Sundown Apocalypse E-Book

Leo Nix

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

The end of days is at hand. Terrorist organizations have taken out all superpowers, cleansing the planet of the 'disease of civilization'.

In this radically changed world, small bands of survivors face an overwhelming enemy and fight back the only way they can: with sudden and savage violence. One of them - a man only known as Sundown - struggles with his inner demons while trying to keep his group alive.

Together with an ex-IRA commander and a retired CIA agent, they lead a determined band of survivors to defeat their enemy. But can they survive the harsh, unforgiving Australian desert?

Leseprobe

Sundown Apocalypse

Book 1

Leo Nix

Copyright (C) 2017 Leo Nix

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Stephen Kingston

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Special thank you to those who so generously gave of their time to help get this project into print: Bruce, Marja, Peter, Mick, Paul, Sonja, Dave, Mark.

Dedication: to Pedro, a great mate and a true digger

Chapter 1 - The Apocalypse

Matthew 24:3 - As He was sitting on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to Him privately, saying, “Tell us, when will these things happen, and what will be the sign of Your coming, and of the end of the age.”

* * *

A frog croaked in the pre-dawn spring air, but Emma didn't notice as she slumped in the powerful arms of her two male companions. It was dead quiet as they approached the 1st Cavalry Regiment sentry post.

“You lot again? I thought your last front and centre with the colonel was enough? Emma, you're heading for a court martial you know.” The sentry leaned out of his box grinning at what had become a regular event.

“She's dead-set paralytic, Wayne, give us a hand will you, mate?” asked Larry helping to support Emma as best he could.

The private opened his box just as Emma opened her eyes and lifted her hand. He was mesmerised by the tiniest hand gun he had ever seen. It was silver, fitted neatly in the palm of her small hand and sported a mini silencer. He didn't hear the 'tak' as the bullet entered his throat below the chin and entered his brain. The sentry was dead before he hit the ground.

Emma shrugged out of the arms of her two companions and reloaded her derringer. She had to stifle a laugh, that was the best thing she had done since bedding the lieutenant, 'now he was a wild one,' she thought with a smile.

The two men grabbed the sentry's body and dragged it into the shrubbery. One stayed behind to replace him, pulling on his cap and taking up his A3 Steyr Bullpup assault rifle. All was normal again at 1st Armoured and the frog resumed its croaking.

Lieutenant McCarthy crouched with thirty of his comrades, faces blackened, armed with AK47 assault rifles and assorted pistols. He waited patiently for his watch to count down to zero hour. If all went according to plan they would have the keys to the armoury and codes to the regiment's equipment within the hour.

Waving for his platoon to gather around he called them to prayer: “Lord of hosts grant us the skill and courage to carry your sword against our foe this day, and cleanse the disease of civilisation from your creation. Amen.” Looking at his men with calculated satisfaction, he continued, “Together please, 2 Samuel 22:38, “I pursued my enemies and destroyed them, And I did not turn back until they were consumed. And I have devoured them and shattered them, so that they did not rise; And they fell under my feet.” The crusaders finished their prayers and prepared to begin the Apocalypse, as foretold in the Book of Revelations.

The lieutenant knew that success would give them command of A and C Squadrons. He felt the tug of resentment inside his chest, it was the only dampener to the enthusiasm he would feel. Only yesterday his superiors had passed him over for promotion, once again. The LED on his watch briefly lit to highlight his narrow, ferret-like features in the darkness. Only minutes remained before he would have the revenge he was so desperate for.

Emma and Larry boldly made their way to the administration building. They knocked loudly then walked in on the duty officer and his sergeant. The duty staff were busy watching English football on TV.

“Yes, privates, what is it?” asked the sergeant, annoyed at being interrupted. The duty officer pulled on his cigarette grimacing as Manchester lost the ball again. He didn't bother to look up.

Emma raised her silver derringer and shot the sergeant in the face just as Larry raised his Browning 9 mm and fired point blank at the lieutenant. The single bullet hit him in the temple, blood and brain matter exploded from the side of his head. The terrorists high-fived, their coup was almost complete. With a giggle they leaped across the desk and into the heart of regimental headquarters.

Larry took the duty officer's keys and swipe cards then unlocked the weapons store. He fired up the computers and released the codes to the regiment's storeroom. The two armoured cavalry squadrons consisted of ASLAV's, APC's, weapons, supplies and recovery vehicles. The terrorists now had armoured superiority in the city.

Lieutenant McCarthy glanced down at his watch one more time then gave the signal to move. The Crusaders raced across the parade ground to the administration building and noted that the door was wide open. This was the sign that their commando's had successfully taken control of regimental headquarters.

