Maggie Chu had been eighteen when the world started to go mad. The strange voice that drove people insane, the thick, black goo that turned humans, animals and even plants into nightmarish monsters. The abandonment and quarantine of major US cities. The deployment of major military assets on home soil for the first time since the Civil War.
She'd been about to start at North Carolina State University, to pursue a degree in engineering as her parents had hoped for. When that terrible voice started speaking through every device and speaker on campus, however, and things turned to bedlam, her choice of career changed slightly.
Chu had just moved in, and was walking on campus with her roommates when it started. Seeing people around them become deranged, the three young women had fled towards a campus police vehicle. It had made sense. Seek out an authority figure or shelter. The white SUV with red and black university insignia seemed to offer both.
To their collective horror, the officer inside had gone psychotic as well. He staggered out of the SUV, and before Chu's disbelieving eyes, shot one of her roommates through the head. Amber's head had simply burst like a fruit, spraying bone chips and gore everywhere. As Chu grabbed the surviving roommates hand and turned to flee, the officer gunned down the other roommate, Yelena. Tripped up by her falling corpse and shrieking incoherently, Chu had frantically tried to crawl away, thinking that at any moment he would kill her too.
He never got the chance.
She had heard a heavy boom behind her, much louder than the report of the officers weapon. Daring to look up, she saw a man in a 'gravel pit' Army Combat Uniform reach down to offer her a hand up, his other hand holding a pump action shotgun. The campus officer was dead. Behind him were other men and women in the same uniform, waving survivors to line of Humvees a hundred yards distant, driven right up onto the campus grounds. The man only said three words.
“Come with me.”
Later, she had learned that they were all members of the North Carolina Army National Guard. They'd been ferrying the Humvees elsewhere, moving past the school when everything had gone so wrong. By whatever trick of fate or act of a merciful God, the group hadn't been driven out of their minds by the voice. The convoy leader had decided they should try to help survivors at the campus, even though none of them had been armed at the time. Picking up the weapon of an officer who'd put the wrong end into his mouth in a fit of madness, he'd led them into danger, and they had packed as many students as possible into their vehicles.
Riding away, surrounded by babbling and panicked students, Maggie Chu decided one way or another she was joining the Army. Years later, Chu was a second lieutenant in the Transportation Corps. Raleigh was gone. Her mother and father had been flown west, one of the last times air travel had been reliable and safe. Chu's parent command was likely no more, and what was left of the North Carolina Guard had been part of the delaying actions the United States military was waging across the east. She, and her platoon, were following the last set of orders issued to them: take as many civilians as possible and make for Cincinnati.
Now, though, she was facing an insurrection from her own troops as they prepared to break camp and drive the last leg to the supposedly safe haven city.
“You're what?” Only five feet four inches tall, her armor carrier and overlarge helmet made Chu look a little like a turtle peeking out of its shell. A rather incredulous and annoyed turtle, at the moment. At times like this, she wished she could look just a little more intimidating.
“You heard me. We're done. We're going back to work for that conde guy. Better chances with him than with this.” Weathers, who was the platoon sergeant and the other four had taken off their armor carriers, stripping off nameplates and patches—even the American flag.
Chu just stared at them for a moment, hands on her hips. Next to her, Staff Sergeant Brinks shook his head in frustration.
“Sergeant,” Chu finally said, “you aren't doing this. We have our orders—get these people to Cincinnati. Get your gear back on. All of you!”
Weathers slowly looked up at her as he was taking the hydration system out of the carrier.
“...Lieutenant...Maggie. Those orders came from an organization that is fucking dead! When was the last time we had any official orders? Any word from any other element or formation? The only other soldiers we've come across were from West Virginia, and you saw what they were doing. And they have the right idea.”
Weathers shook his head curtly, strapping the hydro carrier to his back.
“It's everyone for themselves now. At least in Parkersburg we'll have plenty of supplies and a real chance. We stay with this convoy, we're all gonna bite it—from another one of these militias, from the fucking squid heads, from something.”
“You swore an oath,” Chu snarled back, waving a hand at all of them. “You swore. That you would defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, that you would obey the orders of the President of the United States and the officers appointed over you! You swore.”
She practically spat the words. For her, it didn't matter what else had transpired. Each of them had given a solemn promise, and she intended to hold it. She was going to get these people to Cincinnati. She was going to get her mixed and matched platoon to Cincinnati. That anyone here would give up that responsibility seemed impossible to her. And yet Weathers was suggesting just that. He gave an exasperated sigh as he picked up his rifle, the men around him hoisting what they were taking with them as well.
