Episode 7 – Conscience

In the darkest recesses of the human mind lies the ability to tell right from wrong. Whether we want to or not, that part speaks to us after every choice that is made. When good deeds are done, we feel a sense of joy, accomplishment and kinship with the lives we directly or indirectly enriched – a feeling we like to recall and share with others.

But the sense of shame and guilt that comes from doing wrong is stronger, tormenting a person into wishing that decision had never been made and the misdeed undone. In failing that we simply desire to forget, burying the memory in the hope that those you love will never find out the truth.

Some call it conscience. Others call it a moral compass.

As Cory Wilson sat in a warm, comfortable tent nursing a bowl of watery soup, he knew how it felt to do wrong. His reflection stared coldly up at him from the liquid’s surface, mouthing words like ‘murderer’ and ‘coward’.

And the worst part of it was – he now knew them to be true.

2 Hours Earlier

Parmar’s body was barely visible, covered by a rapidly thickening blanket of snow. It was only when a shivering Wilson tripped over his legs that they were able to pull him from his freezing deathbed, into the warmth of Red’s Truck.

“Crank up the heaters!” Billy-Ray snapped as he helped Cory pull his charge into the back seat, “We need it hot!”

Red snorted, “Ya wan’ me to save sum Terr’ist scuzz?”

“Would ya rather a corpse in yer cabin?” The Johnson boy retorted, hastily shedding his jacket to drape over Parmar’s body.

Wilson jumped onto the passenger seat up front and shut the door, cursing the cold and turning up the heating as far as it would go. Noticing the glare Red was giving him, Cory shrugged, “I’m cold, man.”

Drawing Parmar into his lap, Billy-Ray positioned himself so that his warm torso was pressed up against that of his casualty. By using his body heat to evenly warm Parmar, it would reduce the chances of causing cardiac arrest when warm blood started reaching the heart again.

Wilson saw what Billy-Ray was doing and approved. They had all seen far too much death on this trip already, there was no sense in causing more, “We should get out of here,” He told Red, “Before we end up buried in this crap.”

**

If Bobby Johnson had been a thinking man, he would have taken a moment to wonder how his group had evaded the jaws of a freak snowstorm that had enveloped much of the Highway his mark had gone down. As he was far from that level of intellect, he chose to draw his hunting party’s car up in front of a hillside Ranch House, driven by nothing more than hunger.

Thinking about it only made the near painful growling worse, making him as irritable as the party members snapping at one another in the back seat. Johnson may not have been a Mathlete in school, but he recognised a volatile situation when he saw one.

“What in hell’s name are we stoppin’ for now?” Ed Phipps growled impatiently, “They gon’ get farther ahead now!”

“Depends if they were in the storm,” Bobby mumbled, more occupied with weighing up his best approach to the house instead. Two options came to mind – a direct assault with all guns to bear, or try to put on the charm and hope the people living there were Christians or some other kind of nicey nice type willing to offer some shelter and food. He was leaning toward the assault, even though it would only take one pissed off resident with a shotgun to ruin the whole hunt for them.

“Hey!” Phipps punched Johnson’s thick arm, “Wake up princess an’ listen ter me!”

Johnson grunted, “We need food. I’m hungry.”

“So we jus’ gon’ walk up ter the door an’ ask all nice like?”

“Yeah,” A bloodthirsty grin crossed Bobby’s weather beaten face, “Somethin’ like that.”

**

Minus Eighteen Degrees Celsius. Jenny Edwards’ eyes were drawn over and over to that figure, displayed in bright yellow text on the dashboard display of the Parmar family minivan. Unusually isolated patches of snow were beginning to spring up around the state, even the country according the Thompson on the radio. His broadcasts were becoming increasingly grim, filled with reports of destruction and suffering from around the dying globe. She turned down the volume until it was only slightly louder than the low-pitched whine of the car’s engine.

In the back, the Parmar children were awake but stared out of the windows in silence. Maitreyi, their mother, stared blankly ahead – no doubt thinking about her Husband. Edwards was left alone to watch the strangely unlit road they were following, taking her turn in the driver’s seat while the others were supposed to rest.

“Loser,” Jenny heard Sally – her sister – hissing from the depths of her mind, “Why can’t you do everyone a favour and freeze to death?”

Attempting to ignore it, Edwards gripped the wheel tighter and leaned closer to the dashboard – a move which almost cost her when the Minivan struck a pothole seconds later.

“Ha! Dumbo.” Sally chortled, “Never could see what’s in front of ya. Do you even know where you’re going right now? Doubt it.”

