The Valhalla Covenant

Field locations were randomly allocated. Finn, Reimas and Arabella drew Los Angeles, while others were chosen specifically for their language ability. Some national regions had chosen the GI banner and others, Little River.

In the US, the Little River struck a chord. Stan, a contact in the American Little River, now unofficially referred to by some as the Big River, drove them around the city in his armour-plated SUV. Their mission on the first day was simply to keep an eye out for trouble and, as they cruised through the streets, an accompanying flyer, with Zoe and the now largely recovered Carl in the cockpit, hovered out of sight above.

For a weekday, things had already been hectic. Rumours ran rife about various terrorist plots, and petty violence had grown to epidemic proportions on the streets.

Incidents of serious trouble flared up all over the city during the afternoon, and, by evening, Reimas felt it wise to ask Stan if he knew of a good place the less experienced personnel could evacuate to if things got much worse.

Stan called the local Little River co-ordinator, James, who had begun to think along the same lines, and he agreed to put out the word amongst his people.

Many of the LA group lived in the Santa Monica enclave. That meant that most were significantly wealthy. One, a fellow named Anderson, owned a ski resort in Nevada.

A few calls determined that many members in the vicinity had been speaking to each other and were more than a little anxious. Most were only recent members of the Little River and few felt qualified to deal with trouble on the scale that they were witnessing. In short, most were considering leaving the city, temporarily, and were happy to consider an evacuation.

Once Jake got back to Reimas and made the position clear, the matter was resolved. Reimas was in complete sympathy with the local members. No positive end could be served by throwing largely inexperienced operatives into situations they couldn’t handle. If that was the case, leaving them unprotected in circumstances equally threatening made just as little sense.

After an initial discussion about evacuation plans, Stan took a call that gave him great concern. Trouble was brewing at the enclave gate. Several cars and business premises had been torched, the gate was barred, and a large crowd that had formed outside was disputing the sentries’ right to forbid them entry.

According to Stan, none of the sentries had been properly trained to deal with situations as grave as this. Reports made it clear that they were panicking and could not be persuaded even to come out and talk let alone open the gate, even for the locals.

Finn, in the driver’s seat, followed Stan’s instructions to find the quickest route through the back streets. Arriving at the back of the line in minutes, they pulled up at the kerbside.

Reimas leapt out, closely followed by Arabella and Stan, who guided them into one of the nearby buildings. From the third storey there was a plain view of the towers on each side of the gate.

The situation wasn’t good.

Clearly, there was trouble inside as well as out, and several large patches of smoke rose up in the distance, hazing the night sky. Outside, shards of smashed glass from shop fronts and display cases lay strewn all over the sidewalks.

A further crowd approached the gate, leaving the smoking ruins of several derelict shops and buildings behind them. A fiery argument took place through the titanium alloy bars of the gate but the confusion of noises disrupted the Valhalla aural amplification technology and Reimas could not make out what was being said. At least one of them seemed to be out and talking now. It was time to move in closer.

“If you don’t let some of us in, sooner or later they’ll get you too,” argued an earnest, wiry looking man as they approached to within hearing. “If you let us in we’ll reinforce you and I reckon you’ll need it. I can’t vouch for these people coming up the road now.”

“Help us out, and we’ll do our best to guard the gates,” said another.

“But where would you stay?” demanded the chief security officer.

“I just want to get through to my uncle’s place,” said the first.

“I live here,” called out a teenage girl. “My car broke down and I forgot to get my wallet out of the glove box.”

“I don’t recognize you,” said the sentry.

“Hey, we just moved here so that we could be safe. My father’s Kai Butler.”

“And mine’s Cary Grant,” the sentry laughed.

Others chimed in, then, with a variety of plausible reasons why they should be given access, but it was plain their pleas were falling on deaf ears.

“Listen buddy,” said the first man, “I don’t like the look of these people. For God’s sake, let us in.”

“I can’t authorize it.”

