Running with the Horde (Book 2): Delusions of Monsters Read online

  He often thought of Farnsworth and how he’d been aged out of Area 51. He was sure there were now younger fresher minds Dick could kidnap to replace Andrew and the others. Part of him welcomed the idea but the larger part of him was terrified of dying. The thought of this eventually happening to him would keep him up all night crocheting blankets until he would pass out in his chair.

  One morning Andrew requested to see Dick in his room when he had free time. That time came in the evening just a day later. Dick barged into Andrew’s quarters and found him in the sitting room covered in yarn.

  “What the hell do you need, Penrod? I have so many irons in the fire right now I don’t have time to take a piss let alone play paddy-cake with you during your downtime.”

  “I can’t go on anymore, Dick,” Andrew said glumly.

  Dick sighed and sat down with a heavy thump on the edge of the coffee table, “What’s it going to take for you to stop bitching and just get the work done once and for all?”

  “I want to talk to my mother,” Andrew replied as his eyes welled up with tears.

  “No can do, amigo, you are officially a missing person until your work is done here. I let you see her on occasion through the video feed. That should be enough.”

  This news made Andrew weep because he knew he would never be going home. Dick always seemed to get really uncomfortable when Andrew wept. “Oh, c’mon now, stop that shit, Andrew, you are a grown man for crying out loud. How long are you going to mewl away like some kind of lost baby lamb? It’s been years, let it go, man!”

  “I can’t!” Andrew bawled, “I miss my mother.” On and on he wept. Dick, in a rare moment of compassion, patted him on the back and tried to calm him down. When that didn’t work he started pacing the room, he seemed intent on solving the ‘Andrew’ problem on this particular evening and having done with it.

  “What about all this shit,” he said after a few minutes, indicating the piles of completed blankets scattered around the room.

  “What about them?” Andrew wailed.

  “You and your mom used to make them, right? That was how you spent your mommy and Andy time?” Andrew nodded, thick snot bubbling over his lips. “What if I send her one anonymously every few weeks? I’m guessing she’ll figure out they came from you but nobody else will believe her. Shit, she’ll sound like a kook if she makes a big deal out of it.”

  “Would you really do that?” Andrew said between sniffles.

  “One condition. I start getting your ‘A’ game, Andrew. You and Todd get Project Simon wrapped up and ready to go. That’s our new agreement, okay?”

  “How will I know you are really sending them to her and not just saying you are?” he whined.

  “Goddammit, Andrew,” Dick yelled and slapped him across the face. Andrew screamed and rubbed his cheek which suddenly had a hand-shaped welt.

  “You will see them in the video feed, dumbass! Hell, she’ll probably wear them as robes.” Dick marched over to the pile and grabbed one, “How’s this one?” He yelled and Andrew nodded. Dick crumpled it up and crammed it under his arm as he stomped for the door. “I will mail it this afternoon, you little turd burglar. Shit, I can’t believe it took me so long to think of this.”

  Andrew couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to think of it either but he kept that thought private as he blew his nose. When he’d composed himself he walked over to his creations and straightened the mess Dick had made. There were over 30 handmade blankets including the one Dick had taken. Each very intricate with its own color scheme but they all had one thing in common, a special coded message only his mom’s husband would understand. He might never see the message, only time would tell, but for the first time in a long time Andrew felt the tiniest glimmer of hope.

  Chapter 8: Safety First

  The Past

  Muddy was doing his best to saw through the overcooked steak on his plate. He was determined to eat the gristly meat, seemed like he was always hungry lately. The price one paid for constantly being on the road shilling for his grand cause and running for the highest office in the land. At least the wine was decent.

  Harrie tapped him on the shoulder and whispered into his ear that it was almost time. She lingered with her hand on his shoulder perhaps a bit too long and Muddy looked over at his wife just in time to see her roll her eyes.

