Anthony DeCosmo - Fusion

His eyes gazed at something far away; perhaps the memories of that horrible day last summer.

He told his parents in an angry growl, “They weren’t supposed to do that. I don’t think Voggoth knew. I think he was angry with them for doing it.”

Ashley glanced at Trevor as if demanding an explanation. He offered none. She returned her attention to Jorgie and asked, “What do you mean by that? What happened while you were there, Jorgie?”

“They’re all dead,” JB said with a stiff lip.

“You killed them all?”

The son corrected his father, “I suppose so. But Father, they were dead before I got there. They are all empty. Everything about them is empty.”

“And when they put you in the machine..?” Trevor led.

“I filled it,” JB said and Ashley saw a hint of anger; of revenge in the boy’s face. Her child had found satisfaction in whatever he had done to The Order.

“You filled it?” She asked. “What does that mean?”

Trevor answered in another riddle, “Life over death. Or-life conquered the emptiness.”

“Yes-yes that is it, Father. When I touched the machine of Voggoth I felt as if there was much more to me. I felt-I felt something powerful inside. I do not understand. But I found it easy to control his machine. It as was as lifeless as-as…” Jorgie held his stuffed animal aloft. “As lifeless as Bunny.” He quickly added, “But I love Bunny.”

Ashley felt a knot of in her stomach. It spun and turn and grew larger and larger with each passing second.

She told Trevor, “I don’t know what this has to do with anything. Jorgie is a special boy. We’ve known that for years. He’s been through enough already. Let him be.”

Trevor stood alongside his son and placed an arm on his shoulder.

“You are special, JB. And I love you.”

“I love you, too, Father.”

Something in the way Trevor stared at Jorgie made Ashley uneasy. She felt urged to speak. To defend.

“No, Trevor. Leave my son out of all this.”

“I can’t,” Trevor’s answer came fast and Ashley felt the entire house spin.

“You leave him alone!”

JB retreated into the darkness of the hallway.

“He may be the answer, Ashley. If he is why all this started, then maybe he is the key.”

Ashley stood nose to nose with Trevor and glared but despite the mask of defiance she felt a sense of inevitability creep into the fear. From the day Dr. Maple had told them about JB’s unique chemistry she feared this end. Perhaps that is why she had forbid any further tests.

“He is our son, Trevor. You will not put him in the middle of all this.”

Trevor took hold of Ashley’s shoulders.

“Ashley-he is the middle of all this.”

General Jon Brewer removed his cap and ran the sleeve of his uniform across his sweaty forehead.

I’m going to ring the neck of the guy who decided to make these uniforms black.

Admittedly the sweat dripping from his crew cut came as much from the task at hand as the warm May afternoon. Of course the overheated, cracked blacktop that comprised the Poplar Street Bridge reflected much of the mid-day sun giving the long deck girder span a frying pan feel.

The engineering company working the bridge coped by rolling up sleeves or simply removing their shirts. A few managed to sneak quick dips into the waters of the Mississippi.

Jon did not begrudge any of it. The men carried out a difficult task under a hot sun preparing last-ditch defenses while knowing Voggoth’s coming onslaught would probably be the end of the line for many of them.

General Brewer crossed the empty eight lanes of the roadway from the south side to the north railing and glanced over. Several soldiers worked on ropes to affix brackets where charges would eventually be placed. They also pre-wired the bridge so that, when the time came, detonation would be easy.

A Chinook dual-rotor helicopter flew overhead on its way east; somewhere below on one of the concrete supports an officer barked an order; far off to his right a crane lifted an artillery piece into position along the railroad tracks on the outskirts of East St. Louis. Yet it was another sound that grabbed the general’s attention. This sound came from the docks in front of the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial; a cozy park from which sprouted the trademark St. Louis arch. That icon still stood, but much of the foliage in the park had long ago burned to cinders.

The sound of laughter, chatter, and gentle music came from the decks of the red and white Tom Sawyer riverboat a couple of hundred feet north of his position. Jon squinted and saw a party there complete with fancy dress and champagne glasses. Nearly a dozen people enjoyed the afternoon while the soldiers toiled. A subtle smell of grilled meat carried in the air tempting his nose with a barbecue aroma.

Jon could have been angry at the partygoers, but as he watched he came to understand the nature of their celebration. He had seen similar parties in the last few months and, considering the mood permeating The Empire, he expected to see many more now that Voggoth raced across the Great Plains unchecked.

“Sir?”

The voice from pulled Jon’s attention away from the riverboat to a young officer with a freckled face wearing a uniform with a patch depicting a hand holding an axe. This symbol Jon recognized immediately as belonging to the 1 ^ st Mechanized Division. As for the face, he recognized that immediately, too.

“Benny! Hey, welcome to St. Louis.”

“Yes sir,” Captain Benny Duda replied.

“Relax, Benny, it’s me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jon should have known better. Benny Duda had been no more than twelve when he had ridden north as Stonewall McAllister’s bugle boy (with a trumpet). He served by Stonewall’s side until the general’s death during the last days of the California War.

The sounds of celebration found their way to Benny’s ears. He looked around the general and shot a nasty look in that direction.

“A party?”

Jon distracted Benny with a question. “First Mech back in the line?”

“Not all the way yet. 4 ^ th Brigade is unloading right now. 5 ^ th brigade is, well, not much of a brigade anymore even with the new recruits. Captain Bass’ mobile artillery is trucking in and should be here in a couple of days.”

The unmistakable sound of a champagne cork carried across the open space between the bridge and the riverboat. Even the soldiers working on the span gave the group a quick glance before carrying on.

“What the hell-” Benny led but Jon kept him focused: “Captain, do you understand your orders?”

“I think so.”

“We’re taking down most of the bridges on the Mississippi, but leaving the ones here in St. Louis intact. Our little way of taking some initiative away from the enemy; make this place look like the easiest way to get across. When Shep and the rest of 1 ^ st Corps gets out here we’ll be able to better position your boys, but for now you need to dig into the city. We’ve spent the last month building up some set positions, artillery emplacements and clearing kill zones to the north and south, but St. Louis here is one big trap for Voggoth.”

Duda asked, “A ghost town, right?”

Jon knew what Duda meant. Unlike many of the eastern and southern cities leveled by organized armies during the invasion, St. Louis had suffered through predators and strange monsters. Or, rather, alien animals. Most of the people had been chased away or killed during the first year of attack leaving.

Of course there was another type of ghost city, too. Places like Oklahoma City, Cincinnati, and Seattle. Places overrun by Voggoth’s legions and the entire population killed in grisly fashion but, when The Empire had come calling, those monsters had disappeared in the same manner in which many thousands of people vanished during the initial weeks of the invasion some eleven years prior.