Lance Corporal Jabba and his five comrades were up early, early enough to fit the silencers to their pistols. Jabba nodded for his squad to gather and he whispered a prayer for their success: “Lord of hosts it is Apocalypse Day as foretold by Your prophet, Saint John. We, Your holy army, are about to face our greatest challenge. Grant us the strength of Your arm to guide our bullets to the hearts of Your foes, amen.” There came a whispered, “amen”, from his comrades.

He looked one last time at his watch then, with a nod, they began the job of executing their platoon mates. They went through the dormitory with only two troopers waking to see what was making that annoying 'tap tik tap tik' noise.

“That was easy, we should have been given the job of doing that for all the barracks. Hey Jabba, I wonder how our guys are doing at the water treatment plant, they should have finished poisoning the water hours ago. Hey, does anyone know if that poison kills everyone who drinks it?” asked Trooper Liddel, he held his silenced USP 9 mm at the ready while reloading in the darkness.

“The poisons teams will do exactly what is asked of them, Liddel. Just shut up and follow your orders. And don't drink the damn tap water you idiot.” Jabba paused for a few seconds as he looked at his watch again, “OK, everyone, time to change and show our colours as Crusaders of the Revelations.” The terrorists quietly divested their over-uniforms to reveal their trade-mark black T-shirts with its white Hebrew writing - 'Apocalypse'.

“Wait for the shooting to start then head over to help the APC commander. Warty, don't forget you need to be at the ASLAV's and APC's to get them babies running. Make sure you stop by HQ so the idiots there don't mix up the codes. You know what a pair of airheads Emma and Larry are,” Jabba whispered.

The roar of vehicles cranking brought a ripple of tired voices as troopers startled awake in the darkness of pre-dawn. No-one in the regiment knew what was going on. Expecting an inspection or drill of some sort, NCO's leaped from their beds dressing in the one fluid motion.

Lance-Corporal Hill raced out of his barracks to see what was going on and was the first to be met with a burst of automatic fire - he tumbled down the stairs. Unsuspecting troopers ran out of the barracks only to be hit by more rifle fire. There were screams of pain and the sound of muffled orders as the members of 1st Cavalry tried to form some sort of weaponless defence. It was useless, the enemy bullets went right through the soft sided dormitory walls. Lieutenant McCarthy's murderous assault killed and wounded most of the squadron before they even had time to dress.

Major Barrett couldn't sleep and was up working when he heard the sound of gunfire. He jumped up and carefully parted the curtains to see his own officer, Lieutenant McCarthy, directing what clearly was a terrorist assault against his own regiment. In a sudden panic he leaped to his communications system and began broadcasting.

'Damn,' he thought, 'I can't get an open communications channel, they're all jammed.' The major stood and looked back outside. In the brightening dawn he recognised more of his own troops dressed as terrorists firing at his men. He barricaded the door then went back to his transmitter. In desperation he tried an open channel broadcast on the police and ambulance frequencies. He wasn't sure if anyone would hear him.

“Fire superiority, men! Exterminate these heathens!” the lieutenant screamed in the heat of battle and blood lust. He paused to fire his pistol into the face of a kneeling trooper holding his hands in the air. The lieutenant's eyes reflected a mixture of lust and excitement as he yelled, “Kill them, kill them all!”

“Lieutenant, signals report someone's broadcasting from within the compound,” said one of his men tapping his arm.

The lieutenant stopped, a bewildered look came over him. He turned and snapped, “Direct Corporal Warren and his section to search the officer communication's room. I can't believe those damn commando's missed it, useless dick heads!”

The major was still broadcasting on the police and ambulance channels when he heard banging on his barricaded door. Some seconds later there came the sound of breaking glass and he saw a grenade roll towards him. Giving it a cursory glance he continued broadcasting. He knew he was a dead man.

The grenade exploded sending searing metal shards into his face, chest and abdomen. Major Barrett considered himself a tough man, but he screamed just as loudly as his wife when she gave birth to their first child. Blood pumped from a severed artery in his neck, it was a quick death.

A golden dawn fell upon the collapse of 1st Cavalry. The unarmed soldiers had been routed by the terrorists and the survivors paraded semi-naked in the early morning light. Many of the terrorists guarding them were members of both squadrons.

There was no jeering or talk between the prisoners and their guards. A seething anger and resentment separated them like a brick wall.

One NCO with his arm running blood into the dirt of the parade ground called out to his corporal. “Warren, why are you doing this? You've turned on your own mates. And Emma, why?” His face reflected his confusion and betrayal but neither Warren nor Emma bothered to answer him.

