Читать книгу 5 YEARS AFTER 2.5 Smoke and Mirrors - Richard Correll - Страница 3

SMOKE AND MIRRORS

Suddenly, eyes wide open.

She took a breath and then held it. Molly didn’t dare move but her eyes scanned the ceiling . The darkness seemed to be hiding something. Her neck craned to the left and the window of her hotel room. There was some feeble light from far fewer street lights and signs that made the blackness turn grey. Yes, just enough luminosity to give substance to shadows. Now, her imagination had something to work with.

Was he back? That one who had reached out of the car window and grabbed her in Cleveland? Stop. She exhaled. The one who touched her leg in Washington, was he here? Stop. She felt a cold chill caress her ankle. That’s right where he touched you, isn’t it? Imagination ignored the plea and played on. Perhaps it was that girl from the highway that had far away eyes on the road to Huntington. It was like she was listening to music. She had followed you all the way here.

“Stop,” Molly finally whispered to an empty room.

She sat upright in the queen sized bed. Her fingers gripped the covers tightly. At any second she was ready to pull the bed linen up as a feeble defense to whatever lunged out of the shadows. We just don’t wake up like we used to. Her breathing felt more controlled now. Primal fear is our passage from slumber. That’s what happens when you’re the prey. Molly’s eyes carefully scanned the room, watching the darkness for anything out of the ordinary. The chair was still a chair. The desk had not moved one iota in the few hours she had been asleep.

It winked at her. From the corner of her eye she saw it. A reddish hue played the game of there/not there in the shadows. Now you see me now, now you don’t. It was there, Molly watched the black canvas for a repeat, a confirmation.

There it was. She was on her feet now. Fuck the dark. Her Blackberry winked again.

Her fingers easily found the plastic case without any enablement of light. Molly had done this so many times. The Blackberry couldn’t resist one more playful twinkle in the dark before her fingers lit up the faceplate. Messages: one. She tapped the icon.

You have one new message. The screen was black with white lettering. Molly’s thumb tapped the keyboard and cut to the chase as her left hand turned on the lights. It was on messenger.

I do hope this note from an old friend finds you well. The words took shape on her screen. I just thought it was strange to see General Beauregard’s forces so far into Kentucky territory.

“What are you up to, General? She heard her own voice from a few hours ago. The answer had arrived. Molly thumbed the two attachments. The first was a map display. A teardrop was hovering over two intersecting ribbons of roadway. The Deacon had been close to Louisville.

What were you doing there so late at night, my friend? Molly let that thought file itself away as she tapped the second icon on the message, a jpg.

The picture was crystal clear in the Kentucky rain. A multi wheeled metal machine. Molly tried to access her limited military knowledge and came up blank. Was it a tank? Armored car maybe? Perched on top was a figure facing forward with his left shoulder to the camera. The man’s helmeted head had turned abruptly in the rain to face his photographer. A perfect “O” of surprise and guilt formed on his mouth. Molly’s fingers touched the screen and began zooming in on an emblem on the vehicle’s side.

There…….right there on the side of…..whatever it was. It was a tree of some kind. Molly’s eyes became intense and a touch wider. She had seen it a few times on flags and uniforms while she was in Huntington, The Republic of West Virginia.

“Damn.” She whispered. Molly carefully slowed her fingers and became deliberate. The information was saved in her phone with the care of a geologist opening a mummy’s tomb. She turned on her lap top and fished around in her Louis Vuitton bag for a cord. She plugged the cord into her Blackberry and the other into her laptop as it obediently awakened from its electric dreams.

Molly had suspicions that Beauragard was watching her email and listening in to her calls. If you had the right gear it was a piece of cake to do both. Marshall University was nearby and had a reputation for smart minds and high tech toys. The General had both at his command. The old school information passage was completed. Molly then filed the jpg and map away in the hard drive of her laptop and then replaced the cord in the Louis Vuitton. She reached for her Blackberry and thumbed down the phone directory. It was time to wake some people up.

They could be listening in. Her lips pursed for a second before her left hand found the secure Blackberry the military had provided. I got to find me a ride, her mouth creased to one side as she counted out her options. The Blackberry purred in her ear and the news desk promptly answered.

“This is Molly Hunter.” Her voice was all business and crystal clear.

“Yes, Ms. Hunter.” The man on the night desk vocally snapped to attention. “How can I help you?”

It turned out he couldn’t help that much. The guy had all the right numbers at his fingertips. That wasn’t the problem. Molly hated the next twenty minutes of call after call. She had to be somewhere and she had to be somewhere now. Every conversation went into elaborate detail of why Molly couldn’t get there.

“We just can’t do it, Ms. Hunter.” A pilot explained over and over. “I’m sorry.”

“How can you do it?” Molly pushed. Trying to drag him out of the logistical box he was in.

“Ma’am, we have commercial helicopters.” The pilot had reached a dead end. “We could fly out and try and pick you up…….”

“And……?”

“Well, first off.” The guy was riding a fine line between politeness and exasperation. “They’d hear us way before we landed. We’d get blown out of the sky or arrested the minute we touched down. On top of that, we’d be out of fuel.”

“Okay. “ Molly eased up and tried another route. “How do I get there?”

“The bridges are probably all guarded by the Republic’s forces so you can’t drive.” The pilot paused for a second before continuing. “Ms. Hunter, those things are everywhere on the highway. Please tell me you’re not thinking of driving.”

“I will if we don’t come up with something.” She threatened.

“I’m trying to tell you, Ms. Hunter.” The pilot was right and she knew it. It just burned to hear why you couldn’t do something instead of why you could. “Commercial helicopters do not have that kind of range.”

“Okay, I…” Molly heard the words he spoke inside her head for a second. It became a translation of what he was really saying. Her tone changed as soon as it all clicked in and made sense.

“So wait, there are helicopters that can make this journey?” The velvet voice of the girl with a plan probed further.

“I’m sure the military has a few but that’s…..”

“You’ve been very helpful. I got to go now, thanks.” Molly hit end call and was already thinking of her next move. She stared at the phone screen for a second.

So, the Pentagon said they wanted information did they?

*

“Ms. Hunter, I’m asking you to be reasonable.” The desk officer at the Pentagon balled his free hand in frustration.

“I am being reasonable.” Molly’s saccharine voice replied. She almost batted her eyes sweetly to no one in particular.

“Just tell us where his forces are.” He tried again.

“You come pick me up and you’ll find out.” This time she did bat her eyes. Molly knew he couldn’t see it. But she wanted to stay in character. This was a role Molly Hunter had played before; the sweetheart of a girl who had you by the balls.

“Ms. Hunter…….” He tried again.

“I don’t think you understand my relationship with the Pentagon, sir.” Molly kept the voice sweet as Venus fly trap nectar as she tightened the screws. “It’s a Ying and Yang thing.”

“Ying and Yang?” His voice was a set monotone. He had lost his patience long ago but knew he couldn’t show it.

“I have just yinged you with intel that General Beauragard is on the move.” Molly explained in a kindly way that she knew was killing him. “Now, I need some Yang.”

“Yang, ma’am?”

“Yang,” Molly snapped the trap. “I need you to come pick me up and I’ll tell you where he is.”

There was an exasperated sigh. Molly could feel others listening in. She let the silence between them gather weight and momentum while hand signals and notes were being passed on the other side of the phone. I can’t believe you thought I would just give this kind of shit up for free. She bit her lip to pass the time.

“We have to make a few calls…..”

“Good.” The word was a conclusion to the negotiation. “Call me back in twenty minutes.”

She ended the conversation with a flick of her thumb and headed for the shower. Molly closed the bathroom door and locked it automatically. It’s what we do these days. She slipped out of her Agent Provocateur lingerie and glanced over her shoulder to confirm the lock was in place. Remember the boogie man? He’s real now.......

Her hair was never going to dry fast enough. That’s just the Caribbean life, her hand fished into a luggage bag and slipped on a Reebok Sports bra, Eve St. Laurent short black sleeve top and an equally black Lululemon zip up hoodie. Brown pants and Merrell Moab ventilator hiking shoes finished things off. Molly surveyed the room and decided to travel light. She packed the camera, laptop, cords and batteries then rolled them into a ball of clothes. One bag, that’s it, the Louis Vuitton, of course.

Molly took a deep breath and slipped out of the bathroom and surveyed the room quickly before her phone chimed. She let it ring twice before picking up the secure Blackberry and raised it to her ear.

“Yes?” The sweet voice gave an encore performance.

“We’ll be there in forty five minutes, Ms. Hunter.” It was a new voice now. The woman was terse and to the point.

“Good.” She let the word play into the phone silky smooth. It was a raw knifepoint, a reminder of just who got what they wanted here.

“Where are you?” There were other voices now in the room, on headsets. It was the sound of shit coming together at warp speed.

“The former Holiday Inn on Third Avenue, it’s called the West Virginia Republic Suites now.” She heard her relay the information, a male voice replied with one syllable over the speakers.

“Do you know where the Robert S. Byrd Bridge is?” For a minute, Molly marveled how the woman could concentrate on their conversation with all the other voices in the room. Oh yeah, we girls can do that, she remembered.

“I know exactly where it is.” Molly could see the old metal skeleton of the bridge across the Ohio River in her mind. The last time she had passed by boats were cruising on the brownish surface, men were searching the murky depths with flashlights, dredging slowly along the silty bottom. They definitely were not looking for fish.

“There is a patch of greenery separating the highways and on ramps on your side of the Ohio River.” The instructions were spoken in a cadence that made her think of Maggie when she was giving orders. Slow, careful and crystal clear.

“Yes?”

“Don’t stand on the grass.” The voice slowed even further. “Stand on the highway so we can see you.”

“Got it,” Molly took a few more things and slipped them into her bag, she couldn’t help but add coyly; “You people put this all together rather quickly.”

“That’s what happens when you say the magic word around here, ma’am.” The communications officer replied without a beat.

“The magic word?” Molly was caught off guard by the reply.

“Beauragard,” the woman replied. “Forty five minutes, Ms. Hunter.”

*

The lock eased back carefully. In the cavernous hallway of the Republic Suites it still sounded like a pistol shot. There was always something odd about hotel hallways. The way the doors stretched into imagined infinity on both sides. Molly had observed to herself once or twice in a pensive moment how they looked like crossroads in your life, decision points. Your existence lined up and judged by each choice. You walked down the hall and opened a door, then what? There would be another hallway of endless decisions and doors before you. On and on, a never ending universe of what might have been.

You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?

“Yes,” She felt her feet quiver at the ankles before lowering her head and striding toward the elevator door. They’re out there, you know that. Molly tried to calm her nerves by remembering how safe The Republic of West Virginia had been, according to media sources.

According to media sources, the panic part of her replied as Molly’s finger tapped the down button on the elevator. Yeah, we in the media never lie. Not us, we’re right as rain. As the doors rolled open Molly distracted herself by taking one last look down the infinite hallway. If I were Beauragard, I’d have put someone on watch outside my door. She continued her train of thought while entering the elevator. You know, just in case I tried something like this. As Molly’s eyes sifted around her surroundings she happened to glance up at the darkened ceiling and its tiny, artistic nodules that seemed to blink back at her.

Gotcha, her mouth pursed as the cameras tracked her move.

She carefully placed her Louis Vuitton on the floor and pulled the hoodie over her head. Molly had a moment to size up the situation while the numbers counted down to her destination. It occurred to her who she was dealing with. Beauragard was a man of command, always in control and giving the orders.

At least when it comes to me, she started to feel herself get some wriggle room. She remembered back to the battlefield and how close he was when she turned around. Molly arched her neck in thought as the elevator settled in to its destination with hydraulic resonance. Remember the soldier in the jeep when you changed the game plan and said you didn’t need a crew?

Oh shit, his face had said it all. He had to get new orders. Molly picked up her Louis Vuitton and stepped a bit closer to the doors. Okay, we’ve got a plan.

Ping!

It never occurred to Molly how slow elevator doors really were. They began to grind open to reveal the Chianti colored rugs. The off white walls were overgrown with moldings and wooden shapes. It seemed like an attempt at imperial that had fallen a bit short. Molly put her head down and made a quick pace to the front door.

“Oh....oh!” A voice called out as she passed the front desk. “Ms. Hunter! Ms. Hunter!”

“Yes?” Molly turned slowly and made her face into a friendly smile. Her eyes tried to hide the shade of deviousness in her thoughts. I love it when I have a plan. Her right eyebrow arched slightly under the hoodie.

“You aren’t going out are you?” His voice seemed to be a touch higher than she remembered. He was a thin black man with short hair and the touch of a moustache. He was the perfectly tailored attendant for the night shift.

“Family business,” She kept it short and turned toward the door.

“Oh ........um....” From the corner of her eye, Molly saw that look again. Oh, shit!

“It’s okay, honey.” Molly called over her shoulder. “I’ve got a ride.”

As her hand pushed into the thick plate glass door Molly knew she had found Beauragard’s Achilles heel. His people had been given specific orders in that deep, serious tone of his. But what happens when you pull the unexpected, when army grey encounters Technicolor? The automaton takes a pause, reboots. Molly did not have to look back to know the desk clerk was already on the phone to his superiors.

