Trilogy Of Terror 9362q

Trilogy of Terror

Martin Patterson

Copyright © 2014 by Martin Patterson.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014913345 ISBN: Hardcover Softcover eBook

978-1-4990-5483-5 978-1-4990-5484-2 978-1-4990-5482-8

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Rev. date: 07/29/2014

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Contents

Nano Terror

Planet Of Woe

Throne Of A Demon

About The Author

NANO TERROR

Charlene Brogan couldn’t understand her feelings. She had just slapped her husband, Tim, out of anger; and she really didn’t know why. Never in their twelve years of marriage had she struck him. In fact, she had never struck anyone—ever! And she rarely got angry, except for the past several days. What the hell was wrong with her?

She sat at the kitchen table, her face in her hands, crying. That was another thing she rarely did, cry. She supposed it was the hurt look on Tim’s face. Yes, that had to be it. But why should she punish herself? If he hadn’t given her that “I’m better than you” look, she never would have slapped him. Wiping away a tear, Charlene began wondering why she was so emotional. It was that damn Tim, him being late most days from work, leaving her alone. She wouldn’t stand for it. Well, she would fix him! Suddenly, Charlene felt justified with striking her husband. She couldn’t immediately think of anything he had done to deserve it, but what about the things he had done that she never knew about? Charlene took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Wow, she was beginning to sweat. If she weren’t thinking about that damn husband of hers, she wouldn’t be sweating. And she hated to sweat! Getting up from the chair, she walked over to the window located above the kitchen sink. Charlene was forty-five years old but looked thirty. She had green eyes, smooth skin, and blonde hair above a knockout body. Her birthday was coming up; she would be forty-six. She kept herself in top shape with the right food and daily exercise; and of course, she couldn’t forget the nanorobots enhancing her immune system and repairing aging cells. That no-good husband, as she now saw him, would be forty-nine. It wouldn’t be but a couple of years and they would begin to age more rapidly. But even with the accelerated aging, they had decades of prime living ahead of them.

Charlene turned on the faucet and filled up a glass of water. She wondered, not for the first time, why everyone wasn’t taking the injections. It would double their life span. She supposed some people couldn’t afford the extravagant price. Thoughts of Tim kept creeping back into her agitated mind, and it infuriated her. Wait until that no-good husband of hers came back downstairs. When she bent down and removed a butcher’s knife from the automatic dishwasher, she once again became confused. What the hell was she thinking? Was she seriously thinking of killing Tim? She set the knife down on the counter. She couldn’t believe it; something was terribly wrong with her. She went over to the cabinet above the stove and retrieved some aspirin. Several minutes after she downed the aspirin with a drink of water, she felt a little better. How could she think that about her own husband? To kill him! She loved Tim! But what about the things he deliberately did to piss her off? He hadn’t done anything to piss her off; she was crazy. As much as she tried, she couldn’t hold back the feelings of hate and rage. They were emotions that had always been alien to her—until now. Perhaps something a little stronger would help settle her nerves. Charlene went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of vodka. She immediately poured herself a glass of it and then chugged it down. The influx of vodka made her face flush, but little else. The anger came boiling back. She was grinding her teeth as she slammed the cabinet door. She was going to knife the bastard, she thought alarmingly. Shocked at her own feelings, she actually looked forward to it. No! This can’t be happening! Finally, she heard Tim coming down the stairs. “Where are you, bitch!” he cried. Oh, so he wanted to play rough. Before she knew it, he was standing in the kitchen doorway. “What, may I ask, are you doing down here slamming doors and making such a racket? Guess I’m going to have to kick your crybaby ass!” Something was wrong; Tim never, ever threatened her. “Make your move, asshole!” she responded angrily. His red bulging eyes suddenly glazed over. “Honey, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Tim looked confused as he walked over and put his arms around

Charlene. That’s when Charlene plunged the sharp knife deep into his gut. “Ahhhhh.” He staggered back as Charlene stepped up and stabbed him again in the stomach, then again. He tried to fend her off, but she seemed unusually strong as he put up his arms in a meager defense. She sliced and stabbed his arms as her attack turned into a frenzied assault. “Call me a bitch will you! I’ll teach you a lesson.” She continued to stab Tim in the stomach, chest, neck, anywhere and everywhere until finally he fell down onto the kitchen floor. Charlene jumped upon him, stabbing … stabbing … After several harrowing minutes, she was exhausted, covered with Tim’s blood and sweating profusely. She hated to sweat. She stared down at the mutilated corpse of her husband. What had she done? Nothing he wouldn’t have done to you, came a voice from inside her head. Charlene suddenly realized she didn’t give a damn. Whatever was wrong with her had taken over completely. She felt great! She wiped the sweat from her brow and then continued the stabbing of Tim Brogan until her arm went limp; by the time she was done, she’d stabbed her husband forty-seven times. Dropping the knife onto the hardwood floor, she took a few steps then started to puke. She kept on puking until there was nothing left in her stomach but yellow bile. Charlene Brogan was thoroughly confused. She stepped over the corpse of her husband, walked through the hall, and then sat down carefully in a black leather recliner. Her mind drifted, temporarily withdrawn into her own world, a world of blood and violence. Finally, she went to the refrigerator, retrieved the bottle of vodka, and poured herself a drink to celebrate her husband’s demise. She stayed in the house, talking to her husband’s corpse until her sister came over to visit and discovered the gruesome scene.

* * *

Police Sergeant Samuel Baker, real age sixty-seven, married with two children, was on routine patrol in his cruiser when he spotted two kids, maybe thirteen

years old, throwing rocks at ing motorists. That would never do, Samuel thought. Kids nowadays just didn’t respect law and order. Samuel was normally a laid-back kind of guy, a fair, patient individual with black hair peppered with gray, brown eyes, large whisky nose, and thin stretched lips that looked as if he was always grinning. Today he felt rage. Rage at the two youngsters who would dare break the law on his watch. Kids like that had to be taught a lesson, and by God, he was the one to teach it to them. He slammed on his brakes and skidded to a stop. The two rock throwers ran between Roger’s Grocery and Jim’s Appliance store then into a back alley. He gunned the cruiser down the alley just in time to see the kids climb a fence and jump onto the property of the Center Hill dump. Why those little bastards! They couldn’t, wouldn’t get away, not now, not ever! Sergeant Samuel Baker pressed on the gas and plowed through the chain-link fence, taking the gate and several yards of fencing with him. When he was all the way onto the dump’s gravel driveway, he stopped and looked around. Where were the little bastards? There! He saw them running behind the building that housed the incinerator. He fishtailed through the gravel and then shot toward where the boys had fled. When he reached the corner of the building, his rage boiled over; the damn kids were headed for the woods that ran parallel to Mill Creek. Jumping from his vehicle, he drew his weapon from its holster and fired off all six rounds from his revolver. The kids disappeared into the woods. The bullets had missed their mark. Samuel quickly reloaded and holstered his revolver, pulled the police-issue shotgun from behind the seat, and then checked to be sure it was loaded with five shots. When he got close enough, he would blow the little bastards’ heads off. Samuel hopped back into his car and then sped off toward Deacon Street where the brats would have to emerge eventually. He pulled over to the curb on Deacon Street, opened the trunk of his car, and then retrieved an M-16 assault rifle. A speeder went flying up Deacon Street; Samuel ignored it. He had more important things to worry about. After a brief second, Samuel got back into his car, wondering what he was doing sitting in his cruiser on Deacon Street, about to load an M-16 automatic assault

rifle. But as the feeling ed, he wondered where the two rock-throwing punks were. Deacon Street also ran parallel with Mill Creek and the railroad tracks, where he assumed the two boys had crossed the creek somewhere. They would have to emerge within sight of Samuel. And by God, he’d be waiting.

* * *

Amber Styles, assistant to Professor Alec Simms of Biomedical Engineering, was sitting at her desk, thinking about the wonderful discoveries and advances the institute had made in the last twenty years with the study and implementation of medical nanotechnology or as some call it nano medicine. The life span of an average adult was prolonged for decades with the help of nanobots, which were microscopic self-replicating machines built to carry out specific tasks at a molecular or cellular level. Because of the various nanobots, the human body’s immune system was greatly enhanced, virtually eliminating sickness and disease. Research in the development of nanotechnology had opened the way to endless possibilities. The size of the technology they were working with was breathtaking, Amber thought. She ed from school some of the examples of the size comparisons. One nanometer was a billionth of a meter, or a sheet of paper was about 100,000 nanometers thick. And one example that Amber always thought was the kicker; one nanometer was about as long as your fingernail grows in one second. Truly amazing. “Hi, Amber!” “Oh, hi, Professor Simms. I didn’t see you there.” “A penny for your thoughts, Amber.” “Well, Professor, I was just thinking about our advances in nanotechnology.” “Quite extraordinary, I must say, Amber. And since we’re on the subject, have

you had your monthly injection? It’s now free for the research employees.” Professor Simms was like a father to Amber, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him she hadn’t been taking the injection, never had. She just didn’t like the thought of microscopic robots swimming around in her bloodstream like runaway blood cells. Oh, it’s not to say she wouldn’t rely on nanotechnology to cure a life-threatening disease or even complications with the natural aging process. But for now, twenty-seven normal healthy years of age would do just fine. She didn’t think she looked too bad at twenty-seven. With green eyes and light brown hair cut short above the shoulders, she still turned a few heads now and then. And she kept her body in shape with daily workouts like running and aerobics. Eating right was sometimes a problem, but what the hell? You only live once, at least until you start taking nano medical injections. She laughed to herself. Amber decided she couldn’t lie to the professor. He’d been such a help throughout her internship, and to lie to him now with everything he’s done for her just wouldn’t be right. Finally, she answered, “Don’t take this wrong, Professor, but programmable nanobots playing around in my body at this stage of my life just aren’t in the works. Maybe in about ten years. There should be a whole new frontier conquered by then.” Professor Simms didn’t seem surprised. “Well, Amber, wouldn’t you want to stay feeling and looking twenty-seven twenty years from now? Our nanofactories are working at full capacity, providing almost everyone with immunity to disease, reversing the aging process by treating conditions at the cellular level. We communicate with them, Amber. They respond to ultrasonic signals that we use to program instructions into the nanobots. The first major hurdle that scientists faced years ago was creating a nanobot small enough to be introduced into the anatomical system and be small enough to do its work effectively. A complete electromechanical nanobot was in order. In of characteristics and function, nanobots were built on the bacterium model. Then miraculously, a fully mechanical, ultrasonic programmed microscopic machine capable of performing an extensive array of valuable functions was developed.” Amber had heard the same arguments a dozen times, but Professor Simms always made it interesting by adding new advances that Amber had not yet heard

about. “You see,” Professor Simms continued, “we position a network of individual fixed nanobots throughout the body, screening each active nanobot as it es then communicating the results back to us. A computer interface keeps track of all the devices in the body.” “But what if something went wrong? Like a computer malfunction or nanobots that went haywire and began killing off the body’s white blood cells.” “In the unlikely event of a computer malfunction, the computers are designed to give out a low-frequency acoustic signal, a death scream if you will call it. The signal will shut down all the devices, with the nanobots being flushed from the body through urination to keep the computer from programming the wrong instructions. In the case of a lone rogue nanobot malfunction, the computer would pick up the erratic signal and shut it down. All for the fraction of the cost that medical bills used to be. Medical bills hindered our economy to the point of bankruptcy. That’s all in the past now. Forgive me, Amber. I know you’ve heard much of this before, but there are very few people the institute will let me talk to about it.” “That’s quite all right, Professor. Nanoscience has always intrigued me. That’s why I applied for the position at the Institute for Nanophysics and Micro Fabrication.” “In that case, there’s one other item that might be of interest to you. Some individual nanobots can be specifically designed to replicate themselves inside the body and do the work of the nanofactories, actually build other nanobots programmed to do specific tasks. The raw materials needed for the manufacture of the nanobots can be found in the human body. And what can’t be found can be istered safely into the bloodstream.” Wow! That was a new one I hadn’t heard about, Amber thought. But of course, she had only been on the job a few months, not counting her residency. All the advancement and the potential for advancement were mind-boggling. “That’s fascinating, Professor,” Amber responded. “Seems like there’s something new in the works every day.” “What I’ve told you is already being implemented throughout the country. And

the results so far are very promising. How old do you think I am?” the professor suddenly asked. Amber hated to guess ages. She wasn’t very good at it, and she didn’t want to offend anyone. Besides, in these times, it was almost impossible to guess someone’s age. “It’s okay, Amber. I’m much older than I look.” She looked at the professor nervously. “I’d say fortyish.” The professor laughed and said, “Try sixty-two, Amber.” Amber was astonished. Professor Simms is sixty-two? She wondered what a man of only forty was doing as senior researcher for the Microbiology Department. “That’s amazing!” “I was one of the first ones to pioneer the use of nanobots working in the body to enhance the working of the immune system. I owe it all to nanotechnology, as do millions of others. When I go home tonight, I’ll sit in front of a specially designed computer and track the progress of my nanobots at the atomic, molecular, and cellular levels. Impressive, eh, Amber?” “Very impressive, Professor.” Professor Simms looked at his watch. “You must forgive me, Amber. I’m late for another meeting, a more fruitful one this time, I hope.” He reached out and gently held her hand. “Always good to see you, my dear.” “Likewise, Professor Simms.” He looked at her and frowned. “I’ve known you for three years, Amber. I think it’s about time you called me, Alec.” “Anything you say, Alec.” With that said, the professor walked swiftly down the hall toward the conference room. Amber didn’t quite know what to think about that. She’d never seen Professor Simms so excited, so polite. It would be hard to get used to calling him Alec. Amber looked at her own watch. Almost time for lunch break. She usually

brown-bagged it, and today wasn’t any different. Her feast for today was fresh vegetables, a yogurt, and a boloney sandwich, which was generally a no-no, but what the hell? She was just about to bite into her sandwich when she spied Dale Fisher coming down the hall toward her. He also worked in the Biomedical Engineering Department, and God only knew what his age was. He looked to be thirtyish, with short light brown hair, brown eyes, and a slightly lopsided nose, which came from a broken nose he claimed his older brother gave him when they were younger. Amber never ed what the altercation was, but apparently, his brother busted him up pretty good. Ah, shit! He was coming over to her desk, and he seemed agitated. “Hi, Amber! I just wanted you to know that I busted you and Dr. Simms having your little powwow. What have you guys been up too? Huh? You’ve been fucking him behind my back, is that all I’ve ever meant to you?” Whoa! What the hell is this man’s problem? Amber had never even been out with the guy, never had anything but small talk with him on occasion. And here he was acting like they were intimate. She sat dumbfounded as he continued with his ravings. “What have you got to say for yourself, Amber? You told me you never messed around with anyone at work, that it was against your work ethics.” Dale’s face was turning a beet red. “So what the fuck are you doing shaking your ass in front of that slimy Dr. Simms?” What the hell was going on? Amber thought. Amber was getting pissed. The rage that was plastered on Dale’s face told her to respond with caution, but as she watched the spittle fly out of his accusing mouth, she decided silence would be the best policy—for now. However, by that time, a crowd was gathering from the conference room down the hall. They must have heard the racket. Dr. Alec Simms was first on the scene. Oh, shit! “Is there a problem here?” Alec asked. “What is all the yelling about? We are trying to have a meeting.” “Well, if it isn’t Dr. Backstabber in the flesh.” “Have you been drinking, Dale? What’s this all about?”

He pointed an accusing finger at Amber. “It’s about you two sneaking around behind my back! Did you think I wouldn’t find out? So how was it, Doctor? Was it as good as it looks?” Dr. Simms’s face turned a shade of purple. Amber thought his head was going to explode. “Why you little loser!” Dr. Simms screamed. “Did you actually think a woman of her caliber would have anything to do with you? You’re nothing but a lowlife, downstairs with the Ginny pigs and monkeys, doomed to grovel in their shit for minimum wage. As for Amber, well, let’s just say it’s better than it looks, something you’ll never find out!” Dale Fisher dove over Amber’s desk, pushing Dr. Simms onto the floor; but before he could do the man bodily harm, the men and women from the conference room swarmed over Dale, punching, kicking, and tearing at the Dale’s clothes. Amber didn’t know what to think. There were at least twelve men and women beating the hell out of the smart-mouthed Dale Fisher, like a mob gone crazy. At first, Amber was pissed. Now she was scared. She didn’t know what to do, so she picked up the phone on her desk and called security. After her plea for help, security said they would be right down; and sure enough, six security men came down the hall almost immediately, swinging their nightsticks into the horde of scientists. All but one concentrated their efforts on the scientists. One lone security officer came over to Amber. “All hell’s breaking loose, miss! We’d better get you to a safer place. Come with me!” Before Amber knew it, she was being led away from the madness by a young good-looking security officer who introduced himself as Ryan Osborn. He had piercing blue eyes that reminded Amber of the sky on a clear spring day, and the thick curly blond hair that went well with it was an added bonus. He was tall and muscular, and Amber couldn’t help wondering what his real age was. With the nanotechnology, the man could be in his fifties, and Amber wouldn’t know it. Ryan Osborn led her to a different unused conference room where from the inside he locked the door with one of his many keys that dangled from his key

ring. “So you say your name is Amber Styles? Well, Amber, I don’t know what’s happening, but you’d better take the day off until we get a hold on this thing. The men on my shift were more than willing to crack a few heads, something they were trained to avoid. And they sure weren’t authorized to beat up on the current staff.” He looked at Amber and wiped the sweat from his brow. “The whole place is in an uproar. I’d better escort you to your car.” “But I don’t understand what’s happening! One minute, I’m ready to eat my lunch, and the next minute, a guy I barely know is accusing me of cheating on him. And before I could react to his accusations, the entire conference room was rioting. At least that’s what it seemed like.” “I don’t know what’s going on either, Amber, but I need to get you to your car before you get hurt.” “Do you really think they would hurt me? I mean this is my boss we’re talking about.” “I say again, Amber, I don’t know what’s happening. You’ve seen the behavior of the staff at this institute. This is an institute of nanobiomedical engineering, which tells me something has gone wrong. I’ve never seen anything so bizarre in my life. Maybe it’s a virus of some kind.” Ryan studied her face and frowned. “Have you ever had an injection of nanobots?” “No, sir, not me. I’m too young.” “There you have it. I’m completely free of the nanobots as well.” “That would explain a lot,” Amber answered. “Whatever the case,” Ryan said, “I also fear for my own life. Right before your phone call, one of my coworkers was threatening to shoot me over a coin toss. And you know what the scary part was? I believed him.” Suddenly, before Ryan could finish, there were shots fired down the hall from where they came. “Oh, shit!” Amber cried. “Let’s get out of here while we still can.”

They walked over, quietly unlocked the door, and then peered out. They could see down the hall. The security men had the rest of the staff lined against the wall. It looked as if they were executing some of them. He closed and locked the door. “We can’t go out that way,” Ryan said. He went to the door on the opposite side of the room, unlocked it, and looked out. There were people from the ading offices gathering and moving toward the commotion. “This way, Amber!” Amber and Ryan moved through the gathering crowd and away from the turmoil. They went to the elevators that took them to the first floor and out the front exit into the parking lot. People were running chaotically to their vehicles. It seemed that most of the people at the institute had the same idea as Amber and Ryan, run like hell. “Mind giving me a lift, Amber? I car-shared my way to work to save on gas.” “Sure, Ryan, get in.” They entered Amber’s vehicle and drove toward the gate. No one was at the exit to ask for identification, so they drove straight through unmolested. “No one at the gate?” Ryan said. “That proves there’s trouble in paradise, Amber.” Amber drove them up Industrial Avenue and out onto Anthony Boulevard where the traffic was bumper to bumper. “Now what?” Amber asked as she eyed several fistfights taking place among the lined-up cars. She was really getting scared now. How was she ever going to get home? The vehicle next to them suddenly erupted into a brawl as two men and a woman grappled in the street for some unknown reason. “We better hit the bricks, Amber. If we stay here, we could be in trouble.” “Okay,” Amber said meekly. They jumped from the vehicle and moved rapidly across the boulevard and into the back streets. Ryan checked his .357 sidearm to be sure it was loaded. It was, and he had four extra speed loaders holding six rounds each. There were people everywhere asking for help, but Ryan didn’t want to linger anywhere for very

long. They had to keep moving, but his gun and uniform could easily be seen, drawing unwanted attention. He didn’t want to help anyone else; he just wanted to get himself and Amber to her place. “Where do you live, Amber?” “4728 Hartford Street, a few blocks from here.” They kept moving in the general direction of her apartment. Two kids suddenly darted out from between two buildings, running fast in the direction of the lower east end of the city. Then a police cruiser came whipping around the corner and skidded to a halt. A uniformed officer jumped from the car and began firing at the kids with an automatic weapon. Amber and Ryan ducked behind a parked car and waited. “I’ll get you little bastards!” the police officer screamed. The kids apparently made it to the next block as the officer jumped angrily back into his car and sped off in the direction of the fleeing kids. “Wow! I wonder what that was all about,” Amber said. “I don’t know, but let’s keep moving.” They returned to their original route toward Amber’s apartment. “How are you holding up, Amber?” She was bone tired from running but wasn’t going to it it to the wound-up man beside her. Plus her feet were killing her because of the heeled shoes she was wearing. “I’m fine, Ryan. Let’s keep going!” Finally, they were at her apartment and inside. Sanctuary at last. After resting for a few minutes, Amber turned on the television set for the latest news. The newscaster was busy trying to explain what was happening. Apparently, it was a nationwide catastrophe. “And now,” said the newscaster, “we’ll hear from Dr. Albert Snider from the Institute of Biomedical Engineering. What can you tell us about the calamity that seems to be running rampant through our beloved city? You’re on the air, Doctor. Go ahead.” Dr. Snider cleared his throat and looked gravely into the camera. “Well, Sherry, from what I and my fellow colleagues, at least the ones who have been lucky, have surmised, the only explanation for the calamity is the recent solar flare emitting from the surface of the sun. It was ed as an X-class flare, in the range of an X30, we assume. The electromagnetic energy was so overwhelming

that it apparently disrupted the communication of the nanobots that recede in the bodies of a large portion of the population. We haven’t pinpointed which wave in the electromagnetic spectrum is responsible, but—” Suddenly, there was a disturbance in the studio where the doctor was trying to relay his information. There were shots fired and then screams. The commentator left the camera briefly then returned. “Sorry about the disturbance,” she said. “We had a few problems, but they have been resolved. Dr. Snider has left the building temporarily for his own safety, but let me assure you that the doctor has not been harmed and will return to this broadcast before the day is out. At what time, we haven’t determined.” She went on to repeat what Dr. Snider had already relayed to the audience. Amber went to the television and turned it to a different channel. The news was blaring incidents of rioting and violence, which the couple had already experienced firsthand. The news channel showed people crashing into storefronts and hauling away everything from flat-screen televisions to microwave ovens. Two laughing police officers were indiscriminately shooting suspects outright. “The streets of the city were a madhouse,” chanted the newscaster. The foremost authority on solar flares and nanotechnology, Dr. Russell Thomas, was due to answer questions shortly. As the couple waited for Dr. Thomas, Amber wondered what would have happened to her if Ryan hadn’t been there to help. She could lay raped and bleeding by then. Then she wondered whatever happened to Professor Simms. Was he still alive? How long will the affliction last? So many questions and no answers. She glanced at Ryan Osborn. He was busy watching the news on the tube. Perhaps the next guest on the program will shed more light on the subject. What was his name? Ah, yes, Dr. Russell Thomas. After several minutes, Dr. Thomas sat down in front of the camera. After rustling through some of his notes, he adjusted the microphone on his vest. “I’ll start by explaining in layman’s what a solar flare is. It’s a sudden brightening over the sun’s surface, which is interpreted as a large energy release. The electromagnetic energy that is released affects all layers of the solar atmosphere. They also produce radiation across the electromagnetic spectrum at all wavelengths, from radio waves to gamma waves.”

“But can you tell us, Doctor,” interrupted the newscaster, “what bearing it all has to the crazy happenings here on earth?” “X-rays and ultraviolet radiation emitted by solar flares can affect the earth’s ionosphere and disrupt long-range radio communication. That’s what we think has happened here. I’m not saying that radio waves alone are affecting the nanobots, but radio waves can affect the ultrasonic signals that the computer relays to the nanobots. In essence, the electromagnetic energy from the solar flare is somehow altering the behavior of the robots by changing the signals, thereby reprogramming the robots. To do what is still a mystery. Apparently, it has something to do with the brain’s function.” “And that’s what we hope to find out with our next guest. Thank you, Dr. Thomas. You’ve been a great help.” “My pleasure, sir.” “When we come back, we’ll finish an all-channel interview with Dr. Albert Snyder.” A commercial about arthritis pain medicine came on the break. “Wow! This is really something big, Amber. I … um … never really asked you if I could hang around. I can leave if you want.” Amber was flabbergasted. “Are you kidding? You probably saved my life! You’re not going anywhere, mister, so just kick off your shoes and relax. Maybe together we can get through this thing.” After the commercial break, the camera in the newsroom showed a harrowedlooking older man—Dr. Albert Snyder. “As I was saying before I was interrupted earlier today, the electromagnetic spectrum hadn’t been identified yet. Well, we think it has something to do with the radio waves of the spectrum. The theory is still under examination. The solar flare that we think is the cause of this catastrophe has damaged power plants and even disrupted satellite communication. It’s the most powerful solar flare on record.” “Yes, but what of the damage it has been doing to the nanobots inside the millions of people’s skulls?” asked the newscaster. “Can you explain what it has been doing to the nanobots that have been the breakthrough of the century?” Dr. Snyder took the pen he’d been holding from his mouth and smiled. “All I can

do is give the people a calculated guess. And I am good at calculations, I might add. But to answer your question, I will say this. In my opinion, the programming for the nanobots has been altered because of the massive release of energy from the sun. The programming is now telling the robots to attack the brain. The nanobots attack the gene that codes the enzyme monoamine oxidase A, which metabolizes the brain chemicals serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine, thereby producing violent and psychopathic behavior. It’s the only explanation. The reason the nanobots are doing that in the first place is that they could be trying to replicate themselves by hording raw materials from the prefrontal cortex of the brain. It would explain the disorder.” “Will there be permanent damage to the brain as a result of these … attacks?” “No more questions,” Dr. Snyder suddenly said as he rose from his chair. “I must get back to the lab!” Under armed guard, the doctor could be seen in the background leaving the newsroom. “This just keeps getting stranger,” Ryan said. He rose up and walked to the window overlooking the street out front. “It’ll be dark soon.” Amber got up from her chair then went over and stood by Ryan. People were scurrying around the streets outside like worker ants before winter; everyone was trying to prepare for the coming night, she supposed. Periodic gunfire could be heard in the distance. She was scared. She hoped Ryan didn’t have loved ones who he’d want to get back too. She didn’t know what she would if she were alone. “Ryan? I hope you don’t have to rush off anywhere. I mean … I would understand if you had a wife or girlfriend you want to protect.” Ryan looked at Amber and smiled. “Don’t worry, Amber. We’ll get through this together. Okay?” Amber smiled back. “Thanks, Ryan.”

* * *

Sergeant Samuel Baker sat in his police cruiser on Evanston Street, waiting, watching. One of the buildings directly in front of him housed the filthy criminals he’d been chasing all afternoon. The two kids had evaded him time and again, which infuriated him. All he had to do now was wait until they emerged from hiding. He was convinced they didn’t live around there but that they were hiding in one of the three buildings, perhaps in the basement. If he tried a search and it turned out to be the wrong choice, then the culprits would escape and Samuel wouldn’t know which way they’d fled. No. Better to wait it out, kill the little bastards. Samuel really couldn’t what their offense was and really didn’t care. All he knew was that they had to die. Street justice is what he called it. Samuel looked at his surroundings. All the storefront windows on that street were broken, and the stores were vandalized. He didn’t have time to attend to all the minor offenses that were occurring that night. Oh, it wasn’t to say he wouldn’t uphold the law; he would. He had proven that when he’d shot two looters down on Fifth Street. One was dead from a chest wound; the other was still breathing, blood bubbling from his mouth. But he was still able to beg for his life. Letting him go wasn’t street justice. Samuel blew his brains out onto the sidewalk in front of a bunch of stunned onlookers. But that was before the two kids broke the law, whatever law that was. Normally, Samuel would have been one hungry mother by then, but for some reason, hunger never entered his thoughts. Man, he was thirsty, though! He’d drunk his last bottle of water an hour ago. He eyed the little mom-and-pop grocery store a half block up the street. As much as he hated it, he’d have to take a chance and commandeer some water, which would leave the surveillance unattended for a few minutes. If he started his car, and they were watching, then he’d be spotted. No, he’d take a chance and walk the half block to retrieve some water. The sergeant exited his police vehicle and walked the hundred yards to the ravaged storefront. Hurrying through the broken front plate glass, he went to the burnt-out cooler and retrieved a six-pack of bottled water. Back outside, he stared at the three dark buildings he knew the little bastards were hiding in. Suddenly, he spotted moving shadows creeping up the embankment toward the rear of one of the buildings. Son of a bitch! The fuckers were getting away. Damn his luck!

Samuel ran back to his vehicle, threw the water in the backseat as he started his car, and then slammed the gear into drive. The vehicle lurched forward, speeding for the alley one street over. He would cut them off. As he raced down the street, the two fugitives could be seen heading east on Packard Street. He had them now! Samuel would stop at the dead-end street, and when the boys tried to make it across the tracks, he’d light them up with automatic weapon fire. He was just thinking that he’d roll around in their blood when a sudden impact jolted the vehicle into a spin, sending it skidding sideways from a collision. Shit! He’d been broadsided by another vehicle that just ran a stop sign. He punched the gas, hoping that the kids had stopped briefly to watch the accident; if they did, then he had them! The car sped forward, finally arriving at the dead-end of the street. Samuel screamed out the car window in frustration. “I’ll get you! By God, you can count on it!” If foot pursuit was what they wanted, then by God, he would give it to them. Samuel jumped from the car; took the M-16 assault rifle, a belt containing five thirty-round clips; and then pulled the rifle’s strap over his head. Quickly, he snatched the shotgun and ten extra rounds. His revolver was loaded with six rounds and five speed loaders with six rounds each in his utility belt. He grabbed a bottle of water and then jogged with his heavy load toward where the two kids had disappeared.

* * *

It was full dark, and the news channel had been off the air for more than two hours, claiming technical difficulties. Amber knew it was much more than that. The calamity was spreading at an alarming rate. She didn’t know how a man could sleep when everything was falling apart around him, but there Ryan was, snoring away on the couch. She was bone tired but afraid to try and sleep, afraid she would wake up and Ryan would be gone, or afraid she’d wake up and there would be strange demented men in her apartment. And what had become of Professor Simms? He was obviously infected with the nanobots by his own ission. They couldn’t afford to lose such a brilliant scientist when the world was going to shit. Hell, most all the employees at the institute had working

nanobots in their systems. That meant that they were all experiencing psychopathic behavior, as it said on the news, which meant, Amber thought depressingly, the brilliant minds of the institute was at that minute tearing themselves apart. How horrible! She didn’t want to think about the professor anymore. It was making her nauseous. Finally, she decided to sit on the floor with her back against the couch. That way, if she fell asleep, Ryan couldn’t get up without waking her. For the first time in her life, she felt totally vulnerable. She never had to depend on anyone. If she had a weapon, she would feel a little better, even though she wouldn’t know how to use it, much alone shoot someone. Amber couldn’t get it out of her mind how the people she worked with tore and punched Dale Fisher—the blood. Then the shots from the hallway; security was shooting people, lining them up against the wall, picking out people at random, then shooting them. It was a nightmare; and if it wasn’t for Ryan, well, who knows what would have happened. She was exhausted. She had to get some sleep, and her butt was already getting numb from sitting on the hard floor. Maybe she could lie down by the couch and get the same results. She rose wearily from her place by the couch, went to the bedroom and grabbed a pillow, and then put it down on the floor by the couch. There she lay down and fell asleep. When Amber awoke a few hours later, she was covered with a blanket. Ryan must have covered her up. Ryan! Where the hell was he? He was no longer on the couch. She scanned the room in her apartment: no Ryan. Panic seized her. She got up from the floor and then went to the bedroom, still no Ryan. My God, he has left her! At that second, she heard the toilet flush from the bathroom. She felt an immediate wave of relief. He was just in the bathroom. When he came out, she ran to him and punched him in the shoulder. “Ouch! What was that for?” “You scared me, mister. I thought you’d left me.” “I told you, Amber, we’ll get through this together. I meant it.”

She felt so relieved she felt like hugging and kissing him. Was she that desperate for protection? To contemplate kissing a man she barely knew. Yes, she supposed she was. Damn her for not getting a gun when she had the chance; she just didn’t feel the need to at the time. It was too late to cry over spilled milk. Amber felt somewhat embarrassed by her show of incompetence. Then at that second, the lights in the room dimmed then went completely out. Damn if the electricity hadn’t gone out, and in the heat of summer too. The room was cloaked in darkness. “Ryan, are you there?” “Right here. Have you got a flashlight or a candle we could light?” “I have a small flashlight in my car.” “I guess that will have to do. Give me your keys, and I’ll go get it.” Amber could just imagine Ryan taking off in her car, leaving her alone with no weapon or transportation. “No way, mister! Where you go, I go.” “Suit yourself.” Together they went out the door, down the stairs, and into the small parking lot. At her car, she opened the door and retrieved the flashlight from the glove compartment while Ryan stood guard. “Help me, please,” came a voice from behind them. It was a short man with glasses, balding head, and a small goatee. He looked to be in his forties. Ryan drew his weapon and pointed it at the man. “Hold it right there, buddy, or I’ll shoot you.” “Please don’t shoot,” he begged through blood-soaked lips. “I’m afraid I had a run in with the so-called law, which is no law at all.” The man started to limp toward them. “Please, don’t leave me out here! I’ve no place to go.” Amber felt sorry for the man. He was alone and on the street that time of night, might as well sign his own death warrant.

“It’s up to you, Amber,” Ryan said. “We can’t stand on the street and discuss it. There are too many crazies out tonight. Whatever you decide, be quick!” “Let’s go inside, Ryan,” Amber said. “We’ll discuss it over some cool water.” The threesome went back into the apartment with the man thanking them all the way. In the apartment, Amber got a bottle of water from the refrigerator and handed it to the man. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this. I surely wouldn’t have lasted out the night. Rest assured, I have no nanobots in my system. I work at the Research and Development Department at the institute. I work as manual laborer. They don’t pay me enough to have had the injection.” He was talking fast, as if he hadn’t spoken to anyone for a long time. “My name is Elmer Pittman, by the way.” “My name in Amber Styles, and this is Ryan Osborn.” “I’m so glad to make your acquaintance. You probably saved my life.” He took a long gulp of water, squishing it around in his mouth then swallowing. He went to the sink. “May I?” “By all means,” Amber said. Elmer rinsed out more blood from his mouth and spit in into the sink. “Damn cops! Busted me up good. I barely got away with my life. I was just trying to get home to my wife and son when the police pulled me over, said I was breaking curfew and I’d have to be executed. Luckily for me, their attention was on a couple of looters coming from a hardware store. As they were gunning them down, I managed to escape. My car now sits on Rochester Street, not far from my house.” “Well, you’re welcome here, Elmer,” Amber said. “Thanks, Amber.” She then told Elmer of the ordeal at her desk the institute. Through it all, Ryan was strangely silent.

“You’re not too talkative, are you, Mr. Osborn?” Elmer said. “I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you, but given time, I think I can earn your trust.” “You’re right, Elmer. I don’t trust you. A man suddenly comes out of nowhere asking for help. How do we know you’re not infected with the nanobots? Just because you act normal doesn’t make it so. You could be deceiving us, Elmer,” Ryan said calmly. Ryan looked at Amber. “I say feed him, give him some water, and then send him on his way. When our guard is down, he could stab us in the back, Amber. I said we would get through this thing together. I’m just trying to protect you.” Ryan had a valid point, but could she send the man to certain death? Her heart just wasn’t in it. She would not be responsible for his death. But what if she pissed Ryan off? Would he leave her with Elmer, who was of questionable integrity? She could hardly see Elmer Pittman protecting her. She would have to weigh her options carefully. “Please, Ryan! Can you give me a couple of hours to decide? It’s not as if I can be responsible for his death. I just couldn’t live with myself. Can you understand? Whatever happens, I don’t want you to leave me.” “Don’t worry, Amber. I’ll never leave you,” Ryan said as he walked over and stood beside Elmer. “Believe me when I say we’re taking a huge chance of having to look over our backs all the time. There is too much going on.” Amber screamed as Ryan shot Elmer through the forehead with his revolver. Bloody tissue and pieces of brain matter flew from the back of Elmer’s skull in a cloud of red mist. A piece of Elmer’s bloody scalp was stuck on the wall behind him. Ryan was saying something she couldn’t understand; the ringing in her ears from the report of the gun was deafening. Finally, after a few seconds, her hearing gradually returned. “Wow!” Ryan said. “I never dreamed a .357 Magnum could do such damage! Was that rad or what?” He looked at Amber seriously and said, “I told you we’d get through this thing together. I meant it! You didn’t think I’d actually let a little pip-squeak like Elmer ruin our love nest, did you?”

My God! All this time, Ryan had been infected. Was she losing her mind? He holstered the gun, walked over to Amber, and forcibly kissed her. Amber tried to struggle, but he was too strong. She felt him stiffening under his pants as he grinded up against her. God, she was going to be raped! After a minute, which seemed like an hour, he finally let her go. Amber went crying to the couch. She was terrified. “That was just a little sample of what you’re going to get later tonight, Amber.” Ryan laughed. “Now come back here! Now!” Ryan ordered. Reluctantly, she did what she was told; she had little choice. He grabbed her painfully by the hair and shoved her toward the stove. “Fix me something to eat! Damn you!” he commanded. Then suddenly, he began to talk calmly again. “You don’t know how hard it was to keep a straight face when I led you away from the office and to your car, Amber. That luscious body of yours, so helpless. Man, do I have plans for you!” Amber listened to him rave on as she began to prepare him a hamburger. She was royally screwed. She went to the sink and eyed a steak knife that was lying on the countertop. Could she do it? Could she stab him? If she didn’t connect to a vital spot the first time, then he would surely kill her. A shot through the head as he’d done poor Elmer. What should she do? She felt his warm heavy breath on the back of her neck as he put his arms around her and began to grind on her from behind. “ when I told you about my fellow security man threatening to kill me over a coin toss? Well, it was me who shot him through the neck and watched him bleed out. It was quite funny really. You could actually see the man’s soul leave his body after death, the way the eyes clouded over. Well, enough of reminiscing the good times. How’s my food coming along? It better tastes as good as it smells or I’m going to slap the shit out of you!” Amber whirled around and struck out with the steak knife toward his face. It stuck deep in his left eye socket. He screamed and backed away as he fumbled at the embedded knife. Apparently, the knife didn’t go deep enough to pierce the brain.

“Ahhhhh, my eye! You bitch!” Immediately, she grabbed another knife that was in the sink and rushed toward the retreating Ryan. Again, she stabbed at his face, but she missed her mark, the knife piercing his neck next to the collarbone. He threw a desperate punch, connecting with her jaw that sent her dazed to the floor. “What have you done to me?” he bellowed. Even though he’d been stabbed in one eye, the other was bleeding through the nasal cavity, temporarily blinding him. Then he had his gun out and began firing blindly at where he thought Amber had fallen. He missed her by inches. Amber crawled toward the crazed man. She was going to attempt to get his gun before he regained his sight. Slipping up behind him, she grabbed the gun with both her hands; she had a hold of the weapon, but because of Ryan’s blood, the firearm was slipping from her grasp. She did the only thing she could think of; she began stomping his foot with her sharp heels. He let go of the gun but with his other hand swung Amber by the hair of her head into the coffee table. She was stunned but managed to aim the gun and fire. Shit if she hadn’t missed. She cocked the gun again as she’d seen it done in the movies and fired again. That time, it struck Ryan in the chest where he staggered back against the wall. She pulled the trigger again, but it fell on an empty chamber. She was out of bullets! Ryan tore open his shirt and tried to look at the bleeding bullet hole below his right breast. “You bitch, you’ve killed me!” He slid down the back wall, leaving a bloody trail down the wall behind him until he was in a sitting position on the floor. Bloody bubbles were coming from the hole in his chest. Amber guessed it was a punctured lung. Soon he would drown in his own blood. And sure enough, he coughed blood from his mouth a few times and then quit breathing. She began to cry. How could she endure such an act of violence and not cry? He’d left me no choice, she kept telling herself. Now what was she going to do? There was no one to look after her. Amber suddenly ed the gun. She set it on the broken coffee table and went over to the corpse of the man she’d just killed. She could see extra bullets in the pouches on his leather belt. She fumbled with the belt for several painstaking minutes until she finally got it off him. First, she adjusted the belt to fit her small waist. Then she figured out how to get the

bullets from the cylinder she thought were called speed loaders or something like that. After wiping off the gun, loading it, and putting on the belt, she surveyed her inventory. Four speed loaders with six bullets each. Plus she put six bullets in the gun itself. She again looked at her surroundings: two dead bodies and blood everywhere. She could no longer stay in her own home without first cleaning up the mess. But since it was physically impossible for her to lug around the weight of the bodies, her only other choice was to seek refuge somewhere else. Going into her bedroom, she retrieved a book bag and filled it full of bottled water and food. She didn’t want it too heavy, so she stuck to lightweight packets of rice and cookies. It was still dark out. Would it be safer at night, where she would be hard to spot, or would daylight be best? And where would she go? Amber had an idea. She went to the corpse of Ryan, pulled out his wallet, and then pulled out his driver’s license. The address on the license read 2872 Oakwood Place. She knew where that was; at least she knew where Oakwood was. Ryan said he had no one to attend to during the current crisis, and Amber believed him. She would go to his place and see if she could hide there. Another question arose in her mind: should she drive to her destination or walk the several blocks? She had no intention of drawing unwanted attention to herself, so she decided to walk the short distance to Ryan’s place. Getting the keys from his pocket, she kicked off her heels and slipped on a pair of gym shoes; she now had what she needed for her journey. She would leave immediately before it got light outside. Outside her apartment, it looked like a tornado had hit the place. Windows were broken on most businesses; abandoned cars littered the streets. Even if she had elected to drive, she wouldn’t have made it very far. She snuck through the streets, trying her best to keep within the shadows, trying to keep her mind off the gunshots in the distance and screaming that echoed down the deserted streets from somewhere on the next block. There was only one thought in her head, one concentrated effort—make it to Ryan’s address unmolested. ing within several yards of two men raping a woman, Amber slipped silently by the two occupied assailants. One thought said she should help the poor

woman; the other side of her mind said to keep moving. She had the gun. But she couldn’t take the chance of there being more of the roving band around, and who was to say they didn’t have guns themselves? It only made sense that the gun stores would be top priority with people of devious intentions. No, she had to keep moving. About a block from her destination, she came upon a bleeding helpless-looking woman. Amber stopped and stared down at her. It looked like a knife wound. Amber was just thinking that there was nothing to be done about her when the injured woman jumped up and hollered. “Matt, Junior! We have a live one down here.” Oh shit! It was a setup! That’s what she got for stopping to help. She ran in the direction of Ryan’s apartment, hearing rapid footsteps behind her. If she could just get off a shot, maybe it would scare the pursuers away. Glancing behind her as she ran, she noticed a heavyset man gaining on her fast. Should she take the chance and stop to fire? She already had the gun in her hand. If she missed, the man would no doubt rape and probably kill her. She was once again terrified. She didn’t want to die. When she glanced behind her a second time, the overweight man was slowing down, apparently out of breath. It was just a few minutes when she ended up at Oakwood Place. When she stopped to catch her breath, she noticed the address of the house on the corner, 2870. The next house should be Ryan’s. Creeping through the front yard, she worked her way around to the back of the house. Everything seemed to be intact. She pulled her small flashlight from her book bag and shined it onto the back door of 2872 Oakwood Place. She tried the door—locked! Taking out Ryan’s keys from her pocket, she tried a few until she found a key that fit. She entered the dark house. Holding the gun in front of her, she began a search of the house, being sure to hold it with both hands. The gun kicked so hard she missed the first shot she had at Ryan. She suddenly decided to wait for her eyes to adjust to the dark because someone could see the flashlight from outside the house. She sat down at the kitchen table and went over the night’s events in her head. A damn nanobot malfunction! An altering of their programming, they said. A solar flare was apparently to blame. It was mind-boggling. She already knew about

nanorobots; nanosponges that absorb toxins and remove them from the bloodstream; nanobots repairing diseased cells; self-replicating nanobots that would soon replace nanofactories. The list went on and on. Now it all went to shit because of some sort of electromagnetic radiation from the sun’s surface. And how the hell were they ever going to find a cause and cure when all the inventors of nanobots were themselves affected, thereby causing havoc because of attacking nanobots on the prefrontal cortex? What was it the doctor said? That the nanobots were attacking the gene that codes the enzyme monoamine, something. It all had to do with brain chemicals as far as Amber was concerned. They could forget all the fancy talk. Amber could finally see at least enough to get around. She again started a search of the house. After a thirty-minute sweep, she was satisfied she was indeed alone. During her search of the house, she noticed a gun safe. Checking the keys on Ryan’s key ring, she found one very unusual key. She would bet her life it was the one that fit, not that it would do her any good. She knew very little about guns. Could she even figure out how to fire one? She doubted it. The one on her hip would do for now, but she was curious what the safe contained. Maybe she would take a look when it got light enough to see. Deciding to get something to eat, she thought she’d look around the house for food before digging into the meager stash in her book bag. One whiff of the warm refrigerator was enough. Nothing in there. The cabinets were generously stocked with canned goods. Luckily, she’d brought a can opener; Ryan had nothing but an electric one, which would do little good during the present blackout. Pilfering through the canned food, she picked out a can of tuna. That should do for now. A can of tuna washed down with a bottle of water was heavenly. It made her crave sleep. She felt comfortable enough where she thought she could get some sleep on Ryan’s couch. No one, she was sure, had seen her enter his house. He apparently lived alone. This gave her the mental comfort she needed to get some much-needed sleep. She grabbed a pillow from the bedroom and made a place on the couch to sleep. Without the air-conditioning, it would be getting hot as the sun rose in the sky, so she’d better get some sleep while it was relatively cool. An hour later, she was fast asleep. Amber dreamt of Elmer Pittman. He was lying in a pool of blood, his head a mass of brain matter. Surprisingly, his face was still intact. As she stared down at

him, his head moved as if it was full of hungry maggots, then he turned and faced her—smiling. His glasses had fallen down and hung on one ear. The other ear was gone, gone along with the back of his head with the blast from a .357 Magnum. Something wasn’t right. Were dead people supposed to smile? Could dead people move? No, she supposed they couldn’t or shouldn’t. Before Amber knew it, Elmer Pittman began to rise until he was up on one knee. Rest assured, I have no nanobots in my system. That’s what he’d said shortly before Ryan blew his brains out onto the wall. Amber didn’t want Elmer to get up, didn’t want him to touch her; but there he was, standing, reaching for her. She wanted to run, but her feet would not obey her mental commands, as if she was nailed onto the wooden floor. Then suddenly he was touching her, fondling her breasts with his blood-soaked hand. Damn cops! Busted me up good! Amber tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. She wheezed—couldn’t move! He had her in an embrace, squeezing, rubbing. Then suddenly, it was Ryan Osborn that had her. Man, do I have plans for you! She screamed as one bloody eye winked at her, the other a red, empty socket. She awoke from the nightmare on the couch, sweat burning the abrasions on her face where Ryan had punched and thrown her against the coffee table at her apartment. The sunlight shone through the front curtains. How long had she slept? It felt like she’d been dreaming the same nightmare the entire time. Rolling off the couch, she went immediately to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. At least the water was still running. It must be at least noon because it was already beginning to get hot inside the house. She couldn’t even open the windows for fear of someone seeing and then figuring out someone was home. A thought suddenly occurred to her. With the heat in the nineties outside, the heat in a closed-up house would be stifling. Even with her escape from death at the institute and the brush with death at her own apartment from the deranged Ryan, she still felt her mood sinking. Why in the hell did this have to happen? One minute she was making good money as an assistant to the professor of Biomedical Engineering, and then the next minute, she was alone in the home of a dead man with a revolver hanging from her hip. When Amber started thinking about the revolver, she figured it was time to have a peek at what good old horny Ryan had in his gun safe. She went through the living room and into what Amber assumed was a spare bedroom. She took out Ryan’s keys and fished out the strange-looking one; and sure enough, it fit. It had three built-in locks. The key had to be used to open each lock to see the contents of the safe. There were different types of guns and some money too. She really

didn’t know what she was looking at, but she guessed it was worth some bucks. There were two rifles, two shotguns, and six different pistols, plus a variety of ammunition. Quite a haul for some fanatic. Well, Amber wasn’t going to let them fall into the wrong hands. She would guard them with her life. Well, she had to think about that one. She just didn’t want some crazy killing people with the same guns that she’d discovered. Amber felt nauseous. The heat was already starting to get to her, and she was trapped inside the house until dark. It was going to be a long hot day.

* * *

He huffed it up the small grade and over the railroad tracks. He’d lost the little bastards! Sergeant Samuel Baker wasn’t one to give up easy. They outran him up the slope and disappeared into the trees beyond Mill Creek. Never in a million years would they have outrun Samuel T. Baker if he hadn’t been lugging all that equipment. But he had to have the guns and ammo. No matter. They would have to come out of the woods sometime, and Samuel would be waiting. Samuel pulled a six-inch switchblade knife from a leather pouch on his ankle and smiled. If he could catch one of them alive, he was going to gut the little fucker.

* * *

The day dragged on until she thought she was going as crazy as one of the nanobots. Finally, after dark, she quietly slipped out the back door and into the cool night. It was invigorating. What was she going to do? All her friends were either dead or hiding. She sat on a swing set in the dark and watched a patrol car ease up the street. What were they looking for? she wondered. She had no doubt they were

infected. Most cops used the injections to stay young and healthy so they could build up their retirement for a life of leisure when they were really too old. Amber took a deep breath of the cool night air. What was to become of the people that were not infected? Did the nanobots finally outlive themselves and die? Was there permanent damage to the prefrontal cortex? So many unanswered questions. Without electricity, she couldn’t even get the news. What the hell was happening in the world?

* * *

Professor Alec Simms of the Biomedical Engineering Section of the institute and three of his colleagues had just beaten up a young man from the Research and Development Department. Alec felt rage—wonderful, beautiful rage. At first, he feared for his life when security began executing his coworkers, but they were outnumbered. He and his friends mobbed the last remaining security team and in turn executed them. He now had possession of a 9mm Beretta handgun with two extra fifteen-round clips and ten bullets left in the gun itself. The young man whimpered on the floor of the research laboratory when Alec bent down and blew a hole in the back of his head. He laughed together with his friends at the surprised look on the guy’s face. What was all the fuss over a few runaway nanobots? Nothing could be bad for a man when he felt that great. There were five of his friends left from a total of twelve, all men. The women had been the first of the victims. Josh had just been eliminated prior to the attack on the young man for not following Alec’s commands to the letter. Josh had been a dear friend when they worked together at the laboratory. He had some remote regret somewhere in his being, but it ed quickly. It was just too much fun to worry about one man. Their next stop was the security office where some of the officers had themselves barricaded in the room. That just wouldn’t do. They either had to the gang or be eliminated, which some would be anyway as an example to the others. When they arrived at the security office, Alec was surprised to see a half-assed

blockade of the two outer doors. They were obviously inexperienced youngsters, but they were armed. “Come out of there, you cowards!” Alec yelled. “Or we’ll come in and get you.” “Please, Professor Simms, we don’t want no trouble,” one of the young men said. “I’m sorry, son, but you’ve already got trouble. Come out now, and you all will be spared. We’ll let you go home to your loved ones.” Alec smiled. “You have my word.” He gave the boys his best loving father-type smile that always worked on the young ladies at the institute. It worked every time. “Okay, Professor! We’re coming out.” The young men in the office began pulling down their makeshift barricade of chairs and a desk. There were four of them. “Throw out your guns!” Alec ordered. They did what they were told and came out into the hall. “Well, now! Don’t look so scared,” he said to the man who’d done the talking. “I’m only going to kill one of you for putting me through all the trouble.” The four youngsters began to beg for their lives. “All of you against the wall.” The young men just weren’t into the game. They were probably too young to have had the injections to begin with. Decisions, decisions. Alec had an idea. He didn’t want the responsibility of trying to watch four of the men, so he decided to eliminate two of them and make slaves out of the other two. To the victors go the spoils! He wanted to kill the two men himself, but he had to let a few of his friends have some fun or there could be a rebellion. And that wouldn’t do. He ordered Sanchez and Moller to pick out the two and execute them, which they promptly did. One shot to the head apiece. But there were complaints. His friends were saying the executions weren’t long enough, that they should have to suffer more. Alec had to agree. He was a leader among his men, a general, even king. Yes, the Romans crucified the enemy in ancient times and even made slaves out of some. And that’s what he was going to do. The game will go on.

After Alec issued his orders, he decided to make the security office his base of operations. He now had seven soldiers in his small army. Well, five soldiers and two slaves. And they were ordered to search and conquer, if necessary, the rest of the complex. “Don’t forget the women,” he said to Sanchez. What would his empire be without the women? He sent Sanchez and three men out into the complex, while he and Moller ordered the slaves to gather up the guns and ammunition. Alec wasn’t worried about the slaves trying anything stupid; they were terrified. Besides, what fun would it be if they didn’t try something? After the guns were placed on the desk, they exited the office, being sure to lock it from the outside. It wouldn’t do to have a stray wander in and arm himself. Their destination was the Medical Office Building, where most of the females worked. Like a game of chess, Alec figured out his moves in advance. They needed heavier weapons if he was to have total conquest. Sure, they had plenty of handguns and ample ammunition; but the police, Alec was sure, would have the upper hand on the city’s streets. And the game had to be played on a citywide level. Alec envisioned women waiting on him, doing his bidding, and mass executions would be in order. Alec calculated that at least three out of five people in the general population would have been taking injections of the nanobots, meaning the potential for rebellion was increased. So be it! He would set an example his little world had never seen. The Medical Office Building was virtually untouched by outside influence. There still had been violent turmoil inside the building itself, with female bodies littering the halls and offices. There were pockets of survivors holed up inside two of the conference rooms. And the infected ones were still roaming around the facility. With their firepower, the strays, as Alec liked to put it, was rounded up and recruited into his growing army. He only had seven delicious executions before the rest of them relented. Twenty crazed women wanted to rampage though the complex, but not without the permission of the professor. Getting the women that were locked up in the two conference rooms proved to be much more difficult, finally having to shoot the locks off the doors. Several

were raped and crucified for their disobedience; but in the end, Alec had his army and thirty female slaves to boot. Sanchez and the rest of his friends had done a fine job of recruiting. Ten of the technicians at the institute unwillingly ed his ranks. Only a select few of his colleagues were armed, assuring obedience. He had much more to do. Next on his list, he would need more guns, and who better to have them than the city’s police. A night raid seemed in order. When the police were most active on the streets having their fun, Alec would stab at the heart of the beast, invading their sanctuary. It was already dark, so he armed fourteen men, piled them in three SUVs, and sped out toward the Station House. Their orders were to shoot every police officer they could find, but to their disappointment, there was but a handful of officers on the scene. They were immediately put to death. The haul of weapons for the evening were six M-16 assault rifles, seven shotguns, eleven hand guns, and plenty of ammunition. There should have been more, but the officers that were left were causing havoc on the streets and no doubt had their vehicles armed. Sanchez informed Alec that the men were getting restless because they weren’t allowed to crucify the police officers. Alec reminded them of what would happen if his orders weren’t carried out to the letter, but as a bonus for acquiring the police station, they could each have a woman for the night to do with as they pleased as long as they weren’t murdered or scarred in any way. The men seemed to be happy with the rewards. But as fate would have it, two of the women were murdered. Alec knew the violence that lay unchecked within his men could not always be controlled. The nanobots were creating havoc with the brain chemicals inside the prefrontal cortex. But there was a stamp ingrained in the brain for selfpreservation. A few of his psychotic men just weren’t afraid enough of Professor Alec Simms. He would gladly remedy that. “All right, Sanchez!” Alec grinned. “Bring in the two traitors!” His entire complement of followers was present. “Have the crosses been made, Moller?” “Yes, Professor. May I have the honors, Professor?” Moller asked as he held up the nails and hammer. “Indeed you may, Moller. Indeed you may.” A murmur of disapproval swept the

audience. Every man and some of the women wanted to perform the act themselves, but they were quickly silenced with the wave of Alec’s hand. The two condemned men were now begging for their lives as they were first tied to the crosses with cord. The hammering of the nails would come next. There were no pity or remorse among his followers, Alec thought happily. But he could sense fear—yes—fear of him when he looked out into the crowd. Moller and a few of the other men had the crosses lying flat on the ground and the two men tied to them. Moller began hammering a long nail into the left ankle of one screaming man, which brought waves of laugher from the onlookers. The nails were a little short, so he had to smash the anklebone to get the nail to pierce the wood beneath. By the time he finished pounding the nail through the second ankle bone, sweat rolled off his bald head, and his pot belly sucked in and out with labored breaths. Sanchez looked up, pleading at Alec. “Okay, Sanchez! Hammer them wrists and make him scream!” Alec ordered. Sanchez was a brute compared with the elder Moller, and it didn’t take him long to finish nailing the two wrists. The shrieks from the man sent goose bumps trickling down Alec’s back. Sanchez’s long black hair shook about his face with every grunting swing of the heavy hammer. It was too much. Alec began to laugh and couldn’t stop himself until the man ed out. Finally, an hour later, the two men were crucified and propped up out in front of the istration Building. Professor Alec Simms accomplished his goal. It was an example no one would soon forget.

* * *

She was sitting in the dark on a swing set in the back of Ryan Osborn’s house, the man that fooled her so completely. And now even from where she sat, she could hear knocking on the front door. Jumping from the swing, Amber Styles moved rapidly into the hedges that lined the back yard. She wasn’t about to answer the door, not after what she’d been

through. The knocking was loud, as if they had nothing to fear. Then she saw shadows from the moon’s dim light coming toward her. There were two figures. They went to the rear door and began banging on the window. One of the figures was trying to get in by rattling the doorknob, but Amber had been sure to lock the door before she left. “Open up, sweetie,” came a woman’s voice. “We know you’re in there. We’re the Owens. We live next door.” Then Amber heard whispering in harsh tones. They didn’t sound normal to Amber. What should she do? She didn’t think they could get into the safe, not without a blowtorch. But still. How dare they invade her sanctuary? Where else was she going to go in that upside-down city? No, she would have to defend her domain. It was either that or out onto the dangerous streets. She’d made up her mind. Damn them! Suddenly, she heard the glass break in the back window that led to the kitchen. She had to get them outside before they entered the house. Once they entered, they could hide anywhere and ambush her. She walked boldly out from behind the hedges. “You looking for me?” “Well now,” said the man, “if it ain’t the little lady herself. This is my wife Robin. And I’m Ronald. We’re neighbors.” “Is that why you broke into my house?” Amber asked harshly. Amber had the gun in her hand but kept it pointed at the ground. “I don’t rightly a young lady living here. A man named Ryan Osborn lives here.” “Really, well, I’m his wife. Ryan hasn’t been home since the outbreak started.” “Outbreak? What outbreak?” They both laughed as if something was funny. Oh, shit! They were infected! She would have to kill them both or risk being killed herself. Could she kill two people in cold blood? Could she kill anyone in cold blood? “We know,” the man said, “that Ryan hunted a lot with shotguns. You give us those guns, and we’ll be on our way.”

Bullshit! Amber knew what would happen. She was learning the hard way about how the infected people acted. They wouldn’t stop until she was bleeding and dead. She had no choice. Amber lifted the gun and pulled back the hammer. The man, since he was the most dangerous, would have to go first. Holding the revolver with both hands, she moved within a few yards of the couple. “Well, looky here. The little lady has a pop gun,” the man said. The woman had been silent up until she said, “Kill the bitch!” The man Ronald lunged at Amber, but she’d been ready for just such a move. She screamed and then pulled the trigger twice, striking him in the chest and shoulder. But his forward momentum had him colliding into her, pushing her onto the ground with him on top of her. He was a big man, and she struggled beneath him, trying to move the heavy bulk. Finally, she managed to squirm out from under his massive weight. But before she was completely clear, she heard a shrill scream from Robin Owens as the woman attacked Amber with her bare hands. “You bitch!” Robin screamed. She scratched at Amber’s face with her sharp nails, peeling away layers of skin from around Amber’s eyes, drawing blood. Amber didn’t have time to shoot another round as she clubbed the crazy woman in the head with the metal pistol. If she could get her other leg free from under the woman’s lifeless husband, she’d have a much better chance at defense. Amber was in a panic. The lunatic was trying to claw out her eyes. If the woman would relent for just a second, Amber could pull the trigger on the gun. Amber was weakening under a frenzied attack. The woman’s unusual strength was tiring her out fast. Then the woman suddenly changed tactics and grabbed Amber’s hair with both hands, apparently trying to break her neck. That’s when Amber saw her chance. She kicked free from the dead Ronald just as the woman named Robin Owens was jerking at Amber’s hair; Amber pressed the barrel of the gun into the woman’s left breast and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening, with the woman falling slightly back with one hand on the ground and her other hand still entangled in Amber’s hair. The impact of the bullet produced more of a grunt than a scream from Robin Owens as she renewed her attack. Amber was terrified the woman would somehow get to her eyes, so she fired the remaining rounds from the pistol into

the stomach of Robin Owens. Finally, Robin fell back onto the grass. She groaned loudly from what Amber thought was the beginning of a painful death; but the woman lingered on, clinging to life as Amber lie on the ground, catching her breath. After ten minutes, the woman was still making noises. The constant groaning was driving Amber crazy. It didn’t seem like the woman’s blasted moaning was ever going to cease. Amber’s clothes were wet with the blood from the dead Ronald Owens, and the skin around her eyes was raw and sore. And damn! She was going to be sick again. After heaving up her meager dinner of cookies and milk, she felt a little better. And thank God the woman had finally died; at least she wasn’t making those horrible noises. Amber rose slowly to her feet, staggered to the rear door of Ryan’s house, and entered. She was still scared. The noise from the shots could bring the whole crazy neighborhood down on her. She would wait and make sure no one heard the shots before she decided what to do next. She sweated; she waited. She reloaded her pistol. She fidgeted with the buttons on her blood-soaked shirt. After peering out every window in the house to be sure no one was about, she relaxed. Now was the time to cry if she was going to, but Amber held it in. She had defended her domain, protected the guns; she should feel proud. But she didn’t feel proud. Looky here, the little lady has a pop gun. Well, that pop gun put you down, mister, Amber thought. There were two bodies out back; and Amber couldn’t, wasn’t, going to move them. She wondered if it would compromise her hideout. Flopping down on the living room couch, she let out a lung full of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The bodies out back would give her away. Perhaps she could drag them behind the rear hedges. Yes, she could do that. Amber shoved the loaded gun into the holster on her hip then walked back outside. Even in the dark, it looked as if Ronald’s pale face was plastered with a

twisted smile. If it weren’t for the blood, he wouldn’t even look dead. She figured she would tackle the bigger of the two first while she had the strength. She grabbed a hold of the big man’s feet and pulled. It was like pulling a wheelbarrow of cement, but thanks to the dew-laden grass, the body slid grudgingly to her destination behind the hedges. After several minutes of rest, she went to Robin Owens and picked up her feet. Suddenly, the woman began to moan and cough up blood. “Fuck!” She wasn’t dead yet! How could that be possible? Unless the nanobots were working to repair the damage! But that’s insane! Were they programmed to repair tissue and nerve damage? If they were, then who or what reprogrammed them? Did the nanobots want to survive bad enough to try and keep the host alive at all cost? Were they replicating themselves, reprogramming themselves? Well, whatever the case, Amber couldn’t let the nanobots repair the shot-up woman who’d probably wake up crazier than ever. There was only one thing she could do. Her own life depended on it. She had to shoot Robin in the head; it was the only way to ensure her own safety. If she didn’t, then she risked all she had over a woman who would wake up and try to kill her. Perhaps you could tie her up and see what happens. No! Amber wasn’t going to be stuck in a house babysitting a wounded maniac who would eventually kill her. Then you’ll have to blow her brains out. Amber picked up the woman’s feet and dragged her behind the hedges next to her dead husband. Amber sat down heavily onto the damp mulch that surrounded the hedges. Yes, she would have to blow her brains out. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. Amber began to cry, cry at the loss of life that had to be sacrificed because of the runaway nanobots. She cried because she didn’t want to blow her brains out. “But you’re forcing me to, bitch!” she hollered at Robin. Amber pulled out her pistol, cocked the hammer, and then placed it against Robin’s temple. And just before she pulled the trigger, Robin’s eyes fluttered opened. Amber screamed and fired! It was difficult to see in the half-light, but Amber saw well enough to watch a chunk of skull with the hair still attached explode from above the ear. She could see the leaves move as it flew across the ground and into the hedges. Damn

cops! Busted me up good. Poor Elmer. Amber rose from the ground and began gagging with the dry heaves, her body trying to dislodge any stubborn food that might still be lodged in her stomach. There was nothing. Heaping sobs suddenly erupted from her pent-up emotions. She walked unsteadily toward the rear door, stopped, then held her breath. Was that a car out front? With the killing of the Owens temporarily forgotten, she moved swiftly to the front room and peered out from between the curtains. A damn cop car was out front! He must have been close by and heard the shots. As she watched, a police officer moved from his car and onto the sidewalk in front of Ryan’s house. He held some kind of military-style weapon. He walked several yards down the sidewalk, stopped, and started spraying the house next door with what sounded to Amber like machinegun fire. She could hear the glass breaking and rapid-fire impacts of the bullets against the wood of the house. After a few seconds, she heard him talking to himself, something about some young punks. She didn’t know for sure, because her hearing was faulty from all the gunshots she’d heard the past seventy-two hours. She was just glad he wasn’t shooting at Ryan’s house. After a few minutes, apparently out of bullets, he got back into his police vehicle and drove slowly down the street. Amber could finally breathe normally. She lay down on the plush carpet; it felt good on her aching back. She’d really done it. She’d dragged two adult corpses —well, one corpse and Robin—out behind the hedges. That’s right. You blew her brains out onto the hedges. Amber rolled over and gagged. Was she going to be sick again? She was tired, so very tired. Rolling onto her back, she immediately fell asleep. And the dreams were waiting to haunt her.

* * *

Officer Jim Miller never felt better in his life. He’d been taking nanobot injections for the past five years, and as far as he was concerned, it worked like a

charm. A big man he was, and he never missed an opportunity to exploit that fact. He looked over from the driver’s side of his police cruiser at his partner, who was much smaller and weaker than Jim. The little shit just wouldn’t shut up. “Hey, pip-squeak, why don’t you can it for a while? I can’t think when you’re jabbering.” “Sure thing, Jim,” Officer Ken Meyer said. “I just can’t get over the way that girl squealed when I shot her. Man, that was great! Did you like her, Jim? I sure did. Best piece I ever had.” Jim was wondering if he could choke his partner to death with his bare hands. Now that would be something. Keep talking, you little fucker. After a few minutes, Jim pulled the vehicle over in front of a burned-out McDonalds. “Hey, pip-squeak, turn around. You’ve some dirt on the back of your collar.” Ken looked at his partner suspiciously. “Why would you give a shit? I have dirt all over me.” “Just thought I’d do you a favor, man.” “Well, no thanks! I’ll get it later.” Ken placed his hand on the butt of his service revolver. “Go ahead and drive, Jim. I’ll clean up later.” “Suit yourself, partner,” Jim said as he quickly grabbed Ken’s gun hand and walloped him across the jaw. Ken was dazed but struggled fiercely for his weapon until Jim gave him two more punches to the face. Officer Ken Meyer was stunned as Jim encircled his neck from behind with one strong arm and then squeezed. Ken kicked and arched his back, trying to gulp air, but sounded like he was trying to hiccup. He reached back, trying to get at Jim’s face, but Jim had his head tucked down away from Ken’s probing fingers. Jim jerked his hold tighter still, slowly crushing Ken’s larynx. Blood was dribbling from Ken’s nose, and his right eye was swollen shut from Jim’s powerful blows. Ken didn’t notice as the life drained slowly from him. After a few minutes, Ken was dead.

Wow! I had done it. I choked a man to death with my bare hands. Hell, with one arm even, Jim thought proudly. Of course, it didn’t matter to Jim that he was twice Ken’s size and weight. Jim leaned over Ken’s corpse, opened the door, and shoved him out the door with his boot and onto the street. “Oh, yeah, forgot something.” Jim exited the car and walked around to where Ken lay. Grabbing the buckle of Ken’s utility belt, he unbuckled the belt and took it. It had various pouches that held a flashlight, keys, pistol, handcuffs, radio, and nightstick. He threw them into the trunk alongside two M-16s and two shotguns. Getting back into the car, he had a twinge of regret about choking his partner to death, but the feeling quickly ed. Besides, at least it was quiet now. He made a sharp U-turn and smiled as he felt the bump of the body beneath the wheels of the vehicle. Then he sped off down the street and made a left at Elwood Street and then three blocks toward the Newtown Retirement Community. There he could have lots of fun. Before he reached his destination, he spotted a woman across the street, headed toward a dark area between two houses. Slamming on his brakes, he jumped from the vehicle in pursuit of the woman. He pulled a flashlight from his belt as he ran. There she was! Just up ahead. When he caught up with her, she stopped and bent down in submission. Now he could have some more fun. “All right, come with me—” That’s when he was clobbered on the head from behind with something hard. His large frame immediately relaxed and fell heavy onto the ground.

* * *

On the corner of Oakwood Place, the little bastards ran into the darkness of the well-kept yards, eluding Samuel once again. It was infuriating. He regretted wasting good ammo shooting up a house in frustration.

He was back in his police cruiser, heading away from Oakwood Place. He circled the block, knowing that sooner or later he’d spot them again. If he had to patrol all night, he’d get them. If it were the last thing he ever did, he would kill those fucking kids.

* * *

Amber awoke soaked in sweat, her blood-caked shirt clinging to her body. At first, she thought she’d dreamt the events of the previous night, but reality hit her like a freight train. Yes, it was true. The nightmare had been about Robin and Ronald, but reality was much worse. She had to get out of her soiled clothes; they stunk and were making her sick again. Going upstairs to what she assumed to be Ryan’s bedroom, she found a clean pair of pants and shirt. She stripped off her own filthy clothes. Thank God, the water was still running. Amber took a cold shower and let the water wash off the blood and stink of the previous evening. With a pair of scissors, she cut the pant leg off the pants, so at least the length would fit. She rolled up the shirt sleeves. As she dressed, she thought about the numerous people that weren’t affected by the nanobots. Where were they? Perhaps, they were hiding in the houses along the many streets, as she was. There were more unanswered questions. She knew it wouldn’t be long until she looked for others who weren’t infected. How could she tell one from the other? Ryan Osborn fooled her. He was infected, and Elmer Pittman wasn’t. But by looking at them, she just couldn’t tell. Amber ed a report she’d done in college on APD, antisocial personality disorder, which could be caused by abnormalities of the prefrontal cortex. And weren’t the nanobots supposedly attacking an enzyme that balanced chemicals in the prefrontal cortex of the brain? Some of the overall effects of APD were irresponsibility, deceitfulness, impulsiveness, no emotional depth, and antisocial behavior. Ryan Osborn was a classic example of someone with APD,

not to mention being psychotic. It would be very difficult to know if you were being deceived. Well, wasn’t that just dandy! After daylight, she’d take a chance, go to a neighbor’s house, and see if she could find someone like herself. If they cheerfully let her in, then it was a trap, and she’d have to kill them. If they were hesitant and suspicious, then they were probably normal. She swallowed hard, thinking what a chance she would be taking, but the alternative was insanity. Yes, she actually thought she’d go insane within the week if she continued by herself. The bodies out back, the nightmares, it was just too much to bear alone. She decided to pray for strength and perhaps a little luck.

* * *

When he awoke, his head was hurting so bad he thought his skull had been caved in. Officer Jim Miller realized he was handcuffed to a metal handrail outside what he recognized as the Medical Arts Building at the Institute of Nanotechnology. Yes, he had patrolled the place many times. There was an older man in a white outfit, a technician of some kind. Was he guarding him? “Hey, you asshole! What the hell am I doing here? I’m an officer of the law, and you’re going to be in trouble if you don’t let me loose. Let me go now, and I won’t press charges.” The man just stood and smiled at Jim. “I’m talking to you!” If he could get his hands on him, he’d … “Well, what do we have here?” asked the older man in the lab coat. “A rogue police officer? Just whom do you plan to press charges to? Perhaps the authorities downtown.” Professor Simms laughed. “Listen, buddy! I’m an officer of the—” “Shut up!” Alec commanded. “You listen, Mr. Police Officer, and listen well. You have two choices. our little army or die a slow death. It’s up to you. Of course, you’ll have to prove your worth before we let you .” “Uh, how do I prove my worth?” he asked suspiciously.

