Revised bits and a little more...
Fort Elysium
October 31, 2107
The sun was falling rapidly from the sky when the cry went up at the outer gate.
“Courier!”
“About damn time,” Malcolm muttered. He blew the eraser dust from the piece of paper he’d just finished erasing and glanced gloomily at the worn end of his eraser. It was nearly gone, and their supply of pencils, like everything else in this godforsaken fort, was rapidly diminishing.
Pushing that thought aside for the moment, he rose from his desk and left his office. He walked rapidly down the hall, nodding to those he met on his way. He passed several other offices; men and women who helped do the dirty work of running the fort worked out of several. A few had been converted into school rooms for the children who called Fort Elysium home. The classrooms were empty now, the children had gone to supper hours ago and were no doubt preparing to go to bed in the most protected area of Elysium, the concrete bunkers in the very center of the base.
Fort Elysium was a new installation, built to replace Fort Lewis when the Tacoma area was lost to sea. Originally it had been named something else, but its original name was long forgotten. After the Rising, one of the survivors had named it Elysium as kind of a joke, and the name had stuck.
Malcolm knew how lucky they were to have what they had with the place. Despite the current peace they’d had with their fellow nations, the United States had not been lax in security and built accordingly. There were gates and towers and bunkers and all manner of things a body could want in the name of keeping out the unwanted. And now, with the creatures that hunted humans, day or night, it didn’t matter, it was one of the only truly safe places left in this part of Washington.
He passed through the main doors of the Administrative building and stopped on the concrete steps that led down to the parking lot below, waiting to meet the Courier. The only other people outside the safety of the bunkers and buildings were those on guard that night. Armed with weapons both modern and archaic, they stood watch over those within, ready to fight and kill whatever tried to come over the fence.
It was riskier at night. Even with the lights from the numerous watch-fires spread out across the fort, the dark made it harder for humans to see. The creatures that hunted them had no such difficulty. The last two days had been quiet; there’d been no more attacks since Reynolds’ death. That, at least, was something; he was grateful for every night that passed without incident.
Malcolm could hear the steady rumble of the Courier’s motorcycle drawing closer and he frowned. It was dangerous, cocky even, to ride openly on something that made that much noise. It was only asking for trouble. Most of the Courier’s rode horses or on bicycles; others went on their own two feet. This one, Malcolm decided, must be new. He wouldn’t last long if he continued to flaunt his presence that way.
The Courier pulled up into the parking lot and killed the engine, dismounting from his bike and toeing the kick-stand into place. He stepped to the back of the bike and opened the metal case strapped to the back, lifting out a bundle of papers and several sacks of what Malcolm hoped were supplies. He didn’t hope for much, though; the sacks were far too small.
Closing the lid to the case, the Courier made his way up the steps and grinned at Malcolm.
“Fine evening, isn’t it? You’d be Sergeant Finnes?”
“I would,” Malcolm agreed. “And you are?”
Shifting the load of papers and sacks, the Courier stuck out his right hand. “Bennings, Richard Bennings. Late of Hood River, Oregon.”
Malcolm shook the proffered hand. “You’re new, aren’t you?”
Richard nodded. “This is my first delivery,” he said with no small amount of pride. “Made the trip in two days, too.”
Malcolm lifted an eyebrow at that. “Have any trouble on the way?” He turned and gestured for Richard to follow him inside the building.
Shrugging, Richard fell in step beside him. “Not too much. Hit a nest of Wights just north of Gresham, and I saw dragon-sign in Vancouver, on old interstate five, but no actual sighting of the beast, thankfully.”
Surprise made him stop. “Dragon-sign in Vancouver?” Malcolm asked, frowning. “That’s not good.” And too damn close to Elysium for any comfort at all.
Richard shrugged again. “Like I said, I didn’t actually see the dragon. Just tracks, and several of the buildings were burnt out, still smoking, actually.”
Malcolm resisted the urge to smack his forehead. The man just had no fucking clue. “You didn’t see any sign after Vancouver?” he asked grimly.
“Nope. In fact, it got pretty quiet afterwards until just before I reached you guys. Met one vampire, took her down. That was it.” All this was said with no small amount of confidence.
Malcolm swore, grabbing the courier by the arm and propelling him forcefully down the hall to his office. He gestured to one of the chairs. “Stay put. Don’t put so much as a toe outside this office,” he ordered harshly, and turned to leave.
“Wait!” Richard dropped his burden on Malcolm’s desk and started to follow him. “Wait! What is it? What’s going on?”
Malcolm rounded on him furiously. “You are an idiot. How you managed to get from Hood River to Elysium without getting killed is beyond me.”
“Now wait a min-“
“However, you did manage, in all your blissful ignorance,” Malcolm continued, rolling right over the top of Richard’s protests, “to bring the dragon right to Elysium with you.”
“What?” Richard paled. “What?”
