Rise Once More (5 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

Sweat Of My Brow

I awaken to the feeling of cold water dripping on to my forehead. In the distance, I can hear shuffling in the darkened madness. There is no light, just black, nothingness, and even more black. My head is reeling and I can't find the strength to sit up. I clench my fists tightly, raising each arm above my chest and twisting my body slightly. The ringing in my ears has started to retreat, as I check myself over mentally for major wounds.

I wiggle my toes, then pull my knees toward my chest and for a moment I feel that I am unharmed, but that was a false sense of security, I soon realize as the images of the blast come back to me. Is this what people refer to as shell shock? I am confused, my muscles seem to respond, but I have almost no sense of feeling.

I think I spoke to soon, my body floods my brain with pain responses and I quickly realize that I am in pretty rough shape. To make matters much worse, I hear the shuffling sounds in the distance growing much closer. Muffled cries, a few whimpers, and ramblings all seem to refocus on my origin.

I drag myself to my feet, leaning heavily against the stone shaft behind me for support. In my sensory depraved state, I imagine a figure moving in the darkness. I can hear a hissing noise, as I attempt to track the object. Foolishly I scan the area with my useless eyes, and I reach out into the darkness.

My hand is slammed to my side, by an outside force collapsing upon it. I can feel something squirming at my feet, and I kick out of reflex. I can hear it scurry on the ground, and come back at me. It grabs my legs, forces it ways towards my face, and I intercept it around my waist.

I dig my fingers into its skull, forcing my thumbs into its eye sockets, and pin the creature at my hips. I feel a slimy tongue brush my inner wrist, and the adrenaline takes over. I slam the skull into the granite shaft floor, holding it firmly with my left hand, as I pound my fist into it repeatedly, until no movement occurs.

I grip my knees with my shaking hands, forcefully slow down my rabid breathing and try to regain some composure. The moment is short lived, as I hear more movement behind me. The darkness is playing games with my bodies senses, I bump my head into the shaft wall, expecting nothing to be there and the resulting thump aggravates me more.

I turn my back to the shaft wall to eliminate the chances of an attack from behind; one less thing to worry about in this unfamiliar abyss. I stand perfectly still in the darkness to try to locate my next target by sound alone. I have often wondered how blind people navigate the congested streets of modern society without the convenience of eye sight. Unfortunately for me, I am learning first hand, and failing miserably at it.

I am jolted by the sound of hands slamming against glass, turning I can very vaguely make out a light source and slowly proceed towards it. Hand over hand pressed against the granite to guide me to my destination. A faintly lit, red exit sign glows above my head and I can make out the dual doors of the command post. I recognize the area from my encounter with Trixie earlier and shake my head in disbelief that I had gone deeper into the old mine.

I succumb to the feelings of hopelessness and collapse onto the floor. There really is no reason to keep going. I am stuck here, underground, with no food, or any real chance of escape. If I go back towards the vent shaft, the infected would have surely found a way around the glass and I would be an easy target. I can at least entertain myself here while I wait to starve to death.

Food. Oh yes, I remember food in all of its sugar coated glory. Candy bars, energy drinks, and caramel layered nougat smothered in chocolate. Would you like some peanuts? Well, yes, I would love some peanuts!

I reach down to my feet, fumble around the rubble, and grab a few spent brass shells. Mistaking them for peanuts, toss a few into my mouth and attempt to chew. It doesn't take long for my body to realize, that I am hallucinating, and quickly rejects my food fantasy.

“
Son of a bitch!” I pictured my death very different than this. I always assumed I would be shot in the back by a jealous husband, as I jumped out a second story window, after pleasing his neglected wife. Now that it has come down to it, I might as well relish in my remaining time, and I might even find some kind of peace with myself.

I crawl on the cold floor, to what I assume is the center of the room, and begin to give myself final rights. I bend forward to say a half hearted prayer, when my hand falls onto something strange, and I snatch it up to examine it closer. A round plastic tube, I shake it next to my ear, and hear the distinct sound of liquid inside.

I grab the container, bend it in the center until it snaps, and shake the concoction a few times. I am greeted by the phosphorescent light it emits. What a stroke of luck to find a light stick, maybe this is a sign from some god, that I am not to die in darkness.

