thunder.”  Gun shot after gun shot echoed through the street.  Further along, stood outside an open door, lit by the one of the few remaining house lights, was a solitary figure with a rifle in his hands.

Behind him, cowering the doorway was another man who was looking out past him, looking at the crumpled figure in the road.  There was a splash of blood on the floor and the man in the doorway called out.

“Jesus Tom, you shot him!”

Tom didn’t reply.  He shouldered the modified M14 rifle and moved carefully toward the now prone figure.  He didn’t recognize the man; his face was torn to shreds and not by Tom’s gunshots.  The first round had pulverized his elbow on his right arm.  The second and third had punched dime sized holes through his chest.

“Tom, what’s going on?” called Mike from his shop.

Tom didn’t reply.  He stood over the prone figure and was about to turn around when he heard a hissing growl from the floor.  Tom’s reactions were sharp, perhaps not as fast as when he had been on active duty in Afghanistan but they were still fast  He spun around and fired a shot with the rifle.

Bullets leaving a rifled barrel can spin at over 100,000 revolutions per minute (rpm) depending on the muzzle velocity of the bullet and the pitch of the rifling.  The five point five six milimetre bullet fired from the M14 Garand spun around in a dizzying fashion, reaching an incredible speed.  The bullet slammed into the face of what may have once been a man but was no longer.

There was a small explosion and a splash of blood threw the man’s face back into the cold ground.  There was a terrible guttural moan from the figure on the ground.  Tom, who knew that a shot in the head at this range was one hundred percent sure to kill someone, stepped back.

“Ammo, do you have more ammo for this thing?” he called back.

“You shot him!  You shot him in the head,”

“Yeah I did. But he isn’t dead.  I don’t know what’s going on but he’s not dead.  Now do you have more ammo?”

“What the hell?” asked Michael.

At that point, as if to underline the hell that they were living in, the figure began to drag itself back to its feet.  It’s head was a crumpled ruin, one half of it a dark red cave that dripped black blood to the floor in an obscene rain as it stumbled forward.

Before it reached the light, it seemed like it had no eyes, the one side of its facing missing.  But something became clear as it became visible to Michael.  It had new eyes, three or four of them, Micheal didn’t stick around to count them. They had pushed through the other side of its face and were clustered in the left hand side of its face, sitting above a huge mouth that was filled with jagged black teeth.

Michael Cristakis, a simple soul, broke from his door and ran back into his shop.  Tom  McVay, a much more troubled soul, turned and got inside the shop, slamming the door behind him.  He grabbed the dead bolt and slid it across as the shambling figure slammed into the door.

The plexi-glass buckled under the impact and Tom put his shoulder into the door.  The figure on the other side was strong, stronger than Tom.  Tom had always been stronger than he looked; it was encoded into the McVay DNA.  But there were limits to human strength and endurance.

The being on the other side of the door, slamming away with two huge clawed fists, appeared to have no limit to either.  There was another huge impact and Tom was thrown back.  He redoubled and got back to the door.

He became fairly sure at this point of two things.  One was that Michael Cristakis, the friendly Greek American owner of the pizza shop, had run for his life.  The other was that he was going to die very soon.

Tom had been expecting to die nearly every day since his first fire-fight in Afghanistan, was not especially afraid.  He would die, that was everyone’s fate.  What bothered him was the thought that he was about to beaten, to be overcome.

The door cracked and the entire window buckled inwards.  Tom stepped back and prepared to swing the rifle like a club.  The door cracked again and this time it was wrenched clean of its hinges.

“Tom!” shouted Michael.  He threw a box of shells underarm to Tom who caught it and walked backwards away from the bleeding figure that was now stood in the doorway, where Michael himself had been not long ago.

Tom reloaded as fast as he could.  He flipped the M14’s selector switch to automatic , braced himself and fired from the shoulder.

There was a roar of fire and flame, the store front lit up again as if from some artificial sun and a series of flashbulb images struck Tom’s eyes as he fired.  The strange man-shaped creature jigged and jumped as bullets slammed through it, knocking it backwards and out of the wreckage of the store.

The silence was intense and even with Tom’s experience of combat gunfire, he felt the pressure on his ears.  He dropped the magazine from the rifle, smoke pouring from the barrel and the ejector port.  He loaded a fresh magazine and approached the prone figure but, even at five foot, he could see that it was still moving.