What do I do now? He would ask almost fearfully.

His superiors were just part of the chain. They would be like the ponderous elevator doors, grinding through the options while time ticks away. It might come down to waking the General. How long would that be?

About forty five minutes, Molly reassured herself. Damn, that’s nice timing.

It started at the spot between her back and neck. It was a cold chill that seemed to lace out like tentacles around her shoulders. It seemed to crawl to her up her back with the care of a spider creeping forward. A long leg caressed her at the tip of her spine, causing her eyes to widen. Her hands were laced with cold ice. My fingertips, her breath stopped for a second. I can’t feel my fingertips.

Molly’s movements stopped and became numb. The darkness and shadows seemed to watch her. Everything about the night took on a darker shade, a careful conspiracy of her surroundings to hide her final fate. If darkness was an emotion, it was icy, pitch black fear. You’re outside now, where they are.....

This was almost fucking funny until now………

You have to move. Molly felt her right leg go forward rigidly with the left leg following the rhythm. It all has a very familiar feel to it, doesn’t it? That taste of fear that evaporates everything and leaves your mouth dry. Suddenly, you want to run and hide in the shadows.

Don’t be silly. You can’t go there. That’s where they’re waiting for you.......

But, you have got to go there. Molly felt like her plan was the trigger to a trap. You can’t stay in the open, the patrols will see you. You have to hide in the dark, work your way through the shadows. The cold spider that Molly had felt on her spine paused for a rapturous moment. The poetry of it all was almost lyrical. Molly Hunter, clever girl. You’ve spun your own web and trapped yourself.

Third Avenue was lit by a few streetlights with boarded up businesses supporting a three story parking garage in front of Molly. To her right, Big Sandy Superstore Arena reflected wanly. It was a reddish orange box out of place with the new reality of things. What do you do with a sports arena when all of the teams don’t play anymore?

Small trees provided just enough shadows for cover. She found her feet picking up speed in their direction. In the shadows, that’s where you can stay out of sight. Molly inhaled slowly and tried not to feel like something was watching her, beckoning her.

You can always go back, had the spider on her spine now found a voice?

No, Molly slowly kept an eye out for anything that moved.

Curiosity killed the cat. She was reminded. It’s pride that kills the rest of us.

Listen for them. They always have that hissing, low growl about them. Molly felt her ears approach hypersensitivity. There was a low reverberation that seemed to fade in and out of the very edge of what was discernible. It was there, then, it wasn’t.

“Right,” A voice clearly spoke from close by. Molly turned and crouched down behind a tree that had been planted close to one of the arena’s walls. She slipped the dark, reddish color of her Louis Vuitton bag in front of her brown pants. The black hoodie and the bag helped her blend into the shadows. Two men had been standing behind a white van parked across the street. They emerged into the road. The van was one of those cube things that were so hard to see around at an intersection. A man in a camo short sleeved shirt tossed a lit cigarette away as he crossed the street with his partner in tow who cradled a hunting rifle. Camo man sported a highly visible side arm in a holster. He raised an object to his mouth.

“Don’t see her.” Camo man spoke. Of course not, you were hiding out and catching a quick smoke. Molly knelt down into the grass.

“........could be anywhere.” The radio replied. “Remember what to do if you see her.”

“Yeah, roger that.” The camo man seemed annoyed that his time pursuing his private vice had been interrupted. He lowered the radio and nodded to his partner and they walked toward the hotel. Occasionally, they would pause and hazard a long look down the street for a fleeting shadow on the move. Their backs were to Molly in a few minutes.

45 minutes, Ms Hunter. Molly reminded herself as she carefully stood up and crept among the saplings. It was so quiet she could hear herself breathe. The edge of the building beckoned closer as one footfall gave way to another. It occurred to Molly that she had no clue what was around the corner.

Just keep going, she inhaled as her fingers crept along the painted wall of the arena, exploring in the dark for the corner. Just take a peek around it. It’s safe, it’s got to be safe.

Three explosions counted off the seconds. Molly felt the brick around her shatter and spatter the darkness with debris. She was down on her knees and around the corner. Molly then stopped her heart and breathing. Her eyes widened but found nothing to focus on.

“Got ‘em!!” An unfamiliar voice bellowed.

“Hell, yeah!” It was camo man. Molly crawled on her stomach and peeked around the corner. A dark shape was splayed on the grass. Fuck, it was tracking me and I had no idea. She realized coldly, staring at the thing that was a shade blacker than the grass. Molly was face down in the shadows now. There were two approaching figures in the white splash of the sidewalk. The man with the rifle paused at the edge of the grass.

“I could’ve sworn there was another one.” The man with the rifle peered into the dark in her direction. He’s looking right at me. Molly tried to think in the shadows as she swore their eyes met. He sees me. I know he can see me.

“I only saw one.” Camo man seemed to be wishing out loud.

“I dunno,” The guy with the rifle raised the barrel and pointed it in Molly’s direction. “I coulda swore......”

“Virgil.” Camo man sighed and spoke in a logical, somewhat tired tone. “We are near the end of our shift. This is no time for heroics.”

Don’t move......Molly buried her face in the dirt. Don’t move, don’t breathe.

Her eyes were closed so she did not see them begin to walk slowly toward her. Their feet made no sound as the boots brushed the blades of grass aside. If they mistake you for one of them......

An animal sound split the silence in two. It was followed by a scream of surprise. Molly lifted her eyes to see a shroud rise from the grass and pounce on the rifle man. He screamed a second time while camo man stepped away and fumbled with the side arm in his holster.

“It ain’t dead!! It ain’t dead!!” He struggled with his rifle, raising it as a shield from enveloping, cold fingers. Camo man pulled out his firearm and fired blindly. Adrenaline in his veins set off the fire of panic within him.

Molly couldn’t count the gun shots. They were like a single rapport played out in an echo chamber. The two forms struggling staggered together like a drunken dancing couple and crashed into the soft grass.

“Aw Gawwwwwwwwd!” Camo man’s voice wailed into the night. He was frozen in place with only his mouth moving. A form rose from the darkened shadows and staggered upright. The second figure lay motionless in the grass beside his rifle. Camo man was suddenly fumbling in his pocket to reload.

Among the shadows and vague streetlights, Molly saw an outline face the camo man. The jaw dropped open and a low growl froze time between them. Camo man looked up and his face became covered in shock. The thing took a step toward camo man and the spell was broken. He ducked, turned and ran toward the hotel.

“Awwwww, sweet Jesus!!!!!!!” She heard him sob. “Sweet fucking Jesus!!!”

Molly slowly stood up in the shadows, shoulders shivering uncontrollably. Was it really this cold out all of a sudden? Her mouth had parted slightly as she stared at the thing. It was watching camo man as he retreated down the street. The head then turned slowly back to its motionless prize lying in the grass. The teeth parted in anticipation.

For an instant, a thought seemed to cross its face and it looked up briefly. He was almost handsome, young and once full of life. He wore a checked shirt with crimson rings pocking the fabric. The nose seemed to wrinkle almost imperceptibly. The shoulders hunched with animal intensity. Something is here. The pus yellow eyes scanned the darkness.

He smells me, Molly swallowed. Oh god, he knows I’m here.

It took a step toward her. It was like the shadows peeled back before it and revealed her to him. She felt helpless, naked and frightened. Their eyes met through the shadows and for a second time the jaw opened and uttered an animal challenge.

Molly took a step back and then another. They were slow and careful foot falls. Their eyes were locked and riveted on another. It took another step forward and assumed a ragged stance in front of the body on the grass. Again, it hissed loudly without blinking at her.

Leave..........leave me now. It took a stand in the dark and spoke without words.

Molly backed away faster now and it did not follow. She turned to walk away at a quicker pace with her breath still trapped in her throat. Molly stole a terrified glance over her shoulder. It was making sure she was gone. The eyes seemed to gather what little light was around and reflect it back to her. God damn it, they seemed to glow with an inner fire. Molly was almost running now.

As she crossed the parking lot Molly dared one more look in its direction, satisfied that it had vanquished all threats, the thing turned back toward the dark grass, it carefully knelt down beside the motionless shape that was its’ prize. Two shadows then seemed to meld into a single, larger form and the victor extended his teeth into the soft, precious and still warm flesh.

Her feet felt unsure amid the curbs, grass and corners of buildings. A Wendy’s that had been closed and re- opened as a field kitchen offered no light in the darkness. The glass windows were hidden by wooden boards six feet high. The window peeking over the top of the new barricades gave a pill box impression. It was just another place under siege.

Molly watched the shadows carefully as her pace quickened toward the highway. Each one was a warning, a cold moment in time. The darkness seemed almost mummified. She carefully watched the blackest centers of the shadows, looking for a hint that the sable canvas would move and follow her. Molly’s eyes slowly traversed the territory. On the other side of Third Street a funeral parlor sign etched in concrete caught her attention. She took a fast run across the asphalt divide of the road and slipped in behind the concrete pillar. At one time, it would have been lit by off white, delicate luminescence.

A gentle reminder of services offered that no one spoke about. The lights on the sign had been extinguished long ago. The choices now were cremation or closed casket burial after decapitation. Most agreed on cremation, a final assurance against return. Crouching behind the concrete block with etched characters, Molly pulled out her secure Blackberry and checked the time. She had made the distance from the hotel in a remarkably brief period.

It only felt like a million years inside her head, her heart was playing out her life rhythm loudly. She swallowed hard with a dry mouth and began to walk towards a rusted sign post that was still readable.

TO HIGHWAY 7 HIGHWAY 527

CHEASAPEAKE

There was a gentle incline upwards toward the bridge across the Ohio River. Molly used the terrain to try and stay out of the line of sight of any sentries. They probably wouldn’t be looking this way, anyway. Molly turned three hundred and sixty degrees as she started to walk slowly across the 6^th Street exit ramp. She was thankful for the silence of her shoes on the road. The quiet of the night time was far from calming, however. What had she thought back in Elkin?

It’s too quiet.........

It came at her from the sliver of moonlight in the sky. A dark bat-like shape that seemed like it was only visible to her eyes as a shadow that blotted out the stars. There was a barely perceptible hum in the air. It had the same volume of an idling car engine. The form passed over her and landed softly in a small indentation of green and shadows between a squat building and more highways.

Molly instinctively crouched down and eased over the concrete dividers and let the embankment speed up her pace to the awaiting helicopter. The sound of the beast grew louder as she approached. A soldier casually had one foot out of the open side of the machine.

“Evening, Miss,” he smiled. “Nice night for a walk.”

She looked at him for a moment and wrinkled her mouth. This kind of cool never did much for her, false bravado, an almost casual one-uppance.

“Where are we going?” He started to straighten up a bit and prepared to leave.

“That way,” Molly pointed west without breaking eye contact.

“I need you to be more specific, Ma’am.” There was a nasty curl on his mouth. The eyes were hooded orbs.

“That way, will do for now.”

“Ma’am, we’re wasting time.” He leaned forward and raised his voice slightly. “I need to know where we’re going.”

“And I need to make sure you’re not going to kick me out after you’ve found out where Beauragard is.” Molly replied firmly. “So for now, that way will do.”

His mouth opened slowly as he shook his head and leaned back impatiently with a play of his hand to the co-pilot, an invitation to join in the conversation.

“Ma’am.” The co-pilot began. “I need co-ordinates to put into our GPS.”

“Good,” Molly nodded with a sly curve of her mouth. “Put in that way.”

“God damn it, Ma’am.” The soldier piped in and then paused long enough for Molly to cut in:

“Now, who’s wasting time?”

“Sir, we need to get a move on.” It was the pilot now.

The soldier Molly had been parlaying with sighed and made room for her in the entranceway. He took a spot in the rear compartment and looked away. He was done with her for now. As soon as Molly had found a seat and something to hang on to the co-pilot turned to her once again.

“Ma’am,” his voice sounded very young all of a sudden. “Which way did you say?”

“That way,” she replied in a neutral tone with a point of her finger.

The ground fell away as they gained altitude like an almost spectral phantom. As they passed over the bridge, Molly swore she saw a sentry look up to the sky in shock. His face was paper white against the darkness as his features were stone cold in their surprise. A second sentry broke away and fumbled with something on his belt. As he watched the soundless bird head west he raised a radio to his mouth.

In an instant they were both memories in the dark as the ribbon in the landscape that was the Ohio River passed underneath them. Molly eased back and let her head touch the slightly vibrating metal of the passenger wall. Her heart beat was returning to normal now. My god, her thoughts reflected on camo man and his partner. What was his name?

He died. He died right in front of you. She barely felt the vibration of the helicopter as she saw the shadow of the dead thing rise up from the grass in her memory.

His eyes...........Damn.........his eyes,

A chill passed over her shoulders. Molly crossed her arms for warmth and comfort. She’d seen so many of them over the years. But, it was always different. They were not a faceless horde. Their faces held individuality, the child on the road on the way to Elkin, the one who had grabbed her in Cleveland and the poor homeless man in Washington. Each face had distinct definition in her eyes. They were something to someone at one point in their lives.

