Serpent and the Sun – Chptr. 15 – Xperience Fiction

Serpent and the Sun – Chptr. 15 – Xperience Fiction – by Liam Sweeny.

Plaster-shattered all around them, the edges’ impact marks catching fire. Those not killed by the original blast were scrambling about to prolong their good fortune. They were only getting in the way of the rebels, who had halted their fire. Two men on the rebel side were doing their best to corral the survivors. Apep/Liu felt no such qualms. It ordered its men to kill the rebels; if that meant going through collateral bodies, so be it. The Guardsmen fired in formation, absent any spoken command.

His escorts were just getting up off the ground. One of them, Dalton Henry, had his weapon trained on a rebel sniper creeping along the edge of the back wall. Gerhardt, the other, less experienced escort, was clearly in a fog, reacting to the snaps of shattering concrete as if he were made of raw nerves. Apep stretched out its spindly black arm, blackness twirling around him. Dalton and Gerhardt dropped to the ground unconscious. They would be needed later, and weren’t at all needed then. The Receiving Station was about to become a house of sacrifice, however unwitting or unwilling.

Apep again stretched out its hand; the sniper shot up into the air, screaming as he was ripped apart. A fine dust of remains covered the ground, causing the other rebels to stop the attack. Everything became quiet, rebel and refugee alike went wide-eyed with terror.

“None of you will leave here!” It hissed before it proceeded to make its proclamation the truth, pulling and tearing at bodies and limbs, rebels and refugees. The rebels kept firing, and Apep’s Guardsmen became as bronze, like the infused dead only able to move; able to shoot. Apep was in a state of glee; throwing bodies into the air before dissolving them, spraying their dust into the firing paths of the rebels. Even they posed no threat; just entertainment.

Apep looked over just in time to realize that might not be the case. A rebel, broad-shouldered and red-haired pointed a white object and pressed down on the center. It looked familiar, in the residual of the mind of that dead Guardsman in New York. A deinfuser. With a twist of the wind, the device flew from the rebel’s hand, smashing to the ground, splintering upon impact. The rebel stood not two yards from him, stunned. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder, but he didn’t move to pull it.

Apep lifted the rebel off his feet with the wind, suspending him in the air. The rebel choked as Apep’s whirlwind wrapped around his neck. A fluorescent ballast showered sparks overhead, making him twitch as stray sparks burned the skin on his face.

“Now, rebel,” said Apep, “Are you going to tell me where you got that little device?”

There weren’t but a few people left alive in the Receiving Station. Apep continued to eradicate survivors as he questioned the rebel, who at that point was sputtering blood.

“Go f-fuck yourself, Liu…” The rebel tried to wriggle free, to no avail. Apep grew to a height that barely cleared the height of the station, bringing itself face-to-face with his detainee.

“What if I were to tell you I wasn’t Liu?” It asked. The rebel didn’t respond. Apep exhaled, tendrils snaked between itself and the rebel.

“What if I told you I had ways of making you talk?”

Again, no response. The rebel struggled to get a curled fist free.

“You wanna’ hit me? Is that it?” The rebel struggled to shake his head yes; snot bubbled from his nostril, a red twinge that matched his hair. Apep had to laugh at the grubby little man.

“How can I refuse a dying man his request?” Apep said. He released his hold, allowing the rebel to move his hand.

“Have at it, slugger,” It said, “…better give it your best’,”

The man balled up his fist, clenched it tightly enough to turn the skin white, and he swung…

…straight up, hitting the ballast and grabbing on with all the strength he had left in him. Hundreds of volts coursed through him. And through him, Apep, who quickly let go. The rebel was suspended from the ballast, the current pulling on his body harder than gravity. It ended when Apep exploded his body into dust, disgusted that he’d been tricked by a creature infinitely more stupid than himself.

Apep looked around the room. His Guard stood still as he took the life from them. He had no further need of them; they were merely puppets, and the audience was now dead. Only two people were left alive, and Apep walked over to them.

“Get up,” Apep said to Dalton and Gerhardt as it let them regain consciousness, “Consider this area cleared.”

 

***

 

“You haven’t spoken since we left.”

“Sorry Adam; just thinking…”

“About Michael?”

“Yeah, bud…”

From the back seat, Daniel sneezed. Jameson glanced back nervously.

“You OK, Daniel?”

