Disbanding

Justin stood idle for a moment and assessed the entry way to the mine shaft.

Much of it was barred of passage due to Hendricksson's crash-landed ship, half of its nose protruding inwards. Justin considered it rather strange that he be required to lend scrutiny to he mine entrance now, for mere days ago he'd noticed that the ceiling had collapsed. In no time it was open again, though not by choice...by circumstance. Fate had intended Joe's arrival be right here.

So many rare occurrences were happening at once, Justin now realized.

Nothing like what was happening lately had any precedence, at least not since a decade when the tumultuous beginnings of Traxus IX took root and the denizens witnessed them literally take shape overnight.

Something is happening to this world, Solomon had said not even a week ago. He was definitely right. But what was happening, exactly?

Justin figured not even Solomon could fathom.

And speak of the devil…

"Justin!" Chris shouted from behind.

Justin turned around as he ran a hand over the vehicle's white hull, still pristine despite the eroding power of Traxus IX's dust and chemical-laden wind. "What?"

"Your pocket is blinking. I mean, there's a light going off in your pocket."

Justin looked down. "Oh shit. How long has it been doing that?" he said, deftly reaching for it.

"I don't know, but I only noticed it just now. Honest."

Justin reached in his pocket and retrieved a small, leather case in which a handheld radio was packed, one of two that Solomon had requested of him. Justin opened a pouch and unfolded a Whip Antenna. He then switched on the main amplifier.

Instantly, whoever was broadcasting on that frequency was audible.

"Just'een. Come in. D'you read?"

"Solomon. This is Justin. Hey, how's it going over there in Eden?"

"Ver'ee good, mon. But how are you holding up?"

Justin was about to key the radio for his response, but a strange impulse overrode that. Instead, with the microphone hovering over his mouth, he hesitated and glanced about. All around him, characters of all sorts lingered with various intentions that no one knew for certain. In front of him was another mission in a realm that harbored unknown dangers. And behind him was the most important and hellacious battle of his life just waiting for him to return should he work up the courage.

"Could be better."

"I suspected. If you evah need somewhere to stay, mon, do-wun't hesitate."

"Much appreciated. I'll take that into consideration." Justin looked all around him again, this time with more emphasis to the oppressive, lackluster sky. "Solomon, have you ever thought about leaving this place? If you had a choice?"

"I do-wun't tink so. Too much soul vested in d'garden, mon."

"Okay, just checking." Justin said as he glanced at his wristwatch. "Look, uh, I'll contact you at seventeen-hundred hours and again four hours after that. Expect regular transmissions from me…every four hours. If I miss one don't sweat it. If I miss two…I don't know…don't come looking for me. Just go to my igloo if you'd like and take whatever you need and carry on. Just make sure you're really vigilant, and don't be outside when the sun goes down."

"Nev'ah am. And don't worry, I'll make good use of d'igloo, Just'een, but dat Supaman comic stuff won't last d'next garage sale."

Justin smiled. "Roger. Copy. Take care of yourself, eh?"

Reid turned off the radio.

After stowing the antenna, he took another look at those around him.

"Alright," Justin announced authoritatively, "give me a weapon and ammo count, and be honest. Now is not the time to let feelings get in the way of our mission. Also, feel free to let me know of other things you took from the stockyard that might be of use to us. Survival gear, med supplies, whatever. After you inventory your stuff, make ready to march into this Hellhole and get even more goodies."

Daylight was just beginning to wane as everyone had disclosed the amount (and worth) of their armaments to Justin. It wasn't what he'd hoped for. Granted, they had all dispensed their fair share of bullets on the overwhelming amount of aliens in that bay, as well as the super-zombie that none of them cared to dwell on, especially Kaiser Sergei who had lost four of his best to it. All Sergei was left with was Jaggo—the old, half-blind and crippled man whose courage was about as robust as his physical abilities. This was all Sergei currently had to show of his empire. What was worse, Jaggo had expended all his ammunition undoubtedly on thin air. It took three others to lend him rounds so that the supplies were spread evenly.

