by L. E. Howel
“I wonder who I could be,” he continued. “Perhaps the Wizard as I’m the one showing you how to get home.”
“Seems like you’re the Tin Man and the Scarecrow,” she responded angrily, “as you don’t seem to have either a heart or a brain!” She turned and kicked the cart hard and sent it flying into the display, sending boxes and cans crashing to the floor. Birch watched in stunned silence. Anger welled up inside him, but before he could say anything he caught sight of her face as she turned and ran to the doors. She was hurt, and for once Birch felt bad. Something he had said had hurt her more than he had intended, and despite himself he felt guilty and wanted to make it better.
He ran after Karla. Dodging racks and displays he caught her at the doors as she was about to leave.
“Don’t go out there alone,” he thundered, “you don’t know what’s out there. You need me.”
“I don’t think anyone needs you, Birch,” Karla snapped. “I’ve tried more than anyone to understand you, to help you, even when things seemed so bad. I stuck by you when Major Gray said we should’ve stayed, and I caught you a fish, but you don’t think about anyone or anything but yourself, so no, I don’t need you, Major Birch. Good-bye.”
“Wait,” Birch called after Karla. She was struggling to pull the door aside. “Stop, I’m sorry.” The words were almost a whisper, but Karla heard them. She stopped pulling at the doors and turned to face him. Her hair was unkempt and her tear-stained face wore a wary expression.
“Do you mean that, Major?” she asked softly. Birch nodded, though he couldn’t make himself repeat the words. Strangely, he found that he really did mean it.
She smiled, like a burst of sunlight through the darkened clouds. “Thanks,” she said, squeezing his hand. She walked back to the overturned cart, and as she stooped down to pick up the cans Birch wondered what he had said that hurt her so much. He couldn’t figure her out.
Slowly he walked back to help Karla. He felt exhausted, this whole experience, everything in this place, had been much more than he had wanted. They needed to get out of here. Even to be in the desolation outside was preferable to staying here. He would have rather faced the Ares in open combat than face another moment in this musty, rotted out memory of a building.
Soon they had picked up the supplies and packed them away in their backpacks. Birch slung his over his shoulder and helped Karla with hers; they were ready to go. They would leave this place of stale air and stale memories and step back into the real world outside.
Birch walked quickly to the door, but Karla hesitated and took a last look around her, as though drinking in this last vestige of normality. She took in the neatly stacked shelves, the dusty racks of clothes, and the happy faces of long-dead models smiling blissfully from their faded display pictures around the walls. A grim smile played across Karla’s lips as she adjusted her pack and followed after Birch.
The evening air was cooling and refreshing after the dead atmosphere within. Birch scowled at the darkening sky. “Looks like we need shelter again,” he said looking around. “That should do.” He was pointing to a two-story motel court across the street from where they stood. Karla looked doubtful.
“I’d rather sleep outside,” she was looking around for a suitable spot. “I can go into those places, but sleeping in them is something else. It’s like sleeping on a grave or something. I just don’t think I can do it.”
Indeed the analogy wasn’t a bad one. The building’s cheery painted facade had fallen away and left exposed the dirty, bare-block bones beneath. A bright yellow awning, upon which the words ‘Welcome Our Guests’ could barely be made out, fluttered in tatters above the office door. It was not an inviting scene, but none of the buildings were. All of them had this musty, fallen look that made you want to run from them rather than enter, and yet Birch thought it was important. They had to get inside.
“Look,” he sighed, “I can understand how you feel. Maybe I feel the same way, but we don’t have time to waste so just get in there.” She shook her head, but Birch pushed her toward the door. “Look, if you don’t get in there it’ll probably be your own grave that you’ll be sleeping on tonight. You don’t think this city has gone unnoticed by the Ares do you? It’ll be dark in about twenty minutes and this place will be crawling with them. I’d like to have a chance to choose the best location in there to set up for the night, so please go in before I have to throw you in.”
Karla smiled gloomily at Birch. “Okay,” she looked up into his eyes but he looked away. “I only wish things could be different.”
Birch shrugged. “Things don’t get much more different than this,” he muttered as he pulled open the rusty door and walked into the office. Just a short time ago he had decided to be easier on Karla, but she made it so hard for him. Annoying character traits were one thing, but stupid arguments about stupid things that could get them killed was too much. If she really wanted things to be different then she had to be different.
The office, like the store they had just left, was strangely intact. It was like a living time capsule or a crumbling museum display of the lives of the people of the past. Everything was orderly and in place. But for the dust and debris of an age, it might have been left only a short time ago. You almost expected to wait for the clerk to return in a moment and check you in. Of course no one came and Birch looked to the key rack behind the desk. Most of them were still in place, a few of the slots were empty and he shuddered at the sudden impression of what might lie, rotting behind those long locked doors. He would keep that idea to himself; Karla was jumpy enough already.
He reached across the desk and pulled a key from the ring. “It looks like this one’s in the middle of the second floor,” he said looking at the motel layout map on the wall. “That’ll make it less likely they’d find us.”
Karla looked doubtful. Why’s that?” she asked.
