Human Extinction Level Loss (Book 2): Substation (The Last Stand of Gary Sykes)

She knew that the anger that so quickly flared to the surface of so many recent conversations and the meanness that resulted, lashing out like a tendril and tearing into her soul, was not actually her fault. She knew that.

Mark knew it too. She was sure of it.

It wasn’t even that she took the job.

Neither she nor her husband was possessed of dated sensibilities that said a woman’s place was in the home. They were partners, and as such worked together to raise a family and make their way in the world. It took two.

But now there was just the one doing the work of two.

She knew he didn’t resent her, but her working two jobs and he working none ate at him like a cancer. For while their sensibilities were well rooted in the twenty-first century, he was still a man, and a man worked to provide for his family.

And now he couldn’t.

It wasn’t a physical injury that disabled him. That could almost have been viewed as a badge of honor, a visible sign of his indescribable bravery that compelled him to step in harm’s way and eliminate the threat. Though many had died, many more were alive because of what he did. A desperate individual with planning and forethought had laid waste to so many, but not to all.

Sunny Island was a state park. It was an oasis of land in the center of Lake Jeremy. A favorite gathering spot for campers and families looking to create memories, the island could only be reached by ferry. It was Founder’s day and Scott Hammond had been looking forward to it for weeks. He boarded the ferry with nothing but the clothes he wore and was invisible among the throngs of people making their way to the island. Had he survived, it would have argued against his case that he didn’t know what he was doing at the time. The authorities theorized, upon seeing the huge cache of weapons and ammunition, that he had stockpiled for a long time. Security footage confirmed that he had made several trips to the island in the days and weeks leading up to the Clydesville Founder’s Day celebration.

Mark was there with Beverly and their young son, Tommy. Times being what they were, Mark took the opportunity to work security for the event. They could use the extra money that the assignment provided and he still got to enjoy the day with his family a little.

Until the shooting started.

Hammond had dug in, high on a hill overlooking a wide expanse of beach on the South side of the island. The beach was where everybody had gathered for good food and good music under a clear blue sky. When he started shooting, it looked like the beach at Normandy. Bodies just blew apart. People screamed and ran, fell and died. He was dug in and had an elevated position with a clear line of sight. It would have been an hour or more before the authorities could have responded with anything that might have been able to stop him, so Mark Sanders stormed the hill in the face of the deadly onslaught. It took minutes that seemed to stretch into hours in his mind, not being able to simply stroll up the hiking trail to the summit. Bobbing and weaving, diving and hiding, he fought for every inch until he got to the top, armed only with his service pistol. He charged the hill and eliminated the threat.

Though no bullet had touched him, it was discovered only later that he was in fact deeply wounded. He could no longer be around crowds. Acute Agoraphobia resulting from Post Traumatic Stress prevented him from being out in the open and around people. He was getting help, but the process was slow and it prevented him from being able to do his job as a Clydesville police officer, or do any job at all.

So Beverly took a second job. On the night shift.

Just to make ends meet.

One

“I’m sorry, too… I love you, Mark. We’re gonna get through this.”

Beverly Sanders stared out the windshield and drove through the night towards the Clydesville power station. They had gotten into a fight like they always did just before she had to leave for the night shift. He had called to apologize just like he always did before she was even half way there.

“Doctor Foster says you are making progress, but that it’s important to focus on achievable goals and not to get frustrated,” she said.

She could hear him sigh and knew that those words wouldn’t even make a dent. She listened as he recounted again how sorry he was, how pissed off he was, what a failure he was.

“No! I won’t accept that! You’re not a failure, Mark! People are alive because of you. That’s what you need to focus on, that and the next goal, okay?” she said.

There was silence on the other end and she knew he was processing.

“Baby, we’ll get through this. Until then, we do what we have to do, right? What do you always say when faced with a problem, Ain’t nothing to it but to do it?”

She heard him laugh just a little, but it was enough and she knew they were good for the night. Having to work an entire shift without having smoothed it all out was a bitch.

“We’re doing it, and we’re gonna keep doing it until it’s done,” she said.

He told her he loved her and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I love you, too. Kiss Tommy goodnight for me. Okay, see you in a bit,” she said then hung up.

She tossed the phone on the passenger seat and stared it at for several long seconds.

When she looked up, it was too late. She screamed and whipped the wheel to the left but she still hit her.

There was a sickening thump. A distant look and a blank stare of a wide-eyed female face caught in her headlights, then the face was gone as the woman tumbled into a ditch by the side of the road.

Beverly slammed on the brakes and brought the car to a stop across both lanes of traffic. Panicked and shaking, she fumbled for the door handle and got out. She ran to the ditch to look for the woman. When she got there, the woman was struggling to her feet. Her left leg was twisted at an unnatural angle but it didn’t stop her from trying to rise and walk.