Did they still have souls? Molly looked at the fine point between the landscape and sky on the horizon. The ever defining edge between the Earth and stars offered a clue. There has to be a cutting point between the living and dead. We just haven’t found it. Perhaps we shouldn’t go there just yet. Molly concluded. We might not be ready for what we’d find.

Evening Miss, nice night for a walk. She glanced at the soldier and tried to keep her mouth from wrinkling up in disdain.

When was the last time you had been afraid like that? She asked herself. Always, the answer was quick on the tip of her tongue. You are a woman walking at night through an unknown neighborhood. Fear came with the territory. It just came in varying degrees. But it was always there in the corner of your mind.

Fear......

The things you can’t see, the footsteps of someone behind you or the car passing by slowly. It all amounted to the fear of being a woman. You’ve felt it all the time. You just feel it more now. That’s right, the fear of being a woman. She chanced a casual glance toward the soldier. He seemed to be napping now. Just try to explain that to a man like him, just try to explain living with fear. She watched him now for a long, extended heartbeat.

Would he understand? Could he understand? She exhaled slowly. A closed mind is a closed mind, that’s it. They are the ones who say they never understand women, the thread of thought wound to its’ conclusion. But, we might have some level of understanding now.

These days, we’re both afraid to walk alone at night.

Her thoughts wandered from the star light to the pilot’s compartment as the control panels spoke in equations she could not understand. Molly sat up slightly and watched modern chronometer’s move with the pitch and feel of the machine. Molly’s memory recalled other airborne rides with troops in the last five years of struggle. The control panels had a more retro feel to them. They were basic, simple and straightforward. The odd upgrade had been bolted or cut into the control panel here and there but the feel was always the same, whirling metal blades that reverberated through the entire fabric of the vehicle and into your bones.

Her eyes explored the LED displays over the pilots shoulder. Molly tried to be nonchalant while taking in as much as possible. The smooth symmetry of everything in the cockpit was in a word futuristic. She placed her fingers carefully on the compartment wall and let her fingertips touch the non-metallic surface. The feel was different here. The jarring resonance of older machines had been replaced by an almost pulsing whisper. It was like a magic carpet ride.

In her mind’s eye she saw the machine earlier appear out of the darkness suddenly, barely visible in the night sky. As she came closer Molly saw a hub cap like device above the rotors, a deflector of noise by studious engineering. The roar of the machine had been reduced to a purr. There was the body of the airborne beast to be considered as well. It was sleek and black, like the muscular skin of an athletic race horse. There were no hard edges, just rounded curves wrapped in infinite black.

“This is a stealth helicopter.” Molly whispered suddenly. The soldier she had talked to earlier seemed to prick up his ears when she spoke.

“That is impossible, ma’am.” The co-pilot replied amicably, he was checking a dial or two and tweeking something on the control panel to his right.

“Really?” Molly raised an eyebrow.

“Stealth helicopters don’t officially exist, ma’am.” The co-pilot turned around to face her with a polite smile on his face. “How could we be possibly flying in something that doesn’t officially exist?”

“You’re right,” She followed his train of thought with a half-smile and a nod. “We couldn’t possibly be flying in something that doesn’t officially exist.”

“Exactly my point, ma’am,” The co-pilot replied.

“How silly of me,” Molly almost gave him a wink.

“Not at all, Miss Hunter.”

*

“Coming up on the Dixie, sir,” The lead vehicle spoke briefly into the radio.

The Commander sat up in his hatch and pulled the night vision glasses up to his eyes. The ride had been slow and steady. The lack of road signs on the Gene Snyder Freeway had created a nagging sensation that they were lost. Finally, a green sign had announced:

VALLEY STATION NEXT RIGHT,

Below it, a brown sign added as an afterthought:

PATTON MUSEUM NEXT RIGHT,

They were heading in the right direction. The only other sign of life in the last 30 minutes had been two sentries at Woodbridge Drive who had waved at their column, assuming they were friendlies. The Commander waved back casually and the facade had been maintained.

Terminate with extreme prejudice. The order stuck into his core as a proud man and Commander. All that guy had done was take a picture. Did they really give him that order? The real truth was a few layers deeper inside him. Did you really follow it? He pondered the roadway and its occasional wretched figure among the ruins. What will they ask you to do next? He inhaled and tried to find himself. You need to ask yourself, where will you draw the line?

You could draw a million lines in the sand. But what do you do when they are crossed? An inconclusive sigh was the only answer for now.

They had decided on US Route 31 West because of its relative lack of towns nearby. There were few prying eyes and far less traffic to run into. The rusted wreckage on the highway and in ditches and fields nearby seemed to blend into the landscape. After a while they began to take on the same familiarity of scrub brush and cactus in a desert scene, part of the surroundings, but hardly noticeable.

The vehicles cornered slowly and descended from the Gene Snyder Freeway to the Dixie (US Route 31) below. The Commander allowed his gaze to rest on the freeway’s bridge above the Dixie. An eighteen wheeler and its trailer were suspended almost straight up from the bridge to the highway below. The cabin had been crushed on impact. The trailer was vertical in the air. He allowed himself a moment to marvel at this defiance of all things gravitational.

The Commander had a harder time ignoring the figures that seemed to sway forward at the sound of his convoy. A woman with the same chestnut brown hair color of his wife stood at the side of the road and watched his approach with a hint of curiosity. As he passed by her head swiveled suddenly and she bared her teeth at him and hissed. He had a chance second to look into the pus yellow and black orbs of her eyes. It was like falling into a pit of darkness and forever.

What happened if you looked into those eyes for too long? What would you see? It was a second of vertigo insanity, a dizzying seizure that threatened to spread through his system and take control. He was suddenly very cold.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “I’ll never get used to them.”

“Yes sir.” Someone quietly agreed over the radio. Some chills were universal.

*

“Don’t you think we’ve played this game long enough?” The soldier Molly had first spoken to finally found his voice again.

“I don’t play games, Mister....?” Molly replied.

“Hatch, Lieutenant Hatch.” He almost seemed to spit out the words.

“Alright, Lieutenant Hatch.” She gave him a full on stare. “I don’t play games.”

“Ma’am,” the co-pilot she had spoken to earlier craned his neck back to their conversation. He was trying to be the peace maker with a polite tone. “I think all Hatch is asking for is a reference point.”

She watched the co-pilot carefully for a second while he added: “I don’t think that’s really asking for too much, ma’am.”

There was a pause in the air while he waited for her reply.

“Do you know the Gene Snyder Freeway near Louisville?” Molly broke the silence.

“Got it,” he turned quickly and started to access a computer screen.

“They were spotted on the freeway south of Louisville near a place called Poplar Level Road.” Molly spoke while the co-pilot nodded his head and typed the words into the navigational system.

“Okay,” he finally gave her a smile. “We got it.”

“Miss Hunter,” it was Hatch now. He tone had become more respectful. Clearly, he was picking up on the co-pilot’s cue. “It would also help if we knew what we were up against.”

“Why should I trust you?” Molly’s eyes were suspicious. An arched eyebrow was added to her expression for good measure.

“Well,” Hatch paused and calmly explained, “If we meet something unexpected we all get shot down together.”

Molly saw his point. It was time to throw her hand in. Her fingers fished into her Louis Vuiton and found the cold plastic of her Blackberry. She tapped the screen and found the Deacon’s photo and passed it over.

“I’m sure you know what this is.” Molly pointed at the eight wheeled, beetle like machine.

“Strykers.” Hatch nodded his head. “They’re called Strykers.”

“Can they kill us?” Molly tried to keep her voice calm.

“Yes they can.”

*

The rain had been replaced by a clear canopy of stars. The Milky Way was slowly rising in the east as they proceeded down the Dixie. The lack of lights and his darkness sensitive eyes allowed him to pick out the black galactic clouds and stars that gathered in the air like magic dust. He had once heard that there was a bubble of radio and television signals expanding outward from this lonely blue marble in space. Was anyone listening? What would they think of us? His mouth opened for a poetic moment at the thought. Are they out there? The thought gave way to an infinite understanding to the vastness of the concept.

If they are, he brought himself back to the present. What did they think when all those signals began to take on an urgency and panic before winking out. There was something to ponder one night. Would they understand why?

Perhaps this was all even happening to them..........

Is anybody listening? The division between north and south traffic disappeared and the highway merged to one as they pressed on. The skeletal trees on his left were silent witness to the darkness and stars above.

The trees.......

His eyes followed the terrain to his left. A few feet past the edge of the pavement a gully followed the roads path. It was probably a small river in the rainy season. Puddles of murky water reflected the starlight like a mirror. An embankment of 15 to 20 feet in height evened out to a tree line. His head did a slow nod. Perfect, his battle force would have a hard time finding room to maneuver if there was an ambush.

A green sign with rust on the edges announced:

FORT KNOX

ELIZABETHTOWN

The Commander tapped his microphone and spoke, “Hojo, you there?’

“Yes sir.”

“Slow down to half speed.” His eyes began the slow pivot of his surroundings. “I need some time to think.”

“Slowing to half speed, sir,” There was a squeal or two in the darkness as the big machines began to battle momentum. He was trying to train himself to ignore the shifting shadows among the wreckage and the broken forms watching the column. They were distracting as hell. A child in her perfect Sunday best was standing in the gully with water up to her ankles. She was transfixed by the liquid pools beneath her feet. She turned to the Commander as his vehicle passed by, the right side of her face was raw cartilage with a gaping hole between her jaw line and cheek bone. The mouth worked twice and a black tongue slithered in and out of the wound like a worm.

Jesus, he averted his eyes to the road.

“Sergeant Ubaid.” He tried to flush his mind of the image.

“Yes sir,” She answered quickly. He liked Ubaid. She was smart, precise and very alert, the perfect officer to bring up the rear and keep an eye out. She spoke a handful of languages around her home country of Egypt. To hell with past impressions and prejudices, she was one of those officers he kept close.

“How are things on your end?” He was listening to her tone now as a concrete overpass seemed to shimmer in the starlight before them.

“Very quiet, sir,” He swore he could see Ubaid take one more look around to be sure. “Is there anything wrong?”

“It just feels like ambush country.” He felt the instinct in him rising.

“Should we increase the space between vehicles?” Ubaid offered.

“Yeah, good idea.” The Commander liked the thought. It felt good to take at least some counter measures to suspicion. “How many sparrows do we have?”

“Two, sir,” Ubaid replied. “The other one is with jack rabbits four and five in Louisville.”

“Have we heard from them?” The Commander had a loose end on his hands there. He felt an uneasiness growing about it.

“No sir, nothing at all.” She replied.

“Increase space between vehicles and get the two sparrows in the air.” As an afterthought he added: “Tell the gunnery crews to shake the cobwebs off and have an eye.”

“Yes sir.”

He double tapped his microphone while watching the bridge grow larger and trees more skeletal. The wrecks on the road seemed to be part of the conspiracy as they began to crowd the Strykers into a single file column. Some barely showed any rust at all while others bore the orange red marks of the passing of time. He was reminded of vines growing on estates or algae at the edge of the river when he had time to go fishing. It was all just nature marking its territory.

He listened absently to Ubaid giving orders in her precise English. His unit was like any group of people randomly thrown together anywhere. It harbored personal feelings and prejudices. Any chance he had, the Commander left it to Ubaid to give the orders. They had better get used to it. He listened to his men replying. She was moving up in rank soon whether they liked it or not.

“This is Birk, ma’am.” He was a huge man with massive shoulders and a real knack for techie toys. The Commander wondered how a white Alabama boy would take to a dark skinned woman giving orders, but so far so good. “I have one sparrow ready. The other is with Jackrabbit 6.”

“Excellent private,” Ubaid replied. “Jackrabbit 6, are you ready?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Horowitz in Jackrabbit 6 was on the radio after a beat.

“Commander, sparrows are standing by.”

“Good,” he continued to watch for .........something. “Horowitz, I want a look behind those trees on our left.”

“Yes sir,”

“Birk, give me a close up look of that over pass.” The Commander leaned forward and squinted in the dark. “Don’t be too obvious. If there is someone there I don’t want them to know we are wise to them.”

“They won’t see our bird coming, sir.” Birk assured him.

“Good.“ The Commander liked confidence in his people, especially when they could back it up. He finally addressed his main concern: “Ubaid?”

“Yes sir.”

“I’ve got a bit of hunch.” He confided. “Break out our SLSAMS.”

“Of course, sir.”

Shoulder Launched Surface to Air Missiles were easy to store and every Stryker in the convoy had a few. They looked like shortened bazookas that were fired at their targets. They were a huge equalizer for surface vehicles against their whirling nemesis, the attack chopper. In combat readiness they were laid out beside the hatch of each vehicle. The target would only be there for a second.

The Commander gave silent thanks that high tech weaponry had either been used up or had worn out by now. If not, there was a good chance a missile could be launched from miles away, guided in by satellite technology to land within a few feet of the target. It was a terrifying thought. For all the training and armament you possessed, you were just a stick figure on someone’s screen a thousand miles away. War had always been bloody. Now it was impersonal. It felt like a slap in the face of tradition, less honorable. The Commander was discarding the thought when his conscience reminded him: you’re talking about honor after giving an order to kill a civilian?