“If they start searching for us they’ll start at one end or the other, where the stairs go up. To get to the middle they’ll have to walk past five other rooms,” he indicated the location on the map. “That’s our best chance right now. I don’t see why they should check every room, or even know that we’re here. I think we should be safe enough. It’s better than being in the open anyway.”
“What if they do check every room though? What if they find us? What do we do then?”
Birch sighed wearily. “Plan B,” he said glibly and patted his rifle.
TWENTY-SIX
Things had been quiet since their narrow escape in the mountains two days ago. There had been no new sightings of the Ares, and Edwards almost dared to hope they had left them behind, but he knew that wasn’t true. He knew they would see them again before this journey was over.
Edwards had finally managed to get off a radio message to the base, but the news from them hadn’t been good. They had warned Edwards that reports were coming in of Ares activity across the whole area. It seemed that their mountain ambush had not been an isolated incident. The attack was part of a wider pattern across the whole center of the country that had erupted about the time they had started their journey across the Rockies. The military were only now able to mobilize an effective response. An attack force was being launched from the east to quell the uprising, but it would be a long while before they could get out this far. The mountains were still seen as too dangerous and had been sealed off to all traffic.
Edwards had been stung by the news. Under the circumstances he wasn’t even certain that they could continue their journey. All they could do now was hurry on to the base; it was the only safe ground nearby.
While the last two days had been uneventful, they had not been free of fear. The open plains had made it harder for the Ares to launch a surprise attack, but if they could muster the kind of numbers they had in their previous offensive then surprise wouldn’t be needed; they could just crush them. This knowledge made their travel hard. Tension had seemed to follow in their footsteps, and the news of wider uprisings only added to t
heir fears. But now they were close to safety. They hurried with all possible speed.
It was late afternoon when they finally caught sight of it. A squat walled fortress concealed meekly among the long, waving grass that bent over in the wind. The tiny fort gave the impression of a little boat, a tug, lost on the stormy seas, riding out the waves and gales as it struggled to reach shore, though it was perfectly still.
Things were very different here. On the western side of the mountains their base had been a bold statement of confidence. The lights, the bustle and activity, and its very size all spoke of a brash certainty and assurance of power and superiority. In the west their base had seemed like arrogance, it was an affront to the Ares. There was no attempt at camouflage, it did not cower or hide, but stood proudly and said ‘I am here, do your worst’. This was not the case here. This small, insignificant structure clung to the inhospitable ground, seeking as little notice and interference as possible.
The small line of trucks chugged doggedly toward the fortress, finally stopping fifty yards from its smooth featureless walls. Edwards knew the routine. If they went any closer, even in these friendly vehicles, they would have been destroyed; no questions asked. These places made no exceptions, even if they were expecting you. Edwards got out of his truck and motioned for the others to do the same. Slowly they climbed out of the vehicles and joined him at the front of the convoy.
“What’s this all about,” Jane asked, her voice filled with apprehension.
“It’s the way we’ve managed to get a foothold in Ares’ territory. We don’t give them a chance to pull any of their tricks. If you don’t stop to be scanned then you’ll be shot without hesitation, whatever you are. They’ve tried to fool us before with stolen vehicles or bogus approaches; we’ve lost a few bases that way in the past, but we’re ready for most of what they try now.” He pointed to a gleaming square tower in the structure.
“Those are the anti-missile batteries, there’s not much that gets past them. We’ve built around our circumstances. We’ve had to adapt. One day these bases will be the basis for our new beginning. Like the army forts of the olden days, these will be the heart of new towns and cities, expanding and changing this country and our world. This is just the beginning.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Jane scoffed. “You guys seem to really like saying things that don’t match what’s actually happening. If this is the beginning of something, then it’s a very small, microscopic start!”
Edwards laughed mirthlessly. He was too tired of doubting these things himself to put up any customary defense. “You won’t let anything slip by, will you? Well, we hope it’s true,” he admitted. “That’s what we’ve been told anyway. Who knows?” he dropped all pretense of assurance. “That’s about the best we can do for now anyway.” Edwards shook his head thoughtfully. Jane and Lauren had a part to play in that hope. He didn’t understand it fully himself yet, the DA only ever told you enough to take the next step on the path they had marked out for you, but he knew they were important.
He hated this job. He would give anything to be back under his tree looking out to the ocean. Instead he was here watching waves of prairie grass blown on a stiff breeze, waiting for this fort to admit them to their tiny island of safety. He had already more than half-failed in his mission. Three of the passengers were gone. What would that mean? For him he knew it meant trouble, the DA didn’t take failure well, but it was more than that. He was supposed to protect them and he had failed. Had he ever protected anyone or anything? His whole life was supposed to have been about preserving, about protecting the endangered, but what had he really done? He imprisoned them. Maybe that was life’s only choice, be safe or be dead.
Edwards glared at the base’s turrets. What was taking so long? They needed to get inside.
Finally things started to move. Three impressive cannons from the top of the wall were turning menacingly toward them, closely following their movements. “Just a precaution,” Edwards reassured Lauren, who had glanced up at them, wide-eyed. “They’re just checking that we are who we say we are. They’ll let us in there in a minute, just wait.”
