A House Divided: Book 3 of The Of Sudden Origin Saga Read online

  As Patch Of Blue climbed the tree, Full Face let her gaze break away from the giant spiders. The big male Chosen had painful looking lesions around his lips and she let herself feel his pain for just a moment. It was sharp and itchy and had none of the pleasures of the still throbbing spider bite on her tongue. All of the Watchers had these lesions, some even sprouting on the neck and shoulders. Full Face wondered if she would get them too.

  When the giant spiders were almost out of sight, the two Chosen climbed down from the tree and followed. The other Watchers followed as well, staying separate — a second team of three insuring that the spiders didn’t get out of sight.

  By the time the hazy blazing sky light moved the faint shadows to the length of half a Chosen, the Watchers knew where the spiders were going. It was a huge expanse of vast shelters that were full of strong odors and air that made the eyes sting. It was the good kind of sting though, the kind that brought on the pleasure of the salty drops of water pouring down their cheeks.

  They waited for a while, then followed the spiders inside, careful not to be spotted.

  The giant spiders had upper bodies on them that were shaped like the Fresh Ones with arms and hands that worked like the Chosen’s. The creatures moved huge stacks of boxes wrapped in a shiny stretchy material and were carefully examining the contents of the boxes. One was stacking some of the boxes in its basket while the other moved on to another stack. Some of the stacks were shredded apart, with their contents scattered around the big room. Extra One shared a memory with Full Face so she could see when the mess was created. In the memory, The flame and metal device was blaring away from under a giant spider’s arm. Extra One ducked behind a palleted stack as the one next to it was blown to pieces. Full Face felt adrenaline rush through her body as she relived the experience as though it was her own. In the memory, the sound inside the building was deafening as the flame and metal came out. The boxes exploded, sending great gouts of dust into the air, creating an almost instant fog. Breathing became hard and Extra One laughed as she spotted Teeth Broken On Bones laughing and coughing as he scrambled to get out of the path of more flying metal.

  As Full Face snapped out of Extra One’s memory, she found herself face to face with one of the spiders as it stepped around a corner. The huge black creature didn’t hesitate as the gun deployed from its side. Teeth Broken on Bones had watched the spider move while Full Face stood rigid, distracted by Extra One’s memory. He had waited until the last second to leap and push her aside. The spider blazed away, tearing up the concrete behind where she had just stood. The two Chosen scrambled around another stack with the heavily laden spider right behind. The big insect clicked and scraped on the concrete floor as it came around the corner, legs scrambling for better footing. Its Acheson auto-shotgun blazed apart crates and boxes, sending more chemicals into the air.

  Back on The Shore, Sergeant Greg Smith sat in an air conditioned Drone Operations trailer with a heads-up display firmly strapped to his face. He glanced at the avatar icon for his fellow driver, 2nd Lieutenant Terry Singletary, who calmly said, “A game to these fuckers. Look at ‘em laugh.” Singletary was struggling with his leg controls as his sentinel scrambled on the slick floor. Something about the chemical powders was making the concrete even more slippery. He flicked the switch to spread the spider leg points into miniature tripods and the machine gained some traction. He looked at the icon for Smith and said, “An earful we’ll get, Sarge if the LT sees the playback on this and we’re blowing away perfectly good stock.”

  “Just as high on the priority list killing demons is.”

  “You say so.” Singletary got his drone’s footing settled. The rear motion sensor gave him a target and he spun the torso on the sentinel and pulled the trigger.

  Behind the spider, Smoke In The Air stood on a pallet of bright blue barrels. He laughed with glee along with his fellow Watchers. As the human shaped top of the beast spun toward him, he leapt into the air. The first rounds sheared off the tops of the drums sending blue-green liquid up in a geyser. Smoke In The Air came back down as the spider continued to shoot. His hock-kneed legs splashed into the open barrels which then tumbled as the explosive rounds kept pulverizing the whole pallet. Crashing to the floor in a splash of toxic chemicals, Smoke In The Air moved to push himself off the slippery floor, only to discover the stump of his left hand sliding on the wet concrete. A round of flying metal had sheared it clean off. The rest of the Chosen registered his sudden shock, but felt no pain as his scrambled nerve-endings fought to register the catastrophic wound. As one, the Chosen stopped laughing. Patch Of Blue sent a mental signal for them all to get out, and Full Face felt her heart rate leap from its already pounding pace.

