Overrun (24 page)

"Mr. Baldwin!" Faulken
roared. "John Kirken is a known sympathizer who may be responsible for
instigating a national revolt!"

"A national revolt?!"
Baldwin's voice was almost three levels past a scream. "Do you know what
I'm starting to think? I'm starting to think that maybe we're bombing the wrong
people. The sickness isn't out there. It's right in here, you son of a bitch!
The ones inside the domes are the ones that are diseased. Maybe we should all
just stop and think about that!"

"Baldwin, do you know what
I think?" Faulken's voice could barely be heard. An intense redness still
colored his face. "I'm starting to think that maybe you're a traitor too.
A sympathizer like the rest of them out there. It’s people like you that are
preventing this war from being won. People like you that brought this whole
situation on by sabotaging and causing that Vulture crash. Maybe that's
something you should think about."

Ford sifted briefly through the
many pages Baldwin had thrown across his desk seemingly unaware of the
outbursts.

"Why are we bothering with
a man like this?" he asked without looking up.

"Mr. President," Faulken's
tone dropped somewhat. "This was the best solution to the scenario at
hand."

"The solution as I see it
is to send the bombing team in there," the President sighed and pushed
away the large pile of loose paper.

He paused briefly and locked
eyes with Baldwin. "Our situation, as it is now, does not allow for mercy
or compassion. And it does not allow us to examine, punish or even correct any
wrongs that have been done. Not now. Not in this horrible time.

“Our responsibility is to follow
through on what we have started and continue the plan until it is complete.
Especially considering the scientific community that is hidden near there. That
is the sole responsibility that we can pledge ourselves to now, gentlemen. No
matter what else occurs down the line. Is that completely clear?"

President Ford stood up from
behind his desk.

"Yes, sir," both men
said and stood with him.

The skin under Baldwin's left eye
had begun to twitch. Neither looked at the other as they rigidly faced the
President.

"We're already
bloody," Ford said dismissing them. "There is nothing left to
understand. There is only what is left to be done."

Both men nodded respectively and
moved away from his desk. The President stared after them until they were both
through the doorway and finally gone.

From atop the sandy hill more
than a quarter mile away, Kirken scanned the area surrounding the armory with
his extended range glasses. When the night's heat warmed its plastic to where
it was uncomfortable against his face, he dropped his arms to his side and set
them on a rock near where Brandon sat.

Watching his son was maddening.
Not being able to reach his daughter was even worse. Kirken tugged gingerly at
the tightness that had returned to his throat and tried to swallow down the
thick choking taste of his fear and guilt.

He tried to focus on what would
be required of him next. Entering the armory. Wiring his next target with the
explosives. Getting out alive. He went through every aspect of it. And then
tried to swallow again.

Brandon sat still on the rock
next to him. He glanced up from time to time at the heightened activity they
had caused within the city. For the most part, he stared past Kirken and tried
to avoid his gaze.

He held an assault weapon he had
taken from a dead soldier loosely in his hand. He ran a smooth piece of cloth
through the small parts of its interior. With a gentle breath, he blew away the
sand that the cloth wouldn’t take away.

There was no expression across
his face. Only his slow determined strokes across the weapon reflected his
rage. It was rage on the verge of being unrestrained, pressed up against a
closed door waiting to be unleashed Kirken thought.

The person in front of him was
not his son, the boy he had come to know and the stepson he had grown to love.
That person was gone. A victim fallen in this godforsaken war. Fierce anger,
the fury they all felt, was the only thing breathing life through his body now.

Kirken turned away trying to
keep the tears threatening to fall from his eyes hidden from him within the night.

Raindrops began to fall again
from the sky. They left tiny wisps of steam that looked like small explosions
when they came in contact with their metal gear. Kirken rotated his body around
one last time and stared towards the armory trying to get a safe handle on his
thoughts.

Before turning back, he closed
his eyes and tried to will away the rage and fear that ate away like caustic
acid at what little sanity he had left in his brain. Only when his daughter was
safe would he allow himself to succumb. And accept the fact that all was
absolutely lost.

"Brandon, I'm going to the
armory alone," Kirken broke the silence in a determined tone. "I want
you to help me transfer the rest of what you’ve got to my gear."