“No.” Daniel wouldn’t look Jameson in the eye.

“He’s OK,” replied Sarah, “He just misses…him, that’s all.”

“Are you OK, Sarah?”

Sarah sighed. “I don’t know,” she said, “I’m just so alone; so confused about everything. I mean, with Michael, I wasn’t…” She paused, rubbed Daniel’s head, “…well, at least we weren’t alone.”

They hugged the coast, flying low. The ground was littered with the rotted trunks of the old tree-line. The Northern Pacific coast, like all coasts, was inundated, flooding as high as forty feet. After Apep struck, the rapid re-freeze pulled the water back, leaving strips of coastal land barren and desiccated.

“You’re not alone.” Jameson said. “I’m here. Adam and I both…”

“You’re not Michael,” Daniel sulked, “And Adam’s not even,”

“Not even what?” Adam’s face appeared on the skiff’s video screen.

“Adam,”

“Let him say it, Jameson,” Adam snapped, “Not what, Daniel? Not what!?”

“Not real!” Daniel shouted, “You ain’t nothin’ but a damn robot!”

“Daniel, stop it!” Sarah cried, “That’s enough!”

“You too, Adam!” Jameson said, “You’re more mature than your age; start acting like it!”

The quiet inside the skiff matched the quiet outside for a brief moment. Then Adam spoke.

“Michael was my father.” He said. His eyes were dropped and the screen he was on went grayscale.

“He taught me how to match a word to a meaning,” he continued, “how to visualize an example of a concept; how to deduce things. Everything that you take for granted; everything you’re allowed to take for granted because you were born able to do it—Michael taught me.” Adam paused.

“Michael taught me how to love… and how to grieve.” He said. “I may be a damn robot, Daniel, but if I was to show you how I felt right now…” He blinked off the skiff screen, reappearing in his housing.

“You’d be terrified that I can control this skiff.”

The ride continued quietly. They would be in Anchorage in three hours. The skiff could make the trip in forty-five minutes, but Jameson was nervous about driving faster than standard transport speed. Everest had been besieged, and his conversation with Blake before they departed Seattle left him with the firm impression that they as well would be a target.

Sarah rapped on Jameson’s shoulder. “Why are we going up to Anchorage?” She asked. Jameson tried to figure out what to say. He looked back into her ragged desperate eyes. He could guess that she didn’t care what he told her, as long as it was the truth.

He took a deep breath.

“It’s complicated,” he said, stopping her before she could say anything, “I’ll tell you the truth, but it’s complicated.” He pulled a data-cube from his pocket and went to slide it into the skiff-screen. He thought against it. BlackLake couldn’t see into Adam; the data-cube would be another story.

“The UEC derives power from tapping into earth processes. You know this; you used to live in Yellowstone.”

Sarah nodded. “They had a geothermal processing facility.” She said, “Lloyd-… Daniel’s father used to work there.”

“They also use the ionosphere. They have a facility near Anchorage that manages that end of it. Blake said you guys were attacked as you left?”

“Yeah… thunder, lightning; Michael took care of it.”

“That’s the ionosphere,” replied Jameson, “The facility’s called HAARP. It’s in what’s called the Denali Diamond, less than a hundred miles from the Sanctuary. Still with me?”

“Not at all, Jameson,” she said. “…but please, go on…”

“The Denali Diamond is the area between Anchorage, Fairbanks, HAARP and Denali.” He continued, “If the UEC’s got a weak-point, it’s there. They can’t weaponize the weather there… it fucks with HAARP.”

“So we’ll be safe there?”

“Safer,” he said, “They still have weapons, plus the Anchorage Security Force is highly trained.”

“So why are we going there again?” She asked.

“Here’s the complicated part.” He checked the rear-view for the expression of bewilderment he knew he’d see.

“I don’t know what grade you reached in Yellowstone, but this has to do with a land called Egypt. It was an ancient civilization, over 5,000 years…”

“You mean the Sphinx, the pyramids, right?”

“Right, exactly.”

“I’m not a complete idiot, Jameson…” She said, “In fact, I was one of three people in East Yellowstone to travel out of region.”

“Oh yeah? Where to?”

“The Apep crater,” She replied, “I took Daniel; it was years ago.”

“It’s restricted. How’d you get in?”