Everyone else was busy in their task, each of them determined to make it out of this feat. They readied their arms and their personal supplies, ejecting spent clips, filling them again with fresh rounds, cycling and loading the firing chambers, securing improvised incendiary devices, downing leftover spirits, and attempting whatever else that could mentally prep them for whatever was to come. Currently, Jaggo was the only motionless body, his hands empty.

"You really are God-damned useless, aren't you, Jaggo?" Justin said. "The only reason you have any firepower on you is because others are stupid enough to give it to you. If you came up to me and asked me for ammo, I'd smack you down to that clay."

He didn't reply.

A few curious onlookers went back to what they were doing. Gibson apparently found spare time to attend to other matters. He approached Justin as the ex-Captain stuffed medicinal stock into a small duffel bag, inventorying and arranging supplies. Justin retrieved a pair of devices and flipped on a pair of switches, checking their functionality. "What do you have there, Reid?"

"Couple of radio transceivers, known as a Fox 'n Hound in the military."

"What are they for?"

"They talk to each other and let me know our elapsed distance. I'm gonna plant the Hound at the mouth of the cave. Every so often, it's gonna send out a pulse only detectable by the Fox that I'll be carrying. The Fox will report the delay in the transmission once the Hound receives its reply, letting me know exactly how much distance we've accomplished. You remember how far it is to the cache, right?"

"Yes."

"Exactly?"

"Not down to the milimeter, but well enough."

"Good. How difficult is it gonna be to navigate to the cache?"

"Not difficult at all." Gibson slid his hands into his trouser pockets smoothly. "The way is mostly straight. Just one tributary to take that veers slight-left. Take that down for a few more meters and it's heavy weapon city."

Justin continued his preparations.

"You haven't told anyone," Gibson whispered, "about the Pelican, have you?"

"Of course not, have you?"

"No."

"Okay," Justin said, resuming his packing, "good."

"But I just thought of a great idea…"

"Uh-oh."

"Just listen to this." Gibson glanced a few directions and spoke lower. "Before we all go in there, announce that once we get the weapons we won't be going into the underground hangar. We'll be acquiring a warthog and go on patrol to secure the outer city limits."

"Why? That's not the plan."

"Of course it isn't. I just want you to say it because—"

"Gibson, no. The plan is to secure the inside of the city first, then we'll worry about the rest. We need a stable reach back point for when we go outside the wire."

"I agree. But I just want you to say this so we can see what kind of reactions you get. Faith is on short supply among the group. I don't think the mention of heavy weapons gave the kind of boost I thought it would. And lately you've been worried. I can see it all over you whenever you turn a dark corner or when your eye isn't on Sergei. You're always wondering who is still loyal to you…and who's going to turn on you. This gives us a gauge of that. And it won't rouse suspicion because it's the perfect time to say it now rather than surprise everyone with it later."

Justin stood motionless for a moment as he stared at Gibson. "...Honestly, where the Hell did you come up with this? No, I'm serious, that is good thinking. Did you come up with that just now?"

Gibson exuded a kind of smug satisfaction while rocking back and forth in his loafer shoes. "Yeah."

"Where does that shit come from, man?"

"I'm the administrator of a city that every citizen would like to overthrow if they weren't afraid of starving to death. I'm paranoid on a daily basis." Gibson patted Justin on the shoulder and gazed harder at him. "But hey, I'm glad I could enlighten you to my take on things for once."

Justin chuckled. "You know something, Gibson? You're alright with me."

Justin extended his hand and Gibson shook it.

"You see that over there?" the Kaiser bent over, whispering into Chris's ear. "That's a sign of caution. Already, the group is dividing. Look at them over there." Sergei wrinkled his nose. "Two dictators shaking hands. Making rules that are absolute and unquestionable."

"Don't start."

"You know when they formulate plans they're always single-minded and ill-informed, c'mon. When's the last time they consulted you in a big decision?"

"Why should they? I'm sixteen and I don't know much about combat and surviving zombie outbreaks."