“We swore an oath to a country that doesn't exist any more! The president is dead; Washington is a crater! Yeah, there's someone in Colorado acting like they're president, but face facts. It's over. Almost all our heavy weapons are back in Parkersburg, because we had to give them up or the convoy would get shot up. Hey, not judging your call—but how much further we going to get without them? We're low on supplies. We're low on everything. You've done really great, Maggie, but it's over. We're taking our hummer and going.”
Chu's dark eyes flared, and she exhaled slowly.
“My name...is lieutenant. You're going to pick all your crap up and mount up. Otherwise...I have to consider this a conspiracy to refuse lawful orders in time of war.” At her side, Brinks stiffened and Chu could hear him shift his stance, rifle in hand. Weathers stared at her, mouth open. Then he laughed, a short, rough sound.
“Are you...are you fucking kidding? You're accusing us of mutiny?”
“Yes. I am. What else do you think this is?” Chu replied cooly.
For a few seconds the two just stared at each other. Then, without a verbal or even non verbal signal, the mutineers snapped their weapons up, aiming them at Chu and Brinks as they did the same, Chu quick-drawing her sidearm from the holster attached to the front of her plate carrier. No one fired—not yet. No one wanted to be the first to cross a line that they could never go back to.
“God damnit, sergeant. Don't do something this incredibly stupid. We can all walk away from this. We can finish the trip to Cincinnati, and accomplish our mission.” Inwardly, Chu was surprised how calm she sounded. She was positive her hands should be trembling. This was insane!
Weathers just sighed over the top of his M4 and shook his head ever so slightly.
“The only one who did something incredibly stupid, lieutenant, is you. You notice something? No one else dismounted to get involved in this. No one.”
Chu did notice. It was just her and Brinks against Weathers and his four co-conspirators. The others in the platoon were watching from their vehicles or from where they were getting their equipment ready.
All wore identical expressions of disbelief. The civilians they were transporting looked much the same, but with more fear. Their guardians and shepherds were turning on each other right in front of them.
“They want to see how it pans out. I think they've got the same thoughts we do, lieutenant. I think they're going to come with us once we walk over your corpse. And yours, Brinks. I think you should have made sure you had more friends before trying to stop us.”
The young second lieutenant squeezed her pistol more tightly in a two handed grip when a new voice sounded from the trees behind her.
“Aw, that's all right. Turns out she did.”
To the mutineers surprise, a shaggy haired man in a heavy jacket and beat up jeans had just come out of the woods, like a ghost.
His lever action rifle was pointed right at Weathers.
“Maybe y'all oughta reconsider,” grinned Frank Calhoun.
Weathers blinked for a moment, then replied without shifting his aim from Chu.
“Maybe you ought to walk back to the mountains, Jim Bridger. You're not an 'Army of One.'”
“Maybe I got more friends behind me.”
“For fucks sake,” growled a blond haired mutineer next to Weathers. “Let's just get this over with.”
“Agreed,” snorted Weathers. “Threes just one more to shoot than two.”
Chu and Brinks didn't dare take their attention from the men in front of them to look at Frank, but they could hear him continue to talk.
“Yeah, see pal, you do that, you're not gonna live t' see Parkersburg.”
“Oh, please--”
Frank rolled right along, the barrel of the Marlin never wavering from the renegade sergeants face.
“Round number one's gonna go in jus' above yer eye. Forty five-seventy will do a skull even as dense as y'alls. Entry wound won't be that impressive, but Jesus, th' exit wound will. S'gonna look like we can use yer head as a bowl once half of it's blown off, pal.”
The man out of time then winked quickly at the mutineer next to Weathers.
“An' then, blondy, you get round number two. M'pals behind me will deal with what's left.”
'Blondy' glanced over at Weathers, as did another mutineer. They didn't know who this bearded fellow was, but he sounded awfully confident.
“Y'all really ought to reconsider,” said Frank.
Maintaining her grip on her service pistol, Chu arched an eyebrow, thought it was hard to see underneath the helmet.
“What do you say, sergeant? We can all leave here together.”
Weathers response was to slowly exhale, letting out a breath like a balloon. For a moment, Chu thought he really was going to back down.
Then he shot her in the chest.
The air in that tight, deadly space exploded into gunfire as Chu fell backwards down to the ground.
Weathers got off one shot on semi-auto before the Marlin roared. Then Weathers died, a very surprised man with part of his face simply wiped away.
Frank worked the lever on the Marlin in a quick, sure motion, transitioning his aim to 'Blondy,' as good as his word.
Except as skilled as Frank was, as well drilled as his muscle memory was, he just wasn't as fast without that boost of anima.
