Stinger Part 38

58 Dawn

Rick started up the rope, and twenty feet had never looked so deep. He made it up about eight feet before his arms gave out. He fell back, exhausted.

A voice came from above: "Tie a loop in the rope and put your foot in it! We'll haul you up!"

"Okay!" Tom shouted. "Hold on!" He got the loop tied, and Rick stepped into it. He was drawn steadily upward and a few seconds later was pulled onto the floor of Crowfield's house. He saw a smear of red early-morning sun in the sky. The force field was gone and the desert breeze was drifting the smoke and dust away.

Xavier Mendoza, Bobby Clay Clemmons, Zarra, and Pequin had come from the fortress. They dropped the rope back down and this time reeled Miranda up.

When Rhodes came up, he almost kissed the floor but he was afraid that if he got down on it he'd never get back up. He lurched to the front door, holding his mangled shoulder, breathed deeply of fresh air, and looked out at the world.

Helicopters roared back and forth over Inferno and Bordertown, cautiously circling the black pyramid. Higher up were the contrails of jet fighters, their pilots awaiting orders. On Highway 67 were hundreds of headlights: a convoy of trucks, jeeps, vans, and trailers. Rhodes nodded. Now the s.h.i.t was about to hit the fan. He could hear the noise of the pyramid: from here, it was a low-pitched rumble. Daufin-Sarge, now-was still holding the ship back, giving them time to get clear of the tunnels.

Ray Hammond heard the chatter of a 'copter overhead, and he opened his eyes. He was lying in a bathtub, Nasty's Mohawked head against his shoulder. Red stripes of sunlight slanted through a broken window. They had hidden here since Tank's truck had overturned, had heard the smashing of houses around them, but had stayed put. Climbing into the bathtub had been Ray's idea. He started to climb out, but Nasty murmured and clutched at his chest. She was still pretty much out of it, he knew, and she needed to be taken to Doc Early. He looked at her face and smoothed some of her wild hair down-and then the ruddy light showed him what the dark had kept secret: Nasty's blouse had pulled open, and...

Oh my G.o.d! Ray thought. Oh my G.o.d there they are!

Both her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were exposed. There they were, nipples and everything, just inches away from his fingers.

He stared at them, mesmerized.

So close. So close. Crazy, he thought, how his mind could switch from almost getting killed to the idea of losing his virginity in a bathtub, but that was the Alien s.e.x Beam for you. Unpredictable. Maybe just one touch, he decided. One quick touch, and she'd never know. He moved his fingers toward them, and Nasty's eyes opened. They were red and swollen. Her whole face was puffy and bruised looking, but he still thought she was pretty. And maybe never prettier, her face against his shoulder and so close to him. Her eyes struggled to focus. She said, "Ray?"

"The one and only." He gave a nervous little laugh.

"Thought so." She smiled sleepily. "You're okay, kid. You're gonna make some girl feel real special someday. Like she's a lady." Her eyes closed again, heavy-lidded, and her soft breath brushed his throat.

He looked at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s for a while longer, but his fingers crept no closer. There would be a time, he thought. But not now. Not today. That time was in the future. Maybe not with Nasty, but with some girl he didn't even know yet. Maybe love would have something to do with it too. And maybe thinking about things like this was what they called "growing up."

"Thanks," he said to her, but she didn't answer. He gathered her blouse together and slipped a couple of b.u.t.tons through their loops so when somebody found them she'd look like what she did to him: a sleeping Guinevere. And that was his chivalrous deed for the year, he decided. From here on out it was Wild Animal City. His body felt like a bag of knots, and he laid his head back and watched the red sun coming up.

Helicopters were flying over Celeste Street, their rotors stirring the haze away, as Ed Vance, Celeste Preston, and Sue Mullinax emerged from the Brandin' Iron. They'd stayed behind the counter after the wall had crashed in, flat on their faces in the debris. There had been more sounds of destruction, and Vance had figured it was the end of the world until Celeste had given an unG.o.dly shriek and they'd all heard the helicopters. Now they saw that the force field was gone, and as the wind of 'copter rotors swirled along the street Vance couldn't help himself. He gave a whoop and hugged Celeste Preston, picking her up off her feet.

Something flapped past Vance's face like a green bat. Then more of them, running before the wind. Sue shouted, "What is it?"

Celeste reached out and snagged a handful as they rushed past. She opened her hand, and was looking at eight one-hundred-dollar bills.

