Reverend Johnny looked at the photo. "Perhaps it belongs to The Order, but I'm not sure."
Trevor tapped the picture.
I know someone who can.
– "I don’t be needin’ no picture," the Old Man said. "I know what you're talkin’ ‘bout."
"So it’s a gateway." Trevor stood by the fire in the forest.
"Boy, you’ve gotten really smart since the last time we powwowed."
"So these gateways are how all the aliens got here so they could kill off mankind." "I just knew you were gunna start thinkin’ you figured this shit out. Lemme tell you somethin’, if this was about killin’ off mankind you’d all be killed off by now. Some of the things out there, hell, they could rip the at-mos-fere off this world. Shit, some could crack the core and roast marshmallows on your cities as the whole ball of wax melts from the inside out." "So what? So what is all of this about?"
The Old Man clued him in… a little.
"It’s about defeat’n mankind. Beatin’. Sub-jew-gait-ing. Killin' ya’ll off, that’d be sort of anti-climatic. Turnin’ ya’ll into second-class nobody’s, now that’s an accomplishment. But it ain’t my job to go fillin’ you in on all this. Mind your bees wax."
"Wait a sec," Trevor formed an idea. "What if there’s a way to reverse the gates: suck everything back to where it came from."
"Yeah, yeah," the Old Man encouraged. "In one shot you could go sendin’ em’ all packin’! Why, it’d be over lickity-split!"
The Old Man paused for a moment to let his sarcasm sink in and then mocked, "What you expectin’? You think there’s an exhaust port on this Death Star? One lucky shot and- whammo — everything is as right as rain? Maybe you haven’t seen the light of it yet. Face it, whatchya got here is an ole’ fashioned slugfest, Trev. The Martians ain’t gunna catch cold and die. You can’t kill the mother creature and all the little ones waste away. No magic bullets."
"So, what? It doesn’t matter about this gate thing?"
"Sure it matters. The more of em’ gates are around the more re-in-force-mints the bad guys get. Take a gate out and you take a step toward wipin’ em’ all out. Cause that’s what you got to do, Trev. You got to wipe em’ all out."
"That’s it? Just shoot, kill, and blow things up?"
"Eureka! I think he’s got it! What did it used to say on that T-shirt? Oh yeah, ‘kill em’ all and let God sort em’ out.’ That’s your motto, Trevor. And you know what? You got it in you."
"You really think so?"
"Before this is over, Trevor, you’re gunna realize one important thing ‘bout yourself: your soul was damned before you was born."
27. Destruction
Trevor guided the 'Eagle' northward with, thanks to Omar, better-fitting pilot goggles.
Outside the ship, thick flurries rode the air: not quite yet a storm.
Nina sat in the co-pilot’s seat but Trevor remained the only one who knew how to fly the alien craft. That meant three perfectly good flying machines sat unused in Wilkes-Barre.
Danny Washburn, Dante Jones and ten ‘volunteers’-including a few from Major Prescott's troop-filled the passenger compartment. Eight K9s rounded out the advanced team.
A ground convoy led by Stonewall transported more vehicles, people, and armaments to the battle but they would not arrive until morning.
In the meantime, Trevor's group would scout the area, assess the gateway, and formulate a plan to destroy it. That's why Trevor picked Danny Washburn to come along; his career with ATF meant he had experience with things that went BANG.
The ship pushed through a veil of white. Below, the deep woods and hills of the Endless Mountains rolled north turning whiter and whiter the further they travelled.
The Eagle crossed the New York border on December 15 ^ th en route to the campus of SUNY Binghamton situated off the Vestal Parkway south of that city.
During the first part of the flight, Trevor followed Interstate 81. After crossing the state line, he relied on a compass Omar super-glued to the control panel, one of several modifications to the alien craft including sport bucket seats pulled from a BMW.
Most important, Omar had rigged two energy weapons derived from the Redcoats’ rifles on a swivel beneath the front landing pods giving the Eagles talons.
Around noon, they caught sight of their destination.
The snow-loaded clouds could not hide the atmospheric disturbance on the horizon: flashing lights, some similar to the flicker of lightning, others more balls of energy catapulted away from the gate into the distance.
Trevor landed on a field surrounded by a running track on the northeast side of campus.
The buildings of the State University of New York at Binghamton stood in clusters separated by parking lots, access roads, and strips of trees made bare by winter. Fire, explosions or general ransacking had damaged many of those buildings.
They entered Hunter Hall on the south side of campus and established a temporary command post. Trevor and Danny went to a dorm room on the top floor and pointed binoculars at the ten-story tall abomination sitting in a vacant parking lot six hundred yards away.
"Jesus," Danny muttered without his usual good humor. "Just the sight of that thing makes my skin crawl."
The Grenadiers in the room seemed to agree; they fidgeted nervously and did something Trevor's dogs rarely did: whimpered.
Nina, wearing a leather jacket over black BDUs, strode in. Behind her came the other three members of her recon team including Dante who wore a hodgepodge of winter gear.
She said, "I don’t get it. There’s some pretty nasty stuff up by the gateway, but between here and there not much. I’m just saying, the scariest thing we saw in any of these buildings were some rats and a raccoon."
Trevor lowered the binoculars but kept his eyes focused on the distant sphere. A ball of energy shot away and disappeared into the steady drizzle of white puffs.
Dante suggested, "Man, it’s like it’s just throwing monsters into our world."
One of Nina’s other team members-a short but strong fellow with a scavenged parka over green army BDUs-added his thoughts: "Maybe the area around here is under its range. Sort of like an artillery piece has a minimum distance based on the firing arc."
Trevor tried to remember the man’s name.
Rhodes. Yes. That’s it. Rhodes.
He looked over the second soldier who had accompanied Nina: A big guy-so big he could have been a professional wrestler instead of a professional soldier-named Casey.
Nina continued, "Whatever the case, it's sitting over there on parking lot X."
Trevor saw something on Nina's face, an expression akin to puzzlement; or maybe she was getting sick. In fact, her entire recon team shared the same look: brows crinkled, noses twitching and vacant eyes.
"What? What is it?"
Nina answered, "It makes a noise. A thumping."
"No, no," Rhodes presented a different take. "Like a whining. But really low."
Dante said, "It wasn’t like you hear it with your ears, but like it's inside your head. Gave me the creeps, Trev."
Washburn chided, "Take off the skirt, Nancy."
Dante responded with his middle finger.
Trevor raised binoculars and faced the 10-story tall gateway again.
A strange texture covered the sphere, one mimicking frosted glass. A brownish bark-like material that appeared to have sprouted from the ground framed the orb and held it in place. That globe rippled every so often, as if it had a liquid surface yet the skin appeared solid.
Inside that sphere, movement. A ball of something like worms the size of oil pipes, spinning lines and shapes at the core. Still, all the time, flashes of lightning and bolts of energy flying away toward unseen destinations: a new horror airmailed to Earth.
Nina’s voice grabbed his attention: "That’s not all. Look at this."
Rhodes handed Trevor a digital camera.