Rise of Chaos 5 Read online

  Episode 5

  (Walking Through Hell)

  The three SH-60 Seahawk Helicopters sailed through the air at a smooth one hundred and fifty miles an hour. They would touch down just outside of Norfolk soon, Mason thought. He glanced out the gunner’s door and grimaced, he wasn’t afraid of heights, per se, but, at eleven thousand feet, he could feel the butterflies constricting in his stomach and the beads of sweat running down his forehead.

  “What’s the matter, Mason? You look green as hell. You’re not afraid of heights are you?” Brody said, sharpening his bayonetted sword arm.

  “Nah, I’m alright. Just thinking about what we gotta do when we land,” Mason said, fidgeting with the safety on his 9mm Beretta.

  “How about not get us all killed for starters? At least until we take out some of those motherfuckers first,” Pualani said, thoroughly enjoying her first helicopter flying experience.

  “Um. . . How about let’s not get killed at all, and just do this thing already,” suggested Luanne.

  “You’re living in fantasy land, yoga lady. Do you really think we’re going to be able to get into to NASA and blow it up, behind enemy lines, with those goddamn League of Islam soldiers and super feeders everywhere?” Kalen said, adding his two cents.

  “Always the optimist, this guy, huh?” Pualani said.

  “I prefer realist,” he replied.

  “I think you’re just a scared little pussy, that’s gonna get somebody killed—again,” Brody said, flashing Kalen a look of disgust.

  Kalen pursed his lips into a scowl and his face reddened, almost matching the ginger color of his hair and beard, as he shot Brody a hateful look.

  “Alright, enough of that shit,” Mason interjected. “We’re all scared—and if you’re not, you'd better be. We are walking into hell. We were chosen for this mission by the top members of the resistance for a reason. We’ve had almost two years of living, training and fighting in the mountains together. We are a team and a family now. We have to watch each other’s backs and let the past go. We’ve come a long way together and we have even further to go. This petty infighting bullshit has got to stop, or it will get someone killed.”

  “Look, no more snow,” Luanne said, artfully changing the subject.

  The team members of Strike Force Foxtrot collectively looked out of the windows of the Seahawk. The pulse and rhythm of the rotors, combined with the low roar of the twin turbo shaft engines reminded Mason of one of his favorite movies, Apocalypse Now.

  They were well out of the mountains and into sea level now as they started to descend, slowly. They could now clearly see the wasteland that was once the mighty state of Virginia. The walking dead were everywhere, moving in packs and herds.

  After the Annihilation epidemic ravaged uncontrollably through the Eastern United States, the League of Islam detonated a nuclear bomb right outside of Richmond. The initial blast had killed over fifty percent of what was left of the population, and the radiation from the hydrodynamic front spread at the speed of sound in air. The feeders were morphed into heinous creatures, but they still roamed, hungrily looking for flesh.

  “Oh my god. . . There are so many of those fucking things out there,” Pualani said, staring out of the Helo at the thousands of mindless, decayed walking corpses. The fires had long since burned out. Mostly all of central Virginia was inhabitable and would be for years.

  “If—when—we get through this, we’ll have to stick to the coast and mountains; I don’t think the valley will be clear of infection for a long time,” Mason said.

  “I don’t understand how they are still alive, or animated, rather. It’s been years, and they still just keep coming,” Luanne said.

  “Maybe it has something to do with the nukes and radiation?” Brody thought aloud.

  “Well, at least they’re not those fucking super feeders,” Kalen said.

  “Yea . . . Don’t worry. We’ll see them soon enough,” Pualani said.

  The Seahawks slowed to a hover and, in perfect harmony with each other, landed on the Helo pad to disembark its passengers. Mason and his team gathered their gear and ducked their heads underneath the force of the massive rotor blades to meet a group of heavily armed men on the pad.

  “Well, look who it is! Long time no see,” Cap’n Tony said, extending his hand to Mason.