Money was flying all over Celeste Street. "My G.o.d!" Sue s.n.a.t.c.hed up two handfuls and shoved them down her blouse, and now other people were out in the street, amid all the wreckage, picking up money too. "Where's it comin' from?"

Celeste struggled out of the sheriff's bear hug and walked over sliding ma.s.ses of money. Her yellow Cadillac had gone over on its side, two tires flat, and in the red light she could see the bills whirling up out of the car when the helicopters pa.s.sed overhead. She reached the car on wobbly legs, and she said, "s.h.i.t."

The hundred-dollar bills were coming from the ripped-open front seat, where the thing's claws had slashed. Vance came toward her, his wet shirt stuffed with money. "Have you ever seen the like of this?" he hollered.

"We've found where Wint hid his money," Celeste said. "Old crazy sonofab.i.t.c.h stuffed my seats full. He told me never to sell that car. Reckon I know why now."

"Well, start pickin' it up, then! h.e.l.l, it's flyin' all over town!"

Celeste grunted and looked around. The streets were riddled with chasms and cracks, stores appeared to have been hit by bombs, cars were smashed and many still on fire over in Cade's used-car lot, houses were fit for kindling. "Ain't much left of Inferno," she said. "Old town's 'bout done."

"Get the money!" Vance urged her. "Come on, it's yours! Help me get it!"

She stared at her handful of cash for a moment. And then she opened her fingers and the money took flight.

"Are you crazy? It's goin' everywhere! "

"Wind wants it," Celeste said. "Wind oughta have it." She regarded him with her icy blue eyes. "Ed, I'm d.a.m.ned grateful to be alive after what we just went through. I've lived in a shack and I've lived in a fancy house, and I'm not sure which suits me best. You want it, you go ahead and take it. All goin' to the tax man, anyhow. But I'm alive this mornin', Ed, and I feel mighty rich." She breathed deep of clean air.

"Mighty rich."

"I do too, but that don't mean I've lost my mind!" He was busy stuffing his pockets, back and front.

"Ain't no matter." She waved his objections away. "Sue, you got any more beer in there?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Preston." Sue had stopped picking up money. Her blouse was full of bills, but her eyes were dazed and seeing Inferno all torn up made everything doubly unreal. "I think I'm... gonna go see if anything's left of my house. You help yourself to whatever you want." And then she walked away, through the bl.u.s.ter and scurry of cash, toward Bowden Street. Celeste saw headlights up at the far end of the street. "Looks like we've gonna have company real soon. You want to share another beer with me 'fore they get here?"

Vance reached for another bill. As he grasped it three sneaked away from him. And he realized that he could never scoop up all of it, and trying to would make him crazy. He stood up. Money was already swirling out of his overstuffed pockets. It was a nightmare in the center of a dream nestled in a nightmare, and the only thing solid seemed to be the woman standing in front of him. The crackle of bills taunted him as they flew, and he knew he could work all his life and never have a bucket's worth of what was spinning in the breeze.

But he had never thought he'd live to see the sun rising, and there it was. Its heat touched his face. He blinked back tears.

"Come on, Ed," Celeste said, in a gentle voice. Just for a second, there in the rotors and the wind and the noise of flying money, she thought she'd heard Wint laugh. Or at least chuckle. She took the sheriff's arm. "Let's us rich folks get off the street," she said, and she guided him like a docile bear through the broken facade of the Brandin' Iron.

Other people came out of the houses where they'd been hiding and blinked in the early light. Inferno looked as if a tornado had zigzagged across it, craters here and there where the weakened earth had collapsed. And some people found more than destruction: on Oakley Street lay the horse creature, which had torn a swath of houses apart across Travis, Sombra, and Oakley but had fallen when Stinger did. Wedged in cracks were other things: scorpionlike bodies with human heads, their eyes w.a.n.k, their lifeforce extinguished at the same instant as Stinger's. It would take weeks for all the bodies to be found. Sue Mullinax was nearing her house at the corner of Bowden and Oakley when somebody shouted, "Hey, lady! Stop!"

She looked up, at Rocking Chair Ridge. The light was strengthening, and the shadows were melting away. On top of the ridge was a small dune buggy, and there were two men standing beside it. One of the men had a videotape camera, aimed at the black pyramid. He swung it in her direction. The other man came down the ridge in a boil of sliding dust and rocks. He had a dark beard and wore a cap that said NBC. "What's your name, lady?" he asked, fumbling for a notepad and pen. She told him. He shouted to the other man, "Get down here! We've got an interview!" The one with the videotape camera scrambled down the ridge, almost falling on his tail before he made it. "Oh Lord,"

Sue said, frantically trying to fix her hair. "Oh Lord, am I gonna be on TV?"