“It’s still not dead,” he said, pretty much to himself.

It lurched back to its feet with an alarming speed and violence.  Tom stepped backwards quickly and fired twice from the hip as he went.  The gunfire had torn its arm from its shoulder and its body was a bloody ruin.  There was a terrible ripping sound and its torso began to split at the neck.  A ragged seam opened up and to Tom’s horror, he saw that a huge maw of teeth had formed in the middle of its body.

Tom stumbled backwards and tripped over the wreckage.  He scrabbled backwards as fast as he could dragging his rifle with him.  The beast lurched in after him and followed him with a lumbering gait.

Tom rolled and fired as he went.  One round hit the ceiling, releasing a cloud of dust and rubble.  Another round exploded into the chip fryer and there was a dull thud, followed by a hiss, followed by a spark, followed by an explosion.  Fire spread with speed across the shop’s ruined interior.

Chapter 38- An Exercise Of Control

Chapter 38

An Exercise Of Control

Washington D.C

“I understand what you mean Gerry.  I know how you feel.  But the reality of the situation is the way I described it,” said Hayden McDonald with some tiredness in his voice.  This was now his thirtieth phone-call of the day and he had been through some degree of resistance and incredulity from each person he had called.

“Gerry, Gerry, there is no point in sitting on your hands.  This is the way it is.  The President is not calling the shots at the moment and we need to expedite the situation.  For the good of the Republic,”

Hayden was used to pressure situations.  He was the Whitehouse Chief of Staff, a political powerbroker.  And even before the President had asked him to be his chief, he had worked for the Senate Majority Leader.  Hayden was a very accomplished person.  But this was a challenge that was stretching him to the limit of his extensive capabilities.

“Gerry I don’t know how much plainer to make it to you.  If you don’t go back to your agency and get them to play ball, then the General will send some officer over there and he’ll either arrest you or shoot you.  Then someone else will do it.  No one thinks that this fucking guy calling the shots is a good idea.  But it is a political reality.  Now we either accept that and adapt or we render ourselves obsolete,” Hayden waited for the tirade to cool and for Gerry to accept what he had said.

“Thank you Gerry.  You’re a good man,” He put down the phone and walked back around his desk.  Jack Krane had been making his own phone call at the same time.  He finished up with a much less forceful tone and hung up too.

“Good news, I got the Department of the Interior to cooperate,” said Jack.

“Good man,” replied Hayden.  He’d had a large number of deputies and lieutenants in his life and generally he had always worn them out.  Hayden’s highly confrontational and adrenaline based management style was often more than people could handle for extended amounts of time.  But Jack Krane had nerves of steel.

“Okay next is the director of the CIA.  That one is going to be a bitch,” said Hayden.

“No doubt.  But he’s a former military man.  He’ll follow orders,” replied Jack.

“He’s also a friend of the President.  He’s unlikely to appreciate the situation the way it is.  Equally he’s likely to think of me as a traitor,”

“Well then he needs to grow up then doesn’t he?” Jack said simply and made his next phone call.

Hayden smiled briefly and then walked over to his window, already dialing the phone.  Somewhere in Virginia right now someone would answer the phone.  Virginia was where the problem was centralized, that was where Briar had been based, that was were Sat-Com was based.  And Sat-Com had dropped the ball and failed to keep the infection from spreading.

“This is Hayden McDonald for the DCI and I don’t intend to hold.  Put him on the line right now,”

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded tired but there wasn’t the resistance that Hayden was expecting, in the end the DCI had accepted the inevitability of what had happened and that it was better to remain a player than to become an observer.

“I want you to direct your agency to cooperate with the current regime in any matters that relate directly to the crisis.  If you’re in any doubt whatsoever, call me or Jack and we’ll tell you which way to go.  But you are a right guy, you’ll figure it out,”

Hayden hung up the phone again and took a deep breath.  It all seemed like a long shot at the moment.  Hayden wondered what the odds of it all coming off were.

An officer, a Captain, opened the door without knocking and came into Hayden’s office.  Hayden didn’t even look up.

“Mr McDonald?” he asked.

“What is it?” asked Jack, who had stood up.

“The General wants to know what you’ve achieved so far,” said the young Captain.

Hayden looked up briefly.