Brandon lowered the rag he had
been holding to the ground and without looking up began to reassemble his
weapon. It made soft clicking sounds as the small parts attached themselves
firmly into place.

"There isn't much of a
chance of both of us getting in there alone. Not with what we have left."

"We’ll take from the dead
anything else we’ll need," Brandon's tone sent a chill along Kirken's
back.

Brandon continued to carefully
assemble his weapon and did not look up when Kirken moved to stand over him.

"We have enough explosives
for the demolition,” Brandon whispered so softly he could barely be heard. “And
we can get in to do it.”

"No. I want you to go back
through the tunnels. Get your sister. We've weakened their troop placements
enough. Our own will enter the city soon if they're not here already. I want
you to get her and get out of town. I'll meet you when I'm through."

Brandon still did not speak. His
hands stopped moving along his weapon, and his head remained down.

"That's not up to you to
choose," Brandon spoke softly again his words becoming lost in the falling
rain.

Kirken bent over him and leaned
his face in close.

"It sure as goddamn is,” he
whispered into Brandon’s ear. He could feel the muscles lining the inside of
his throat shake. “It is up to me to choose. Do you got that? I want you to
load up that rifle, take the supplies you can, and head out."

Brandon stared ahead into the
darkness towards the city. Flames licked occasionally across the outer rooftops
from the damage they had already done. Kirken did not stand back up. He stayed
crouched at Brandon’s side with his face next to his cheek.

"She's dead you know,"
Brandon breathed out silently.

"What did you say?"

"She's dead. How can you
not know that?"

"She's not dead,"
Kirken stood and stepped away not entirely confident himself in what he had
just said. ”She's there with the rest…"

"No, she's dead,"
Brandon said. Kirken turned to face him. "Like the others you left."

It was then Kirken felt it.
Something in the back of his head. Something little just at the base of his
neck. There was no noise. No pain. Just the slight sensation of whatever it was
finally breaking free.

All the rage Kirken had been
struggling to hold off and keep at bay exploded through every pore and muscle
of his body like a blazing fireball. In two giant strides, he covered the short
distance back to Brandon and threw the full weight of his shoulders hard into
the soft part of his chest.

Their tangled bodies tumbled
violently over the side of the rock. Brandon fell across his back in the dirt.
His assault rifle dropped to his side. Kirken stretched his body across him and
pinned his arms across his stomach.

"You goddamn son of a
bitch!" Kirken screamed at him. "You're lucky I don't do the same to
you right here!"

Brandon squirmed under him
trying to throw Kirken to the side and stand up.

Kirken tightened his grip and
with every aching muscle of his body managed to maintain his hold. Brandon
squirmed over onto his stomach and coughed violently at the sand entering his
mouth and nose. Kirken grabbed his hair at the back of his neck and pressed his
face down hard into the dirt.

"Don't you ever say
that!" Kirken panted. He leaned to the side of Brandon's face until the
sides of their noses almost touched. Brandon kicked up his legs still trying to
throw him off. "Not ever in your goddamn life! She is not dead, because
you are going to find her. You are going to find her alive! That is what you
are going to do! Do you got that?!"

Brandon's body lurched violently
side to side while Kirken pressed his neck harder against the warm sandy
ground. His arms and legs thrashed a few more times and became still.

Kirken relaxed his grip slightly
and slid backward. Even though Brandon’s body no longer moved, Kirken still
could feel it shake slightly from the fury raging through his limbs. Kirken
rolled away and finally released his hold. When he did, Brandon didn’t move
immediately to get up. He remained where he was stretched across the ground.

"Don't you ever say
that," Kirken said again while he raised himself back to his feet. His
voice shook when he spoke, and he fought hard to hold back the tears
threatening to burst from his eyes. "Don't you ever. Goddamn you."

Brandon rolled over and glared
up at his father through the falling sting of rain. Faint crimson splotches and
long broad marks appeared across his face from the searing dirt and the
sizzling water dropping from the sky. His ears burned a brilliant red as he
glared coldly back into Kirken’s eyes.

Brandon stood slowly and moved
away from him. Neither of them spoke. The rain started to fall harder. Brandon
moved back to the rock where he had been sitting and began to gather up his
gear.