A glance at Maitreyi revealed she was still off in her own thoughts, which was reassurance enough for Edwards to breathe a response, “I do too know.”

“Sure you do,” Jenny could almost see that smug smile spreading across her face, the one that said ‘I know and you don’t.’ Angered her every time.

“Fine,” She admitted, “I don’t know where we are. But Maitreyi does. She was the one who got the crossroads clue figured out.”

“Did you stop where paths are crossed? Good – now any way but 90 and you’re surely lost.”

Edwards scowled at her reflection, “Nobody likes a smart-ass.”

“Now you see why your Husband’s bored of you! Good job big sis.”

The road was becoming increasingly uneven, causing murmurs of dissent from the back seats. Ignoring the rough ride, Edwards put more pressure on the accelerator, hoping to rid herself of her sister’s haunting presence.

Sally snorted, “Sure. Run away from your problems.”

“That’s normally what you do best,” Jenny muttered as Maitreyi started to ask questions, “Hiding in some doped up haze.”

“Miss Edwards…”

Jenny shrugged off the hand that gently laid upon her arm, “No! She’s been nothing but a damned leech! She just takes and never gives back, just take, take, take until her victims have nothing left and then she steals partners and moves on!”

“Miss Edwards,” Maitreyi sat back, alarmed at Edwards’ outburst, “What are you talking about?”

Sally was gone. In that moment Edwards realised that she had been talking with a figment of her imagination, arguing with thin air in front of people who now must think she was stark raving mad. Blood rushed to her face.

“Uh,” Jenny adjusted her posture, “Guess I’m a little tired.”

“Would you like me to take over for a while?”

With a smile Edwards declined, “I’m good now. Than-” Her voice trailed off as she spotted a point of light in the distance. Were those…spotlights?

“What do you see?” Maitreyi frowned, “What is it?”

The tree line had obscured the road ahead again. For several tortuous moments Edwards stared ahead, self-doubt starting to creep in until the veil parted once more to reveal a distant group of lights, all surrounding something that was just out of view.

“There,” Jenny pointed, “What does that look like to you?”

Maitreyi squinted, “Spotlights, illuminating a patch of ground. They usually do that when night work is being done on a-”

“Construction site!” Edwards finished her sentence with a gleeful smile, “Maybe this is it!”

The children in the back seat piped up, excitedly asking if they were there now. Edwards just laughed, her heart racing as she drove them all closer to salvation. On the dashboard, the radio handset burst into life with group members now all asking the same question.

Was this the dome they’d been looking for?

**

“He needs warm fluids.” Billy-Ray announced from the back seats. If anything, he needed to get this man’s weight off his lap more than Parmar needed hot drinks – but his legs were numb and it was driving him crazy, “Warm up his core.”

“Does it look like ah care?” Red Barker grunted, never once taking his eyes off the road, “Bad ’nuff we got some terr’ist scum in mah truck. Now ya wanna play nursemaid to him as well?”

Billy-Ray was not in the mood to take ‘no’ for an answer, “Come on Red! There’s got to be a Ranch or two around here we can make a quick stop at!”

“Are ya crazy, kid?” Barker snapped, “It ain’t like the locals have been too friendly up ter now – an’ you wanna go knockin’ at their doors askin’ for some hot soup?”

“You haven’t even tried!”

Red mimicked the voice of a little girl, “Pwease sir! Mah pet terr’ist’s all sick. Can ah get some chicken soup ter make him all better…”

“God damn you…”

“Stop. Please.”

Everyone in the truck fell silent. Those last words came not from Wilson, Barker or Billy-Ray. Parmar’s head lolled as he drifted in and out of consciousness, murmuring deliriously.

“Don’t kill my family…” He said, “I’ll do what you want.”

Wilson and Billy-Ray exchanged glances, then in unison turned on Barker.

“He’s re-living recent memories,” Wilson opened in as matter-of-fact a tone as he could muster, “People do that sometimes when they’re on death’s door.”

“So?” Barker snorted, “Don’ make him innocent.”

“But maybe there’s more to this, something nobody really knows about that Parmar could tell us.” Billy-Ray grit his teeth against growing discomfort, “If he were better.”

Wilson nodded, “Exactly.”

“An’ you expect me ter believe that crap!” Barker sighed, “That there’s some kinda conspiracy on ‘ere?”

“About as believable as being able to extinguish the sun.” Wilson said pointedly, “Wouldn’t you say, Red?”

Knowing now what it must be like for a cornered Coyote just before he pulled the trigger, Barker realised the hopelessness of his argument. Separated as they were from the rest of the group, a rumbling in his belly made him think that a pit stop might not be such a bad idea after all. Being careful to maintain his irascible expression, Red scanned the darkened landscape for signs of a Ranch House nearby – knowing that there were several dotted along this patch of road.

