Dead Frontier/Issue 137

This is a preview for Issue #137 of Dead Frontier, titled Control. This is the fifth issue in Volume 23. The entire issue is planned to be posted by November 30, 2013.

Issue 137 - Control
In her office, Heidi stands over a small radio that sits on her desk. She’s waiting for something, and when the radio crackles with static, she eagerly grabs the speaker attached to the device.

“Yeah--sorry for the delay,” says a man from the radio, and she suddenly looks confused. She doesn’t recognize this voice.

“Who is this?” she demands.

“Private Elliott Black. You sounded pretty urgent and Johnson’s kinda busy right now so...gotta deal with me.” He laughs uncomfortably, but stifles it. He clears his throat.

Heidi shakes her head and brings the speaker closer to her mouth. “I need to know where you are. Things are out of control, and I need you here.”

Elliott hesitates. “You’re gonna have to give us another day at least. LA to Denver ain’t a half hour trip, lady.”

“Listen to me. They’re rioting--we can’t contain it, and without you here--”

“I understand that. We’re on our way, and we’re moving as fast as we can. We’ll contact you in a couple hours.”

Static again, and she knows he’s gone. She slams the speaker down in frustration. As grateful as she is that Los Angeles is agreeing to help them out, the situation is escalating to frightening levels, and it’s only a matter of time before they’ve completely lost control.

When the volume outside suddenly increases to a terrifying level, Lienne emerges from her room and back into the apartment’s main area. Jake is already glued to the window, his hands pressed against the glass. “Holy shit,” he says. Although evening has fallen, leaving the sky an eerie orange-red, Jake didn’t think things would get this serious this fast. Mixed in with the true protestors are looters and agitators, rummaging through buildings and shops to get their hands on whatever they can and fleeing just as quickly as they came. "Damn, that's so c-cool."

"Cool?" Lienne repeats.

"Yeah. That guy's got a m-molotov. Look." He points down the street, where a man has just set fire to a molotov cocktail. He flings it; the ball of fire lands through a store window, setting it ablaze.

"That's cool to you?"

"Sort of."

"So you might be a future arsonist. Not surprising." She grabs the drapes and pulls them shut. This removes the last bits of sunlight and leaves them in mostly darkness. "Get away from the glass, grab some candles, c'mon."

It takes a bit of searching, but an old and apparently forgotten, dusty box is stuffed in the back of the hall closet. It contains all sorts of things--christmas decorations, picture frames, crumbling books--but all Jake is interested in are the two small candles laying at the bottom. "Found some," he calls out. Lienne takes them from him, a box of matches in her hand. She lights them silently and places both side by side on the kitchen table.

It gives them just enough light that they can see the other sitting across from them. Jake looks up and exhales slowly. "So...what do we do?" he asks. She's just as unsure and confused as he is. But of course, she's still being looked to for the answers.

"We wait until it blows over."

Hunter leans against the brick of the apartment building, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. He's got a small bruise on his cheek, but it's barely noticeable. Now that he's alone, he seethes visibly, directing his anger more towards himself than toward Dean and Lucy. He doesn't know why he always feels the need to say something that'll get him into obvious trouble. He couldn't care less about Dean, but he knows insulting Cole, the main reason Hunter is here in the first place, was a bad move. He would says he's ashamed, but it's an inadequate description.

From here, he's well-hidden but still has a good vantage point of the streets. Their idiocy, the fact that these people think fighting back is going to get them somewhere, makes him want to laugh. He shakes his head in astonishment and sighs, watching as his breath morphs into mist.

He finds himself beginning to calm down, until the chaos is brought to his direction. A group of people, shouting with psychotic glee, holding stolen weapons, rush past him. One man in the crowd spots Hunter and tries to pull him along as he rushes past. Hunter tugs his arm away and takes a few steps back.

"We're goin' downtown, man! What the hell are you doin' standing here?!" the man says. He's young and fresh-faced. So naive, Hunter realizes.

"Not wasting my time," Hunter says simply, and he turns away. The man grabs onto his shoulder. Hunter turns menacingly in response, and the man backs away, holding his hands up, palms forward, in a defensive gesture.

"Sorry, dude. Sorry," he mutters. He's soon just another face in the crowd. Hunter lingers for just a few seconds, allowing the crowd to pass, before circling around to the front of the building. He enters the front door and bounds up the several sets of stairs.

Breathing hard, he stops in front of Daniel's room, where Lucy and Dean should still be hiding out. He bangs his fist on the wood. "It's Hunter!" he shouts. It only takes a few moments for the door to open, and Lucy stands there, clearly not overjoyed to see him but she lets him in anyway.

"You see what's going on out there?" Hunter asks. He pulls his hood off his head and closes the door behind him.

"Yeah. Almost got my head blown off, too," Dean says, and he nods toward the window. Hunter spots the fresh bullet hole. "Jesus...well, that big brain of yours is obviously intact, so congratulations." They don't even bother to acknowledge him, and his mouth moves into a frown. "We should probably stay put."

Lucy and Dean mutter agreements. Hunter takes a quick glance at Lucy--she leans against the table with her arms crossed. She radiates irritance, even shifting uncomfortably when he passes by. However, he rethinks this and takes a step backward, so he's standing directly in front of her. He knows it'll mean less than nothing to her if he apologizes, so why would he bother?

"He was a good guy," Hunter says instead. "Better person than I was."

No part of her demeanor changes--and he wonders if it was worth it so say anything at all. He sighs and turns away, the silence as uncomfortable as ever.