"How about Ken or anyone else? I've never seen them offer any input, and I believe it's because they're scared to. People shouldn't be afraid of their leaders. And I don't like secrets. Secrets aren't healthy in a group dynamic."

Chris sighed. "Nobody likes secrets, but what can we do about it? We're not leading this posse."

"True, but that doesn't mean you don't have any sway in it."

"How so? They're our leaders because they are the most qualified out of any of us to make the decisions. That's probably how it should stay."

"I understand that, but we let them lead because we have that opinion of them, that they are qualified and fit to lead. They share our desires. Our goals are aligned, at least temporarily."

Chris paused the action of loading an assault rifle clip. "…Elaborate."

Before America became part of the UEG, their Constitution was based on Social Contract Theory. Essentially, authority is derived from the consent of the governed. That's what kind of situation we supposedly have right now. Justin and the fat man aren't exactly pulling the wool over our eyes, but they are very much in control...maybe too much. Your leaders should be constrained by conscience just like we are. And no matter what they tell you, this is a democracy. You have a voice and an opinion, and you must never hesitate to use them if you feel your life or others' lives are in danger."

"Are they?"

"Besides running from zombies and heading into a closed mineshaft, not right this minute, not particularly."

"So what's the point of this conversation?"

"The point is, if you disagree with a decision your leaders make, you have the right to disagree and suggest alternatives. You've already done that when you mentioned the Pelican idea. And just because the working man wants to go out on a zombie hunt doesn't mean the majority of the group wants to either. I'm pretty sure the majority of us would rather leave this entire planet behind in ion rift-wake. Get my point now?"

"Yeah, I do."

Chris resumed his tasks, feeding rounds into the spring loaded clip, each seated into place with an audible clack!

"Hey, kid."

The voice made the hairs on Chris' neck stand up. He seldom heard that voice, but it was instantly recognizable as one of the men who tried to attack Chris in that dark, foggy courtyard a few nights ago. He spun around to see Jaggo standing there with a misshapen, almost disgraceful posture about him. As Chris stood up to full height and looked the guy in the eyes, he could see fear and something that looked like self-loathing. Whatever the man's past or his current state, Chris found it hard to offer respect. Justin's words and his actions could sting nearly anyone, Chris surmised. And for once, he was glad they did.

"What do you want?" Chris gave Jaggo a wily, sidelong stare, stopping his inventories.

"Nothing of the sort when we first made introductions." He looked down to the ground again while extending his hand, saying, "Before we head into that tunnel, I just wanted to offer an apology. I know it's really nothing. It doesn't make up for what me and Paulie did, but...I don't know...I just—"

"—Go on." Chris said, shaking the hand once. "Finish your apology."

"Thank you." Jaggo nodded. "It wasn't right. I won't ask you to hear me out again. I'm sorry."

"Almost." Chris said. "Almost good enough. Now, apologize for all the people you and Paulie terrorized all these years. I know you have, and I know there were probably many of them."

"If I could find a way to somehow atone in an instant, I would, but it just doesn't seem like saying sorry to you can fix the things I've done."

Chris took a step closer, and Jaggo met the boy's eyes.

"You've done a lot of shit. You've toyed with a lot of people. Families, travelers, a lot of them probably innocents. What's worse is that you probably knew it while you did it. If you make it out of these caves, you're going to have to change. You know that, right? You can't just go on the way you have. I think you're right, Jaggo, you can't apologize everything away. You're going to have to spend the rest of your life undoing the things you've done."

Chris turned away.

Almost immediately after his private discussion with the administrator, Justin had finished going over all his belongings one last time to make sure he was ready. He surmised that by now anyone with half a brain could've done the same. The day was just about up and sunset wouldn't be long from now. Already, he knew there was no shot at salvaging the mission for this day; it would have to be put on hold for the night. Where they'd hole up during then was anyone's best guess. He already knew it wouldn't be easy on any of them.

