Mae was with him and Trisha in the back of the van again. Chris had his window rolled down, holding to the length of rope with his good arm hanging out the side. Both vehicles' engines were running and ready, and both faced the western end of the bridge where the grenades were.
Chris grabbed the radio. "When it starts to go, I want you to floor it. Even after you're off the bridge, you keep going until I tell you to stop. Got it?"
"Yeah, yeah, got it," Terry replied distractedly. "What if the explosion takes out the entire tower?"
Please don't let it take out the entire tower... .
"It won't," said Chris. `Just get ready!"
He glanced at Trish for a reassuring vote of confidence, but she was too busy bracing herself with her arms outstretched against the dashboard. Mae was lying down in the back seat with two seat belts strapped around her thighs and her chest. Her eyes were shut, but her face calm.
"On three!" Chris barked into his radio.
He glanced over and saw Terry steel himself. The man's knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
"One
What if this doesn't work?
11 "Two ...
Then we're dead. We might be dead even if it does work.
"Three . .
Please, let this work.?
He yanked the cord and Owen shouted that he'd pulled as well.
Chris counted a full three seconds before the five grenades went off, not simultaneously but close enough.
The bridge lurched downward on its southwestern corner where the bundle of three grenades had been tethered. The massive cable holding that corner of the bridge sprang free and flew up over the tower and out of sight.
They waited as the opposite corner groaned against the weight it was suddenly being asked to hold. The remaining two grenades they'd attached to that cable hadn't been quite enough to take the whole thing out, and Chris couldn't see how much damage had been caused because of the smoke generated by the blasts. But the bridge was creaking in protest, and he knew it was only a matter of time.
"Brilliant plan," Terry snorted through the radio. "Maybe we could use a pocket knife-"
The northwestern corner let out a profound snap, and the bridge plummeted.
"GO!" Chris stepped on the gas pedal.
Only one side had been rigged to blow, so the eastern end of the bridge held firm while the western edge plunged down, clown, down. It created a steep ramp. But there was nothing to catch the western edge except the water, which was far beneath ground level. Chris already had the minivan just a few meters away from the falling edge of the bridge as it neared the bottom, and he pressed down even harder on the gas, jumping the last few meters down to the road below.
He was successful, the minivan sailing briefly through the air as it dropped ten feet to scratch grooves into the pavement and spit out sparks. Terry had trailed just a bit and his pickup followed only milliseconds later, barely making it smoothly across the gap as the western end of the bridge lowered past ground level and crashed into the canal.
"Everybody all right?" Chris asked, fingering the radio and pouring on the speed. Both vehicles raced away from the bridge at dangerous speeds.
Chris looked back through his mirrors at the bridge and the tiny control room built into the bottom of the tower they'd just passed beneath, his mind's eye recalling what he'd seen there only minutes ago.
"Whoo-hoo!" came Terry's reply. "What a rush! I'm going again!"
"Enough already!" Chris shouted, and everyone was stunned into silence by his outburst. "This is not a game! We're not on a crosscountry road trip or a spring break vacation! This is real! The stakes are the fate of the entire human race!"
"Chris," Owen's calm voice resounded in his ear. "Why were we in such a hurry to get out of there? Why did we blow up that bridge?"
"We blew up that bridge," he explained, "because it was no accident that we were trapped at the top."
Trisha's head snapped around and even Mae unbuckled herself and sat upright, waiting for Chris to state the inevitable conclusion.
"We're not alone."
TEN
Chris knew he was hallucinating. He was in the final throes of death and his life was flashing before his eyes.
So, this is what suffocation feels like.
It wasn't that bad. He felt no pain, no disorientation.
Because he knew this place that had suddenly materialized in front of him. He knew it all too well. Many an hour had been spent here in his youth, and it was a place filled with emotions hed Just as soon do without right now.
The room was dark, and always there was a feeling of damp moisture hanging in the air: Remnants of mold covered one wall; he should know, having scraped it clean so many times. Exercise equipment was spread throughout the room, along with an old mattress on the floor in the corner, and a Spartan desk with a small lamp on top.
The basement of his father's house. It was like stepping into the memory of how it looked the last time bed been in it.
"Dad?" he called out, wondering if his father might walk into his delirium and take his usual seat at the desk. But no, he was all alone here with nothing but his thoughts and recollections.