Reimas could tell, with his acute new psychic abilities acquired courtesy of the Vezarin, that none of these people were troublemakers. The real villains weren’t far away, however, so he decided to try telepathic persuasion on the chief.

“You know the chief’s name?” he asked Stan on the two-way.

“Rod. Yeah, the head guy’s called Rod and one of the others is Gerry.”

“Let them in, Rod,” he said, within, projecting his thoughts to a place defined more by the guard’s situation than is actual location. “These are good people in trouble and they need your help. You’d like to help them. You know it’s the right thing to do. Everything will be fine.”

Strangely quickly, Rod assumed a more relaxed air, threw up his hands and, relenting, punched in a code. Reimas shook his head in wonder. It was amazing how easy it could be.

As the bars snapped back, the crowd pushed through. The Little River party drove through behind a line of thirty or so cars.

Although there were only around twenty on foot, it was just as well they moved quickly. A crowd of at least five times that hurried towards the gate yelling a torrent of abuse, only to be shut out moments too late.

“We’ll get in sometime,” yelled a rough looking man, slamming up against the bars. “More’n likely at night, if y take m’ meanin’.”

“Oh don’cha worry about that,” called out another, emerging with a swagger from the crowd. “Won’t be more’n a minute or two at most.”

He produced a grenade from one of the pockets on his jacket and pulled the pin. People inside scattered.

A solid boom accompanied a hail filled shock wave, and one of the sentry post walls blew inwards, slamming the three inside to the ground. Rod, the first to jump up again, grabbed a pistol and fired randomly into the dusk. Screams and curses emanated from the crowd as it heaved backwards.

Reimas and Finn jumped out of the car and made for the shattered sentry post.

“You guys alright?” Reimas asked as the chief turned his raised pistol towards them.

One of the others was dazed and appeared to have concussion. The sentry with the gun lowered it.

“You goin’ in?” he asked.

“Yeah. Little River’s organizing an evac.”

“Take Gerry up to the medical centre then, would you?”

“Sure, as long as you stop shooting. You might as well save your bullets for when you need them.”

“Guess you’re right. Medical centre’s on the corner, two blocks up.”

Finn helped the injured sentry to the vehicle. A crowd gathered around and someone asked if they thought it would be safe inside the enclave. Many saw the party’s air of confidence and were impressed with the way they dealt with the sentries.

Reimas looked around and saw despair and confusion. These people only wanted to hear something that made sense.

“Stay here and chances are you’ll all be a goner, before long,” he said. “Every low life in the city will be heading this way as we speak.”

Although they were his own words, they resonated in his ears, and hearing them again within, he knew with intuitive foresight that it was time for everyone to leave — not just the less experienced River membership.

“So what do we do?” one asked.

Reimas glanced at Stan.

“Sure, why not?” Stan responded. “If we get a convoy together, we’ll have safety in numbers, if nothing else.”

“Join us back here in an hour,” said Reimas, making a crucial spur-of-the-moment decision. “We’re planning on leaving the city tonight.”

“Where to?” someone asked.

“Resort up at Tahoe.”

“That’s a long drive.”

“Exactly,” Stan observed with satisfaction. “You ain’t gonna tell me Frisco’s more of a target than LA. They already took out the bridge up there and odds on they’ll be satisfied with that.”

“You could just be right,” said Reimas.

“Most of us haven’t got no place to go to up there and this’ll all be over in a week or so,” said one of the younger men.

“I wouldn’t count on it. Maybe you don’t know what’s been going on overseas. If you did, you’d know this is only the beginning. What’ll happen even as soon as tomorrow is anybody’s guess — and we can fit you in.”

“So you’re going tonight?” asked a young woman who had three children clinging tightly to her.

“Sure we are.”

“Can we come?” she asked, trying to look sexy. “I can’t get any cash right now, but ... ”

Reimas saw, however, that there was genuine fear in her eyes.

“Don’t worry about the money, honey,” he laughed. “If you’ve got sense enough to see you’re in danger here then you’re welcome.”