"Alright, everyone." Justin announced. "If you're not ready by now then you're too fucking slow. We're moving out as soon as I finish what I have to say. Now, weapons and ammo status isn't great, but we should be just fine enough to make it to the real hardware…but that's if we don't encounter too much trouble. Intel is scarce. There's no camera network in these mines so we really don't know what we're up against. Maybe there's nothing but rocks in there. Stay sharp anyways. We've got two pairs of NVGs taken from the stockyard, so silently thank whoever grabbed those. Does anyone have any questions or emotional outbursts they need to get out of the way before we move?"

There was no answer. The only sound was blistering wind chopping at everyone's coats.

"Okay." Justin said. "Oh, one more thing: better to tell you all now rather than later...Gibson's got a warthog somewhere inside the city. Once we get back from the mines, the group will split in two. First squad's gonna secure the inner city while second squad goes with me on a mobile frag fest with a fully-operational fifty-cal." Justin grinned devilishly. "If there's no objection to that, let's go get inside this—"

"—I have an objection." Chris shouted over the wind.

Justin firmly set his jaw. "Spit it."

"Before, you said we'd be going airborne to get better visibility and possibly link up with more survivors. What happened to that?"

"What happened is another variable. We now have another method of transport. It has a working turret, so we're gonna make every use of it." Justin briskly slapped a full magazine into his assault rifle. "Anyone else got anything?"

"Now that we're on that subject," Sergei folded his stout arms, "who will be in each squad?"

"I haven't decided that yet."

"And you are the decider?"

Justin took two steps closer to Sergei. The movement signaled something. Justin was still a friendly, diplomatic distance away...but the look on his face was anything but forthcoming.

"Yeah, I am."

Sergei began to talk animatedly, using broad, fluid hand gestures. "You know, I could've said something like...you really do have no idea what you're doing and that you're just playing this whole thing by ear, but lately I chose not to so that this little group can have some kind of illusion of stability and progress. Now, I—"

"Stability and progress." Justin interrupted. "Two things you railed against. That other men with you rallied against." Without looking, he pointed rearward towards City 17, jabbed his index finger in that direction. "That city...all cities here would've been far better without you mettling inward."

"THI are the real anarchists, Justin." Sergei smiled.

"Look around you, Sergei. You did this. You attacked. You ruined. You took us on this path."

"I bear some of the blame, yes, but who bears more? Who created the servitude you see today? Who always wanted that to begin with? Certainly not me."

Justin began to clench his jaw. "You more or less forced their hand."

"But I saw it coming and took action. We could've snuffed it out, but they upped the ante. So, not only did they send down a private army to wipe out millions, but they tortured their victims, raided our homes, desolated our industry and poisoned our water."

"No, the gangs of Gulag Hill poisoned the water. Some of them under your command, if I remember correctly."

"And where did that information come from?"

Justin remained silent.

"Be wary of THI and this administrator, Justin." Sergei pointed. "Ole money bags here will tell you that THI only means well. Of course they do, only as long as you're laboring about. It would only appear that the gangs tried to wipe each other out, but how do you explain both gangs having access to the same nerve agent they used on each other?"

Again, silence.

"THI equipped both sides. Nothing more than a divide and conquer tactic, Justin."

"Everyone knows their actions were a little heavy-handed," Justin fired back, "but can you blame them after what your people did? Sure, some corruption was uncovered and sure they had a tight grip on industry and exploited peoples' wages...but I do know that when people torch and burn their own god-damned community as a response, it's gotta be dealt with somehow. You acted like animals!"

"When people have nothing, they'll fight for anything. Have you ever had nothing?"

There was no response from anyone for a whole minute. Sergei resumed...

"So, instead of simply changing course over and over again because you actually have no plan, I think it's time we all come together and vote on our decisions from now on."

"I can't go for that." Justin replied.

"You've continually devalued others' opinions and took the reigns of leadership, dare I say out of pride? We now have little to show for it, and people have died."

"Listen here," Justin said sternly, "battle is a highly fluid situation. You plan for backup contingencies, and I have. You keep your original initiative, and I will. But what you don't do is share command. It's never a good idea."

Chris sensed a vibe amid them, a heated argument brewing under the cold air currents passing by. He realized he was standing right next to Sergei during this crescendo and covertly inched away with baby steps while the two men stared down one another.

