Baxter’s War Read online

  “Any water, baby?”

  “None,” Erik said. He turned on the faucet. A deep gurgle rumbled from the pipes below followed by a spurted rush. Brown water spat out the spigot in stuttered splashes. Erik shut off the wet sputtering.

  Moraine walked towards the balcony and stared out the sliding glass door. Ripped corpses littered the ground in gruesome chunks. Blood ran rivers into the rain gutters as an eerie silence hung over the neighborhood. She called nine-one-one four hours ago while the attack occurred and still no emergency personnel arrived to the macabre scene. Sirens no longer wailed in the distance.

  Erik approached her and slid the door open. Hesitant, he stepped out, arms folded over his stomach. “The bodies are stinking, Moraine.”

  Moraine trailed Erik, sweeping her eyes over deceased neighbors sprawled along the lot. She faced death before. The motionless figures unnerved her because she once talked to them, shared good times with them. Others drifted out their homes armed with flashlights searching for loved ones.

  “Moraine, those dogs killed their owners, with deliberateness.”

  Moraine swallowed as she picked out victims with torn throats. “Little Molly attacked Tom Flattery.”

  Erik made a noise in his throat. “Madness, Moraine. Dogs don’t kill with an organized flair.”

  “They are not normal dogs.”

  “Moraine Baxter.” A voice rose from below the balcony.

  Moraine glanced over the railing and spotted a black man with a pack on his back. “Doctor Carver?”

  “It’s me. Can we talk?”

  “You fired me earlier. You forget?”

  Robert gazed at the carnage. “Did they do this?”

  “Their followers did this.”

  “Can I come up?”

  “Who is that, Moraine?”

  “It’s Doctor Robert Carver, the number two scientist at the Labs.”

  “Fuck you, asshole.”

  “Yea, Doc. Watch the stairs.”

  Moraine opened the front door, clicked on her flashlight to guide Robert inside the condo. He slinked by Moraine and waited, resembling a chastised monk. Candlelight reflected against his glasses.

  “What, Doc?” Moraine closed the door. “Your dogs fled.”

  “Call me Robert.”

  “Have a seat.” Moraine gestured at the sofa. Erik joined them, shutting the balcony door.

  Moraine sat across from Robert and glared at him for a few seconds. Erik remained silent, wary of the outside world.

  “Jenny fired me today, Moraine.”

  Moraine smiled a mirthless smile. “Why are you here?”

  “I need your help.”

  “No. You put me on the road. Remember?”

  Robert hunched his shoulders. “Moraine, the dogs escaped because you didn’t shoot them.”

  “I don’t shoot dogs, Doc.”

  “They’re more than dogs, Moraine.” Robert's eyes flicked at Erik.

  “Erik stays.”

  Robert nodded. “I constructed the computer chips for brain damaged soldiers. Named the Damascus Chips.”

  “Go on.”

  “I crossed an encyclopedia with the National Geographic as the basic programming. Next, I wanted to insert the Damascus Chips into a soldier, and bang. The initial step in Augmented Intelligence and physical rehabilitation.”

  “You used the dogs for testing?”

  Robert shook his head. “No. Someone stole the design and implanted the devices in the collies. When they had problems with the dogs, Jenny demanded I fix the problem.”

  “Did you?”

  “I squawked until I realized this offered me a chance to test the prototypes.”

  “And you invented monsters.”

  “Doctor Jenny Chow, upgraded the chips with warfare strategies. From Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Hannibal, Shaka Zulu. She included General Schwarzkopf, General Vo Nguyen Giap, Sun Tzu, Hitler, and Pol Pot to balance the list.”

  Erik half laughed. “Encyclopedias and the National Geographic don’t specialize in warfare.”

  “Jenny altered the chips. She converted the dogs into generals. And surprising us, the chips taught them how to communicate with other dogs through their civilian microchips via Satellite uplinks. Our government sponsors considered this a bonus. Black and White became weapons. Weapons we planned to send into countries hostile to U.S. interests.”

  “Man’s best friend.” Moraine grunted. Her intestines gurgled. “How are you going to end them, Robert?”

