BROKEN BY THE SUN
Kirken's War
Sample Chapters
...In 2201, Earth’s atmosphere weakened to life-altering levels. Giant domed structures were developed to shelter the world’s masses. But it was not enough for everyone. Many were forced to live on the outside. Others fled for protection underground.
The world became divided between two countries. Each struggled to protect its own. In secret, a plan was developed.
While the world slowly burned, one man was asked to do the unthinkable to save the lives of his family.
As the sun continued to shine mercilessly down.
Administration Land Defense Strategy #21436: Allow for invasion and occupation of old-world cities by opposing ground military. Release Vulture troops to wire and destroy cities.
Primary objectives: Destroy invading armies. Greatly diminish overall attacking force.
Secondary objectives: Clear land for construction of artificial atmosphere technology. Complete regeneration of domestic population by elimination of the dying and diseased.
Implemented as official presidential response protocol in 2226.
As of 2306…yet to be put into use...
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Chapter 1
October 2306
...105 years after Catastrophic Atmospheric Reduction (CAR)
​
"This is really something. Wouldn't you say, Commander?" asked Lieutenant Alan Wagner, squad leader of the dome scout troop out on routine patrol of another decaying region on the outside.
​
"What's that, Lieutenant?" Dome Military Commander John Kirken asked plodding listlessly along next to him. Twelve fresh dome soldier recruits walked ahead of them down the center of the solar-battered street.
People of the dying town walked on both sides of them keeping close to the crumbling storefronts. Watching them closely. But staying as far as possible off to the sides.
Kirken looked straight down the street to avoid their stares. They moved slowly. It was clear they were all sick - dying from the radiation poisoning that came from living on the outside.
"I mean look at these people," Wagner said waving his arms in a sweeping motion. Doing nothing to hide that he was talking about them. And knowing full well his voice carried through the street.
They all looked skinny, tired, and weak. Most had lost their hair long ago. Their skin seemed to sink deep into their bones giving Kirken a queasy feeling like he was walking among the dead.
"Do you think these people out here are still devoted citizens?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand, Lieutenant,” Kirken’s voice was mostly drowned out by the revving of the transport truck that had slowly rolled up behind them. “Devoted to what?"
This search patrol was routine - detect and neutralize any potential threats to the cloaked military dome not more than thirty miles away. Intelligence supplied by local informants in these towns was starting to alarm dome officials, which brought about the increase of the patrols like the one Kirken was supervising.
Kirken understood the unease. You could almost feel the fear and desperation floating through the air.
"We’re outsiders,” Kirken said. Trespassing in their town." He raised his hands across the top of his black solar-shielded glasses trying to see his troopers ahead of him through the sun’s intense glare. "They wouldn't care if we all died right here."
"I quite agree," Wagner nodded and followed his stare. "But I’m curious what you think, Commander. We may not be here for their good, but in the long run, it will be their children or their children's children that we helped to survive here."
Kirken turned back around casting his gaze across the people lining the streets.
"I don't think they’d agree with that,” Kirken said still inspecting the people around them. He then turned to look at Wagner. “I think if you started talking like that in front of them, and my troopers weren’t here, you wouldn’t get much of a chance to fully explain it. You’d be dragged through the streets long before you were done."
"That's what I'm getting at, Commander. These people. Right here. Are they loyal? Do they at least appreciate…or even understand what we’re doing here? They should. We're all citizens of the same goddamn country. Stuck on the same dying world. We're all living and dying for the same common good. To keep life going on this stink hole of a planet."
"We're not citizens of the same country," Kirken said slowly. "We’ve been separated for more than ten years. And we're not all dying for the same common good. They’re just dying."
"You’re right, we're not," Wagner said turning to face him. Kirken kept his gaze straight ahead. "Our men die because of them. They can't get past their own selfishness to see it clearly. It disgusts me."
Kirken ignored the lump slowly crawling up his throat and the sudden urge to strike the man next to him in the face.
"I mean look at this, Commander." Wagner raised his fist and pointed again at the people passing by them on both sides of the street.
A woman on their left turned away from them and stepped into a dirty storefront. A rip along the length of her dress parted slightly revealing diseased skin all along her back. Her flesh was dark and leathery reminding Kirken of scorched meat that had been left on the fire too long.
He wondered how long before his two children living on the outside would start to look like this. He wondered if they already did.
"They all know they're dying," Wagner continued. "They spend each day coping with the fact their children are in pain. And there is not one damn thing they can do about it. Why waste what energy they have trying to fight us?"
Kirken dragged his feet through the hot sand blowing across the jagged rocky terrain. Like most days, it was only bitterness and a fierce quiet rage that kept his body moving through these seemingly endless days. And then an absolute inconsolable sorrow that always kept it from moving too fast.
He cupped his hands over the dark glasses that covered most of his upper face. Even with the protective eyewear, he could still feel the heat blasting at his skin and ripping at his eyes. His temples throbbed. He didn't know if it was from trying to focus his eyes through the heavy plastic or just listening to Wagner speak.
For the most part, the people on the street seemed to ignore the troops. Some looked at them through the corner of their eyes. Others glared intensely. A tangible energy of disdain and animosity surrounded them all.
"Are you saying these people will start standing in the way of the government?" Kirken asked tiredly. “Of course they oppose us. Why wouldn’t they?”
He would be glad when he no longer had to oversee these scout missions on the outside and represent something he could barely stomach. He looked forward to what was about to happen in the next two days when he would relinquish his rank and escape the bureaucracy he despised.
When he was officially cleared from military service, he planned to leave the domes forever and live the rest of his days on the outside. He wanted to be with his two stepchildren when life out here became too much for them to endure.
"That is what I'm saying, Commander,” Wagner again intruded on his thoughts. “They would stand in our way. I don't agree that we’ve been completely separated. We all live here. In these United States. I fear what will happen when all these people just start becoming loyal to themselves. And to hell with what we’re trying to accomplish."
Kirken didn't respond. He just continued to walk lost in a flurry of his own thoughts.
Wagner dropped his voice and spoke into a small black transmitter that curved around his mouth. When he did, the soldiers stopped ahead. A few turned their heads around cautiously and scanned their weapons across the empty storefront windows. Others looked across the rooftops on both sides of the street.
"What's going on, Lieutenant?" Kirken asked. He wasn't wearing a headset or any communications gear. Wagner slowed his pace and then stopped directly next to him.
Kirken held up a balled fist signaling the truck behind them to wait. He coughed once when the mammoth vehicle rolled to a halt and kicked searing hot dirt up at their backs.
"Copy," Wagner said quietly into his transmitter. He activated a device that projected a small hologram rendering of the streets and buildings around them. "Nothing's going on. Our point man just messaged back that there aren't too many more people on the street up ahead. Everyone seems to be clearing out."
"We’re here to make sure they don’t know where the domes are," Kirken said coolly. He looked briefly at the hologram and then strained his eyes to see what was ahead. "And we represent a safe world they're not allowed to be a part of. That just might mean they don’t want to watch us pass through.”
