It passed through her face, as though she was made of empty air.
Her smile took on a note of sadness. “I am a projection of your mind, Max. Or rather, a projection of our synergy, which occurs in your mind.”
“Right.” He sighed, and wondered whether he would ever see her again. The real her.
He stopped to pick up the block. “Okay. Lead on.”
57
2 days to extinction
Jimmy watched the craft ascend through the hangar, toward the ceiling and through the hole that had opened there. The opening started closing as soon as the UFO passed through, but Jimmy continued watching until it was completely out of sight.
He became aware his mouth was open, and he shut it with a click.
“Check this out.” Tara gestured toward an area near where the craft had been, where an assortment of tools lay strewn across the concrete. Some of them looked extremely high-tech, others definitely weren’t—hammers, crowbars, levels. A few recognizable power tools were mixed in, too. “Looks like someone was doing work on that thing recently.”
He nodded. “Chambers said the aliens are using Drones to do lots of stuff, like keep nuclear power plants from melting down. Maybe they were using them to modify the UFO, too.”
“Could be.”
Outside, the staccato report of gunfire continued unabated. Jimmy looked around the hangar for other entrances, but every other point of entry seemed secure. “How much ammo do you think our Drone friends out there are packing?”
“A finite amount, I’d guess.” Tara sounded remarkably calm she as she said it. “And I don’t think a finite amount is going to be enough.”
Slowly, Jimmy nodded. “Yeah. It seems like our role in all this is finished. Guess we’re expendable, at this point.”
She shrugged. “Still…they’re fighting, aren’t they? If we’re that expendable, why bother protecting us even that much?”
Jimmy pressed his lips together and drew a deep breath through his nose. “You’re right. Seems wrong to let them die out there, alone, on our behalf.”
“I say we pitch in.”
Tara slapped a fresh magazine into her semi-automatic, and Jimmy checked to make sure he had a cartridge in the chamber.
“Let’s do this.”
They exchanged grim smiles and headed back toward the door they’d entered through.
Outside, the gunslinging automatons were managing to keep the Ravagers at bay—for now. But every Ravager in the compound seemed focused on getting past them, to the hangar. Apparently they hadn’t gotten the memo about Max taking off in the UFO, and about none of this mattering anymore.
They were single-minded. Determined. He had to give them that.
Jimmy and Tara took up position in the middle of the Drone formation, which had been left open to allow them through the door. The man Jimmy set up next to showed no sign of registering his presence. He just pumped his rifle into the encroaching crowd, reloading with mechanical efficiency whenever his magazine went dry.
Jimmy glanced down at the man’s belt and saw that it was lined with magazine holsters. Most of them were empty.
He and Tara began choosing their targets and firing, aiming for their brains. A torso shot would almost certainly make the recipient bleed out, but that didn’t do much good if he or she went on to stagger toward you in an attempt to maul you.
Several times, he drew a bead on a Ravager only for one of the automatons to take it down before he could. That was kind of annoying. Especially when it resulted in wasted cartridges.
That hadn’t happened, with Max. These guys had about as good aim as he did—that was to say, supernaturally good. But they didn’t work around Tara and Jimmy like Max had, and they didn’t innovate at all. They just reloaded and fired.
Jimmy’s ammo pouches were running low, and beside him, Tara ran out of magazines for her Colt. They exchanged glances, and her mouth made a grim line. She went into the hangar, returning a minute later with a hammer in one hand and a crowbar in the other.
Soon, she would get the chance to use them. The Ravager front was inching closer with every second.
The automatons seemed unconcerned.
A Drone ran out of rounds next, a burly man who might have been a linebacker, or a bouncer. The moment his last magazine was depleted, he hurled his rifle at a Ravager, beaning him with the butt hard enough to take him down. After that, the automaton just stood there, hands dangling at his sides.
The abruptness of the motion would have made Jimmy laugh, if not for the circumstances. A woman nearby ran out of ammo for her tactical shotgun, and she emulated the first guy, throwing the weapon like a javelin to hit a Ravager in the center of the forehead.
The Ravager recoiled, wincing, then kept stumbling forward, blood streaming down his face in rivulets.
Jimmy decided to hold on to his rifle, once he ran out. It had been his father’s, after all, and it would make a decent club.
“Well, it’s been nice knowing you, Jimmy.” Tara stood with her legs spread, a blunt object held at the ready on either side. “Not that it’s been very long.”
“You too.” He dipped into his last pouch for another cartridge and came up empty.
This time, he did chuckle. He wasn’t sure why.
A coping mechanism, maybe.
The rifle’s barrel was too hot to hold with his bare hands, so he laid it on the ground, stripped off his shirt, then quickly wrapped the garment around the metal. With that, he brandished the weapon like a pinch hitter at the bottom of the ninth.
The first Ravager reached him, and he cracked him one on the side of his head. The thing dropped like a sack of potatoes, and he braced to repeat the act as many times as he could manage.
Before he could take a second swing, a blue beam shot down from above, several dozen meters away.