Malcolm took a deep breath, pushing his anger away and spoke coolly. “I don’t have time to explain all the whys and wherefores to you. Suffice it to say that you caught the attention of the dragon - it probably heard the motor on your bike and decided to follow. And the reason you didn’t run into hardly any other creatures the rest of the way here is that the dragon was following you, and anything with any sense at all had fled the area. One vampire? You should have hit at least three nests of them, as well as several packs of hell hounds that regularly hunt that area.” He took another breath, dropping the volume of his voice another notch. “If we live through this night, I want to know who the hell trained you. Any courier with any sense knows not to attract attention like that.”
He didn’t wait for Richard’s reply, but left him standing there, gaping like a landed fish. If there was, as he feared, a dragon on its way to Elysium, there wasn’t much time to prepare.
In fact, there was no time at all.
Chapter 2
Excerpt from Cycle of Death: The Chronicles of the Human Holocaust; a personal recording of the events following the Rising by David Ohlinberg.
There has been endless argument and speculation as to the origin of the dark creatures that came shortly after the sea-level rose. Where did they come from? What is their nature? Have they been here all along? And if so, why did they come now? There are more questions than we can answer, unfortunately. Our current resources are greatly limited, and the creatures themselves difficult to capture alive, and equally difficult to hold captive.
We do know they are not all the same species; their appearance, hunting habits, and the method of killing them make this readily apparent. Naturalists and scientists could no doubt spend years studying and cataloging their differences if they had the time and resources. As it is, we have learned some things from direct observation and dissection, enough to begin to learn how to avoid them. Of all the creatures that we have seen, three distinct types seem to be the most numerous and prevalent.
The first are small, four legged creatures with long legs, body, and a long whip-like tail; their average size is roughly that of a Golden Retriever, about 60 to 80 pounds. They are universally black in color, with red eyes. They see extremely well in the dark, are fast and agile hunters able to reach speeds that would put a cheetah to shame. They typically hunt in packs as well, and for this reason, along with their canine-like appearance, they have been given the moniker “hell hounds”. As their name would suggest, there is nothing friendly or domestic about them. They’re vicious and single-minded once they settle in prey, and evading them is a difficult proposition at best. They cannot climb, though they can and will jump four or five times their own height to reach prey that has tried to escape by climbing a tree or other such thing. Bullets and modern weaponry can kill them, but as they typically hunt in large groups (15 to 30 average), it is inadvisable to try to take them on by oneself.
The second most prevalent creature is far more malevolent. It is humanoid, in appearance; it has a head with recognizable features - eyes, mouth, ears, nose - yet there is nothing human-like about them, except, perhaps, their intelligence. Like the hell hounds, they can move fast when they chose, sometimes faster than the human eye can follow. Unlike the hell hounds, however, their coloring, size, and appearance varies from one to the next; they can as hideously ugly as the nature, or they can be so beautiful it is almost painful to look at them. We know they feed on blood alone, not the flesh, and for this reason, they are called ‘Vampires’ after the legends of old. They are difficult to kill; they are fast, as I have mentioned, but their capacity to receive wounds that would kill most humans and still survive makes them a formidable adversary. There is also their ability to seemingly bespell their prey if they get close enough; I hesitate to say they use magic, but what other word would fit to accurately describe their ability to enthrall the unwary? Unlike the vampires of legend, crosses, holy water and all the trappings of faith have no effect on them. Neither does sunlight, though, like the hell hounds, they do seem to hunt more prevalently at night. Wooden or silver stakes through the heart will not kill them. The only sure way to stop a vampire is to take its head. We know almost nothing more about them except that, when they are killed, their body returns to dust almost instantly.
Of the third, I can only say that it is the worst, though thankfully, the least numerous of the three, because we have yet to discover a way to kill one with any real efficiency. Like the hell hounds and vampires, the dragons are named after the creature of legend they resemble. Averaging at least 300 hundred feet from nose to tail, with wing-spans typically half their length, dragons are the largest predators to date. Their reptilian-like bodies are covered in plates of scale that are impervious to nearly all projectile weaponry, even small missile-fire. We have no way of knowing the more intimate details of their physiology, as we have never captured one alive, nor been able to examine one that has died. We do know, from first hand experience, that they fly swiftly and with great agility, despite their bulk. They use both their fire, as well as teeth, claws, and tail to inflict damage on anything that stands between them and their chosen prey. How they can breathe fire is a mystery; perhaps, like the vampires, they possess magic to accomplish this. Their intelligence, thankfully, seems animal-like, more instinctual than reasoning. They are not easily distracted, curious to the extreme, and unbelievably patient when it comes to stalking their food. In my own experience, it is nigh impossible to kill one without heavy losses to human life.
There are others, of course; creatures seen only infrequently, but present nonetheless. It bears mentioning that since it has only been six months since the first appearance of any of these creatures, that there are probably many more than what we are aware of. It stands to reason that different parts of the world may be suffering from different creatures entirely; we have no way of knowing for certain, with communications being limited as they are.
Despite what we have learned, we still don’t know where they came from, and if their appearance is somehow linked to the planet’s warming and the rising of the sea. But there is little doubt in my mind that understanding the reason for their presence in our world is the key to the survival of my race.
~ * ~
Malcolm raced down the stairs, radio pressed to his ear as he fired orders in rapid succession.
