The Surviving Son (Valkyrie Book 2) (4 page)

“He did the man, and the world, a favor.” I added. “I’d ask for
the same if I had lost my mind. Evolutionary Cleansing.”
“Sir?” Garrison questioned.
“Throughout history we have seen it, and not just with humans,
but among all walks of life.” I began. “The sick and weak are
abandoned or slaughtered so that the strong can continue to strive,
untethered and without burden.”
“What does that have to do with The Hawk?”
“Valkyrie,” I continued. “Was already present before man got
their hands on it. Although harmless, it had time on its side to
evolve. Who knows, in another million years the Antarctic ice sheet
could have receded, freeing an evolved Valkyrie, like the one we
know today.”
“I don’t understand.” Mills stated.
“Mother Nature, if you will, has a way of balancing life. The
human race, before the fall, was already tipping that balance. In a
million years, the scale could have toppled completely. That’s where
Valkyrie comes in, the reset button.”
“But she hadn’t taken out The Hawk, Garrison did.”
“Yes, but she exposed The Hawk, and others, by culling the
herds. She has allowed us to see the sick and the weak. Those whose
minds are too fragile and twisted to become a valuable member of
society.”
“So what, now that we can see them, we just kill them all?” Steph
protested again.
“And strengthen the herd.” I answered. “It is necessary
barbarism, without it, we will see the likes of Nero, Ivan the Terrible
and even Hitler rise again.” Slowly I gazed over everyone.
Sweet
flowers are slow and weeds make haste
.”
“Shakespeare.” Garrison noted.
“Not a bookworm?” I questioned, and he just answered with a
smirk.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Stetson spoke up.
“It means that for mankind to become more, we must first weed
out the ravages of the squalid.” Steph interjected.
“Egghead gibberish.” He stammered.
I threw Steph a quick wink, which she responded with a shy grin,
everything was now clear for her.
“So,” I turned back to Mills, “Why did he call himself The Hawk?”
“It was his name.” He answered. “Gene R Hawk, we found some
old paperwork inside his home before we left. Apparently, back in
the day, he was some sort of computer geek. He still held onto a
collection of old computer monitors, the screens painted blue,
except for white print, dates along with random names on each. One
of them even read Sandra Hawk” He smirked.
“The blue screen of death.” I added.
“Cathartic, wouldn’t you agree?”
We said no more, instead Mill’s threw a few more logs onto the
fire before taking his position as lookout, and the rest of us settled
down for the night. But none of us really slept, the sounds of the
forest at night only awakened fear in us. Raiders, Necrotics and even
the possibility of Prowlers could be lurking in the darkness. That
sleepless night would only make way for a long and grueling
journey to follow.

Dawn, a dense and humid fog blanketed the forest landscape, as
an eerie silence pulls at the strings of our fears. With each step we
pushed forward, up and over the empty ski-trails of Moose Back
Mountain and downward, towards Rangeley. Two grunts in the
front, two in the back, with Steph and me at the center. We crossed
many brooks, traversed steep slopes, and navigated treacherous
ledges, and it felt as if we have been at it for days. In an attempt to
hasten our mission, I propositioned Garrison to forgo Rangeley and
push for our objective. My suggestion was met with harsh criticism
and detailed rebuttals, all of which proves that my status was mere
patriotism, and not true authority. Not anymore.

The fog lifted by midday, and the hot early summer sun bared
down on all of us. I myself was soaked in profuse sweat, but the
soldiers showed no sign of exertion or fatigue, even under all their
gear and constrictive clothing. True men of strength, men of honor,
and it is their patriotism towards humanity that protects us. If only
everyone had their fortitude. In time though, with the current
Evolutionary Cleansing, all may obtain it.

“Let’s hold up here for
a while.” Garrison suggested just as we
crossed another cold and rocky brook. Steph and I instantly dropped
to the forest floor, worn and exhausted. But still, the soldiers showed
no fatigue, and instead broke out their MRE’s and began to feast on
the nitrate infused bounty.

“Are you okay, Mr. President?” Steph asked as I struggled to
catch my breath.
“Please,” I huffed, “Patrick.”
