Beyond Armageddon: Book 03 - Parallels (22 page)

He did not finish the sentence, not aloud. In his mind the sentence finished with fields of dead aliens; attack dogs swarming a peaceful human village.

Trevor bowed his head, licked his lips, then continued. "And I gave to her, too. We found out more about who she was; who she wanted to be. I think I…I think I unlocked a part of her that had been waiting to come to the surface. I could see our future. We would stay together and fight the fight. At night, we could retreat to each other and find happiness—real honest-to-God-happiness--in a rotten world. "

Nina spoke soft but with the tone of a detective trying to find the last piece of the puzzle. "You said she was taken from you. What does that mean?"

"You felt your Trevor knew things about the world? He did. Just like I do. There are powers behind all this. I won’t say any more because, shit, I don’t know a whole lot more. But those powers told me I had a path to walk, and that Nina was not on that path with me."

"Unless I’m really gullible, she doesn’t remember being in love with you."

"That’s right. My Nina had been infected with a memory implant from Voggoth’s Order. When we removed it…when it was taken away…she lost a year’s worth of memories. She didn’t even remember meeting me. She…she went back to the person she was before we even met."

"So you still love her?"

Trevor told this Nina, "The woman I loved doesn’t exist anymore, do you understand? The memories and experiences we had together were erased. That’s what makes us who we are. The things we do…the things we remember. Take them away and we’re somebody different." He exhaled loudly and repeated, "She doesn’t exist anymore."

Major
Forest
put a hand on his chest.

"I exist. I’m real."

So close
.

She put another hand on his shoulder. Trevor grabbed her wrists and pulled them away.

"I have…I have responsibilities at home."

Responsibilities?
That's what Ashley and Jorgie are?

"What does that mean?"

"I told you, I wasn’t supposed to be with my Nina. I found out why. A woman I had been involved with before the invasion reappeared. Together, we have a son. My son is special. I think…I think he’s a part of the bigger picture…"

His words trailed off as he considered that big picture.

Nina grew frustrated. "But you don’t love her. And she’s a universe away!"

He did not listen to her. Instead, his eyes widened and he said, "That’s it! Don’t you see?"

"See what?" His change of demeanor unnerved her.

"Here you and I never split up. I wonder if your Trevor told the Old Man to go to Hell."

"The who?"

"If I had stayed with her on my world, maybe we’d be in this spot. Maybe we’d be in the trouble you’re in now. Maybe here humanity is about to be wiped out because your Trevor followed his heart, instead of his path. Did fate bring me here to show me what could have happened if I had done what I wanted to do, instead of what I was supposed to do?"

Thoughts raced through his mind. Thoughts of an Earth where he had stayed with Nina; where his desire for her had made him walk off the path.

He felt a wave of empathy for the Trevor of this different universe; even jealousy for the happiness he must have known with Nina. If not for The Order's implant, would he have stayed with her? Would he have done what the Trevor Stone of this universe did? Is it possible…could it be…was he sent here to make amends for his other self's weakness?

She said, "I don’t understand."

"Neither do I," he admitted. "But there are answers here. I can feel it. I’m going to find those answers."  

Unlike his first night in the apartment, Trevor slept well the second night. Perhaps because even though questions still surrounded his presence there, he felt he had direction. If he helped the people of this world fight off the invaders, perhaps he could glean some insight into the greater plan. Maybe even circumvent the Old Man's hold over him.

After a shower with weak water pressure and a breakfast of powdered orange drink and an oatmeal-like cereal, Major Nina Forest took them for a trip. They traveled by car for ten minutes to a training facility for the "Third Legion."

 She gave the men gym bags containing work out clothes, towels, and soap then directed them to the men’s locker room. While Trevor fit perfectly into the sneakers, sweat pants, and tank top (no doubt from the other Trevor's closet), Johnny's outfit hugged his stocky frame a little tight, although not as tight as Nina's spandex hugged her.

When they first arrived, the place seemed nearly deserted except for a clerk and a sentry, both of whom eyed Stone suspiciously. However, with time more people filtered in for exercise and training maneuvers.

Nina led the two newcomers to one area that remained quiet; an indoor shooting range.

"Okay, boys, I’ve got a feeling you’ve handled guns before, right?"

Reverend Johnny proudly proclaimed, "If it is capable of dispatching aliens I most certainly have handled it."

"Well, okay then. Handle this."

She handed them each an assault rifle. Trevor looked it over disapprovingly.

"What? What’s wrong?" She asked.

"Bullpup…I don’t like it," he referred to the design that placed the magazine and ejector slot behind the trigger mechanism, essentially next to the shooter’s ear.

She defended, "Makes for a shorter gun. More compact."

"Yeah. Less reliable, can only be fired from one side or you take spent casing in the face; tends to jam more. Not a favorite of mine."

Reverend Johnny quipped, "True, but this baby looks
way
cool, Trevor."

He laughed, "Rev, don't ever say 'way cool' again and I promise not to quote scripture."

Nina said, "Well, it’s what we got. I mean, sorry it isn’t up to your standards."

"Oh no, no we’re fine," Trevor mocked. "Don’t worry about little old me."

She pointed out the rifle’s mechanisms including the safety, bolt, iron sights, rate of fire, clip ejection, and stock adjustment.

He admitted, "A little longer than the bullpup designs I've seen, but pretty light and easy to handle. The rounds are similar in size to the ones I use back home in my M4."

"So, gee, like you can put up with it for now?"

