Resistance_ The Gathering Storm Part 8

"Yes," Hale agreed soberly, "it was. Even though it was my dad who taught me how to shoot, Mr. Potter took my education to the next level. He didn't believe in scopes, he thought semiautos were for sissies, and when he went deer hunting he took one one bullet with him." bullet with him."

"So where is he?" Tina inquired pragmatically, as she looked around.

"I have no idea," Hale replied. "Dead most likely. He was like my parents, like a lot of folks around here, which is to say stubborn. So when the Chimera came, chances are he fought them. Five lives for one ... That isn't bad."

"So what are we going to do?" Mark wanted to know. "Hide here?"

Hale shook his head.

"No, we have a plane to catch, and about eight hours to reach the landing zone. What we're looking for is a ride." He glanced around, then turned toward them again. "Wait here and keep your eyes peeled. I'll be back in a minute."

Hale's boots produced a hollow sound as he made his way up onto the porch, opened the door, and entered Potter's living room. And that's where the old man was, rifle across his lap, sitting in a rocking chair. He was dead of course, and had been for weeks, judging from the condition of his mummy like corpse. A few hanks of white hair still hung from his leathery scalp, his eyes were gone, and his tobacco-stained teeth were bared in a permanent grin. Potter's bib overalls were intact however, as were his lace-up boots, which could be seen below a length of bright bone. Surprisingly there were no signs of violence, leading Hale to suppose that Potter had died of natural causes, while sitting in his shabby parlor waiting for the Chimera to come. Hale nodded respectfully as he circled the chair and went back to the 1920s-style kitchen. The homemade key rack was hanging right next to the back door. Would the vehicle Hale had in mind start? There was no way to know for sure, but he took the keys to the Lyon dump truck, and pa.s.sed out through the living room.

Out front, Mark and Tina were eating oatmeal patties they had fried up the evening before.

"Come on," Hale said, "let's see if we're going to walk or ride."

It had been years since Hale had been back to visit Potter, but he wasn't surprised to find the truck where he'd last seen it, parked next to the old man's rickety workshop. The outlines of the vehicle were plain to see in spite of the snow, including the Lyon's considerable bulk, the flat two-panel windshield, the softly rounded cab, and the chromed lion that stood on the hood with one paw lifted as if in mid-step.

Would the engine start? Although Potter wasn't much of a housekeeper, he had always been meticulous as far as his machines were concerned, even going so far as to fire up the fishing boat's diesel on a regular basis. So there was reason to hope as Hale circled the snow-encrusted rig and confirmed that all of the truck's six tires were inflated.

With that established he put a foot on the driver's-side running board, opened the door, and climbed into the cab. The flat bench-style seat squeaked under his weight as he pushed the clutch all the way to the floor, checked to make sure the stick shift was in neutral, and turned the key.

The starter produced a weak ur-ur-ur ur-ur-ur sound, but nothing happened. The battery was low, the engine was cold, and Hale could feel his hopes starting to slip away. sound, but nothing happened. The battery was low, the engine was cold, and Hale could feel his hopes starting to slip away.

"Come on, baby," he muttered. "Do it for Mr. Potter."

The starter produced the same ur-ur-ur ur-ur-ur sound, followed by a loud sound, followed by a loud bang bang that caused Hale to jump. Then came a friendly rattle as all six cylinders began to fire. that caused Hale to jump. Then came a friendly rattle as all six cylinders began to fire.

"That's right!" Hale said exultantly, as he revved the engine. "I knew knew you could do it." you could do it."

The fuel gauge was down to a quarter-tank, so the next fifteen minutes were spent searching for gas, and then pouring it in. Hale let the engine run throughout the process fearing that the Lyon would refuse to start a second time.

The cab was far too small for three people and their gear, so they put most of their equipment in back, and kept only weapons and ammo up front. Hale placed both the Fareye and the Rossmore in the bed of the truck and used some cord to tie everything down.

Finally with the sawed-off .410 shotgun lying across his lap, Tina sitting astride the gear shift, and Mark on the pa.s.senger side, they were ready to go. He shifted into low, let the clutch out, and stepped on the gas. The engine roared, ugly black smoke belched out of the Lyon's twin stacks, and the dump truck began to roll.