The world felt like it was closing in. The trees rustled in a careless breeze and seemed to mutter a reply. Maybe the decisions are just getting harder as the lines between what is right and wrong grow more opaque. Enough, stop it.

“Sir, this is Birk.” His words were like short barks from a dog.

“Go ahead.”

“We’re coming up on the bridge, sir.” Birk sounded vaguely distracted. Flying the tiny camera laden toys could sometimes be a chore. “We’re coming up nice and easy like you said.”

“Sir?” A voice interrupted. “This is Ubaid.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry sir.” Ubaid herself was off mic. It was like she was looking around while speaking. “There has been some activity back here.”

“What is it?” His instinct began to rise like a wolf sensing danger.

“I thought I heard a noise.” Ubaid explained, she was trying to articulate a feeling that was more than just the jitters. It was her command intuition rising. “It was a sound. Then it was gone.”

“What else?”

“Yes sir,” Ubaid continued. “When I heard it, I looked at those things in the road....”

“....and?”

“They all looked in the same direction behind us,” Ubaid’s voice was still the same in volume, but the intensity level was way up. “They definitely heard it, too.”

“Sir, this is Birk.” His voice had taken on a rapid fire tonality.

“Go....”

“Three figures on the bridge.” Birks’ voice was a deeper shade of concentration. There was a pause before he blurted out: “Shit sir, they’re spotters, calling in our position.”

“INCOMING!” It was Ubaid’s assistant at high volume.

The helicopter flew in low right down the roadway from behind, it had to dodge the vertical truck on the bridge so the attack vector was a bit off for missile fire but the rotary cannon growled like a chained dog. The armor piercing bullets ripped through the thin steel on top of the Stryker and slashed around in the cabins like a madman with a knife. The cries were not high pitched screams of pain. They were muffled grunts of surprise before eyes closed forever.

A second modern Valkyrie passed over the trees at Ubaid’s left, she grabbed the SLSLAM and pulled the trigger, there was a blast of hot air and a hard slap from the launch that tossed her backward. She kept the barrel and her eyes focused on the blackened shape passing overhead. A second gasp of fire in front of her vehicle betrayed the launch of another missile.

There was silence in chaos. All that seemed to matter was the black form turning and crossing back toward the highway for a second run at the front of the column. Dacia Ubaid remembered as a child watching her grandmother take a white thread and slide it into a needle. The vision was almost identical to her in a dream like deja-vu moment. Two slender white threads of rocket fuel headed towards a black needle in the sky. One of the missiles found an exhaust vent just near the rear blades.

A flash sparkled in her eyes and the helicopter snapped in two like a toy. The pilot’s compartment pitched forward and fell canopy first into the highway and crashed among cars, vans and bodies. A fiery wall roared outwards toward the column with the concussion close behind. A single scarecrow figure in the road lurched around to watch in curiosity as the wall of flame engulfed his long dead body. The eyes burned away as liquefied skin began to roll down his face. Still, what was left stood solid in the flames and waited for instinct to dictate the next move.

Steel and asphalt began to explode all around Ubaid and her assistant as whirling helicopter blades made her dive for cover. There was a searing moment of agony and her vision became blurred and speckled with red.

“DOWN!” Someone screamed. The Commander thought it was his own voice as he slammed his top hatch shut and took cover inside.

“Go! Go! Forward to the bridge at best speed,” His machine lurched into a higher gear and the Stryker’s engine roared with eight wheels grinding the pavement.

“Jesus!” His driver swore while accelerating. There were pops in the distance getting closer. Was that gunfire? Were the choppers back? A second wave of fire made his driver blink and hood his eyes.

Gas tanks, the road was filled with old vehicles that started going up like a cluster of roman candles.

*

“Whoa!” It was the usually calm and silent pilot. His exclamation was a muscle reaction.

What he saw was like a meteor in slow motion. A quickly expanding fireball that suddenly grew an orange red blazing trail as it dropped earthwards. Within the heartbeat of a second, one or two orange mushrooms sprouted close to the ground and reached skywards before fading into the darkness. A sinister glow was rapidly spreading where the mushrooms had appeared. It was like a forest fire. His memory from news programs from years ago helped to fill in the blanks.

Molly’s eyes were alert in a second and watching the flickering orange firelight. The edges seemed to spread outwards like it was alive. Feeding, consuming and growing in strength. It was far enough away to hide details amid shadow and darkness. But it was close enough to be easily identified.

“Could that be them?” Molly finally spoke as her curiosity sought an outlet.

“You tell us, little lady.” Hatch was by her side now and a head taller watching the fire. He turned a few inches toward the co-pilot. “How far away is that?”

“Just a few miles,” The co-pilot was watching the orange glow that looked more and more like coals from a fire pit. “It could be them. They might have run into the Kentucky National Guard.”

“Wouldn’t somebody have told you that they had seen them?” Molly inquired.

“We’re not supposed to be here, ma’am.” Hatch replied without taking his eyes from the glow. “Besides, chain of command can be a little slow with that kind of information.”

“Slow?”

“Sounds like you have your reporter hat back on, little lady.” His face revealed a touch of sarcasm. “I think I’ll just answer by saying no comment.”

Molly mirrored his facial expression and stared him down in the shadows for a few seconds. His face had a sense of cruel irony to it. It was etched with muscular lines that had been drawn tight over an ever thickening emotional skin. Molly slowly looked away toward the embers a few miles away. The glow seemed to entice and beckon for them to follow.

“You know it’s them.” Molly finally spoke after a few seconds. He didn’t react to her words, his eyes seemed like they were miles away. He was in decision mode. Well, Molly carefully filed away the incoming information. At least I know which one of you guys are in charge.

“Where is that coming from?” He finally turned slightly to address the co-pilot.

“US Route 31, sir,” The co-pilot already had the information. “They call it The Dixie around these parts.”

Lieutenant Hatch made a noise that was a slow rumble. His eyes were trying to pierce the dark as the helicopter blades cut through the night sky. Control panel LEDs reflected in his eyes while he watched the steady orange glow fade ever so slightly. Molly carefully watched him and tried to peel back the layers of his thoughts. He had that look about him. It was more of an instinct than a fact. Hatch had that appearance of a good soldier who had followed one too many orders that sat poorly with his soul. His eyes were cruel, observant but intelligent.

“Why don’t we figure out where they’re going?” Molly broke the silence. It was a mere suggestion. Hatch clearly took it as a challenge.

“…and how are we gonna do that?” His tone was dismissive.

“They’ve made a turn.” Molly decided it was time for some reverse man-splaining. Her eyes were steady while her left eye brow did the now familiar arch in contempt. “We can make a good guess where they are going now.”

Shit. His expression spoke volumes. Hatch knew he should have thought of that. The cruel lines hardened for a second before letting the moment go. The Lieutenant elevated his chin a few inches higher while he made eye contact with Molly.

“What’s at the end of that highway?” Hatch asked without breaking eye contact with Molly. She didn’t blink while letting her mouth curve ever so slightly. It has been way too long since somebody has talked back to you, hasn’t it? She thought.

“Checking, sir,” The co-pilot seemed to be relieved to break the silence and ratchet down the tension in the cabin. He carefully scrolled through the map on his screen while the glow in the distance grew closer. A logical conclusion to his search appeared on the electronic map. That had to be it, the co-pilot let his head bob slightly.

“I think I have it, sir.” The co-pilot’s easy going voice had taken on a gravitas tone.

*

Time was a collection of measurements, seconds, tens of seconds and minutes that were the starting points. Then came the days, weeks and years, all of it was relative. Eons could pass in a desert before anything of consequence could occur. For the Commander, change had just happened in the blink of an eye.

How many seconds had passed since Ubaid and Birk began to send warnings? Did it really matter? The Commander was under the bridge now among the scattered remnants of his force. They were carelessly parked here and there on the highway like toys left around by children. Huge chunks of concrete lay about like roadblocks, dislodged by heavy weapons fire at the bridge. They were now just part of the new reality. The Commander was watching the direction they had come with an almost detached shock. They always said an operation was long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of extreme terror.

Was that what you’re feeling? He watched the flames flicker away and consume the skeletons of cars that were just blazing metal. Is this fear, shock?

It had only been a few seconds. But it felt so much longer as he played back his memories. The first chopper exploding into a brilliant comet of fire and steel that crashed into a pack of rusting cars. They had torched so quickly, the fire had jumped from vehicle to vehicle like it was carried by a swarm of burning locusts.

The Commander remembered giving the order to race to the safety of the bridge, brilliant flashes that temporarily blinded his driver. He checked his Protector weapons station screen, the glare had made it hard to focus the targeting system on the bridge. He just sprayed and prayed his 30 mm. machine gun at the bridge as they came closer. A second Stryker fired a 75 mm. shell that shook the bridge and sent debris crashing into their path. The Commander then remembered firing a second time. It sounded less like a weapon and more like a whirring machine toy for play. A shadow among the blackness of the bridge seemed to shudder and fall away from his line of sight................

Another helicopter had made a second reckless charge and a thunderous, brilliant splash of light from behind had blinded his Protector M151 weapons station a second time. Refocus, reboot. He turned the system backwards and a massive wall of fire had engulfed at least one of his vehicles. It had broken in two on the impact from a Hellfire II missile. The vehicle had flipped over twice in midair, then the broken, shattered remnants crashed to the pavement and exploded again as the ammunition inside detonated.

Tracers flew skyward in defiant anger. A second Stryker nudged the burning carcass aside on its way toward the bridge. For an instant, one of the fat front tires burned before snuffing itself out. A figure lurched toward the burning Stryker in the middle of the road and was run down in revenge. Its crushed body became just another discarded broken prop in the war game.

Someone claimed they had hit the second chopper and reported it was limping home with a trail of smoke betraying its path. It had all taken a few seconds. The Commander then popped the hatch for a clear view of his situation. He drank in the night air that now stank of gasoline and cordite.

“Let’s take a closer look.” The Commander ordered. He had sent Birk in two Strykers back to check on the stragglers. “Back up, let’s give them some cover.”

“Yes sir.” The engine sprang to life and began to retrace its steps cautiously.

“Birk?” The Commander tapped his radio. “Answer me, son.”

“Birk?” Worst case scenarios began to creep into his head.“Birk!”

“Yes sir.” A breathless voice finally replied. “Sorry sir. We are transferring wounded.”

“Okay, what’s it like back there?”

“We lost two vehicles outright, sir.” There was a spreading sense of grimness in his voice. “Two more are so badly damaged. We had to abandon them.”

“How about the crews?”

“We have....” He seemed to draw a breath and steady himself. “......casualties.”

“At least 12 dead, sir,” Birks voice had always been a monotone. But now words formed a second slower. “We have transferred three wounded.”

“Who?”

“Yes sir,” Birk continued. “McCully has a concussion. Hodges took a shell fragment in the thigh.”

“Okay.” The Commander remembered both men quickly. McCully had a confident look about him that bordered on the cocky. Hodges had been a fresh faced kid who had been a slow learner until Ubaid had made him her assistant. He had proved to be capable under her patient tutoring.

“Ubaid got the worst of it, sir.” Birk completed his bleak report. “She took shrapnel in the back and neck.”

“Is she gonna pull through?” He found his gaze blurred for a moment, unfocused.

“We got the bleeding stopped.” Birks tone was somber. “I just don’t know about internal injuries.”

“Okay,” the Commanders eyes started to search the darkness for the familiar form of the Strykers among the shadows and fire. “Get back here as quick as you can.”

“Yes sir.”

He sighed and tapped the microphone and surveyed the flames and carcasses of steel that were now little hothouses with sparks leaping out like escaping fireflies into the night. It had all happened in a few short seconds, the hiss of the flames began to fade at the sound of engines that appeared out of the dark. They peaked out from behind the raging inferno of the unlucky Stryker in the center of the highway and closed on his position. Birk was in the command hatch with several other soldiers sitting cross legged on top of the vehicle. Their eyes were vacant, introspective. Were they playing and replaying that moment when armor piercing shells turned their safe metal haven into a slaughterhouse? There were no waves to comrades, no salutes. Birk pulled up alongside while Horowitz continued on toward the rest of the unit.

“How are they?” The Commander inquired and then noticed a small group behind the turret of the Stryker. At the center was Ubaid. She was laid out flat, lying on her stomach with her eyes closed, sedated. One private held an IV bag a few feet above the Sergeants body.

Ubaid’s uniform had been cut open to expose her back. Her smooth brown skin had a large, black canyon like fissure that cut a swath from her shoulder to just an inch or two above her hips. At the widest point it must have been eight inches across. A young man with intense eyes was carefully applying as much gauze bandage as he could find to cover the huge wound.

“Where’s the medic?” The Commander returned his attention to Birk.

“He was killed, sir.” Birks face was much paler than the Commander remembered. His eyes were slightly bloodshot. “We do have some orderlies and trainees but we need to get her some real help.”

