“But-“
“But what? A bunch of things got all jumbled up inside that head of yours when I played London Bridge between you and ol’ Trev. Maybe something was left inside that got a jump-start when we had our little powwow. Then again, maybe you’re a little confused and whatnot.”
Nina stared at the Chesapeake Bay and assured, “I’m not confused. Not anymore. Things are pretty clear now. Tell me something. Trevor is alive, isn’t he?”
“Yeppers. He’s got a little more to get done. Probably a while before he makes his way back here. Loose ends and all. Point is, I’ve got this feeling in my gut-let’s just say-well, when you see ol’ Trevor ‘gain, there’s something I need you to tell him. Tell him I’ve got something for him. Call it-call it a gift. A fourth gift.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well we can’t have that, now can we? I think the time for keeping secrets has pretty much sailed off. You and I had a talk a long time ago. Laid it all out for you, I did. I didn’t know why I clued you in back then. I think-well now ain’t this somethin’? I think I wanted you to know. Maybe because I wanted to be forgived for what had to happen.”
“And now?”
“Now? Well I guess we’d better dot them i’s and cross them t’s.”
Nina watched the Old Man drift away into the light woodlands opposite the beach. As he moved off she saw more shadow and less him until she could not see him at all.
The sun glared. Her gear weighed a ton. A line of perspiration trickled from her forehead down her nose. She turned around and stared across the sandy beach at the crisp, rolling surf. How good would it feel to take a dip?
Nina left the side walk and carried her load onto the stretch of sand. Her boots sank and walking became a chore; her pack felt all the heavier.
She watched the water as it lapped against the coast in a gentle rhythm. Her mind replayed years of fighting: Her early career with the police and National Guard-confronting the first monster from another planet inside the National Constitution Center in Philly and knowing then that her world had changed-acting as Trevor’s personal sword in places like New Winnabow and Beale Air Force Base-slipping behind The Order’s lines.
Her mission. Her life. A warrior’s life. If not for Denise, she would have known nothing other than war. Being a mother unlocked much inside her. But she felt even more dwelt down there, hidden inside that lockbox of a heart. And she knew who held the key.
Captain Nina Forest turned her back to the ocean and rested her pack on the sand. She bent over, unlaced her combat boots one at a time, and then set them together next to the pack.
She slowly undid her utility belt and holster and draped them over the pack. Her sword came next: the sword she had taken from a Mutant in Wilmington, North Carolina. Although it shined clean, she could see years of blood there. How many had she killed? She could not count. They registered in her battle computer of a mind not as names or individuals, but as mission objectives and hostile forces.
She lay the sword on the sand. The sun reflected off the blade.
Her BDU’s came off, first the shirt and then the pants leaving her standing in a dark green t-shirt and matching underwear. She folded her warrior’s clothes with great care and lay them side by side with the sword and the pack and the boots.
Nina popped the cartridge from her trusty M4 and ensured a clear chamber. Then she knelt in front of the shrine that had been hers for a lifetime and she set the rifle as the centerpiece.
She gazed at the arrangement. The tools of her life. They had served her well and in turn she had served her people well. She could not discard them easily. A world without them was a world fraught with mystery; a world filled with nightmares of another kind. She would have to find a new strength. But the time had come. Her body felt covered not only in sweat and grime, but in blood.
She felt no guilt. She had fulfilled her purpose as humanity’s champion. But in the process missed out on much. The time had come-the time to find what else remained.
There is more for me.
Nina stood and swiveled around to face the bay. She took one tentative step and stopped.
One more thing.
She reached to the back of her head and undid the black band holding her ponytail in place. Her blond hair fell free and dangled to her shoulders in curly strands. She dropped the tie to the ground with the rest of her discarded things.
Nina Forest moved to the edge and allowed the water to splash against her feet. It felt cold. And clean.
She stepped in, carefully walking over a combination of rocks, sand, and pointed shells. The salty smell of the brackish waters nearly overwhelmed her senses.
Deeper-deeper-until the water reached her chest.
Nina sipped a breath of air then slipped beneath the surface. Ripples from her submersion rolled away in perfect circles, one after another after another-and then calm-calmer-perfectly still.
The sun sparkled on the water, warmed the sandy shore, and reflected off the metal of the sword and rifle at rest on the beach. A gull swooped overhead cawing enthusiastically.
She burst from the surface in a spray of water. Her hair matted wet. Droplets across her neck and arms. What little clothes she wore soaked through but she felt refreshed, clean-new.
Nina Forest stood in the water and gazed east across the Bay, over the distant Peninsula, and beyond-to a world away.
Nina stood there in waist-deep water.
And waited.
28. Armada
Trevor knew the feeling of powerlessness. The first day of Armageddon after running from the gored bodies of his parents-things felt beyond his control then. More recently, for a few moments in the temple he felt powerless and insignificant in the face of Voggoth.
But he had never experienced anything quite like that first week after leaving the land once known as Satka, Russia.
He remembered what happened to the Feranites when the self-appointed Gods of Armageddon deemed them defeated. Given the situation in North America when he departed nearly six weeks ago, Trevor feared that even Jon Brewer’s best efforts would have fallen short by now.
Based on the reaction from JB’s peers, a vote to cast humanity into the abyss might have already concluded. At any moment-one heartbeat-he could find his molecules warping into some beast built to satiate Voggoth’s taste for irony.
The Feranites had loved nature, so they became what they most despised: machines. Perhaps the Roachbots had been highly-intelligent beings, but now were forced to live in madness with the brains of other species serving as their CPUs.
What about the Ghouls? Barbaric monsters created from a formerly well-ordered society? The Mutants? Perhaps a civilization that prided itself on its caste system reduced to the equivalent of an alien biker gang?
The nightmares seemed endless. But the biggest nightmare of them all came from the feeling of failure. In the end Trevor had lost everything. Nina. His son. His people.
And so he spent that week in a semi-daze, barely eating and rarely speaking. He waited. He waited for his body to change; for a descent into Hell.
Despite vanquishing Voggoth’s monsters, the march west from the destroyed temple felt like a retreat. He tried to explain what happened. Alexander understood on some level although he could not comprehend the idea of spontaneous mutation.
Armand refused Trevor’s conclusion. He pointed to the physical evidence: the temple fell, The Order’s monsters slaughtered. Victory, no matter how you sliced it. Trevor did not argue. He could have pointed out to Armand that history was full of stories of wars won on the battlefield but lost in the halls of power.