Heat was pouring into the cab by that time and the snow had stopped. Frank Sinatra was singing "April in Paris" as Mark turned the AM radio on, and a familiar voice was heard as the song came to an end.

"h.e.l.lo, fellow citizens, this is Jack Peavy, welcoming you to the Jack Peavy News Hour." Jack Peavy News Hour." The announcer's voice was deep and resonant, and he spoke with the authority of a man who knew things other people didn't. The announcer's voice was deep and resonant, and he spoke with the authority of a man who knew things other people didn't.

"Contrary to information put out by the so-called Freedom First party," Peavy said, "we have reports that the Army is battling the Chimera in South Dakota, and has recently won a major engagement near Rapid City. Once the hard-fought battle was over, thousands of enemy bodies lay on the bloodied snow ..."

"That's bulls.h.i.t!" Mark exclaimed, as he clicked the broadcast off. "Do you see any G.o.d-d.a.m.ned soldiers here?"

"Lieutenant Hale is here," Tina replied tartly, "and Mom doesn't like it when you swear."

"Mom's dead," Mark replied bleakly. "h.e.l.l, just about everybody's dead, so far as I can tell, and Peavy is lying."

Peavy was was lying, or that's how it appeared to Hale, as he downshifted and caressed the brake, careful not to put the truck into a skid. The main road lay just ahead, and judging from the way it looked, it was heavily used. With his heart beating faster, he made a right-hand turn onto the pavement. They were committed at that point, because the bridge was only two miles away, and there was nowhere else to go. lying, or that's how it appeared to Hale, as he downshifted and caressed the brake, careful not to put the truck into a skid. The main road lay just ahead, and judging from the way it looked, it was heavily used. With his heart beating faster, he made a right-hand turn onto the pavement. They were committed at that point, because the bridge was only two miles away, and there was nowhere else to go.

He upshifted, put his foot down, and upshifted again. Within minutes the truck was doing its top speed of sixty and rattling like a can full of marbles as it charged down the middle of the road and threw waves of slush to both sides.

They were approaching the bridge when a Chimeran Stalker lurched out onto the road ahead of him, repositioned its turretlike body, and fired on the truck. Hale was familiar with the big crablike machines, having piloted one in the past. So he knew how dangerous they could be.

His eyes narrowed as a steady stream of machine gun projectiles kicked up geysers of dirt and snow. Fortunately, the gunner hadn't latched on to them yet, as Tina covered both eyes. Was there enough room? Yes, Hale thought there was, and proceeded to bet all their lives as he swerved to the right, then left again.

The Chimeran pilot attempted to respond, but the dump truck was more agile than it was, and managed to swerve around the mech, before it could be repositioned. Machine gun bullets followed the truck south, but the pilot couldn't fire missiles without hitting the bridge and and the guards that had been positioned to defend it. the guards that had been positioned to defend it.

Metal barriers had been erected at the north end of the span and two automatic weapons were half-hidden behind piles of sandbags on both sides of the road. The gun on the left began to fire, quickly followed by the one on the right, as the truck barreled toward them.

"Pull the pin!" Hale ordered, and Mark obeyed. The pa.s.senger-side window was already down, so all the teenager had to do was keep a firm grip on the safety lever, or "spoon," while waiting for the right moment.

Projectiles made a persistent pinging pinging noise as they hit the truck, the windshields shattered-front and back-as a projectile pa.s.sed between Hale and Tina, and the Lyon hesitated slightly as it hit the barricade and smashed it aside. That was when Mark stuck his arm through the window and let go of the grenade. It hit the ground, bounced high into the air, and exploded. Shrapnel cut down one of the stinks as it sought to swivel its machine gun around. noise as they hit the truck, the windshields shattered-front and back-as a projectile pa.s.sed between Hale and Tina, and the Lyon hesitated slightly as it hit the barricade and smashed it aside. That was when Mark stuck his arm through the window and let go of the grenade. It hit the ground, bounced high into the air, and exploded. Shrapnel cut down one of the stinks as it sought to swivel its machine gun around.