As the sun rose higher in the sky the smell of death filled the air. Some of the wounded wavered and fell where they stood. There was now a quick, whispered conversation between the lieutenant and Corporal Warren.

“Everyone sit down where you are,” commanded the corporal, “please don't talk or move or you will be shot. As you can see this is not an exercise. The Church of Revelations has taken a stand against the corruption and filth of civilised humanity. You represent the first force to be brought down in our glorious crusade to cleanse the world. Please bend your heads and close your eyes while we say a prayer of thanks for our successes today.”

“Damn you and your religion!” yelled one of the officers only to be met with a stony silence from his captors. The officer looked defiantly towards his former subordinates, his chest heaving with frustrated rage. A nod from the corporal brought a single pistol shot and the brave man collapsed, twitched once and was still.

Lieutenant McCarthy brought his men to order and led the prayer of thanks. He then calmly stalked among his ex-comrades-in-arms, pistol in hand.

“Ah, Captain Phillips, I seem to remember you gave me a negative report last year. Our beloved Lord told me I was to be promoted and you deliberately defied Him. That's a crime against our Lord on High.” He smiled as he shot him where he sat on the gravel parade ground. “And you, Major Neville, you passed me over twice for promotion, remember? That was a crime against the Lord our God too I believe.”

“You're crazy, McCarthy, you're a damn psychopath!” In his rage the major tried to stand but McCarthy kicked him back down. The lieutenant smiled as he put the barrel of the pistol to his former superior's head and pulled the trigger.

Calmly walking among his former friends he executed seemingly on a whim stating their crime before pulling the trigger. Officers he had shared dinner with the night before looked up at him with unabashed hatred.

“What are you doing lieutenant?” demanded the colonel, rousted from his bed and now standing with his wife and teenage daughters. His face was a mask of indignation and horror. “As commanding officer I demand you cease what you're doing and place yourself and this… rabble, under arrest!”

The colonel turned to the terrorists watching the extermination. “You will obey me! Corporal Harris, Corporal Warren, cease this mutiny and put Lieutenant McCarthy under arrest, immediately!” he barked, his eyes cutting into them.

Lieutenant McCarthy turned to his former superior. “You, and squadrons A and C, are now mine and the Crusaders of the Revelationist Church as of now. The Apocalypse has begun, Colonel. My people, the true Crusader Angels of Light, have control of your regiment. In a few hours the general of Army Charlie will be talking to you about your surrender.”

“I demand that you stop executing my men, stop the killing. You have us under your control, this murder is unnecessary,” the colonel pleaded, almost begged as he looked around. Only now did he notice that most of his officers were lying dead on the ground.

McCarthy stopped talking, his face twitched and contorted. He swung his fist and hit the commander in the face knocking him to the ground. “From now on you do what I say, and if I say jump you say, 'how high', got it!” He giggled as he stepped over to the colonel's wife and ripped her night dress exposing her heavy breasts.

The lieutenant called to his comrades spreading his arms wide at the compound and their prisoners, “Brothers, this is all ours, we're going to have a party before our Lord ordained General arrives. The colonel's dear wife, his daughters and our much loved cavalry ladies wish to comfort us… and I haven't forgotten my darling Crusader Angel-girls. The colonel and officers are yours to play with when the general has finished with them.”

The regiment's commander sat back up, his bound hands were turning blue. He opened his mouth to protest but his former subordinate kicked him in the face and he collapsed back to the ground. McCarthy continued to savagely kick until the colonel was unconscious, his face a mass of gelatinous blood. The colonel's wife screamed hysterically as she watched this unbelievable horror unfold in front of her.

McCarthy stepped over her husband to back-hand her across the face. He hit her so hard that her teeth cut into his hand. Cursing he brought it to his mouth.

“You rotten cow!” he screamed and spat in her face. “You'll get special treatment for that!” His face contorted then immediately broke into a delighted smile as he realised that he was enjoying himself. Turning to his men, aroused, in the blood-lust of battle, he yelled, “Well, Crusaders? What are you waiting for, these girls are hungry for your affection!”

It was fortunate for humanity that their sister squadron, B Squadron, was performing live-fire training in the Adelaide Hills.

Chapter 2 - Pinkie

Pinkie woke to the usual morning chorus of bush birds. The comely middle aged-woman crawled from the tent beside a white, geared-up four wheel drive. She hummed as she poured water into a blackened billy and turned on the gas cooker.

As she opened the tent flap, cups held precariously in her free hand, she saw her husband of one month sitting up staring into space. “Love, are you all right?” she asked with wary concern in her voice. “Was it another of those dreams?”