The next thing knew, Frank was on the ground. The mutineer had shifted aim to him from Chu and put a round right in his hip. The Marlin fell from his hand, and Frank scrabbled in the dirt and blood to grasp the rifle before the kill shot arrived.
Rounds zipped past him as Brinks and the mutineer on the extreme right of their firing line engaged each other, adrenaline and perhaps a still strong reluctance causing them shots to go high despite the close range.
On the ground, Chu wasn't done yet. Unlike the mutineers, she was still wearing all her gear. The round had hit the ballistic plate in the front of her armor carrier, and while she felt like she'd just been hit with a sledgehammer, she was very much alive. Despite this, no one seemed to still consider her a threat.
When she'd received her commission, the Army had just replaced their old Beretta M9 pistols with the Sig Sauer P320. She hadn't just done what was necessary to qualify with the new weapon. When there was extra time, she had trained with it despite being in the logistics branch. More than a few RSOs had given her a funny look.
After all, she was going to be in charge of hauling cargo, not some kind of Ranger or something.
She'd trained anyway. She'd remembered the lessons of Afghanistan and Iraq from her instructors. She'd seen the reports of military units engaging monsters anywhere and everywhere in the United States. As far as she was concerned, you ought to be prepared for when things didn't go according to plan, because it was almost guaranteed they wouldn't. She'd gotten pretty damned good, even if the targets were generally static and didn't shoot back.
Rising slightly off her back from the cold earth, Chu fired more quickly and more accurately than she ever had in her life. In fact, it was quicker than she would ever shoot again in her life.
The pistol popped angrily five times. She put two into Private Haskins--'Blondy' and then delievered three shots to the chest of Corporal Priller, the mutineer who had been standing to Weather's left. The two staggered in place and toppled over.
Second Lieutenant Margaret Chu fired all five rounds in one point six seconds.
On the extreme left of what remained of the mutineers, Private Goss sent Brinks tumbling down, his shoulder and arm bleeding badly with a trio of quick shots. Then Goss himself flopped over, suddenly struck by two bullets that seemed to come from the forest. He joined his fellow mutineers in death. Like the others, he hadn't been wearing his gear. Over a hundred yards away through the trees, unseen by any in the melee, the Lincolns worked the bolts of their hunting rifles.
The original rebel soldier that Brinks had been shooting at, Private Eads took a step back, head snapping to the left and right. His fellow renegades were all dead or dying, though he wasn't sure how. Brinks was incapacitated. The stranger was fumbling for his rifle...and Chu was alive.
“Fucking bitch,” Eads whispered shakily, and aimed his rifle at her face. Chu squeezed her eyes shut as she heard a pair of rifle shots—then opened them, as she realized she was still alive. Eads was on his face. Behind him, a weeping Private Velazquez, all of nineteen, lowered his weapon.
He'd seen enough, and finally dismounted to get involved. Struggling to breathe Chu could see the rest of the patchwork unit, its membership from units across the east coast, dismount as well, shock and horror on their (mostly) young faces. Many of the civilians were weeping as well, clutching each other.
For second, Chu closed her eyes. The monsters they'd seen elsewhere didn't really compare to the monsters they had just found in their midst. Then she blinked her eyes open again.
“Velazquez. Ernesto! Get the doc over here. Now.” Having something to do besides stare at his dead former comrades seemed to shake Velazquez, and he quickly hurried off. As two other shame faced soldiers started to help her to a sitting position, she could see that the 'doc,' their combat medic Fenner was already on his way. She pointed to Brinks emphatically.
Damn Weathers. Damn him to hell.
“Brinks first! Then...Daniel Boone over here.”
Frank had found the Marlin and looked at the wound in his side, gritting his teeth.
It hurt. He'd been shot before—and set on fire. Bitten. Clawed. Had acidic saliva dripped on him.
He'd even lost a few limbs in his time as a Templar. The wondrous regenerative powers Gaia had blessed—or cursed-- him with had always healed the damage, sometimes in seconds, at most a few days.
This wasn't going to miraculously heal up with a few minutes rest and a taco lunch.
“Well God damn, that smarts,” he muttered as he watched the stony faced medic strip off Brinks armor to get a better angle on his wounds.
“You got a name, sir?” Frank looked over from where he was laying down. Chu was giving him an appraising look.
“Calhoun. Frank Calhoun, lieutenant. Ma'am, I'm bettin' that guy over yonder,” and at this Frank pointed to Private Goss's corpse, “got shot by some of my companions. Could ya tell yer folks there's friendlies through th' woods?”
The young woman watched his face for a few moments, then nodded, wincing a bit as she was still in pain. The plate had stopped the bullet, but it couldn't stop physics.