“In due time, Officer, in due time.” Suddenly, Sanchez stepped forward with a bullwhip. “First, you have to be punished for your insubordination to the cause.” Alec smiled. “Oh, shit!” “Yes, Mr. Police Officer,” Alec said. “Oh, shit.” Jim noticed he had quite the gathering around him, must be at least fifty, maybe seventy people. Moller walked rapidly over and roughly tore the uniform top off Jim; while Sanchez, licking his lips, stood close with the bullwhip. The first snap of the whip sent pain rippling through Jim’s body. He knew then he was in deep shit. After the third and fourth lash of the whip, Jim began to scream, “Please stop! I’ll do what you ask!” The audience that had gathered began to laugh as Sanchez continued to whip Jim’s back. After fifteen lashes, Jim’s back was ripped and bleeding. Jim had ed out and didn’t realize how close he’d come to being beaten to death by the unruly mob, but punishment for infringement against the will of the professor was slow death. Jim woke a few minutes later in enormous pain, and he was somewhat delirious. What the hell was going on? Were those people watching me? Suddenly, he screamed as Moller poured a box of salt on his raw back and began to rub it into the shredded skin. Again, Jim ed out. They left him handcuffed and bleeding for twenty-four hours as Jim ed in and out of consciousness. It was the longest hours of Jim’s life. Finally, they released Jim to tend to his own wounds with the promise of much more if he tried to escape. Jim Miller did not intend to try to escape; he’d learned his lesson.

* * *

As he circled the block, he wondered what he’d do if he were a kid on the run. He knew the two brats had come that way, away from Oakwood Place. Oakwood Place was two streets over. The kids had cut across Delhi and Place streets and now were hiding in the neighborhood somewhere. He pulled his car to the curb on Place Street and turned off the headlights. They had to be close. Samuel could sense it! He always had a nose for tracking criminals and catching their accomplices. Now he could feel it. Yes, they were real close. Picking up his M-16, he chambered a round. The little felons were going to get what was coming to them. Suddenly, there was a light from the house across the street as if someone had just lit a cigarette. He had them! The little bastards should know better than to smoke anyway. Samuel opened the car door and slipped quietly out with M-16 in hand. Crouching low, he moved swiftly and silently across the street and over to the house next to the one where he’d seen the light. The light had come from the front room as if someone was watching the street and just had to have a smoke. He snuck across the yard, up to the front porch of the house, crawled low below the window, and then raised himself up by the front door. He smiled as he took a step back, aimed the M-16 at the door’s deadbolt lock, and then fired a burst. The lock exploded into pieces from the powerful shells; he then ran a few steps and kicked the door open. He immediately fired several rounds in all directions inside the room. Even in the moon’s half-light that shone through the broken doorway, he could see two figures cowering in the corner by the couch. The little bastards weren’t going to get away this time, he thought excitedly. He was so overwhelmed with joy he lost count of how many rounds he had shot. When he pointed the gun at the vulnerable figures and pulled the trigger, nothing happened. He was out of ammo! The two figures darted from the room and down the hall toward the rear exit as Samuel desperately tried to insert a fresh clip. “You little bastards!” he screamed. Finally, the thirty-round magazine slid into the gun with a satisfying “click.” He quickly ran in pursuit of the two fleeing figures, firing his weapon as he ran. Once down the hallway, it became dark. He couldn’t see shit. He didn’t think the

kids could see any better than he could, and there was fumbling around in the kitchen ahead of him. Wasting precious seconds, he had to stop and quickly attach his flashlight onto his gun. Now he could see! The little felons couldn’t— wouldn’t—get away this time. He ran toward the rear door of the small house and shined his light around the room. The first thing he noticed was the rear door standing open then movement on his right! He swung around and opened up on full automatic, peppering a lone figure with automatic weapons fire. Someone screamed. Stopping his assault, he surveyed the person he’d just shot. It was an old man! I must have nailed him twelve times, Samuel thought disgustingly. The old man was bleeding from his chest, neck, and face; he was definitely a dead man. Cursing the old man for getting in the way and taking up valuable time, he sprinted out the rear door to where he thought the kids had run. As he searched the rear yards for the brats, he wondered if any survivors were still in the house. But why should he give a shit? Once again, he’d lost them. Samuel bit his bottom lip and screamed, “Damn you, I’ll get you!” The kids were running back toward Mill Creek, a familiar pattern. He would go back to his patrol car and head them off on Deacon Street. Moving back into the house, he stopped and looked down at an old woman crying at the dead man’s side. If it wasn’t for her and her dead husband, Samuel thought angrily, I would’ve had those damn kids. “You are charged with harboring two known felons and interfering with an official investigation of such,” Samuel said harshly. “Your sentence is death.” He pointed his M-16 at the pleading woman and then shot her in the face. Immediately after the woman’s execution, he ran out the front door and to his car. He had to cut the little bastards off! The only reason they were following a pattern, Samuel thought, was that it was an area they were most familiar with. It could work to his advantage. If they were running in a familiar pattern, he could probably judge where they’d be going and maybe set up an ambush. Samuel smiled. The little bastards were eventually going to fall right into his hands. If the brats were headed for the woods surrounding Mill Creek, then once again, he’d be waiting on Deacon Street. They had evaded me every time in that area, Samuel thought annoyingly. So what could he do to improvise? If he could get a

hold of a scope for his M-16, it would even up the odds. But where could he find a scope? The Special Weapons and Tactics Section of the police station? Maybe so, but even in Samuel’s psychotic state of mind, his instinct for survival told him it’d be too dangerous. Those guys knew their shit, and he wasn’t going to fight one over a scope. No, he had to think of somewhere else. Like the Sports Spot, maybe? Samuel had a decision to make. He could waste valuable time and check out the Sports Spot for a scope that would fit his gun, or he could forget it and wait in ambush for the kids. It only made sense that he would miss the opportunity to get them when they entered the woods if he went for the scope. If they stuck to their present pattern, then they would be coming out of the woods in about two hours, and they had to come across Deacon Street. If he had the scope, then he could nail them without getting out of the car. He slammed on his brakes and swung the car around until it faced the opposite direction. He gunned the engine, thinking he was going for that damn scope. As Samuel made his way toward the Sports Spot, he encountered a mob of people blocking the street. It seemed to him that a horde of older gents were hitting and kicking numerous teenagers. The entire mob, including the teenagers, was male. It made Samuel wonder what happened to all the females that were always so prevalent before everything went to shit. But he was a police officer, and he had sworn an oath to uphold the law no matter what. He pulled his cruiser sideways in the street, got out with his M-16, and started firing into the unruly crowd, killing several instantly. Samuel never took his finger off the trigger until the gun was empty. The rest of the mob scattered in all directions like ants from a lit cigarette. As Samuel reloaded, he walked over to the dead and wounded men. He counted seven dead and four wounded. Not bad. There was no ambulance service, of that he was certain. Samuel smiled as he executed the four wounded men with a shot through their heads. Then he walked over to where he’d last saw the unfortunate teens. Most had been beaten to death, but two survivors were helping a third survivor through the debris-strewn street. Well now wasn’t that humane? Samuel thought disgustingly. He looked at his watch. Going after them would be just more time wasted.

Getting back into his car, he drove down the deserted Fifth Street until he arrived at the Sports Spot. The place was a mess. The front windows were broken, the front doors had been knocked off the hinges, and shell casings littered the sidewalk in front of the building. It looked like there had been a firefight to get at the guns and other goods the store contained. Being sure to take his weapon, he exited his car and walked through the front doorway into the dark interior. He turned on his flashlight that was attached to the barrel of his gun and made his way through the broken shelves, scattered fishing poles, racks full of apparel overturned onto the aisle ways, plus an assortment of other wreckage. Finally, he came to where the guns and ammo were sold. Nothing much was left. Not a gun or a box of ammunition could be seen. But as luck would have it, some of the scopes behind the display case had been untouched. He picked up a familiar-looking scope; it was the one that would fit his M-16, but the lens was cracked. Going behind the counter, he noticed dozens of boxes of various kinds of scopes scattered about the floor. He matched the serial number of the broken scope to a brand-new one still in the box. There were two such scopes that said Starlight on the box. Apparently, whoever ransacked the place didn’t know what they had missed. He took both scopes with him. Fighting the urge to pilfer about the place, he walked back through the debris to the front of the store and to his car. Without another wasted minute, he entered his vehicle, put the car in gear, and sped off toward Deacon Street. As he drove to his destination, he thought about what he should do. The kids would have no doubt made it into the woods by the time he reached Deacon Street, so he’d park down the street where he’d have a clear view of the woodlands. If they stuck to their pattern, they should emerge from the thicket in about two hours. But first, he had to attach the scope to the gun and zero it in so it would be accurate. He should have plenty of time to prepare the scope before the brats came from the woods. It would be daylight soon; and then he would remove the flashlight, attach the scope, and turn the adjusting screw for accuracy. Of course, he’d have to fire a few rounds for the adjustment. But would the sound of the shots scare them off? He didn’t think so. There were always periodic reports from guns throughout the city at any given time. His would just be another shot in the distance to them. When he was in position on Deacon Street, he removed the scope from the box

and then attached it to the rifle. The flashlight he’d keep handy. To Samuel’s surprise, the Starlight scope was fitted with a nighttime/daytime selector switch, which would definitely come in handy. By the time he was done, the sun had come up over the horizon. He set up some empty beer cans that were lying on the ground and with periodic adjustments fired rounds into the cans, thereby zeroing in the scope. When that was done, he entered his car and waited for the kids to show their dirty little faces. As he sat, he wondered if his aim was good enough to wound one, save him for the knife. He reached down to his ankle and patted the switchblade he always carried for emergencies, right next to his .38 Special revolver. No, his aim was good, but not that good. He would try to kill them; but if he got lucky, and a stray round hit an area of the body that wasn’t vital, well—Samuel smiled—he would gut the little fucker.

* * *

Amber woke from a fretful sleep, exhausted; the nightmares were taking their toll on her. One good thing that came from the restless slumber was an idea on how to search for other normal people. Her plan was simple. She would take a pen and a couple of sheets of paper with her to investigate the other houses on the street, just in case she felt brave enough to leave a note. She went to the rear doorway of Ryan’s house and surveyed her surroundings. Looking guiltily at the hedges that bordered the rear yard, she noticed they continued evenly spaced through several of the yards. Apparently, everyone took care of the hedges on their own property. And beyond the hedges, there was an abundance of trees, meaning that the rear yards on that block were identical. The houses, of course, were of various shapes; but the overall sizes were similar. She glanced at the house next door. It must have been Ronald and Robin’s home. There was no reason to enter that house. Amber stepped out onto the yard. Amber could not be seen from the street until she crossed from one house to the other. She would try for the third house next to Ronald and Robin’s. Moving to the edge of the house, she peered around the corner. All clear. She

sprinted across the yard to the next house. She repeated the process until she was at the rear door of the house she intended to investigate. Knocking softly on the rear door, she waited. After several knocks, she tried the doorknob. Locked! If anyone was in there, they were probably normal since they didn’t answer. She had to be careful or she could be shot. Live by violence, die by violence, she thought miserably. She took out a piece of paper from her pocket and wrote, “I am living in a house down the street. If you need someone to talk to, leave me a message on this piece of paper.” She signed it, “Desperate.” Then she stuck it in the crack of the rear door. Amber was taking a big gamble, but she was counting on the infected ones to be impatient, erratic. With the day’s light reflecting off the window, it was hard to see inside, but she thought she saw movement. The fact that she didn’t break in the door with guns blazing should tell the owners she was normal. Deciding to take it slow with one house at a time, she held back the tears of defeat and moved out onto the lawn. When she was at the edge of the house, she heard a man’s voice from behind her. “You! Stop right there, and come back here.” When she turned around, she saw a younger man pointing a shotgun at her. He had brown hair, mustache, and very blue eyes. Holding her hands up, she walked back toward him. “I saw you write the note. Are you one of them or are you for real?” “I’m not one of them. I’ve not been infected. I swear.” “I’m inclined to believe you, miss. Now remove that gun and toss it on the grass.” Amber didn’t like the idea of disarming herself. What if he really was infected? “I’m afraid I can’t do that. How do I know you’re not infected?”

“I could blow you away before your gun cleared leather. Now drop the gun, and we’ll talk. Easy now! Two fingers only and then back up.” There wasn’t much choice. She could kick herself for putting it back in its holster. After doing what she was told, she waited for the man to, as he said, blow her away. He moved toward her, bent down, and then picked her gun off the grass. “Okay, miss. We’ll talk inside. You first.” Amber walked in through the rear door and into a well-kept kitchen, with beige tiled flooring, oak-colored cabinets, and white Formica counter top. He pointed the gun at a kitchen chair. “Sit!” After she sat, he stuck her gun in his waistband and then sat his shotgun in the corner of the room. He stood by the rear door and waited. “You alone?” he asked. “Yes, I’m alone.” “My name is Duncan Taylor. What’s yours?” “Amber Styles.” “Okay, Amber. You look normal to me, but I’ll just hang on to this gun for a while to be sure.” He walked over to the counter, picked up a plastic bottle of water, and then handed it to her. “It was just me and my younger brother,” he suddenly said. “He never came home from work, and I almost died trying to find him. Had to kill a man. A crowd of crazies chased me down Burnet Avenue until I lost them not far from here. Whatever you do, don’t drive a car. It’s a dead giveaway. The only cars on the street are the police. The crazies won’t go near the cops because they’re also loony. Hell, they’re crazier than the crazies.” Duncan pushed his fingers through his hair then wiped the sweat from his brow. He stared at Amber with piercing blue eyes. “So what’s your deal? I heard shots night before last. Was that you?” Amber desperately needed to talk, to tell someone what she had done. Barely able to contain her tears, she told him everything that had happened to her so far.

Duncan didn’t seem the least fazed. “So you killed the Owens, huh? I never did like those two. Don’t worry, Amber. The world is better off without them. Just remind me never to get on your bad side.” He pulled a cigarette from a pack in his shirt and lit up. He was a very likeable guy, Amber thought. Could she trust him? She thought she could. If he were infected, she would have noticed it by then. She would wait until she had her gun back before telling him about the safe in Ryan Osborn’s house. As if reading her mind, he said, “Here, Amber,” as he handed the gun back to her. “You hold onto that. I might need your help if any of the crazies find out I’m here.” Before Amber knew it, she blurted out, “There’s a safe!” “What?” “There’s a safe at the house I’m staying at. It has guns in it and money!” “I could use something besides this old shotgun. The money might come in handy too.” “If it’s all right with you,” Amber said, “we’ll get the guns and bring them up here. My hideout could have been compromised with all the shooting. And besides, the rear window was broken by the Owens.” There! She said it. Everything on her mind she just blurted out to Duncan. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Amber. After dark, we’ll get those guns.” After a miserable day in the heat of the house, Amber and Duncan stood outside, breathing in the cool air of the night. Once they cooled off, they made their way back to the rear door of Ryan Osborn’s house. A few minutes later, they shined their flashlights into the open door to Ryan’s gun safe. “Well now, would you look at that?” Duncan said as he picked up a rifle. “This here, Amber, is an AR-15, the civilian version of the military’s M-16 assault rifle. Two of them! The only difference is that the AR-15 isn’t automatic. It’s semiautomatic. And about ten thirty-round clips for them too. You hit the

jackpot, Amber.” Duncan reached into the safe and pulled out a handgun. “Huh? A .9mm Beretta and shoulder holster! Don’t mind if I do,” Duncan said as he put on the gun and holster. “Take this,” he said to Amber as he handed her one of the AR-15s. He also handed her a nylon vest with multiple pockets. He looked at her sympathetically when she gave him a frown. “I know it’s hot, Amber, but the vest will hold the extra clips for the rifle. You can take it off when we get back to the house.” Before she had a chance to respond, he said, “There has to be pocketed fatigues to hold my extra clips. Start looking for them. Amber was worried about the glow from the flashlights. The thick curtains in the house would block out most of the light, but if someone ing by was to take a hard look … She relayed her fears to Duncan who readily agreed to keep the lights to a minimum. A half hour later, Duncan found what he was looking for in Ryan’s bedroom. Camouflaged fatigues with four pouches for the clips and four pouches for the Beretta clips. Perfect! He changed into the slightly large fatigues and met Amber downstairs where she still eyed the contents of the safe. “I don’t know how to use this,” she said as she held out the AR-15. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you when we get back to the house. In the meantime, the rest of this stuff will be better off here in the safe. If anything happens, and we have to split, we don’t want to lug all this stuff with us. We sure don’t want a crazy getting a hold of it. Believe me, Amber, these AR-15s will give us more firepower. Just don’t let anyone take it from you. That would be bad news.” “What about the money?” Amber asked. “There must be over a thousand dollars.” Even though Ryan planned to rape and kill her, she still felt guilty taking his money, but she did not feel guilty taking his guns. Money seemed more personal. Before the nanobots, he probably worked hard for it. “We’ll take the money,” Duncan responded. “You never know when we might need it.” As if reading her mind again, he said, “If they ever find a cure for this thing, and we don’t have to use it, we’ll put this gear back, money too. Hell, he might have relatives who could use this stuff.”

Duncan Taylor was some man, Amber thought. She was just thankful he wasn’t infected, and then she’d have had to shoot him. Blow his brains into the hedges. Amber was growing weary, even lightheaded. She had to get some sleep before the heat of the day. “Come on, Duncan! Let’s get the hell out of here.” Together, they worked their way back through the yards and into Duncan’s house where she shed the heavy vest. Without asking, she flopped herself down on the living room couch and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

The sun’s warm rays shone through the thin curtains of the living room’s front windows. Amber moaned and rolled gently off the couch and onto the floor. Damn it was hot! Duncan’s house was worse than Ryan’s, if that was possible. She hoped there was still running water. A cold shower would hit the spot. She raised herself up off the floor. The exhaustion she felt the past week was making her depressed. She just couldn’t shake the nightmares about Elmer Pittman and the Owens. Some soldier she would make. Suddenly, there was a commotion out front. She walked over and carefully peeked out the curtains. There was a gang of eight armed men across the street going from house to house, breaking down the doors, and dragging people out onto the street to be executed. Amber was stunned at the barbaric acts. It was only a matter of time until they reached Duncan’s house on the opposite side of the street. Duncan startled her when he came up from behind and gave her the AR-15. “Look! We might not have much time, so I’ll give you a crash course on how to use this thing.” He showed her how to insert a magazine and chamber a round. “Then just point and pull the trigger as fast as you can. If they get to this house, we’ll wait until they’re all in the front room then ambush them in a crossfire. You stay in the house and start shooting as many of them as you can. I’ll be

outside, and when they start piling back out the front door to take cover, I’ll mow the bastards down!” “Why can’t we just work our way over to a house where they’ve already been? When they see there’s no one here, they’ll go to the next house. When they’re gone, we’ll come back.” “Come back to what, Amber!” Then Amber saw what he was talking about. They were torching the houses across the street. “They’re not going to burn my house! Not while I’m still alive!” Duncan began to fill the pouches of his fatigues with full thirty-round clips. “It’s okay if you want to go, Amber. I’ll understand. But you must realize that when they’re through, there won’t be nothing left. One house will catch the house next to it on fire until the whole neighborhoods is aflame. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be out there trying to survive on the streets full of crazies.” Unfortunately, he had a very valid point. They would have to kill them all. Could she do it? Like she did with Ronald and Robin Owens, she had no choice. “Okay, Duncan!” As she slid on the heavy vest full of extra ammunition, Duncan rolled the refrigerator over into the hallway and tipped it over on its side. “Hide behind the refrigerator, and when you hear them in the front room, pop your head up just enough for them to see you. They won’t shoot a woman. They’ll want you alive. When they’re coming down the hall toward you, jump up and start blasting. Be careful! I don’t’ think they’ll have time to shoot back, but if they do, use the refrigerator for cover. By that time, I’ll be out front shooting the bastards coming out.” Amber was scared. In her mind, it’d take a miracle to pull it off. How could they kill eight men? There were only two of them! Why couldn’t they shoot at them from the front windows, maybe scare them off? But she knew she was just fooling herself. Once the gang found out they were there, they would never give up until they had them. She would be raped, probably killed. No, she had to go along with Duncan’s plan. She hunched down behind the refrigerator, pulled a magazine from one of the

pouches, and laid it next to her for easy reach. The angry voices were getting louder. They were real close. Duncan was at the front window when he suddenly hurried over and dove over the refrigerator, landing next to Amber. “They’re coming, Amber! I don’t want them breaking down my door so I left it open. Just stick to the plan. to pop your head up! Then kill as many as you can.” With that said, he went silently out the backdoor. The man left the door open. Great! Suddenly, the men were coming through the door. She knew what she had to do. Ryan Osborn, hunching on her backside, came vividly to mind. She raised her head. There were four men in the room by that time with the two on the front porch. That’s all Amber could see. They all had on the military uniforms. Gunshots erupted from the rear of the house, then it hit Amber; the other two men had circled around. Oh, shit, Duncan! The men in the front room ignored the gunshot as they looked hungrily at her. “Well, look what we have here,” said the man in front. “Yes! We hit the jackpot, boys!” By that time, all six men were in the room. She had to stall for time, so Duncan, if he wasn’t dead, could get to the front of the house. “Please don’t hurt me!” she begged. “I’ll do whatever you ask. Just don’t hurt me.” “Hear that, boys? She’ll do whatever we want.” The man laughed. One man suddenly shoved the front man out of the way. “Get out of my way. I’m first!” The other man raised his revolver and shot the man in the back of the neck then said: “You mean first to die!” Amber had to make her move. If Duncan was alive and heard the shot, he might think she was in trouble. It would ruin the whole plan. Amber stood up, raised her weapon, then started pulling the trigger as fast as she could. She was astonished at the damage the powerful shells were doing. The men were so bunched up she didn’t even have to aim, just pull the trigger. Pieces of cloth and bits of skin were blown off from the impact of the shells. The lead

man had half his head blown off from a single gunshot. They stumbled and fought each other as they grappled for the front door. Three fell dead almost instantly, one was badly wounded, and the other two was out the front door where she could hear more weapons fire. Duncan? She slid over the refrigerator and ran to the front door. The two men were lying at the foot of the steps in a puddle of blood. Duncan had come through after all; his plan had worked beautifully. Amber knew what she had to do now. She had to finish off the one that was wounded to keep him from healing, to finish off the little nanobots that would be working to repair the damage the AR-15 had caused. Amber walked over to the man. He was bleeding badly from the thigh and from the neck. A certain death for a normal person, but he wasn’t normal. She took out Ryan’s pistol, placed it to his forehead, then looked into the eyes of a man who was going to rape her. She saw no remorse or pity for what he had already done, only the fear for his own death. She cocked the hammer and then pulled the trigger. The bullet ed completely through his skull, burying itself into the wooden floor beneath him. His head sunk down a few inches as if it was melting into the floor, but in reality, the back of the head was obliterated from the exit of the bullet. It looked as if someone had tossed a melon, shaped like a man’s head, onto the floor. She staggered back against the living room wall. Was she going to be sick again? No, she had to check on Duncan. Where was he? Walking unsteadily out the front door, she looked over the banister for Duncan. Suddenly from behind her came Duncan’s voice. “Amber, are you okay?” He looked into her eyes with that blue stare that she was starting to get used to. “Man, you did a job on them four. You’re one tuff cookie, Amber.” “Why did you take so long to get in here?” she screamed. “I was worried about you, you jerk!” “I’m sorry, Amber. I was going through their pockets. There’re two more dead on the side of the house. Sure surprised them!” He then looked seriously at her. “I knew you were okay when I heard nothing but the sound of your AR-15. It has a distinctive sound. There was no return fire, and they came barreling out the

front door. You sure had them spooked.” She smiled up at him. “I did, didn’t I?” “Remind me never to get on your bad side.” “You’ve already said that to me once, and if you ever scare me again, you will see my bad side.” Again, Duncan didn’t seem much fazed by the ordeal. He went from one problem solved to the next. He took a deep breath and then collapsed onto the couch next to a dead gang member. “Now, Amber, we have another problem.” She looked around the room and knew immediately what he meant. There were eight bodies lying inside and outside the house; Duncan wasn’t going to leave his home, which meant they had to clean up the mess. And to make matters worse, they probably didn’t have much time until another marauding group sauntered by. Even one crazy person could mean trouble. If there was anyone left in the neighborhood, they now knew that the house was occupied. Wiping off the sweat with her forearm, she cursed the roaring fire burning out of control from across the street. If it wasn’t hot enough, the heat from the flames could be felt on that side of the street. The fire was leaping from one house to the next, creeping its way down the street. Amber fought the sinking feeling of defeat. It wasn’t the time to feel sorry for herself. She and Duncan needed each other. Duncan finally spoke up. “We need to carry the bodies to an empty house, maybe next door. We haven’t heard a peep from that home.” He groaned as he raised himself from the comfort of the couch. “I’ll check it out. Be back in a second.” “Not without me, mister!” He smiled down at her. “Okay, Amber, I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.” They both reloaded their weapons, headed out the back door and away from the

punishing heat out front, then made their way to the rear door of the next house. They knocked several times but received no answer. The door was locked. “Cover me, Amber.” Duncan then broke the glass on the rear door and let himself in. Slowly, they searched through the entire house. There were no occupants. “Listen, Duncan? I was thinking about all the bloody mess in your living room floor, the broken glass, and the bullet holes. How are we going to clean it all up?” Duncan leaned back and set his gun against the wall. “I know it’s just wishful thinking. Besides, I couldn’t ask you to help clean up a mess like that, even if it were possible.” “This looks like a nice house, Duncan. Maybe we could stay here, just leave the bodies where they are.” Surprising Amber, he said, “I agree! We leave the house as is, except for one thing. The bodies on the outside of the house will attract attention. We need to move them inside.” They both agreed and set about moving the bodies into Duncan’s house. It was painstaking work, but at least she didn’t have to move them by herself, as she did Ronald and Robin Owens. When that was taken care of, they started exploring their new home. There wasn’t much to eat, so they decided to wait until dark and move some provisions from Duncan’s house. The heat from across the street made the inside of the house almost unbearable. They found some lawn chairs out back of the house and made conversation as they waited outside until dark. “With all the commotion today,” Amber said, “why didn’t someone show themselves? I mean, it should have been obvious that we weren’t infected, and if it wasn’t, why isn’t anyone standing up for themselves?” “That’s a question I’ve been asking myself,” Duncan replied. “With all the gun control laws, maybe most of the people just didn’t have any weapons. We need to find more sane people and get organized. Thanks to Ryan Osborn, we have

extra guns and plenty of ammunition.” “Can’t get organized if there isn’t anybody to organize,” Amber said. “That’s true, Amber. Just too many damn crazies out there. I watched the television before the electricity went out. All they talked about were the nanobots. Didn’t make any sense to me, except that the nanobots were eating away at people’s brains. Man, am I glad I never went that route.” “I know what you mean, Duncan. I worked for the Biomedical Engineering Section of the institute.” “You what? You worked for them crazies? I’m surprised you never had the injection. Can you shed any light on the subject? I mean, why can’t they turn them off? They turned them on, controlled them.” “All I know is that because of a massive solar flare, the nanobots changed their programming. They began to replicate themselves. Instead of needing nanofactories to reproduce, they now were building their own nanobots. And in order to do that, they had to harvest raw materials from the brain, attacking the gene that codes an enzyme that metabolizes brain chemicals, brain chemicals that we need to reason with, chemicals that have a delicate balance. When that happens, it produces violent and psychopathic behavior.” “Why were the nanobots reproducing in the first place?” Duncan asked. “What were they programmed to do?” “The same things they have always done. That’s fight disease and promote healing, but now on a grander scale. Before I—” Amber swallowed a lump in her throat. “Before I killed Robin Owens, I witnessed her wounds starting to heal miraculously from a stomach injury. Do you know what that means? It means if you only wound one of them, even if it’s normally fatal, they might not die. The nanobots will come to the rescue and heal that person: tissue, ligaments, arteries, the works.” “What happens when the body is swamped with nanobots? Like just how many can the body hold before something has to give?” “Unknown,” Amber answered. “They might quit producing after they reach a certain number.”

“When they reach a certain number,” Duncan asked, “won’t they stop attacking the brain? Will the brain ever be normal again?” “Theoretically yes, it should go back to normal, but the longer they harvest, the more chance of brain damage, like starving the brain of oxygen, but much, much differently.” Duncan walked over to the window shade and looked out. “Like permanently crazy?” Amber waked over beside him. “Again, unknown. But I could take an educated guess. If anyone could commit the atrocities that we’ve witnessed, I doubt they could ever be normal again. The ones that could have answered all the questions are the very ones that are affected. The brilliant minds that would have helped solve this dilemma are now running wild in the streets. What chance do we have of beating this thing? All the government officials, all the scientists, all the people of authority, including the president, were on the injections of nanobots. They were free to all government employees and people in the medical profession. All we can do is try to survive and hope that somehow the rule of law prevails.” “What about the military?” Duncan asked. “Like I said, Duncan, all government employees! I mean look at the men we just killed. They were all wearing military uniforms. And the ones in the military that were not affected were the younger men of lower rank, which were probably the first ones killed.” “Wow, Amber! What the hell are we in for?” “Nothing pretty, I can tell you that.” “From what you’ve told me so far, tells me that it is imperative that we organize. There could be much larger gangs than the eight men we killed.” “What can we do?” Amber asked. “I don’t know yet, but what I do know is that all the shooting could bring more crazies out of their holes.” Duncan pointed toward the street. “Take a look.”

Amber wasn’t surprised when she looked out and saw a man and woman coming down the street. The woman was crying. “You think they’re infected?” She couldn’t see any visible weapons on them. Would they be stupid enough to walk down the street unarmed? “My guess would be that they’re not infected. These fires are spreading farther down the street, driving people from their homes. This could be an excellent opportunity to recruit some help. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say we should take them in. They don’t seem to be armed.” “Your judgment has been good so far, Duncan. If you say take them in, then we take them in.” “Okay, let’s go get the fools.” Amber and Duncan went out onto the street and yelled at the people to come to them. The couple was hesitant but realized they really had no other choice. Amber was also surprised to see a half dozen more people spread out down the street. None seemed to be armed. Two younger men came running toward them, begging their help. “Okay, okay, everyone go into that house with the yellow porch,” Duncan ordered. “Well, let’s round these people up, Amber, before the whole city knows we’re here.” They quickly ushered the remaining crowd into the house. Everyone seemed confused, as if they thought they were dreaming, that this couldn’t be happening to them. There were twelve, mostly young people. There were six women; two girls, maybe thirteen years old; and four young men. Duncan stepped forward. “All right, people, listen up! We took you in because we don’t think you are infected. This is our home, and you’ll do what you are told, or we’ll put you back on the street. Is that clear?” Everyone seemed to nod in agreement. “My name is Duncan, and this is Amber. Everyone stay quiet, and we might get through this thing. These fires and the gunshots might bring more crazies down on us. Our best defense now is silence. Everyone get comfortable. It’s going to be a long, hot day.” When nightfall finally arrived, Amber and Duncan went from person to person, asking their names, trying to determine if any were infected. The four young

men Duncan was convinced were not infected. They were too young, and they were from the lower end of the street where the families were in the lower income bracket. Nanobots weren’t cheap for the average person, Duncan thought irritably, but to the government, they were free. He wondered who was footing that bill. One woman was sick from heat exhaustion, Amber thought. She was old and probably wouldn’t make it. Death and more death. Where were the nanobots when she was growing old? Better off than what the alternative would have been. Later that night when most of the people were sleeping, Amber and Duncan went back to Ryan’s gun safe and retrieved two shotguns and forty shotgun shells. They were given to the two most experienced young brothers, Jason and Buckley Pendleton. Both were experienced hunters. That left four handguns, which would be distributed to the most trustworthy when the time was right. Amber and Duncan went outside for some fresh air. The night was warm and humid, but the cooler air still felt good. They sat on some lawn chairs and watched the shadows of the houses and trees dance from the glow of the still burning fire on the opposite side of the street. The houses directly across from Duncan’s were blackened hulks. Inside the house was still hot, but bearable. “What are we going to do now, Duncan?” Amber finally said. “Well, we have to figure out who can be trusted. Just because they’re not infected doesn’t mean they can be trustworthy. We have four more handguns. We need to find someone who can use them. We might need the firepower. And we have another problem. Where do we keep these people? This house can’t hold them all for long. And to spread them out among two or three houses is unpractical and indefensible. I hate to say it, Amber, but we have to find a more defendable position. With the addition of the people come their additional problems.” “Shit, let me guess! We have to search the city for a more suitable refuge?” “You got it, Amber. This neighborhood has been compromised big time, thanks to our soldier friends. The night’s still young. I say we go take a look, see what comes up.”

Amber didn’t really have an argument to his plan. She couldn’t think of a better one. She just wished they could be alone, wait out this nightmare. Of course, it was just wishful thinking, as Duncan would say. “That’s going to put us in a lot of danger,” Amber said. “And we still might not find what we’re looking for.” Duncan rose from his chair, deep in thought. “All right, mister, what have you got on your mind?” “Maybe, Amber, just maybe, I might have the perfect place to hide the lot of us. We have to check it out to see how much damage the riots have caused.” “All right,” Amber asked tiredly, “where’s it at?” “An old strip bar on Greenway Avenue called His Room. It has the old style metal screen where the windows and doors are resistant to break-ins and damage. It’s been down for years, and if we’re lucky, the crazies will have overlooked it. I mean there’s nothing of value in it. No one works there anymore, and it’s halfway secluded off the main drag.” “How do you know about a strip bar, mister,” Amber asked suspiciously. “Oh, it’s not me! I used to pick my brother up there on his Saturday night romps when he was too smashed to drive. Believe me, I just wasn’t into it.” “Well, what about this so-called bar?” “It has two floors, very spacious, and like I said, it’s defendable. If we’re quiet, no one will even know we’re there.” “There are fourteen of us. How are you going to keep them quiet? And how about provisions? And facilities?” “I don’t know, Amber. But if the rest of the city still has running water, I don’t see why this place wouldn’t. Besides, that’s something we’re going to find out tonight.”

* * *

Professor Alec Simms was jubilant. He now had over a hundred followers, minus the two or so a day he had to crucify for insubordination. And more were being recruited every day. After leaving a dozen men to guard his complex at the institute, his small army moved into most of the suburb around the institute, including the local police station where he had acquired several assault rifles and pistols. He had tear gas, flash grenades, body armor, and sniper rifles, thanks to the dead men at the SWAT headquarters. He had plenty of good-looking women slaves to do his bidding, and he used them to his full advantage. After making a deal with the men at SWAT for a trade of women for a few guns, he sent his women into their headquarters, armed with hidden pistols. Those macho men just couldn’t refuse a foxy-looking woman. Alec smiled. The seven men that were left in the SWAT headquarters were ambushed then shot down by his faithful women followers, leaving the spoils to the victor. Although the istration Building at the institute would continue to be his command center, he would make the police headquarters his new base of operations. With the bars on the windows and the generator to produce electricity, it was like a fortress, one he would defend to his last breath, well, the last breath of his followers. Alec took over the captain’s office and desk, where he now sat. It was spacious and had a large desk and plenty of room to hold his meetings with his lieutenants, as he liked to call them. Sanchez and Moller were his commanders in the field, followed by several lieutenants. Wherever he went, he was followed by twelve armed bodyguards and numerous women to do with as he pleased. In addition, he had several man slaves to do the heavy lifting when required. One thing bothered the professor. His enlightened education and knowledge about the nanobots was disturbing. Somewhere deep within him, he was worried about what the little beggars were up to in his system. He knew something went terribly wrong. But the other side of him asked the question: how could something that felt so wonderful be wrong? The glorious rages, the sadistic pleasure, what else could a person want in this world? He was the professor, the king. He didn’t want to know about what the nanobots were doing. He was having too much fun, but … what were they doing? The confusion that usually

set in about daybreak was again tormenting him. Alec opened the desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of the prescription drug Adderall. Opening the cap, he popped a few in his mouth. That should get me by for the next several hours, he thought. It always took away the confusion that was starting to follow him from day to day. He had to keep the real professor at bay. And when he wanted to sleep, well he had something for that too. In this world, Alec reigned supreme. In his other world, he was nothing but a glorified ass kisser, sucking up to his superiors for a few bucks of research. How could he have been so lame? He really enjoyed the execution of the president and his underlings of the institute. When Alec and his men made their way into the istration Building, they found the rich bastards fighting among themselves over the twelve or so females that were cowering against the wall. Alec had the firepower, so he quickly subdued the fighting men and then promptly had them shot. Six of them were begging all at once; men who always looked down at Professor Alec Simms were now asking for their miserable lives to be spared. Alec took pleasure in shooting the president and vice president, once in the head apiece. He just wished he’d had thought of the crucifixion at that time. Well, no matter! What’s done is done. The new man, Jim Miller, turned out to be a team player, Alec thought, a streetwise cop with ruthless tendencies. Who would have thought? Jim became an asset when Alec found out he knew the city streets like the back of his hand. He pointed to one of his female slaves. “Get Sanchez and Moller in here!” She looked up in fright and then ran out the door to do as commanded. Alec loved the fear he put into the hearts of his followers, especially the ones that weren’t infected. Unlike most of his men, he knew that he was infected by the nano virus; that’s what he liked to call it. They were too stupid to realize that what they were doing was wrong, at least had been wrong in another world. It was his world now. There was no right or wrong. Just hate, lust, murder, and the pleasure it brought. His two commanders were waiting patiently in front of him. They knew better than to say anything unless spoken to. Alec had the map of the city spread out on

the desk in front of him.

“Sanchez!” Alec barked. “Get that damn cop in here!” “Yes, Professor.” A few minutes later, Jim Miller stood before Alec. “Take a look at this map, Mr. Policeman. I want to know where the National Guard Armory is, and what is the quickest route to and from the place?” Why the … the … old bastard, Jim thought, treating me like a nobody. Jim had better be careful and keep his mouth shut; he wouldn’t want to get the whip again. He walked up to the desk and looked at the city’s streets. As Jim studied the map, Alec thought about the armory. He was under no illusions as to what it might take to get at the hardware in the place, but he knew what the nano virus was capable of. He’d bet his life that they had killed each other off until very few still occupied the facility. Getting at the hardware in the place was imperative and had to be done quickly before someone else got their hands on it. It would be a gold mine. Whoever had that prize was going to be the dominant player in Alec’s game of strategy. “Here it is, Professor, by the ball park off Vine Street. I drew the quickest route to and from the place with a red pen.” “Excellent, Jim, excellent!” the professor looked keenly at Jim. “You want in on this trip, Jim? Do you want to help us capture the armory?” “Uh, sure, Professor.” “Good. I might even let you kill one of them with your bare hands.” Alec smiled. The thought of getting to kill sent shivers up Jim’s spine and with his bare … wait a minute. How did the professor know about what he did to Ken Meyers? It suddenly hit Jim. Ken Meyers wasn’t dead. That had to be it! He wanted to ask the professor how he knew but didn’t want to talk without permission. “Questions, Jim?” Alec asked. “Uh, yes, sir. I didn’t know … I mean … that you knew I liked to kill like that.”

“What do you say, Jim? Would you like to kill Ken Meyers all over again?” Shit, he even knew his name! “Don’t look so surprised. It wasn’t hard to trace your movement once we captured you. And no, Ken Meyers is not still alive. He’s quite dead, just the way you left him, with a ruptured larynx. Yes, we found the body, still warm as a matter of fact. He had blood on him. You had blood in your car. He was a cop. You were a cop. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, Jim. You get that armory for me, and I’ll let you kill with your bare hands. Hell, you can kill whoever you want.” “Can I … I mean, Professor, sir … can I have one of the girls?” Alec rose from his desk, walked over to Jim, and then patted him on the back. “You get that armory for me, and I’ll let you have two girls! How’s that, Jim?” “Thank you, sir.” Alec looked at Sanchez and Moller. “You two take Jim downstairs. Give him a weapon and a clean uniform. Take an additional eighteen men and suit them up with the uniforms from the police lockers. We’re going to a policeman’s ball, gentlemen.” Professor Alec Simms watched the elated men hurry from his presence. Like children, he thought, when an ice cream truck is coming down the street. And right now he hated children. Hell, he hated Jim Miller! But he must reward loyalty! What would his kingdom be without loyalty? He let the rage flow through his body, let the hate build. Was there anyone he didn’t hate? No, he supposed there wasn’t. He stared down at the woman slave at his feet and felt like stabbing her with his ink pen. How many men had the whore been with before the nano virus? He pointed a finger at her. “On your knees, now!” The woman did as he commanded. His rage was at its peak now, his hate almost uncontrollable. He picked up a stapler from his desk. Now she was going to suffer!

* * *

His excitement grew as he watched the two kids try to sneak across the L & N railroad tracks down the street from where he sat. The estimation of the kids’ next move was precise. They were coming out of the wood into his trap. Sergeant Samuel Baker put his rifle with attached scope on the ledge of the car window for and then aimed it at the kids down the street. Putting the crosshair of the scope on the lead kid, he slowly put presser on the trigger. Just before the shot rang out, the car shifted just enough to cause the bullet to zip past the kid’s chest by mere inches. “What the—” Before he even began to investigate the cause of the disturbance on the vehicle, he began rapid-firing at the two kids down the street. “You little bastards!” he screamed. Using the scope, he peppered the area around the two kids as they ran across the street and between two houses. They never kept to the streets, always in the shadows of houses and buildings. He jumped from his car and moved quickly around to the side. “What the hell was this?” A man was on his knees, leaning against his car. A drunk? The man must have fallen against the car, causing his shot to go wide to the right. Why that … He clubbed the man in the head with the butt of his rifle as the man begged for assistance. “Please, sir, I’m lost. There’re men following me!” “Why you drunken asshole. I charge you with public intoxication. I hereby sentence you to death.” Samuel then stuck the barrel of the rifle in the man’s mouth and pulled the trigger. The back of the man’s upper neck exploded outward from the exit of the powerful bullet, spraying the black-and-white police cruiser with blood and tissue. The body of the murdered man was still on his knees, leaning against the cruiser. Samuel kicked the body over onto the cement gutter. “You drunken fool, look what you did to my car?” But the dead could not answer. “They’re getting away, damn it!” He ran around to the driver’s side, leaped into his car, and then sped off, leaving the dead man lying prone against the curb. Samuel screamed in frustration; he couldn’t believe his bad luck.

He whipped the car around the corner of Deacon Street and Wilshire, trying to cut them off. But he was a few seconds too late as he eyed the kids going across Wilshire toward Salem Street. Speeding past Wilshire, he squealed a left on Salem Street. When he was two blocks up the street, he slammed on the brakes then bounded from the car. Where were the little bastards? They couldn’t be far. He’d cut them off. He ran in the direction of the last place he had seen them. Damn! They were running through the backyards, going north. Immediately, he ran after them. Samuel couldn’t believe the kids could run that long without having to rest. They were jumping fences that separated some of the backyards. He was tiring fast. He had to take a shot with his rifle before he ran out of steam. The damn kids were heading toward an abandoned rug factory on the north side of town. If they made it into the factory, there’d be a dozen places they could hide. Stopping, he placed the barrel of the rifle on a fence to balance his shot, but his heavy breathing made a steady shot impossible. So he started firing at them on full automatic. Damn his rotten luck! They made it into the factory. He could have sworn he’d hit one of them. All the rounds he’d shot at them the last four days, he would think that at least one bullet would have found its mark. It was good luck for them and bad luck for him. Knowing they would take refuge in the factory to rest, he was now in no hurry. There they would think they were safe, but they didn’t know Samuel Baker. Walking to the car, he tried to devise another attempt at killing the bastard kids. When he arrived, he entered his car and immediately inserted a fresh clip into his rifle. He put the car in gear, cruised slowly along the Sixty-Sixth Street side of the factory, then made a left onto Fairpark Avenue until he came to the main entrance to the factory. The huge sign in front said Carthage Mill Inc. Pulling up to the gate, he exited his car. The gate had a chain with padlock to keep out unwanted vagrants. Well, he would see about that. He shot the padlock with a few rounds from his M-16, shattering the mental lock. He pulled off the chain, threw it onto the ground, and then shoved the gate open. Again, he was taking an educated guess. As he drove slowly through the factory

grounds, he thought how his best-laid plans went to shit. The kids could theoretically slip out the way they had entered, onto Sixty-Sixth Street. But Samuel was betting they would take refuge in the factory. Samuel parked his car in front of a loading dock on the east end of the building. He got out of his car, removed the scope, and attached his flashlight to the top of the gun. Then he walked to the door on the left of the loading dock and entered. It was dark in the factory, no visible light that he could see. He would keep the flashlight off and try to maneuver in the dark. If he turned on the light, they might see it and slip from his grasp. Samuel stood in the dark and waited for his eyes to adjust just enough to walk around in the plant. He wasn’t familiar with the inside of the factory, which he was sure the kids were, probably been in there a dozen times in the past. Suddenly, about halfway through the factory, he heard whispering behind some old machinery. He had them! Sneaking to the side of the machine, he listened. There were definitely voices. He jumped into the open, turned on his flashlight, and then started firing. There were two figures sitting on the cement floor and like some obscene dance went tumbling about from the impact of the high-velocity bullets. The automatic weapon blew dozens of holes in the two figures as they screamed. He waved the firing weapon from side to side, stitching one figure across the chest and then the other, driving their bodies back against the machine. Finally, the breach of the gun ejected the last shell. The gun was empty. The little bastards were dead! When he moved closer to the dead figures, he noticed to his dismay that they weren’t the kids at all. Even among the carnage, he could tell they were fullgrown men. Fucking homeless vagrants! Just his luck! The real culprits had now heard the gunshots and were exiting the building while Samuel stood dumbfounded. Well, it was bad luck for him and bad luck for the kids when he caught up to them. Again, Samuel had been deprived of the prize he so much wanted, but it made him that much more determined. He had to think of another plan. Where would the kids go next? Soon they would have to eat and sleep. He guessed they would exit the factory on the railroad side of the building, jump the chain-link fence,

and then work their way up the tracks to a destination yet to be determined. That’s what he would have done. Where could they get food and rest by going north up the tracks? There was a mom-and-pop grocery store on Sixty-Eighth Street, where it dead-ended at the railroad tracks. That was it! It had to be! If his calculations were correct, they’d hit the store for what food there was left. They were street kids, of that he was certain. The suckers had a home somewhere, but Samuel would bet the parents were either dead or missing. Maybe strangers occupied their home. When he tried to call for backup several weeks before, his calls went unheeded. He knew there was no backup to be had. Everything had gone to shit, but Samuel still didn’t know the reality of the situation. He still didn’t think what he was doing was wrong. A policeman took an oath to uphold the law, and in his agitated mind, that was what he was doing. Samuel walked back through the abandoned factory. He figured he’d wait an hour, catch the kids napping or eating, then nail them. He so wanted to catch one alive, to take his frustrations out on. He began to laugh as he visualized skinning one of the little felons. By God, he was going to kill them if it took every last breath in his body. And he would never stop until they were dead, dead, dead!

* * *

The couple moved quietly through the dark trashy street. They were moving in a northerly direction up Fairpark Avenue that ran parallel to Vine Street. The street had been swamped with rioters the first few days of the infection because of its large business-oriented base. Fairpark Avenue had been spared most of the violence because there were no businesses on the street, just houses. Amber Styles and Duncan Taylor had been lucky. The seven blocks to where the nightclub His Room was located was uneventful. They both knew they were taking a gamble, but what choice did they have? A safe haven for his small group was imperative. Finally, Fairpark Avenue forked left and turned into Greenway Avenue. His Room was located on the corner of Greenway Avenue and Section Road. Its

small neon sign out front was dark as was the sign above the double doors at the main entrance, which was at the side of the building. There were no windows on that side of the building. In the front of the building, the one that faced the street, the doors were sealed, and so were the windows. Plus, it was covered with thick metal screening. The side entrance also had metal screening covering the doors. There were woods in the back of the place and woods across Greenway Avenue and Section Road. “Now that we’ve found it, Duncan, how do we get into it?” “Let’s go around to the back and check it out,” Duncan whispered. At the back of the building, they stared at still another screen-covered door secured with a padlock. “We’ll have to shoot the lock off,” Duncan suddenly said. “I see no other choice.” “What about the noise?” “This place is fairly secluded. There’re only two other buildings on this street, which look as vacant as this one. We’ll shoot the lock off and maybe the lock to the door. Once it’s open, we’ll hide in the woods and wait. If no one shows up within an hour, then we’re home free. I know it seems like a big gamble, Amber, but I think we have a good chance. Most of the crazies around here have moved west toward Vine Street and the more populated areas, like the businesses.” “Okay, mister, but if someone does show up, then what’s our alternative plan?” Duncan shook the metal screen with his hand. “I have no alternative plan, Amber. I’m sorry.” “All right, Duncan, let’s get this over with.” Duncan pointed the gun at the silver-colored padlock and pulled the trigger twice. The nervous couple looked at one another then back at the lock. The .223 rounds put two holes in the padlock, even smashed a portion of the device, but the lock held firm. “Damn, Duncan, what do they make them things out of?”

“I don’t know, Amber, but they’re definitely resistant to bullets.” “Whatever you’re going to do, you better do it quickly.” Duncan quickly scanned the debris-strewn property behind the building with his flashlight, the light finally coming to rest on a small length of metal pipe. He ran over; snatched up the pipe; and then returning to the door, shot the lock three more times. The lock was severely damaged but still held. Taking the length of pipe, Duncan pounded on the padlock several times until the stubborn device fell off onto the cement steps. Quickly, he pulled the screen open on squeaky hinges then tried the door— locked. He didn’t want to do it, but he had no choice now. It took five rounds to blast open the deadbolt lock from the door. He would just have to figure a way to fix it later. Together, they ran into the woods on the north side of the building. That way, they had a good view of the back of the place. As they waited, Amber had a chance to ponder what they were doing. The destruction of the small but sturdy padlock had taken way too long. If there were any crazies about, they surely would have heard the commotion. If they hadn’t taken in the refugees to begin with, the risking of their lives would not have been necessary. She and Duncan were just fine hiding out alone. They still weren’t sure if any of the newcomers were infected, and now she and Duncan were risking their lives for them. What was going to be the reward? Whining and complaining about the conditions probably. Well, whatever the case, she would stick with Duncan and his gallant plan. After an hour, there still was no activity in the vicinity, so they made their way back to the building and into the interior. It was warm and muggy inside the nightclub. They pulled out their flashlights and surveyed the room. Just inside the back room was everything you needed to cook with, minus a stove and refrigerator. The first door on the right led to an office containing a desk and chair, but little else. Immediately to the left was stairs leading to the upper floor. They crossed the kitchen, through a doorway, and into a large room with a bar and dance floor. Behind the bar, another doorway led to a maze of hallways, doors, and rooms. Upstairs were six rooms,

which long ago must have been rented apartments. There were two bathrooms with showers, unlike downstairs, which were several urinals and toilet stalls for the patrons that once frequented the nightclub. “Well,” Duncan said as they were descending the stairs, “there sure is plenty of space. Let’s check for water.” The bathroom water was valved off from another larger line. All Duncan had to do was open the valve, and they had running water, at least for the time being. They had spent a total of two and a half hours at the His Room nightclub. It was time to head back before daylight. If they were caught out after daylight, the chances of being seen were five times greater. About halfway back to the house, the couple stopped behind a garbage dumpster and listened to screaming coming from down the street and then gunshots. It was a male voice. It was in line with their present course. “Shit!” Amber whispered harshly. “They’re coming our way!” Men’s voices could be heard laughing and coming in their direction. “How many do you figure, Duncan?” “I don’t know, but here they come!” From about a thirty-yard distance came three armed men walking around the corner toward the hiding couple. “We’re going to have to kill them,” Duncan whispered. “What?” At that second, before Amber had time to react, Duncan stepped out from behind the dumpster. “You men going somewhere?” Then Duncan walked up to the surprised men and opened fire. The three men tried to scatter, but it was too late. Duncan kept pulling the trigger until all were lying on the sidewalk, bleeding. Amber couldn’t believe what Duncan had just done. “If we would’ve stayed hidden, Duncan,” Amber grumbled, “they might have ed us by.”

“And if they saw us, Amber, it would have been three against two, and they would be ready. This way, I just made sure we had the upper hand.” She walked over to where the three men lay. Two looked dead; one was definitely wounded. Blood flowed freely from his shoulder and chest. Duncan stood beside Amber. “We’ve got to split, Amber. The shots could have been heard.” “What about that one?” Amber said as she pointed to the man on the sidewalk. “We have to kill him,” Duncan said forcefully. “Now!” Duncan stuck the barrel of the gun to the man’s head. The man was trying to talk, but blood was streaming from his mouth, causing him to choke. “If you’re going to do it, then do it, damn it!” Amber yelled. Duncan pulled the trigger. Amber stared at the familiar burst of blood and skull, this time from the side of the head. The man was dead instantly. Duncan immediately began gathering up their rifles and ammunition belts. Keeping to the shadows, they both ran in the direction of their present hideout. As they ran, Amber wondered what the difference between them and the infected ones were. Amber and Duncan killed indiscriminately just as they did. But they did it for survival; the infected ones did it because they were psychopathic, in other words, just for fun. Damn cops! Busted me up good. Yes, Elmer Pittman was twice the victim; the second time cost him his life. When they were almost back to the house, they stopped to rest. Amber and Duncan were both sweating heavily from the exertion. “Wow! These guns are heavy,” Duncan complained. Ignoring his complaint, Amber asked, “How are we going to get twelve people over to the nightclub? A few at a time or all at once?” “It’ll take us forever to do it in groups, and it increases the risk of being spotted,”

Duncan answered. “For the record,” Amber said, “I never wanted to take those people in. I thought it would be trouble. I still do.” “I’ve had second thoughts myself, Amber. But unfortunately, I’m committed. I know I’ve said this to you before, but if you want to pull out, I’ll understand.” “I’m not pulling out, mister. If you’re committed, then I’m committed. Simple as that.” “Thanks, Amber. I thought there was a reason I liked you so much,” Duncan said jokingly. Duncan scanned the area then looked at Amber. “You ready, Amber? Okay, let’s go!” They ran the rest of the way to the house, only to discover that one of the women had been brutally murdered in their absence. She had her throat cut with something sharp. After hearing the news, Amber quietly led Duncan out of earshot. “Our worst fear has just come true, Duncan. We have a killer in our midst.” Duncan let out a slow breath. “Yes, we do, Amber. Yes, we do. One of the people in our party is a crazy. We have to do some old-fashioned detective work.” The couple went into the bathroom to examine the body. Her name was Carrie Fechner. She was sleeping in one of the two bathtubs in the house when someone killed her. There was no sign of rape. The pale corpse was lying on her side, her brown hair matted with blood and sticking to a white pillow that was under her head. The underside of the body was soaked in blood as it flowed down into the drain. Duncan gently touched her shoulder and pushed her over to reveal a six-inch incision across her throat that resembled the huge mouth on a smiley face sticker, but there was nothing comical about the scene. Her eyelids were slightly parted, showing blue eyes coated over with a thin clear film, like thickening tears. “She must have been sleeping when she was killed,” Amber said. Amber felt

slightly lightheaded. No matter how much death she saw, she just couldn’t get used to all the blood. “Whoever did this thinks they’re home free,” Duncan said. “We need to find the bastard before we make the move to the nightclub. If not, we’d be bringing a crazy with us. And he or she will kill again when the opportunity arises.” Amber had already been fooled by an infected man. How could they identify a person who was infected? They couldn’t. She told the Pendleton brothers to assemble everyone in the living room where she and Duncan checked their clothes for blood. No blood could be found on any of the group, and no one seemed to have heard or seen anything. Duncan informed the people that no one would be going anywhere until the killer was found. Also, he told them just how close him and Amber was to abandoning the whole group and take off on their own. He didn’t have to deal with this shit, so the people in the room had better help catch the killer if they wanted any chance of going to the nightclub with him and Amber. Murmurs of disapproval could be heard from the small group. “I want to tell the killer that if he gives himself up, I’ll let him leave unmolested. But if I discover who he is on my own, I’ll kill him or her on the spot.” No one in the group stepped forward. Of course, Duncan did not intend to let a crazy go. He’d kill him on the spot anyway. “Okay, Amber, line the people up, single file. We’re going to check their fingernails for signs of blood.” There was a lot of blood from the murder scene, Duncan thought. There just had to be blood somewhere. And it just so happened that three of the women had blood under their fingernails. One was dismissed outright because of a cut on her hand. The other two were under their scrutiny. Julia Benchers and Megan Doolittle were now the prime suspects. Julia Benchers was the older of the two and the most likely suspect. “Okay,” Duncan said. “Which one of you killed Carrie Fechner? it it now and you’ll go free. I just want to get out of here to our new destination.” Julia Benchers was strangely quiet, while Megan Doolittle professed her innocence. “She’s the one,” Megan accused. “If I’m not the one, then she has to be. Please, Mr. Taylor, I’m innocent!”

“Then where did the blood come from under your nails?” “I’m the one who discovered the body! Okay, I it that much. I touched her and got blood on my fingers, but I didn’t kill her, I swear!” “All right,” Amber broke in. “Julia, what have you got to say?” “I’m the oldest of us, and I don’t expect you to believe me. I was helping Mary with the cut on her hand. I must have gotten blood on me somehow.” “That’s right, Ms. Styles, I can vouch for her,” Mary said. “That still doesn’t clear her,” Amber said. “May I make a suggestion?” Julia asked. “Sure, Julia, what is it?” Amber responded. “Why not put us both out on the street. That way, you could be sure. I’m willing to make that sacrifice for the good of the group.” Well, wasn’t that noble of her? Amber thought. “Shut up, you bitch!” Megan suddenly yelled. “If you want to go out on the street, then be my guest, but I’m staying here. Don’t make me go with her, Ms. Styles. She’ll kill me as soon as we’re clear of the house, I know it!” “I’m afraid,” Duncan said, “that letting either one of you go at this point is impossible. You know where we are going. You might tell someone. I’ll have to kill you both. Megan Doolittle suddenly fainted. Mary went to her side to comfort her. Julia Benchers for the first time looked frightened. “Uh, kill us? You’d be killing me, an innocent woman. Give me the gun, and I’ll kill her myself! Will that prove I’m innocent?” Julia then seemed to realize that she had just incriminated herself. “I mean … if you wanted me too. I … just want to give the killer what she deserves. Carrie was my friend!” Suddenly, Duncan walked up and handed Julia a handgun.

Amber couldn’t believe it! What the hell was he doing? Was it a way to get rid of them both, so she or Duncan didn’t have to make the decision? Then Amber realized when Julia smiled that she was indeed the killer. There was no denying that psychotic look that Amber had seen many times before. And what better way to tempt an infected person than with murder? They just couldn’t resist. Before Amber could say anything, Julia bent over, put the gun to Megan’s forehead, and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked on an empty chamber. Amber breathed a sigh of relief. That Duncan was a genius, Amber thought. “Okay, Julia, I think we have what we were looking for,” Duncan said. Julia still didn’t realize in her mixed-up head that she had just signed her own death warrant. “What? No bullets? What kind of game are you playing, Mr. Taylor? The bitch … is—” Then for the first time she realized her mistake. She had been dubbed, and she knew it. “Why you nothing of a man! You think you can trick me and get away with it. The bitch Carrie had it coming. I did the whole group a favor. Did you know she was pregnant? She’d have dragged us all down!” “Outside!” Duncan ordered. “Buckley? You and Jason take her out back. The rest of you, outside. You’re going to watch.” The two brothers did as they were told and took the kicking, screaming Julia outside as Duncan followed. Amber didn’t want to watch the execution, but her role in the small group demanded it. She had to act accordingly. When Amber moved outside, the Pendleton brothers had Julia on her knees. She was still ranting about killing them all when Duncan walked up and blew her brains out. Vivid memories returned about when Amber blew Robin Owens’s scalp onto the hedges. She felt sick, but she couldn’t show weakness in front of the group. “Let that be a lesson to all of you if you break the rules,” Duncan said, “like murder or rape. I won’t tolerate it! I want everyone to get their things ready. We will move to a new location tomorrow night.”

* * *

It was a long hot day, with Amber sleeping a fretful sleep. When night finally arrived, the people were waiting anxiously for the move to the nightclub. Amber on the other hand was dreading the responsibility of protecting the group for seven blocks to their destination. There were now thirteen of them, counting Amber and Duncan. She guessed she should count her blessings though, since none of the crowd really complained about anything. Duncan came over to Amber. “You okay?” “Yes, just a little tired.” “You up to this? We could always postpone the move until you’re feeling better.” “Don’t you dare, mister! I’ll be all right once we get moving.” “Whatever you say, Amber. We’d better be going.” “Okay, everyone listen up. We keep together as a group. We only move in single file, if I say. We’re going to keep to the shadows and the alleys. Silence is the best defense, so keep quiet, no talking. If anyone has to go to the bathroom, do it now.” Duncan waited for any questions. There was none. “Let’s go!” They generally followed their previous path but tried to stay more to the alleyways. It was a little longer but safer. Besides the occasional gunfire in the distance, it was an uneventful trip. When everyone was settled in to their respective places at the nightclub, Amber found Duncan behind the bar, sitting on a stool. “Where are you going to set up camp, Duncan?” “I figure I’ll make me up a bed right here behind this bar.” “You’re not leaving me by myself, mister.”

“There’s plenty of room for two, Amber. I welcome the company.” So Amber and Duncan made their beds out of some red satin curtains that still hung from the doorway and some old towels that were stacked neatly behind the bar. With their guns within easy reach, they settled down for the night. “We have to make plans, Duncan,” Amber said. “Our obligation here is finished. We were hoping for strength in numbers, but all we have is an additional burden. The days are going to be stifling and the nights long because we’ll be cooped up in here together with no place to go. Everyone is going to need fresh air occasionally. How will that be done? When there was just the two of us, we could go outside the house and relax to an extent. We’ll have to be constantly on guard when we rotate them outside.” Amber moved closer to Duncan, almost touching. “The Pendleton brothers can take over from here and a few of the women. We can find our own place where we’ll be safe.” “You have a convincing argument, Amber. And there’s nothing I’d like more than to have you to myself, but—” Amber moved the remaining few inches until their lips were touching. Duncan took her into his arms, kissing long and hard, releasing some of the built-up stress that seemed to be constantly with him. Finally, he pulled back from their embrace. “Well … I think I’m really falling for you, Amber.” “I’ve been waiting for you to say that ever since I met you, mister. How about one more for the road?” she said as she pushed up against him. “My pleasure, Amber, my pleasure!” “If you two are through sucking face, I have a complaint!” came a voice from behind them. Amber and Duncan separated and then looked annoyingly at Mildred Pierce who stood with her hands on her hips. “What is it, Mildred?” Amber asked.

“It’s that wimp, Megan Doolittle. She keeps following me around, wanting to make her bed by me. I don’t want anyone sleeping by me, not since Carrie had her throat cut.” Megan stood meekly behind her. “Megan, dear,” Amber said gently, “why don’t you make your bed by Mrs. Lance? She doesn’t want to be alone.” “Okay, Ms. Styles. I didn’t want to sleep by that hag anyway.” With that said, Megan disappeared from the room. “Thanks, Ms. Styles. I’ll just make me a bed over by the dance floor.” After Mildred had left, Amber and Duncan giggled like two schoolchildren at lunch break. It broke up some of the tension that had built up the past few weeks. For a few hours, they actually felt human, until later that night. Amber and Duncan were awakened by a scream. It was Megan Doolittle. She was standing over the prone figure of Mrs. Lance who was lying next to the old dance floor. She had been stabbed numerous times. There was a six-inch bladed knife protruding from her ear socket, and her throat had been cut! “What the hell!” Amber screamed. Duncan was dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The murder was as savage as he’d ever seen up until that point. There was blood everywhere, and Megan Doolittle was covered in it. “You!” Duncan pointed at Megan. “No, it wasn’t me! She was still alive when I found her, I swear it! I held her to me as she whispered the killer’s name in my ear. She said … it was Mildred Pierce!” Mildred stood behind her, a confused look on her face; she too had blood on her. “I didn’t do it! I woke up and had blood on me. Someone’s trying to frame me!” Oh, shit, Amber thought, here we go again. Right when she had Duncan convinced to leave these people, so much for keeping the noise down. They continued to argue back and forth as Amber and Duncan met several yards

away to discuss it. “Someone’s letting us know that they’re still in our midst,” Duncan said. “Letting us know that we have every reason to be afraid, playing us for fools. We can’t let them get away with it! If for anyone than for the Pendleton brothers. They’re too young to take control of this situation by themselves, Amber. We find out who the killer is, and I promise you we’ll split.” “Your promise is good enough for me, Duncan.” Just then, Buckley and Jason Pendleton came up to them. “Mr. Taylor, can we have a word with you?” “Sure, boys. What is it?” “We kept an eye out like you told us earlier,” Buckley said. “I saw Megan roaming around downstairs.” “And I saw Mildred snooping around,” Jason interrupted. Duncan glanced at Amber then back at the brothers. “Is that a fact? Looks like we might have two foxes minding the henhouse. What do you think we should do, Amber?” “Try to get one to rat on the other.” “Sounds like a plan to me,” Duncan said. He looked at Buckley and Jason. “You boys separate the two women. Leave one by the dance floor and take the other one over by the bar. And stay with them.” After the young men had left, Duncan told Amber of his next move. Then he asked her who she thought the more vulnerable of the two might be. “Definitely Megan,” said Amber. “She’s younger than the other one, more immature.” After a half hour of separation, Duncan told Jason to take Mildred outside with Amber, and then he went over to where Megan sat. “Okay, Megan, here’s the deal. If one of you doesn’t give me a believable excuse, then we’ll execute you both. It’s as simple as that. I don’t have time to fool around this time. Mildred

says she can prove that you’re the killer. We’re just waiting until Amber is done with the interrogation. Buckley, stay with her. I’ll be right back.” Several minutes later, Duncan came back with a grave look on his face. “I’m sorry, Megan. But she has given us positive proof that you are the killer. Your death will be carried out immediately. Bring her outside, Buckley!” “Wait a minute!” she pleaded. “You’re making a big mistake. I didn’t do it, I swear! Give me a chance to prove it! Please!” “Mildred has just given us proof that you did it, so how can you prove that you didn’t?” She looked angry now. “What proof does she have against me? I want to see it!” “Poor, Megan,” Duncan cooed. “You have no right to see shit. You killed an innocent. Our Father who art in heaven, please forgive Megan for her sins,” began Duncan as she was led toward the rear door. “Wait! Please! She did it I tell you! I can prove it.” “How?” Duncan asked. “Because I saw her do it! I saw Mildred kill Mrs. Lance.” “That’s not proof. She said the same thing about you, but she has proof that is more substantial. Enough talk, Megan.” “I can prove it because … she … she’s my sister! There! I said it. She’s my sister, and I saw her kill Mildred Pierce. That’s the only reason I didn’t say anything sooner. I was trying to protect my sister, I it it, but I didn’t kill Mildred!” Duncan knew then that he had two crazies on his hands, and he knew just what to do with them. He continued outside, with Megan pleading behind him. When outside, Buckley shoved Megan next to her sister. “Why are we out here?” Mildred asked forcefully. She glared at Megan. “What did you tell them, bitch?”

“You tried to pin the murder on me! I told them the truth.” “Why you stupid cow, I told them nothing!” “But they said you had proof, proof to pin the murder on me.” “You fool!” Mildred screamed. “You just killed us both!” “And that, ladies, is a fact,” Duncan said. “You’re both going to die for the murder of Mrs. Lance.” Duncan meant what he said but was getting tired of being the one to have to execute the guilty. He didn’t enjoy killing, especially a woman. “Amber?” Duncan said. “Keep close watch on these two while I have a little chat with the Pendletons.” He moved closer to where the two young men stood. “Did you boys know Mrs. Lance very well?” With tears in his eyes, Buckley answered for both of them, “She was like our older sister back home. There was nothing she wouldn’t have done for us. Because of these two, she’s dead.” “I’m going to ask you and Jason to execute them for me. I’m not ordering it. If you don’t want to do it, then don’t. I won’t hold it against you. Amber and I are going our own way after these witches are executed. I’d feel a lot better knowing these people are in capable hands after we’re gone. You two are going to be the leaders, and you’ll have to do what’s necessary to ensure the safety of the people who depend on you. Meaning, sooner or later, you might have to do what we’re going to do tonight. What’s it going to be?” Buckley looked at his brother, Jason. They both nodded their agreement. “Pick one, Jason. I’ll do the other.” Without hesitation, Jason walked up to Mildred, placed the gun against her head, and then fired. She screamed, fell back onto the ground, and clawed at the grass. Blood was pouring from a wound on top of her head as she screamed in pain. “What the hell happened?” Jason asked frightfully. “Why isn’t she dead?”

“You didn’t aim low enough you idiot!” Buckley scolded. “Shoot her again!” “But she won’t hold still!” “It doesn’t have to be the head, Jason, just shoot her!” Jason shot Mildred four more times in the back as she withered on the ground. Finally, she lay still. In the meantime, Megan was in a frenzied state. The slow execution of her sister had her in a panic. She screamed and begged for her life. Buckley wasted no time in blowing a hole in her forehead, where the bullet lodged inside the brain. Blood squirted out of the small hole and onto the front of her tee shirt. She flopped onto her face—dead. Duncan felt sick. You never knew whom you could trust. He went to the side of the building where Amber was already vomiting on the ground. He ed her. What little food he’d eaten was now lying on the ground next to Amber’s. After they were done, they looked at each other and smiled. Amber now knew that the man she was in love with was as human as she was. They informed the two brothers that they now had a new problem. There were three bodies to contend with. First, they must all get back into the club and wait to see if anyone heard the shots. An hour later, Amber and Duncan were ready to leave. “What are we to do with the bodies?” Buckley asked. “My advice,” Duncan said, “is to take them to the building next door and pitch them inside. That way, nobody will see them and come snooping around. Plus the smell won’t bother you.” After filling their bags with provisions, Amber and Duncan set off in search of a new location. Duncan’s plan for strength in numbers was a failure. The crazies had infiltrated the group along with the normal people, causing pain, murder, and suffering. Duncan would never trust such a large group of people again, if anyone at all. The crazies could blend right in, but their homicidal tendencies could not be controlled indefinitely. The only solid clue that he and Amber had

discussed was the strange grin that the crazies had when someone was going to be hurt or die. The couple set off into the darkness, being sure to stay in the shadows when they could. They crossed over Greenway Street, entering the woods going south, but that direction brought them to a more congested area of town. So they turned west across Section Road and into another swath of woods. Going west, they determined, would take them to less populated areas of the city and eventually leave the city all together. Because of the precautions they had to take, the going was slow, but after a few hours, they left the city proper and into a more countrytype setting. It wasn’t long until they came upon an untouched mom-and-pop grocery store where they broke the side window and entered the store. “This is almost too good to be true,” Amber said, as she bit into a fresh boloney sandwich. “The meat case is cold. Where do they get their electricity?” Duncan too was munching on boloney. “Probably a generator of some kind. We have to be careful and quiet, even out here. It looks like the owners might live upstairs. And with all that’s been happening, they’ll be on guard for looters.” “Is that what we are, Duncan? Looters?” “I’m afraid so, Amber.” Suddenly, they heard footsteps coming down some stairs and then a door being unlocked and opened from the inside of the store. “Is anyone there?” came a voice from the back of the store. Then the lights in the store lit up. “Shit!” whispered Duncan. “If they’re any crazies out there, they’ll see this place a mile away. We have to shut it down, Amber.” Duncan stood up and walked back toward the voice. A man in blue striped pajamas stood in a doorway, holding a shotgun. Duncan didn’t want to harm any innocents as he pointed his M-16 at the man. “Don’t move, mister!” Duncan commanded. “I’ll kill you for sure!” The man looked surprised, and at first, Duncan thought he was going to draw on him; but the man backed down. “Okay, sir, just don’t fire that thing. You’ll draw

attention to us.” “What do you think these lights are doing, you fool? Turn them out now!” The man flipped a switch on the wall, and the lights went out. “Now come out where I can see you.” The man came out of the shadow. He was a middle-aged gent with a slight southern drawl, balding scalp with brown thinning hair, and smooth skin. Duncan couldn’t tell his eye color in the dark, but his stooped frame was about 5'8”. He didn’t think he was infected because of his cautious nature, but who could really tell? “Okay, mister, drop the gun. On second thought, lay it down gently. We wouldn’t want it to accidently go off.” The man did what he was told. “Is this your place?” asked Duncan. “Yep! Bought her back in 2006 from a man named Earl Shrives. Been going downhill the past couple of months because of the new Wal-Mart out on State Route 125.” By that time, Amber was beside Duncan. “What’s your name?” Amber asked. “The name’s Edward Mosley. Folks call me Ed. I figure you folks aren’t crazy like the rest of them?” “You figure right, Ed,” Amber answered. “By the way, I’m Amber, and that handsome brute is Duncan. I’m afraid we broke your window to get in. We’re sorry, but we were hungry, and your place was full of food. If the crazies find out about this place, it will be hard to hold onto.” “I reckon you’re right. But what’s a man to do?” “Is there anybody else with you, Ed?” Amber asked. “No, just me. My wife Donna ed away last year. Couldn’t afford no nano, what you call it, robots.” “How come you have electric, Ed? The power’s out everywhere else.” But

Duncan already knew the reason. He could hear the sound of the generator in the basement. “I have a generator in the basement. As long as the fuel holds out, we’ll have electricity.” Duncan was thinking that the place would be a good spot to hang out for a while. “We need to board up the windows, Ed. Keep out the crazies. If they find this place, they’ll kill us all and burn it down. Have you any lumber that we could use?” “Yes, sir! In the barn out back.” “Amber, I hate to ask you, but can you help me carry some lumber up from the barn?” “That’s a dumb question, Duncan Taylor. I can pull my weight same as the next guy. I think I’ve already proven that.” Yes, indeed she had, Duncan thought, which made him love her even more. “I stand corrected, Amber. You’ve more than pulled your weight. Let’s get started. Ed? You get some nails and start boarding up the windows, and Amber and I will start hauling up the wood. We need to cover the windows before it gets light.” By daylight, the exhausting work of boarding up the store was over. Now they had to pray that any ersby would think that the place was abandoned. “One last thing to do, Ed. Let’s take down that sign you have on the side of the building and put it in the barn. We can’t let anyone think that this has ever been a store!” Duncan and Edward collected some tools and a ladder then took the sign down and hauled it out to the barn. By that time, it was approaching noon. They’d been lucky so far. Daylight was their enemy. Nevertheless, the place was as isolated as a place could be and still do a mediocre business. As the threesome sat at Edward’s kitchen table, Amber said, “We hate to intrude on your privacy, Ed, but we really had no place else to go. We hope you don’t mind. This could be quite a setup. And it’s about as safe as we’re going to get under the circumstances.”