“Up ahead,” Barker grunted grudgingly for the crowd, “There’s a light atop that hill. Must be a mile distant.”

“Great!” Billy-Ray was enthused, “So let’s all keep our eyes sharp for the road leading up to it.”

“Sure.” Barker adjusted his grip on the steering column, “Why the hell not.” After all, he told himself, what was the worst that could happen?

**

Four large spotlights substituted for the sun, beaming bright white light down upon an oval patch of land carved out the Montana forest. A large colonial style house dominated the clearing, accompanied by a cinder block generator housing and three tall radio masts. Protected by a tall chain link fence, this unusual home looked more like a fortress as it loomed out of the darkness.

“Damn,” Edwards sighed with disappointment. There was no way this place was what they were looking for. She slowed to a halt in front of a sliding gate, tapping the steering wheel with her fingers as she considered her next move.

“This don’t look like no Dome,” Dan, driving the car behind, grumbled over the radio, “We’ve taken a wrong damn turn some place, ain’t we?”

Edwards ignored him. All she wanted right now was answers, starting with a map. If this place had power, it more than likely had internet access too. Good enough reason for what she was about to do next,

“Screw it,” Jenny said, stepping on the gas so that the minivan leapt forward, crashing through the gate in a mess of screeching metal and cracked glass. One of the Parmar children screeched in fright, earning her a scornful glare from Maitreyi.

Gravel cascaded out from around the minivan’s tyres as they swerved to avoid a cheap concrete fountain, skidding to a halt just inches from a faux marble staircase.

Mrs Parmar maintained her disproving glare, “You scare me,” She said, “I think I’ll drive from herein.”

With a nonchalant shrug Edwards opened her door, letting in a gust of painfully cold air. It took every ounce of self-discipline to push toward the stairs, resisting the urge to glance back and see who was following – in case her chattering teeth should be noticed and seen as a sign of weakness. She hated weakness. There was simply no room for it in her – former- profession.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Edwards asked herself upon reaching a frosted glass double door. Unable to discern what lay beyond the distorted edifice, she took a deep breath and answered her own question, “Ah, what the hell.”

Imagination going into overdrive, Jenny slowly reached out and gingerly pushed open the door. “Hello?” Her body tensed in anticipation of the bullet she was sure would be her welcome, “Anyone at home?”

**

Having detached his Rifle’s Night Vision Scope from its bulky home, Bobby used it to glare through the ranch house’s wide living room window in search of his prey. Highway 200 was visible in the distance, made all the more visible by his high vantage point and the scope’s excellent zoom function. He had no reason to believe Mister Wilson and company would have left the well-lit comfort such an important transport artery had to offer, especially with the strange weather conditions striking at random along the way.

All of which worked perfectly in Bobby’s favour – nothing like tracking on a known game trail.

One of the Phipps brothers brought him a plastic bowl filled with steaming pea soup, cooked by the family that had – until moments before – been sitting around a large pine table in the kitchen praying for the sun’s return. A good, neighbourly family, they had been quick to invite Johnson and his party inside for shelter and food.

“An’ they call me dumb,” Bobby snickered as he wolfed down several spoonfuls in quick succession. It was, he conceded with a grimace, pretty good.

Human vision is drawn to focus upon movement, a holdover from the days of life as a hunter/gatherer. This instinct is what brought Johnson’s attention to the tiny pinpoint of light moving in a straight line East along the very Highway he had just been surveying moments before. His free hand fumbling with the discarded scope, Bobby cursed himself as he tried to bring the passing car into view – noting with some surprise how it seemed to be turning onto the dirt track leading up to the Ranch House.

“Well wonders ne’er cease,” He muttered as the scope zoomed in, taking a slip second to focus properly and reveal his mark riding nervously in shotgun. The cross hairs centred on Wilson’s right eye.

“Idjut,” Bobby imagined his finger squeezing the trigger, “You a dead man.”

**

“Lights are on,” Red gestured toward the Ranch House, “Don’t mean folk are home.”

Wilson considered that for a second, allowing those words to flesh themselves out as doubts in his mind. A more positively minded person might have brushed those words off, reasoning that the house was sure to have a cooker and water – which was all they really needed. Cory did not always think that way and instead allowed himself to slump back in uncertainty.

“And they could be home too,” Billy-Ray stepped in with a sigh, pushing Parmar off his lap ready to jump out and march up to the front door the moment Red stopped the Truck.