“How about the other two?” The Commander thought it odd for a second that the wounded were so few and the dead so many. Armor piercing shells cut through steel. He had seen what they had done to bodies in Iraq.

“McCully is seeing double a bit, sir.” Birk reported while occasionally stealing a glance toward Ubaid. “Hodges lost a chunk of his thigh but no severed artery, so he’s lucky as hell.”

“Where are the bodies?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Birk stammered for a moment. “We couldn’t ....”

“I will not have my people left behind in these circumstances.” Birk understood what the Commander was referring to. They will not become like them. They will not be harvested and eaten by them.

“We had no chance to get them, sir.” Birk’s head was slowly beginning to shake back and forth. He understood. Oh god, how he understood how his Commander felt. “There were a lot of them.....”

“Sir, hostiles!” A voice from behind raised the warning.

The Commander quickly looked northward on the Dixie and saw the first fleeting specters among the embers. The hunched shoulders, slow stiff walk and the animal intensity. The first one walked past the blazing Stryker and faced him in the center of the roadway. He had once been a large man. He wore a checked, long sleeve shirt that was popular among rural people. The fabric had been frayed and torn in some places like his skin. His left eye had been hollowed out and devoured long ago. A craterous black pit was in its place. The Commander watched the big man cock his head slowly at them. Was it curiosity? Perhaps he was the leader of this new pack. Did they have leaders? The Commander’s skin started a slow crawl. They always make you feel that way.

Behind the big man, slow, curious and ravenous fingers began to touch the hot metal of the burning Stryker. The Commander watched an elderly woman with a drawn face hiss in frustration as her skin stuck to the hot armor plating. With an angry roar, she pulled away her hands as her flesh stuck to the surface of the burning vehicle. It was like watching fabric being ripped away from a dress. Huge chunks of skin peeled away and sizzled on the surface. Her blackened hands were steaming in the night air as she investigated more potential openings.

They can smell what’s inside. The Commander felt rage and bile in his throat. They can smell burning, fresh meat.

Hungry fingers encircled around a smashed hatchway. Then a few more found a hold and then others joined in. There was a groan of metal on metal and then: WHOOOOOSH!!! A jet of flame roared out of the opening as the fire inside greedily inhaled the new oxygen source. The Commander watched two hostiles begin to burn. Their dry skin was easy kindling. There were no cries of pain or surprise from them. Instead, the first one stepped into the inferno of the hatchway for the salvation of his burning addiction. Hunger.......

“Get Ubaid and the rest back with the unit and head to our destination.” The Commander’s voice was angry and low.

“Sir.....’ Birk’s big dog voice was a whine now.

“You heard what I said.” The Commander tore his eyes from the desecration and leveled them on Birk. “Get moving, I’ll catch up to you.”

Birk could only nod and give the order to move out while the orderly working on Ubaid asked for more bandages. The vehicle drove away from the carnage. The driver was careful to keep an even and slow speed for his passengers. The firelight faded with distance and Birk tried to concentrate on the outlines of the vehicles he was approaching. He looked ashamed, helpless.

“Turn around, head north.” The Commander was angry and he knew it. This was pure, sickly sweet revenge. “How’s our ammo on the 30’s?”

“We’re reloaded sir.”

The Commander closed the hatch, sealed it and pulled the M151 weapons station closer. The camera scanned for a second before he found his target. He grabbed the hand grip and depressed the firing button. Inside the vehicle, there was a thrumming vibration that gently reverberated through the plexi-glass and steel body of the Stryker. The screen offered an almost antiseptic, unreal vision of the carnage.

The big man had no time to move as 30 caliber shells seemed to cut a swathe from his stomach to the top of his head. He just came apart like a jigsaw being pulled asunder. The Commander carefully turned the camera right and fired at a group of shadows in the firelight. An outline of a woman was struck in the shoulder and her arm exploded and detached from her body. She seemed to look at the shoulder stump for a second before stepping forward in a blind rage. A 30 millimeter shell found her lower cheekbone and her head exploded like a ripe watermelon. Her body, a shattered cluster of skin and bone dropped to the ground.

The Commander traversed back across his fire lane and saw a head and left shoulder crawling forward. It reared up on its one remaining limb and howled at him in defiance. It was the big man, a blackened wet mud traced behind him.

“Drive forward,” The Commander’s voice was harsh and cold. “Crush it with the wheels.”

The driver obeyed but not before taking a glance back to the Commander and making eye contact. What are we doing? The vehicles suspension system barely registered the big man’s head and rib cage being smashed and ground into the pavement.

“Sir, we have hostiles on our vehicle!” The driver spoke and then instinctively backed away a few inches from the face that was clawing at his windshield. She had been a beautiful African American woman. Now, the lower part of her face was muscle and bone. The teeth snapped away while he watched the now exposed jaw muscles working. The driver kept repeating to himself. Don’t look at it, don’t look at it.

The Commander felt the machine gun turret grow sluggish. It felt like the battery was in need of a charge. He was wrestling hard with the controls and while the camera tried to play around the scene for targets, he saw the problem.

It was leaning hard and pushing, pulling at anything that came close quarters to his fingers. A man of twenty, Caucasian with darkened blood clots for eyes dropped his jaw and hissed at the machine gun turret. The twin machine guns whirled around while the things’ fingers reached around and grabbed at metal, tubing and wires. Searching, exploring. Looking for anything to find a crevice or opening into the vehicle. Other fingers appeared and began grabbing. Pushing, pulling, wires came free........

Red lights appeared on the console.…Robotics failure....hydraulic failure....

“Damnit!” He finally swore as his hand carelessly smacked the keyboard. He felt foolish, useless. His eyes looked forlornly at the burning vehicle, his crippled machine guns pointing at the sky. They have you now, they always win. You know that. The camera played over the shadows and specters in the firelight. They were feeding now. The Commander and his modern war machine were insignificant in their eyes. A lump in his throat made his voice crack; “Get us out of here.”

He felt the wheels reverse and fingers began to fall away from the driver’s windshield. His camera played over the wreckage, the burnt husks of steel and the figures that seemed at home in the end of all things. Amid the rhythmic flames, a looped structure caught his eye as it burned fiercely. It was a bit larger than the rest of the skeletons strewn about the highway.

It was the pilot’s compartment of the attack helicopter. The plexi-glass had shattered on impact and the flames engulfed the two bodies slumped forward over the control panel. Sitting on the pilots back with her legs draped over his shoulders was a girl of twelve. Her feet seemed to dangle without a care. Like she was sitting on the edge of a dock, dipping her toes in a lake on a sunny day. The girl was feasting on a large chunk of meat, carefully chewing away with a carefree calm. The flames had burned away her clothes. She paused for a moment to extend her left hand and watch the skin burn in a colorful blue light. Perhaps she was reflecting on how beautiful the flames appeared, if they even thought like that anymore. Her eyes scanned up toward the camera and the girl arched her neck in momentary curiosity. It suddenly occurred to the Commander that all of the armor plating, the heavy weapons and protection the Stryker offered seemed inadequate. They were as unstoppable as the tide coming in at night. Slow, ponderous, pitiless as nature could be. The girl lost interest and returned her attention to the slab of meat in her hands. You aren’t a threat anymore. They’ve won. They always win. You should know that by now.

“Hojo,” The Commander tapped his radio. “We’re heading back now, see you in a minute.”

“Yes sir.” Hojo’s voice mirrored his own. Somber and dark, like a forest on a moonless night.

“Any sign of that other chopper?” The Commander was eager for something else to say or think about. The girl on the pilot’s back refused to leave his mind’s eye.

“No sir,” Hojo replied. “We definitely hit it.”

*

“Yup, they definitely hit us.” The pilot was back to his monotone calm.

“Confirmed,” The co-pilot’s voice was all business now. “We are leaking fuel.”

It had not been like people always described moments of terror. It had been a lightening flash of shock. One second they were watching an attack chopper climb quickly. Beautiful long lines of light were chasing its’ dark form like vertical shooting stars to wish upon on a summer night.

Bang!

Molly thought it sounded exactly like a car running over an object on the road. The noise, a second crump! This one felt closer to the passenger compartment. Then, red lights began to appear in front of the pilot’s console. It was like an epiphany to Molly. When this marvel of modern engineering had been floating on air it had seemed like magic. Now, the beast was wounded and it was a growing fear inside her. All that keeps you airborne are five rotating blades. It’s all physics, really. When the blades fail you fall into the clutches of gravity. A blackened landscape below felt like the mouth of a huge monster.

“Are we going to have to set down?” Molly asked, trying not to sound nervous.

“That is not an option, little lady.” Hatch commented out of the side of his mouth.

“Ma’am, hostiles would be all over us in a second.” The co-pilot was clicking through screen after screen. “We need a friendly place to set down.”

“Then Fort Knox it is.” Molly spoke to no one in particular.

“When did you start giving orders?” Hatch’s voice was angry. He raised himself up as high as he could in cramped quarters.

“She is right,” The co-pilot kept his eyes on the computer screen to avoid the angry look from Hatch. “We just have enough fuel to make it.”

“If that’s where they’re going.” Hatch wasn’t about to give up yet.

“It has to be where they’re going.” Molly stared straight ahead into the darkness while the co-pilot nodded his head.

....and why is that?” Hatch again. He was starting to get on Molly’s nerves.

“There is nothing else out here that might interest them.” She turned to face him. His mouth was an uneven, challenging line.

“Why the hell would they want Fort Knox?” Hatch leaned back and let a sense of superiority settle in with his monetary knowledge. “It’s just gold. They can’t steal it. They don’t have the vehicles.”

“Ever see that sixties spy movie?” The co-pilot offered.

“Which one,” Hatch turned abruptly to the co-pilot. “The one with Pussy Galore?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” The co-pilot held back a lecherous grin out of respect for Molly. “What were they doing at Fort Knox?”

“They were planting a nuclear bomb.” Molly’s voice was like a knife through the bullshit.

“Yeah,” the co-pilot’s humor was gone now. “I think that was it.”

“Yeah,” Hatch nodded absently. “Why the hell would they do that?”

“It would make all the gold at Fort Knox radioactive so it would be worthless and destroy the American dollar.” Molly felt herself slowly recalling a conversation:

“Does he have nuclear weapons?” Molly remembered asking the question at the Pentagon.

“We don’t know.” Mac had replied.

“Break radio silence.” Hatch issued the first order Molly had heard him give. It was unusually quiet. As if he did not care for the authority.

“Yes sir,” The co-pilot’s affable tone had vanished. It was business now. “Zero Cool to The Gibson.”

“This is The Gibson,” A voice was suddenly there. Clear as a bell on the speakers. Schools were always falling apart from lack of funding but the latest chess piece in the military game had one hell of a sound system.

We have a pretty good idea of their intentions.” Hatch reported and nodded to the co-pilot.

“Sending link now,” The co-pilot reported.

“Zero cool,” the voice was back after a pause. “Do we have an idea what they’re up to?”

“That is still up in the air, sir.” He chanced a look in Molly’s direction. She feigned indifference, sometimes it was best to just blend in to the background. “It’s pretty clear it has something to do with the gold.”

“Affirmative.”

“What possible damage could they do to us with the gold,” Hatch mused out loud and then added; “If you mind me asking, sir.”

“Not at all, Zero Cool.”

“Our reporter supplied us with their armament.” Hatch nodded to Molly. “We are dealing with about 12 to 15 Strykers, armed with 30 mm machine guns and 75 mm cannon.”

“No heavy vehicles?”

“No sir,” Hatch paused and wondered aloud. “It looks like they have no plans to steal it.”

“Evidently not, Zero Cool.” The voice was almost machine-like. But Molly could feel whirling calculations behind the words. These were shadow people. The ones you never saw or heard about. They were the invisible end of foreign policy, Black ops.

“They may be out to destabilize the American dollar.” Molly finally spoke out of turn. Hatch tried to silence her with a hardened look. She gave him a calm demeanor in reply.

“Madam, we are not on the gold standard. Nixon took us off of that in the 70’s.” The Gibson voice replied with a hint of superiority.

“We went back on it four years ago after the currency crisis.” Molly answered the voice box. Hatch could only stand in shock as she delivered.

“You are speaking out of turn, little lady.” He warned.

“I’m not army, Lieutenant Hatch. I’m an American.” Molly leaned forward in her seat, responding to his challenge. “Last time I checked, we are still a democracy. I’ll speak when I damn well want to.”

“Zero Cool, are you there?” The machine voice inquired.

“Yes sir,” Hatch replied with his eyes still on Molly.

“Can you ask your guest to explain the comment?” The Gibson was clearly searching for the information.

“I remember the report. The dollar was falling like a stone. Every currency was when all this started.” Molly felt strange talking to a speaker, but there it was. “Then we got a report over the news wire, confirmed by La Monde.”

“Yes?” The Gibson was asking for more.

“42 countries including us had the meeting at the Bilderberg hotel in the Netherlands and had secured it.” Molly was speaking from memory. “We were stabilizing our currencies by going back on the gold standard.”