"National news, lady! Just look at me, now." A red light lit up on the camera, and Sue couldn't help but stare at the lens. "When did the UFO come down?"

"Almost quarter till ten. I remember, 'cause I saw the clock just before it hit." She pulled her dusty hair back from her face, aware that the money stuffed in her blouse was going to make her appear even heftier than she was. "I work at the Brandin' Iron. That's a cafe. Lord, I must look a mess!"

"You look fine. Get me a pan shot and come back to her face." The cameraman slowly swiveled, filming the houses of Inferno. "Lady, this is about to be the most famous town in the country. h.e.l.l, in the whole world! "

"Am... I gonna be famous?" she asked.

"You and everybody else. We've gotten a report that there might've been extraterrestrial contact. Can you verify that?"

She was aware of the importance of her answer. And just like that she saw her face and the faces of other people from Inferno and Bordertown on the newscasts, the covers of magazines, newspapers, and books, and she had a dizzy spell that was almost as heart-stopping as a monkey flip. She said, very clearly, "Yes." Said it again. "Yes. There were two creatures. Both different kinds. The sheriff-Sheriff Ed Vance is his name-told me one was after the other. When that ship came down, the whole town almost shook itself to-"

"Cut!" the man in the cap said. He was looking over his shoulder, and he'd seen what was coming.

"Thanks, Mrs. Mullinax. Gotta go!" He and the cameraman began running up the ridge to the dune buggy.

She saw what had scared them: a jeep full of soldiers with MP on their helmets was turning onto Bowden, its driver swinging around the cracks and craters. Some of the soldiers leapt out and sprinted up the ridge after the two newsmen. "It's Miss Mullinax!" she shouted. The dune buggy's engine fired before the soldiers could get there, and the vehicle sped away down the other side of the ridge. An unmarked dark blue car stopped at the north end of the Snake River Bridge. Two men in the uniforms of air-force colonels and another man in civilian clothes got out. They strode briskly toward the group of people who were coming from the south end of the fire-scarred bridge.

"My G.o.d!" The hawk-nosed officer with "Buckner" on a security-clearance tag at his breast pocket halted. He'd recognized one of the men approaching them, but if that was indeed Colonel Rhodes, Matt had aged ten years in one night. "I think we've found him." And another few steps closer brought an "Affirmative. It's Colonel Rhodes. Tell Central."

The other officer, a captain named Garcia, had a field telephone, and through it he said, "Able One to Central, we've found Colonel Rhodes. Repeat: we've found the colonel. We need a medic evac truck, on the double."

"Medic evac on the way, Able One," the dispatcher answered, routing traffic from the Central Command trailer parked in the Bob Wire Club's lot.

Rhodes was being helped along by Zarra Alhambra, and he saw Colonel Buckner of Special Intelligence coming toward him. "Morning, Alan," he said when the other man reached them. "You missed some excitement last night."

Buckner nodded, his dark eyes humorless. "I suppose I did." He looked at the ragtag bunch of civilians. They appeared to have stumbled out of a battle zone: their clothes were covered with dust and grime, their eyes weary hollows in bruised and blood-streaked faces. One of them, a wiry young man with curly blond hair, was being supported between a Hispanic boy and girl, and all three of them had the thousand-yard stare of sh.e.l.l-shock victims. Another older man had b.l.o.o.d.y strips of shirt around his arms, and next to him was an ashen-faced woman holding a little girl who-amazingly-appeared to be asleep. The other people were more or less just as dazed and battered. But Matt Rhodes had left Webb AFB yesterday morning looking fairly young, and now dust lay in deep lines on his gla.s.s-cut face and much of his hair had seemingly turned gray overnight. Coagulated blood had oozed through the fingers of the hand clamped to his shoulder. He was smiling bravely, but his eyes were deep-socketed and there were things behind them that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"This is Mr. Winslow. He's a coordination specialist." Buckner motioned to the civilian, a crewcut blond man in a dark blue suit. Mr. Winslow wore sungla.s.ses and had a face like a slab of stone, and Rhodes caught a whiff of Washington. "Captain Gunniston's already been taken to Debriefing," Buckner said. It was actually a large trailer parked near the Texaco station. "We'll have a truck here for you in a few minutes to take you to Medical." He gazed around at the destruction. "Looks like this town took a h.e.l.l of a beating. Can you estimate the casualties?"