The truck itself slammed into another Hybrid and killed it instantly. Hale heard a soft thump thump and knew that at least one Chimera had dropped from the superstructure above to land on the roof. Seconds later a skeletal hand shot through the already shattered rear window and caught hold of Tina's hair. She screamed and tried to pull away. That was Hale's cue to reach forward and pull on the red k.n.o.b that protruded from the dashboard. and knew that at least one Chimera had dropped from the superstructure above to land on the roof. Seconds later a skeletal hand shot through the already shattered rear window and caught hold of Tina's hair. She screamed and tried to pull away. That was Hale's cue to reach forward and pull on the red k.n.o.b that protruded from the dashboard.

The Hybrid let go of Tina's hair when the dump box began to tilt upward, thereby exposing it to fire from behind. The stink's body jerked spastically as it took multiple hits before being dumped out onto the bridge deck where it rolled away.

With the box in the raised position, the cab was protected from behind. Bullets ricocheted away as they hit solid steel. One of the rear duals was flat by then, but with five tires left there was no stopping the truck as it began to close with the barrier at the south end of the bridge.

The disadvantage of having the box raised was that the truck's speed was cut in half, and Hale was busy downshifting when a stink jumped up onto the driver's-side running board. The Chimera roared angrily as it tried to stick its head in through the open window. Hale could taste the creature's foul breath as he let out the clutch, stomped on the gas, and brought the .410 level with the window.

There was a satisfying boom boom as the tightly focused cone of birdshot blew half of the Hybrid's face away. The three eyes on the other half registered what might have been surprise as the horror fell away, hit one of the upright supports, and broke in two. as the tightly focused cone of birdshot blew half of the Hybrid's face away. The three eyes on the other half registered what might have been surprise as the horror fell away, hit one of the upright supports, and broke in two.

Tina accepted the shotgun and hurried to reload it as Mark fired the Reaper out the pa.s.senger-side window. A brid standing on the other side of the barricade fell, and the big b.u.mper hit the metal obstruction and sent pieces of steel flying through the air. That cut even more Chimera down.

Hale knew it was going to be necessary to abandon the truck and hike cross-country, so he wanted to reduce the number of Chimera who could follow them. With that in mind he braked, shifted into reverse, and backed onto the bridge again, killing two more stinks in the process.

He shifted into low, lowered the box, and drove forward until it was time to stop the Lyon and bail out. Missiles were landing all around. The Stalker was too large to cross the span from the north, but the pilot still could lob missiles over the bridge.

As columns of dirty snow shot into the air and pattered down all around them, the trio went around to the back of the truck and scrambled up into the dump box. At least half of the gear had fallen out during the crossing, including both Hale's pack and the Fareye. Fortunately the Rossmore and all three sets of snowshoes were still lashed to the bottom of the box. "Grab your snowshoes," Hale shouted as another missile hit nearby, "and follow me!"

Having secured the shotgun and his snowshoes, Hale led the others up the hillside toward the jumble of now familiar rocks. Once they pa.s.sed over the crest, they were out of range and there was nothing the Stalker could do but pace back and forth and lob rockets at the truck. The Lyon took a direct hit, exploded into a ball of flame, and sent a pillar of black smoke up toward the gray sky.

Ten minutes later Hale and his companions had their snowshoes on and were slip-sliding cross-country in a desperate attempt to reach the landing zone in time. The detour to the Potter homestead had consumed valuable time, and now they were paying for it.

The warmer temperature was causing the snow to melt, but it was still too deep to abandon the snowshoes. Despite the hard going, Hale was suddenly grateful for the snow, when they paused on a rise to look back. Three Hybrids, summoned from Lord knows where, could be seen half a mile back, but lacking showshoes, the stinks were struggling.

One of the brids paused to fire an ineffectual shot from his a.s.sault rifle, causing Hale to yearn for the missing Fareye. All three of the Chimera would have been easy meat for it. "Come on," he said grimly. "We'll out-walk the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

But as the next couple of hours came off the clock, the youngsters began to slow, and the Hybrids were catching up. That meant it was no longer a choice of whether to fight, but of where where to fight, and Hale tried to remember a pile of rocks, a cl.u.s.ter of trees, or a ravine where they could lie in wait for the pursuers. to fight, and Hale tried to remember a pile of rocks, a cl.u.s.ter of trees, or a ravine where they could lie in wait for the pursuers.

