The Surviving Son (Valkyrie Book 2) (2 page)

The Nameless Survivor escaped Fort Rockland with his newborn
child in hand, abruptly yet sparingly torn from its mother’s womb.
That child is the Angel who came down from heaven. And the key
to the abyss represents the blood that flows through its veins, as the
chain held firmly in hand refers tothe child’s own DNA. It would
seem there is truth in those same Archaic Beliefs we have shunned
for many years. So, looking beyond the glaring contradictions of
scripture, take comfort in this;

"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no
more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order
of things has come to pass."

Chapter Twenty-One, Verse 4; The
Survivor’s child, is HE who
will wipe away our tears, our pain, and end all of this death. The
corruption of man is the Old Order of things, and right now we are
in the midst of the transition, for HE has the genes that will lead us
to the New Order. So now we must step back into the shadows, we
must pass through them, and upon returning to the light we shall find
what has been promised to us so long ago… Paradise.

My own administration, as well as the all of the colonial chiefs,
have recently called me out as irrational. They have nicknamed me
Ahab, searching for my own white-whale. – So be it, for in my own
deep seeded vengeance lies determination and ultimately triumph. I
vowed years ago to see this through, to end our misery, and I pledge
once again to do just that. I will sail out into the night upon my barge
of conviction and with a harpoon of malice in my hand.

So in conclusion, and without further discussion, as of today - the
Tenth day of the Eleventh Planting Moon - I, Patrick S. Zimmerman,
officially and humbly resign my presidency. In turn, I shift all power
over to General Tony A. Mason as our new President. He will be the
face and voice of the GFS and direct mediator for the redistribution
of power to the Colonial Chiefs. The future of the people, will be
the path chosen by the people. And I promise that in time I will
return to all of you with the cure to this dreadful blight, - or I will
die trying.

Tomorrow I commence on a long journey to find the infamous
survivor, and the savior he guards with such diligence. In admiration
and my deepest respect, I thank all of you. My pride in what you
have become fills me with the greatest of solace. Do what you must,
do what you do best - Survive.

I said to little Ana as I scratched Nova gentle behind the ears. The
girl was only six, but she had the maturity of a ten year old. She has
become the granddaughter that I never had, and has grown very fond
of the domesticated and highly loyal wolf that has been by my side
every day over the past few years. And Nova adores her as well, in
a way, she is reminiscent of Mia I presume, and I am more than
confident that they will be good for each other.

Taking Nova on this journey was extensively considered, the idea
of her getting the chance to be reunited with the man that had
adopted her so long ago filled me with pride. But this gentle beast is
just too old, arthritis has begun to plagues her hips, and besides, she
has seen too much of man’s blunders already. More than any life
should see, more than any sane person should be willing to endure
again.

With a quick pat on her head, I grabbed my backpack and opened
the door, glancing back in time to see Ana cradling the old mutt in
her arms before I closed it behind me. My eyes welled with tears as
I prolonged my stroll down Zimmerman Blvd and towards the GFS
Air Base. Chances are that I may never return, and the thought of
dying out there without Nova by my side ached every ounce of my
heart.

Sucking it up, I sauntered forward, ignoring the memories and
regaining focus on my mission. Operation Upper Hand, one last
effort to find a cure, one last chance to end this curse once and for
all. Six volunteers await for me to begin our journey into the depths
of the Appalachia’s, to seek out what may be the shining hope to
over a decade of fear and misery. I had to compose myself, to not
show fear, for these volunteers are about to risk themselves for the
greater good. They must stay strong.

The GFS Air Base at Mirabel Quebec was once an international
airport, now it is governed under the Blue and Green flags of our
new society. Daily cargo planes take off for supply drops throughout
the eastern seaboard; GFS Colonies, allied factions, and even small
villages that have been lucky enough to be untouched by this plague.
Although they are few and far between, there are still those who
desperately await our guidance and support.

Approaching the front gates, a mournful presence walked by my
side, it was as if angels were escorting me towards destiny. Their
chorus of gloomy chants filled my ears, like my own daunting motif,
stepping in tune with the beginning of the end. If there still is a God
above, I prayed that he shrouds this mission with all his glory. As
with any undertaking such as this, we will need it, and more.

Respectfully I was greeted by two GFS soldiers with a strong
salute before they grabbed my pack and ushered me through the
checkpoint and towards the helipad. There stood Vesta, our chariot,
battered and beaten, the Blackhawk chopper was still the toughest
beast in our arsenal. At attention along her side was my team, an
assorted bunch, working together for a single cause. Ahead of them,
standing tall with a rigid salute, President Tony A. Mason, my
successor, and my closest friend.

“Good to see you, Ash.” I said with a quick salute then followed
it with a firm and admiring handshake. “Or should I say, Mister
President?”