“I’m sorry, Patrick.”
“I’m fine. I’m just not use to hiking, my muscles are weak, perks
of being labrat for so many years.” I answered.
“You might qualify for workman’s comp benefits.” Garrison
chuckled.
“Does this mission provide hazard pay?” I jested back.
Before he responded he stood from his crouch position, dropping
his foil-sealed food pack and readied his weapon. His left hand shot
up into the air, signaling everyone to be quiet, and aside from our
breathing, silence descended once again upon the forest. There
wasn’t the slightest peep of a bird, nor the rapid chitter of a
chipmunk. There was nothing to justify his concern, and yet his
concern was justified.
My heavy panting ceased as I too scoured the landscape with my
eyes, trying to pick out anything that was not brown or green, but
the natural camouflage was all to effective. I could hear the rush of
a waterfall not far off, but it too was obscured within the dense
weald. Steph’s heart pounded in anticipation as she inched closer to
my side, seeking comfort and protection. I wish I had both to offer,
but I was just as scared and uneasy as she was, and with a trembling
hand I reached around and held her close.
Eventually the silence broke, a mysterious and hair raising click.
At first I thought it may be a woodpecker hammering away upon a
dead log, but this was too sporadic yet oddly methodical. Three rapid
ticks off in the distance towards the south, then five ticks with a
slight pause between each from the north. Soon more sources
reached our ears, two towards the east and one more to the west. The
ticks repeated several times, jumping from one direction to the next,
becoming increasingly louder with each interval.
The other soldiers armed themselves and created a sort of
phalanx around Steph and me, guarding us from all sides. None of
us knew what this was, but my first assumption was a strategic raider
attack. It is not uncommon for hunters to use random natural sounds
to communicate with each other, and this feeling of prey vs. predator
haunted us as we waited.
As fast as they came, the disconcerting ticks ceased, and once
again all was silent. None of us moved, none of us dared to breath.
The silence invoked more fear then that abnormal sound, that abrupt
end to the noise could only precede the attack - The calm before the
storm. The soldiers understood this and they readied their weapons,
scanning the forest intently for a target. Then, out of the emptiness
came a loud and high-pitch shriek, and just as I had predicted the
attack commenced. A dark figure dropped from a large oak above
us, like a ghost, only the blurring trail of its silhouette.
Mills’s weapon was flung from his iron grip, as a shadow figure
forcefully grasped hold of the bewildered soldier’s neck, and in an
instant leaped back into the dense forest, carrying the Chief like a
tattered rag doll. They were out of sight, shrouded by thickets,
before anyone could respond. But respond they did, with random
and viscous gunfire as the squad unleashed their wrath in all
directions. Steph and I covered our ears and kept our heads down as
blast after blast rocked the mountainsides, and it was at that moment
that I knew we had been discovered. Not by raiders, not by the dead.
But something… else.
Another shadowy figure emerged from the alders in a hazy flash,
knocking away both Stetson and Garrison’s weapons before
disappearing back into the overgrowth. Before the men could
retrieve them, another figuredashed by, knocking Tellar’s gunaway
and with precision, shredded his throat with a swift and lethal bite.
Warm thick blood spurted about, a crimson mist kissing our faces
like an unforeseen summer drizzle. Garrison turned to assist his
comrade, but it was too late, Tellar was gone and four lightless forms
emerged before us.
It was as if the sun faded just for them, or more scientifically,
they absorbed the rays like a sponge, giving them the complete
essence of a shadow. They were however, physical forms, and as
our eyes focused on their supernatural features it was apparent that
these were remnants of the Infected. Contagious creatures, their
former human selves unrecognizable aside from their bipedal
stature. Disease saturated blackened scar tissue, and dark bottomless
voids for eyes.
Their composure, however, was unlike anything we had seen
before. They stood, lanky and inquisitive, cocking their heads as
they sized us up. And then the clicks, ticks and clucks, primitive yet
all too identifiable forms of communication. They were speaking to
each other, unlikely in the extent that the living communicates, but
more of a savage and instinctual wolf pack. As with many times over
the years, Valkyrie was highly underestimated. Prowlers – I
believed, or more like wishfully thought, were less prevalent than
the all too common Necrotics. I was misled, and this confirmation
of their borderless reign only reassures that the scales have
ultimately tipped.
