Beyond Armageddon V: Fusion (12 page)

But JB did belong to her. She did not care what the doctors said. She did not understand the significance of JB’s body containing a massive amount of neurotransmitters—many of an unidentifiable configuration—nor did she care. She understood him to be special the way all mothers thought their child special.

The voice of the dangerous stranger who had invaded their home six years ago replayed in Ashley’s mind:
“You and Trevor here. You started this. You caused Armageddon.”

That cause, according to the man eventually revealed as Trevor’s half-brother, had been the conception of their son.

Regardless, the boy belonged to her. She had earned that ownership during years of care and comfort while JB’s father raced off fighting the war and even traveling to another dimension.

She would not sit idly by. She answered Jorgie before Trevor could say a word, “What are you doing up so early? Are you feeling okay?”

“I am afraid, Mommy.”

To his credit, JB found his mother’s eyes first. Something had happened last summer. Certainly the boy still admired his father’s leadership. He still re-enacted battles with toy soldiers. But JB had come to realize that his father did not truly love his mother. That ‘mommy’ lived all alone.

What a terrible revelation that must have been for the boy.

“What are you afraid of, sweetie?” Ashley glided to JB and knelt in front of him.

“I don’t know. Bad dreams. I think—I think I am afraid of Father. Of what he’s planning.”

Ashley whipped about and glared at Trevor who cocked his head to one side in an expression of curiosity like a dog hearing a new sound.

“What is it I’m planning, buddy?”

The boy struggled with something. His lips opened and closed, but he did not have an answer. “I don’t know.”

Trevor took a step closer to his son.

“I have to talk to you, Jorgie. There’s something I need to know.”

Ashley felt herself become a non-factor in the conversation, a position to which she had grown accustomed over the years. This was her life; a bit player on Trevor’s grand stage. She needed to deliver her lines to the public or press with aplomb, then stand aside and let the star work his show.

“Last year—when the bad guys had me—they brought you to that island, too.”

Jorgie closed his eyes and nodded.

“They tried to put you in the same machine I was in. But something happened.”

“Don’t Trevor. Don’t scare him. He doesn’t need to re-live that.”

He ignored her and pushed, “You did something. I’ve only heard about it second-hand, I never asked you directly. Not really. Not like I am now.”

“I don’t want to think about that,” Jorgie opened his eyes and insisted, but it did not sound as if he might be afraid. It sounded more like he felt it inappropriate to discuss.

“You have to, Jorgie. I must know. It’s important.”

Something did surface in the boy’s memories. He turned to his mother and said, “They were bad men, Mommy. The Missionary man said he went looking for you back when I was in your belly. Back when the war first started.”

This confused Ashley. She answered, “I don’t—I don’t remember anything like that.”

“You were gone,” Trevor reminded. “He must have went looking for you right away. Something saved you. Something took you away on the ark. When I got to your house there was nothing. But—but at my parent’s house,” Ashley saw Trevor’s mind return to the early days of the invasion. After a pause he continued, “There were a couple of Deadheads waiting for me. They killed my parents. If it hadn’t been for the dogs, I would’ve been killed. Deadheads come from Voggoth’s realm. That son of a bitch tried to take us out right off the bat. I’m guessing that was pretty much against the rules.”

“What do you mean—
rules?”

Trevor brushed her aside and spoke to JB, “But what happened then? What happened when they plugged you into the machine?”

His eyes gazed at something far away; perhaps the memories of that horrible day last summer.

He told his parents in an angry growl, “They weren’t supposed to do that. I don’t think Voggoth knew. I think he was angry with them for doing it.”

Ashley glanced at Trevor as if demanding an explanation. He offered none. She returned her attention to Jorgie and asked, “What do you mean by that? What happened while you were there, Jorgie?”

“They’re all dead,” JB said with a stiff lip.

“You killed them all?”

The son corrected his father, “I suppose so. But Father, they were dead
before
I got there. They are all empty. Everything about them is
empty.”

“And when they put you in the machine..?” Trevor led.

“I filled it,” JB said and Ashley saw a hint of anger; of revenge in the boy’s face. Her child had found satisfaction in whatever he had done to The Order.

“You filled it?” She asked. “What does that mean?”

Trevor answered in another riddle, “Life over death. Or—life conquered the emptiness.”

“Yes—yes that is it, Father. When I touched the machine of Voggoth I felt as if there was much more to me. I felt—I felt something powerful inside. I do not understand. But I found it easy to control his machine. It as was as lifeless as—as…” Jorgie held his stuffed animal aloft. “As lifeless as Bunny.” He quickly added, “But I love Bunny.”

Ashley felt a knot of in her stomach. It spun and turn and grew larger and larger with each passing second.

She told Trevor, “I don’t know what this has to do with anything. Jorgie is a special boy. We’ve known that for years. He’s been through enough already. Let him be.”

Trevor stood alongside his son and placed an arm on his shoulder.

“You are special, JB. And I love you.”

“I love you, too, Father.”

Something in the way Trevor stared at Jorgie made Ashley uneasy. She felt urged to speak. To defend.

“No, Trevor. Leave my son out of all this.”

“I can’t,” Trevor’s answer came fast and Ashley felt the entire house spin.

“You leave him alone!”

JB retreated into the darkness of the hallway.

“He may be the answer, Ashley. If he is why all this started, then maybe he is the key.”

Ashley stood nose to nose with Trevor and glared but despite the mask of defiance she felt a sense of inevitability creep into the fear. From the day Dr. Maple had told them about JB’s unique chemistry she feared this end. Perhaps that is why she had forbid any further tests.

“He is our son, Trevor. You will not put him in the middle of all this.”

Trevor took hold of Ashley’s shoulders.

“Ashley—he
is
the middle of all this.”