As always, this patrol was lasting too long. The heat was starting to get to him. Kirken's strained temper was becoming more evident by his words and the force in which he spit them out.
"Or it could mean something else entirely,” Wagner replied.
He deactivated the holovid device and started walking again next to Kirken down the center of the street. He spoke again into his transmitter to the troops that were now a block further up. Occasionally, he stole a scrutinizing glance at Kirken.
They trudged slowly along the burning gravel of the street. Both were silent for a number of minutes listening to the hot wind force itself upon the town.
"It’s not my intention to offend you, Commander. But listen to yourself. How you're sounding. And you live in the domes. I just can't imagine what these people are thinking about us right now, out here."
"These people are working toward a common good, just like we are," Kirken said his voice nearly a whisper. He stopped and raised a dark gloved hand over his eyes trying to see the squad.
"Those that are well enough work the factories and try to raise their families the best they can. They are doing what needs to be done."
"Those people are also angry,” Wagner said back. That anger breeds resistance. Defiance. We should just let them die. Build domes over the factories and only protect the active workers. The ones that are too sick – too weak to work lose their focus. And they conspire - try to turn others against us. How can we become stronger as a nation when we're fighting the people we are working hard to protect?"
"We're only working to protect ourselves," Kirken replied lengthening his stride to move further ahead.
The soldiers in front of them continued at a slow, cautious pace up the street. A few of them looked uninterestedly about past the deformed and the dying. Others stared intently across the lines of crumbling shops, the frames of decaying vehicles littering the road, and the nightmare the world had become.
They all held their weapons rested loosely in their grips.
The smell of gas from the transport truck filled Kirken's nostrils as the wind shifted again sending more searing dust across the thick material covering his skin. Kirken could still feel the heat. And he was probably the most well-layered of any of the troops out there for the hike.
People like Wagner made him hate the world.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is this," Wagner continued. "Our current system of society, the whole setup, military and the brains on inside, workers left to rot on the out. It doesn't work. How can you live and work like these people do to create technology that saves lives, but then don't get to use it? You don't get to use it, and you and your family are dying. Tell me what you think Commander, because I hear that you still have some family living on the outside."
Kirken stopped. Sand floated up from the ground from his last step. The transport rolling behind them also came to a halt.
Wagner turned to look at him while Kirken's thoughts rested on the holstered weapon hanging at his waist. They stood facing each other for a moment, and then Kirken continued his stride.
"I guess that's why we're out here today," Kirken said pulling a vial from his black vest. "To figure that one out."
He placed its thin metal between his teeth, pulled off its cap and sucked two of its contents down his scratchy throat.
"Better call ahead to the men. Tell them to take the last dose. We’re going back out tomorrow."
"They're going to love you for that. A lot of them have passes tonight."
"Do they want to puke tonight? “Kirken sighed. “Or be dead in a year?"
Kirken wondered when it was exactly that he started to need to justify taking measures to protect his own men. Justifying to the men he was protecting. Military personnel died every day from not adhering to proper solar exposure countermeasures while carrying out missions on the outside. Maybe that was the point.
He raised his hand and wiped the sweat from the top of his forehead. The material from his glove burned at his skin. He couldn't imagine living out here permanently. Living like his own family did trying to make a life outside the domes. Living with the dead and the dying.
The lump he had felt in his throat was now larger and had moved further up. Any bigger he thought it might make him choke.
Kirken stepped slowly along next to Wagner and listened to him speak softly again into his transmitter. The troops had begun to move faster. They were only a few blocks from the edge of the town where they could declare the scouting mission complete and board the transport back.
They hurried to finish up so they could forget the death around them. Some slowed a little to dose themselves while they walked.
Kirken kept walking letting himself sink into the depths of the radioprotective medication. He enjoyed the feeling of it tapping into his body's stored energy and blasting out the heightened biological defense that further protected against the sun.
The sensation seemed to have a numbing effect on everything else. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing thoughts while he walked. With the help of the medication, he was able to push away at the bitterness and anger that tormented him, like they always did, when he was out here.
He didn't believe in too many things anymore. Walking through these towns, seeing the world through the eyes of these people, made his spirit sick. He couldn't look at the families anymore, especially those with children exhibiting the various symptoms of radiation sickness.
More times than ever before, he thought about taking his own life. But that in itself did not guarantee salvation, only a chance of rest. And by leaving his children still out here alive, he didn't think his soul would even be guaranteed that.
Next to them, two women strolled down the sidewalk. One of them, dark and grubby, in her late teens, held the hand of the other, a frail older woman with tired eyes and sun-ravaged features. Kirken imagined she was her mother. The teen's skin was charred and blistered. Her face was burned, and her hair was mostly gone. Brown and green spots speckled her flesh.
Kirken could see she was in advanced stages of solar sickness. Much further along than most at her age. The older woman moved slowly next to her. Both seemed oblivious to their presence.
The troop formation reached the edge of town and waited for Kirken, Wagner and the transport to catch up.
Kirken's head swum. Even with the medication, his body struggled with any amount of exposure to the outside. The guilt from this weakness always made him even more sick.
A haze rose from the ground in front of them making it hard to see the troops ahead. The hot air beating down from above further obscured his view. His troops waited to board the truck. The revving sound of its engine behind him was becoming ever more pleasing to Kirken's ear.
He was about to signal the driver to open the doors when two thunderous weapons bolts echoed through the still air.
Kirken's head jerked forward. Wagner ripped his weapon from its heavy strap across his back.
Only a few yards ahead, one of the soldiers pitched back towards them with his legs flailing through the air. His hand clutched at a gaping hole that had opened in his left shoulder. His body fell flat across the ground and was still. His weapon dropped in a pile of dust next to him just beyond his reach.
Kirken remained standing and still while the exploded dust from the weapons fire settled around him. Just ahead, the rest of his troops leapt for cover on either side of the street.
Wagner dove to the ground next to Kirken and crawled through the sand screaming into his transmitter and spitting grit from his teeth.
In an instant, the street was empty except for Kirken and the wounded soldier lying in a heap at its center. His body shaking slightly from the severity of his wound, the soldier stretched his arm slowly towards the assault rifle. Blood pooled near his shoulder, and bullets screamed from the rooftops.
Kirken sprinted towards him with his hand on his own weapon hanging at his side. The air exploded with a fresh round of shots that shredded the ground around him forcing him to take cover on the left side of the street.
He made his way to the decomposing structure of an ancient telephone booth and threw himself back hard against its glass. Years of caked dust and heat kept him hidden for the moment and offered some temporary reprieve from the ambush.
He looked up to see small figures dart across the rooftops just above his head. Soon faces became visible through the swirls of flying dust and discharged weapons smoke. Faces of young boys. Some wearing masks. Others with the same protective eyewear as Kirken’s troops. The ones that didn’t have any face covering had wild scared eyes sunken within years of thick dirt.
And they all held weapons that were almost larger than themselves.