So many memories in this room. So much had happened here. So many things he didn't want to think about ever again.
Guess that won't be a problem soon.
Just as quickly as it had appeared, the room fadedfrom his eyes, contracting and growing smaller and brighter, until he was in the lava cave on Mars again.
But the light returned and remained. The mysterious, floating orb of white light that had brought him to this very spot.
And remarkably, he wasn't dead yet. Not quite. He was still standing upright, still had his wits.
At least, he assumed he still had his wits, until he saw that the orb of light had begun moving, floating away from him, down deeper into the tunnel.
Beckoning him once more to follow.
They drove north for a few hours, and very little was said over the radio, at Chris' orders. Once they were far enough away from the bridge to satisfy him, he suggested that they stop and find someplace to shelter for a while.
It was early afternoon as they sat inside a steak-house restaurant in Baton Rouge, gathered around a square table in the empty dining room. There was no power, so it was dark inside. But they could make out some details of the restaurant, which had been designed with atmosphere in mind more than function. It was outfitted with tacky cowboy paraphernalia adorning the walls, covering the place mats, and even patterned into the carpet.
"So ... okay," said Terry, who was straddling his chair backward, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not denying that it was fun. But we did it on a hunch-because you think you saw someone or something moving around inside that tiny little bridge control room?"
"Yes," Chris replied. "I saw something moving. It was just a split second, but yes."
"But you're not sure what it was?"
"No, I just saw movement," Chris conceded.
"Uh-huh. And you didn't let me do the more logical thing-climb clown the ladder and flip the lift switch to `down'-because.... ? The boogieman might've been waiting for me?"
"I don't like your tone, Terry," said Trisha. Chris thought he heard her voice waver a little.
"Yeah, well I don't like steak houses," Terry replied. "Crazy world."
"If there is someone else out there," Chris said, "and they're responsible for confining us on top of that bridge-and I'm not saying that's not a big `if'-then it changes everything. We're not the last people left on Earth. Someone's still here, shadowing our movements. What happened on the bridge means that whoever they are, they're not just tracking us; they're blocking us. Their numbers, their capabilities-these are things we can't know. So from this point on, to be safe, we move only under cover of night"
Owen absorbed this without comment. Trisha was equally grim, taking a moment to absently wipe fatigue out of her eyes. Mae was off in one corner of the room in her own little
universe; no one was certain if she was even following the conversation. But Terry's shoulders sank.
"So we just sit around on our thumbs all afternoon and wait until it's dark out?"
"Feel free to save your thumbs and sit on anything you want," replied Chris, his patience wearing thin. `And I don't like staying put any more than you do. But yeah, we're staying here until nightfall."
Terry pushed back from the table, his eyes darting across the ceiling. His body was fidgeting, his knees bobbing, and his hands stirring in agitation. Finally, he stood from the table, bitterly shaking his head, and stormed off to the bathroom.
Trisha's nervous eyes met Chris', but she didn't hold his gaze. She rose slowly from the table, bracing herself with both arms and wincing. "Think I'll look around the kitchen, see if there's anything still edible."
"I'll bring in some supplies from the vehicles," said Owen.
Once again, Chris was left alone with Mae, though this time he found there was nothing he wanted to talk about. He was thinking only about Terry, and though he had no desire to be, he was angry.
He rose from the table and followed Trisha to the kitchen, leaving Mae alone.
`Ain't normal," Mae commented as the five of them stared out of the front, tinted windows of the restaurant. Trisha didn't feel like standing up any longer, but remained because everyone else did.
It was midevening, the sun all but gone, and in the distance to the west they could just make out the faint outline of a vertical beam of light. It was the size of a thread from this distance, yet it was more than bright enough to be visible against the night sky.
"I'm not aware of any man-made light that could shine with such strength," Owen remarked. "Its luminosity must be off the chart."
"It's a beacon. It's how the aliens summon the mother ship," said Terry in a mocking tone. He held a glass in his hand and took a sip from it.
Trisha was ready to smack him. She wasn't sure exactly when it was he'd developed this attitude problem, but it was unbefitting an astronaut, and worse, it was getting on her very last nerve. She was going to put a stop to it soon if Chris didn't.
`Aliens got no need for big lights," Mae replied, utterly serious. "They talk to each other telepathetically."
