Free Terry W. Ervin by Flank Hawk

of Keesee
     
    Ivan Mugdalla stepped forward from his escort and stared into the eyes of the swarthy dictator. The aging man’s eyes held no emotion, no light at all. The moments stretched. Ivan reminded himself to let the former rebel soldier speak first.
    “What news do you bring me?” asked the dictator in a hollow voice.
    Possibly he knew, thought Ivan. No matter. “Supreme General, sir, I have traveled far and with utmost caution to bring you reliable information. Although by now the West may be discovering, the Return to Green Earth’s martyrs have succeeded. Three days ago, my contact reported that the first case was admitted to University of Chicago Hospital. By now they must have identified the variant Ebola virus. The martyr successfully passed through Tel Aviv, Paris, and Washington before reaching Chicago.” Ivan took a steadying breath. “The second martyr was last reported having departed Moscow, and was most recently en route from Calcutta to Hong Kong.”
    “Your assessment?”
    Months ago, Ivan had pondered how a splinter environmental movement group could believe the world would be better without humans—including them, and willingly enact its vision through biological warfare. Now he just accepted it as fact. “General, sir, I believe that the rogue environmentalist martyrs were able to contaminate many of the facilities at the central air hubs. The plague will be widespread before the infidels realize the extent of their peril.”
    The general repressed a smile. He didn’t care what motivated this messenger to cooperate, nor those he named martyrs. The plague’s reach wouldn’t recognize boundaries, nor would it discriminate, ravaging the messenger’s unsuspecting tribal villages as surely as any Western capital.
    The general examined his gold Rolex and addressed the escort. “Corporal, send the message to our sailors in port.” He held up a hand. “Wait, Corporal. I will send the message myself in a moment.” He looked back at Ivan. “You believe it is already too late?”
    “Yes, General, sir, I do.”
    The dictator smiled. “I believe your assessment is more accurate than you realize, but…”
    Ivan’s ears recorded the crack as his head snapped forward. The 9mm jacketed hollow-point bullet mushroomed, truncating Ivan’s final thought.
    “…but I regret that your most important report was your last.”
    The dictator turned and walked away. Ivan’s killer holstered his pistol, stepped over the body, and followed. Someone else would clean up the mess.
     
    I fingered and admired the purple and gold band I wore on my left arm. As militia under Lord Hingroar I’d not been given his colors, red and black. All afternoon I followed Road Toad as he introduced me to the mercenary life. I wondered how my family was doing, if they’d fled south and if we might cross paths.
    I tapped the pouch that held the five silver coins, my advance for my week’s service. Road Toad said I’d receive ten at the end of the week. Five were the second half of my pay for the first week service and the other five an advance on my second.
    Major Parks had given Road Toad one gold and four silver, but I didn’t care. Five silver was more than I’d ever had. If my family passed this way south, I’d give them the five silvers, and more if I had it.
    “Let’s get you some better gear,” said Road Toad after inspecting the small A-frame tent we’d been assigned. “Maybe get a couple of blankets. They’ll be cheap now that it’s spring.”
    I asked, “If I’m a mercenary now, do I change my name?”
    Road Toad laughed. “You’ll get a name if you stay a mercenary long enough.”
    We walked toward the camps of the freemen. I noticed Road Toad hadn’t said, ‘If you live long enough.’ One of the mercenaries in our circle camp was called Worm-Gut, although an older mercenary called him Virgil. Worm-Gut wasn’t young as me, but maybe he’d just got his name. I didn’t want to ask how or