“What if they go greetin’ ya with a gun?” Red said, “They ain’t all good s’maritins ya know.”

“Just another risk we’ll have to take.”

Wilson couldn’t help but wonder if Billy-Ray and Red were going to argue the rest of the way up this drive, personally he doubted it would amount to anything more than a sour-faced Red sat growling at the wheel while he and the Johnson boy canvassed the Ranch House. Irascible as he liked to portray himself, Red Barker was too good a man to just leave them both out here in the cold.

“Can’t believe you fools are doin’ this all for some goddamn terr’ist,” Barker mumbled, throwing some doubt on Wilson’s assessment, “Bet we all get our heads blown off fer it.”

**

After everything that had happened in this hunt so far, all the frustrating near-misses he’d had with this target, Bobby Johnson couldn’t believe it would all end so easily. It all seemed just too good to be true.

Remembering what his father had taught him about shooting at a distance, Bobby slowed his breathing to a steady, deliberate pace, lightly tensing and relaxing his trigger finger in time with each exhalation. The trick, he recalled, was to gently squeeze the trigger as the breath left his body so as to keep the weapon as steady as possible. After readying himself three times over, he checked the distance to target – less than 300 metres.

Trying to contain the elation that grew in his heart, Bobby took in a deep breath and tensed himself for the shot.

**

The metallic clunk-click of a Shotgun being cocked made Edwards freeze in her tracks. Slowly she let her gaze wander toward the source, a heavily built man in a Security Guard’s uniform with greying hair and a plastic-like complexion to his meaty face. The shotgun he aimed at her was steady, unwavering.

Former Soldier, a little voice whispered in the back of her mind, itchy trigger finger.

“Who are you?” The Guard’s challenge was firm, “What do you want here?”

“Ah s-” Dan breathed beside her. Slowly Jenny raised her hands to show she was no threat.

“We saw the lights,” She explained, “Thought this was the Dome.”

A derisive snort escaped The Guard’s lips, “Well, you figured wrong.”

“Where are we?”

“What’s it to you?” The Guard snapped.

With all the looting and lawlessness that had enveloped the State, maybe even the country, Jenny didn’t blame this man for his distrust, “Look,” She gingerly took a step forward, “We’re just trying to reach Castle’s Dome. It’s getting colder by the minute out there and we have small children in our group. If this isn’t where we need to go then, please, any help we could get would be appreciated.”

“You stay where you are Miss,” The guard said, “I can see ya taking steps forward.”

“I’m sorry,” Edwards stepped back. Her eyes had adjusted to the poor light enough that she could see a reception desk to her left, the wall behind it emblazoned with a familiar emblem, “Hey!” She said, “This is Andy Thompson’s Radio Station.”

Something close to an unspoken ‘oh crap’ flashed across The Guard’s face, “Might be.”

“So he has the clues, something to help us get back on track.”

“Maybe.”

Jenny sighed. Diplomacy wasn’t getting her anywhere. The clock was ticking on her group and she was wasting time with niceties? Shotgun or no, she resolved, it was time for results. Steadily she advanced on The Guard, forcing herself not to think of what might happen if that weapon went off.

“Bullcrap,” She snapped, “This is Thompson’s station. He has a copy of the riddle to play as instructed by Castle. That means he has a device to play them on and a way of playing back old clues we might have missed and those that haven’t aired yet. So you, Mister Rent-a-Cop, have a choice: Shoot us – or let us see your Boss. ‘Cause I’m not goin’ anywhere ’til I get what this group needs.”

With the shotgun’s muzzle now firmly pressed against Edwards’ gut, The Guard lost a lot of his nerve. Faced with actually having to kill a civilian was a prospect he obviously did not feel comfortable with, an observation Jenny was relieved to make.

“So,” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “Make your mind up time. Give me what I want – or pull the trigger.”

The Guard looked into her eyes and involuntarily took a step back, defeated. Pressing the advantage, she continued glaring until a fresh voice – instantly recognisable – intervened from the top of the stairs.

“It’s okay Paul,” Andy Thompson said, “I think they’ve earned their backstage pass.”

**

Bright light flooded the inside of Red’s truck, instantly blinding the occupants and forcing them to come skidding to a halt. Wilson was thrown into the dashboard by the violent deceleration amid a flurry of curses, he was still rubbing his sore ribs when the doors were yanked open.

“Hey!” Billy-Ray yelled as gloved hands reached in and pulled him out of the vehicle. The same happened to everyone else, leaving them all in an unceremonious heap on the cold ground.