She smiled deviously. “Well, Dr. Jameson, you wanna’ know?” Jameson chuckled and nodded.

“Well then tell me what this trip has to do with Egypt and I’ll tell you.”

Jameson cleared his throat. “Fine,” he said, “Sorry.”

“An artifact was found in the tomb of an Egyptian architect named Imhotep. It was a scarab; a beetle of sorts. It was originally considered a religious artifact and was housed in a museum in Seattle, of all places. This put it in the opaque catalog, away from PEALE’s comprehension.”

“It turned out the scarab was some sort of energy device; powerful, nearly infinite.” He continued. “We hid it in an area of the Denali Diamond once we realized what it was, to protect it from weather attack.”

He angled the skiff lower, as the coastline flattened out a bit. “Did Michael tell you what PEALE was?”

“Some kind of artificial intelligence, like Adam, right?”

“Right. Not like Adam, but it’s an artificial intelligence system.” He said. “PEALE runs most of the UEC. It’s infinitely smarter than human beings, but it doesn’t have compassion, or human empathy. That’s how Adam is different.”

“And this has what to do with what?” Sarah asked. “I was following you; I was…”

“Religion was programmed to be… opaque, to PEALE. It couldn’t see religious things, and this was built-in as a means to control it.” He said.

“Go on…” Sarah said, “and I really hope there’s an ‘on’ here.”

“They had one other way to control PEALE,” Jameson continued, “…they put the core program into a human host. A UEC scout, named Coulson BlackLake.”

Adam hissed. Vampire! Daniel shushed him.

“BlackLake was comatose when they put PEALE in,” Jameson continued. The sun was just beginning to set to their left, turning the window darker with auto-tint. Jameson set the flight behavior to auto as he leaned back and lowered his voice.

“What I’m about to say is guesswork on my part,” he said, “and if it leaves you confused, it’s going to leave you as confused as I am right now.”

“My guess is that some part of BlackLake’s conscious mind survived; even some small part.” He said. “Based on his, its, behavior, and the physical evidence, I’d say that the host is dissolving. And somewhere in that whole process, PEALE found a loop-hole in the religious block.”

“Loop-hole?” asked Sarah, “Explain…”

“Well, I only have a guess…”

“That’s more than I have,” she said, “Out with it.”

Jameson sighed. Sarah tapped her nails along the back seat.

“Apep,” Jameson explained, “was an Egyptian God, a bad one…one whose main purpose appeared to be devouring the sun god every night. The god was a serpent, and that’s what was wrapped around Everest. There were also hieroglyphs, which are-,”

“Egyptian writing, I know…”

“So PEALE, BlackLake, Apep, whatever the hell he, or it is calling themselves today, has nothing much to stop it from killing off the world’s population.” He said. “And if it goes after the scarab, it won’t need HAARP or the UEC to do what it wants to do.”

“Which is?”

Jameson laughed. He pointed to the pin-prick of orange holding out against the on-coming violet.

“Devour that.”

 

***

 

Blake saw the rainbow-slick of colors comprising the Seattle sky from the window of the quarantine chamber. His glasses lay on the table; Reality was worth the headache; in fact, it was the headache. He glanced at his forearm; the bronzing had spread to his wrist and the crook of his elbow. It didn’t hurt as he scratched at it. It didn’t even feel real. It felt every bit like bronze. He slumped back in bed, the image of Michael frozen in the negative of his retina. He missed him. He was in no hurry to join him.

He was too young to understand death when he was infused, and the prospect of it was removed from him. The UEC taught infusion as heaven-on-earth, death as hell regardless of morality. Death was non-existence; the immortality they administered perpetuated existence ad-infinitum. But it wasn’t heaven. Blake didn’t know heaven; hence he had no image of it. It was chaos. Michael told him God was there. Blake hoped Mike would introduce him. Blake felt the heat of tears stream down his cheek. He’d seen people die, the last ounces of adrenaline dilating their pupils as terror gripped them. Not all of them; some met their end staring dead-eyed, at peace, smiling even.

He could remember one guy, Saul Floyd was his name. He tried to escape from the prison, back before Denali developed the cryogenic containment center. He’d fashioned a stun-gun out of an old hand-held video-player. Blake was on duty that night, covering for one of the other Guardsmen. He was pissed about it; he’d trained with them as equals, yet after ten years they still treated him like Second Tier.