  From the loud speaker behind his table he heard a voice clear itself into the microphone at the podium to his right. The conversational din in the gargantuan Minneapolis Convention Center began to fade as Governor Bentley prepared to introduce him. Muddy wiped his mouth with his napkin, took one last sip of wine and stood up beside his chair.

  “Distinguished guests, we hope you are enjoying tonight’s festivities. The overwhelming love and support we experienced at today’s rally in St. Paul was tremendous. This event has been a long time in the making and let me tell you it’s been a labor of love with the entire journey culminating in this special dinner. You are here because of your outstanding civic and community leadership...”

  But mostly because you each paid five thousand bucks a plate, thought Muddy.

  “…Before we bring up our man of the hour, there are a few individuals I would like to thank...”

  Muddy stopped listening as Bentley droned on and he soon regretted standing up so quickly. He was so tired. He tried not to fidget through the litany of names the governor was calling out. The smirk on his wife’s face told him she was enjoying his discomfort. He would give just about anything to wipe that damn grin off her face. He could feel his pulse pounding and tried to calm himself down before he turned red. Damn, he hated being so excitable. If only…

  “…my honor and privilege to introduce to you; President-Elect, Martin ‘Muddy’ Brown!”

  The crowded room erupted in applause. Bentley turned toward him with a big smile, arm outstretched, eyes ablaze in star-struck admiration. Muddy accepted the Governor’s hand and shook it vigorously while delivering an expert man hug. Thoughts of his hateful wife were forgotten, he was on.

  “Thank you, Minneapolis,” he yelled over the raucous applause. He let it carry on for another 10 seconds and then raised his palms up toward the ceiling. His beaming smile was so large the spotlight twinkled off his capped teeth. He held this position as the applause and catcalling ebbed off until he could speak without shouting. “Now let’s hear it for Governor Bentley,” he said turning back to the Governor who stood behind him. “Brad, you’ve been a terrific friend and ally.” The room gave the Governor another round of applause and a few catcalls, much to the feigned delight of both Muddy and Bentley. Soon the room went silent again and waited for Muddy to continue his speech.

  “Well it’s been an incredible journey,” he said. The room started to applaud but this time he spoke over them. “Before we go there, I have to say we still have a lot of work to do. But it’s because of you and people like you all over the country, so willing to donate your time, energy and resources that we finished this race victors! In just a few short days Danica and I will officially move into the White House!” This time he let the crowd rage on in their approval, feeding off their energy like a sponge.

  Eventually the pandemonium subsided and he was able to continue speaking. “But celebrating our success this past November is only a small part of the reason for my visit to your beautiful city. The larger purpose is to celebrate Minneapolis as one of the Safety First Pilot Cities!”

  There was additional applause at this proclamation but it was far more subdued than before. A nervous energy had descended upon the room at the mention of the controversial new law but Muddy had anticipated this.

  “Now I know a lot of people are nervous about what Safety First means. My opponents would have you believe this fundamental change in how we approach domestic security means we will be sacrificing our basic rights as Americans.

  “That sure sounds scary, doesn’t it? But let me assure you, friends, that couldn’t be further from the truth. By enacting the se
curity measures laid out in the S1 Bill, we will, in fact, ensure the American people can practice their freedoms without the oppressive fear caused by acts of terrorism.

  “Devastating attacks that killed over 500 Americans in Wandering Springs six years ago, or 200 in Chalahochi Union just last year. As you know I could go on with this macabre list of our fallen brothers and sisters from beautiful cities all over the country, but I think you get the picture.

  “I think you understand why we needed to do something. Something on a grand scale that will aide us in detection, prevention and deterrence of these types of atrocities on our own soil.”

  The crowd responded in kind to Muddy’s impassioned speech as he knew they would, erupting in a standing ovation that lasted almost five minutes before they sat down again.

  “The people of Minneapolis, along with the other pilot cities, have the honored privilege of being the trail blazers in this new age of sophisticated security [More cheering] Your city, when the infrastructure is in place later this year, will be one of the safest places in the world. With that security comes the beauty of new roads, the safest buildings, improved traffic flow, the latest technology and, of course, the best Wi-Fi in the universe free to everyone!” [Laughter and cheering]“Guess who is paying for all of it. That’s right, everyone’s favorite Uncle.” [Another standing ovation]God, people are suckers.