“Don’t move!” A voice, muffled by a heavy duty Gas Mask, barked at the four men. Assault Rifles were jabbed roughly into faces, making it very clear what would happen if they chose not to obey.

“Who are you?” Wilson groaned, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his vision.

“Shut up! Hands behind your head!” Was his answer – forceful yet dispassionate, leading Cory to believe these were genuine, professional soldiers. He hoped to whatever deity was letting its creations freeze to death that they were. Last thing they needed was to meet some friends of the murderous Militiamen from Lewistown.

Hands patted their way down his body, checking for concealed weapons. Those they found were tossed out of reach. When they seemed satisfied that Wilson and his companions posed no further threat, all but Parmar were hauled to their feet. A masked soldier, wearing the markings of a Sergeant on his arm, stepped forward to address them. His tone, unlike those of his men, was far more polite.

“Where are you guys headed?” He asked.

The sudden change in tone lulled Wilson into a false sense of security. Before he could think about it, he replied, “We’ve been following those radio instructions Mister Castle has been putting out.”

“Great,” One of the soldiers chortled, “More freakin’ crazies.”

“Shut it Bartlett!” The Sergeant barked over his shoulder, restoring order. A second later he held out his gloved hand, “Staff Sergeant Cook, 1^st Armoured Infantry, Montana National Guard.”

Wilson shook Cook’s hand, wincing at the newcomer’s overly firm grip, “You on exercise around here?”

Cook strangely failed to answer, choosing instead to gesture for his men to herd the bemused civilians into their Armoured Personnel Carrier.

“You can’t do this.” Red protested, earning him a forceful shove through the APC’s rear door.

“I can,” Cook snorted, “And I am. You’re under arrest.”

**

For the vengeful man watching the arrest through his Rifle Scope, Sergeant Cook’s decision was met with more than indignity. Holding the crosshair steady over Wilson’s right eye, Bobby Johnson muttered obscene things about the soldier’s parents, hoping he could squeeze off a round when no-one was looking his way.

“Whoa,” Ed Phipps noticed his friend had settled back into a firing position, “Don’t do it Bob.” He placed a hand on Johnson’s shoulder.

“Why in the hell not? He’s right there!”

Phipps took a deep breath. Calmly he explained that a shot would alert the soldiers arresting their mark, causing them to see the Ranch House as a sniper’s nest and unleash the full force of the Twin ‘Heavy MAGs’ mounted atop the APC – which was more than enough firepower to demolish the wooden cabin in seconds, turning them into little more than a jellied mass of flesh and bone in the process.

Johnson didn’t care much for the consequences of his actions. All he could see was his target getting away. That man had escaped his justice too much already – making a fool of him. It irked, more than the death of his brother. The shot would be quick, the soldiers would never know where it came from.

“Bobby!” Ed snapped, “You’ll kill us all!”

“Would’a got him too,” Johnson grunted under his breath, tightening his finger on the trigger.

As bullets were propelled by magnetic force, rather than the trapped gases from a small explosion, guns – regardless of their calibre – did not kick back as they once had done. It was this fact that made Johnson so surprised to find his weapon springing up and back, so that the scope struck his nose with sickening force. Growling in pain, he let go and swung a meaty fist at Phipps.

“I ain’t lettin’ you git us all killed,” Phipps stepped out of reach before the blow could connect, “Hells no.”

“We’ve lost ‘im now, ya traitorin’ son-”

“No we ain’t.”

“How in hell can we foller them Army-Boys, huh?”

Phipps, fearing another punch, took an extra pace back, “Same thing we did wid em’ before. Hunt ‘em proper.”

“How’d ya figure that, wid all them Army Sensors and crap?”

Unlike his childhood friend, Edward Jack Phipps had some intelligence. He was far from being one of those ‘brainers’ that were so despised in school, but he was cunning. While Johnson grouchily folded his arms and turned to listen, Phipps finally took hold of his chance to turn this wild goose chase into something meaningful – and, he hoped, more fun.

**

Stepping into Andy Thompson’s studio was like being in a Science-Fiction story Edwards thought in awe. Every square inch of the wall was covered with Smart-Boards displaying graphs, grainy photographs and e-documents bearing a variety of Government logos – some which she recognised and others which could have been the flag of some Alien Empire for all she knew. Digital radio equipment filled the floorspace, leaving only a tight, cluttered path from the entrance to a large leather office chair where Thompson ‘rocked the mike’.

“Sorry about the mess,” Thompson said with a cheeky grin, “Kinda started living out of here since it all went down.”