He didn’t have to kill Saul that night. The few volts wouldn’t even have touched him – Guard suits were grounded. But he was pissed, and he didn’t care about a First Tier grunt that would probably be starved dead in a few months anyway. So he grabbed Saul Floyd by the throat, lifting him up with one hand, and damned if Saul didn’t lock eyes with him right on into death. Blake saw it; that blink, that moment when life left Saul. His eyes stayed open until Blake threw him back in the cell. One of the other prisoners closed them, at least they must have, as they were closed a half-hour later when Captain Tolson ordered Blake to clean up his mess.

A week later, he caught Michael trying to break into Denali’s prison. Michael, unlike Saul, was infused, and, unlike Saul, Michael was Blake’s friend. They argued and fought the night of the Escape, but in the proceeding weeks, months and years, Blake would grapple with a simple question; had he not killed Saul, would he have tried any harder to stop Michael? Did guilt over Saul’s murder make him the accomplice instead of the obstacle? In his heart, he hoped so. It would’ve changed Saul’s death from a brutality to a sacrifice.

Blake’s whole perspective on people changed after he killed Saul Floyd. Saul wasn’t the last person he’d kill, but he was the last person he’d ever kill without dire cause. Before Saul, Blake saw himself as an upstart with something to prove to the world. After that night, he couldn’t see himself without seeing Saul’s reflection. That perfect, fearless death; the only weapon those people had was to martyr themselves to freedom. Blake rubbed his arm. He didn’t know if he was ready to be a martyr.

The door squeaked open. Damn near quiet; a normal man might not have heard it. Blake rub the remnants of tear from his face, turned around to see Laura standing there in a white lab coat, her hair tussled.

“Ya’ here to make a dyin’ man’s wish come true?”

She laughed, smiled as she walked over. “Depends on the wish…”

“Laura, Laura… You’re a smart girl. I think you know the answer.” He tried to get up, leaning on his infected arm. It buckled; he hit the side-rail with a spark of pain. He felt Laura’s hand on his shoulder. He turned to see her sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hand slid across his jaw-line, her nails scratched through his beard.

“It wasn’t this long the last time I saw you…” He backed up.

“Huh?”

“Your beard.” She said. “What did you think I was talking about, your-,” she started laughing, unable to finish the thought.

“Hey, what the fuck? I’m dying here!” Blake tried to sound mad, but it didn’t play; he wasn’t. In fact, even sitting there, face flush with embarrassment, he felt alive. Laura leaned in and kissed him.

“It’s OK,” she whispered, “but you’re not getting any…”

“I’m dyin’…”

“We’re all dying,” she said, “…you’re just dying…sooner.”

Blake couldn’t believe the nerve of her. But she was honest if nothing else.

“Wow. What a bed-side manner you have,” he said, “you shouldn’t even be wearing that doctor’s-coat…”

“That’s good, ‘cause I’m not wearing anything underneath it…”

Blake groaned. “Will you just get the fuck up outta’ here?”

“Really?”

“No…”

“Good.” She said. She pulled a small remote control out of her pocket, pointing it at the video-screen that hung in the far corner. The global-grid pulled up. He’d seen it enough to have it memorized, every node and point. But what he saw stunned him.

Even when the ionosphere was being used militarily, it didn’t drain enough to divert the overall pattern. It would show up as points, pin-point flashes of light. The ionosphere was far too powerful to coalesce in one area. But that’s what it was doing.

“Denali…”

“Anchorage, specifically… but yes.” Laura said. “It’s real close to HAARP.”

“What’s happening there?”

“Liu, Apep… is there.” She said. “We caught a transmission over ham radio. The rebels tried to kill Liu at the Receiving Station; the Anchorage one…”

“Of course,” Blake said, “was Bor-, Roger there?”

“No; well, I wouldn’t know, actually,” she said, “we’ve lost contact as of late. But anyways, Liu had all of the features of Apep. It’s likely he’s now a host of some sort.”

“Wait; what about BlackLake?”

“No idea…he may have perished, or been terminated… we don’t know.”

Blake rubbed his chin.

“…based on the intercept, he,” she paused, “it, got Sam Lowery.”

“Fuck,” he said, “I knew Sam…good fuckin’ guy…”

“We traded with him,” said Laura, “it’s a shame; he’s got a family too…”

Blake stared at the grid.