But why did they not pursue the attack?
We were unarmed and vulnerable, an easy target, an easy feast.
And as we watched each other, contemplating the next move, Tellar
rose to his feet, eyes cloudy and adrift, with a humid hiss escaping
his mouth. He was the personification we have all come to expect
from this infection, unlike that of the Prowlers before us. Why he
did not portray the same traits as them? Why the virus resigned to a
more limited form may never be known. Maybe it just took time for
full assimilation. If that was the case, how long before every
Necrotic transforms into this. I dismissed these questions, this was
no time for the scientific method - we had larger concerns before us.
Garrison did not hesitate to pull a knife from his belt and plunge
it deep into the skull of his once loyal soldier, sending him off to
become one with nature’s never-ending compost. What I assume
was the lead Prowler, the Alpha, shrieked in agitation by the assault
as the lieutenant turned towards it and lunged with fueled rage.
Garrison was met by a vicious and unexpected head-butt and he
tumbled back onto the ground as the other Prowler’s shrieked in
excitement.
The Alpha lurched forward, standing over the fallen soldier,
ready to feast. A thick and viscous drool seeped from its mouth as it
breathed heavily, and gracefully it crouched down towards the
helpless man. For a moment, our mission appeared to be at an end,
we were weaponless and cornered, and there was no hope. But, like
the calling of our guardian angel, an acute whistle emerged from the
sundry canopy as a makeshift arrow plunged into the Alpha’s head
with a muddled thunk, and the beast toppled down atop of Garrison.
The other three released a blood curdling shrill, and just as they
positioned themselves for a massacre, a trio of arrows whistled
through the dense forest, one imbedding into each of the brittle
skulls as their lifeless corpses crashed to the ground.
“You no move!” A young voice called out from the bushes.
Garrison maneuvered out from under the lifeless assailant as
Steph and I slowly rose to our feet, hands above our heads like
lawless hoodlums at the tail end of a shenanigan filled night. The
men, or shall I say boys, stepped out from the bush with crude
crossbows loaded and in hand. The oldest two were maybe fifteen
or sixteen years of age, and the youngest a mere eight, if that. And
yet the features upon each of their faces told a tale that is both aged
and full of strife.
“You enter our homeland in error, why you come?” The tallest
of the three barked, his long blond hair slicked back from its own,
unwashed greasiness.
“We are a security force with the GFS,” Garrison called back,
“We are on an important mission...”
“You have no mission here, Urich shall punish for your trespass.”
Another hooted.
“You are confused, boy,” Garrison scorned, “This is the New
England Territory, under the authority of the GFS and administered
by President Anthony Mason!”
“Maybe this is not a good time for border ratification.” I
whispered over to the Lieutenant.
“You go before Urich, you be judged.” The blond spoke loudly.
Garrison shot me an annoyed glare while whispering, “Urich?”
“My name is Patrick, what is yours?” I gently asked the boy in
charge, ignoring the lieutenant’s question.
“Eeamon, you walk now!” He cried back at me.
“Eeamon, it is imperative…” I was cutoff, met by the stone blade
of an arrow directed at my head.
The youngest of the three immediately moved off into the forest
as the other two secured the soldiers weapons and herded us along.
We had no choice, at least at the moment, to follow their orders. It
seemed unconventional at best to not argue our way out of this, but
for the security of the mission, we had to be diplomatic. Especially
with a socially detached group like this. I hope that this, Urich, is
more mature, and willing to reason.
“Why do they speak like that?” Steph whispered to me as we
hiked further down the mountain.
“They are Children of The Fall.” I answered. “They’ve never
known the old world, have had little education, no civilized
guidance.”
“Which means they have had no parental discipline either.”
Stetson mention.
“Yes, we will need to play this carefully. Hopefully this Urich is
more level-headed.” I said.
“NO TALK, WALK!” The blond cried out again.