“That’s all right, missy. I reckon I didn’t know what to do next. Guess I’ve been lucky one of them there crazy fellas didn’t wander in here and take what was mine, maybe kill me.” “If it’s one thing we’ve learned, Ed, it’s that the crazies like to kill. No doubt you would have been killed, perhaps even slowly since they seem to like watching someone suffer.” “Lordy be, I had no idea it was that bad.” “Believe us,” Duncan said, “it’s that bad.” “Well,” Edward said, “since we’re all buttoned up nice and tight, maybe you’d like to have a drink with me.” “I don’t know, Ed—” “It’s David Walker blue, the best Scotch whiskey on the market.” “In that case,” Duncan said, “we’d be glad to.” Edward Mosley poured three glasses with the whiskey. He raised his glass. “To survival!” “To survival,” Duncan said in return. They all three downed their drinks. “You know,” Edward said, “you two ought to be more careful who you have a drink with. I could poison you both and take them there fancy guns. If I had a mind to, that is.” Oh, shit! Amber thought. We’ve been had by a crazy! Duncan jumped up from his seat. “Why you double-crossing … I’ll kill you … take you with me.” “Now hold on there, Duncan! I was just supposing. That there drink was as pure as a freshly opened bottle. I assure you. I just wanted to thank you by giving a little advice. I meant no disrespect. If it’s as bad as you say, then we can’t trust anyone.”

Duncan didn’t feel any ill effects. Perhaps the old man was telling the truth. “All right, Ed. But don’t pull something like that again. I’d hate to kill you.” “Yes, sir, Duncan. I reckon I didn’t expect a reaction like that. You’ve been through a lot, I know, I shouldn’t have said that to the two of you. And I appreciate all that you’ve done for me. You can stay as long as you want. Please, have another drink. I swear it’s the real McCoy.” After a few more drinks, Duncan felt more relaxed than he’d felt in days. The David Walker sure had a kick to it. Amber felt the same way and said so. “There’s only the one bed,” Edward suddenly said. “You can sleep anywhere you want.” “Thanks, Ed,” Amber said, “but we’ll make do out here on the couch and floor.” “Then I’ll say good night. And again, I apologize for scaring you.” With that said, Amber took the couch, and Duncan took the floor. Once again, Amber had dreams about Elmer Pittman and the way Ryan Osborn had blew the top of his head off. Damn cops! Busted me up good. She awoke with a start. What the hell woke her? It was Edward cooking bacon in a skillet. The smell was heavenly. Duncan was already up drinking coffee at the kitchen table. “Bacon’s done!” Edward announced. “There’re fresh tomatoes and lettuce in the refrigerator. Help yourselves.” BLTs—wow! It would be the best meal Amber had had in a month. She rose from her place on the couch and noticed immediately that the room was not hot. Air-conditioning! God, it felt great! “We have hot and cold running water if you care to take a shower,” Edward said. “Take advantage while you can. After today, we’ll have to start conserving on the fuel, maybe two hours a day. The rest of the time will be lights out.” “A shower would be great,” Amber said. Of course, she didn’t relish the thought of spending the daytime hours in the oppressive heat, which they surely would.

“There’re a lot of perishables in the store, I’m afraid,” Edward suddenly said. “The meat will go bad after a few days without the generator. But I still have plenty of canned goods and dry food like rice and cereal.” There goes the BLT sandwiches, Amber thought. Of course, the place was still a gold mine, if they could keep it a secret. Even with the windows boarded up, the place stood out like a sore thumb. It was too good to be true. Amber wondered what would go wrong to ruin their new sanctuary.

* * *

The girl slave lay crying at Alec’s feet with a dozen bloody staples in her back. Now that was fun, Alec thought. That was one of the advantages to being king. He could do what he wanted to whomever he wanted. Alec rose from his chair and kicked the young woman from his path. It was time to attack the National Guard Armory located off Vine Street. He walked down the steps and out the front of the istration Building where five police cruisers and an SUV with a ram attached to the front waited. Alec didn’t know what it was called and didn’t ask. Being king meant he didn’t ask anybody for nothing. He was supposed to know it all, and that’s the picture he wanted to paint. Alec, protected by four bodyguards, would coordinate the attack from within his police cruiser by radio. Another eighteen men would storm the compound with M-16 assault rifles and flash grenades. Sanchez took six men and faked an assault at the front gate; while Jim, Moller, and twelve men made their way to the rear, breached the fence, and then moved into the interior of the compound. The guards at the main gate were behind bulletproof glass and taunted the assault team, until they were rammed by the SUV, leveling the guard shack and killing the defenders. From there, they literally walked into the main complex. There was very little resistance from the main assault in the rear, with the remaining resisters taking refuge inside one of the four Abram tanks. The whole

compound turned out to be more of a prize than Alec could fathom. After talking the four men from the tank, he executed two of the four men and gave the other two the option of ing his army or die. They ed the cause. The total haul was four Abram M-1 tanks; fifteen jeeps, four with .50 caliber machine guns; one hundred assault rifles with ammunition; fifty hand grenades; two smaller machine guns; and one Stryker Armored Personnel Carrier (APC). That was not counting the fifteen new recruits who were trained by the military. They would make fine instructors for the training of his army. Eight men were happily executed as an example to the others. Alec was now the most powerful man in the state of Ohio. Now his plan was to systematically secure the remaining police stations and armories in the state. Alec also knew of several heavily armed gangs that he would send emissaries, giving them the choice of ing his army or risk being overrun and made captive. His growing reputation as being ruthless was spreading, and most of the gangs didn’t want to be tortured and killed. He then turned his attention to more pressing matters—slaves. Because of the growing enlistment of the army, Alec needed more slaves to do the menial day-to-day work: clean, cook, and sexual rewards for a job well done, not to mention a fight to the death games at the end of every week. It was his way of keeping an unruly army structured and obedient. Determining that two out of every three of the population was infected with the nanobots, which left numerous civilians hunkered down in their homes and fortresses, Alec and his men would root them out and increase his slave population. He was under no illusions. Infected people made poor slaves, just as noninfected people made poor soldiers. With his bloated army now numbering 400 followers and 150 slaves, he would form heavily armed teams to go house to house in search of civilians. He would start with the inner-city neighborhoods and work his way outward. It would not only be profitable but also fun. He would take thirty bodyguards and the sweep. Being king meant he could have all the fun he wanted, and that’s just what he planned to do. When the day of the planned sweep arrived, Alec decided to make the APC his Mobile Command Center. The Stryker APC held nine men, two crew,

and was equipped with a machine gun and grenade launcher. He would coordinate the sweep from there. With widespread devastation around the business district, it was impractical to imagine anyone living or surviving in the adjacent houses that littered the neighborhood, Alec thought. Therefore, he would concentrate his efforts in the suburbs. First stop, a place called Elmwood. The main street was in shambles, so he started on the back streets. He had over a hundred men in on the action, ten men on a team. That way, Alec could do ten streets at a time. And before you knew it, the slaves were rolling in. The whole neighborhood of Elmwood was pacified in half a day, with over a hundred slaves. Then he moved in on a place called Hartwell, again, over a hundred slaves. Not bad for a day’s work. However, all the slaves created another problem: how do you feed them all. The men had orders to clean out all food and anything of material value, but it would only last the survivors a couple of weeks. But he had an idea. He would assign slaves to his officers and men of rank on the promise that they had to feed and clothe them if they wanted to keep them. Under no circumstances were they to be harmed unless ordered by him. That should take care of the majority. Of course, that didn’t count the thirty or so that tried to escape during the sweep. They had been bullwhipped and then crucified on the street as a warning to the others. So the sweep had a big success and fun too, Alec thought happily. A few of the runaways would be saved for the games on Friday nights, where Alec would pit individuals against one another in a fight to the death. The winner would be granted life as a slave. The weapons of choice would be voted on by the majority of the audience. The games were just another way for Alec to solidify his leadership. His followers feared him; some loved him. ing his ranks promised fun and delicious rage, terrorization, anything a sadist could ask for. And women? Yes, there was now plenty to go around, not that Alec himself needed sexual companionship. He had been on the nanobots for a long time, and at his age, he could care less. The swelling of the ranks meant more power for Alec. The gangs would succumb to his will or be obliterated. Already he had dozens ing his followers with the assurance of rich rewards and insane conquests. His invasion of the surrounding suburbs was already in its final stages, then the sparse

countryside would ensure his empire a wide buffer from the outside world. The entire state would be under his control. Having all the slaves he needed, and more to come, the escapees were of no particular importance anyway. Some of his men were allowed to go out on their own for mop-up operations, trying to get the ones that were overlooked. Their reward was that they could keep the ones they found to do with what they wanted. With no obvious governmental authorities to worry about, hell, Alec was the government authority. His plan was when he had more slaves than he knew what to do with, he’d start rounding them up to be put in specific neighborhoods where they would pay tribute and volunteer sacrifices. Yes, life was good, Alec thought wickedly. Life was good.

* * *

Alec Simms sat in his headquarters, pondering his next move; but for some reason, unwanted feelings of things long ago kept invading his thoughts. He supposed he did miss playing with the little nanobots in the laboratory. The little beggars were smaller than a single living cell. It was quite amazing how far nanotechnology had taken them. And he understood why the runaway nanobots were doing what they did. It was just that he didn’t care anymore. His rightful place was with his followers, and if he had nanobots to thank, so be it. Most of his colleagues had been killed in the initial outbreak, rendering medical nanotechnology useless. And Alec knew that the government was in shambles from the effects of the nanobots when they were subjected to the radiation from the tremendous solar flare that everyone was raving about on the news a few short months ago. Sound waves were also generated by magnetized fluid swirling around inside the sun, which could have also disrupted the behavior of the nanobots with direct radio emissions at decimetric wavelengths. There were several theories that Alec would be working on if he gave a shit. Another would be invisible light in the form of radiation across the electromagnetic spectrum from radio waves to gamma rays. Of course, all was just speculation at this point. And without the intellectual minds of the scientists and doctors that experiment with biomedical engineering, a cure for controlling the nanobots was next to impossible. Alec smiled, because he knew what had happened to most of

them. The current thoughts were disturbing, so he tried to concentrate on the task at hand. With the armies of the world devouring themselves from within, it left a power vacuum that was filled by a few enlightened warlords whom Alec would take care of in due time. Now for the slave he had bound hand and foot. The woman with the staples in her back that he had so much fun with earlier in the week was looking unappealing, so he’d have her executed. She was brought before Alec, screaming and begging for her life, but Alec had already made up his mind: crucify her. Moller, Sanchez, and Jim Miller gleefully nailed the woman to a wooden cross and set her up in front of the istration Building. It would take her a few days to die; that way, Alec could smile at her every day when ing. After crucifying the woman, Alec went back to the comfort of his command center inside the istration Building. His mind kept drifting back to the nanobots and if a cure could be found. The unwanted thought was interrupted when Sanchez came in carrying a package with important news. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but I have news from our emissary from the north side.” “What is it?” Sanchez then produced a package sealed in plastic. “The gang on the north side sent this back.” “Well, open it, damn it!” “Yes, sir.” When Sanchez finally got the package opened, they discovered that it held the severed head of the emissary Alec had sent to the north side gang. They called themselves the Liberation Front Army; but to Alec, they weren’t anything but a street gang of maybe fifty . “Well now, look at that,” Alec said. “Looks like we might have us a little fun

after all, eh, Sanchez?” Alec was hoping for some kind of resistance. It would give him an excuse to start fighting. Besides, the addition of the north side gang would do well to shore up Friday’s fights for some time to come. Alec always kept a hundred men prepped for any eventuality. “Prepare the men, Sanchez!” Alec ordered. “I’ll supervise the incursion personally. , we want prisoners for the games. And bring my APC to the front.” “Yes, Professor!” After Sanchez left, Alec put on his favorite boots, a ceramic vest, and combat fatigues. If he was going to command, he had to look the part. A lab coat for a bulletproof vest, how ironic, he thought. When he was dressed, he picked up his M-16 he now always carried and walked to the front of the building with twenty armed bodyguards by his side. The hundred men would be transported by truck to within half a mile of the north’s headquarters. Alec knew all about the north’s resources and whereabouts. No one could keep a secret under extreme torture, and Alec made it top priority to know everything there was to know in his soon-to-be state. His bodyguards would be ahead and behind him in jeeps and SUVs, and nine would be in the armored vehicle with him. An hour later, they disembarked on what the north thought was their territory, but little did they know that their territory was within Alec’s territory. If I’d put my brilliant mind to the task of correcting the nanobot behavior, instead of this ambitious conquest, I’d have results within a month, he thought distastefully. Why did his thoughts keep returning to the nanobot infestation? Again, he willed himself to concentrate on the mission. He would send in five twenty-man squads at various strategic areas, with the north’s headquarters as their objective. The trucks stopped at their designated areas and began their assault. What in the world was the north side gang thinking? Alec’s reputation as a brutal

and unforgiving conqueror was well known. He would see what the north side gang was made of. Even though their reputation was one of ruthlessness, they were far outnumbered; outgunned; and, to delight of Alec, outsmarted. The north would never see the assault coming so soon after the emissary’s beheading. When the preliminary reports filtered in, it was plain to see that the north side gang had been overwhelmed and outnumbered, many dissolving into the neighborhood’s vast array of homes and buildings. But the loss of life was substantial on both sides. Most of Alec’s men were killed by snipers, in which the captives would immediately be incorporated into his army as trainers for the new sniper division. Twenty-five north side men were dead and twenty were captured; the rest had escaped for the time being. But in total, it was a good victory; and to celebrate, Alec would have the summer games on Thursday and Friday. After all was over, it took but a day to put the north side gang to their knees. Alec was sorely disappointed that the gang didn’t put up more of a fight. But no matter, he would make up his disappointment with tonight’s games. We’ll see how durable the north side gang is, Alec promised himself. The games were but hours away, and Alec was seething, his rage building. The only thing that would satiate his needs was to kill with his bare hands and what better way than with a young woman slave? Alec wasn’t stupid enough to think that would be easy. Killing with your bare hands was never easy when someone was struggling for their life. But if the woman was poisoned, well, it could be easy. And that’s what Alec did. He ordered the red-headed slave to drink the fast-acting poisoned wine with the assurance that he just wanted her relaxed before having sex. Of course, Alec cared little about sex but cared a lot about murder. The poison was a little mixture Alec had dreamed up to make death very unpleasant. Originally, he planned to use it on an unruly lieutenant, but the man had taken his own life before Alec had a chance to use it. The brew consisted of cicutoxin, found in water hemlock, and a dose of potassium permanganate. He couldn’t wait to try it out on a live subject. Several minutes after drinking the wine, she began choking, gagging; she fell back against the couch, her back bent at an odd angle from a violent spasm. She

grabbed her throat; vomit shot out from her nostrils. Then she clutched at her stomach and screamed. Alec had never witnessed such a spectacle. He couldn’t stop laughing at the way her face lit up when she suddenly realized her fate. She begged for her life, for help. But there was no help for her. At that last few minutes before painful death, she knew she’d been deceived … poisoned. Within thirty glorifying minutes, she’d coughed up most of her lungs and vomited up part of her stomach. Only Alec could appreciate such a horrid death. When it was over, he had other slaves clean up the mess. But something was troubling him. The young woman had done nothing to deserve what happened, had been obedient as things go. So why did Alec kill her so brutally? He enjoyed it, of course; but was he feeling remorse? Preposterous! Remorse was an emotion that had been alien to him the past three months. Then why now? Did it have something to do with the way he kept thinking about the nanobots? He was just in need of sleep. Yes, that had to be it. The games tonight would be a tribute to his power. They would rejoice and thank him for a night full of deathly entertainment. That’s what he needed to concentrate on, not the poisoned dead slut he’d left in his quarters and certainly not the nanobots that were busy replicating themselves throughout his body. The unwanted thoughts were confusing him, and he wasn’t ever a man used to being confused. He’d always took pride in his ability to stay focused, complete the experiment on schedule … experiment … There he was again, thinking about the experimentation with the nanobots. Could the nanobots somehow be repairing the damaged prefrontal cortex, perhaps regenerating normal serotonin levels by repairing the gene that codes the brain chemicals? Maybe not repairing the gene, but not attacking it as previously surmised. Eventually, would he start to function normally? Whatever normal was. And why wouldn’t there be permanent damage? Or perhaps the nanobots were replicating the gene itself or maybe the enzyme that the gene codes. Alec’s head was hurting badly. He could feel a migraine coming on. Just too many negative thoughts. He decided to take a mild sedative to help him sleep; sleep is what he needed, and then he’d wake up knowing exactly what to do. Being host to the games was something that was expected of him, something he would not miss. Besides, what fun would it be to mope around in his quarters worrying about nanobots? No, his place was with the roaring crowd, the

excitement of the life-and-death struggle of two individuals fighting for their lives. He tossed the pills into his mouth and then lay down on the bed. Within minutes, he dosed off into a light sleep, dreaming about crying, crying for a slave that he’d poisoned. And he dreamt of the nanobots. However, they weren’t repairing his damaged brain, but eating away at the prefrontal cortex, eating and preventing normal serotonin levels; and eventually, Alec Simms was rendered completely insane.

* * *

Samuel had waited long enough, the blasted kids had disappeared. They’d gotten away! He suddenly realized he was gripping the M-16 too tight; his hands hurt. What happened to the little bastards? he wondered. He’d never been wrong, up until now, about the kids’ movements. Now for his next move. Should he track them on foot or stay in the patrol car? Samuel thought the patrol car would stand out, be too obvious; and with the gangs running about, he’d have to be careful. He was smart enough to realize that because there was no communication with headquarters for the last several weeks or with any of the other officers, the police force he once knew no longer existed. The city was being overrun by criminals, which made Samuel more determined to uphold the law of the land; there would just have to be strict rules for him to follow. He would prosecute anyone he found breaking the law. The sentence would be death, of course. There just wasn’t any other way. And if he could get his hands on the rockthrowing little felons who had been eluding him, the rest of the job would be that much easier. Rock throwing? Yes, he ed now. The little shits were caught throwing rocks at ing motorists. Assault on a police officer too was what it was. He chambered a round in his M-16 assault rifle. Where to now? he wondered. The little bastards didn’t come out where he was waiting, so they could still be holed up in the empty building. Samuel started up the street on foot in the general direction he thought they’d take. Rounding the corner away from Deacon Street, he came upon three armed

men wearing camouflaged fatigues, manning some sort of checkpoint. Ducking down behind a pickup truck, Samuel thought the men probably had no permit to carry firearms, much less have possession of an illegal firearm. He must do his duty and punish the lawbreakers. Samuel smiled. The sentence is death, assholes! Adjusting the scope of his rifle to compensate for the change in distance, he took careful aim at the man farthest away. Samuel always took the most difficult shot first while the rifle was balanced and still be able to take the next shot carefully, taking advantage of the confusion. He aimed and gently pulled the trigger; the powerful shell immediately found its target, blowing the side of the man’s head off. Damn! He was off by a hair! The man pitched over onto the ground like a fallen tree. At first, the other two men stared dumbfounded at their fallen comrade, giving Samuel precious time to take another careful aim. The second shot caught a man in the throat, just below the chin, tearing into his larynx. He dropped his rifle, clutched at his ruptured throat, and then fell onto the ground. The third man dove for cover behind an SUV that was used to block the intersection. With the third man shooting wildly on full automatic, Samuel again took careful aim, but this time at the man’s visible feet and legs that could be seen beneath the space at the bottom of the SUV, and then fired. The man screamed, dropped his weapon, then grabbed his wounded leg. While the man was busy cussing and examining his wound, Samuel walked casually over to the injured man, pointed the gun at the man’s head, and said, “You have been firing at an officer of the law, trying to kill him. You sentence is death.” “Who are you, mister?” It was the last words he ever spoke as Samuel shot him in the face, shattering his cheekbone under the left eye. The impact left the bloody eye hanging from the socket. By the time the blood shot out through the nose and mouth, his head was hitting the asphalt; he was dead. Samuel stared down at the limp form with disgust. “You broke the law, son,” he said to the corpse. At the sound of wheezing, he turned around to see the young man with the throat wound thrashing about on the ground hold onto his neck. His eyes had the look of a frightened child. It made Samuel sick.

Samuel glanced around, being sure there weren’t any remaining men in the vicinity, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a large pocketknife with a six-inch blade. He was going to gut that pitiful excuse for a human. Then pretending he was one of the little felons he was after, he walked over, bent down, and then stuck the knife in his belly, inches above his penis. Samuel gritted his teeth as he pulled the sharp blade up toward his sternum, effectively opening him up. The struggling man’s bloody intestines fell out onto the asphalt as Samuel laughed. Wait until he caught one of the rock-throwing little bastards. He hoped they didn’t stumble onto that checkpoint and get captured. But knowing streetwise kids, they would have spotted the three men in plenty of time. Then it occurred to Samuel that the two boys could not have gone any farther than that checkpoint without being seen. Samuel eyed the three buildings adjacent to the intersection. He knew then that the little bastards were hiding in one of the buildings unless they backtracked to their original position in the woods. But they would find no food in there, so Samuel determined they had no choice but to move west across the intersection to where food would be more plentiful. There was an IGA grocery store not far from there, and Samuel would bet his right nut that was where they were headed. By killing the men at the checkpoint, Samuel had cleared a path for the heathens. He glanced up at the windows on the second floor of the building directly across from him. Yes, they were watching him, all right. Well now, Samuel thought, I would just have a surprise waiting for them at the grocery store. They would never know that I have guessed their move. So instead of walking west, Samuel walked north, away from the grocery store, then after a few blocks turned west. It took him an hour, but he finally made it to his destination, the IGA on Gilbert Avenue. He walked into the IGA through a broken plate glass window and surveyed his surroundings. The looters had taken most everything that was edible, but there were still items left that could be eaten. Some busted open boxes of cereal, a couple of bags of raw beans scattered about the floor. Nothing that a rat would want, but two starving kids—well—that remained to be seen. Samuel went to the back counter where it was dark; from there he could see the

lighter part of the front where he’d entered. After setting his gun on the counter, he realized he hadn’t eaten in some time. If anything, it bordered on starvation himself, and the beans was looking more appealing by the second. Bending down, he scooped up a handful of beans and then tossed it into his mouth. He chewed it up. Not half bad, Samuel thought. On the contrary, it tasted heavenly. He then began to eat everything he could find in earnest. Several minutes later, he felt much better. If he just had something to drink. With the thought of the kids getting away, he completely forgot to take his last sandwich and bottle of water. No matter. He would drink the blood of the two felons to quench his thirst, a fitting end for two rock-throwing lawbreakers.

* * *

After eating a hearty breakfast, Amber decided to monitor one of the viewing slits they had cut in the plywood. There was one on each side of the building; she picked the one in front. Everything seemed to be quiet enough. Amber needed something to take her mind off the heat. After breakfast, they went into blackout mode, meaning no electricity, air-conditioning, or anything electric until the following day where there’d be a two-hour reprieve from the heat of the day. It wasn’t long until Amber saw a lone female figure run by the store. She had only gotten a glimpse of her, but she had red hair and looked to be in good shape. Perhaps a decoy, she thought to herself. It wasn’t unusual for a gang to send out an unarmed female decoy to act like she was in trouble, no place to go, and then set unwary survivors up to be taken captive. “Amber?” Edward suddenly spoke from behind her. “Didn’t mean to scare you none. But I just thought you should know about whose running things in the city. From what I hear told from a couple of folks a while back is that a man everyone calls the Professor, apparently a bad fellow, has taken over the other misfits and made one humdinger of an army or whatever you want to call it. He hasn’t been this far south yet, but he aims to take over the whole state. I’ve already spoken to

Duncan about it. Seems the Professor leaves no stone unturned.” Amber was afraid something like that might happen. Someone had to fill in the spot the authorities left vacant. “How many is this so-called army are we talking about, Edward?” “Pert near a thousand is what I hear.” “Shit! Sooner or later, they’ll come through here like an army of ants, check out every boarded up building there is.” “Not necessary,” Duncan said as he entered the room. “This whole part of the state is covered with rundown, boarded-up, dilapidated buildings. And we have to take into the rival army or gangs that are already in place out here. If you ask me, they’ll have their hands full just worrying about each other. What we need to do is make this place look like it hasn’t been occupied in a long time.” “How do you reckon we do that?” Edward asked. “Well first, we take some spray paint and paint some graffiti on the plywood outside. Anyone have any other ideas?” After a few minutes, Amber spoke up. “We could gather debris from the woods and scatter it around the building, make it look like the wind and rain has been blowing it around for some time.” “Sounds like a plan,” Duncan said. “I’ll gather the debris. You and Edward can paint the plywood.” “Oh no, you don’t, mister. You think that because I’m a woman, I shouldn’t be doing the more physical task of collecting debris.” “Amber, I … just thought you’d be a better painter, that’s all.” “I have to it I probably am. I’ll tell you what. You and Edward get me some different color spray paints, and I’ll paint your graffiti. Then you and I will collect some debris tonight after the sun goes down. How does that sound?” “Sounds like a plan, Amber.”

* * *

Jim Miller looked down into the valley through powerful binoculars. He was particularly interested in the boarded-up building nestled in the middle of the woods, with Neon Street running across its front. Before he put the binoculars up to his eyes, he thought he saw a figure standing outside, but he couldn’t be sure. He and his squad of men had ventured out past the city limits and into the countryside, looking for slaves. Sanchez, who always seemed to be with him, was also in his group; and he never missed an opportunity to let Jim know who was in charge. I would kill that big bastard one of these days, he thought distastefully. The squad had captured six slaves so far; and Sanchez, being in charge, got to pick the best two from the litter. It wasn’t fair. They would have to get ten more before Jim was allotted one. One per man, and that wasn’t counting their tribute to the professor, the sadist scum! He’d also get his someday. On top of that, he missed the games because he was ordered out here with Sanchez and his cronies. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. He concentrated on the valley below. “Hey, Sanchez,” Jim said. “There’s a building down there I think we should check out.” “And why should we do that, Miller?” “I thought I saw something a few minutes ago, standing out front.” “Here, give me those eyes.” Jim gave him the binoculars. “That’s about a mile out of our way, Miller.” “All the same, sir, I think we should take a look.” You stinking pig. “Okay, Miller. Take six men and check it out. We’ll wait here for you.”

That bastard, Jim thought. Couldn’t take his eyes off that hot little number they’d just picked up a few short hours before. He knew what the scum was planning. Once Jim was out of the way, he and his men would have a little fun with the six captives, four of which were young women from the seminary over on Downy Street. Well, he would get his someday from Jim personally. He’d kill him now if it wasn’t for his devoted men he had handpicked for this little venture. Sanchez handed back the binoculars, then Jim picked out six men to go with him. If it turned out to be nothing, then Jim would be laughed at and ridiculed by Sanchez and the men. And if it was someone in there? It would still have to be at least eleven before Jim could have his slave, and he wouldn’t even get to pick her. Sanchez himself would allot her, Jim thought irritably. “All right, you guys, let’s go!” They left on foot down a winding road that would lead them to their destination. That ass-fuck Sanchez wouldn’t even give him transportation to get down there. Man, he couldn’t wait to give that man some of Jim Miller’s justice. Close to an hour later, they were looking at the old building. Jim surveyed the building from his hiding place in the woods directly across Neon Street. Someone had written colorful scribbling on the plywood out front, and there were dead saplings and other dry wood around the place. The place looked long deserted … except! The plywood looked to be in good shape, even new! Well now, that was interesting. Jim would wait for a while to see if there was indeed activity coming from the building.

* * *

It was late morning, and Amber had finished with the camouflaging of the building the night before. With the help from Duncan and Edward, it took only a couple of hours. She had ventured outside an hour before to see how their work looked in the daylight. It was very convincing. It was almost time to start the generator for their two-hour reprieve from the late morning heat and cook some breakfast. Despite all the precautions they had taken, Amber felt uneasy. After she had time to think about it, cranking up the generator in the middle of the day wasn’t the wisest of decisions. Even though the noise was muffled from the

building’s insulation, it could still be heard if you were close to the store. Amber relayed her concerns to Duncan, who readily agreed. The store was a gold mine. Why take any chances? Amber went to the viewing slit in the plywood to look around. An hour later, she was still looking out at the front of the building. Duncan walked up behind her. “You still at it?” asked Duncan. “Anything out there so far?” “Everything seems to be quiet, too quiet. I can’t hear much of the wildlife out front like there usually is.” She turned around to face him. “I’ve got a bad feeling, Duncan! Something isn’t right.” “Okay, Amber, I’ve learned to respect your instincts. What do you want to do?” “I don’t know yet, Duncan. Let’s talk to Edward.” Together they walked into the kitchen where Edward was washing some of the dirty dishes. “Edward?” Amber said. “In case of an emergency, how could we get out of here if there were armed men out front and back?” Edward seemed to be deep in thought. “I don’t rightly know. The cellar leads out back to some stairs, but it comes up in plain sight about ten yards from the back porch. In case of armed company, I’d planned on hiding in the attic. The stairs pull up to where you can’t see them from down below. Gets mighty hot up there, though.” Amber looked pleading at Duncan. “I’m not going to trap myself up there in this heat, Duncan. By the time the looters had stripped the store, we would have suffocated. Surely there’s another way.” “There is another option,” Edward said, “but we would have to be in the barn out yonder where we got the plywood. There’s a ventilation tunnel from the barn that comes up about a hundred yards in the woods. But like I said, we would have to already be out there to do it.” “What do you want to do, Amber?” Duncan asked. “If you’re really worried that bad, we can go to the barn and spend the rest of the day and night there.”

“To be on the safe side, Duncan, I say let’s do it.”

* * *

Jim had waited long enough. It was time to find out what was in the boarded-up building. He ordered his men to spread out and advance to the building. Jim was the first one on the front steps. “Hey, Bulldog?” Jim said to one of the men. His nickname was Bulldog because of the sagging cheeks he was cursed with. “Yeah, Miller, what is it?” “Do you smell what I smell?” Bulldog smiled. “Smells like bacon to me, Jim.” “All right! Let’s get these boards off the door,” Jim ordered. The crowbar was in one of the SUVs back at the top of the valley, Jim thought irritably. Therefore, they had to pull them off with their bare hands. It was a grueling hour later when they managed to get through the front door. They were amazed at what they found. “Holy shit!” Jim cried. “Look at this place? Did we hit the jackpot or what?” Bulldog was already into the snack cakes. “Everyone eat what they can before Sanchez gets wind of this!” Man, Jim thought, if I could have had his own devoted men, they could keep this a secret. Be a safe haven from that sadist, the Professor. Jim came close to asking the men if they wanted to keep this to themselves, but it only took one rat, then Jim would be crucified. No, better let the bastard Sanchez know what they found, but first he had to try to find the people who lived there. “Okay, you guys! Let’s search the rooms. Find out where the slaves are. You can

fill your guts after that.” It wasn’t long until Jim decided the occupants had split, but to where? He took two men and went to the barn. After a thorough search, they came up with nothing. Jim was pissed. The food would be confiscated and hauled away in trucks back to the sadist’s headquarters to do with as he saw fit. There would be no reward for Jim. Sanchez would take the credit. Then Jim saw something behind some bales of straw. He walked over and examined what was behind it. It was a fucking door! No, an air-circulating shaft of some kind. Jim had an idea. He had no plans on telling anyone of his discovery, at least not yet. He decided he’d better call his find in to Sanchez. Before Jim could radio Sanchez about their good fortune, Sanchez was already pulling up front in the SUVs. Someone had already beat Jim to the punch. Jim supposed there really wasn’t honor among thieves. “Where’re the slaves?” Sanchez demanded. “No one was here when we got here,” Jim answered. “I should’ve known better than to leave you in charge, Miller!” “What! Why you—” Jim had to bite his tongue to keep from telling Sanchez where to put it. Finally, through clenched teeth, Jim was able to talk. “I think they hightailed out to the barn. Come with me and I’ll show you.” “All right, Miller! You and Bulldog come with me. You better hope we find some slaves, Miller.” “I found that food cache. What more do you want?” “You said you saw someone down here. I want them found. Is that understood, Miller? I told the professor you were a fuck up. Maybe now he’ll listen to me.” So that was how it was, Jim pondered. Probably been stabbing me in the back all along. The three men walked over to the barn then entered. “Over here, sir, is where I think the slaves have run off to.”

“You can knock off the, sir, bit, Miller. It’s not going to save your ass this time.” Jim removed a bale of straw that was covering the shaft. As Sanchez was bent down looking into the shaft, Jim pulled his boot knife from its sheath and stabbed Sanchez in the back of the neck. The man turned quickly around, a surprised look on his face. Jim grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “You’re not gonna do shit, you fucking scum!” He then belly-stabbed Sanchez then threw him to the ground. Sanchez moaned, rolled over, and then looked up painfully as if suddenly realizing something. “That’s right, Sanchez. I’m gonna make you suffer, you worthless piece of shit.” During that time, Bulldog stood dumbfounded. He was shocked at how someone had nerve to kill his boss in front of him, but before he could utter a word, Jim shot him through the left eye with his pistol. After that, Jim turned his attention back to the groaning Sanchez. “They’ll be here in a few minutes, you fuck, but a think I have enough time to gut your ass.” He then jumped on top of the now screaming Sanchez, pressed his hand to his throat, and inserted the knife into his abdomen. Then he began to slice in an upward direction as Sanchez struggled meekly. He wanted him to die slow, but the shot he’d fired would bring some of the men to the barn to investigate. Jim dragged the dying Sanchez into the shaft, cut his throat, and then placed the bale of straw back to where he’d found it. About that second, four of the men ran into the barn. Jim was bent over the corpse of Bulldog, feigning concern. He stood up as the men approached. “Be careful men! The slaves have guns,” Jim said as he took control of the situation. “They shot Bulldog and headed into the woods. I couldn’t find Sanchez. They must have him. Come with me!” Jim ran into the woods with the four men trailing behind him.

* * *

The news of Sanchez’s disappearance didn’t faze Alec in the least. Sanchez was

quickly forgotten when he saw the haul of food that the men had brought in, not to mention six slaves. Jim Miller took credit for the find, which the men verified when questioned. Alec supposed Miller would be rewarded with a slave or two, but not with Sanchez’s position as Jim hinted about. He didn’t trust the murdering cop enough. Then there was the ravaging of the slaves before Alec had his pick. He would crucify two of the squad for their disobedience. Maybe he would let Jim Miller pick out the two. That would make him happy. And happy Jim Miller was. Jim was able to knife-fuck the pig Sanchez and get away with it. Then he got two female slaves and got to pick two of Sanchez’s most loyal men to be crucified. He didn’t get Sanchez’s position as he requested, but life was still looking up. Now if he could just be rid of Moller without being caught. No, better to wait on that one. That fucker would get his someday. As Jim walked from the istration Building, he wondered what had become of the occupants of the food store they had pilfered. They were there somewhere, he knew it. And he knew where they’d ran when he and his men arrived, the ventilation shaft. Jim never revealed the location of the shaft because of the dead Sanchez and never told anyone about the outlet of the shaft he had discovered in the woods. Jim began to get angry. The slaves that got away were rightfully his. They were deep in the woods somewhere when he and his men went looking, but Jim had called a stop to the pursuit, feigning a waste of time. The slaves had escaped with Sanchez as hostage. He suggested to the professor that he should take a force and go after the abducted Sanchez and was surprised when the old fart reluctantly agreed, stating he didn’t like venturing from his zone of control, at least not yet. He was to take thirty volunteers with him to hunt down the slaves and bring Sanchez back or his remains. Jim did not intend to bring back his remains. Let the corpse rot on the ground. That’s the least he deserved. Jim Miller felt great, in control for the first time since being taken captive by the professor. He had his own squad, hell, almost a platoon; and he was in charge. He swore to himself he’d get those escaped slaves and bring them back in chains. Because he was in charge, he would get his pick of two slaves out of the first ten they captured. Life was good, Jim thought, as they pulled out of the lot with a truck holding twenty men and four SUVs holding ten plus himself. He

thought again about the professor. Jim would love to be in a position like that, and he thought he could do a much better job too. Someday he was going to cut the professor’s throat just enough for him to bleed out slow and then leave him alive for the crows to feast on. Yes, life was good.

* * *

Amber, Duncan, and Edward stared at the empty and broken store, once their haven, their paradise, now nothing but an empty hulk. What were they to do now? The only thing left that was edible was what was broken or busted during their looting frenzy. A few bags of beans, some rice, and a few cans of leaking soup. There were also several broken bottles of pickles, jelly, and other foodstuff, which were worthless because of the broken glass. “This sucks, gentlemen,” Amber said. “Why didn’t I see something like this coming, Duncan?” She was almost in tears. “I could have hidden some supplies in the barn for our retreat. At least we wouldn’t have starved. All that food, and I didn’t have enough sense to put back some supplies. What was I thinking, Duncan?” “Take it easy, babe. Don’t be so hard on yourself. There are three of us here, and none of us thought to improvise. I could kick myself in the ass for not doing what could very well save our lives.” Amber didn’t seem to be listening. “Now we’ll have to go back into the filthy city to obtain food, risk our lives because I was too stupid too—” “Okay, Amber, that’s enough!” Leaning against Duncan’s shoulder, she suddenly broke down and cried. “Easy, babe, we’ll figure something out.” Edward was picking up and putting what food he could find in plastic grocery bags and then suddenly spoke. “May I make a suggestion?” Amber wiped away a tear and looked at Edward. Here she was crying like a

baby without a second thought to what poor Edward might be thinking. He’d lost everything. How could she be so selfish? “I’m sorry, Edward. I know you’ve lost much more than the rest of us. Please forgive my selfishness.” “There’s nothing to forgive, Amber. If you two hadn’t been here, I could just as likely become a slave to them fellows. Either way, they would’ve come down here whether you two were here or not. At least that’s the way I see it. But to ease your difficulty a little, Amber, might I suggest Laurel’s Bakery out on Route 42. If the gangs haven’t gotten that far south, we might get lucky.” Laurel’s Bakery? She was speechless. That sounded heavenly to Amber. “How far to the bakery, Edward?” Duncan asked. “’Bout a mile south as the crow flies.” Edward looked at the confused couple. “About a mile due south, folks. All woods from here on. I’ve managed to find enough food to last us a good three days. After that, we’d better start looking. They’ve taken all the bottled water. All we have is what’s in the faucet, but we have nothing to carry it in except a plastic bucket.” Amber could just imagine sloshing a bucket along through the woods weeds and creeping vines. It would be useless. “Well, that’s it then. Let’s pack up what we can carry and be on our way,” Duncan said. “I see no reason to wait for dark since there’s nothing but woods from here to the bakery.” “Okay, guys, but I’m not carrying the bucket,” Amber said. “We’ll carry it as far as practical then drink our fill and pitch it,” Duncan suggested. After the trio was ready, they moved out into the woods, heading south. The going was rough, and the path they chose was anything but straight. An hour later, they finally reached their destination, Laurel’s Bakery. The front door was unlocked, so they entered. The place had been ransacked, but a multitude of small cakes and other pastries lined the inside of the glass counter and, more importantly, bottled water.

“We’d better take a look in the back,” Duncan said. He chambered a round in his .9mm pistol, pushed open the door that led to the back, then walked into a dimly lit room. The smell was horrific, just like a corpse, Duncan thought. Light filtered in through two open windows. There was a large oven, multiple cooking utensils, several burners for deep-frying what Duncan assumed were donuts, and other foodstuff, and something else, the bloody naked body of an older woman. She was apparently raped then shot in the head. “L-Lordy be, if it ain’t Ms. Laurel herself!” Edward stuttered. “Oh my god! Who could have done such a thing? Maybe her husband’s somewhere about.” And that was what Duncan was afraid of. If her husband were a crazy, they’d have to be careful. After searching the rest of the establishment, they moved back to the front of the shop. The group started eating the hard and sometimes molding donuts and pies; but to the hungry trio, it tasted scrumptious. They filled up their packsacks with stale bread, rolls, and water just in case they had to leave in a hurry. Walking up to Duncan, Amber gently pulled him to the side where Edward couldn’t hear. “Did you notice that someone’s been eating here besides us?” Yes, Duncan had noticed the wrappers and crumbs on one of the tables as if someone had repeatedly entered and filled up with Laurel’s stale pastries. “I know what you’re thinking, Amber, and I agree. Laurel’s husband is lurking around here somewhere, and I’m not going to sleep just to wake up to a crazy standing over me with a knife or gun.” “Me neither, Duncan. We’d better tell Edward, so he can warn us if sees something.” After talking to Edward, the two decided to stick together while searching the out buildings, including a small barn. Everyone in that part of the country seemed to have a barn, Amber thought. Most of the out buildings were empty. The first thing they saw when approaching the barn was farm equipment; and like Edward’s barn, plenty of straw, bales of it, were stacked ten high, a perfect place to hide. But as they found out, Laurel’s husband wasn’t the type to hide. As they entered through the barn door, they

suddenly heard a man’s harsh voice. “That’s far enough,” said a man as he stepped out from behind a stack of straw, pointing a shotgun at them. “What are you two doing on my property? Speak up, or I’ll blow your ass away.” The man smiled. “Hell, I just might do it anyway.” That smile, Amber thought, would always give a crazy away. But she was scared. Her gun was pointed at the ground and so was Duncan’s, and the bastard had no intention of letting them live. “You can come on down now, Sammy!” said the man. Another younger man suddenly appeared in the hayloft above them. “Wow, Pa, looky what we got there? That lady’s sure gonna be fun!” “Shut up, you idiot! Get your ass down here. You two drop them guns and be quick about it.” “Like hell we will!” Duncan retorted. “You listen to me, mister, and listen good. You drop your weapon, or so help me God, I’ll kill you both! Your boy goes first!” The younger man had come down from the loft and was standing by his pa with his shotgun pointed as well and then laughed at what Duncan had said. His pa stood still with a serious look on his face. Amber wondered what Duncan was up to. They would never be able to raise their guns and fire before the man could pull the trigger on his own gun. “What are you waiting for, Pa? Shoot him.” “Shut up, boy!” For some reason, perhaps because Duncan threatened his son, the man hesitated to shoot. “Amber?” Duncan said. “When I say shoot, kill that man’s kid!” What Duncan was doing was playing a dangerous game. When the man’s eyes went from Duncan to Amber, he quickly raised his rifle and fired one shot, striking the older man in the ribcage next to the right breast. He grunted then staggered back as he pulled the trigger on his own gun. The deadly shotgun blast went wide to the right, tearing wood debris from the barn door behind Duncan.

The man staggered to the side then tripped over an old rake and fell onto the straw. Amber immediately raised her gun and shot the young man in the chest before he had a chance to fire his own gun. The button on his right shirt pocket flew comically into the air from the brutal impact, falling onto the straw beneath him. He screamed and clutched at the smoking wound like a crazed man trying to dig gold with his bare hands. Amber shot him again in the chest. He fell choking on his own blood from a ruptured lung. The old man screamed as he watched his son die then rose painfully to his knees. He tried to raise the gun and fire again, but Duncan took careful aim and shot him in the head above the left temple. With a look of shock on his face, he fell to his knees and then onto straw-laden floor of the barn—dead. Would the bloodshed ever end? Amber thought miserably. Sure, they were fighting for their lives, but did it always have to end in death. She refused to cry in front of Duncan. He needed her to be strong. She knew it wasn’t easy for him to kill either. The kid she had shot was miraculously still breathing. Duncan was standing over him. Please don’t ask me to finish him, Duncan, Amber pleaded to herself. “We’d better finish him,” Duncan said. “He could already be rejuvenating.” Duncan saw the pleading look in Amber’s eyes and knew she’d had enough killing for one day. Duncan pulled his pistol from its holster, pressed the barrel against the young man’s head, and fired.

* * *

Jim Miller was standing in front of the old barn where Sanchez had bought it. He wondered what Sanchez’s decomposing corpse looked like. Laughing to himself, he sauntered over to where Sanchez’s body lay hidden in the ventilation shaft. If he could just take a peek, but he was surrounded by several of his men. Quickly, he issued a few orders, and the men with him dispersed. He scanned the area. No one seemed to be around. He rapidly removed enough bales of straw where he

could slip through and entered the tunnel. It was dark in the shaft, but enough light was shining through the opening to where he could get a good look at what remained of Sanchez. The odor of decomposition was strong. The worthless fuck was covered with maggots, eating away at what was left of his torso. Jim couldn’t see what happened to his legs, must have been some sort of animal that dragged part of his body away. Even though his skull was detached from the torso, it was still intact. The skin was shriveled up and around its empty eye sockets, long dark hair still visible in the morning’s light. Jim smiled at the condition of the corpse, a fitting end to the tyrant. Farewell, you pig! Jim quickly slipped out of the tunnel and covered it back up with the bales of straw; he just hoped the exit, at the other end of the tunnel, was still hidden as Jim had left it. He took out a map of the area and spread it out on top of a bale of straw. There wasn’t even a name for that mangy place, he thought disgustingly. The closest place of any interest was Warrenton, about a mile farther south. That’s where he would start his sweep and see what comes out of the woodwork. Rounding up his men, they entered their respective vehicles and drove off toward Warrenton with Jim’s SUV in the lead. Within minutes, they were speeding down Route 42 South, approaching a jumble of buildings. Must be Warrenton, Jim thought. They pulled to a stop in front of the taller of the buildings, with Jim ordering twenty of his men to spread out and search the buildings, making sure the rear entrances were covered. Jim took the remaining men down the highway to cut off any escape attempt. He and his men ended up in front of a bakery and several outbuildings, a perfect spot to place a trap. “Under no circumstances were the slaves to be harmed,” Jim ordered, at least until Jim had his pick. Jim had no fear that the buildings were empty. The place had not been overcome by any gangs that he was aware of, and it was in a poor section of the state, which meant the people were too poor to afford nanobot injections, so the place was probably crawling with slaves. He knew something about the misdirected nanobots from the professor. They were supposedly running wild in his immune system, but it couldn’t be bad; he felt just too good. “All right, men! Spread out and search the place, and meet me in the back by the

woods.” Standing in the bakery with one of his men, Jim noticed that someone had been helping themselves to the stale delicacies the ravaged place had to offer. There wasn’t anything of value to his crew. They were well fed and well clothed, because the professor needed a healthy army to win over the state, and the molding pastries were of no consequence to his group. When he was done surveying the building, he went out to the woods to meet up with his men. They didn’t find anything, which didn’t surprise Jim. The real meat was in the town of Warrenton. He spread his men out and moved slowly west, hoping to catch any slaves between him and his group coming from Warrenton, and he had no doubt there would be plenty. His orders were explicit: don’t shoot any slave unless they were escaping. But if they were about to get away, well—Jim smiled—the men would enjoy a little hunting.

* * *

Amber, Duncan, and Edward were running through the woods toward Warrenton when they stumbled upon a man who was part of an advanced guard coming from Warrenton. It was a trap, Amber realized as she opened up with her AR-15, blowing the man into the bush. “We’ll keep going south,” said the heavy-breathing Duncan, “and hope we can squeeze past them before they close the pincher.” “Duncan, wait!” Edward whispered. “I’m too old. I can’t keep up. You two go on. I’ll be okay.” The couple didn’t have time to argue; the trap was closing fast. “Good luck, Edward,” Amber said as they continued. She knew that leaving Edward behind would play on her conscience forever, but it couldn’t be helped. She didn’t feel like being raped or killed by a bunch of crazies.

They moved fast, hearing men cussing, and then a signal shot. The crazies must have heard the shot and found the dead man that Amber had killed. The place behind them was in an uproar. By killing one of them, they had stirred up a hornet’s nest. After a few minutes, it was obvious that the crazies were in hot pursuit. If they just could have avoided killing the crazy, they would have slipped quietly through the trap. But that wasn’t to be the case. The weeds, vines, and rough terrain were slowing them down; and the crazies were gaining on them. Amber was scared shitless. She was getting awfully tired. The thought of her capture was what was fueling her on, but the fuel was running out fast. Then a shot whizzed by her head. Damn! They had them in sight. “Duncan!” “Yes, I know.” “I can’t go on, Duncan. You’ll have to leave me, hon.” “Like hell I will! If you’re staying, then I’m staying. I won’t argue with you.” “Amber? Get behind that dead tree. We’ll make a stand here!” “You stubborn ass!” Amber screamed. “Why do both of us have to die?” “Because I love you, and if you die, then I’m going to die.” “How touching,” Jim Miller said from behind them. Amber and Duncan whirled around but came up short when they discovered three men standing close, ready to blow them away. “Oh, shit!” Duncan hollered. “We’re fucked, Amber!” “Double-fucked is what I’d say, mister!” Jim said as he slammed his rifle butt into Duncan’s face. Duncan dropped his weapon and grabbed his bleeding jaw. “You lady, drop your gun or I’ll gut your boyfriend.” Jim smiled. Amber dropped her gun. She was in for it now. Raped and probably murdered is what she was in for.

Fifteen slaves, not bad for a day’s work, Jim thought. He stared down at Amber. Now that was some piece of meat. He knew then that she and her boyfriend were going to be his pick. He would have much more leverage with her if he used the boyfriend as a bargaining chip. Yes, he’d have her jumping through hoops to protect him. And, man, what fun that was going to be. “You’re mine, bitch!” Jim told her. “The sooner you get used to it, the better. Your boyfriend too.” There were dozens of men and hostages gathered around him as he spoke. “Everyone listen up! This here girl and this man are mine. Anyone harms a hair on their head will be immediately nailed to one of these trees and left to die. Is that clear?” There was a murmuring of understanding from the gathered men. “And for you, slaves!” Jim continued. “You’re now our property to do with as we please. The professor strictly forbids us from harming any of you until he has his pick of the litter. Slaves will not be killed or banged up unless with the permission of the professor. I have the authority to hang anyone trying to escape, and it would be my pleasure to do so.” A man was suddenly brought forth and thrown down onto the ground in front of the crowd. Two of Jim’s men put a noose around his neck and, without another word, pulled him up over a tree limb by his neck until he was jumping and kicking his last breath. The crowd was silent as Jim spoke. “This man tried to escape,” Jim lied. “It’s what happens to escapees.” Jim felt the power he held, not only over his slaves but also over his own men. The feeling was indescribable. Now he knew what the scum professor felt like, except he held sway over thousands. He would be rewarded for his successful excursion, he had no doubt. Three slaves were now added to his property, not to mention material goods from that, and previous expeditions. He had his own apartment like most of the lieutenants in the professor’s so-called army. But he had to it, even though the old bastard had him whipped, he was sitting pretty now. “Okay! Let’s move them back to the trucks!” Jim ordered. The captives were then roped together by their necks and pulled roughly along through the briers, brambles, and tick-infested weeds toward their destination. Duncan was hurting. His two front teeth had been knocked out from the vicious blow the man named Jim had given him. His shirt was soaked with blood, and he’d almost blacked out; but he willed himself to stay awake to keep track of

Amber. Some man he turned out to be. The only woman he ever loved was now a slave because of him. He swore to himself that the bastard who busted out his teeth was going to die by Duncan’s hand. Suddenly, the rope around his neck was jerked so hard it pulled him to the ground. “Get to your feet, asshole. You’re holding up the line,” barked a man that Duncan already knew as Simon. Duncan was exhausted but knew that he had to keep up, or he’d be cut loose from the pack and executed. Amber was up front with the women where he couldn’t see her. If he could only get her free, they could … What the hell was he thinking? He could barely keep up, much less be the hero. They were royally screwed. If there was ever going to be a chance to escape with Amber, he’d have to regain his strength and his wits. He’d have to play for time, which was the only chance he had.

* * *

Duncan screamed as Jim Miller gleefully lashed his back for the tenth time with a leather whip. They killed one of his men. Which one was guilty, Jim didn’t know; they both claimed to have pulled the trigger. Jim really didn’t give a shit about his man’s death, but he had to make appearances. Besides, it gave him an excuse to have a little fun. And what fun it was. Lover boy had ten more lashes coming, Jim thought. He didn’t want to spoil the man, and his girlfriend had to watch, which was even more hilarious. He’d already given his other slave ten lashes and then took her back to his place and raped her. He knew she wanted it, so he gave it to her; the only thing that pissed Jim off was that the professor butted his big nose into it and demanded why the girl had been lashed. The professor didn’t want the merchandise scarred, except for the woman Amber. She had killed, or someone had, a soldier in the big man’s army so she was entitled to as many lashes as Jim saw fit. He was going to take his time with Amber, savor every minute until someday down the road, he would take her body painfully. Until then, he didn’t want her skin scarred; he wanted it to stay as smooth as silk. By killing his man, she had opened the door for him to do whatever he wanted, including execution. But he would never execute such a fine addition to his slave force. Jim was rough with

his women during sex because he knew they liked it. Rough was going to have a completely new meaning when he rolled with Amber. Jim Miller had made up his mind. She was going to be the mother of his children. And a rough courtship it was going to be!

* * *

I have no patience for men who were cowards, Alec thought. Watching the games always thrilled him; and the bloodier, the better. There were two teams. One was the blue team, the other the red, with four men on a team. The last man standing was rewarded citizenship in Alec’s population; of course, Alec couldn’t very well have an uninfected slave as a civilian, so he would be assassinated before he could do any damage. Alec hadn’t yet seen the new captives and was in no hurry. He had enough personal slaves to where he was running out of places to put them. And the manpower to keep guard was putting a strain on his resources. Hell, he needed his men in the field where they could root out all resistance. Oh, he would get around to examining the slaves eventually, but it wasn’t a priority. The night’s games were the priority, and right now the blue team was winning. They had three men left, and red team had two. They were fighting to the death with nothing but a knife and a baseball bat each. It always amazed Alec how much a person wanted to live. Out of eight players, two at most would survive, which didn’t make the odds that good. The broadest man always seemed to win, and Alec would always bet on that man. He had accumulated a tidy sum. Later into the night, the women would battle for the title, one on one, what hellish fun. Alec laughed at his own sense of humor. Life would be quite grand if annoying thoughts about nanobots would cease. She coughed up her lungs and vomited her guts. “Stop it!” he yelled. His trusted advisers were sitting with him, but they didn’t seem to notice his outburst, too busy watching the blue guy decapitate the guy in red. Alec was getting impatient with the games and annoyed at the persistent thoughts. He would have to spice things up a bit, get his mind back on track.

He picked up his handheld radio and spoke to Hector down below. “Hector? Bring out the four women and make them fight to the death with their bare hands.” “Should I execute the remaining men, Professor?” “No, let them fight. But I want to change the rules a bit. Whatever team wins, let them have a female slave for the night. From now on, if there are two or three men left on the winning team, they all three get a slave for the night. Let it be a free for all! That ought to spice things up a bit, eh, Hector?” “Should I separate the women from the men as they fight?”

“No! Put them all together.” The new rules made the games much more terrifying and bloody, and the crowd loved it. Finally, an hour later, two men on the blue team were declared the winners, while one woman was choking a smaller woman to death on the old soccer field. When it was over, the roaring crowd chanted Alec’s title, Professor, Professor! Some chanted, King! His esteem was elevated in the eyes of his followers. After a night of successful games, Alec Simms stood in front of the mirror in his quarters, wondering why he hadn’t enjoyed the games as much. They’d always excited him in the past, but tonight was different, appalling really. It was getting to where he felt nauseas. Was he getting ill? Perhaps the flu or something? Or was it the blood? Yes, he thought to himself, it was the blood and violence. But he could not rule with such weakened emotions. It was the nanobots! The little beggars were healing him, reversing the effects. But how and why did it take so long? Why was he the only one? Was it because he had always had the latest and most advanced injections of the nanobots? Yes, that must be it! The nanobots were finally replicating new normal cells. Instead of attacking the coding gene, they were probably normalizing the levels of brain chemicals serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine. Apparently, there was no permanent damage to the prefrontal cortex, and if there was, the nanobots had somehow repaired it. That was fascinating! If he had a laboratory and chemicals! Wait a minute! What was he thinking? It was a new and dangerous world out there. No computers, no chemicals, or no laboratories, just blood and more blood. Alec paced the floor wondering what should be done. He had to keep up the ruse of being a ruthless dictator or become a victim of his own creation. He still had a craving for violence, but the emotion was waning fast. The way he estimated it, the transference from dictator to doctor would be complete in a matter of days. Then he’d have to have people put to death and tortured or face being tortured and killed by the very men who now adored him. What was to become of him? He’d never been a man of violence. He had to keep up the false impression of being a sadist. Could he do that? Yes, he thought, he could. The radio on the counter bussed. It must be Hector or Simon. He pressed the button. “Yes, what is it?”

“It’s Hector, Professor. Simon is wondering when you’re going to take a look at the new slaves from Warrenton. He says it’s a fine haul.” “I’ve got enough slaves, Hector! Tell Simon he can have one of my slaves for his successful excursion into the interior. That’s all, Hector!”

* * *

Simon Macalester was disappointed. He was overseer of the new slaves that came in on a daily basis. The professor was supposed to take his pick from the new slaves first, but the bastard Jim Miller had taken the cream of the crop, slaves that the professor would have normally taken for himself. He had the audacity to take the best three, while Simon had leftovers. And to make matters worse, the professor had promised him first pick from the next haul. Even though the king had said he could pick one from his stock, Simon wanted the woman, Amber, that Jim Miller had taken for his own; she was a real beauty. The other one wasn’t half bad either. He could do without the man named Duncan. If he could just persuade the professor to look, then he would understand why Simon wanted the first pick from the Warrenton haul. He didn’t want to upset the professor or he could end up crucified outside the istration Building. But still he would try again later when the professor had recovered from the excitement of the games. As for Jim Miller? He’d kill the greedy asshole the first chance he got.

* * *

Being a police officer is all that Sergeant Samuel Baker had ever known. He’d killed five men in the twenty-five years as a police officer, not counting the last three months where he’d lost count altogether. It’d been three hours since he’d killed the three men operating the checkpoint,

and still no kids. He was hungry, thirsty, and pissed! He was just about to give up when he heard voices coming from the front of the store. It was getting dark, so he couldn’t see as well as before, but he could make out two dim outlines coming through the same broken window as Samuel had. He had them! There was no way they could get away now! Samuel pulled back the bolt on his rifle, chambering a shell. The metallic click from the mechanism seemed to reverberate throughout the silence of the grocery store, alerting the two figures that they weren’t alone. Got you now, you little mother fuckers! But his triumph was lost when a beer bottle smashed him across the head. He let loose with a barrage of bullets on full automatic but was dazed from the blow to the head, causing the attack to be off target. The blood quickly flowed down into his eyes, half-blinding him as he ran after the fleeing kids, firing his weapon as he went. Damn if he didn’t have to stop and reload! He inserted another clip and then wiped the blood from his eyes. There they were, running west, away from the store and their chosen sanctuary in the woods. With his head aching, he jogged after the two kids but quickly ran out of steam as the kids outran him. The last he saw of them was when they made a left on Ballard Avenue, and then he heard gunfire. He stopped at the corner of Ballard and Coverdale and glanced around the edge of the building. There were men running in the direction he thought the boys had taken. Wanting the kids to himself, he hoped they had gotten away because Samuel never had given up on a chase, and he wanted the kids worse than ever. The little sons of bitches clobbered him with a bottle. Felonious assault on a police officer, that’s what it was. Walking slowly back the way he’d come, Samuel found some stairs leading down to the locked door of one of the businesses away from the street. He walked down some stairs and then sat down. The glass from the beer bottle had cut a deep gash on his forehead, and he was dizzy from the wound. Wiping more blood from his eyes, he pressed his handkerchief against the wound to help slow the bleeding. It was war now, but he couldn’t embrace vengeance and throw out caution; there was too much at stake. He had to start over and track the fuckers uptown, but it made no difference. Samuel knew every inch of the city from twenty-five years on the force, and he knew where the little felons were headed. They were hungry, probably starving. The next closest meal ticket would be the King Quick minimart on Beechnut. The looters had done a job on the city to where even if they made it, there was no guarantee there would be a scrap left to

eat. The heat of the day and the constant stress had Samuel beaten. He was so hungry that if he didn’t eat soon, there would be no more pursuit of the kids he so despised. Then he thought of something. The gang that he’d been seeing off and on all day didn’t seem to be starving. In fact, they seemed pretty active. Walking back up the steps, he went back to the corner of the building and peeked around the edge. There were two armed men sitting on lawn chairs in the middle of the street, smoking and laughing, the same ones he’d seen chase after them kids. Well, it doesn’t look as if they’d caught them. They had their backs to Samuel, so he walked casually up the street until he was within several feet of the two fools. Not wanting to waste any more .223 rounds from his rifle, he pulled his gun from the holster and shot the man on the right in the back of the head. The other man whirled quickly around and fired off a shot with his pistol at the same time Samuel shot him in the side of the head. Samuel screamed and grabbed his ear; the fucking bastard got off a round and shot the top of Samuel’s ear off. Blood was dripping down into the ear canal where it would impair his hearing. Damn thugs! It just wasn’t Samuel’s lucky day. Or was it? Looking quickly around to make sure no one was coming, Samuel snatched the men’s backpacks and ran back to his hiding spot on the steps. Rummaging through their gear, he realized that he’d struck it rich. There were sandwiches, cheese, bread, and three bottles of water. As he was wolfing down a sandwich, he hurriedly put the contents of both packs into one and then guzzled half a bottle of water. Feeling better, he figured he better get moving in case someone came looking for whoever wasted their friends. Blood was soaking the collar of his shirt, making traveling uncomfortable. It couldn’t be helped for now. He’d tend to his wounds later when he gained a little ground on the two criminals. Taking the long way around the block, Samuel walked west to where he thought the little misfits were headed. With the food and water in his belly, he was starting to gain his confidence back. What was priority now was getting some bandages and aspirin for his head and missing ear.

Even though he’d found some food, he was prepared to go to extremes to obtain what he needed, and that was nourishment. If he hadn’t found any food in the bags, he was going to eat the flesh off one of the corpses. He would do anything to get those rotten kids.

* * *

Amber had been thrown, with three other slaves, into one of Jim Miller’s spare rooms. She had cried herself to sleep, thinking about the whipping Duncan had taken on her . It was hopeless. The crude Miller had promised her the rape of her life, something she had always dreaded ever since the outbreak began. Well, she had her own plans. So far, the most lethal weapon she managed to hide was an ink pin, and if she had to, she’d jab it into his eye to keep his filthy hands off her. Of course, she’d probably be executed for it. She’d rather be dead than to willingly relent to his advances. They had let her clean up and gave her food and water, fresh clothes, and a goblet full of wine, which was supposed to calm her down. She was startled when Jim Miller suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Well, I see our happy little family has gotten fed and clothed properly.” One of the girls seemed to be in shock, apparently from being repeatedly raped and abused by the sadistic Miller. He was dressed in a red robe with seemingly nothing underneath. He walked over to her and grabbed her cheek between his fingers. “Get your ass up! I’m not done with you yet!” Miller ordered. The poor girl began to cry as she was jerked up and thrown over Miller’s shoulder. She stared pleadingly at Amber, but what was Amber to do? She was in the same boat, with a promise of the most horrific rape imaginable by the merciless Jim Miller, the worst crazy of all. Lucky her! We’ll see about that, Amber thought stubbornly.

He stood in the doorway, fondling the girl’s crotch as he smiled down at Amber. That bastard! It just made her that much more determined to resist his cruel advances. After he’d left, she realized she was gripping the ink pen too tight. Her fingers were cramping. She took a deep breath and wondered if she really had the courage to resist the bastard’s attack. Yes, she thought she did. And she also knew she might not be strong enough to pierce the brain by going through the eye. She hoped so for her sake. If she knew Miller, he’d put both her eyes out and then put her on the street; she shivered at the thought. She’d have to put up with his antics until they were alone, then she’d stick the fucker.

* * *

Duncan was alone with three other men. He didn’t think the other men belonged to Jim Miller, but he knew he did. After they had whipped him, they all laughed as salt was rubbed into the bloody wounds. He cried out in front of Amber like a spanked boy, because the pain was almost unbearable, but he still refused to point his finger to Amber in the death of the soldier. “You!” said one of the slaves. “I’m cold. Give me your shirt or I’m going to kill you right now.” Duncan stared hatefully at the demander. He could tell from the smile on his face and the look in his eyes that he was a crazy. Duncan’s back was very stiff and was starting to scab over, but Duncan knew what he had to do. He had no choice. Being the bigger man, he had no doubt the crazy meant what he said. Duncan had to get him riled up, so maybe he’d make a mistake. “Why you fucking pussy! You dare to talk down to me. I’m not giving you shit, man! Now fuck off!” The smirk on his face told Duncan that he hadn’t taken the bait. The man was streetwise.

“I’m gonna stomp you, boy!” said the big galoot. Duncan jumped up and stuck his fingers into the man’s eyes to temporarily blind him and then delivered a straight-arm punch to the screaming man’s throat. The big man fell onto the floor, gasping for air and holding onto his throat. Duncan knew another blow to the throat would be lethal, and he didn’t want to have to look over his shoulder constantly, waiting for the big man to extract vengeance. So with everything he could muster, he pounded the stupid man in the throat several times, effectively collapsing the windpipe. With the man choking and trying to catch a breath, Duncan sat back down and watched the man turn several shades of blue then out from lack of oxygen to the brain. He began to convulse for a few seconds then died. There wasn’t much to look at after that. The other two men looked away from Duncan, knowing he’d probably be executed for what he’d done. The people running the show loved to kill; just give them a reason, and killing a fellow slave was reason enough. It was kill or be killed as far as Duncan was concerned. And he wasn’t going down without a fight. He would grab the guard’s rifle and try for an escape from the heartland of the crazies, as if that wasn’t crazy enough. If it was Jim Miller that came in alone, he’d kill him and take his weapons. Hell, if he had the time, he’d lash him to death with his own whip.

* * *

The girl was lying on Jim Miller’s bed, raped and bleeding where she’d been slapped around and sodomized. Her lip was busted, and she had a bruised right eye. Jim smiled down at the frightened young woman. That wasn’t nothing compared with what Jim was going to do to Amber Styles in the morning. He rubbed his crotch and thought of the fine time he was going to have. There was plenty of salt to salt down his whip. Jim smiled. He made the girl stand, and together they walked from the room. He led her down some stairs and to the living quarters of the slaves. “Get in there!” he ordered as he pushed her into the room. Looking down at Amber, he said, “If you don’t behave like a good girl tomorrow, I’ll have your boyfriend whipped to death. Is that clear?”

Yes, Amber thought, that was clear. But she still had no intention of letting him touch her. Duncan, forgive me, she thought. “Answer me, bitch! Is that clear?” “Yes, it’s clear. Damn you!” “That’s what I like to see, a little spunk. Believe me, you’ll need it tomorrow morning.” Jim slammed and locked the door. He walked back up the stairs to his quarters, thinking how he could perhaps become king someday. If he could just get rid of the professor somehow, then he’d be home free. He thought he had enough followers by now to commit a coup de grâce if the professor was no longer in power. Crucifying the professor would be his top priority, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could do it without some sort of probable cause, meaning the professor would have to be disgraced in front of the whole congregation; it didn’t look as if it was going to happen anytime soon. However, it never hurts to be prepared. Then there was Hector and that halfwit Simon. They would be whipped to within an inch of their lives and then crucified. The old rule would thereby be extinguished, making him the new ruler of the kingdom.

* * *

The dreaded morning had arrived; and Amber was forced to bath, apply makeup, and dress in sexy clothes for the sadist Miller. She was led to his quarters and told to wait for his arrival. The short dress she was required to wear had no pockets so she had to slip the pen in the top of her hair where it was woven into a bun. She heard the key in the lock. The door opened. “Well, doesn’t she look mighty pretty?” Jim Miller said. “Get over here!” he ordered. Amber rose from her spot on the floor and approached Miller. She was going to ask if she could let her hair down and then stab him with the hidden pen.

Suddenly, she was slapped so hard the ink pen in her hair flew out onto the carpet. Miller stared at the pen, at first confused, and then realization turned his look to anger. “Well now what have we here? What were you going to do with that, bitch?” He jumped upon her, holding her down with the weight of him on her chest. She slapped and kicked, but he was too heavy and strong. “Now you’re going to get it!” An insistent banging suddenly erupted on the front door to his quarters. “Who in the fuck? Wait a minute, damn you!” Someone was going to pay for this interruption, Jim thought. He gave strict orders he was not to be disturbed. Slapping Amber into a stupor, he rose from atop her, walked to the door, and slung it open. “What the—” Christ, it was Hector! “Stop what you are doing and prepare for the professor to examine the stock you have brought back from Warrenton.” “But I had first pick,” Jim complained. “You have first pick after the king has examined the slaves. You know that.” Yes, Jim knew that. However, it had been several days, and Jim thought that the scum professor had shunned that right because of the successful raid. That bastard takes any of my stock and I’ll … kill him, Jim thought angrily. A few minutes later, Alec Simms and twelve bodyguards walked into the room. “All right, where’re the slaves Simon keeps bugging me about?” Alec asked. Simon! That good-for-nothing piece of shit, Jim thought. He should have known. “Well, sir, there’s one in the other room, and the others are in the slave’s quarters.” “Let’s take a look. Get them all together in the slave’s quarters and make it snappy. I haven’t got all day.” Several minutes later, the slaves were assembled in the basement quarters. As Alec began examining the slaves, a particular one caught his eye. She was magnificent … but … he’d seen her somewhere before. My god! It was Amber Styles! How could that be? Everyone in biomedical were killed outright or taken captive by Alec himself. Alec had to be careful. He hoped Amber had enough

sense to play the part because he couldn’t let anyone know he knew her. He would be expected to treat her harshly and in front of witnesses. Amber had always wondered what the great professor looked like, and now she knew. It was Professor Alec Simms! She couldn’t believe her eyes! She was just about ready to say something, say anything that would let him know it was her, but the look on his face told her to keep her mouth shut. The look was alien, cruel. Then he spoke. “Well, this is a fine haul, Miller,” Alec said as he eyed Amber. “Who’s this lovely bitch?” “Sir, this is the woman I want to bear my children.” Jim knew how stupid that sounded the minute it left his lips. “I mean, sir, if I could just keep this one, you can have the rest of my stock.” “Bear your children? Are you insane, man? I’ve never heard anything so preposterous in my life. And as for your stock, I’ll just take the one. Looks like you have her all prettied up for me, eh, Miller?” “But, sir?” “I can’t believe I made you a lieutenant, Miller. Wanting to marry a slave!” “Sir—” “Say another word, Miller, and I’ll have you flogged, or have you forgotten already what it feels like?” Why you dirty scumbag! You’ll get yours. “Now if there’s nothing else, I’ll retire to my chambers.” Suddenly, Alec ed that Simon said she had been captured with another male companion. Could it be a friend of Amber’s? There were three men in the group, but he didn’t know which one was with her. He would have to make a guess. The one that had been flogged had to be the one; the other two looked healthy enough. “On second thought, Miller, I’ll take that one too,” said Alec as he pointed at Duncan.