Even at this distance, intense heat washed over him, and he staggered back as he fended off another Ravager by poking the butt of the rifle in its face.
Every Ravager the beam touched evaporated into a red mist, clothes and all. Those nearby burst into flames, like they’d spontaneously combusted.
Being on fire seemed to get to them. The things ran into their fellows, shrieking, causing ripples throughout the mad throng.
The saucer fired again, killing dozens more Ravagers in an instant.
“Look.”
Tara was gripping his bicep, pointing up. He followed the gesture and saw that the UFO Max had taken was returning—heading toward the hangar’s ceiling.
“Is that our ride?” Jimmy asked. “Or did the aliens just decide to send him back?”
“Hilarious, Jimmy.” He knew Tara was being sarcastic, but he was pretty proud that he’d mustered up any humor at all, in this situation. “We should get in there.”
“You got it.”
They ran toward the hangar once more as the Ravagers overran the last of the Drones.
Inside, the saucer was touching down on the concrete, the same hatch opening to admit one of them.
Jimmy cast around for something to bar the door with. His eyes landed on a waist-high metal trolley for tools, near where the saucer was landing. Setting the rifle down, he ran for the trolley and wheeled it back toward the door for all his worth. The thing was heavy, which was good.
He stopped halfway to the door and blinked at Tara, who was just standing there. “Get in the UFO!” he yelled.
She shook her head, eyes narrowed. “Not without you.”
“There’s only room for one! Max had to cram himself in there. Get in.”
“You first.”
“Not a chance.”
“Jimmy, this isn’t the time for some outdated notion of chivalric—”
“Tara, will you shut up and get in?” he yelled, his voice cracking. “The sooner you go, the sooner it can come back for me!”
Her jaw set, she crawled in. “You’d better be alive when it comes back for you.”
“Get out of here.”
He positioned the trolley against the door just as the first Ravager connected with it, shoving it. The door jolted open, and Jimmy slammed the trolley against it, shutting it again.
The pressure increased as more Ravagers piled behind the first, adding their weight.
A stream of curses poured from Jimmy’s mouth, almost of their own accord. He was nearly horizontal now, the veins in his forearms standing out as he pushed against the trolley, his sneakers squeaking on the hangar’s concrete floor.
The door flew open an inch, then shut again. Next, it flew open several inches.
The next assault pushed it open by a foot, but he managed to get it shut by slamming the trolley against it once more.
Then came the next push. This time, it took all his might to resist. He screamed with the effort.
It wasn’t enough. The door flew open, knocking the trolley aside.
Jimmy scrambled backward, grabbed the hunting rifle, and swung it in a wild arc. It caught the first Ravager in the jaw, visibly dislocating it. Two more took his place.
The first got a crack in the head for its trouble, but it wasn’t enough—the Ravager was big, and he kept staggering forward, his feet dragging slightly, fingers grasping.
More Ravagers poured in behind them.
Jimmy cursed, retreating. The Ravagers pursued him across the empty hangar.
He danced back, made it to the tools scattered on the concrete next to where the UFO had been, and began pitching them at the Ravagers. A wrench cartwheeled through the air and connected with a Ravager head, dropping it.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Good throw.”
His next throw—a screwdriver—wasn’t as effective. Its handle clattered harmlessly off a Ravager’s chest.
He tried a hammer next, but the weight distribution sucked for throwing. It didn’t even make it to his target.
Now they were upon him again, and he abandoned the tools, continuing to retreat.
The UFO came back through the ceiling, humming softly. It seemed to know enough not to try landing where it had been before. Instead, it zipped behind Jimmy, and settled onto the concrete against the far wall.
“See ya,” Jimmy told the Ravagers. He turned and sprinted toward the waiting craft, which opened for him as he approached.
He dove, nearly knocking the wind from his lungs when he landed on the smooth, curved floor. His hunting rifle clattered against the bulkhead.
The hatch closed behind him, and he experienced a slight upward tug.
It didn’t feel like they’d taken off—actually, it felt like the thing might have malfunctioned at the last second.
He had no way of knowing. The ship had no windows, no display.
He waited in the blue-lit dimness, staying quiet, expecting Ravagers to start rocking the vessel any second, to start hammering it with the nearby tools till they managed to get in at him and tear him apart.
58
2 days to extinction
Max helped Tara from the open saucer, and into the landing bay. They both watched the craft leave through the aperture, hurtling down toward the hangar to collect Jimmy.
At least, that was the hope. Max felt rigid with worry for his friend, and Tara looked just as tense.
He found himself reaching toward her. Her hand met his, their fingers intertwining.
“I can’t believe we’re here.” Her voice was a mix of anxiety and wonder—a strange combination, but fitting. “I don’t know how you pulled this off, but….” She shook her head. “Good work.”
“Thanks. I’m just glad I’m not crazy. That the voice in my head actually turned out to be real.” He looked at her, hesitating. Screw it. Just say it. “She looks like you, you know.”
She furrowed her brow. “Who?”
