Wasteland in Red Square (Hell Gate Book 2) Page 3

  “Like serfs,” said Jason, making little attempt to hide the derision is his voice.

  Bishop Fiorello bristled. “Like citizens of a new France.”

  Jacques was more diplomatic. “We’re not going to take food from the farmers without making some type of trade. It’ll be a barter society. Those in the countryside will offer food for the goods and services the town provides. I know it’s a far cry from where we were, but it’s a new beginning. And we owe it all to you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Jacques tried not to appear offended. “No need to be modest.”

  “It has nothing to do with modesty. People like Haneef and Neal, and a lot of good men and women who died, paid for this new beginning. I only led them.”

  “I used you as a representation of all the Hell Gaters,” said Jacques trying to recover from his faux pas. He gestured to the others standing across from him. “Trust me when I say everyone in Mont St. Michel is grateful for all that you’ve done for us, especially me.”

  “And me,” added Bishop Fiorello.

  Haneef and Gruber nodded with the self-assuredness of combat veterans who have been slighted by civilians. Neal grew self-conscious and averted his eyes. Jason had made his point and decided not to pursue the matter any further, especially since he needed Jacques’ support.

  “We know that, and we appreciate it. The Hell Gaters would never have been able to succeed if we didn’t have the town council behind us.”

  Jacques accepted his victory graciously. He clapped his hands together once, signifying a change in topic. “So, you wanted to see me because you have a favor to ask?”

  “More like a request.”

  Bishop Fiorello frowned. “I don’t see the diff—”

  Jacques held up a hand, cutting off the cleric. “Go ahead.”

  Jason took one step toward the table. “I want your permission to rebuild the search and destroy team and close down the other Hell Gates.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Haneef and Gruber seemed confused. Neal raised his head, his eyes wide with surprise. Bishop Fiorello huffed. Jacques studied Jason, his expression stoic. He remained silent for several seconds before saying, “Go on.”

  “According to information Reno gathered talking to other survivors, the creation of an entry portal at each of the super colliders involved in my mother’s experiment generated a corresponding exit portal nearby. That means there are still four more Hell Gates in Russia, China, Japan, and the United States. We stand a good chance of closing those down like we did the one in Paris.”

  “How are they our concern?” asked Bishop Fiorello.

  “Have you already forgotten the fear we all faced as the Hell Spawn drew near?” Haneef responded. “I’m sure the people living around those portals are experiencing the same thing. If we can close the gates and eliminate the threat, we have an obligation to do so. Or does the church in your new France no longer feel compassion toward their fellow man?”

  “It has nothing to do with compassion, but with logistics,” said Jacques. “I would hate to expend resources desperately needed here to send you around the globe to find that the other countries have already solved their problem.”

  “I doubt that’ll happen,” said Jason. “The antimatter devices Doc created are the only things that will work.”

  “Could someone at one of the other labs create a device of their own?”

  “Unlikely. As far as we know, only CERN was capable of creating solidified antimatter. Besides, all electronic records were lost when the EMP pulses fried the computers. We were fortunate that Doc remembered the frequency of the Geneva portal when it opened, which allowed him to create the devices.”

  “Will they survive a long journey?” asked Jacques.

  All eyes fell upon Neal. “I guess so,” he said hesitantly.

  “You guess?” asked Jacques.

  “The device we used in Paris survived the trip and worked when we deployed it, so theoretically they should all make it. But Russia is a lot farther away than Paris, let alone Asia and the States. God knows what type of Hell Spawn we’ll run into along the way.”

  “How many devices did Doc create before he . . . before Paris?” Jason asked.

  “Five, in addition to the one already deployed.”

  “And there are four more portals,” said Jason.

  Jacques paused while he took in the information. “Neal, what are the odds of four of the devices making such a trip and still working?”

  “That depends on whether the team survives.”

  “Assuming the team makes it to the portals, what are the odds of the devices working?”

  “Structurally, they’re pretty sound. Time and normal wear and tear shouldn’t affect them. As long as they don’t get kicked around like footballs, they’ll survive the trip.”

  “We can build special carry cases like the one we used in Paris,” Jason added. “We can line the cases with metal to strengthen them and add extra padding if necessary.”

  “Will that work?” Jacques asked Neal.

  “It’ll increase the odds, but I wouldn’t want to bet my life on it.”

  “That’s a shame,” said Jason, “since you’ll be going with us.”

  “What?”

  “This mission doesn’t have a chance of succeeding without you. You’re the only one who knows how the devices work.”

  “Doc built them before I arrived. I only helped maintain them.”

  “That still makes you more qualified to handle them than anyone else.”

  “Enough.” Jacques contemplated what Jason had proposed. “Gruber, how many soldiers would Jason need to take with him for this to succeed?”

  Gruber mentally crunched the numbers. “Based on Paris, the number of portals to be closed, and the distance that needs to be traveled, I would say at least a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty people.”

  “Impossible,” snorted Bishop Fiorello.

  “You’re right,” Jason agreed, hoping to quell Jacques’ skepticism. “That number is unworkable. It would deprive Mont St. Michel of most of its able-bodied men and women when the city needs them most. Besides, such a group would be logistically impossible to supply from here and could not be sustained out on the road.”

