Chapter 10: The National Guard is here to help

62 Hours till Nemesis 2 Released

James lay on the couch staring up at the letters that hovered three feet from him. Futile questions ran through his mind. How was he seeing them? How did they track with his line of sight if he could interpose his hand and block them out? Pupil tracking? How did something so high-tech correlate with the vicious, demonic evil of the Nemesis 1? How did the Nemesis 1’s materialize so close in the first place? Was teleportation a thing now?

More importantly, why?

Why send a Nemesis 1 after each human? An inescapable agent of someone’s downfall. Why? Who had humanity pissed off this bad?

Then again, the first thing he’d seen back in the subway station was that a 60,000-year count-down timer had expired.

Who the fuck had shown up sixty-thousand years ago when Homo Sapiens was figuring out cave painting and thought, “Yeah, screw these monkeys, let’s set a count-down timer to go off sixty fucking thousand years in the future to ruin their day.”

Had an original Homo Sapiens pissed of these guys that badly?

Or was it more of a civilizational thing? What was the name of that theory, the science fiction one, which sought to explain why the universe wasn’t crowded with alien life? They’d posited that there’s a threshold of dangerous tech that no species can cross without destroying itself. That the very urges to evolve and dominate would cause self-destruction.

James pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe it wasn’t discovering nukes that did all the aliens in. Maybe it was this Nemesis system.

“Morning sunshine.” Serenity’s voice was a croak and she emerged from her room, a Rage Against the Machine shirt hanging down to her knees. “Coffee? Cocaine? Bullet to the head?”

James struggled to sit. The couch was so old it felt like trying to pull himself free of quicksand. “Coffee sounds good.”

“You know, I kind of wish there was a way to accelerate this Nemesis 2 thing.” The kitchen was now halfway cleaned. She’d stopped upon uncovering the coffee carafe. “The suspense was killing me, but now I just want to get it over with.”

“Hmmph.”

“Right?” She turned to look at him with exaggerated emphasis. “Exactly what I was thinking! You put it so well.”

He glowered at her.

She grinned, turned back to her back-from-the-dead Mr. Coffee. “So, what we got on the books today? You gonna reach out to the UN? Should we start a charity for orphaned kids? Open a hot dog stand?”

“Open a hot dog stand?”

“Yeah, you know. Cute little chrome number, we’d get matching outfits and matching rifles. Wheel it around town, feeding cute stray dogs and mowing down demons.”

“Dubious business proposition.”

She turned the machine on and it began to gurgle. “Yeah, everyone always told me I didn’t have a head for numbers. Or the law. Or good relationships. But look at me now.”

James raised an eyebrow and she winked at him. “I’m riding shotgun with the sexy lumberhomelessjack and kinda sorta getting some kicks out of the apocalypse. I mean, at the time it sucked, but now? That cupcake shop was like the OK Corral. I felt like John Wick in there. Maybe that can be my name? Jane Wick?”

“Coffee.”

“Men.” She fished a couple of mugs out of the sink. “So for real. What are we doing today? Hitting up the National Guard?”

James took up the TV remote and with some trepidation turned on the news.

“…has confirmed that a historical draw-down of our military forces abroad is now taking place, with over a hundred thousand active-duty members from all branches scheduled to return so as to bolster efforts to secure the streets of our cities. The National Guard is still deploying to key areas, though reports confirm that over three hundred thousand -”

He changed the channel.

A reporter was interviewing a guy in paramilitary gear, a machine gun propped over his shoulder.

“…not going to take this sitting down.” The guy’s tone was heated. “This is our turf. This is our home. If these little fuckers think they can stroll into the USA and throw-down, they’re going to learn there are three hundred million patriots ready to die for the liberty of our nation. We’re renaming ourselves the Liberty Battalion and are accepting memberships. Reach out to our website to register and receive your orders -”

Change of channel.

“…at Johns Hopkins University have released preliminary results on MRI’s conducted on people actively viewing these alien messages and confirmed no irregular brain activity beyond heightened levels of stress and fear. This leads them to hypothesize that these messages are holographic in nature, though the source of these projections have yet to be determined, as they can appear in closed rooms -”

Change of channel.

“…regret to announce that the Super Bowl is indeed being delayed due to -”

Change of channel.

“…that tastes amazing.”

“The trick, Martha, lies in adding seven sticks of butter -”

James turned the TV off. “Guess shit’s still going south.”

Serenity handed him a mug. “Why did I drop my purse? I’d kill to check social media right now. That’s where the real news is.”

“The government has a free phone program. Federal Lifeline Assistance. You could apply. With a little luck, you could have a replacement within the month.”

“Ha ha.” She sipped her coffee. “For real, though. Should we hit up the National Guard, or go level?”

