Friday, March 22, 2013

Revelations From Genesis


Max couldn’t ever remember being as tired as he was right now and that was saying something. He’d grown up in the hardscrabble of northern Minnesota where nothing was grown without hard, backbreaking work.

Sixteen weeks of infantry basic training, followed by paratrooper school and topped off by the Ranger course had molded Max into a man of exceptional strength, endurance and durability. If anyone was prepared to teach a lesson to that trumped-up Austrian house painter and his goose-stepping stooges, Max was that man.

So, that being the case, what the heck was he doing here in the middle of the Nevada desert? He was beginning to wish he’d never, ever had occasion to find out the answer to that question. The nondescript major who’d handed the orders to him hadn’t been very forthcoming with the finer points of his assignment.

Max would be required to provide security, general labor and assist with whatever tasks Command might deem appropriate. The major added, in hushed tones, this secret project had the potential to revolutionize the way war was conducted and, upon completion, would save countless Allied soldiers’ lives.

After a succession of flights, Max got his first look at the cryptically-named Camp Genesis. Behind a double fence line topped with barbed and razor wire he saw Quonset huts and several squat cinderblock structures. Home sweet home, he mused.

His daily routine became a succession of grunt tasks requiring little imagination. The eggheads that ran this place confused him with their muttering of “forced evolution’ and “genetic manipulation”. All he knew for sure was whatever was in the huge steel “containment chambers” sounded big, mean and hungry.

He hadn’t slept a wink in the two days since one of the…experiments breached containment and tore 12 people limb from limb before finally being subdued by the continuous fire of .50 caliber machine guns. Max might not have known a whole lot about much of anything, but he sure as hell knew a wolf wasn’t supposed to be 12 feet tall with bony spikes all over it. 

Turning the heavy wrench with all his might, he finished the last modifications to the reinforced chamber. Of all the thoughts that might have been in his mind at that juncture, what concerned him most was just how the Army planned to get their damned secret weapons all the way to Germany when the time came.


This story was written for the weekly Flash! Friday flash fiction photo prompt. 

1 comment:

  1. Was that prompted from the photo? It's perfect!

    I loved the alternate history part of this, but then again, I guess it could just be history and this is a secret story; eh? Anyway, great story!

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