“The…the form the alien takes, when it appears to me. At first it was just your voice in my head, before I even met you.” He decided not to mention the dreams he’d been having about her, since that could get awkward fast. “That’s why I first came and talked to you, when you were out in the wheat field. Because you had her voice. Or, she had yours.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I think it does. I think it chose to imitate you because…well, because you’re who I’d respond most positively to.”
“Even before we met?”
“I think the alien knew we would meet. And that I would, uh, feel this way about you.” He swallowed, thinking about when he’d told her and Jimmy that he loved them, below. She’d seemed taken aback.
This time, she stepped closer to him, pressing her body against him. She raised her lips to his.
The hum of the saucer reentering filled the landing bay, and they quickly parted. The ship settled near them, and the hatch opened to reveal a terrified-looking Jimmy. The moment he was able, he hustled out, his knuckles white around his hunting rifle. Max noticed there was blood drying on the weapon’s stock.
Breathing heavily, Jimmy cast his gaze all around the bay’s interior. Gradually, his breathing slowed, and his eyes met Max’s.
“Holy shit,” he said.
“Welcome aboard,” Tara said, sticking out her hand. “First mate Tara Benson, reporting. This is Captain Max.”
Jimmy gave a cross between a grunt and a chuckle, ignoring her hand to continue staring around the compartment. “I can’t believe this.”
Max couldn’t suppress a smile. “You’re part of the conspiracy now, Jimmy. You’re basically a government shill.”
Again came Jimmy’s humorless laugh.
His mind is blown. As well it might be, Max supposed. He wasn’t sure how he was keeping it together, himself. I guess my life has habituated me to a certain level of weirdness.
“How is this happening right now, Max? How’d you manage to hijack a flying saucer?”
“It was pretty easy, once I got in. Apparently that’s not supposed to be possible.”
“Who told you that?”
Max shrugged. “My new alien friend.”
“The one who’s supposed to be on our side?”
“Yeah. That one.”
“You trust it?”
“Well, it got us this far. Seems kind of dumb to call it quits now.”
“Just be careful.” Jimmy sniffed. “So, I guess not every alien wants to exterminate us, after all. How many are there?”
“Good ones, you mean? Just the one, that I know of. But honestly, I don’t know much yet. It hasn’t told me much. It keeps saying we don’t have time.”
“Sounds like a put-off if I ever heard one. If we’re so strapped for time, why are just standing around?’
“We’re not.”
“Huh?”
“Look behind you.”
Jimmy did. He started when he saw the way the landscape was flashing past them through the aperture. Flat desert became forested hills, followed by more cracked, sere land. “Where are we headed?”
“Back to the Rockies in Colorado. We’re going to tell Janet to hand over the Lark X-1s, and the pilots to fly them.”
“What if she won’t?”
“She will. We have the power to turn the entire facility to ash and soot.”
“Right. What are X-1s, again?”
“Spaceworthy fighter jets. The ones they reverse engineered from the saucer that flew you up here.”
Jimmy nodded. “Right.”
Again, Max almost laughed at his friend’s expression, which was a cross between thoughtful and flummoxed.
“So,” Jimmy said. “Where are all the aliens? Shouldn’t this thing be crawling with them?”
“That’s just it. I’m not sure there are any.”
“There aren’t any?” Jimmy said the words slowly, as if he’d never heard them before. “What kind of alien invasion has no aliens?”
“The automated kind.”
With that, Jimmy sat down with his back against the
UFO, his hands dangling between his knees as he stared into space.
Should I tell him more? He wrestled with the decision for a few moments, then decided he probably shouldn’t.
Hell, I haven’t even told Jimmy what Chambers told me, have I? His friend still didn’t know the aliens had been overseeing humanity for hundreds of thousands of years. He didn’t know about the neural smart dust that allowed them to control people, which they’d used to make everyone go crazy.
All Jimmy knew was that Max had been bred to fight the aliens, and that was about it. Anything else he’d heard, he very well could have forgotten. He’d probably been high for most of it.
Tara knew even less, he realized. And now probably wasn’t the time to bring them up to speed. Just as the alien had said to him, the more answers he gave, the more questions they would have.
Through the landing bay’s opening, he watched as more forest swept past below, and the terrain grew hilly, then mountainous.
We’re here.
“I have to get back to the master control. Apparently, I’ll be able to communicate with the GDA from there. Care to join?”
Jimmy pushed himself off the floor, using the UFO behind him for support.
“Why not?” he said.
59
2 days to extinction
Ted Chambers had no idea what to do.
He sat at a modest mahogany desk—the base commander’s desk, where General Andrews was supposed to sit.
But there was no General Andrews. There had been no sign of him, and no contact, with him or with the battalion he was supposed to bring.
Instead, Ted was in charge, and as the de facto head of the Global Defense Agency, he had no clue what action he was supposed to take next.
I need a drink.
Thankfully, this installation was a dry one. He hadn’t touched booze for years, not since his ex-wife had managed to convince him that he was developing a problem.
Eventually, he’d come to agree with her. At first, he’d tried to argue a drink or two a night didn’t necessarily amount to budding alcoholism. But that case had become harder to make when one or two became three or four, and then more.
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