“Tell him I’ve persuaded the intelligence community to cooperate with him.  Not bad for an hours work eh?”

The captain nodded with a smile.

“Do you think when they write the book on me they’ll talk about me like Benedict Arnold?” asked Hayden to the young Captain.  Hayden didn’t even wait for a reply.

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Oscar picked up the gun in shaking hands.  There was still blood on the weapon.  He looked around at Lt McPherson.

He cocked the weapon but he didn’t aim it at her, it was a suggestive motion rather than a direct threat.

“Lieutenant, you need to make the call on the radio,” he announced.

She didn’t look up, she was still holding the body of the dead sergeant.

“Hannah, if you don’t get on the radio, we’ll all be killed,” he said with more force.

She nodded.

“Yes we will wont we,” she said with an effort.  She still didn’t move towards the radio.

“Hannah, if we don’t move then we’ll be killed and we wont be able to help them stop this,” he said with a mixture of impatience and force.

Hannah sat up and looked around.

“Okay, okay I’m back in,” she said slowly.  She got to her feet and moved over to the radio.  She began to tune it into the tactical frequency.

“This is Lieutenant Hannah McPherson, 180588K.  I’m the last survivor on the ground here at the initial infection site.  I’m checking in that my team is dead but that I am still able to proceed.  Please advise me,”

There was a crackle of static and then a tinny voice.

“Roger that.  This is Sabre-Two.  We’ll relay that back to command and advise you shortly,”

“Well, they know we’re still alive,” she said.

“No, they know you’re still alive,” replied Oscar.

“You’re non military, I’m keeping you out of this,” she replied.

“No chance of that now,” said Oscar, looking around at the wreckage that had once been his home.

Chapter 36- Apex Predator

Chapter 36

Apex Predator

Cavill, Virginia

Deputy Sheriff Andrew Bailey took the call, even though he was long since off duty.  His phone had been ringing for a minute or two now so he had a clue that it must have been important.

“Deputy Bailey,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too sulky and tired.

“Hey Andy, it’s Michael Cristakis here,” came the reply.

“Hey Michael.  What’s the problem?” said Andrew, weary and wondering why he was talking to the local Pizza shop guy when he should have been asleep hours ago.

“It’s probably nothing deputy.  But I had a strange phone call from Sheriff Henderson.  He called up for a pizza and then he just rang off suddenly,”

“It was probably just Shirl telling him off for blowing his diet,” replied Andrew.

“Still, it’s kind of weird and I thought I’d let you know,”

“Sure.  Are you still open?” asked Andrew.

“Yeah, we’re open for another hour,”

“Right I’m on my way over and we can talk about it,” said Andrew, pulling his boots back on.

Andrew Bailey had been a deputy sheriff now in Cavill for three years and he was generally well regarded.  He was the only full time deputy now and even he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay in Cavill.

He would regularly head off to Charlotte and other larger places.  Andrew Bailey had only recently had his thirtieth birthday and he felt like this town didn’t suit someone of his age.

On the other hand he did enjoy the small town vibe and the way people treated him with respect.  But he had earned that respect.  Cavill was all about looking one way during certain things, not taking too deep an interest in what people did behind their closed doors.  One day Andrew thought he’d have a go about writing about the various corrupt goings on in heartland America.

Andrew closed the door behind him.  Walker, his collie cross, woke up and barked at him.  Bouncing over excitedly, Walker licked at his hands.  Andrew rubbed the collie’s head and knelt down for a moment.

“We aint going out for a walk, ole boy.  I’m working now,” he whispered to the dog.  Walker wagged his tail excitedly, as if to say “Your kidding right?  I’m sure I’m coming with you,”

Andrew put his hat on and walked down the alley way to the main street of Cavill.  Somewhere in the distance he heard a dog howl.

“Poor pooch,” he said to himself.  The sound had been surprisingly eerie and Andrew Bailey was not a man who was easily scared.

Andrew walked the main street of Cavill, “Jackson” as it was referred.  Andrew shook his head and wondered how many towns like this there were in Virginia.  Whilst Andrew didn’t consider himself a “liberal”, he found the undercurrent of racism in Cavill and in the county hard to stomach.