  “That’s true,” said Gruber.

  “So, what do you recommend?” Jacques asked.

  “I want to reconstitute my search and destroy team with those who survived the mission to Paris. I’ll put out a call for volunteers to flesh out our numbers. I’m talking twelve, maybe fifteen people at most.”

  Gruber shook his head. “You don’t stand a chance with those numbers.”

  “We’ll supplement our force along the way, getting the locals near the other portals to ante up troops that we can train.”

  Bishop Fiorello chuckled. “If you’re going to offer them salvation, they can at least provide the sacrifices?”

  “Crudely put, but yes,” said Jason.

  “Why take all the Hell Gaters?” asked the cleric. “By taking the best people, you leave us vulnerable.”

  “It makes perfect sense,” Jacques interceded. “The Hell Gaters were trained to fight Hell Spawn. To keep them here doing what amounts to police work would be a waste of resources.”

  Jacques stepped over to the windows, staring mindlessly at his town. Jason kept his gaze focused on Jacques. After several minutes, the latter turned and addressed Jason.

  “You have my permission to take up to fifteen people with you and any supplies that you need. When will you be ready to leave?”

  “In three days,” said Jason.

  “That won’t give you enough time to train the volunteers,” said Gruber.

  “We’ll train them on the way,” Jason responded. “We’ll have the time. It’ll take us ten weeks to reach Moscow. I want to get on the road as soon as possible.”

  “Agreed.” Jacques clapped his hands together. “That’s it, then. I’ll issue orders to provide what you need
. If you run into resistance, let me know. Are there any questions?”

  None.

  “That’ll be all.”

  Haneef and Gruber exited. Neal hesitated, casting Jason a disapproving glare on his way out. Jason would talk him down later. Right now, he mentally complimented himself for getting the council to agree. Once the others had left, Jason headed back into town. He had a lot to accomplish in the next three days.

  ***

  Bishop Fiorello waited until everyone had departed before speaking. “I would never question you in front of the others, but do you think it’s a good idea to send fifteen of our best people off on a wild goose chase?”

  “I appreciate your concern.” Jacques moved back to the table. “It’s far from a wild goose chase, though. It offers us the best of both worlds.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “If I send Jason’s team around the world to close the portals, and they’re successful, then the world will remember who saved them.”

  Bishop Fiorello raised an eyelid. “And they’ll owe us a debt of gratitude.”

  “Exactly. And if Jason’s team is successful, we’ll never have to worry about Hell Spawn finding their way to Mont St. Michel. It’ll guarantee our survival.”

  “What if they fail?”

  “That would be unfortunate.” Jacques shrugged. “But at least we would be rid of anyone here who could pose a challenge to our authority.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Most of the tables in the restaurant-turned-dining-hall of La Mere Poulard, the hotel outside the main gate of Mont St. Michel that served as the quarters for the protective force, had been stacked against one wall. Two tables stood lengthwise across the center of the floor with eight chairs lined up on one side for Jason and the surviving members of the team that had gone into Paris. The dangers they would face traveling around the world would be undeterminable; Jason assumed that what they had encountered in Paris would pale in comparison to the other Hell Spawn that awaited them. In addition, the chances of any of them surviving the closure of all the portals were slim. Because of this, Jason decided only to recruit volunteers. To his delight, everyone from his original team stepped forward to take on this new adventure. They sat in the dining hall to interview the prospective new members.

  Jason and Haneef, his second-in-command, occupied the two center chairs. Off to their right sat Slava. Slava stood five-feet-eleven-inches in height with a muscular build, spiked dark hair, and a goatee. A lot of the wind had been taken out of his sails over the past few months. He and Andre, who used to oversee the search and destroy team, had been street thugs in Moscow prior to the apocalypse. Andre had been the brains and Slava the muscle. Once at Mont St. Michel, they had ruled over the protective force with an iron hand and had taken pleasure in bullying Jason. All that had changed at Falaise when Andre had been killed by man-sized wasps and Jason assumed control. Slava accepted Jason as the new leader and followed him faithfully. His loyalty, toughness, and willingness to engage the Hell Spawn would be critical in the months ahead. Next in line sat Antoine, the most enigmatic member of their team. Born in Casablanca, Antoine had been a member of a Moroccan gang in Lyons when that city had been overrun by demons. In combat, he was callous and violent, one of the best fighters in the entire protective force. In private, he adopted an unassuming demeanor. Several of the team would not be here today if Antoine did not have their backs in Paris. At the end of the table sat Sook-kyoung, the exchange student from the University of Seoul and the one member of the team who seemed most out of place. Tall, slender, attractive, and quiet, she gave the impression of being a college student. However, Sook-kyoung had a black belt in Taekwondo that made her as tough as the others.