Dimas was not quite awake. He shook his head to clear it as he replied, “I'm OK, it was that same blond-haired bloke but this time there were bodies piled on top of each other. I felt so much hate, Pinkie, so much hate that I killed him. There was something weird too, a demon as thin as a knife blade. It made me feel happy.” He paused as he cast about in his mind for more details. “I saw a dead man too. His eyes said he was dead but then he spoke to me and said, 'Just do what you must do.' ”

Pinkie pulled his face to her breast and held him to her. “I wish there was someone we could see who would stop these damn nightmares. They terrify me, love. We should be having the time of our lives not freaking out over these blasted dreams.”

The dawn chorus rose to a crescendo only to die down just as suddenly. Dimas eased himself free of her grasp and looked into her eyes. “I've always had vivid dreams, but nothing like this. I don't know what's wrong but something must be very wrong.”

“We'll get into Birdsville by dinner time then we can relax.” Pinkie rubbed his neck and shoulders, “How does that sound? A luxurious soft bed, hot showers, food and a cold beer.” She smiled to herself, she wouldn't mind that one little bit. Maybe it was the heat of the Simpson Desert that brought these bizarre dreams. Maybe they'll stop when they get into the air conditioned hotel at Birdsville, Pinkie hoped so.

They agreed that they would keep on driving, right through their usual lunch break, arriving at the Birdsville Hotel just after midday. The honeymooner's had lived on freeze-dried meals for the past month and were mighty sick of them.

It had been Dimas' idea to spend their honeymoon in the Simpson Desert. They had looked forward to it from the moment they planned their wedding. Right now they just wanted to check into the pub, wash off the desert and then enjoy a cold beer and a rare steak.

They pulled up some distance from the hotel unable to get closer, the place was in turmoil. Cars were racing in and out at speed not caring if they hit other cars or even people. At the hotel, people were milling around the bar entrance restlessly. Some were arguing and three men were pulling at a pair wrestling on the ground.

With the races over it should have been festival time in Birdsville with satisfied tourists packing up to return to their homes a thousand kilometres away on the coast. There was definitely no festival atmosphere here. People were throwing hastily packed bags into their cars and wagons. Others argued and many were crying. The caravan park across the road was like a seething nest of ants. People rudely knocked each other over in their rush to get to their caravans and be on their way.

As Pinkie and Dimas entered the Birdsville Hotel they heard a squeal and the sickening smack of a fist on soft flesh. They turned towards the sound and watched in horror as the young bar-girl was knocked to the floor. Two beefy men and a drunk, fat woman had pushed behind the counter and were now grabbing packets of potato chips and bottles of liquor with their greedy fingers.

Dimas was a sucker for good manners. He stepped behind the bar and knocked the first man away from the girl curled up on the floor. There was a scuffle and the second man hit him from behind. As Dimas slipped into unconsciousness he heard a drunken voice, “You shouldn't be mixing it with us young bloods you stupid old fool.”

Dimas woke up in one of the hotel rooms around midnight, his head throbbing. Pinkie was sitting beside him listening to the ABC radio.

She rested her hand on his chest and said softly, “Love, the world's gone crazy, those fool Crusaders of The Revelations have finally made a mad attempt to take over the world. Maybe that's what your nightmares were trying to tell you last night.”

She told him that the Revelationist Church claimed responsibility for a deadly virus outbreak and for poisoning city drinking water in almost every country across the globe. NATO was no longer a force, they had been wiped out. There was no news from the USA, all contact had ceased the night before.

Pinkie next told him that martial law had been declared and a twenty four hour curfew was in place. No-one was permitted to drive on public roads or they would be shot on sight.

'No wonder people were in a panic,' Dimas thought. Pinkie put her arms around him and closed her troubled eyes. They fell asleep in each other's arms fearful of what the dawn would bring.

Early next morning the power went off just as they finished showering. “That was lucky, we got the last hot shower,” said Pinkie, never one to miss an opportunity to see the positive side of a bad situation.

The sun was just on the horizon and the bush birds were singing the world awake. It was so peaceful that they decided to step outside into the fresh desert air. Sitting on a bench seat they quietly watched the sunrise over the sand dunes in the east.

Pinkie startled then smiled as two wild looking men stepped into the hotel courtyard. The first one was a white haired, moustachioed old man with a funny limp like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. The other had dangerous eyes which Dimas noticed and he immediately went on guard. He felt he was looking at someone who had died and come back to life.

'Dangerous. They're both older than me,' thought Dimas, 'maybe their mid-60's? Hard to tell. I wonder what they want, another fight?' He tensed himself expecting a confrontation.

It was an awkward moment broken by the Tin Man's gravelly voice.

