Anthony DeCosmo - Empire

Evan licked his lips. Red Hands-a primitive organized force-hit a human settlement well inside the ‘secure’ boundaries of the lands Trevor had ‘saved.’

“There’s more to it,” Evan said. “I can tell by the way you tap your thumb on the table. You’re just waiting for it to sink in before you hit me with the real punch line.”

“Is that what you think? Of course you do. They found over a thousand Red Hands living north of Dubois in Allegheny National Forest. They had to have been there for a year at least.”

“Jesus,” Evan slouched in the booth. “You know what that means? It means we’re not safe inside our borders. It means we damn well need more resources for Internal Security. I mean, who cares about the Hivvans if primitive Red Hands can take out a settlement way inside our lines?”

“You think I don’t know that? Of course, you know I do. I’m hoping you get the word out because we need help.”

“Maybe you need a new chief.”

Roos tilted his head slightly as he considered that thought and then answered, “Jones is a good guy, but he’s in over his head.”

Evan said, “No shit. He has no law enforcement experience, no background in criminal justice; he wasn’t even a mall security guard. He used to work with computers, for God’s sake. He got that job only because he’s Trevor’s friend.”

“Sometimes he don’t talk like it,” Roos said and that grabbed Evan’s attention.

“What do you mean?”

“I hear him mumbling now and then. Complaining. Every so often he says something loud enough for his guys to hear.”

“What kind of somethings?”

Roos told Evan, “That maybe Trevor is a little too big for his britches. I little too all-powerful and whatnot.”

“Now that is interesting,” Godfrey took note. “That’s very interesting.”

“I think he’s like us; he’s got a lot of questions. And I’ll tell you what, the boys in I.S. love him because he’s always looking out for us and he stands up to Trevor a lot. But he’s overwhelmed and these days he’s been hoppin’ mad over things. Some more resources would go a long way.”

“I’ll do my best,” Evan said.

“Why do you think I’m here? First time I met you, Mr. Godfrey, I could see you were going places. I’ve had this little feeling since day one that you were a horse worth backing. I think you can really help a fellow out.”

Roos raised his beer in salute.

Evan returned the salute with his flat gin and tonic.

“I know we can help each other, Ray. I just know it.”

An hour before dawn, Catherine Nina Brewer slept peacefully in her bed, one arm clasping a raggedy one-eyed teddy bear. Her tiny belly eased up and down as she inhaled and exhaled softly.

Jon watched his daughter sleep and wondered if she would ever understand exactly how wrong the world was.

He could not lie to his child; monsters did exist. Terrible, ferocious monsters. He could never assure her that ‘it’s just a dream’ or ‘things like that aren’t real.’ Every bump in the night could be a horror waiting to pounce; there might really be something nasty hiding under her bed.

Jon stroked her forehead, just to feel his flesh and blood once before leaving.

Like all the children born into this insanity, his daughter accepted that nightmare world. Only four years old, she recognized the whistle of a Devilbat in the sky and could distinguish between the playful bark of a K9 and a howl of warning.

“Pleasant dreams, sweet pea,” he whispered.

Lori stepped to his side and placed an arm on his shoulder. Jon decided he needed more than a touch of her forehead. He leaned his tall frame over and kissed her sleeping cheek.

The two parents walked out into the hall. Lori eased the bedroom door shut.

At first, the Brewers had lived in the mansion with Trevor. When Catherine came along, they moved a few hundred yards away to a Cape Cod style lakeside home. While not huge, it fit their new family just fine.

Two Doberman Pinschers half-slept/half-guarded their living room while additional sentries periodically patrolled by their home on a regular basis. As military Chief of Staff, Jon Brewer certainly sat in the cross hairs of humanity’s enemies.

A pair of over-stuffed duffel bags rested by the front door: his marching orders had come through; it was time to go.

Lori projected a tough front; little ever penetrated her armor and if anything managed to punch through, she reacted with bravado or venomous sarcasm. This time, Jon saw chinks in the armor. He heard her crying in the bathroom last night and she continuously asked questions to which he could only answer, “I don’t know” and she cursed Trevor for sending her husband on what seemed a hopeless mission.

What he saw in her that morning felt even worse: resolve. Jon realized his wife finally resolved herself to the fact of him leaving and everything that entailed. As she walked him to the front door, he understood she thought this might be the last time she ever saw him. And he could not kid himself. Had he seen his daughter for the last time? Was this the final good bye?

The journey ahead felt impossibly long and too fantastic to believe. He felt as if he flew blind into a storm with no real knowledge of the path to follow. He traveled to the frozen wastelands of the north, away from any support with only a handful of men and supplies to find a mystical object now sought by hordes of dangerous aliens.

He stopped between the duffle bags, took a deep breath, and tried to find the right words but speeches were not his strong point.

“Hey, listen, um, what I mean is…” Jon closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and found a better approach: “I love you. I love you and I love that wonderful little girl sleeping in there. So I’m coming back. I’m going to do this and I’m coming back in one piece.”

Her eyes watered and she threw two powerful arms around him.

“God damn it, you better come home, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“I mean it,” Lori repeated. “You come home to me and your little girl. Y ou come home.”

Jon pulled her away with his strong hands on her shoulders.

“Keep a light on for me.”

She nodded and wiped away the moisture from beneath her eyes. He saw her reach deep and find just enough to hold it together as he walked out. When the door closed behind him, he heard the facade collapse.

Trevor walked alongside the Doberman Pinscher, nodding his head as he moved across the front lawn toward the Eagle airship parked on the helipad. Floodlights from the mansion provided circles of illumination in the otherwise dark pre-dawn morning.

“Double the patrols,” Trevor said aloud and formed a mental picture of K9s walking routes around the estate.

With the communication complete, the dog trotted away just as Trevor rendezvoused with Jon Brewer at the rim of the landing pad. A line of soldiers hauling gear slowly boarded the craft up a short ramp and through the open side door.

“What’s wrong?” Jon asked.

“This shit with the K9s. Two more tore themselves to shreds last night. Both were still alive when we found them. Both were…they were unstable. Had to put them down.”

“What is happening?”

“I honestly don’t know. There might be some sort of hostile out there that uses insanity as a weapon or something. But they weren’t eaten or anything. They just mauled each other.”

The running lights on the Eagle clicked on and flashed over the men’s faces. Engines spooled to life with a heavy hum.

Trevor said to Jon, “Listen, don’t worry about the K9s. We’ll figure it out. Probably nothing. Relatively speaking, we’re only talking about a handful and only here around the lake. You worry about your mission.”