General Jon Brewer removed his cap and ran the sleeve of his uniform across his sweaty forehead.

I’m going to ring the neck of the guy who decided to make these uniforms black.

Admittedly the sweat dripping from his crew cut came as much from the task at hand as the warm May afternoon. Of course the overheated, cracked blacktop that comprised the Poplar Street Bridge reflected much of the mid-day sun giving the long deck girder span a frying pan feel.

The engineering company working the bridge coped by rolling up sleeves or simply removing their shirts. A few managed to sneak quick dips into the waters of the Mississippi.

Jon did not begrudge any of it. The men carried out a difficult task under a hot sun preparing last-ditch defenses while knowing Voggoth’s coming onslaught would probably be the end of the line for many of them.

General Brewer crossed the empty eight lanes of the roadway from the south side to the north railing and glanced over. Several soldiers worked on ropes to affix brackets where charges would eventually be placed. They also pre-wired the bridge so that, when the time came, detonation would be easy.

A Chinook dual-rotor helicopter flew overhead on its way east; somewhere below on one of the concrete supports an officer barked an order; far off to his right a crane lifted an artillery piece into position along the railroad tracks on the outskirts of East St. Louis. Yet it was another sound that grabbed the general’s attention. This sound came from the docks in front of the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial; a cozy park from which sprouted the trademark St. Louis arch. That icon still stood, but much of the foliage in the park had long ago burned to cinders.

The sound of laughter, chatter, and gentle music came from the decks of the red and white
Tom Sawyer
riverboat a couple of hundred feet north of his position. Jon squinted and saw a party there complete with fancy dress and champagne glasses. Nearly a dozen people enjoyed the afternoon while the soldiers toiled. A subtle smell of grilled meat carried in the air tempting his nose with a barbecue aroma.

Jon could have been angry at the partygoers, but as he watched he came to understand the nature of their celebration. He had seen similar parties in the last few months and, considering the mood permeating The Empire, he expected to see many more now that Voggoth raced across the Great Plains unchecked.

“Sir?”

The voice from pulled Jon’s attention away from the riverboat to a young officer with a freckled face wearing a uniform with a patch depicting a hand holding an axe. This symbol Jon recognized immediately as belonging to the 1
^st
Mechanized Division. As for the face, he recognized that immediately, too.

“Benny! Hey, welcome to St. Louis.”

“Yes sir,” Captain Benny Duda replied.

“Relax, Benny, it’s me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jon should have known better. Benny Duda had been no more than twelve when he had ridden north as Stonewall McAllister’s bugle boy (with a trumpet). He served by Stonewall’s side until the general’s death during the last days of the California War.

The sounds of celebration found their way to Benny’s ears. He looked around the general and shot a nasty look in that direction.

“A party?”

Jon distracted Benny with a question. “First Mech back in the line?”

“Not all the way yet. 4
^th
Brigade is unloading right now. 5
^th
brigade is, well, not much of a brigade anymore even with the new recruits. Captain Bass’ mobile artillery is trucking in and should be here in a couple of days.”

The unmistakable sound of a champagne cork carried across the open space between the bridge and the riverboat. Even the soldiers working on the span gave the group a quick glance before carrying on.

“What the hell—” Benny led but Jon kept him focused: “Captain, do you understand your orders?”

“I think so.”

“We’re taking down most of the bridges on the Mississippi, but leaving the ones here in St. Louis intact. Our little way of taking some initiative away from the enemy; make this place look like the easiest way to get across. When Shep and the rest of 1
^st
Corps gets out here we’ll be able to better position your boys, but for now you need to dig into the city. We’ve spent the last month building up some set positions, artillery emplacements and clearing kill zones to the north and south, but St. Louis here is one big trap for Voggoth.”

Duda asked, “A ghost town, right?”

Jon knew what Duda meant. Unlike many of the eastern and southern cities leveled by organized armies during the invasion, St. Louis had suffered through predators and strange monsters. Or, rather, alien animals. Most of the people had been chased away or killed during the first year of attack leaving.

Of course there was another type of ghost city, too. Places like Oklahoma City, Cincinnati, and Seattle. Places overrun by Voggoth’s legions and the entire population killed in grisly fashion but, when The Empire had come calling, those monsters had disappeared in the same manner in which many thousands of people vanished during the initial weeks of the invasion some eleven years prior.

Jon answered Benny, “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Then it should be easy to dig in. But sir, a Leviathan can level a city like this in five minutes.”

Jon pointed out, “The Nazis leveled Stalingrad with Stukas before they moved in. Soldier, bombed-out buildings make great foxholes. Now look, I’ve got to head to the estate for a big meeting. General Fink is organizing the withdrawal to these lines. His HQ is at McConnell Air Force base in Wichita but he’ll be pulling back before the end of the week.”

“How long ‘til we get hit here?”

A distant sound of glass breaking—just a soft
tink
—floated through the air from the riverboat. The music still played a soft rock song from the 70s.
Sad Eyes
or something like that.

Benny tried glancing over Jon’s shoulder but Brewer kept the younger man focused on the conversation. “Am I some kind of fortune teller? Why don’t you go ask Voggoth when he plans to knock on our door?”

“Of course, sir. I mean, um, of course not. I mean, you’re not a fortune teller. Sorry.”

Jon softened. He had not meant to be so hard but he did not want Benny worrying about the morbid party on that riverboat.

He remembered playing touch football with Benny back in Pennsylvania during that first post-Armageddon Thanksgiving. Of the group that played that day, Tolbert had died during the Battle of Five Armies less than a year later, Dustin McBride had disappeared—presumed dead—while leading his cavalry unit in pursuit of errant Red Hands, Dante Jones had killed himself in the face of Trevor’s return last summer, and now it appeared Anita Nehru had gone insane.