Monsters of the Apocalypse (16 page)

"Mr. President, why have you
called me here?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Moreno, were
you busy?"

"No, but I do enjoy being
alive. I'm not sure being here with you is a step towards staying that
way."

Victor Moreno nervously traced
his mustache with his index finger, his eyes focused on the two snifters of
cognac on the desk between him and October Carnegie.

"You mean because I beat one
of your colleagues to death or because you and all of your
living
colleagues, including my uncle, met in Founders' Hall last night to plan how to
kill me?"

Victor Moreno shifted
uncomfortably in his seat. He reached out and grabbed a snifter of cognac
and twirled it with a smile.

"A little of both, I
suppose."

"I understand. Do you
feel powerless?"

"I'm one of the most
powerful men in the world, Mr. Carnegie."

October smiled and lifted the
other glass.

"Are you? At Founders'
Hall, did they listen to you? Did you even speak? The last time I
met with all of the Founders on the mainland, my uncle spoke, Rockefeller
spoke, Hintao spoke… you listened. You sat there and you listened.
At the time, I thought you were simply weak, going along for the ride, with no
opinion. I've changed my mind recently. I now think you were
smart. Those who speak commit themselves. Those who stay quiet have
options. You have options, Mr. Moreno."

"What options do you
mean?"

"Their plot won't work, Mr.
Moreno. They don't know that. Even if they did, they're
committed. I'd like you to think about that. I'd like you to think
about what will happen when their plot fails. I'd like you to think about
where you want to be when their plot fails. I want you to think about how
you might be useful to me when their plot fails."

"I'm not sure I
follow."

"I'll explain. To be
honest, the military doesn't adore me. They were promised that they were
here to protect one group of people, and that another group of people, the ones
they left behind, their grandmothers and best friends, were to be cured.
Instead they had to sit by and watch them die. It was necessary, but they
can't see that yet. Your son is a respected Three Star General. Because
of your son, you carry weight that no other Founder does with the
military. Those brave men! I appreciate that. I could use
that. I'd like you to think about that."

Victor Moreno nodded his head
slightly.

"That is all, you can go,
Mr. Moreno."

Victor Moreno got up and walked
towards the door. He stopped just before leaving and pointed at the
screen on the wall. At that moment, the image on the screen was a series
of meaningless numbers and letters, glowing bright white, before fading away
leaving nothing but Nestor's point of view.

"Tell me, Mr. President, the
codes that appear on Nestor's feed, do you know who sends them?"

"Of course, Mr.
Moreno. I do."

"Who are you sending them
to? Do you have connections on the mainland?"

October winked with a
conspiratorial grin.

"Think about what I said,
Mr. Moreno. You have options. Think about those options."

Victor Moreno nodded and left the
room. October waited till he heard the outer-door close and then he
grabbed a lamp and threw it at the screen shattering it into pieces.

"Maid! Miho!"

Miho arrived in the doorway a
second before the maid. The maid, a beautiful young potent Islander,
silently went to work cleaning up the shattered glass.

"Sir?" Miho said flatly
eyeing the maid with disdain.

"Who is sending the coded
messages, Miho? This Nevers guy?"

"I don't think so, sir. We
have a team of specialists who spend all day trying to encrypt Nestor's feed
and it's hacked every night. That's Nevers, we know that. The codes
being sent seem unconnected. They seem to be something else."

"The smartest men on the
planet live on this island, is there someone who's good at codes?"

"Yes, sir. In fact,
Dr. Taggert…"

"Good. Go. Go
now. I want to see him."

"Yes, sir."

Miho turned and left the room as
the maid, having finished cleaning the mess, followed close behind.

Jacob leaned
against a wall, half a mile away from the soldier, as the day came to its
end. With his heightened senses, Jacob could not still only see in the
dying light, but could also smell and hear the soldier quite clearly.

The soldier
wore a gasmask that obstructed his vision, but there wasn’t much to see here
anyway. He pushed the button on the mask's side and waited for his
breathing to be replaced by the static of the communication line.

“It’s
done. The survivors believed us. They are starting their hunt for
Nestor as we speak,” the soldier said into the static.

“Very
good. Report to the pickup location. Hit your location beacon when
you get there. Until then, stay off line and keep hidden.”