While it is a blessing to be able to see again, it is also a bane. The body of General Stratton is illuminated a bit too well. While I have never been a fan of viewing the dead, I can at least say, that he looks at peace for being dead. It may sound morbid at first, but I had no qualms of searching his body for anything useful.

The reward for my morally bankrupt soul? A Bowie knife, with a very old patina to it, and a hand carved elk horn handle with a brass hilt. The General had it strapped to his right calf. I knew the man was an outdoors kind of guy, but I had no idea, there was a little cowboy in him too.

I drew the blade from its leather sheath, examining the blade closely in my green light, and found it to be without much decoration. It is so common these days to see fantasy daggers, inscribing every inch of the blade, and exaggerated dimensions. I surprises someone to see a real weapon, little to no decoration, but designed to simply take life. It doesn't take many bells and whistles, or laser cut designs, to slit a mans throat. Function without the flair, cold hard steel, and a blood stained hand.

Just holding the antique blade empowers me, leaving a lasting feeling of power, and a boost knowing that I at least have an advantage. That advantage is over a living human, not an endless onslaught of infected, but it still is an advantage none the less. I do know, if you cause enough trauma to the brain they stop moving, but that doesn't mean they are finally at rest. For all I know it just stuns them for a bit, maybe later they re-animate, to continue their goal of total destruction.

It does make me feel a little cocky, and what else do I have to lose? I am going to die down here. What is to stop me from growing a Norris nut? I think of all the games I played, pretending to be this unstoppable hero, fully emerged into the cheesy story, and ready to open my own personal can of whoop ass. I can stay here, be relatively safe, slowly starve to death, and hope someone tells my story. The other option, try to do something about it, and let god sort out the details.

First I need an epic weapon, my own version of the master sword, but this knife isn't exactly legendary. The blade length is impressive, but doesn't qualify as a last stand weapon. What I need is a scythe. Yes, the weapon yielded by death himself! Since I don't have one, I will have to fashion my own version.

I look around my surroundings and find a five foot length of lumber. A simple two by four, barely hanging by a nail, in the cross beam above my head. I yank it down, and use a rock to force the aged blade into the tip of my adopted staff. I rid the general of his boot laces, securing the blade in place, by a crude series of knot work.

I grip my scythe and make several practice swings into the open air. A new found reaper, reclaiming his sown wheat, one single swipe of the blade after another. If I am to reap, what I hath sown, let it hurt like hell in the process.

The adrenaline flows through my veins and I can feel my balls growing larger. Is it a case of feeling unstoppable, or have I taken one too many hits to the cranium? In the end it doesn't matter, I am the sheppard and it is time to cull the herd.

I use one of the Generals boot laces to craft a necklace, carefully winding it around my glow stick, securing it tightly, and giving me a much needed source of light. Scythe in hand, I venture into the darkness, one foolish step in front of the other.

My main objective is to get back to the ventilation shaft, and ultimately navigate the dark corridors to the beloved sun parched earth above me. I know the infected have only further increased their numbers, and the outcome looks grim at best. I could just simply retrace my steps, but my concussed memory has failed me, and the odds of following the correct path is statistically working against me. Sure I am pumped up, ready to take on the world, but I neglected a minor detail. I have no idea where the hell I am actually going, let alone having a rational plan to survive.

I might spend hours going in the wrong direction; I could even end up deeper into the bowels of the Earth. My confidence quickly erodes, and I am forced to sit and ponder my next move. I sink down to the floor, clutching my home made redemption weapon, and wishing I was that hero from long ago. My hand flops onto the floor of the mining shaft. “Just great! Rat shit! Now my hand is covered in rat shit.” I say out loud in disgust.

At first I am repulsed by the idea, and quickly wipe the excrement from the back of my hand onto my pants. Like an instant message from Hermes, the Greek god of communication, my brain is flooded with ideas, and I can clearly draw the connection.

“Rats, are the first to abandon ship, but they always have an escape plan.” Follow the rats, find a way out of here. My hand might be coated in shit, but that shit, has a purpose, and that purpose is survival. There is a way out of here, and those furry bastards know the way. I just hope I am small enough to crawl through the hole.

I grab the light stick from around my neck, and shine it down the corridor. Sure enough, I see the reflection of the rat's eyes ahead of me. A few yards down is a single furry rodent, he is staring back at me, and the new found light aimed in his direction. He stands up, from the prone position, as if to challenge me to follow him.