“You’re
Mister President, sir, I have yet to live up to your
stature.” He acknowledge.
“Bullshit.” I barked. “You’ve done more for mankind, you’ve
shed both blood and tears.”
“With honor, sir.” He said with a mercenaries smirk, barely
visible.
“Is everything in place?” I asked.
“As you ordered. Everyone is ready and await your briefing.” He
said, sternly steppingup to the first grunt in line. “This is Lieutenant
Garrison, he served with dignity during the Albany Purge. He will
take good care of you.”
I nodded in acceptance, and Garrison threw me a solid salute.
“Down the line,” Ash continued, “We have Privates Tellar and
Stetson, and Chief Mills. All seasoned veterans, all willing to die for
you, sir.”
“Let’s hope it does not come to that.” I responded.
“The last two are your Pilots, Monk and Trevors, you will find
them to be a bit eccentric with their flying techniques, but do not
doubt their skills.”
I gazed over the men, scarred and tortured, yet still eager to fight.
It gave me a feeling of accomplishment, goose-bumps and shivers
in the fact that we still have men like these on the front lines.
Although their efforts are geared more towards their loyalty to me,
rather than the rest of the world, having such presence over them is
both fulfilling and shameful. It is they who should be honored with
such loyalty.
“It’s early, but the dawn quickly approaches,” I addressed the
men. “We are all tired, and moreover we are all afraid. So I do not
speak to you now as your leader, I speak to you as a fellow
survivor.” I paused as I looked at the pride in their faces. “Operation
Upper Hand may be our last effort to squash this infection. As you
all know, Valkyrie has recently altered her tactics, and is more lethal
now then it was five years ago. My own work, our saving grace if
you will, has turned against us. So we must resort to more archaic
means of annihilation,” I paused, throwing them a sinister smirk.
“Fire and lead.”
“HOOAH!” The men bawled.
“In a few moments,” I continued, “we will embark on a journey
into Valkyries territory, the shadowy confines of mother nature. Our
mission is to seek out The Nameless Survivor, in the hope that his
son still lives, and that he has the key to our future survival.” I took
a deep breath. “I will not lie to you, the chances of success are
incalculable. This may be a one way trip. And even if we do succeed,
I fear that most of you will fall along the way. So I say this now, all
of us have lost something in this conflict, and I cannot ask you to
risk what is left on my behalf. If you are having second thoughts
then I beg of you to return to your homes. Return to your families, be at peace that you have done more than your share. No one will
think less of you.”
They all stood strong and proud, not a waver among them, and
my stomach churned because of it.
“They will follow you to hell and back, sir.” Mason roared.
“MORS PRO MORTUIS!” Their battle cry echoed in my ears.
Death for the Dead, a common motto these days.
“Let’s load up then.” I commanded as everyone hustled onto the
chopper. Mason immediately approached me, along with a young
women with eyes of ferocious meekness.
“Patrick, this is Stephanie, your assistant.”
“You are a little young to be a virologist?” I asked while shaking
her hand.
“Does age really matter?” She balked. “I’ve been studying your
work for years.”Sheretorted without allowing me to answer. I threw
Mason a concerned glare.
“She’s all brains, sir. Her IQ is through the roof.”
“I can recite your research, word for word, I’ll be a valuable
asset.” She stammered.
“You have not yet had an opportunity to live, Stephanie.”
“Has anyone?” She said, smart indeed.
“Okay then. Get on board.” I ordered.
Stephanie scampered onto the chopper, eagerly naïve, but
determined to be a part of our efforts today.
“She’s got heart.” I muttered to Ash.
“And an ass that could crack a walnut, sir.” He mentioned with a
chuckle.
“How prestigious of you.”
“Hey, you vouched for me.” He retorted.
“Which I hoped would give you some sensible and distinguishing
character.”
“Never.” He laughed as he patted me on the back. “Good luck,
and God speed.”
“God?” I questioned, but did not wait for an answer before
following the others.
Ash threw the Vesta and her crew a strong salute as we rose
gracefully above Maribel, I gazed back down upon the civilization
which had risen from the ashes, and finally shed a single tear. I only
hope that I can lay my eyes upon this town again someday, under
better circumstances. The chopper pitched forward, and the scarce
speckling of lights below slowly faded into the morning darkness.
We were on our way, our success unknown, and our courage at odds.