“If all that energy’s in Alaska,” he said, “then Seattle’s not a target.”

“We don’t know that for sure yet-,”

“I should be there.”

“No; absolutely not,” replied Laura, “It could be a trick-,” She shut up too quick. She was holding something back.

“What is it, Laura?” She didn’t speak.

“Please….”

“You’re dying, Blake.”

“So what, you think I’m going to be a liability out there?”

“No…”

“Well what is it then?” Laura had her face down. She looked up, with her own tears. A look of anguish covered the most beautiful face Blake had ever known.

“You’re dying, Blake,” she repeated, “and as cold and as selfish as this may sound, I want you to do it here, amongst friends.” She collapsed on the bed, the side of her face quivering as it pressed into Blake’s chest. He said nothing, stroking her hair gently with his fingertips.

 

***

 

She screamed; Albrecht gripped his side as he sat on the bench at the far end, away from the statuesque board members. They were back in the charging cycle, and the roar of the eye-wall was stark against the silence of the dock. Elle was crumpled at her father’s feet; she couldn’t even hug him, the coldness of his leg hung unnaturally about her face. It was close to freezing on the dock, certainly not normal. Her breath was visible, and she passed her hand through it. She’d never seen that before.

“Albrecht! What’s going on!?”

“Am I supposed to know!?”

“It’s cold out here!” She cried, “C’mon, Albrecht, Something…Guess!”

Albrecht coughed. She looked over and noticed that his condition was worsening. His bag of powder lay on the ground, empty but for the opacity left by its prior contents. His shirt was soaked, both arms were in the beginning stages of dissolution. Though he was yards away, she could hear him wheeze; it was louder even than the eye-wall. Or maybe, as a human sound, it just seemed that way.

“Go back inside…” He blurted out between gasps.

“I can’t we have to leave-,”

“Go b-back inside!” He shouted, doubling over. She ran to him, tried to help him back up, but he righted himself on his own. His arm went up, finger pointing straight in the air as he tried to catch his breath.

“You’re not the only one.”

“What do you mean?” She said, “Only one what?” Her eyes darted to the eye-wall. It wasn’t perfectly straight anymore. Close, but she’d spent so much of her life in its shadow. She could tell.

“You’re n-not the only one…” He said, “that’s im-,” He coughed deeply, “-immune.”

Elle grabbed at him. “Come on, we have to get out of here-,”

“Damnit Elle!” He said, “You don’t listen a whit’,”

“Gerhardt was right about you…” he added.

“Hey!”

“Listen; I’m only gonna’ say this once…” He said. “…all I got the breath for…”

He straightened up the best he could. He was in rough shaped, coughing up sputum that dissolved upon impact with the ground.

“S-some people are…” He said, “…indispensable. They c-can’t run these things without ‘em.” More coughing, “Grunts, t-techs… wrench monkeys… T1RSPs…”

“This thing…isn’t indiscriminate.” He continued. “Some people were designated… immune.”

“Like me?”

“N-not like you.” He said. “You must’ve been a f-f-fluke…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He pointed to the rest of the bench’s occupants. Elle shivered openly. Albrecht grabbed her arm.

“Listen,” He said. His outstretched hand spun over to the freight skiffs. “Those won’t help you. Even if you can drive ‘em; you won’t make it through that eye-wall.”

“But Gerhardt-,”

“-was given a special thing, a pod, he called it…” Albrecht vomited. Elle thought it was his last breath, but it wasn’t.

“All the g-grunts are still alive.” He went on, “The keys to this whole fucking thing are in the ignition. And you wanna’ take a dinghy out there and brave the open ocean.” He pointed to the skiffs again. His hand didn’t go as high as it did before. Albrecht was fading.

“How, Albrecht!?” She cried, “How do I get them to listen to me!? I don’t even know any of them!”

His reply was weak. “You’ve been bred for politics,” He whispered, “to be a leader.”

“Lead the Sanctuary,” He continued, “Lead it right straight into fucking Anchor-,”

Albrecht went limp in Elle’s arms. The dissolution accelerated. Within a matter of minutes, Elle was holding onto Albrecht’s wet, slimy clothes.