“What!” Why you … “Sir, that one is scheduled for execution for killing another slave.” Alec was treading on thin ice with his next decision. If he let the man go unpunished, he’d look soft, like breaking his own rules. “Don’t worry, Miller, he’ll be executed in due time. I just want to have a little fun with him and the girl. Clean him up, Hector, and send him up to my quarters. I’ll take the girl with me. All right, let’s go! I haven’t got all day.” With that said, Alec’s group left Jim’s apartment. Jim was seething! The old bastard had taken the one prize that he’d really wanted. He was going to kill that bastard someday. Jim was so angry that after Hector had left with the slave called Duncan, he took out his knife and commenced to cutting on one of the other male slaves, pretending it was the king himself. He laughed at the pain he was inflicting, until finally he got bored and cut his throat. Jim watched, fascinated, as the life flowed out of the young man. Later, when he’d cleaned up, Jim thought about the stealing of his slaves by the professor. It seemed odd that the professor took Amber’s male companion, lover so to speak. Going to have a little fun with the two of them is what he’d said. He had an informer in with the professor’s bodyguard assemblage. Well, Jim would have to keep up on developments and see what the slime was up to.

* * *

Alec had to tread lightly from then on. The nanobots were working their magic, and the professor was rapidly reverting to normal, whatever normal was nowadays. The discovery of Amber and her companion could have grave consequences if not handled correctly. He was by far the most powerful man in the state, but events could spiral out of control because of his natural-born liberalism to violence. He must stay focused on the power-hungry sadist that he’d been just a few short days before. Customarily, he’d have Amber flogged just for the fact that she’d killed one of his own, not that he gave a rat’s ass about the crazy individual. Her and her male companion had been taken to his slave’s rooms, but not after Alec covertly informed Amber of the need for secrecy. If someone would overhear, then there could be trouble. There was at least a

hundred of his followers that would love to have Alec killed and move up in rank, a situation that Alec had inadvertently created. The only thing holding the empire together was the fear he instilled in the people, who loved him for it. Blood and violence were what the nanobots had produced in even the most docile of people. Finally, he told Hector to have the woman brought to him; he wanted to have a little fun. Amber was brought to him, and then Hector was dismissed. “I’m sorry that we didn’t get to talk before, my dear, but you can understand the circumstances.” “Professor Simms, how could something like this happen?” “It doesn’t matter how it happened. It just matters what’s going to happen. Let me explain something to you. I was just as crazy as the rest of them. How do you think I became the professor? I was a tyrant, still am to an extent. The nanobots in my body have somehow reversed the effects and are now healing the damaged prefrontal cortex. In other words, they’re not attacking the gene that codes the enzyme monoamine oxidase A but are actually helping metabolize the brain chemicals to a tolerable level. You see, Amber, I’m becoming normal again. In a matter of days, I’ll no longer be infected, which in this day and age could be disastrous. I would have never been able to help you had I not been in a position of power.” “What are we to do now, Professor?” Amber asked. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to play the part of master and slave until we think of something. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to be punished for the killing of my soldier. My followers will insist on it. You see, in a way, I’m just as much a prisoner as you. If they detect weakness on my part, I’ll be overthrown and crucified by the very men that I’ve created. We must think of a way to get you out before someone gets wise. Don’t worry, Amber, I’ll not let anything happen to you as long as I’m alive.” “What about Duncan, the man that was captured with me? He’s my friend, and I love him. He wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for me. It’s my fault!”

“Don’t worry about him. I have him in the slave’s quarters. But unfortunately he’s going to be a problem. It seems he has killed a fellow slave, in self-defense of course, but it makes no difference. It’s punishable by death. I made the rules, and there is nothing I can do except get you two out of here. Jim Miller is clamoring for Duncan’s head as we speak. He won’t let it go, Amber, not after taking you from him.” Amber felt like crying, but she had to be strong in front of Alec. He was risking everything for them. She needed to see if Duncan was okay. “Is there any way I can see Duncan, Professor Simms? At least get word to him that I’m okay.” “I’ll have my most trusted men bring him up to see you. After all, this is still my empire!” Alec went to the radio and asked Hector to come up with his personal guard. Then he tied Amber to the slave’s pole, a pole that was used to secure slaves so a master could monitor them. A few minutes later, they rang at the door. Alec answered the door. “Hector, I want you to get the man called Duncan and bring him up here. Don’t ask why, just do it! And one other thing. That Jim Miller has been getting antsy around me. I don’t like it! He questions my every command. Give him ten lashes with the whip. Let him know whose running things around here.” Hector smiled. “Be glad to do it, Professor! He’s been getting antsy around me too. By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you he’s been gathering quite a few friends lately, maybe thinking about doing something stupid.” “I’m going to have him executed anyway, Hector, just a matter of time.” “Yes, sir, Professor!” “Okay, Hector, you’re dismissed.” After they’d left, Alec removed the restraints from Amber’s neck. “Sorry to do that to you, my dear, but we must keep up appearances.” “Thank you, Professor, for everything you’re doing. I’ll never be able to repay you.” “Your thanks is payment enough.”

An hour later, Duncan was left alone with Amber, while the professor attended to business. When Amber saw Duncan, she cried. She couldn’t help it. She was so glad to see him. “Where have you been, you big lug?” she said as she hugged him. He winced from the pain in his raw and sore back. “Sorry, hon. I forgot what that monster had done to you.” “It’s all right, Amber. But could you tell me what’s going on around here? One minute I’m scheduled for execution, the next I’m being cleaned up and transferred to the great professor’s harem of slaves.” Amber told Duncan the whole story of how she used to work for the professor before the epidemic and how their paths had crossed under dire circumstances. They had been, oh so lucky! “What are we going to do now? From what you told me, the professor can’t protect us indefinitely.” “He’ll find a way for us to escape. He’s a very brilliant man, at least he used to be. Be patient, Duncan. We’ll get out of this.” “I just want you to get out of here. I’m expendable!” “Like hell you are, mister!” Like it or not, you’re stuck with me.” Duncan smiled and took her into his arms and kissed her. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be stuck with, Amber.” Suddenly, Alec was standing in the doorway. “Break it up you two! Both of you get over by the slave pole. Quick!” They did what they were told. And at that second, Hector walked into the room. “I have the papers you asked for, Professor.” “Thanks, Hector. Lay them on my desk.” Oh hell! Another mistake! He just thanked Hector for what was already expected of him. He quickly tried damage control. “Next time be quick about it. I haven’t got all day! Now get out!” “Yes, sir, Professor.”

Alec had to that his followers liked for him to be in control, liked to see pain and suffering, and liked to be rewarded with someone to inflect pain on. That’s the way he had accumulated followers in the first place. Hector was a loyal servant, but only because he was rewarded with slaves and material things. He was a captain in the professor’s army and was expected to be treated as such. The infection he had that made him great was diminishing fast. He was no longer the professor, but Alec Simms, doctor of biomedical engineering. He sat down in his favorite chair and looked over at Duncan and Amber. What was he going to do? He couldn’t very well go with them on their escape. He was too well watched. If he stayed, then he would be discovered and crucified alongside the skeletal remains of the men and women that he had crucified, an ironic end. It wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it. Coughed up her lungs and vomited up her stomach. A fitting end, eh, Professor! he thought to himself. Well, the least he could do was get the young couple out of there. Unfortunately, he would have to put his trust in Hector, Simon, and his elite guard. Finally, he made up his mind. “You two come here!” Alec went into the adjacent room and came out with clothes and two backpacks that he had prepared earlier that morning. “We’re going to get you out of here. Duncan? Come here and look at these maps I’ve prepared for you.” Alec pointed to the area on the map. “That’s Warrenton, where you were picked up. Follow the path I’ve penciled in for you. It’ll by our checkpoints and have you in Warrenton by nightfall. There’s an SUV waiting, stocked with food and arms. Bust ass and God speed! I’ll personally escort you out to the vehicle. Let’s go! Let’s move!” Amber and Duncan did what the professor ordered. Amber didn’t like where this was going. “Alec, what are you doing? Are you coming with us?” “No, my dear. I’m too well watched. If I was to try to leave, they would send my whole army out looking, and then they would find us both. No, I can’t come, but don’t worry. I have a plan.” But in reality, he had none. He was going to meet his Maker and pay for the crimes against humanity that he had inflected. There was no living with himself for the wholesale murder he helped orchestrate. Within minutes, Amber and Duncan were ready. The professor himself and twenty armed men, including the one he called Hector, escorted them. They marched past many onlookers; many bowed in the face of the great professor.

When they arrived at the SUV, they quickly entered the vehicle and sped off. The men in the detail were paid handsomely for their loyalty. But at the same time, Hector wondered if the great professor was slipping, letting two slaves loose, especially two that were up for execution. He knew what was going on. Perhaps he could better handle the way the empire was run. But the professor’s elite guard could be a problem. It didn’t take long for the information to filter back down to Jim Miller. He’d paid a high price to his informant, but it was well worth it. He was going to kill the old buzzard slowly for what he’d done to Jim, and Simon was going to get his too. He’d already been in with Hector and had decided that a new ruler was in order. Hector had the main guard in his pocket, so Jim had to settle for captain, for now. Between Hector’s men and Jim’s connections, they would have a firm grip on power in a matter of hours, and then Jim would take care of the two escapees.

* * *

Three hours and a hundred miles later, Amber and Duncan were on a country road outside of Warrenton, Ohio. They had to shoot their way through a couple of checkpoints from rogue gangs but ended up okay. The professor’s henchmen were far to the north, but they still had to worry about gangs of crazies. They were scarce out that far, but they did exist. Strength in numbers was what was always said; but Duncan’s idea of numbers ended in disaster because a crazy could blend right in with the uninfected, at least for a while, until the murderous urge boiled over. “Where to now?” Duncan asked. It was his turn behind the wheel, and they had just ed the Warrenton county line. “We’d better stop at the next small town for the night.” “What about this SUV? Eventually, it’s going to attract too much attention. I say we ditch it where we can find it in an emergency and then find us a place to hide on foot.”

“Sounds like a plan, mister,” mimicked Amber. After a while, they ed a rundown-looking town called Corbin. They drove slowly through, went a half mile, and then pulled off onto a gravel drive that led to a farmhouse in the distance. Pulling the SUV off the driveway and into the woods, they then covered it up with small trees and branches until it was barely visible before the short walk up to the farmhouse. They followed the gravel drive up to the farmhouse; it looked abandoned. The grass on the front lawn hadn’t been cut for months, and the windows on the side of the house had been broken. The professor had generously provided them with M-16 assault rifles, two side arms, and plenty of ammunition. Their packs were stuffed with food and water, so they wouldn’t be hurting for anything for several days, plus there was more food back in the SUV. Duncan was determined never to be taken captive by anyone again, and he was sure Amber felt the same way. After what she’d told him of her ordeal, he had to ire her spunk, even though she’d almost been raped and tortured by Jim Miller. If he ever had the chance, he would kill that sadistic bastard. Amber felt good. The good Professor Simms had helped them escape and said he had a plan for himself. She did feel sad they couldn’t have met up with Alec somewhere along their route. Knowing the professor, he was already outside the army’s realm of influence or perhaps leading his faithful men out of harm’s way with him.

* * *

After killing the professor’s twenty-man guard, Jim Miller burst into the professor’s quarters with twenty disgruntled armed soldiers. “What is the meaning of this?” Alec demanded. “Get out of my chambers! Jim Miller? I should have known!” “Yes, me!” said Jim Miller. “Take this piece of trash and hold him down, men.” Jim withdrew his knife, the same knife he used to gut Sanchez. “Now I’m going

to make you suffer, old man, for what you did to me.” “You’re nothing but someone else’s lackey, Miller. You always will be. You don’t think I know what’s going on? Hector will have your ass as soon as he’s through with you. I bet you took it in the ass for Hector, didn’t you? Yeah, big bad Jim Miller, nothing but a lackey for the really smart ones. As for making me suffer, not going to happen! As usual, Miller, I’ve outsmarted you just as I always have. You’re nothing but a street cop and always will be.” “Enough talk!” Jim screamed. He moved quickly over to Alec. He stood over him, no longer smiling. “That’s right, Miller,” coughed Alec. “F-f-fast poison. Who outsmarted who?” “No-o-o, damn you!” He bent down and grabbed Alec by the hair, intending to slowly cut his throat, but it was too late. Professor Alec Simms was dead.

* * *

It was full dark by the time Samuel reached his destination at the King Quick minimart. But the kids had already been there and gone. He could tell by the crumbs of bread and freshly drunk soft drinks. If there was ever anything at the King Quick, it was gone now. Samuel was almost out of food and water. He had fallen asleep under an old highway bridge with his pack open; and a starving, mangy dog came up and gobbled down two of his sandwiches, paper and all. He shot the fleabag in the head, but it was too late. Samuel even thought about slicing the dog open and retrieving his lost meal, but decided against it, no telling how many diseases the damn thing was carrying. Now at the minimart, he discovered empty shelves and leftovers from the very kids he hated. Taking his hands, he scooped up the crumbs from the floor and ate them then drank what water he had left. He went behind the counter and lay down. So tired. A few hours later, he was awakened by whispering on the other side of the counter. Could it be! Was he lucky enough to come face to face with his tormentors?

Slowly, he drew his gun from its holster. Now for the tricky part. Could he pull back the hammer and fire before the kids took off? Soon as the hammer clicks, the kids would split. It was dark, and his dead flashlight lay on the street a mile back. He pondered what to do. Sweat stung his scabbing wounds on his head and ear; he dare not wipe the dripping sweat from his face, lest he gives himself away. A minute crept by then two minutes. It was now or never. Samuel rose slowly up from his place on the floor and peeked over the counter. Damn light! He couldn’t see a thing! But he could still hear what he thought was breathing, then an idea occurred to him. When he pulled the trigger of his weapon, the bright flash from the explosive shell would briefly light up the surrounding area, giving him a glimpse of the target. He’d kill whoever was on the other side of the counter, friend or foe. Aiming toward the sound of breathing, he fired. Someone howled. In the bright flash from the weapon’s discharge, he got a glimpse of two figures; it had to be the brats he was chasing. Suddenly, someone fired back. A bullet smacked against the shelf behind him. Had the brats somehow obtained a weapon? He had the one shot, but he didn’t expect return fire. Even above the ringing in his ears from the report of the shot, he could still hear someone scrambling about, trying to take cover or trying to split, he didn’t know. Another shot rang out; whoever it was, was trying to cover their retreat. Samuel rose up and returned fire at where he thought the shot came from. With the quick brightness from the shot, he thought he saw a figure crouched behind an overturned aisle shelf. Samuel was sick of messing with them kids, so he screamed, ran out from behind the counter, and charged the assailants. He dove to the ground as he fired off round after round toward the shelving, his momentum carrying him crashing into the attacker’s cover. Quickly, he stood up and hurdled over the obstacle, landing on top of a screaming kid. With the gun to the kid’s head, Samuel told him to be still. “I ain’t done nothing!” cried the kid. Samuel grabbed the kid by the scuff of the neck and dragged him outside. When it was light enough to see, Samuel was shocked to see a young woman. “What the fuck! Where’s your friend?” Samuel shook her. “Speak damn you!” “I ain’t got no friend, mister.”

“Who was in there with you? I saw two of you.” “There were two kids in there, mister. They done run off when you started shooting. I was just hiding, trying not to get shot.” “You have a gun?” “I dropped it in the store. Please, mister, I ain’t done nothing.” “I’m an officer of the law, and you tried to shoot me. That’s punishable by death. Those kids are wanted for multiple felonies. What’s your name?” “My name’s Sherry.” “What are you doing hanging around here in the possession of a firearm?” “I’m just trying to stay alive, officer. My sister Marie was raped and murdered a few nights back, and I swore it wasn’t going to happen to me. You’re not going to rape me, are you?” “Certainly not! I’m here to protect and serve, and punish the guilty. I’m afraid you have committed a crime by shooting at me.” She did call him officer, a sure sign of respect. “Please, officer! I just didn’t want to be raped, maybe killed like Marie. Are you going to kill me?” Samuel removed the spent shells from his pistol and inserted a fresh six-shot loader. “I’m sorry, but you’ve broke the law, and your sentence is death!” He raised his gun and put it to the girl’s head. “Please! Take whatever you want. Just don’t kill me. I have food and water. You can have it!” “What? You have food?” “Yes, I have food! You can have it all!” “Where?” “In the basement of this store. Let me live, and I’ll show you, please!”

“All right, lady. Show me!” He followed her back into the dark store where she picked up a flashlight she must have dropped earlier. She turned on the flashlight beam and made her way to the back of the store and into a backroom where she pulled down a piece of plywood that was leaning against the wall. Behind the wood was a door, which led down some stairs and into a basement. There were multiple cans of various foodstuff, including, jelly, crackers, peanut butter, and a host of other eatable items. There were also several cases of water. Samuel couldn’t believe his luck. He’d hit the jackpot. The young woman had just earned her the right to live, at least a little longer. He immediately started in on the jelly and crackers, which never tasted so good. After several minutes, he leaned his back against the wall of the basement and relaxed with a bottle of water between his legs. The woman sat opposite him, watching. “Okay, Sherry. I’m going to give you a reprieve and let you live, but you have to keep this basement a secret. Did the two brats that were here know about this?” “Yes.” That was it! Samuel thought. The little felons would be back this way; all he had to do was wait for them. However, because of his good fortune, she would have to die. He couldn’t take the chance of her warning the little bastards about his setup. Standing shakily on his feet, he wondered why he felt so lightheaded. He drew his gun and said, “I’m sorry, lady. But I’m going to have to break my … break my … shit, I am going to out!” With that last thought, Samuel fell onto the basement floor. Sherry breathed a sigh of relief. The drugs she had put in the jelly worked wonders. It wasn’t as if she planned any of it. The drugs were hers to get high with. It was just that the jelly was a good place to mix her dope, take away the pharmaceutical taste, and get her high at the same time. That’s the way they taught her on the street when she was growing up. It was better than taking several soapers at the same time. Two soapers were not enough, and three soapers were too much, get you fucked up. So when you mixed in a dozen pills with jelly, you could take a spoonful at a time and obtain the high you wanted, with no aftertaste.

She looked down at the cop and wondered if she should kill him; he was going to kill her. But killing wasn’t her thing. So she packed up her book bag with food and water—and don’t forget the jelly—then hightailed it to another spot she knew of. Two heartbeats later, and Sherry was gone.

* * *

Boiling mad, Jim Miller had the corpse of the professor hung up outside his new headquarters across the street from the istration Building. He knew why Hector had assigned him that building; it was because he didn’t want Jim anywhere near the seat of power. Being the number 2 man was good enough for now, Jim thought. But the day would come when Jim would put out the word, and a civil war would erupt among the empire. It’s what Jim had always dreamed about. There would be mass killings and retaliation for those killings until the whole state was set aflame. It would be glorious, Jim thought. And when it was over, he’d be king of even a larger empire. But first he had one task to complete: find and kill Amber Styles and her boyfriend Duncan, preferably bring them back in chains so they could be crucified alongside each other. Amber owed him big time! She was snatched from him when he was about to break her in, and he intended to complete the ritual when he caught up with her, only this time she wouldn’t survive the ordeal. There was suddenly a ring at his door. Jim knew who it was. He’d sent for Simon Macalester, overseer of the slaves. He answered the door. “Come in, Simon.” Simon was halfway through the door when Jim kicked the door shut. Simon was the reason the professor had found out about Amber being with him; he was directly responsible for the events that led to Amber being taken away. The prick Moller had escaped, but Jim had his best men trying to track him down. Jim grabbed the smaller man, swung him around into the wall, and then stabbed Simon in the stomach with a hunting knife. Simon screamed and tried to fight back, but the smiling Jim Miller quickly stabbed him again. Then again! The fourth stab left the knife buried deeply in his neck, next to the collarbone.

Simon’s weakened scream was forced out with his last breath as he fell to the ground. Jim was quickly upon him, cutting through the skin and cartilage of his neck until he held his blood-drenched head high in triumph. When Jim finally stopped laughing, he thought of the rat’s family of slaves he would take for his own. And Simon had several fine specimens he was going to enjoy raping and killing. All and all, Jim never considered himself a bad guy, just doing what’s right in a world of viciousness, a world of violence that he catered to. After the corpse was removed, Jim sat down at his kitchen table and wondered what his next step would be. The professor had destroyed the map that would have told him where Amber and that bastard boyfriend of hers were going. But Jim knew that going south was the only way out of the empire’s influence. Jim rounded up fifty men to go with him into the interior to hunt for Amber. Under no circumstances was she to be harmed. Their staging point was Warrenton, about the end of the empire’s influence. It took but a day’s travel to arrive at their destination. Jim had his fifty men split up into five ten-man groups. They would spread out and find where Amber and her lover had gone or they weren’t to come back. He had confidence they’d catch up with them sooner or later by going south, but after several days, there was still no luck. That bitch! Jim thought. When he caught up with her, he was going to rape her hard! If she didn’t do everything and anything he wanted, he’d kill the prick Duncan. Of course, it was just fantasying at that point. Not until he’d made a sure capture could he put his imagination to the test. His driver of the SUV that he was riding stopped at the Warrenton county line. Jim checked the map he had on his lap. If he went southwest, he’d come to the next town. Jim threw the map angrily onto the floor of the vehicle. Next stop, Corbin!

* * *

Walking around to the back of the farmhouse, Amber and Duncan entered the house through the unlocked backdoor. They searched the place carefully; no one seemed to have been there for a long time. The place still had all the furnishings,

but no food or running water. What the place did have was an active well where the couple brought up water to drink; that way, they could save the bottled water for when they needed it. After a thorough investigation, they sat down on the living room couch. “Well, what do you think?” Duncan asked. “I think we should stay here for a couple of days and rest up, then head due south. The farther away we get from Jim Miller, the better I’ll like it.” “Where you do think the people who lived here went?” Amber asked. “Probably ran out of food, had to look elsewhere.” “Or they’re hiding somewhere in the house.” Duncan thought about that for a minute. “Well,” he finally said, “I guess there could be a hidden room somewhere in the house or a barn. Want to take a closer look?” “Yes, I’d rather know now than wake up with a crazy standing over me.” Together they banged on the walls as they worked their way around the house. They compared the inside dimensions with what the visible rooms were. Where the stairs went up to the next floor, the dimensions were twice what were needed. The wall was hollow on the other side. “What do you make of that?” Amber asked. “Looks like we have some rooms on the other side of the wall.” They both looked at each other and knew immediately what the other was thinking. They couldn’t very well bust through the wall. They could use the hidden rooms in case they were discovered, which meant they had to find the hidden entrance. “Let’s follow it up the stairs and see where it leads,” Duncan said. They walked up the stairs with their guns ready. If someone was hiding in the house, then they would know by now that Amber and Duncan were suspicious and hunting for a way in. The rooms were small upstairs, indicating there were more rooms that could not be seen. A painstaking search revealed a crawlspace

inside a walk-in closet. They removed a smooth piece of wood that matched the décor of the closet, and behind it was a small crawl tunnel leading to another room. Duncan looked at Amber. “I’m going through, and don’t argue with me.” Amber knew it would do little good to suggest they flip a coin; Duncan had his mind made up. “Okay, but be careful! We didn’t come all this way so you could be killed by some lone crazy.” Duncan set his rifle against the wall, removed his pistol, and then crouched down before the tunnel. He checked his flashlight to be sure it worked. He blew Amber a kiss and then entered the crawl space. The small space was but a few yards long, and it took Duncan but a few seconds to get through to the other side. Before he stuck his head into the room, he shined his light carefully around the entrance to be sure no one was waiting in the room to brain him then crawled through. A narrow hallway led off to the left from a small room where he stood. Duncan quietly walked the length of the hall into another room where an armed young woman confronted him. He aimed his pistol but didn’t fire. “Drop the gun, lady,” Duncan ordered. “I’m not dropping shit, mister! This is my house, so you drop the gun.” She pointed a shotgun menacingly in his direction. Duncan wasn’t ever going to relinquish his weapon again, not after what he and Amber had been through. “Are you infected with the nanobots?” Duncan asked. “I’m not infected with shit, mister!” Duncan slowly maneuvered his way around her until she had her back to the short hallway. He didn’t detect an evil smile that was so common with the crazies, but they could be very smart when it came to deception. It was a standoff, but it wouldn’t be for long because Amber had just walked up behind the woman and pressed a gun to her back. “All right!” Amber said. “Drop your weapon.”

The woman began to cry. “I can’t drop my weapon. You’ll kill me if I do!” “I’ll kill you if you don’t,” Amber said. “Okay … okay, I’ll drop my gun.” She let the shotgun slide from her hands onto the floor. Her crying intensified as she hung her head, as if waiting for an execution. “Why the sad face, lady? We’re not going to hurt you,” Duncan said as Amber picked up the young woman’s gun. “You’re not going to kill me?” “No.” Amber said. “Is there anyone else in the house with you?” “Only the man standing behind you with a gun.” The woman smiled. Amber looked at Duncan. They both could sense someone behind them, and Amber knew from the look in Duncan’s eyes that he was going to turn and fire, until they heard the man speak. “Now you put down them guns, and no one will likely get hurt.” Duncan glanced over at Amber, a confused look on his face. Amber had heard that voice before. Could it be? After all this time? Being sure her weapon was pointed at the ground in a nonthreatening way, she slowly turned her head to get a look. “Edward! Is that you?” Amber asked excitedly. “Why lordy be if it ain’t Amber and Duncan! Howdy, folks!” Duncan turned around. “Why, Edward Mosley, you son of a gun! How in blazes did you manage to get away? I figured you for a dead man since you never turned up with the slaves.” “You guys know each other?” the young woman asked. “We sure do. This here’s Amber Styles and Duncan Taylor. The folks I was

telling you about. And this is Casey Hart. She lives here. You sure had us spooked, Amber, thought you was a couple of crazies snooping around. “How did you manage to escape, Edward?” Amber asked. “There really ain’t a whole lot to tell. I fell behind and lay down beside an old dead tree to rest. Done give up and waited to be killed or taken. Before you know it, I was alone. Don’t rightly know where everyone went, and I didn’t aim to stick around and find out, so I hightailed it east for an hour to make sure I didn’t run smack dab into them crazies and then turned south to where I knew I’d be safe. I stumbled on to this place. Casey here felt sorry for an old man and took me in.” For the first time, Amber noticed how frail and thin they both were. “My God, Edward! What happened to you?” Amber asked as she pointed toward him. “Reckon we ain’t had much to eat lately.” The foursome decided they didn’t want to disturb the unlived look of the house itself, so Amber and Duncan brought their packs into the hidden apartment and gave food to their two famished friends. After wolfing down canned beans and wieners, Vienna sausages, and rice, the starving couple fell asleep. As the two slept, Duncan sat next to Amber with his back against the wall. There were little furnishings in the two small rooms and only one way in. The rooms were designed for concealment, not escape. Before Duncan could speak, Amber put her finger to her lip, an indication to be silent. A door slammed somewhere downstairs. Someone was in the house.

* * *

The town of Corbin produced several slaves, but no Amber. Even under torture, no one seemed to have seen Amber or Duncan. Jim now stood in the doorway of an empty farmhouse on the outskirts of Corbin; it didn’t look as if had been lived in for some time.

He looked at the barn in the distance, wondering if it had a ventilation shaft like the one in Warrenton where the slaves, including Amber, had escaped. The house held nothing of interest, so Jim instructed his men to search the barn and look for a shaft or tunnel leading out into the woods. After an hour, Jim and his men took a break. Jim sat on a bale of straw, issuing orders to his lieutenants, Jasper and K-9. Both were nicknames that were given to them for their special abilities: Jasper because he could track in the dark and K-9 because he could track anytime, rain or shine. However, there was no luck on that particular morning. When the professor was king, he had strict orders not to damage the slaves, but Jim was just the opposite; once Jim gave a slave to one of his men, they could do with her or him what they pleased. If they wanted to kill them, it wasn’t any concern of Jim’s. But the smart men would save their slaves for months of entertainment. Jim killed when he wanted because he always had several slaves on hand to last him indefinitely. They rested up and continued the sweep to the south, far beyond the empire’s boundaries. When they reached a much larger city called Waynesville, they had to turn back because of the casualties they were sustaining from a larger force of radicals. Jim estimated a hundred. He swore he’d come back with five hundred men and pacify the city, of course, if the pussy Hector would let him. Most of the killed and captured men were his rear guards who were ambushed at the edge of the city as Jim was trying to retreat. Out of a force of fifty volunteers, thirty returned. Jim was afraid Hector wasn’t going to like it, but fuck it; Hector knew not to mess with Jim Miller. Jim had too many loyalists. Jim was again pissed. Where and the hell did Amber and Duncan disappear to? Could they have gotten that far, past Corbin even? If they hadn’t by then, well, they were probably long gone, he thought irritably. There was one thing he wanted to do during his search for Amber, but never had the chance, and that was to burn every house, barn, and out building to the ground. He could just imagine the huge flames billowing smoke out over the land, and people would stare at the sight from dozens of miles away, knowing that there was a new king in town—Jim Miller. First things first: He had to defeat the one hundred plus gang that drove him out of Waynesville.

With threats and curses, he finally was able to incur from the asshole Hector three hundred men for the assault on Waynesville on the condition Jim wouldn’t implement his scorched earth policy. What would, Hector argued, there be left to conquer if everything went up in smoke? Since he had a valid point, Jim relented. Jim wasted little time in the planning and implementation of his intentions. He was to return immediately, not only because of the embarrassing loss at Waynesville but also because he wanted to take a closer look in Warrenton and Corbin for the illusive Amber. After preparations were in order, Jim took his three-hundred-man force south; first stop: Warrenton.

* * *

He had a splitting headache. The little drug pusher had drugged Samuel; it warranted death, if he could ever find her. Samuel got slowly to his feet. Damn if he hadn’t hit his head when he fell, busting open the gash on his forehead. It didn’t do his missing ear any good either; blood was oozing from the wound. Grabbing a bottle of water, he unscrewed the cap and took a big swig, savoring the precious liquid. Checking his weapons, he was surprised she hadn’t taken them. She must’ve been in quite a hurry, Samuel thought. Plenty of food and water, thanks to the little pill pusher. Samuel couldn’t think of any more grocery stores or food marts, but the kids might not return because of the chance he could be waiting. He would have to be careful. Chasing the kids through the streets could easily get him killed by one of the roving gangs or even by a lone gunman. The wounds he had sustained made him cautious. Already he had a busted up head from the broken beer bottle and from his drug-induced fall. If the bullet that took off the top of his ear was two inches over, it’d have struck his cheek, then he would have been screwed. Samuel felt woozy but had to keep a level head. He thought again where the kids might be headed.

If he was in their shoes, he’d leave the city altogether, make for the country. They’d have to go south, but it wouldn’t be any trouble to veer south from the kids’ present course of due west. After several minutes of thought, he had a hunch they might do just that. Samuel suddenly had an idea. If they were hungry enough, Samuel figured them for about a day, then they’d return; if not, they could very well be heading south where it’s safe. He took some water, soaked his handkerchief, and then began painfully wiping off the dried blood that stained his head and cheek. Thinking for another few minutes, he wondered if the punks did head south, wouldn’t they have a day’s head start? If he headed south now, he might very well be able to catch up to the slowly starving kids. The conflicting thoughts were the first signs of starvation, not to mention the drugs that were still flowing through his system. He grabbed one of the bags the pill pusher had left behind and crammed it with food and drink. Samuel had to be sure to place the plywood over the door before he left. You never knew; he just might be back that way, and the place was well stocked. He snatched a state map off one of the racks on his way out. It was still dark when Samuel left the King Quick. If he kept in the shadows, he could avoid the majority of the gunmen lurking about on the streets. He’d wait until he was at the city’s edge then try to pick up the punks’ trail. As Samuel trotted down the street, his excitement grew with the thought of catching the kids in the open where he could use the rifle’s scope. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that he was making the right move. With his renewed strength from recent food and drink, he could keep up a steady pace and perhaps narrow the gap between him and his prey. The boys would have to be moving slow from lack of food, unless they had a stash somewhere along the way; but the way Samuel had been dogging them he sorely doubted it. They had no time to prepare for … Armageddon? Yes, he supposed that’s what it was. Samuel figured the little fuckers knew what Samuel was made of by then and was scared, as they rightfully should be. The desperate brats knew by now that Samuel would never give up until they were dead. He had guessed their every

move; and he figured they were moving south trying to be rid of, not only him but also a city full of killers. Finally, after two hours of fast-paced walking, he left the city proper and entered the suburbs where he stopped to rest on the front porch of the community housing project model home. From the look of all the dried blood, some poor sap must have bought it right where Samuel sat. It didn’t make any difference to him that someone had been murdered where he sat; he’d have killed them himself just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There were gunshots in the distance. He checked the load on his weapons. Samuel didn’t realize how bone tired he was until he stopped for a breather. The weight of the pack and especially the weight of his ammunition were taking its toll on him. He would bet anyone that the kids were moving with almost no baggage. Still, he hoped their energy reserves were tapped. He didn’t know about water, but he was sure they had no food, at least not enough to sustain them. Getting wearily to his feet, Samuel continued down the barren street, the houses slowly spreading out, overtaken by trees and shrubbery. An hour later, he was in a thicket of trees and bushes. He sat down on a moss-laden dead tree and contemplated on what to do next. Now would be the time to search for signs of the brats ing, but he hadn’t seen anything so far. It seemed like he’d have to zigzag from west to east as he worked his way south until he picked up a trail. It would be time-consuming, but he didn’t see much choice. The little bastards had to have come that way, and after only several minutes, Samuel stumbled onto some recently trampled down weeds, ivy vines, and other undergrowth. It had to be them! All Samuel had to do now was follow the rough path, knowing that eventually he’d end up at some kind of dwelling where the brats would settle down for the day. Then he’d have them. Night turned to day as Samuel prodded along. Damn! Was there any end to them God-forsaking woods? When he stopped to rest in a clearing overlooking a small valley, he saw it: an old boarded-up house with a barn and multiple outbuildings. If he was indeed following the two felons, then they had to be inside one of the structures, most probably the barn. The house would be too obvious.

He propped the barrel of the M-16 on the limb of a small tree and scoped the area around the barn. There wasn’t any sign of movement, but the kids weren’t dumb enough to show themselves, at least not in the daylight. Looking at the switch to the night vision on his Starlight Scope, Samuel knew the little bastards would be out prowling around at dark, and he’d be ready. With the night vision lens, he could see them clearly in the dark, and then he’d pop them both. Skinning the suckers would have been more satisfying, but from all that he’d been through, he’d settle with just their deaths. Setting the gun to the side, he leaned back against a tree trunk. It didn’t take long until he was fast asleep. Several hours later, Samuel was awakened by the sound of vehicles pulling up to the boarded house below him. Son of a bitch, if it wasn’t one of the local gangs! At least that’s what it appeared to be. Looked like a couple dozen of them, too many to kill. Damn his luck! They’ll chase the brats into the woods beyond; he’ll have to wait for them to leave before he could pursue, costing him precious time. Samuel wasn’t going to wait for the assholes below to disperse; he was going to stir things up a bit. He picked up his rifle, placed it between the forked branches, then scoped a man that was heading for the barn. The satisfying kick from the rifle was mild compared with most, but the shot was lethal as it struck the man on the backside of the neck, pitching him forward onto the parched grass. Even from that range, Samuel could see the blood squirting across the man’s face from a pierced artery. Lining up the crosshairs of the scope, he fired another shot, striking a short man in the upper back as he too ran toward the barn. At first, they looked confused, but by the time they realized what was happening, another man was down. Every man quickly found a place to take cover. Samuel took his rifle and gear and then headed in a direction that would take him around all the excitement. While they were trying to figure out a way to get to him, he’d be making his way east then south through the woods. If he was lucky, he’d run right into the little punks. Yes, nailing some of the bastards down below in the valley felt good. Killing felt good.

* * *

By the time Jim’s men were searching the abandoned store in Warrenton, Jim and the rest of his force were combing Corbin for the illusive Amber. It didn’t take him long to get to the farmhouse where Amber and Duncan were hiding. Next stop, Jim thought, was Waynesville, and the bastards who killed his men.

* * *

Jim watched from his command vehicle as his three-hundred-man force bullied their way through the streets of Waynesville in a three-pronged assault. His own snipers neutralized the snipers who had been so deadly in their first encounter. It wasn’t to say they didn’t take losses; they did, but not much from the snipers. When they were confronted with superior forces, they up and ran, but Jim had anticipated just such a move and had an advanced guard waiting to ambush a retreating enemy. That time around, their losses were at a minimum, and Jim was proud of his genius. Of course, he neglected to tell Hector that the majority of the gang had escaped his trap and fled west into the suburbs. One of Jim’s lieutenants, a man named Oscar, came up with four prisoners roped behind him. “One of these men is the leader, Jim. So far, they won’t talk. Thought you’d enjoy a go at it.” “Indeed, you thought right, Oscar.” Jim immediately approached the first man, grabbed him by the shirt, and joyfully jammed his knife into the man’s stomach. The man screamed as Jim began to slice vertically up into his chest cavity; blood shot from his mouth as his screams turned to gurgling coughs. He struggled in vain, but his hands were bound tightly behind his back. His intestines spilled onto the brittle grass. Jim gutted the man, as a hunter would dress a freshly killed deer. Finally, his eyes clouded over in death, and he plopped onto the hard ground. Jim was breathing heavily when he’d finished with his kill. He walked up to the next man who was babbling frantically about the man behind him being the

leader of the gang. “So this is the man!” Jim bellowed. “Crucify him with the rest of the captives. And bring the women to me.” “Excuse me, Jim, sir,” Oscar regarded. “But the professor always kept several prisoners to our ranks so the empire could flourish. I mean no disrespect, but it would replenish our losses.” Jim drew his pistol and shot Oscar in the face. Oscar put his hand to his face, staggered a few steps, and then fell onto the ground. How dare he compare me to that lousy professor.

* * *

Duncan left the safety of the hidden rooms to venture outside, see if the professor’s men had left. The place looked deserted enough. They couldn’t stay cooped up behind the walls indefinitely. Edward and Casey needed some fresh air; they both were in bad shape. Not to mention their food supply was running short, and their hidden SUV sat full of provisions. That was on the assumption the crazies hadn’t found it. It was going to be tricky; meaning by the looks of things, the gang had been moving south, which also meant they would be coming back through Corbin on their return trip. “What do you think, Duncan?” Amber asked. “Well, I don’t see us driving out of here anytime soon. The place is probably crawling with crazies. I say replenish our supplies from the SUV, head west and then south. Perhaps we can avoid the crazies altogether. Whatever happens, we don’t want to end up in Waynesville or a similar city.” Duncan stared toward the road where they hid the SUV. “Looking from here, it doesn’t appear the SUV was disturbed. I say wait until dark then move west.” “Sounds like a plan, Duncan,” Amber said.

After dark, the foursome moved to the still hidden SUV, stocked up with supplies, and then moved west through the woods. A few hours later, from a ridge that ran west then veered south, they halted and watched the scurrying around of the professor’s men down below as they retreated from Waynesville. And standing in the bed of a pickup truck, giving orders, was Jim Miller himself. “I’d like to kill him someday,” Duncan suddenly said. “You and me both,” Amber answered. “The professor would never have the likes of him looking for us. I fear for Alec’s life, Duncan. I do hope he has escaped.” “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Edward said. “But a few scavengers came by a few days back and told us the great professor had been overthrown and crucified in front of his headquarters. They’d escaped from Jim Miller’s harem of slaves before he could kill them.” He took a deep breath, stared over the ridge, and said, “Seems that the professor took his own life before Jim Miller could get to him. Sorry, Ms. Amber.” She looked at Duncan, tears in her eyes. “But he said he had a plan! Alec was a genius. He couldn’t have been outsmarted by the likes of Jim Miller.” Duncan walked over and took her into his arms. “The professor had done some pretty cruel things as leader of the gang. Perhaps that was his plan. From what you told me, he was starting to heal from the effects of the nanobots, which would mean his conscious would be tormented for what he’d done. I’m sorry, babe, but it looks to me he wanted to die.” Her cry of despair was heartbreaking. Amber was crying onto his shoulder. She looked up at him. “He was our only hope, Duncan. He was a genius who could have led the fight to control those nanobots. No one knew more about the nanobots than him. Is this the world we’re stuck to live in for the rest of our lives? God, this can’t be happening!”

* * *

Dr. Russell Thomas was a full-headed gray-haired man of sixty-six, who had dull blue eyes and hanging jowls of a hound dog. When he wasn’t in his lab coat,

he always wore a canvas hat with matching suit coat and tie, a likable fellow to the average person. His two children were grown and lived out of state. His wife, who along with Russell refused to take the nanobot injection, died from ovarian cancer several years before. In a way, Russell wished they had both taken the nanobot injection. She would still be alive. But of course the downside would be they’d both be hopelessly insane. Still, there would have been twenty years of healthy living between then and now. Would it have been worth it? Probably not. They both could have very well died the most hideous death imaginable. Russell had never had the injection of the nanobots until he had personally perfected his new nanobots. Well, nothing was perfect, but he was confident the new nanobot programming could not be altered by any solar disruption or any disruption that Russell could think of. Now he was in a secure laboratory with several of his colleagues working on reprogramming nanobots in a host volunteer, a man called Greg. So far, the experiments were successful, Russell thought. Now that the radiant solar energy has dissipated, the influence on the nanobots have also dissipated, but the nanobots seem to have liked their new programming and weren’t returning to normal on a grand scale as Russell would have liked. The subject he had on the table was a very enraged individual responsible for multiple homicides, but after injecting him with preprogrammed altered nanobots, he became normal in a matter of days. Docile and guilt-ridden, Greg wanted to commit suicide, but with the proper medication and with the help of the two psychiatrists, he was starting to realize it wasn’t his fault. Russell was bombarding a second patient and a third patient with ultrasonic waves generated by a special computer. The new nanobots were injected into the bloodstream where they immediately began constructing nanofactories to produce nanobots that would be controlled by ultrasonic signals from the computer, signals having a frequency far above the human ear’s audibility limit. So far, the experiment was a success. The destructive nanobots, having lost their incensed behavior from the loss of the heavy assault of electromagnetic radiation from the enormous solar flare from the sun, could now be turned off simply by pushing a key on the computer keyboard. However, it could only be done so far with individuals in a stable environment. As far as Russell could figure, the entire globe was without proper energy to render the nanobots harmless. His laboratory was set up in a matter of days and was protected and secured by a multitude of enlightened uninfected college students who had painstakingly

assembled the laboratories from the equipment located in the Medical Science Building on campus. The power source was twin generators in the basement where they were located in the secluded observatory on Hodgeman’s Peak. Dr. Thomas removed his glasses and massaged his temples. He could feel a headache coming on. Russell was never in on the nanobot hysteria, just didn’t want to live forever. It was amazing the kids could find as many uninfected doctors as they did. They could very well have saved humankind. The new nanobots were engineered to use natural body sugars and oxygen for propulsion and had biochemical or molecular parts, depending on its task. These particular nanobots were designed to repair any damage to the prefrontal cortex and amygdala, and then communicate to the altered nanobots, thereby rendering them harmless, giving the computer’s ultrasonic signal time to turn them off. The manufactured nanobots from the new nanofactories would in turn attack the rogue nanobots that were attacking the gene that codes the monoamine oxide A, which metabolizes the brain chemicals. After several days, the patient returns to a normal state to be treated with medication and therapy relating from the guilt associated with committing atrocities upon loved ones and friends. It was going to be a long and tedious process, Russell thought, but necessary. The nanobots that Russell was working with were smaller than a single living cell. He was also working on a new-generation of nanobots that could selfreplicate and were smarter than previous generations, an experiment he was sure would continue forward. Some of the researchers Russell was working with were specialists from nanophysics to microfabrication, both sisters to medical nanotechnology. Russell’s area of expertise was biomedical engineering. Where the two other subjects were concerned, they seemed to be responding normally. At first, Russell and his counterparts were sometimes fooled by fastthinking individuals affected with the nanobots, fooled into thinking they were making progress only to succumb to violent attacks. Eventually, they were able to detect such deception and deal with it accordingly. There were a dozen successful cases so far, forcing the students to venture out and obtain more subjects for conversion. It was dangerous work, but the students were more than sufficiently armed. Russell put the figure at about fifty motivated

students who had to be careful; no one wanted to reveal the secrecy of the laboratories. The vicious gangs would love to get their hands on a prize such as Hodgeman’s Peak. A young man called Clinton walked into the room, a handsome youth who reminded Russell of himself when he was younger. “Doctor? We have another batch of subjects.” “Subjects? Yes, that is the way we look at them, eh, Clinton. We must never forget no matter how ruthless, they’re still humans who once had feelings such as ours. And how about when we cure them, Clinton? What should we call them then?” “After we cure them, I’ll call them human, but until then, they’re nothing but animals to me. The killings they’ve committed were inexcusable and should be punished.” Poor Clinton, Russell thought. His own father, who almost killed Clinton, had killed his mother. Clinton escaped with his life but had been very bitter. “How many this time, Clinton?” Russell asked. “A dozen. Ten males, two female.” “Two women, eh? Let’s have a look at them first, shall we?” Russell followed Clinton out the door and down some steps leading outside to a makeshift holding area. There were fourteen people in all: eleven men, three women, where the women were kept separately for fear of rape or even murder. Russell stared at the lowly group. He had no doubt the men were already planning an escape or perhaps a coup de grâce until they realized they were being handcuffed separately. It didn’t matter what they were thinking; they would all soon be on the table being injected with the superior nanobots that Russell had worked so hard to develop, nanobots that were constructed of specially designed biodegradable silicon, which helps make up the power supply, processor, transducer, and integration. After being introduced into the physical body, the nanobots would then construct microscopic nanofactories that would be operated by part-biological, partmachine nanobots, based on the same principle as acting bacteria, except taking

ultrasonic commands from a computer. The result would be a fully mechanical, voice-programmed, microscopic machine capable of performing a wide array of useful functions. It would be very exciting times if it weren’t for the behavior of the in-place nanobots wreaking havoc on the prefrontal cortex, driving people insane, so to speak. Taking a deep breath, Russell willed himself a clear head; at least that was his intention until the headache came pounding back with a vengeance. He tried to ignore the pain. The women were in a cage by themselves, the only temporary accommodations available until such a time when they were prepared for conversion. Russell didn’t like it, but it couldn’t be helped for the moment. They all three were crying, but were they really scared to the point of weeping or was it just a hoax to get what they wanted? Who could tell? “It’s all right, ladies,” Russell soothed, “we’re going to help you get better.” “Help us get better?” asked a woman with black curly hair. “Better from what?” “Never you worry your head about it. It won’t take long, and it won’t hurt.” “Like hell it won’t,” hollered a woman called Cathy. “They’ll rape us, I tell ya, leave our bodies in back of the building to rot! I’ll see you dead first, Mr. Doctor Man!” It never failed to amaze Russell when one of the infected lashed out at him. Oh, he could understand the scientific principle of the infection, but to actually witness it was something different. The chaos being subjected by the little buggers must be wreaking havoc on the enzyme monoamine oxidase A, thereby disrupting brain chemical levels. Violent and psychopathic behavior was the result. Women or not, he wouldn’t want to be put in the cage with them. Their ranting wasn’t doing his headache any good either. “Sorry, but I must leave you ladies pleasant company,” Russell said as he walked toward the stairs. “Where’re you going, you prick?” Cathy retorted. “Come back here!” she spat. The black-haired woman, whose name Russell didn’t know, spit at him as he walked by.

At the top of the stairs, Russell stopped and looked at Clinton. Clinton smiled at him. “Well, Dr. Thomas, they’re nice enough to talk to, but would you want to sleep with one?” He laughed and walked down the corridor. That Clinton, Russell thought, such humor. He flagged down another student who was walking by. “Drake? Can you get one of the women we brought in up to room number 3 please?” “Sure, Doc! Which one you want?” “Get me the one called Cathy.” “Sure thing, Doc. Just give me ten.” With that said, Drake went whistling down the corridor. The innocence of youth, Russell thought. He could’ve kept that youth, at least the physical part, but of course, he’d be insane by now. Walking by a medicine cabinet that held nonprescription drugs, Russell stopped, opened the door, and retrieved two aspirin. There wasn’t a drinking fountain in the immediate vicinity, but his head was killing him, so he decided to just chew the damn things; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it before. As Russell moved on, he thought again about the prefrontal cortex, part of the brain that acted as a mediator, absorbing impulses from the amygdala and deciding whether or not to act on them. People with damage to the frontal lobes were more likely to engage in impulsive acts of aggression. The human brain was a magnificent mass of electrical impulses, Russell thought. So intricate. So fragile. And to think that a century ago, doctors would surgically sever nerve fibers connecting the frontal lobes to the thalamus for the relief of some mental disorders, a barbaric act, unthinkable in this day and age. But of course, in that day and age, people weren’t committing barbaric acts on a daily basis. Suddenly, Russell found himself at the door to his room. While he was deep in thought, he must have instinctively woven his way to where; yes, he must it, he really wanted to lie down. He would just let the irate Cathy stew on the table for a while. He wouldn’t be much good anyway with the migraine he was enduring.

After entering his room, he washed down the bitter aftertaste from the chewed aspirin with a glass of water then lay down on his bunk. So much to do with so little time to do it. He needed more help and better facilities, something that was impossible at the moment. As the advancements of Russell’s experiments moved dramatically forward, it became painfully obvious he would need an even more powerful computer, one that would have to be designed from scratch in order to further his theories and continue to advance his experiments. Why couldn’t the men find someone that could help, someone with a little expertise in the field of medicine or computer technology? There had to have been numerous people on campus that could have been of use. What the hell happened to all of them? But Russell knew intuitively that they were either dead or imprisoned by the so-called professor who himself was probably a teacher on campus before the nanobot epidemic. Turning over on his side, Dr. Russell Thomas fell into a much-needed sleep.

* * *

“How do you feel, Cathy?” Russell asked. “I feel strange, Dr. Thomas. Am I on some kind of medicine?” “No, my dear, just some invisible treatment to help heal you. No medication, I assure you, just a small injection. You’re feeling the effects of reverse nanoinfestation. We’re replacing the bad nanobots with the good ones. The healing process is somewhat of a high, refreshing, so to speak.” He didn’t bother explaining that the old nanobots were dismantled and recycled in the new nanofactories, recycled into new machines with fresh programming. Almost everything was used over again, except a few layers of silicon that were broken down into fiber and ejected with the waste products, very efficient. “If this is what it feels like to heal, Doctor,” Cathy suddenly said, “give me more.”

Russell chuckled and replied, “Yes, well, a few more treatments and you’ll be as good as new.” Russell thought briefly about the black-haired woman. Brenda, he thought her name was. Foolishly trying to fool him and Clinton into thinking she was uninfected. There was no denying the annoying smirk they seemed to exhibit and the phony way they tried to suppress their aggressiveness. All you had to do was insult them in a personal way, and they’d lose it, all very elementary. Of course, Russell wasn’t naïve enough to think that he could detect any and all infected subjects. Then there were the few that were not infected. Not many survived the onslaught, but a few could act brutally enough to fool their overseers. It was easier for the uninfected to act ruthless than it was for the infected to act civil, Russell thought amusingly. He looked again at Cathy. They would have to separate her from the rest and put her in with others that were awaiting further treatments. Once he perfected his procedure, the transmission of an ultrasonic signal to the nanobots would be but one treatment. And he was so very close. The only thing holding him back was the inadequate power of the computers. Vast calculations took time, and the best computers were at the Medical Arts Building on campus. By the time the students had organized, the Medical Arts Building was overrun with infected personnel. The most gifted minds were at those facilities. What a waste! “Forgive me, Cathy,” he said, “but you’ll have to share your new accommodations with others that are recovering.” “What happens to me when I’m better?” she asked. “We’ll put you to work in one of the labs. Don’t worry. It’ll be a piece of cake.” She smiled and thanked him, and then he left. As he walked down the corridor, he ran into Clinton and Drake. “There are two strong young men.” Russell said. Confused, the two men looked at one another. “Uh-huh! What is it, Doctor, that you need two strong men for?” Clinton asked. “Well, Clinton, what I don’t need are more subjects. What I do need is a

powerful but small computer, something you can find at any electronics store. No one would have any use for one nowadays, except us. If you could sneak down to the local Electro Shop, perhaps at night, and snatch me one up, I’d be forever grateful. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, boys, but if it wasn’t so important —” “One computer, coming right up, Doc!” Clinton said happily. “Do be careful, Clinton. And please take backup.” “I’m always careful, Doc, and I always take backup.” With that said, the two young men headed for the armory to retrieve what weapons they would need for the venture. Russell prayed they’d be all right. Not just for the boy’s themselves but also for the whole project. No matter what Russell used to see on television, no man can hold up under torture, and the place was crawling with the professor’s so-called soldiers. It was something he didn’t want to think about, but he needed that computer if his experiments were to go forward. He would see them before they left. Outside the observatory, Russell looked the men over. They were quite impressive with their black fatigues and their black war paint, as Russell liked to call it. And something Russell himself hadn’t thought of … hell … he didn’t even know they had any. Silencers! Ten men with automatic weapons equipped with silencers. He was quite proud of his boys, quite proud. Their plan was to ride in vehicles down the winding isolated drive that led to the bottom of Hodgeman’s Peak then park in a secluded parking lot and proceed on foot to their destination. Clinton was six feet tall, with light brown eyes, his brown hair normally cropped short on the sides and combed into a shiny nest on top, looking more like a New York gangster than a college student. He always wore the kind of sunglasses that would fade at night and darken as the day brightened. The gold chain around his neck and the rings on his fingers added to the grandeur of a gangster. But tonight he looked like a Navy Seal going on a mission with darkened faces, Kevlar vests, and was heavily armed. Russell hadn’t thought much about the way the observatory was put together, but now that he thought about it, it

occurred to him that someone in their realm of influence had to have an enormous amount of military training to put something like that all together. If that venture worked out to his satisfaction, Russell would have to ask a few questions. As the men departed, Russell wondered who was really running things. And for the first time, he wondered how a bunch of college students managed to get the right equipment, the right place, meaning the observatory on Hodgeman’s Peak, and exactly the right chemical ingredients and combinations. Could this be funded and put to together by the military? And if so, where is the command structure? Who’s giving the orders? The more Russell thought about it, the more it occurred to him that as things went, he was giving the orders, except on military issues. That was strange. He decided to retire to his quarters, smoke his favorite pipe, and wait for the boys to come home; and then he would have a few questions.

* * *

Clinton Rodrigues, Drake Hathaway, Milan Curtiss, and seven other men slithered through the dark streets in the city of crazies. There was no moon, which was perfect for the young men because they had night-vision goggles and could see in the dark. They moved silently, single file, down Broadway Avenue, keeping to the darkest of shadows. When they arrived at the Electro Shop, they discovered a seven-man checkpoint in the middle of the intersection in front of the shop. Clinton wondered why they had checkpoints in a fortified city but figured it kept the crazies busy. He had three men circle left and three men circle right. They knew what to do on his signal. They had five minutes to get into position, after which Clinton gave the signal through his headset to each take the man on his right, one shot each if possible, thereby taking out the entire checkpoint. When the men were in position, the signal was given, and the seven-man checkpoint was fired upon. Most of the crazies went down with one shot to the head apiece, but two of them were shot in the upper chest and continued to move

about on the ground. The two men who had missed the headshots ran up to the wounded men and cut their throats. All was then quiet. Four of the young men stood on station, while the other six raided the Electro Shop and retrieved several computers, printers, and accessories. The six men had their hands full, which left four to walk point and rearguard on their return trip. It was essential that no one see them or more importantly see them return to the observatory. The observatory was located at Hodgeman’s Peak on the edge of a Natural Forest. The barren one-lane road leading to the observatory was overgrown with small trees and weeds that grew up through the cracks in the asphalt, partially obscuring the road’s existence. The group of young men had parked their two SUVs at the entrance to the park and had proceeded on foot into the city proper. Moving swiftly back up Broadway Avenue the way they had come, they made a left at Beethoven Street then to their vehicles parked in a secluded parking lot belonging to a burned-out two-story structure. No one seemed to know what business the building once housed. After that, it didn’t take them long to drive back into the park and to their refuge.

* * *

The haul of computers, and the apparatus that went with them, was just what he’d requested, Russell thought, as he inspected the new equipment. Questions he had about the military’s involvement in the facility’s setup were quickly forgotten as Russell examined the four computers that were set up on a table before him. They would do nicely. He would begin the programming and software installation immediately. Several hours later, he was programming the enhanced nanobots with the new computers in a subject who called himself Oliver. Normally, the procedure would take three transmissions to fully program the nanobots with all the language they would need to perform their functions; but with his new computers, it would take only one sitting, a miraculous leap forward. The ultrasonic signals were precise and loaded with data.

Russell breathed a sigh of relief when the final assembly code was complete. He was beat. He hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours and had a headache. After releasing the docile Oliver, Russell went to his room and lay down on the bed. Thinking about the irate woman with the black hair who tried to spit on him —he’d already forgotten her name—he wondered if he could hold his own in a room with an infected individual. A man would be out of the question, but a woman would be easier to tame, at least in theory. What would he do if he were trapped in a cage with a crazy woman? With those thoughts going through his head, he fell into a deep sleep. Russell dreamt he was fighting the crazed woman with the black hair. She had spit in his face and attacked him. Her brown eyes were bright with madness; her long sharp nails scratched at his face and eyes. He held her wrists, trying to keep her from gouging out his eyes, but she had the strength of a lunatic. She managed to free her right hand and began slapping him, jarring his already fragile brain. In his dream, he lay on his back, his head pounding from the blows she had inflicted on him. He kicked her away and tried desperately to craw to the exit of the small room he’d found himself in. She leaped onto his back and dug her sharp nails into the sides of his neck. He screamed from the pain. Grabbing two thick flaps of skin on both sides of his neck, she pulled; her enormous strength and embedded fingers ripped the skin from the sides of his neck, exposing bloody tendons and stout muscle. Warm blood gushed from the hideous wounds as Russell finally gripped the doorknob, pulling open the door. The woman Cathy immediately came through the door, grabbed Russell by the head, and pulled. Russell screamed as his head was torn from his body like the fabric on a stuffed doll. Russell Thomas woke, drenched in cold sweat, his headache pounding him like a boxer on a speed bag. He rose wearily from his bed and walked to the bathroom where he swallowed four aspirin from the medicine cabinet. The specially designed nanobots that worked tirelessly throughout his body should have taken care of what was causing his headaches, unless they were the cause of his headaches. That would be very distressing. According to the clock on the nightstand, he’d been sleeping just four hours, but

he really didn’t need much more than that. He’d gotten used to working long hours in the lab with little sleep before the nano epidemic hit, and this operation was no exception. He had to see to the external nanofactories, make sure they were working at full capacity; make sure the programming was just right. The nanofactories were encased in a special protein-enhanced gel, where the superior nanobots built previously at the subatomic level would maintain the production of Russell’s brand of automated nanobots before they were injected into the anatomical system where they would follow preprogrammed instructions to construct new nanofactories inside the body. Those factories would in turn produce more nanobots to replace the defective ones that were running rampant inside the human body. The new nanobots would do for now, but a completely new generation of nanobots were in the making. Russell was working on a creation he called assemblies, self-replicating devices that grabbed individual atoms and formed them into materials used to enhance power supplies, sensors, and onboard computers of the new nanobots, the ability to create new materials atom by atom. All major changes would take place with an injection of the new nanobots. Once injected, assemblers would be created thereby bolstering the productivity of the nanobots. Everything from then on would be programmed by an outside computer. In the end, the nanobots would need a checkup every couple of years, like a person taking a physical exam. The number of nanobots in the body’s system would be self-controlled, as would the priority of the work being performed. The result would be a younger looking, healthy individual, without the threat of the nanobots doing anything other than what they were designed to do. It would be just what the doctor ordered. Russell laughed to himself. However, as usual, the equipment was woefully inadequate, and experienced personnel were limited. Oliver, Russell’s last subject, was already being trained by Clinton and company for his eventual duty in the field, whatever that meant. It was sounding more and more like a military operation as time went by. After Russell thought about it, he really didn’t think that most of the young men were college students at all, but very well trained military personnel. Well, so be it, as long as Russell was able to continue with his work unabated. Russell was able to avoid most of the turmoil when the epidemic first started and considered himself very lucky. He often wondered what the infected other half was up to.

* * *

Oscar never did know when to keep his place, Jim thought. The bridge of his nose exploded from the impact of the bullet, pulverizing bone and cartilage, forcing fragments into the nasal cavity. Jim didn’t quite know what to make of the face shot; it couldn’t have been better with one shot. Next came Bronson, the next lieutenant in command. “Do you have any questions with my orders, Lieutenant?” “No, sir, Jim.” “Good. Now execute them like I said!” As Bronson carried out his orders, Jim decided to rape a young woman who resembled Amber Styles. Pretending the woman was Amber, he beat her gleefully within an inch of her life, raped her, and then shot her in the head. It felt good, but he got carried away. He didn’t want to get carried away with Amber. He wanted to make it last and keep her alive to bear his children. Yes, he was going to enjoy impregnated Amber Styles over and over again, if he could just catch the illusive bitch. Hell, she could be halfway across the country by then, but he had a feeling she was still close. He sent couriers to Hector to inform him that Waynesville had been pacified and a house-to-house search was in progress. As he was thinking about his next move, especially about crucifying Hector on a cross someday, one of his lieutenants entered the room he was temporarily occupying. “Sir, there are reports from Warrenton. A sniper has killed several of our men, and they’re pursuing the sniper through the forest to the southwest.” “Send a message back to the cowards. Don’t come back without him, alive, if possible.”

“Yes, sir.” Leave it to the idiots he left in Warrenton to sour his good mood. Jim stared at the battered corpse of the young slave woman that lay in the corner of the room. Well, Jim thought, things weren’t that bad.

* * *

Samuel Baker once again missed the two brats as they fled in the wake of several criminal elements and into the woods beyond. They seemed to be headed in a westerly direction toward a more populated area and food. Samuel would have to circle around the long way to avoid the criminals that were working their way toward his position. He would lose valuable time, but could pick up the little bastards’ trail on the other side of the county. The more Samuel thought about it, the more irrational it seemed. If it wasn’t for the criminals in his path, he could theoretically catch the little scum before they reached a more populated area. The kids had to be starving and running out of steam. A plan suddenly occurred to him. He knew he was being outflanked by a man to his right and left. What he needed to do was outflank or ambush the flanker, then he’d have a clear run to the west where the little felons were headed. Through his scoped rifle, Samuel could see every move the men were making. The woods were sparse leading up to his position, giving him a clear line on sight. Samuel moved off toward his right flanker, taking up a position a hundred yards down the slope. It wasn’t even much of a challenge, Samuel thought disgustingly. Well, he was going to knife the bastard and pretend it was one of the two kids. That should make him feel better. He spotted the man running from tree to tree toward Samuel. Setting his weapon down against a tree, Samuel waited for the man to work his way toward him. It

couldn’t have turned out any better as the man ran up to the very tree that Samuel was hiding behind, thinking of using it for cover. The surprised look on the man’s face was worth a thousand words as Samuel straight-armed him in the throat, snatched his weapon from him, and then jerked him up and over his shoulder, slamming him down on his back, knocking the breath from his lungs. Samuel drew the knife from his pocket and dove on the man. The man’s feeble struggle was comical as Samuel slapped the man’s fumbling hands away then stuck the long thin blade into his belly. With the man’s breathless scream, Samuel sliced his stomach open. He then grabbed his throat with one hand and began ripping off his shirt. Samuel wanted to see the tender white skin as it separated easily from the pressure of the sharp blade. As the man began to catch his breath, he screamed loudly and struggled violently. A couple of solid kicks to the face slowed him down enough so that Samuel could finish peeling back the chest skin. He was making too much noise and was taking too much time. Samuel had to cut his fun short by cutting the man’s throat. With the man convulsing on the forest floor, Samuel picked up his rifle and ran straight down the slope until he was on the property of the old farmhouse. Bullets were exploding the ground around him as the men on the slope discovered their mistake and began firing at him, but he continued to run around the barn and into the wood after the two kids. The men on the slope, fearing Jim Miller’s wrath, decided to hightail it south and abandon the chase. Screw the murdering bastard, they thought. He never let them have much fun anyway.

* * *

With reports of Jim Miller’s men dying and deserting, Hector figured it was time to rid himself of Jim Miller. He would crucify the sorry bastard in front of Hector’s headquarters as an example for the others. You don’t fuck around with Hector Macalister. At the same time Hector was contemplating Jim’s destruction, Jim was planning to overthrow the arrogant Hector Macalister.

* * *

With Jim Miller’s men scouring the area, Amber Styles and company couldn’t drive the SUV. At least it wasn’t discovered by his men. It would be a valuable haul of food, weapons, and ammunition. After loading up everything they could carry, they headed west, away from the prying eyes of Jim Miller.

* * *

Back at headquarters, Jim began his planned coup de grâce of Hector Macalister and the present regime. Jim was under no illusion. If the grab for power failed, he’d be tortured and crucified. But Jim was confident. He wouldn’t have been planning such a bold move if he weren’t sure of the outcome. Bronson Tiller, Jim’s lieutenant, came into his headquarters and informed him that the power grab had begun. The only reason Jim had so much for his takeover was because it was well known that he let his men have their fun, regardless of the consequences. The nanobots’ attack on the prefrontal cortex was making the men into vicious sadists, something that had Jim’s full .

“Kill all of Hector’s bodyguards,” Jim ordered. “And bring that lowlife Hector to me!” “Yes, sir!” Bronson replied. But he didn’t move, just stood there smiling with his gun trained on Jim. “What’s the matter with you, Bronson? What’s the meaning of this?” “Sorry, you fucking animal! But Hector had promised me a command of my own. You’ll come with me, Jimmy Boy. Hector wants to have a talk with you.” Oh, shit! Jim thought. He was screwed. He should have known better than to trust a scumbag like Bronson. His only chance was the gun on his waist or the knife in his boot. “Don’t even think it, Jimmy Boy,” Bronson said. “Take the gun out real slow with two fingers.” Jim did what he was told. “Now lay it on the floor.” Jim was hoping he would say just that. He bent down and lay the gun on the floor, but he raised up quickly, slipping the knife from his boot and throwing it expertly at Bronson. Bronson screamed as the pointed blade embedded itself into his chest, close to the left shoulder. Before Bronson could recover and shoot, Jim dove upon him, knocking him to the floor. Jim immediately grabbed Bronson’s gun hand and bit deep into his wrist until he dropped the gun onto the floor. Bronson was a small man, and Jim had no problem jerking him up off the floor by the shirt and slinging him into a table and chairs that sat close to the balcony. Bronson landed against the balcony’s sliding glass doors. Jim walked quickly over and opened the glass door then grabbed the dazed Bronson and dragged him onto the balcony. He would have loved to torture the traitor to death, but the urge to throw him off the balcony was irresistible. After Bronson realized what was happening, he began to plead for his life. “Please, Jim, no! Let me explain!”

“You’ve done all the explaining you’re going to do, Bronson.” Jim laughed at Bronson’s terror-stricken face as he hefted him up to the guardrail. They were three stories high, high enough to kill or cripple Bronson. “I’m going to drop you, Bronson, you little traitor.” “No, Jim, please! I can help you get Hector!” “I don’t need your kind of help. Off you go, Bronson!” Jim then shoved Bronson over the side. Bronson’s drawn-out scream was abruptly cut off when he smacked onto the concrete walkway below. Jim stared happily at the splattered blood around Bronson’s crushed skull. Then suddenly, there was banging at the door. He swallowed hard, hoping it was his loyal men and not Hector’s cutthroats. “Who is it, damn it?” “It’s me, Mace Cromwell.” “Well, mercy me, am I glad to see you,” Jim said. At least Jim had one highranking loyal subject. “What’s happened, Mace?” Jim asked. “The bodyguards have been eliminated, Jim. Hector has slipped out of his quarters and is on the run.” Jim could breathe easier now that the worst was over. “Catch him if you can, Mace. I’ve something special for Hector.” “Yes, sir! Might I add, sir, that there is fighting in the streets between your men and loyalists. It looks like a civil war, Jim.” “I see,” Jim said. Looks like the worst wasn’t over after all, Jim thought. “Are my bodyguards secure? How many are left?” “Fifty are awaiting your orders in the conference hall.”

“Excellent, Mace, excellent! Wait for me there.” After Mace had left, Jim contemplated on what to do next. The empire was in turmoil. Somehow he had to put a stop to the bloodshed, but how? If he didn’t, the army as he called it would break off into separate factions, each with its own leader. He had to offer them something they couldn’t resist. Then he thought of something. Hector had inherited over a thousand slaves from the professor. He’d offer each of the men a slave to do with as he pleased. Sending out emissaries, he called for a truce so the men could hear his speech, his offer. A few hours later, all twelve emissaries returned, which was odd. Usually, at least a few would be executed on the spot by irate soldiers. Most of the men had informed him that they would listen to his offer. He went to Hector’s quarters where a microphone and speakers were already set up on the balcony. He’d never been good at speeches, but he had to pull that one off. “Men!” he said into the microphone. “Hector Macalister was a traitor to the cause. Instead of sharing his riches with you, he horded it for himself. I’m here to undo his wrongdoing. We must stop the infighting if we’re to remain a potent force. If all of you go back to your duties, I’ll give Hector’s possessions to all of you, including my own.” He waited for the clapping and cheering to stop, then he continued. “Hector has horded over a thousand slaves and millions of dollars in gold and jewelry that he stole from the departed professor. If you stay on and go back to your duties, everything he owned will be divided among you. What do you say, men? Will we remain the most powerful force in the state and send fear to the hearts of our enemies?” A roar from the crowd sent vibrations through the building’s structure. Jim knew then that he had them; he would be their king to do as he pleased. “All right, men! The dividing of Hector’s possessions will begin immediately.” Jim moved back inside. Sweat was flowing down his forehead and dripping off his chin. He’d done it. He had to it to himself that he was scared shitless his offer would be rejected and his headquarters overrun. Jim would have been the first one to be crucified. It was close, but he had done it.

Calling Mace into his quarters, he ordered a portion of his bodyguards to gather some men and distribute Hector’s wealth as evenly as possible, including themselves. Now for the bastard himself—Hector. He started by offering ten slaves and a thousand in gold for the capture of Hector Macalister. Eventually, several of Hector’s own loyal men brought him in to Jim, hogtied to a pole where they dropped him onto the floor. Jim paid the reward from Hector’s own stash of money and slaves. “Well,” Jim said to Hector, “you were going to have me killed, were you? Crucify me in front of your own headquarters is how you put it.” “No, Jim, please! You’re making a mistake! I never was going to harm you. It was Oscar! He planned on taking over the number 2 spot. I swear, Jim, please!” Jim knew Hector had found out about him shooting Oscar. Hector just wanted to save his own ass. Even if Hector was telling the truth, which he wasn’t, Jim would kill him anyway. Taking the knife out from its sheath on his belt, he walked over to Hector, bent down, and said, “I don’t give a shit if you’re telling the truth, Hector. I’m going to peel your skin off like a thanksgiving turkey.” Jim smiled. Hector screamed as Jim ripped open his shirt and stuck the knife into his belly, not too deep. Jim didn’t want him to die too fast. He then pulled it out, stuck the pointed end of the knife up under the skin, and began to peel away a thick layer of tissue. After a while, Hector’s screaming had drawn quite a crowd into Hector’s own quarters as Jim happily continued his gruesome task of stripping one piece of skin from Hector’s belly at a time, working his way up to his chest. Then he turned him over and started on his bare back. Eventually, Hector ed out from pain and shock. “All right,” Jim said, “a couple of you men take this crybaby out front and nail him to a cross.” The mutilated, bloodied Hector was still alive when they carried him outside the main headquarters, nailed his hands and feet to a cross, and then hoisted him

upright for all to see. Jim was breathing heavily when he’d finished with Hector. He hadn’t had so much fun since he raped and murdered the woman that looked like Amber Styles. Jim figured he’d never find Amber now because being king would take up most of his time from then on. But he’d always keep an eye out for the bitch, just in case. Another thing that worried Jim was that he was the third successor to the supreme leader. How was he going to consolidate power so he wouldn’t end up like the professor and Hector? He would have to think long and hard on the subject or risk being killed himself. Jim went back to his own quarters to ponder the alternatives.