It was no good. That section of the gently rolling prairie was almost featureless. Or so it seemed until Hale spotted a dark smudge in the distance.

"We're going to ambush the stinks," Hale announced confidently. "Come on, Mark ... Let's help Tina. We need to hurry."

The lead Hybrid paused at the top of a slight rise, saw the snow-frosted corpse laid out on the ground ahead, and wondered who or what had been able to bring the big form down. But it was a pa.s.sing thought, because like all brids the Chimera lived in the eternal now, it being left to higher forms to contemplate the past and plan for the future. His task was to catch up with the humans, kill them, and eat his fill.

The tracks led past the t.i.tan and over the next rise, indicating that the humans were still on the move, but they were slowing. It wouldn't be long before he and his fellows would be able to savor the coppery taste of human blood. So he waved the others forward, and led them past the horribly ravaged corpse, confident that the chase was about to end.

"Now!" Hale yelled. He and Mark burst from within the hollowed-out corpse already firing, Hale with the Rossmore and Mark with the Reaper. The stinks never had a chance.

Tina had gone ahead, thereby creating a fresh set of tracks that led over the next rise, where she had strict orders to stay out of sight.

The stinks tried to turn, tried to defend themselves, but a hail of close-range projectiles tore them apart. Blood sprayed the snow beyond the Hybrids as they jerked this way and that before collapsing in heaps.

Hale started to reload, discovered that he was out of shotgun ammo, and scrambled up and out of the t.i.tan's abdomen. A Bullseye lay next to its previous owner.

"Come on," he said cheerfully as he bent to retrieve the weapon. "We're almost there." They moved to rejoin Tina.

And forty-five minutes later they were were there when the drone of engines was heard, and the there when the drone of engines was heard, and the Party Girl Party Girl settled into the soft snow. Two minutes later Hale lifted Tina up into the cargo compartment, climbed in beside her, and turned to give Mark a helping hand. settled into the soft snow. Two minutes later Hale lifted Tina up into the cargo compartment, climbed in beside her, and turned to give Mark a helping hand.

"Congratulations," he said as the hatch began to close. "And welcome to what's left of the United States of America."

Having convinced Purvis to drop the three of them outside Valentine, Nebraska, Hale was determined to make sure that Mark and Tina would have a place to stay before returning to the SRPA base. The so-called Protection Camps were somewhat controversial because, even though hundreds of thousands of people had decided to enter them, an equal number of people had refused on philosophical grounds, or because they didn't want to subject themselves to the strict, almost military-like discipline required of the internees.

Like all members of the military, Hale was used to strict discipline, and thought of the Freedom First people as whiners. Still, as the delivery truck paused a quarter-mile short of the main gate to let them jump down, he had to admit that the razor wire fences, and the evenly s.p.a.ced watchtowers, looked a lot like the prisons he'd seen.

Nevertheless there was a long line of people waiting to get in, some pushing wheelbarrows stacked high with belongings, while others wore packs or carried suitcases. Unfortunately many of those in line had nothing more than the clothes on their backs. Babies cried, dogs barked, and old folks looked grim as they waited for the queue to jerk forward.

Eventually, after an hour or so, Hale and his companions drew even with a uniformed guard who confiscated the children's weapons, and would have taken Hale's as well, if the Sentinel hadn't opened his parka to reveal his uniform.

Mark hated to part company with the Reaper but there was nothing he could do about it.

There was a good deal of wailing at the next checkpoint, where people were forced to surrender their pets, all of which were taken away to be euthanized.

Finally, having been allowed to enter the camp's processing center, Hale, Mark, and Tina were shunted into another line intended for orphans. And there were hundreds of them, most of whom were unaccompanied, and trying to help one another as best they could.