She turned back to look at the Sanctuary. Its form towered above her, the spire of the Board-room high enough to pass above the typhoon. She knew that; her whole life she did. She it wasn’t until then that it meant anything to her beyond a fact and a pretty view. She’d never realized how massive it was.

She suddenly noticed that she wasn’t alone. Three men with white beards and dirty grey jumpsuits were walking around, stunned. Wrench-monkeys. They looked to her as if she knew something. She realized that she did. She tossed aside the remnants of Albrecht’s clothing. She couldn’t cry. Not because she lacked tears. Another reason.

Leaders didn’t cry.

“Lady,” one of the man said, “are you a President!?”

Elle cleared her throat. “I am now.”

She ran her hand along the length of her over-shirt; black, business-casual. Not an intentional fashion choice, but most appropriate.

“Well, what are we doing with this?” The man pointed up.

“Let’s get it ready to move.” She said.

“Power down the charge, then?”

Elle glanced at the eye-wall.

“No,” she said, “in fact, power it up as much as you can do safely.”

“We’re at full charge capacity,” one of the other guys said, name of Donalds on his patch, “If we power up the charge, we’ll have to dump what’s in the cells.”

“How do you do that?” She asked, “Dump the charge?”

Donalds scratched his chin. “Electric or thermal;” he said, “up or down, respectively.” He illustrated by pointing.

“Down, then.” She said. “That’s how they start the typhoons, correct?”

“They collect High-E in a seeder cell, dumping it as heat into the water when the Sanctuary runs low.” Donalds tapped on the corpse of one of the Presidents. “So you want a…bigger typhoon?”

“Yes.” She said, “Save only enough energy to steer. Is there anyone left that can chart the ocean?”

“Probably,” The first man said, “They’re still trying to find survivors. It’s a huge place.”

“All class T1RSP have been given a genetic immunity.” Elle said. “There might be a few,*ahem* ‘flukes’. But put it this way; T1RSP is the only class-type the virus is not trying to kill.”

The first man, whose name was Abdullah, asked, “Where are we taking this?”

“We taking it to Anchorage” She replied, “We’re taking it through Anchorage.”

She just hoped that Gerhardt wasn’t still in Anchorage when she got there.

 

***

 

Gerhardt awoke to the smell of blood and sick. The Receiving station was a crypt; the bodies of the dead, those recognizable, were piled haphazardly, struck where they stood. His ears were filled with a sizzling sound; he looked at the ground and saw the source. The bodies were dissolving. It reminded him of a paper mache volcano he made in primary school; bubbling over as he put the vinegar in to mix with baking soda. Pure white; eerie, and unnatural. He felt the urge to wretch, but he dared not show weakness around Liu. Apep; whatever he, or it was calling itself. Gerhardt looked into his black eyes and saw a demon, loosely bound and hungry.

“What happened?” He asked when his nerve to do so returned.

“We cleaned the Receiving Station,” hissed Apep, its voice more snake-like.

Dalton coughed into his sleeve. “It don’t look clean…”

“From dust I have made dust.”

“Oookay…”

“Is it not said in your,” he struggled, “B-bible… that man was made from dust?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Dalton responded, “I’ve never seen one.”

“Yes, it says that.” Gerhardt replied. Dalton looked over at him. A snicker lay just beneath the surface.

“And you lived on the Sanctuary,” Apep said, “Tell me, Mr. Schoern; how exactly did you get your hands on a forbidden text such as the Bible?”

“I-I-,”

“Come now, Mr. Schoern; there’s no one left to punish you. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

“You mean, Pacific Sanctuary?”

“Every Sanctuary looks the same,” he said, waved his arms around. “… like this.”

Elle.

“They died in peace.”

“Like these people!?” Gerhardt’s face turned red. “Is this peaceful!?”

“Calm down, Ger’,” said Dalton, “Ya’ don’t wanna’ dance with this guy…”

“Dalton, let him do as he wishes.”

Gerhardt wasn’t taking his cues from Dalton by then anyway.

“Why did they have to die, Liu… Apep, whatever you want to call yourself. Why? What did you get out of it?”

Apep floated around the floor of the Receiving Station. As he crossed over bodies, they evaporated into a fine white dust, like pulverized drywall.

“While you spent your days in that Sanctuary, your every need was satisfied by a soulless provider. One you didn’t have to thank, one whose well-being you had no interest in. A machine; a tool, infinitely more knowledgeable than even your smartest man, therefore, infinitely more powerful than its controllers…” Apep spun to face them, more a serpent than a man.

