Children Of Fiends
Chapter One - Hydrogen Cyanide
Excerpt From Part 4 The Dark Heart
Thank you to my B-Readers, Mom, Leslie, Jane, and many others who don’t necessarily seek out genre fiction for the beach. Having the opinions of people who aren’t beholden to the genre helps make the work that much stronger. Richard Pine at Inkwell, gets a shout out for timeless and thoughtful advice that has helped make me a better writer.
I am most especially grateful to my editors, Chance, Peter, Robert and Tony. Your insight is invaluable. You keep me from looking the fool.
Children of Fiends - Part 3 Wastelands
Copyright © 2014 Christopher Harwood / Fate & Fortune Press
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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 actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PART 3 WASTELANDS
HYDROGEN CYANIDE
As the heavy hail of rocks thudded against the solid sides of the command car, Plimpton had never felt so vulnerable in his life. The sentinels were firing from the trap door roofs of their storage compartments to deafening effect.
At twilight they had crashed into the huge pile of debris. The drivers, Sandusky and Lake were still relying on their own eyes in the dimming light, and they had been just blind enough to see the trap too late. Up to this point, their Northern quarry had made it easy for them to follow, only running during the day. On this, their first night run, Thompson had reasonably chosen not to shine their headlight lest they give themselves away. Up in the engine control room, Sandusky and Lake hadn’t seen the debris until they rounded a bend and were only fifty yards away. Lake had slammed on the brakes, but the heavy locomotive continued on, plowing into the heavy timbers and old cars and trucks that had been pushed in their way. The train had nearly derailed with the force of the impact and everyone was thrown to the floor. Major Thompson had immediately called for the councilman, his aid, and the priests to come back from the passenger car to the windowless safety of the command car. The men had run for their lives as they felt the unmistakable pull of the devil children wandering about their minds. Despite the armored precautions built into the exterior of the engine control room, Sandusky and Lake were doomed. The train had been immediately mobbed by roughly one hundred of the gnashing toothed things, a heavy concentration of them focused on the stricken engine. The cowering men inside were spotted through the windows. Their minds were effortlessly captured and they obediently stepped outside and climbed down to be herded away by a group of females.
The men in the command car observed all of this through the eyes of the Sentinels as they rose from their compartments. Then the stones had started hitting the car like an Oklahoma hail storm. Thomson tapped the watch operator’s shoulders and pointed at their individual screens. “Gallagher, work the proximity. Collins, don’t take your eye off our boys out there. See if you can pick a few of those females off.” The men adjusted their aim accordingly and began to fire. Plimpton found himself huddling against a wall while Hanson stood over him with a uselessly drawn pistol. Then they saw the dozens of torches. From every direction, Fiend children were running at them with torches in hand. The Sentinel drivers tried to pick them off, but the numbers were overwhelming. The children heaved their fire at the command car and the surrounding debris quickly ignited. Tons of creosote brush built into the blockade erupted like a bomb going off.
“Oh, shit!” swore Thompson. The flames rose so high that they blocked the visual sensors on the Sentinels. “Get the drones out!”
“What about us?” roared Plimpton.
The Vicar Wentworth asked, “Are we safe in here?”
They could all feel the heat through the walls. Thompson said, “Damn it! Don’t bother with the drones, just keep firing.” He turned to Timbs and Beckman and said,
“Panic button.”
“Are you asking us or telling us, sir?” asked Beckman.
Thompson ignored the question saying, “You two will uncouple the engine while Gallagher and Collins get the thing going forward. We’ll plow through.” He moved to a wall panel while ordering, “Collins break out the hazmat gear.”
Collins opened three wall lockers and began pulling bulky sealed plastic bags out.
“Sandusky and Lake are out there,” said Timbs.
Thompson turned to the clergy. “Pray for them.”
Plimpton balked, “What panic button! Why haven’t we practiced this?”
The men hastily opened the bags and novices followed the pros as they stepped into fire resistant mylar hazmat suits with squarish hoods and large plastic face shields. Thompson said, “Make sure you seal your gloves, gentlemen.” He turned back to Beckman. “On my mark.” Beckman stepped to a separate control panel and both men lifted identical covers off of red buttons that resembling an elevator stop.
“But, sir! The fire!” implored Timbs.
“Cooked alive we’ll be, Lieutenant Timbs. Autorucks, now!”
“But that’s just it. Highly combustible. You spray that stuff and the fire will ignite it!”
“Our only option.”
Timbs slammed open more lockers, yanking out racks on sliders, each holding a steel exoskeleton with a large backpack attached. The hail of rocks was continuous as smoke began to seep into the burning car. Timbs stepped backwards into one of the exoskeletons and pressed a button where it met his right thigh. The machine came alive and attached itself to his legs and torso. He stepped off the rack with power-assisted legs and waved at the passengers to do the same, “Like that! Quick!” The men moved very quickly. Plimpton hesitated as he leaned back into the device and was surprised at the way that it had grabbed on to him, adjusting itself to his frame within a second. It was awkward to step off the rack, but he didn’t fall. He’d overseen the invention of these things and chastised himself for never having tried one out. With little effort, he took the few steps toward the door.
Thompson put his Autoruck on last and nodded at Beckman, “Three, two, one.”