An instant later flames and slugs threw dirt into the air next to him forcing Kirken to press further back against the broken phone booth and remain still. The faces disappeared overhead. But the rage of continued weapons fire signaled they were still quite near.
A few of the soldiers poked their faces back into the street and returned fire into the rooftops. They pressed their headsets close to their ears trying to pick up Wagner’s instructions through the noise and broken static. The firing overhead stopped briefly while their attackers ducked down for cover. The street suddenly became eerily quiet except for the weak groans of the wounded soldier sprawled at its center.
"Wagner!" Kirken screamed from where he hid behind the phone booth. "Get the transport to the front! Shoot for cover! Shoot for cover only! They're just kids for Christ's sake!"
"Are you fucking crazy?" Wagner screamed back his voice drowned out by a new batch of firing.
Kirken dropped to the ground as the phone booth shattered into a mist of exploding glass. He covered his head with shaking hands until the firing again suddenly stopped.
"Just do it!" Kirken screamed again. "Tell them now!"
Kirken didn't wait for Wagner to question him again. He bolted to his feet and dashed down the now empty sidewalk. Behind him, the transport roared from its idle and with a cloud of dust lumbered towards the end of the street. Kirken ran closely next to it using its large side panels for cover until he reached the wounded soldier.
The truck pulled away, and Kirken dove face first into the sandy terrain. Kicked up dirt behind it temporarily concealed his position. Kirken stayed there and didn’t move while it lingered in the air and slowly settled back to the ground.
He could hear Wagner barking orders through the wounded soldier’s headset. His voice shrieked to be heard over the noise.
Still down on the ground, Kirken inched across the scorched earth towards the injured man. The heat burned through his uniform and across his chest. It pounded against the unprotected portions of his face making it nearly impossible to breathe. He lowered his head and scurried closer to the soldier lying helplessly on his back beneath the harsh rays of the sun.
The firing from the rooftop stopped again allowing Kirken to look up to see the figures leaping from the top of one building to the next. Their small thin bodies were chased by weapons fire from the soldiers scrambling to board the transport truck.
​
"Cover fire! Cover fire!" Kirken reached the soldier and screamed into the transmitter across his face. He grabbed him by the shredded material covering his shoulders and pulled him from the dirt.
The young soldier screamed.
A new flurry of weapons fire thundered from the rooftops. Exploding slugs ripped a trail next to Kirken’s side. Kirken hauled the soldier’s limp body across his shoulder and turned to run towards the transport.
More weapons bursts tore up the ground around him.
With the rest of the team already onboard, the transport moved slowly towards the outside of town. Two soldiers balanced on a brown metal ramp that dropped from its rear and dragged along the ground. Ferocious blasts from their weapon barrels tore madly into the sky.
Kirken sprinted for the ramp. His lungs wheezed from the burden of his human load.
Hands stretched out to help him while others fired cover over his shoulder. When his feet were finally at the moving ramp, he shifted his weight and stumbled up. Two soldiers grabbed at him and the man he carried and hauled them both inside.
When they had taken the wounded soldier from him, Kirken turned his head toward the heavy firing still coming from the street.
Wagner was pinned to the ground by weapons rounds coming from the nearest roof directly across from him. He had wedged his large frame behind a thin piece of shattered metal from the destroyed telephone booth waiting for it to subside.
"Back it up! Back it up!" Kirken screamed to the transport driver.
Bodies fell to the floor as the vehicle suddenly reversed. Kirken stepped further back inside the transport to get out of the way of the five soldiers that crouched at the opening and blasted the rooftops with fresh weapons bursts.
Kirken kneeled on the floor to catch his breath. From over their shoulders, he watched Wagner lift his sidearm and release a fury of shots at more young faces appearing above.
The transport stopped before they could reach him. Building wreckage ripped loose by the firefight blocked the center of the street. Wagner was about a hundred feet further away. When the transport stopped, he fired two more quick shots and turned to run.
The soldiers continued their assault from the rear of the transport keeping their attackers pinned down on the rooftop. Wagner bolted from his hiding place and sprinted towards the truck.
He covered about half the distance back to the transport when a body dropped from the air and landed in a cloud of blood and dust at his feet. They were all close enough to see it was the body of a small boy.
Wagner didn't stop.
Kirken felt his heart fall. A fresh layer of sweat beaded across his face.
Wagner leapt over the boy and ran for the transport. Weapons rounds ripped across the ground after him tearing everything violently apart. Wagner never broke stride or turned to look back. A volley of the heaviest firing yet kicked up more dirt and settled across where the boy fell.
"Son of a bitch!" Kirken screamed.
He lumbered down the ramp past Wagner who scrambled up. Rock and sand flew around. Metal projectiles seared through the air.
Kirken reached the boy in two quick strides, scooped him up in his arms and scrambled madly back towards the transport. The truck shifted gears and moved forward again. A fury of bullets sliced through the air and across the ground. The soldiers providing cover fire ducked back inside.
Kirken was almost to the back of the transport when its brown ramp suddenly started to pull up from where it dragged along the ground.
He pumped his legs and gripped the body he carried more tightly in his arms. He couldn't see anything through the flying earth except for the scared faces of a few soldiers reaching to pull him up.
With a last surge of strength, Kirken tossed the boy over the ramp and then threw himself inside. His legs and waist scraped across the ramp’s edge when his body sailed through. He landed across three of the soldiers knocking all of them crashing to the truck floor.
Kirken untangled himself from the pile of bodies and dragged himself over to the boy. The boy laid still with his eyes closed next to the soldier Kirken had rescued in the street. The soldier was unconscious. Blood seeped from a series of wounds.
"What the serious fuck were you doing!!?" Wagner shrieked.
Kirken picked the boy up and placed him on a stretcher. His hands shaking and his breaths coming in violent gasps, Kirken tried to tend to his wounds. Two soldiers with bandages and medical kits came to his side and pulled him away.
His knees wobbly, Kirken stepped back and watched them work. He leaned back against the transport’s metallic wall and slid tiredly to the ground. He ripped his protective glasses from his eyes and tried to stop the hammer of his heart.
Wagner stood over him and glared down. His eyes were wild, and his cheeks glowed with rage. Kirken ignored him and the others that were scrutinizing him out of the corners of his eyes.
Kirken just sat there and let his recent dose of medication take him while the truck rolled from town. He looked for peace in his own medicated thoughts far away from the world around.
"That was the most irresponsible thing I've ever seen," Wagner said his voice low and his eyes blazing at the unconscious boy.
Kirken didn't look up. He felt his body rock as the transport bounced along the corroded ground. The medication muffled his hearing, but he sensed the roar of its giant engine as it raced back towards the dome.
Kirken didn't respond. He sat there on the floor, closed his eyes, and just tried to sleep.​
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Chapter 2
Three U.S. jeeps drifted quietly to a stop near the front of the warehouse located somewhere on former Soviet soil now controlled by Justan’s Great Union.
​
Six men pounced from the jeeps. Each looked quickly around silently in the dark.