"High," Rhodes said. His arm was no longer hurting now; it was just heavy, like a sack of freshly poured concrete. "But I think we came out on top." How to explain to this man standing before them that in the s.p.a.ce of twenty-four hours-an iota of a second on the scale of the universe-the fate of two civilizations had been fought for in the Texas dust?

"Colonel Buckner?" Garcia said, the field phone's receiver to his ear. "I've got Perimeter Control. They're reporting intruders getting through security-probably newsmen. Captain Ingalls says there's no way to stop them with all the open s.p.a.ces out-"

"Tell him to keep them out of here!" Buckner snapped. In his voice there was a hint of panic. "Jesus Christ! Tell him to lock the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds up if he has to!"

"Might as well forget it," Rhodes said calmly. "There's no way to keep this secret."

Buckner gaped at him as if Rhodes had just a.s.serted that the American flag's colors were green, pink, and purple, and Winslow's reflective sungla.s.ses held images of Rhodes's face. The distant rumbling of the black pyramid suddenly stopped. Cody, Rick, Rhodes, and the others looked back at it. The object's base had begun to glow a blue-orange color. Waves of heat shimmered in the morning light. The bridge trembled. A vibration pa.s.sed through the earth, and the upper three quarters of the pyramid began to rise, leaving the heated base below. Thin jets of white flame shot around the pyramid's rim, and those flames roared through the tunnels on the Bordertown side and melted red dirt and sand into clumps of ebony gla.s.s. Hot winds shrilled across the bridge. The pyramid slowly rose four hundred feet in the air and paused there, golden sunlight hitting its black-scaled surface. The pyramid began a graceful rotation.

"Captain Redding reports Alpha Strike's Sidewinders are armed and ready," Garcia relayed to Buckner through the field phone.

Sidewinder missiles, Rhodes knew. He looked up, saw the contrails of jets gathering into strike formation. "Let it alone," he said.

Buckner grabbed the phone's receiver. "This is Team Leader, Alpha Strike. Hold your positions. Fire Sidewinders on my command, acknowledge?"

"No!" Tom protested, pushing forward. "Let the ship go!"

Whips of energy were flailing out from the pyramid's sides. "Ready on my command," Buckner repeated.

"Tell the fighters to disarm, Alan." Rhodes clutched the man's wrist. "I don't care what your orders are. Please let it go." The other man pulled free, splotches of red surfacing on his cheeks. And now the pyramid's sides were compressing, as loops of power crackled from it like lightning and shot a hundred feet in all directions. The air fluttered with heat, making the pyramid shimmer like a mirage. In another few seconds the s.p.a.cecraft had tightened itself into a shape akin to that of a sharpened spear.

It began to ascend again, faster now, rapidly gaining speed. In the s.p.a.ce of two heartbeats it was an ebony streak moving upward into the blue.

"Go," Rick said. "Go!"

The fighters were waiting, circling above.

Buckner's mouth started to open.

Rhodes reached out, with deliberate strength, and jerked the phone's cable out of its field pack. There was a sonic boom that knocked the first roving vultures out of the turbulent air and kicked up dust over thirty miles of Texas desert. The s.p.a.cecraft seemed to elongate, a dark blurred streak arcing into the cloudless heavens like an arrow. It shot past the circling jets as if they were painted on the sky and vanished in a violet shimmer.

The wind blew across the bridge, ruffled clothes and hair and whistled over the remaining roofs of the town.

The ship and its pilot were gone. Far above, the jets were still going around and around like frustrated mosquitoes deprived of a good arm to bite.

"Sir?" Winslow's voice was slow and thick. Rhodes thought they must breed these high-level government security boys on farms somewhere. "I believe that was probably your last action as a member of the United States Air Force."

"You can kiss my a.s.s," Rhodes said. To Buckner, "You too." He gazed up. The fighters were coming down. It was all over but the cleaning up.

A truck with a Red Cross on it pulled to the north end of the bridge. Its rear panel opened up and a ramp slid down. Inside were cots, oxygen masks and tanks, medical supplies and a couple of attendants.

"Time to go." Buckner motioned Rhodes on.