  “You worked with Delta Force. JSOC. I know what JSOC did overseas.”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, and I’m done. My family is first.” She gave Erik a quick glance. “Why can’t the military capture them?”

  Robert rubbed his hands together and leaned forward. “Black and White must die. The government wants them alive.”

  Moraine eased into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and eyed the warm food. Water plopped from the defrosting freezer. “This is nuts.”

  “We designed the dogs to destroy a country. Or at least destabilize North Korea.”

  “I thought North Koreans ate dog,” Erik remarked.

  Moraine shut the fridge, her appetite long gone. “I’m not interested in playing against Uncle Sam.”

  “The dogs are calling for war, killing any canine who refuses to join.”

  “Wait.” Erik knitted his brows. “You telling me your invention is able to think beyond fetch and rollover.”

  “They will make you fetch and rollover, Erik.”

  Moraine trembled at Robert’s words. “You fuckers created them and you want me to risk my life, my family’s lives to stop them.”

  “It's between them or us.”

  Erik delivered a weary laugh. “General Colin Powell and General Schwarzkopf in the likeness of dogs. I could kick the shit out of them for fun.”

  Robert stood. “You can’t stay here either. This place is teeming with diseases.”

  Moraine took a breath. “I’ll give you my decision when I wake up in the morning. So, eat and crash out on the couch. This has been one crazy day.”

  7

  Moraine finished her peaches and placed the empty can on her nightstand. No matter how she tried, sleep dodged her.

  A battery-powered lamp threw a dingy glow in the corner of her room. Erik focused on the bedroom window and the uncaring blackness outside. A mild aftershock rocked the building, settling after a few seconds.

  She accepted the bump and roll and kept her normal routine. She plumped her pillows, forming them into a backrest. “What do you think, Erik?”

  Erik sucked his teeth, rolled from the window. “No.”

  “True, he needs to find someone else for the job. I’m done killing. He doesn’t know half my history.” Moraine climbed in bed.

  Erik snuggled up to Moraine sliding underneath the blankets. He brushed his thin fingers against her cheek. “I’ll follow you to hell, Moraine.” His lips pursed. “But we have Casey now. I don’t want her in harm’s way.”

  “Me neither.” Moraine folded her arms. She fought against the growing fear. A thousand what-ifs poured into her brain, possessing her mind, little demons worrying her sanity. She reminded herself to exercise rational thought and accept man’s capacity to tamper with nature.

  “What if he finds a cop, or a screwed in the head ex-soldier to do the mission? You know, in those action movies.”

  Moraine delivered a quiet laugh. She loved Erik and his simple-mindedness. “This is secret stuff, Erik. I’m not even supposed to be talking about this.”

  “Well, he asked you to kill them and drag me and Casey with you.”

  “By chance, say if Black and White creates a big army and tries to destroy the country. Then what?”

  “We die, I guess.”

  “You and Casey must stay alive. I can’t imagine a worse scenario. And, I'm capable of destroying them.”

  Erik looked into his wife’s green eyes. “Serious, Moraine. You’re wi
lling to gamble our lives for two punk ass mutts?”

  “I’m not gambling, Erik. I have to do something.”

  “If you're feeling guilty, don't. Once the military captures them our problem is solved.”

  “Those animals killed our friends and neighbors, Erik.”

  “And they will kill us too if we go hunting for them, Moraine. Revenge is not the answer.”

  “How strong did the quake register?”

  “Nine point one,” he said. “Powerful enough to cause a tsunami.”

  Moraine tugged her bottom lip. “The waves toppled buildings in San Francisco to Los Angeles.”

  “Yea.”

  “Nobody is coming to the rescue, and we need to stop those dogs.”

  Erik stretched. “You're not sleeping on this?”

  Moraine slipped from beneath the sheets, picked up the lantern, and walked over to her walk-in closet. She eased inside, closing the door behind her. She held the light over a black case secured with a padlock.