James realized he’d not considered grinding. He’d thought of killing the gremlins so as to help others out, but not expressly to boost his stats. “Yeah, maybe. Let’s hit up the National Guard, see if I can help. I’m curious about how they’re going to help. Patrols? Boost the police? Then we can find some gremlins to kill. Third wave should be hitting today. There’ll be millions more out there.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She ruffled his hair then walked back into her room. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

He watched her retreat into her room, the rust red shirt doing little to hide how her body had changed and averted his eyes. Blushing, he gulped his coffee and then hissed as he burnt his tongue.

“Idiot,” he muttered.

Ten minutes later they hit the streets. The February sun was weak and the light watery, but the chill breeze felt refreshing, and it was heartening to see life on the streets. The doomsday feel of the night before had receded before some measure of normalcy. With millions still unaffected by the outbreak, it was impossible to expect people to stay home.

James tugged his pimp coat closer and eyed clothing racks as they passed secondhand stores with longing.

“No money,” said Serenity, looping her arm through his. “And c’mon, you’re building a brand here. That coat’s super distinctive.”

“I would pay a hundred bucks for a baseball bat. And just as much for a real jacket.”

“But you’re broke, I’m broke, and shit’s not gotten so bad yet we can just start looting, right? So you got a skillet and a gorgeous fur coat.”

To which James could only shake his head.

The National Guard were definitely out. Whomever was running this operation was doing it right. A tan truck rolled down the street or through an intersection every ten minutes or so, marking their presence, and there were squads outside the subway stations and at bus stops, talking to folks and handing them papers.

James hated approaching men and women in uniform. Years on the street had taught him this usually went one way. Not every time, but cops were often overworked, stressed out, and with no patience for his explanations as to why he was trying to sleep here or asking for money there.

His gut tightened up and he clenched his skillet tighter, but together he and Serenity walked up to the squad stationed beside the bus stop up ahead.

God damnit, why did he only have a pimp coat to wear? The second he could, he was changing it up. Branding be damned.

Half the squad was talking to other pedestrians. They looked casual and competent, glossy black M16 rifles in the Patrol Carry Position, muzzles pointed at the ground. They were dressed in camo, but instead of helmets wore tan caps, and on their shoulders wore American flag patches under red shields on which a gold lion stood rampant.

Each guard also had a blue armband.

“Hey, check it out,” said a teenager raising his phone. “It’s the sexy lumberjack. Dude, you’re a legend.”

James grimaced, but several of the National Guard had turned to him, and in that moment he saw recognition flare in their faces.

Shit.

“Sir?” A heavy-set guard with a square jaw stepped forward.

The urge to bolt was overwhelming. James felt his expression constrict, and if Serenity hadn’t been holding onto his arm, he might have turned and run.

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“Sir?” The guard looked him up and down. “Are you the, ah, sexy lumberhomelessjack?”

James wanted to die, but Serenity raised her chin. “You see any other bad asses walking around here?”

“The mayor has asked that we keep an eye out for you and invite you to speak with his people at the Emergency Management building here in downtown Brooklyn. We’ve been instructed to provide you with transportation.”

“Am I under arrest?”

The guard blinked. “Arrest? We’re not the police. I’m Sergeant Metcalf, with the 642nd Aviation Support Battalion, Company C. You’ve drawn a lot of attention with your two videos, and the mayor would like to speak with you. That’s all.”

James took a shaky breath. “It’s never that simple. And if I refuse?”

Sergeant Metcalf’s expression hardened. “Why would you refuse? You clearly have a sense of civic duty, or you wouldn’t be posting those videos. They’ve made a difference, but people have questions. You would be providing critical help by sharing what you know. That’s all.”

The sergeant hadn’t answered his question. James gave Serenity a panicky look. Her lips were pursed, but then she gave a curt nod. “Fine. We’ll go.”

“Very good.” The sergeant turned away to speak into his handheld radio, received a confirmation, then turned back. “We’re all set. Your ride will be here shortly.”

“How are you guys handling this?” asked James. If he was to be questioned, he might as well get some info, too. “What are you telling people?”

Another guard who’d be listening gave James one of their flyers. It featured a map of Brooklyn with three red stars, the closest being Grand Army Plaza just north of sprawling Prospect Park. The text was simple:

The National Guard is here to help.

If you receive a request to acknowledge a Nemesis 1,

Make your way to the closest clearing zone.

Further guidance will be provided there.

“What’s happening at these clearing zones?” he asked, handing the flyer back.

“We’re processing people who’ve been notified,” said Sergeant Metcalf. “Organizing them into groups of fifty or a hundred, taking them into Prospect Park, and then having them accept the acknowledgement request at the same time. A cordon of guards then shoots the enemy when they appear. Citizens are then released through another exit and the next batch brought in.”