“Where are we headed, Mr. President.” Stephanie shouted over
the deafening whirr of the chopper.
“I’m not the President anymore, Steph, just call me Patrick.” I
responded.
“Yes, sir.” She said and I chuckled.
“Coburn Gore.”
“And that’s where this survivor is?”
“No, from my calculations he should be approximately fifteen
miles south, if he is even there. However Coburn Gore should
provide a safe landing area and possible refueling point.”
“What do you mean, if?” She asked.
“I’m assuming that he returned to his home. Praying is more like
it. This just maybe a big waste of time.”
She asked no more and focused on a little notepad, jotting down
our conversation I presume. A very attractive young woman, maybe
only eighteen or nineteen years old, yet she had an odd gaze in her
eyes, as if everything around her was being absorbed through them,
filling her mind like a water balloon that could burst at any moment.
She was a fish out of water, and I believe that she finds little comfort
among others. At least not among us. For her sake, I hope this proves
to be an uneventful journey.
The rest of the crew, hardened soldiers, personally picked by
Mason himself. A team of ‘Rag-Tag Gritty Grunts’ he called them.
And they all stared at me, they revered me, unjustly I must add. I do
not believe I will ever understand nor accept the dignity beset upon
me. For these soldiers, all of man, should be honored above all else.
I am no hero, I have never truly faced this villain on common
ground. Only on the sidelines or controlled settings. I have never felt
the fear that they can invoke on the human soul.
As we roared through the skies, into the rising morning sun, the
hours seemed to pass by in seconds I gazed down upon the landscape
below. Thick forests, stretching between two great, yet dead
countries, the only evidence of man are that of lost industry. Land
stripped of its resources but slowly recovering, regaining strength.
In the words of The Survivor, ‘Nature will always endure.’
“Welcome home, sir.” One of the pilots called out from the
cockpit. “We’ve crossed the U.S. Border.”
“There are no more borders.” I cried back at him.
“Yes, sir.” He pause a moment, then returned with, “Thirty
seconds till PONR.”
“PONR?” Steph leaned over and asked.
“Point of no return.” I answered. “We’ve reached the peak of our
fuel consumption, there is no going back.”
“But, how…” She paused, concern in her eyes.
“We will improvise.” I stated, “Find more fuel, find other
transportation, or even hike back if need be.”
Steph returned back to her notepad, but did not write, she stared
at in fear. My warnings of this possibly being a one way trip were
just now sinking in. A part of me felt guilty, but yet, if she is as smart
as they say, then I need her. Two great minds are better than one.
Shrugging off her concerned gaze, I laid my head back and closed
my eyes, letting what sleep possible to wash over me.
Over the raucous of the chopper I could hear the soldiers boasting
their successes with each other, and razzing one another with their
failures. Some may find their taunts as bullying and cruel, but to
these men, it is nothing more than caustic bonding. It’s what keeps
them sharp, and reinforces the brotherhood that they have formed.
Although their words say otherwise, it is that offbeat cruelty that
makes them tough as nails. And none of them resent one another for
it.

The haze of that dream did not invoke despair, it was hardly
discernible over the complete and utter feeling of happiness that had
befallen me. I was back at Fort Detrick, some ten years ago - maybe
more. The place that I constructed the weapon that gave humanity
the edge against the plague. Back on the very same day that I saw
Melissa, my daughter, standing just outside the facilities lobby. It
was the first and became the last time I would be in her presence
since The Fall. But unlike the real thing, she was not infected, that
shimmering visage of her was almost like that on the day I escorted
her off to college. Happy, excited, and nervous. The only difference
was the golden hue that shined about her like an angel descending
from the suns light.

She stared at me, her lips repeatedly calling out, ‘Daddy!’ Even
though no sound escaped them. She was beautiful, as much as the
day she was born. For a moment, all I could think of was how her
mother would be so proud of the woman she had become. On the
other hand, her untimely death may have been for the best. Abigail
never knew this world we live in, never saw what her lovely
daughter had become…

Although miraculous, it was nothing more than a delusional
mirage, and soon I would awaken to reality, but I prayed to never
leave that dreamscape. My hand stretched out to the pane of glass
that separated us as I attempted to caress her soft and perfect skin
one last time. But my touch was met with the transformation of her
perfection into dead flesh and diseased bones. Behind her, the
former barracks, erupted into a furious explosion as the ground
shook and rumbled. Alarms blared painfully in my ears as the glass
shattered from the shockwave, and Melissa’s hand reached out and
grasped my shoulder.

“We’ve been hit!”
She screamed, and instantly the veil of my
subconscious illusions was lifted, revealing the chaos that ensued.
Mills knelt before me, violently shaking my shoulder.
“Grab hold of something! We’re going down!” He cried.
My mind raced to catch up with the swirling of our vessel as it
filled with smoke and plummeted downward. I grabbed ahold of
Steph, pulling her close with one arm, while tightly clenching the
outer handrail with the other. She was as stiff as ice, the
kaleidoscope of her life twirling before her eyes, unable to react.
Steph lacked any form of self-preservation, that common human
instinct was lost in the depths her own intelligence. She was no
survivor, she did not belong here, and she should have stayed back.
What seemed like an eternity, was only a matter of seconds
before the chopper plunged into the forest canopy. Windows
shattered with shards of glass thrown over us like confetti, branches
buckled under the iron mass of our chariot with deafening cracks
and booms. A million strands of pine needles harmlessly stung our
faces followed by a splattering of acidic pitch. And then, the chaos
ended with another thunderous boom and all that remained was
silent darkness.