The colonel took a few steps, Zarra helping him, but he stopped abruptly. The sun was a quarter up, the sky was turning blue, and it was going to be another scorcher. He turned to the others, looked at the faces of Cody, Rick, Miranda, Jessie, Tom, and the little girl. Even the sonic boom hadn't awakened her, and he figured they all would be sleeping like that pretty soon. Later there would be nightmares. But everyone would deal with those as best they could, because human beings knew nothing if not how to endure. We saved two worlds, Rhodes thought. Not a bad night's work for bugs. He offered his face to the sun, and went on.

Jessie felt Stevie's heart beating, slowly and steadily, against her chest. She touched the child's face, ran her hand over the dusty auburn hair-and her fingers found two blood-clotted slashes under Stevie's hair, at the back of the neck. Stevie shifted her weight and made a pained face in her sleep. Jessie removed her fingers.

Someday the story would have to be told to her. Someday, but not this one. Jessie clasped Stevie with one arm and her other hand found Tom's. They needed to get Ray at the clinic, but Ray would be all right. He was a born survivor, Jessie knew. That trait must run in the family. Tom and Jessie crossed the bridge, and Stevie dreamed of stars. Trucks and jeeps were all over Inferno now. Several helicopters warily circled the starship's remaining base section, which engineer crews in the days ahead would find impossible to cut apart or otherwise move.

A figure lingered on the bridge as the others went across. Cody stared at the wreckage of his motorcycle, his hands hanging limply at his sides. The Honda-his old friend-was dead too, and it seemed like the bridge was a hundred miles long.

Rick glanced over his shoulder and stopped. "Take my sister with you," he told Mendoza, and the man helped Miranda to the truck. Then Rick limped back and stood waiting. Cody reached down, picked up a piece of scorched exhaust pipe. Let it clatter back to the pavement like so much useless junk.

"Heard you were good with tools," Rick said.

Cody didn't answer. He sat down, his knees pulled up close to his chest.

"You coming, or not?"

Cody was silent. Then, after a long shudder of breath: "Not."

Rick limped a few paces closer. Cody averted his face. Rick started to speak, but it was just filling s.p.a.ce. He didn't know what to say. Then something hit him, right out of the blue: "It's the last day of school. How about that? Think we graduated?"

"Leave me alone. Go on." He motioned toward the Inferno side.

"No use sitting out here, Cody. Either you walk the distance or somebody'll come get you."

"Let 'em come!" Cody shouted, and when he turned his face, Rick saw the tears running down his cheeks. "My dad's dead, don't you get it?" The shout left his throat raw. His eyes was so full he couldn't see. "My dad's dead," he repeated in a quieter voice, as if grasping it fully for the first time. Everything that had happened in Stinger's s.p.a.ceship was a jumbled blur, and it would take him a long time to sort it out. But he remembered clearly enough his father lying in front of him, holding on to life long enough to look at a faded picture. A hole yearned inside him, and never in his wildest dreams would he have thought he might ever miss his father.

"Yeah, he is dead," Rick agreed. He came two more paces nearer. "He saved our tails, I'll tell you that. I mean... I didn't know him too well, but... he sure came through for us. And for Daufin too."

"A hero," Cody said. He laughed in spite of the tears, and he had to wipe his nose. "My dad's a hero! Think they'll put that on his tombstone?" His crazy smile fractured, because he realized there wasn't a body to bury.

"I think they might," Rick told him.

"Yeah. Maybe so." Cody watched the sun coming up. It had been almost twenty-four hours since he'd been sitting on the Rocking Chair, counting the dead ends; he felt older now, but not weaker. His dad was dead, yes, and he would have to deal with that, but the world seemed different today; it seemed larger, and offered second chances and new beginnings.

"We did something real important last night," Rick said. "Something that people might not ever understand. But we'll know it, and that may have to do."

"Yeah." Cody nodded. "I reckon so. What do you think's gonna happen to Inferno?"

"I think it'll be around for a while longer. Bordertown too. As soon as people find out what landed here-well, you never know about tomorrow." Rick stepped forward and offered his hand. "You want to go across now?"

Cody looked at the brown hand for a moment. The palm was rope-burned. He wiped his eyes and snuffled his nose. If any of the 'Gades saw him like this, he'd...

No, he thought. No 'Gades and no Rattlers. Not anymore. That was yesterday, and today began for both of them from right here, at the middle of this bridge.

Cody reached up and grasped the hand, and Rick helped him to his feet. The sunlight strengthened, chasing away the last shadows, and two men crossed the bridge together.