The Demon Plagues (40 page)

His right hand toyed with the hammer of his
.45, click, release, again, again. He waved the pistol around,
wishing there was something more interesting than an oak tree to
shoot.
That’s all right, he will show up soon enough to be my
target. They’re all so stupid, they will come forward like lambs,
my father in the lead.

Madness often masks its own recognition.

General Tyler drove his personal jeep into
his driveway, Commander Forman by his side. Its headlights washed
over the figure of his son before he turned them off. He pushed the
flap of his service holster to fold outside and under his web belt,
out of the way of the fast-draw.
How did it come down to
this?
He stepped out into the open, making no effort to take
cover.

JT lined his .45 up on his father from thirty
yards, a difficult but far from impossible shot. “Hey, Dad. Nice to
see you.” He laughed, the edge of insanity leaking through. “And
the Ice Queen with you. I hear you two had a little close encounter
this afternoon.”

General Tyler’s voice was gravel. “I always
said you needed more time on the range, son. Two inches to the left
and I’d be dead instead of recovered. A little early to be an Eden,
but better than the alternative.”

“Alternatives, incidents and allegations and
things left unsaid, dad-o-mine. Why are you here, anyway? It’s not
like you can kill me, and I’m not going to let you take me alive.”
JT’s face was twisted, his eyes bright hot, seeing things of his
own imagining as he pointed the gun first at his own head, then at
his father, then at the crystal sky. “Is this a bullet I see before
me?” His giggle tapered off.

“I was hoping you could be saved from
whatever it is that you put in your veins. Listen to yourself.
You're not making any sense. It’s destroying you, son.” The General
walked slowly forward, his hand resting on the butt of his
weapon.

“It’s only accelerating my destruction, Dad.
I gambled with some nano and I lost, but I’d do it all again. It
wasn’t the tech that made me this way, you know.” JT drank off the
Scotch in his glass with a gulp, tossing the highball sidewards
into the desert dark.

“I know, son. It was the Eden Plague. It was
the price for salvation that some must be sacrificed. It’s not your
fault you’re a...” Travis trailed off, unwilling to say the word.
Three more steps, halfway from the cooling jeep to the front porch
shadows. Eden eyes and starlight showed enough.

JT giggled again. “A Psycho? But Dad, you’re
helpless now. You’re an Eden, and you can’t for a minute convince
me you’re a Psycho too. Maybe you got Needleshock in that hand
cannon you’re playing with, but can you be sure you won’t kill me
even if your aim is good? While all I have to do is plug you a few
times with these hollowpoints and then – pow,
coup de
grace.”

“Your plan failed, you know. They defected to
Australia, your group of misfits.-
Skull

“Yes, my group that I assembled under your
nose. You always did delegate too much, Dad. But who cares. Come a
little closer.” JT pointed the heavy automatic at his father.

General Tyler sighed, a sound of acceptance
and grief. “All right. You’ve convinced me. Captain, disarm
him.”

Darkness flickered within darkness, fractions
of a second split by black-clothed figures that seized JT from
behind and the side, from over the rail and beneath it, surprising
him utterly. Shadow-clad men and women held General Tyler’s wayward
son immobile, mewling and spitting until his infantile rage died a
whimper in his throat.

Father stared at son for a moment in bleak
sorrow, wondering what would happen if he took the easy way out,
threw his wayward seed into a prison cell hole, rejecting that
choice even as his decision layered another callus onto his already
leathery soul. He drew the .45 and pointed it at his only child’s
head.

“You can’t, Dad, you’re an Eden! You can’t
kill me!” Foam and spittle from JT’s disbelieving lips floated down
upon Travis Tyler’s boots.

Travis laid his hand on JT’s cheek, looked
into his tortured eyes. “Son, I shore am sorry. It makes me sad,
but it don't violate my conscience to put down a mad dog.”

The automatic barked in his hand.

The man surrounded by Secret Service agents
looked far too young to be President. The man in the general's
uniform shaking his hand in the light of popping flashes looked
equally and suddenly young, if one ignored his old eyes. Travis
Tyler performed a parade-perfect about-face, his new medal swinging
in the spin, and took his place off to the side.

The Navy commander was next to step forward
and run through the ritual of the award. Christine Forman put on
the smile and stood for the photos, but her mind was far away, with
a man on a spaceship now millions of miles from Earth
. I don't
exactly have feelings for him, but...it's probably just my
inclination to rescue every wounded bird I see.
She went to
stand next to General Travis with relief, a smile breaking out as
the next awardee was called.

“To All Who See These Presents Greeting: This
is to certify that the President of the United States takes
pleasure in presenting the Navy Cross to Marine Gunnery Sergeant
Merijill Stephanie Repeth...” The narrator droned on, reading of
her heroic actions in strangely nonspecific terms. It would hardly
do to give her a citation for shooting up the Secret Service, so it
was couched in generalities until the part about “singlehandedly
saving the life of the President of the United States.”
I
suppose you could look at it that way
, Jill thought.

When President McKenna shook her hand, he
leaned in close. “Thanks, Jill. Your country owes you a lot. I owe
you a lot."