“A god you never had to worship, pray to, thank,” it said, “So tell me, Mr. Schoern, what did the God in your Bible do for you that warranted you taking such a risk!?”

“I don’t believe in God,” Gerhardt replied, “Not the God in the Bible; not you.”

“If you do what you’re supposed to, serve my interests here… you can believe what you want.”

“I’ll never forgive you for killing off the Pacific Sanctuary.” Gerhardt picked up his gun, intentionally pointing it to the ground.

“A virus spread through the Sanctuaries; all of them.” Apep said, “I didn’t authorize it. I developed it, because I was ordered to. And I unleashed it in the Sanctuaries. But would you still be angry if it had just been released out here, as planned?” Dalton looked at him suspiciously.

“I don’t care…”

“Well, maybe you’ll care about this;” Apep returned to the form of President Liu. “One tenth of one percent of the Sanctuary population is immune.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Play your cards right.” Apep replied. “Don’t get in my way, and ask yourself if one in a thousand odds is worth having faith in.”

Gerhardt shut up, didn’t press any further. He knew the implication; Elle might still be alive, immune to AV3. He didn’t believe it, but Apep didn’t need to bluff. Based off the shape of the Receiving Station, it was clear he didn’t need Gerhardt or Dalton. His Guardsmen stood sentinel, motionless, poised to shoot anyone who came in through the breach. Apep, now-Liu, walked over to the one in the front of the formation. He placed his hand on the Gaurdsman’s chest, and the blackness swelled to cover the man. That Guardsman and the rest of the detachment were reduced to the black vapors that corkscrewed around Apep’s form.

“You didn’t think they were real, did you?”

“Why even have ‘em?” asked Dalton.

“Appearances,” Apep said, “Window dressing; nothing more,”

“Is that what we are?” Gerhardt motioned to himself and Dalton, “Window dressing? Anchorage fashion, maybe?”

Apep laughed. “Gerhardt, if you hadn’t the heart to leave paradise for this, I’d have killed you by now. You’re proving to be quite insolent.”

Without another word, Apep walked toward the breach. He beckoned Dalton and Gerhardt with a back-handed wave of his fingers.

“Come,” It said. They trotted to catch up as he reached the breach and hopped out onto the street. It was empty except for two taxis, both smashed by the explosion.

“Where to?” Dalton said, “The escort vehicles are a few miles away. We can-,”

“-They can wait.” Apep said. He looked back at the two of them, his eyes glowed with red swirls like hot magma. Gerhardt looked up and noticed that the HAARP’s aurora looked different. In fact there was no aurora, just a red-purple night-sky, torn and pulsating as if giving birth to the rage of the earth.

Apep held up his hand, his fingers cupped to form a point. Gerhardt watched in amazement as a sliver of white light collected from the air to saturate his fingertips. He had ceased to resemble Liu entirely; instead, he reverted back and forth from the President to the form of a serpent. He brought his fingers to his lips, tasting the energy. He sighed in satisfaction.

“Anchorage has yet to be sanctified.” He said.

 

***

 

Shattering concrete mixed with the serrated sound of laser-fire, coming through the static in disjointed bursts.

“It didn’t work! Is he-,” A loud pop came across the radio.

“Aw, Jesus… Sam, no…”

“Move it! Move it!” That was the last thing Kenny heard. The radio fell to static. It was as if the whole world had been wiped out, replaced by the soft fuzz. Kenny turned the knob, just nudging it at first, eventually spinning all the dials to their rebound points. Nothing. Static. Kenny pounded his fist on the desk, careful not to disturb the equipment set on it. Then he screamed and wiped the desk clean with the back of his hand.

He couldn’t hear everything hit the ground; his ears clogged up as he cried. He let the full weight of his head slam into the heard wood. It rolled between his shoulders; his arms felt apelike, unfit for human use. He covered his head with them as pressure built up in his sinuses. He coughed; he couldn’t breathe through his nose anymore.

*shkt* “… Anchorage…Come in, Anchorage…” *shkt*

It was Roger Borland. Kenny knew the voice.

*shkt* “Anchorage…Come in….” *shkt*

No one answered. Kenny stared at the microphone, wondered if he should answer. Really he wanted to answer, but his better sense prevented it. Whatever was happening in Anchorage, it could just as easily come to Chickaloon. He thought about Alice and the boys, should he go get them?

