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

  “I don’t know. The reporter in me I guess. Head full of facts.”

  She sighed and said, “I’m going to go nuts in here. Ever since that cage in Maine and then that fucking shed on that island, being stuck in a room, much less cuffed to a wall, makes me a little nuts.”

  “You’ve always been a little nuts.”

  “Fuck you very much.”

  “Hey, potty mouth, trying to lighten the mood here.”

  She sighed. “Sorry. I really do have a potty mouth.”

  “One of your charming attributes. Wanna play 21 questions again?”

  “Might as well.”

  Lieutenant Silver stepped into the basement observation room in a hurry and pulled up short at the sight of the monitor displaying the cell with the father and his little boy together.

  “What is it, Lieutenant?” asked Olsen.”

  She glanced at Councilman Pelham and saw the same concern etched into the man’s face — a moment of agreement between them — This situation is getting ugly. She shook it off and looked at her commander’s profile, the man basically ignoring her. Pointing vaguely west, she said, “Sir. Singletary, sir. Says Fiends over there across the water. Killed three, it did. Singletary did.”

  This got the Colonel’s full attention. He spun and locked onto her eyes. “Say again?”

  She sputtered, “Singletary reports infected activity on the far shore, sir. Killed three he did, sir.”

  “Impossible.”

  Dr. Harrison chimed in, “There hasn’t been a Cain’s victim walking around for a decade. Starved out they are.”

  Dietrich said, “Is it possible they’re part of your madness up North?”

  Olsen scowled. “Not bloody likely. And how would they already be down here?”

  The lieutenant touched her hand to the mic in her ear. “Go for Silver.” She paused and listened. Her face grew slightly pale. “Roger. Standby, Corporal.” She looked again at Olsen, her gaze resting on his lips rather than the raptor-like bullets that were his eyes. “Singletary can’t raise the sentinel escort.”

  Littlefield marveled at the stamina of the girl. Then again, she had walked up through Central America and across the United States. As they slowly approached it, the thin strip of land that blocked the night sky with total blackness was growing larger on the horizon, but not fast enough. His thirst was causing him to cough with the growing dryness that was overtaking his throat, and he could sense that he was becoming mentally tired and disoriented. They were getting so close, yet his exhaustion had him ready to give up. Like spurring a horse, Marlena offered sharp elbow jabs to his ribs to keep him focused. “Casi alli, señor,” she kept saying. Almost there.

  When they finally drifted onto a rocky scrub-laced shore, he let the oar drop from his stiff painful grip, the tool sliding out of the lock and into the water. With a deep ache throughout his entire being, he let Marlena take his hand and pull him up out of the seat, the two of them stepping onto land, free for the first time in years. Both had simply lost track.

  “The land smells different over here,” said Littlefield more to himself than to the girl.

  She noted his breathing in the air and breathed in herself. “Granja.”

  “Huh?”

  “Food.” She pointed ahead. “Make food.”

  “Yes. You’re right. That would mean there’s people over here.”

  They had known for some time that the Chosen were marching with a purpose. The shared mental ether that was spending time with the creatures left little to the unknown. Supposedly, free humans still populated Eastern North America — and other parts of the planet as well. The mission was clear enough; kill all of humanity. Littlefield looked back across the big water that they had crossed. The Chesapeake was big, but if he and a girl could make it, so would the Chosen.

  Safe for the moment, Littlefield tried his butchered Spanish. “Agua. Necesiddad contrar aqua.”

  The girl sniffed the air again and nodded. “Yo creo… Por Aqui, yo pienso.”

  Littlefield let her lead. God knew he didn’t know how to divine water. The girl’s instincts had served her well so far.

  It wasn’t long before they heard running water, Marlena having found a small brook emptying into the big bay. They carefully drank their fill, taking their time and listening to the surroundings. Like most of the American landscape, the local countryside was a combination of new life growing among a tangle of old death. The forests, glens, fields, and glades, that had succumbed to the near planet-wide nuclear winter, were all coming back in their own way.

