Greg Krojac - The Schrödinger Enigma

Enak put his hand out to shake Sergeant Lavisser’s hand.

“Of course. I am sorry. It is just that we did not know if the other were still alive.”

“No problem, Mr. Enak. We have Miss Alemal, Miss Siroll, and back at base we have a guy named Eled.”

Jason’s ears pricked up.

“Base? Is there an organized resistance?”

The sergeant shook his head.

“I wish there was. But we’re just a band of survivors who kinda stumbled into each other, just like you are. One of our guys was a secret service agent in the White House, and he knew about a secret bolt-hole down here in the tunnels.”

“How many of you are there:”

“Fifteen Marines, two doctors, three nurses, a lawyer – not that we have any need for his professional services – two short order cooks, and a couple of families. Plus the secret service guy. Plus the three Argons of course.”

The sergeant led the seven newcomers away from the tracks along a hidden pedestrian tunnel until they arrived at a large steel door. He rapped on the door in a pre-agreed rhythm and the door swung open just enough to let the returning group pass through it. Sitara was surprised – as was the rest of the group – at what she saw before her. Sergeant Lavisser could see their amazement.

“This is a replica of the POEC room at the White House, all the way down to the finest detail. So our secret service agent tells us anyway. I’ve never seen the original. The furniture, comms, and everything else up there has been duplicated down here. We have electricity, thanks to a couple of generators, but we don’t have comms with the outside world. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Probably a good thing. If we could transmit to the outside world – what’s left of it – the Argon could maybe hone in on our signal. As for food, we’ve enough food and water down here to last a couple of years. You’re the first new people we’ve seen for a while. Anyway, take a look around and make yourselves at home.”

For the first time since the plague had broken out, the group felt normal again and the holocaust that they had witnessed seemed to belong to another world. Within the walls of this hidden lair it was almost possible to forget that, outside, humanity was facing a threat to its existence such as it had never confronted before.

Jason stared with disbelieving eyes at the scene of devastation before him. It was hard to believe that such carnage could have happened in so short a time. Torn limbs and mutilated bodies were everywhere, testimony to the superior physical strength of the Argon.

Sitara clung on to him, fearful that the immediate danger hadn’t yet gone. She felt a need to hold a fellow human being, a need for the warmth of a human body not only to protect her but to remind her that she was still alive. Jason, in turn, responded by holding her even tighter, confirming his own survival. Everybody needs a hug sometimes.

The room had become eerily silent after the chaos that had enveloped it just a few minutes earlier. Tears were trickling down cheeks, but nobody was audibly sobbing. All they could do was look around them and thank their particular gods – if they had any – that they were still alive.

A Marine picked his way through the dead bodies and pointed his Heckler and Koch HK M27 automatic rifle accusingly at Jason.

“Your Argon did this. We had no trouble until you came here. It’s a helluva coincidence that you turn up and we get attacked. We’ve been safe here, but you turn up with your Argon friend and all hell breaks loose.”

It had been a bloodbath. The large boardroom table was on its side and the chairs that had once been placed tidily around it were strewn all over the place, many of them broken, mirroring the broken bodies of their fallen friends and colleagues.

Jason just stood there, saying nothing, casting his mind back to the bloodbath that they had just experienced. The humans had fought valiantly but had been thrown around the room like rag dolls. Skulls had been crushed and limbs ripped from bodies, as if an angry child in a tantrum had taken his bad mood out on its dolls. But these had been living, breathing human beings who were now just a pile of random body parts strewn haphazardly around the room. There was truth in what the marine was saying, someone had led the Argon warriors to the hideout, but he didn’t believe for one second that Enak was the traitor. Rather than simply relive the battle, he concentrated upon the role that each Argon had played in the melee.

He glanced over at the crumpled bodies of the Amish couple, Jacob and Ruth, entwined together in a tragic lovers’ knot. Ruth had known that she and her husband were about to die, calling out to her creator for mercy. Jason wasn’t a religious man – far from it – but he would never forget how her faith had been strong to the very end, imploring her god for mercy with the words Dear Holy Father, have mercy on us, just as a loving father has mercy on his children . He respected her strength of belief even though he didn’t share it.

Jacob had tried to protect his wife from the ravages of the Argon attackers, attempting to protect her with his own body, but he had paid the ultimate price. His head had been almost severed from his torso, a vice-like grip twisting it free from his body, before a similar punishment was meted out to Ruth. They looked peaceful enough now, but their deaths had been anything but.

Jason had tried to save them but had been pulled away at the last minute by Enak, as a huge Argon fist was about to pile drive its way through the Brit’s skull. The attacking warrior lost his balance and Enak saw his opportunity. He smashed his own fist into the Argon’s chest, shattering the ribcage and driving shards of bone directly into his adversary’s heart, killing him instantly.

He remembered seeing Eled scoop up a young six-year-old girl, Jasmine, and literally throw her across the room to her father, just before a Argon warrior could stamp on her. Eled then squared up directly to the Argon, allowing the father and daughter enough time to run into an ante-room where they would be safe – for the moment, anyway. After a terrifying struggle, that personal battle had ended with the enemy Argon pinned down by Eled’s knee across his throat, ramming it against his windpipe with all the force that he could muster. Once he was certain that the Argon was dead, Eled staggered to a wall and leaned against it, grimacing with pain.. His arm was broken in three places, and he needed a few seconds respite before he launched himself back into battle once more, handicapped by his injury but not allowing it to force him out of the fight.

Siroll had fought like a woman possessed, with just as much vigour as her male colleagues. Jason recalled her grabbing two Argon warriors by their necks, smashing their heads together with such force that their skulls exploded in a cloud of blood, brains, and sinew. She then turned her attention to the main entrance of the room where a warrior was about to leave the fight with a screaming and flailing Miriam tucked securely under his arm. Siroll wasted no time and bounded after the Argon as if her life depended upon it. She was under no illusions as to what the man’s intentions were and she wasn’t going to let that happen while she still had a say in the matter. The Argons were distant cousins of these humans, and their weak points were the same. The Argon sensed somebody coming up behind him and turned to repel an impending attack, loosening his grip on the Amish girl and allowing her to drop to the floor. He bared his teeth at Siroll and lunged forward to engage her in hand-to-hand combat. But Siroll was too quick for him, parrying his attempted blow and reaching between his legs. She clasped a super-strong hand around his testicles and squeezed with all her might, until the twin orbs shattered in her hand. The pain was excruciating, and the warrior collapsed in a sobbing heap, before Siroll bent down and broke his neck.