Children Of Fiends - Part 2 A Nation By Another Name: An Of Sudden Origin Novella by C. Chase Harwood
Authors: C. Chase Harwood
Tags: Science-Fiction
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CHAPTER ONE
Delmarva
Any route north was a mass of chaos and despair. The Jarvis family was running for their lives. They had heard the rumors that Delmarva was safe, that the C&D Bridge still stood. For Tillie’s parents, the only logical step was to go south, toward the coming onslaught, and pray for deliverance.
They had found a refugee camp in the southern suburbs of Wilmington and, choosing safety in numbers, they spent a night out in the open, waiting with everyone else for some kind of government direction, some instruction for evacuation. In the early dawn hours, someone spotted the Fiends pouring down Route 95 and thousands of people broke and ran. The tent city was trampled to dust, dozens of people crushed under foot. Tillie remembered her little sister Emily holding her hand as tightly as she could, Tillie hardly aware of it; like holding hands with a butterfly. Her sole focus, follow Dad, get to that bridge.
They could see the white towers in the distance; the huge white cables leading down to the bridge deck like strings from a web. The height of the towers gave the illusion of closeness and many people started sprinting, using up their reserves of energy too soon. Tillie’s father had been a long distance runner in high school. He knew how to husband his and his family’s strength. They would ultimately pass hundreds of people who had collapsed from running in the high heat, begging for help.
When the entrance to the bridge finally did come into view, Tillie could see the Sentinels. Like giant black spiders, they were suspended in the fanned out bridge cables. Then the frightening looking machines began to pull back, and her dad screamed at his family to run with everything they had. A sound wave of terror caught up to them through the ranks of the running refugees. Tillie had a position of height now, and a quick glance over her shoulders told her why. The Fiends were pulling down the rear of the mob, their hoots and howls, screeches and laughter, mixing in with the horror filled shrieks of the refugees. Then another huge pack of Fiends appeared out of the woods to their right. This group cut the retreat of the refugees in half, and suddenly the Jarvis’ had the infected right on their heels. The horror of the crowd was replaced by the even louder scream of a jet engine, and the north anchor of the bridge behind them exploded in a shower of concrete, steel and fire. The blast wave knocked everyone on the bridge to the deck and the North Tower itself began to crumble. Huge cables swayed. As the wounded bridge whipsawed beneath their feet, the deafening sound of separating steel and concrete got them all up again.
There were maybe fifty healthy people who had gotten to the center of the bridge, with twice as many infected right behind. When they reached the South Tower the Jarvis’ saw something almost as frightening as the Fiends behind them. A phalanx of black Sentinels stood at the end of the bridge, their spider-like legs overlapping to form a fence of sorts. The refugees hesitated only for a moment and continued to surge forward as those in the rear were pulled down, hacked and bitten, shredded limb from limb. There was another jet scream and then the center of the bridge erupted. The leaping concrete forced the family to the deck just as the Sentinels opened fire.
The Atchison assault shotgun is a deadly piece of armament. Add a belt with hundreds of rounds of ammunition and multiply that by the thirty robots firing away, and a hail of death came upon the stragglers and their tormenters like a great disintegration ray. The Jarvis’ tumbled forward as refugee and Fiend alike were shot to pieces with high explosive rounds. In short order, hundreds of people were reduced to bloody flying chunks. The Jarvis family was the only group to survive. A lone Sentinel led them off the bridge just as a third JDAM-equipped 500lb bomb found the South Tower. They watched as the bridge groaned out a final
Delmarva
Any route north was a mass of chaos and despair. The Jarvis family was running for their lives. They had heard the rumors that Delmarva was safe, that the C&D Bridge still stood. For Tillie’s parents, the only logical step was to go south, toward the coming onslaught, and pray for deliverance.
They had found a refugee camp in the southern suburbs of Wilmington and, choosing safety in numbers, they spent a night out in the open, waiting with everyone else for some kind of government direction, some instruction for evacuation. In the early dawn hours, someone spotted the Fiends pouring down Route 95 and thousands of people broke and ran. The tent city was trampled to dust, dozens of people crushed under foot. Tillie remembered her little sister Emily holding her hand as tightly as she could, Tillie hardly aware of it; like holding hands with a butterfly. Her sole focus, follow Dad, get to that bridge.
They could see the white towers in the distance; the huge white cables leading down to the bridge deck like strings from a web. The height of the towers gave the illusion of closeness and many people started sprinting, using up their reserves of energy too soon. Tillie’s father had been a long distance runner in high school. He knew how to husband his and his family’s strength. They would ultimately pass hundreds of people who had collapsed from running in the high heat, begging for help.
When the entrance to the bridge finally did come into view, Tillie could see the Sentinels. Like giant black spiders, they were suspended in the fanned out bridge cables. Then the frightening looking machines began to pull back, and her dad screamed at his family to run with everything they had. A sound wave of terror caught up to them through the ranks of the running refugees. Tillie had a position of height now, and a quick glance over her shoulders told her why. The Fiends were pulling down the rear of the mob, their hoots and howls, screeches and laughter, mixing in with the horror filled shrieks of the refugees. Then another huge pack of Fiends appeared out of the woods to their right. This group cut the retreat of the refugees in half, and suddenly the Jarvis’ had the infected right on their heels. The horror of the crowd was replaced by the even louder scream of a jet engine, and the north anchor of the bridge behind them exploded in a shower of concrete, steel and fire. The blast wave knocked everyone on the bridge to the deck and the North Tower itself began to crumble. Huge cables swayed. As the wounded bridge whipsawed beneath their feet, the deafening sound of separating steel and concrete got them all up again.
There were maybe fifty healthy people who had gotten to the center of the bridge, with twice as many infected right behind. When they reached the South Tower the Jarvis’ saw something almost as frightening as the Fiends behind them. A phalanx of black Sentinels stood at the end of the bridge, their spider-like legs overlapping to form a fence of sorts. The refugees hesitated only for a moment and continued to surge forward as those in the rear were pulled down, hacked and bitten, shredded limb from limb. There was another jet scream and then the center of the bridge erupted. The leaping concrete forced the family to the deck just as the Sentinels opened fire.
The Atchison assault shotgun is a deadly piece of armament. Add a belt with hundreds of rounds of ammunition and multiply that by the thirty robots firing away, and a hail of death came upon the stragglers and their tormenters like a great disintegration ray. The Jarvis’ tumbled forward as refugee and Fiend alike were shot to pieces with high explosive rounds. In short order, hundreds of people were reduced to bloody flying chunks. The Jarvis family was the only group to survive. A lone Sentinel led them off the bridge just as a third JDAM-equipped 500lb bomb found the South Tower. They watched as the bridge groaned out a final
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