Beverly rushed into the ditch. The woman didn’t turn, or cry out, or even shout obscenities at Beverly for running her over. She just stared forward with wide eyes and a blank expression. Beverly ran up to the woman and put her hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Are you all right?! I—”

The woman turned and looked at Beverly and the stare brought her up short. Beverly’s voice caught in her throat and she stumbled back. Her skin crawled and her only thought was to get away.

“I’m going to call somebody, okay? Stay right here and I’ll get help!” Beverly said.

The woman watched with her wide dead eyes as Beverly climbed back up the ditch. When Beverly was gone, the woman slowly turned and hobbled into the woods bordering the road.

Beverly ran to her car, flung open the passenger side door, and grabbed for her phone. It wasn’t on the seat, having been flung to the floor when she hit the woman and then the brakes. Beverly’s eyes scanned the interior, finding the phone on the floor. She grabbed it and held it up in front of her face. With shaking hands she tried to remember the number for 9-1-1. When she finally got it dialed, an automated recording played in her ear.

“We’re sorry. All circuits are busy. Please try again later”

Beverly pulled the phone away from her ear and stared in horror at the display.

“No!” she screamed.

She hit redial as she ran back over to the ditch to check on the woman. The same automated message played in her ear as Beverly frantically scanned the ditch for the woman who wasn’t there.

* * *

Gary Sykes was worried about his Paladin.

The Dungeon Master was pissed and threatened severe punitive action. Gary had leveled up and finally received his +5 Holy Avenger sword, but now it looked like he was going to lose it. It had been a particularly nasty campaign and Gary and his intrepid band had come upon a Chaotic Evil Mage standing in the middle of the road. The Mage, upon seeing her enemies had gone into a trance. While Paladins were always to give warning and never to use subterfuge when attacking an enemy, the Mage was in a trance and Gary felt he had to do something. He spurred on his warhorse and with his +5 Holy Avenger drawn, cleaved that evil bitch in two. But now he was in danger of not only losing his treasured sword, but also his lawful-good status. He would no longer even be a Paladin if that happened. All of this was of concern to him, but what really had him worried was the insinuation that his character had committed an act that was cowardly. Gary had poured his heart and soul into his character, meticulously learning and adhering to the code, both of the lawful-good and of the Paladin. Defend the defenseless, engage in no guile or subterfuge, never retreat nor surrender. Paladins were the superheroes of the fantasy world. Growing up, while some kids wanted to be a caped crusader or some other of the infinite variation of do-gooder that sprang from the pages of comic books, Gary wanted to be a Paladin. The fact that none of the other kids knew what a Paladin was only pleased Gary all the more. When he would tell them what it was, they all wanted to be Paladins too, but they didn’t get it. Paladins were strong and could fight with expert skill, but the code was the thing. Gary didn’t like a lot of superheroes. Was it really brave when you were so much stronger and quicker than everybody else around you? How brave were some superheroes really, when they were bulletproof? Paladins were different, they lived by the code. If their enemy had no weapon, a Paladin would not attack until his enemy had gotten his weapon. That was true honor, true bravery. He didn’t see any caped crusader ever do that. When that Mage stood in the road and went into her trance, Gary assumed she had armed herself and he moved to protect his band, but now it had all been called into question and it was driving him wild. He poured over the manuals in an effort to make a case to the Dungeon Master, but it did not look good.

In front of him, the control panel indicated everything was running smoothly so he was using the time wisely. His was a mundane job, monitor the power flow of the station. The station functioned at 60 Hz and it was his job to monitor that and make necessary adjustments when needed to keep it that way.

He glanced up at his dials and gages. Before sticking his nose back in his manuals, he looked over at the two men sitting in front of the television. Mack Dillard and Reggie Sharp were meat-heads. They were big and brash, and when they weren’t down in the pits working on the generators, or topside in front of the television watching their precious Wranglers play football, they were bullying Gary Sykes. Gary was not big, weighing in at six feet, two inches and one hundred forty-five pounds, he was a reed of a man. A hawkish nose and stringy black shoulder length hair completed a picture of the ultimate man-geek. The fact that he was thirty-five and had never really even had a girlfriend sealed the deal on just who he was.

Right now, his nemeses were in front of the television. It must be a slow game, Gary thought, because they were unusually quiet. He didn’t think it was football season, but it didn’t matter what had their attention as long as it wasn’t him. If they caught him studying his manuals, blistering harassment was a guarantee. He was about to turn back to his reading, when a visibly upset Beverly Sanders came running in. Gary stared up at her, shocked as she threw her coat and lunch cooler onto her chair and grabbed for the phone on the console. Gary liked Beverly, not because he thought he had a shot with her, he knew she was married, but because she talked to him like a normal person, and didn’t make fun of him for the things he liked. She was recently hired as the new records clerk. It was her job to get all the station’s records up to date and in order. It was a job almost as mundane as his was and the two, he thought, had become friends.

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