* * *

Amber, Duncan, Edward, and Casey hid in the undergrowth surrounding a fenced-in house. It looked to Amber like someone’s fortress, trying to hide from the crazies. Of course, one could only hide so long that close to the city before they eventually found you. A chain-link fence about twelve feet high and topped with barbed-wire surrounded the property. “What do you think, Duncan?” Amber asked. “Looks abandoned to me,” Duncan answered. “At least someone wants it to look abandoned. You three stay here while I check it out.” “Oh no, you don’t, mister,” Amber said. “You’re not going anywhere without me. You think you would have learned that by now.” Duncan looked questionably at Amber. It did little good to argue with the stubborn beauty. “Okay, let’s go,” he finally said. Together, they walked from the foliage into the open, looking for a place to enter

through the fence. Walking around to the front of the house, they found a locked gate. There was a huge padlock and chain securing the gate. “Well, now what?” Amber asked. “I’m going to climb the fence,” Duncan replied, “and you are going to stay put. If you get caught in the barbed-wire, you could get some nasty cuts.” “Same goes for you, Duncan.” “Better one getting tangled in the stuff than two. Besides, I’ve done this before, several times as a kid, trust me.” Amber knew when she didn’t have an argument. If she insisted on coming and were caught on the wire, she’d look like a girlish fool. “Okay, mister, but you better be careful. This could be some sort of trap.” With that said, Duncan climbed the side of the fence and very carefully worked his way over the barbed-wire at the top. Once he was past the sharp wire, he dropped to the other side. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he sprinted across the weed-infested lawn to the side of the house, where he crept to the front door. Duncan stood to the side of the wooden door and knocked. At first, there was nothing. Then suddenly, there was an ear-shattering blast as wood exploded through the front door. Luckily, Duncan wasn’t standing directly in front of the blast, but the flying splinters caught him painfully on the cheek. He knew within seconds what happened. Someone tried to kill him with a shotgun blast through the door. He almost had his head blown off and had bits of wood embedded in his right cheek. Duncan was pissed. Who in their right mind would shoot and then ask questions later? He didn’t want to kill any friendlies but would to protect his own life and the lives of his friends. “No one out here is going to hurt you, damn it!” Duncan yelled. But he was only answered with another shot through the door. That does it! Duncan thought angrily. He was going to kill the stupid shit. After the second blast, Duncan reared back and kicked the door, but the door held firm until the second and third kicks forced the locking mechanism through

the doorframe. The door flung open. He ducked to the side as another blast was shot out through the open doorway, striking the metal fence out front. That’s when Duncan went through the door with his M-16 on full automatic, spraying twenty rounds in all directions inside the front room. Once inside, he dropped and rolled, then came up firing again. Even though his ears were ringing from all the noise, he still heard someone scream. He hugged the wall and waited until his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the interior. What he saw then was a heap on the floor and a shotgun lying next to it. Whoever it was had taken a hit. Duncan could plainly see the shotgun lying a few feet from the prone figure. However, what if the person came up with a pistol and started firing? He’d have to be careful. “All right!” Duncan hollered. “You on the floor? Put your hands where I can see them!” The figure on the floor did not move. With his weapon pointed at the figure, he moved over and kicked it. Still nothing. Cautiously, he bent down and turned the person over. It was a male. No wonder he hadn’t moved, Duncan thought. He’d caught two bullets to the chest. Not more than a kid, Duncan thought depressingly. “Sorry, kid,” Duncan said aloud, “you shouldn’t have started shooting until you found out who it was.” Duncan took a deep breath. He’d have to search the rest of the house. Before continuing, he suddenly heard Amber’s voice from outside. “You all right, Duncan?” He walked to the open doorway. Amber had somehow managed to get over the fence unscathed and was standing by the porch. “I’m okay. I have to search the rest of the house. Come on up. You can watch the front room. Make sure no one comes in behind me.” Amber did what Duncan said. “Be careful, Duncan.” Duncan nodded his head and began to search the house. As Duncan searched the

house, he thought of how close he’d come to having his head blown off. His hands were still shaking. He’d also probably killed a friendly and just a boy at that. What was wrong with that damn kid? Was he that scared? Apparently, he was. Duncan tried the last of the rooms upstairs and found the door locked. Then he heard a voice. “Jimmy, darling, is that you? Open the door for your poor old mother, boy.” At the foot of the door, Duncan noticed a square wedge missing and some sort of crumbs and stains on the floor. Was the woman inside being held captive?, he wondered. And if she was, why? Apparently, it was the boy’s mother. “Answer me, boy, is that you?” “No, miss. My name’s Duncan Taylor. I’m afraid your son tried to shoot me. I had no choice but to defend myself. I’m afraid Jimmy is dead. I’m sorry.” “What? You killed my boy? You dirty rotten bastard. Open that damn door!” The doorknob began to rattle. “Open up I said!” “I can’t do that, miss, until I find out what you’re locked up for.” “Jimmy and Josh are crazy. They locked me in here to kill me when the time was right.” “Who is Josh?” “He’s my other son. Have you killed him too, you lowlife bastard?” “Where is Josh, miss? He’s not in the house.” “How do I know where he is? I’m locked up in here.” Duncan walked away from the still chattering woman, making his way back to Amber. He told her what he’d found and that Josh was missing. “Either she’s a friendly or a crazy, that’s the question,” Amber said. “It’s going to be hard to determine as irate as she is. I guess I shouldn’t have told

her about her son just yet.” “She’s his mother, Duncan. She has a right to know. You don’t have to feel guilty. It was either him or you. You had no choice.” “I suppose you’re right, Amber. It just doesn’t make it any easier. Let’s look for the key to the front gate so we can let Edward and Casey through.” After a few minutes, they found the key hanging conveniently on a hook by the damaged front door. “Unlock the gate and ask Edward to help me with the body,” Duncan said. “We’ll take it into the woods and cover it with leaves and branches.” A few hours later, when all was done, they were in the kitchen discussing the problem of the woman and her missing son, Josh; while Amber picked splinters from Duncan’s cheek that he received when the boy tried to blast him through the door. “I’m thinking Josh must have gone out after food,” Edward said, “and either never came back or will be back soon enough.” “Either that,” Amber said, “or he’s hiding somewhere in the house like Edward and Casey were.” “You’re right on both s,” came a voice from the doorway. “I’m Josh, and what are you doing in my house?” he demanded. Josh was a twenty-three-year-old young man with long blondish hair and blue eyes. His tall muscled frame was easily carried on stout legs. Eyebrows the color of his hair were located above a slightly acned forehead, and his white even smile would have been any young man’s envy. He held a 12-gage pump shotgun on the group and ordered them to drop their weapons onto the floor. They quickly complied. “What’s going on here?” he demanded again. “Where’s Jimmy?” Duncan knew he was walking on thin ice. His brother Josh could kill him for what he’d done. Duncan still had his sidearm in its holster with the kitchen table, blocking it from Josh’s sight. He didn’t want to kill another friendly. Such a

waste; plus he was also a young man. Did he really want to live after everything he’d done? Then he thought of Amber. Yes, he did want to live. He was in love, and he didn’t want to give that up. Duncan decided he’d tell the young man that he’d killed his brother, and if he made any threatening moves, Duncan would kill him. “I’m afraid your brother Jimmy’s dead. It was self-defense. I had no other choice. He started shooting through the front door, nearly took my head off. I started shooting back and killed him. I didn’t know if he was a crazy or not. I’m sorry, kid.” “The dang fool! He made the hole in the door?” Josh asked. “Yeah, kid,” Duncan said, “shot right through the door.” Duncan rested his hand on the butt of his pistol. Here it comes, he thought. “Well, Jimmy’s not my brother. He’s a neighbor from down the road. Took him and his mother in when his pa died.” Duncan let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. But he wasn’t out of the woods yet. “Jimmy was a dang fool,” Josh said. “But on the other hand, you were tresing on private property. Why did you think we had a fence put up? It was to keep people out like you.” “I just knocked on the front door,” Duncan said defensively. “We just wanted to find people like us, that weren’t infected. Believe me, son, if I knew what Jimmy was going to do, I would have hightailed it out of there.” “No matter,” Josh said. “What’s done is done. I hope you didn’t let the old woman in the bedroom out.” “She claims she’s your mother,” Amber said. “She’s no kin to me, just another infected woman from down the road. Did you tell her about Jimmy?” “Yes,” Duncan said. “She wants to kill me.”

“I expect she would kill you even if you hadn’t killed Jimmy. She’s that far gone. I expect if you people weren’t normal you would have let her out by now. If anything, just to kill her.” Josh slowly began to circle the group. If he noticed the handgun, he never said anything, Duncan thought. “Now just one more question. How did you folks come by all the supplies? Food’s kind of scarce in these parts.” “We have an SUV loaded with supplies out by Waynesville,” Amber explained. “There were too many crazies swarming around looking for us. We left the SUV hidden and came here on foot. Your house looked like a decent place to hold up for a few days.” “What’s your name?” Josh asked. Amber introduced everyone and asked if they could stay for a couple of days.

“Stand up, Amber.” Josh patted her down with one hand while he held the shotgun in the other. “Okay, Amber, go lock the front gate before anyone comes along. And get my backpack and supplies out on the front porch and bring them into the house.” “What’s your last name, Josh?” Amber asked. “My name’s Josh Wetmore, and this is my dad’s house.” Amber did what he said and came back with his supplies. “I found some goodies at the corner grocery store that ought to come in handy.” He looked at the foursome seriously. “I recon you look like honest folks. Against my better judgment of kicking you out, I’m going to take you for your word. What do you say, Duncan, are you an honest man?” “About as honest as you can get in these hard times.” “And you, Amber, are you an honest woman?” “Inch for inch, I guess I’m as honest as the rest of them. I can vouch for their sincerity. We’ve all been through a lot. We’ve seen many people killed and killed people ourselves. I can honestly say we haven’t killed anyone that didn’t deserve it or was trying to kill us.” “Okay, folks,” Josh finally said. “You can pick up your weapons. I’m glad you didn’t decide to draw your side arm, Duncan,” he suddenly said. “It would have been a mistake. I knew if you were infected, you wouldn’t be able to resist killing me, so I kept a bead on you.” Well now, Duncan thought, that was twice in one day I’d almost died. “Just a precaution, Josh, in case you decided to kill one of us, nothing personal.” “None taken, Duncan.” “Now that we have that settled,” Casey said, “can we eat something? I’m starving.” “Sure, Casey,” Josh said. “You can all make yourselves comfortable.”

“Josh? What about the lady upstairs?” Duncan asked. “You mean Penny? She’s fine as long as she’s cooped up in that room. I wouldn’t advise letting her out. She’s psychotic.” Duncan didn’t know if he’d be overstepping his bounds with his next question, but he had to say what was on his mind. “Penny will be a threat to us as long as she’s alive. You do know that, don’t you?” “I know she’s not a threat as long as she’s locked up. It’s my house, my problem. Don’t you worry about Penny.” “She’ll give us away if someone comes snooping around.” “Like you guys did?” Josh retorted. “What do you want to do, go up there and shoot an unarmed woman?” “I’m not suggestion anything just yet. I just want you to keep your options open. If it comes down to it, she might have to go.” “It’s my house, my responsibility. If it comes down to it, I’ll kill her myself.” “She also referred to you as her son.” “That’s because she’s loco. I think that’s plain.” With that said, Josh turned and walked away. Duncan didn’t quite know what to make of the young man. He doubted Josh had the guts to outright kill Penny, which had to be done eventually. Suddenly, as if reading his mind, Penny began to rant and rave. “Let me out of here you bastard! Josh, you no-good prick, let me out!” She continued her frantic babbling for several minutes until she stopped. A half hour later, she started again. Duncan didn’t know how much of that he could take. Anyone outside would be deaf not to hear her. Amber was thinking the same thoughts, as was the rest of the group. Amber hadn’t come all that way to be trapped in a house with a mad woman, who was

determined to get them killed. She had no choice; she had to say something to Josh. Josh was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of instant coffee, when Amber sat down next to him. “I know what you’re going to say, Amber. You’re going to ask me how I can drink a cold cup of coffee.” Then he smiled. Amber smiled back. “That’s not what I was going to ask you and you know it.” “I know, I know, I’ve already had a talk with Duncan about it.” “She’s going to get us all killed, Josh. You’ve been out there. You know what it is like. Someone could wander by at any time. Once they know we’re in here, they’ll come in and kill us all. The very least that will happen is we’ll be sold to the highest bidder as a slave.” “What would you have me do? If we let her go, she’ll just bring someone back here to us. I can’t kill a defenseless woman in cold blood.” “No, I don’t think you can, but we can.” Amber then thought about the encounter with Robin and Ronald Owen. Looky here, the little lady has a pop gun. And there was Carrie Fisher lying in the bathtub with her throat cut then Julia Benchers who was shot dead by Duncan. Yes, there was plenty of blood to go around. Josh hesitated a few minutes then answered. “We’ll take a vote on it,” Josh said. “We haven’t heard much from Edward or Casey. Let’s see how they stand.” Amber really didn’t know where they stood on the subject, but a vote sounded reasonable. She relayed Josh’s idea to Duncan who was in complete agreement. They all gathered in the kitchen to decide Penny’s fate. “I’ve been watching people die from the get go,” Edward said. “I’m sick of it, but on the other hand, I’ve seen what a crazy can do to a man or woman, and it ain’t pretty. I’ve seen gangs of crazies drag people from their homes, some of them raped, some are shot, and the rest get carted off as slaves. If that’s what’s in store for me if she lives, then I’ll have none of it.” Edward’s voice then took on a solemn tone. “I never thought the day would come when I’d have to make a

decision like this. If we stay here, we take the chance of being caught and killed. If we leave, then the decision on killing the woman is mute. I guess what I’m trying to say is let’s just leave.” “Casey?” Amber said. “Looks like you’re the tie breaker. What do you say?” “I understand, Amber. My decision is to let her go her own way. We’d just have to move on to another location. What difference will a few days make? She’ll be dead, and we’ll be moving on in a few days or a week anyway. It just doesn’t seem fair to outright kill her.” “I might also add,” Duncan said, “that Penny would be helpless out on the street. She could have a much slower death than we would give her.” “Everyone here knows my view on the subject,” Amber said. “I had to kill crazies to keep from being raped, murdered, or put into slavery. I’m afraid she’s just plain trouble.” Josh surprised everyone with his comment. “This is my house, and I don’t want to abandon it. I have a good setup here, and if you people go or stay, it doesn’t make a difference to me. I’m staying. If Penny’s jeopardizing my safety by being here, then she has to go. Well, that’s three votes to two,” Josh said. “I guess it looks like Penny has to die. Now we get to vote on who’s going to do it. I suppose we’d better make it quick because she’s starting her antics again. She’ll wake poor Jimmy out there if she gets any louder.” “I don’t think we have to vote on that,” Duncan said. “I’ll do it.” Amber couldn’t imagine Duncan putting another burden in his already guilty conscious. But she thought she was beginning to know a little about the man. He would rather put the burden on himself rather than soil someone else’s conscious with the guilt. In his own way, he was protecting Amber and everyone else that wanted under his wing. “Is there any objections to Duncan doing it?” Josh asked. There were no objections. “Better get this over with,” Duncan said as he started for the stairs. “I’ll go with you,” Amber said.

Duncan knew Amber wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was a real comfort, a real trooper. She didn’t want him to live through the grief by himself. By the time Duncan reached the door, the woman on the other side was in a frenzied state, cussing, hollering, and banging on the door. Duncan took the key that Josh had given him and stuck it in the lock. He pulled his .9mm from its holster and chambered a round. He turned the key and pushed the door open. The place was a mess, and it stunk. Clumps of feces littered the floor. Penny stood on her haunches like an animal, glaring at the couple. “Well, I’ll be. You come to let a poor old woman out of her cell or did you come to clean up this mess?” As she eyed the weapon in Duncan’s hand, the look on their faces, she then realized what they had come there to do. “Please!” she begged. “I’ll not make any more noise. I won’t make a sound. Please don’t kill me. I’m just an old—” Duncan shot her once in the chest. She staggered backward but hadn’t yet screamed. With what looked like one last desperate act, she lunged at Duncan, catching him off guard as she snatched at the gun. Duncan moved to his left, causing her to fall into Amber. Amber had also drawn her .357 Magnum before they entered the room and pointed it at Penny’s head. For a brief second, she didn’t think she could shoot the woman, then she closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. The report was doubly loud in the small room. Amber opened her eyes to see Penny lying at her feet with a piece of her skull missing. She vividly ed Robin Owens’s scalp hanging on the bushes. She stared in horror as the wounded woman scrambled across the floor on hands and knees, squealing something unintelligible, while dragging bloody hair and tissue behind her. Amber knew at once that she’d shot the woman’s head at an angle, blowing off a piece of her head but not damaging enough of the brain to kill her outright. She never should have closed her eyes. She suddenly was in a daze, not from anything physical but from mild shock. Everything looked to be in slow motion as she watched Duncan run up to Penny and shoot her again in the head. The whole ordeal took just over a minute. It took three shots to take down a one-hundred-twenty-pound female. The nanobots in her system must have been working overtime, Amber thought

groggily. She could feel herself being led from the room by Duncan, who sat her down in the hallway and started massaging her shoulders and legs. A few minutes later, she could think clearly. “You all right?” Duncan asked. “Yes, thank you. I got a little woozy in there. All the blood I suppose.” “I got a little woozy myself,” Duncan said. “You okay to watch the window out front while I try to clean up some of the mess.” “No, Duncan! I helped make the mess, and I’ll help clean it up.” Amber knew it wasn’t just the blood and fluid pouring from Penny’s nose and mouth. The injured woman crawled rapidly across the floor like a bleeding spider or something. “Okay, Amber. Can you help me get her outside? We’ll put her next to Jimmy.” Duncan pulled a blanket off the bed and rolled Penny’s corpse into it. Together, Amber and Duncan carried the corpse out onto the woods and set her down beside her dead son. They went back into the house, took a mop and bucket from the kitchen, and commenced to clean up the bloody scene. The piece of skull and any bloody debris that was present was placed in the blanket with Penny’s body. The mop took care of the rest. After two painstaking hours of work, they had it all cleaned up without any help from the other three. Amber figured it was she and Duncan’s idea to kill Penny, then they should be the ones to clean up the mess. Apparently, Josh, Edward, and Casey thought the same thing. It was dark by the time they were finished, so Amber and Duncan took turns sleeping. It was Duncan’s idea to keep watch because he didn’t quite trust Josh Wetmore yet. Duncan took first watch, and Amber slept. Four hours later, Amber stood looking out from between the living room curtains as a military jeep road slowly by. It stopped in front of the fence for a few minutes then moved on. It was only a matter of time, Amber thought, until some of the crazies got wise or curious as to what was behind the locked gate. Casey had been right. They murdered poor Penny, and it was only going to buy them a few days. But for

guilt’s sake, Amber had to look at it as a mercy killing. The old woman would have been brutalized on the street. It was much better to put her out of her misery than to live with her brain jumping and squirming around like a maggot in a dead carcass. The nanobots were an unseen entity, she supposed, attacking the prefrontal cortex, disrupting serotonin levels, which caused an individual to act out his or her emotions, especially aggression. Isn’t that what Doctor … Albert something … oh yeah, Albert Snider, said on national television, a direct link between the enzyme monoamine oxidase A and violence. That’s what the man said, Amber thought depressingly. For the fifth time that night, Amber checked the magazine to her M-16, ejecting the clip then reinserting it. She thought again of Penny. She never did catch her last name. The woman had a bad odor about her. Amber didn’t know if it was body odor or some odor associated with evil. Either way, she couldn’t seem to get the woman’s stink off her. Even after bathing with soap and cold water and putting on fresh clothes, Amber could still smell a slight nasty sent. She supposed it was Penny’s way of haunting her, letting her know that she wasn’t going to go completely away. Suddenly, the jeep that Amber had seen earlier came back down the road and shut off the engine in front of Josh’s house. The body of Penny wasn’t even cold yet, and we might already have to leave, Amber thought irritably. Amber quietly woke Duncan who in turn woke up the rest. They had to be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. There were four men in the jeep armed with automatic rifles and pistols on their hips, which could be seen under the moon’s dim light. Duncan was interested in one man in particular. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he could swear he saw grenades hanging from his utility belt. Man, Duncan thought, I’d love to get my hands on some grenades. They were at the gate fumbling with the big lock until one man stood back and shot the lock. The bullet that bounced off the lock must have hit one man in the foot because he howled and started jumping on one leg. “You dumbass!” the man said, “You can’t shoot that lock off. It’s too big. You shot me in the damn foot, Bruce!”

Another man asked Bruce how many grenades he had. “I got four of them, Jimbo.” “Put one under that there lock.” The man called Bruce put a grenade under the lock and then pulled the pin. They helped Jimbo around to the other side of the jeep and ducked down. A few seconds later, it exploded, blowing the lock to pieces and leaving a bent-up gate hanging by its hinges. Amber knew what was going to happen. The crazies were going to break down what was left of the front door. “Josh?” Duncan whispered. “There’s a man in the jeep. You know the layout better than we do. Can you work your way around the house and take him out?” “Yeah, I think so. I’d better get started before they come through the front door.” With that said, Josh disappeared out the back way. “Spray them on full automatic when they come through the door, Amber.” Duncan didn’t trust Edward’s aim, so he had Casey stand two windows down from the door to get a shot at the third man who they could very well miss. He had Edward watch the rear door to be sure there wasn’t any snooping around they hadn’t yet seen. When the crazies came barging through the door, the trio were ready. Duncan and Amber opened up on the two front men. Multiple bullet holes erupted across the two men’s chests, face, and abdomen. Some of the bullets were chewing up the wooden doorframe, raining debris down upon the doomed men. The impact from the powerful shells pushed the men back out the door and onto the cement porch. As Duncan had predicted, the third man had avoided the brunt of the attack and dove out of the way, ending up below the window where Casey stood. Casey Hart pointed her gun down and shot through the glass, putting a hole in the top of the guy’s head. He slumped over dead. Duncan and Amber walked carefully out onto the porch in time to see the jeep drive off squealing down the road.

“Damn!” Duncan yelled. “Where the hell’s Josh?” The first thing Amber thought was that Josh had failed in his simple mission of taking out one man. But as she stared at the ditch beside the road, she could make out a bundle of some kind. She ran down the walkway and through the ruined gate. There at the side of the road was the fourth man. Josh had killed him and had taken off with the jeep himself. Why that piece of shit! By the time Amber walked back to the house, Duncan had figured out what had happened. All of Josh’s gear was gone, and Edward lay dead in the rear doorway. Poor Edward. Everything he’d been through just to end up like that. Josh must have killed him to shut him up until he made his escape. Duncan was breathing heavily. “That son of a bitch killed Edward and got clean away! Why did I not see that coming? I never did completely trust that man. The fucking bastard!” “Take it easy, Duncan,” Amber said. “It wasn’t your fault! We all loved Edward, but we have to move. There’ll be crazies all over the place after all that noise. Everyone grab their gear!” Amber hollered. “That goes for you too, mister!” Duncan looked into her blue eyes and knew he wanted to live, if not for himself, then for Amber. He had to live to protect her. Duncan quickly gathered his gear and then ran out to the front porch. He’d almost forgotten something. The man called Bruce had them clipped to his utility belt. He retrieved the three grenades, and together they slipped out the rear door and into the night.

* * *

Russell Thomas was struggling through another one of his migraine headaches. If the nanobots were doing their job, there shouldn’t be any headaches, he thought depressingly. He thought by giving himself the new nanobot injection and treatment, he could overcome the vicious headaches that were causing him so much distress. He was desperate! Perhaps it was the new nanobot interaction

with live tissue. Yes, that could be it. However, what could he do about it? The good far outweighed the bad. Perhaps he should be thankful that was all the side effects there were. Oliver hadn’t complained of any headaches, and neither had several other of his patients, at least not yet. If the headaches persisted, he’d have to resort to something a little more potent, like Percocet. Now that Russell had the new computers programmed and functioning properly, he’d need Clinton and company to go out and snatch him some more infected people. Russell did realize it was extremely dangerous. If the local militia got wind of the observatory, they’d come swarming into the complex like locusts, looking for slaves and booty. After an hour, the aspirin did nothing to ease his headache, so he walked down the hall to a room marked Pharmaceutical. He entered. “Good evening, Alice,” Russell said. “I need something for this God-awful headache. Give me a script of Percocet.” “Sure, Dr. Thomas,” she answered. Alice Tiller was a good woman, professional too, Russell thought. Not just anyone could come into the Pharmaceutical room and demand drugs. Drugs were strictly monitored, and Alice kept a detailed of any drugs distributed. Of course, there was a limited supply of drugs. At the moment, there was an ample supply, thanks to Clinton, Drake, and Milan. She handed him the medication. Thanking her, he walked down the hall to a drinking fountain then swallowed two Percocet. He thought he’d better go back to his quarters to see how the medication affected him before continuing with his experimentation. Almost all the infected personnel at the observatory were being treated with amazing results. He now had at least ten men and women in the final stages of normalcy. They’d soon be able to integrate into Clinton’s brand of conversion. Once the treatments were complete, then the subjects were turned over to Clinton for rehabilitation, meaning prepped for military-style training. Russell inquired about the military aspect of the facility to Clinton and Drake as they sat drinking coffee in the lounge. Clinton expressed disbelief that Russell should think such a thing, and both Clinton and Drake had a good laugh at

Russell’s ignorance. “All kidding aside, Doc,” Clinton said, “there is, and have always been, a military presence at the facility. How do you think all of this was possible? Your work is very important to us, Doc. We have already implemented your breakthroughs and positive results in other facilities around the state and country as a whole. It’s going to be a slow process, but we think we can develop a potent force of uninfected personnel to help wrestle the planet back from the infection that has ravaged the land. You’re a key player, Dr. Russell. You’ll be famous. We hope that you understand and will continue to assist us.” “Well, that is interesting, Clinton. You’ll have my full cooperation on whatever you decide.” “Don’t misunderstand me, Doc. As far as I’m concerned, you’re in charge. Whatever you say goes as far as the medical aspect of the facility.” “We do need more test subjects, Clinton.” “Unfortunately, Doctor, we need more subjects before we can obtain more subjects. Meaning we need enough men to take over the local militia. There are slender pickings if we don’t.” “How many more do we need?” “I’d say twenty should do it. The local militia, as far as we know, is not d with the professor’s gang of cutthroats up north. If it was, then we’d be hurtin’ for certain.” Russell had heard stories of the professor and his cruelties. But the rumors were that he’d been deposed for a more violent leader. But he figured once it was labeled the professor’s gang, then it would always be expressed that way. Russell leaned against the table for balance. The Percocet was kicking in; he’d better get to his quarters. After he said his good-byes, Russell walked to his quarters where he lay down on his cot. He felt good, even giddy. Then for the first time in days, he realized his headache was gone. Out with the aspirin, in with the Percocet, Russell thought happily. With his headache gone, he felt the relief flood through him. He decided he would try to take a nap. Without the pain that usually accompanied

him, he fell instantly to sleep. Several days later, Clinton had combed the county and managed ten more subjects. Russell was delighted. When it came to Russell’s headaches, they were just as frequent but manageable, thanks to the Percocet. Unfortunately, the Percocet’s were quite addicting. He was losing weight, and constipation was becoming a problem, which was starting to affect his work. That would never do. At first, it was two pills to contain a migraine, and then it was three pills. At three and a half pills every four hours, he decided it was time to quit. But what of the migraines? No, best if he waited. There would be no controlling the headaches without the medicine. His work depended on a level head, not a ball-busting hammer inside his cranium. Russell woke from the nap he was taking after only two hours. It was getting harder to sleep these days, Russell thought. He hoped it wasn’t another side effect from the new nanobots or the Percocet. Today was the day he had to adjust number 3 computer. The tone pulse per second was off. Since the nanobots were programmed with ultrasonic signals, it only made sense that a change in an ultrasonic signal would slightly change the programming. Oh, it’s not to say that it would hurt anything; it would just make the nanobots less efficient. Programming nanobots was like instantly training a dog to sit or lay, but with much more sophistication. Now in his experiments, Russell has taken it one step further, to a completely new level. With one stroke of a key, the nanobot was instantly programmed to do an almost infinite amount of functions. And with nanofactories so small, they could be staffed with nanobots that could help produce the ultimate nanobot. Russell supposed that somewhere, before the deadly solar flare disrupted the nanobot programming, someone was probably working on something similar. Another unique aspect of his work was the fact that his nanobots were highly resistant to outside ultrasonic tones. An ultrasonic wave would have to be ten times that produced by the solar activity to disrupt their programming. That was made possible with the specially designed silicon shielding. Of course, there were always vulnerabilities, like a computer super virus, which could potentially wreak havoc amongst the programming. As it stood, Russell had layers upon layers of sophisticated virus protection, but he needed something fool proof, like a super virus in itself protecting the system, developing and adapting to new

threats like a cyber nanobot. That concept was interesting, and he’d already begun work on it in his spare time. Standing in front of number 3 computer, he punched in an access code and began fine-tuning the frequency of the outgoing ultrasonic signal with a software program called electromechanical frequency adjuster (EFA), which made programming a breeze. Russell had several assistants to help with the reprogramming but preferred to do the troubleshooting himself. If anything, it helped take his mind off his ongoing headaches, as did the Percocet, he laughed to himself. He took a deep breath, removed his glasses, and started massaging his temples. It was beginning to be a long day. The new subjects were highly agitated—violent. Well, thought Russell, better look at them, see which ones would be first. Another scenario Russell thought of was what if the subject was a violent individual before the nanobot disruption? Theoretically, he could still be violent after the treatment. Most violent men had a deformed prefrontal cortex at birth, which was beyond the capabilities of the nanobots to repair. How would he distinguish between the two? One theory would be that those types of personalities were the most violent of the infected ones, an interesting hypothesis. So many possibilities, so many problems to resolve. It boarded on mind-boggling. Russell didn’t have to look at his watch; the severity of the migraine reminded him to take his medication. Walking out of the computer room, he made his way to the drinking fountain and swallowed three Percocet. He made a resolution to start cutting down on the powerful drug, if his headaches would let him. Looking up, he saw Drake Hathaway coming down the hall. “You ready to inspect the newbies, Doctor?” “Yes, Drake, I am.” “This way, Dr. Russell.” A few minutes later, they arrived at the holding pens, as the younger men liked to call them. Before they got within earshot of the subjects, Russell asked which

subjects were the most violent. Drake pointed out a man called Arty Distal. Another thought had just occurred to Russell. Couldn’t a violent disciplined mind fake being the most ive of the group, just waiting for the chance to pounce? “And the most ive?” Russell asked. “That would be Mr. Jacob.” “I’ll take those two first, Drake, if you please.” “Whatever you say, Doc.” Drake and three other men whaled into the crowded cell with batons, separating the two men from the rest and then dragging them out onto the floor for questioning. “I’m Dr. Thomas. I already know your names. We’re going to do a few experiments on you, make you whole again.” “I’ve never felt better in my life, Doctor,” Arty said. “Why would I want you to put your filthy hands on me, you homo?” “You don’t have a choice, Arty,” Russell said. “Believe me, it’s for your own good. And you, Jacob, what do you say about being a subject in an experiment?” “What kind of experiment?” “The kind that will subdue your violent tendencies, make you better.” “There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t have violent tendencies. I was but a slave, held captive by that imbecile.” He pointed at Arty Distal. “Why you scumbag!” Arty yelled. “He’s lying, Doctor. He was never a slave of mine.” “Oh, but I was,” came the reply. “Take these cuffs off me, Doctor, and I’ll show that guy who’s the imbecile.” “What do you say to that, Jacob?” Russell asked.

“He abused me when I was his slave, Doctor. I don’t think he’d want to confront me in a fight. Revenge can be sweet.” “Why you … stinking liar … take these cuffs off, damn it!” “I can’t do that,” Russell said. “It wouldn’t serve my purpose to have one of you injured or killed. Let’s proceed with the treatment, shall we?” “I’m not taking any treatment. There’s nothing wrong with me!” Arty protested as Drake and his men subdued Arty and led him away to the Treatment Chamber, as it was now called. “I say the same thing, Doctor. There has been a mistake. Why would I want a treatment when there’s nothing wrong? I was a slave, I told you.” “Do you know what a nanobot is?” “Of course.” “Have you heard of the world wide nanobot malfunction?” “No!” “Have you ever had a nanobot injection or consumed any type of nanobot by mouth?” “Of course not!” “We’ll soon find out, Jacob. We’ll test you and see.” “Be my guest.” Jacob was also led away to the Treatment Chamber where a brief test was performed, and sure enough, no previous nanobots were found. “Please accept my apologies, Jacob, but we had to be sure.” “I understand, Doctor. Now what’s to become of me?” “You’ll have to stay here, I’m afraid. Too dangerous outside. We’ll assign you a place to sleep. It will be Spartan-like accommodations at first, but it will be

warm, comfortable, and dry.” “Thanks, Doctor. That’s all I ask for, but one thing.” “What’s that, Jacob?” “Can I have something to eat and drink? I’m famished.” As Jacob was shown to the cafeteria, Russell turned his attention to Arty. He definitely needed treatment. The little nanobots were crawling around inside Arty like an invading army. Well, one defined treatment would take care of it. Even after the treatment, Arty would have to be kept in a separate lockdown. Wouldn’t want him and Jacob brawling over past events. Not two hours later, Alice in the pharmaceutical room was brutally murdered, with her throat cut.

* * *

Another blasted town, Samuel thought. The kids were really going to get it when he caught up to them, putting him through all that trouble. Chances were they’d find food before Samuel found them. Samuel could also use fresh supplies. His food was almost gone. He’d gotten water from a stream an hour back. Used to be a person had to boil outside water, but since the invention of the nanobot, it made precaution unnecessary. Scanning the town from a hillside with his scope, he caught sight of the kids walking lazily down one of the streets. Why the little bastards! They must think they’ve lost me. Well, let them. I’m close you little fuckers. Samuel smiled. Real close. Samuel struggled down a steep incline until it came to rest at the edge of a town called Waynesville. Little did Samuel know that Jim’s small army had cleaned the place out a few days before. Keep going south, Samuel thought. You’ll have to turn west eventually. That’s

where the mostly unaffected establishments were located. Even the little felons probably knew that. According to his map, Waynesville was the last town for fifty miles going south. Samuel wondered if the kids had a map. He’d never seen them reading one. He would never catch them before they left town on the other side without tiring out, so Samuel ran a few hundred yards, hoping to close the gap, and then took up a position on top of a nearby building. He paid little attention as to what the building housed before the change, because the sign had been torn down mouths ago. Samuel found himself a comfortable position on the roof and then sighted down his rife until he spotted the boys crossing the street, checking out a convenience store and gas station. Samuel was getting very hungry. If there was any food down there, the bastard kids would horde it all, leaving none for him. It was too late to change strategies now, so he took aim at the kids by the door of the convenience store and fired. He saw the impact of the bullet as it blew a hole in the bastard’s collarbone area. He’d done it! Finally done it! Nailing one of the little suckers had been his top priority for weeks. Yes, he had to get down there quick. Rushing back down the stairs and onto the street, Samuel kept running until he was standing over the corpse of a young man. Samuel cursed his blasted luck. It wasn’t one of the felons. The young man was too old to be one of his preys. In a fit of rage, he pounded the man’s face with the butt end of his rifle until he crushed his nose and cheekbone. After Samuel had calmed down, he thought that some good could have come from the encounter with the young man. He was starving, and he’d have to have food if he were to track the kids west. Looking down at the corpse before him, he removed his long-bladed pocketknife. Was he reduced to a ghoul now? Yes, he supposed he was. It was those damn kids’ fault! If they would have just given up in the beginning … well … they would have been executed of course. But they hadn’t known that. Samuel bent down and tore off the dead man’s shirt and then inserted the blade of the knife into his hairy chest. That would never do. The dark hair on his chest made Samuel sick just thinking about eating something so gross. Turning him over on his stomach, he saw more hair. Slipping the man’s pants off, he

examined the thighs, still more hair. The only place there wasn’t hair on the bastard was his ass cheeks. There wasn’t much choice. He began to cut the soft flesh in a sawlike motion until he had a bloody piece of meat. Wiping off the flesh on the man’s shirt as best he could, he then stuck it in his bag that was strapped to his back. He figured he would build a fire and cook the foul flesh when it was dark. He was very angry now. The little assholes deserved what the dead man got, and he was going to get them. Carving them up and eating their flesh was too good for them. Samuel started to run; he was determined to close the distance between them before dark. He knew which way they were going. They must have some sort of map because they were headed west toward the suburbs of a large city. Even the brats knew better than to venture into a nest of psychotic people. They would look for a place untouched, a place where they could get food and water. A grocery store would be a safe bet. Every time Samuel would get close to them, they’d either outrun him or some kind of bad luck would befall him. If he could somehow get in front of them again, then he could eat his fill and wait until they arrived. This time, he’d be sure it was light enough to recognize them before shooting. The only problem with that scenario was he couldn’t run that far and long before tiring out. But by God, he was going to try! By his estimate, it was four miles before the suburbs began. He was determined to run as far as he could. He had two choices: try to get ahead of them or try to run them aground. If he tried to catch them outright, he’d be too tired to pursue once he caught up with them. They’d be fresh and take off leaving him behind. No, it was best to try to head them off. Starting with a fast jog, Samuel made good time for the first mile, then he had to slow down. By the second mile, he was tired but not out of the race. He had one mile to go when he had to stop and rest. Giving himself only five minutes of rest, he was up and running down one of the roads that ran parallel with the way the kids had gone. The last mile went quickly, but when he stopped to rest, he vomited his stomach’s meager contents. He knew he was at his limit, but he was sure he was in front of them. He could now slow down a little and cut diagonally slightly south through the suburbs until he reached some sort of store or

something. There were many homes along his chosen route, and Samuel figured the large gangs from the city had killed or captured most of the inhabitants. The rest, he was sure, were hiding in their homes. How many of them had broken the law in some way? Most of them, he supposed. No one was completely innocent. Samuel glanced at the overcast sky and knew it’d be dark long before he found a suitable store or place where there was food. Let the kids camp out in the weed-infested woods. He was going to find a house with a suitable fireplace where he could cook his obscene meat. He walked down the deserted street, looking at the chimney tops, looking for one that had soot stains at the top of the brick. There were several to choose from, so he picked the closest one. The weather was warm most of the time this far southwest, and he wondered why anyone would want to build a fire. On them cold nights, he supposed. Walking up to the door on his chosen home, he knocked loudly. If anyone was home, they weren’t answering the door. He peeked through the front window but could see no movement. After a few minutes, he broke the glass in the front window, unlatched the lock, and then slid the window up. Once inside, he drew his gun and searched the house room by room. No one was home. There was no food in the house, which was the first thing Samuel had checked. He went back into the living room. There was wood stacked conveniently by the fireplace. Samuel couldn’t help wondering why there was no sign of a struggle. The house looked as if nothing had happened, and the owners would be back anytime. It was a strange situation. Even if they’d given up peacefully, the house would still have been ransacked. Oh well, Samuel had more important things to worry about, like food. Finding a couple of magazines, he lit one up and started the fire. It took several tries, but he finally had a good fire going. He pulled out the human flesh from his bag and immediately gagged. What the hell! The damn meat was already putrid—spoiled. It stunk like a dead mouse or bird. He angrily threw the worthless meat into the fire. Damn his stinking luck. How could meat go bad that quickly? He supposed it was the heat, or maybe human flesh stunk like that

anyway. The human meat that Samuel had thrown on the fire was popping, sizzling, and starting to smell good; but after a few minutes, it smelled like a burnt carcass. Not being able to stomach the smell, Samuel went out on the front porch and lay down on a swing that was attached to the roof of the porch. It was cramped but comfortable enough to fall to sleep. When Samuel woke a few hours later, he was cramped and sore. The two, almost three-mile jog had stiffened him up. He stretched his tired muscles then went back into the house. There was but a hint of stink left in the air, so he lay on the couch and slept until morning when the sound of a vehicle woke him up. At first, he thought about taking the vehicle from those who had it and using it to make better time, but driving the thing to close to the kids would only scare them away. No, best to stay on foot. Peeking out the corner curtain, he eyed two men in an SUV speeding down the street, probably some gang looking for stragglers. Grabbing his backpack, he started out the door and walked west toward where he thought the brats were headed. At about noon, he stumbled onto Smiles Superstore. What luck! He ran down to the front door and peered in. The front doors were smashed in, as if someone had driven a vehicle through it. The place had been looted, of course. But there had been food enough in a giant store to feed half the population of the city for a week. Anything of any value was gone, but the aisle ways still contained a few canned goods and bags of beans and even stale potato chips scattered about on the shelves and floor, enough to feed a hungry man. First, he had to find a can opener. Samuel grabbed a bag of stale potato chips and woofed them down as he walked the aisle, looking for a can opener. Finally, he found one next to the wine openers and kitchen utensils. He also found a box of silverware that was torn open and retrieved a spoon and fork. After that, he opened a can of vegetable beef soup and woofed it down as well. As he inspected the looted store, he found bottled water and even a twelve-pack of beer. Now that’s going to hit the spot, Samuel thought.

Suddenly, Samuel heard a vehicle out front then talking. Someone had stopped outside and was now entering the store through the front. Damn his luck! It wasn’t worth a confrontation at that point, so he ran to the back of the store and through a door with an Employees Only sign over it. As he looked around, he noticed carton upon carton of food and other items. The looters had missed a warehouse behind the store. The voices were coming closer. They were coming into the back where Samuel was. Samuel quickly hid behind a skid of toilet paper and listened to two men as they entered. “JJ wants a case of wine for the party tonight,” said one man to the other. “Yeah, leave it JJ to rustle up some fun. How many slaves do we have for the party, Lewis?” “About twenty, I think.” “Man, are we going to have fun tonight!” Then the man started singing as the two of them grabbed a couple cases of wine and headed back out the door. Samuel had hit the jackpot. It was obvious that one of the gangs had laid claim to the store, and it was also obvious that it was unguarded, probably because they had pacified the area and perceived no threat. That was a plus for Samuel. He kept his fork and spoon then flung the empty soup can into the corner. He figured himself for more time before the kids arrived, so he sat down behind some skids with his back against the wall and popped the tap on a can of beer. It was warm and flat, but tasted great. Now he had to figure out a place to spot from. After thinking for several minutes, he opted to sit on the roof until the kids arrived. The two beers he had drunk were slowing him down, but the slight buss he felt was good. Taking the beer, can opener, and his freshly loaded backpack, he found the stairs and walked up to the roof and then over to the west side. The trees were thick below him, cutting down visibility to about two hundred yards from the woods to the rear of the store where the kids should appear. The only reason Samuel came in from the front of the store was that he came diagonally toward the

southwest instead of straight. Samuel figured the doors to the rear were missing the same as the front. As Samuel waited, he popped the tap on another warm beer and chugged it down. Man, it sure tasted good, Samuel thought. How long had it been since he had a beer, two months, three? How long had he been chasing the little felons— he really didn’t —seemed like two months. The last thing Samuel ed before falling into an alcohol-induced sleep was throwing an empty can off the roof and laughing.

* * *

Samuel woke to the sound of gunshots. “What the fuck?” Damn, he fell asleep! He looked quickly over the roof’s edge to the back of the store but could see nothing, then he hurried over to the front that looked out over the subdivision. There the little felons were, running from the two men that he’d seen earlier. They were shooting at the kids. “They’re mine, damn you!” he screamed. They didn’t seem to hear because they continued to fire their weapons at the kids. Samuel hadn’t come all that way so two strangers could kill his prey. No, sir, he’d put a stop to that! He aimed his scoped rifle down at the two figures in military fatigues. They were standing still, giving Samuel an easy head shot. His first shot went through the side of the guy’s head, splattering blood and tissue on the man next to him. The man stood and stared in disbelief as Samuel also shot him in the head. He dropped dead on the spot with a round through the eye and out the back of the head. Then Samuel aimed for one of the kids, but he was moving fast through someone’s side yard. He took a couple of careful shots, kicking up clogs of grass around the boy’s feet, but failed to make a hit. Both boys disappeared behind a house but didn’t come back out into the open, which meant they were taking a breather. It was a long shot, but the only one he had. If he waited on the roof for another shot and missed, then valuable time would have been wasted. If he started after

them immediately, there was a chance he could catch them before they ran again. He picked up his gear and ran down the stairs, through the front doors, and toward the house where he’d last seen the kids. When he rounded the house, the yard was empty. What the hell! He stopped to try and figure out where they’d went. Looking at the house’s back door, he wondered if they would be stupid enough to hide in there. Had he finally run them to ground? Walking up to the back door, he tried the knob, locked. He stepped back and gave the door a vicious kick. It busted the lock off the frame, and the door swung open. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, you little bastards!” Samuel yelled. “Please, mister, we don’t want no trouble!” came a kid’s voice from the ading room. He had them! He couldn’t believe it himself. After all this time! “You are charged with felonious assault on a police officer,” he yelled back. “How do you plead?” He heard crying; why the little bastards were cowards after all. Well, he was going to make them suffer for what they’d put him through. Samuel sat his rifle against the wall and pulled out his knife. He was going to get the little fuckers and feast on their dead flesh. It was dim in the ading room, so Samuel called out. “Come out where I can see you, and you won’t be harmed,” Samuel lied. Any second now and Samuel would pounce when they came through the door. But wait! What if the little bastards were armed? He never had seen them with a weapon, but it didn’t mean they didn’t have one. Samuel hadn’t survived all those years as a police officer being stupid. No, he’d wait to use the knife; first, he had to subdue them. He put the knife back in his pocket and picked up his rifle. The crying in the other room continued.

“I’m going to count to three. If you don’t give yourselves up, I’m going to kill you both. One—” “Don’t move, mister!” came a voice from behind him. Samuel froze. “I said we don’t want no trouble. Leave us be! Jesse?” hollered the kid. “You can come out now.” The crying suddenly stopped, and a kid appeared in the doorway. Damn if I hadn’t been suckered, Samuel thought angrily. “Shoot him if he moves, Drake,” said the crying kid called Jesse. “I got the gun on him. Just shut up!” “What do you want, mister?” Jesse asked. “Why have you been chasing us clear across the state? What have we done?” “You’ve both committed a felony, son. You broke the law, and now you must be punished.” “We broke no laws that I can see, mister, ’cept trying to get away from you. Now drop that gun, mister. Drake, tell him to drop his gun!” “Drop your gun, mister!” Drake cried. Samuel did not intend to drop his gun for them two little punks. “Okay, okay, easy, boys. I’ll drop my gun if you quit pointed that gun at me. It might accidently go off, okay?” “Don’t do it, Drake!” Jesse said. “He’s been trying to kill us from the get-go. He’s trying to trick us. Shoot him, Drake! He’s going for his gun! I said shoot him, damn it!” Samuel wasn’t going to play with them little bastards any longer; he was sick of it and sick of them. He had them now! He raised his gun quickly, but the kid had already fired his pistol, striking Samuel in the side. Samuel grunted his surprise and fell to one knee then opened up on full automatic, but the kids had already ducked out of sight.

No, it can’t be! Samuel thought desperately. They’re not going to get away this time. He forced himself forward to the front room. He didn’t know where they went, so he staggered out the front door and onto the porch. “There he is, JJ! That’s the one with the scope,” said a man wearing army fatigues. Samuel looked toward the street. There were at least six armed men staring at him, and he was badly wounded. He didn’t know how many bullets he had left in the clip after spraying the room. “Kill the bastard!” ordered the man called JJ. “I want that scope!” As quickly as he could, Samuel inserted a fresh magazine with bloody hands as the first bullets began to tear up the house’s wooden siding. He fell to the cement floor of the porch as he let loose with a barrage of his own, cutting down the man called JJ and another man beside him. He screamed as his leg suddenly jumped from the impact of a .223 round. “Bloody fuck!” Samuel lost track of the other four men as they dove for cover. Another bullet struck the wooden banister next to his head, stinging his face with wooden debris. He rose up and tried to drag himself through the door and back into the front room, but another stinging pain jolted his lower neck. Dropping his rifle onto the porch, he slumped over. Too much effort to move; gun was too heavy. Samuel breathed his last breathe as a well-placed round hit him in the back. Samuel Baker was dead as the other four men rejoiced. They had what they came for, the scoped rifle. They approached the dead Samuel as one of the men spoke. “Why you hit the blamed gun, you idiot!” The other three men gathered round. Sure enough, the rifle and scope had been hit with at least two rounds, rendering the weapon useless. The four men cussed and hollered at each other until they reached their SUV then sped off without searching Samuel’s bag, which held an extra scope. The crows were already picking at the bodies of JJ and the other man when the two kids came out from the house. They stared down at the corpse of Samuel Baker. The crazy policeman was finally dead. Their grueling run from the law

was finally over.

* * *

Duncan, Amber, and Casey escaped through the woods just as the local militia was pulling up in front of the fenced-in house. They made their way south, staying mostly in the woods but always staying parallel to the interstate. There were always some sort of food supply close to the interstate, but the trio stayed away from any overly populated areas for fear of the crazies. As they walked, Amber’s thoughts went back to Professor Alec Simms previously of biomedical engineering and how he suddenly started to revert back to normal. By some freak of nature, were the nanobots dying off? Why weren’t other people affected in the same way as the professor? Was it just his natural resistance to the nanobots, or perhaps his own natural immune system decided enough was enough and started killing off the rogue nanobots? So many questions, but no answers. After a while, they came upon a weed-infested overgrown rest area with a ramp to and from the interstate. Apparently, no one bothered to come that far out from the city. The snack machines and pop machines were still fully stocked. Duncan had been in a foul mood the last few days ever since the murder of Edward Mosley. He blamed himself because he trusted Josh to do the right thing. Duncan used to believe in team players, but that proved to be just an illusion. There were no team players when one never knew who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. One had to trust in his or her instincts, which Duncan’s instincts failed miserably. Amber wished there was something she could do for him, but the healing process had to run its own course. Out of frustration, Duncan blew the locking mechanism apart on the snack machine with his M-16. “There!” Duncan said. “That done it.” They stocked up on stale snack cakes, candy, chips, and bottled water. They

stuffed their packs with everything they could carry and only put a dent in the well-stocked machines. Amber would have to the place if she ever came back that way. The days turned into weeks until they finally found a suitable refuge. A twostory building housed a burnt-out hardware store on the first floor and an apartment on the second floor that was virtually untouched. The small town was called Masonville. It was located south of the old Georgia state line. The place had been looted like most places; but valuable structures, like the grocery store, Drug store, and even another hardware store seemed intact and well stocked. After making themselves comfortable, Amber voiced her concern. “Looks like someone was trying to fool the crazies into thinking the place was deserted.” “What do you mean?” Duncan asked. “I mean look at the place. Most every building has been burnt to a degree, but the essential ones are still stocked with food and drugs.” “If that’s true, Amber,” Duncan answered, “then they went to a lot of trouble to keep it secret. They might not like us prowling around. We might be in a dangerous situation here.” “Maybe we should move on,” Amber said, “and sneak back down after dark and take what we need.” “I don’t know about you two,” Duncan added, “but I’m just about petered out.” “Me too,” Casey said. “I just want something to eat and a little sleep.” “I think the good people of Masonville can spare us a little sleep and some grub. I’ve about reached the end of my rope. After all we’ve been through, I’m expecting a little kindness from someone. It might as well be the people of Masonville. Besides, we have the firepower to take what we want.” Duncan then raised his shirt to reveal three hand grenades clipped to his belt. He smiled. “You can thank the good old boy Bruce for these little babies.” Oh, boy! Amber thought. That’s the last thing Duncan needs in his state of mind.

With Duncan’s insistence, they stayed on in Masonville. It was the third day when someone finally confronted them. Several heavily armed men arrived below the apartment window and hollered up at them. “You in the upstairs room! Show yourselves!” Duncan was the first to stick his head out the window. “It’s about time you guys showed up. I was beginning to get a little worried.” The seven confused men looked at each other, not knowing what Duncan meant. “That’s right!” Duncan continued. “We knew this place was occupied. We’ve been on the road long enough to tell one from the other.” “That’s beside the point, mister,” said the obvious spokesman. “We don’t take kindly to strangers, especially crazy ones. You pack up your belongings and get out of here!” He looked at the other men around him and smiled. “Or we’ll kill ya!” Oh, shit! Here it comes, Amber thought. “Is that a fact?” Duncan retorted. Duncan placed his M-16 on the window ledge, pointing at the group of men on the street. “You with the big mouth, anything happens and you get it first! The rest of you men better step away, unless you plan on taking a bullet for him.” As Duncan took aim, the rest of the men began to slowly back away from the spokesman. “Now wait a minute, mister! You shoot me and you might as well sign your death warrant. We have thirty two of us still alive, and we mean to keep it that way.” “I’m not here to take over your town,” Duncan said. “And we’re not infected. We’ve been on the run for weeks, and we want a little hospitality. That’s all!” “Once you get out of here, what’s to keep you from telling every varmint around ?” “We’re just trying to survive,” Duncan said, “same as you. We need a little rest and food. Then if in a few days you still want us to move on, we will. Your secret is safe with us. I give you my word.”

The men gathered around each other and began whispering. Finally, the man spoke, “We’re not the only ones that have a say in what goes on. We’ll take a vote on it and see if you can stay a few days. We’ll be back, and there just might be more of us. I personally would just like to kill you all and be done with it! That would guarantee our secret.” “And how many are willing to die for you? We’ve been through every kind of terror a man or woman has a right to. I’ll guarantee more deaths than you can handle. Then who’s going to protect your women folk?” They then turned and walked down the street, whispering to one another. Duncan turned to Amber and Casey. “Well now I think that went pretty good.” Amber didn’t know if it was good or not, but she hugged the handsome brute just the same. The following morning, the same group of men approached them from the street. “Hey, up there!” “We’re here, mister. What have you decided?” Duncan asked. “For the sake of bloodshed, we’ll give you three days, then clear out. If anyone comes snooping around, stay low until they’re gone. There’s no sense drawing attention to ourselves.” “Okay,” Duncan said, “three days it is.” Later that day, they gathered supplies they would need on their future journey, but it was cut short by the arrival of three armed men in a jeep. They all managed to make it back to the apartment unseen. Amber was keeping a close watch while Duncan sat leisurely in a comfortable chair, drinking a beer he’d picked up at the local grocery. After a few minutes, Duncan spoke. “What are they doing now, Amber?” “They seem to be searching for something in the building next door. What are

we going to do if they come to our apartment?” “They won’t.” “And what makes you so sure?” “It’s a test, Amber. The townsfolk are testing us to see if we’ll turn on them. If we do, then they’ll kill us immediately. I would do the same thing if I was in their shoes.” Amber was impressed. What had the man been eating lately? Whatever it was sure gave him a level head. She guessed he decided that guilt-ridden grief just wasn’t healthy. After an hour, the men drove off. Amber turned around to say something to Duncan, but he was fast asleep. Well, I’m glad he has no worries, Amber thought. Amber lay on the floor next to the chair he was sitting in and fell asleep. When she woke hours later, she found herself in one of the beds. Duncan must have carried her there. Was she exhausted or what? Two days had ed when Duncan brought up the idea of staying. “You told them,” Amber said, “that we’d leave in three days. Why are you talking about staying?” “It was just a thought. We could, you know, stay. It’s a free country. What could they really do about it?” Here Amber thought the man had a level head. Now he was talking about killing people, terrorizing them so they could stay. “Duncan, I love you, but we’re not going back on our word. We told them we would leave, and that’s what we’re going to do. Do I make myself clear?” Wow, Duncan thought. He didn’t see that coming. Well, she is the love of my life. So be it. To Amber’s surprise, he said that if that was what she wanted, then he’d go as planned.

“I’m not bucking your authority, Duncan. You’re the man in charge as far as I’m concerned. I just think it would be bad karma. Bad luck! Do you understand?” “Perfectly, Amber. But I never said we were staying. I just suggested it to see what everyone’s opinion would be. I don’t give my word easily, and I’ve never broken it. So what do you have to say, Casey?” Casey looked up in surprise. “Who me?” “Yes, you. Have you been listening to what we were saying?” “No, I guess not. I’m in my own little world, I guess. Well, yes, I guess I agree with Amber. If anything to avoid bloodshed.” Amber was starting to worry about that girl. She had been awful quiet since they had left Josh’s fenced-in house. She could kill quickly enough if she had to. And Amber couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something was wrong. “Is there anything you want to tell us, Casey?” Amber asked. “What? Who me?” There she goes with that “who me” business again. “Yes, you! What the hell’s wrong with you lately?” “I … don’t know how to tell you guys … it’s just that … well … I think I’m pregnant.” “What? You’ve got to be kidding me? Pregnant? How?” “Well … it was Josh … we sort of … you know?” “Oh, shit!” Amber looked at Duncan who didn’t look none too happy. “How could something like that happen? What’s wrong with you?” Amber regretted the words as soon as she’d said them; the poor girl needed , not ridicule. “Listen, Casey, I’m sorry. I had no right to talk to you like that. It’s just that … I mean what are we going to do?” “I can take care of myself. I don’t want to be treated any differently.”

Duncan had been strangely quiet since Casey sprang the news. Finally, he had to speak his mind. “All I can say is that I hate the son of a bitch more than ever. If I ever see him again, I’ll kill him. Is that perfectly clear, baby or no baby!” “From what he did to my friend, if I ever see him again, I’ll kill him myself! I have no love for the bastard!” She started to cry. “Edward was my only friend in this upside-down world. I swear I’ll kill the bastard!” “That’s good enough for me, Casey,” Duncan said. It wasn’t long until the day arrived for them to leave. They packed up their gear and started out the door. Duncan had several conversations with the tenants of Masonville as did Amber while they were forging at night for supplies. They seemed like nice-enough folks, and Duncan couldn’t blame them for wanting to keep the place secret. Duncan supposed, in a way, he envied the townspeople. There was some degree of normalcy that Duncan had not found since the calamity began. He was quite impressed. When the trio walked out onto the street, there again were armed men and women. Duncan supposed it wasn’t unusual for everyone to go about carrying a weapon. But he did wonder if they would let them leave at all. The same spokesman came forward again. “Duncan? We’ve come to a decision.” Here it comes, Duncan thought. “We’d like you folks to stay on if you’ve a mind to. We could use some good people like you and the knowledge you have from roaming the country as you have. Maybe you could give us some pointers on how to better conceal our whereabouts. I mean you folk made us, which means if the wrong people come snooping around, they could discover us too.” “Well, I’ll have to talk it over with my friends here,” Duncan said. “Whatever we decide, I can still give you some free advice, and that’s to board up all the windows to the buildings that have supplies in them. And set fire to a couple more of the buildings, make it look like just another burnt-out town.” Duncan looked at the bunch of scared and desperate people and felt sorry for them. He ed the spokesman as a man called Newton.

“Excuse me, Newton, while I converse with my friends.” Walking a short distance from the group, Duncan said, “Well, Amber, Casey, what do you think?” “I for one think it’s a grand idea, Duncan,” Amber said. “I haven’t felt this safe since before the crazies appeared.” “I’m for staying too,” Casey said. “I don’t feel much like traveling.” “I too think it’s a good setup,” Duncan said. “We could live out here indefinitely, away from all the dangers we would normally face.” He took Amber’s hand in his. “And if anything, I want you and Casey to be safe. I consider ourselves fortunate to have found such a location. All right, it’s settled then. We stay!” Duncan informed the group of people of their decision to stay. They seemed relieved. Newton quickly shook Duncan’s hand. “Welcome to Masonville!” he said. So as time went on, Amber and Duncan got married by an honest-to-God minister who lived in the community. Casey had her baby girl and found a good man who accepted them both. Things were finally looking up. Duncan still harbored hatred in his heart. He wasn’t going to ever rest until he put Josh Wetmore in a grave. There in Masonville is where they wanted to stay, but no one knew what fate held in its trembling hand.

* * *

Jim Miller liked doing things with his hands, like when he strangled his partner, Ken Meyers, to death with his bare hands and when he skinned that pussy Hector. He felt the power when he used his hands, as if some part of Ken Meyers was being drained from some unknown entity and pulled into his own body. Was

that possible? Probably not. But there was definitely something to killing with one’s own hands. Jim thought again how he could avoid a coup de grâce in his own power. There were a dozen men of rank who could potentially make trouble for him. If he had them all killed as he’d planned earlier, then there’d be twelve more to take their place, if their followers didn’t declare an all-out war. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. What to do? After a few hours of thinking, he thought he had an answer. He would offer rewards or bounties on the organization’s richest with their fortunes to be divided among the men who killed him. That way, he’d keep most of the men satisfied and at the same time distribute the wealth. It was the best he could come up with. Mace Cromwell seemed like a man Jim could trust, never once questioning his orders and always by his side with good advice. What Jim knew of the man was that he was ex-military who had helped slaughter the remainder of his battalion after the uprising. He then came over to the professor’s gang and had always stayed loyal to Jim himself, not the professor, not Hector, but Jim. Yes, he was a real ass kisser, Jim thought. But as long as he kissed Jim’s ass, he would be safe. Jim summoned Mace to his quarters. “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” “You can start by knocking off the sir shit. Call me Jim.” “Okay, Jim, whatever you say.” “I want you to offer rewards to any group of men that can kill Tommy Roadster and Billy Bradshaw.” “They’ve got lots of money, Jim.” “That’s the point. The men can divide up their money plus the reward.” “What if one of the wealthy men puts a bounty on you?” Mace asked. “That’s why we have to kill them off before they figure out what’s happening. We’ll kill Tom and Billy for starters then work our way down the line. The same

goes for all of them. They get to keep the wealth plus the bounty. Okay, Mace, you better get started.” After Mace left the room, Jim took out a sheet of paper with twelve names on it, twelve men with the most gold, slaves, and jewelry. He checked off Tom and Billy. They were as good as dead. But what about himself? He was giving all his eventual tribute money away to consolidate power. But of course when things were back to normal, he’d take it all back by demanding tribute from the various factions. His wealth would grow, and there’d be no one rich enough to depose him, at least no one that would dare try. With all the money and power, there’d be no one left to stand in his way. Then he would move farther south and consolidate more territory. The only one who’d come close to Jim in rank would be Mace, but he’d always kept Mace under his boot heal so he’d have little money and few slaves. Now that he thought about it, Mace didn’t care much about either, which made him an ideal right-hand man, someone he could depend on. But no matter how loyal the man could be, Jim would have to dispose of him someday also. Being Jim’s main man meant that he himself would automatically consolidate power just by carrying out Jim’s orders. But that was a worry for another day. It didn’t take long for his followers to take care of Tom and Billy. His men had crucified them both and confiscated their property. So much for loyalty, Jim thought amusingly. From what Jim heard, they both went out screaming for leniency. Jim couldn’t stand a coward. With most of the pressing matters taken care of, Jim thought again about Amber Styles, the one bitch that got away. He had sent out feelers weeks ago trying to pick up her trail, but she and that scum boyfriend of hers must have been hiding out somewhere south. Hell, he’d give a thousand gold and most of his slaves to have two hours with her and her boyfriend. Man, what he would do to her. He was getting himself aroused thinking about her; he had to have some fun to get his mind back on track. Looking down at his list, the next man in line was Sammy Doolittle, another scum fuck that he was going to take care of personally. He picked up his hand-

held radio and called for Mace. Within minutes, Mace was knocking at his door. Jim wanted to know who was going to take out Sammy. “Tate Manning and his crew wanted Sammy,” Mace said. “Good. Give it to them. Tell them I’m going to tag along and not to worry. The deal still stands. They get the bounty and his possessions.” “All right, Jim.” Mace left with his orders as Jim prepared for the skinning of Sammy. He’d had quite a rush with Hector, and he wanted to repeat the feeling. Checking his knife to be sure it was sharp, Jim then took his pistol and shoved it into its holster. Jim already knew what he was going to do to Sammy Doolittle; he was going to castrate him. That ought to get the crowd roaring. The reason Jim was going to be very harsh on Sammy was because Mace had gotten word of a takeover at the istration Building and hold it for ransom. It wasn’t going to happen. He would have to make an example out of Sammy. Jim was ready, but before he could exit, Mace walked in. “Time for judgment, my friend,” Mace said. “What? What are you talking about, Mace?” “I’m talking about your reckoning. All your evil is going to bite you in the ass, starting today.” Jim smiled. “I never thought I’d see the day when a pussy like you would have the balls to challenge me. Guards!” Jim hollered. Jim waited, but no one came. “They’re my bodyguards now, Jim.” Mace had an automatic rifle pointed at Jim’s belly. “Take out your pistol and drop it on the floor, the knife too. Then kick them over to me. Easy now, Jim! You try anything and you’re dead!” Jim did what he was told. “You don’t know who you’re fucking with, Mace! You

know what happens to traitors. They’ll be no mercy.” “Since when have you ever given anyone mercy, no matter what they’ve done?” Jim ignored the comment and continued, “I have many followers, Mace. You’ll never make it out of here alive.” “I don’t plan on going anywhere, Jim. It’s you who’ll never make it out alive.” Jim was starting to realize the gravity of the situation. “Listen, Mace, if you send me out into the street, some hotshot will crucify me. I don’t want to be crucified, Mace. Can’t you give me a break, for old time’s sake?” “No way, killer! What you failed to realize is you have a lot more enemies than friends. I made sure of that.” “Why you—” Jim started to say something but decided against it. “Please, Mace!” Jim cried. “I don’t want to be crucified. Is that what you want, to see me nailed to a cross?” “I’ve no desire to see you suffer, you murderous pig! Quit your begging, you coward. Isn’t that what you called your victims, cowards? Just because they wanted to live. Do you want to live, Jim?” “Yeah, Mace! Please, man, I’ve got gold hidden away. That’s what you really want, isn’t it?” “Where is the gold?” “It’s in the backroom, in a safe under the carpet, more gold than you’ll ever want. You’ll be rich!” “What’s the combination? If you lie, I’ll kill you on the spot.” Jim gave Mace the combination to the safe. “It’s real, Mace. Just check. Then we can rule together, just you and me.” Mace ignored the comment. “Do you know what a spy is, Jim?” Spy? Why that dirty rotten bastard!

“That’s right, Jim,” Mace continued. “I’m a spy for the real military, and I’m going to take over your empire and let the men fight among themselves, kill each other off.” Jim couldn’t control himself any longer; he had to speak his mind since the pussy Mace wasn’t going to do anything to him anyway. “You traitorous, swine! You haven’t got the brains to lead my outfit.” “Really? Who do you think has been running things these past two months ever since your purge? It’s been me, Jim. I changed your orders several times to fit my own needs, which is the destruction of your empire. Now you get the picture?” “Yeah, I get it! I’m going to peel your skin and nail you to a cross, you traitor!” “Like you did Hector? That was quite a show. The men loved it. When I give you over to Sammy and his crew, he might just do the same to you.” So that was it, Jim thought. He was too chicken shit to take on Jim himself. He was going to let Sammy do it. At that second, Sammy and twelve of his men barged into Jim’s quarters. “There he is, Sammy,” Mace said. “So you were going to have me killed, were you?” Sammy said. “Nail me to a cross—skin me! Looks like the shoe is on the other foot, huh, Jimmy Boy. Strip him down, boys,” Sammy ordered. Jim was scared shitless. What were they going to do to him? Sammy’s men tore the clothes off Jim Miller until he stood naked, shivering with fear. “Tie him to the couch!” Sammy suddenly produced a whip. “Thirty lashes ought to get us started, Jim.” “Please, Sammy, wait! You’re going to believe a scum fuck like Mace over me? It was him, I tell ya! It was his idea!” Two of Jim’s trusted lieutenants suddenly entered the room, Jasper and K-9. “We can vouch for Mace,” Jasper said. “Jim gave the order right in front of me and

K-9.” “You lying scum!” Jim yelled. “Mace paid them off, Sammy, I swear!” Sammy ignored Jim’s pleading as he snapped the whip. “For God’s sake, listen to me!” Jim pleaded. Jim screamed as the first lash broke the tender skin of his back. He howled as Sammy continued to whip him. The smile never left Sammy’s face. It was the beginning of the end for the professor’s empire, Mace thought. After they crucify Jim, Mace would let the men go their own way. They would tear each other apart, hopefully reducing their numbers significantly. It would be a civil war of sorts, but with multiple factions fighting for control of some small portion of territory. Then Clinton and his men could work more easily, slowly eliminating a wide area around the observatory, so they could get and keep a substantial supply of goods. Yes, my job was almost done, he thought. Mace would make his report to Clinton and initiate the separation of Jim Miller’s Empire. Even without the unity of the various factions, it was still going to be a dangerous world for some time to come. A few hours later, Mace left Jim’s old headquarters with his own bodyguard of fifteen uninfected men. As he left the front entrance to the building, he stopped and looked at the still breathing body of Jim Miller, nailed hand and feet to a large wooden cross. The brief rule of Jim Miller was at an end, an end to the professor’s carefully built-up empire, an end to an evil legacy.

* * *

Russell was stunned by the murder of Alice Chambers in the Pharmaceutical room. She was beaten, and her throat was cut. That was terrible, Russell thought. Clinton Rodrigues and Drake Hathaway stormed into Russell’s office.

“I need the names of the last several men and women who you’ve given treatment to,” Clinton demanded. “Someone isn’t who he’s pretending to be, Doctor.” “I know, Clinton,” Russell said. “It’s terrible, just terrible. Alice was a good woman.” “Were any drugs stolen?” Clinton asked. “No drugs were taken that we know of,” Russell answered. “Then the motive was murder for the sake of murder. An infected person has slipped through our well thought-out screening process, Doctor. Is there a test we can ister to determine who has the infected nanobots?” “Yes, but I’ll have to get them on the table.” “Who was the last one given treatment?” “Arty Distal.” “Start with him and work your way up,” Clinton ordered. Suddenly, Milan Curtiss entered the office, breathing heavily. “Clinton? Judy Holloway’s body has just been found in the infirmary! She was beaten with a blunt object and strangled!” Clinton couldn’t believe events could sour so quickly. “Any sign of sexual assault?” Clinton asked. “Yes, sir. It looks like she put up a hell of a fight. The murderer must have gotten frustrated and killed her outright. At least that’s what Dr. Fleming said.” “Well, Doctor Thomas,” Clinton said, “looks like we have ourselves a serial killer in our midst. Well, let’s get started, Milan. Put everyone on lockdown. I want to know where everyone is all the time.” Russell immediately left his office, while Clinton’s men rounded up the subjects. He couldn’t believe something like that could happen. The treatments were going so well. But Russell had faith in his computer’s abilities to wipe out the

deranged nanobots. If his treatments were 100 percent effective, which he was sure they were, then a person who had never been infected must be the culprit. He must relay his thoughts to Clinton before any more people were murdered. The first person that came to mind was the newcomer, Jacob. Could he have been a serial killer before the epidemic began? Whoever was doing the killing must have been a killer all along. Yes, Jacob would be a prime suspect. Russell radioed Clinton with his suspicions. Jacob was immediately put into restraints for questioning. Clinton asked him direct questions about his whereabouts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jacob said. “I ate my supper in the cafeteria and then lay down for a nap. That’s when your men came barging into my room and then brought me here.” “What was your occupation before the affliction took place?” Clinton asked. “I was working for an air-conditioning and heating company called Dell’s. You people have it all wrong. You should be talking to Arty Distal. He’s the one who made a slave of me, even took a whip to me.” “Where was this business located?” “Vine and Sixty-Eighth Street, across from the furniture store.” “We’ll have to keep you locked in your room until the killer is found.” “I understand,” Jacob said. “I say we should execute numb nuts here just to be sure,” Milan Curtiss suddenly said. “We don’t operate like that, and you know it,” Clinton said. “Okay, sir, but allow me to escort Jacob here to his room.” “Denied, Milan. Steve will do the honors.” As Steve and Milan left the room, Clinton turned to Russell. “Well, Doc, if you think of anything else that will be useful, give me a holler immediately.” With

that said, Clinton left the room to return to his duties. Now that Jacob was under guard, maybe I could rest easier, Russell thought. It was getting late. He would need to get some sleep tonight, he thought as he left his office for his quarters. Later that night, Jacob sat on his cot in a locked room, wondering what was to become of him. It was obvious they wanted to pin the murders on him. Ever since being tortured at the hands of Arty Distal, Jacob had been having blackouts, times when he couldn’t what he’d said or done. Sometimes the blackouts would last up to an hour, an hour that seemed to disappear from his life. Jacob wondered if he was even capable of taking someone else’s life. He was angry enough at Arty fucking Distal. Jacob suddenly heard the locking mechanism on his door disengage, and in walked Milan Curtiss, the same man who wanted to execute him without a fair hearing. He had his pistol pointed at Jacob and was wearing black fatigues with a club of some kind dangling from his belt. “What do you want, Curtiss?” Milan smiled as he looked over the small room, paying particular attention to the ceiling. “I asked you what you wanted?” “I want you, Jacob.” “You touch me and I’ll scream bloody murder!” “You do and I’ll shoot you and say it was self-defense.” Milan was a large man, a lot taller and broader then Jacob. Suddenly, Milan put his gun back in its holster and pulled the club off his belt. “This will only hurt for a minute, Jacob, so don’t struggle.” He then pounced on Jacob, wailing into him with a leather club. What the hell was the crazy Milan trying to do? Jacob thought desperately as he tried to dodge the vicious attack. Finally, a couple of well-placed head shots sent

Jacob to the floor unconscious. When Jacob awoke a few minutes later, his hands were handcuffed behind his back. As his vision swam into focus, he felt a rope around his neck and noticed it was thrown over a water line that ran the length of the ceiling. “What the hell is—” Before Jacob could get out a sentence, the rope around his neck was jerked tight, cutting off his words. “Sh-h-h-h, Jacob!” Milan hissed. “Keep it down, dude.” He could barely whisper through the choking rope. “What are you doing?” he wheezed. “It should seem obvious to you by now. I have nothing personal against you, Jacob. You’re just a convenience. I need someone to take the heat off me. Clinton won’t rest until he finds the killer, and you are going to take my place as the guilty killer.” “You mean—” “That’s right, Jacob, I killed those two lovely ladies. I didn’t get the chance to really stick it to them as I’d wanted. There just wasn’t enough time, and they struggled, Jacob, a lot harder than you did. But taking their lives was just as much fun. You see, I’m a taker of lives, Jacob. I always have been. I know, Jacob, questions, questions! I love to kill. What can I say? Before this entire ruckus with the nanobots, I was called the Campus Cutter back at the university a few years back. I’ve never had the nanobot injection because I was locked up in a mental institution for three years until the epidemic came along. Most of the patients were killed outright by the employees, but like me, some escaped. I came along just as they were starting up the facility. Once the good old Doc cleared me, once they found out I harbored no nanobots, I was readily accepted and trained by Clinton and his flunkies. Are you finally getting the picture, Jacob?” Jacob tried to keep from crying, tried to be a man, but he couldn’t stop the tears. He was going to die! The bastard was going to kill him. “Being guilt-ridden and remorseful, you’re going to take your own life, Jacob. You’re going to hang yourself.”

