Technomancer 25: Captain’s Log

Leron stared out at the waves, drifting across the crater that was once Houston. The wind blew, picking up the fine white sand along the shore and blowing it by him. What remained of the Houston skyline pierced the water at the centre of the lake. Parched and black, they almost appeared like sea monsters. The exposed beams twisted outwards in places like enormous arms. Leron played with sand between his fingers, letting the fine powder slide through.

“You know, they say the tops of the buildings didn’t take all that much damage. The only reason they even look like buildings is that the blast took out the lower levels, and the tops fell,” Ben said, sitting beside him. “My family was from north of San Antonio, and we saw the mushroom clouds fill the sky. What do they call it when they cover the ground with multiple bombs?”

“Carpet bombing?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Ben said, resting crossed arms upon his bent legs and staring out at the water. He shook his head. “We could see and hear it from all the way in San Antonio. My father took his truck and tried to help save anyone who was still alive, but there was nothing left. He died from radiation sickness a few weeks after returning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No one knows what he did; just my Mom and me. If I die out here, no one will remember me or him. My mother died of a broken heart. Matt's all I have left.”

Leron turned his attention to the redhead and his serious eyes. Normally, they were filled with laughter, but this was the real Ben. The man who was hidden beneath that. The funniest people are those who have experienced the most pain.

“People like Major Andrews get to decide how everything happened because they will survive while we have to do all their dirty work.” Ben punched the ground, and his fist sank deep into the sand.

“You’re right. But if we don’t fight, many will die. What happened with Willow yesterday shook me up, too, and we all have a right to feel angry. She was one of us.”

Together, they sat in silence, listening to the wind blow across the water. Leron scratched at the brace, remembering Willow’s desperate attempt at escape. He fought to keep back tears. She should never have been dragged into this war.

“Y’know, I’ve been keeping a journal,” Ben said, pointing to his head. “I refuse to let those idiots get away with this. If I survive, I will make sure everyone knows what happened.”

Footsteps came from behind them, shuffling in the sand. “I won’t forget what your father did,” Matt said, roughing up Ben’s hair. He yawned, stretching his back. “I couldn’t help but overhear y’all.”

“Your zippers undone,” Ben said.

Matt looked down and grinned, gently nudging Ben with his foot while he zipped it up. He took a long sip from his canteen. “Ben's father found me and a few other men struggling to get around the lake from North Austin. We ran into bandits, and he helped us fight them off. Those commies took out Houston, Austin and Dallas in one swoop. It’s all nothing but craters and lakes. I still don’t understand why I didn’t get radiation sickness. Everyone I was with did, and they died. We started work at the factory in the early days. There were no parts, so Major Andrews sent us out to scavenge dumpsters.”

Ben laughed, “And we brought back several bags of dung and hid them in his office. He had to have the whole place cleaned out to find them.” The two of them broke into maniacal laughter and fist-bumped. Leron laughed with them.

“Break is over. Time to get back on the road!” yelled Private Desmond, the soldier assigned to drive the truck.

Leron climbed back into the truck along with the others. As soon as they were back on the road, he thought about Ben’s comment. Preservation of the truth was important. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep and opened a document within the space in his mind.

“Y’all right?” Matt asked through the chip.

“Yeah, Ben has a war journal, so I thought I’d pass the time by writing one, too.”

“You should totally call it the Captain’s log. Like from Star Trek, y’know.”

“No, that’s dumb.”

“Is it?”

Captain's Log August 21st 1900 hours

The base in San Antonio disappeared as we rounded the corner, and my thoughts continued to dwell on the loss of Willow. I keep seeing her run in my mind, and the gunshot that took her life. Could I have done something? The anger I feel towards Aldrin needs to be set aside, but I struggle to understand how. Willow's last words echo within my mind. Don’t become like them. How do I avoid becoming like Captain Aldrin and Major Andrews, but not die like Willow?

The army truck entered the highway and came to an abrupt stop. We waited for hours, but the traffic hardly moved. Desmond, our driver, began swearing and complaining loudly about coal trucks.

Over the radio, Major Andrews' muffled voice came through loud and clear. “Drone Corps truck 40. Move off the highway. Over.”

“Base Camp. Please direct. Over.”

“Take the exit ahead. Follow the road through town. Over”

“10’4”

The truck pulled off the highway and entered the slums. It was dark, and the only light came from the few remaining streetlamps. A loud cry came from outside, and people began appearing from the shanties. They ran toward the truck, throwing rotting food and trash against the windshield. Some of them beat against the canvas and metal, while a few tried to climb through the back. Dusty and I grabbed our rifles and pushed them back.

