Читать книгу Book I: The Disappearance (The Fallen Race Trilogy) - Colin Patrick Garvey - Страница 7

Sean O'Connell has always possessed a rational streak despite the constant urge to distrust the “facts” as they are presented to the general public. He believes in conspiracies, this is true, but he also believes they do not happen everyday and especially at a time like this. His mind churns as he hears the approaching sound of a helicopter or possibly helicopters. He tries to focus and thoroughly examine the scene unfolding before him.

Sean is, as it appears, alone on a beach, where only several minutes (right?) before there were close to a hundred people—laughing, playing, enjoying the holiday weekend.

And now…no one. Not a goddamn soul.

What happened to my family? Where have they gone? Are they…

He does not feel it necessary to complete the thought, one that would assuredly bring undue pain and anguish.

Sean considers his options, but his mind is like putty, a useless mass unable to function correctly. The light from “Big Red” continues to forlornly scan an empty beach and a quiet lake. Beyond the gigantic lighthouse, Sean hears the approaching helicopters, meaning more than one.

A rescue party? But who here needs to be rescued? And from what?

Suddenly, the helicopters appear from behind the lighthouse. He spots four, possibly five choppers, in a single file fast approaching the beach. His first emotion is relief at the sight of other human beings, thankful for the moment he is not the only person left on the face of the earth. His relief quickly dissipates and turns to dread when the choppers begin dropping objects from their hulls as they coast over the beach.

The first impact lights up the night sky and snatches the breath from his lungs when it connects with the beach. His legs become rubbery and he starts to run as fast as he can away from the falling bombs. A second, third, and fourth one strike the beach, one after the other, creating huge craters and sending massive amounts of sand jettisoning into the air.

Sean is at a full sprint now as their spotlights comb the beach. The spotlights bounce off the beach and the cottages in a chaotic whirlwind of light, not readily apparent what they are trying to illuminate.

Sean is not inclined to guess, so he continues to run as fast as his legs will take him along the sidewalk. Nearing the last cottages on the south end of the beach, he spots one with an upraised porch and ample room to hide underneath. He veers off the sidewalk and dives under the porch of the cottage, narrowly avoiding the spotlight of the lead helicopter.

The birds continue their bombardment of the beach, and following their first run, they turn around for what appears to be an encore. After a few seconds of silence, the echo of the blasts reverberating over the water, they resume their barrage as Sean stares in disbelief.

What is happening here? Some twisted training experiment? A kind of terrorism exercise for the military? Am I dreaming this? Have I dozed off while waiting with my family for the fireworks to begin?

He does not think so – primarily because he feels a throbbing pain in his head and his chest heaves in anguish.

It never hurts for real in your dreams, does it?

There does not appear to be a pattern to the placement of these bombs. They seem to be dropped randomly at various intervals along the beach.

So what purpose do they serve?

There is no apparent enemy or target on the receiving end of these nasty little bundles. The only destruction they seem to perpetuate is to displace a few tons of sand and thus, leave behind massive, blackened craters intermittently along the beach.

The helicopters complete their second run and begin to turn around.

Are they preparing to unload a third set?

Sean's question is quickly answered when the helicopters pull up and hover around twenty feet above the beach, as if contemplating whether it is safe to land. They gradually descend onto the surface of the beach, each one picking a spot several hundred feet from the previous one's landing area.

Within seconds after touching down, five or six figures disperse from each aircraft and sprint up the beach. They appear like a miniature invasion force, but who or what they are attacking is a mystery. The fifth and final helicopter lands nearest to Sean, and this one is close enough for him to see the whites of the figures’ eyes. In fact, this is all he can see because each figure wears a mask that covers their face and neck, leaving only a small slit for the eyes.

It is obvious to Sean these men are soldiers, for he, too, had been a soldier once, a long time ago. Fresh out of high school Sean joined the Marine Corps, a choice his father encouraged and even cajoled him to do. His good friend had enlisted in the Army, and Sean thought the military was something else to do, a better alternative than cramming for exams and writing 20-page papers in college. It was a confusing time in his life, still stuck in the throes of adolescence, not knowing which direction fate planned for him. He was not too keen on academics initially, nor did he have a passionate interest in any particular subject.

Sean survived boot camp and he loved every minute of it. He was a good soldier, in fact one of the best in the whole platoon. The competitive fire that was always on the back burner during his dull, meandering years in high school was suddenly and inexplicably lit. Sean wanted to be the very best in every facet of the Corps, and he nearly was. It was his ability to excel at every aspect of basic training that brought him to the attention of his superiors. It was his superiors who believed they had found the perfect Marine for the perfect job, and they assumed they could use and control him to satisfy their own whims.

