Beyond Armageddon V: Fusion (57 page)

The history they lived when finding those empty cities came from Voggoth’s action in the here and now; in the temple: what the Gods of Armageddon had referred to as ‘local linear time’ on this Earth—humanity’s host world—when Trevor eavesdropped on their gathering last year.

He understood.

“Jorgie, listen,” he spoke calm but firmly to his son; a difficult task given the chamber full of energy, the Nyx trying to pounce, and his son’s fascination with the power surge. “You’re a link in the chain! You have already done this. You have to do it now or everything will change.”

The image morphed to a view of the present. Outside the temple, lines of European infantry slowly retreated before the horde protecting the structure. Armand’s FAMAS rifle fired round after round slaughtering monsters wholesale but too many remained. Artillery positions on the ridge were overrun—motorcycle cavalry charged desperately into the advance but could not stem the tide.

“I don’t understand.”

“You have to do what Voggoth did. You can go back, Jorgie.
You
are the ark!”

The boy absorbed what his father said and as he did his eyes widened with a revelation and with fear.

“Father—he said he went looking for Mother. That bad Missionary Man—he said he went looking for Mother to kill her and me while I was in her belly.”

Trevor stood. He felt pinpricks against his skin and the hairs on his arms stood straight like needles.

“Then save her, JB. You have to go back and save her or you will never exist and none of this will have happened.”

“I don’t—I don’t know if I can.”

“You are in control, JB. Concentrate and use your mind to go back—farther than Voggoth went—go back to the beginning.”

His son’s face contorted with concentration and frustration.

“Easy, Jorgie.”

“I can’t reach it—it’s there but I can’t reach it—it’s like I’m being blocked!”

Trevor glanced up at the rumbling black clouds. They struggled in the grip of the energy field—and against the child’s will.

Trevor narrowed his eyes and urged, “Take it from them, Jorgie. It’s time to be strong—stronger than them. If they won’t let go—
hurt them.”

Jorgie’s eyes found the pair of cloud-creatures suspended in the air above as if encased by another pair of spheres but these of energy.

“I want to go back,” he growled at them and stuck out his lip. “I want to GO BACK!”

The clouds twisted and a nightmarish moan escaped from a chorus of vaporous faces forming one after another in the inky mists. Flashes—the smell of something foul burning—the storm of energy raged in the space between the two paralyzed Nyx. Images came and went one after another after another. Between the bright flashes and the speed of change, Trevor struggled to identify the images.

“I can reach out—I’m looking for Mommy.”

“Concentrate, Jorgie! Make them take you where you want to go.”

An oil platform in the North Sea. Workers in yellow hardhats battling strong winds and raucous waves—gone in an instant leaving behind empty decks.

“It’s not easy, Father,” the boy pleaded in frustration. “Everything keeps spinning and moving. I reach out for her and then—and then she’s gone and it’s someone else…”

Calmer waters—that same platform off in the distance—dozens of green coffins burst into existence in a different time and sink beneath the waves to a watery grave.

“Father! I killed them! They’re gone—I can’t do this!”

“You already have. Keep trying!”

A magnificent temple dominated by a Kmer-style tower with two sets of steep steps leading to terraces. Four smaller prangs surrounded the main tower, each decorated in seashells and porcelain. Tourists dressed in a variety of colorful, warm-weather clothing swarmed the grounds moving between somber-looking Buddhists. Then, in an instant, they vanished.

“I can grab them, Father, but it’s like scooping sand. What I do grab feels like it’s slipping through my hands.”

Jorgie’s eyes closed and he concentrated his will on the task. Trevor saw fatigue and aggravation battering his son. He wanted to grab him, pull him from the energy field, and comfort him in his arms. But he knew he could not. His son had a role to play; a power that needed to bloom if humanity were to survive the day. No matter how hard—no matter the pain—no matter the number of failures, Trevor knew he must let his son try.

The tourists and worshippers re-appeared along the banks of the Chao Phraya, not far from the temple at a time after the armies of Armageddon had descended upon the Earth. The cluster of emerald sarcophagi appeared in the midst of a pack of monstrous Jaw-Wolves playing with the bones of victims in a riverside park.

“Jorgie—Jorgie listen to me,” Trevor took a deep breath, held his hands palm-up in a calming manner, and spoke to his son in his best father’s voice. “Think of a place first, Jorgie. Don’t worry about time or where to go, think of
place
. Think about home, JB.”

“I—yes, okay, Father, I understand.”

Trevor understood. Voggoth had created this gateway by enslaving the powers of the Nyx. Jorgie jumped in mid-stream, commandeering the mechanism but without any real control. It amazed him that JB could do so much with no preparation. Yet if history were to be fulfilled, he would need to do more. Trevor could not fathom what would happen if he pulled Jorgie from the energy pool before he completed his task, but he had to believe that the world outside the temple would change drastically. All their success to date might be wiped clean and any chance at saving humanity would vanish as quickly as the ‘ark riders’ had vanished in the days before the invasion.

“You’re starting in the right ‘when’, Jorgie,” Trevor said as he remembered disappearances in Norway and Thailand during those early days. “But you’ve put them back too early.”

“I can’t control this.”

“Yes, you can. The same way you controlled Voggoth’s machines on the island last year. I have confidence in you.”

JB—his eyes still closed—muttered, “I’m in the right
when…”

A spinning globe stopped on the savannahs of Africa. An entire village vanished.

“I can’t hold them for long.”

“Can you move them somewhere, Jorgie? Can you take them to a different ‘where’?”