“Thank you, sir, and for the blanket pardon.
Save some kind words for the General. He lost a son.”

McKenna nodded as he drew back and let go of
her hand.

She stepped off smartly and joined her
comrades in the line, exchanging smiles with Christine while the
President decorated a few other heroes. No matter what else
happened, she was a US Marine again. For now, that was enough.

End of
The Demon
Plagues
.

If you enjoyed this book, feel free to write
a review at your favorite site.

Book 3
of the Plague Wars Series

The long-range transport landed at the Free
Communities Australian Air Force Based Richmond near Sydney after
nearly fifteen hours. The parachutes Huff and his remnant of
Fortress Team had requested sat unused, still strapped to their
pallet.

A military truck with flashing lights led
the enormous airplane to its stopping place within a hangar sized
to fit. Ground crew placed chock blocks, and as soon as the engines
shut down the giant doors slammed shut. A couple of dozen troops,
lightly armed, secured the inside perimeter of the hangar, but only
one man approached the personnel door near the rear, a short
Southeast Asian in a Major General’s dun-colored uniform.

Spooky Nguyen.

He stood a few steps from the door with his
hands clasped behind his back, apparently unarmed. Watching as the
door opened, he showed a hand signal to the crew behind him. Other
than that slight motion, he was still.

A rifle-wielding and helmeted male figure
clad in midnight stepped into the plane’s doorway, looking around.
It jumped down, then sauntered over to Nguyen, to stop facing him
from arms length. The two men were of a height, each about five
foot five, one squat and muscular, one slim and erect.

The faceless man gained a visage by tipping
up his HUD plate, revealing exquisitely white teeth that contrasted
with his blue-black skin. He laughed, a clownish thing, all teeth
and tongue. He saluted casually.

“
I’m Chief Master Sergeant Huff. You must
be Spooky Nguyen.”

The General’s left hand froze in the hand
signal while his right flashed out to seize Huff’s rifle, deftly
twisting it out of his hand. The weapon came to rest pointing at
Huff’s groin, Nguyen’s finger on the trigger. Somehow it now showed
full auto.

Huff’s return blow, cat-quick, nevertheless
found only air as Spooky moved slightly, leaning away from the hand
just enough that it missed.

“
Stop!” barked Nguyen with a voice that
struck Huff like its own blow, that caused his muscles to stutter
and his mind to reel.

He did, then relaxed. “That won’t even
penetrate my armor,” Huff sneered.

“
But,” Spooky said calmly, “your groin
armor is soft, and it’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch. When
we spoke last by radio, you gave your word that you would join my
command.”

Huff twitched, itching to strike out again.
“So?” he sneered.

“
Do you always speak to your commanding
officer in the familiar? I do not recall giving you leave to
address me so. Here in Direct Action, you will earn your
privileges, no matter what advantages you acquired by
injection.”

“
What if I decide to kill you right
now?”

Spooky smiled. “I took your weapon from you
without difficulty. There is more to personal combat than speed and
strength. If you tried, at best you would die with me, for I have
given orders to that effect.”

“
But I have the children.” Huff did not
seem quite as confident as before.

“
The only reason,” Nguyen replied, “that I
care about those children is to maintain good relations with Daniel
Markis, not out of some kind of human sympathy. You know I’m a
Psycho, so you know this is true. So at most we have a standoff,
but that will slowly change. No matter what you do, no matter who
you threaten or kill, this airplane will not leave the hangar and
you will have no kind of life or status in this nation unless I
will it. You are only as free as you are useful to me.”

“
Shit.”

Spooky wasn’t sure whether Huff’s
exclamation was disappointed or derisive. “Yes. Deep shit. You know
my reputation. I’ll forget about this childish boundary-testing if
you will uphold your part of the bargain and play straight from now
on. I’m a man of my word.” He reversed the rifle, handing it back
to Huff. “Are you?”

Huff looked around the hangar as if
searching for the catch, or a way out, but Spooky knew he would see
nothing unless he was very, very observant. Eventually he relaxed
and took the weapon back, pointing it at the ground.

Nguyen nodded. “Come now, let’s get those
children off the plane. I supposed they’re cranky and eager to get
home.”

Huff chuckled. “Actually, they have been
having a blast. It’s all a big adventure to them, even eating
combat rations.”

Spooky made a slight face. “Disgusting. Come
on, Chief, talk to your men. Everything’s set.” He stayed in place,
left hand still behind his back, hand signal still showing.

Huff nodded, appearing to accept his new
subordination with equanimity. He turned and leaped lightly into
the personnel door of the airplane, then flipped the hinged stairs
out to touch the ground. A few moments later all five Fortress Team
commandos and five children stood on the polished hangar floor in
front of Nguyen.

Spooky nodded affably, raised a casual right
hand, and gave another hand signal with his hidden left.

End of
The Reaper Plague
excerpt.

David is a former US Army Airborne enlisted
Soldier and US Air Force intelligence officer. He served in and out
of combat zones all over the world in the 1980s through the
mid-2000s.

He now lives on the East Coast with his wife,
Beth, and 3 dogs spending most of his spare time writing and
editing.

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