There was silence in the cabin as the blades thrummed away providing a background rhythm to the proceedings. It gave Molly a moment to remember the first few heady days at the newsroom. She began insisting to reporters that addresses of evacuation sights do not go on air until we had confirmed they were still operational. USA today had called her a life saver in a fluid situation. The sheer adrenalin of finding facts and checking information while live hour after hour. It was news that mattered. A strange environment developed in the Washington studios. The quaffed and mannequin talking heads began to give way to faces not quite as well known but more information adaptive. The heads and mannequins interviewed experts and droned on desperately in these new waters of information and the end of innuendo.

“We have no such knowledge of that story, madam.” The Gibson replied dryly.

“Excuse me?” Molly stole an incredulous look between the speaker and Hatch. She remembered being in the wire room and holding the printout paper in her hands.

“No madam, We have no knowledge of such an event.”

Molly stared for a moment in the space between Hatch and the speaker. In my hands, she remembered the words on the paper. They were right in my hands. She passed the story on and expected it to be good enough for the six o’clock news.

What happened then? The thread of memory grew stronger. Molly knew she never forgot a story. Editors at first were intrigued but later dismissive of the report. It faded to black fast. It hardly seemed surprising with New York, Denver and Boston evacuating the next day. Everyday there just wasn’t enough room to tell the story. But now......

Was that it? She tried to gauge the atmosphere that was changing in the helicopter. Hatch had a suspicious look in his eyes. Molly returned it out of habit. The pilot and co-pilot tried to busy themselves in the forward cabin while listening in. The Gibson was silent but in between quiet she could feel the voices on the other end passing signals and messages with their usual stealth.

She knows..............she knows what we want to forget…….

So, is he going to throw me out of the helicopter now? An hour ago the thought would have been humorous. Now, it didn’t seem so funny. Hatch avoided eye contact and concluded his conversation with the Gibson. There was still an hour before it became light. She let her eyes rest as the whirling blades rocked her to sleep with their rhythm.

Dawn always appeared slowly. First there was a lighter shade of darkness to the east. A few more minutes revealed the first speckles of sunshine turning large clouds a light shade of pink and purple. Time ticked on and the first few rays stabbed into darkness adjusted eyes and made them blink. Beneath the helicopter shadows began to grow and take form in the beginning of a new day. There were fewer vehicles here. The burned out and rusted husks had been towed away for spare parts and recycling. Steel, aluminum, computer chips and whatever else was in a car were all precious now. Production lines were overworked, mining was at a minimum.

“Can I offer you some breakfast, Miss Hunter?” It was the co-pilot. He glanced back at her and offered two fruit bars and a black cup of coffee. “Sorry, this all we got.”

“Coffee, that is perfect,” Molly reached out her hands and accepted the kindness. “Thank you, mister....?”

“Abrams, Miss Hunter.” He looked back toward her. His dark visor hid his eyes as the sunlight filled the cabin. “Charlie Abrams, everyone just calls me Chucky.”

“Nice to meet you, Chucky,” Molly smiled and kept Hatch in the corner of her eyes. He appeared to be napping, which probably meant he was not. She couldn’t help but add: “Are we there yet?”

“As a matter of fact yes,” Chucky turned and nodded toward the plexi-glass front of the helicopter. Molly slipped the fruit bars into her Lululemon hoodie and sipped her coffee with her right hand. She steadied herself with her left and moved closer to the cockpit to check out their destination.

The surroundings were a series of squares within squares. A large security fence that Molly imagined was perfect down to the inch was the first square. A single road at a perfect straight angle was the only break in the chain link. A second fence was the absolute mathematical double of the first barrier but smaller, forming the second square.

Inside the second chain link fence were roads of straight lines and ninety degree turns, meandering driveways were not an option to the military mind.

Finally, inside all of this was a squat square building of white concrete and thin, hooded windows that seemed more at home in the days of siege craft. Another square rose up out of the center of the building, an observation post perhaps? Molly had seen this design before in ancient buildings in Europe. This was the castle keep of fortress America.

“Have they tried to contact us?” Hatch was right at her elbow. How the hell he snuck up on her and could be this awake without a coffee made her wonder if he was human. The stubble on his chin seemed to be a chink in his armor. A slight imperfection or wrinkle in his ways.

“No contact at all.” Abrams picked up the vibe. That was unusual. They were getting close. “Maybe they are having trouble finding our frequency.”

“That’s odd.” Molly tilted her head slightly as they passed over the first security fence.

“What’s that?” Abrams asked the question for everyone present.

“The grass,” Molly pointed with her free hand. “It hasn’t been cut in a while.”

“And?” Hatch gave her a sideways look that had a depth of sarcasm to it.

“This is an important military installation, Lieutenant Hatch.” Molly observed. “If you were in command here would you let things look like that?”

The sideways glance became a nod. The cruel lines on his face twisted into understanding. Hatch turned away and followed the approach of their helicopter into the base. As the whirling blades came closer to earth Hatch saw how long the grass was as it swayed in the man-made wind like un-harvested wheat. He finally spoke: “Where the fuck is everybody?”

A door opened and a figure appeared. He paused in the dawn shadows of the doorframe before carefully making his way to the landing helicopter. Even from this distance Hatch could tell the man wore no uniform. Just a patch on his shoulder, he was militia. The wheels touched down lightly on one of Fort Knox’s mathematical road ways. Hatch was out the door in an instant.

“You!” Hatch screamed above the rotors as he got closer. The man had stubble around his face and was 6 inches shorter than him, “Where the hell is your CO, soldier!”

“I am the CO,” The man’s eyes were cold and sharp. “And who the hell are you, buddy?”

“I am Lieutenant Hatch,”

“Well good for you.” The militia man feigned nonchalance to show his disrespect. “I’m Kentucky militia. The last time I checked we don’t take orders from your kind.”

A second man had joined them. He was larger around the middle with a very unmilitary beard that extended down to his chest. The blades of the helicopter were slowing now. Molly eased herself out of the machine and let her feet get used to Terra Ferma.

“Nice chopper.” The second man commented.

“Is there something we can help you with, flyboy?” The militia Commander arched his chin and let his mouth give a half smile.

“Hi,” Molly smiled at the two militia men. She had felt the vibe while walking over and came in with a totally different tack.

“Good morning.” The large man smiled.

“If you mind me saying, miss.” The militia Commander shaded his eyes from the dawn light while his curiosity got the better of him. “Y’all seem very familiar.”

“I’m Molly Hunter from This Week Has Sixty Minutes.” Her smile became slightly bashful. It was a perfect win if you were ever recognized.

“Welcome to Fort Knox, Miss Hunter.” The militia Commander puffed himself up with pride. “Please excuse us, we weren’t expecting visitors.”

“Obviously,” Hatch muttered.

“It appears you might have more company very soon.” Molly tried to ignore Hatch and the hard feelings he was stirring up. “We’re here to warn you.”

“What kind of visitors?” The militia Commander suddenly had a hard look in his eye. Alright, he has a formidable side.

“Anywhere from 8 to 15 Stryker armored vehicles, possibly 40 or 50 troops inside.” Hatch gave the news while his eyes felt the sting of the sunshine. “How many men have you got?”

“Another four maybe,” The reply came from the big man standing behind his Commander.

“That’s it?” Hatch was incredulous.

“Yeah, that’s it.” The militia Commander clearly was getting to the end of his rope with Hatch. “We take care of the fort and protect it from hostiles. That’s our job out here.”

“We need to protect this fort.” Hatch stabbed a finger in mid-air between them.

“You’ve got a chopper.” The big man spoke up.

“It’s unarmed.” Hatch informed them.

“You knew these people were coming here and you bring an unarmed helicopter?” The militia Commander was just waiting to make a dig. “What’s your next move, flyboy?”

“What kind of weapons do you have?” Hatch ignored the man. They were running out of time.

“We’ve got some automatic weapons and handguns.” The militia man shrugged. “Did you think of letting the Kentucky National Guard know about this?”

Hatch paused. That wasn’t the plan. They were expecting one hell of a lot more troops. There used to be an armed forces base around here. His eyes wandered around the desolation of the place. It appeared like an outpost on the edge of forever. Molly had been right, Hatch had to admit. The grass should have been a giveaway.

“I have orders to defend this position.” Hatch felt his jaw line harden.

“...With what?” Molly had to jump in.

“Anything I can get my hands on.” Hatch replied, he hated how melodramatic it sounded but he was drawing at straws here.

“....and that would be.......what, Mr. Hatch?” Molly sipped her coffee and looked around before returning her gaze to the Black Ops Lieutenant. “Unless these guys have a tank lying around, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Hatch was about to give a snide reply when an explosion made them all jump and turn toward a single spot. The blast had sounded almost metallic. Of course it did, the metal fence crashed to earth, bouncing once off the pavement.

“Somebody just rang the doorbell.” Molly spoke in a low, husky tone.

*

The Commander blinked at the ear splitting detonation and watched part of the gate rise into the blue sky. It seemed to be turning end over end as it plummeted slowly back to earth, it rattled off the road before coming to rest in the tall grass. His radio came to life.

“Sorry sir,“ the voice apologized. “I think I used a little too much.”

“Don’t worry about it, Hojo.” The Commander replied calmly. “It’s better to use too much than too little.”

“Yes sir.”

“Send the first platoon in.” The Commander started issuing orders quickly. He was already looking over his shoulder. They’ll be coming soon, we’ve made noise. They always come to check out noise. “Let’s make it quick, we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Birk.” The Commander spoke into his microphone again.

“Here, sir.” Birk barked out his words.

“You’ll be bringing up the rear, have an eye behind us, okay?” The Commander was already wondering how to break through the second gate without damaging it. The last thing they needed were hostiles wandering around the interior.

“Yes sir, There are some about a thousand yards away.” Birk was quick to reply. “I think they could take a few minutes before they get here.”

“Alright, let’s move.” The Commander banged on the side of his hatch twice for the signal to get going. The vehicle lurched into gear and then began the slow, predator like crawl forward. The machine guns on his vehicle had been repaired by nothing more than duct tape, but he was still suspicious of their reliability. “I need a sparrow in front of us.”

“Sparrow launched, sir.” One of his men reported, “Uploading video link to your vehicle.”

It was such a small target as it began to rise into the air, almost silent in the sky. The cameras came on line and began streaming pictures within a few seconds.

If the Commander had been feeling poetic he would have wondered at being able to experience the world like a bird, watching the land fall away with a few effortless motions. To be free of the grasp of planetary shackles for a few minutes, to have your world grow in size from the earth to the sky.

Gunfire........

“Sir, we’re receiving fire.” It was the platoon leader, a corporal.

“How many?” The Commander was concentrating on the pictures, from one of the horizontal slits in the main building he saw a muzzle flash.

“Just two, I think, sir.” The reply was calm, professional.

“Sir, it’s Birk.” He reported in with bad news. “They’re getting closer.”

“Okay,” The Commander tapped his index finger on the screen. “Hojo, aim your 30’s at the second window on the right from the entrance. I see a muzzle flash.”

“Target acquired, sir.”

“Fire!”

The window erupted in a hail of exploding cement. The dust enveloped the target like a gritty fog. All that was visible was firecracker lights continuing to explode around the window. Whatever had been there was silenced for now. A second 30 millimeter machine gun pair opened up. This time it was from behind the Commander.

“Sir, we have company.” It was Birk. The thrumming machine guns echoed through the radio.

“I need the closest 75 millimeter to the fence.” The Commander called out on his open line. “I need a shell point blank into the lock.”

“Yes sir.” The lizard like form of a Stryker moved passed his vehicle. Its’ turret lowered toward the glittering silver bars. It focused on a small box on the right hand side while the Commanders’ machine guns probed for possible anti-tank gun fire. A shudder went through the vehicle as it fired. A huge, billowing explosion rose up from the point of contact as the fence began to open slowly, nudged open by the physics of a 75 millimeter shell. Sparks trailed away from the point of impact. The electronic lock had been obliterated.

“Go!” He shouted to his driver and the vehicle began to move forward. “Follow us in, Birk. Collapse the pocket”

“Yes sir.” There was a shade of relief in his voice as machine gun fire echoed from the radio.

The Commander’s Stryker turned left slightly once inside the gate to allow others room. After a few tense moments the Commander knew that whoever was here had no anti-tank weapons. Two more vehicles made their way into the gate followed by the platoon of troops. The corporal in charge kept shooting glances over his shoulder. His big concern was to stay ahead of the slow, cumbersome figures heading toward the gate.

The platoon scurried close to the Stryker’s wheels for safety. A few ducked under a brief volley of fire from the main building again. The Commander tested his repaired machine guns and found them sluggish but effective. He grabbed the handle and felt the vibration of the rapid fire weapons. He wasn’t sure if he was hitting anything. That wasn’t the point. This was cover fire, allowing his platoon to get into position and assault the building. The back of another Stryker opened slowly to disgorge more troops to tip the odds further in their favor.

Smoke grenades ballooned in front of the entrance, perfect cover. Men with weapons raised and in crouching position moved forward at a quick step. The Commander fired a second burst above the soldier’s heads to keep the enemy pinned. A hand raised and tossed a canister into the building. A brilliant flash and a quick report brought the troops to their feet as they charged inside. The flash bang grenade had done its job. The shouting began a few seconds later.

