Monsters of the Apocalypse (19 page)

***

"Life
is pretty simple. If you look for something to be grateful for, you'll
find it. If you look for something that's screwing you, you'll find
it. Even in a world of cannibals with no possibility of survival for
mankind, there was laughter and beauty. Even in the mutant-free world
before the nuclear holocaust, with automatic coffee makers and machine-rolled
cigarettes, people were crying in despair and taking drugs to escape.
Throughout history the end has always been near, existence has always been in
the balance, and always heroes have saved us. Mankind has survived on the
actions of kind men and cruel men, men with great names and the nameless… you
just never know.

"In fact,
the only similarity in all of the great stories of mankind's survival is that
the main characters of the story have great hair."

- Jacob Rothschild, "Thoughts on
The Art of Ruling"

Victor Moreno had nowhere else to
run. He stood on the sand, the crest of the waves glowing eerily white
behind him. The crashing of the waves was deafening this close and, had
he had the breath left to scream, would have drowned him out. The mutant
moved quickly over the sand and stood a few feet away from him, waiting for him
to gather his breath.

"Why don't you just kill me
already? What are you waiting for?"

"I wanted to allow you the
time to make peace with whatever it is you believe in. To say a last
thought or realization perhaps," the mutant hissed.

"I don't believe in anything
anymore. It's one of the things so cruel about what we did. We
managed to make the world so strange and terrifying that you can't even believe
your own eyes. As for last thoughts, who am I sharing them with?
It's only the two of us here."

"For some people it seems to
make the next part easier."

Victor Moreno laughed, his breath
finally back, as he stood up straight and looked the mutant in the eye.

"Nothing comes to mind that
I could say that will make being eaten alive any easier."

The mutant nodded and charged
forward sinking his fangs into the man's throat until he heard a wet snap and
felt the rush of hot blood burst into his mouth.

The pitch black of the night hid the
mutant as he walked back to his apartment, the head of Victor Moreno hanging
limply in his hand. This had been the last of the list and thankfully the
easiest. The man had died honorably. Not like that Dr. Taggert who
had cried so much, begging. The mutant would try to remember to tell that
to the big Indian and the small Asian woman when they brought him his cure, not
that he thought it would do much good. How you die only matters when
there's an audience to remember, otherwise, in the morning, you're just another
severed head.

It was the
beginning of an army, which isn't an easy thing to see. It takes a
special kind of eyes to see past a gang and see the seeds of an army. It
takes a special kind of eyes to see past fear and anger and see the potential
for focused violence and strategic attack. It takes a special kind of
eyes to see past life and see the potential for death. Jacob had those
kind of eyes.

The core of
the army was the remaining members of his Shadow Army. Fearsome looking
during their human existence, their mutant forms were a level of nightmarish
that was as effective a weapon as the fighting techniques they were teaching
the new comers. Arian stood beside Jacob, watching as the training ran
its course.

"What is
that? Spetsnaz?"

"A
little Spetsnaz, a little Jiu-Jitsu and of course some Apache…"

"Our
claws are too big to shoot a gun," Arian interrupted with a laugh.
"We don't have drones, the Islanders do. So, your plan is to
use martial arts to counteract that? Use our hands to defeat the
Islanders? Is that it?"

"No,
no," Jacob nodded, "it's an issue of confidence. Soldiers only
follow orders if they feel powerful. Fighting capabilities breed
confidence and a feeling of power. We need them to follow orders.
In truth, most wars are won before they're ever fought. The army with
greater firepower and greater numbers wins nine times out of ten. The one
time out of ten, if you read the history books, is generally accredited to one
of three things: genius, innovation, or the hand of God. Of course it's
the winners of wars who write that and winners are always reluctant to admit
the debt they owe to betrayal, cheating and subterfuge."

"Some
would say that guns help, as well," Arian shrugged.

"Fair
point. I have a plan for that though."

Arian
nodded. His laptop made a quiet chime that indicated that a message had
been returned. He opened the device and showed the screen to Jacob.

"What
does it say?"

"Do you
find that people have flavors, Arian? Do you find that a Chinese person
tastes different than a Mexican person? That a Thai man and a Polish man
blend into east-west fusion?"

Arian turned
away and stared down at the fledgling army, while Jacob chuckled.

"That's
funny," Arian sighed. "Very funny. Is there a reason why
instead of answering me you're telling sick jokes?"

"I don't know, Arian.
Sometimes I look out on the army of mutants I am going to lead across the
wasteland that is all that's left of humankind and its thousands of years of civilization,
all the way to The Island where my contemporaries have created some sort of
twisted utopia and I think, perhaps a joke would ease the tension."

Arian turned back, glaring.

"No? Oh okay,
Arian. It said that the mutant we sent to The Island just ate my second
cousin." Jacob burst into hysterics.

"Mr.
President, there's bad news."

"When
is there anything else? What now?"

Miho handed
him the read out.

"All of
them? You found all of their heads?! Where are their bodies?"

"We
suspect… eaten."

"What
do you mean eaten?! You mean there's a mutant on The Island?"

"There
have been cases of cannibalism known to mankind before The Shot. Perhaps
there's just a cannibal on The Island, not a mutant."

"You should
work on your comforting skills, Miho."

"That's
not part of my job description, sir."

"What
does it mean? My uncle and his security guards, who happen to have been
two of the more elite soldiers on the planet, are killed in the street by, what
appears to be one man with a knife. And now, The Island's greatest code
breaker and all of my carefully selected allies among the Founders have been
eaten. What the hell is going on?!"