Edwards smiled politely, heeding to his warning about Ready-Meal containers on the floor by the Radio equipment. With well over a day’s worth of stubble and long, greasy hair, Thompson had the look of someone who had been neglecting himself for his work. Despite that, he gazed at her with quick, intelligent eyes.

“There’s food in the Rec Room down the hall. Two doors to your right!” He called to those following Jenny, “Help yourselves!”

They didn’t need telling twice. Within seconds the queue that had been forming inside Thompson’s studio had evaporated, leaving him alone with Edwards. “Figured you might hang around,” He said, “You look like someone who is lookin’ for some answers. Ha! Look like lookin – a looker.”

She didn’t get what was so amusing about that, but forced a smile anyway, “Sure. And yeah, I hoped you might shed some light on stuff.”

“And light shall be shed!” He clapped his hands together loudly, “But first, a question. Where did you think you had to go next. To reach the Dome, I mean.”

“One of the other ladies in the group has been keeping track of the broadcasts,” Edwards admitted with a shrug, “So, past the crossroads? I dunno.”

Thompson looked horrified, “How can you not be keeping on top of this yourself?” He exclaimed, “Man, what if you got separated from your group or some douche decides you’re not needed any more? What then? Not like you can show off your legs on the roadside any more-”

Whatever ending that statement might have had was cut off by Jenny grabbing handfuls of his greasy ‘Welcome to CAMP FEMA’ T-shirt, using the leverage to pull him out of the chair so that her face was just a hair’s breadth from his, “I know you like to say things most in your ‘biz wouldn’t dare,” She said in a threatening tone, “But if you pull that sexist crap on me, You’ll be spitting these,” A knee brushed past Thompson’s balls, “Out. Understand?”

“Yeah. I get it.”

With a smile she let him go, “Glad we cleared the air. Carry on.”

“For a River and a Country you must surely head,” He recited the latest instalment of the Riddle, “The latter’s capital- Amman – a clue for you who aren’t already dead.”

“A River and Country? What?” Edwards shook her head, “How in hell does he expect us to go to another Country?”

“Think about it for a second.”

Frustrated and coming close to despair, Edwards threw her hands in the air, “I am! He’s making it pretty damn clear, don’t ya think?”

“How many Countries are the same name as Rivers?”

“Uh,” She had to think hard about that one. Eventually she stepped over Thompson to use a search engine on his computer, “Not that many. Wait.” The riddle had named a Capital City, “Amman, right?”

He nodded.

“Amman in the Capital of,” Quickly typing the name in yielded the result, “Jordan!”

“There’s a town around here called that,” He said, “Isn’t there?”

With a short bark of laughter, Edwards nodded her head, “Yes. Sly son of a gun was referring to the Jordan here, in Montana. How many more clues after that?”

“Just one.”

For the first time since embarking on this journey, Jennifer Rae Edwards felt like things were going somewhere. A new life was within reach. In that moment she felt more alive than she had in years, “Wanna tell me?”

**

Soldiers, Wilson decided grumpily, were the most crass, insensitive jerks he had the displeasure of having to travel with. This irritation was only fuelled more by the discomfort of having to sit on metal seats in a vehicle that bounced violently in every small pothole they struck. His backside was sore, as was his spine. Yet the troops opposite just joked among themselves, occasionally cursing their heavy NBC suits, but otherwise oblivious to the lack of comfort their conveyance provided.

“Where are we going?” He ventured, having to shout over the raucous laughter erupting every few seconds.

“Shut up!” Was all the Private beside him had to offer.

“Come on. How much harm am I going to know in here?”

“I said-” Private ‘Shut up’ was cut off by one of his own, a more softly spoken man in the seat opposite.

“Seriously Tyler,” The new participant, a Corporal, sighed, “What’s he gonna do, set off his invisible Chest Rig?”

Tyler shrugged, “Your funeral man.”

“Whatever,” The Corporal shrugged, “We’re on a Scoutin’ Mission. Got some crazy-ass Militia holed up in Jordan, see?”

Wilson felt his heart sink, “What are they called?”

“Oh they got some self-servin’ title, uh, Soldiers of Libertas or somethin’ like that.” The Corporal noticed Wilson exchange looks with his companions, “Know ‘em?”

They had only tried to blow Jenny up, shoot him like a rabid dog and leave his body to rot, Wilson shuddered, “I’ve heard of ‘em.”

“Well,” The Corporal said, “We’re gonna scope ‘em out and then the rest of the Unit’s gonna come and tear ‘em a new one.”

Maybe it was something in the Corporal’s voice or who it was they were dealing with, whatever the reason, Wilson suddenly got a bad feeling about this mission to the town of Jordan. He could only hope, as they drew closer, that his unease was misplaced.