Andrew spotted a figure in the shadows and paused briefly.  When he saw the familiar hand gesture, he felt his tension rise a little bit.  Andrew was one of the few people in town who wasn’t suspicious of Tom McVay.  However he was a veteran and meeting him late at night was a bit worrying.

“How’s it going Deputy Bailey?” asked Tom in his familiar flat tone.

“I’m good thanks Tom.  You allright?”

“Same as ever.  Cant sleep.  You workin’?” asked Tom, stepping out of the shadows.  His dark hair was mussed up as ever but his clothes were fine and clean.  Cuffs and collars were always pressed and clean.

“Yes and no.  I’m on my way to Michael’s place to grab a pizza and some info.  You want to walk with me?” asked Andrew.

“You deputizing me?” asked Tom with a wan smile.

“No, just thought you might fancy a slice?”

“I don’t know about that but I’ll walk with you,” said Tom and the two began the short walk up to the Cristakis place.

“It’s a weird night,” muttered Tom.

“Why do you say that?” asked Andrew.

“I don’t know,” replied Tom.  Tom ran his hand through his hair again.

Andrew wished he knew Tom better, so he could ask him what was wrong, so he could suggest to talk to someone about it.  But Andrew knew that part of the “country” thing was keeping your nose out of other people’s problems.

They were almost at the Cristakis place when someone called out from one of the houses.

“Deputy Andy!  Help, over here!” It was a womans voice.  Andrew Bailey turned and looked and saw Lindy Cole in her door way.

Andrew turned to Tom and put a hand on his shoulder.  “You head inside, I’ll be with you in a bit,”

“Sure thing,” replied Tom, not realizing it was the last thing he would ever say to Andrew Bailey.

Deputy Bailey walked over, a hand on his flash light at his belt.

“What’s wrong Lindy?” he asked.

“Deputy, please help me!” she said.

As Andrew Bailey got closer, he saw that there was blood on her hands.

“Jesus Lindy, what’s happened?” Deputy Bailey was stood in her doorway at this point.

Lindy Cole was a small woman of around forty, weighing no more than one hundred and twenty pounds.  She grabbed hold of Deputy Bailey in both arms and clung on.

Deputy Bailey was rocked back briefly and he tried to pull loose of her.

“Lindy, Lindy talk to me!” he said.

With her hanging on to him and her head buried into his chest, he didn’t see the figure approaching from behind her.  A man walked through the house, blood dripping from his hands and mouth.

Andrew Bailey gently pulled himself free of Lindy Cole for a second and managed to say

“Lindy….” Before he was cut off mid sentence.

A stranger grabbed him by the lapels and threw him across the kitchen.  Lindy Cole shrieked in the door way for a moment.  Andrew, who weighed nearly two hundred pounds, had sailed through the air as if he was a football.

He shook his head and looked down at the blood on his hands.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

The stranger was shaking Lindy now like a rag doll.  She wailed for a moment before there was an awful snapping sound and then she fell limply to the floor.

Andrew Bailey reached sluggishly for his pistol, a 9mm beretta.  The stranger was almost on him when he managed to pull the pistol free.  A round exploded into the ceiling as the stranger got a hand to his wrist and twisted.  Andrew’s reactions were honed and he pivoted and threw the larger man over his shoulder.

The stranger was a bloody mess, his face twisted and torn from what looked like multiple scratches and cuts.  Andrew stepped back and aimed the gun at him.  The figure got back to his feet and Andrew felt himself grow cold.

Normally he would have said stop before firing.

Across at the Cristakis pizza parlour, they heard multiple gunshots.  Tom McVay, who knew a 9mm round when he heard one, had already been stood in the door at this point.

He saw flashes of light from the Cole place.  Tom’s reactions were also honed, though to a different degree.

He ran over to Michael Cristakis and asked him a question.

“Where do you keep your gun?”

Chapter 37- Danger Close

Chapter 37

Danger Close

Satcom, Somewhere in Virginia

Captain Thomas turned quickly and reported.

“We got signs of infection in the valley now.  It looks like the operation to contain is folding,”

“You sure Captain?” asked General Petersen.

“I can’t get hold of Villa Cyranno.  There’s no reply from down there.  And units operating in the surrounding area are reporting contacts with the hostiles,”

“God damn it,” growled the General, slowly getting back to his feet.  “Lt Walker, I want you to raise Cyranno.  Find out if there is anyone left down there.  Captain Bowen, is there any aerial units we can get to do a quick flyby on the ground?”