“Yes,
ma'am.”

“Good job,
soldier.”

“Thank you,
ma'am.”

“Ms. Walker
is fine, soldier.”

“Thank you,
Ms. Walker."

The soldier
pulled his hand from the button and again his ears were filled with the sound
of his own breathing. He walked down a series of deserted streets towards
a dead forest that stood on the outskirts of the town. Once he passed the
tree line he sat down and sipped from the water siphon that was in his
mask. He took a few more pulls, but as he went to stand up the hand of a
mutant reached from behind him and pulled him down to the ground.
Claw-like hands immediately began searching him, removing his weapons and mask
with quick efficiency before lifting him up, under the arms, and holding him
off the ground.

The soldier
looked the mutant in the face and tried not to seem afraid.

“Hi, I'm
Jacob Rothschild and this here behind me, is Arian Mills. We're going to
eat your flesh.”

“Please
don’t!”

“Why not?”

“I’m a human
being, a soldier, I...”

“A
soldier? I thought all the soldiers were on The Island. What on
earth is a soldier doing here in Pennsylvania?”

“It's a
humanitarian mission.”

Jacob
dropped the soldier, who fell to his knees with a dull thud. Jacob sat
down on the ground cross-legged and leaned his head to the side to look into
the soldier's eyes.

“Is that
what they told you to say? Did they tell you to use the cover of a
humanitarian
mission on the occasion of being caught by a
mutant
? Because it
seems like, well, trying to appeal to the humanity of something that isn’t
human, is a bit fruitless.”

“You used to
be human.”

“I
did. That’s true. But, I’m not anymore. The people you work
for made sure of that. I mean, they didn’t mean for me to become this,
they wanted me to be a corpse, which I think we can agree, isn’t human either.”

“I didn’t
have any part in that. I swear.”

“I know you
didn’t. If you were a person that high up, that important, you wouldn’t
have been sent down here to... ah, now we come to the point. What exactly
were you sent down here to do?”

“If I tell
you, will you promise not to eat me?”

Jacob looked
thoughtfully at the ground. He turned and looked at Arian who stood
behind him, blending in with the darkening sky. Arian shrugged.
Jacob turned back to the soldier and nodded.

“Yes.
I promise. Talk human.”

“I was sent
here to pose as a negotiator. I went to the survivors, the human survivors
and said that I’d been caught, and taken to the King of the Mutants. I
said that he’d let me live so that I could come to them and offer a truce.”

“A truce?”

“Yes.
If they brought the head of Nestor Bravo to the King of the Mutants, he would
agree to a human and mutant truce.”

“Why on
earth would the King of the Mutants want Nestor Bravo’s head?”

“So that he
can talk to all of his people. Bravo's camera is the greatest form of
communication left on the mainland.”

Jacob nodded
and stood up. The soldier went to stand himself, but Jacob kicked him in
the stomach, knocking him back to the ground, breathless.

“Clever.
Nestor dies. The mutants betray the deal, since they never knew about
it. You Islanders declare war on the mutants in his name. October becomes
loved again. Yes, very clever. I wish I were clever enough to think
of something like that. Whoever thought of that was a genius!"

Jacob burst
into hysterics and turned to Arian who still stood silent and unmoving.

"What's
so funny, Jacob?" the soldier croaked as he continued to gasp for air.

Jacob spun
around and kicked the soldier in the stomach a second time.

"Nothing,
my boy. Now, they are coming to get you then?”

“Yes,” the
soldier managed to squeak out.

“Where?”

“I can get
there...”

“No, you
can’t. These woods, this world, it’s filled with mutants. You won’t
make it without my help. Without my protection, why, you’ll be dead in
minutes. I mean, Arian never promised not to eat you, did you
Arian?"

Arian smiled
while shaking his head in the negative.

"Where’s
the pickup, soldier?”

“A clearing
about two miles from here. Called Hilltop Park.”

“Then that’s
where we’ll take you," Jacob said and then nodded at Arian. "You want
to knock him out or should I?”

"I'll
do it."

“What?” the
soldier shrieked.

“Nothing
personal, soldier. I can’t trust you. You could signal or send a message,
who knows what you’re capable of? No, you need to be unconscious, but
don’t worry, I give you my word that you’ll make your flight. Now, don’t
struggle.”

