John Ringo - Queen of wands

“This is Bob Toland near Knoxville, Tennessee,” the reporter said, then lowered his microphone. “Good?”

“Sound’s good,” the sound man said, raising a thumb.

“Bit to the left,” the cameraman said. “Better view of the mountains.”

“I hope like hell whatever it was got that CNN crew isn’t near here,” the producer said. “President still has the airwaves. And it’s dead air. People are starting to freak. Let’s roll. At this rate, we might even get live.”

“Right,” Bob said, clearing his throat. “This is Bob Toland near Knoxville, Tennessee. As you can see behind me…” he continued turning to the northeast.

As he turned, a beam of white light shot down from the heavens. It was so bright it seemed to override the sun, bright as a magnesium flare in darkness. It blinded him for a moment and he could feel a prickle on his skin. For a moment, he thought the President had dropped a nuke, but it wasn’t that. Just light. The purest, most white light he had ever seen in his life or could even imagine.

“Good God,” the producer whimpered, his hands over his eyes.

“Yeah,” Toland said, blinking and hoping that his vision would return. “I think that might have been exactly what that was. Tell me you got that.”

“I got it,” the cameraman said, lowering the camera. “I’ve got a burned-out CCD chip, but I got most of it. Damn.”

“I think you might want to watch your tongue there,” Toland said, looking up and blinking. “Seriously. Be careful how you speak.”

“Thank you, Lord,” the President said, his hands clenched together and tears streaming down his face. “Thank you for protecting us with Your divine hand. I pledge that this nation stands by Your side through all the trials ahead.

“And to the people of this great nation and all the peoples of other lands who joined us in prayer. Know that we have faced a great test and have shown that this nation stands by the side of the Powers of Good. Great trials face us in the future, but know that if we stand by our deity, whatever name we choose to use, that the power that watches over us will never fail. Thank you for your prayers, and God bless you all.”

Master Sergeant Attie wasn’t too sure why he got stuck as point on this particular recon, and he’d just as well have foregone the pleasure. But here he was, driving through downtown Maynardville anyway.

“Damn,” Struletz said, pointing to the left. “I think we’ve found where it was.”

The large building, probably an old factory, was partially demolished. Partially. About half of it was flattened by something, Attie was pretty sure what, but the rest was still standing.

“No real evidence of what got it,” Attie said, trying to make something out through the FLIR. “It’s just…gone.”

“Got a heat source on the right,” Struletz said, pointing. “Across the road. Looks human.”

“Go check it out,” Attie said, stopping the Humvee. He’d seen Struletz drive. “Command,” he continued, thumbing the mike on the long-range radio. “We appear to have survivors. Checking it out.”

“Target?”

“Target appears to have been neutralized,” Attie said. He could see the human figure Struletz had pointed out, and he or she appeared to be waving. Struletz had also stopped.

“What do you got, Jordan?” Attie asked.

“I’ve got one human female,” Struletz said over the squad comm. “She says there’s four more. They don’t know where they are, they don’t know how they got here and they don’t got no clothes, Master Sergeant.”

“Roger,” Attie said. “Wait one. Command. Survivor is human female. Report of four more. Absent clothing, don’t know their location or method of arrival.”

“Roger,” the TOC said. “Wait one. Determine if subjects are currently pregnant, over.”

“Jordan, any of them pregnant?” Attie said.

“Say again, Master Sergeant?”

“Any of them pregnant,” Attie said. “As in carrying the Devil’s spawn.”

“Oh, right. Stand by. Uh, that’s a negative, and they’re pretty pissed at the question. Any chance of getting some clothing up here?”

“Command, negative on the pregnancy query. We need some clothing and a medical team.”

“All of the girls who were in the sanitarium are totally recovered,” Randell said, shaking his head. “As are the five the recon team found. No bruises, no sores, the ones who were pregnant with skru-gnon aren’t. No psychological effects. Even the systemic effects from long-term malnutrition are gone. Some of them are a little underweight but that’s it. And none of them can remember anything about their experiences. The ones who were apparently kidnapped by the cult remember that, but nothing about the Gar or what happened to them. The doctors are openly using the term miracle.”

“Because it is,” Janea pointed out.

“Then there’s the bad news,” Graham said. “The teams have made it all the way up to the slaughterhouse, and a team has started an analysis of the material there. The actual reports are going to take months, but the hot-wash is bad enough.”

“How bad?” Barb asked. She knew that after channeling that much power, she should be a physical basket case. But instead she felt as if she had been reborn, a tingling throughout her body like a heady, pure wine.

She also knew she wasn’t the only one. Most of the people she’d run into on the way back to headquarters were walking around with grins on their faces. She wasn’t sure if it was just people in the region or across the nation or the world. But people had clearly been touched by God.

“Pretty bad,” Graham said. “The Gar had been growing for nearly three years. The slaughterhouse was bought by a new owner who summoned it and then fed it. He’d replaced most of the workers over time to keep it quiet. But it had been producing Hunters and Children for nearly two years. By a year ago, the company wasn’t actually producing meat. But they kept their trucks. And they were making deliveries.”

“Children,” Janea said.

“Hundreds,” the agent acknowledged. “Scattered all over the country. And then there are the ones in the mountains.”

“That’s a huge operation for one slaughterhouse,” Janea pointed out. “Where’d they get the funding?”

“We’re looking into that,” Graham said. “It wasn’t the owner. The slaughterhouse had been on the ropes until about two years ago when it was bought by an offshore company. That’s a nest of shell corporations. One did stand out, though.”

He pulled up a file on his phone and showed it to Barbara.

“Look familiar?” he asked.

Barbara blanched at the symbol.

“Trilobular?” she asked. “I thought that was shut down, hard, after the Osemi operation.”

“It was,” Graham said. “But it was involved in the purchase of the slaughterhouse. You can rest assured that there is going to be some high-level interest in the rest of these corporations.”

“So the fight isn’t over,” Barb said, shrugging. “No big surprise that there’s some sort of big corporate backing to the Other Side. We’ve got the same. Doesn’t matter. We know, now, that God is with us as we are with Him. His hand will protect and guide us. Compared to the trials that are coming, a few skru-gnon and corporate pirates are nothing. But we will prevail. God is by our side.”

“Amen,” Randell said. “You preach it, Miss Barbara. You go.”

“That sounded sincere,” Janea said, smiling.

“You know what they say,” Randell said, shrugging. “Comes a point when you just gotta give in. I’ve seen hell. Maybe there really is a heaven. Figure I’ll get me some of that Old Time religion.”