Dawn of the Mad (47 page)

“This isn’t over!” The robed figure hissed, blood pouring out of its ears. We will hunt you down wherever you try to hide!”

Renewed with vigor, Chuikova squeezed with all his might, and the skull between his hands made a loud pop. He felt the skull break in his hands and dropped the lifeless body to the floor. Just to be sure, he would eject the body into space. He immediately strode over to the wall-mounted intercom and ordered security to be on alert and to detain any and all followers of the Shadow, terminating them with extreme prejudice if they offered any resistance.

CHAPTER 44

Roman turned his team around and headed back the way they came. After about 25 meters, he dropped to one knee and held up his left arm, curling his hand into a fist. Lestor, Chana, and Petor immediately dropped to the ground, breathing heavily. Roman peered through the dried cornstalks and carefully surveyed the highway in front of him.

“OK, we are back on the interstate. You guys stay put; I’ll check it out.” Roman slowly emerged from cover and looked to the south along the interstate. The distinctive corrugated metal roof of the Border Inspection station could be seen about a mile away. Squinting though his helmet visor, Roman saw nothing but abandoned vehicles littering the roadway.

Petor, too curious to stay put, came up behind Roman and opened the face shield on his helmet. “I think I see someone up ahead,” he said, pointing to a figure sitting behind a bullet-riddled cargo van no more than ten meters away. He couldn’t see any movement.

Roman thought for a split second about yelling at Petor about moving from cover but decided against it. “I see him. I’ll go check it out.” Roman opened his visor, stared directly into Petor’s eyes, and told him firmly, “Stay put.”

Closing his visor, Roman looked left, and right. Seeing no danger, he took off from the cornfield in a full sprint. He reached the back of the van, and opened his visor. He looked at the motionless body and instantly recognized that it was Lon, or at least what was left of him. A large-caliber projectile had split his helmet and canoed his head, exposing his brains.

“It’s Lon,” Roman’s voice boomed over the helmet radios. “The rest of you, get over here, one by one. We can try to go up the other side of the highway.”

The remaining three cautiously made their way to the back side of the van. Once all three were there, Roman looked to the west across the southbound lanes of traffic. His team faced about a twenty-meter dash until they could get into the tall cornfields on the other side.

Lestor slowly peeked his head up to look through the van’s rear window and further north up the highway. Suddenly, without warning, they heard a loud crack and Lestor’s head snapped back. He instantly fell lifeless to the asphalt, showering Roman with bits of brain and skull.

“Get down!” Roman yelled. Two more cracks resonated, and pieces of the van were vaporized. “Snipers. Stay down.” Petor and Chana needed no encouragement; they both already were hugging the ground. “We can’t stay here much longer. I’ve gotta think of something.” Two more cracks sounded, slamming into the van’s engine compartment. Roman began to unbuckle his assault vest and belt. Within seconds he was out of his pants, leaving Chana and Petor staring at him with a look of bewilderment. Without any hesitation, he quickly removed his white BVDs.

“Hand me Lestor’s rifle.”

Petor grabbed Lestor’s rifle and held it while Roman put his pants back on. Seeing that Roman was devoid of clothes on the lower part of his body, she turned away, blushing. He grabbed the rifle and affixed his BVDs to the end of the rifle barrel, securing them as best as he could.

“Let’s hope this works. If they are army guys, let’s hope they will take us alive.” Roman slowly raised the rifle, with his underwear fluttering in the wind. He slowly emerged from the back of the van with his arms raised high.

“Well, this is weird.” A heavily camouflaged sniper peered through the scope of his Barrett .50 rifle once more. The sniper spotter next to him raised a large scope to his eye and focused on the anomaly downrange.

“If I didn’t know any better, Sergeant, he is attempting to surrender with his underwear. This guy has balls. Range 1,200 meters.”

“Either that or we just greased our own guys. Get Duncan down there to check it out.”

The spotter touched a microphone secured around his neck and spoke. “Eagle Three, this is Eagle’s Nest over.”

“Go ahead, Eagle’s Nest,” replied Duncan.

“Roger. Take your team to the highway and intercept possible hostiles. One of them is waving his underwear. How copy?”

“Good copy. Watch our asses.” After a brief pause, Duncan said, “Did you say ‘underwear’?”

“Ah, that’s affirmative, Eagle Three.”

The spotter resumed looking through the scope to see if any more viable targets would make the foolish mistake of sticking their heads up.

“You think they saw us?” Petor looked at Roman intently as he rested against the back of the van.

“Well, they stopped shooting. I just hope they get to us before the clones do.” No sooner had Roman finished his sentence than he heard a firm voice coming from somewhere from the west side of the interstate.

“Place you hands in the air and slowly walk over to the sound of my voice. If you aim your weapons in this direction, you will be dead before you hit the ground.”

Roman slowly stood up, motioning the others to do the same. “Follow my lead. No sudden moves. Sling your rifles.” They slowly walked across the southbound lanes and entered the thicket on the other side.

“That’s far enough.” Four soldiers wearing ghillie suits emerged from out of nowhere, aiming their M4 carbines at the group. A big blonde headed hulk of soldier carried a Javelin anti-tank launcher at the ready; a spare missile protruded out of carrier on his back. The apparent leader stepped forward, cradling a Barrett .50 caliber sniper rifle in his arms. He eyed the group with curiosity, especially Chana. All three had removed their helmets. Her long black hair cascaded to her shoulders. Petor fished his spectacles out of one of his pockets and perched them on his nose. Roman smiled at once.