“Yes sir, we’ve got Sabre Two in orbit.  That’s a squadron of F-22’s,”

“Raptors,” said the General with a vague smile.  The F-22 Raptor was a beautiful, if expensive, piece of technology and was state of the art battle-ware.

“Put me on with the leader,” ordered General Petersen.  As Captain Bowen got to work, General Petersen leaned over to Captain Thomas.  “What are you still doing here?  We need a team to head to Cavill, STAT,”

“Sir I thought that…” began the Captain.

“Belay that thinking.  Just get a unit armed up with flame-throwers and get out there.  If necessary we’ll bomb the village off the map,”

“Sir, that’s American soil,” replied the Captain.

“You were given an order Captain,” said the General tersely.

“General, Sabre-Two is on the line,” reported Captain Bowen.

Captain Thomas stood up, straightened his uniform and then walked out of the room. General Petersen watched him walk away, hoping that the young man was up to the job.

“This is Sabre leader here,” came a voice over the radio.

“This is Sat-Com here.  I’m broadcasting over an open channel,”

“Yes sir,” replied Sabre Leader.

“Good man.  Now I need you to get eyes on Villa Cyranno,” asked the General.

“I can do that sir.  There was an explosion a little while ago and then there hasn’t been much observable action down there,” reported Sabre Leader.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” replied General Petersen.  “Okay, give me eyes on the site.  And if we don’t get some kind of report back in the next ten minutes, I want you to knock that site off the fucking map,”

“Roger that,” came the reply.

General Petersen walked around the main desk and noticed a small metal pin lying on one of the desks.  He picked it up and examined it.  It was a Distiguished Service Cross Bar, about the size of a pair of cuff links.  Someone had taken it off their uniform.

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Once you join the military, you have to set a certain amount of common sense aside.  The air force has a lot more deep thinking than the other branches of service but on the whole it is still composed of alpha males who want to exert their dominance over whatever it is you are doing.

Being an intellectual person in that world is sure to be quite frustrating and at times, nearly unbearable.  Lt McPherson had learned to live with it in her time in the Air Force.  The occasional flare up of macho posturing was inevitable, they played an adrenaline sport and it was good that the men were confident, even if it did get quite tiring.

Hannah was willing to put her common sense to one side to be a valid and accepted part of that culture.  But right now she felt her frustration reach a boiling point.  There were only four of them still alive in the village, no telling where or who the infiltrators were and above them was a gung ho air force ready to carpet bomb them into the stone age.

And the survivors of her team were all pointing guns at each other.

“This is your last damned warning.  Put the weapon on safe and place it on the ground,” repeated Wooderson, aiming his pistol at Specialist Storm.  Storm aimed his P-90 submachine gun back at them.

“No way Sarge.  How do I know you are human anymore?” asked Storm.

“Specialist, we’ve got to signal in or the air support will bomb us,” said McPherson as calmly as she could manage.

“Yeah, well maybe that would be for the best,” replied Storm.

“What are you talking about?” asked Oscar, looking frantic.

“We don’t know who’s human anymore and the other things will have escaped away from here.  We’ve lost control.  This whole area needs to be quarterised, cleansed,”

Hannah saw a certain, nihilistic logic to it but she felt herself rebel against what he was saying.

“Storm, we need to do our job.  No one outside of the infected zone knows exactly what we’re dealing with.  If they’ve gotten out of here then we have the information that they will need to stop this thing,” reasoned McPherson.

“I’m not sure it can be stopped anymore,” muttered Storm.

“Last warning Storm,” snapped Wooderson.

“Aw just shoot me already,” replied Storm.

There was a blaze of light and a hail of gunfire.  Hannah was pushed back by Wooderson as he was thrown backwards.  She rolled to her knees and drew her pistol to aim but Storm was no longer on his feet either.  Oscar was the last man standing.

“Don’t move,” she yelled.  She moved over quickly to find Storm.  He was on his back now, two bullet holes in his chest.  She paused near him to make sure that he was human.  She then ran back to Wooderson.  A dozen rounds had chewed through his chest and waist, he had died not long after he had hit the floor.

Hannah squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, feeling the sting of tears.  She shook her head.

“Madness, pure bloody madness,” she whispered to no one in particular.

