Taylor heard a sterile bleep and cool thrum of air conditioning.
"He's awake!” a man announced. “God, he's alive!”
The voice was far away, in another room. It drew close and clear as Taylor opened his eyes.
"I can't believe you're alive!” Donald rejoiced. Taylor smiled back but was too woozy to assume this reality was real.
"I'm fine,” he groaned, turning his head to notice his left arm intravenously attached to Hippocrates. “Actually I feel...fantastic.”
The healing marvel of the 21st century mended every bump, scrape and broken bone. All but his left pinkie.
"Where have you been?” Donald asked him, dabbing the cold sweat from Taylor's forehead. “Thought I'd never see you again brother.”
The future, past, and present coalesced as Taylor regained his senses. He sat up and looked at the torch. The gauge sat at 0%, confirming he had travelled a long way in a very short space of time. Taylor grew concerned when he noticed Donald's worried face.
"What's happening? Are the boys okay?”
Donald nodded, clearing his tears. “Boys are in the cafeteria with their mother. We're all good. All safe.”
"So what then? Where am I?”
Donald frowned and took a step back from the bed. “You're still in the bunker, Ham. Fort Knox.”
Taylor looked around the med-lab and remembered the last time he was here, drunkenly recalculating the torch during surgery. “The world, Donald. Is there still a planet up there?”
"The world's still there. Sort of.”
Donald paused. “Ham, I have to tell you something about the Pride.”
"Ancient history.”
"Let me explain, okay? I joined through marriage, nothing more. Sylvia's family go back to its origins in Egypt. I thought it was harmless, kinda stupid. They helped the family financially and helped establish my business. Ham, I had Wall Street bankers coming to me for teeth cleaning. All I had to do was attend occasional meetings and wear their dumb cloaks. I never watched them kill anyone...not before Lanza.”
Donald held his tongue and Taylor finished for him. “You're my brother, Donald. You're my family.”
The weight of the world seemed to fall off Donald's shoulders. He reached to take Taylor's hand when the door opened. A uniformed officer and General of the Army, Robert Wertz, entered the lab. His eyes were swollen purple and cotton balls plugged his nose from when Taylor had smashed his face into an elevator door panel. Wertz moved to the foot of the bed and aimed a pistol at Taylor's chest.
"I knew you'd be back,” he sneered, his voice stuffed up. “On your feet!”
Taylor held up his arms then lowered them after a thought.
"Didn't you hear me, Taylor? Get up on your fucking feet or I'll put a hole in your heart.”
"If you wanted me dead then I wouldn't be hooked up to this bloody machine.”
Taylor pulled the intravenous lines from his arm and a granite faced Wertz turned the gun to Donald.
Taylor smirked. “You think shooting my little brother will put you in my good books? Holster your gun and we'll talk this through. But first thing's first...anybody got a smoke?”
Wertz lowered his gun and Donald placed a cigarette between Taylor's lips. He took a deep drag and closed his eyes to the hit of tobacco wrapping around his lungs.
"Now,” he said, blowing smoke, “tell me what's going on here?”
Wertz crossed his arms and looked to Donald. “He's your brother, you tell him.”
Donald agreed, turned his head to a wall of medical equipment and announced. “Screen! Any channel.”
A screen appeared over the shelf and Taylor watched a live feed of New York City. Blanket news reported the arrival of an alien mothership hovering over the skyline. Boxy shuttles landing and armed lions laying siege to a city united in fear.
Taylor shook his head and peered closer. “It's not a comet. Son of a bitch.”
Pieces connected in Taylor's head. He could traverse time but had a difficultly understanding it. It appeared the forth dimension was both fixed and flexible. Since the mothership was always coming, Taylor was always going back. It seemed that time walked hand in hand with destiny, and his life was always leading to this moment.
"Something you did,” Donald said, hand sealing his mouth as if ready to puke. “What did you do to them?”
Taylor heard Donald but kept his face glued to the news. There, on a raised podium in the heart of the Big Apple, General Apophis held a worldwide audience. The once mighty lion was hunched over and crippled, his back supported by a metal cage wrapping around his ribs. Armed guards formed an impenetrable circle around both Apophis, and Yellow Jack. Jack was tangled in chains from head to foot. Spread around him were a dozen headless corpses, spouting blood over the podium.
"The others left the bunker to greet the ship,” Donald added. “They knew he was coming, knew for a long time.”
Taylor nodded, staring at the screen. Wertz turned from the images as Apophis pressed his foot down on a fat and naked man's head. It was leader of the cult, RC Christian. His skull creaked momentarily and he wore a wiry smile on his old face before the brain's popped out of his ears.
"The Pride,” Donald concluded “thought they were heralding God. What they got was the Devil.”
"Anyone tried taking him down?”
"He vapourizes anyone who gets close. He's promised to destroy us all if he doesn't get what he wants.”
"What about the troops?” Taylor irritably asked Wertz. “Where's your fuckin' army?”
"The Pride detonated a fucking nuke in space!” he yelled like a drill instructor. “It crippled the grid and shut down communications. The public were fed lies about a comet to create chaos around the globe. It worked.”
Wertz punched a beaker off the shelf and took a moment to compose himself.
"We were told,” he later resumed, “that the world was ending. Soldiers dropped arms and returned to their families. At this time, we have no organized defence against the invasion. This lion has us by the balls.”
Taylor squirmed as if tasting something nasty. “There's always a way, dammit!”
"There is,” Wertz added, turning attention back to the news.
Fearful reporters relayed updates and billboards flashed the image of the most wanted man on Earth, Ham Taylor.
"All he wants is you, Taylor. You're his one and only demand. If we turn you over then he's promised to take his ship and leave in peace. I have a chopper up top right now to take us to New York.”
Wertz straightened his uniform while over his shoulder, a young reporter begged into the camera.
"The lion has sworn to start killing more within the hour! If anyone has seen Hamilton Taylor, or knows where he is...please call your local law enforcer immediately! That's Hamilton Taylor! Find him! Bring him here!”
Taylor grimaced as he got out of the bed. Donald passed him an old denim shirt and a new pair of jeans. “Brought these with me. Might be a bit tight.”
Taylor instinctively put on the shirt and jeans, his mind elsewhere.
"Ham, why does the lion want you so badly?”
Taylor sucked the cigarette down to the butt. “Let's just say we have history.”
Donald came close, sealing Taylor's last shirt button and whispering. “What are you going to do?”
"I’m going to light another cigarette. Then...I'm going to cooperate.”