Please, God, no! Jacob wanted to plead for his life, but Milan would just jerk the rope tight whenever he tried to speak. “All right, Jacob, get your ass up on that chair! Do it, I said, or I’ll cut your wrists, make it look like you killed yourself that way.” Jacob did what he was told and stood on the chair with shaking legs. Then he felt his bladder let loose. He started to pray as Milan snugged up the rope and tied it off on a drainage pipe that ran vertical down the wall. Milan started to laugh when he asked Jacob if there were any last requests. “It was fun, Jacob. I just wished I could have given you the knife.” Milan’s eyes suddenly got a faraway look to them. “Yes, I could almost feel the ripping of your flesh, Jacob, when I gutted you. The ecstasy, the rush! If you only knew what it felt like, Jacob, you’d understand.” Milan got close to Jacob, where their eyes were even with each other. He wanted to see, needed to see, the life flow from Jacob’s still warm corpse. He kicked the chair out from under Jacob’s feet and watched gleefully as Jacob kicked and struggled. But the bastard’s eyes were closed! “Open your eyes, damn you, Jacob!” Milan hissed. He wanted to scream at him to open his eyes, but he couldn’t afford any noise. As Jacob thrashed about on the end of the rope, his eyes suddenly fluttered open on his terror-stricken face. After a few minutes, Jacob had choked to death; his eyes opened just enough to see the blood red of their color … and his face … so blue! It was fascinating, Milan thought. Not near as good as killing with one’s own hands like with Alice and Judy, but still fascinating. Milan quickly scanned the room for any incriminating evidence. The handcuffs, he’d almost forgotten the handcuffs. As he removed the cuffs, he worried that the knot he’d put on Jacob’s head with his leather lead-filled billy club would stand out. Nothing was ever perfect, Milan thought. Seeing nothing else, he quietly exited the small basement room.

* * *

Clinton couldn’t believe what had happened. Jacob taking his own life? It didn’t make any sense unless he was really guilty. Clinton, Drake Hathaway, and Dr. Russell Thomas stood looking at the scene. Russell was examining the body of Jacob hanging dead from a rope. “Can you perform an autopsy, Doc?” Clinton asked. “I can, but do you really think it’s necessary?” “He at least needs to be examined to rule out—” “Foul play?” Russell interrupted. “Yes, I suppose so.” “Well, Clinton, with my preliminary examination complete, the death does look suspicious.” “How so?” “His wrists for one. He has welts on his wrists, not very noticeable, but enough for me to determine that his wrists had been tied with something, indicating he’d been subdued prior to his suicide.” “That means nothing, Doctor. He was handcuffed when we took him from your office to his room.” “Are all your handcuffs the same?” “Generally, as far as I’ve noticed.” “Perhaps we can find something once we get him on the examination table.” Clinton had Drake and some of the men cut him down and take his body into the lab for tests. After stripping him of his clothes, Russell began checking the corpse for clues. Originally, Clinton had requested an autopsy, but Russell loathed performing the

gruesome procedure and would do anything to get out of it. Clinton waited patiently as Russell voiced his findings. “Looks like he was beaten about the head and shoulders with a blunt object. That, along with the fresh ligature marks on his wrists, makes it a questionable suicide.” “Did you or Steve beat him after you left the Doc’s office, Drake?” Clinton asked. “No, sir, absolutely not!” “Where the hell’s Milan?” “He went to the infirmary with a headache,” Drake said. “Find out if he’s been sneaking around Jacob’s room. He had wanted to escort Jacob to his room, I assume, to smack him around a little. See what he’s been up to.”

* * *

Milan’s mind was squirming like a toad on speed. It had been three days since the murder of Jacob, and everyone he wanted to kill was on lockdown. Clinton and staff had determined that Jacob had been murdered. So be it. That just left him open to kill again. But he’d been questioned about Jacob’s murder, and he concluded that he never should have suggested his execution or asked permission to escort him to his room. It made him look guilty. Milan couldn’t kill again and get away with it unless he timed it exactly with a foot patrol he was scheduled to accompany at 6:00 p.m. the following evening. With all the beefed-up security, it would be tricky, but by no means impossible, to catch one of the females alone just before the patrol; that way, when they found the body, he’d have an alibi that would put him in the clear. When he strangled the bitch, Judy Holloway, in the infirmary, he had helped himself to the computer files on the various schedules of the nurses and female

personnel. The women there at the facility reminded Milan of the bitches that controlled the mental hospital where he was incarcerated; none of them deserved to live for what they’d done to him, especially the nurses who were always giving medication that made him hallucinate or made him sick at his stomach. Orderlies would hold him down, while some smug bitch nurse would stick Milan with a thick needle, rendering him unconscious for days, then wake up hungry, but too sick to eat. Yes, he ed. He even had a female doctor who took great pleasure in keeping him sedated, so she wouldn’t have to apply therapy, which was her job to talk with him, find out his problems. Her job was to ister the proper medication when there wasn’t anything wrong with him to begin with. He’d never killed a woman who didn’t deserve it. Didn’t that count for something? No! Milan didn’t want to think about the institution anymore. Yes, he ed the schedule of one particular nurse. He had a keen memory, especially when it was worth ing. But he needed time with the next one. He wanted to do more than just kill her, and it didn’t do to have sex with a corpse; he’d tried that. He couldn’t make a corpse suffer, couldn’t make a corpse scream for mercy, beg you not to hurt it. Yes, he was going to need time with Denise Breakworth. Denise Breakworth was a young woman of twenty-seven. She’d been a ed nurse for five years, ever since she’d graduated from nursing school. She had bright blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair, which went well with matching makeup and clothes. When she wasn’t wearing a white smock, she dressed especially to attract the eyes of the young men who dominated the observatory. They were on lockdown because of a killer running loose, keeping Denise confined to quarters. But despite all the security, Denise had a date, one of Clinton Rodrigues right-hand men, Milan Curtiss. Milan had approached her the day before in the infirmary. He was working security and was allowed to move about. He offered to come to her room with beer and hamburgers, promising that it was strictly for friendly conversation. Denise accepted. Friendly conversation is just what Denise needed. She would dress conservatively so as not to arouse the male sexual instinct. The date wasn’t going to go that route.

Suddenly, there was a soft knock at the door. That had to be Milan. It was supposed to be a secret date; Milan made her promise to tell no one because it wouldn’t look good to his boss, Clinton Rodrigues. But being a woman with a woman’s intuition, she had to tell at least her best friend, who was sworn to secrecy. Denise opened the door, and sure enough, Milan had a bag full of beer and hamburgers. Was this her lucky night or what? “Wow,” Milan said. “Security sure is tight. I had to dodge and hide all the way here to keep from being seen.” Denise wondered briefly why he’d have to hide since he had clearance to move about. Milan wanted to take his time with this one. Make her feel relaxed, make her feel special, then rape the shit out of her. Then after that, he was going to stab her slowly in the stomach as she cried beneath the gag and struggled against the handcuffs. Milan was getting himself aroused, so he started talking to get his mind off it; he didn’t want Denise to notice. After an hour of drinking beer and eating hamburgers, Milan couldn’t wait any longer. The chitter-chatter from the bitch’s female mouth was making him sick. Denise was in the middle of a sentence, ready to it to Milan that she had indeed told her best friend of their rendezvous, when he slapped her. The stupid look on her face from his little baby slap just pissed him off more, so he smacked her again. That shut her up and felt good to boot. Now for some real fun. He grabbed her by her blonde hair and told her to shut up. “Shut your fucking crying!” He shook her head. “I said shut up, crybaby! Now be still!” He started unbuttoning her blouse. No, that would never do, he thought lustfully. He then ripped open her blouse, stripping the buttons off onto the floor and revealing a pink bra. “Please, don’t!” she cried. Milan stood over her while she whimpered. “You cry out, Denise, and I’ll stab

you. Now get those clothes off! A few minutes later, she stood naked, shivering with fear. “I’m going to pound you, Denise. I just wanted you to know that.” At that second, as soon as the words left his lips, the door to the room burst open and in came Clinton Rodrigues and Drake Hathaway. Clinton immediately kicked the gun from Milan’s hand as he drew and tried to fire then followed it with a front kick, sending Milan crashing into the small table of empty beer cans and leftover hamburgers. Milan was up quickly with his knife drawn. “Oh, that’s right. You like to play with knifes, don’t you, killer?” “Freeze, Milan!” Drake ordered. “Or I’ll waste you, man!” “Stand down, Drake! I’m going to take that knife away and stick it up his ass!” “You taught me how to fight, Clinton. We’ll see if you can take it away from me.” “Never forget who the master is, Milan!” Clinton would have pulled out his own knife, but men like Milan were always cowards when it came to a fair fight and he didn’t want him to give up that easily. Clinton picked up a chair as Drake escorted the weeping Denise from the room. He then hurled it at Milan, striking him in the shoulder. Milan cried out but kept a steady hold on the knife. Clinton moved toward him, but then Milan charged. Clinton stopped in midstride with a sidekick to the gut and then a roundhouse across the jaw. The big man fell into the corner but recovered quickly. “I’ll kill you!” Milan cried, as he charged once again, swinging the sharp blade at Clinton’s face. Clinton dodged his thrusts until a surprise kick from Milan sent him backward. He tripped over a fallen chair and fell onto the floor with Milan trying to gain the upper hand by diving on top of Clinton. Clinton rolled away, leaving Milan groping at the floor. As Clinton tried to get off the floor, Milan grabbed his leg. Clinton swung his other leg around Milan’s neck, getting him in a scissor pinch, but was reminded painfully that Milan still had the knife hand free as he stabbed Clinton in the calf.

Clinton screamed and kicked Milan in the head and then rolled free. That bastard! Clinton was really pissed. He was tired of playing with the big brute, so he slipped his knife from his boot. When Milan saw that Clinton had his own knife, he stopped and put up his hands. “Okay, Clint! You win. Take me into custody,” he said as he dropped the knife onto the floor. Like hell he would! The murdering scum, traitor to his own people, was going to pay with his life. Visions of his demented father surfaced in his mind, how he killed his mother and tried to kill Clinton. “No way, Milan! Prepare to meet your maker!” Clinton moved toward him, his wounded leg forgotten. “Come on, Clint. I surrendered, man!” “I’m only going to say this once. Pick up the knife and defend yourself, because either way, I’m going to kill you.” The man was bluffing, Milan thought. Two could play that game. “I’m not picking it up, Clint. You’ll just have to kill me!” Clinton walked up to Milan and swung the sharp blade down across his chest, slicing through his shirt and cutting the flesh beneath. Milan screamed and punched out, connecting to Clinton’s jaw and knocking him back. Seeing that Clinton was wobbly from the punch, Milan picked up the knife and attacked. He stabbed at Clinton’s stomach, but Clinton parried with his knife, effectively blocking the thrust, and then countered with a swing toward his throat, cutting the flesh across Milan’s upper chest. Milan squealed but kept coming, attempting an overhand stab. Clinton grabbed Milan’s knife hand with his left hand, while Milan did the same with Clinton’s knife hand. Now it depended on brute strength to prevail, and Milan was big and strong. The blade in Milan’s hand was slowly coming closer as Milan’s strength slowly overtook Clinton. Clinton had to think fast, so he kneed Milan in the groin area as hard as he could.

“Ah, you mother fucker!” Milan cried. But he didn’t relinquish his hold until Clinton jerked his knee up a second time. Milan howled and stepped back as Clinton lunged. He was fast for a big man and sidestepped Clinton’s attack. The big man had been trained well by Clinton himself as he switched knife hands, but being large had its disadvantages. Milan was tiring out quickly, and Clinton knew it. Milan went on the offensive again as he stabbed at Clinton’s stomach, but he was slowing down. Clinton grabbed Milan’s knife hand with his left hand and sunk his blade deep into Milan’s chest with an overhand stab. Milan screamed and back-stepped, trying to pull the knife from chest; but Clinton front-kicked him in the abdomen, sending him crashing onto the overturned table and chairs. He lost his grip on his knife as it clattered to the floor. Clinton was quickly on top of him, beating him about the face with his fists. Finally, a throat punch drew his hands away from the knife as Clinton jerked the knife out and stuck it in Milan’s throat, piercing his esophagus and triggering his gag reflex. Blood suddenly gushed from his mouth followed by a gurgling cough as his hands instinctively went up and grabbed the knife handle. The man was definitely hard to kill but was growing weak. Clinton pushed Milan’s head against the floor with one hand and pulled out the embedded knife with the other. He then jabbed it into his neck below his left ear and began slicing deep across Milan’s throat as Milan had done to so many of his victims. Milan’s wideeyed response told of the terror he himself was experiencing in his final seconds of life. Clinton stood up breathing heavily and glanced down at his blood-soaked clothes, a small price to pay for the death of a killer. Milan’s body twitched a few times then lay still. Denise was taken to the infirmary where Dr. Thomas treated her for shock. Clinton’s men hauled the bloody corpse of Milan Curtiss out of the room and down to a makeshift mortuary. Clinton didn’t think it was right putting Milan in the same room with his three victims, so they pitched him into a body bag and threw him out the side door onto the ground for later deposal, a just reward for a brutal killer.

* * *

They all sat at a table in the cafeteria talking about their accomplishments so far. Russell, Clinton, Drake, Denise, Oliver, and Mace Cromwell were discussing the group’s activities. Mace informed the group that he had successfully cleared out a wide swath of the city as the remnants of the professor’s army fled in disarray, finally whittled down to small gangs with little power, giving Mace the ability to round up and subdue smaller gangs for treatment in Dr. Thomas’s labs. Clinton was delighted. Denise had recovered from her ordeal with Milan Curtiss and was actively seeing Drake Hathaway. Russell Thomas had increased his capacity to treat subjects to ten treatment rooms, thanks to the requisition of more computers from the city’s appliance stores. He had even started assembling more treatment centers in the old Biomedical Engineering Building where sophisticated computers sat ready to be powered up and used. Oliver had been trained and was now conducting night patrols, gathering up subjects when possible for treatment in the labs. Dozens of labs were assembled around the state based on the same principle as Russell Thomas’s labs in the city. Russell excused himself from the group and began walking to his quarters, thinking how far they’d come. He’d taken his last Percocet days before, but the headaches were now mild. Russell attributed the reduction in pain to the new nanobots working in his system to repair damaged tissue from a stroke he’d had a few years before. Except for the brief rampage of Milan Curtiss, it had been a pretty good year where new recruits were concerned. After entering his quarters, Russell lay down for a nap. He slept soundly for the first time in months without bad dreams or the dreaded headaches. Things were indeed looking up.

The End

Planet of Woe

The creature was the size of a small dog. It leaped from the tree and attached itself onto Bernard’s back with spurlike barbs, ripping through his jungle fatigues and into the soft flesh. Bernard screamed and fell onto the ground in panic, reaching back, trying to dislodge the horrid creature; but his hand came away bloody from the thornlike skin that covered the alien’s body. “Get it off me!” he screamed. “Lie still, damn you!” cried Captain Drake Durum, leader of the patrol. As Bernard lie withering on the ground, the captain pounded the creature with the butt of his rifle. It squealed a high-pitched whine and then began to burrow beneath Bernard’s skin. Bernard screamed and was up running in circles. “Help me, God! Help me!” He fell down on all fours; his hands gripped the soft leafy ground as he continued his screaming. His body shook like an electrical charge was surging through him. The creature moved from side to side, its rhythm positioning itself still further under the skin. Drake’s men were yelling and cursing around him, but they were at a loss as what to do. Bernard’s screaming was no longer coherent but coming out in quick short yelps. The captain had never seen such a sight in his life. Drake took his survival knife from its sheath and began stabbing the creature. The damn thing was tough; the knife only penetrated a couple of inches, making the thing squeal then squirt a white liquid from a small tube located in what Drake thought was its rear. The spray missed him by an inch, going over his shoulder and hitting Private Mercer square in the face. Mercer screamed as two of the other soldiers wrestled him to the ground for medical treatment. Bernard was convulsing on the forest floor with the creature barely visible now. Many of the men from Drake’s platoon were calling for a mercy killing. Drake agreed. “Some of you men get out there and secure a perimeter!” Drake ordered. He

stared in horror at Bernard as the creature extracted what looked like a bone. As he watched the bone fall onto the ground, he pulled the trigger on his military issue .450 Pulse pistol. The impact from the pulse rounds tore holes into Bernard and the creature, tearing away chunks of Bernard and alien flesh. As the thing’s unearthly squeal rose in volume, he emptied round after round into the foul parasite, gritting his teeth and smiling as he emptied his gun’s cylinder. Bernard and the creature both were dead. If he’d known the results of an attack by such a monster, he would have ended Bernard’s suffering sooner. Captain Drake Durum had blue eyes, blond hair, and beard stubble to match his tanned face. At six feet two inches tall, he could see over the heads of most of the recruits. He wore green jungle fatigues and heavy boots like the rest of the patrol for protection from crawling parasites. Drake walked over to where Mercer was being treated. The acid like substance had burned his skin, but amazingly, his eyes had been spared. With the alien dusk fast approaching, Drake was impatient to return to camp, more so for his men. There would be no burial for Bernard. The wind began rustling the leaves in the thick canopy above them, but before his mind could the fact that there was no wind on that God-forsaken planet, another man fell screaming to the ground, a parasite attached tightly onto his back. Then another man screamed. “Christ Almighty! Form up! Form up!” Drake screamed. The two dozen men that were left in his patrol quickly formed up. Every man had the same thought; they didn’t want to die like Bernard. Without orders from Drake, the two infected men and their unwanted attackers were quickly shot as the patrol moved rapidly toward their base camp, away from the heavy foliage that grew everywhere overhead. It was getting dark when they stopped in a clearing for a short break. The survival rate in that sector for a patrol their size was 20 percent and that was in daylight. Drake’s patrol would be the first caught out after dark. What night creatures roamed that horrible place? Drake didn’t know and didn’t want to find out. They were thirty minutes from base camp with darkness upon them. They

trudged back through the beaten path they’d made earlier, and it wasn’t long before the first scream from one of his men. He ordered the men to halt. Private Bullard was gone. An agitated friend said something from the dark pulled him into the bush. Drake ordered his men to open fire in every direction, leveling the jungle for thirty yards from their current position. They couldn’t save Bullard, but maybe they had gotten lucky and ended his eventual suffering. The jungle was completely black. The patrol activated their lights that were built into their weapons as another man’s scream broke the stillness of the night. The man was gone into the dark jungle, snatched by some unseen monstrosity. A multitude of weapons fire followed the man’s screams into the gloom. Captain Drake Durum was determined to make it back with as many men as possible, so he formed a square, with the men on the outside firing into the perimeter continuously as the ones in the middle would fresh cylinders of ammunition to them. They moved out in a legion like formation, never stopping. He swore if he made it back alive, he’d exterminate every living thing on that crazy planet. There had been six months of that shit, and two hundred fifty-eight dead men later, while the scientists and engineers sit back in their protective bunkers doing so-called important research. After an hour of hair-raising blood and death, they finally made it back to base camp, which was a heavily fortified camp surrounded by automated spit lasers, a unique defensive weapon that earned its name because it spat rounds of pulsating laser shots, obliterating anything that moved in the surrounding jungle. They themselves had to radio their approach or become victims of their own defense perimeter. Drake’s legion formation proved very effective and would be used in future incursions into the jungle’s interior. They lost only one other man when they hurriedly formed up and that’s when a Private got himself entangled in some kind of vine. If you left formation or were somehow forced from the line, you were dead. Drake had never seen any man return alive once left to the inhabitants of the jungle. Ten good men lost their lives that night, for which Drake swore vengeance against all inhabitants of the filthy planet. The nightmare was temporarily over for the twenty-one survivors of the patrol.

* * *

The Grim Reaper was an assault vehicle for the of ground troops. It could hold position several hundred feet above the ground ed by four antigravity type A thrusters. Cylindrical in shape, the craft had a crew of twelve men, an armament of rotating double-barrel cannon, and a delivery system of eight Razorback hot tots. The hot tots speed and accuracy were phenomenal. A blue dot would move rapidly through the sky and to its target with devastating results. Their usefulness in the thick jungle and tropical terrain was crucial. Drake thought about the most satisfying display of firepower he’d witnessed when a Razorback was launched into the village of man-eaters, resulting in the destruction of everything within three square miles, including the miserable inhabitants. If Drake had his way, he’d have everything within a hundred square miles in every direction burnt to a cinder. And he might just have his way yet. Word was out that another base camp was being built and fortified a thousand miles to the northeast. Four of their thirteen Reapers were dispatched to that location for of expected trouble. The Reapers were docked in hangers positioned on stilts fifty yards above the ground, with all vegetation beneath them destroyed and kept that way because of the large insects, especially ants that lived among the foliage. The damn things ate just about anything, Drake thought grimly. He wondered, not for the first time, how he got stuck on that stinking planet. His rotation to Planet Woe was because the general in charge of the facility loved Drake like the son he never had and usually scheduled Drake a tour where he could be under the general’s command. Drake never had a problem with the general’s decisions up until Planet Woe. Neither the general nor Drake knew what horrors awaited them on Planet Woe-Sin-Tack.

* * *

General Hammond, the military of Planet Woe, called a briefing. He sat stoned-faced and listened to Captain Drake Durum take his turn, voicing his opinion.

“All the sophisticated armament at our disposal,” spoke the captain, “all the manpower. Hell, we could invade and take over any conventional planet, but not here. We’re bogged down going nowhere. Like a man stuck knee-deep in muck and can’t get out, a nightmare that keeps getting more heinous with each ing day.” Dr. J. P. Knight sat fidgeting with his notebook, wanting to say something, but not sure when to interrupt the fearful Captain Durum. Finally, when the captain hesitated, he spoke. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but has anyone tried communicating with these beings?” “Hell, they can’t see past the dinner table, Doctor. First of all, you’re referring to them as if they were intelligent enough to communicate. Second, we all call their place of residence villages, which also gives the false impression of intelligence. In reality, they’re hives, like insect hives, not villages. Third, they walk on two legs as we do and have humanoid form. Don’t be deceived! It just makes them more dangerous, not smarter. What intelligence they do retain they use to adapt better ways to plan our destruction and capture. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out they’re hatched from fucking eggs, which is a real possibility since we kill them by the thousands, just to be replaced by a thousand more who pour into our perimeter from the interior.” The captain glanced at General Hammond to see if he’d said enough, but the general didn’t nod for his silence. He still had the floor. “Dr. Knight? Your team’s been studying these creatures ever since our arrival. Is there anything you want to add?” Dr. Knight stood up, removed his glasses so he could get a better look at his audience, then spoke. “I agree with everything the captain said, except the intelligence part. First, let me say that their thoughts are keyed differently from our own, meaning they are intelligent but focused on a more narrow scope. Communication with us probably never even entered their thought process and probably never will. Their sole purpose, when it comes to humans, is lunch. As if the normal food chain for those creatures was depleted or gone. Their food source before we arrived remains a mystery.” “There are tens of thousands of them beings, Dr. Knight,” interrupted the captain. “They’ve been eating something to sustain a population like that. The abundance of wildlife in the forest is staggering, and I’m sure there’s a multitude

of delicacies for their ingestion. What already has been proven, a fact the good doctor seems to have overlooked, is that our flesh, blood, and probably our bones produce a narcotic effect on them. The way I see it, the tribal elders, for lack of a better word, had the first taste. Apparently, we earthlings are extremely addicting. They get addicted and then send out their minions for more of the same. Hell, they might even go through withdrawals, which would explain their willingness to suffer severe losses for the capture of humans. What about the rest of the murderous species that occupy this world?” “I don’t know yet, Captain. We’ve already experienced the aggressive behavior of just about every indigenous life form on the planet.” “Well, you better find a way to start killing those life forms on a massive scale, or we’ll not survive long enough to keep the mine operation at full capacity.” “Uh, excuse me, Captain,” broke in a scientist called Dr. Mhee. “General Hammond, may I have the floor, please?” The general nodded his approval but otherwise said nothing. “Give me another ten days, gentlemen, and I might be able to rid ourselves of the pesky ant problem.” “What do you have, Mhee?” spoke the general for the first time. “Me and my people are developing what I hope is a very potent insecticide especially designed for alien ants and perhaps other alien species as well.” “How long, Doctor?” “Two, maybe three, weeks will tell if we are successful.” “Keep me informed. I want to know immediately if there’s a breakthrough. We need to start fighting something besides the humanoids, and the ants are a good place to start. They’re wreaking havoc on the foundation of the complex.” “They’re just looking for a red-blooded meal, General.” Mhee laughed. “If you lab people,” the general answered angrily, “had a little taste of the field, you wouldn’t be laughing. Look what happened to Drs. Simms and Frost. Maybe a few of you boys would like a crack at one of the patrols. You have to obtain some of your specimens out in the field, and that means some of you will rotate to various patrols, starting immediately.”

The voices from the gathered crowd were almost thunderous. “This isn’t a dictatorship!” Mhee yelled over the roaring pack. “On the contrary,” General Hammond countered, “the military governor gave me complete control and authority to get the ore out of the ground then onto transports. He’s declared a state of emergency. The war with the Zoloid is apparently at a stalemate, and the government plans to break it at all costs. If everyone would read their perspective contracts, you’ll notice the fine print says the ranking officer on site says what goes down and what doesn’t during a state of emergency. Are there any objections? Because if there is, then they’ll be the ones that go first.” The murmurs ceased; there were no objections. “Okay, people, dismissed!” Removing himself from the uncomfortable chair, General Hammond thought about sending out Mhee as one of the first but quickly decided against it. He needed that insecticide as soon as possible.

* * *

Captain Drake Durum thought mining of the Matistic ore was going well and at full capacity, but the cost in labor and material was staggering. A new and expensive plastic was replacing the old concrete foundation and wall. None of the little bastards was going to chew through that stuff, he thought. Drake left the briefing unsettled. Not because of anything that was said, it all made perfect sense to him. It was because he was to lead a search-and-rescue mission in the morning, if there was anything left to rescue. He was to take an oversized force of two hundred troopers into the interior and occupy a village of aliens. Recon droids reported a dozen human soldiers were being held captive, and Drake knew what would eventually happen to them. They’d be bled and eaten by the tribal elders. The fucking bastards! If it were up to him, he’d obliterate the whole village with a hot tot, captives and all. He’d be doing them a favor. From his experience so far on that God-awful planet, the captives were goners, and if they were still alive, then he’d bet they were wishing for death. He took a sip of icecold vodka from his glass, went over to his writing desk, and began putting the finishing touches on his plan to invade Sector 3. Dr. Reginald Mhee was frightened. He paced back and forth across the

generous space of his quarters. Since he opened his big mouth at the briefing, he was now under the general’s gun to produce results. And if he didn’t have a working insecticide within a couple of weeks, then he’d be in the bush collecting specimens for the other lab tech’s experiments. There were only one or two lab techs on a patrol to collect material, but the death rate was unacceptable to Mhee. They were dying and being replaced every three months, five valuable lab techs in the last cycle alone. He being meat for the alien cannibals was not a pleasant thought. Removing his glasses from his small head, he began to massage his temple where the beginning of a headache was evolving. With his small frame, brown eyes, and sandy hair, he just knew he wouldn’t be much use to anyone on a doomed patrol. He didn’t like the heat, and the thought of a large parasite on him made him cringe. There wasn’t much choice, Mhee thought. He’d better get down to the lab and back to work.

* * *

Sharon Barista was a scientist working in the field of biology and was normally a brave woman, and her rotation was due the following day, which she dreaded. She had a bad feeling. The sample of various plants and their parasitic counterparts were to be collected and returned to the biology lab for analysis. The main goal was to find a way to destroy the little buggers so that humans could be satisfactory cleansed in the sanitation chamber without having to be quarantined afterward. Every parasite on the planet just loved human DNA. Maybe the whole planet, all the living creatures, had a sort of psychic communication with one another; and the main thing they had deduced was their planet was being invaded. She laughed at herself for her bizarre hypothesis. There was enough research done; and the conclusion was human blood, the whole DNA so to speak, was addicting to every creature on the planet. The way the planet evolved seemed to factor in to another theory that she was too exhausted to think about. Humans were actually the aliens on this world, she thought. At twenty-seven, Sharon was physically fit to perform her duties, but what the

brass didn’t know was she was scared shitless. Her green eyes and auburn hair reflected her mother’s side of the family, proud Irish heredity, her father would always say. She took a deep breath. Her yoga techniques couldn’t even reduce the stress level. The only good thing about the coming incursion was the fact that Captain Durum was leading the troops; and she’d be in his platoon, under what she hoped was his watchful eye. The movement was supposed to be a patrol but now turned into an occupation of one of the smaller villages. Just her fucking luck! What did it matter anyway? she thought depressingly. She was going to die a slow death by one of the many carnivores, poison plants, or nasty parasites that inhabit the interior jungle. No one at the beginning expected the tour of duty to be dangerous, at least not at the level it was. Sharon glanced at the military fatigues she had to wear on the so-called patrol and at the weapon she had to carry. She’d be lucky if she didn’t shoot herself in the foot. Looking at herself hard in the mirror, she said aloud, “When the going gets tough, the tough gets going.” Damn, it was no use. She picked up the weapon and again looked into the mirror. Yes, she could do this; she’d go immediately to the firing range to practice. Sharon looked at her petite body and swore. It had always been a good persuader to get what she wanted, but the captain had shunned her when she tried to seduce him into agreeing to postpone her rotation. Damn her luck! She stared into the mirror and growled. Yes, she could do this. The next morning, the first wave of the small invasion force was on the Grim Reapers and approaching the infiltration point, which was in the center of one of the smaller villages to try to limit the exposure of the jungle to a minimum. It was the one with the human captives. Captain Drake Durum and his fifty men that occupied Reaper 1 hovered above the ground as the additional three Reapers disembarked one hundred fifty soldiers who would set up a perimeter and kill any aliens in sight. It was a brutal tactic, one the aliens well deserved, Drake thought. The savagery of the aliens was unparalleled, at least in his experience. After the village was secured, Drake and his fifty remaining troopers landed in a safe zone in the village proper. The bones of previous captives were stacked neatly on the ground around the largest of the weed-designed huts, ready to be ground up and ingested somehow. Probably the elders, Drake thought disgustingly.

As they entered the large shelter, they were shocked to discover three live human captives, missing arms, legs, and other body parts. The stubs had been cauterized with fire, and the wounds were festering with an alien version of flies, but twice the size. God only knew what parasites grew underneath the blackened skin. The doomed men were hung naked from poles that ran up between the cracks of their ass, with the cheeks pulled taut around the pole and sewed together with some kind of rough twine. Their skin from the upper extremities, from the back of the neck to the lower back, were stretched and also sewed around the smooth pole. Below the men, the aliens had placed large round wooden bowls, probably to collect any stray blood drops from the many wounds that had been infected upon them. The scene was ghastly. What hell had them poor men been through? Drake wondered depressingly. Drinking blood and eating limbs. And what all had the aliens done to the men to ensure warm blood and flesh? Who knows what sort of procedures they used to keep them alive until they could enjoy the narcotic effect of the human’s life source. The beasts were savage beyond comprehension. On one wall were several human skulls. A trophy room? Drake wouldn’t have been surprised. In the center of the hut was a fire pit with additional bones of some unknown animals. The soldiers were in shock and close to death. The captain angrily ordered everyone from the hut but Corporal Jennings. Drake put his hand on the corporal’s shoulder and asked, “If you were these men, Corporal, what would you want done?” “I wouldn’t want to live like that, sir. They were troopers in the Planetary Alliance, and I think they have suffered enough.” “My sentiments exactly, Corporal. Do them a favor, son.” “Yes, sir! Gladly, sir.” The corporal, one at a time, blew their brains out with a slug from his pulse pistol. Not a fitting end, Drake thought, for three men he considered heroes. He would have the bodies evacuated to base camp for the ride back home to their loved ones. The official report would read “killed in action, to be decorated with honors.” An expected counterattack from the aliens was launched within the hour, with hordes of the pointed-headed devils from outlying villages attacking the perimeter. Pointed heads on skinny bodies, hairy, vertical slanted eyes, and

mouths with rows of sharp teeth. They walked on two legs, were armed with what resembled a crossbow and arrows, and had wooden hatchets they could throw with amazing accuracy. After a couple of hundred dead aliens lay bleeding green blood at the jungle’s edge, the rest disappeared back into the bush to regroup. Drake knew their tactics well. The next attack would not be long in coming. He ordered the Reapers to pursue the savages and kill as many as possible with the multiple cannons the ships were equipped with. Drake spoke into his communication patch above his left pocket, “Captain Durum to Reaper 1, come in.” “This is Reaper 1, Captain, go ahead!” “Spray the jungle to the north with laser spit rounds. Destroy the foliage. I don’t want to give the heathens a place to hide and regroup.” “Yes, sir!” came the reply. The corporal had come out of the hut and stood beside Drake. “Do you want to try and take prisoners, sir?” “We’re nothing but food to them, Corporal. Why should we take prisoners or try to communicate with them? You saw those men in there. That’s what they think of us. Just kill them, son. That’s all you have to do.” Drake surveyed the surrounding area. All the trees and vegetation had somehow been removed for about a half-mile radius, some feat for a bunch of cannibals. Someone’s bitching drew his attention in another direction. The good Dr. Barista and her assistant were busy bagging the remains of the other humans who had suffered a fate no sane person could imagine. He smiled when he thought about her advances toward him a few nights earlier, trying to avoid her rotation. Well, he couldn’t much blame her. They had lost five good techs the past several months. Dismissing Corporal Jennings, Drake walked over to the two techs. Even though the fatigues she wore were a size too big, she still looked sexy, even scrounging around in the yellow dust that made up the majority of the planet’s layered crust.

Her assistant was a woman named Bridget something; he couldn’t her last name. “Hello, Doctor.” “Hi, Captain. I was just finishing up here.” She wiped her sweaty face with her hand smearing yellow dust. “There’s not much left to take back.” “I was wondering, Doctor, what happened to the other dozen or so men who were supposed to be here?” “Don’t want to sound too harsh, Captain, but the aliens ate them, bones and all, I suppose. Bones still have human DNA in them, which for all purposes also gave them a high.” “Then why all the human skulls still in the elders hut?” “I haven’t had a chance to go through the main hut yet, but I—” “Don’t worry about it, Doctor. We won’t be staying long enough.” As much as Drake liked killing aliens, his time was up. He couldn’t jeopardize the lives of his men because of his personal feelings. The misshapen savages would be back in force, and the present conscripts of two hundred troops wouldn’t be enough to hold them back. Drake pressed the communicator above his breast pocket. “Captain Durum to Reaper 1. Get the rest of the ships down here and pick us up. We’re going home.” “Roger that, Captain,” came the reply. The captain walked away without another word to the two scientists. The doctor and her assistant knew the embarking procedure. Corporal Jennings was standing by the gunship Reaper 1 when the captain arrived. The sleek ship was cylindrical in shape, propelled by four antigravity thrusters, carried eight hot tot incinerator projectiles, and was equipped with other multiple armaments. A gun deck ran the length and curvature of the ship where a deadly laser propelled spit rounds shot out from several guns mounted

on the durable plastic surface. He ired the ingenuity that went in to a war machine such as the Reaper, just as he ired the devotion to duty that soldiers such as Corporal Jennings had toward his fellow soldiers. What the corporal had done inside the hut was commendable. Drake put his hand on the corporal’s shoulder, just letting him know in an unspoken way that it was all right, and he had the full of Captain Durum. In a way, he was just following a direct order from the captain. No one in the upper brass would fault either of them for what had to be done in the field. The captain had full authority in most matters military and had the blessing of the general himself. Because of the speed of the Reaper’s powerful engine, the trip back to the base complex was short. By the men in the field’s estimate, the men on the ground and the Reapers killed as many as two hundred aliens, a small number compared with their total strength of several thousand. And that was just in the surrounding villages. When the survey team first picked that sight for the complex, it wasn’t near any indigenous humanoids. The aliens knew immediately there was an intruder in their mist and set up villages closer to the installation for a better chance at capturing or killing humans. When the small force reached the complex, General Hammond immediately set a briefing, so Drake could fill him in on the result of the rescue mission. Drake wasn’t ashamed of what he told the corporal to do to the maimed captives and told General Hammond about the incident. The general was in complete agreement that it was best that the soldiers didn’t return home crippled and mutilated for life. At the briefing was the head of the biological section, Dr. Michel Jillian, a wonderfully built specimen of a woman Drake had ever seen, and she never missed the opportunity to show it off with her sexy attire. The small briefing room was no different. She wore a tight-fitting pair of jeans, a halter top to show off her ample bosom, and painted fingernails to match her blonde hair and blue eyes. When it was her turn to speak, she pulled no punches. “You’ve been having the time of your life executing whole villages, haven’t you, Captain? And we have over three hundred techs working round the clock to find

you more efficient ways to murder.” “I don’t call killing the creatures murder, Doctor. I call it self-defense or a war, if you prefer, a war, in my opinion, we’re slowly losing. I’ve lost over fifty men in the last three months, protecting you and your techs. While you sit here with your climate control, viewing screens and test tubes, picking your fucking nose! My men are dying the most horrible deaths imaginable, so don’t talk to me about murder until you accompany me on one of our patrols. We can schedule you a field trip tomorrow if you like.” A look of fear crossed the face of Dr. Jillian. “That’s right, Doctor, I can schedule any personnel I think I might require.” She leaned against a stainless steel table, looking faint. Staring at Captain Durum and licking her lips, she said. “I-I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean to offend you, just trying to make conversation, I guess. Please! I meant no disrespect.” Drake looked angrily at the smart-ass Dr. Jillian. The murder of numerous men flashed before his eyes in a microsecond: Bernard, Jack the meek private from L Company, the remains of the doomed patrol on the celestial ridges of a violent planet. All died painful deaths. He approached the pretty blonde doctor and said, “Nine sharp, Doctor! I’ll be there personally to escort you.” Then he stormed from the room. Dr. Jillian watched the door hiss shut behind the captain. That bastard! How could he do that? She glanced at the seated General Hammond, waiting for an objection, but she could tell from his grim look that she was getting no help from him. Well, I’m not going. I won’t! A feeling of helplessness washed over her as she tried to figure a way out of accompanying the dreaded excursion. She was trapped! Under the emergency conditions that now existed down there, the bastard could probably have her shot. She ran from the briefing room in tears, softly at first, then harder. She didn’t want to die. And she would die. She could feel it. In her quarters, she suddenly thought of an idea. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? At last she had a glimmer of hope, maybe a way out after all. She quickly slipped into a black microskirt, dabbed on a little perfume, then headed to the captain’s quarters.

* * *

The thirty-man patrol was preparing to embark on a mission of capturing anything they could for testing back in the labs: twenty-five soldiers, five techs. Also, ten other similar patrols with different missions were being sent out from different parts of the huge complex and into the interior jungle. Ahead of the missions was Reaper air , whose orders were to strafe the jungle and drive the hostiles from their nearby villages and into the jungle away from the roving patrols. Of course, there were always a few small bands that weathered the attack with the intent on retaliation and perhaps a human captive. The last patrol he’d commanded ended up with a 50 percent casualty rate. With a different plan, Captain Durum was determined to save as many lives as possible: more firepower and more time, not taking the chance on being caught out after dark. Sergeant Slip Johnson approached Drake. “We’re ready, Captain. Dr. Jillian is on the roster, but hasn’t arrived yet.” “It’s all right, Sergeant. I’ve decided the good doctor is more important to me here. She has convinced me that her exposure to those alien hardships would be a waste of a highly trained tech, not to mention I think it would be a sin against nature to put such a divine specimen of the human race in such peril.” “I understand completely, Captain. Anyone in particular you want to take her place?” Drake thought a minute. “Yes, there is a bragger who thinks he’s too good to be with us. Come with me, Sergeant.” The sergeant handed the roster to Corporal Jennings. “Here, Corporal, do the honors.” “Yes, sir, Sergeant! Captain Durum and Sergeant Johnson made their way into the biological section

of a huge building set on the north edge of the compound. The north end of the building had an observation deck where the gathered scientists could do their experiments in a burnt-out field where the jungle had been eradicated for a mile in every direction. It was no man’s land, filled with millions of red ants that would strip a man to the bones in a matter of a few minutes. A team of men with flame throwers would come out periodically and hose the different sections with old-fashioned gelled gasoline. It would kill the ants on top of the soil and perhaps a nest or two, but the majority was underground, constantly eating away at the cement foundation. Who would know that they could eat through two feet of concrete in a matter of weeks? The techs had learned the hard way when Dr. Cravens was devoured one night while sleeping. Red nasty little bastards worked their way into his room while he slept, and when he awoke, he was covered with them. His eyes had been the first thing they concentrated on. He could not see or be heard in the soundproof rooms. When they found him, the big red ants were attempting to dismantle the bones and drag the small pieces back to their underground nest. That’s why the foundations along the entire complex were being replaced with an expensive hardened plastic called Simulink and made by DuPoint Corporation, very durable, the same kind of material they made the decks of the warships with. Battles with the indigenous life forms were severe and constant.

* * *

Dr. Benjamin Knight couldn’t believe his run of good luck. The murderous little creature he’d been experimenting with had died or at least was dormant. He had to do some more tests to determine which. It seemed to be vulnerable to a combination of certain chemicals, rendering it, hopefully, harmless. A particularly nasty little creature whose aggressive nature was unparalleled. It was the size of a small dog and had an appetite for human flesh. They were parasitic in nature and lived high in the jungle’s canopy where they would drop from the trees onto unsuspecting victims. With their four paws equipped with nimble clawed fingers, they could dig their way into a man’s tender flesh in a matter of minutes while at the same time gorging themselves on human innards by sucking and chewing with several rows of sharp teeth. Positively astonishing!

Being from another solar system, it still preferred us to its natural food source, which was mainly the villagers, who in turn preferred humans also. “What morbid experiments are we doing today, Doctor?” asked Drake from the hatchway. “Ah, come in, Captain. You too, Sergeant. You’re just in time to witness a little shock therapy on your little friend here. I think it’s dead, but just to be sure, I’m istering an electric charge in an attempt at resurrection.” “Hell, I don’t want you to bring it back to life! This thing killed one of my men.” “Relax, Captain. I’m attempting to create a virus that would destroy those things. If I can reanimate it, I’ll send it back into the wild infected with my virus and hopefully spread throughout their population like the plague.” “Sounds good to me,” spoke Drake. Dr. Knight applied voltage of one hundred twenty volts to two metal prongs that were previously imbedded into the creature’s brain. Finally after two hundred forty volts, the creature began to spasm back to life then immediately went on the attack but was stopped by the thick steel mesh that made up most of its cage. “Pretty damn active, don’t you think, Doc?” “Believe me, Captain, the creature’s quite ill. While it was in its brief state of death in an earlier experiment, I took the liberty of implanting an electronic tracker in its hide, just to be sure it doesn’t die before it reaches its nest. And at the same time, we can monitor the others.” A blinking red light suddenly came to life on the wall by the hatch. Drake walked to the intercom and pressed a button. “What the fuck is it now?” “We have a perimeter breach on the west side of the compound,” came the answer. “I’ll be right there.” Drake looked at the doctor and said, “Get that thing in a Reaper and drop it in a place called Celestial Ridge. I can guarantee a family reunion with a hundred just like it.” Then he and Sergeant Johnson disappeared through the hatch toward the west perimeter. He ordered his sergeant to go to the

perimeter and assess the damage. Drake moved rapidly down the deserted corridor, his steps echoing off the walls and through the hall. Damn, that echoing! Drake thought. All the technologies at their deposal and they couldn’t even eliminate that Goddamn echo. He stopped in front of Hatch 9, pressed his shoulder microphone, and spoke into it. “Where the fuck is everybody?” The microphone crackled a reply. “This is Sergeant Saddler, sir. The creatures overran our forward outpost.” As the captain took the vertical slip up to the observation deck, the sergeant continued his report. “Several dead, the rest missing from what I can see from here. There must have been at least a thousand of them in the attack.” The door to the slip slid smoothly open as Drake ed the sergeant on the observation deck. He could hear the rapid sounding swoosh of the laser cannon as it sent heavy laser pods toward the retreating aliens. Sizzling red smoke could be seen and heard as the pods burnt the jungle to the ground at a thousand square feet a pop. “Should I send the troops after them, sir?” “Hell no! There are probably a thousand more waiting in the bush, hoping we’ll do just that. Order a Reaper to launch a hot tot. I want three square miles of jungle wasted. I don’t want any of the bastards to get away.” “But, sir! What about our own men?” “Saddler? Have you ever seen what they do to us after they capture us? Dead or alive?” Saddler looked sadly down at his feet and shook his head, saying, “Yes, sir, I do.” “Then you know what to do, Sergeant.” The soldiers crowded all observation decks on the west side of the complex to witness the devastating power of a hot tot. The Reaper hovered high overhead and suddenly jerked as it launched a blue pod from its bow; a dot of blue light traveled several miles into the interior in a blink of an eye. The impact was small

but built in momentum. It started as a small bright blue dot that rapidly increased in diameter, burning everything in its path to cinders. The fierce blue flame burnt at a thousand feet per second. The hot tot was a brilliant blue, but they could also be green or red, depending on the manufacturer. Less than a minute and it was all over. Very little shock wave from the detonation of a hot tot, but the incineration potential was overwhelming, leaving three miles of ash. Drake stared at the aftermath. It always felt good to know that a severe blow had been inflicted upon the man-eaters. For the past six months, Drake figured the losses at about two hundred to one in his favor, which just applied to the humanoids. Still they came, more numerous than ever. If Drake had it his way, he’d level the whole planet. Of course, with a planet three times the surface size of earth, it would be quite an undertaking. After the dazzling impact of the hot tot, Drake contemplated his immediate options. The scheduled patrol was now out of the question. With the alien race in an uproar and scattering about the jungle, an incursion at that point would be suicidal. The mining of the Matistic ore was on full swing, with the next planned arrival of the military freighter Quasar within the week to pick up a large shipment of the stuff. And the destruction of their forward outpost would only complicate the pickup because of the fact that it served as a cushion between the natives and the west loading bay. Even though the jungle and the native aliens were eradicated miles from the loading site, the blasted jungle grew almost overnight. A few days at best, the jungle and the alien menace would again become a threat. It didn’t leave Drake much time. An offensive against the aliens was overdue. The only problem was getting General Hammond sober enough to authorize the attack. Drake didn’t have a problem with the added responsibility to make decisions as the general lie drunk in his quarters; it was just that if the offensive went awry, Drake wasn’t going to risk his career for a decision that only the general was legally authorized to make. Drake took a deep breath. He could feel the exhaustion from the constant stress he’d been under for the last several months. What he needed was to get some rest then get back into the bush for a little payback. It would feel good to twist the blade of his bayonet in the soft skin of a man-eating scum of an alien. The thought of an eventual payback made him feel a little better as he made his

way toward the general’s quarters.

* * *

Biological tech Sharon Barista stared down at the small metal cage that was used to collect insect samples. Of course, she wouldn’t really call them insects, not as you would on earth and her Colonies. Like everything on the savage planet, the insects were aggressive in nature, at least where humans were concerned. Why they weren’t required to wear protective clothing, she couldn’t fathom. Maybe it was the heat. Yes, that had to be it. Collecting her needed samples would be impossible wearing the hot and cumbersome outfits. She was a firm believer in being comfortable until one of the little bitches bit her. About the size of a child’s fist, it flew at her from above, apparently from nest in the trees, and then bit her arm. It resembled a praying mantis with wings and a stinger at its ass end. She swatted it away, but not before it stung the shit out of her or bit her, she couldn’t tell which. With the sting hurting like hell, she applied Jungle Gel on the wound. The gel worked wonders on conventional insect bites, but the species on Planet Woe were unknown until their arrival several months before. She inspected the beginning of an orange welt of some kind. A small black thorn that she imagined was part of the stinger jutted out from the welt. She retrieved a pair of tweezers from her kit and jerked the splinter out. A white substance oozed out from behind it. That wasn’t good, she thought. After applying more gel, she wrapped it with a bandage. Were there more of the little bastards; and if there were, she had to catch one to analyze, try to discover some kind of treatment. Her lab assistant wanted to know what she’d done to her arm at the site. Sharon told her she scratched it on a branch and then waved her off. There wasn’t another of the nasty insects to be found, so they returned to the Reaper carrying what specimens they did find. Sharon Barista sat in her quarters, scratching at the alien bite. Starting out as an orange welt, it now was much larger; and other smaller blotches were starting to appear, covering most of her forearm. It itched like mad! She kept it wrapped up so no one would see the infection. What scared her more than anything was that

Captain Durum might have her executed to keep the infection from the rest of the personnel. This was an isolated incident, she thought, strictly on her person and couldn’t infect anyone else. Execution or not, she supposed she’d have to tell someone or chance being consumed by the severe irritation. She didn’t feel any ill effects, except that she was always extremely thirsty. Looking in the mirror, she made sure the sleeve of her smock covered the bandage and made a mental note not to scratch at the wound during the briefing. After a cool drink of water, she left her quarters for the briefing on level 2. At the briefing, Sharon was going crazy, trying not to scratch the annoying itch. If she didn’t get to scratch it soon, she’d faint. The urge to pull up her sleeve and rip the bandage off was strong. She swore to herself that she’d scratch the hide off her arm if that were what it took to stop the infectious itching. Sweat started bubbling through the pores of her skin. It started with just a normal perspiration but then turned foamy, like soaping up in a shower. White rivulets of soapy sweat poured from the pores of her facial skin, dribbled down her neck, and soaked the front of her blouse. She put her hands to her face, and they came away white and frothy. She tried to catch her breath—the pain—she screamed. Sharon ran for the exit but fell down in front of the door, panting for breath. Her body began to tremble like the ground during an earthquake. She continued to scream as the shocked occupants of the briefing room gathered around her. Captain Drake Durum watched the spectacle and immediately wanted to put a laser round in her head. However, the briefing room was full of medical doctors who just had to do the right thing by crowding around her and injecting her with some sort of antibiotic. A doctor named Joseph Mitchel was massaging her chest in an attempt to restart her heart. Drake put his hand on his side arm and looked at General Hammond, but he nodded his head no. “What’s wrong with you, people?” Drake yelled. “Get away from her! If any of you get that white stuff on you, it could be infectious.” The crowd of doctors and techs backed away. “You, Dr. Mitchel, stay where you are!” Drake ordered. “You’ll have to go into quarantine.” Dr. Mitchel stared at his two hands that were covered in the white substance. He looked pleadingly up at Drake then down at the dead body of Sharon Barista.

“That’s right, Doctor. In your haste to help Sharon, you exposed yourself to whatever it is that killed her.” “It’s okay, Captain, I understand. Get me a bio suit, and I’ll walk myself down to the infirmary.” Corporal Jennings, who rarely left Drake’s side, was ordered to escort the Dr. Mitchel to the bio section of the infirmary. Drake pushed the button on his communication patch. “Biohazard? This is Captain Durum in the briefing room on level 2. Get some suits down here to clean up a bio mess, top priority. We have a female, infected with an alien virus of some kind. Use extreme caution!” Drake looked again at the body of Dr. Barista. Fist-sized bumps were forming on the exposed part of her skin; her cranium was swelling twice its normal size. “Everyone clear the room!” Drake ordered. There was a detail of soldiers with him as he ordered the room sealed. The airtight doors were designed especially for Planet Woe in case of a massive breach in the perimeter. The intention was for the survivors to hunker down in the room until help arrived. Drake could look through the thick Plexiglas of the door and see Sharon’s deformed corpse. The swollen skin bumps were starting to split open, oozing blood and foam until an object slithered out from beneath her skin. It was some kind of bug, Drake thought franticly. Shit! She’s probably host for a whole hive of the fuckers. He hurried over to a weapons locker that was located on the various levels and grabbed an incendiary grenade. Quickly, he rushed over to the briefing room, unsealed the door by pushing an activation code on a keypad, and then tossed the armed grenade into the room. He then resealed the sliding door by pressing a sequence of numbers on the keypad. The grenade was set to detonate in eighteen seconds. “Everyone away from the door!” The grenade would incinerate everything in the room but wasn’t explosive enough to blow open the strong doors. Several seconds later, there was a whoosh sounding noise and a bright blue light as the heat from the grenade instantly burned up the chairs, tables, and more importantly the body of the infected Sharon Barista.

Drake went to the window and looked in. Everything was blackened from the high temperature of the grenade. The temperature was so great from the blast that even the ashes were incinerated. “Keep this room sealed and monitored,” Drake ordered. “From now on, our meetings will be in the briefing room on level 3. Everyone is dismissed.” Through it all, General Hammond stood by and let Captain Durum handle matters, who was more than capable, which made the general proud. He always liked the young captain. His devotion to his men was commendable, and his quick thinking in times of crises would normally earn him a major promotion, but the captain preferred to keep his rank where he could best take care of his men. Drake approached the general. “Sir? The Reapers are standing by, waiting for the loading of troops. With your permission, I’ll start the loading of my Reaper.” “Permission granted, Captain. Good luck and be careful!” General Hammond was not only proud of the young man but also wondered how long his luck would hold out. In the general’s mind, with the risks the captain was always taking, it was only a matter of time until he either contracted an alien parasite or went down from a poison spear. He shook his head sadly and then went back to his quarters for another drink before lunch.

* * *

The day was hot and still, with no breeze that was always so common on earth. Any rustling of the leaves or swaying of the tree’s branches was always from an alien life form on an alien planet. Because of the orbit of the planets in that system, it made the nights long and hot, and the day’s two suns made them even hotter. Planet Woe was what they designated the planet, a fitting name for it. Actually, it was named after its benefactor Woe-Sin-Tack, consul general of that district.

There were day creatures, and there were night creatures. The day creatures were aggressive and venomous; the night creatures were worse. A patrol caught out after dark was in for the fight of their lives to survive. As revenge for the mutilation and ingestion of human captives, General Hammond ordered a retaliatory raid. A large village several miles to the northeast was the target. A force of a thousand troops and all nine Grim Reapers would descend upon an estimated ten thousand aliens and kill as many as possible, while sending the rest running for their lives into the jungle. Captain Drake Durum had a special relationship with General Hammond, who treated Drake like a son. The general was a known alcoholic and depended on Drake to make the decisions when the general was drunk, which was often. Commanding the thousand-man raid were two colonels, who with the blessing from the General let Drake have his own way, and in a sense actually took orders from Drake. They weren’t orders actually, but suggestions. Drake didn’t want the aggravation of commanding more than a few hundred troops, so he requested and received command of three companies of troops that amounted to 218 men aboard four reapers. The entire force would take two trips from nine Grim Reapers to get all the men on the ground. Drake was assigned the task of securing a swampy area on the south side of the village that they were attempting to eliminate. He had the Reapers saturate the area with rapid-fire spit rounds before he landed his first fifty troops. All troops were issued bayonets that were attached to the barrels of their pulse laser rifles. Pulse laser rifles fired small laser slugs, propelled by the energy from a pulse cartridge. The rifle usually held one hundred slugs in its cylinder. The pulse cartridge had to be replaced every two hundred shots. Generally, they never used such weapons because the fighting never resulted in close combat, but the enemy that inhabited Planet Woe called for drastic measures. Entrenched in the jungle interior, hand-to-hand fighting was inevitable. After the deployment of his men, Drake was immediately attacked by an alien faking death. He charged just as Drake was issuing orders for the execution of several alien prisoners. Hearing a shout from behind him, he swung around just in time to jab his bayonet into the right side of a screaming villager. Digging in his heels, he gleefully pushed and twisted the pointed bayonet into the ribs of the creature until it fell onto the ground, probably screaming alien obscenities,

Drake thought, as he pulled out the blade and rammed into the man-eater’s stomach. The creature screamed again as Drake put his boot on the beast’s torso and roughly jerked the blade out. Then with his weight behind it, he plunged the bayonet into the alien’s chest. The creature twitched a few times as the green blood soaked the ground around it. Drake smiled and twisted the blade into the man-eater’s chest until it coughed up its last breath. Sergeant Slim Johnson was at his side, watching out for any more hidden surprises. Breathing heavily, sweat rolled down Drake’s face and neck as he barked out orders. “Slim? Tell the men to knife every dead man-eater they see. If there’s one hold out, there will probably be more.” Drake suddenly heard screaming down in the swamp. “See what that is, Sergeant!” Sergeant Slim Johnson picked out several men to accompany him, and then ran down to the swamp. What he saw will forever live in his nightmares. Twelve men were in a swampy area with hundreds of what looked like giant leeches. About three decimeters long, the men were covered with them. The swamp water rippled and splashed with the men in panicked flight, while the other men peppered the water around them with automatic fire from their pulse laser rifles. The frothy swamp water turned a crimson red with the soldiers’ precious blood. Two men were standing next to the sergeant, staring at the scene in mortal terror. “You two men! Get in there and pull one of them out!” They were trained, disciplined troops; and despite their fright, they did as ordered. Slinging their weapons, they splashed into the water and hauled out the nearest man who was screaming for help. Throwing him to the ground, the sergeant pointed his pulse laser at one of the creatures that was starting to swell with blood and then fired. The laser shot blew the things back off, splattering blood across the two soldiers standing nearest. The thing looked dead but didn’t let go. The soldier was still screaming. “Get it off me!” He was abruptly cut off when one of the smaller creatures squeezed rapidly into his open mouth. He raised up upon his knees, his eyes going wide with pain and disbelief. Sergeant Johnson couldn’t believe what was happening; it was surreal. “Damn!

Corporal Jennings, shoot that man!” The corporal ran up and shot the man in the head, blowing the brains out the back of his head. Several men were hollering for the sergeant; and when he looked toward the swamp again, there were hundreds of the creatures, shaped like maggots, with dozens of sharp teeth imbedded in a cylindrical pattern. Their pink skin was almost transparent until they were full of blood, then they turned a bright red. The damn things reminded the sergeant of grub worms back home, but much larger and with tiny legs that they used to propel them rapidly toward the frightened soldiers. They began crawling on the land in a determined attack to get more of the human blood. The men began to open fire as the sergeant ordered his men to retreat to the village and to comionately gun down the trapped men. There was no way to fight things like that with conventional weapons. They were just another species of parasite that dwelled in the swamp by the thousands. The men stationed on the south side were unnecessary; no alien was going to go through there. The captain finally arrived with twenty men and two technicians. He was immediately briefed on the situation. “You there! Mhee? Get over here and put one of them bloodsuckers into your cage.” “Who . . . me?” “Yes, you!” “But what if it jumps on me? I don’t think it will come off without major surgery.” Drake casually walked over, placed his boot on the nearest creature, and pushed it down into the soft soil. “Okay, Doc, scrape it into the cage.” Dr. Mhee did as he was told, but before he could rise, one of the creatures leaped three foot into the air, landing on the tech’s arm. He screamed as the thing’s teeth immediately dug into his flesh, emitting a sucking sound like a human baby suckling a nipple. Drake threw the tech to the ground, stuck his pulse rifle into the thing’s side, and fired, blowing the thing’s guts across the weeds. The rest of the thing held on in death.

“Get a medic and get the doctor to the infirmary immediately,” Drake ordered. “Please help me, Captain. It hurts!” “Calm down, Mhee! And be still.” The medic was there and injected the tech with a painkiller. Immediately, the tech was calm. After they withdrew a safe distance from the swamp, Drake questioned the tech. “You’re the doctor, Mhee, what should be done with this thing?” “Just get it off me, Captain! Please. Your knife. Yes! Cut the damn thing off with your knife.” Drake knew that evacuation would be impossible for at least thirty minutes, and there was a nasty red welt spreading up the doctor’s arm from where the thing was imbedded. “Medic! Give the doctor another shot.” The medic gave him another shot. “Okay, Doctor, hold still” Drake pulled the knife from the sheath on his boot, rubbed the blade with an alcohol swab from the medic’s kit, and then pushed the sharp blade beneath the creature’s underbelly. He began to pry and cut at the thing. The thing was definitely dead but had a death grip on the doctor’s arm. The creature’s teeth or claws popped one at a time as a staple would from a piece of paper, until finally the thing came off with a good portion of the doctor’s skin. Even with the added pain medication, Mhee screamed in agony. There was already an infection setting in, claimed the medic. He removed a small plastic bottle of antiseptic that he carried in his medical pouch and doused the wound. Dr. Mhee screamed then ed out. “Get him into the Reaper’s infirmary,” Drake ordered. When Drake returned to the swamp, it was already being incinerated by the order of Sergeant Johnson. The men were throwing incendiary grenades into the infected area, round devices that produced an explosive charge, burning up everything within a hundred yards. All the greenery was scorched to cinders, and the swamp water boiled, cooking the creatures alive. Drake was satisfied with the results but was unsettled from losing several men and the offensive barely begun. They had destroyed but a small part of the swamp, for it spread out in a southerly direction for miles. Drake was not going to send his men through that, and the aliens weren’t coming from that direction either.

The reports came in that the Reapers were chewing up the pointed headed bastards to the west, but some of the natives had moved in too close to the defensive line of the trap for the Reapers to get at. Drake decided to take his two hundred men and reinforce the line. When Drake finally arrived at the western line, he discovered that the line was faltering with men taking casualties from the more numerous aliens. With thousands of aliens already dead, there were still several hundred in close combat with the troops. Drake decided that reinforcing the line at that point would be suicidal, so he put up a second line of defense. The hundreds of alien natives were slaughtering the eighty men on the front line. With the other several hundred troops in other locations on the north and east, Drake put up a second line so the men up front could retreat without the fear of being overrun and routed. The recon droids reported dozens of men taken prisoner. Drake wasn’t in on the final preparations for the offensive, and if he were in charge of the entire operation, he’d have the two colonels in charge shot. For one thing, they should have known better then to have troops defending a swamp, especially on Planet Woe. And what was the reasoning behind leaving the western line so poorly defended. The carefully thought-out offensive was turning into a rout. As vivid memories of the captives flashed through Drake’s mind, he ordered the launching of a hot tot to destroy everything within three miles, including his own men. He’d rather see his captured men dead than end up on the native’s dinner table or chopped up and eaten alive, their skins stretched and sewed onto one of them poles. He got on the Com-Link and reported to the general that the western line had collapsed and told him what he planned to do. After a moment’s hesitation, the general agreed that he was not to let the captives and dead succumb to torture and cannibalism by the natives. The general had reports that the western line had been overrun and most of the men dead or captured. “Go ahead and order the strike, Captain,” the general said. Drake ordered his men aboard the Reaper and then lifted off. About a mile from the line, the hot tot was launched. The pointed-headed cannibals wouldn’t be eating any human meat from their spits tonight, Drake thought.

The Reaper bucked as the pod was shot from the bow of the ship; a blue dot streaked across the jungle valley toward its destination, exploding a mile from their hovering station. The concussion from the blast shook the vehicle, causing it to swerve from its fixed position. With the western line ceasing to exist, Drake ordered the four Reapers at his disposal to mow down the surviving aliens. As fate would have it, the offense against the aliens was an utter failure. Wave upon wave of the pointed-head devils were sent against the troops on the line north and east, where they were quickly withdrawn. A hot tot was fired into the hordes of aliens that showed up to get a piece of the pie. The crazed devils would sacrifice thousands just to get some kind of human flesh and bone; Drake supposed for the elders. The narcotic effect human DNA had on the natives drove them to mass suicide. Intelligence reported a loss of one hundred eighty-five men and women to an approximate enemy dead of five thousand. The aliens could sustain severe losses and come back the following week with five thousand more. With a loss of one hundred eighty-five dead, the seven thousand troops and technicians could barely withstand those kind of casualties. Everyone was ordered to board the Reapers, return to base, and kill as many of the man-eaters as possible on the way. Upon the return from the disastrous incursion, a briefing was immediately set up. Everyone was ordered to the meeting before getting cleaned up. “All right, Colonel Gordon,” asked the general. “What happened on the western line?” “To put it all in a nut shell, General, we were outnumbered a hundred to one. Our lasers went dry after we killed hundreds of them. They came from holes in the forest floor—poured from them like ants—even in our rear, they crawled from the ground by the hundreds. We tried to withdraw but were surrounded. That’s when your golden boy Captain Durum took it upon himself to launch a Pod and destroy the rest of my men.” “It just so happens that I authorized the launch, Colonel. Your men were being dragged off into the jungle, living and dead.” “Yes, sir! Sorry, sir! The north and east also had to be evacuated because of alien pressure.”

“Surveillance droids tell me,” the general said, “that the aliens have been destroyed, but tens of thousands of them are deep in the interior jungle, arming themselves for an eventual attack on the complex. Our fuel for the Reapers is running low. Our last shipment went to a fleet commander that was in dire need. Now we’re stuck with a decision. We’re ordered to keep production of the Matistic ore at full capacity. Gentlemen! I can walk out on the observation deck and see five miles in any direction where the hot tot has destroyed the vegetation and numerous villages that popped up when we arrived, and still they come. Fuel and reinforcements are on the way, but in the meantime, we’re dismantling our forward outposts and bringing everything behind the wall. Any sign of the villagers and the deck guns, and hot tot pods from the walls will engage. The Reapers will be used in an emergency to protect our flank, as long as the fuel holds out. I want heavy guards throughout the complex and troops on standby. Until our supplies arrive, the situation will just worsen. We’re in a position that the planned incursion was supposed to prevent.” “Are you saying, General,” broke in the still recovering Dr. Mhee, “that the complex could be overrun by the aliens?” “Oh, I’m not saying anything of the kind. There’s just no sense in taking any more chances with the lives of our men. A couple of hot tots would level the playing field significantly, but we must use them sparingly until the convoy arrives. I’ve also requested a battle cruiser to standby in orbit in case we need some real heavy weaponry.” Reginald Mhee didn’t know if he was overstepping his bounds, but he had a question that needed answering. “I still don’t understand, General, why we would need a battle cruiser to fight a bunch of primitive aliens who have crude weapons at best.” “The battle cruiser is just a precaution, in case something unforeseen happens. There’s no point in you worrying your head about it, Doctor. Your job is in the labs. And to answer your next question, yes, if there were enough of them, they could overrun our positions, but not without enormous casualties. But with a battle cruiser on standby, that scenario would be impossible. We need that Matistic ore at all costs. The whole Planetary Alliance and United Colonies depend on it. We’ll win this war if we have to kill every alien on the planet. Do make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir! Perfectly! May I ask what the reconnaissance droids report? They do venture deep into the jungle interior, don’t they?” “Yes, and the reports indicate significant alien activity. There’s no point in getting everyone upset over nothing, Doctor. With that said, you may take your seat.” Dr. Mhee licked his lips and played with the bandage on his arm, a habit he’d picked up when he was nervous. He decided to keep his mouth shut and take a seat. After the meeting, he’d get back to the lab and get to work.

* * *

Dr. Eleanor Gatsby’s canceled rotation was a relief. She didn’t want to go out with a patrol just to be eaten or infected with some kind of unknown virus. She’d had her rotation before, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. She could not fathom why she was chosen a second time. Perhaps the captain had it out for her. Of course, that was a ridiculous notion. He was known to be a fair man, at least as long as you didn’t piss him off. As for the aliens, in her mind, it was genocide. What seemed like gross hostility toward humans was just their way of defending themselves, and a fine job they were doing. She didn’t know why she was so sympathetic toward such an aggressive race; she just figured it was the only way for them to defend themselves against a much more advanced civilization. Besides, the only reason the United Colonies was there was to mine the planet’s natural resources, which was mainly Matistic ore. Tens of thousands of the indigenous population had succumbed to the advances from Earth’s troops. Earth’s greedy overseers only had their stupid war to worry about. Now they were trapped within their own walls, she thought happily. She made up her mind; if there was anything she could do to help the poor natives, she was going to do it. Eleanor was in her quarters going over her lab reports. At twenty-eight years old, she’d been studying microbiology for five years, and the past three months had been on Planet Woe.

Getting up from her chair, she walked over to the viewing port and stared out at the desolate landscape that was once lush jungle teaming with alien wildlife. Her blue eyes reflected what the military’s bombs had done outside the complex, and that was burn a mile of the jungle into a scorched wasteland. She pulled her blonde hair from her tired eyes and put her face in her hands. She couldn’t concentrate. Her mind kept returning to the poor natives. If she could just communicate with them somehow, let them know she would help them. Let them know the humans would leave the planet if they would overrun the complex and be merciful. With thoughts of grander dancing inside her head, she plotted to somehow, at just the right time, open one of the outer gates. That’s when the call came for her to suit up. The schedule had been changed, and she was next on the roster.

* * *

Drake was preparing to go out on patrol with thirty-five other soldiers and techs. Even though the general ordered everyone inside the wall, the perimeter along the wall still had to be patrolled. He was standing naked inside a sealed room where an insecticidal powder called I would be sprayed over the length of his body to kill the parasites and keep the flying bloodsuckers at bay, harmless to humans but lethal to the alien inhabitants that craved human blood. Drs. Reginald Mhee and Benjamin Knight developed the mixture and was approved by the Board of Sciences. It was worth its weight in gold, Drake thought, but in the bush, with the humidity and one-hundred-two-degree heat, the stuff became greasy when mixed with sweat and very uncomfortable. After the soldiers and techs had their I application, they dressed in clean jungle fatigues and then retrieved their weapons from the armory. The techs always went along just in case they found one of the numerous unknown aggressive plant life and their parasitic friends. When everyone was ready, Drake addressed the team.

“I want you all to know that this little incursion outside the gate is nothing to laugh about. The plant life grows overnight and is just as deadly as if you were in the bush, which I know some of you have been. Keep your wits about you and don’t touch anything. That’s up to the lab people. We know what the techs are looking for, but we’re out there to watch their backs. Chances are we’ll find some man-eaters sneaking around our perimeter. It’s our job to kill them. Believe me, they’re up to no good.” Suddenly, a woman tech spoke up. “Captain? Has anyone tried to make with these beings? I mean wouldn’t it be easier to negotiate with them instead of killing them? Perhaps we could make some sort of uneasy peace. Somehow buy the Matistic ore instead of taking it.” “What’s your name, miss?” “My name is Dr. Eleanor Gatsby. I work in the biology section with the sanitation chambers.” “Every means imaginable was tried. I was one of the first ones here, and I can tell you that one whiff of our blood by these creatures, and all bets were off. They kidnapped our emissaries and had them for lunch, then launched an attack on our command Reaper. If you would have done your homework, you’d know our blood acts like a potent drug. It’s my opinion that the elders of the tribes are addicted to our blood and will do anything and everything to obtain more of it, including sacrificing thousands of their own kind to get it. And you also know they’re not the only creatures on this planet that crave our blood.” “Has anyone tried to renegotiate?” Eleanor argued. “Look what’s been done to their population, not to mention their land. Maybe they’re more inclined to find a solution to our differences.” “Do you actually think they want us gone? On the contrary, Doctor. They want us to stay. If we leave, then the best high they ever had would leave with us.” Several of the men laughed. “All right, men. The good doctor’s apparently never been in the field.” There were others that felt the same as her, Drake thought, but none had been through or saw what he had. With his curiosity aroused, he wanted to hear what the good doctor had to say.