Chapter 35- Left or Right

Chapter 35

Left or Right

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

“We’ve got a small problem here,” said Jubal Storm, resting against the wall, a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“What’s that?” asked Oscar, his face still wracked with pain.

“If we don’t make contact on the radio, then Sat-Com are going to bomb this village clean off the map, along with all of us,”

“Exactly.  So help me get to the radio,” replied Oscar.

“Trouble with that, we’ve been separated and now we don’t know who is who.  We don’t know how many of those things are still here, how many died and how many got away,”

Oscar spat to one side of himself again.

“So we’ve got a small problem, “ repeated Storm.

“We’ve got a way to figure all of that out.  But if we don’t do something fast, we’ll not get a chance to do anything about it at all,” said Oscar as forcefully as he could manage.

“Chung’s dead Oscar.  As far as I can see, it’s just you and me who are still moving here.  I know I’m human,” said Jubal in a commiserating tone.

Oscar looked at him, one hand on his cigarette and the other cradling his P-90 sub machinegun.  Oscar began to come to the conclusion that he was about to die.

“What’s on your mind Oscar?” asked Storm, dropping the cigarette to the floor and standing on it.

“How do I know you are human?” asked Oscar.

“You don’t.  Equally I don’t know you’re human either.  There’s only one way to be really sure.  Sorry about that,” said Storm with some sincerity in his voice. He pulled the safety on his machine gun and stood up.

There was a click and a metallic sound.  Storm span around and pointed the gun at Sergeant Wooderson who aimed a pistol back at him.  Behind Wooderson was Lt McPherson.

“Wood, you’re still alive are you?” asked Storm.

“You can see that.  No one is shooting anyone here,” stated the Sergeant.

“I think you’re wrong there Sarge.  We’ve got no way to prove who is human anymore.  I know I am,”

“So am I,” retorted Wooderson.

“Yeah well one of you things would say that wouldn’t you?”

“You are not judge, jury and executioner,” growled Wooderson.

“No I’m not.  But the way I see it, I got the biggest gun here,” replied Storm.

“Put the gun down,” repeated Wooderson.

“No way in hell,” replied Storm

Near Villa Cyranno

Two huddled figures took shelter under the scattered trees between Villa Cyranno and where the next village was.  One of them looked up into a night sky crawling with stars.

One waved a hand and the other nodded and moved forward, a steady jog.  The other one watched his companion move across the open countryside.

The first had almost reached a small wooden hut when there was a flash of light and he was thrown into the air.  An explosion had hurled him like a rag doll.  The other one dropped low and watched.

Two dark figures emerged from the hut.  They were wearing some kind of breathing apparatus and one of them hefted a flamethrower.  They approached the figure crawling across the ground.

There was a sudden flare of light and the figure who had just moments before hand been crawling for his life was engulfed in flames and burned.

The other figure, watching from the trees, began to crawl silently away, taking an easterly route.  He continued to crawl when there was another sound nearby.

He spun to look but in the darkness, there was nothing to see except the shining light of distant stars and the flicker of not so distant flames.

There was a crack and a flash of light and a bullet slammed into the prone figure where he lay.  He moaned a low terrible moan and tried to crawl, blood pouring through his fingers.

“Over here, there’s another one over here,” called a masked figure.  He threw a small red flare into the undergrowth which lit a crawling man, probably no older than twenty two.  He lay on his side breathing quickly, blood pouring from a head wound.

There was a rush and then flames covered him and the trees that had not hidden him.

“This is Two-Five, area secure,” said a voice into a radio.

“Copy that,” came the reply.

Chapter 34- Chief of Staff

Chapter 34

Chief of Staff

Washington, D.C

A uniformed army Captain walked alongside Hayden McDonald as he was escorted towards the Oval office.  Hayden had been Whitehouse Chief of Staff for two and a half years and felt a certain amount of protective pride in his Whitehouse.  He certainly didn’t like being ‘escorted’ to the Oval Office.

Especially when the President, his President, wasn’t in there.  Hayden McDonald straightened his suit jacket and tie and waited by the door.  The Captain, a dour faced gentleman, knocked on the door.

“Come in,” came the new voice in the room.  Hayden McDonald walked into the Oval office and saw that General Pierce was still holding court.  There were three other officers in the room.  Two were generals, the other was a Colonel.  But the Colonel was the only one that General Pierce was really paying any attention to.