Locking the my gaze on the rodent, I follow his every move, hopping around the shaft floor, and pausing for a few moments. Each time I renew the game. A game of chase, a game of chance, either I will catch him, or he will lead me to sudden death.

Every few hops, he looks back at me, as if to challenge me. Or maybe he is offering some kind of rat like advice. I couldn't care less. I want out of this hell hole, and I won't stop until I see the burning light of the sun. The only thing that separates me from freedom is my furry little companion, and he seems to be taking his sweet time.

The fur ball has decided to stop being helpful, he sits on a piece of electrical conduit, raising his gray snout to the musky air, and twitches his whiskers. Suddenly he stops moving, frozen in place, like a megalith from Stonehenge. I stare at him, growing ever more intolerant of his new game. Suddenly he turns face, and runs into a small crevice in the shaft wall. “Well, this is a new low for me. Even the rats don't care for my company.” My voice echoes around me in a dull tone.

I stand to my feet, dust off my pants, and proceed forward. The light stick does a decent job of illuminating my immediate surroundings, but is almost worthless after four feet. My stomach chimes in again, with some nice cramps, reminding me it has been a while since I last ate anything. My mouth is dry, balls of dried saliva ring the outside of my lips, and I do my best to wipe them away.

I think I see light ahead. I wave the light stick around, the reflection is almost eye level with me, and I am confident that it must be a light at the end of a tunnel. I take two quick steps forward, and slam into a solid object. I fall backwards onto the hard stone below. A weight falls onto my chest from above, and I feel the cold of something clawing at my chest.

In the dim green light I can see his face, the blood fouled eyes, the chill of a seemingly lifeless corpse hovering over me. I can feel the aggression his body radiates. I thrust my forearm into his throat, blocking him from coming any closer to my face. He wails at me, like the distress call of a wounded deer, it sounds like an infant crying, while its lungs are partially filled with liquid.

I struggle to find my scythe, once I have it in my hands, I make a quick sweeping motion, severing the head from the spine. The head falls near my ear, and I think I heard it say...
Thank you.

CHAPTER SIX

Prepare For War

“
Is this really necessary?” Eve questions Alex, as she drops a loaded magazine into the duffle bag.

“
Allzeit bereit” Alex says.

“
Cut the crap, you know I don't speak German.”

“
Always prepared...” Alex says.

“
This isn't world war three, we are going to save my mom, and all of these guns won't help.” Eve tries to hide her nervousness, but this was Alex's plan all along. Eve stares at Alex, attempting to read his intentions, but couldn't find any sign of emotion. What else should she expect, from a man who has spent his entire adult life killing?

“
Ignorance... Another reason I fell in love.” Alex says.

“
Ignorant? You're an asshole. I will take my ignorance, over your apathy, any day.” Eve says.

“
What makes you think that peace is even a solution? It never happens; mankind has been at war for over 8,000 years. There is no peace, humans can't live without war, they crave bloodshed.” Alex says.

“
People can live without war, fear, death, or crime. Pure love will resolve any conflict.” Eve says.

Alex reaches around his neck, removes his necklace, and places the golden locket into Eve's hands. “What do you know of love?” Eve recognizes it immediately, it was his grandmothers, she opens the antique locket to reveal a prom picture of the two of them.

“We were kids.” Eve says.

“
Well, you loved me once, and I have never stopped.” Alex says.

“
High school crushes, they rarely last, and we're adults now.” Eve says.

“
You sent me a Dear John letter, while I was deployed; didn't I at least deserve an in person let down?” Alex says.

Eve looks down at her hands, knowing in the back of her mind, that she chose the easy way out. “I screwed up. I know that now, I was a mess, and I didn't think you would come home.”

“Thanks for having faith in me.” Alex says.

“
Why are you being so open about your feelings? You never said any of this before. This isn't like you at all Alex.” Eve questions.

“
This time is different.” Alex says.

“
Different? What do you mean different? You could have talked to me before, but the mission was always your focus, or the gun range with Amos. You say I am important to you, and that you have always loved me. Why didn't you make time for me? If this is your idea of love, it's a funny way of showing it.” Eve says.