“Mornin' matey, it was you what stepped in to help the girlie at the bar last night, and was king hit for your efforts?” he nodded to himself as he extended his hand. “I would like to thank you. She's a friend of ours and that makes you our friend. I'm Pedro and this is my old mate, Shamus. You'll have to excuse his accent, he ain't English.” Pedro grinned at his little joke.

Dimas stood up politely, he hadn't expected this. “My name's Dimas, nice to meet you both,” he said as they shook hands. “I'm not much of a knight in shining armour though, it was me who needed rescuing in the end.”

The two men sat down at the table to join them as Pinkie turned to her husband.

“Love, these two gentleman stepped in and rescued you and that poor girl last night. They helped carry you up to the room and put you in the bed.” Pinkie filled in the blanks for him. Dimas smiled at the two rough looking strangers. There was something about those eyes of Shamus though.

“Boyo, if you don't mind, where does that funny name of yours come from?” asked the white whiskered old man.

“Dimas, it's Portuguese for 'sunset'. My father gave it to me because I was born right on sunset,” Dimas replied.

“Hmm, now that's a powerful strong time to be born matey. I think I'll rename you, Sundown. It's a powerful strong Aussie handle, it's a nice fit.” Pedro was swaying slightly and smiling as Sundown realised that he and Shamus must have been up drinking all night. The two were well and truly plastered.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue last night Pedro, and you too, Shamus.” Dimas' bright smile lit the courtyard and both Pedro and Shamus chuckled delightedly. Pinkie stood up and said that she would see if she could organise some breakfast.

She paused, parting her lips in a slight smile, then she spoke, savouring the name, “Sundown, hmm, sexy name. I think you should keep it, love.” Turning to Pedro she said, “Well Pedro, what about me, do I need a new name too?” she teased.

He looked at her querulously and replied, “I take someone's handle very seriously.” His weathered face lit up as he spoke next. “ 'Pinkie' describes you beautifully. Delicate, petite and always ready to lend a finger to the hand. A pinkie is a perfect partner, a team player. You, my dear girlie, are perfect as you are and no name is better suited than the one you have. So I officially name you, 'Pinkie'.” He smiled, bowed low as he took her hand in his and kissed it.

“You old flirt, flattery will get you everywhere. Now how do you like your steaks?” She smiled in delight as she waited for their orders.

When she came back the boys were talking of plans on how they might survive terrorists and the breakdown of law and order. She looked at her husband wondering what adventure he might be planning next.

Pinkie butted in politely, “I'm sorry to disturb you boys but there's no power and breakfast is going to take some time. They asked if I would help in the kitchen for a while.”

The kind-hearted woman then brought out a bag she'd kept hidden behind her back. “I'll join you in about an hour with some breakfast but in the meantime I brought some beers and this half bottle of rum.” With a giggle she continued, “It was rum I smelled on you wasn't it, Pedro?” Bending she planted a kiss on Pedro's raised brow and traipsed back inside.

The boys looked at each other in bewilderment then burst out laughing. Pedro said, “The gall of that girlie, but I sure like her.”

While they were talking a flight of fighter jets flew north. All that day jets, transports and helicopters flew back and forth. Everyone speculated where they were going and what they were doing.

Those who had resisted the urge to run the day before now met in small groups, sitting around their caravans speculating. The most common topic was yesterday's declaration of martial law by the Australian government. No one was permitted to travel by vehicle at any time on pain of death.

It seemed that the terrorist threat was so real that anyone seen moving about was considered undertaking terrorist activities. They knew it was serious and many of the tourists who had left their families in the big cities didn't know what to do. Everyone feared the worst for their loved ones.

Tempers flared and there were fights over the smallest of things. Alcohol flowed while people tried to calm their nerves - but that just caused louder arguments and more fist fights. Eventually one group of overly-loud tourists declared they would chance the 'Nil Movement' decree and head home. Surely the military wouldn't shoot up a group of tourists with their caravans travelling along an outback dirt road?

* * *

After breakfast the four went across to Pedro's caravan and had a cup of coffee and more rum. They walked past tourists busily packing up their vans. Some were loudly preaching what they planned to do to anyone who stopped to listen. People gathered around these arm-chair experts.

Pedro rolled a cigarette that looked like a bent log and planted it between his lips. Shamus did the same but his was perfectly smooth and straight as a laser, it was a work of art. He lit a match and they both puffed contentedly in the clear morning air.

After some time Shamus spoke. “You know what we ought to do, we should go south where there's some good farm land. Set up a protective barrier against terrorists an' thieves and start growing our own food. We'll need a lot of people to make it work though.” His Irish accent caused Pinkie to state how delightful it was to listen to. Shamus smiled at her but soon became lost in his thoughts again.