  “I will not lie to you, there will be some growing pains. That’s why we are piloting this first. We will be able to figure out what works and what doesn’t. And you know, that’s one of the reasons we chose Minneapolis. There are two things you people understand better than anyone in the country; cold weather and construction.” [Big laughs on this one].

  …

  Later on the drive back to the airport Harrie was massaging his feet in the back of the limo. It was just the two of them, Danica had stayed behind to attend some type of lean event for ladies in St. Paul the next day. Truth was, they could hardly stand to be in the same room together anymore so any excuse to travel separately was gobbled up by each of them. The constant acting for the benefit of the public was a strain. He often wondered if he could keep up the charade for four more years but then he remembered it probably wouldn’t matter.

  “How do you think I did?” he asked.

  “You were a maestro, just like always,” she replied looking up from her task with naked desire in her eyes. Her blond hair was struggling to come loose from her bun. He was smitten. She was so beautiful.

  Her adoring looks weren’t lost on him. He had known she had feelings for him for a long time. He knew he did a poor job of hiding his for her. He felt a peaceful bliss whenever she was with him. The times alone together were the best.

  Still, this rubbing of his feet was the most intimacy they’d ever shared. He knew she was willing to do more so he carefully avoided leading her on too much. He learned from the people who had held office before him. He had had no desire to besmirch his legacy for the fleeting pleasure of sex. Then again, he remembered nothing he did really mattered and coughed out a bitter chuckle.

  “What’s funny, Martin?” She asked. She never called him Muddy, another thing he liked about her.

  “Oh, nothing, I-I’m just thinking about how ridiculous life can be sometimes.”

  “How so?”

  “You know, how we think we are in control of our lives but really, um, just forget about it.” He removed his foot from her lap as gently as he could and went about putting his shoes back on. “Did you enjoy your dinner?” he asked, hoping she would take the cue and let him change the subject. He had already said too much. The last thing he wanted was for harm to come to her.

  “You know you can talk to me, right? I would never betray your confidence.”

  “I know that, Harrie. It’s really nothing, just forget about it.”

  “You may get angry at me for saying this but you’ve changed, Martin,” she moved from her seat to his seat taking his hand in her lap. “It’s been a while, maybe a year or so but you’ve changed. Like you are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  “I was running for president,” he said softly, the smell of her perfume intoxicating.

  “No, you live for that stuff. It gives you energy. You love it or at least you used to,” she said, edging closer until he could feel the heaviness of her breast on his arm. Her hands were so warm. A bump on the road shook the limo and their cheeks came together sending a tingling sensation down his spine. She didn’t pull away but instead leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “I think I know what’s been on your mind, Martin.”

  He felt his cheeks flush as he whispered, “What’s been on my mind?”

  “I think it’s that creepy guy, Dick, that’s been hanging around. Who is he to you anyway?”

  When she said Dick’s name, Muddy froze unable to think for a moment. Evidently, their meetings hadn’t been as clandestine as he’d thought. He leaned back and took Harrie by the shoulders more firmly then he intended. “Ouch, Martin, you’re hurting me.”

  “I don’t care, Harrie,” though he loosened his grip a little, “I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

  “Okay,” Harrie said, her big blue eyes starting to dew up as they tended to do when she got upset.

  “You must promise me that you will never mention that man’s name again, to me or anyone else. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, okay, I promise,” she said in a small voice.

  “Good, then its settled,” Muddy smiled and released her arms. He took out a handkerchief and gently dabbed her eyes, “So can we go over my itinerary for tomorrow?”

  “Of course,” she replied and moved calmly back to her seat to retrieve her tablet.