“OKAY!! OKAY! WHOA-WHOA!!WHOA!”

The smoke began to clear like early morning mist retreating from sunshine. The figures came out one by one guided roughly by his soldiers. Their hands were behind their heads, covered in dust, one man sported a blackened spot on the side of his face, a flash bang could burn like that. The Commander eased himself up through the hatch and began to climb down the side of his Stryker. No casualties, good.

BOOOOOOOM!!!!!!

A fireball rose 150 yards away in the compound, it was like the misshaped head of a monster threatening their position. Specks of flaming debris began to rain down here and there. The prisoners and their captors alike ducked for cover under the new metal rain. The Commander tried to find its’ source with a hand over his eyes to shade out the sunlight.

He tried to jog his memory. Amid the chaos, firing, orders, counter orders and fighting, there had been something there.

A helicopter……

The body of the machine was burning fiercely now as the blades seemed to fall like petals from a dying flower. Flames licked around the inside of the machine and finally burned away and caused the plexi-glass windows to melt and pop out, they landed on the grass and concrete sizzling while their curved surface rocked back and forth. A second explosion inside the cabin, probably a fuel line, erupted and sent a second fireball into the sky. It was smaller, less voracious. But it made sure no one was getting their hands on this special kind of technology.

Gunfire.......

“Damnit.” The Commander scrambled up his machine to the radio. “What have we got?”

“We’re taking fire from the second level, sir.” The Corporal’s breathing was coming right through the speaker, “two, maybe three bad guys.”

“Okay, call in Able and Baker platoons” The Commander realized the building was built like a fortress. But this fort had too few people to man it. The ways in would be easy. “Have Able find a way in on the right and Baker on the left. Let’s box them in.”

“Birk, how is.....” his words trailed off as he turned the way that they had come. “My god...”

Birks’ vehicle was slowly backing into the fence while he fired another burst at the closest group. They scattered all over the grass like careless lawn decorations. There were thousands gathered at the first security fence pushing....pushing ....pushing. The concrete embedded posts began to bend to sheer, brute force. The top of the fence began collapsing into the grass inside Fort Knox. Figures began scurrying like spiders up the steel rungs. Birk was watching the deluge pouring through the first blasted gate. How do we stop this? Birk fired off one of his few remaining bursts. The shells riddled through the skin of the walking scarecrows and a few fell. A knee or cartilage that was hit by the massive shells was obliterated from their bodies. Their center of gravity would fail and the body would crash to the pavement to crawl. They’re still coming. It was a eerie feeling for the Commander as we watched Birk back up farther. It’s like shooting at a hailstorm isn’t it? How about the changing of the guard in the tides of time? He kept backing up, relieved at even the most miniscule increase in distance from them.

Safely inside the Commander called out for help and began pushing the fence closed. Birk was the last to pass through and he instructed the driver to turn around and push the square backside of the Stryker against the fence as it closed. Satisfied the Commander called for a halt and Birk eased down the sloped armor of his vehicle and landed feet first on the ground. The Commander’s attention seemed elsewhere as he was looking through the security fence. The slowly gathering pack began to arrive at the new fence line. It was hardly a collective emotion. The responses to the new barricade varied. Hissing, howls of defiance and hands that raked the metal links, feeling for a weakness. The Commander’s eyes slowing travelled from one face to the next. It was eerie to spot the threads of humanity they both shared. Dress, hairstyle and even occasional movements, here we are locked together for the rest of time. The Commander felt almost disembodied in the Kentucky sunshine.

He saw a thirteen year old girl. She had been watching him for some time. Her eyes were pus yellow like the rest. She wore a black goth-like long sleeved shirt with tight blue jeans. Her hair was a mixture of rainbows and blacks that had long grown out of any kind of pattern. It was her mouth that made him pause. She did not bare her teeth or hiss at him. Her mouth was a flat line on the right side of her face while the left was drawn up in almost a half-smile. Her head was arched to the right and raised in that rigid, stiff muscle tone that seemed to dominate the very way they walked. What is she doing?

Do you really think you’re safe? The upward curve of her lips seemed to say. Do you really think this is going to stop us?

More gunfire from the main building, short staccato bursts that were designed to keep the other guy down. They were almost warning shots.

“Let’s go.” The Commander said hoarsely as he turned away from the girl. “I want Echo Company to keep a close eye on that fence.”

“Yes sir.”

The bursts continued as he got closer to the building. There had to be no more than two or three of the enemy still resisting. A brutal image passed through him, take them down hard. Have a 75 millimeter poke its gun through one of the window slits and send them to hell.

Is that what you’ve become? Remember, the order you gave last night about a civilian? That’s how it starts, one order at a time. The Commander stopped for a moment and considered his options. To his surprise, Birk was still by his side.

“I’m gonna try and talk them into giving up.” He finally mused out loud.

“Yes sir.”

The Commander resumed his pace toward the building. He chanced another look over his shoulder. The girl was still there, frozen in time. The lips still curved into that mocking face line. You can’t stop us. We always win, you know we do.

His pace hurried.

“Hold off until I give the word.” The Commander spoke into a portable radio that had replaced the personal units. His platoons on the left and right were ready to move and crush what little resistance to his objective was left. “Let’s see if we can’t solve this peacefully.”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir, holding position, awaiting your word.”

“Hold your fire!” He raised his voice, it echoed off cement walls and metal doors. The forms firing at his men were somewhere in the dark. The open, two story section had a metal balcony that crossed the entire hall lengthwise. Standard metal railings were the only decorations save for a huge, circular door on the second level. The vault, the Commander recognized it. That had to be the vault. A silence began to settle over the building. A few echoes were the last ghostly reminders of battle.

“I wish to address the commanding officer of the unit I am engaging.” The Commander’s voice bellowed out toward the second floor balcony. Yes, they were up there. Silence was his only reply at first.

“This is he.” Came a reply

Click-clack-click-clack-click-clack..........

“You are heavily outnumbered, sir.” The Commander spoke but found himself distracted. What the hell was that? “I ask you to throw down your arms and surrender. You will not be harmed.”

Click-clack-click-clack-click-clack.........

“You are in United States territory.” The invisible defender spoke again. “You WILL withdraw your forces.”

Click-clack-click-clack-click-clack......

“Son, you are heavily outnumbered,” The Commander thought the noise was vaguely familiar as he continued to speak. Suddenly, it stopped. He continued; “you need to surrender now or be destroyed.”

“Helloooo boys,” A woman’s voice spoke coyly from the shadows.

The Commander turned his head to the new situation. A few of his men raised their weapons but he waved them off. She was a tall, black woman wearing six inch high heels. Her body English bore raw confidence. It made him pause and observe before making his next move. It then hit him, Jesus; she’s filming us.

“Lady, put that camera down and put it down now.” He pointed a finger at her as his voice issued the command.

“Nope,” She gave a simple reply. “You are on Skype, right now.”

“Skype?” He asked to buy time.

“Yes, Skype link to my newsroom in Washington.” Molly announced. “Anything that happens next has one hell of an audience.”

“Lady........”

“If you want to come take this camera away from me, you can try.” Molly almost teased him. “Then, everything that happens next between The United States Government and the Republic of West Virginia is on your head.”

The Commander paused. Her point was as annoying as it was on target. If Washington was spoiling for a fight with Beauragard this is how it would start. He took a long breath and reminded himself how much he hated those little bastards who reported the news.

“Okay, what’s the next move?” The Commander considered playing for time, wait for a mistake.

“I go upstairs and film the people on the other side.” Molly began.

“Why?” He interjected sharply.

“So, there is a record of their faces.” Molly’s voice was cold but the smile was still there, glistening like ice.. “I want to make sure they don’t just disappear when this is over.”

“Okay, you do that.” The Commander agreed wryly. He turned toward the balcony. “Is that acceptable to the Commander whose forces I am engaging?”

“God damn it, lady.” The Commander heard the voice of his opposite number swear. Then finally, an annoyed reply; “Yes, it is.”

“While I’m doing that,” Molly kept the lens on the Commander as she began to walk toward a set of stairs. “Could you please call General Beauragard and tell him Molly Hunter sends her kindest regards.”

Well shit, the Commander heaved a sigh and felt undercurrents passing through his mission that he could neither control nor relate to. He watched the woman walk toward the stairs and turned to Hojo who was on his left in dimly lit surroundings.

“C’mon Hojo, let’s go break radio silence.”

“Commander.” Hatch called out from the dark.

“Yes?” The Commander turned to the voice that was his opposite number.

“She’s your problem, now.”

Click-clack-click-clack-click-clack-click-clack.........

*

“Miss Hunter, I do declare what a pleasure it is to hear your voice.” Back at the Commander’s vehicle, General Beauragard’s voice spoke silky smooth from the speakers.

“I am charmed as always, General.” Molly had to smile at the sound of those southern tones. Damn, butter would never melt in that man’s mouth.

“I must say,” his voice was almost playful. “I was not aware you had family business in Fort Knox.”

“We all have secrets, General Beauragard.” She played back. “Just sayin,.....”

“Touche.” His laugh was genuine.

“What are you doing, General?” Molly was suddenly serious. “Why are you here?”

“We can talk about that later.” The General was used to her direct approach. He deflected her easily.

“What about the militia people and the others?” Molly kept going.

“Yes, the others,” The General clearly had a smile on his face as he spoke. Molly could feel a trap being sprung. Damn. “My, my, my, aren’t we running with some interesting company, Miss Hunter.”

“Interesting company?”

“Mr. Hatch,” The General zeroed in. “You are of course aware that’s not his real name.”

“Of course,” Molly nodded her head. Shit, really?

“I knew you were smarter than that.” The General drove the point home. Okay, you got me. Molly sighed while she listened to him continue: “What is a lady of your stature doing hanging around with rogues and black ops people?”

“I was just catching a ride.” Molly tried to sound innocent though she knew he wasn’t buying it. “You promised nothing would happen to them.”

“I give you my word as an officer and a gentlemen that they will be relieved of their weapons and detained briefly until an exchange can be made.” The General’s voice touched upon statesman-like. She knew he loved this.

“…and the militia?”

“They are free to carry on their duties beside my troops.” Beauragard continued. “They will have to be relieved of their weapons while we are here.”

“Ask them where the infirmary is.” Molly offered, remembering an old story. “I understand you have wounded. I believe they have a nurse on staff.”

“Commander?” General Beauragard inquired.

“Yes sir, we do have wounded, we will ask right away.” The Commander answered and then stole a look at Molly. “Thank you, ma’am,”

Molly nodded politely. Maybe it was time to start the ying and yang game on this side as well. “Am I free to visit the other…guests?”

“Of course, Miss Hunter.” Beauragard agreed kindly. “Commander, have you had time to make Miss Hunter comfortable?”

“No sir, not yet.”

“Gentlemen, where are our manners?” Beauragard wagged a playful vocal finger at them “We must see to that at once.”

“Yes sir, of course, sir.” The Commander was grateful for the infirmary info but he was still on the cold side.

“Ah, Miss Hunter there is one more thing.” The General had more cards to play. “You will be happy to hear that my men have located your lost Louis Vuitton.”

“My lost….” Molly had a feeling of rising dread but played along. “Yes, did you find it?”

“I knew it was lost, I’ve never seen you without it.” The man was clearly enjoying himself. “I instructed my men to be respectful and not touch anything personal on the inside of your bag.”

“Why thank you, General.” Molly’s gratitude was a false, flat line as she listened.

“I did notice you had two blackberries.” The General’s voice took on a serpentine silk to it. “Who gave you the second one?”

“I think you know who gave it to me.” Molly saw no reason to be false. Damn it, the pentagon is now out of the picture.

“I hope you understand, I have to confiscate it,” Beauragard snapped his second, kindly trap shut.

“Well, a girl can’t have everything.” She kept a brave face up as she accepted defeat, for now, anyway.

“I knew you would understand, Miss Hunter.” Beauragard tried to be gracious in victory. “I have, as always enjoyed our conversations.”

“As do I, General.” Molly agreed politely while she thought; Damn it. Damn it, Damn it.

*

“I’m sorry?” Molly had her back to the Commander when she heard him say something.

“I said don’t get in my way.” He warned. The Commander had escorted her down to an old admin office that now featured a bed roll and enough room for habitation. Now that they were alone it was time to set boundaries.

“Funny, I could say the same to you.” She gave a jagged smile. Molly turned back to putting a few things away here and there and continued; “I can always tell when I’m doing my job. I start really getting under the skin of people like you.”

“Is that so?” He crossed his arms and dug his heals in.

“Yes, that’s so.” Molly turned around and decided to face him. Her voice was even and cool. “If my questions piss you off, I’m doing my job.”

“So, whose side are you on?” He decided hard eye contact would communicate his position.

“Our side,” She returned the look and kept her voice razor sharp.

“Which side is that?” He refused to blink.

“The side that is still breathing, Commander,” Molly took a step closer and turned to point out a window toward the fence. “You see, while you and the US government have decided to have this little game. The real enemy has just surrounded us outside. “

“I do not have time to tell you how many levels of stupid that is.” She concluded.