According to numerous reports from their citizen informant network as well their own satellite and military intelligence, this structure was suspected to be an illegal dome technological research installation.
“Squad Leader,” Commander Edward Knight whispered to the man next to him. “What do we got inside?”
"We’re counting ten men working on what looks like atmospheric processors on the roof,” Squad Leader J.J. Slavik answered softly struggling to keep the excitement hidden from his voice. “Most likely techs. Not military. There’s a small security command center on the fifth level. It looks like they’re monitoring the whole building including the roof from there.”
It was Slavik’s first outer-facility mission. In fact, it was the first time he had ever been on the outside at all. He had been training inside the domes since he was sixteen years old for this night. He could barely contain his tone.
“We’re expecting a six-man military guard in the security room and two more that we’re not seeing on the roof with the science guys. Probably two more at the main entrance. It’s manageable.”
The surge of the protective medication coursed through Slavik’s body and blasted at his senses. Along with the new rush of adrenaline, it was all he could do to keep his hands steady and the rest of his body under control. His eyes burned wide and bright while he waited for his commander to speak.
"Good. That’s good,” Knight said and turned toward his eager subordinate. “We shouldn't have to call in another squad."
Knight’s expression did not contain the same excitement and eagerness the soldier next to him tried so much to contain. His eyes were tired and hollow set. He just wanted to bring his men home one more time.
"Can your crew hit them all before detection? Every last one?”
"Yes, sir,” Slavik answered his tone suddenly quiet and cold. “We sure can.”
His excitement was quickly overtaken by the realization of why they were there. As long as rivals to the U.S. in terms of dome construction existed, the threat of war and a dome takeover was a very real and very relevant fear. It was why his division came to be in the first place and the reason he had joined the military not that many years ago.
The Vulture division was covert dome military dispatched about the globe in search of foreign threats to U.S. dome construction and technology. Once an area was flagged as a threat, it became a Vulture target. Squads like Slavik’s then slipped in and out, mysteriously, anonymously, to neutralize the site.
"Alright Slavik," Knight said coming out of his own thoughts. He struggled to keep his voice from reflecting the increased nervousness he felt each time he worked with fresh dome troops.
Half the squad had been with him through several missions on the outside. The other half, like the unit commander he was breaking in, were seasoned and trained, but very new to the environment out here. These were the ones that brought on the gut-wrenching anxiety bordering on fear every time he took out a new batch. His mind always raced at everything that possibly happen. The potential for something to go wrong was just so great.
New troops were at high risk of a reaction to their radioprotective medication while their systems acclimated to the new physical stresses caused by first exposure to unfiltered solar rays.
First exposure affected performance and judgment. It always did, and it always would. Decisions made in combat were fraught with risk. The overall secrecy of their existence was always threatened. But with the number of men dying on these missions each day, half a squad of fresh troops was the only way to maintain a full combat-ready unit and stay on top of the growing threat of foreign dome construction.
The zealous enthusiasm that came with their youth put them at the greatest risk of all. All of them wanted to save the world. Knight just wanted them to get through each day saving themselves.
Knight grabbed Slavik by the thick gear hanging from his chest and pulled him so close their noses almost touched. He could feel the rapid beat of Slavik's heart even through the many layers of equipment across his chest.
"Son, do you understand what happens if your team is discovered?”
“I do,” Slavik said swallowing hard. Knight released his grip. Slavik took a step back and quietly saluted him in the dark.
“Orders must be carried out. No one gets left behind here. Not alive. It is your responsibility to make sure of that.”
“Copy,” Slavik responded. “I understand.”
Knight tried to determine what it was he was seeing in Slavik's wide eyes. Perhaps a hint of fear. But determination and composure still remained.
“Son, our presence in this region is considered an act of war," Knight said again. “There will be no rescue. No acknowledgement. No one can know we were the ones here. Nothing can come back to us."
Slavik drew in his breath and nodded his acknowledgement at Knight.
“No matter what.” Knight said holding his gaze for another second and then returning to the situation at hand.
"Take your team to the roof. I want it done fast. We’ll take care of the security level. I want your men in the incinerator room ten minutes after we go in. All bodies are to be accounted for and brought down. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Slavik said.
"And Slavik,” Knight said before Slavik could turn away. “No one gets left here alive. Their interrogations will be brutal and thorough. They’ll keep them alive and work on them as long as possible. All men eventually break. They just will. There can be no captives. It’s your responsibility to make sure of that."
Slavik returned Knight’s rigid stare.
“At all costs, Slavik.”
Slavik nodded again slightly and left to gather his men. Knight thought he could hear the hammer of Slavik’s heart as he walked away into the dark.
* * *
​
Slavik's team left the jeeps at a dead run. They approached the front of the building and became lost in the black of the night. Two guards with assault rifles stood at the entrance.
Gloved hands reached from the darkness and covered their mouths. Thin precise blades opened their throats before they had chance to cry out. Their bodies were hauled inside and dumped away from the entrance.
Slavik turned to see Commander Knight leading the second team at a dead sprint towards the doorway just behind them. Knight’s team would drag the bodies to the incinerator room while Slavik’s men brought the rest down from the rooftop.
Knight's group entered the building and joined Slavik's men waiting for them in the shadows.
Following silent hand signals by the leaders of both squads, the two teams noiselessly climbed the stairs. After a short ascent, Knight’s team exited the stairwell onto the security level. Slavik’s men continued moving up.
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* * *
​
Knight's men stepped cautiously into the hallway of the security level and waited while their eyes adjusted to the darkness. They raised their weapons and slowly walked towards a dim sliver of light at the end of the corridor.
Knight reached the door to the security command room first. Six men were inside. The only way out was through the door in front of them.
"Go," he whispered.
Matthew Baxter, one of the more veteran combat specialists on the squad, kicked in the door and dove to the ground. Three flashes of light popped from his weapon. The same number of bodies crashed down in front of him.
Vulture Squad Member William J. Arnes charged in close behind and fired at the remaining security team members. Two more bodies dropped. A third fell wounded and screaming across the floor.
Knight sprinted the length of the room and dove to cover his mouth. Still lying on his stomach, Baxter slid his weapon around and sent a quick round into the base of the screaming man’s ear. The room was instantly dark and quiet again.
Knight relaxed his grip and leapt to his feet. He wiped his bloody gloves across the leg of his fatigues and scanned his weapon around. The bodies of five soldiers were strewn across the floor leaving one still unaccounted for somewhere within the room.
Knight stepped carefully back towards the door. When he had reached the room’s center, a hand stretched through the darkness and pulled him to the floor.
Kneeling next to Baxter, he stared towards where his black-gloved finger pointed towards the back of the room. One of the security guards held Arnes from behind and jabbed an assault rifle at the center of his throat.
"Hang tight there, Arnes." Knight said standing and taking slow steady steps towards Arnes and the man that held him.
The J.G.U. soldier pressed his back against the wall and slid towards the open doorway. He dragged Arnes roughly by the hair along with him.