“Friendlies! Friendlies in the woods. Dawson, go say hi. Play nice.” Chu directed another soldier, this one with a MP armband, to go greet whoever this Frank Calhoun's friends were. At the moment, Chu was happy to have a few more 'friends' to go around. She looked back over at Frank, who was now receiving care from another soldier with a basic medical kit as Fenner continued to work on Brinks.
“Mister Calhoun...not that I'm upset, but what the hell made you decide to get involved?”
Frank sighed, staring up at the haze obscured sky as his wound was packed. He really couldn't tell her the entire truth. But maybe a little.
“Ahh...there was this guy I wanted to punch in th' head, and didn't. I shoulda just punched him in th' head. Woulda been safer than this.”
Looking over, Frank noted the open mouthed stare Chu was directing his way, and he began to laugh.
He continued to laugh helplessly even as Fenner finally got to him.
Reckless.
That's what he had been, Frank knew as he stared up at the armored ceiling of the RG-33L 6x6. Reckless. In the old days, before whatever event had severed his link to the anima enhanced abilities of a Chosen of Gaia, Frank could afford to be a little reckless.
Or a lot. A little trick involving free falling straight down from a helicopter fifty feet through a hole blown open in the roof of an Orochi safehouse right to its basement came to mind. He'd landed on his feet, and immediately started shooting the guards. The fall, the jagged edges of the hole, nothing had been that frightening to dissuade the attempt.
Then there was draug, werewolves, and time travel. Sometimes a lot reckless.
Now trying to be a big damn hero had gotten him shot. Thankfully Patti and Jeremy Lincoln were as good as shots as they boasted—not to mention this logistics officer who was apparently also Wyatt Freaking Earp.
And that this mish mash unit of National Guard still had medical supplies to spare and the know-how to use them.
Still. Felt good to finally get into a scrap and win, he thought with a wry grimace. It might be the only one he'd get into for a while, Frank knew as he looked at the IV connected to his arm. He wasn't going anywhere for a bit. Behind him was the man the young lieutenant had called 'Brinks,' asleep on a stretcher similar to the one he was lying on. Apparently he was stable, but the unit medic and the lieutenant both were hoping more advanced medical facilities were available in Cincinnati.
They were close enough that it was likely he'd keep his arm.
Frank hoped he would.
Shifting uncomfortably on the stretcher, Frank wondered about his own injury. Fenner told him he was 'pretty sure' they'd gotten the bullet and fragments out, but, again. He'd like to see Frank admitted to a more complete facility. For the moment, Frank was one of the medic's patients, and so would ride in the v-hulled mine resistant ambulance once the convoy started rolling, which was likely very soon. The other members of the little civilian column that had now joined up with the military one had each come by to see Frank.
The Pattersons had said they would pray for him and for Sergeant Brinks. The Murtons had expressed relief that he was alive; Andre had admonished him to be more careful. “You're not a super-hero, Mister Frank!” Frank had done his best to assure the child he wasn't going to get into too much trouble stuck in the vehicle. Annie and Rick had paid awkward respects.
The Lincolns had seen that he was alive, and had then informed him they were leaving to continue their journey on their own.
“Good luck, Mister Calhoun, but we know staying with these government troops is going to get us into a tight spot again eventually,” Patti had explained. A magnet for trouble, her husband had said. And just like that, the pair of survivalists were out of Frank's life.
He was jarred from his musings as the back hatch of the RG33 opened up, revealing the leader of this ragtag band of travelers, soldiers and refugees. Still moving a bit gingerly, Maggie Chu hauled herself into the vehicle. With the helmet and plate carrier gone, Chu was even smaller, Frank realized as she gave him a tired wave, settling into one of the jump seats.
Frank knew better to make any judgments based on her size. She'd faced down a group of mutineers almost by herself, and, as far as he had been able to tell, hadn't been rattled. Not to mention from the unit patches her folks were North Carolina Guard—if she'd managed to get this group this far alive, then she had gumption to spare. Frank waved back with his left arm, as the right had the IV stuck in it.
“Wanted to check on Charlie over there...and figured I'd give 'hello' another try since our first meeting wasn't under the best of circumstances,” she said, the corners of her small mouth twitching with a smile. Frank chuckled, nodding.
“Yeah. Pretty rough. Howdy do, lieutenant. I'm Frank.” He kept his left hand up, and she took it, shaking it firmly.
“Lieutenant Margaret Chu, 330th Transportation Battalion. Nice to meet you, sir. I wanted to thank you again. I might have been getting a little worried there.” As she spoke with him, she looked past him quickly, seeing the steady rise and fall of the red headed Brinks chest. She nodded to herself at the sight, reassured.