”I’m trying—I’m trying…”

The villagers re-appeared in cases of green in a wooded patch not far from the remains of burned and collapsed huts and buildings; something had come through and destroyed their homes. Before the image changed, Trevor saw a reason for hope: he saw a group of camouflage-wearing African troops riding in Jeeps approach the still-steaming vessels. If this was a scene in the time since Armageddon’s start, then perhaps these soldiers were survivors, too.

“Jorgie! That’s it! You did it! You pulled them forward through time to when they would be safe. But think about places closer to home. Think about your mother.”

Flashes of cities, mountain towns, seaside villas, campgrounds—they came and went in quick succession.

Wrigley field—thousands of fans and two baseball teams ceased to exist in the summer of the invasion—and reappeared in the streets of the Lakeview neighborhood of Chicago; a neighborhood teeming with alien wildlife.

Trevor gasped, “No…” but he already knew The Empire had found those unlucky time travelers torn to shreds.

Any confidence JB felt quickly dissipated with this failure.

“I have to stop—I’m
killing
them!”

“Listen to me, Jorgie. You can’t stop. You have already done this. You are a link on the chain. Hell, maybe it’s a whole new chain that those son of a bitches didn’t count on, but you’ve got to see it through. Keep trying. You’re in the right time. Don’t give up, son. Please. For your mother’s sake.”

The mention of his mother’s name re-energized the boy. His eyes opened and while Trevor could not see what his son saw, he c
ould
see a new sense of determination in his expression.

More images—random places—random buildings—people pulled from their lives days or hours before the onslaught of invaders. With each group, Jorgie’s skill at moving them through time improved. Only a handful arrived too soon. Many more began to appear in places that Trevor immediately recognized from those early years of expansion; places where they had found ark-riders.

As he watched his son work, Trevor had a revelation.

Whenever they had found batches of ark riders they had always found a scientist of some importance, or an engineer, or a brilliant mathematician or a fanatically brave soldier. At the time, Trevor had sensed a purpose behind the ark; as if some force had targeted the best and brightest of humanity and ensured their survival beyond the first days of Armageddon.

Not so. The groups Jorgie pulled from history were random groups. Yet someone of importance, someone of great value, someone who aided the cause
did
arrive in each batch because even the most random samples of humanity a
lways
produced such persons. The plan existed not in the power behind the ark, but in the nature of mankind.

Jorgie’s face grew drawn and tired. Working from the center of the energy spike—the vortex—put a great strain on his body and no matter how great his powers, he remained a human being.

“Father—something is—something is wrong,” Jorgie’s eyes searched the streams of energy; again seeing things not visible to Trevor. “I feel—I feel like I’m being watched. Like another door has opened.”

Trevor could not decipher what his son meant. He only knew what needed to be accomplished. And from what he could see in the spinning, flashing storm of energy, Jorgie’s skill at fishing the currents of time improved.

Trevor saw West Point along the Hudson. He watched as a cache of summer students and teachers—all across campus—vanished into thin air. Trevor knew General William Hoth—hero of the Wetmore battle—would be among that number. Trevor searched his memory. They had found the ark-riders at West Point less than a year after the Battle of Five Armies but before major expansion. Jon had suggested an expedition to the academy with the hope of finding materials for ‘teaching’ as part of his strategy to improve humanity’s burgeoning citizen-army. They had found much more than that: they had found hundreds of cadets and dozens of instructors; including Hoth.

“Jorgie—put them back in two years. No more.”

“I’ll try, Father,” and the boy grunted and the emerald sarcophagi re-appeared on the academy grounds. Trevor could not tell if the time was exactly right, but from what he saw no predators threatened the ark-riders.

“Father!”

“JB? What?”

Again, the child’s eyes searched the bands of energy, seeing something.

“They’re coming, Father! They’re coming!”

“Hurry, Jorgie! Hurry!”

In rapid succession Jorgie guided the Nyx’s energy across the world during the June days just prior to the full force of the invasion. Trevor fed him dates and places, but despite becoming better skilled at manipulating the power, Jorgie still could not be as precise as Trevor wished. Nonetheless, he grabbed thousands of people form the past and, with Trevor’s guidance, deposited them at times when they would awake in lands re-claimed by the expanding Empire.

Again Jorgie warned, “Something is happening—there’s another door open—to someplace different. Father—I’m getting so very tired.”

“Your mother, Jorgie. Find your mother,” Trevor had not pushed to pull Ashley from the past because he wanted his son’s skill to improve as much as possible. Of all the ark-riders, losing Ashley—and, ironically, baby Jorgie in her belly—would prove the most catastrophic. He wondered if his son—standing in the energy field—would simply vanish should Ashley find her green coffin deposited before the battle for Wilkes-Barre; before the Battle of Five Armies; before Northeastern Pennsylvania had been retaken by humanity.

His concern proved unwarranted. Ashley’s entire family and all of her neighbors disappeared from their homes, leaving behind singed clothing and empty rooms.

In the moment before the image changed, Trevor saw a silver Chevrolet Malibu with a badly-damaged passenger side screech to a stop in the half-circle driveway of the Trump’s modular home. He saw a person to whom he shared some similarity; he saw a young man named Richard Stone exit the car and bound up the stairs in search of his fiancé. All this before the Old Man, before New Winnabow, before the journey to a parallel universe.

Trevor gazed at the fading image. The stranger pictured there—could that really be his past self? How he wished for a world where Richard had never become Trevor.

Then the image changed. Ashley and the others from her street rode the ark landing safely in secure territory not far from her home a little more than a year since her disappearance. For her the time past in the quickest of flashes. During that flash, his entire life—his entire person—changed.

Richard became Trevor.

“Father—I am so tired—and they are coming…”

The energy field waned. The image showed the grounds outside the temple. Voggoth’s monsters prepared for one last strike at the Europeans; one last surge to send them running.

“One more, JB. One more time and then you’re done.”