Knight continued forward and dropped his own weapon to the ground. He raised his hands and followed them out the door.
Behind him in the darkness, Baxter aimed his weapon over Knight’s shoulder. His finger rested rigidly across its trigger waiting for Knight’s signal. Or for the J.G.U. to leave himself open for an easy shot.
Panic began to creep across the J.G.U. soldier’s face. He backed quickly away down to the end of the hallway until he reached a brick wall. Desperation and defiance flickered across his eyes once he realized there was nowhere left to go. Thick sweat beaded across his face and trickled down his brow.
"What are you going to do now, you fuck?!" Arnes twisted in his arms and jabbed an elbow deep into his stomach.
A quick flash came from the soldier’s weapon. Before Arnes’ body dropped to the floor, Baxter sprayed the entire area with a torrent of automatic fire. The J.G.U. fell across Arnes’ body in a smoking bloody heap.
"Goddamn it, Arnes," Knight whispered in the dark.
Knight and Baxter quickly gathered up the dropped weapons and attached them to the gear across their backs. They each grabbed a body and dragged it towards the stairs. Neither said a word as they went back to the command room to retrieve the rest of the bodies of the security crew.
Meeting up with other members of their squad, they all wordlessly finished hauling the rest of the dead down the stairs towards the incinerator room.
Despite the first loss of life, their mission was still intact. The facility alarms remained silent, and the hallways continued to be still.
Stepping alongside the ghosts of those that had already left this dying world, they quietly pulled their loads through the gloom.
* * *
Out on the rooftop, Slavik and his squad inched into position. They had exited the building through windows on the top floor and scaled the walls towards the top of the building. They perched across the doorframe of the only entrance to the roof and watched the circle of technicians and scientists working diligently below.
There was a guard on either side of the doorway beneath them. Both stood uninterestedly at their posts and watched the scientists with half-open eyes. They never saw the three men that dropped next to them and ended their lives with quick shots to the sides of their heads.
Commander Slavik stood at the doorway for a brief second trying to balance himself on unsteady legs. He had jumped too close to the guards before the shots came and was surprised by the splatter of blood and pieces of bone that covered his eyes and face.
This was the first time the mission was real. He struggled to keep his mind from being overtaken by this initial shock.
“C’mon man, let’s go,” one of his squad members said patting him on the back and brushing past him towards the scientists.
By now some of them had looked up and seen Slavik’s men near the doorway. They began yelling and throwing their arms wildly about. Some ran for the roof ledge while others dropped submissively to the ground. A few grabbed for weapons and were quickly shot in the center of their chests.
Additional quick bursts of weapons fire silenced more of their cries.
Slavik pulled out his sidearm and shot one in the back that had escaped past his men and tried to scale down the building’s side. He let out a breath of relief when the scientist fell back onto the rooftop rather than pitching forward and crashing down across the street.
Slavik stepped back towards the doorway and took a quick look around.
"We're still missing some!" he yelled to his men. “We have to get them all. Don’t let them escape!”
"We've got 'em," a not-so-confident voice answered him before being drowned out by gunfire.
Two scientists scurried behind several large pieces of metallic equipment. Another pressed back into the shadows trying not to be seen. A few scampered to the rooftop ledge searching desperately for a means of escape.
"Damn," Slavik swore to himself.
The situation on the rooftop had quickly morphed into absolute chaos. Their attack plan was out of hand. Everything should have been over by now, and his men should have already exited the roof and started heading back down.
With some of the scientists still alive, the mission had now become a hunt - something there was no time for if they were going to escape the facility alive and undetected.
He pointed his men in different directions along the rooftop while he walked its center searching for the scientists that remained.
A quick shot came from his left. Another flew from his right. He turned to see a signal from a soldier on the opposite edge of the rooftop near the ledge that only two scientists now remained.
Slavik slowly made his way to the edge of the rooftop. He panned his weapon around searching the area through its sights for signs of the missing scientists. Not seeing anything, he took a deep breath and peered cautiously over the side of the building.
Just out of arm’s reach below, a panicked scientist clung to a thin decorative ledge and waved frantically at a military vehicle passing below.
Slavik shot him quickly in the back of the head and lunged to grab his body. He snagged the man’s shirt collar with his fingertip before he fell. The dead scientist’s legs swung out and away from the building. The sudden jolt of his weight yanked Slavik halfway over the ledge.
But Slavik did not let go. With knuckles turning white, he gripped the roof ledge while another member of his squad dove to grab his feet. Slavik's knees banged hard against the building’s crumbling brick sending a sharp searing jolt through his body that shook loose his grip.
Hanging upside down and being held by his ankles, Slavik watched the scientist’s body plummet to the ground. It landed with a loud crash across the hood of another passing jeep.
The soldier holding his ankles grabbed at his gear and hauled him back over the ledge and to his feet. They both then snatched up their assault rifles and started to shoot. Disintegrating beneath the bombardment of their weapons fire, the vehicle quickly reversed away from the building.
Sand and dirt churned the air around. The scientist’s body rolled from across the hood and landed on its side across the shredded terrain.
Slavik squeezed off four last shots, which sent a trail of exploding roadway into the air after the fleeing jeep. None of them found their mark leaving the jeep to careen around a corner and disappear down the deserted street.
Slavik threw his empty assault rifle down in disgust making it clack loudly against the rooftop.
"Tempest and Bloodshoe, get that last motherfucker!” he screamed at the two men next to him. “We’re outta time! We have to go now!”
"We’re clear here, sir," Bloodshoe yelled back. “They’re all on the ground. Either scouts gave us a wrong count or one got away. But there’s no one left up here but us."
“Son of bitch,” Slavik said quietly and then raised his voice again. “Alright, get them down to the incinerator room. We’ll cover up the best we can up here. Dump the bodies and get the hell out of here on foot.”
Slavik backed towards the door still looking at the rooftop.
“That jeep crew is reporting us in right now. We’ve probably got five minutes before a whole garrison arrives. We gotta go. Now.”
Slavik turned away from the men and left the rooftop. Tempest and Bloodshoe followed after him. They both scanned their weapons across the lab searching for the scientist they might have missed.
They backed their way into the stairway and turned to find members of Knight’s squad. When it became clear there was a full-on firefight up on the roof, they had been ordered to head up to lend support.
Slavik was there relaying to the squad leader the situation that had just occurred.
Hushed voices into transmitters then relayed the news. Slipping out on foot was now the only option for any of them to escape undiscovered into the darkness of the surrounding night.
* * *
Knight and Baxter had just dumped the last of the soldiers killed in the security wing into the blazing furnace when Slavik and his men burst into the incinerator chamber with weapons raised.
"It’s time to evac!" Slavik yelled. His voice broke abruptly into the grim nightmare of what was happening in the room. He stopped to cough and vomit from the smell of the burning flesh.
"We didn't get them all. One, maybe two, got away. We're going to have to blast the building and run. We don’t have much time before reinforcements arrive."
Knight's expression didn’t change at the news.