“I'm sorry but I don't know this area at all,” said Sundown. “Pinkie and I are from Sydney, but we have nothing much to return to. Pinkie's kids both live in the UK and if there's no power, no drinkable water and the terrorists have knocked out most of the world including Europe and America, then Sydney is definitely no place to go home to. Count us in.”

With a resigned sigh Sundown reached unconsciously for the tobacco pouch lying on Pedro's table and began to roll a cigarette. Pinkie looked shocked but didn't say anything. Pedro smiled as he saw Sundown rolling what started to look like a joint. He winked at Pinkie and nodded knowingly.

“Shamus and I are mad CB fanatics,” Pedro explained, “we've been listenin' and chattin' with anyone and everyone for the past twenty four hours. We really are in the shit with this poisoned water business and damn terrorists.” The old man reached into a battered ice-box and pulled out a beer. He popped the top, drank some and burped loudly.

“Our old mate, Sydney Charlie, tells us that the military have been shot to pieces by these Revelationists or whatever they calls themselves. They must have infiltrated the military and poisoned their food as well because Townsville and Sydney are both gone. Darwin might still have some fight left in her but I have a feeling that won't be for very long. Those terrorists were extremely well prepared, they must have placed their moles in our military units years ago.

“Even our reserves are ineffective, matey. Those religious terrorists have taken our military ordnance and are firing it right back at us. They've infiltrated everywhere; military, government, civil services, utilities, even the water services. Me old mate, Charles, said the terrorists have set up road blocks at all the main roads in and out of the major cities. They're killing everyone they can. It's mayhem out there, it's bloody murder.” He stopped talking to drink more of his beer.

Pedro now closed his eyes and leaned his chair back against the side of his caravan. He heaved a sigh as his head nodded and the beer slipped out of his hand. Suddenly he was asleep.

“We need to find a safe place with food, water, security and a dangerous sting in our backsides, that's what we need.” Shamus looked at Pinkie and Sundown as he brought the conversation back to their immediate needs.

He stood up to stretch then turned to the newlyweds, “I'm glad you've decided to tag along with us. Anyway, Pedro and I need some sleep and a shower. We've been up all night chatting on the CB to everyone we could get hold of. I suggest you pack your bags and pull up next to us here.” Shamus put his foot on the step to the caravan. “Fill your tanks up at the station. You might have to hand pump it though. The old petrol pump still has handles out here. Just tell Bill that we sent you.”

He rubbed his eyes, eyes that had seen too much of the wrong side of life, Sundown thought. “Bill's a good fellow, 'twas his daughter what you saved last night by the way. See you in a couple o' hours.”

Pedro was sound asleep in his chair as Shamus opened the door to his van and disappeared. Sundown and Pinkie took that as a sign they should go and pack, then move their Toyota next to the old boy's van.

That day people began to leave the caravan park in a long stream of humanity. Despite knowing martial law meant 'no movement' of any kind, these frightened tourists were desperate to get home to their families. What would they find? Most had no idea and that worried them even more. The stories they'd heard were of murder and pandemonium. No one believed that such things could happen like this, not in Australia.

Some travelers had CB radios and were passing what news they had to others. Part of it was gossip and part was accurate, all of this was enough to frighten everybody. Some people had taken advantage of the confusion to raid the caravan park store and had stolen all the available food and bottled water. Still others had gone across to the hotel and smashed their way into the bottle shop and taken a lot of the alcohol. It was this group of bogans that had knocked the girl and Sundown to the floor in their rush to get something for free.

That day there were a lot of aircraft flying over Birdsville, including Black Hawks and Apache helicopters. It was dangerous to go out on the road with these around but the tourists didn't seem to take much notice of the warnings. They thought that because they were towing caravans they wouldn't be bothered by the military.

It was around 10 am when a second convoy of tourists drove out of the caravan park and headed south for Adelaide. They had only been gone five minutes when there came the roar of an Apache helicopter strafing the road with rockets and mini-gun fire. It had a sobering effect on everyone left in Birdsville. No one drove anywhere after that, they hid in their vans instead. The oily plume of burning vehicles and bodies could be seen all day. A sobering reminder of what might be in stall for them in the future.

That afternoon a crowd gathered in the clearing to watch the glow of burning vehicles. Sundown overheard an elderly woman speaking to her husband: “The Apocalypse of the Bible has finally come to the Garden of Eden. Just as well we're on our way out, Bernie, because we might not want to survive this.” Sundown nodded to himself, he thoughtfully walked back to his vehicle and continued packing.

Shamus was hauling on a rope, tightening his loaded Toyota Cruiser when Sundown pulled up beside him. “Glad you're joining us, laddie. Grab that rope there and give us a hand.”