  Reinhard sat on Jason’s left. Bald and lanky, the German never smiled and rarely spoke; when he did, he used short, curt sentences. Not that it mattered. Jason appreciated him for his fighting skills, not his conversation. Jeanette sat two chairs away with Neal at the end, who fidgeted. Neal had argued earlier that he had no business selecting the other team members since he had no combat skills, and was being dragged along for the sole purpose of carrying the antimatter devices. Jason told him that anyone on the team who would place their lives in the hands of other members should have a say as to who joined. Of course, Neal’s discomfort could stem from the fact that so far, the search for new team members had been pitiful.

  Jason had put out a call for volunteers that morning. By late afternoon, less than a dozen applicants had lined up out front. The first four had been a waste of time: two brothers, sixteen and seventeen years of age, who wanted to go on the mission because “it sounded fun”; a mousey young woman in her early twenties who was bored and wanted to see “some adventure”; and a middle-aged man from the refugee camp outside the city walls who had lost his family in the first few weeks of the openings and claimed he wanted payback, although Jason knew he wanted to die in combat and join his family.

  The man who now sat on the single chair that stood in front of the tables seemed no different than the others. He was five-and-a-half-feet in height, stout, with brown eyes and scraggly dark hair. Jason assumed him to be in his early to mid-thirties. His demeanor exuded confidence, though he displayed nothing that could label him as arrogant or pompous. He bore himself with a sense of sureness, and it didn’t concern him whether those across from him realized it or not. Jason intended to find out if he had something to back up that poise.

  “What’s your name?” Jason asked.

  “Gaston Chatelaine. You must be Jason McCreary.”

  “I am.”

  “You did an excellent job in Paris.”

  “You mean closing the portal?”

  “That, and getting so many of your people out alive.” Gaston offered the praise in all honesty and not as someone trying to ingratiate himself.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Normandy. I was born and lived within ten miles of the coast all my life. I owned a farm near Pont du Hoc until demons overran it, especially those things that spit acid. What do you call them?”

  “Soul vampires,” Haneef answered.

  Gaston shook his head. “Petits batards desagreables. They killed off all my livestock in minutes. It distracted them long enough to give me a chance to get away.”

  “And you want revenge for what the Hell Spawn did to your farm?” Jason asked.

  “What good would revenge be, other than giving me a sense of satisfaction? They have no soul or conscience. It would be like killing a fox for eating your chickens. The fox didn’t do it out of cruelty. He did it because that’s what he does. Besides, I still have my farm, and can restock it and start over.”

  “Why don’t you resume farming?” Jeanette asked.

  Gaston leaned forward and placed his elbows on the ends of the chair rests. “As long as the other gates are open, there’s always a chance that the Hell Spawn may come back. You know that, which is why you’re going on this expedition. It’s going to take you a year, maybe more, to do all this. I can help.”

  “How?”

  “I’m what you Americans call a suvivaliste.”

  Jason raised an eyebrow. “A survivalist?”

  “Oui.”

  “Can you handle a weapon?” Jason asked.

  Gaston chuckled. “A better question would be is there a weapon I can’t handle.”

  “Let’s put your survivalist skills to the test,” said Slava. “How do you purify water?”

  “Small amounts or large quantities?”

  “Both.”

  “The quickest way to purify water is to use two drops of bleach for each quart of water, or half a teaspoon for every five gallons.” Gaston met Slava’s gaze. “If you’re trying to purify larger quantities, your best bet is a home-made filter system comprised of layers of rock, sand, and charcoal. Of course, no matter which method you use, I’d boil everything before I drank it.”

  “How would you heal a large flesh wound?”

  “Se
al it with crazy glue, if you had any, and then wrap the wounded area in duct tape,” Gaston smirked. “Are you going to ask me any difficult questions?”

  “No need to.” Slava said to Jason, “I say he’s in.”

  The others around the table approved.

  “Congratulations,” said Jason. “You’re on the team.”

  “I hope I can be of service.”

  “Trust me, you will be.” Jason motioned toward the door. “Please wait for us in the lobby and we’ll process you in a bit.”

  ***

  Jason was pleased to see Werner enter the dining hall and take the seat in front of them. Werner had served on Gruber’s team. He had gone to Geneva a month ago to check on the entry portal at CERN, a mission which cost Gruber half his men. Jason did not know Werner personally but knew of his reputation. He had been a gefreiter in the German Army stationed with an armored brigade in Bavaria when the portals opened. Since mechanized vehicles no longer operated following the worldwide EMP that accompanied the creation of the Hell Gates, Werner had been assigned to a contingency unit sent by Berlin to help stem the flow of Hell Spawn coming from Paris. They had been swarmed by soul vampires near Troyes and wiped out. Werner and a handful of others had managed to escape, and he eventually made his way to Mont St. Michel. He still bore scars on his left hand and forearm from where he had been splashed with acid spit from one of the creatures. Werner possessed the bearing of a soldier, with his six-foot-one-inch frame always at attention, his angular face clean shaven, and his blonde hair trimmed into a crew cut.

  “It’s good to see you,” said Jason.

  “Thanks.” Werner slid into the chair.

  “Why are you here?” asked Slava.

  Werner seemed hesitant. “I thought you wanted volunteers.”

  “We do. But you don’t have to interview for it. You’re one of us. Ask and you’re in.”