“Thompson, evacuate all personnel, repeat, all personnel to the bunkers. We have a probable incoming, E.T.A. unknown. “
“Sir?” Thompson’s voice crackled through the radio and Malcolm could hear the worry behind that single response.
“Just do it, Thompson. Have your group and McKenna’s douse the fires before you retreat.” He doubted it would fool the dragon, but he had to try. “Get it done, and get your men inside.”
The shutters on the admin building were closed tight, thanks to the quick work of the staff that was still working inside. E-Building, where the commissary was housed, had not responded to radio calls, and he could see the lights burning from across the parking lot. The bunkers were dark, closed and shuttered, as were the guard towers. All the other buildings were empty; his people knew the routine, had done these evacuations before, both for practice and the real thing.
As he ran across the parking lot towards E-Building, a low, roaring sound - like the rumble of a distant freight train - filled his ears and made his already pounding heart race all the faster.
Too late. Too fucking late. It was here.
Still, he couldn’t stop. There was no time for him to take cover, and he couldn’t leave his people without some kind of warning. With a final burst of speed, he covered the last few yards between him and E-Building, just as the dragon made its first pass over the fort.
Folks, soldiers and their families, looked up from their shopping in surprise as he staggered into the commissary. Their looks of surprise turned to horror as the dragon’s roar filled the air and rattled the windows.
“Douse the lights,” he snapped. “Doors, shutters, Close it up, quick!”
They were quick, but they weren’t quick enough. The dragon knew exactly where they were. It settled in the parking lot in front of the building, peering interestedly and thoughtfully at it for a moment, before opening its mouth and unleashing its most potent weapon. Flame belched forth from the dragon’s mouth and covered the entirety of the building.
“Everybody, move back, all the way back,” Malcolm ordered, raising his hands over his head and making a pushing gesture. Frightened, they moved swiftly and with little sound as far from the doors and windows as they could get. Most had been boarded up with metal plates before the dragon attacked, but a few had been missed. These burst inward with an explosion of glass and fire. The covered windows shattered as well, but the metal held for now. He knew they wouldn’t hold for long.
Crouching behind a mostly-empty refrigerator case in the produce aisle, Malcolm peered over the edge and waited for the dragon to make its next move. He knew the situation was beyond bad. The dragon knew they were there, knew that there was food to be had in the building. It had only to figure out a way to get in, or wait them out. The former was more likely. E-Building was one of the few buildings in Elysium that wasn’t completely concrete, and certainly had not been built to withstand dragons.
The lights were still on, but it didn’t matter anymore. At this point, Malcolm was grateful because it meant they could see where they needed to go. Wordlessly he signaled several of the closest people to him; they were to gather everyone up and follow. They had to get out of the building and to the safety of one of the bunkers; they had to do it now.
As he and the others began to make their way to the very back of the commissary, where the loading bays were, the dragon unleashed another blast of fire, and he heard the roof above them groan as the metal began to warp with the heat. He was sweating; both from fear and from the steadily rising temperature of the building. If the dragon kept it up, they had maybe only minutes until it the heat became intolerable.
They reached the loading bays with their long, roll-up doors and Malcolm turned to the frightened faces around him.
“There’s a bunker about a hundred yards across from here. I’m going to radio ahead to tell them we’re coming so they’ll open the door. I’m going to open this door and you are all going to run like hell. The dragon will see you, make no mistake.” As if to punctuate his words, another loud roar filled the air and the building shuddered beneath the blast of fire. The roof above the main doors was white-hot and beginning to sag as it melted. Malcolm tore his eyes away from the sight.
“We’re not all going to make it,” he continued bluntly. “Those of you who do, know the drill. Get down, stay inside, and keep the heat-doors closed at all costs.”
He lifted the radio to his mouth to give the order to Cordy, who was manning bunker 12, when a voice crackled over the speaker.
“Sir! Sir! Something is happening!” It was McKenna.
“What is it?” Malcolm’s reply was steady, belying his surprise.
McKenna’s voice was not calm at all. “I don’t know, sir. I can’t quite tell. Whatever it is, the dragon doesn’t like it. I’d hold position, if you can.”
“Can you move position to clarify?” Malcolm hated to ask; it put his man in danger. But the need to know more could be vital.
“Negative. I’m too close. But I might be - oh my God!” McKenna’s exclamation was followed by a loud, earth-shattering explosion that knocked several people off their feet. Only Malcolm’s hold on the rolling door had kept him from falling. The already weakened roof above them fractured and pieces of half-melted aluminum rained down in areas of the commissary. Malcolm saw a lightening-shaped crack appear in the concrete floor in the produce section.
“Report!” Static and silence met his order. “McKenna! McKenna!”
“Get out of there now, sir!” It was Thompson’s voice. “Cordy’s waiting. Go! Go!”
Without hesitation, Malcolm pulled up on the rolling door, shoving it upwards until its spring-loaded mechanism caught hold and carried it to the ceiling. His people needed no urging, having overheard the entire exchange. Men and women ran past him, their eyes blind with fear, and Malcolm followed hard on their heels.