When Shamus finished tying down his load the two repacked Sundown's to distribute their food and equipment evenly between the three vehicles. They discussed what should go and what should be left behind. Shamus explained that one extra kilogram could be the difference between living and dying in the Australian desert.

That evening they stopped to watch the sun's afterglow, a blaze of reds and pinks. Lady twilight then lifted her pink veil to reveal millions of brilliant stars, stretching from one horizon to the other.

Shamus passed his tobacco pouch to Sundown followed by a beer. They sat lost in their own thoughts savouring the moment. For Sundown it was a strange feeling, like it really was the apocalypse just as the elderly lady had said. For Shamus it was just another adventure, another challenge to be faced and conquered like all the others.

“You know… what was that name again? Demitros? Darn it, I'm getting as forgetful as Pedro. I better stick to your Anglicised name, Sundown. You know what, Sundown?” He waited for Sundown to nod. “We do have a chance you know. Those galahs shot up by the Apache should have thought about what was happening on a global scale. If they'd asked me I would have told them to sit tight, wait a day or two. The military are now done, did anyone see jets or copters this afternoon? Nope. 'twas expected that any serious conflict would be over within forty-eight hours. Not completely over but the big battles would either be won or lost in that time frame. A loss means we lose our aircraft, heavy weapons, transport and supplies. Knock out transport, fuel and resources and you can win the war. That's what the terrorists have done, gone for the jugular. No army is set up to withstand a war within their own ranks either.”

Listening in was Pedro. He dragged a chair over and managed to roll a mangled cigarette, he already had a beer in his hand.

“Boyo, you forgot about our commandos, SAS and infantry. We can continue to harass any force in our own country. Don't forgets we have the best trained covert operators in the world.” He sipped his beer and leaned back.

Sundown listened with interest. “We might have the best covert operators but we still need overt force. We've lost our air cover, Pedro, what else have we lost?”

“Matey, we've lost the war, but just for now. Our boys need to regroup and plan to fights as guerrillas not as upfront infantry. From what we've heard those terrorists have infiltrated our units to apply pressure and break continuity. How long they've been planning this we don't knows but it must have been ages, possibly ten years,” continued Pedro.

Shamus spoke next. “Those bloody Revelationists have been a pain in the arse for years. But their leaders are smart. Don't forget many of 'em were front line soldiers, trained professionally, they aren't idiots.”

Sundown listened attentively, this was all new to him, and a way of thinking that perked his interest. If he were to survive and protect his own he needed to get his head around everything he heard from these two old men.

“So what's the government's plan?” asked Sundown.

Shamus offered an answer, “There may not even be a government. I suspect that it was infiltrated too. I would have done that given enough resources. It isn't difficult to bribe someone you know, we all have our price, laddie. Swap a few key men in key positions on the day of the coup and bingo. These jokers knew what to do, experts. What do you say, Pedro?”

Pedro smiled at Sundown. “Matey, Shamus is an expert at covert infiltration and terrorism. Maybe one day he'll tell you his story, or those parts that he wants you to know. Suffice to say that if Shamus says it can be done, given enough resources, then it can be done. A world-wide take-over wouldn't be easy, nor would it be cheap. But if the will is there, and religion is as powerful a persuader as money and sex, then it can be done.”

Sundown thought about it for a while as he rolled another joint-like cigarette and reached for another beer. “World-wide terrorism, I guess it's just about scale isn't it. But poisoning the water and biological weapons? Why kill everybody, what use is that to them?”

“Shamus, I might leave that to you, but these bludgers have been preaching human genocide to cleanse the planet for years now. They've said they wanted to kill as many people as possible, to 'cleanse the filth of civilisation'. I guess that's so they have greater control of those left alive. If we take them at their word they really do want to make the world free of non-believers, and that's genocide,” offered Pedro.

“Could be exactly what Pedro said, Sundown. If it were my call I would target specific cities and towns to knock out resistance. To poison every population centre in the world, which is what it sounds like, 'tis deliberate cleansing. It's effective but it might blow up in their faces.” Shamus leaned over to stub out his cigarette on the ground and sat back up.

“Maybe our SAS and commandos can take on the terrorists, if they haven't been compromised. If the terrorists have planned this for ten years then even our best are ineffective, except as small teams. I would say our forces are splintered everywhere, no one trusts anyone. Each expecting the other to betray them and stab them in the back. I've seen it before. One traitor can destroy an entire cell just by killing a single person. The rest fear their mate standing beside them and the next thing they turn against each other. But as I said, I just don't know.”

Chapter 3 - Charlene - Terrorists in the City

Charlene saw the news on TV. At first she felt a sense of numbness, not a proper feeling, it was simply no feeling at all.