“General, this is Hayden McDonald.  He was chief of staff to the former President,”

Announced the Captain.  General Pierce waved the Captain away with a hand.

“Hayden, take a seat.  Would you like a drink?”

Hayden stayed on his feet.  “No thank you General,”

“We’re all in the same boat here Hayden,” stated General Pierce.

“I see,” replied Hayden.

One of the other generals spoke now.  “Mr McDonald, I know you aren’t entirely happy with what’s happened.  But we in control now. This farm needs a firm hand at the teller,”

“Farms don’t have tellers General Marx,” replied Hayden McDonald.

General Pierce laughed at this.

“I know your reputation Hayden, that you were a feared ball buster in D.C.  The President's hit man?” enthused General Alex Pierce.  General Pierce had been a three star general with major promise until a few years ago.  Then he had fallen afoul of a newly elected Presidential administration.

General Pierce had orchestrated a swift and brutal coup and was now ‘de-facto President.”  However Hayden McDonald had been summoned to him which meant that he needed him for something.  The two other Generals were lickspittle allies, trying to suck up to the new chief.  Colonel Carpenter, grey eyes shining, was the real danger.

“I wouldn’t say I was his hit man,” replied Hayden.

“Indeed not.  Well, those days are over.  What you are now is a fount of information that I need to tap,” continued the General.  “You know every player in Washington and beyond,”

“I think my knowledge extends only as far as political players, General.” Said Hayden, leaving the emphasis on the word General.

“You don’t approve of what we’ve done?” asked General Pierce.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” said Hayden cooly.

“I see.  But you’ll help wont you?”

“Why?  Why would I help you?” replied Hayden.

“Becausse you believe in this Republic.  And I’m going to need your help to hold it together,” said General Pierce.

Hayden kept a poker face but he had heard the word ‘need’ in there.

“General, I’m a straight talker.  Surely you’ve heard that about me?” he began.

“I value honesty,” said General Pierce.

“I find that hard to believe.  But I will be honest with you.  The political establishment are not going to cooperate with you willingly.  I’m surprised that after this coup you’ve gotten as much support from the military as you have.  You’ve endangered not only the Republic but the entire country.  We’re in the most serious domestic situation since the Civil War and you endanger us even further like this,”

General Pierce’s face darkened.

“I see.  Well if you aren’t going to cooperate then I’ll find someone who will,”

“Theres no one around here who knows all of the players like I do, no one who has all the pressure points. Now I know you could just beat it out of me. But that’s not going to help you make a case for yourself as the savior of our Republic is it?” said Hayden.

Colonel Carpenter got to his feet.  “Excuse us for a moment General,” said the colonel.  He escorted Hayden out of the room back into his old office.

“Okay Mr McDonald, cut the bullshit.  You know we need you for something. What is it you want in return?” said the Colonel.

Hayden tried to size him up.  He was a smaller man, five feet nine or ten.  He had a wiry strength though and those intelligent eyes.  Hayden didn’t know his career but saw an airborne patch on his arm and a ranger jump school badge on his jacket.

“Colonel Carpenter, I will help you and the General sort this mess out.  But I want four things.  And I’m not negotiating with you.  I’ll have them all or you can just shoot me now,”

“No one is shooting anyone,” replied Carpenter.  “Go on, what do you need?”

“Okay, first of all I wanted Jack Krane in here.  He’s my deputy and I trust him,”

“Done.  Next?”

“I want a signed document stating that I am not a part of your coup or whatever you call it,”

“Again, that’s easy.  Next?”

“I want all non essential Whitehouse staff sent home or at least no longer held under guard.  There are a lot of young men and women here and they are terrified,”

“Okay, that’ll take some time to organize but I can do that.  What else is it you want?”

“I want a promise that I’m fairly sure will be broken,” replied Hayden McDonald.

Chapter 33- Replication

Chapter 33

Replication

Cavill, Virginia

Patterns form in the most unlikely places.  Deep within the Earth, there are mineral patterns and formations, shapes that are amazing to behold.  Within natures work there are so many incredible formations and patterns, from the scales on a tiny fish all the way to a vast cloud of starlings.