Alex sets aside his weapons of choice, and focuses on Eves face. Her rebellious hippy mind set had always drawn him in. A welcomed storm of spontaneity and disorder. The polar opposite of his rigid and structured life. A part of him craved her fun loving view of life, but the anchor of duty always held him back. This time it is going to be different. “Trust me Eve, I can prove to you I have changed.”

Eve reaches out and lays her hand upon his hand. She slowly prods each finger from the grip of the duffle bags handles; one finger, then two, three, and finally the last. “No more guns...” she whispers into his ear.

“
Everything is ready to go.” Reese says as he opens the door. Eve is startled, and withdraws from Alex's side. She does her best to avoid eye contact with Reese, but he can see her flushed face.

“
When do we leave?” Alex says.

“
Chopper is on the tarmac, leave when you feel you are ready.” Alex grabs Eve's hand and heads for the door. “Aren't you forgetting something?” Reese points to Alex's bag full of guns and ammo. Alex starts to lean forward, but retreats back after two steps. He turns back to face the door, hesitates for a moment, and looks over his shoulder at his father.

“
I don't need them this time.” Alex says.

“
A bold move son, I hope you're right.” Reese says.

“
I have enough blood on my hands, I had plenty of time to wash it off  and I don't want to create more.” Alex picks up the remaining bags of supplies, throws them over his shoulder, and leads Eve out of the room. The door closes behind them, the tick of the latch echoing in the stagnant air.

“
I'm proud of you.” Eve stares into Alex's eyes, the fire in her eyes pierces into his soul, and he is reminded why he came back. It wasn't for his father, his mother, or even to save anyone. It was for her, to gaze into her eyes, and feel what it was like to be alive again.

“
We better get moving; if we are gonna catch that bird. It's a long flight, and the day is slipping away. You got everything you need?” Alex says.

“
I just need my necklace...” Eve reaches around her neck, and realizes that it is gone. She pauses with her hand near her collar bone. Mummified, as her mind replays memories of Haus, the night she gave him the necklace burns into her retinas.

“
The one your mom gave you? Where is it? We got time, let's go get it.” Alex says.

“
No it's fine, I lost it.” Eve says.

“
You lost it? That necklace meant everything to you, how can you just lose something so valuable?” Alex says.

“
I didn't lose it that long ago, I am just so used to having it, that I forgot what it was like, not to wear it. It is in the past, and I am ready to go.” Eve says.

“
Well, we are off, time to get to the bird.” Alex says. The two walk down the hallway, soon they pass Haus's room, and Eve is overcome with emotion. Eve bursts into tears, whimpering as she slowly moves away from his room. “Are you going to be ok?”

“
I'm fine. I just need to say goodbye.” Eve says.

“
Say goodbye to whom?” Eve panics, she couldn't possibly tell Alex about Haus. The times they spent together, or the fledgling romance they once held. Eve justifies her feelings in her mind, the past is gone now, and Haus is only a memory.

“
Rednek.” Eve says.

“
Fair enough, I haven't seen him since I got here. Is he still cooking that god forsaken gumbo?” Alex says.

“
With a passion, he thinks we actually like it...” Eve replies.

***

“
Omegawak, returned from the mission, and I have a bit a problem on my hands.” Reese says.

“
So that is what brings you here.” Olaf Sly says with a chuckle. His long platinum blonde hair forms small wave like curls around his face. His large nose, pitted cheeks, and wrinkles remind Reese of a man he met that was working on a fishing boat. “So what does your little problem have to do with me, and my freaks?”

“
You are in charge of the Xwing now, and I don't have the resources to deal with it.” Reese says, a grimace crosses his face, and he grinds his teeth. There was once a time, when Reese could have handled anything, then came the politics, followed up by special favors.

Not long ago, Reese controlled it all, but that was the good old days. He had devoted himself to his country, sacrificed everything he could, and was rewarded the position for outstanding service. Things have changed; it started out small, a contractor here, an expert there. Soon the whole place was being over-run by the private sector.

Politicians were more than happy to give it up. No longer did they have to hide the funding in obscure bills, but they could also reward the corporations that gave them massive campaign contributions. They also lined their own pockets, and awarded lavish contracts to family, friends, and anyone that could boost their own investments.

Reese tried to keep things in check, but he was powerless to the never ending onslaught of vouchers, tax exempt status, and the multitudes of paper work. The culmination of his life's hard work, sacrifice, can now be bought, and even traded as a commodity for those privileged enough to know about it.