  Not seeing any roads, they chose to follow the brook in the hopes that it drained from wherever the smell of cooking was coming from. Despite his caution — trying not to drink too much — Littlefield felt the water sloshing about in his gut as he walked. The dull ache of it mocked his self-control.

  Crickets serenaded them as they progressed. Littlefield said, “Feels good, that sound. Different over here. Sound of safety, I guess.”

  The girl was used to him now, babbling on about things that she couldn’t understand — his unwillingness or perhaps laziness in trying to speak in a way that included her. She forged ahead, wanting to put as much space as possible between her and the monsters behind.

  As Olsen, Pelham and Lieutenant Silver stepped back into the sentinel trailer, Singletary glanced back nervously — a harsh green night-vision image of a dark, dense wood, mixed with spaces of glowing sky. “No other infected so far, sir. Thinking, I am, that the brightness ahead is from the fire. Trouble is, sir, the sentinel is at the edge of operational range. Almost over the horizon from the nearest tower it is, sir.”

  Olsen put a heavy hand on the operator’s shoulder while staring hard at the monitor. “You’re certain it was infected, Lieutenant?”

  “Quite certain, sir. No person would act in such a way. Not unless mad. Forced to kill them, I was, sir.”

  The colonel patted the soldier. “Of course, lad. Of course. Do we have sound?”

  “Yes, sir. Turned it down as you were entering.” The corporal turned the volume knob back up. A gust of wind rustled through the trees. Branches shivered in unison on the monitor. A mad cackle echoed through the wood and was followed by an answering yip on the opposite side of the stereo speakers.

  Olsen frowned. “Know that sound anywhere. Sound of nightmares that is. How is it that there’re infected over there?”

  A figure stepped onto the road 80 feet ahead and stopped, cocking its head at the sentinel. It had the peculiar lope of the children of the infected. The demonic shape of the head made it clear what it was.

  Dietrich swallowed hard. “Haven’t seen one walking.”

  “Chilling, isn’t it?” said Olsen with a hint of reverence.

  The image suddenly jerked and the video frame rate skipped, stabilized, jerked again. Singletary maneuvered his hands inside the gloves and the view swung right and caught sight of a big rock coming at it before the image shook again. A sound like heavy hail started drumming on what had to be the sentinel itself. Singletary deployed the auto shotgun and swiveled the torso 360 degrees. The blur of rocks flying at the machine was mixed with dozens of heat signals. A warning light and a repeating buzzer started blaring — Damage Sustained.

  Olsen barked, “Shoot something, man!”

  The night vision image grew white hot as the Acheson blazed fire into the woods, but the rock hits kept coming. With a jerk, the view suddenly tilted 90° and the ground slammed into the image on the left side.

  Singletary said, “Retreat I must, sir. Lost a leg I have.”

  “Well do it!”

  The image lurched awkwardly upright again as an assortment of naked human feet came into view. A madman’s face filled the screen with a drooling-spit-riddled-yell. It was followed by more Fiends, piling onto the drone.

  Singletary threw his arms wide and spun his hands back and forth. The people huddled around him stepped back to get out of the way. The image corresponded with a spin
ning action while the shotgun blazed. A Low Ammo button flashed on the screen as Singletary got a fist around the neck of one monster and smashed its head into that of another. The machine started limping in reverse, the corporal heaving Fiends from the drone’s body and smashing them onto the road.

  AMMO OUT

  Clear of assailants, the machine moved away from the mob with an awkward gait that jerked the image on the screen. As it got some distance on the things, Singletary spun the view away from the attackers and down the road it had come.

  Dietrich said, “Jesus Christ! Have we had activity like that before?”

  Silver said, “Negative, Councilman. Just the occasional sighting. Demon children only.”

  Olsen patted Singletary’s shoulder again. “Nice work, son. Got out of quite a spot, you did. A medal coming your way.” Then to the rest of the room, “I’m ordering up a flight out of Dover. Need to get a better sense, we do, of what we’re dealing with.”