They waited again. Inside the base they would be scanning them, checking their records, making sure. It was some time before anything more happened and they shifted uneasily in front of the trucks. Though he had been through this a number of times it was still a nervous process for Edwards. He sweated. His calm exterior hid that irrational fear that something might go wrong. The computer might malfunction, the records might be inaccurate, something you knew wasn’t there might turn up on their readout and they would be blown apart, destroyed before they could say anything about it. He had heard of such cases, though it wasn’t something anyone talked about openly. Just the idea that mistakes could happen was an uncomfortable thought in these circumstances.
Finally his radio crackled to life. “You may approach,” the grainy voice announced tersely. “Come to the north gate. Set the computer to approach pattern nine. I don’t need to remind you of the importance of getting it right.” Edwards very well knew the importance of getting it right.
“Understood,” he answered flatly and gestured for the others to return to the trucks. “We’ll be approaching by pattern nine; out.” He clicked off the radio and got back into the lead vehicle. This was the tricky part. They had to guide the trucks through a particular intricate path set out by the base’s computer. The coordinates were beamed directly to his onboard computer from the base, and the slightest deviation meant destruction. It took special software and training to manage it, and so far the Ares had been unable to mimic this little trick. They had tried. So far their attempts had ended only in suicide missions that had achieved nothing but the deaths of the attackers.
The green glow of the monitor filled the cabin. Edwards was at the wheel. His training was old, but he was better equipped to do this than any of the troops he had left. He wished he wasn’t. He sweated his way through the first few turns and came to a difficult maneuver that almost caused the truck to double back on itself. His timing had to be perfect in order to avoid hitting one of the two vehicles following him, and his breath came sharply through his teeth as he squeezed through the narrowest of gaps between the second and third truck in the convoy.
“This is crazy,” Edwards muttered as he wrenched the wheel to the left to perform another required movement. “They’ve got this thing on the worst setting. I’ll kill them, if I live long enough to make it in there.”
Like a massive centipede the line of vehicles twisted and turned in line to a silent dance set out by their computers. Finally they approached the northern wall and came to a halt. Its smooth shiny surface was unremarkable. It contained no door, nor any other feature that indicated there could be any entrance there. For a time the trucks sat silently idle. Nothing happened, but then with a hiss the metallic center seemed to dissolve and a gate opened before them. The trucks moved in and the wall behind them quickly returned to its former state.
Once inside the base the trucks were quickly surrounded by grim looking soldiers with weapons drawn. Edwards and the others slowly climbed from their vehicles at the barked command of the troop’s leader.
“Show your hands! Show your hands!” one shouted gruffly at Lauren, who had habitually reached for her pockets. She quickly raised her hands in surrender. Edwards laughed.
“You’re not a prisoner, lieutenant. They’re just making sure you can’t pull a weapon on them while they perform this last test. You can lower your arms. Just keep your hands in sight.”
Lauren smiled sheepishly and lowered her hands, almost putting them back into her pockets again before remembering and hastily letting them drop loosely to her side.
Edwards shook his head. They were all pretty jittery. The base troops still had the rifles leveled at them. They fingered the triggers of their rifles nervously, watching for any reason to shoot. The sooner they got this over with the better.
A soldier passed
each of the new arrivals, confronting each of them with a little device that shone a red light deep into their eyes. “A retinal scanner,” Edwards explained to Jane and Lauren. “They have records of everyone on file. They’re just checking we are who we are.” Jane nodded as the soldier finished his scans and led them toward the base commander’s office.
“Oh yes, this is all very impressive,” she commented. “I’d love to see how this will work in those towns and cities you spoke of. How long before you start building them? Next year? Next week maybe? You know, I don’t think you need me to tell you, but you’re not winning this war, Edwards. Open your eyes. If this is the best you can do I don’t think you ever will win.”
Edwards’ lips compressed into a grimacing smile, but he said nothing. Jane’s words were too closely related to his own suppressed doubts to resist. He couldn’t immediately refute them, but at the same time he knew that he could never accept them. He must never accept them. It would change everything. It went to the heart of everything.
It was an old question. Were they ever going to win? They had always been told so. It was an article of faith, the sure knowledge of their superiority, but long ago this very question had been the first drip in the erosion of the old certainties. Certainties had filled his life. They had filled his mind, the belief that they were right. Whatever seemed to go wrong, he always knew that they were right. Once he had known they would win, because they deserved to win, and that would be enough. Now he wasn’t so sure, and he felt like a huckster preacher, teaching a gospel he had never experienced. It wasn’t that he was a hypocrite, he wanted to believe all that he said, with all his heart he did, but he was wise enough to know the difference between hope and reality.
The struggle never seemed to end and the Ares were never beaten. Battles went on, but fundamentally nothing changed. When would their superiority show? This question had dogged him at his work, in his private life, and in his dreams. He wrestled within himself to understand it, to know why what seemed right didn’t seem the true shape of reality. Why did the wicked prosper, or at least why couldn’t they be beaten? It troubled Edwards and so Jane’s words scalded his already scorched mind.