  “I’m glad you’re still around. After I heard and saw what that bastard Abu Hadi did to Bill Tirado and Strike Force Bravo, I feared the worst,” Mason said, genuinely happy to see his old friend.

  “Oh come on now, you know it’ll take more than that to put an end to me,” Cap’n Tony said as Kalen ran up and gave his father a bear hug. “Look at you, boy, you’re almost a man now.”

  “Well I wouldn’t get carried away just yet about that,” Brody said.

  Commander Kelly and his personal team of resistance advisors exited their Seahawk and joined the team on the helicopter pad. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen the ocean, I gather,” he said to Mason.

  “Yes. Way too long,” Mason said, taking in the salt air for the first time in over two years. The ocean was always a part of him, and the chilly winter afternoon sun, highlighted the slow rolling waves gently crashing into the shore.

  “Welcome to Little Creek. This is the new headquarters of what’s left of the Atlantic fleet. We’ll be taking your team out, via submarine, to the Savannah rally point, before we light off the offensive. I know you haven’t had a chance to really rest up—and I apologize—but we are coordinating the biggest offensives since the outbreak began.”

  “We’ll be fine. How much time do we have here?” Mason asked.

  “We need to do a final de-brief with all of the strike force team leaders that are present. I'd like to move out on the sub in four hours, tops. Once we drop in Savannah, it’ll be game on.”

  ****

  Abu Hadi exited the plane surrounded by his personal guards. The Pasdarans were easy to spot with their red berets and stoic facial expressions. These men were the elite guard of the League of Islam’s top leaders, and Abu Hadi was not only the Commander In Chief, he was the spiritual leader of the most powerful nation in the world.

  “Bring me to the operations center,” Abu said to the driver of his black Hummer that was outfitted with bulletproof glass and a reinforced steel frame.

  “I trust your flight was pleasant,” Captain Malik said, joining him in the back seat of the military SUV as they sped off down the runway.

  “This pitiful colony is behind schedule. Why are we stalled at our northern border? Why do we not advance as I’ve ordered from Bagdad a year ago?” Abu said to his ranking Pasdaran commander.

  “The terrorists have been assassinating our officers and raiding us from the coast. They hinder our every movement, and our latest reports show them massing up on the northern border of New Jerusalem for an attack.”

  “Attack?” Abu Hadi replied in surprise. “What could they have for an attack? We’ve decimated their infrastructure, they have no air superiority and they are outnumbered at least a hundred to one on the ground.”

  “You speak the truth, holy one. Yet they find a way to harass us at every turn.”

  “We shall finish them here and now. Let them build whatever forces the terrorists have at our northern holy wall. When they are at their strongest we shall attack and destroy them, once and for all.”

  The two men sat in silence taking in the devastating sights outside of their SUV. What was once a small, prosperous, barrier island community on the space coast, was now a filthy, destroyed, apocalyptic wasteland. The new, enhanced super feeders roamed the streets in organized packs. They were led by the Pasdarans or the infidel hunters.

  Abu Hadi had sent an order from Bagdad about a year ago
. His decree was that, if there were any remaining survivors found, they were to be given a choice. They would be spared only if they converted to Islam—the League of Islam needed a work force in the new colony.

  They would be lower than second class citizens, a ladder rung up from being a slave to this new evil empire. If they chose life, they were to be cleansed. After their acceptance of the one true religion, they were violently raped and beaten before a large crescent moon was branded on their right cheek.

  They had to spend their evenings praying to Allah and learning Arabic, as English was now a forbidden language in New Jerusalem. They would spend nineteen hours a day toiling in service to the colony. The harsh rules were enforced, without mercy or trial, by the Pasdarans and their sub human, infected, zombie-like creatures.

  The Hummer screeched to a halt in front of the main building of the former Kennedy space center. The two men entered the now transformed heart of what was once the United States’ classified space operations command. It was now the research and development headquarters of the League of Islam’s satellite hub, and how they controlled and commanded the super feeders.