  Smoke In The Air could hear the spider coming for him as he slipped and struggled to get his footing. The giant thing stepped around the wall of pallets and aimed. Before it could finish the execution, Patch Of Blue pushed a stack of barrels down on it, bending one of its spidery legs into uselessness.

  Full Face ran behind Teeth Broken On Bones as fast as she could and out through the door. They all ran until they were well into the tree line. When they stopped, Smoke In The Air held out his severed arm and willed the bleeding to stop. The pumping blood reduced to a trickle and the big Chosen sat down with relief, sucking air in between his shark-like teeth.

  Hands on knees, catching his breath, Patch Of Blue started laughing. His laugh grew loud and the other veteran Chosen joined in. Full Face felt it — the thrill of being alive. A giggle burbled up in her throat as well, and soon she was laughing harder than the rest, falling to the ground in fits and giggles. Patch Of Blue found this deeply amusing and something in his chest felt warm, but also constricted as he observed Full Face’s pleasure. For the sake of teamwork, he had hidden his attraction to Full Face from the shared thoughts of the others. In a moment of weakness, he allowed himself to become awash in the funny feeling in his chest and he let it slip out. The reaction from the others was sudden and the laughter quickly stopped. By unspoken agreement, the complicated emotions of attraction and hatred were kept back from the shared mind. Long experience of those who Watched said that these emotions created dangerous conditions. Distraction got Chosen killed. Never mind that they were playing dangerous games.

  With remarkable swiftness, Extra One slapped Patch Of Blue repeatedly in the face and forced her rarely used vocal cords to be heard. “No! Bad! No!”

  Patch Of Blue accepted the beating without defending himself, fully admitting to everyone the deep breach of protocol. It didn’t keep him from seeking out Full Faces’ eyes in his peripheral vision. Full Face gazed back in stunned silence. She was astonished at his ability to keep his feelings to himself. She felt a rush of warm excitement that was much more intense than any pleasure she got from lusting after Extra One. It took all her will to stifle her sudden happiness from the rest of the group.

  It was clear on Extra One’s face that she’d failed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Welcome to The Shore

  It was all they could do to stay warm together in the cockpit of the Hagel. A steady breeze from the northwest carved its way across the ship’s giant wing-like sails. The space protected the prisoners from the spray blasting across the bow, but did little to ward off the cold. With the sentinel standing silently over them, Dean, Eliza, Billy, Nikki and Jon, slept only with the aid of Hansel and Gretel. The humans agreed to let the pucks into their minds, the children offering a certain amount of pain relief and reduction in anxiety. When the humans were awake, the pucks slept, their big bodies seemingly better adapted to the extremes. The nights were the worst. Holes in the cloud-patched sky offered spectacular glimpses of the breadth and depth of the Milky Way, but the distant firelight also mocked in its coldness. The food that was sent up was warm and they ate it quickly before the wind could blow all the steam away.

  Dean noted that the route took them on a long sail away from the mainland before the boat turned back west. He
assumed that it was meant to steer clear of any US coastal patrols. On the second morning they saw land. The crew who were driving the Hagel from safety below, angled the sails for a barren lowland. When they were a mile off shore, they could make out movement at the edge of a beachhead. A single pier jutted out into the sea. More men wearing MOPP gear were milling about a couple of big military transports. There was another sentinel as well — with its auto-shotgun deployed.