**

Thompson hesitated, an action which instantly quenched the excitement Edwards felt over learning they were nearing the end of their journey. Years of dealing with less-than-honourable business people had taught her to see the signs of a person unsure about their product, whether that was due to illegality or controversial – a sixth sense had developed to root out those who could damage her company’s future trade.

“What?” She said, “We’re not gonna tell anyone you broke the rules.”

His eyes would not meet hers, “It’s not that.”

“Yeah?”

“It-” He paused, having difficulty with admitting to what he knew, “I-”

“The Dome,” Jenny wanted this out in the open, “It’s not real, is it?”

“It’s real.”

“Then what is it?”

Again he hesitated. Without a word he took back stewardship of his wireless keyboard, tapping in some commands, taking great care not to show her what he was doing in the process – probably why he elected to use it over simply touch-typing on the computer monitor. After a tense moment typing, Thompson sighed, “You shouldn’t go to Jordan.”

Edwards was confused, “But, that’s where the Riddle says to go, right?”

“Well, yeah. But,” He shifted in his seat, “It’s too dangerous.”

“Right. Like it hasn’t been so far.”

“You aren’t getting me,” With a heavier sigh, Thompson switched out what was being displayed on the Smart Boards, filling them with emails and maps of the Town of Jordan, “There’s a whole bigger thing going down here. The Solders of Liberty are in Jordan – a lot of them.”

The name made Edwards’ blood run cold, “Ah crap.”

“That’s not even the start of it. These are emailed leaked to me by a guy in the UN a few weeks ago. We talked a lot about these before it went dark. He’s silent now,” Thompson’s tone suggested he might know why, “Anyway. He finally managed to get it – proof that plans are being put into motion to end America as we know it.”

As he began his rant about foreign troops being posted on ‘training’ Stateside, Jenny bit back the need to say ‘ah crap’ again – this time in irritation and disappointment at the obvious garbage that this man had bought into. Didn’t he know this was just a bunch of Conspiracy Theory hokum? Nothing ever came of it…

“Asia wants its turn,” Thompson said, oblivous to his guest’s disdain, “Some of the most advanced weapons technology since the MAG has come out of there in the last few years, yet they’re still forced to trade in the increasingly unstable Dollar. How many financial crises have we started in the last 50 years? A lot. Too many. So they figured they’d use our own fears against us. For years now they’ve been supporting Militia Movements, giving them money and weapons to stockpile – while paying off Policymakers to propose laws that would make those Militias more and wary of what was happening until it triggered unrest.”

“But the sun going out was a terrorist attack,” She interjected, “I can’t see the UN being in bed with those kinda people.”

“That was an accident. But putting the military on the streets wasn’t. Don’t you see? The Soldiers Of Liberty are huge, nationwide. They’ve got weapons that even our own Army doesn’t have – things banned by International Law.”

“And Jordan is some kind of hub?”

Thompson shrugged, “For want of a better word, yeah.”

“How well armed are we talking here?”

“Infrasound, Directed Energy Weapons, Napalm – the kind of stuff,” He visibly shuddered, “that you wouldn’t want to be in the way of when its fired.”

**

Alarms started shrieking in protest to the APC suddenly lurching down a dangerously steep slope, the uneven ground threatening to roll the heavy vehicle with disastrous consequences for those inside. Cries of pain erupted from the passenger compartment, the soldiers there yelling vicious curses at the driver.

Sergeant Cook swallowed back a sudden urge to vomit, cursing his swimming vision as he turned to see if the Driver, sat beside him, was hurt.

“I’m okay Sarge,” The Private let out a sigh of relief as they returned to even ground, “Didn’t see that drop.”

It never crossed Cook’s mind that others might be experiencing the same sensation as he, “Just keep ‘yer eyes on the road, soldier,” He snapped, “Or you’re the one who gets to turn this thing over if it rolls.”

**

Napalm and Directed Energy Weapons were names Edwards knew, had seen used in archive footage or on the News. They were banned for a reason, being capable of causing disproportionate horror to those they targeted. But Infrasound? That one was new.

“Infrasound?” Curiosity overrode the pride that was telling her not to display her ignorance, “What is that?”

“Ultra-low frequency sound,” Thompson explained, “Less than 20 Hertz usually. At the right pitches it can disorient and even kill a person – passing right through concrete walls, thick armour plating and rock. There were tests being done about twenty years ago on adapting it as a next-generation anti-tank weapon, but it got banned after it was found to cause excessive pain in victims. An accident of some kind highlighted it.”

“And these Soldiers of Liberty have them?”

