POSTHUMAN

Chapter Three

Five months had passed since Judah offered Marcus a ticket into the belly of the beast. Four months since Marcus, Judah and the 1st Eastern United Expeditionary Battalion (EUEB-1) had set out from Greater New York for Utah, skirting along the Northern states. Only feral tribes went through the Great Plains, adding the damnable existence of those isolated transhuman fortress communities under constant threat of necro assault. States shielded by the Rockies were where every EEB was headed. Interior Expeditionary Battalions would come later into the great reclamation.

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1st September 2111.

        Marcus rode next to Judah in the back of an M8 Buffalo armoured car, a light utility vehicle with a remote machine gun emplacement on the roof. They were coming up on a makeshift camp; the occupants hadn't yet opened fire so in all likelihood weren't ferals. Their armoured car was at the head of a convoy, when it slowed down, the column followed suit. A quad-bike rode out to meet the halted military caravan; the rider pulled up near the lead truck and jumped off. He wore a US Army uniform and beret, a sight Marcus had not anticipated so far from the east coast. Judah swung open the door and climbed out, Marcus scooted out after the commandant. "Would you mind telling me who the hell you people are? I've never seen that insignia before," asked the captain, rank indicated by the two silver bars on the upper arm of his uniform.

        "I'm Commandant Nimåfänger and this is the 1st Eastern United Expeditionary Battalion; we're a combined Stormwatch Genesis Corps and US military operation. There's been a lot going over on the east coast, though I'm not surprised you haven't heard anything here in Utah. The United States government is cooperating with the people I work for, The Providence, to stabilise the nation. Might I ask why you're out in Utah? I thought the only organised government over on the west coast was in California," Judah spoke to the captain in his usual, too charming to be sincere manner.

        "Captain Tristan Lawrence," the captain and Judah shook hands, "The Californian governor ordered reconnaissance missions be made, and if possible, to reconnect with communities we lost touch with after The Flash. Come inside Deseret Base, we'll talk when you get your vehicles alongside our walls." Lawrence got back onto his quad-bike and sped past the open gates of the camp.

        The M8 Buffalo rolled through Deseret Base's entrance, Captain Lawrence directed them to a parking spot. He waited near the truck as their driver turned off the engine. Marcus was first out this time because Judah fiddled with the SuperCom on his wrist.

        Ah, yes, the Super Compact Holographic Interface or SuperCom was another brilliant innovation brought over by the daemons. When inactive, it was a square-faced digital watch. When activated, the face of the watch became a holographic projector. The initial projection was always that of a computer desktop and virtual QWERTY keyboard, in practice a SuperCom was capable of everything a normal computer could do and much more.

        Lawrence shook Marcus' hand and then deferred to Judah when the commandant emerged. "Captain Lawrence, if you mind me asking, why are you on the edge of Uintah County? I should imagine any settlements are much further in," Judah walked next to the captain as he led the two newcomers into the command tent.

        "We had been centred on the county seat of Vernal..." Lawrence stood by a large rectangular, glass screen laid over a metal table with four legs connected by diagonal bars. He flicked a switch on the side of the table and a map of Utah appeared on screen. He zoomed in on Vernal, "Then a huge feral tribe migrated out of Idaho and overran our positions. We haven't got the numbers to recapture Vernal but we can't get out of Uintah and back to California without leaving Utah altogether." Lawrence changed the view from a map to a satellite image, done using drones as Marcus doubted California had access to military satellites again otherwise they would have contacted DC years ago. Tents encircled Vernal; dozens of them formed a perimeter. Crude watchtowers constructed from salvaged materials were dotted among the tents. They would be good for spotting an approaching band of soldiers from half a mile away. Ferals were cunning in a rudimentary way but not excellent strategists or tacticians, simple plans of action were a hallmark of feral battle manoeuvres. "What sort of armoured support do you have here?" asked Judah, drawing closer to the tactical desk.