Anthony DeCosmo - Schism

"What you wanna do with these fellas?"

Corporal Brown's lazy drawl pulled Dustin's attention from the mountains to the bullet-ridden alien bodies on the rocky mountainside.

The pale-skinned warriors with the ivory eyes had surprised McBride's lead riders with bows, arrows, and spears, killing four of Dustin's men in a close-quarters battle.

"Huh? What's that, Agarn?"

"Whaz wrong, did I talk to the wrong ear?"

Brown could get away with jokes about Dustin's missing ear because he had saved his ass more than once. Of course, the Corporal's joke also served to distract Dustin from the casualties suffered. Agarn seemed well-tuned to his commander's state of mind.

After responding with his middle finger, Dustin answered, "We'll toss the Reds in the lake. Shit, let the fishes have em'. Our boys, well, I think this ridge makes a good resting place."

Brown pulled one of his hand-rolled cigarettes from a pocket in his uniform, struck a match, and cupped the flame as he lit the smoke.

"I reckon so, yeah. What then?"

A trio of dismounted soldiers trotted by leading their horses by the reigns as they descended the steep incline. Supplies dangling from the mounts jingled and clanged.

"What do you mean, 'what then'? You wanna give up, is that it?"

"Gee, Cap, and give up all this fun? Seems to me this more a vacation than workin'."

Dustin returned his eyes to the scenic vista surrounding the lake and explained, "We keep going, Agarn." McBride's voice softened and he spoke as much to the ghost of his beloved friend Stonewall McAllister as to the Corporal. "I can feel them out there. We're getting real close."

– Shep blew his nose into a handkerchief and, at the same time, felt a rough scratch across his throat. He could no longer ignore the fact that he had caught a cold.

Nothing worse than a summer cold. Sneezing in June? That just isn't fair.

Fair or not, Shep dealt with the burgeoning aches and pains as best he could as he walked toward the landing pad at the estate. With the meetings closed and plans made-or, rather, a lack of plans made-the time came for him to return to his duties, such as writing readiness reports and re-organizing his units in California.

Things certainly had changed drastically in only a few months. First Garrett McAllister, then Trevor, and now Gordon Knox dead when a gas leak destroyed his house.

Shep felt that the lakeside estate that had served as the heart of humanity's comeback would soon be an empty hall. That thought added a new misery to his stuffy nose and scratchy throat; a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

An Eagle transport waited on the landing pad for the General. A vaguely familiar face waited at the open door above the entry ramp.

"Evening, General, sir. You need a ride?"

Shep squinted and tried to recall the pilot's name. The blonde-haired man wore glasses, which probably made for a devil of a time with the navigation goggles.

"Sure do," the General walked inside the passenger compartment where he saw computers, specialized communications gear, and electronic warfare goodies as well as a collection of weapons ranging from the mundane to the exotic including a very familiar sword.

"What a sec, this is Eagle One. That makes you, um, Hauser, right?"

"Yes, sir. Captain Rick Hauser. And actually, sir, I think the official designation is EC–CM one double-oh seven. 'Eagle One' was really just a call sign."

Shep translated: Eagle Class Command Module operating number 1007. On paper the shuttle appeared exactly the same as several dozen others, the difference being that EC–CM 1007 had spent the bulk of its service time as Trevor Stone's personal ride.

"Now don't take this the wrong way, son, but what the heck are you doing playing taxi? You've got a Hell of a reputation as a flyer and this ain't no ordinary bird."

The passenger compartment door slid shut. Shep realized he had the ship to himself.

"Well, General, I think I got lost in the cracks. My assignment hasn't changed from the estate and I don't think many people know exactly how modified this thing is. Besides, I get the feeling the new President doesn't much care for Eagles. He likes old-world stuff."

"So you're just passing time shuttling folks from here to air ports and whatnot?"

"Yes sir. Been kind of dull since…since…" The pilot fought back a swell of emotion. Shep guessed few people had spent more time with Trevor than his personal pilot, Hauser.

Shep put an arm on the man's shoulder and said, "Sounds to me like you're going to waste considering that pretty soon this old house isn't going to be a lick more than a museum. How about you join up with First Corp. I could use a pilot like you."

Hauser grinned, "I'll fly rings around anyone, sir. Me and number one here."

Shep paused as the tickle of a sneeze built…built…and released in a messy expulsion safely covered by a quickly drawn handkerchief. "Bless you." "Thanks. Anyway, good. Let's high-tail it." "I understand you're catching a military flight out of Philly. That still the plan, sir?"

Shep thought about that. He thought about Ashley whispering a request to meet with Nina Forest. Now what could that be about? Still, no loyal follower of Trevor Stone could ignore a request from Ashley. Hell, even without Trevor, Shep figured few folks could resist Miss Ashley; she had a dignified way about her. Royalty, in fact. "Get me a radio so I can assign you to me lickity split, then you won't have to worry about orders from anyone but me." "Sounds like you've got something in mind. A little side trip?" Shep figured Nina, like Hauser, waited in Annapolis with nothing but time on her hands. "Yeah, a little side trip." — Ashley had fallen in love with the stucco, contemporary beach house along the Wildwood, New Jersey shore the first time Trevor brought her there. That had been five years ago, back when their relationship had been cold but, at least, there had been a 'relationship.'

Every summer they spent at least two weeks there. JB loved the boardwalk with its amusement rides, cheesy games of chance, and the yellow Tram Car with its recorded voice constantly warning, "Watch the Tram Car, please." Of course, half the rides did not run and the summer vacation season brought a few thousand-not hundreds of thousands-of visitors each year. Even during the heart of summer the resort town felt more like a ghost town.

Still, Trevor would jog the quarter-mile-wide beach with Tyr at his side and they would spend nights cooking flounder in lemon juice or scallops with butter and garlic.

As for Ashley, she enjoyed the ambiance of the place. She could lose herself in a good book out on the deck or just lay in bed watching the ceiling fan spin while listening to the distant, repeating drone of white caps breaking on the sand.

Those summer weeks were the only times when-for a few days-she could convince herself they were a normal family. This trip felt much different.

Tucker and his security team ushered Ashley, JB and Grandpa away from the estate on Thursday, June 19 ^ th, the day after a gas explosion turned Gordon Knox's private residence into a pile of embers. Everyone assumed Gordon to be dead, the result of an accident that-according to a statement from President Godfrey-"could not come at a worse time for our nation."

A constant drizzle kept Ashley and her son inside that first night. JB spent the evening glued to a second floor window gazing south toward the boardwalk. From his room he saw the lights of a huge Ferris wheel and the rolling humps of a rollercoaster. The echo of voices and rumble of rides joined the constant in-rush of the ocean creating a melody of summer sounds that wrapped around the boy and his mother like a comfortable blanket of feelings and memories.

Clouds remained on the second day. Ashley took JB (and their security detail) to the distribution center for food and supplies. Mundane tasks often provided an illusion of normalcy.