Anthony DeCosmo - Empire

Furthermore, aerial recon showed the Hivvans remained disorganized and-apparently-unaware of the closing trap. In a few more days it would be too late; their supply depots would fall and the remnants of the Raleigh corps would be cut off and annihilated.

Despite the number of mayors and Generals cursing their “Emperor” that morning, Trevor finally found a reason to feel good…until late in the afternoon when Knox walked in wearing a somber look and holding a communique.

Trevor felt a bolt up his spine; a tingle of fear. A variety of bad thoughts raced through his mind. Had the Hivvans regrouped for a counter-attack on Raleigh? Were enemy reinforcements pouring from Columbia to intercept the offensive? Either piece of news would derail the plan and cause the entire southern front to tip back into the aliens’ favor.

The Director of Intelligence glanced at Trevor, back at the paper he held, and then handed it over to his boss, saying, “I don’t know what to think of this, so here you go. It’s from Prescott.”

Trevor accepted the paper and read. His eyes scanned the lines, gaining speed as his mind deciphered the message. Trevor stood so fast that his chair rolled backwards into the sliding glass doors of the balcony.

“When did this come in? Where is he? I need to get down there!”

“It came in a few minutes ago. He’s west of Blacksburg, Virginia. Hauser is on standby but you probably want to wait until morning.”

“Why?”

“Because at this point, by the time you get there it will be nightfall and you’d probably rather view the site in daylight.”

Trevor started to move, then stopped. He shook the paper, he shook his head.

“Calm down…calm down,” Gordon tried to sooth.

“I want Anita Nehru and Dante.”

Gordon suggested, “I should go with you.”

“No. I need you here to watch over the military stuff, with Brewer gone and all.”

“Could this be more important?” Knox wondered.

Trevor stopped cold, looked at the words on the paper again, and tried to answer.

“Maybe.”

Later that evening, after telling Ashley of his travel plans for tomorrow, Trevor searched out his son to break the bad news and found him in the den. Other than a trip into town with his mother after lunch, JB spent the entire day in there drawing.

Trevor walked in and paced across the floor, careful not to step on the artwork. JB, for his part, gave his dad a quick smile but returned immediately to his drawings.

“Hey, um, JB,” Trevor stuttered as he leaned against the desk. “Something has come up and I have to go away tomorrow. I shouldn’t be gone long.”

Without looking up, Jorgie said, “I want to go with you.”

Shocked, Trevor could not find any words so JB repeated as if worried his dad had not heard the first time. “I want to go with you, father.”

Trevor stepped away from the desk and stood straight. His hands wavered in the air as if using them to sculpt words.

“Umm, JB, no, it could be dangerous. Not a good idea.”

“I want to go with you.”

“Look,” Trevor stepped closer to his son and leaned over the boy who kept his focus on the drawing. “There really is no chance of that, Jorge. I’m not going to…I’m not. Um, JB, what is that you’re drawing?”

The boy held the piece of paper aloft to his father who took it.

While a crude work of crayons, Trevor could clearly see that his son drew two dogs lying on their sides with a black ‘x’ where each eye should be and a field of red crayon surrounding them. A black stick figure hovered over the dogs with his arms stretched wide.

“It’s the doggies, father,” Trevor heard a sniffle in his son’s words. “They’re in pain.”

The piece of paper wobbled as Trevor’s hands shook. He had not told JB about the problems with the K9s. No one outside of a few I.S. people, Ashley, and the military council knew of the issue.

He swallowed hard, pointed at the black stick figure, and asked, “Who is this?”

JB’s lip stiffened and his eyes sharpened.

“He’s the Other. He’s bad.”

“Who is he?”

Jorgie’s mouth opened and then shut without a sound coming out.

“Tell me, Jorge,” Trevor started in a harsh tone and then forced it to soften. “Have you seen this ‘Other’ before?”

The three year old nodded his head slow. “When I’m sleeping. He’s been in my nightmares a lot. He’s why the doggies are in pain. That’s all I know.”

Trevor knew Ashley would protest, but he also knew that in the morning his son would travel with him to Virginia.

In 1663, Charles II quartered the arms of Virginia on his shield and since that time, the state has been known as ‘Old Dominion’.

Before the end-of-the-world, Old Dominion boasted more than seven million souls in its boundaries. Those same boundaries now counted only one hundred thousand, most living in the eastern part of the state.

Trevor and JB’s Eagle flight carried them south above I-81 with the gorgeous Blue Ridge range to their east and the imposing Appalachians-formed eons ago by colliding continental shelves-rising to the west.

Early in the afternoon of August 23, Eagle One landed on the fifty-yard line of Lane Stadium, formerly home of the Virginia Tech Hokies. A pack of Jaw-Wolves had been living there when the 1 ^ st Armored Division arrived in town a few weeks before. After losing a tank, Prescott‘s forces managed to kill off the massive, armor-plated predators in a brutal engagement.

Nonetheless, with arrival of the human army, the area around Blacksburg became fairly safe although they found no survivors, much to Prescott‘s surprise. Indeed, the rural nature of the region should have resulted in a survival rate equal to or exceeding the 1.5 % average.

Not in Blacksburg.

In any case, they traveled out of town in a heavily armed convoy along Rt. 460. They followed the road north then west before hooking up with State Route 621 through the Jefferson National Forest. Not long after, they said goodbye to the major roads and dove deeper into the Appalachians.

During the trip, Trevor fidgeted and squirmed in his seat as he considered what waited ahead. He kept wondering why he brought JB along yet, for some reason, he felt as if honoring the boy’s request was the right thing to do.

As for Jorge, he admired the scenery from inside the armored Suburban. His nose spent most of the trip flat against the window while one arm gently clasped his stuffed bunny which was, as usual, tightly wrapped in its tiny blanket.

Anita Nehru and Dante Jones accompanied the father and son, the former due to her knowledge of hostiles and the latter because Trevor felt he might need a friend.

Finally, they arrived at the ultimate destination: an old burned compound once surrounded by a chain link fence.

Troops from the 1 ^ st Armored division blanked the area with checkpoints and patrols in surrounding hills and fields.

Trevor and his entourage of two advisors, his son, General Prescott, and human bodyguards emerged from the vehicles. No K9s accompanied Trevor on this trip.

The rain from the previous day had moved along but a quilt-like cover of silky gray clouds remained overhead, blocking out a good deal of sunlight and contributing to a cold, damp chill that belied the August day.

Captain Phillip Rhodes met them at the ruins.

Trevor surveyed his surroundings and felt a tingle in his spine. Although destroyed, the fence, the smaller buildings, and the isolated location felt hauntingly familiar.

“We don’t know how long ago this place was wiped out,” Rhodes answered the question before anyone asked. “Our division analysts have been going over the area with a fine tooth comb to figure out what did it in.”