Olaf was the new face of clandestine warfare. A true company man, molded to specification, with no other interest than the bottom line. A moral compass exchanged for profit margins and ROI yields. A sense of duty, cast aside for standard operating procedures.

“
There was once a time, when real men, were given your position. Real men, don't envy power, money, or self gratification.” Reese says.

“
Reese, you still cling to the idea of chivalry. I can admire that, but you ignore the real truth of the world. Money. Money controls the world; money makes the factories produce, money makes the workers work. You can't hold it against me, I know how to manage money, and that is why I took over Xwing. With some tweaks it was able to turn a rather nice profit.” Olaf says.

“
You still don't get it, and maybe you never will. Until the day your pansy ass has no choice but to point a loaded weapon to someone's skull, and demand some answers, will you ever understand, and even then I'm sure you will try to find a way to make a  quick buck. I don't deal with money, I deal with souls, and the more souls I can protect, the better I feel about the ones I had to take.” Reese says.

“
So what happened?” Sly asks.

“
I sent the boys into a biological hot zone, for a recovery mission, and there was an unforeseen event. They are in isolation at the moment. I need you to send in a crew to scrub 'em clean.” Reese says.

“
That was a foolish mistake Reese. I don't know what you thought was worth exposing your men to pathogens, but lack of planning on your part...” Reese interrupts Olaf mid-sentence with a right hook to his chin. Olaf falls backwards onto the floor of his office, clutching his jaw in his hands.

“
I didn't ask for your opinion Sly, I am still your boss, and you will follow orders.” Reese barks loudly, as he leans in over Olaf's swelling face. Reese's eyes set ablaze with fiery determination, meet with Olaf's and he realizes he has crossed a well drawn line in the sand.

“
The board will hear about this, and I am sure the chairman will not be pleased.” Olaf says.

“
I don't answer to the suits, you spineless pussy, and don't spell my name wrong on the investigation form.” Reese speaks menacingly into Olaf's face, clinching his teeth, while small spatters of saliva fly out. Reese storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

***

“
Isolation. Been a while since we had to do this eh boys?” Roger says, his anxious gaze scanning the tile floor, as he walks over to the double containment door. Peering out, he stares at the tarmac, and yearns for the thrill of battle. Bio-hazard missions always made him nervous, too easy to catch a little bug, and end a lucrative career early.

“
Boring as fuck if you ask me.” Stan replies.

“
Easy bro, it's all standard protocol. Everything is gonna be fine. Let 'em send in the banana suits to scrub us down. We know you like watching the soap suds running down the crack of my ass.” Jerry says jokingly.

“
Would it be too fucking much to ask for a water fountain.” Stan says, as he paces around the room. Stan stares up at the small camera imbedded in the wall. “Edith! You hear me? Get us some damn water!”

“
Stan, take a freaking chill pill, no sense in getting worked up over nothing. Just relax dammit.” Roger says.

“
Fuck you Roger! I don't need to calm down, it's you guys that need to chill. We are getting treated like shit, and you're okay with it.” Stan draws his bowie knife from his leg, and points it at Roger. “You got a problem with me bro?”

“
Be careful what you wish for Stan. That is insubordination.” Roger says.

“
Mutiny in my books.” Frank says, as he positions himself between the two of them. Jerry cautiously circles around behind Stan. Stan looks back at him, and then thrusts his focus back on Roger, his knife held tightly in his hand.

“
So this is what it comes down too. I thought you guys were with me. Chicken shit is what you are! Yellow bellied cowards. Every damn last one of you. As god as my witness, I will save your souls from this demon.” Stan says.

“
You're bleeding soldier.” Reese's voice sounds over the intercom.

“
Doesn't amount to shit sir! A minor flesh wound, nothing to be concerned about.” Stan says, as tranquilizer darts pierce his flesh, rendering him unconscious.

Reese turns facing Olaf, still nursing his swollen jaw, while standing outside the containment room. “These are my men, your are to save as many of them as possible. They are not part of your freaks. They are good men, do you understand me?”

“Yes sir. I will take good care of them.” Olaf says.

Reese pushes the intercom button once again. “Roger. It ain't over till my mother-in-law sings. You boys will be just fine, hang in there a little longer.” Roger turns about-face, thrusts a salute towards Reese, and tosses him a wink.

***