Others pushed in closer around the Little River people, wanting to know more about where they were headed.

“Listen up, everyone,” Reimas called out, responding to the obvious escalation of interest. “We’re with the River, and we’re on our way out of here. If you’ve got somewhere you want to go to north of LA, then we can help you get there. If you haven’t, we can take you — but it’s got to be quick. We can give you half an hour to get a few really important personal things — two reasonably sized bags each at the most, unless you’re bringing your own vehicle. If you’re not back here in thirty-five minutes ... ”

Some returned in the allotted time with their own vehicles and others came back only looking for a seat. More Little River people turned up from other parts of LA, waiting not far outside the gates beyond the unruly crowds. In all there were two hundred or so River people, including their family and associates, travelling in more than thirty vehicles.

Seven more came not long before the deadline — extras with people wishing to travel in convoy, but who were prepared to make up their minds about what to do next when the time came.

When the appointed departure time arrived, the crowd outside pressed close again. Finn got onto the PA in one of the buses to let them know what they were in for if they didn’t move.

“If you don’t move well back and hold your fire, we’ll be forced to retaliate,” he said, knowing that the various weapons in the hovering flyer would be more than equal to the task. “We’ve got assault weapons and we’ll use them if we have to.”

That was enough. Some in the crowd could have caused real trouble but the convoy looked well equipped and none appeared to relish the thought of being mown down by fancy weaponry. It had not been Reimas’s intention to exclude anyone in particular but these people were plainly troublemakers and the intent of their riotous approach to the enclave was clear.

Shortly after ten, the convoy began to move through the gates with the now sullen crowd well back from the edge of the road. They could see attack was pointless, but many recalled the words of the one who had spoken for them earlier. They’d return to find weak spots later.

Twenty-one vehicles moved then through the gates and, joined by another seventeen not far down the road, motored quickly up toward the interstate. Well after sunset, as it was, there was not much strife to hinder the convoy’s passage, but beyond the coastal areas, it was a different story.

A couple of the convoy vehicles were private buses from Ben Anderson’s resort and were equipped with snowplough blades. For obvious reasons, they were chosen to lead. Finn, who knew LA well, drove the first. With Reimas and Arabella seated right behind him, he felt he could deal with anything the rowdy natives might dish out.

After a few minutes on the interstate, the traffic slowed and they could see that the way was blocked not far ahead. Finn expected to see an accident, but it soon became apparent that a roadblock had been set up using a large semi and several delivery trucks. Most of the traffic ahead was turning around so Finn slowed the bus to a crawl.

“What do we do?” he asked.

“Wait a minute and see what happens.”

Gradually, the road cleared ahead. Several minutes passed before a large pickup with a blue light attached to the roof drove out towards them. A half a dozen men riding on the back appeared to be well armed. The pickup stopped a car length away and a man called out of the left window.

“The road ain’t safe to travel from here on. Y’ go back or pay for an escort.”

“Ask how much,” said Reimas.

Finn leaned out his window and tilted his head.

“Five hundred a vehicle, right through the city, buddy.”

“Cheap for us, at the price, but, even if these guys were real police I wouldn’t see them paid,” said Reimas. What do you say we teach them a lesson?”

“Sure. What d’ya have in mind?”

“Tell them we don’t need an escort. We only want to get through.”

Finn leaned out the driver’s window and spoke his piece. The man conferred with others inside briefly then gave a signal to the men in the back. One raised his rifle and fired a shot clean above the bus.

“Listen, arsehole,” the first scoundrel yelled through a loudspeaker, “if you want to get through, you pay, or we’ll blow your heads off. Now get the hell out o’ the way and let the paying folks get through.”

No one now remained in doubt about the legitimacy of the roadblock, nor about the intelligence of the thugs behind it. Finn glanced quickly at Reimas then revved the motor and made a charge towards the pickup, raising the sharp point of the plough to radiator height right at the last minute. A hail of bullets came at them but the blade deflected most.