“You guys are the army, and are we ever glad to see you!”

“I am Sergeant Duncan, 21st Special Forces group. I really don’t know what to say.” After a slight pause, he continued, “I’ll need your weapons if you don’t mind.”

The trio handed over their rifles to another soldier without question.

Who the hell are you people?” Duncan asked.

Roman wiped a bead of sweat off of his brow. “It’s a really long story, but if you could get us out of here quickly, I’ll tell you everything—the sooner the better.”

Duncan needed no further explanation. He activated the throat microphone and spoke in a slightly cracked voice, “Eagle’s Nest, we are coming back, with three.”

“Understood,” replied Eagle’s Nest.

“Wait,” hissed Petor. “They may treat you fine, but me and Chana are not from your world. There is no telling what they will do to us.”

Roman looked at Chana and could tell she was nervous about going with the Army group. He put his hand on Petor’s shoulder. “Don’t worry; I won’t let them do anything to you too.”

Petor sighed, not fully convinced. It wasn’t like he had a choice anyway. If he fled, he would most likely be shot down.

“I hope you know what you are doing,” he said, sounding defeated.

The group set off north, moving quickly through a small path in the cornfield. Duncan turned and faced Roman. “Hey, I’m sorry about your vehicle and your guy there. Jeremy is a crack shot with the javelin, and well so am I. You just can’t tell who is who right now ever since the nuke strikes. We also had rumors of a Spetsnaz team parachuting in here three nights ago rampaging around and we have been looking for them ever since.”

“Nuke strike?” Roman repeated quizzically. “You’re a little off on that one.”

“Well whatever it is, our military capability got neutralized with precision. We are basically fighting a guerilla war now.”

“Well, I don’t think those were nukes and Spetsnaz, or whatever you call them. It’s much bigger than that.”

Duncan shrugged as the group continued toward the smoldering remnants of what looked like a large city.

CHAPTER 45

“Eagle One is coming in,” Sergeant Duncan spoke into his throat microphone. “Don’t light us up.” He moved forward and motioned the others to follow. The sky was a dark grey from smoke and soot as the group entered the outskirts of a large ruined city. They walked on a main street leading east from the interstate. They found rubble strewn about haphazardly and smashed buildings that continued to spew smoke into the atmosphere. Here and there, small fires still burned.

“Is it snowing?” Petor asked quizzically to no one in particular.

One of the camouflaged soldiers replied callously, “No, its ash. This city was wiped off the face of the Earth.”

Petor replied with profane sadness as he took in the environment. “I-I’m so sorry.”

The group continued on without conversation until they arrived at the hollowed out remains of a police station. Several soldiers stood up from their hidden positions and looked at the group intently.

“Inside,” Sergeant Duncan commanded. “Let’s go.” He led the way for Roman’s group past half a dozen heavily armed soldiers, each carrying a belt-fed machine gun. The rest of Duncan’s unit stayed outside. A few lit cigarettes and talked about nothing in particular. Roman instantly recognized the smell of real tobacco. He realized he hadn’t a smoke in some time. Good a time as any to quit, he thought. A pair of F-16 fighter jets roared overhead, on their way to some unknown target.

The lobby of the police station was somewhat intact. Stacks of military crates marked as munitions, equipment, and rations were piled everywhere.

Roman noticed several men wearing distinctive green uniforms of the U.S. Border Patrol, wearing flak jackets and carrying rifles. Also armed civilians with what looked like hunting rifles walked around also. Duncan led the group downstairs into what was once the jail. Several cells lined the single hallway. Each cell had been converted into a makeshift office, complete with computers and communication equipment. Duncan stopped at the last cell on the left and ushered the group inside.

A young disheveled Hispanic man in his mid twenties stood up from behind his desk and waved them in. His uniform was covered in dirt and what looked like dried blood. He wore a thick white bandage over his left eye. Roman’s group entered, followed by Sergeant Duncan. Several soldiers had followed them down the hallway and remained outside the cell, weapons at ready.

“I’m Lieutenant Chapa and I am in command here,” Chapa said. “You are at the front, or what’s currently holding in this sector. You had best tell me who you are and where you came from.”

Roman stepped forward. Noticing the single black bar on the soldier’s uniform, Roman spoke. “Lieutenant, I am John Roman. This is Petor, and this is Chana. We are unwilling combatants. Unfortunately, the story is long as to how or why we got here, and I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you anyway.”

Chapa got up from behind his desk and paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back. “What I have seen in the last twenty-four hours defies anything I have ever encountered. I am all ears.”

Roman cleared his throat, and spoke, relating the events of being forced into the penal battalion, being sent to Earth as part of a massive alien invasion, and clone soldiers going berserk. When he finished, a dead silence ensued. Finally, the lieutenant spoke up.

“Well, given what I’ve seen and heard lately, that no longer sounds too farfetched. The attack came without warning. The ships in space seemed to target military installations with precision and some cities as well, mainly close to Mexico. From what I have been able to piece together, the bulk of the attacks were successful, from Mexico all the way down to Rio de Janeiro. Entire cities razed.” Chapa indicated a large map on the wall behind his desk, showing the state of Texas and just south of Corpus Christi, Texas. “The line is holding here somewhat all the way to San Antonio,” he continued. “Ft. Hood was able to mobilize most of the 7th Cav. I guess they didn’t get hit too badly. It seems their offensive has run out of steam just a little bit.”