Miho put an
arm on the President's shoulder and steered him to the edge of his bed where he
willingly sat down and stared at the screen mounted on the wall.

"And
this… this too… Nestor, turning my own people against me with his every step,
but we can't kill him without everyone seeing it. A resistance of
un-inoculated survivors we can't find! One hacker outpacing
teams
of computer specialists! Someone using our own satellite feed to pass
secret messages! I don't know how Jacob has done this, I don't see how
it's possible, but I also see no other possibility. We are defeated by
Jacob, or some other unseen villain."

He put his
head into his hands and moaned. Miho waited a few moments for the sound
to end and then sat down beside the President. He spread his fingers ever
so slightly so that he could secretly glimpse her tan thigh.

"If
you're done declaring defeat, we should discuss options."

"What
options, Miho?"

"Look
at who is dead. Your allies. Everybody knows that these were your
allies. Just last week Victor Moreno stood in front of the United States
military and praised your tough leadership and now, he's dead. When
people hear about this, no one in their right mind could look at this list of
deaths and blame you. These murders hurt you, which means they were
committed by an enemy. An enemy that can arrange for a mutant to be
smuggled through security to the mainland. A powerful enemy."

October
raised his head from his hands, the curve of Miho's thigh briefly forgotten and
stood up, his energy renewed and coursing through him.

"Yes.
But, which one? Any of the remaining Founders could manage it. They
all have the sway and the motivation. Which one would actually do it,
though?"

"Alone?
None. But together…"

October spun
and looked at Miho who smiled knowingly, her finger tapping the edge of her
glowing tablet.

"The
Founders have brought a mutant to The Island? That's treason. The
risk that poses to all of mankind is unfathomable."

"Indeed.
Treasonous. Punishable by death even."

October
reached out and finally regained his footing after placing his hand flat against
the wall. He looked at the screen and for the first time he envied the
simplicity of Nestor's world. The simplicity of the reflexive pull of a
trigger that carried none of the nausea that planning a massacre brought with
it.

He took a
few breaths until he had regained his stability and then stood tall as he
turned to Miho.

"I am
going to execute the remaining Founders. We will need to proceed
carefully, publically, but we'll succeed and when we have… when we have…"

"There
will only be you, Mr. President."

"There
will only be me."

Nestor had
been walking for weeks. It had been a month since he'd left Bragg and the
safe house. He hadn't seen anything alive in days. He smelled the
fire hours before he was able to glimpse the last traces of smoke disappearing
into the sickly night sky. He squatted down and scanned the edges of the
horizon. He spat on the ground and felt the stubble on his chin. He
glanced over his shoulder at the glow of a hidden sun rising. He moved
forward slowly and stayed low to the ground.

A dot
appeared on the horizon, gaining form as he slowly approached. From this
distance the figure was only definable from the dead trees around it by its
occasional movement. Nestor waited, watching for signs of more living
things. In time, he continued his approach.

Having
walked half of a mile he stopped and watched the man, still distant on the
horizon and hoped he wouldn't have to kill him.

Nestor took
the last few steps slowly, his rifle in hand, but not pointed directly at the
man who stood at the edge of a riverbank, staring, transfixed. When
Nestor finally came to a stop, his eyes scanning his barren surroundings, he
saw that the man was fidgeting and as he drew closer he could hear the man
mumbling to himself.

Nestor
looked across the horizon, but saw no signs of ambush. Nestor spat on the
ground. At this sound the man stiffened and slowly turned. Nestor
raised his rifle, but upon seeing the fear in the man's eyes he lowered it
slightly.

"Oh, my
God. Nestor Bravo. You're Nestor Bravo."

Nestor
continued his silent inspection of the small man.

"You
have to help me. I'm going to die if you don't. You have to help
me."

Jacob walked
with his strolling gate up to the abandoned military base, spread out to his
sides were five Shadow Army scouts. The rest of his Mutant Army
waited. The posted signs warned of electrical currents and other threats
now lost to history. Jacob studied the fence and could see no evidence
that this location had been looted. There were craters on the other side
of the fence where the vehicles the army had left behind had detonated.
The closest hanger was nothing more than a bombed out skeleton.

Silently appearing
at his side one of the Indian scouts asked, "You sure there's anything
here that still works?"

"Oh, my
friend, it's so easy to be pessimistic after the world ends. Lucky for
you, I was born an unflappable optimist! There are things here.
There are some things that can't be scavenged by humans."

With
one hand Jacob tore down the security fence. He pulled out one of the
large cigars that he had found was the only form of tobacco his large immobile
hand could manage. He chewed the cigar. At night the fire could be
used, but during the day there was no easy way to light them.

He continued
his casual gate around the potholes and debris until he stood in the center of
the Army hanger's skeleton. One of the main beams from the roof lay in
front of him. With a nod, his scouts joined him and together, with
effort, they managed to move it aside. Underneath, dented and dusty, was
a metal door. Jacob ripped the locked door off the hinges and threw it
over his shoulder. The scouts crowded around and looked down into the
hidden bunker armory.

"Those
are beasts. What are they?"

"Those,"
Jacob said, "are called M2 Browning Machine Guns. They used to mount
them on ships and armored vehicles to shoot helicopters and tanks. These
are specifically known as a "Hatchcock Specials" after the first guy
to modify them with a pistol grip and scope. Of course, even he used a
mount since it was far too heavy for him to hold up. He was only
human."