They were wrong.

He left the Corps with a dishonorable discharge and it was here, in one of the greatest military institutions ever conceived, the seeds of doubt were sown in him forever about what the government, or any authority for that matter, has to say.

After the Marines, he returned home to Chicago and registered at DePaul University for fall classes. He figured with a dishonorable discharge on his record, however unjustified it might have been, a college degree would be an absolute necessity if he wanted to succeed in life. He obtained dual degrees in both history and political science, completing his undergraduate studies in only three years.

Sean came under the influence of Dr. Rosenstein early and often, enrolling in several of his courses each year. He learned from Rosenstein, while at the same time Rosenstein learned from him. They developed a relationship unlike that of teacher and pupil, but rather one of friendship. They enjoyed constant, late-night bull sessions about everything involving the government and everything else that did not. Eventually, with a wholehearted trust Sean believed the man deserved, he revealed to Rosenstein what had been asked of him by his superiors, and his refusal to do so that caused him to be dismissed in shame.

Indeed, Sean knows what it means to be a soldier, to release a certain degree of control over one's own thoughts and actions. He is fully aware how easily a soldier's morals can be trampled in the process. He also knows he never wants to have that helpless feeling again. Sean stares at the figures storming their way up the beach and he knows what kind of men they are: the kind who he had once been.

They move and look like professional soldiers, but any amateur watching them could arrive at such an obvious conclusion. It is the little things Sean notices that tip him off. Specifically, their ability to generate absolutely no sound as they creep along the beach. They move like ghosts, phantoms, nearly unseen in the darkness. They do not require hand signals or walkie-talkies because they know and can predict each other's movements. These soldiers have worked together before, perhaps hundreds of times. They all possess laser targeting on their automatics, but the tiny red dots are not illuminated like in the movies. These men are not about to let their enemy know they are coming.

Sean suddenly realizes, with a sinking feeling and a knot in his stomach cinching tighter by the second, that he may be their lone enemy tonight.

He tries to devise his next move, but he is unable to construct a coherent plan of action in his mind. His brain feels cloudy, like he is trapped in a bad dream, making it difficult for him to think clearly or even rationally.

The soldiers gather steam as they approach the sidewalk separating the beach from the cottages. Their boots shuffle over the concrete sidewalk and finally, they reach the first row of cottages. In groups of three or four, they begin to enter these beachfront homes.

The group of soldiers from the last helicopter moves directly towards the cottage he is hiding under. He waits anxiously for a moment, holding his breath in his throat, terrified they spotted him dive below the cottage. He fears they will haul him out from beneath the porch and whisk him away without an explanation, unconcerned that he may have a few questions of his own.

The soldiers are practically on top of him now, no more than fifteen feet away. They point their weapons in his direction when suddenly, they veer up the cottage's front stairs and quickly traverse them, the loud pounding of their boots on the wood above him rumbling in his ears.

Sean lets out the shortest of sighs.

He watches distressingly as the soldiers begin razing the cottages next door: banging down doors, knocking shutters off their hinges, busting windows. He hears crashing glass and heavy thuds as the men move above him in what sounds like a tango with an elephant. Each cottage appears to be receiving a deluxe redesign.

The soldiers seem to be searching for something or someone, but what or whom? Are they looking for…survivors?

The word courses through his body like an electric shock.

Is that what I am? A survivor?

Immediately, what he has survived and why are questions that begin to pinball around inside his head.

Do the soldiers know I survived? Is that who they are looking for? For me?

Sean compels himself to drop all the guesswork and devise a plan to blow this scene as quickly and quietly as possible without alerting the GI Joes. Approximately a hundred yards south of his present location is a path leading into the woods, which should afford Sean a comfortable security blanket until he can determine where he needs to go. There are miles of woodlands, nearly all the way to Saugatuck, a town around 25 miles south of Tamawaca. The woods would provide cover and possibly shelter if he is forced to hole up for the night. It seems to be his best option at the moment.

The problem lies in reaching the path without being seen. Streetlamps dot the sidewalk at various intervals along the beach, supplying more than enough light for him to be spotted. Sean decides it is a risk he is willing to accept.

The soldiers appear to be rapidly working their way from the beachfront cottages to the cottages further inland. He will simply have to ally himself with the shadows, which should offer a small measure of camouflage, until he can reach the path. His best chance is now, before they return to their helicopters.