There are patterns of behavior too, passive aggressive, escape and evade and direct hostility.  There are so many routines that people get caught in, the argument that you avoid seeps into every last corner of your life, the fight you don’t want to have hisses in the corner like a snake.

There are patterns deep within the very DNA of every person, swirls of molecules that resemble tiny galaxies.  Each spark and flame that runs through the mind, connections and neurons firing away, more patterns.

In the town of Cavill, they were used to patterns too.  For instance the town “drunk” Alex Pinkley would usually finish his drinking at the “Tom Jackson” and head home at about eleven.  He’d stop off at the 7/11 on the way home and pick up a cheap bottle of something, probably a cider or a beer.  Then he’d stagger back to his ramshackle place and pass out.

Except tonight of course.  Tonight he was walking away from the 7/11 when he ran into someone he wasn’t expecting to see. 
“Shit, Robert.  You scared me to fuckin’ death,” he slurred.  His drunkenness made the word sound like ‘fuggin’ but the meaning came through.  Robert Lewis was a painter, a contractor who lived in town with his wife Anna.

“Hey Alex, I just found a huge bag of bottles been dumped out the back of Mister Percys house.  You want some of them?”

Somewhere deep in Alex’s chemical ravaged brain there was still the vaguest semblance of the bright young lad he had once been, long ago.  But the temptation was far too strong for him to resist.

“Sure, sure that sounds good to me,”  he replied.  He followed Robert Lewis back through a cramped alleyway and behind Mr Percy’s house, where the high fence obscured them from view.

“Shit,” muttered Alex as he tripped over a log.  It was too dark to see much around here.

“We’re nearly there Alex,” came the voice of Robert Lewis.

Some deep seated part of Alex’s mind fired up a warning flare.  ‘We are lost in the dark.  This doesn’t add up.’  But another part of his mind, a much more dominant part simply said ‘Free booze!”

Alex reached backyard and tried to make out where Robert had gone.

“Robert?” he asked, his voice low.

“Right here,” came the whispered reply.  Alex spun around as fast as he could and saw Robert stood right next to him.  A hand came up with incredible speed and caught him by the throat.  Alex reached up with both hands to try and prize this hand from his neck but the strength of it was incredible.

The other hand reached up to his face with horrible slowness.  Long dark nails had grown from his fingers.  Alex tried to cry out, a scream bottled in his throat like a rat stuck in a drain pipe.  The clawed hand sunk horribly into his face and ripped.  Alex was released and fell to the ground with a low and long moan.  He rolled and tried to crawl away from his attacker, blood seeping out onto the dark grass beneath him.

Robert Lewis, who had been through something rather similar earlier that night, crouched over him and looked down at his helpless victim.  He reached down and took hold of his ruined face, bringing it closer to his own.  No expression ever passed over that serene face, even as he crushed the drunken man’s skull

Alex stopped moving and his wrecked body lay on the floor.  The form that resembled Robert reached down and drove a hand into the ruin of his face.  There was a hiss and a gentle puff of smoke began to emerge from Alex’s head.

A few minutes later and Robert stood up, his hands soaked in blood.  He walked calmly back into the house where Mr Percy lay slumped over his table.  There was blood splattered onto the ceiling and all over the fridge. 

Robert turned the sink on and washed his hands.  He picked up a towel and dried them off.  He took the now bloody towel and carried it outside.  He sat down next to Alex, whose face was already being knitted back together.  Alex sat up without a sound.  Robert passed him a towel and Alex wiped his blood off his face.

Alex, the town drunk, got to his feet and staggered away heading back to his tumbledown shack of an apartment.  Robert Lewis walked around the corner slowly, keeping his pace slow and even.  He knocked on the door.

“Whose there?” came the voice on the other side of the door.

“Anna, it’s me. I’m home,” said someone who looked a lot like Robert Lewis.  Anna Lewis had always wanted a spyhole in the door but they hadn’t gotten around to installing one.  If he she had looked through the door, she’d have seen nothing that would have alarmed her, right up until the moment when she opened the door.

Then Robert Lewis suddenly smiled a smile that showed warmth and kindness that he simply did not have, a smile that had simply jumped into existence. 

“You’re late tonight!” she said smiling

“I got caught up with something,” he said to her, closing the door behind him.

Just another pattern being repeated, like a swirl of galaxies inside a human body.