"Tempest and Baxter, set up the detonators,” he barked. “I want nothing left on the rooftop or in the security wing. Knock the whole fucking thing down. I don’t give a fuck. Then follow your individual escape routes out. Go now!"
The two men left the room without a response.
When they were gone, Knight, Slavik and Bloodshoe, the only remaining members of the two teams, dug into their packs for the small metallic containers that contained their personal predetermined escape plans.
Finding his first, Slavik punched it against the wall and dropped the cracked plastic on the floor. When he did, a loud shot ripped through the air.
Slavik whirled around to see Knight fall to the floor clutching what was left of his left leg in his hand.
Slavik raised his weapon, but Bloodshoe had already taken down the missing scientist from the rooftop with a blast of weapons fire.
Bloodshoe ran and scooped up the scientist’s still-quivering dying body and hauled it across his back. Taking less than two steps, he dumped it into the incinerator with the others.
Slavik turned back to where Knight writhed in agony on the ground. His left leg was torn in half below the knee. Sweat beaded in a solid line across his forehead, and his lips shook from the shock.
Slavik then noticed a small hole just below Knight’s neck and a much larger wound in the center of his back.
"Orders still stand,” Knight gasped through clenched teeth. "Drop your gear. Leave the jeeps. Separate and get out. Blow the place when you're clear."
Slavik looked down at Knight. His entire body shuddered with pain, rage, and fear at his feet.
Overwhelmed by another sudden urge to retch, Slavik turned away. He hung his head between his legs and tried to spit away the vomit and bile that caked his throat. A sharp tug at the back of his leg made him turn back to face his dying commander on the floor.
"Understand right now what happens if they find us here," Knight wheezed. "They will break anyone left back here alive. You have to…"
Slavik yanked out his sidearm and shot him in the center of his forehead before he finished. He bent down and lugged his body across his shoulders.
He and Bloodshoe avoided each other’s guilty stares as they dumped the last two corpses into the incinerator’s raging fire.
Slavik watched Knight's body disappear in the heat. The flames crackled loud and hot.
* * *
Tempest and Baxter sprinted up two flights of stairs to a ground-level door on the opposite side of the building from the jeeps. They hurriedly set the explosives from their packs at the top of the stairwell and mounted a remote receiver on the wall.
​
Tempest pressed a button in Baxter's backpack, and a light near the top of the remote cast a faint green glow through the dark hall.
"Five minutes," Tempest whispered to him. "Should at least give us a chance to get out."
Bloodshoe nodded in acknowledgment. Their eyes locked briefly as they wordlessly wished the other well in the darkness outside the building.
Baxter turned back around allowing Tempest to activate the final switch in his pack that would send arming instructions to the explosives. In less than five minutes, the compound would be gone.
With sirens wailing in the distance, they shook hands and then jogged off in opposite directions to escape to the fates awaiting them in the night.
* * *
Slavik ran from the incinerator room along the ground floor to the rear of the building. He threw a chair through a large window and dove into an unlit alley that stretched away from the facility. He knew the explosives set by his men were about to ignite.
The sounds of sirens, vehicles, and soldiers’ voices rushed from the distance. Slavik hoped they would arrive in time for the blast. He leapt to his feet and tossed his pack full of his own set of explosives back into the building. He jabbed his weapon into its holster and sprinted for the protection of the night.
He had only sprinted three steps when something grabbed at his foot and knocked him face first into the dirt. A surge of searing pain coursed through his entire lower body. Slavik shifted his head around to see blood and shattered bone at the base of his legs. His right foot was completely gone.
Not more than twenty feet away, a soldier lowered his weapon and ran towards where Slavick tried to drag himself back up again from the ground. A second soldier behind him centered an assault rifle over his shoulder directly across Slavik's chest.
Slavik grabbed his own weapon and jabbed its barrel into his mouth. Before he could squeeze the trigger, the approaching soldier dove across his squirming body and ripped the rifle from his grasp.
The soldier spread his arms and legs across Slavik's back. Using his weight and bulky gear, he pressed him face down in the dirt.
A jeep then pulled quickly up, and two soldiers jumped out. They hurriedly grabbed Slavik by the shoulders and tossed him in the back. They signaled to the soldier near the building who still covered the area with his weapon. He lowered his rifle and ran to jump onboard.
The last thing Slavik remembered before blackness overtook him was the eruption of a giant fireball tearing through the area they had just left.
Shards of glass and metal spewed from the exploding building and showered the racing open jeep and its unprotected passengers. The soldier holding Slavik relaxed his grip for a quick second to yank at a piece that buried itself into the back of his shin. The building structures they raced past echoed with his scream.
The jeep sped to the J.G.U. compound not far down the road. The J.G.U. soldiers stared in silence at the flaming building falling behind them in the distance. Slavik’s body bounced violently around the back of the jeep while strong hands pressed his face into its metal floor.
* * *
Slavik awoke bloodied, bruised, and bound to a chair at the center of a large empty room. He blinked several times trying to focus on what was happening in front of him.
A short distance away, two rows of soldiers faced him. About ten men in all, four of them knelt on the floor in front of the others. In one motion, they all raised their weapons. Squinting through rifle sights, they centered on his head and the middle of his chest. Their shoulder stocks were pressed tightly against their ears.
“Your country!" An English-speaking voice bellowed from somewhere within the room. “What rogue country do you represent?! We all know you did not just come to be here on your own.”
Slavik didn’t respond and stared dully at the men ahead.
A loud “crack” echoed throughout the room. Smoke wisped from the weapon of one of the soldiers kneeling in the first row. A piece of steel ripped into the bone and flesh of Slavik's left knee.
Slavik’s neck snapped back, and he shrieked in pain. His legs kicked up in the air toppling his chair over backwards. A soldier not holding a weapon and standing further back in the room walked to Slavik’s chair and pulled him back up.
"Who are you?" the voice thundered again.
Slavik’s lips set in a thin line, and he again refused to speak.
Another shot tore into his opposite knee. His body jerked and wobbled from the impact. This time his chair did not fall. Slavik stared through half-open eyes at his bloodied legs. He couldn’t tell if he was actually talking or just imagining it in his head.
A third shot took away his left ear. A fourth tore into his shoulder. The fifth sailed directly into the center of his heart. He was already dead by the time the sixth and final bullet slammed into his brain.
The members of the firing squad lowered their weapons and walked away. When they were gone, the two men from the back of the room approached Slavik’s body.
They stepped carefully over the fresh pools of blood on the floor and wrapped it in large sheets of plastic. Rolling him on his side across a stretcher, they carried him from the room. A gruesome trail of blood stretched out behind them.
They brought him to the bottom of a darkened stairwell and stopped before two large, unlocked doors. One of the men pulled the door closest to him open slightly. With a quick twist of their wrists, they dumped Slavik’s body in.
Slavik’s body landed in a disfigured lump next to the bloody corpses of the other members of his squad. Their freshly opened wounds seeped through the holes of the plastic and across the steel floor.
The unclosed eyes of Baxter, Tempest and Bloodshoe stared out from beneath the reddened plastic.