  As they approached the dock, two men in protective gear came up from below decks to manage the docking lines. A third stepped warily into the cockpit and pointed for the prisoners to move forward, saying politely, “Get amidships now, so I can maneuver.” As the man took over the port wheel, the small band gathered their blankets around them and moved to the center of the yacht.

  Ragnar’s voice came from the sentinel. “Here is what is going to happen. Briefly dock we will, and quick like rabbits you will hop off. Acknowledge you understand.”

  “We got it,” said Dean.

  The sails automatically shifted into the wind and the vibration of a big engine starting, settled into their feet. In another minute the ship gently touched the pier. Without having to be told, Dean led his group off. The sentinel on the pier had its gun tracking the prisoners the whole way in.

  The moment the last foot stepped off, the Hagel reversed and pulled away. As it did so, the clouds in the sky to the west seemed to suddenly shift with movement. Vast flocks of birds appeared. So many as to almost become clouds themselves. Everyone’s attention was briefly captivated by it. It was an unusual sight; the shear number alone being extraordinary.

  Without saying a word, the four men in MOPP gear guided the captives to a heavy-duty tactical truck that trailered a camouflaged shipping container. They were marched up a ramp and followed by the sentinel inside. The Shoremen closed the doors with a heavy thunk — the sound of the latch ramming home. The spider-like drone fired up a built in floodlight, revealing the empty container was devoid of seating. When everyone got settled on the floor, the light went out. The silence was only broken by the sound of the truck starting up, followed by a faint whiff of french-fry-smelling bio-diesel.

  “If we can smell that, at least we know we won’t suffocate,” said Jon.

  “Not sure the fumes are our friend,” said Nikki.

  “True.”

  “Silence!” spoke a voice from the sentinel.

  “Makes me hungry,” said Nikki.

  The floodlight flashed back on and the sentinel aimed its gun at Nikki. “Say something else.”

  Nikki smiled. “Fuck off, cunt. You wouldn’t have kept us alive if you didn’t want to know more about us.” She glanced at Billy and his tender young ears and mouthed, sorry.

  There was a pause, as though the machine was thinking, then the light went off again. No one spoke during the rest of the ride. There wasn’t really anything worth saying.

  The tactical truck was designed for extremely rough terrain. The roads in the area must have been long neglected because the ride was brutal. The passengers bounced hard on the steel floor, shocking more than just kidneys. They could hear the big drone’s legs scraping and skittering to keep itself upright. After roughly two hours the truck slowed and stopped. The floodlight flashed on again, blinding them all.

  The voice spoke. “Stand you will, and prepare to depart.”

  The doors swung open, the bright outdoor light offering some relief versus the harsh spotlight. The armed men in MOPP gear dropped the ramp and the sentinel backed out. A hand gesture from one of the men prompted them to file out. They descended to an open field. A classic farmhouse, circa 1930’s, stood to their left. It had been recently painted — white with bright green shutters and dormer windows that spoke of children’s bunks and a sewing room beyond. A well maintained red barn completed the picture. The farm was big. Fallow fields indicated its abandoned use for agriculture. Other than a few outbuildings, the house was isolated. The neighbors, if there were any, were far away.

  The front door squeaked open and the screen door slammed shut behind Colonel Josh Olsen, who descended from the wraparound porch. The tall man was a tad portly. His neck had a chicken skin texture on the back, which, but for the weak summer sun, would normally be red. His Army uniform was crisp, with one shoulder sporting the single star flag of The Shore. Except for a stripe of green, the flag might as well have been stolen from Texas. The same flag flew from a pole at the head of the drive, which had no doubt held the Stars and Stripes aloft for decades before. Unlike his subordinates, Olsen was without any hazmat protection. The screen door opened again, revealing a spectacled man in his sixties, wearing a white lab coat. He was joined by a younger balding man, also spectacled, also in a lab coat. The three men took in their visitors, each man’s eyes lingering on the pucks with barely hidden awe.