Whether he was frozen in disbelief by the clear lack of damage to the bus or because he simply miscalculated the timing, the driver threw his truck into reverse a little too late. The plough blade rammed viciously through the front of his pick-up, tearing through the radiator and bodywork.

Finn accelerated hard again, twisting the vehicle to one side so that all the gunmen were thrown to the ground and the panels on the left side of the vehicle gave way. Reversing away from the steaming wreck then, he grinned roguishly at the puzzled expressions on their faces.

A mysterious hail of bullets from above spattered briefly into the ground around them and, when it ceased, the thugs scattered in disarray, leaving their weapons behind.

With that, the second bus came up alongside the first and, pushing together with engines revving hard, they thrust the semi to one side. At first, progress was slow but then they gained momentum and pushed the trailer all the way off the road. The hapless thugs looked on with crestfallen faces.

“Let’s go ahead and finish the job, Finn,” said Reimas. “Push the rest of this mess off the road. They won’t be able to get them back on in a hurry if we turn them over.”

The line of vehicles moved through, after that, without further incident. At least for the time being, the road would stay open.

For the next few kilometres, they made their way unmolested through a green area, but soon entered another commercial zone. Smashed shop fronts, burning vehicles, serious accidents, and roaming bands of looters were a common sight.

With no police presence, firemen remained at their bases and all the fires were left to burn. From time to time, the convoy took gunfire, ranging from isolated pistol shots to heavy bursts from machine guns, but invariably, it ceased moments after it began, thanks to the flyer, above.

In one place, a band of men had laid down tyre spikes, probably stolen from police vehicles, but Finn cleared them with the blade. Occasional rocks were thrown and, every now and then, a bullet hit the bodywork of one of the vehicles.

Farther on, they came across a scene that from the outset looked very ugly. The first indication of trouble was a large, vocal mob surrounding a car, pushing it back and forth and throwing rocks. A quick blast on the horn distracted them before Finn drove forwards. They threw things in an angry volley but fell back as the bus approached with aggressive speed.

No more than three people were inside the car and, judging from their expressions, they were not sure what to make of the development. Reimas spoke over the bus’s external pa and invited them aboard, whereupon they leapt from the car and ran to the door.

“That was a near thing,” the first, a young man, said when they were let in. “Can’t say what would’ve happened in another few minutes. We were going to get help, but the car wouldn’t start.”

“Help for what?” Finn asked.

“Sam,” he said, his expression sinking. “She went to try and find some water, but these guys got her. I think they’re in there ... damn it, we tried to go in but they turned on us with guns.”

“Where?”

“Over behind the hedge there, on the front lawn of that factory complex,” he said, waving a hand across to the other side of the highway.

Finn called for support from the rest of the convoy then, nodding at Reimas, stood up.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Brian.”

“Lead us, Brian. Don’t worry, we’ll get her out.”

A quick gathering of armed men from the convoy subdued the crowd at the side of the road and they melted away into the darkness.

Brian took Reimas, Finn and the others across the road toward a broad gate, which was not quite closed. From over behind a hedge came high-pitched screams of fear and anger punctuated by loud shouting, laughter and hooting.

As they passed through the gate, a crowd of about thirty came into view, pushing and shoving at each other to get a better view of what was going on at the centre. Stan yelled out, and Finn fired three pistol shots into the air over their heads, causing the mob to break back with a start.

A girl, probably no more than fifteen, lay naked on her back before them, with a tall, powerfully built man kneeling over her. Four others, two of them women, held the girl down by her arms and legs. Several others standing close by backed off into the crowd.

Seeing only a few men challenging them, and confident of their weight in numbers, the parted crowd closed again and charged. Apparently unconcerned that the challenging party might have weapons; they were, in the event, surprised by the intensity of the barrage. Many fell — others ran.

Finn fired off another round and the man who had been on top of the girl made a run for it. Next thing, after another shot, he fell to the ground with a bullet in his right buttock.