They looked out unknowingly into the blackness unaware of what they had unleashed. And what their failure that day had ultimately caused to have begun.
​
Chapter 3
United States Administration Dome
Two figures moved lightly about the darkness.
​
Daniel J. Baldwin, minister of state and most senior adviser to the President, lowered himself into a chair. Down the hall amidst the shadows, War Minister Peter Faulken walked towards the outside door of the presidential office.
The light scratch of a match followed by the quiet pop of its sudden flame interrupted the solemn silence permeating the empty corridor. The thin orange dot of a lit cigar tip bobbed up and down in the dark while Faulken moved through the hall.
Baldwin slumped into the chair and let out a long breath. Another thirty seconds passed and then his voice interrupted the silence.
"Is the President aware?"
The flaming tip of the cigar turned and came back towards him. Faulken’s heavy shoes dragged roughly across the hard floor. For a moment it was the only sound.
"The President has been partially briefed on what has occurred."
"Partially briefed on what has occurred?" Baldwin said with a slight edge of panic in his voice. "That's not my goddamn question. There is more going on here than what has just occurred. It goes way beyond the situation we are dealing with right now."
"His ignorance in certain matters is completely necessary in the event..."
"In the event any of our illegal foreign military activities are discovered?!" Baldwin said hotly from his seat. "Is that what you are about to say? Ever since construction first began on the domes, mere presence on any land that is not entirely your own can trigger an armed confrontation. Most likely leading to immediate war. We shouldn’t be goddamn out there! For God’s sake even presence on land controlled by your allies is considered a suspicious and dangerous transgression.”
“The President’s denials will only be more real if he believes them to be the truth himself. The world has become too frightening to risk anything else."
"This is not something we should be fucking around with! By operating outside the presidency, we are contributing to this fright."
The war minister did not immediately respond. His cigar tip glowed a brighter orange from another deep inhale.
"The President is not aware, because we cannot risk him changing what has already been set in motion. This was agreed upon long ago. To ensure danger does not arise."
"You are wrong. Danger has arisen. And it is here."
Another silence followed before Baldwin’s voice again filled the empty echo of the corridor.
"You know they're calling it a genocide,” he said accusation coloring his tone. “It's being called a genocide by both people in here and rumors starting to circulate on the outside."
"A genocide?" The glowing cigar tip dipped sharply away from Faulken’s mouth. "It’s far from that. Land Defense Strategy #21436 is the only way for this country to survive. The only way this world will survive. Rumors need to be handled until the plan has been fully implemented. That time is coming soon."
"It’s not possible,” Baldwin responded. “Not anymore. Too many know already. Uprisings are imminent. Whether they come from the outside or somewhere within. Dissenting factions are starting to exponentially grow."
"People on the inside will never revolt. Their presence here attests to their full consent and support of what is about to occur. It's the price and responsibility they all chose, we all chose, to accept before coming to live within."
"Their presence does not pledge their allegiance to a genocide of those left behind."
“Actually, yes it does. Those that came in, came in to survive. The ones they left behind…they’ve always known their fate.”
For several minutes neither man spoke.
"Did you ever stop to think about what we’ve already lost?"
"I agree. Much has been lost.” Faulken let out a breath and inhaled deeply again. “But much is also at stake. The future of the United States has been in great jeopardy ever since the J.G.U. rose to technological power. We were lucky to keep up with them in dome construction like we did. We are lucky to still be here at all."
"Many whole countries are still living on the outside," Baldwin’s voice began to sound tired.
"As so are we."
"As so are we," Baldwin repeated moving about uncomfortably in his chair.
"But those countries will soon die,” Faulken’s voice became curt. His cigar tip again burned brightly.
“We need to ensure that we outlast them. All of them. It is how this technological race has to be. And when it’s finally over, the United States will take full lead in world affairs. As it should. It’s why the plan was created. It’s why the Vulture team exists. It is why we are here today."
"How many others think like you?" Baldwin asked straightening his back.
"Many more than you might think."
Faulken walked to the side of the wall and put out his cigar. An even more ominous darkness filled the hall.
"In fact, your thoughts are much the same."
"My thoughts are not the same. Initiating the plan is condemning our own citizens to death. When did this ever become our right?"
"It became our right the day the atmosphere deteriorated to catastrophic levels. The same day we took to burrowing into the hills and digging ourselves underground. It is true many must and will die. But this will give many more the opportunity to live.”
Baldwin lowered his head and looked down at the ground.
“The plan. It’s a grave thing. But I assure you, it is necessary for this world to survive.”
“This is not how it should be. The President cannot be given this option. Not to do this.”
"We have known since the technology first became feasible this was going to take place someday. Everything has been painstakingly prepared.”
“This ‘plan’ is based on unproven technology that is only believed to work as designed," Baldwin said quietly.
“That’s not true…,” Faulken said holding up a finger and pointing at Baldwin. “…not anymore. The beam cannon hardware is known to work. It will generate a shield that’s better than our atmosphere ever was. It will allow our planet to heal. Only implementation is holding us back."
"Implementation is holding us back,” Baldwin whispered mockingly while shaking his head at the floor.
"You know as well as I, we don’t have the room,” Faulken quickly answered him. “Each solar dish to power the cannons occupies ten square miles. You almost need more than ten times the size of land you are protecting just for that alone.”
Baldwin didn’t respond.
"And then there’s the actual cannons and land space incinerated when they launch. Construction of the satellites to deflect the bursts down and around will consume even greater chunks of ground.”
Faulken paused for a moment allowing his words to linger in the air and settle about.
"There is nowhere for them to go," he said again. "The plan. It is the only way for any of us to survive."
"No!" Baldwin spit sharply. "You are describing the most unspeakable actions this world has ever seen."
"This plan is the only way to implement the hardware,” Faulken’s voice was calm and smooth. “As a military operation it will eliminate the J.G.U. and its power alliances as a superpower threat. The world will no longer live under military fear. And the disease plaguing the planet, by the time our own children have grown, will finally have been erased.”
“This is unconscionable!” Baldwin said hotly and rose up from his chair. “I don’t care what it is ultimately supposed to accomplish!”
“No, it is not,” Faulken said softly again. “It is necessary.”
"We are plotting to assassinate our own citizens and destroy our own cities! For god’s sakes!” Baldwin’s voice raged through the hall.
“We are ridding ourselves of the disease that has overtaken us,” Faulken continued. “The diseased. The sick. They will only pollute the future and impede our progress. And we are clearing the land so dish and cannon construction can finally take place.”
“We’re risking a full domestic revolt,” Baldwin said leaning back. He lowered his head and started rubbing at his temples. “It’s sheer insanity.”
"It is why everything must be kept secret,” Faulken said again. "For as long as possible. Public knowledge could topple it all."
"We should abandon it now," Baldwin said covering his face with his hands. "Before it goes any further. Abandon it now and do our best to construct and enact the technology. We have that responsibility. Not what you and your people propose."