Silently we trekked forward, leaving the slopes of the mountain
as we pushed towards the quiet town of Rangeley. The sun was
slowly fading into the horizon behind us as dank cold air pushed
down upon us. In the distance we could see random shimmers of
light between the trees and the echo of a chilling chant drifted
aimlessly through the forest canopy.
“Bye Bye sunlight, go away evil night!”
Over and over the crowd jeered, and slowly our guards too began
to chime in. The forest rang loud with the infantile rhyme as what
sounded like thousands followed the chorus. But as we broke
through the trees we found the once bustling ski town had been
encompassed with impaled Necrotic’s, torches adorned every
building, and the streets were filled with childhood toys. The crowd
beyond was far smaller than the deception in their voices, no more
than thirty or fifty for sure.
Gradually the chants faded with a last glimpse of light as the sun
completely disappeared behind Rangeley Lake to the west, and we
entered Main Street to meet a rowdy and unfledged bunch. It was a
village of children, most in their late teens, maybe even their early
twenties. But more concerning were the youngest of them, from
babies to preteens, with no true adults in sight. The construct of the
community sent shivers down my spine, and once again I hoped that
somewhere, in one of these buildings, and adult with control over
them awaited our introductions.
There was no welcoming ceremony, no cheers of joy, no confetti
in the streets. We were escorted directly into the basement an old
Pub and Grill, arrogantly locked away for the night. Garrison
immediately spent his time attempting to break free from our iron
cell, and old walk-in cooler, which led to only anger and frustration.
Steph and I settled down upon the cracked and stained floor,
accepting the obvious, and trying to save our strength. Soon, the two
soldiers followed our lead, and gave up on their rage driven futile
efforts.
“This is a first.” Garrison finally spoke up after an hour of
moping.
“At least by kids, anyway.” Stetson responded. “What is this
anyway? A sick cult?”
“Hardly.” I answered. “It’s apparent they are the remnants of the
former residents of this town.”
“How have they lasted so long on their own?” Garrison asked.
“Theyhave no walls, they have no silences discipline, and theylight
up the streets like an all you can eat buffet.”
“It’s their outer walls that keep them safe.” Steph mentioned.
“There were no walls.” Stetson stammered.
“But there was, we walked through them.” Iadded. “The impaled
bodies of the Infected. Necrotic repellent if you will.”
“You’re saying they are scared of their own dead?” Garrison
asked.
“Not at all.”
“It’s a cover scent.” Steph added. “Camouflage.”
“I though they hunted by sound?” Stetson asked.
“A hunter does not rely on one sense.” I added. “If that were the
case, any little noise would draw them. When they decide to come
in for the kill, it’s all about scent.”
“Decide?” Stetson barked. “Listen to yourself! They’re mindless
monsters, they don’t think, and they do not make decisions!”
“And what about the Prowler’s?” I asked. “They had thought,
they were decisive, they knew of self-preservation. That is why they
disarmed you first.”
“We might have rushed this mission.” Garrison spoke up. “We
should have brought more men.”
“I fear numbers would not have mattered much. We are alive
only because they were curious, they hesitated, which gave time for
our captors to sneak in and investigate the commotion.”
“There were a lot more of them than what we saw. Why didn’t
they attack?They were all around us, I could hear them talking…
Talking, for Christ sake!” Garrison roared.
“I assure you, it was just the four of them.” I answered him back.
“Ever hear of the Ghost Army?” I asked.
“World War Two?” Garrison questioned.
“Yes, among other tactics, U.S. Forces used Sonic Deception to
create the illusion that a unit of two hundred soldiers appeared to be
more like five thousand. It seems that Prowler’s have adapted a
similar tactic.”
“Well that’s just fucking great!” Stetson protested. “So what do
we do now?”
“We wait.” I answered. “And hope diplomacy will get us
through.”
“And if it does?” Stetson asked. “We are down four men, which
means the two of us now have to drag the silent princess and her
fucking grandpa across this cursed landscape in hopes of finding
something that most likely never existed!”
“Enough!” Barked Garrison. “You forget your place, private!”
“What are you going to do? Court Marshal me?” Stetson’s panic
increased. “Go for it!” Garrison rose from the floor and leaned
towards his subordinate, eyes burning into his.