With the situation under control, Reimas turned back to the girl. Brian, now, seeing her lying there still was hysterical and confused.

“Get it together lad,” he said, firmly. “She’s not dead and I’m not sure but I think we got to them in time. Go to her. Hold her.”

Searching distractedly for the girl’s clothes, he cursed quietly but fiercely as the girl curled up in a ball on the ground. There were, in fact, only torn remnants lying around. Reimas had a coat, which he took off and gave to Brian.

The youngster kneeled down beside her and put the coat over her.

“It’s all right, sis. We’re going to be okay.”

“Finn,” said Reimas. “See if you can’t find some clothes from somewhere.”

Hearing that, the girl moaned then began to sob uncontrollably and the young fellow could take no more. One of the girls who had been with him in the car took over and held his sister.

Finn returned in moments with Arabella, who held a dress, stiffly, in one hand. Reimas could tell, even in the minimal light, that her face turned alternately pale and livid, reflecting the anger and sadness that gripped her.

“Is she all right?” she asked.

Brian’s companion took the dress from her.

“You mean Sam,” she said pointedly. “Of course she’s not all right.”

“Where were you headed?” Reimas asked.

“Out of this hell-hole. Maybe up north. We were just trying to get something to eat when this happened.”

“Come with us.”

“Are you all travelling in this convoy?”

“We are.”

“We don’t know you.”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” said Reimas.

Once it was obvious that both agreed on that point, there wasn’t much to gain in hanging around longer. The four young companions and most of their meagre possessions were loaded onto the leading bus, leaving their defunct old car where it stood.

Once Arabella got over the shock of seeing the girl, Sam, in such extreme distress, her next reaction was to tend to her every need. She hastily organized seats for the newcomers then arranged something hot to drink.

Brian was hungry, but food was the last thing on Sam’s mind, even though she looked emaciated. Arabella found her a sleeping bag, which she slipped into grateful. Plainly, she wanted to go to sleep but it became obvious she was neither comfortable nor happy.

Another few miles up the road, Finn caught sight of a crowd gathered around a tree. Hung from one of its branches by his arms, a man struggled fiercely, trying to flip his feet over his head to escape the flames, for flames there were, leaping fiercely from a fire that had been set at the base of the tree. Throwing both abuse and projectiles at him, the crowd scarcely noticed the lead bus in the convoy approaching.

Plainly, they had no intention of relenting and there was little alternative but for a team to go in. Finn glanced hard at Reimas then sped the bus in with aggressive determination. At the last moment, the crowd scattered and a dozen Little River people leapt out.

Reimas ran straight to the man, who had stopped struggling now, even though the fire licked up close to his feet. Nothing lay around nearby to smother the fire so he kicked the logs away with his boots. With the nearest branch just out of reach, he pulled out his hunting knife, jumped up, and drove it into the trunk. Using it as a handhold, he hauled himself up.

Finn stood ready to catch the fellow, so Reimas yanked out the knife and used it to cut through the ropes.

The muscular Finn caught the falling man easily enough and tossed his now limp form straight over his broad shoulders. Aware that some of those who had been tormenting him were still lurking, he wasted no time in getting back to the relative safety of the bus.

Inside, Stan did chest compressions on the fellow in the central aisle. Quite quickly, he began to cough and retch, probably in a delayed reaction to the smoke. After another couple of minutes, he sat up and looked around, wincing at the pain from his scorched feet.

“How did I get here?” he asked in a heavy European accent that Reimas could not precisely place. “Last I knew I was preparing to meet my maker and I don’t think you’re him.”

“Not your maker but I did scatter that fire and cut you down,” Reimas replied steadily.

“How? There was a screaming mob all around. So where am I, anyway?”

“I can’t really answer your questions now,” Reimas said while monitoring him for the presence of ‘alien’ attributes, “except to say that you’re on a bus heading out of LA. And what did that mob want with you, anyway?”

“They blamed me for a rape — a young girl. She was killed. It was awful but I had nothing to do with it.”