James frowned. “But only three zones? We’re due for the third wave today. That could mean millions of folks. At the rate of fifty or a hundred -”

The sergeant’s expression turned grim. “Command is adapting and growing the operation as quickly as they can. We’re going to be reinforced soon, but this is what’s been spun up on short notice. It’s also why the mayor is eager to speak with you. What you demonstrated on last night’s video was… impressive.”

“Nobody else has been dumping their points into Arete?”

“We’re not leveling fast enough. The guard has been superlative at defeating their own Nemesis, but we’re not racking up enough concentrated kills to rise to Mendicant 2 consistently, much less Mendicant 3.”

“Yeah,” interjected the guard with the flyers. The name tape read Green. “How did you get that high so fast?”

James shared a look with Serenity. “We got cornered, and they kept calling for back-up. We killed them as they rushed us.”

“Damn,” said Green. “Out standing.”

“How many did it take to level?” asked Sergeant Metcalf.

“Hard to say,” said Serenity, affecting a careless tone. “I think I shot… thirty? Before I hit level 2?”

The Sergeant considered her with new interest. “You’re second rank?”

“No, honey. Third.”

Green let out a low whistle. “How many kills to reach third?”

“Again, hard to say. Probably another fifty?”

“You killed eighty Nemeses last night?” asked the Sergeant with barely hidden skepticism.

“Sure.” Serenity lounged against James. “Don’t believe me?”

“I didn’t say that, miss.”

“Uh huh.”

“What were you shooting?” asked Green. “Automatic? You spray and pray?”

Serenity’s expression turned disdainful. “Glock 17.”

“You did all that with a Glock?” A third guard had stepped up, Hernandez on her name tape. “Eighty kills?”

“Uh huh.” Serenity inspected her nails. “My aim wasn’t the best, but once I hit Agility 16 I tightened up.”

Hernandez blinked. “I look forward to raising my agility, then.”

A tan truck rounded the corner. Came fast then slammed on the breaks so that the tires skidded a foot. The driver door flew open and a broad shouldered soldier fairly leaped down, his blue eyes gleaming, his grin irrepressible. “Sergeant Metcalf.”

“Private Williams,” said Metcalf, his tone dour. “This here is… sir, what are your names?”

“James Kelly.”

“Serenity.”

“Mr. Kelly and Miss Serenity needs transportation to the NYC Emergency Management building on Cadman Plaza East.”

“Yes Sergeant.” Williams turned to James, his china-blue eyes gleaming. The guy was positively vibrating with energy. “Ready?”

They climbed into the truck’s cab. Williams leaned out, checked traffic, then accelerated abruptly into the street, his manner alarmingly casual as he maneuvered the truck at a dangerous speed. “So, you’re the sexy lumberjack? Oh shit, that’s wild. Or do you prefer James? James Kelly. Man, I’ve been dying to meet you since we saw your video last night. Even while we were deploying word was going around, that this bad-ass pimp was ashing Nemeses by just looking at them.”

James grabbed the oh-shit handle as Williams slid the truck around a slow-moving minivan and then ran a yellow light to careen on down the street.

“You’re a fucking legend already. Though have you heard of El Capitan? You think he’s really Rank 4?”

“Never heard of him,” said James.

“Her. She’s out in LA. Man, talk about a bad ass! She got trapped in an elevator shaft or something, private security detail, had an M4, just went to town. But she didn’t go all-out Arete like you did, she went pure Agility, and now she’s just walking the streets mowing them down. Though of course it’s a question of ammo, right?”

“I think there’s lots of ammo in the States.”

“True, true. Wow.” Williams gazed at him admiringly. “So what’s your theory on why this is happening? Me, I think it’s aliens. You know the theory where aliens were supposed to have brought life to Earth, way back? Like, those Andes drawings that only make sense when seen from way up high? I bet we’re like an experiment sixty thousand years in the making, and they wanted to see how fast we could evolve before hitting us with the Nemesis trial. Like a stress test.”

James stared at the driver. “You think all this is a stress test?”

“Hell yeah! Survival of the fittest. In eighty-eight days the pits open, whatever that is, like a final boss fight. We’ve got to level up as much as possible before then, and those who survive will be rewarded with, shit, I don’t know, like alien tech, or maybe we’ll be inducted into some galaxy super league or something.”

“Galaxy super league.”

“Yeah, you know? Every civilization that’s survived the Nemesis test. Bunch of bad asses.”

“And you think we’ll make it?”

Williams grinned at him, teeth flashing an almost blinding white. “Dude, Uncle Sam’s been spending hundreds of billions on the military since forever. We’re the most elite, best equipped, most lethal fighting force the world has ever seen. Trust me. These Nemeses punks? They ain’t got a chance.”

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