  “Holy one, would you care to rest?” Captain Malik asked. “I believe you’ve had a long journey to grace us with your presence.”

  “I shall rest once I am satisfied that this operation is in compliance with the instructions I have sent you from Bagdad.”

  “Yes, of course, holy one.”

  “Do you have an uncleansed infidel servant, as I requested?”

  “Yes, he is waiting outside of your bed-chamber.”

  Abu Hadi and Captain Malik made their tour of the facility; he was pleased and pleasantly surprised with the progress of the scientists. They now had an army of flesh-eating, mindless super feeders, trained to act on their every command. They were as docile as trained dogs.

  Captain Malik showed the positions of the resistance on the map. “They have no chance. They mass up only for a certain death.”

  Abu Hadi ran his finger northward on the map of the new colony. “I want progress further north, I have thousands of immigrants that wish to settle and serve Allah. After we crush the terrorists here, we will open the wall and move here,” he said, running his finger up the heart of the former state of Georgia, which was now just an infected badlands.

  Pleased with the progress his Pasdaran captain had achieved, Abu Hadi left the control room and headed for his bed chamber to rest. He had a rustic fireplace installed to the left of his room which he stoked, before placing the crescent branding iron in it.

  There was a faint knocking on the door as an eight year old boy was led in, with a rope around his neck, and his hands bound behind his back. Abu Hadi nodded at the guards to leave as he approached the scared child and gently ran the back of his hand down his cheek.

  “What is your name, little one?” Abu asked.

  The child stared at him, wordlessly, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and urine streaming down his legs.

  “Do you not speak the one true language, and that is why you do not answer, child?” Abu Hadi asked in broken, halting English.

  The shivering child slowly nodded his head; the look of fear in his wild young eyes pleased Abu Hadi greatly.

  “You may speak the forbidden language to answer my questions, and I shall take a personal interest in your education, so you can better serve the one true god. Again, what is your name, child?”

  “My ... my ... my name is Charlie,” the boy stammered.

  “Do you take Islam and the prophet Mohammed as your savior; are you ready to be of service to the New Jerusalem?”

  “Eh. . . Yes. I think. I don’t know what that means.”

  “I shall teach you what that means… You shall be known from now on as Abdul Azeez, and you will be my personal servant and consort—Now kneel.”

  The young boy choked back a sob as he slowly brought his body weight onto his knees and stared, helplessly, at the man who would be in control of his destiny.

  “Before you can be of service to the colony, you must be cleansed,” Abu Hadi said, as he pulled the glowing, red hot brand out of the fireplace, and walked towards the scared, kneeling child.

  Abdul Azeez—or Charlie, as he was once known—screamed in agony as the fiery crescent branding iron seared the flesh of his right cheek. Hellish screams filled the bed chamber that night, as the newest infidel was cleansed and converted into the service of the League of Islam.

  The ballast tanks of the submarine were given a good shot of high pressure air. As the water was being forced out, the screw or the propeller guided the sub to the surface, making it buoyant. Mason pushed open the top hatch and walked out onto the cylindrical body with his team not far behind him.

  They had a change of plans and had to deploy farther south than Savannah. They were now just outside of the former King’s Bay Sub base, and could see the wall that the Islamic radicals had built to contain and protect their new colony.

  “Holy shit. Look at that jet. That’s one of ours,” Kalen said as the bombardment of the wall was in full swing. The explosions could be clearly seen from their vantage point on the sub.

  The resistance had pulled together everything they had left for this last offensive. They had gambled heavily on the success of their elite strike force teams, and knew if they could disrupt or destroy the satellite signal they could force the invaders into the Atlantic Ocean.

  Cap’n Tony and his five man team of Strike Force Echo inflated the two black Zodiac Mark 5’s. These heavy duty inflatables were perfect for the mission down the Florida coast. They needed to be undetectable and quick. The two teams had been briefed on their exact details and knew this was going to be their only shot to retake Florida.