She heard sounds out in the hallway of her flat. Mumbled talking then shouts, the volume increased in urgency ending in ear piercing screams. A mixture of fear and curiosity got the better of her as she ventured out into the hallway. Charlene bumped into Justin holding his girlfriend slumped loosely in his arms like a drunk. The girl doubled over retching violently on the hallway vinyl. Charlene saw her vomit was mixed with blood and almost passed out at the sight of it.

“Help me, Charlene, please, help me,” Justin sobbed as he tried to hold his girlfriend upright.

As Charlene turned to help a door was flung open and out staggered her friend, Sue. Her friend stumbled and fell to her knees, flushed and sweating, as though she'd just come from a sauna.

“Sue!” she screamed leaping towards her friend. Her world had gone crazy. Charlene watched in horror as Sue collapsed, her face hitting the floor with a sickening slap.

Running down the stairs two at a time she reached the footpath to see the streets jammed with people, the cars were at a standstill. She joined the milling throng of humanity calling out to ask if anyone knew where to get help. No one was interested in her plight.

A fight suddenly broke out between two women, they were both screaming hysterically. No one bothered to pull them apart. Many people had begun to drop where they stood, collapsing in shuddering spasms.

Charlene's only thought was to get to the supermarket where she worked, to ask her boss for help. He'd always been there for her. On her way she saw a man knock another to the ground. He snatched a leg of ham away from the man's grasp and stuffed it inside his own coat. The assailant looked around to see if anyone was close enough to interfere, then proceeded to kick the man viciously before running off with his prize.

In shock Charlene ran to the supermarket but there weren't any staff around. The shutters were still down. She watched as two women and a young man grabbed some nearby chairs and proceeded to bash the roller shutters in. They soon managed to enter through the gap they made. Charlene followed them hoping her boss was there.

After only a minute she heard automatic rifle fire behind her, screams cut the air. Charlene's instincts told her that she was in serious trouble if she stayed out in the open. Her brain clicked into gear and she raced for the back exit through the bakery section.

Corporal Jabba and Privates Larry and Emma had been sent to the rear of the supermarket to block the rear exit. As they entered the bakery Charlene ran straight into Jabba's arms.

“Whoa there my pretty young lady, what are you doing running into me like that?”

“There's fighting and gunshots,” she panted in fear. “I'm afraid if I stay here I'll be killed.” She then noticed he was dressed in a black T-shirt with strange white writing on its front. It was nothing she could understand. It dawned on her that these were the very people she should be afraid of.

“Little lady, you just stand there and close your eyes, we'll guard you from the baddies.” Jabba winked at Emma and said, “Your turn.” Emma then opened up with her assault rifle.

“You prick, Jabba!” screamed Larry, his voice broke and went up an octave. He shoved Emma's arm and most of her bullets went wide striking the concrete wall behind the girl. The barking sound of automatic fire ripped and echoed through the empty supermarket. The 'pretty young lady' spun viciously, crashing violently onto the concrete floor.

Larry yelled in Jabba's face, spittle flying everywhere, “It was my turn to have her! Not Emma's! Fuck you, Jabba! The next girl's mine!” He stormed off into the bakery firing his AK47 angrily into the air as he went.

Emma looked at Jabba, and laughed, “Well, he's right, it was his turn. He can have the next pig.” She followed Larry into the store not bothering to look at the bleeding body collapsed on the ground.

Chapter 4 - The Company Gathers

They sat around the camp fire quietly drinking tea and rum. Sundown listened to the two older men talk. Pedro was wearing short pants and his tin legs stuck out like metal sticks in front of him. He caught Pinkie's questioning glance.

“Lost 'em in '79, Pinkie, me darling. You know I really loved those pegs of mine. The girls always said I had a good set of legs for dancing. I can't dance now.” He threw back his cup of tea and rum then drank straight from the bottle.

“I am so sorry, Pedro, a man needs a good set of legs for girls and dancing and, umm, other things in between.” Pinkie frowned at the double meaning, then smiled to show she wasn't making fun of him.

Pedro continued, “I knows me girlie, please don't be put off by my bad moods, they comes and goes.” He blew smoke through his nostrils and lips becoming enveloped in tobacco smoke for a few seconds.

“I just missed out on going to Vietnam in '72 when we were pulled out by the government. I was a handy marksman, and after training like an idiot I qualified and was accepted into the commandos as a sniper. I just wanted to see some action. At that age I believed the world needed more heroes. Silly me wanted to save the world from baddies and just look at us now. Anyway, when we were told the show was over I was shattered. What a bloody waste of time, I thought.”