“Reporting unrest in the southeastern quadrant,” Desmond cried.

“Sending back up.”

It would take too long. The violence was getting out of hand, and someone needed to do something, or people were going to die. Depending on how long it took the backup to arrive, it would be either us or the people attacking us.

“Don't fire unless you have to. Summon the drones,” I told the others through the chips, and I could sense their immediate response. “Sadie, help Dusty.”

I tossed Sadie my rifle, and she took my place at the back of the truck bed, pushing the people back while I made my way toward the front of the truck. Matt and Ben crouched, their handguns aiming toward the back while Jedd was out cold, working on moving the drones with Leron 2.0. Most of the drone corps could only handle one drone at a time, but Jedd and Dusty could manage three each.

“What are you doing?” yelled Desmond when I opened the passenger window.

I ignored him as something hit me in the face. I pushed through the people beating at me and climbed onto the roof of the truck. Swallowing back the dryness in my throat, I pulled my handgun and fired into the air three times. “Listen!” I screamed over the angry cries. I was grateful when one of them pointed a torch at me.

Many of the people backed away. A few screamed, continuing to throw whatever they could find at me. I cleared my throat, struggling to keep my shaking hand still. I could sense the approaching drones. With a whirr, they flew down from the highway and hovered above my head.

I fired again. “Listen to me. We are not here to hurt you.”

“It’s your fault we’re starving!” screamed a woman. “The army is hoarding all the food.”

“Yeah!”

“And you would be keeling our children,” growled a man in an accent Leron was certain was Russian. “We need food!”

Another man with the same accent yelled, “The Amerrican’s are responsible for all of these.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Leron yelled. “I’m just a soldier. The men and women in this truck are here to protect you. There is an invasion in Corpus Christi, and if we don’t get there on time, the enemy will come here. Let us through!”

A few people in the crowd gasped and began drifting away into the buildings, but the Russian men stayed, glaring at me along with those who were the angriest. “Get them! This is our home, and they have entered,” he screamed.

The crowd went wild and continued.

Leron 2.0 shot the Russian man with one of the non-lethal projectiles. He fell over and was unconscious on the road.

The people around him stared, frozen in time. A few of them began to whisper, and they stared at the drones. The truck rumbled forward, and I had to race to climb back into it from the roof. I swung through the window and hit the passenger seat with a thud. I was covered in bruises, and one of the rioters had cut my arm with a rock. Exhausted, I relaxed into the seat, still in shock over what had happened, but relieved that we had avoided any major violence. Through the window, I watched the other Russian pull the unconscious man off the road before the truck rolled over him. He glared at us as we passed.

Desmond picked up the radio. “Situation averted, over.”

“10’4. Everyone, return to your course. Local law enforcement is going in to investigate.”

“Why did you do that?” I demanded, speaking to Leron 2.0 through the chip and ignoring the long lines of profanity being pronounced by Desmond.

“Observation: Man targetted = leader. Leader eliminated = people disperse,” Leron 2.0 responded.

“Next time, wait for the order. That way, the others don’t think I’m being a cowboy.”

“Leron is cow boy? Does not compute. Define. Requesting new ID?”

“No, don’t change my name to cowboy. Just don’t fire on anyone without permission, okay?”

“Command accepted.”

I sighed, checking the status of the drones and ensuring they were returned to Captain Aldrin’s truck. Everyone reported no injuries but a few bruises, and Sadie complained loudly about the rotten tomato stain on her hat.

An email came into my mind from Major Andrews: You should have followed orders and left by 1500 hours. Good job with the drones. FYI, Aldrin reported your insolence back at the base. We will talk when you arrive. Major Andrews.

The slums continued to pass us by in the night. Street after street, the buildings were falling to pieces or reconstructed with whatever people could find. The children wandered around in rags, their hair matted and faces stained with mud. They were so thin. No wonder the parents were angry.

Captain's Log August 21st 2200 hours

We made it out of the city and were directed to move north towards Houston. All the roads to the south of us were blocked by rioting or by other trucks in the convoy trying to move toward the base camp. I left Desmond after trying to calm him down and returned to the others in the back.

Jedd was halfway through telling the others about his life in the slums when I took my seat at the back of the truck and discovered Sadie snuggled up to Dusty. He grinned sleepily, looking very satisfied with himself.

“I got the stain off her hat,” he whispered.

“Good, we don’t need her picking any fights. Desmond is still yelling at the traffic from earlier. He’s bad enough without adding in Sadie.”

“That was a close one,” he said with a yawn. As suspected, his shakes had eased once we were on the road. He pulled Sadie closer and closed his eyes.