Outside the burning command car, dozens of fast rotating discs launched up and out from the roof. At the apex of their flight a huge volume of vaporous aerosol was spewed out over an area three hundred meters square. There was no wind so the tiny droplets of hydrogen cyanide floated down like a descending fog. For the raging pucks, as well as Sandusky and Lake, there was about a minute or two of utter agony as they succumbed to a combination of burning lungs and eyes followed by asphyxiation, seizures and eventually massive cardiac arrest. The end was quicker for those near the fire. For the men in the command car, the heat was turned up ten fold as the highly combustible vapor mixed with the flames. They threw open the rear door and jumped out to run around the train, past the flailing pucks and toward the still idling engine. As Gallagher and Collins scrambled up to the control room they tossed two still thrashing pucks nearly on top of Plimpton, Hanson and the deacons, who struggled to get Wentworth up the stairs. Timbs and Beckman charged straight to the coupling between the engine and the passenger car, blasting the area with dueling fire extinguishers and pulling away burning debris. They got to work on opposite sides of the engine coupling, nearly roasting their gloved hands on the hot steel pin bars. As he yelled to Gallagher, Beckman’s voice was muffled by his mask. “Put it in reverse. We need the pressure off the coupling!”
Thompson stepped past the agonized and dying throng to the engineers, Sandusky and Lake, who were writhing on the ground with foam pouring from their mouths, their eyes bulging at him in shock and horror. He pulled out his pistol saying, “I’m so so very sorry.” He shot them once each in the head and calmly walked back toward the engine as it freed itself from its burning burden; the air brake hose popping with a gassy hiss as it pulled away. The machine seemed almost lonely without its attached cars. Thompson picked up his pace and jogged until he could grab the rail, pulling his legs up out of the way as a rusted hulk of a pick-up-truck scraped by.
Collins was working feverishly with a remote control and he yelled yes to no one in particular as one of the Sentinels rose out of the burning command car, dropped to the ground and began skittering after the engine. The remaining Sentinel stood partially exposed and inanimate in its hatch. As the flames grew more intense, its ammunition began to cook off. A few initial explosions quickly turned into a roaring cacophony, tearing the machine to bits. Like a burning fireworks factory, the command car quickly disintegrated, taking most of the sleeping car with it. The fleeing men ducked as bits and pieces clanged and ricocheted off the engine cab. Collins kept working his remote and sighed with relief as the surviving Sentinel scrambled aboard and took up a post clinging to the rear of the engine. Minutes later, the tanker car erupted, turning the night sky orange and illuminating the abandoned buildings that made up the once thriving center of El Paso.
There was only room in the cab for three, maybe four people. Gallagher and Collins (both trained as back-up drivers for just such an eventuality), along with Thompson filled the space. That left seven men out on the walkways that lined both sides of the engine. As the machine picked up speed, the wind chill dropped quickly, making a cold night nearly freezing. Plimpton found himself huddled up next to Hanson, who wrapped his big arms around his employer and held him tight. All of the men outside kept their hazmat hoods on to protect their heads from the cold. Thompson ordered the headlight to be turned on. It wasn’t like they were running under some kind of stealth mode any longer.
When they had run flat out for approximately an hour, he ordered Gallagher to stop so they could sort themselves out.
As the men gathered at the side of the engine, Plimpton grabbed command immediately by reaming at the rail and talking down to them. “Without equivocation, I can state that that was, and this remains, an unmitigated disaster.”
Thompson closed his eyes and offered up a brief serenity prayer before saying, “Thank you, Councilman.”
The vicar added, “The Lord has indeed placed a significant challenge before us.”
Thompson nodded, “Indeed, Your Grace.” He pointed at the packs that were attached to their Autorucks. “If I recall, we’ve got three five-man tents, dried and canned food.” He counted heads. “About a week’s worth. Two days water, weapons, ammo and other odds-”
The vicar held up his hand. “Forgive me, Major, but I wasn’t finished. I think the circumstances require a few words of thanks for our delivery from the beast.”
Thompson smiled with tired patience saying, “Of course, Your Grace.”
Wentworth nodded for Plimpton to come down and join them. He cleared his throat and held out his hands to his deacons who then took the hands of two others until all ten men stood in a circle holding hands.
The vicar cleared his throat again. “For You have delivered my life from death, yes, and my feet from falling, that I may walk before God in the light of life and of the living. Many evils confront the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all. The Lord will certainly deliver and draw me to Himself from every assault of evil. He will preserve and bring me safe unto His Heavenly Kingdom. To Him be the glory forever and ever. Amen.” The men parroted the Amen. Wentworth smiled contently, “Psalms 56:13, 34:19 and 2 Timothy 4:18 respectively.”
Thompson broke his hands free and began to speak again when the Vicar interrupted. “I’m not done, William.” Thompson bit his tongue and resumed holding hands. Wentworth cleared his throat, “Gentlemen, as Councilman Plimpton so aptly stated, it would appear that we find ourselves at the Lord’s mercy - but appearances be damned. For we know that we are His righteous sword and that He stands with us against the forces of darkness that surrounds us. Only mighty God himself could have delivered to us such unlikely acquittal.”