“Y'sure didn't look it, ma'am.” Frank smiled a bit, and Chu laughed, a heavy, weary sound, turning her eyes back to him.
“Wow, I'm glad of that. Trust me. I was worried. That's uh...well. Not something I was expecting.” She quieted, jaw tightening. Frank nodded back at her from his stretcher.
“No, I reckon not ma'am,” he answered gently. “All things considered, y'did th' best y'could, if y'ask me. I'm sure yer CO would understand completely. Y'know. Difficult circumstances.”
At mention of a 'CO' or 'Commanding Officer,' Chu glanced away quickly. Folding her hands in her lap, Chu blinked a few times at the bullet resistant porthole windows of the RG33, then looked back at Frank.
“Mister Calhoun...we haven't come across anyone else from the 330th. Things got...really confused after the second battle for Raleigh. Those things...with their horns, and their wings...we were still mostly together after Wilmington, but Raleigh...sir, unless there's an officer who made it out, I might be the battalion commander now.”
Frank stared back, dumbfounded. A battalion was around eight hundred personnel, led by a lieutenant colonel. He'd seen maybe forty-five to fifty uniformed men and women in Chu's column. And Chu was just a second lieutenant.
“Jesus,” he whispered, laying his head back on the stretcher.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “We've come across stragglers from MP units of the South Carolina Guard, some leg infantry guys from North Carolina, combat engineers from Virginia, even some civil support guys from the WMD response team in Delaware. Delaware, sir! Everyone just trying to survive and move west. No one from our actual unit, though. Not to mention the civvies we picked up. You want to know the damnedest thing though, pardon my language sir?”
“LT, you can swear as much as you want around me,” Frank smirked, waving his free hand in the air.
“I try not to. But, of all these stragglers? No officers, sir. Not a one. So I'm in charge of all these random people.” Chu flashed a brief, humorless grin at Frank. “They expect me to have all the answers. It's, ah, it's a bit much sometimes.”
Frank looked back at her again, and nodded his head.
“I'm sure it is, lieutenant. I'm sure it is. No officers at all?”
Chu started to shake her head, then made a 'hmmm' sound under her breath.
“Well. There is the major that came with the people from that Delaware unit. Except, uhm. He just stares straight ahead all the time. Doesn't talk. Doesn't respond. Eats most of the time, though. So, he's not, well...”
“Yeah. I imagine. Well, lieutenant...you've done a hell of a job getting this far. I know you'll get us to Cincinnati.” She gave him another little grin, and slapped her hand on the jump seat.
“Bet your ass, sir. Ouch. I shouldn't have done that,” she snorted as she winced, pushing herself up and out of the jump seat.
“You have your medic take a look at you?” Frank asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Eh. Heavy bruising, likely some damage to my ribs,” she said, shaking her head. “But I need to be up and in the saddle. So to speak, sir. I'll be fine.”
She patted him in a kindly way on the leg, then nodded to Brinks as she started to exit.
“Keep an eye on my sergeant, Mister Calhoun. He's my friend, and, well, he's the only sergeant left in this bunch I actually know.”
Frank gave her a thumbs up.
“Don't worry, ma'am. I reckon neither of us is gonna walk off any time soon.”
It was the second hour of the drive towards their destination. Brinks had woken up, and had struggled his way to a sitting position, first waving off, then accepting Frank's help when it became apparent one good arm wasn't enough to do the job.
The two made some small talk; Frank's former career in the Army, Charlie Brinks' childhood home in Kill Devil Hills on the North Carolina coast, and so on. They avoided talk of the mutiny—Brinks seemed to have no desire to bring it up, and Frank didn't press him.
As Brinks was telling him a little about their old battalion commander, he suddenly trailed off, looking past him through one of the porthole windows.
Frank blinked in surprise, starting to turn awkwardly, trying to manage the IV and the stand it was suspended from. “What? What is it?”
“Shit. More of those awful things.”
“What? What awful things?” Frank finally got turned the right way, and followed Brinks pointing finger, eyes widening slightly.
“The voice made a lot of people nuts,” Brinks said quietly. “Some went nuts...in a very special way.”
There were a trio of poles in a farmers field, close to the road as they passed. The lacerated and torn bodies of three humans (at this point gender was impossible to determine) were stuck to them, spikes driven through their wrists and ankles. As Frank resisted his gag reflex, he saw there were signs hanging below their feet, just in view.
One sign per pole. The writing was clearly in the bodily fluids of those murdered on the poles.
WE.
SHARE.
THE DREAM.
“What the fuck you think that means?” hissed Brinks as they passed.
“I'm sure I have no idea,” Frank lied in a hoarse voice.
