Free Beyond Armageddon: Book 03 - Parallels by Anthony Decosmo Page B

school stood a featureless rectangular metal building akin to a giant shoebox.
                The Blackhawk landed in the school parking lot. Trevor and companions disembarked.
                Reverend Johnny covered his nose. "That stench is certainly from the sewers of Hell."
                Shepherd said, "I reckon this is your first visit to an assembly line? That's the smell of mass murder."
                A squad of soldiers dressed in an assortment of coats and colors hovered outside the building trying to warm themselves with drinks from a flask. They snapped to something like attention as Trevor approached.
    "Is General Hoth inside?"
                "Yes, Sir." The soldier then suggested, "You may want this, Sir."
                Trevor accepted a small jar of olfactory blocking cream, placed a dab beneath each nostril, and then shared with Shep and Johnny before entering a garage-door-sized portal.
                Two gigantic rooms dominated the interior. The first filled with silver and black machinery: conveyor belts, robotic arms, and metal presses.
                As they walked among the soldiers milling about the chamber, Shepherd explained to Reverend Johnny, "This is where the things are made. Sort of an assembly line, I suppose. Almost looks like it could be a GM plant putting together Chevys or something, don't it?"
                Indeed, several Roachbots stood silent at the end of the line, having completed the manufacturing process save for the last, most vital component; like a car waiting for an engine.
    The second room offered an assembly line of a different sort, although not clean and sterile like the first. However, the men spied robotic arms and conveyor belts here, too. This time, those arms wielded long hypodermic needles filled with a paralyzing drug and the conveyor belts conveyed man-sized restraining tubes.
                While the chassis assembly line operated welding robots, the second line used surgical bots sporting blades and saws, perfect for opening a human skull. It was at that point on the line where the blood began. Lots of blood.
    Instead of metal stamp presses, the final machines were grinders, designed to manage the waste byproduct; pulverized and drained into large vats for disposal.
                The walls, the floors…splattered with discarded parts thrown haphazardly around the room in the same way a person might absently toss aside an empty peanut shell.
                General Hoth stood near the machines examining the mess with a few of his aides. Trevor's appearance certainly surprised the General but his version of a ‘surprised’ expression would pass for 'stoic' on any other man.
                As they walked toward Hoth, Reverend Johnny gagged then spat, "Of all the dens of horror I have been witness to…this…this," Johnny could not complete his thought and joined the number of men who vomited inside a slaughterhouse. Indeed, not getting sick upon a first visit to such a place would actually be cause for concern.
    One part stuck out amidst the discarded mess and caught Trevor's attention. It could have been a Halloween mask of a little boy with holes where eyes once lived.
                Stone stooped to look at that discarded piece of flesh. What had once been a child’s mouth was locked open in a scream. In that mask, Trevor saw what the invaders desired. He saw the horror and agony; he saw the sadness and isolation. He felt it in his bones.
                Here was a child whom he did not save.
                The fleshy fascia was stretched and worn and rotting; the boy might have died years ago, perhaps during those first days while Trevor built his strength at his secretive estate. Maybe the boy’s fate came during the years of painstakingly slow expansion or maybe while his divisions battled the Hivvans across the