  Hansel woke with deep pain racking his back and legs, his feet numb. He had been left strapped in the same seated position, his long feet tied under his buttocks for an unknown number of hours. Without his sister nearby and in sight of him, he couldn’t count on her for pain relief, but that didn’t keep them from communicating.

  You there? You there? He sensed the feeling of waking from deep slumber then —

  Where have you been? I’m very angry with you. I’ve been calling and calling.

  I think I passed out from the pain.

  She paused. So you are still tied in that room?

  Yes

  I’m in a cell. No light. Pitch black.

  I can sense that.

  I’m am unhurt.

  I can sense that too.

  You are alone?

  There is light from some machines, but I am alone, yes.

  Have you felt the others? The Five?

  I did. Do.

  They are coming.

  Yes.

  They are scaring me.

  Yes. Their hunger and anger is so strong.

  Do we tell the humans? The ones who keep us like this?

  Like The Five do, I wish to kill and eat the ones who keep us like this… but yes. If we don’t, Mother will die, and Billy, and Stewart Dean.

  Doctors Mitchell and Harrison stood quietly in the observation room and watched 2 monitors displaying the brain activity of both of the demons.

  Mitchell said, “A clear pattern of communication. The creatures don’t even need to be in the same room. Extraordinary.”

  Harrison pointed at the scan history saying, “I see a clear correlation here for their communication. The female, however… What do you suppose this is? It doesn’t track with just wakeful thought. There’s something else going on.”

  “Agreed. Since waking, the male is exhibiting the same pattern. Three regions of the brain, each working separately and together. The communication between the two is clear.” Mitchell pointed at the monitor. “I’m guessing inner thoughts in this region; seems on its own, no? But this other…”

  Harrison gently rubbed his palms together. “Might be time to crack one of them open. At least install some probes. Frankly, I can’t wait to get my hands on this organ.”

  Mitchell nodded and took a drink of water from a sports bottle. “The female has been under less duress, and with her brother incapacitated she remains cooperative. I suggest we start with her. We’ll need to do it in stages, and we’ll of course want her awake when we remove the skull cap.” It occurred to the doctor that they had fallen out of the cadence of the Shoremen. With a bit of pride in his adopted new nation, he reverted to norm. “Probe her living brain, we will, and save the male for the MRI up north.”

  “Stupid, that we couldn’t transport it down here. Perhaps Olsen might agree now?”

  “Ask, we can. Prep the operating room in the morning.”

  “Agreed,” said Harrison. “And what of the claim that the woman has come up with a cure for FNDz. The supposedly immune ones in the barn?”

  “One thing at a time, doctor. Plenty of time there is to study that as well.”

  “Indeed. Perhaps enjoy we should, that bottle of cognac you hinted at.”

  “Did I say cognac?”

  “Hinted at.”

  “Then cognac it is.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Just Across the Water

  As he helped Councilman Pelham undress for the night, Mason could sense the deep concern in his boss’ demeanor. He had witnessed him turning down a nightcap with the two scientists; an extremely unlikely event.

  “Is everything all right, sir?”

  Dietrich allowed his sleeves to be pulled from his arms. “You’ve checked the horses?”

  “Fed and bedded down, they are.”

  “Healthy? No lameness?”

  “They are well. May I ask after your concern?”

  “I saw some crazy stuff on the far shore. Olsen’s calling up a flier for first light.”

  “Crazy stuff, sir?”

  “Fiends. Living Fiends, Mason. And more.”

  The warmth fell away from Mason’s face. “Infected persons?”

  “Lots of them.”

  Mason looked in the direction of the East while losing his grip on the shirt. Dietrich turned to his servant and offered what he hoped was a confident smile. “Lot of water between here and there, Walter.”

  “Yes, sir. Just a surprise after all these long years.”

  “Very much so.”

  “Do we know how?”

  “No. Hopefully the flier will tell us more.” He paused, “If we get it.”

  “Sir?”