Baldwin let out another long breath. His voice lowered and his tone became even more grim.
"It may no longer even be an option. More domes than ever before are in construction, and it is no secret that dome military is continuing to grow. We have done almost nothing to conceal this. People are starting to know.”
Faulken looked at Baldwin and then down the presidential hall.
“I don’t think it’s something we can contain. Sooner or later, it’s going to get out."
Faulken took one last pause before turning back towards the door to the presidential office.
"I agree," he said. "The time is near. The world is at brink. It is in great danger of slipping away."
Faulken’s breath sounded loudly through the barren halls and empty darkness.
"It is the reason that we are here today."
Baldwin sat still in his chair while Faulken turned from him and slowly walked down the corridor. His heavy shoes scuffed loudly across the floor as he went.
​
Chapter 4
"That kid you brought in, he hasn’t regained consciousness. I’ve been talking to some of the staff in medical detention where they’re keeping him. They don't think he's going to make it."
​
Dome Physician Jack Everson sensed his patient tense and waited a second before administering the final injection of radioprotective serum. It was the last medication required to clear his friend, John Kirken, for his extended outer dome leave to visit his stepchildren in the outside town of Beuford, Washington.
"I'm sorry, John."
"It's probably for the best," Kirken said sullenly.
Everson inserted the needle deep into Kirken’s arm making him wince. The serum coursed through his system like a runaway fire. Kirken closed his eyes and waited for the discomfort to pass.
"Yes, it probably is. They identified the group he was running with. They’ve been causing problems out there for a long time. A lot of people in here just want to throw him back out."
Kirken nodded knowingly. "It's starting to get really bad out there. People are starting to get desperate."
"It's always been bad out there, John,” Everson replied. “There's nothing new happening."
"I know," Kirken said swallowing hard and looking up at Everson. "Can you blame them?"
"I understand people feeling abandoned out there. I can also sympathize with the fear and desperation every person must feel living out there trying to keep their families alive. But attacks on government personnel? My understanding and sympathies stop there. We live in here for a reason. We're trying to build a safer world. They can't fault us for that."
Kirken let out a grunt.
​
"You don’t agree?"
"Have you ever even been out there, Jack? Have you ever seen what living out there can do?"
"Everybody makes do, John. Just like everybody in here."
"That's bullshit, Jack, and you know it," Kirken said irritably. He remembered saying something similar to Lt. Wagner before they were attacked.
Not looking to escalate the conversation, Everson turned away from his friend. Kirken stared down from his perch on the examining table at the rectangular tiles along the floor. Unwanted tears burned at the corners of his eyes.
"Could you really live with it, Jack, the way they do? Could you watch your family slowly die from radiation disease?"
"I don't think I could answer that question, John, unless I found myself in that situation," Everson said slowly. "Nobody can."
"That's what I'm talking about, Jack."
"Except maybe you."
Kirken didn't answer. He reached across the table to the counter where he left his clothes and gear. He dressed in silence not looking at his friend.
"I'm hearing Wagner is bringing this to the military review board,” Everson said breaking the silence. "The talk is he’s going to jump all over you with charges of troop endangerment, facility contamination and the like for bringing that kid back."
"He won't do it," Kirken said. "There were witnesses. Everyone saw. If it even goes to a court martial, I have plenty of people that saw a United States soldier step over a wounded ten-year-old kid without showing one thought of looking back.
“He wouldn’t risk that being brought up. Even if he did, I don't think it would even matter anymore."
Everson looked at Kirken questioningly but ignored his last comment.
"I don't think the courts are as sympathetic as you might think. At least not anymore. That ten-year-old kid fired on dome troops. They might not…"
Kirken held up his hand to cut him off.
"You know John, you can get in a lot of trouble for thinking and talking the way you do. Obligation to consider that kid's life ceased the instant he picked up that rifle and pointed it at your squad."
"No one ever saw him with a weapon," Kirken said stepping into his pants and pulling them up around his waist. "Not me. Not Wagner. The only thing anyone saw was that kid hitting the ground. So close that Wagner could have probably caught him. But that guy didn't even look. In front of his own troops, all he could do was run. And you know what? That's what those new troops are going to remember. That's what they saw their commanding officer do. Run. Leaving an innocent on the ground."
Everson walked to the other side of the room and took a seat in a corner chair while Kirken continued.
"The only thing those troops learned that day was that life on the outside is second rate. Not important. Well, what happens when that idea really spreads? What if it already has? What happens when everyone in here finally decides it’s o.k. for those people to die? What happens to them? What happens to us?"
"I don't know, John," Everson said to him. "I really don't know."
Kirken raised his arms and pulled on his shirt. He looked around on the floor trying to find where he kicked off his shoes.
"What I do know, John, is this. You've done everything you could to bring your kids to come live here with you."
"That has nothing to do with this," Kirken snarled doing nothing to conceal the effort it took to keep his voice under control.
"It has everything to do with this, and you goddamn well know it," Everson shot back. Despite the rising tone of his voice, he stayed seated in his chair. "No one that I know thinks like you. And no one I know has a situation like you do. It was unfortunate and quite frankly just a goddamn terrible idea for you to get involved with people on the outside. I said that then, and I say that now. But you went ahead and married Stephanie. You lived on the outside for a while. You saw more than most of us will ever see. And you were lucky enough to be allowed back. But life on the inside and out there is too short for us to fester in the bitterness of it all. You can't just give up hope. Not when you have family out there. You can’t."
"I gave that up a long time ago, Jack," Kirken replied somberly.
Everson was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the padded footsteps of the nurses shuffling outside in the hallway.
"Well, then maybe you shouldn't be working in here anymore. Maybe you belong out there with them."
"Yeah, maybe," Kirken said walking past Everson towards the door. He pulled his coat from a hook, and after putting it on, turned to look one final time at his friend.
"John…"
"You're right, Jack." Kirken moved toward the door and wrapped his fist around its handle.
"John, what you do here is important. You don't have to be ashamed about coming back. Your kids know you didn't abandon them. I know they know that, and you should too."
"I shouldn't have left, Jack. Even for that. I should be out there with them,” Kirken said slowly reaching through the air with his eyes for the right words to say. “To help them get through this."
"You should be out there to help them die, is that what you're saying? Like this? How does that help?"
"I don't know."
"John, your kids wouldn't want that. It would make all your lives a waste, and I know you know that deep down. Your job here and the reason you came back here is to keep people safe. You're teaching others how to keep people safe. You're allowing those of us with the knowledge to conduct our research and experiments. We're here to make a safer world, one where everyone gets to live. I promise you that, John."
Kirken didn't speak. His eyes glistened as he turned to leave.
"If not for your kids, maybe for someone else's."
"Yeah, maybe," Kirken said.
Everson saw a tear slide down Kirken's cheek. Kirken pushed the door open and slipped out into the hallway. Everson stepped out after him and watched his friend walk down the corridor.
"Make her sign the papers, John," Everson called after him.
Kirken never stopped walking and soon disappeared from sight.
​​