  Olsen said, “Remarkable.” He nodded at the lab coats behind him. “Told these two I did, that your domesticated demons would know better than to try to enter our heads. Didn’t believe me.” Then as insurance, he nodded out toward the woods that made up the west side of the property. “Still, snipers pointing at you as we speak.”

  The captives simply stared back, waiting for more.

  “Colonel Olsen I am, a councilman of The Shore. Commander Ragnar passed along that you have an understanding of our nation. At a research facility you are, miles away from any population or resources. If you prove your claimed value to the nation of The Shore, rewarded you will be for your cooperation.” His posture relaxed and he took a few steps to his left. “To begin with, you have freedom of movement within one hundred yards of this house.” He casually let a hand fall to the holster on his hip. “The humans that is. Separated, your demons will be, and cared for in our facilities below ground.”

  Dean took a step toward the colonel. “No. That won’t be happening.”

  One of the guards pushed Dean back roughly.

  Eliza’s voice came out with a growl. “Hansel and Gretel are perfectly capable of being with any group of humans, and they’ve spent a long time in the company of Shoremen.”

  Dean held his hands up to ward off the guard but kept his focus on Olsen. “Your man Plimpton knew of them. They became good friends with another of your men, Tim Gallagher.”

  Olsen cocked an eyebrow. How in hell had these people met Plimpton and Gallagher? The men had left The Shore a year before never to return. Are these the people they were following? “Even more interesting, this gets.” He stared at Hansel and Gretel as if daring them to mess with him. He let the silence linger long enough for everyone to take note of the increasingly chilly breeze. He finally said, “Right. So what’s this about immunity from FNDz?”

  Dean asked, “Would it be possible, Colonel, for us to get out of the cold and to use the bathroom before we explain all of that?”

  They were seated comfortably in the living room. TV-painting-class landscapes hung on the walls. Overstuffed floral pattern furniture bearing anti-macasars stood in testament to the former occupants. Two soldiers still dressed in MOPP gear stood at the thresholds to the dining room and the front hall. Olsen and the men in white lab coats sat on gathered dining chairs on one side of the room while the captives were allowed to get comfortable on the plush stuff.

  The older lab coated fellow spoke. “Remarkable. You’re one in a million you say.”

  “I am,” said Nikki.

  He nodded toward Jon. “And with a blood transfusion you helped this man to be the same?”

  Jon said, “They could never replicate it in the lab.”

  The man clucked his tongue. “Know of only one case I do.” He glanced at Olsen, his disapproval of Pettybone being used in the US written across his features. Olsen scowled in response. The scientist turned back to the others. “My apologies. Haven’t properly been introduced. Mitchell. Doctor Oscar Mitchell. My colleague, Doctor Harrison.” He rested his eyes on Eliza. “But developed you have, this cure of a sorts up North.”

  Eliza said, “Not
exactly a cure so much as a vaccine that arrests the disease and leaves it in a state of hibernation. Captain Dean and myself are beneficiaries. We are not contagious and need not take any medication.”

  “And you can prove this how?”

  Eliza said, “We can’t. Not easily. A blood test won’t show the pathogen inside us. However,” she paused, remembering George’s fate, “there is evidence that the disease can be reanimated.”

  The doctor nodded as if he expected such an answer. “Such is hibernation. May I ask how?”

  Eliza cocked her head slightly. There was something about this man. “Oscar Mitchell. Why does that sound familiar?”

  Mitchell said, “Known I am by some, as a respected biologist.”

  She nodded, still trying to place him.

  He said, “You were saying? About reanimation?”

  She sighed. “It would seem that a bite from an infected person can cause the disease to once again become fully virulent.” She gently held her hand toward Hansel and Gretel. “And there’s another way. Others of their kind seem to be capable of reactivating it. The offspring of the infected are—“

  Dean interrupted her. “We don’t have any actual proof of how it can happen. Some of our people became re-infected while captive of the Chosen and one of our companions was bitten during our escape from Nantucket. He succumbed. And by the way, what the fuck did you do up there?”