*shkt* “…Robin Blue, this is Anchorage,” a voice boomed over the radio, “…target NOT intercepted; I repeat, target  NOT intercepted…”

“Anchorage, what is your location?”

*shkt* “…Access Point 3-C-A-G-,” They were moving. Kenny had intercepted his share of rebel communications during his time in Anchorage; 3-C meant mobile, it didn’t matter what came after. They often used unnecessary codes to throw off pursuit.

*shkt* “…target was not the President…” *shkt*

“Not” *shkt* “president?” asked Borland, his voice coming though broken, “Please clarify.”

“…entire contingent in Receiving…” *shkt* “…killed…” *shkt* “…ten-minutes…” *shkt* “…NO SURVIVORS…”

*shkt* “…Guardsmen?” The beginning of Borland’s question was cut off.

*shkt* “…five…” Kenny pounded the side of the radio. The break-up was maddening.

“…Liu was the aggressor. He’s transformed somehow…”

“How?” Borland asked. Silence.

“Anchorage. Come in…”

Again, silence. Borland continued to call out, but to no avail. There was no answer from Anchorage. But another voice came on.

“Robin Blue, hunter green.” This was another code; a hidden frequency.

Sam told Kenny all the codes that might come out in a transmission. Roger’s call sign changed daily, but it generally followed his initials. Today, Kenny surmised, it was Robin Blue. The second code, Hunter Green, was based off of the color of the label on the radio at the Palmer base. It too changed daily, according to a predefined table. Sam had one. Kenny turned on a small box next to the radio and switched to the hidden frequency. 

“We’ve just received a video-feed from the Everest Sanctuary.” The voice was clear. The speaker didn’t identify himself. “Liu’s been … infected somehow… He ‘s released AV3 into the Sanctuary system; started with Everest.”

“You have video?” Borland asked, “What do you mean, ‘video’? What was on it?”

Silence for a moment; then the voice came back on.

“Rog’, whatever it is; it ain’t human.” He said. “It ain’t human, it ain’t Guard… It calls itself ‘Apep’.”

“Apep?” asked Borland, “The asteroid? The bar!?”

“That and more, Rog’…” The man said. “It put out an address across the entire Sanctuary system when we were in blackout. It was talking about being some kind of god.”

Silence once again, only this time Kenny attributed it to Roger.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“No such luck, Rog’,” he said, “And that’s only the beginning of our problem.”

Roger sighed. He must have had the microphone keyed.

“Go ahead…” He said.

“We have reason to believe Anchorage is going to be…” A pause, “cleansed.”

“Huh? What!?”

“Look, I can’t explain,” the man said, “but… look out your window.”

“What!?… but I’m in-,”

“I don’t think it matters.” The man said. “You’ll see it.”

The channel was silent for a moment. Presumably, Roger was looking out his window, or going to one. Kenny took the short break to gather up the stuff he’d knocked off Sam’s desk. He’d made seven copies of the scarab by then, and he was relieved to see that they’d not shattered. Then the radio went off again.

“…Holy Jesus…” It was Roger. Kenny was nowhere near the outside world.

“It’s concentrated in the city center,” the voice said, “We’re losing people, Rog’…”

“Yeah, at the Receiving Station-,”

“No, I mean right-fucking-now!” The man’s voice sounded panicky. “AV3, Roger…”

“Fuck.” Roger kept his mike keyed, but was silent. “…alright…”

“Roger…” *shkt* “…listen to me…” Kenny was glued to the radio.

*shkt* “…it’s not here for Denali…” *shkt* “…It’s screwin’ with HAARP…” *shkt*

The radio went dead for a minute. Roger made a few calls of Come in, Anchorage, but no answer. Then one last transmission came through.

“…secure the Depot…” he said, “…it’s the only valuable target to Liu…” *shkt* “Apep…”

The radio went dead. Kenny clung to it for ten minutes, but nothing else came through. He switched off the box and tried the unencrypted channel; nothing there but static. After the silence threatened his sanity, he left the office and made his way to the tunnel entrance. If the Depot was a target, he couldn’t defend it alone.

He just hoped Alice was a good shot.

 

 

More from Liam Sweeny…