“Let me ask you, Doctor. What would you do if you were in charge of this facility?” Eleanor knew she had overstepped her bounds, but she had to say what was on her mind. “Well, Captain, I’d start by ceasing all hostilities toward the natives. Since they’re not inclined to talk to us, I assume because they’re afraid, I would forcibly obtain several high-ranking elders, as you call them, and sit them down. Make them understand that we’re not here to take over their planet, and we’ll compensate them for their losses if they’d just let us mine the Matistic ore. I think that with the trouble we’ve already caused them, they would have second thoughts about continuing this war. That is what you’d call it, Captain, a war?” “Yes, Dr. Gatsby, a war on several fronts, the natives being just one. There’s one thing that has always puzzled me, Doctor. That’s why has it never been mentioned that the amount of blood for these creatures to get addicted is just a thimble full. That’s right. The military has its own specialists in the field. Can you imagine how many of the natives can get high on just one human body, dead or alive? And that’s not counting the skin and bones. I’ve seen what they do to humans when they capture them, and it’s not a pretty sight.” “I’m not denying they’re savages, Captain. Look at it from the losses that we’ve sustained. You have to it we can’t continue with that kind of loss indefinitely. And the amount of blood it takes them to get a so-called high, well, that still hasn’t been determined in our labs. We need a live native specimen.” “I’ve given you people plenty of live specimens. Their aggressive nature always results in them dying from some sort of withdrawal. It seems we always manage to get one that’s hooked on our DNA.” “Then we could find one that isn’t.” “I can tell you now, Dr. Gatsby, that you won’t find any elders that isn’t hooked on our blood. They are the ones giving the orders, and their orders are to kill and capture as many of us that they can, regardless of their casualties.” A vivid memory suddenly surfaced: his men with the skin of their asses stretched and sewn around some kind of lodge pole; bones of his men, broiled, ready to be eaten. “I’m afraid the ones giving the orders are the ones waging the war,” Drake said sarcastically. “Who are we supposed to negotiate with?”

Eleanor knew she had the captain’s complete attention. If she could just make him see reason. Before she could reply, the captain said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Doctor. I’ll let you hand-pick the ones you want to negotiate with. How’s that?” She couldn’t believe her ears. Captain Durum is siding with a liberal. “But, Captain—” “Don’t worry, Doctor. We have plenty of captives.” That was news to Eleanor. Like the rest of the techs, she thought all the prisoners were executed. “Gather your notes, plan your strategy. This is a one-shot attempt. Is that understood, Doctor?” “Yes, sir! I’ll do so immediately.” Eleanor started walking toward the bay doors. “Wait a minute, Doctor! Aren’t you forgetting something? You have a rotation to fulfill. If you don’t go, then someone else would have to take your place. I try to be a fair man.” Drake smiled. That bastard, Eleanor thought. Was he trying to get her killed before she could implement her plans? She’d better tow the line. The captain has had people executed for less. Not long after that, the patrol was walking single file along the south gate. There were similar patrols at various locations along the ten-mile-long cylindrical wall. Drake was three men behind point man, a spot he always took to have a clear view of trouble up front; but in the case of Planet Woe, trouble could come from any direction. The bush had grown significantly overnight, as if it knew there would be patrols. Of course, it was his imagination; but still the damn place was starting to get on his nerves, a bad thing if you were in a position of authority. He had to keep a level head; his men depended on it. A year on Planet Woe, more than any other man except maybe the general himself, and it was finally starting to get to him. Why would he have bothered with the doctor’s proposals? He glanced behind him at the feisty Dr. Gatsby. Now that was a number for the books, he thought, as liberal and stupid as they come. But he had to it that

her ideas should be pursued, all options explored. Not that he agreed with her; he was just a firm believer in people getting what they asked for. If she wanted to learn the hard way, then she’d come to the right man. Up ahead, the lead man stopped. The undergrowth was tall and thick, making Drake wonder what the damn sprayers were up to. How fast did the damn shit grow? Drake didn’t need to ask what the holdup was; he knew. There was a native in the bush. His point man was the best; he could smell them. Drake moved up alongside him. “What’ve we got?” Drake whispered. “Two in the bush, Captain, maybe three.” “Put your pulse laser on stun, Sergeant. Let’s get the good doctor a specimen. I’ll be right behind you for backup. If anything goes wrong, I’ll waste them.” “Aye, aye, sir.” All the sergeant had to do after that was hose down the clump of foliage with his laser on stun, and it’d knock out anything within a ten-yard diameter. When he pushed the button on his rife, an orange beam of light shot out and spread over the foliage, covering everything in an orange glow. It only lasted a second, but the alien screams that erupted from the bush were quick and earshattering. If there were any more in the vicinity, they were now alerted. Since the techs had on the more protective clothing, Drake ordered them to drag the natives out into the open. Among much grumbling, two of the men went into the foliage to get the stunned natives. When they emerged, they were covered with some sort of yellow pollen from the indigenous plants. Drake knew immediately that wasn’t good. “You two men get to the sanitation chambers before the stuff finds a way into those suits!” At that second, one of the men began to scream. “Oh, shit! It’s in my suit! It’s burning!” He began pulling on the Velcro straps that held the suit in place.

“Don’t take off the suit!” Drake yelled. But it was too late; the tech was shedding the suit as fast as he could. Within a minute, the suit was lying at the tech’s feet, but in the process of unclothing, he scattered the dusty pollen over a good portion of his underclothes. He began to scream, slapping at the burning yellow dust as it filtered through his clothing, adhering to his skin beneath. By that time, the patrol had gathered around to watch the spectacle, all except the more seasoned troops, who immediately formed up a perimeter. Drake chambered a laser slug but hesitated. “Bring Dr. Gatsby up front,” he ordered. Eleanor stared in disbelief at the scene before her. She stood not more than a couple of yards from the screaming tech. She knew him. He’d worked with her on numerous occasions; his name was Cecil something. “You’re the doctor!” Drake hollered. “Do something!” She immediately opened her kit and retrieved a special silicon spray, used to treat acid-induced bacterial contamination. Quickly, she began to spray the ointment first on his face then worked her way down. “Damn, get him into the chambers. We have to get his clothes off!” she yelled. But it was too late. The tech’s skin was melting from the unknown alien dust. He was sitting on the leafy ground, screaming his last breaths in utter agony. The special spray turned out to be not so special, Drake thought, as he splattered the tech’s head with a laser slug from his rifle. Drake looked at the seething Eleanor Gatsby. “What did you think was going to happen?” he asked. “Did you want the man to melt right before your eyes and not do anything to end his suffering?” Eleanor wanted to say that she’d have gotten him to the sanitation chamber, wanted to say it would have stopped the spreading acid affect, but she knew the damn captain was right. They couldn’t have saved him, just prolonged his suffering. Tears threatened to come pouring from her eyes, but she willed herself to be strong, at least in front of the captain. Finally, she said, “What would you have me say, Captain? It would be foolish of

me to say we could’ve saved him. I just wish there was some other way.” The other tech, who called himself Jeff, was pleading to go back into the sanitation chambers. He was also covered in the dust, but his suit had kept him protected, so far. The soldiers were keeping their distance. “You can’t go back into the facility looking like that!” Drake said. “We must clean you up somehow.” Drake looked over at Dr. Gatsby. “You have any suggestions?” There was no wind on Planet Woe, and the layering of the dust was like a fine powder; it adhered to the surface as chalk would a chalkboard, the outer layer dusting about with every move. What was she to do? The captain was intently watching her. She tried to speak with a confidence she never had. “Let’s get him to the hatch. We’ll have to take off the suit before he can go into the sanitation chamber.” When Jeff objected, Eleanor said, “Listen to me, Jeff. If you go into the chamber with all that stuff on you, it’d just blow around in the chamber. Sure, some of it will be absorbed, but some won’t, and that portion of the dust will settle on your skin. Do you understand?” “Yes. But what are we going to do? I don’t want to die like that.” “You’re not, Jeff. We’ll get those clothes off you, ever so slowly, okay?” “Shouldn’t we get to the hatch first?” “No. The longer we leave them on, the more chance you have of exposure.” “Oh, shit!” Jeff cried. Eleanor and two other techs slowly peeled Jeff’s insulated suit off his body, being sure to spray any exposed parts of his body with the bacterial solution. At least the dust didn’t have a mind of its own, Drake thought. Unlike most other species on the planet. He had to hand it to her; she managed to get the man back to the chamber safely. She seemed irable enough, something he had yet to see in the techs up until that point.

After they had Jeff and the two unconscious natives into the sanitation chambers, the patrol continued their sweep. The men on the other side would put Jeff in isolation, and the two natives in separate decontamination chambers to await interrogation. The sergeant again took point, and they moved along the wall toward the south gate and home. The surveillance droids combed the area on an hourly basis, but the natives managed somehow to get through. Before they had reached the gate, hordes of natives charged from the cover of the creeping vegetation. Drake immediately formed the patrol in a legion formation, mowing down the attackers as they entered the kill zone. The techs, being nonmilitary, were placed in the middle of the formation for protection. A few minutes later, it was over. But Drake was getting pissed. How could so many of the natives get by the surveillance droids? Unless. Shit! The bastards were coming from the ground. Drake Com-Linked the general to relay the information and seek instructions, but the general was drunk as usual and couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Drake was on his own. Once knowing what to look for, the holes in the ground where they were crawling from were obvious. Drake ordered his men to throw an incendiary grenade into the holes as they ed. Finally, they made it back to the south gate. Drake did not intend to continue with the patrol. There were too many hostiles about, and he didn’t want to risk his men on a suicide mission. The brass would just have to deal with the situation as they saw fit, Drake thought depressingly, which meant, he would have to once again make the hard decisions. When they finally returned from decontamination, Drake walked with Dr. Gatsby up to level 3 where the two captives were being held. When they arrived, there were several tech interpreters trying to communicate with the natives. “What have you got?” Drake asked. “So far, they’re uncooperative,” said a senior tech named Bronson. “Do you understand what they’re saying?” Drake asked. “Yes, sir. We’ve had a year to decipher their dialect. I think we can safely

communicate.” “Good! Let’s let Dr. Gatsby have a crack at them.” There he was again, trying to catch me with my foot in my mouth, Eleanor thought. Well, we’ll see about that. “Is that a male?” Eleanor asked. “Yes, Doctor.” “Ask him if wants to go home.” “He says home would be good.” “If he tells us what we want to know, he can go home.” “He says no one goes home from this place.” “What’s their word for leader?” “I believe it’s Yatsel or something like that.” “Tell him we want him to take a message to his Yatsel. Tell him that we want to talk to his Yatsel. We want peace. If he doesn’t make peace with us soon, the whole planet, all your land, will be destroyed. Does he want that?” “He says he’s hungry.” “Are you shitting me?” Eleanor asked. “The whole planet is in an uproar, and all he wants to do is eat? Does he realize what we’re asking him to do?” “I’m sorry, Doctor, but he wants to know if he can have you.” “Have me? What are you talking about? You mean eat me? What the hell is wrong with this one? Let’s try the other one. Ask him the same questions.” The next one was more cooperative, Drake thought. At least in his eyes. “This one says he will take the message back to his Yatsel,” Bronson said. “But he also needs to eat.”

“Tell him he can eat when he’s home!” Eleanor said. Drake noticed the native was getting irate. It sounded like he was demanding something. “What’s he saying, Doc?” “He wants food. Not the stuff we have in the box, but real food.” “You mean he wants some of our blood! Well, I’m going to give him a little eye opener,” Drake said. He aimed his side arm through the mesh of the cage and fired, blowing a small, but deadly hole in the hairy chest of the native that wanted to eat Eleanor. Green blood gushed from the wound, flowing rapidly down the belly and into the hide that they wore. Everyone backed away from the cage, expecting Drake to kill the other one as well. “Okay, Bronson,” said Drake. “Now ask him again if he wants to take the message to his Yatsel.” “He says he will take the message home to his village.” “Tell him to come back with a delegation to the front wall with their answer. We will not harm the delegation unless attacked. If they do not come by the time of the second moon, a giant bird will appear and turn their land and everybody in it into a blackened wasteland. I don’t think they understand what wasteland means, but do the best you can, Doc.” Well, if he didn’t steal the show on that one, Eleanor thought. She had to it even though she didn’t condone the killing of an unarmed native, he did get results. She just wanted the results to bear fruit. “I want everyone to know that I didn’t enjoy shooting the native. I just did what I thought was right under the circumstances. If any of you wants to file a report, please do so.” “Dr. Gatsby? I just want to tell you I hope the release of this prisoner bears fruit. Also, I want to tell you what I think will happen. The man-eater will go back to his village. The message will be laughed at in the halls of their court, and they will do anything to keep us here. Playing the diplomacy card isn’t in their best interest. They want blood, and the fact that we tried to negotiate means nothing to them. They will see this gesture of peace as weakness and attack in force before our reinforcements arrive. Sorry, Doctor. I know that’s not what you want

to hear.” “Well, I see how you feel about it, but I’m inclined to stick to the fact that the message will get through and that cooler heads will prevail.” Without another word, Drake walked from the interrogation room and into the corridor where he once again tried to get in touch with the general. Well, he tried. Now he was going to give some orders. He Com-Linked Sergeant Slim Johnson. The sinkholes that the natives were coming from were too close to the walls for any high explosives. So he ordered two hundred men to sweep the outer wall and lob as many grenades as possible in the holes until they were buried. Ball Buster concussion bombs would do the rest from a few hundred yards. It only made sense that the natives were traveling through tunnels under the surface. Anything from the walls to the jungle would be shaken to death, causing precious body organs to rupture from the bombs’ concussion. The bombing would take effect immediately. Also, he couldn’t help wondering how the aliens could burrow underground amongst millions of Woe’s red ants and return unscathed. He supposed the huge red bastards just didn’t like green blood. Drake took the slip up to the forward observation deck and watched the Reapers shoot the cone-shaped bombs deep into the surface of the planet. He could feel the satisfying vibration even from where he stood, indicating the bombs were doing their work. There wasn’t much more to be done except wait for the maneaters to come. The surveillance droids reported thousands of natives preparing for some kind of celebration, which Drake thought could only be the main attack. Drake wasn’t worried about a breech in the wall as were the two idiot colonels who were cowering in their quarters. They had enough firepower to destroy any attack from the interior. Of course, if they hadn’t found out about the sinkholes, it might be an entirely different outcome. Suddenly, Sergeant Johnson’s voice came through Drake’s Communication Link. “Captain Durum, this is Slim. We have a problem with the Reapers.” “What kind of problem?” “The no-fuel kind of problem.”

“Oh, shit!”

* * *

Eleanor waited impatiently in her quarters for a sign from the released captive. It had been two days since the interrogation. He was supposed to have relayed her message to his Yatsel and make some sort of about her proposal. She thought again about the brash Captain Durum. Much of what he said made sense. It even convinced her to postpone her plans to open one of the gates to let the aliens in. It was a stupid plan anyway. What was she thinking? She’d be immediately shot. The captain’s voice suddenly echoed over the Com-Link. “Dr. Gatsby? Come to the south observation deck, please.” Here it comes, she thought excitedly. Eleanor grabbed her white smock and ordered the voice-actuated door to open. The door slid silently open on its tracks. She then headed for the slip and to the south observation deck. Once on the south deck, she stood and stared unbelievably at the spectacle before her. Thousands of aliens marched toward the complex, accompanied by hundreds of giant apelike monstrosities, creatures with huge feet and hands that carried clubs that resembled large bone. In front of the horde were dancing natives all donned up in colorful attire, some sort of medicine dance, she surmised. “What do you make of that?” Captain Durum asked her. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she answered. “It very well could be the emissary we’ve been waiting for. By the way they’re dressed up, I’d say that would be a good guess.” “Why would they need ten thousand warriors, for lack of a better word, to bring us a peace proposal?”

“Do you blame them, Captain? We’ve killed thousands of their people. Would you walk into our killing zone after what they’ve been through?” “It looks to me that they’re doing just that. You know what I think, Doctor?” “I don’t know, Captain, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” Drake ignored the remark and continued, “I think they’re hoping we think that they’re on a peace mission and that we won’t fire on them. When they get close enough, they’ll attack in force. Those witchdoctors you see out front are supposed to be bringing the aliens luck and perhaps sacrifice to whatever else their screwed-up race believes in. We’re not going to play stupid, Doctor, so you can try and negotiate.” “Please, Captain, let me try to talk to them! We’ll stop them before they get to close. Take me out in a shuttle, so I can see what they want. They might have accepted our proposal. How can you tell?” “Do you really want to talk to them? If they’re not sincere, they’ll take you captive, and if they follow up with an all-out assault, I wouldn’t be able to save you.” Eleanor looked at the Drake pleadingly. “I have to know!” “I can’t allow you to risk your life and the lives of my men, but I’ll do the next best thing, Doctor.” “Corporal Jennings?” the captain suddenly said. “Bring in the prisoners!” The corporal, who was standing by the captain’s side, went through the sliding door and immediately returned with three of the shackled alien prisoners and several techs. “Have the prisoners been briefed?” asked the captain. “As well as the techs could make them savages understand. All they want to do is eat us!” “We’re all aware of that, Corporal! Are the prisoners convinced we want peace?”

“From what the techs tell me, sir, they know we want peace, but they have no decision-making power.” “Dr. Gatsby? Brief the prisoners on what you wanted to say to the Yatsel. They’re going to be your bargaining chips, your voice. You will tell them what to say, and they will say it through a loud speaker from the shuttle that will be hovering above the leaders. That’s the best I can do.” Well, Eleanor thought, the captain was full of surprises. He is one step ahead of her all the time. “Okay, Captain, you’re the boss.” “Corporal? Take five men. Escort Dr. Gatsby and the prisoners to the shuttle and stay with her for the return trip. Release the prisoners when she’s through with them.” Drake didn’t need to tell the corporal to stay out of range of the deadly projectiles; he would know that without being told. “You heard the man, people!” the corporal yelled. “Let’s do it!” There were six soldiers, two techs, three prisoners, a pilot, and Dr. Gatsby. The shuttle took off from a hangar by the south gate and sped toward the hordes of aliens. Once above them, the captives were ordered to relay Dr. Gatsby’s message through the loud speaker. The prisoners were first confused about the speaking device but then elated that hundreds of fellow aliens could hear their voices. “Let’s wrap it up,” the corporal said. “I’m sorry, Corporal Jennings,” Eleanor said as she pointed a laser pistol at him. “I’m giving the orders now!” “Now hold on there, Doctor! Don’t go pointing that gun at me.” “Land this shuttle and let me out!” “What, are you crazy? Do you know what they’ll do to you?” The corporal knew the doctor was serious but had no intentions of letting her commandeer the shuttle. “Pilot?” he said. “Set her down two hundred yards out.” “Closer, Corporal,” she ordered.

“Not on your life, lady! I’m not getting myself killed for you.” He looked at the pilot. “You have your orders, Pilot.” Corporal Jennings didn’t like the setup. Too much vegetation had already grown up across the field between the alien army and the sleek walls of the complex, enough to conceal a hundred savages. “Pilot? Light up the bush below us with spit rounds. Open us up a place to land.” “Aye, aye, sir!” As the pilot was tearing up the bush below, Corporal Jennings was easing out his laser pistol while the doctor was watching the devastation below. He flipped the switch to stun. He pointed the gun at Eleanor. “Put the weapon down, Doc, or I’ll put you to sleep for sure!” It didn’t seem Eleanor could do anything right. She bungled it all. She lowered her weapon. “Private Hartwell? Take the doctor’s weapon.” “Yes, sir!” He roughly snatched Eleanor’s gun from her hand. “Give me that, Doc!” “Pilot, land the shuttle!” ordered Corporal Jennings. The pilot landed the shuttle in the place where he’d saturated with spit rounds. “All right!” The corporal pointed at the three men closest to the prisoners. “You men get those savages out of here, now!” “But we need to brief the prisoners first,” complained Eleanor. “You lost that privilege, Doc, when you tried to take the ship. It’s my call now, and I say ditch the savages and head home.” The door to the shuttle slid open, and the prisoners jostled out the door. The restraints they were wearing were left on as the shuttle door was quickly secured; and the shuttle engine’s revved up, speeding out toward the launch pad, away from the thousands of the fierce clamoring natives.

When the shuttle landed on the pad, Drake was waiting. The corporal had already informed him of what had occurred on the shuttle. The doctor’s constant pressure for the native’s leniency had run its course. Now she would be punished for her attempt at commandeering the shuttle. “You’re to be confined to your quarters, Dr. Gatsby,” Drake said as she exited the shuttle’s bay. “Under guard until I figure out what to do with you.” “You mean you’re not going to execute me on the spot?” she said sarcastically. “No, but I’m about ready to send you out there with your ridiculous notion about how they want peace. I gave you the chance to prove yourself, and what did you do? You squandered it. You had the perfect opportunity to prove your concepts, Doctor! But apparently, you don’t actually believe your own theories or you wouldn’t have behaved in such a childish manner. You’ve endangered my men, which is unforgivable in my eyes.” Drake was pacing across the floor, a habit he’d picked up when he was infuriated. “I’ve seen enough death in this God-forsaken place to last me a lifetime,” Drake continued. “Whether you like it or not, we’re here to stay! The Matistic ore will be extracted with or without your help.” Drake stopped pacing and stood before Eleanor. “You’ll be going out on the next patrol, Doctor. You’re dismissed!” “Listen, Captain—” “I said dismissed, damn you!” Eleanor knew she’d screwed up. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she ran to her quarters, thankful she wasn’t sentenced to death. “Captain!” Sergeant Johnson hollered. “Better take a look at this!” Drake took a deep breath and walked onto the observation deck. The natives were in a frenzied state. The three captives that were released were being impaled on long sharp branches. A branch was forced up their rectum and into the stomach, then their bodies were raised into the air for all to see. The screaming of the tortured three were drowned out by the furious uproar of the masses.

There were about three hundred witchdoctors, or whatever they were, in front of the warriors, chanting them on. Drake figured their apparent show of weakness by trying to communicate with the savages had brought on what seemed like drug-induced hordes. “All right, Sergeant!” Drake said. “Light them up!” Sergeant Johnson then ordered a hot tot strike on the forward procession, which were mainly the witchdoctors walking ahead of the giant creatures with the bone clubs. Drake watched the blue orb streak out from the south gun port, exploding in a blue flash a mile into the multitude of screaming natives. The mass killing of the savages was unsettling, even for Drake. But it was killed or be killed. The crazed aliens did not intend to negotiate with beings they considered an addicting delicacy. The stench from hundreds of burnt bodies rushed into the complex along with the blast wave from the detonation of the hot tot. Almost every man and woman was on the eight observation decks and numerous sublevels to witness the harrowing natives and the exploding of the hot tot. Hordes of savages ran toward the complex, screaming out alien curses. The explosive hot tot had wiped out their dancing witchdoctors, exciting them into a renewed frenzy. The huge beasts that accompanied the procession were withering on the forest floor; their legs had been incinerated up to the hips by the scorching heat from the hot tots. “Hit them again, Sergeant!” Drake ordered. Another hot tot was immediately fired into the screaming mass of aliens. Finally, after several hot tot explosions and thousands dead, the natives retreated into the jungle interior. There were few enemy corpses, having been incinerated from the intense heat of the blasts, including the legless ape creatures; but the sickening odor of burnt alien flesh lingered in the stagnant air. The filtered air scrubbers would keep the pungent odor from reaching the inside of the complex, but outside on the observation decks, the smell was nauseating. Drake ordered all unnecessary personnel into the complex. He then went immediately to the surveillance chamber where the main computers were located

and activated a dozen surveillance droids to monitor the aliens’ activities in the jungle. As he waited for the drones to relay the proceeding events, he ed the fleet commander. The convoy that carried the supplies and fuel they so desperately needed was under attack by the enemy. An advanced alien race called the Zoliod had fought the Planetary Alliance and United Colonies to a standstill over mineral rights on a dozen unclaimed planets. From what the commander had communicated, the attack was repulsed but at the cost of several destroyed supply ships and a severely damaged battle cruiser. The fuel transport was destroyed in the attack. In other words, Drake thought depressingly, they were screwed. It would be weeks until another convoy could be assembled. How did the enemy know of the convoy’s existence? If they knew about the convoy, then they probably knew about the mining of the Matistic ore on Planet Woe. Drake knew the top brass would be wondering the same thing. Well, they had better start looking in their own backyard, Drake thought. One well-placed informant could do more damage than a whole armored fleet of warships. With the production of Matistic ore now threatened, Drake would have to set new priorities. First, he had to inform the general of the situation. The general was hung over and irritable. With the convoy literally destroyed, Planet Woe would be expected to still produce Matistic ore on a regular basis. The savages were practically knocking on the gates; and the brass was apparently losing the war against the Zoliod, what General Hammond thought was an inferior alien race. Hell, he didn’t even like the name of the bastards. Overall, he felt lucky to have a captain that was so capable. General Hammond had to it if it weren’t for Captain Durum, the two incompetent colonels under his command probably would have lost the complex by now. He had already informed Colonel Gordon that the captain was promoted to commander of the complex. He answered to no one except the general himself. He had it from good authority that the two colonels were already filing a complaint to the consul general himself. Well, let them. The only way that he could be removed from command would be through an arbitrary petition from a Board of Inquiry of the United Colonies, from which General Hammond had considerable influence. It seemed like the general wasn’t the only one who liked to indulge in the spirits. The two colonels could make few commands effectively unless they were

approved through the captain or the general. He walked over to his desk and picked up the reports that had been filtering in. The estimated alien casualties were twenty-four hundred dead and wounded. God only knew what they did with their own wounded. Captain Durum had unleashed the full fury of the Razorbacks on the savages, driving them back into their nests where they belong. Now the general was contemplating their next move. No supplies, at least nothing of value, were going to make it to Planet Woe. They had to tuff it out for three more weeks before another transport could be loaded and shipped. The brass had assured the general that the next convoy would indeed make it on schedule. A spy had been apprehended in the intelligence sector of Command Central. A disgruntled sergeant who had been ed over for a promotion had volunteered critical information to the enemy. He was in the process of being interrogated. That left the defense of the complex up to him. He sat down at his desk and poured his third shot of brandy, vodka, and whiskey combination that was potent and common among the brass. How could a human fraternize with an alien race nobody knew much about anyway? the general wondered. Apparently, the aliens knew much more than we knew about them. A whole convoy was damaged, including a battle cruiser, and some of the ships were outright destroyed. It was mind-boggling. General Hammond wondered if they weren’t actually losing the war. General Hammond thought about the species of aliens on Planet Woe. Out of a dozen alien races that the United Colonies had stumbled upon in recent years, the ones on Planet Woe were not only the most primitive but were also the most fierce. And then there was the Zoloid, an aggressive race who were as advanced as we were, maybe even more advanced. They were a devious world of humanoid-shaped creatures who didn’t mind taking casualties when it warranted victory. Intercepting the convoy at just the right moment was a stroke of genius that cost the colonies dearly, which also meant the enemy knew they were in desperate need of the Matistic ore for the production of warships. The only advantage over the enemy was the armor plating made from Matistic compounds, which could withstand several direct hits from their torpedoes before buckling. The damaged battle cruiser was proof of that. If the aliens could

have destroyed the cruiser, they would have, but the cruiser had fought them off with the loss of several supply ships destined for Woe. Now the general wondered how long it’d be before the advanced alien race assaulted Planet Woe. He looked at his empty glass. Yes, a refill was in order. After pouring another drink, he walked over to the window of his quarters and looked out at the desolate landscape, knowing that the brass would now have to protect Planet Woe from a certain alien assault. Suddenly, the Com-Link on the wall emitted its insistent buzz. On the console, it said he had a communication from command. The computer analyzed his voice in less than a second as he spoke. “This is General Hammond! How are you, iral Stein?” “Terrible, Henry, just terrible. The brass upstairs wants results, but I need more firepower if I’m to protect your planet.” Here it comes, the general thought. “I’m ordering the damaged battle cruiser, Metropolis, and the remaining convoy on to Planet Woe. Unfortunately, the refueling transport had been destroyed in the attack, which means, General, that once the convoy arrives, it stays until fresh transports are available. They knew just where to hit us, Henry. The good news is that one ammunition transport and one troop transport survived the attack. That’s all we can do for you until later this week. Intelligence tells me the Zoloid has a war fleet on the way toward Planet Woe. I don’t know if our forces will arrive in time. It’s going to be close. Whatever happens, they’ll have to get through the Metropolis first. She might be damaged, but she still has firepower. What’s your situation on the ground?” “It’s not good, iral. There’re ten thousand natives waiting to get into one of the gates to the complex. We repulsed a horde of the devils not more than a day ago, two thousand dead, but they continue to plan for another attack. Our Reapers are out of fuel. All we have is the deck guns for now. We have an ample supply of Razorback hot tots left, but it still might not be enough. Our laser cannons are also low on ammunition.” “You have to hold on, Henry! The fate of the entire colonies depends on the

Matistic ore. We have another production facility under construction on the far side of the planet that I’m confident the Zoloid aren’t aware of. It’s scheduled to open for production within the month. Good luck, Henry!” Without waiting for a reply, he signed off the Com-Link. The general immediately buzzed Drake. “Captain Durum! Can you come to my quarters, please?” “Yes, sir, General.” Drake didn’t expect the general to be up and about this early. He must have slept it off. As he walked to the slip for the ride upstairs, he contemplated on what the general might have to say. Whatever it was, Drake knew it wasn’t good. Nothing ever came to any good on Planet Woe. Several minutes later, Drake was standing at attention in front of General Hammond. “At ease, Drake! You’re among friends here.” “Yes, sir!” General Hammond filled Drake in on everything the iral had relayed to him. “That’s about it, son,” said the aging general. “Until what’s left of the convoy arrives, you must keep the natives at bay. You have my full to do whatever you have to do. Whatever you do, do it quick. The surveillance droids are predicting a big build up.” “Yes, sir, General, I’ll do my best.” As Drake left the general’s quarters, Corporal Jennings was waiting outside. Drake was always proud that he never had to look for him. He was always ready to take up the slack. “Corporal? I want all the remaining fuel from the Reapers transferred into Reapers 1 and 2. We’re going on the offensive against the aliens.” “Yes, sir, Captain!” That Captain Durum was something else, Corporal Jennings thought. Going on the offensive against ten thousand alien natives with two Reapers and what they could carry, which were about one hundred twenty men. However, knowing the

captain, he had something up his sleeve. Drake ordered seven hundred troopers on standby, everything he could spare and still defend the complex effectively. It was time to kill as many of the village elders as possible, and that meant going into the heart of the main village where they were gathered to coordinate their eventual attack. The plan was to conduct a frontal assault with several hundred troopers behind a barrage of Razorbacks; while the two Reapers would, if possible, devastate the villages in the center. Drake estimated the village elders to number about seven hundred. The Reapers would be loaded with hot tots and laser cannon deck guns. He needed to get to the elders before his troops on the front line took a beating from the more numerous aliens. A few hours later, the assault force was ready. Drake tried to inform the general of his intentions, but he had already ed out from alcohol consumption. Drake had the utmost respect for the general, but it was not the time to be bathing in drink. After several hot tot launches, an area for three miles in front of the complex was cleared of all life. But as soon as the aliens realized the troops were advancing, they came out in force, just what Drake was anticipating. It would bring pressure on his troops but at the same time leave the villages defenseless. Pouring from hundreds of holes in the ground, thousands of aliens ran in the direction of his troops as he skimmed across the expanse toward the elders. It didn’t take long for the fast-moving Reapers to reach their destination. Drake ordered the entire village center destroyed with a bombardment from the laser cannon deck guns, killing hundreds of alien elders. The surrounding villages were also targeted for the place was teaming with the alien man-eaters. With the targets in question smoldering, Drake ordered the two Reapers to land in one of the untouched villages. “Corporal! Get the men out and set up a perimeter!” Drake ordered. The men from both Reapers fanned out in a defensive formation to protect the Reapers. It was their only way home. Aliens immediately began attacking the perimeter in defense of the leaders but

were being mowed down by automatic pulse lasers. Drake took Corporal Jennings and fifteen men into the surrounding huts looking for surviving elders. There were plenty of older-looking creatures dressed in attire that indicated high rank. In the main hut, Drake captured several and ordered the rest killed. “Back to the Reapers!” Drake ordered. “Kill as many of the bastards as you can on the way! Let’s move!” Drake watched with satisfaction as the remaining elders ran toward the surrounding jungle. When their protectors weren’t around, they were nothing but cowards. With the men loaded into the Reapers, they blasted toward the complex. As they were zooming back toward the complex, Drake ordered the front line to retreat in an orderly fashion and leave no man behind alive or dead. The man-eaters weren’t going to feast on any humans that night. He then had the Reapers chew up the attacking natives with automatic cannon fire, while the troops implemented the retreat. When the aliens learned of the attack on the villages, they ran in force toward the blazing fire that had started in the jungle from the multiple hits from the Reapers, releasing pressure on the troops’ retreat. Back at the complex, Drake now had to deal with the hardest part—the casualties. Because of the way the scenario played out, there were but a few dead and wounded. The assault on the elders was a success. Drake didn’t like to lose even one trooper but was delighted with the results. The heroes would be honored accordingly. Any organization the aliens once had was in complete disarray. The surveillance droids told a story of utter chaos. It would be some time before there was another attack on the complex. Drake hoped the stubborn natives held back long enough for them to take care of their other problems, meaning other, more advanced aliens. The next few days ed quickly. The crippled convoy finally arrived, disembarking much-needed troops and supplies. It bolstered the troop level at the complex by three hundred men. Now, Drake thought, it all depended what the alien race wanted to do with Planet Woe. His troops, Reapers, laser cannon, all would be a formidable force in a ground battle; but if the aliens had no use for Planet Woe, then their warships could devastate the site from orbit. In Drake’s opinion, a determined enemy

would easily destroy the heavily damaged battle cruiser Metropolis. All the cruiser could do at this point was buy them time. A few days would be all they’d need by Drake’s estimate. By that time, General Hammond was awake and again at the helm. After briefing the general, Drake went directly to the guarded quarters of Dr. Eleanor Gatsby. “Well, Doctor?” Drake said as he entered. “The village elders, your so-called Yatsel, the ones you were wanting to negotiate with, are all dead, at least I hope so.” “And you came down here to tell me that, Captain? Or did you come down here to give me the date of my execution.” “Don’t be ridiculous, Doctor! I still harbor a little hope for you. It’s entirely up to me what is done with you, even though what you did is a punishable offense. But since no one was hurt, and Corporal Jennings had matters in hand, I’m willing to forego any punishment at this point. You can continue you duties as you see fit.” “I-I-don’t know what to say! You’re not going to kill me? I mean—” “Don’t believe everything you hear, Doctor,” interrupted Drake. “Like I’ve said before, there’s enough death on Planet Woe to last me a lifetime. Good day, Doctor.” Drake walked toward the exit. “Captain Durum! I can’t thank you enough. Please, let me buy you coffee or perhaps a drink in the recreation room.” Drake looked at her. Well now, he thought. He’d never noticed before, but she was quite lovely. “I have a few duties to perform,” Drake said, “but I’ll be available in an hour if you care to meet me.” “Splendid, Captain! In an hour, and thanks again!” With that said, Drake left the doctor’s quarters and took the slip up to the observation deck where Sergeant Johnson and Corporal Jennings were waiting. “What have we got, Sergeant?” Drake asked.

“All’s quiet so far, Captain. I don’t think we’ll be hearing from them for a while.” “I agree, but we must be vigilant, Sergeant. We don’t want any surprises, not when we have the entire Zoloid fleet breathing down our necks. Corporal Jennings, you come with me. I have one more stop to make.” Drake ended up in a part of the complex he rarely went, the production facility, the place where the Matistic ore was extracted from the ground and processed for the trip to the factories on one of the colonies. The general manager of production was there to greet him. “Hello, Lieutenant. I’m Bradly Roark.” “That’s captain to you,” the corporal said. “Oh yes, forgive me, Captain. I’m not really a military man, so the rank insignia sometimes eludes me.” “How’s it going down here?” Drake asked. “Very well, so far. Your good Dr. Mhee has the ant problem finally resolved, and the foundation has been replaced with Simulink. Nothing’s going to eat through that—” “I’m talking about the production of the Matistic ore, Mr. Roark.” “Yes, the ore production is at maximum capacity, but we’ll soon need someplace to put it. The bunkers are almost full, and there are no transports to load.” “Keep production moving, Mr. Roark. Let me worry about transport.” Drake was immediately on the Com-Link to the captain of the Metropolis. “This is Commander Durum, Captain,” Drake said. To avoid confusion, Drake addressed himself as commander, which was actually his officer title. “Yes, Commander, what can I do for you?” “I need that ammunition transport that’s been unloaded. We have to load it with

Matistic ore and send it on its way before the enemy fleet arrives.” “I can do you one better, Commander. I have three empty transports.” Drake looked at the corporal and smiled. “Thanks, Captain! Please send them over to the loading bay at the production facility.” Drake turned his attention back to the production manager. “Have you got enough ore for three transports, Mr. Roark?” “Yes, Captain, I do.” “Let me know immediately when they’re loaded.” “Yes, sir, Captain.” After leaving the corporal at the production facility to supervise loading, Drake went to his meeting with Eleanor Gatsby. When Drake entered the recreation room, he was shocked at the doctor’s appearance. She wore a short skirt and matching blouse with halter top. Her blonde hair was cut short to the shoulder, and her makeup matched her blue skirt and blue eyes. Her stunning looks confused Drake. Was that the same doctor who but days before was trying to highjack one of his ships? For the first time that he could , he was at a loss for words. The smiling Dr. Gatsby walked up and took his hand. “Please, Captain, come and sit down.” She led him to a table by the bar. “I took the liberty of ordering you a gin and tonic. I hope you don’t mind. The corporal said that was your favorite.” “Remind me to court-martial my corporal, Doctor,” Drake said jokingly. “Please call me Eleanor, Captain. If it’s all right with you, I’ll call you Drake, only in an unofficial capacity,” she quickly added. “Okay, Eleanor. But you must realize I have to keep appearances in front of my men.” “Understood, Drake. You’ll only be Drake on our dates.”

“Dates? You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you, Eleanor?” “I don’t think so.” Eleanor smiled. She then bent over and kissed Drake. Drake didn’t mind, but if one of his men was to see it, he looked quickly around the empty room. “Don’t worry, Drake. I wouldn’t jeopardize your authority by being so brash in front of your men. Right now it’s just you and me.” Drake pulled her into his arms for a real kiss, a kiss that lasted. Before Drake knew it, he was being led from the recreation room and into the quarters of Dr. Eleanor Gatsby. For the next few hours, Drake’s life would be normal in the arms of a very attractive woman.

* * *

The night was stifling. With two suns in the daytime burning up the landscape, you’d think the nighttime would be more pleasant, Drake thought miserably. He didn’t know a whole lot about the geographical makeup of the blasted planet, but it was night, and it was hot. Over the objections of just about everyone he knew, Drake was leading a twentyman night patrol into the Plains of Death, which was what the outside perimeter was now called. The object of the patrol was to determine why the surveillance droids wouldn’t function properly at night in that particular area. The jungle had been destroyed the day before, but the shit seemed to grow overnight. It wasn’t tall enough or thick enough to hide some of the wicked creatures of the night that were found in the interior, but a camouflaged alien would be hard to spot. “All right, let’s take a breather.” Drake ordered his patrol. Five of the men immediately went to a perimeter defense. The men were well trained, Drake thought. It was one of the reasons it was so hard to lose a man. Corporal Jennings walked to where Drake stood. “Got something over here,” whispered the corporal. Together, they walked to a spot where a large eggshaped cylinder lay under sparse vegetation. “I wouldn’t have spotted it, sir, if it

wasn’t for the humming noise.” Drake could also hear the humming. “Good work, Corporal,” Drake said. “Get two men to carry this thing back to the complex. I think we’ve found what’s been disrupting the droids.” Suddenly, dozens of savages charged from hidden places under the growing vegetation. The perimeter guard opened fire, killing several aliens; but the remaining aliens came screaming into the camp, attacking the stunned troops. Drake and Corporal Jennings were examining the cylinder when a screaming native came charging from the undergrowth, throwing a wooden axe of some kind, hitting Jennings in the shoulder. The corporal screamed and fell down as the savage was upon him. The quick-acting corporal pulled his pulse laser with his good arm and shot the alien through the throat, splattering Drake with purple tendons and green blood. Firing his weapon as he went, Drake pulled Jennings to his feet and then downed an alien close to him. “Everyone form up!” Drake hollered. They all knew the drill. Form up in the legion formation. Despite heavy losses, the aliens continued their assault. Drake didn’t like what he had to do, but that cylinder meant something big. “You men grab that fucking egg!” he ordered the two closest men. One man made it to the device; the other was cut down by a knife-wielding savage who Drake quickly shot in the face. Drake wasn’t going to order any more of his men to their deaths; he ran over and grabbed the other end of the device, and together he and the soldier carried it toward the south gate. Before Drake knew it, he was in the middle of the patrol’s legion formation, heading for the gate. My men would rather die than leave me behind, he thought proudly. The fallen soldier’s body was also carried with them. As he and his men approached the gate, dozens of troopers stormed from the gate, pursuing the savages back into the darkness. “Don’t let them get away with any of our dead!” Drake ordered. He handed his end of the egg to another soldier and ran back in the direction where he’d last seen Corporal Jennings. In a matter of minutes, there were three hundred troops searching the plains for survivors. Everyone was ed for, but Corporal Jennings. “Fuck!” Drake screamed. “Get me a Reaper, God damn it! Slim? Get to the

bush. I want the corporal! Let’s move … let’s move!” They were in the air in minutes; but the damn savages, Drake knew, were devious and would do anything to capture a live hostage. They flew above the plains with floodlights on maximum, searching for Corporal Jennings. Drake knew that if they didn’t find the corporal within minutes, the savages would have him hidden somewhere in the vast expanse. The vivid images again surfaced of the captured men, arms and legs missing, apparently eaten, their ass skin stretched and sewn onto smooth poles. “Damn it, Pilot, find something!” Drake screamed. The pilot scanned the surface for heat signatures and movement. “Something down below, sir,” the pilot suddenly said. Drake ran onto the gun deck, which protruded out from the rest of the ship. There below him was a group of running savages, but none of the aliens fit the description of the corporal. “Pilot! Pepper the ground. Stop them creatures!” The pilot did as was ordered and saturated the ground around the fleeing natives with spit rounds, effectively stopping the natives in their tracks; but they reversed course again, running in the direction of the thick canopied forest. “Pilot! Land the ship in front of them.” The ship landed, and Drake and thirty soldiers broke into a dead run in pursuit of the aliens. After several minutes, it was obvious the natives had disappeared. “Pilot! Hover above us. The savages have gone to ground. Find them!” “Aye, aye, sir!” came the response. Drake couldn’t believe what had happened. Anyone but Corporal Jennings. He couldn’t bear the thought of him being responsible for what he knew was going to happen to him. Drake was almost in tears when suddenly the pilot cried, “Have a fix on a group of hostiles on your left flank, Captain!” It was a long shot, but it was the only one they had. The natives were experts at camouflage, and even with an exact location, they could easily miss them; and if

they did, then the natives would once again be on the run toward the jungle. Drake and his men combed the spot where the pilot said they were hiding; there wasn’t nothing that could be seen until the bright floodlights from the Reaper shone down on several savages lying prone under the vegetation. They immediately jumped up and attacked the group of soldiers. Popping off round after round of pulse fire into the filthy bastards, Drake’s cylinder finally ran dry of ammunition. He quickly reloaded and surveyed his surroundings. The aliens lay dead around them; green blood flowed onto the foliage as if it was the natural order of things. These aliens, like the elders at the villages, were donned in colorful costumes. It suddenly occurred to Drake that the elders themselves were in on the ambush. After all the men were ed for, Drake helped search the surrounding foliage for anyone they might have missed. One lone native was found struggling to get out from beneath the undergrowth. “Don’t just stand there!” Jennings yelled. “Help me out of here!” Drake almost wept with joy. The corporal was dressed in colorful garb in such a way that it would have been impossible to tell him apart from his heathen overseers. Drake tore at the savages’ feathers that covered Jennings, making sure it wasn’t just a bad dream. Looking at him thoroughly, Drake noticed Jennings’s arm was grossly swollen from the earlier wound from the wooden axe. “Take it easy, Corporal. We’ll get you to the infirmary.” “Thank you, Captain,” Jennings said excitedly. “Thank you for coming for me. The savages would have had me for morning breakfast, after they skinned me.” His voice trailed off as his fellow soldiers carried him to the safety of the Reaper. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Drake said to no one in particular. The Reaper was loaded up, and they took off toward the south gate and home. After a close examination of the egg-shaped cylinder by the techs, it was discovered that it was designed to jam the signals from the surveillance droids; apparently, a Zoloid advanced guard was due to land on that spot and didn’t want to be detected. With the opening of the cylinder, the electronic components inside the pod self-destructed, rendering the cylinder useless and at the same

time alerting the enemy that the pod had been discovered. A few days later, after Drake was returning from Eleanor’s quarters, the all-alert alarm sounded. What he had dreaded was finally happening. The alien fleet had arrived before his own fleet could intercept them. Drake could already hear the orbital bombardment of the fighting battle cruisers high above. He knew it was only a matter of time until the Metropolis was completely destroyed, but he was betting that the Zoloid wanted the prize Matistic ore for their own. The three transports full of Matistic ore had already been dispatched to the refining colony on Planet Pegasus. Drake was betting that the aliens were so engrossed in taking Planet Woe, they completely forgot about the existing ore. After hearing of the enemy fleets’ approach, Drake immediately had production shut down, pending the outcome, and then prepared his troops for a ground assault. Drake knew the realities of the situation. The enemy would destroy everything from orbit except the complex and the production facility. The structures they needed if they wanted to produce the Matistic ore themselves. In their eyes, it was a win-win, situation. They had the firepower, they had the advantage, and even if the fleet did show up just in time, did they have the forces to retake the facility? Drake doubted they could retake the whole facility without help from within. The only weapon they had that could reach a ship in orbit was the A-14 laser cannon, which could lob a heavy laser pod several hundred miles. There was only the one, and once the enemy knew its position, it would be immediately destroyed. That’s why Drake had to save it for just the right moment. Out on the observation deck, Drake could witness the huge flashes from above, indicating an orbital battle. The orbit of the fighting battle cruisers was low enough for the crew down below to watch some of the action, but the sight was short-lived when alien troops began landing about a mile from the south gate. Drake wondered how the natives would take the invading force and wasn’t surprised when they attacked the enemy with thousands of their own warriors, probably wanting a little payback for the loss of their elders. Drake knew then that the invading force would be tied up indefinitely fighting a variety of bloodsucking creatures, and as far as Drake knew, the invaders had red blood. What concerned Drake now was when to fire the laser cannon. Staying in close with the Metropolis, Drake figured they only had a few

hours at best before the armor plating on the battle cruiser buckled from the constant bombardment. After penetrating the forward hull of the Metropolis, the enemy cruiser moved forward to concentrate on the middle and lower hull plating. That was his chance! The enemy cruiser was over the Metropolis with its flank open to an attack from the surface. “Fire it up!” Drake ordered. “Pilot?” “Yes, sir!” “Hit her in her starboard side with everything you have, then all personnel retreat below deck.” “Aye, aye, sir!” The huge gun emitted a whistling noise, like a man whistling for his dog. A bright red orb shot from the cannon’s barrel and streaked into the sky. The impact of the shot lit up the cloudless sky in bright red as the enemy cruiser’s starboard port exploded. The cruiser immediately returned fire, obliterating the cannon and all the surrounding decking, but the return fire didn’t penetrate below deck where Drake and his men had retreated. with the Metropolis indicated that the enemy cruiser had temporarily called off her attack to apparently access the damage, giving time for the Metropolis to maneuver into a more defensible position. Unfortunately for the Metropolis, there were two enemy cruisers; the one began firing where the other had left off. All day, the heavy cruisers battled until the Metropolis took a hit in the forward torpedo room, blowing the front off the battle cruiser. The Metropolis went up like an exploding sun. Now there was nothing stopping the aliens from landing troops right in front of the gates except the deck guns and a few leftover hot tots. But as fate would have it, the day was not over for surprises as the surveillance drones reported the landing force of the enemy had been overrun by the savages. How many more troops the enemy had, Drake could only guess. The forces that were overrun numbered about six hundred soldiers. The natives would be feasting tonight, Drake thought.

By Drake’s estimate, he figured the invading force to be about another six hundred. And with the added firepower, it was more than enough to get the job done. Drake had everyone go below deck. The enemy would want to soften up the complex with an orbital bombardment before landing any more troops. But again, as fate would have it, the indigenous aliens with their fresh victory were trying to storm the gates as the orbital bombardment began. The pulse missiles from the enemy’s war cruiser were shaking the foundation of the complex. Drake just prayed the structure held out; he didn’t relish being buried alive. Finally, after the barrage stopped, he walked over to the intercom and turned it on in time to hear pulse rifle fire and screaming natives from outside the gate. The alien enemy had not learned their lesson the first time and had landed their troops in the midst of the alien onslaught, thinking they could fight their way through the natives who had the primitive weapons. Strength in numbers is what the old saying was, Drake thought, which proved to be true time and time again. All the men and women could do was wait until the gates were finally breached by the invaders. Even under several decks of Simulink, Drake thought he could hear the heavy exchange of gunfire from a Planetary Alliance battle cruiser. Walking over to the slip, Drake tried the voice-actuated command. The slip was apparently inoperative, probably crushed from above; but there were several ways out, unless they too were blocked. One was a maintenance access tunnel. The other was an exit into a tunnel that led to the production facility. There were a thousand people in the lower decks of the complex whom Drake felt responsible for. He would find a way out and have the slip repaired. The emergency air vent and lighting were working properly, meaning the people would only suffer a little discomfort until they could get them out. Drake took fifty troops and technicians with him as he made his way down the tunnel toward the production facility. It took an hour, but the group of men and women came out at the lower level of the facility then up the slip and outside into the hot humid air. Looking out over the landscape, the plains were littered with the dead and dying. Two different alien races lay side by side as the savages hauled the dead and wounded away,

but it wasn’t their own wounded; it was the wounded soldiers of the Zoloid. The men and women of the group took the shuttles over to the complex and began the repairs on the slip. There were four slips in the complex that were capable of handling fifty personnel each. Only one could be repaired; the others were covered by the collapsed deck from above. Several hours later, the evacuation of the men and women below deck began. It took a while, but they eventually had all personnel above ground. What still bothered Drake was the fact that the savages could still attack; but the more he watched their movement, the more he was convinced they had what they wanted, a year of getting high on red-blooded flesh from an advanced alien race. The battle from above tilted in favor of the Alliance, driving the invaders back into space for them to fight another day. A destroyer and several smaller vessels of the Zoloid were destroyed in the conflict. Two refueling tankers and numerous smaller Alliance ships were destroyed in the battle. They knew exactly which vessels to target. By destroying the tankers, they hindered the fleet’s ability to pursue the enemy. The complex was already under repair. and the production facility was up and running at full capacity. Drake was recommended for the Badge of Merit for the successful transportation of three full transports of much-needed Matistic ore during a combat situation. As time went on, and just when the natives were again getting restless, the rich vein of Matistic ore on Planet Woe ran dry. The expensive complex and production facility was abandoned. Some in the government wanted to place a permanent outpost on Planet Woe, but the enormous cost of securing the complex just wasn’t worth it. The newly built complex a thousand miles to the north continued to dig out Matistic ore and was faced with the same challenges as its twin in the south. Drake continued to see Dr. Eleanor Gatsby in a romantic relationship and with him having considerable influence made sure the doctor was assigned to the same outpost as he was. The war dragged on in its sixth year until cooler heads prevailed and negotiated an armistice, having the disputed planets divided equally between the two powers.

General Hammond became supreme commander of the northern complex on Planet Woe, requesting that Drake be his second in command. Drake was not flattered, but the general was insistent, promising Drake he’d never have to set one boot down in the planet’s jungle. He’d had enough of Planet Woe and its indigenous species to last a lifetime, and it wouldn’t be fair to Eleanor. She’d want to go with him no matter where he was stationed. The pay ended up being outlandishly good and the accommodations superb. And as fate would have it, Commander Drake Durum and Dr. Eleanor Gatsby were once again together on the nightmarish Planet Woe along with several other technicians from the original complex. One big happy family, Drake thought disgustingly. He swore to himself he wouldn’t put himself in harm’s way, and he’d kept that promise for the length of his tour. Corporal Jennings and Sergeant Slim Johnson were both promoted and put on a troop transport destined for parts unknown. Rumors had it that the fleet was in a cross boarder skirmish with a newly discovered race of aliens, somewhat more advanced than the Zoloid. Drake often wondered what minds were interfering in the affairs of a race that could very well win a war against the Planetary Alliance and its neighboring United Colonies. Arrogance sometimes sets the standards of the mentality of a planet-hungry empire. The alliance had more planets under its jurisdiction than they would ever hope to settle, though they continued to add real estate. One would wonder what a mineral-rich empire would want with more mineral rich planets, but Drake figured that it would benefit the economic base, thereby making every citizen wealthy, which was well on its way already. Drake leaned back in his chair. He was at his desk writing in his journal. The only part he hadn’t completed was the description of his nightmares that he hoped would end someday. No, he wasn’t going to dredge up and put on paper events he was trying to forget. So he’d end his writing for one more night and hope actions wouldn’t dictate another, more interesting, text. The journal’s contents were also stored on a jump drive for the military’s archives. But for tonight, he’d close another chapter in the life of a military man’s career: the life

of Captain Drake Durum on Planet Woe-Sin-Tack.

The End

Throne of a Demon

Claudius Maximus sat on his mount and watched his third and fourth legions outflank the enemy in the valley below. Seventeen thousand infantry and three thousand cavalry had been committed to the battle, with five thousand troops in reserve. The battle had been raging on and off for over a week and the war itself for over four years. The sun was hot, and the heat of the day was stifling. His personal bodyguard and elite troops of five hundred men waited patiently around him. Claudius was elected consul of that campaign against a younger foe in the senate of the Roman Republic. Being a senator himself and born of noble blood and rich family, the winning of that battle could well put an early end to the war. His prestige back home would be elevated immensely. But at the moment, the enemy cavalry was being crushed in a pincher movement between an advancing wall of Roman infantry and a steep rock cliff behind them. Waiting Roman cavalry were cutting down any enemy that managed to escape. The consul general was more concerned about his infantry on his left flank, which was taking heavy losses from a multitude of enemy archers firing from a ridgeline to the southwest. The general removed his helmet and wiped the sweat that was dribbling down his face and soaking his tunic. The battle waged as he spoke to one of his officers. “Marius! What cavalry have we in reserve?” “Five hundred, sir,” came the reply. “Well, take them up to that ridgeline and flush out them archers. They’re killing too many of my men.” “Yes, sir,” replied Marius as he rode off to relay his orders. Claudius continued his commands. “Vesuvius?”

“Yes, sir!” answered the young officer. “Are you my son-in-law?” the general asks. “Yes, sir!” “Are you wed to my daughter?” he asks again. “Yes, Consul.” “Then make yourself worthy of her. I’ve just been informed that Clarus Septicus has been killed. Take command of his cavalry and attack the enemy’s main infantry on his left flank. That should give them something to think about.” “But, Consul, some of the enemy’s cavalry will escape into the forest,” replied Vesuvius. “There’s not enough of them left to worry about,” said the consul. “I need my men for more pressing matters, so do hurry, Vesuvius.” Vesuvius retreated into lines of packed soldiers that surrounded the general. Claudius Maximus’s calm orders continued. “Rufrius, take the fourth legion to the left of the cliffs and into the forest. Wait until Vesuvius and his cavalry have started their attack and cut off any retreat by the enemy. The enemy’s main body is in a desperate counterattack. Retreat is not far behind. We cannot have them regrouping to fight us another day, now can we? Now go!” “Yes, Consul,” replied Rufrius. The day ended with a complete victory for the Romans, with over four thousand prisoners. Claudius ordered a garrison built immediately to guard the hard-won . He left the details to his officers and retreated back to the army’s fortifications for the night and a great victory celebration.

* * *

The ancient vampire stared with curiosity as he listened to the soldiers’ conversation. Even though he was fifty yards from them, he could hear every word quite clearly. So an Incubus is what these mortal friends of mine are calling me. The vampire chuckles to himself. Them legions of Rome, who put fear in the hearts of so many. So be it! Excitement flowed though him. He hadn’t had such a challenge in decades. He’ll teach fear to those mortal fools or, should he say, mortal food! He laughed silently at his own joke. Yes, it could be quite fun. He could barely suppress his laughter, as he moved silently down the dusty street, wearing a beggar’s rags and holding a tin cup, a souvenir from an earlier kill, and a satisfying kill it was too. A big man for a beggar, he took quite a beating when he tried to cry out. He stayed conscious almost the entire time, as the vampire sucked the rich warm blood from his torn throat. The thought was starting to excite him again. Well, he just might have to make another kill. Besides, it wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it.

* * *

The village of Quoato was deserted. After over a third of the inhabitants were found dead or missing within the span of a year, the remaining population fled to the nearby village of Suburbia. The vampire stood in the wind-swept street, iring his handy work. Running off to another village will not save them fools. They called him a demon who absorbed the life of the living. Rubbish! He was a god! Their sacrifices to him would not end by them fleeing. They could not run from a god such as him. He would follow, and they would worship him as they had in the past, even if he had to kill every man, woman, and child in the village. Of course, he would anyway. He could take life and create beings such as himself at will, and he planned to do just that. Glancing down at the two bundles by his feet, he smiled. He had to drag a carpenter and his wife kicking and screaming from their beds then slap them both unconscious before they woke the whole village. He dragged them

effortlessly for a mile to the present village. “Now my hot-blooded little friends,” said the vampire, “we’re going to celebrate this dark morning with a little drink before I turn in.” He dragged them into a small shelter with a thatched roof and dirt floor. The walls were of old stone and clay. In the corner was a hidden opening with a wooden ladder leading down to what was once a fruit cellar, the place he would sleep that day. His face was pale, almost white, as his eyes glowed red in the dark. He listened! He could hear them, a Roman patrol galloping a half mile out, heading that way. The woman suddenly regained consciousness and tried to scream through her swollen mouth. He clamped his hand over her mouth with lighting speed. “Oh no, you don’t, you little—” Then he realized he was a little too rough in his haste to keep her quiet. He examined the jawbone protruding through her pink skin. Oh well, she was still alive, so he’d have to drink her blood while the heart was still beating strong. So with razor-sharp teeth, he clamped onto her throat like a hungry tick. The soft flesh of her throat was torn deep into the artery, sending warm blood gushing into his waiting mouth. Outside the hut, the Roman soldiers were riding through the village, but he couldn’t control his blood lust; he just couldn’t let go. Her blood was totally intoxicating. The luscious liquid ran hot into his mouth, and the feeling of life being drained from her healthy body and coursing through his veins was giving him the strength of a dozen men. It was always like that—wonderful. The vampire could tell from the vibration emitting from the earth that the patrol rode straight through without stopping, giving him the time he needed to finish off the rest of her blood. He couldn’t believe his luck. He laughed hysterically at the fun he was having that dark morning. He glanced down; the man was awake. staring at him in frozen terror. “What … what … kind of demon are you?” the carpenter stuttered. “A very happy one, my friend, and you’re going to make me an even happier one.” The vampire snatched the man up off the floor and then heaved the screaming man down though the opening and into the fruit cellar like a bundle of dry twigs. He then grabbed the corpse of the woman and threw her down behind

him. “I hate to sleep alone,” said the vampire as he jumped into the hole after them. The vampire’s laughter was drowned out by the ear-piercing screams of the man as the cover was pulled back over the opening. The muffled screams under the floor could still be heard as dawn slowly started to lighten the eastern sky.

* * *

As Claudius Maximus sat at his table in conference with his officers, he sipped the local wine that was being served. “Not as good as the wine from home, eh, Rufrius? What I wouldn’t give for some wine from the vineyards of Rome right now, but I guess this will have to do. I want you to send a dispatch to Rome immediately, with the following announcement: ‘We have defeated the enemy at the battle of Ragar . The is now in Roman hands, and the barbarian army is destroyed, ten thousand enemy dead and four thousand prisoners. Our own losses amount to three thousand five hundred dead and eight hundred wounded. We are in the process of putting a permanent garrison at Ragar . We will continue campaigning against the northern tribes of the upper forest. Will be waiting for supplies and reinforcements as we prepare for winter quarters.’ “Have that sent out immediately. Now then, Rufrius, more wine for everybody.” Tullius sat quietly listening to his beloved leader. Tullius was a young man in his middle twenties, black hair and brown eyes, with a youthful face, which made him look younger than he was. He was a proud son of a rich trader back in Rome, but now a trusted centurion in the service of Claudius Maximus’s legions. The year he had been with the campaign had been an experience not soon forgotten. After a lull in the conversation, Tullius decided to relay his latest reports to the consul. “Consul? May I have a word please?”

“Certainly, my young friend.” “Another patrol was ambushed in the northern forest. May I request three hundred cavalry to attack the villages for punishment?” Claudius looked at the young centurion. “Let’s scale back the patrols to the outskirts of the forest. In the meantime, send emissaries to all the surrounding tribes, request their intentions, and stress our desire for peace. They well know the might of Rome. With the defeat of the barbarian army, we might find them a bit more talkative. Carry on, Tullius.” “Yes, Consul.” Rufrius patiently waited his turn until after Tullius had left. A man of many talents had come to his attention. “Well, Commander, it seems we have a hero in our ranks.” “Yes? It seems we have thousands of heroes in my Roman army, eh, Rufrius.” “Yes, sir, but Otacilius Brutus and his Greeks have been credited with over a thousand enemy kills in the battle for Ragar .” “Ah, yes,” said the consul. “The Roman commander of the Greek mercenaries. Even the Greeks can be heroes under the command of a Roman. I would like to give him my personal congratulations and a promotion in rank.” “I’ll inform Otacilius immediately, Consul.” After Rufrius left, Claudius contemplated new orders for his officers. “Julius? It’s been hot these last few weeks, unusual for this late in the year. It could turn cold very fast in this part of the country. When Tullius has finished issuing his orders, have him and his centurion go to all the surrounding villages. We’re going to need provisions for the winter. Some of the villages have helped us in the past. Also, send a dispatch to our allies in Metropolis. Tell them we’ll be quartering near the , and prepare to send supplies when needed. Everyone else is dismissed. I’m growing fatigued.” As the remaining officers left the room, the attending female servants entered the room to prepare Claudius Maximus for bed.

* * *

Tullius and fifty housemen arrived at the village of Quoato after sending provisions to the garrison from several other towns and villages. Quoato was located on the boarder of so-called friendly territory. Tullius considered fifty mounted troops a small number for such hostile country, but after their victory at Ragar , most hostiles should have retreated into the hills. He ordered a halt and then stopped to survey his surroundings. “Well,” said Tullius to his centurion, “it looks like our friendly subjects have left in quite a hurry.” They sat atop their mounts and listened to the eerie silence as the wind whispered through the empty dwellings. “So this is where we were supposed to pick up a plentiful supply of provisions,” said Tullius. “Claudius will not be pleased.” “I don’t understand it, sir,” said the centurion. “I was personally here last year. The place was teaming with people and crops, supplies aplenty. Maybe one of the northern tribes extracted vengeance for helping us in the past?” “If it were the barbarians,” answered Tullius, “they would have burnt everything to the ground. Perhaps it was the plague?” At the mention of the plague, grunts and whispers broke out from within the patrol. “Silence!” Tullius cried. “There is no plague. Maybe ghosts, but no plague.” Tullius laughed. A few of the soldiers laughed with him, but the majority were silent. “Enough! Dismount and search every dwelling in the village. Let’s move!” Many of the soldiers were veterans with years of fighting experience and obeyed without question as they spread out among the small buildings.

Two soldiers entered one particular building made from old stone and dried clay, but didn’t notice the drying blood that had soaked into the dirt-covered flooring. Deep beneath the wood and dirt floor, the vampire slept. He heard the soldiers search, but had no fear. After an hour of the village search, all the men gathered in what once was the town center to listen to Tullius’s address. “Men? Search the surrounding forest in groups of five, then we’ll proceed to the nearest village to see if they can tell us about the town’s apparent mystery. Centurion? Come with me.” Several minutes later, shouts were heard from one of the search parties as a rider approached Tullius. “Sir! We’ve found something.” As the soldiers rode over a rise in the wooded hills, they came upon a large burial ground. “What is this?” asked the centurion. “There must be a thousand villagers out there.” “Yes,” said Tullius, “and many seem to be recent.” “They must have been attacked,” said the centurion. “Maybe we can get some answers in Suburbia,” said Tullius. “It’s but three miles from here. In the meantime, Flavius will return to Ragar with ten riders and request reinforcements, including a dozen archers. The centurion will stay here with a dozen men in case any villagers return, and I will go on to Surburbia and try to find some answers. All right, men! You have your orders.” Tullius then raced toward the Serbia village. The centurion looked at the twelve men under his command and groaned, a dozen men. That was all that he had to defend himself against the enemy hordes. He looked around the desolate village and wondered what really happened to the several thousand inhabitants. He figured the commander would be back by morning. “Okay, you men! Keep low and out of sight. There might be barbarians about, perhaps the ones who killed the villagers. I want a man stationed on the north and south ends of the village. There will be someone to relieve you in four hours. The rest of us will be

in the hut by the wood line. It will be getting dark soon, so keep your wits about you.” With that said, the centurion and his ten remaining men moved into a thatched hut with some meager furnishings. It would have to do. Even with the dangers that were, they must build a fire for warmth. An hour later, with two men on guard outside the hut, the centurion sat by the fire and listened to autumn’s wind whistle through the barren trees outside. He rose from the comfort of the fire and walked outside the hut. The last of the leaves clung stubbornly to the branches waiting for winter to show its cold hand. He watched as the sun sank in the western sky. The centurion didn’t know why, but the ghostlike atmosphere of the old village left him unsettled. It wasn’t just the barbarian threat, but something else. He’d give coin from his own pocket to know how the villagers died. Most of the tribes in that part of the region were very superstitious and refused to fight at night. The centurion thought about his men. They had lived with death for years, saw thousands of men die, and had killed dozens of the enemy as well. Why was that place of death so unsettling? The soldiers were unusually quiet. With the fire warm and bright, sleep came easily for the tired soldiers as the night crept slowly in. As soon as the sun sank below the horizon, the vampire awakened and knew immediately he was not alone. He sniffed the air, listened, and smiled. The scent of sweat and fear lingered in the night air. He could hear their hearts pumping warm blood through their mortal veins. He licked his lips with a black leathery tongue The bodies of his victims were tossed around the cellar floor, like old used trash. The smell was suffocating, but he didn’t notice. He looked around the room and thought he had to find a new place to sleep. That place had gotten overcrowded. He climbed from his hiding place to the floor above. The smell of several sweating mortals made his hunger almost unbearable. Walking silently through the door and onto the street, he embraced the night and quietly rejoiced at the humans whom were foolish enough to venture into his domain. The vampire had seen the fires light and could sense a lone man’s warmth at the end of the street. With shuddering excitement, he was gone and beside the

soldier in seconds. The lone soldier turned abruptly at the disgusting stench and was grabbed immediately by the throat, crushing his scream in a powerful grip. The frightened soldier struggled and lashed out at the attacker to no avail. His sword was drawn from its sheath in panic but was grabbed by the vampire’s other hand and slowly brought up to the soldier’s throat. “You are the lucky one, my friend,” said the vampire. “For my hunger needs to be quenched.” The vampire pushed the sharp edge of the sword deep into the soft flesh of the soldier’s throat, slicing open the jugular vein. He covered the open wound and spurting blood with his mouth and drank the free-flowing blood. The soldier was drained and dead within minutes. With tremendous strength, he hurled the corpse into the forest beyond. It felt good, oh, so good. He cried aloud with joy as he felt the increasing strength flow through his body. “You will all die so I can live!” He laughed. He started to chant as he moved down the deserted street. My food awaits. That blood warm prey. These mortal men tonight I slay! He laughed uncontrollably at his own wit and the pleasure he hoped would come that autumn night. The soldier stood by the entrance to the hut and listened to what he thought was laughter. It was his turn for guard duty; and everyone, including the centurion, was asleep. Grabbing his spear, he walked out onto the dusty street. The night was dark. He couldn’t see but a dozen yards into the blackness. The cool breeze blew against his tunic, promising much colder weather ahead. It must have been the wind, thought the guard. When he turned around to check on the sleeping occupants of the hut, there was a beggar standing at the entrance, blocking his way. “Who goes there, beggar? What do you want?” The beggar smiled at him, and even in the dark, he could tell something was wrong with his mouth. “Come here. We want to talk to you!” ordered the guard. “I thought you’d never ask,” came the reply. The vampire, playing the beggar, limped over to the guard. “What form of joke is this?” asked the guard as he backed away from the diseased creature. “Explain yourself or I’ll run you through.”

“This is no joke, Roman.” The vampire suddenly snatched the spear from his grasp. Drawing his sword, he attempted a thrust at the creature’s stomach, but the vampire dodged it easily. “You demon—witch!” yelled the guard. The vampire jumped toward the guard, almost invisibly, and slapped the sword from his hand. The guard stepped back, tried to run, but the vampire grabbed him by the throat. His persistent yelling was threatening to wake the others. “Sh-h-h quiet now. We wouldn’t want the other Romans to interrupt our little game.” It knocked the helmet from the guard’s head and ripped his breastplate painfully from his chest. It smiled at the brave Roman soldier, who now feared for his life. Squealing under the firm grip of the vampire’s hand, he was dragged behind the hut and into the woods. With the vampire’s bloodlust sated from his earlier kill, it decided to have some fun before he drained this one. It threw him onto the ground. He gasped, tried to catch his breath as he looked up at the horrid creature. “What kind of magic is this, witch? Have you no pity? I was just doing my duty for the glory of Rome.” “And for the glory of Rome, you’ll give your life, my Roman friend.” The vampire didn’t know why, but talk of Roman glory left it unsettled. The game it was playing with the Roman was growing old. It pounced upon the guard; held him down; and, baring its teeth, took a bite from his throat. The guard screamed and pounded the vampire’s head with his fist, but it was like hitting the trunk of a tree. The gushing wound was quickly covered by a gulping mouth. After a few minutes, the groaning soldier’s struggle was over. It was a good kill, and the strong heart of the soldier beat heavy until the last; the blood being rich and intoxicating made the vampire tremble with orgasmic bloodlust. When it was through reveling from the blood rush, it decided the fun was just beginning.

The centurion woke at the sound of horses’ hoof beats. He drew his sword and ran from the hut. “The horses!” he cried. The horses had been cut loose and stampeded from the village. “Where the hell is the guard?” he shouted at no one in particular. Then he saw him, propped up naked in a sitting position against the modest pile of firewood. It was the guard. His armor had been stripped from him and his throat torn out. “You men!” shouted the centurion. “Get your weapons and search the area. There are barbarians about!” With the soldiers searching the immediate area, the centurion walked over and examined the corpse of the murdered soldier. That was no way for a seasoned soldier to die, he thought bitterly. His throat was a mess, but where was all the blood? He must have been killed elsewhere and brought back here for all to see. “Lucius?” barked the centurion. “Go check on the other guards and get them back here.” As Lucius ran down the dark street, the centurion walked over to where the horses had been harnessed. It was obvious the tethered rope had been cut and the horses released. Lucius returned with the news that only one guard could be found and that the other horses were also gone. Thirty minutes later, the soldiers were gathered in front of the hut. “It’s sorcery, I tell you,” said one of the men. “It’s a ghost. The place is full of them. I can feel it.” “I agree, sir,” said Lucius. “It’s not natural for a man to have his throat ripped out! One man missing and another murdered within an hour.” “Listen to you, men,” shouted the centurion. “Soldiers in the Roman army. It hasn’t been three days since the defeat of the barbarians, and here you are crying about ghosts and witches.” “What else could it be?” asked Lucius. “I’m not saying I would run and hide if it were sorcery. I’d fight to the death to defend my fellow soldiers, but how can we fight a witch?”

“All right, men, let’s just say it was a witch. What would you do now that our horses are gone? Would you run on foot all the way back to Ragar with your tail between your legs? The men back at camp would get quite a laugh at that. No, men, I’m afraid we’re on our own until the senior centurion returns from Suburbia. We’ll double the guard at the hut. Without our horses, it wouldn’t do to guard the edge of the village. Keep your weapons with you at all times. Lucius? Pick two men to take first watch.” “Yes, Centurion.” After placing two men to guard the hut, Lucius lay on his blanket and contemplated what he would do if he were the centurion. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he rose to have words with the two guards outside. The guards were in deep discussion when Lucius approached. “Lucius, my friend,” said Aulus, “we can hear laughter carried by the wind. Listen.” Lucius was about scold the two fools, but after a few seconds, he could hear laughter. Laughter from the witch? Lucius glanced at the corpse of the murdered soldier. The centurion had ordered the corpse to be covered, but where was the cloth? He walked over to where the body sat against the pile of firewood. “By all the gods, where is the throat wound?” The two guards were suddenly beside him with swords drawn. “We’re bewitched, sir!” said Gaius, the other guard. “Gaius? Get the centurion!” ordered Lucius. The centurion was a broad-shouldered individual with years of fighting experience, but his experience hadn’t prepared him for fighting ghosts or witches. His brown eyes darted about the small camp when he exited the hut. He didn’t have his helmet, so his thick brown hair stuck out from lying on his blanket. “It’s a demon, I tell you,” said the frightened Aulus. “That’s why we found no blood on the ground. It tore open his throat and drank his blood, and now the wound has healed. Sextus will awaken and come after us!”