  Muddy suddenly felt a searing pain flash through his head and he doubled over in agony. Cold sweat flowed down his face as he was momentarily frozen. Five long seconds ticked by during which he couldn’t breathe. Then just like that, the pain vanished. He didn’t know what the hell had happened but prayed to God he didn’t have a stroke. He took a few deep breaths and sat up. Everything seemed to be okay. He looked over at Harrie who was staring at him with a worried expression on her face. “Are you okay, Martin?” she asked, “You looked like you were sucking on a lemon.”

  “I’m fine, Harrie, just a gas pain, I think. It’s nothing to worry about; let’s just put this whole unfortunate car ride behind us if, you don’t mind.”

  She agreed by simply flashing him that cute smile he loved so much. Muddy was quite happy to forget the matter, Harrie was always good for her word. Besides, Dick didn’t know she was aware of him so no harm no foul. Muddy was in love with Harrie. He could at least admit that to himself. He hoped that didn’t cloud his judgment but he didn’t think it did. He was about to become the most powerful person in the world. He could manage Harrie and he could manage Dick. If he couldn’t then maybe he didn’t deserve to be President of the United States.

  Chapter 9: Cold Dead Pig

  The Present

  We were back at Chelsea’s. I was in the office with Mark and the boys. I was sitting in a comfortable chair with my feet up. They would keep an eye on me during my experiment while everyone else game planned and got supplies ready in the main room. We were all bundled up like it was Antarctica. It might as well have been, it was damn cold in that building.

  I could hear them bickering through the closed door. A ragtag bunch of folks with very little in common other than surviving up until this point. I had admonished them to be as quiet as possible being there were most certainly soldiers still out searching for me. But it was like telling the wind not to blow, they didn’t listen. I did my best to tune them out. I only hoped they would be vigilant in lookout duty in case we had to make a run for it.

  Mark, Sam and Jacob sat in silence on the carpet around my chair wrapped in blankets we’d scavenged from nearby houses. From the outside looking in it must have looked like a death vigil in some village camp. I was the wizened old shaman waiting to g
ive my spirit back to the Earth.

  Relaxing as best I could, I closed my eyes and focused on nothing. Soon the darkness behind my eyes became a real thing like the blackest void on a starless night. The emptiness seemed to stretch into eternity but then in a heartbeat I was connected to the undead.

  A vast array lit up in my mind from the hundreds of thousands of zombies in my vicinity. So much blue light that the darkness vanished completely and the light engulfed me. I thought of memories and I was bombarded with so many life flashes of the walking dead that I’m sure I briefly lost my mind. I went everywhere and nowhere, met a million souls and lived a million lives. It would have gone on that way forever or until I had a stroke but then I heard someone calling my name. It was a child’s voice as faint as the final sound in an echo and I almost ignored it but then it came again much closer and much louder. It could only be Jacob screaming into my ear. I remembered myself then, who I was and why I was in this bizarre dimension of other people’s memories.

  I began to filter the thoughts coming at me and with that came clarity. I eased out a sigh of relief, I was back in control. I filtered by tunnels and rivers and that led to nothing useful. I tried the flour company and watched some riveting tunnel maintenance happen sometime during the 1960’s but again it didn’t really help. On a lark I searched for Riverplace, the Northeast Minneapolis hotspot that had thrived in the 80’s and then made a comeback around the turn of the latest century. It wasn’t a huge surprise when the search garnered a ton of results given the area I was in.

  One by one I eliminated useless memories as quickly as I could which I thought was pretty quick given how slow I had been on a computer during real life. Nevertheless, my patience with this wearisome process expired after the first few minutes and I was about to call it quits and see what the group had come up with for a Plan B when I struck gold. I was in the mind of an ancient woman named Eva Goldstein. Evidently, there had been a speakeasy behind the front of a riverside bakery in the mid-1920s. I was enjoying a whirlwind evening of flappers, wise guys, jazz and cocktails on a forgotten smoky Saturday evening in 1927 when Eva was sent down to a dungeon-like storage room for a secret stash of absinthe held for a special customer.