The sight of it brought a lump to the back of Hale's throat as a matronly-looking woman welcomed Mark and Tina to the facility, gave them prepacked bags filled with toiletries, and took down their information. She smiled brightly in spite of the fact that the people standing in front of her smelled to high heaven.

"Don't worry, Lieutenant ... they'll be well cared for. They'll have to be separated, of course, since we can't have boys and girls living in the same dormitory, but I can a.s.sure you that they will receive three square meals a day, good medical care, and be back in school on Monday!"

Neither of the teens looked very happy, but there was nothing any of them could do, so Hale shook hands with Mark and gave Tina an awkward hug. His smile was forced.

"Take care of yourselves, you two ..."

Mark gave a jerky nod, and Tina wiped a tear away. Then they watched Hale leave.

Once outside the processing center he saw a square that was obviously used for ceremonial purposes, and beyond that some of the hundreds of identical six-story wooden buildings, all thrown up over the last year or so. Everything was neat as a pin, but there was something depressing about the place, as Hale followed a neatly kept path toward the main gate. A guard nodded politely. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant ... Have a nice day."

It was too late for that, but as Hale exited the camp, the sun appeared. The warmth felt good on his face-and there was a hot shower to look forward to. And, all things considered, that was as much as Hale could reasonably hope for.

Now if only he could stay out of prison.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THINGS THAT GO BOOM!.

Near Valentine, Nebraska Friday, November 23, 1951 "Report to my office at 0900 hours 11/23/51." Signed, "Maj. Richard Blake."

The message was waiting in Hale's SRPAnet inbox when he returned to Base 027 and went online. The meeting could be about anything of course, but the brevity of it and Hale's guilty conscience combined to make him uneasy.

Blake's office was located on the admin deck a few doors down from the briefing room in which the officer spent so much of his time. His door was open, and Hale could see him sitting within, but knew better than to enter without an invitation. His knuckles made a rapping sound as he knocked three times.

"Come."

As Hale took the prescribed three steps forward, he could feel the tension in the air. His boots thumped as he came to attention, his eyes were fixed on the wall over Blake's head, his back was ramrod straight, and his thumbs were aligned with the seams on his carefully pressed trousers. "Lieutenant Hale, reporting as ordered, sir!" sir!"

There was a series of rapid clicking sounds as Blake completed an email message and hit send. Then he swiveled his chair around to face Hale and made eye contact. It was like looking down a couple of gun barrels. No "At ease," or invitation to have a seat.

"Well," Blake said flatly, "how was your three-day pa.s.s? Did you have fun?"

Hale's mouth felt dry, so he did what he could to muster some saliva, and then swallowed. All he could do was let the situation play itself out.

"Sir, yes, sir."

"That's good," Blake growled. "That's real real good ... Because your little vacation cost a great deal of money. First there's a full load of Avgas for the VTOL you rode in, then there's the Fareye you took with you, but failed to return, plus three grenades and various other pieces of government property. All of which are going to be deducted from your pay. Do you read me, Lieutenant?" good ... Because your little vacation cost a great deal of money. First there's a full load of Avgas for the VTOL you rode in, then there's the Fareye you took with you, but failed to return, plus three grenades and various other pieces of government property. All of which are going to be deducted from your pay. Do you read me, Lieutenant?"

Hale's eyes remained focused on the spot directly above Blake's head.

"Sir! Yes, sir."

"I guess you think we're stupid," stupid," Blake continued. "And maybe your plan would have worked, except I sent people to find you, and guess what? You weren't in your quarters, and you hadn't checked out through the main gate, which meant you had left some other way. Aboard the Blake continued. "And maybe your plan would have worked, except I sent people to find you, and guess what? You weren't in your quarters, and you hadn't checked out through the main gate, which meant you had left some other way. Aboard the Party Girl Party Girl as it happens." as it happens."

Blake paused, and made a point of taking a doc.u.ment from a stack of papers and studying it silently. "By the way, Hale," he added ominously, "you might find it interesting to know that Lieutenant Purvis will be flying every s.h.i.t detail his CO can come up with for the next thirty days. So you might want to avoid him. I don't imagine he'll be pleased." He returned the doc.u.ment to its stack.