"You'll never be able to
set it all up in there," Brandon said to him. "Not alone."

Kirken didn't answer and kept
his back turned while Brandon spoke.

"I'll bring her back
here," the intensity of Brandon's tone dropped somewhat. "We'll go
through the tunnels until we reach the outside of town. I’ll get her settled
somewhere safe, and then I'll come and…"

"No," Kirken said
facing him. "Get away from town when you get her. Don't wait. Not for
anything. Get out of town and settle yourselves in a place you can stay safe
and away from the troops. I'll find you when I’m through.

“If I don't come within the
week, then pack it up and move on. Get her away from this place. Get her away
and don't ever look back. If I don’t come back, it is up to you to protect her.
I beg you to get her out…and make her safe."

Brandon knotted the straps
around his bag and threw it across his back. He walked to the small fire they
had built and ground it out with the heel of his boot. The flames rushed up and
across the tip of his toes and finally fell in defeat. He kicked dirt over the
ashes until their remnants were indistinguishable from the sand.

When he was through, he turned
and walked away to the side of the hill.

Kirken picked up his glasses
again and pointed them towards the armory. The air between them was quiet and
still. Through the corner of his eyes, Kirken watched Brandon's head disappear
down the side of the hill. In a moment, he was gone. The sound of rocks
shifting beneath his feet also quickly faded away.

When Kirken was left alone with
his thoughts in the dark, he set his glasses down across the rock and rummaged
through his own pack.

Even with the explosives Brandon
had left, there still wasn’t going to be enough. At least not enough to destroy
the whole armory. There were only five complete sets of charges in all, and
none of them were powerful enough to cripple the structure on its own.

He would have to set all five.
And have to live five times as long to get this impossible task done.

Kirken gathered the rest of his
weapons and gear and hauled the load across his back. He took a last look
across the ruined land towards the armory and walked to the edge of the hill.
Trying not to let the weight of his gear topple him from the crumbling rocks
down its side, he carefully slid his way down.

When he had reached the bottom,
Brandon was already gone.

* * *

The rain beat itself down harder
across the occupied land of Beuford. Its searing droplets splashed against her
hands and legs while she ran.

She had become less cautious and
more reckless in her quest to escape the nightmare world she now lived within.
She no longer feared the soldiers or gave thought to a war. She ran only to
flee the visions that chased her through the streets.

Her personal safety was no
longer a concern. Leaving the city alive was not even a thought. Mel just
wanted to leave everything behind and be gone…forever.

Her mind was exhausted and her
body spent from running to escape the boy she wasn’t able to protect or save.
She felt his breath chase at her back and whisper accusingly in her ear.

“I am so sorry, please forgive
me,” a desperate continuous voice pleaded from somewhere deep inside her head.

She no longer restricted her
movements to dusk and the deep hours of the night. She traveled during the
brightest points of the day and did not even stop when she encountered soldiers
either by themselves or in larger amounts.

She avoided the tunnels and ran
openly through the streets for longer amounts of time. Her stops to hide and
rest in dumpsters and deep alleys were not as frequent. And she no longer ran
for cover when aircraft or vehicles approached.

Mel's once fearful flight was
now brazen and defiant.

The J.G.U. patrols were less
frequent and less concentrated the further she made her way from the center of
town. She no longer saw soldiers wandering every street or lurking across every
rooftop. The few that she had accidentally allowed to see her, at least up
until now, had left her unharmed.

After more than three days of
less and less interrupted travel, Mel reached the J.G.U. blockade that
controlled the only entrance to the city. She stopped and slid behind a parked
jeep. She gazed across the battered soldier outpost disintegrating beneath the
blazing sun and searched for a way to slip through.

After more than four hours and
the sun had started to set, her lips had withered and turned dry. The top of
her head felt like it was on fire. Her back seared with pain every time she
leaned back and accidentally touched the metal of the jeep she hid behind.

She stared longingly at the
escape the hills offered on the other side of the blockade. She prayed it was a
place that her visions and spiritual tormentors would not go.

She ducked her head when the
engine of a large aircraft roared its fury overhead. Its intense sound suddenly
made her feel vulnerable and exposed. Being careful not to touch its baking
metal again, Mel crawled beneath the jeep and breathlessly waited for the
darkness to finally come.