“Lady, I’m a military man.” The Commander refused to give up his ground. Something grated on his insides. Was it agreement? “I follow orders and get things done.”

“You do, do you?” Molly’s mouth worked into an upward arch. For a chill of a second it reminded the Commander of the thirteen year old girl at the gate. “So tell me, where is the fine line?”

“The fine line?” He kept his voice low and arched an eyebrow.

“The fine line between protecting freedom or curtailing freedom?” Molly seemed to be eager to hear the answer. “Tell me where that fine line is.”

“Don’t you dare dictate to me about freedom!” He raised his voice suddenly, surprised at his own anger. She barely reacted. Instead, Molly stood her ground and crossed her arms, waiting for an answer. “I’ve fought for freedom!”

“Are you sure?”

Why the hell are you even listening to this crap? He wanted to scream at her, let his feelings out and be done with her. Post a guard at her door and let this reporter rot in hell for the rest of the mission. But Kentucky rain kept washing away his will, Kentucky rain and an order to terminate with extreme prejudice. Did she know about the order? Damn it, God damn it.

“What about you?” He tried a different tact after letting out a long sigh. “You reporter people always get it right, do you?”

“No we don’t.” Molly gave ground. “In fact some of us twist the truth pretty badly.”

“Glad to hear someone on your side admit it.” He felt a sarcastic smile invade his face. He tried to control it but it felt too good.

“I do, we can be the worst.” Molly admitted and made sure that their eyes locked. “Trouble is, on my side there are many people who don’t have a problem with it.”

“That explains a few things.”

“Me?” Molly smiled at his jab and continued; “I believe my job is to have a healthy adversarial relationship with the military and the authorities.”

“Really, why is that?” The Commander was feeling the calm after his temper storm. He wasn’t a television person but he had heard of her.

“Because whenever we agree on everything, bad things happen.” Molly summed it up with an intelligent look and a disarming smile.

*

“Gentlemen, I want all available personal from your units to search every inch of this compound.” Beauragard’s voice was stern, in command. “Is that clear?”

“Yes General.”

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t be afraid to let Miss Hunter wander around, either. The lady is quite a bloodhound. If something is out of place, she’ll find it.” The General advised. “Just make sure you keep an eye on her,”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” The Corporal from the assault raised a question. “Perhaps it might help if the General could tell us what we’re looking for.”

“Gold, son.......”

*

I couldn’t have done it without you. She thought, as she slipped off the six inch Zanotti’s. That click-clack sound they make when hitting the floor was an adrenaline charging, confidence building rush. A few strides anywhere made Molly feel unstoppable. Her body just fell into the rhythm, the steps became longer. The sound was a warning to anyone in her way. Like any short term empowerment, it had its limitations. Molly fished around in her Louis Vuitton to put her hiking shoes back on. The Merrell Moab ventilator shoes felt like big blankets around her feet.

Yes, men who don’t get women don’t understand the shoe thing. Molly wiggled her toes and tried to decide what was next. It’s all about the shoes. She stood up and let her feet explore the new support from the Merrell Moabs. I could walk all day in a pair of these.

But when it came to kicking an entire army’s ass, nothing beat a pair of six inch Zanotti’s. Molly was up and looking for information. She thought a walk around might clear her mind.

*

The Commander couldn’t stop the words from working themselves around inside. Are you sure? She asked me that, she really asked me that. Damn it. The hallway was way too short for his thoughts. He had arrived at the infirmary way before he had finished wringing out his emotions. He sighed and slipped into the room quietly.

Hodges was lying on his side with a blanket draped over his form. He was breathing softly, the slow rise and fall of shoulders signifying a healthy slumber. He looked okay. There was no need to wake him.

Ubaid was lying on her stomach, the bandages seemed darkened in spots but not as bad as he had recalled. The Commander felt a tinge of embarrassment, her back was naked, she had been given one of those ridiculous hospital smocks that seemed to cover nothing and fall open at the slightest provocation. The Commander silently walked through the room toward a half open door that looked like an office. There was a nurse, he had heard. It might be a good time to drop in.

Sunlight from one of those siege castle windows offered some illumination. Just enough to watch the particles of dust play around in the air. They were like swirling fireflies in the ray of light. The desk was old school, from the fifties at least. A few files were stacked to one side beside an ash tray. He examined it closer, a few butts lay curled up inside the black interior. It occurred to the Commander that he hadn’t seen an ashtray in years. They had just simply disappeared with the passing of a few health laws. It was like looking at something from a museum, archaic trappings of time long since passed.

There was a noise from the other room. Clumsy feet had just made contact with a metal table leg.

“Fuck.” Someone whispered, more out of exasperation than injury. It was Birk. He was sure of it.

“Hey,” Birk whispered. “Sorry man, I was just popping over to check on things.”

“No problem.” Hodges replied with a gravel whisper.

“I found one of these.” Birk even made noise while rummaging in a backpack.

“That is the smallest damn whisky bottle I have ever seen in my life.” Hodges had a laugh in his voice.

“It’s all yours, partner.” Birk kept his voice low, Ubaid was still sleeping.

“I owe you, man.”

“No problem,” There was a pause. “I gotta check on our other patient.”

The Commander moved to the door in time to see Hodges roll over and try to go back to sleep with his back to the rest of the room. Birk seemed to pause for a minute and remember what he was supposed to do next. The Commander watched him with suspicious eyes,

There was always that mental checklist he would run down with every single order. Ubaid was coming up for promotion. How would the boy from the south handle taking orders from her? He felt himself prepare to storm into the room at the slightest sign of disrespect. Should you do that? No, let her handle it. He noticed Ubaid’s head turn to one side and exhaled. Birk knelt beside her and placed a hand on her naked shoulder,

The Commander felt his eyes grow intense. Don’t you dare, son.

Birk kissed Ubaid on the neck, the Commander felt his rage well up inside him.

“Mmmmmmmm.....” The sensual growl escaped Dacia Ubaid’s mouth.

“Hey, how you doing?” Birk’s dog like staccato voice was gentle now.

“I’m better.” Her voice was softer. The precision of her words seemed lost in the suppleness of the moment. “I’m better now that your here.”

She turned her head and kissed him on the mouth. It was a hard, long kiss. There was no noise and their lips parted. Dacia reached out and caressed his face. The Commander suddenly felt ashamed, dirty for spying on them. For a moment, he stepped back from the shadows and coughed. It was so childish and silly. He couldn’t let them know he was watching.

He walked through the door a few seconds later into the room. Damn, it was just like being back in high school.

“Sir.” Birk stood up, straight as a geometric equation, his faced was flushed slightly.

“Commander, sir.” Ubaid looked up and tried to prop herself up on her elbows.

“Please, as you were,” The Commander nodded to Birk and then turned to Ubaid. “How are you feeling, Sergeant?”

“I feel better.” The precision in her voice was back. It occurred to him that he knew so little about this person. He felt arcane, old and out of touch.

“Well, keep getting better.” He tried to smile kindly and still felt the moment was almost embarrassing. He tried to take a different tact. “How you feeling, Hodges?”

“Good, sir.” The man had been pretending to be asleep. He slowly began to roll over but the Commander waved him off. Clearly, he knew about all of this. It had been going on right under his nose.

“Just get some rest, okay?” The Commander advised.

“Yes sir,” Hodges smiled and nodded with the whisky on his mind.

“Birk?”

“Yes sir,” The dog bark voice seemed unsure.

“I need you to hang around here a little more, okay?” He had a hard time making eye contact with him. “I think our nurse seems to be elsewhere.”

“Yes sir,” Birk replied and then added. “It’s a big place, I think she wanders.”

“Okay, just make sure you take care of my people.” He finally found the courage to look at him. Yes, he was okay with this. The Alabama boy and his soon to be Lieutenant, emotions and check lists made strange bedfellows.

*

For a second, it looked like an optical illusion. As her hiking shoes padded down the hallway it became clear. It was a sliver of darkness, a crescent that shouldn’t have been there. It circled the massive entrance almost perfectly from top to bottom. Molly felt her curiosity begin to pique as she took a wary look around for other eyes that might be watching.

The door to the vault, it was ever so slightly open........

Molly found herself breathing slowly as she slipped up the stairs to the second floor and approached the massive oval entrance. It was slightly ajar. There was a moment where she almost paused in her slow and quiet walk. It just felt strange, wrong and out of place. Like a trap, a big piece of cheese beckoning the mouse.

Her hands touched the surface. There was a finite layer of dust on the silver steel skin. Her first push was just a test. It barely moved. Then, when she pushed a little harder with both hands there was motion. It was amazing how something so heavy could swing open with ease. Molly just wanted it open enough to slide in. No sense making this any more obvious to anyone passing by.

The room took her breath away for a second. A full two stories high, as deep as it was wide. She carefully walked down the first set of stairs that she could find. There was an elevator nearby that looked more than capable of hauling heavy loads. Her feet touched the concrete and she began an almost dream like walk along the floor. The gurneys were here and there scattered about like shopping carts in a grocery store parking lot. There were steel jail bars that extended from floor to ceiling on her right side while the left was nothing but double reinforced concrete. There was a feeling of infinity about the room, like it was larger on the inside than the entire complex. Her eyes looked up to the ceiling with more than a touch of wonder as the hanging lights paid witness to the lone visitor. Molly could not help but feel like she was the first person who had been here in a long time. The immensity of the space felt larger by the minute. It felt like being in a tomb of a lost civilization.

It was empty.

“I had heard you were here.” It was a man’s voice. It had more than a touch of an intellectual northeastern accent. His voice could echo through the halls of Princeton and Harvard confidently. He stepped out of a corner with a disarming smile and a slight frame. His blue eyes glittered like Caribbean water behind a pair of wire rimmed glasses. There were a few wisps of blonde hair hanging down from his mostly bald head. They were like bangs, trying to hide the lines of time on his forehead.

“I know you.” Molly’s dreamlike state continued, she pointed at him and tried to remember the face.

“Nelson Anson Bryant.” He extended his hand and Molly took it. His fingers felt frail like a Japanese origami creation. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You’re the secretary of the treasury.” Molly heard herself say.

“I was.” Bryant nodded his head and suddenly his smile took on a mood of sadness.

“Where is all the gold?” Molly leaned a little closer.

“It’s not here, Molly.” Bryant’s voice had a sense of finality to it. “Not anymore.”

“Then where is it?” She focused the question on his glittering, intelligent eyes.

“That would take some explaining.” He walked over to the stairs and seated himself on the third step up. “Do you have some time to hear an old man’s story?”

“For you, I’ve got all day.” Molly rolled one of the trolleys over and reclined into it like it was pool side chair. She crossed her legs, a signal that she was ready to listen.

“Well,” He paused for a second, trying to find a starting point. “Do you remember what the FIAT system is when it comes to international currencies?”

“Sorry,” Molly went for a disarming apology with a smile and big brown eyes. “It’s been a few years since our last talk.”

“Of course,” he smiled, she remembered him as patient, charming and straight forward. For a minute, Molly marveled at an era that had raised gentlemen like these. He continued: “The FIAT system bases the worth of a nation’s currencies on the confidence people have in the money.”

“That’s it?” Molly had to arch an eyebrow at that one.

“The confidence in the money reflects the confidence people have in our country. The power of its industrial base, the ability of the people to pay taxes which fills the treasuries, the stability of the government.”

“Not gold?”

“No,” He calmly answered her question. “The FIAT system is not linked to any physical reserves, just confidence.”

“Is that why we had a currency crisis when the world went to hell?” Molly was catching up and keeping pace. She was starting to grasp the concept.

“Absolutely,” He nodded slowly. “But in that first year, do you think anyone really worried about money?”

“No,” Molly’s voice was a whisper now. It came back like a slow wave rolling into the room. The panic, always the panic was the first thing she remembered. Molly had so many days where she didn’t go home, an office and a few coats for blankets was her bed. She would catch a few hours sleep and be back in front of the cameras. Looking at maps and charts was like watching wildfires break out all over the country, it was overwhelming. It felt like we were just hanging on, losing our grip slowly and succumbing to the force of a nightmare.

“Five years ago, eighty per cent of our industry was in cities that we had to abandon.” He read her facial expression very well. “Over half of our population had died. The rest were refugees on the move.”

“All confidence was gone, everywhere.” His tone was somber, even through this his eyes sparkled like electric water. “Not just in our country, everywhere.”

“Hence,” He concluded. “So many currencies collapsed, including ours.”

“So we went back to the gold exchange.” Molly surmised.

“Exactly,” He nodded with a half-smile. “It was the only thing we could do to stabilize our currencies.”

“So where is the gold?” Molly had to ask, jumping to the chase.

“This is where it gets a bit complicated.............”

*

The Commander watched them at the fence. His curiosity became aroused with a sense of survival. A pack of them on their hands and knees with more watching from afar, then, with that slow shuffle they joined in.

“Hojo.” The Commander fingered his sidearm and began to walk toward the fence. “You’re with me.”

“Yes sir.”