“Quiet, you fool,” said the centurion. “You’ll frighten the rest of the men if they hear you.” The centurion studied the healed wound. He didn’t know how to fight something like that. Against his better judgment, he confided in the superstitious Aulus. “Okay, Aulus, what’s to be done with poor Sextus here?” “We must run him through. That’s the only way to be sure he doesn’t come back to haunt us.” “By all means,” said the centurion as he handed Aulus a spear, “run him through.” “Me?” “Yes, you! Run him through. That’s an order. Through the heart, just to be sure.” Despite the coolness of the night, Aulus was sweating. He was given an order to put his spear through the heart of a dead man, a dead man who could very well jump up and grab him. But he had his orders. Aulus gripped his spear in his right hand, drew back his muscled arm, and threw the spear into the naked corpse of Sextus Caecilius. The sharp point of the spear entered the flesh below his left nipple. The small group of soldiers scattered and ran into each other as the corpse of Sextus screamed. With the point of the spear protruding out his backbone, he rose on two legs and looked around. “It’s a demon!” cried Aulus. “You missed the heart, you fool,” hollered the centurion. “Lucius? Get your bow, quickly!” By then, the rest of the soldiers were out of the hut, staring unbelievably at Sextus Caecilius and his glowing red eyes. Lucius emerged from the hut with his bow and arrows. He immediately strung an arrow and let it fly, striking Sextus in the right shoulder. The corpse screamed, grabbed the arrow, and then pulled it out. It then began pulling on the shaft of the spear, trying to remove it.

“In the heart, Lucius, or do I have to do it for you?” grumbled the centurion. “It’s too dark, sir. I can’t see!” “Some of you men get some light out here!” ordered the centurion. Several men quickly went into the hut and returned with burning wood that they flung at the feet of Sextus. The corpse growled and staggered clumsily away from the flames. Finally, with the whole camp lit up, Lucius zeroed in on Sextus’s heart and let fly the arrow, striking the body’s precious organ. Sextus screeched, took two steps back, and then collapsed at the side of the hut. The centurion again confided in Aulus. “What do we do with poor Sextus now, Aulus? We don’t want him up and coming back.” Aulus was afraid of what had to be done next, afraid the centurion would order him to do it, but they had to be sure. “We must cut off his head, Centurion!” Sextus was a brave soldier, thought the Centurion, and the abuse to his body was unsettling. Apparently, it had to be done. The centurion called on a reliable soldier by the name of Cassius Severus. “Cassius? Take your sword and dismember poor Sextus’s head then throw the head into the woods.” Cassius swallowed hard, not wanting to go near the corpse, much less sever the head; but an order was an order. He approached the dead man and, with his sharp sword, hacked at the head until it fell from the body. Picking it up by the hair, he heaved it far into the forest. “There will be no sleep tonight,” said the centurion to his men. “No man nor army has been able to stand up against the might of Rome, and this sorcery will be no different. The evil that haunts this place will be vanquished once Tullius returns with reinforcements. Until then, we must be vigilant. We’ll make camp outside where we can see what’s about. Get more wood, and let’s get a fire started.”

As the soldiers were gathering wood, a scream suddenly erupted out in the dark forest. “Brutus! Where’s Brutus?” All the men were yelling for Brutus, but there were only screams from the night and then eerie laughter. “All you men get back here and get this fire started,” ordered the centurion. “We’ll not play games by going out into the dark to be slaughtered.” After several minutes, a huge fire was blazing and bright in the middle of the dusty street so the soldiers could see around them. As the soldiers waited impatiently for daylight, a voice suddenly echoed from within the empty village. “Alms for the poor! A gold coin to buy a loaf of bread and perhaps a glass of wine for an old man’s empty stomach.” A frail-looking figure was emerging into the fire’s light. “Stay where you are!” ordered Aulus. “What fear do you have from an old man?” “There is no old man in this village tonight,” said Aulus. “Only witches and sorcery! Which are you, beggar?” “Surely the might of Rome does not fear a mere beggar such as myself?” “Rome fears no man, beggar, but it is not men that we fight tonight. Drop your cloak and let’s have a look at you.” The vampire couldn’t contain himself any longer; it had to laugh, and laugh it did as the cloak around it fell to the ground. The soldiers gasped and tightened their formation as they stared at the vampire’s red eyes, pointed ears, and pasty complexion, a face so pale it was almost transparent. Its black tongue slithered around in its leathery mouth as its bones popped when it straightened to its full height. Its boney knuckles and sharp nails clicked together in anticipation. “Now, my Roman friend, what shall I do with you? Perhaps kill you outright now or pick you off one at a time all through the night.”

“Lucius? Shoot that thing!” ordered the centurion. Lucius already had an arrow ready and shot it at the beggar, striking it in the neck, close to the collarbone. It screamed and then backed away then immediately pulled out the arrow. “Shoot it again if it moves toward us. The rest of you men, spears ready!” “You dare to defy me!” screamed the vampire. But it moved no closer. The wood from the weapons could hurt it, and it didn’t like pain. “Come no closer, demon!” warned the centurion. “Next will be my spearman. Gaius?” Gaius was immediately in front of the nervous soldiers with his spear ready. He was the best spearmen in the group. “You fools!” cried the vampire. “Do you think I stand alone?” the vampire then began to chuckle. “Let me introduce you to some friends of yours.” Brutus and the missing guard from the north entrance came streaking from the dark and into the Roman camp. The surprised soldiers began throwing their spears at the two monstrosities that were attacking them, hitting the missing guard in the stomach and chest. It screamed and slid into the dirt by their feet. Gaius knew Brutus, had fought alongside him at Ragar . He had been a good soldier, and Gaius wasn’t about to leave the man possessed. He took careful aim with his spear and threw the wooden weapon with strong arm, catching Brutus in the upper chest below the neck. He grunted, stopped running, and proceeded to withdraw the spear from his chest. By that time, Gaius had another spear. He screamed, ran up to the struggling creature, and rammed the sharp point of the spear into his heart. He looked pleadingly up at Gaius and said, “Thank you, Gaius.” Then he pitched over dead onto the windblown street. The missing guard was impaled by several spears, one that pierced the heart. “Form back up! Form back up!” cried the centurion. He looked quickly around the fire’s light; the beggar was gone. Finally, daylight arrived, and the weary men took turns at sleep, but the

centurion was troubled. How was he going to explain the past nights events to Tullius, who was senior centurion? How was he going to explain killing his own men? He had to address the men to inform them of his intentions. Several minutes later, he had their attention. “Men! As far as I’m concerned, the tragic loss of our three men was the work of a barbarian raiding party, who attacked us at night and drove off our horses. If the tribune heard about what really happened, we’d be labeled cowards and put to death. Does anyone disagree with my assessment?” No one spoke up. “Good! Then there will be no mention of witches or sorcery. Dismissed!” But as fate would have it, no other Roman soldiers arrived that day, forcing them to spend another night in a village of the dead, and if the centurion had known there would be no relief that day, he would have started his men on a march to a neighboring friendly village. During the day, the Romans had collected plenty of firewood for the coming night. As night approached, the fire was built bright and hot, and arrows and spears were placed within easy reach. Four men were on guard at any one time, waiting, wondering what the night would bring. Late into the night, as expected, the beggar appeared. “What business have you here, witch?” asked Gaius. “If you provide me with a sacrifice, I’ll not harm the rest of you. I need to feed, and if you don’t provide me with sacrifice, I’ll take two of your men this night instead of just one.” “You’ll not get one of us without a fight, evil one!” spoke Gaius. “Be gone and trouble us no more.” “You’re making a mistake, fool!” said the vampire. “You’ll not leave this place alive. That I promise you.” Then just as suddenly, it was gone. The wind blew heavily down the barren street, stirring up dirt and debris inside a whirling mass, blinding the soldiers to but a few feet. Even the fire’s light could not penetrate the debris-filled funnel. When the dark cloud of dust ed, it covered the soldiers’ exposed skin with filth.

When the wind died down, the soldiers counted heads, and sure enough, a soldier by the name of Marcus Ena was missing. The witch had fulfilled one of its promises, thought the centurion. Who would be next? “Poor Marcus has been abducted by the witch,” said the centurion as he addressed his men. “Our search turned up nothing, and we can be sure that he will return with the demon’s sorcery. We must be vigilant. He still has to get another of us to fulfill his promise.” Again, there would be no sleep for the men that night. The centurion thought once more of what was to be said to the senior centurion, Tullius. If he didn’t tell the truth, the demon would get away with murdering his men. The patrol had already been reduced to seven men, including the centurion. He addressed his men about his concerns, and they agreed; for the sake of the murdered soldiers, they must try to convince Tullius the sorcery was true, regardless of the consequences. It didn’t take long until Marcus Ena came back wearing one of the dead soldiers’ armor complete with shield and spear. Despite its heavy armor, the pale face and red eyes could not hide the evil possession. The creature wasted no time in attacking the group. It first threw the spear with deadly accuracy, piercing the breastplate of a man named Julius, the iron point of the spear embedding itself deep into the flesh beneath. He fell back into the flames of the fire—dead. The creature then charged toward the centurion as it deflected the spears from the other soldiers with its shield, crashing into him with such force it pushed the centurion into the side of the hut. They immediately began to clash swords, the centurion fighting for his life. With supernatural strength, the creature was giving the shield a ferocious beating, trying to get at the centurion. The five remaining soldiers moved quickly, with Gaius throwing his spear into the back of the fighting creature, punching through its armor and into the backbone. It screamed and turned around, and as it did, the Centurion stabbed the creature in the exposed part of the back under the armor. When he did, the creature suddenly swung its sword, connecting onto the helmet of the centurion, the impact bending the thick helmet, wounding the centurion, but not killing him. He fell back against the hut and then onto the ground, trying to remove the painful helmet. With the creature in a fighting frenzy, it drove the remaining soldiers back until

Aulus made a daring move and ran around to the rear of the creature and thrust his sword into the back of its neck between the helmet and the armor plate. Again, the thing screamed and turned to look at Aulus with loathing. Aulus left the sword embedded in its neck then readied his spear. As the creature lowered its shield to dislodge the sword, Aulus threw his spear with strength and precision, piercing the creature’s breastplate and slicing through the skin into the heart; but the creature did not fall until Aulus ran up and pushed the spear still further into the creature’s vile chest. With its screech echoing down the street, it pitched over into the dust. After removing his helmet, the centurion came unsteadily over to the gathered men. “Is it dead?” “Yes, sir! Aulus killed it with a spear throw,” said one of the men. “Good man, Aulus!” said the centurion. “Remove the beast’s helmet.” One of the men jerked off the helmet, and that was when the centurion realized that the creature did not revert to the original form of Marcus. The pointed ears stayed pointed even in death. The centurion bent down and pulled up the lip, exposing pointed teeth, teeth of the possessed. He now had the proof he needed for his defense against any accusations, if he lived long enough. Ordering the men to place Marcus’s body into the hut, he assembled what was left of his men. “It’s almost daylight, men! Stand fast, and we’ll get through this curse.” As the centurion was finishing his last sentence, the beggar suddenly appeared on the street. “Well, look at the brave Roman soldiers now.” The beggar laughed. “Tonight the moon grows full. You will sacrifice one of your men to me, or I’ll kill three of your precious men, Centurion.” “Beware, demon!” warned the centurion. “A pale light brightens the eastern sky!” The beggar looked in fear toward the east. “You and your men will not escape my wrath, Centurion. The people of this very village thought they could, and they perished.” “Be gone, witch! Before the daylight sends you back to Hades where you

belong.” “I am Pompeius, and I am an angry god!” The vampire was angry, angrier than it could ever as it flew down the street in a whirling funnel of dusty wind. Those arrogant Romans, especially the centurion, were going to pay for their disrespect. He was a vengeful god and would act accordingly. First, he must find ample hunting grounds before the winter freeze in the neighboring village of Suburbia, and then it would take care of the six survivors. It knew their names from listening in on all their conversations, and it knew that a Roman called Tullius was due to return from his trip to Suburbia. There would be plenty of Romans about who would know the wrath of the vampire Pompeius. It had been a long time since it had thought of its own name, but the Romans needed a name they could fear. It grew tired of being called demon or witch. When the Roman Tullius returned, they would burn the village in search of him, but it would do them no good. The vampire was going deep into the forest then would dig himself into the soft earth. The sun finally broke in the eastern sky as the men divided their meager rations. As the centurion tended to his lacerated head, he thought of the creature’s name, Pompeius. He had never heard of a god who called itself Pompeius, but what gods lurked in the underworld, the centurion could not fathom. Wherever the creature was from, he knew it could bring the dead to life to do its bidding, an enemy who managed to kill six seasoned soldiers without as much as a scratch to itself. He had to have a talk with the brave but superstitious Aulus. Perhaps he could be of help in such matters.

* * *

“No, Centurion,” said Aulus. “I’ve never heard of a god called Pompeius. But I have heard of demons that drain the blood of the living so they can live forever. In the vineyards back home, the legend talks of a family who was cursed with just such an affliction. It started with the father of the family encountering a beast in the woods. The father had killed the beast with a pointed wooden staff, but not before being bitten on the neck. Several days later, he died of the wound only to return one night before his funeral pyre to prey on his own family. The

village elders, knowing the circumstances of the affliction, waited until daylight and then had the house burnt to the ground with all its occupants.” “So you say the father killed the beast with a wooden staff?” asked the centurion. “Was it through the heart?” “I can’t say, Centurion. But my spear point pierced the heart of poor Marcus, which seemed to stop his rampage.” “But your spear point is iron, not wood.” “I must confess I had to push it with my bare hands to finally quiet him down.” “That’s interesting, Aulus. It seems wood has to be lanced through the heart to kill the beast. Inform the rest of the men of our observations. It could save their lives.” “Yes, Centurion.” By the time the sun was high overhead, the centurion decided he would not wait for dark; he would try for the friendly village of Suburbia. Before preparations could be made, Tullius arrived with forty mounted troops. After discussing the previous night’s events with Tullius, the centurion was surprised to learn that Tullius himself was superstitious, and after seeing the corpses of the murdered soldiers, he ordered another search of the village. After finding nothing, they burnt the village to the ground and proceeded to the friendly village of Suburbia. With regret, Tullius ordered the survivors to march on foot since there wasn’t any spare mounts, leaving ten equestrians with them for protection as he rode ahead to the village to acquire additional horses. Unfortunately, the night was upon them before they reached the outskirts of the village. They made camp quickly, being sure to keep the precious horses within the perimeter. The centurion ordered all men to stand at arms throughout the night. He had no doubt the beggar would be there to greet them. Late into the night, the guard alerted the centurion that the beggar had appeared on the edge of the forest.

Saying nothing, it stared at the miserable fortifications that had been hurriedly erected. “Is this the best you could do, Centurion? Is this all that mighty Rome has for defense?” “What business have you here, Pompeius?” asked the centurion, knowing what the answer would be. “You have chosen to defy me, Centurion! You will sacrifice to me a soldier or I’ll kill three, which is my right.” “I’ll never willingly sacrifice my men to the likes of you. You are a vengeful and unforgiving god, without mercy or remorse. You attack my men without provocation and expect a sacrifice in return. You are indeed an arrogant breed.” Breed? Did the fool say breed as if it was bred through fornication. The vampire screamed its frustration as it whipped up the wind, blinding again the vulnerable soldiers. As before, it snatched a soldier from within the perimeter with lightning speed, but it stopped for a brief second to survey the inside perimeter. One of the survivors by the name of Titus Furius let fly an arrow, striking the vampire in the shoulder. It screamed and dropped the fortunate soldier, and before anyone else could launch a weapon, the creature was gone. The vampire seethed at the edge of the forest as it painfully removed the arrow. It swore to itself that it would kill every Roman it could. The new soldiers started to talk among themselves. “Be quiet and form up!” screamed the centurion. But before he could finish his commands, the vampire was again at the perimeter. It streaked into the camp and immediately grabbed a soldier, tore the helmet from his head, and bit into his neck. It started to drink the man’s blood in front of the stunned soldiers. All the soldiers were trying to get a shot, but the vampire held the man out in front of it like a shield, while it continued to drain his blood. “Aulus! Gaius!” yelled the centurion. “Get the demon before he gets away!” Aulus immediately launched his spear, but for fear of hitting one of their own, the spear went harmlessly over the vampire’s head. In Gaius’s mind, the soldier was already dead, so he threw his spear into the

soldier’s back with such power it went through and stuck into the vampire’s chest. The vampire screamed out its agony as it dropped the soldier and disappeared into the forest. Deep in the forest, the vampire clutched at its wound. The hated Romans would still feel the wrath of Pompeius. As its wound began to heal, it began an incantation to accelerate the death and reanimation of the unfortunate soldier and also the dead villagers of Quoato. Back at the camp, the soldiers watched the man breathe his last breath. The centurion gave the order for the man to be immediately beheaded; but before the order could be implemented, the corpse rolled over, snatched up shield and sword, and commenced a frenzied attack, killing a man outright with a thrust to the groin. It started for the centurion as it deflected thrown spears with its shield until a well-thrown spear caught it under the arm as it held up the shield for protection. The creature bellowed something unintelligible and continued its attack on the centurion, but when the creature lowered its shield, the centurion stabbed it in the neck. Stepping away, it staggered a few feet and then spoke. “Hear me, Romans! You have defiled the name of Pompeius. For that, you must die. All those who choose to live may go in peace, but the centurion. Give me the centurion, and the rest may go.” Aulus had a shot at the demon but was listening to its words. In that instant, Aulus realized what the creature was doing. It was buying time so it could heal itself. He stared in fascination as the neck wound began to vibrate, the lacerated skin growing over with new tissue. But he had seen too much to let the spectacle fool him. As the creature was finishing its speech, Aulus threw his spear, the sharp point penetrating through its skin behind the left shoulder until it pierced its heart. The creature grunted and staggered back, a surprised look on its horrid face. But the spear’s wooden shaft didn’t penetrate the heart because the beast quickly picked up its own spear and threw it at Aulus. The spear came fast and straight, but Aulus had years of experience at dodging projectiles as he jumped to the side, letting the spear fly by his head. He knew what he had to do. Without another thought, he ran up to the creature and, as he did with Marcus, pushed the protruding shaft further into the chest cavity, thereby burying the wooden part of the spear into the heart.

The reanimated soldier fell dead onto the ground. With the new soldiers on the verge of panic at the display of magic, the centurion was busy trying to keep them in formation. None of the new soldiers had experienced such a show of evil and was exhibiting signs of terror, forcing the centurion to focus on order instead of on defense. But after several minutes, everything was quiet. They waited for hours in formation; the tiring soldiers could hardly stand. The centurion knew what the demon was up to. It was waiting for the men to tire, and then it would make its move. He spoke to the gathered men. “Men! Soldiers of Rome! I know you are weary and in need of rest, but you must stand fast. To let down your guard can only mean death. The sorcerer knows we are weak and will attack soon, so be vigilant.” But another hour ed and still no sign of the demon; until suddenly, they heard heavy, booted, footsteps coming toward them from the dark. After a few minutes, a giant of a man, heavily armored, stepped into the fire’s light. His huge shield was the length of a large man, with the carvings of the Serbian infantry on the front of the shield. The centurion knew then that the giant was awakened from the dead by the evil sorcerer, probably one from the original village of Quoato. The new men immediately panicked at the sight of the enormous soldier and started throwing their spears in vain. The projectiles bounced harmlessly off the thick plated shield. With the giant’s lengthy sword, it charged into the group of Romans, cutting down two men as they tried to fight back. It stood among the horses and spoke the words of Pompeius the demon. “Hear me now, Romans! I demand a sacrifice for I need blood. Give me the centurion or every one of you will die tonight.” Large dripping fangs could plainly be seen above the helmet’s chinstrap. Its red eyes told of the carnage it planned on doing to the Roman cavalry. Cutting the tethered horses, it roared, sending the ten horses galloping down the road. Then it ran over to the nearest soldier and smashed his helmet into his skull with its thick sword then dropped its shield and grabbed the nearest man. It picked up the screaming soldier, tore open his throat with its sharp teeth, and

began to drink his blood. Cornelius Labeo, survivor from the first encounter, bounced his spear off the impenetrable breastplate and then picked up bow and arrows. Taking careful aim, he let fly an arrow, striking the creature in the right side of the neck. It bellowed and dropped the dead soldier at its feet then bent to pick up its shield. Gaius and Aulus stood together; both knew the giant would only be vulnerable for a few seconds when it picked up its shield, so they ran in and heaved their spears into the giant’s exposed neck. It thundered its displeasure, stepped back, and pulled on the embedded spears; when it did, it exposed the underside of its armpit. Both Gaius and Aulus already had fresh spears in hand and threw them into the side and under the arm of the giant. Even the giant had tender skin under the heavy armor, and the spears pierced deeply. It jerked out a spear and with a mighty roar threw it at Cornelius Labeo, one of the surviving eight. The spear punched its way through his shield, through his breastplate, and into his heart; he pitched over onto the dirt—dead. Several of the men, including Gaius, Aulus, and the centurion, started to fight the giant at close quarters as Lucius shot arrows at its exposed face, putting out its right eye. It continued to bellow as it began to step back from the onslaught of Roman swords. Every exposed part of the giant was being stabbed and sliced, but the wounds began to heal in front of the stunned men. They all knew what they had to do; they had to somehow trip the beast onto the ground where the superior numbers of the Romans could take advantage. Assaulting the exposed parts of the legs, the giant finally went down but not before it cut down a man with a blow to the neck. On the ground, several of the men began to pull on the huge breastplate as the giant grabbed the nearest man and bit into his throat. Finally, after several frustrating minutes, the breastplate was removed and carried away from the godlike creature. The rest of the soldiers rushed forward, penetrating the giant through the heart with several spear thrusts. It growled its last breath. But it was not over yet as the two dead soldiers who had been bitten were up and arming themselves with a dropped sword and shield. The men couldn’t believe it. The tired soldiers knew they couldn’t relent or face death themselves at the hands of the demon’s helpers. Again, they dashed onto the two creatures with

swords and spears, finally taking them down with wooden spears through their black hearts. The men fell down onto the ground exhausted as the sun began to pale the eastern sky. The demon had fulfilled its promise. The centurion had lost six good men to the giant’s rampage, leaving twelve left. They would wait for Tullius, so he could present further proof of the demon’s power. A few hours later, wondering where his men were, Tullius rode into camp. He was astounded at the size of the giant, and to kill six of his men, it was unbelievable. How would he explain the loss of twelve men to the tribune? To a demon? To witchery? He had little choice. He would send the giant back as proof. Tullius had a special wagon built to transport the giant back to Ragar . By that time, reinforcements had arrived from the garrison at Ragar , and Tullius initiated another futile search of the surrounding forest before sending the remains of the giant back to the garrison. They entered the friendly village of Suburbia at dusk. The centurion told Tullius that he had no doubt the arrogant beggar would show himself that night, so Tullius had archers stationed in the trees surrounding the camp and double-armed guards inside the huts that made up part of the Roman’s camp. As before, the demon was in no hurry. It waited until the men were tired and sleepy before making its move. When the moon was well overhead, the beggar appeared in the street. At the sight of the beggar, the villagers hunkered down in their homes like frightened children. They knew what happened at Quoato. How the demon demanded sacrifices and when the villagers gave it sacrifice, it wanted still more, until finally the dead rose up and wanted sacrifices of their own until the population of the village withered away, the survivors taking refuge at Suburbia. No one was sure what happened to the beggar’s minions from Quoato, except when they heard of the giant; they knew him in life as Ortho, front line infantry for the king of Serbia. Even the godlike man Ortho succumbed to the power of Pompeius, the evil one. The beggar stood in the street of the village, staring at the Roman fortification. “Tullius!” came the cry from the demon. “Send out the centurion and I’ll leave

you in peace. If you do not, then I’ll kill your soldiers and take what I want.” “Be gone, demon of Hades,” responded Tullius. “You have no business in these parts. This is Roman sovereign territory.” “I, Pompeius, have claim on this country, and may no man, Serb or Roman, stand in my way. I want sacrifices. I want a shrine built in my honor alongside the statue of Mars himself. If these demands are not met, I’ll kill every man, woman, and child in Suburbia.” “I’ll not send out one soldier or one villager for you to murder. Go elsewhere for your blood, evil one! You will get no volunteers here.” “So be it! Roman!” Tullius then signaled the archers to let loose. Six arrows flew at the same time, striking the vampire in the neck, shoulder, chest, and one through the cheek; but none hit the heart. The vampire’s voice boomed across the expanse. “Tullius!” The vampire’s cries could be heard across the entire village as the vampire raved on about how he had been deceived. The hidden soldiers advanced from the huts toward where the vampire stood, trying to remove the embedded arrows. With a wave of his hand, a swirling wind formed a funnel of leaves, dust, and twigs, obscuring the soldier’s sight. Like the wind itself, the vampire blew down the windy street, gone. Tullius cursed his luck. From among all the shot arrows, none managed to hit the heart. The beggar would not waste time to retaliate. Back in the forest, the vampire cursed the Roman’s deception. It should have known not to trust a Roman, that there would be a trap. It would get its do, but it would be patient. Removing the last painful arrow, it seethed. As it began to heal itself, it contemplated its next move. It still had its followers, its worshipers; and to use them to its advantage would not be difficult. It was time for some human intervention. It ran swiftly across the flat plains to the barbarian village of Creatho. As usual,

the vampire entered the village in a whirlwind. The villagers scattered to their homes as the elders came out to talk to their feared god. Their sacrifices had been frequent, so they wondered what they had done wrong to warrant such a visit from their master. The shaman bowed to the vampire. “Oh, Great One, what can we do for you?” “I am deeply troubled, my friend. The Romans are invading my country, and my enemies have hold up in Suburbia. They refuse to give me sacrifices, as is my right! Take your warriors and attack the Romans while I take my vengeance.” “Oh, Great One, we have lost a thousand warriors at the battle of Ragar , and there is not much to spare, but for the defense of our own village.” The vampire was expecting just such a response. With past sacrifices, he had drained their blood and left their bodies in a cave for later reanimation. He suddenly produced a dozen vampires complete with armor, shields, and spears. “This is the power of Pompeius! Come heather, Shaman!” Reluctantly, the shaman came forward. “Take your sword and stab the warrior!” ordered the vampire. The shaman did what he was told and stabbed the warrior in the stomach. The man grunted but stood firm. “These are my warriors!” boasted the vampire. “They will accompany you into the Roman camp and extract my vengeance while you keep the Romans busy. Enough talk! Prepare your warriors!” Pompeius’s league of vampires had one objective—bring Tullius to the vampire unharmed and kill the centurion. Pompeius would take it from there. Fifty mounted warriors and twelve vampires were assembled and then rode off in the direction of the Roman camp in Suburbia. Back at the Roman camp, the soldiers waited for some kind of retaliation from the demon beggar. The night was still young, and the Roman cavalry consisted of one hundred fifty mounted troops and a dozen archers. The horses were tethered and heavily guarded. Suburbia contributed one hundred infantry, all for

the protection against one angry demon. The barbarian warriors attacked in two waves, the first wave having the vampires in it, which would penetrate the perimeter; the second wave was just to keep the Romans busy, while the vampires carried out their objective. The Roman archers were still stationed in the trees. The soldiers were in two lines of defense. What enemy managed to get through the first line would hopefully be stopped at the second line of defense. The first wave of barbarians were decimated with spears and arrows from the first line, but the vampires were not injured and continued on into the second line, which erupted into hand combat. It was immediately noticed that the dozen men were not falling dead or wounded but kept on coming. Tullius was standing next to the centurion, and they both noticed the vampire’s onslaught. Being surrounded by their most trusted soldiers, the two men readied themselves for a fight to the death. All the Roman soldiers had been informed of the vampire’s abilities and what it took to slay them. As the vampires crashed into the second line, two of the beasts were killed by numerous soldiers stripping off the armor breastplate and thrusting a spear through the heart, but the rest were cutting down the Roman soldiers at will. The rear guard was virtually unmolested, so Tullius took a chance and brought most of them up to the front to defend against the vampires. “Tullius!” cried the centurion. “We must swamp them with our troops at least ten to one. Get the armor off them and then spear them in the heart.” Slowly, the vampires were slain, but not without a terrible cost of Roman lives. Another one of the original survivors, Quintus Haterius, was killed by a vampire’s sword thrust to the neck. Tullius and the centurion fought valiantly, but when it was all over, four of the vampires escaped with Tullius as their captive. The centurion was wounded in the shoulder and saved, thanks to the efforts of Cassius, Gaius, and Aulus who were by his side during the worst of the fighting. “Form up!” cried the centurion. “We must get Tullius before they get too far.” In minutes, a hundred mounted troops were in pursuit of Tullius and his captors. Because the Roman horses were well rested, they gained on the vampires quickly, catching them before they reached the barbarian village. But after

killing the demons with the loss of several Romans, it was discovered that Tullius was not among them. The centurion quickly surmised that Tullius was abducted by Pompeius himself during the fierce fighting at the huts. They had been fooled, and now the beggar had their commander. They had little choice: pack up their dead and retreat to Suburbia where they would have proper funeral pyres for the brave men who had died that day. Any soldier that had been bitten was immediately beheaded, his body burned with honors.

* * *

The vampire laughed at the stupidity of the Romans but at the same time was annoyed with the fact that the centurion still lived. It snuck into the camp with speed, slapped Tullius unconscious, while his men fought to protect him, not noticing Pompeius lifting him over its shoulder and fleeing through the lightly defended rear guard and into the forest beyond. Tullius sat on a rock in the cave of Pompeius the evil one. There were several other demons present, looking hungrily at Tullius, plus a dozen corpses in various stages of decay. The smell was suffocating. “Why have me in this dreadful place, beggar?” “Dreadful to some, but heavenly to others,” replied the beggar. “What’s wrong? Does your precious Roman ego find my home depressing?” “The dead with the dead and the live with the living is how it’s supposed to be,” Tullius said. “It won’t be long now, Tullius, until you are with us, then we’ll see how you feel about my happy home.” “Why not kill me outright, beggar, and be done with it?” “I’m going to trade you for the centurion. At least that’s what I’m going to tell

them. When I turn you both into the undead, then I’ll be free to hunt down and feed on your soldiers at will.” “They’ll never bargain will a demon such as yourself, Pompeius. The centurion or any Roman will never willingly submit to your demands. They will never give up their beloved centurion.” “I don’t suppose they will, Tullius. But it is fun, don’t you think? I will harass and kill Romans until my name is whispered in fear throughout the empire. The senate will it that I am a god and bring me sacrifices, build a monument in my honor like my good friends in the barbarian village. But I must it,” laughed the vampire, “their population has dwindled significantly.” “Rome will find a way to destroy you, beggar!” “My name is Pompeius! And you will address me as such, or I’ll tear out your throat now and be done with you. You will become the undead, and your hunger will take precedence over all things. Do I make myself clear, Roman?” “Perfectly clear, Pompeius.” After that was said, Pompeius disappeared into the dark night along with his minions of death, except one that he left behind to guard Tullius. It was cool in the cavern, and Tullius had been stripped of his armor and was clad in only his tunic. He had been in much colder place before in the mountains of northern Italy, but being in the presence of the undead made the cave that much colder. There wasn’t much to see except a stone table with chairs; several rawhide skins, furs, and a huge fire pit in which no fire burned. Several torches spread out along the cave gave it light. Tullius looked at the beggar’s slave that he had left behind. He wore full armor dress of the Serbian infantry plus shield and spear. “By what name do they call you, slave?” “I’m slave only to Pompeius, Roman. Do not insult or mock me. My orders are for you not to be harmed, but I will hurt you if angered. To answer your question, I’m called Sesbian.” The ghoulish appearance of the creature was truly frightening even to Tullius:

the red eyes and smooth pale complexion, red lips with black tongue that darted in and out between sharp teeth as he spoke. Despite the creature’s warning, Tullius continued to pester him. “So how does a creature such as yourself die?” “There is no death for me, Roman. I will live forever and drink the blood of the living.” “All creatures die sooner or later, including you, except you will die on the end of a Roman spear, my friend. Release me and I’ll reward you handsomely. I’ll take you far away from this place, maybe even to Rome herself where Pompeius cannot find you. The blood you seek will be plentiful. There is no shortage of slaves in the empire.” “You deceitful man! Do you think I would take the word of a Roman? The minute you get the chance, you’ll have me run through.” “I know it’s hard to believe a man who has nothing to lose, Sesbian, but my word is law. My family is wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. I would not shame the honor of my household with lies. You would be paid wages in blood as my personal guard. A loyal guard who cannot be killed would be an asset indeed.” “You speak of assets and wages, but what of my master? He has powers you can’t imagine. He would find me and punish me severely with permanent death, which I fear more than anything.” “I don’t blame you for being frightened, but think of it a moment, Sesbian. Rome is guarded by twelve legions. That’s sixty thousand soldiers! Your master has powers, but can he stand up to the might of Rome? Pompeius will perish along with his allies. Rome will never give up the hunt for him or show mercy because of the soldiers he has already killed. The barbarian village of Creatho will be conquered and its leaders put into slavery, and Pompeius will be powerless to stop it. His allies will suffer until there are no allies. Pompeius can kill as many Romans as he can, but there will always be more to take their place. Heed my warning and accept my offer of promise, which has never been broken.” “That’s a very convincing speech, Roman. Why would you treat an enemy so kindly?”

“I would not an enemy, but would a friend. What do you say, Sesbian? Share in the glory of the Roman Empire. I guarantee you won’t regret it.” The creature Sesbian walked along the cavern’s smooth walls toward the entrance, which was around the corner of a rock formation out of Tullius’s sight. Tullius prayed to the gods that he would accept his offer. Only death awaited Tullius in that dreadful place. After several minutes, Sesbian returned, leading two fresh horses. Praise the gods! He had accepted his offer of asylum! “Come, Roman! We must hurry!” Tullius immediately mounted the horse and together rode out into the night and toward the Serbian village of Suburbia. At the Roman camp, the men rejoiced at the sight of Tullius, unharmed. He introduced Sesbian as his savior with strict orders he was not to be harmed. “I told you I was a man of my word, Sesbian. From now on, you will be my personal guard.” “That’s generous of you, Tullius, but I have other pressing needs.” Yes, Tullius had forgotten, Sesbian needed blood, which on the frontier would create a problem. Even slaves didn’t deserve to die the way Sesbian would do it. However, Tullius had an idea. The village had a stockade where rapists, murderers, and other criminals were housed until their execution day. After talking to the village elders and telling the circumstances, they were appalled at what Tullius was contemplating. The beast drinking human blood? What was in the mind of the young Roman to suggest such a thing? But after much debate, they finally relented, the beast being another ally in the Roman arsenal to fight against the evil Pompeius. The centurion was wary of the pact with the demon’s helper. It could be a trap to kill him and Tullius at the same time, so the beggar could fulfill his promise. The beast was permitted to roam the camp in full armor. The centurion would not sleep well, knowing the thing was lurking about. The following day ed quickly, with two hundred additional infantry arriving

at dusk from the garrison at Ragar . Sesbian had slept out the day in his own hut at the edge of the village. When it was time to feed Sesbian, a crowd of Roman soldiers gathered in front of the stockade to watch the spectacle. Sesbian removed his helmet and set his spear and sword to the side. The man they brought forth had been accused of murdering one of the elders. The guards threw him down onto the dirt at the feet of Sesbian. The beast quickly grabbed the man, lifted him up, bent his head back, and then took a bite from his neck as if he was taking a bite from at apple. Then the screaming began. He spit out the hunk of meat and began to drink the gushing blood. The criminal screamed again and then began to moan, as the life-giving blood was stolen from his body. His crime had been the murder of the chieftain’s brother, and the gathered men began to cheer at the man’s deserved death. After the man was dead, the beast pitched him onto the ground and roared his satisfaction. The fresh blood had invigorated him, made him more powerful. He wanted more blood, but dare not press the unruly crowd. He must think about the next few nights of needed blood. Tullius was indeed a man of his word. But what about the master? He will be enraged at what Sesdian had done and spare no expense at taking vengeance upon him. The power he held over Sesbian had purposely been diminished so he could watch and communicate with the captive Tullius Labeo. Sesbian had little fear of the master now that the trance had been broken. It would be difficult for the master to do him harm, for like the rest of his kind, he would be hard to destroy. Sesbian could now be his own being, to do as he saw fit. He chose to follow Tullius to Rome, to riches, perhaps in the arena. Yes, that would be quite interesting. But he had to protect Tullius at all costs. To lose him would be to lose his chance of becoming a more powerful being. The name Sesbian would be talked about at the Roman’s feast and their after-dining drinks of exotic wines. Tullius talked of glory. Sesbian imagined slaying the gladiators in the arena and drinking their blood to the cheers of a huge audience. Of course, it would be difficult to arrange a grand spectacle at night, but he was sure it could be done. He made a mental note to ask Tullius of such matters. He picked up helmet, spear, and sword and then walked unmolested back to

Tulius’s hut, where he sat and relished the feeling of new blood coursing through his body like from the herbs of the sacred Manion tree when he was human. Tullius and the centurion were at the table, feasting on venison and drinking wine. He knew the centurion had doubts about Sesbian’s loyalties, but in time, he would learn to trust him. Even though Sesbian was no longer human, he still could honor a pledge and fight off the murderous urges that lurked hidden in the recesses of his being. At the dining table, Tullius’s mind drifted from the centurion’s conversation to the beast Sesbian. Until he was sure of his loyalties, Tullius would sleep lightly with his sword by his side, even though Sesbian had more than a chance to slay the centurion and himself. He had rescued Tullius from the clutches of the beggar, and for that he would be eternally grateful. “Sesbian, my new friend,” said Tullius, “what say you fight in the pitch at the village center? The villagers have yet to see your true power, and they hunger for a challenge from their finest warrior.” “I would be honored to be able to fight anyone in your name, Tullius, for you have fulfilled your pledge to me and I am your humble servant.” “But I do have a favor to ask, and that is not to slay the warrior, but best him in battle. We both know that you would be hard to kill, impossible really by the unwary opponent.” “The blood that I’ve ingested this night has me sated for the next few nights, so I would be glad to honor your request.” “Good! So it’s settled then. I will inform the elders of our decision to fight.” “And your wager?” The centurion smiled. “I feel I’d be taking advantage of the situation, so unless the elders insist, I’ll wager no coin.” The centurion frowned and said, “Pray the gods, Tullius! Would you object if I partake with a wager of my own?” “Of course not, old friend. Wager until your heart’s content.”

With that said, Tullius left to set up the competition with the elders of the tribe. When Tullius had left, the centurion decided to give Sesbian some advice. “Sesbian? Might I advise you on your fight tonight?” “Yes, Centurion, I will need schooling to do your bidding.” “My advice is that you draw out the fight for a long period. Do not claim victory to soon, lest the crowd feel cheated. Do you understand, Sesbian?” “Perfectly, Centurion. You’ll not be disappointed.” “Good. I’ll check on the guards and then retire to my quarters.” After the centurion had left, Sesbian’s thought turned to his previous master, Pompeius. What was the vampire up to? he wondered. He hadn’t shown himself for two nights, making everyone worry about his return, because he would indeed return; with that, there was no doubt. What sort of vengeance would he try to unleash on Sesbian? Sesbian was not afraid of the master because Sesbian, like the master, was not mortal. He was an immortal being capable of wreaking havoc among his enemies. Pompeius made him who he was, an incubus, a vampire. To stay in Rome’s good graces, he would not harm the innocent, only the guilty, men who had already been sentenced to death for their crimes. The name Sesbian would be heard by every Roman in the empire by the time he was done. Yes, he would kill and drink blood to the cheers of thousands of Romans.

* * *

The angry vampire paced the floor of the cavern. Never had he thought that one of his servants would turn against him. He was Pompeius, the all-powerful, who had struck terror in the hearts of his enemies. Now he had a traitor in his midst, a lowly servant who had chosen Rome over him, who had freed Tullius. It was an insult! Pompeius would have his revenge. He would let the Romans think he had given up the fight, then he would strike.

Pompeius had snuck into the Roman camp and eagerly listened to the guard’s conversation. He had learned of Sesbian’s scheduled fight with the village champion and Tullius’s desire to take him to Rome to fight in the games. Well, Pompeius would be in Rome to watch the traitor and perhaps enter a fighter of his own, someone to rid the world of Sesbian, the traitor.

* * *

Centacian, the village champion, stood proud to the cheers of his fellow villagers. His opponent was a big man, thought Centacian, but he had fought big men before; and they die just as easily as small men. Sesbian also stood proud to the roar of the Roman congregation. After the announcements, the two fighters were introduced, and the fight commenced. Having three times the strength of his opponent, Sesbian was fitted with extra heavy armor and shield. Centacian let fly his spear, but it only stuck harmlessly in Sesbian’s shield. What was this? thought Centacian. His spear throws had always pierced his opponent’s shield and sometimes the armor too. The man had to be of unusual strength to carry such a heavy shield. And for the first time, Centacian noticed the thick armored breastplate he wore. What sort of trickery was this? Each man was allotted three spears as Centacian hefted another one and threw for the face of his opponent. The man was quick and dodged his throw with ease. By that time, Sesbian had spear in hand and made his throw, ripping through the layered rawhide and metal shield, being stopped by the metal breastplate before creating damage to the skin. Centacian threw the worthless shield to the ground and picked up another spear. Sesbian was not a man without honor, so he too threw his shield to the ground and then picked up his spear. Both men let fly their spears at the same time.

Centacian’s spear glanced off the curvature of Sesbian’s breastplate. Sesbian’s spear pierced the metal breastplate and into the ribcage of Centacian. He screamed and fell to the ground, wounded but not out of the fight. The wound was not deep, and the spear fell out as he rose. Drawing his sword, he charged toward Sesbian, attacking with several swinging blows, which Sesbian countered with blows of his own, until finally, Centacian sustained a blow to the head, smashing through his helmet and into his skull; he fell into the sandy arena, dead. The crowd of cheering villagers went silent, their hero dead, but the cheering Romans stomped their feet and rumbled their victory. Many a coin changed hands that night with the centurion winning a tidy sum on his wager. He even wagered a few coins for Sesbian himself in which the fighter was deeply appreciative. Tullius was also a man of honor, and the victory was hollow. The dual being won before it even started. No ordinary man could ever hope to beat Sesbian. After saving Tullius’s life, he had made a promise to Sesbian that he intended to keep; so in order to keep his honor, Sesbian will be introduced at the games as, Sesbian, the Immortal. A fitting name, thought Tullius. When Tullius related his decision to Sesbian, he too agreed that it was an honest and fitting title. With Tullius’s influence back in Rome, he was sure they could set up a minor challenge in the games. Tomorrow they were to leave for Rome and the arena.

* * *

Several weeks went by with Sesbian challenging all who dare to fight. He earned the reputation of one throw one kill with the javelin. His usual throw went through the shield and armor of his opponent, striking him dead after the first encounter; so in order to make the games more exciting, Sesbian had to prolong the fight and cut his opponent down slowly. It went well with the roaring crowd. On his return to Rome, Tullius brought with him his loyal centurion and the

bravest soldiers of his battle with the beggar Pompeius as his personal bodyguards. Finally, the night came when he would fight the champion of the Roman coliseum, Puplius, the Terrible, a giant of a man whose armor was as sturdy or better as Sesbian’s. “Don’t take chances with this one,” Tullius told him. Kill him outright if you can. After introductions were made, the men began the fight with a spear throw from Sesbian. It went through the thick shield and into the breastplate of his opponent, but did not break the skin. Puplius removed the spear, threw it onto the ground, and then launched his own spear, going through Sesbian’s shield and breastplate below the stomach. Sesbian fell back with a holler and jerked out the metal pointed wooden spear. The wound was deep but started to heal almost immediately. He then picked out his second spear that was longer and heavier than the rest. He hefted it up and threw it at Puplius. The weighty projectile sailed through the air, ripping once again through the shield and through the dense breastplate, embedding itself into the soft flesh of his right shoulder and at the same time severing the clasp that held on the breastplate. He screamed and backed away, quickly grabbing his other spear as Sesbian attacked with his sword. Luckily, Puplius was left-handed as he threw his spear, missing Sesbian, forcing him to draw his sword and defend himself. Metal to metal, the men clashed as Puplius swung his huge sword at Sesbian, bending his shield, rendering it useless. Sesbian charged relentlessly, pushing the big man back, until, weakened by his bleeding wound, he began to falter. It was only a matter of time until Sesbian pounded him with his sword, caving in his helmet and skull bone. To the satisfaction of the cheering crowd, his brains squeezed out from beneath his bent helmet like a busted grapefruit. The crowd was ecstatic. With the audience roaring their approval, Sesbian held up his sword in triumph. He was now champion of the Roman coliseum. But the man was dead; he could not drink his blood as the insistent crowd hoped. Tullius would have to give him another criminal to satisfy his needs and the needs of the audience. The months ed quickly with Sesbian besting all comers. With the night’s events upon him, he prepared to take the challenge from a man called

Damophilius the Great. Like all humans, he thought, they’d die in the arena by his hand; but he wanted to save this one, to drink his blood in front of a cheering crowd as he’d done in the beginning. They had been clamoring for just such a spectacle, and Sesbian planned to give it to them. As always, he dressed in the heavy armor and shield of elegant design, the shield portraying two lions with their heads facing each other, ready to fight to the death, and made with seven layers of rawhide and metal. The helmet and breastplate were made from the finest metal with bronze coating and trim, making it look like gold in the fire’s light. Leggings and forearms were protected identically. Once itted onto the arena, Sesbian ran around the curvature of the coliseum to the chants of his followers. And to his surprise, his opponent was also cheered on by a multitude of ers. The thought angered him that an opponent in his arena could be cheered on by what once was his ers. He hoped that the centurion bid heavy coin on this duel for he planned on making it quick then drinking his blood in front of his piteous audience. When the introductions were completed, Sesbian picked up his spear and circled his opponent. He drew back and unleashed the spear, striking Damophilius in the shield; but to his surprise, the spear lodged itself in the thick hide, never completely piercing the shield. A heavier spear would have to be used, thought Sesbian, as he prepared for the counterattack. Damophilius then launched his spear. It streaked across the arena with tremendous speed, punching through the shield and through the heavy metal breastplate and into his stomach. Sesbian screamed and staggered back, angry more than hurt. He pulled the spear from his stomach and threw it onto the ground. His wound started to heal at once as he hefted his heaviest lance and threw it with all his strength. The fast-moving projectile finally smashed through the shield but missed the body completely. Damophilius threw his last spear and then charged with sword ready. Sesbian dodged the spear throw and also pulled his sword. The men clashed in the middle of the arena with blow after blow. Sesbian gave Damophilius a deep gash to his neck, the opponent backing away from the irate warrior. A stab caught Damophilius in the shoulder. The man screamed his rage and came forward, sword slashing through the air, desperately trying to get at Sesbian.

As Sesbian raised his sword for the final coup de grâce, Damophilius went for a forward thrust, catching Sesbian in the throat. He grunted and staggered back as Damophilius chopped at his bleeding neck, like trying to chop down a tree. Sesbian backed up some more, tripping over a broken spear and falling onto the ground as Damophilius swiftly ran up and hacked down at the throat repeatedly. Sesbian put up his sword in an attempt to disrupt the deadly blows, but a wellplaced hit knocked his sword from his grasp, leaving him defenseless from the raving attack of Damophilius. As an involuntary move, Sesbian held up his arm in a defensive posture, with Damophilius cutting off his arm at the elbow t. He screamed and tucked his arm under his body. Damophilius kept chopping away at his neck until the head was separated from the body. The crowd was in an uproar as Damophilius held up the gruesome trophy in triumph. He then slung the head over onto the sandy ground and commenced to strip Sesbian of his armor, as was his right, showing his disdain and humiliation for his dead opponent. Some of the crowd booed him, while others cheered him on. He left the naked corpse lying in the moon’s bright glow and marched toward the consul general and of the senate. “Hear me, Consul General and of the Senate. I now challenge Tullius Labeo, senior centurion, and the man they call centurion to a duel to the death.” Several of the senior senate leaders looked down at Damophilius. Claudius Maximus was the first to speak. “And why might I ask would I risk two of my most loyal men to death at your hands? They are veterans of numerous campaigns, and to give them to you would be but leading the lamb to the slaughter. No, even though they would be brave enough to do battle with you, I will not allow it. You have your victory. Cherish it and worry no more of Tullius and the brave centurion.” Damophilius seemed to know when he’d overstepped his bounds; he bowed to the powerful Roman senate and then retreated to his quarters.

* * *

“So Sesbian has been beaten in battle,” said Tullius to the centurion, “by none

other than the beggar himself, Pompeius.” The moment Damophilius challenged him and the centurion to do battle, Tullius knew who was behind the killing of Sesbian. The beggar finally had his revenge. “The question is,” continued Tullius, “how are we to deal with this demon? He is now the champion of the Roman games with much stature. Killing him will be extremely difficult. If Sesbian had known it was the beggar and knowing his weaknesses, he might have had a fighting chance. That was our golden opportunity to do away with the beast.” “You speak the truth, Tullius,” replied the centurion. “But we still know his weakness. Would he dare take a challenge from five of our most experienced soldiers?” “No, Centurion. I wouldn’t risk the lives of my men to such peril. Besides, you heard the consul general. He would not let us fight the beast. I doubt he’d let our most loyal men do so. We must catch him without his armor, away from Rome’s gates. It wouldn’t do to be caught trying to assassinate the champion of the games. It would look like we were doing it for monetary profit.” “Then we must,” said the centurion, “volunteer our services outside the city walls, perhaps the garrison at Ragar . When he realizes we are not within the city walls, then he will come for us.” “Wisely spoken, Centurion. But he has shown great patience in the past, and I for one am not fond of the place. If we could just kill him in the arena.” “May I make a suggestion, Tullius?” “By all means.” “There is reason for failure,” said the centurion, “but if we could somehow recruit another of his kind, a demon who has reason to want Pompeius dead. It would be to our advantage and at the same time give the beggar more than he bargained for. That’s to say, poor Sesbain didn’t know he was fighting his equal, then Pompeius wouldn’t know he was fighting a demon like himself. It could perhaps be our answer.” “Well spoken, Centurion. Perhaps we can find what we’re looking for in the cave where I was held captive. We must clear it with the tribune, Rufrius Imbrex. We’ll tell him we are looking for a new recruit to fight in the games against the

champion. It won’t be far from the truth. The tribune has made a tidy sum of coin from our champion. Perhaps we can persuade him.” A few hours later, Tullius was granted an audience with the tribune. He convinced the tribune of his needs and was readily granted fifty mounted troops to accompany him on his secret journey. Tullius thanked the tribune and made ready his quest. He and the centurion would ride for two weeks north to Ragar , bed down for the night, and then continue the following morning. It was several weeks before they reached the outlying area around the abandoned village of Quoato. Finding the hidden cave wasn’t easy, but after several painstaking hours, they finally stumbled onto it a mile outside the deserted village. “Are you sure this is it, Tullius?” asked the centurion. “Look closely at the rock formation, Centurion. What does it look like to you?” After studying the rocky entrance to the cavern, he noticed that indeed the formation resembled a grinning skull. “Yes, I see what you mean, Tullius. It resembles a human skull, fitting place for the evil beggar I’d say.” The men dismounted, and Tullius took the centurion and several others with him into the cave. With the rocky bottom slick with moisture, the group of men had to advance cautiously. Finally, the dark stone path opened up into a large chamber, which was well lit with dozens of torches. “Demons of the cave, come forth,” spoke Tullius. “I have been sent by Sesbian, champion of the Roman games. He has died in battle at the hands Pompeius, your master, who tricked Sesbian into thinking he was a human. Even in permanent death, he calls out for vengeance. If anyone resides in the cavern who has grievances against the coward Pompeius, come forth. I have a proposal you will find interesting.” The cave was cold, and the men began to shiver. After a thirty-minute wait, there was still no reply. “Perhaps,” said the centurion, “they have fled this cave for a more secure place of residence.”

“Cave dwellers, I implore you, come forth and hear my proposition. There will be gold coin aplenty and glory in the Roman coliseum. And do not worry about blood. There will be plenty of that too.” Suddenly, a voice echoed throughout the cavern. “I am Sentius Attianus, and I hear your words. To whom do I speak?” “I am, Tullius Labeo, senior centurion, and this is the centurion of the guard.” “Does the centurion have a name?” “I’ve never been called anything but the centurion as far back as I can ,” answered the centurion. “Where is my master, Pompeius?” asked the voice. “He has abandoned us, left us to fend for ourselves in a land of the dead. You are the first breathing humans we have seen in a long time, and my hunger grows steady with each ing moment.” “Do not look to us for your nightly feeding,” threatened Tullius. “I can summon my men, and we will kill you all. But that would serve no purpose. We need immortals to fight in the arena, for gold and for blood. I can offer you the same proposition as I did Sesbian. When you are victorious in the arena, then you can drink the blood of your adversary. If he is dead, then we’ll get you one of the many criminals who are awaiting a sentence of death. And as an added bonus, once you rise in rank, you’ll get to kill Pompeius the deceiver, the one who left you here to perish.” “That’s an interesting proposition,” said Sentius. “I have fought in the games before, as was once my village of Quoato, before Pompeius reduced it to nothing. I have to it I miss the clashing of swords and the cheer of the crowd.” “I too miss the rumbling of the crowd,” came another voice, and then out of the shadows stepped a giant of a man. “I am Gnaeus Agathinus, front-line heavy infantry for the Bardamus brigade, whom you defeated at the Ragar . Pompeius took my life one night at camp while we tended to the wounded. When I awoke, I had a ravenous hunger, but had no one to turn to for guidance as Pompeius abandoned us only to return a month later to make us his slaves. If the offer is directed at me also, I’ll accept your proposal, Tullius.”

“What about feeding us?” asked Sentius. “Our hunger grows unbearable. What can you do to ease our suffering?” “I can do nothing until we reach the garrison at Ragar . There we will feed you one of the doomed men awaiting death. It is but a night’s ride, so we’ll have to get there before daylight. If you accept my offer, then we’ll leave tonight.” “You are very persuasive, Tullius,” said Sentius. “I also accept your offer.” “Then it’s settled. We’ll make camp outside your cave until dark, then we’ll proceed.” Tullius hadn’t planned on two demons to accompany him, but it could prove to be beneficial. It was going to be much harder to feed two of them than one. Suddenly the Centurion spoke. “Look at the eyes, Tullius. They glow red. Pompius will know they are demons like himself and take precautions.” Tullius also noticed the eyes, but couldn’t ever seeing Sesdian with red eyes during battle. “What say you, Sentius?” asked Tullius. “Can your magic undo the fire eyes?” “With fresh blood it will extinguish the fire in our eyes to a level unseen. As our hunger grows, so does the fire. Once sated, we can dim the fire until the hunger grows strong again.” So that was it, thought Tullius. Sesbian never had red eyes because with the regular influx of warm blood, he could hide the red eyes from the cheering crowd and his adversaries. “Okay, Sentius. You and Gnaeus meet us at the mouth of the cave at dark.” When darkness fell, the riders departed for the ride to the Ragar garrison. Upon arrival, Tullius went to the well-known commander of the garrison and explained the situation to him. The commander had heard of the great games to where the victor would drink the blood of the defeated and, sworn to secrecy, readily agreed to sacrifice two murderers to the cause. Tullius paid him a handsome sum in return for his silence. Tullius never had gotten used to the violence involved in drinking the blood of a

defenseless man, but in order to get the demon men to the games, it had to be done. It took several weeks, but finally they made it back to Rome and immediately began training. The brute Gnaeus had already had military training; Sentius, despite his bragging, took much longer. But training of both the demon men resulted in handsome monetary rewards for Tullius and the centurion. They rose in the ranks quickly in the village arenas, until they were finally noticed and itted into the Roman coliseum for the preliminary games. Tullius thought that with the beggar’s arrogance, and thinking they were human, just might agree to fight both men at the same time, ensuring his death. Tullius would spread the rumor and see what came of it. They would still have to prove their worthiness in the arena before they could ever hope to challenge Pompeius the beggar. As the days ed, rumors circulated that the ever-growing popularity of Damophilius the Great brought him riches beyond imagination but also inherited enough money to have a bounty put out on Tullius and the centurion. The two men were angered that such a thing could be done by a non-Roman without the knowledge of the consul general himself. If Claudius Maximus heard of the rumors, then the champion of the games would be put to death, but knowing what Damophilius was, Tullius knew the beggar would slip into the shadows and be gone, and so would their chance at putting to rest the beggar for good. Tullius quickly sent word to the beggar that they knew of his plot to murder them, and if he didn’t resend the order, they would have him arrested and banished from the games. It was a gamble, but a chance they had to take.

* * *

Pompeius the beggar, alias Damophilius the Great, dropped the drained corpse of Tullius’s envoi onto the floor of his quarters. He had received the message but wondered why Tullius would want to warn him. They could have been rid of him, at least temporarily. It was a strange move, but one that could easily be explained. They wanted to keep him where he was so they could be rid of him

for good. He knew they had talented gladiators advancing in rank. Could they be so naïve as to think he could be beaten in the arena? Yes, that had to be it! Well, he would make it easy for them and for him. He would personally challenge one of Tullius’s fighters and kill him in the arena. If Tullius wanted to send another into the arena to his death, then Pompeius would oblige him. Pompeius had purchased several slaves with his winnings from the games and called two of them into the room. “Clean up this mess and be quick about it! Throw this trash out onto the street, and don’t let anyone see you. Now be gone.” As the slaves were obeying his orders, Pompeius was contemplating his next move when word came to him that Tullius was confident that his two best fighters would be victorious against Damophilius the Great. So that was their plan, thought Pompeius. They think that two fighters can best me in the arena. Why the fools! He would accept the challenge, kill his precious fighters, and then still have his revenge, on one condition. That if Tullius’s fighters lose, then Tullius himself and the centurion would have to do battle with him immediately afterward. Yes, Pompeius would have his revenge by turning the tables on his hated adversaries. The fools would have to accept or look like cowards in the eyes of entire senate, and with a challenge such as that, even the consul would have to relent or look like he was protecting two cowards. Pompeius began to laugh. Yes, he was confident his plan would work nicely, and just to celebrate, he would kill one of the servants and drink her rich blood. “Caecilia, my dear, will you come in here for a moment?” said the vampire. A beautiful servant girl entered his chambers. She had raven hair, brown eyes, and full lips with perfectly applied facial paint. “Yes, master?” Pompeius grabbed the girl by the throat and slowly squeezed just to keep her quiet, and right before she ed out, he let go and bit deep into her neck. She couldn’t catch her breath and scream because when she tried, Pompeius would apply more pressure on her larynx with his thumb, effectively silencing her. He sucked and tore into the tender throat, caring little for her suffering. Blood gushed down her breasts and onto his tunic, but he kept up the vacuum like suction until she was drained of all blood. When he was done, he dropped the limp corpse onto the floor and kicked it over into the corner of the room. Being a beautiful young woman made the kill even more satisfying. She was innocent

and vulnerable, just the way he liked them. That made two in one night, more than enough to sate his hunger. Now if he could just have Tullius in his grip. He shook the thought from his head. There would be enough time to savor that later in the games. He would drink the blood of the defeated in front of the roaring crowd. Pompeius was under no illusions. He knew that after he killed the two hated ones, they would secretly arrest him and try him for the murder of Roman citizens. So be it! He’d be long gone before that took place. Once he killed the two men, he would vanish with the wind as if he’d never been.

* * *

Tullius was confident his two fighters were ready to do battle and kill Pompeius the beggar. But to chance it meant that his and the centurion’s life would be at stake. In case his fighters would lose, then he and the centurion would be no match for the immortal beggar and his heavy armor. The competition was set for the following night, and the giant Gnaeus felt confident as well, even eager. Sentius was somewhat skeptical, still fearing his former master; but they had the advantage—surprise—and Sentius knew it, giving him courage. The centurion was given the task of feeding the two warriors before the games so they’d be at their strongest. He hated feeding the bloodsuckers. Even though the victims were already sentenced to death, no man deserved to die by having his blood drained rapidly from his body. It just wasn’t a natural way to die. Even dying in the arena or on the battlefield seemed natural to the centurion. Maybe even sentenced criminals fed to the lions seemed more natural than being bled dry by a demon creature. But it was out of his hands. Victory at the games meant life or death for him and Tullius. Picking out the two most violent criminals of the prison, the centurion had the shackled men brought over to the beast’s quarters, which were next to his. The shackles were removed, and the men were shoved into a room with Gnaeus and Sentius. The centurion listened at the door to the chamber. He could hear

movement, cursing, and then muffled sobs as the two condemned men were slowly and silently murdered. It was imperative that the noise be kept at a minimum so not to alarm the other occupants of the building. That ought to strengthen our hand, thought the centurion. He experienced their feeding enough to learn that they felt invincible after an influx of blood, which is the way he and Tullius wanted them. Now the two brutes needed to prepare to do battle in the coliseum. When all was ready, Gnaeus and Sentius marched onto the coliseum’s sandy field and waited for the champion to arrive. It didn’t take Damophilius the Great long to appear for he was eager for battle. The two fools, he thought, would die hard this night. He would soak the dry sand with their blood, stomp over their ruined corpses, and retain his right to fight his hated adversaries, Tullius and the crafty centurion. After the normal introductions, they all bowed to the senators and audience. Gnaeus and Sentius had three spears apiece; while, to make it even, the champion had six. In addition, they each had a heavy shield and two swords. In the middle of the arena were three more spears, three shields, and three swords for whoever ran out of weaponry or needed replacement of damaged shields or swords. The trick was to get to them without being killed. The battle commenced with Gnaeus and Sentius throwing their spears simultaneously, the strategy being that Damophilius couldn’t dodge both projectiles at the same time. He stepped away easily from Sentius’s spear throw, but giant Gnaeus’s spear was much faster and heavier, striking the champion’s shield, punching through the thick hide and metal, then piercing the breastplate and the skin under the left side. The throw was so powerful it went completely through Damophilius’s shield, armor, and ribs and then stuck into the sand behind him, effectively pinning him to the ground. The crowd was in an uproar, clamoring for the champion to get up. As Gnaeus was readying another spear, Sentius saw an excellent opportunity and started to run toward his adversary to finish him off.

“Wait, you fool!” hollered Gnaeus. He couldn’t launch his next spear for fear of hitting the fast-running Sentius. As Sentius was bearing down on him, Damophilius moved roughly to the side, breaking the spear in half, then quickly pulled the other end out from his side. With very little time, he tossed the worthless shield onto the ground, pulled his sword, and then threw it end over end until it stuck Sentius in the left side of his neck where there was little protection. Sliding to a stop in the sand, Sentius pulled the sword from his neck and dropped it. As he was doing that, Damophilius quickly grabbed his shield with the embedded shaft and hurled it at Sentius. When Sentius held up his shield for protection, Damophilius slipped his sword under the shield and stabbed Sentius in the stomach beneath his breastplate. He screamed and staggered back as Damophilius jerked the shield from his grasp and threw it to the side. Then came the clashing of swords as Sentius desperately tried to defend himself from the champion’s onslaught. Despite the healing powers of the vampires, the enormous loss of blood from the neck wound of Sentius was weakening him. Damophilius, sensing victory, picked up a handful of sand and threw it into the eyes of Sentius. With Sentius being temporarily blinded, Damophilius maneuvered rapidly behind him and stabbed him in the back of the neck until the point of the sword protruded out the throat; and then grabbing the sword by both ends, he jerked it through the tissue and muscle until his head fell to the side, almost decapitated. Blood sprouted from the sliced arteries, pouring down the front of his breastplate and out the bottom. Sentius fell onto the sand as the champion hacked off the rest of his head. The audience was shouting their pleasure at the exciting spectacle with a promise of more to come. Damophilius tore the helmet and armor from the corpse, holding up the dripping head in triumph. Because Damophilius was bathing in his glory, he hadn’t noticed that the blackish blood was not human. In the light from the multitude of torches, the blood could clearly be seen by the crowd, but the color of the blood was distorted from the fire’s flickering light.

Suddenly, a spear came streaking toward Damophilius. He dove toward the ground just in time as the sharp point of the spear sliced through his shoulder plate and then into the ground. He stood and shook his spear in the direction of his opponent. “What say you, Gnaeus!” shouted Damophilius. “Your brother in arms lies dead at my feet, to be fed to the lions in the morning. You’re alone now, my giant friend, and I’ll kill you and baste in your blood as I have your brother.” Gnaeus was shocked at his partner’s death so soon into the fight, but it didn’t deter him from carrying on the battle with determination. “You’ll not find it so easy to kill me, Damophilius. I will crush your bones from between my bare hands if it comes to that. Come meet me in the center and we’ll see who will be victorious.” In that instant, Damophilius ran toward the arena’s center. He was trying for the extra weapons, thought Gnaeus. He grabbed two spears and also ran in the direction of the center. Damophilius arrived first and picked up a sword, shield, and spear. Gnaeus stopped midway and heaved another spear in the direction of Damophilius. He ran to the side as the projectile creased his upper breastplate, barely missing his neck by inches. It was his turn to throw as Damophilius threw the heavy shafted spear at Gnaeus. The giant was a big target and couldn’t dodge the spear’s sharp point as it crashed through his huge shield and into his corset above his testicles. He screamed from the painful wound and immediately pulled the weapon from his body. The champion knew then that something wasn’t right. Any normal human would have fallen into the dusty sand with such a wound as that. Even the giant Gnaeus would not be able to sustain such damage and still stand. Gnaeus had to be an immortal! No wonder Tullius had challenged him to a duel with two fighters. He figured two immortals could surely best one angry god, but he hadn’t counted on Pompeius the immortal. The master over all his servants, and Gnaeus was no exception. Damophilius did not intend to clash swords with such a brute, so he lobbed

another spear at Gnaeus; but this time, he ducked its lethal point and quickly countered with a throw of his own. Gnaeus’s spear stuck into the sand between Damophilius’s legs, just short of a deadly hit. He had no more spears, so he charged Damophilius with his sword, but not before Damophilius threw another spear, penetrating his shoulder and out the muscled underside. He screamed in pain and frustration but continued his charge with the spear dangling from his bleeding shoulder. Damophilius didn’t have time to throw another weapon because Gnaeus was upon him, forcing him into a battle of swords. Gnaeus forced him back with weighted blows from his huge muscled arm until he was able to pick up one of the shields that lay on the ground before him. Another massive swing split Damophilius’s shield in half. Damophilius rolled away from the attack, grabbed the last shield, and charged, plowing into Gnaeus shield to shield with such force it pushed the big warrior back. With a powerful counterblow with his sword, Gnaeus shattered his opponent’s shield and in the process smashed part of his helmet, pushing the metal into his skull. Damophilius fell to the ground at Gnaeus’s feet and, with a surprising move, stabbed his sword through the foot of Gnaeus, pinning his foot into the hard clay beneath the sand. With his foot stuck to the ground, he tripped and fell, his huge frame stirring up dust as he impacted the earth. Using both hands, Damophilius tore the helmet from his head along with part of his scalp and then pouched on the unsuspecting Gnaeus before he could rise. With his foot stuck to the ground and the spear still protruding from his shoulder, Gnaeus was off balance and vulnerable as Damophilius shoved the point of his sword under his chin and up into his brain. Blood squirted from both eyes, blinding him, but the immortal was not yet dead. Leaving the sword implanted in his brain, Damophilius tore the breastplate from his massive chest as Gnaeus tried desperately to dislodge the painful sword. Lying helpless before him, Gnaeus could neither see nor speak. Damophilius jerked the spear from Gnaeus’s shoulder and placed the point of it over his heart. “You dare to turn on your master, Gnaeus,” hissed Damophilius. “Now I’ll show you what permanent death is like.” He then pushed the spear slowly through the tender skin and into the heart of Gnaeus. He screamed with the last of his breath

and then lay still. Damophilius stripped the rest of his armor off him and hacked off his head. He held up the gruesome trophy and let the still dripping blood splatter into his waiting mouth. The crowd was in an upheaval; they had never witnessed such enjoyment at the games before. Damophilius was once again victorious, and against two opponents. Now it was fight to the death with two of Rome’s heroes from the Gallic war, the hated Tullius and the centurion. A scream suddenly erupted from Damophilius’s blood-soaked lips as an arrow entered his right eye and stuck out the back of his head. He dropped the head of Gnaeus and staggered backward. With Tullius behind the rains and the centurion shooting arrows, the chariot plowed across the field close to Damophilius, the bladed wheels of the chariot slicing through his leg armor and deep into his flesh. He screamed again and tumbled onto the sand. The duo quickly stopped the chariot and dismounted. They had to kill Damophilius before he could heal. The centurion ran up with shield and sword and immediately stuck the wounded champion through the throat before he could dislodge the embedded arrow. In his lust for attention from the crowd, Damophilius had disarmed himself. Now he scrambled toward the dropped sword, but Tullius was ahead of him with a spear thrust into the groin area. Rolling over on his stomach, Damophilius started to push the arrow the rest of the way through his head. The centurion jumped upon his back and fumbled with the straps that held on the breastplate. Damophilius stopped what he was doing and reached around behind him, grabbing the centurion by his breastplate and flipping him off into the sand. Tullius was immediately on his back, trying desperately to remove the armor breastplate, getting one side unstrapped before he too was slung into the sandy field. One side of the breastplate hung down, exposing the area above the heart as Damophilius finally removed the arrow from his eye. The one-eyed vampire grabbed a sword and stood. With Tullius moving to Damophilius’s right, where there was a blind spot, making Damophilius turn his head completely to the side, the centurion attacked with a

spear thrust into his exposed chest, burying the point deep within his chest. The wooden shaft of the spear was painful as the vampire bellowed his rage. As he had done to Gnaeus earlier in the fight, he threw the sword’s end over until it lodged in the centurion’s breastplate, penetrating a few inches into the skin. The centurion stopped his attack and withdrew the sword. He was wounded but not out of the fight. When Damophilius took his eyes off Tullius, Tullius jumped onto his back again and quickly unstrapped the other side of the breastplate. It fell onto the ground. Damophilius knew he was now vulnerable, so he threw Tullius onto the ground, dove over to his spear, and then jumped up, throwing it at Tullius. He had dropped his shield when he unbuckled the strap to Damophilius’s breastplate, and now he stood defenseless as the spear sheared part of his breastplate under his arm, cutting a deep gash in his armpit. He fell to his knees. Damophilius again dove, this time coming up with a sword. He quickly ran up to Tullius. “Now I’m going to feast on your blood, you pitiful man,” boasted Damophilius. He stuck the sword into the sand and grabbed Tullius by the throat. Suddenly, he howled and stepped back, an arrow embedded in his back. The centurion had maneuvered back to the waiting chariot and retrieved his bow and arrows. As Damophilius turned around to see what hit him, the centurion let fly another arrow, striking Damophilius in his unprotected chest, penetrating through the heart. He groaned loudly as he tried to pull out the arrow, but the pronged tipped arrow did nothing but pull on the heart muscle. The wooden shaft of the arrow had done its work as Damophilius fell heavily onto the ground—dead. The crowd grew silent as the centurion’s loyal men came out onto the field and retrieved their two wounded leaders. The champion of the games had been defeated by two soldiers of the Roman Legion. Many a coin changed hands that night. Both men recovered quickly. Tullius, having the most severe of the wounds, took much longer to recuperate. Pompeius the beggar, alias Damophilius the Great, was finally dead; and in the process, his minions were also dead. Both brave men had taken a gamble on the demon’s arrogance, which proved to be his downfall. If he hadn’t stopped to boast to Tullius, Tullius would have been dead, and the centurion would have quickly followed.

After the brilliant battle in the coliseum, Tullius was promoted to the highest centurion post called the primus pilus or with the option of commanding a cavalry unit of three hundred equestrians. The centurion was promoted to senior centurion. The experience with the ruthless vampire Pompeius would not be forgotten. Tullius wrote all about the two-year ordeal in his soon-to-be-published personal journal. The centurion was content to tell of his adventures around the campfire of his men. Neither man was ever confronted by a vampire again in their lifetimes.

The End

About the Author

Martin Patterson is a writer of horror and suspense. He has a few short stories published and a previous book of short stories called Taste of Blood. He resides in Cincinnati, Ohio, and is currently working on numerous short stories plus another book project.