He stepped to the firing line and looked down range at a flimsy paper target twenty yards away. It took him a moment to get used to the design—the bullpup alignment meant a trigger farther forward on the barrel than his M4.

Still…very light. It felt comfortable against his shoulder.

Stone pulled the trigger. A burst of four shots hit the target.

"Hmmm, not much kick."

Trevor remembered the bruises on his shoulder the first month after Armageddon; that first month of firing an assault rifle. They would not have been as bad with this weapon.

"Quiet, too."

"Yeah, but hey—it’s a bullpup so I’m sure you won’t like it."

Was that a pout in her voice?

He fired more bursts. His aim improved with each pull of the trigger. Never perfect. Just better. He was--he reminded himself--a jack of all trades yet a master of none. The ultimate expression of human adaptability. Part of his purpose, he supposed.

"Hey, easy, ammunition doesn’t grow on trees around here."

The bolt locked open; he had ripped through an entire magazine of thirty rounds.

Johnny stepped to the line for his turn but first thumbed the fire selector switch. He then launched a storm of fully automatic fire. The barrel flash reflected off his angry eyes and a steady low grunt slipped from his lips. The target hung from its mount shredded.

"Well, I’m ready."

He returned the smoking gun to the woman.

"What’s next, Major?"

Next was a visit to the quartermaster’s shop manned by a tired-looking older fellow who jolted awake at the sight of Major Forest and her friends. The poor guy stared at Trevor, obviously wanting to say something but apparently afraid to.

Nonetheless, the man did his work. He presented a battle suit to both Johnny and Trevor. Each man entered a dressing room, put on their new threads, and then paraded in front of their hostess.

"Okay, this ain’t bad," Trevor said as studied his reflection in a mirror.

The suit fit tight and felt almost like rubber except for strategically-positioned armored plates on his forearms, legs, and abdomen. Still, he found it surprisingly comfortable and, even more surprising, wearing it made him feel stronger.

            "Wow, this really feels good. What’s the trick here?"

            "Special design. You’ll find it regulates your body temperature; I mean, it’s not perfect but it’ll help. Also designed to support your muscles. Your stamina is a little better in this."

            Johnny did not fare as well. "Dear Lord, this thing is cutting off circulation in my ass."

            For his part, Trevor said, "I'm good here."

            Okay," Nina said. "Slip out of it and we’ll have it delivered to your quarters."

            Johnny protested, "Hells bells, my thighs feel as if they’re being wrapped by a boa constrictor and the devil’s—"

            "I think my friend here needs some help," Trevor spoke to the quartermaster who nodded and attended to Johnny.

            Nina said, "Why don’t we move on. I think the Reverend is going to be tied up for a bit."

            "Good Lord, I fear she speaks the truth. Carry on, Mister Stone, I will join you when—uggg—my new suit fits."

            Trevor spent two minutes changing out of the armor and into his sweat pants again. He and Major Forest left the shop to the sounds of Johnny’s grunts and groans.

            "What now?"

            "Like I said, ammunition doesn’t grow on trees around here."

            "So?"

            "So," she said. "You need to learn what to do when your rifle runs out of bullets."

            "Or," he joked. "When that lousy bullpup design jams."

            She scowled, "Yeah, that too."

            Trevor followed her through the complex. He saw more people—soldiers—walking the halls. Men and women. Most appeared to be in their mid twenties to early thirties. Some wore battle-weary expressions others looked freckled-faced and new. Regardless of the universe, it required only a glance to tell the rookies from the veterans.

            Few of these people gave him a second-glance. They appeared too wrapped up in their own thoughts to worry about their surroundings.

            They came to a small room with a padded floor. Nina opened a locker built into one wall that appeared to contain assault rifles but he saw them to be wooden replicas with flexible—maybe rubber—bayonets affixed to the barrels. She handed one dummy to him and retrieved a second for herself.

"Bullets are at a premium. If we can kill something with the bayonet, that’s what we do. Save the rounds for things you wouldn’t want to get close to."

            Trevor’s mind paged through his mental Hostiles Database. He figured Land Jellyfish, Gremmies, Eels, maybe even Rat-Things could be dispatched using the bayonet. He would never want to be stuck without bullets against a Troll, DevilBat, or a pack of Ghouls. Then again, he remembered, it had not been bullets that routed the Vikings at the Battle of Five Armies.

            "I know you’re used to your big rifles and tanks and stuff, but maybe you’ll let me show you how to fight with your hands," her words served as a shot across the bow.

            He smiled. "Yeah, well, gee, don’t hurt me, okay?"
            He looked at Major Forest. She had Nina’s body but so far he was not convinced she had Nina’s instincts.

            "Okay, look," she instructed. "Start with the attack position."

            She demonstrated by standing slightly hunched over with her left foot a step ahead of her right. This created a good center of gravity similar to a boxer’s stance.

            Trevor imitated her movement.

            "Make sure you’re on the balls of your feet. Yeah, that’s right. Flex your knees. Do you feel comfortable?"
            "Just peachy."

            "Hold your rifle diagonally across—"

            She stopped because he already held his rifle across his body in the proper position.

            After a moment, she continued, "Okay. Well, great. Um…the first attack you need to learn is the thrust. Now what you need to—"

            He stepped forward with his left foot and jabbed the fake bayonet over her shoulder with his weight behind the strike. Again she paused, this time biting her lip and crinkling her brow. He saw a shade of red in her cheeks.

"Slash movement."

            He drove the bayonet across the front of her body—not quite touching—up and down. A real blade would have eviscerated her.