Sean starts to ease out from underneath the porch when he suddenly stops. A lone figure casually ambles up the beach, dressed like the other soldiers, but different in a way. If Sean has to guess, this is probably the man in charge. He does not carry an automatic weapon like the other soldiers, only a Colt pistol with a pearl-colored grip in a holster at his side. The man's nonchalant demeanor suggests the utmost and supreme confidence in his leadership and that everything, despite appearances to the contrary, is under control.

The man arrives at the sidewalk and strides purposefully towards something. Sean cranes his neck around the side of the porch to watch, coming dangerously close to exposing his head to the light from a streetlamp. The man bends down at the foot of Abraham's overturned wheelchair and grabs an object from the back pocket. Sean notices the object is not much larger than a cigarette pack as the man straightens up and continues walking towards the back row of cottages.

Sean thinks momentarily about Abraham and whether the man upon whom so many legends and rumors are based played a role in the drama unfolding here tonight. The coincidence seems uncanny.

There is no time to think about that right now, however. Sean needs to exit this scene and do it fast. He glances around to determine if the coast is clear to find no soldiers or their shadows lurking about. He immediately starts sprinting towards the path.

His arms pumping and his legs running full stride, Sean is a Marine again: back in boot camp, negotiating the obstacle course. He feels like he can fly, as if he is running on air. He is going to reach the path. Sean has shelved his strategy of cautiously moving within the shadows and agrees with the great mathematicians that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.

He is twenty yards away, fifteen, ten, and then…

Whack!!

Sean is leveled by the opposing team's linebacker, who he did not even see, let alone hear.

He sees stars for a moment as he lies pinned on the sand, a heavy weight sprawled across his body. He quickly clears his head and assesses the situation in a heartbeat.

The man hoists Sean off the sand and attempts to wrangle his hands behind his back, as if to handcuff him, but Sean's reaction is too quick for that. He painfully twists one of the man's arms out away from them, and with as much force as he can muster, slams his elbow backward, connecting squarely with the soldier's jaw. The blow does not break the man's jaw, but it unquestionably inflicts some damage. The man actually appears more stunned than hurt, for perhaps he thinks this fleeing man is simply an ordinary civilian, running scared and feeling helpless.

Sean surprises him again by pulling the man's head close and turning him around so that Sean is directly behind him. He thrusts one arm across the soldier's throat and the other across the top of his head and he begins to twist.

There is so much raw emotion coursing through Sean that he can no longer control himself. He wants answers and he wants them now!

“Where are they?” Sean whispers menacingly in the man's ear. “What happened to them?”

The man emits a strangled cry. Fearing he will alert the others, Sean makes one final twist, snapping the man's neck.

The man falls limp to the ground. Sean quickly drags the lifeless body towards the edge of the path where the woods begin. He covers the man as best he can with the available branches and leaves around him, and then scurries up into the hills. He hastily scans the surrounding area for signs this episode has been witnessed, but Sean does not see anyone in the vicinity.

Someone up there still likes me, he thinks.

Sean moves like a soldier again, like the men on the beach only minutes before. He is absolutely furious at himself and the man he killed. He did not want to hurt him, but he felt he had limited options under the circumstances. It was a matter of survival, of soldierly instincts suddenly awakened. His emotions burst forth as if a dam had broke, allowing all the rage and hatred to pour out. His fury is a result of the confusion engulfing him. What he has witnessed here tonight is not intended for his eyes. Indeed, he does not know if what he has seen is intended for anyone's eyes.

Sean knows he must escape from here and find someone he trusts. He cannot go to his parents’ house in Chicago or to any other relatives. It would risk placing them in mortal danger. He knows two men he can trust with his life in a situation like this and—

KABOOM!

Another explosion from the beach rips through the night air, causing him to jump. A moment later, he hears a sound from the road below that snakes around the small town. He struggles through the dense woods and underbrush, trying to make as little noise as possible, and arrives at the edge of a hill, where he looks down upon the road.

Sean spots three large, dark trucks rumbling down the street towards the beach. Each of them possesses a green canopy behind the cab of the truck, masking their cargo. Neither Sean nor anyone else could imagine the horrific contents the trucks are carrying, let alone their true purpose. To the majority of people, they would think it the most grotesque, twisted, utterly contemptible thing they have ever heard. To a small minority, it is simply business as usual.

Sean turns and begins to make his way, like a ghost, through the darkness.

* * *

When he was informed of what occurred on the beach, he wept in agony.

They had not been warned! Something must have happened.

The tears of sadness that ran down his cheeks, however, no sooner turned to tears of joy when he was told the man – without his family – escaped from the beach and fled into the surrounding woods, like a mouse ducking the predatory cat. A slight feeling of hope blossomed within him and he quietly applauded.