I felt jealous. I thought of Masa and began to worry about how she was faring in Laredo. I looked out the back of the truck and toward the south. The night air was cooling. I reached for my coat and put it on, enjoying the warmth it had picked up from the day's heat. Jedd was telling a story, so I settled in and listened.

“Wait, tell me why you were living in the slums,” Ben asked.

“We lost our ranch to bandits,” Jedd replied. “They overran the place.”

“What happened?” I asked, wishing I hadn't missed it.

Jedd groaned, “Well, now I gotta start over. I 'spose it’s not like I have anything better to do. Cap, my wife and I lost our ranch to bandits. We barely escaped and had to live in a place like we passed through. It’s real rough. That’s why I was workin’ long hours in the factory. We were tryin' to escape it.”

“What do you know about those Russian men? Are there many foreigners in the slums?”

“Tonnes. People from all over. Dunno where they came from.”

Jedd told us the story of how he lost his wife, and my blood ran cold. While he worked at the factory, a group of ruffians had taken his wife and done the unspeakable. I do not wish to record it.

Captain's Log August 21st 2300 hours

Desmond pulled into a field off the farm road we were driving down. Almost everyone in the back was passed out.

Jedd was still awake and was drinking from Matt’s canteen, which I was certain contained more than water. I closed my eyes and entered the chip in his mind.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

Jedd had withdrawn into his mind space and was watching images of his wife that he had summoned from his memory. “No.” The woman was sewing and looked up at us, her brown eyes filled with love, and I was reminded of Masa. The world of the chip warped around us in response to Jedd's emotional turmoil.

I sat with him for a time, making sure he wasn’t alone. I did not know what to say.

“You should go,” Jedd said after a time. “I’ll live.”

I left his mind, returning to my own mind space. I also summoned images of Masa and watched her. Every time I touched her, my hands passed through. I had to survive this. I wouldn’t let her be stuck living in the slums or being taken advantage of by the men there. At least she had the Monterrey Group.

Captain's Log August 22nd 0800 hours

I woke up to find we were back on the road. The fence wires rolled by, and the fields behind them lay empty of everything but dead grass and scrub brush. Everyone snacked on the supplies, but few of us talked. After yesterday, Morale is low, and everyone is feeling the strain of what happened in the slums and with Willow.

The only two who seem content are Dusty and Sadie. What started as cuddles has turned into making out. I’m keeping an eye on them, but I know most of us would do the same if we could.

Major Andrews is having a fit that the driver stopped for the night, but Desmond told him to shove it.

Captain's Log August 22nd 1000 hours

Desmond pulled off in Houston, pleading the need for a bathroom break. Everyone was glad to escape the truck and walk around. I sat beside the lake, which was once the city of Houston, staring out at the buildings. Ben and Matt told me how they met and about their past. They were both from further north and saw the devastation that took Houston, Austin and Dallas. Hundreds of miles of land, buildings and people destroyed in an instant.

Now that I am writing this down, I think about what Father Ambrose said about the rapture. I don’t know if I believe it or not. If it did all really happened, I hoped that God had taken all the people before the blast and not those who remained after. What kind of intense pain would they have gone through while all the flesh was burned from their bones?

Ben told me he is keeping a war journal, and I have decided to follow his example. I may never share it, but it will help me keep track of things and reassess what happened once all this is over.

Captain's Log August 22nd 1200 hours

We finally made it to base camp. After exiting the truck, we were met with tents and mobile battle stations as far as the eye could see across the fields of dirt. Temporary hangars and an airfield stretched out across one corner of the field, and on the other side, I could sense the presence of the drones as they connected to us. The soldiers moved about at their tasks, ignoring our presence.

I folded my arms and leaned against the truck, watching them. Logically, I knew I needed to find Major Andrews, but I had no idea where to start looking, and my stomach growled.

“What do we do now, Cap?” Jedd said with a goofy grin, sidling up next to me. He leaned against the back of the truck, a blade of grass in his mouth.

“What in the…?” screamed Desmond from the front of the truck before I could respond.

Matt snorted, and Ben began to laugh from the back of the truck. I groaned inwardly and watched them jump over the tailgate and make a run for it with Desmond screaming after them.

Sadie and Dusty walked towards what appeared to be a mess hall hand in hand.

“Well, how about we follow them and find some food?” I asked Jedd. I didn't want to leave him alone after the previous night.

“Sounds great. I’m starving.”

We followed after Sadie and Dusty. Major Andrews could find me instead. If I were forced to be here, I would run my unit on my terms. I would do my best to survive and ensure they did too. I might be their Captain, but they had become my friends.