  Moraine put the lamp on the floor and twirled the case combination lock until a click sounded. She opened the case. Her Army gear, stowed twelve months ago, waited for her hands. She purchased a new rifle, changing the weapon from its useless California version and into an original tool. She caressed her sand colored man-killer and her tan Team Wendy helmet. A backpack jammed with ammunition and a Glock handgun complimented her loadout.

  Moraine removed her M4 SOCOM from the hardened case. She added a front grip, a quick reaction scope to the rifle. She activated the flashlight and laser. A green beam played against the wall joined by a fluorescent cone. She flipped the light and laser off and rested her rifle in an upright rack.

  Moraine dug around in the box and retrieved her cleaning kit. Gun oil greeted her nostrils with its sweet aroma. Shivers graced her back, her adrenaline pumped with excitement. She gazed at her weapon, an exact duplicate of the one she carried in Afghanistan.

  Stagnant memories drowned the day's madness. Her mouth watered and pupils dilated. Old gun battles drifted forward, mimicking ghosts from a battered shipwreck. And her career ending mistake bloomed from past to present, haunting her.

  One year passed since she shot a rifle in self-defense. Her confidence stayed the same. Moraine often dry fired the weapon deep into the night while Erik and Casey slept.

  A random snore floated in from Casey’s bedroom, bringing a weary smile to her face.

  Moraine dismantled her rifle. She slid free the bolt and set it aside. She guided the buffer spring from the stock and pulled the firing pin from the bolt. Her fingers moved with dexterity. A warm rush exploded in her as she worked. The act gave her time to consider her decision.

  Moraine used a metal rod with a tiny square cloth on its end to clean the bore. Next she applied oil in a sparse coat along the bolt before assembling the rifle.

  Doctor Robert Washington Carver needed her help. If the government caught the dogs before she got them, she considered her task completed.

  She stood with cleaned rifle in hand and stepped into the bedroom. Erik lay asleep, his breathing gentle as she approached her window and peered out. She faced flat darkness, no power lit the city.

  Flames rose in the distance. A house burned not too far away and still no sirens filled the air. Her family’s survival depended on her skills. And her skills remained fresh and ready.

  8

  Black shivered from the evening chill. He stood on a hill gazing at the darkness spread before him. Dogs in the thousands gathered in a vast mass beneath his stare. A weird emotion drove into him, pushing fright of failure throughout his hairy body in a rushing tremble.

  Pride swept his heart. He wondered how he understood the word pride, and how a human weakness invaded his mind? White told him the scientists put something inside their skulls, making them think beyond mere hunger, play, and breeding.

  White walked up to Black. “We have a bigger army.”

  Black yelped several times. “Enough numbers to travel south and destroy the humans as we march. They shall fear this army.”

  White sat on his haunches, his tongue lolling in a gentle pant. “The army is restless. How do we feed them?”

  Black blinked. “Humans.”

  White nodded. “Yes, they are in abundance. Their flesh resembles meat marinated in honey and cinnamon.”

  Black delivered a string of short barks. The dogs fell silent, turning towards the pair lording above. He held his speech until he gained complete stillness, no tails wagged. No one pawed the ground distracted. Everyone remained enraptured by their leaders.

  White rose to his four paws. “There is a town to our south. We look for food.” His voice executed his message in the proper tones, enabling the pack to understand him. The chipped dogs sensed his rising purpose. Great howls erupted in response to his talk.

  “I want the Chihuahuas, pit bulls and lapdogs.” He waited as the breeds came forward. “A member of each breed will be a captain.”

  Molly trotted from the lapdogs, her tail wagging. Her obsidian gaze locked on the two collies in servile obedience. A tan pit bull accompanied by a Chihuahua approached.

  Black inspected the new commanders. “What do you have planned, White?”

  White gave a grin filled with teeth and coldness. He turned. “Follow me you three.”

  Black joined the group as they met at the oak. His eyes became accustomed to the dark. His belly rumbled and ached from hunger.

  White stopped. “I need the lapdogs to scout the town below us. Chihuahuas move in as a diversion. As for the pit bulls, I want a quick kill to the throat. No messiness resembling Livermore.”