  In uncharacteristic fashion, Dietrich let his upper class guard down and spoke to his servant as an equal. “Olsen insisted I leave the trailer when he was talking to Councilman Quale. I heard some of it before Olsen shut the door. I’m a councilman as well, Walter.” Dietrich let that lie, then said absently, “Fools will get us all killed.”

  Mason had bent to collect the shirt and paused as he put it on a hanger. “I’m afraid… lost me you have, sir.”

  Pelham removed his watch from his wrist and set it on a bureau. “Something about things not going as planned up north. I think they lied to us, Walter.”

  “Lied to us, Councilman?”

  “Started a war, they did. The US isn’t as lame as they said, and I guarantee it’s coming home to roost.” He pointed east. “And now we need a flier to see what’s coming from over there.”

  Mason noted his fingers trembling as he stepped back from the closet. He wiped his hands nervously down his hips. “Infected. Thought we were done with that.”

  It was past midnight and Olsen remained alone in the sentinel trailer with Singletary. A constant but cautious movement of the Fiend’s heat signals were keeping a distant pace with the limping drone — never close enough to engage, but always in sight. The action showed a certain level of self-preservation. It wasn’t unheard of, but was uncommon in Fiend behavior.

  They were interrupted by Silver calling in over the radio. Olsen answered, “Go for Olsen.”

  “Private Frankel is back, sir. Wandered in from the woods. Walked past him several times the search party did. Choked him out, Captain Dean did. A bit beat up he is, but still able bodied, sir. Over.”

  Olsen said, “Good to know, Lieutenant. Bit busy now. Over and out.” He left it at that and stared harder at the screen in front of him.

  As it entered the town and worked its way down to the docks, the sentinel directly encountered only one Fiend, its face and chest covered with gore. The thing unthinkingly launched itself at the drone with a laughing scream. Singletary quickly dispatched it, smashing its skull with a single swipe of the arm.

  When it reached the escort boat, the sentinel’s cameras showed Olsen and Singletary more than they wanted to know about their fellow Shoremen. Despite horrific wounds and a near total lack of facial tissue, the two men were still alive. Blind, they couldn’t see the sentinel, but t
hey heard its approach and pathetically reached out for help.

  It took everything Singletary had not to vomit. He didn’t need an order from Olsen. Even if they somehow survived the mauling, they would be full blown Fiends by dawn. The sentinel was out of ammo. Singletary whispered toward the monitor, “I’m so sorry.” He caused the sentinel to reach out to one of the escorts — it was impossible to tell which one — and crush the man’s skull. He did the same with the other; neither man offering a shred of resistance. The corporal gently laid the bodies out on the bottom of the boat.

  After catching his breath, Olsen said, “Understand I do, that the sentinel can’t place its weight in the back of this boat to operate the engine. Can it row?”

  “Perhaps, sir. One of our drone boats, it’s not, sir. But…” The corporal held up his haptic feedback gloves. “I can try to cause it to have a rowing action. At least, the operation seems easy enough, sir.”

  The image on the screen bobbed up and down and Singletary swiveled the view to scan the docks. Hundreds of heat signatures were stepping out of the town and across the docks. What the Shoremen referred to as Demons, could be clearly seen walking among the insane movement of Fiends.

  Olsen said, “Quick about it then.”

  “Yes, sir.” Singletary scanned the boat for the back-up oars that were stowed on hooks along the sides.

  “Untie the dock lines!”

  The adjacent dock began to bob. Singletary caused the drone to look back at the docks. A mass of half naked humans was charging right at it. The machine had nowhere left to retreat to. Singletary tried to brace the still working legs, but the Fiends crashed into the sentinel with a violent impact. One moment, the view was of the charge, the next, it was tilting toward the sky, the vicious face of a madwoman biting at the lens. Singletary almost lost his balance in his chair as the view continued to tilt backward and then shifted to an immersion in black water. The screaming rage of the infected was suddenly drowned out by the plunge and the bubbling gurgle of water. In another moment the screen went black; silvery rising bubbles offering the only evidence for what had happened. The feed died.