The man felt
his throat close as Arian's arm choked him from behind. The last thing he
saw before he passed out was Jacob standing in front of him, reaching into his
coat. He hoped he would wake up.

Nestor had
moved his wrists against the ropes for what seemed like hours, but alone in the
darkness, in the silence of this new dead world, it was impossible to tell
time. He didn’t rest or pause. When he felt his skin open up, he
didn’t stop. When he lost the feeling in his hands, he didn’t stop.
He didn’t stop until he heard the first gunshot.

Nestor
held perfectly still and listened. There was another shot. This
second shot came from a high-gauge rifle by the sound of it. Next there
came screaming, followed by a returning volley of handgun fire. Nestor
focused on his breathing as he waited for the return of the rifle shot.
In three breaths he heard it. It came from farther away this time.
Either the gunman had moved during the hand gunfire, or there was more than one
rifleman up there. Nestor took a moment to think of the
possibilities. He could think of no one in the world who would come to
save him. Steal him, yes. Kill him, yes. Hunt him.
Torture him. He could think of people who would do any of those things,
but not one name came to mind as the possibility of a savior. He began
jerking his wrists with newfound vigor, unaware that he was doing it in time to
the rhythmic, efficient firing of the rifle.

There were more screams and then the sound of footsteps in the house
above. Nestor heaved the full force of his body, torquing his spine
against the restraints, but found himself no closer to escape. He
maintained the tension as the screams were cut short by rifle shots and the
thud of a body falling on the floor above. Finally Nestor collapsed,
panting, no closer to freedom and listened to the footsteps above. They
stopped. Nestor held his breath. He wasn’t certain where he was,
but he assumed the entrance would be hidden, perhaps locked. He wondered
which was preferable: for whoever was standing above him to find him and to be
at their mercy, or to be left helplessly tied to a table and slowly die?

The footsteps started up again
and then he heard the door at the top of the stairs shudder under the weight of
someone’s shoulder. The thuds continued with the same slow rhythm that
had characterized the rifle shots. Each impact was hard, heavy, solid,
and exactly the same as the last. Nestor could tell by the solid
consistency of the impacts that that the thing on the other side of the door
was not ever going to quit. They, or it, would keep pounding away until
the door collapsed and then Nestor would have to face that same
determination.

Nestor closed his eyes to the
light that poured in from above as the door shattered into a million pieces.

Caleb and Mary had just finished
dinner. They were laughing.

When the knock came at the door
Caleb glanced at his watch. He'd known it was coming, but now that it was
here, he couldn't believe it. Suddenly, faced with it, he realized he
needed more time, that he wasn't ready. He opened the door. The
Indian looked pale and sick. Caleb glanced over his shoulder at Mary who
stared back expectantly. Caleb smiled at her with a forced calm, then
turned back to face the Indian.

"It's time, Caleb. I'm
sorry."

"Let me grab a few things.
I'll be out in a minute."

"Take as much time as you
need," the Indian nodded as Caleb closed the door.

Caleb went and kneeled down in
front of Mary with his arms out.

"It's time. You're
ready. Give me a hug."

She hugged him without question
and kissed his cheek.

"You remember everything I
told you? One more time, tell me what you'll do if…"

"I can do it, Caleb. I
can."

"I know you can, baby."

Caleb smiled and pulled the
little girl into his lap. She looked up at him with her big eyes.

"You don't teach anyone,
Mary. You don't teach anyone ever, okay?"

"You taught me."

"That’s different. To
me you're like… Listen, people, they're cruel and they're unpredictable.
Always make sure they need you and you don't need them. Don't ever
lose that power, okay?"

"I know you have to, but I
don't want you to go."

He smiled and looked away from
the girl. She saw the slightest of tears building in his eye. He
was looking at the screen in the corner where Nestor was walking through an
empty town.

"Like your daughter?"
she asked.

"What?"

"Was that what you were
going to say? That I was like your daughter?"

"Yeah," Caleb said with
a choked sob.

She nuzzled into his chest and
squeezed him hard.

"Who are you going to stay
away from, baby?"

"Actors, musicians and
anyone else who needs people to clap for them."

"Atta, girl."

Caleb got up and walked towards
the door.

"I love you, Caleb."

"I love you, kid."