  The three dogs barked their agreements, lowered their heads and rolled over onto their backs.

  Black reached out with a paw and tapped each dog’s exposed stomach. The animals righted themselves, motivated and ready.

  "Molly, go," Black said. "And do your duty."

  9

  Molly sprang into action, descending the steep hill towards her mission. Sixty cute lapdogs trailed behind her, from Pekinese, schnauzers, and a few beagles.

  They barked and yelped in high voices while rushing through the tall weeds. The dogs raced past a broken overpass where several cars lay crushed underneath concrete and metal tonnage. Red and blue lights flashed as humans holding flashlights worked the accident. Spotlights powered by generators poured bright beams over the scene.

  Molly weaved her way around garbage cans and slipped beneath vehicles. She bounded over a large crack in the street, surprising the people cleaning and helping each other. The diminutive dogs entered the town in a fast wave.

  Molly waited at an intersection bathed in a brilliant glare. The humans cooed at the lapdogs and clicked their tongues. One picked her up, and she allowed this. A hand scratched her ears. She licked the palm tasting salt. A second scent graced her wet nostrils, cooking meat. Her stomach growled and an uncontrolled whimper rose from her throat.

  Within minutes her entire team sat in caring arms. No one nipped or bit, they kissed faces and hands, sniffed, and received a few meaty morsels to eat. Big smiles appeared, flowing with love.

  Molly closed her eyes and for a moment recalled her master. This human didn’t have his smile. She sensed a movement as a tangy aroma greeted her wet nostrils. Her mouth watered, she opened her jaws as the human offered a fatty tri-tip chunk. With two bites the greasy goodness of barbecued flesh vanished in her jowls, warming her belly.

  Molly savored the delicacy, recalling a time when table scraps rained from gentle fingers during dinner time. Her gut stopped its intense grumbling. She craved more and as if he heard her thoughts another dripping piece landed amongst her awaiting fangs.

  Molly’s enjoyable feast evaporated. Barks emerged from the crowd’s astonished hum. Her mission’s purpose skipped her mind. She yanked herself from the gestational ecstasy.

  Chihuahuas charged ahead in the hundreds. Humans paused, staring in distaste at the beasts crashing the unplanned barb
ecue. Then angry kicks swept at apple shaped heads. Someone tossed an empty trashcan at a yapping cluster huddled near a table piled with food. Scattering, they turned and bared tiny white teeth.

  An old woman, armed with a black aerosol can, attacked. She unleashed pepper spray on the gathered dogs. Wild barking and yelps ensued as the Chihuahuas skittered away into the darkness.

  Molly still salivated, but she knew what came next. In silence they moved into the subdivision. Canine commandos, sleek and powerful, their bulky bodies slid across the ground resembling torpedoes. Up into the air they leaped, latching onto necks.

  The human who fed Molly dropped her. Soon a pit bull bolted upward, biting into the man’s jugular. He screamed, falling with blood spouting from the wound. His legs kicked as if he tried to run while on his side.

  Molly remained silent as chaos unfolded in a swirl of fur and limbs. The man who once held her struggled, his hands gripping the pit bull’s thick neck until his fingers loosened in increments. Life fled his body. The once frantic shouts dribbled to groans as the attackers finished their victims.

  Molly lowered her head. A small cry escaped her throat. She wanted to go home, to lie bundled underneath warm blankets and fall asleep. Somewhere deep inside her, she understood the deaths might not be right. But her hunger overpowered any sentimentalities she prepared to entertain. And the fresh thirst for carnage won against her meager struggle to stay tame.

  10

  Fire Captain David inspected the collapsed overpass bathed in flashing red and blue emergency lights. He maintained his calm as work crews fought to free the victims crushed beneath the concrete. He couldn’t imagine how anyone survived, but he held out for a miracle.

  For the past fifteen hours his teams responded throughout Livermore for the nine-point-one earthquake damage. Thousands succumbed from the quake, millions more lived on the roads, their homes destroyed. He expected California to slide into the Pacific Ocean. Instead, several coastal cities vanished from tsunamis.