Reimas wondered for a moment if he had done the right thing, but he searched the man’s eyes and saw only fear and sorrow for the state of his fellow man. Asking Tor, within, to search the fellow’s mind, he waited for confirmation of his own initial assessment.

Within seconds, he had a clear answer. Tor assured him that the man was innocent and, with that, Reimas breathed a sigh of relief. Dealing with a hardened criminal was the last thing they needed right now.

Finn got the bus going again and accelerated up the road. There were no disturbances after that until they reached the city limits but when one came it was vast. Finn braked hard and everyone swung around in response to a huge white flash like lightning.

As the light kept getting brighter, they had to turn away. A collective groan went through the bus and some of the women began to cry.

“What the hell was that?”

“Dunno. Don’t want to. Something going on up ahead, though. Cars flashing lights.”

“No bloody wonder.”

“If that was what I think it was,” said Reimas, “then I’m glad we’re out of here. We’re barely twenty miles out as the crow flies.”

“Anything on the radio?”

Finn tried it and punched through the channels.

“No radio. Nothing but static.”

Reimas tried calling Stan on his cell phone. Again, there was nothing, though the convoy vehicles were all there, behind. Some in the bus called out to ask if he knew what had happened. Others snapped back that it was freaking obvious. There was a moment of silence then several women began to cry. They had friends back in the city. A couple of them yelled at Finn to stop and one started screaming.

“What was that?” Reimas asked Carl on the radio.

“Your guess is as good as mine, but we might get confirmation from a higher altitude.”

“Try it.”

“There’s a crossing point,” Reimas said to Finn. “Go through to the other side and see if someone will stop.”

As the bus began to slow, a deep rumble came through the earth. No one needed an answer anymore, but it provoked a new outburst amongst the passengers.

“We have to go back!” cried one man. “We’ve got to help our friends.”

A number of women also cried and implored the Little River people to turn back, but the majority shouted them down.

“You’ve got to be out of your minds,” the young woman with the small children shrieked. “If you want to go back, get out and walk.”

Reimas called out for calm, remembering what Tor had told him about the cleanup they had planned.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he said, “and that is we can’t go back even if we wished to. The roads will be clogged with people getting out. Besides, I believe those stolen bombs were on the large side, and we’ll all be exposed to enough radiation as it is. I know this is a tragedy, but for now, the best thing we can do is survive and live to fight another day.”

The conflict amongst the passengers died down but many of the women wept uncontrollably, sure now of the fate of their city. Finn pulled up near the crossover anyway.

A pickup pulled over immediately.

“Don’t be going down that way,” Finn called out.

“I know, but you don’t want to go the other way, either,” said the driver of the pickup. “The police have the highway blocked off. Bad trouble further down the road. Some nasty stuff, I hear. Folks have been killed.”

“What for?” Finn asked.

“Dunno. Highway piracy, I guess. Everything’s just out of control.”

Finn and Reimas looked at each other.

“There’s an off-ramp not far ahead,” Finn told him.

“An alternate route?”

The turnoff was less than half a mile away, but the off-ramp was blocked not far over the rise. There was gunfire as they approached but it ceased when a hail of return fire came from above. Zoe and Carl were back. They reported a mushroom cloud, which soon after its appearance had mysteriously risen into the higher atmosphere and disappeared.

Meanwhile, Finn dropped the bus into low and raised the plough into ramming position again. By the time they saw it, the men in the large van parked across the middle of the road only had time to leap out. The blade pushed the truck’s tail around then flipped it.

Passing this small blockade in much the same way as they had passed the first, the convoy continued on the way out of the city without further incident.

Some sixty or so miles out, Finn pulled over into a rest area so they could consult with all those who wished to be on their way by themselves. A few people took the opportunity to have a stroll while the drivers conferred with each other on what would happen next.

During the trip, many had considered their options. Some decided that they would at least like to stay in touch with the Little River people by CB radio, in case plans failed to work out as they hoped. More asked if they could remain with them.