  “Are you ready? It’s about two hours until we’ll be off the coast of Cape Canaveral,” Mason said.

  “Let’s just fucking go already,” Brody said as he loaded enough C4 into his bag to take out most of the state.

  The two teams loaded up into their respective zodiacs and stealthily made their way down the eastern coastline of New Jerusalem, or what they hoped would be called Florida once again soon.

  Kalen was the coxswain, or pilot, of Strike Force Foxtrot, with his father as the coxswain of the other zodiac just behind. Mason studied the coast for any sign of life and thought about how difficult the reconstruction would be. He had no doubt that they could destroy the signal, but then what? How would they dispatch the super feeders? There was an idea of just unleashing nuclear bombs after the invaders had been repelled, but that would just add another element of irreversible chaos into the mix.

  Mason sat down next to Pualani on the edge of the zodiac as they silently sped down the coast. “You look like you’re in deep thought. What’s going on with you?” he asked.

  “I’m just thinking, I guess.”

  “If it’s about how fucked up this new twisted ass world is, welcome to the club, it’s been on my mind for a while now,” he said putting his arm around her.

  “Not so much that, I’ve already accepted that fact, it’s more like… What’s next, you know what I mean? If we don’t get ourselves killed fighting these League of Islam bastards, what are we going to do after?” she asked.

  “We are going to fucking kill them all—and after that, we can have this conversation again,” he said, leaning back and resting his head against the thick rubber outer hull of the zodiac.

  ****

  Dawn broke and it was eerily quiet as the two teams stowed their zodiacs on the beach. Mason and his team would approach the main building of the Space Center command from the north and be met there with Cap’n Tony’s team, coming in from the south.

  So far so good, Mason thought. It was nice and quiet. They saw the Pasdaran guard in the tower, but he was oblivious to them. He whistled to Luanne, and she nocked an arrow in her bow. The arrow flew like a laser guided missile, hitting its target in the base of the man’s throat. He collapsed instantly with only the sounds of gu
rgling blood.

  It was a skeleton crew guarding the perimeter, most of the soldiers, Pasdarans and super feeders had been transported north to repel the attack at the wall. Mason and his team advanced further into the marsh to the barbwire fence, put up years ago to keep out the nosy public.

  Brody got the team’s attention and pointed to the deeper part of the marsh. There were at least half a dozen feeders clumsily moving towards them. The smell of fresh meat was too much for them to bear.

  “Silence your weapons. End them fast and clean—no noise,” Mason whispered.

  The team all nodded. They knew the drill. Pualani unsheathed her katana and sauntered through the first few like a ballerina of death. Kalen followed her with his Bowie knife, deftly severing their spinal cord at the base of what remained of their skull. Mason never got a chance to use his ax as Brody violently rammed his bayonetted sword arm through the face of the remaining two. The feeders slumped into the knee high water like stones as Kalen started cutting through the fence with his bolt cutters.

  Gunfire erupted from the southern end of the space center, and the remaining guards and their super feeders moved quickly to the source of the commotion. The alarm bells were deafening as the team slid through the small gap in the fence and made for the main entrance using the heavy tree line as cover.

  “I hope he’s going to be alright, it sounds like fucking world war three over there,” Kalen said, worried about his father.

  “They’re going to be fine. This is all part of the plan remember?” Mason said, also secretly afraid for Cap’n Tony and Strike Force Echo.

  They sat for a long moment and watched the unguarded steps of the main entrance of the space center.

  “Looks like nobody’s home,” Brody said.

  “I think we should watch the entrance a little longer, it could be a trap,” Luanne said, in her usual words of caution.

  “We’re going to have to take our chances. If we wait here too long, Cap’n Tony will get pinned down and slaughtered. We need to return the favor and make a diversion of our own,” Mason said, stowing his ax and double checking his MP5 had a full clip.