The Industrialist

Chapter 46: Asphodel

Lance took out one poison bomb from his knapsack. He clicked it to activate it. Another click would trigger the countdown from five seconds.

"No! You reserve yours. We will consume ours!" Handsome said firing on the other side of the vehicle.

The black miasma, smoke-like, almost covered their windshield from the forward truck. They need to concentrate fire on the forward truck as if it slows down, it will domino the speed of the other two trucks behind.

They could feel some of the dead bodies were ran down by their vehicle. But the groundlings seemed to spawn from everywhere and in infinite numbers. They never ceased to attack the convoys until the three of them were tipped over or would destroy the chassis and create a crash.

Luckily, these Abominants were only level 1 and their bullets were effective. Efficiency of one’s aim was the ingredient to be able to succeed this skirmish.

The loud noise of rifles came through the open window. Lance saw the driver rattled with what had transpired. But the driver’s wheel was steadied, and the strong arms that held them conquered the frightened bearer.

It seemed forever. Damian reloaded three magazines and he was an efficient shooter. Lance thought about Joe who would maybe exhaust his ammo right now. He would spray his bullets at random targets and kill only a few.

George and Joe were left in the camp, tending the Zelkian farm. Well, they were still neophytes, considering their tenure. The accompanied rebels had significant tenure and were military-trained, as Jefferson hand-picked them.

Lance had not moved much. It was horrifying for him.

Then suddenly, Handsome settled back to his seat.

"It’s time! We cannot kill them all with our bullets. Close your windows, there’s a signal," Handsome said and Damian and the rebel in front settled back to their seats and closed their respective windows hurriedly.

The rebels from the forward convoy stopped firing. As the sound of the guns were silenced, the horrendous snarls stood out.

Then explosions.

These were not stunning bombs, nor the electric bombs, nor the poison bombs that Lance had given them.

These were pure kinetic energy bombs, the one that burns.

Lance covered his ears. The explosions were deafening, too much for a kid like him.

"Molotov, you freaking creatures! Take that!" Damian cheered as the pursuing groundlings receded with the fires on their flesh. The screeches came.

The fire discouraged the pursuers.

The rebels cheered and then were silent. Only the discernable little conversations of the rebels, even inside the cabin, as they celebrated a small win.

Despite the apocalyptic world, small wins were golden to them.

"Molotov bombs! These were unregulated," Lance said.

"Well, kiddo. We are rebels remember. We don’t follow the Government’s Orders," Damian replied.

They were just lucky that their vehicles ran on empty loads and could speed up to 50 miles per hour with the challenging rocky terrain. But what if they were at full load of salt?

Climbing, the trucks headed to a steep ascend, dead trees now were seen occasionally at the side of the rocky terrain that they called a road. The bumps were more noticeable now, sometimes, it would elevate Lance’s butt from the cushioned seat.

After almost an hour, detouring towards the borders of Asphodel forest and into the occasional plateaus of the mountain range, the map took them a cave.

Below the chasm, along the bends of hills, sprawled dead trees. They were thicker than the dead forest. A snowy ash sprinkled at the top of the dead branches, making their tips more pronounced.

’The groundlings’ habitat,’ Lance thought upon the sight below.

They disembarked. Boots crunching against frozen stone. It was cold. The breeze had this biting chill munching on their exposed skin.

"We should get inside, now!" Jefferson’s voice echoed and the rebels followed suit.

The lamps were lit. Others activated their flashy LED lights that were embedded on their jackets – one of the trendy low-lifer jackets that the market had sold tons of them.

"Jasper, scan," Lance commanded.

"Scanning…" Jasper responded but with a choppy signal. "No Abominated creatures in this area, Master."

"What’s the coverage of your scan?"

"30 meters radial coverage."

"Can you go beyond 30?"

"Negative, Master. So much atmospheric interference." Jasper answered.

He felt the need to upgrade Jasper’s scanning coverage as his missions were frequently beyond the wall. And the dangers these Abominants provide may be lurking in the corners or behind shadows and would attack in a surprise.

The portcullis of the cave was wide enough to fit people inside, however, not their vehicles.

A clearing was found after two minutes of walking and the 22 men, including Lance, settled in, some in groups, others were loners, however, not far enough which was beyond safety.

As usual, Lance, Damian, and Handsome gathered together. Jefferson was giving instructions to his men, two went towards the portcullis to man the camp.

They had their shifts, as SOP for the rebels who were looking over their shoulders for all their lives. It was a norm for them. What was not a norm for them if when nobody was watching the possible entry points of hostile elements.

The Rebels took out their ready-to-eat processed food; easy to pack, and easy to unpack, type of mobile food for soldiers.

Others called them the MRE – Meal Ready to Eat.

MREs during this age were delectable enough to not throw up on the first try.

He had a bite. It was his first time to taste the MRE but it was passable. It was not pork or chicken or any living creatures in the land. It was maybe processed to emulate meat, then chunked in a rectangular form, and grounded, and mixed with some spices to add aroma.

His Spam and corned beef canned goods were way better.

It was dry as it played inside his mouth. He wanted to vomit it, but his stomach said otherwise.

"Why not bring canned goods instead?" Lance asked Damian and Handsome who had finished their MREs while Lance only had one bite.

"MREs provide you with nutrients better than those garbage, kiddo. These were designed for the military and they should be healthy at all times. You don’t like them to be weak in the heat of battle, do ya?"

"They say if you eat enough MRE, you will become leaner and meaner," Jefferson ambled towards them and squatted with his MRE too in his hand.

"Thanks, for this Jefferson," Lance said, as he expressed his gratitude countless times to the leader.

"Don’t mention it, Lance. Your objective aligns with our objective. You are right. We need to mine salt. I haven’t even considered this last year. It would be the same story over again if we hadn’t taken action," Jefferson explained.

The way he spoke as if his voice resonated like that of a microphone, echoing from his diaphragm as he released his voice. You would want to listen to every word he says.

"What keeps bugging me is the thought of the Wolf," Lance raised the concern.

"Not this again, kid," Damian interjected. But Jefferson signaled him to let the boy speak.

"Why? What is it about?" Jefferson asked. His eyes transitioned to more serious, although they were serious normally before but they became dead serious now.

"I..I think that one of your ranks is a traitor. Letting the Wolf pass by through the walls," Lance hesitantly said. Those stares from Jefferson were laser beams.

"A traitor? That’s new. I mean, I totally agree with you about the possibility of a traitor inside the ranks. But it wouldn’t be by the Corporation or the Government. It smeared the integrity of the walls that they so praised. It is a low blow to the Government."

"Who might be behind such an act?" Lance asked.

"For starters, enemies of the Government. The castaways or the Outsiders," Jefferson sneered towards Handsome. "No offense," He immediately said.

"None taken," Handsome responded, chewing his snack.

"The Wolf attack somehow helped our cause. Not the method that I had in mind but it served the same objective," Jefferson added.

There was in between the statements that irked Lance. If one goes down deeper into the meaning of it, somehow, Jefferson did not care the lives lost during the attack.

His blood boils upon pondering much about it. Kept on boiling until he imploded, his senses and rational mind had slipped through his control and what conquered was the raging emotion within.

"How could you!" Lance stood up; his fists clenched. "You are not saying that the attack does not concern you. How about the lives that died that day? Have you seen the News, a whole family butchered by that wretched beast!" Lance’s voice was heard by all the Rebels situated inside the cave.

Jefferson held his stare, unmoved by the kid’s action. Jefferson released a deep sigh and started to place his unfinished MRE at the side, disregarding whether the exposed food touched the ground or not. Apparently, he won’t be eating anymore.

Then he stood up.