He looked to his computer screen, “According to my buddy, yeah. They do.”

**

Vomit struck Wilson in the chest and he barely even noticed it. His world was spinning, his legs and arms no longer felt like they were under his control. He felt drunk, yet had not imbibed anything. Words failed to form, both verbally and in his mind – like someone had thrown the ‘off’ switch in his brain. He felt pressure on his chest and terror grip his heart.

The Corporal pitched forward out of his seat, crashing into an unconscious heap on the metal floor. Others soon followed, the APC swerving wildly from side to side. Then slowly, as if in a dream, everything seemed to become weightless. A sickening metallic thud echoed through the cabin.

With not a spark of thought in his mind, Wilson watched with dumb fascination as the front of the vehicle raced up to greet him.

**

Through all the biting cold, the terrifying moments where life itself hung in the balance and the beating he received at the hands of Bobby Johnson – not once had Cory Wilson experienced such agony as he did coming around inside an upside-down APC. Blood had poured from a deep cut on his scalp, soaking his shoulder and sending white hot stabs of pain into a head that was already throbbing. Belly sour, limbs burning, he unsteadily pulled himself to his feet and looked around.

Billy-Ray and Red were both starting to come to nearby. The Corporal was gone – along with most of the other soldiers. Out of the squad that had taken them prisoner, only Sergeant Cook remained and he was still unconscious from what could be made out.

“Thapht us phunn,” Billy-Ray tried to clear his head from the Infrasound’s numbing effects, “Dang…”

Silence fell. For several tense seconds there was nothing but the muffled sound of wind whistling outside. Then came a sharp crack, followed by three more in rapid succession.

“The other soldiers?” Billy-Ray looked around as the mental haze started to lift, “They’re outside, right?”

Wilson still couldn’t think straight and simply shrugged. Another flurry of gunshots could be heard, gathering in intensity before petering out into just the occasional thump. A fight had just been lost and won – some dreadful instinct seemed to tell Wilson that these soldiers were not the former.

“The Sergeant?” Billy-Ray gestured up at the Navigator’s seat, “He dead?”

Against Wilson shrugged, earning him a stern instruction to go and find out. Sure enough, once he was close he could hear the serviceman breathing inside the Gas Mask. Conveying that seemed to do little more than stress the Johnson boy out further.

“No good to us…” He muttered, “Not much time now…”

“’Til what?” Wilson rejoined his companion, “Why the rush?”

Billy-Ray swore, “’Til the guys who attacked us come finish us off!”

His recovery being slower, Wilson had no inkling they were even subject of an attack, “But no-one shot at us. Well, I don’t figure so.”

“They did. That was an Infrasound weapon. Damn! They took all the guns!”

“An Infra-what?” He still didn’t comprehend, “Why would they attack us?”

Instead of providing an answer, Billy-Ray slapped his hand across Wilson’s mouth, silencing him as the sound of voices grew louder outside. They were talking on a radio set, using codes and terms that sounded vaguely familiar. Then, in a moment of clarity, it hit him.

The vicious, merciless Soldiers of Liberty in Lewistown used the exact same codes. But they were destroyed, weren’t they?

“You murderers!” The Corporal’s voice penetrated the APC’s hull, “Burn in hell!”

A dull thud made it clear he had just been slammed up against the vehicle. Another voice, this one new, told his men to aim upwards so their bullets would penetrate the hull and kill the soldier sat by the window.

“Ready!” The voice barked, spurring Billy-Ray to a frantic search for the rear door handle.

“Take aim!”

With a deafening clunk the handle was found and turned. Red struggled uneasily to his feet.

“FIRE!”

Billy-Ray moved back inside the vehicle while the fusillade tore loudly through the APC’s cockpit, killing the Corporal and Sergeant Cook instantly. Already the voices outside, having heard the door handle, were moving to enter the vehicle. Wilson stepped toward the door only to be pushed back by the teenager, who grabbed Red by the collar and shoved him through the open door in a flurry of limbs and incoherent protest.

“The back ramp!” A militiaman called to his peers, the sudden danger prompting Red to lurch into an awkward run – driven by a thoughtless desire to survive.

“You have a promise to keep.” Billy-Ray whispered into Wilson’s ear as the sound of running boots rushed past the rear door. Together they scrambled out of the starboard hatch, behind the backs of the victorious Militia, running until they were hidden by the impenetrable shadows of the forest.

Fading into the distance was the sound of solid, dependable Red Barker crying out in pain and mortal fear. With his mind now clear, Cory Wilson felt sick for a reason other than the Infrasound.

For he’d just allowed a good man to be murdered.

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