Chris entertained following the Kaiser's advice, for it was indeed of higher logic than anything he'd heard for his time on Traxus Nine. The boy felt he had a legitimate concern and he wanted to address it among the group, especially with Justin. But as Sergei alluded to earlier, people would feel a natural apprehension to questioning decisions, and Chris himself was at this moment. He thought about the multitude of ways Justin might react should Chris vent his thoughts on such a paramount issue, of strategic objectives. Once he attained his pre-meditated distance from Sergei, he chose to the bolder action for once. He couldn't believe it was his own voice between his ears when he said, "Justin, everyone's been following your lead for good reason. To save life, not throw it away. Splitting the group up like that makes those who are left behind less capable of fighting them off, regardless of what kind of weapons we're carrying at that point. It's just my opinion, but maybe others here feel the same? I mean, whatever happened to sticking together to actually increase our odds of survival?"

Justin slung the assault rifle over his back and grabbed hold of his duffle bag by the strap, postured as if he was ready to begin the trek through the mines. "Let's make clear who is pulling the strings here. I am the most qualified to lead this rag-tag bunch of shit heels. I served in the UNSC for ten years. I planned and executed hundreds of combat missions against rebels and covenant on land, sea and air in more worlds than any of you will ever see in your lifetimes. If any one of you bastards can give me one reason why your opinion matters more than mine, I'm all ears. Until then, buck up and move the fuck along when and where I tell you to if you wanna keep breathing this thing called air."

"'He that keepeth his mouth, keepeth his life.'" the Kaiser said, shaking his head at the ground. "'He that opens his lips too wide shall bring on his own destruction.' Proverbs, thirteen-three."

"I don't give a shit about what you have to say, Kaiser. Quoting those things won't make you win here, or any time."

Chris swallowed a hard lump. "I have to agree with the Kaiser at this point. We think you're taking the road straight to Hell."

"Oh, and he said that to you?"

"…Yes."

"And what else has he said to you? What kind of poison have your ears listened in on? Did he plant the slipspace Pelican seed in your head as well? Did he let you feel special by taking the credit for that one while he drove a splinter into the group? Did you actually believe in that? Chris, you just don't have a damned clue about what's going on here, do you? I mean, you'll just pick up that 'carby' and go fight for whatever son of a bitch convinced you you were right."

"Someone convinced you when you joined the Marines."

"No. Not some one, Chris. Some thing convinced me."

"Beg your pardon, Justin, but I've wanted to kill some Covenant ever since I could think for myself. If getting off this giant ball of shit means waiting around for parts, then I'm all up for that. The Hell with killing the zombies! Let them have this place! We're in the most important war of all time with the Covenant and I won't have someone telling me I'm not worthy of joining that fight, so fuck you."

"Well…as much as you're just dying to get your ass shot off by some Covenant soldier, you might just gain some wisdom and learn to ignore guys like these."

"But his plan is sound! How can you not see it?!"

"Traxus Nine ain't all peaches and cream but it's better than dying face down in the mud with some split-lip bastard standing over you, pissing on your corpse."

"You would rather stay here?"

Justin sighed, "I was trying not to burst your bubble all this time. I was hoping I could let you down easy but I see that isn't possible anymore. Don't you see what is happening? Sergei's promised you this perfect, impossible escape plan. You and I would be dead before we fly outta here. He'd wring your neck in your sleep the night before we'd take off."

"And that is why there's no chance of it happening." Chris said. "You're closed off from everyone. You're blind to change. You can't let go of the past, Justin. You've dead-ended and you're not taking me with you."

Bill stepped in between them. "Please, all of you. Enough of this bickering back and forth. We're attacking each other instead of the problem at hand."

"Only one problem at hand." Justin said, looking squarely at Sergei.

"Put it to the side until we're ready to make the city safe again." Bill urged.

"I have no problems with that."

"Nor do I." Sergei added evenly.

With that, everyone then shouldered their weapons and their items and prepared for the journey into the mines, once again on Justin's lead.

Underworld…