Trisha's thoughts stopped. She cast her eyes left and right to the others, wondering if anyone was going to reply to Mae's comment, or if they were all trying to sort out her latest mangling of a big word. Chris barely seemed to have noticed. Owen's mind was probably somewhere else, deep in concentration.
But Terry smacked himself on the forehead and said, "You know, I always forget that about the aliens...
Mae turned and walked away while the others remained at the windows. Her posture gave away nothing, so there was no way of knowing if she felt insulted, or if she even understood Terry was mocking her. She marched to the women's restroom and went inside.
When she was out of earshot, Chris leaned over and said, "Don't make fun of her."
"Oh, like she even noticed," Terry said with a smirk.
Chris' eyes bored into Terry's for a moment before he recovered. He turned to Owen, but said loud enough for everyone to hear, "It's dark enough; let's go ahead and start packing up. I'd like to be on the road before Terry finds something new to gripe about."
Ten minutes later, the four astronauts were at the front door, but Mae still hadn't exited the bathroom.
Chris shot a glance at his second in command. "Would you mind ... ?"
Trisha sighed. "Little bit, yeah," she admitted. "But okay, fine."
She trod with heavy feet to the restroom and went inside. Chris almost wondered if Mae might have run off again. She'd wanted them to leave her behind, after all. Maybe it would be easier on all of them if she were gone. Including Mae.
It was seven long minutes before Trisha returned from the restroom, Mae in tow. The young girl had no telltale signs of emotionno puffy cheeks or moist eyes. She was deep within her own private world, her silver eyes not locking onto any of them. And she made no attempt to avoid Terry, walking between him and Owen to get to the front door.
Maybe she was so detached, she just didn't feel things the way other people did, Chris reasoned. Or maybe she was better at compartmentalizing than the four people surrounding her, who had been taught how to do it by professionals.
Chris was turning to exit the building when Trisha let out a soft moan. It was so faint, he almost hadn't heard it.
He spun around; Trisha was leaning against a dining room table, both arms stiff, supporting her torso.
"What's wrong?" he asked, walking quickly to her.
"Nothing," she replied. `Just a headache."
"You sure?"
"Well, maybe a migraine," she admitted with a forced smile, closing her eyes tight and swaying a little to one side.
"Sit down," he said as he pulled out a chair for her and then sat next to her. "Beech, could you locate some painkillers?"
Owen reentered the restaurant and opened a large bag he'd been carrying. He sifted around in it in silence. Terry dropped his supplies as well, but held tight to the glass he still carried, and began pacing back and forth, stealing furtive, concerned glances at Trisha.
Mae watched the others for a moment before returning inside and taking a seat opposite of Trisha. When Trisha let out another gasp of shooting pain, Mae did something no one expected: she grasped Trisha by the hand.
Trisha froze and opened her eyes; they slowly traced across the table until she saw who'd taken her hand in comfort. "Um, thanks," she said awkwardly. "I'll be okay, really." She allowed the gesture to linger for a few moments longer before pulling away from Mae's grasp.
"What's taking so long on those pain pills?" Chris asked, filling the uncomfortable silence.
"Our supplies were wiped out in a flood," Owen replied, in an uncharacteristic moment of tension, but he quickly relaxed. "There wasn't time to gather much at the hospital before it caught fire. I'm afraid we don't have a lot to choose from, Commander."
Mae got up from the table and disappeared.
`Anything, I'll take anything," Trisha said through a profound grimace.
Owen produced a bottle of pills from one bag and tossed them to Chris. "Best I can find," he said.
"Thank you," replied Chris in a hushed voice.
After a moment, Owen replied with an equally calm voice, "You're welcome."
Mae returned, a glass of water in her hand. She placed it on the table beside Trisha.
Trisha swallowed three of the pills with a single gulp, and ten minutes passed in silence as everyone waited for them to take effect and to be sure Trisha was okay. She kept her head bent over the table, buried in her hands. Terry never stopped pacing.
At last, Trisha's face emerged from her hands. Her eyes were bleary and out of focus, but the color had returned to her cheeks. "I think it's easing up," she said, nodding.
Chris couldn't stand seeing her this way. As much as he wanted to get on the road and get everyone safely to Houston and find out what was happening there, he was suffering alongside Trisha just from watching her, and all the little ways she was trying to hide the severity of her hurting. Her carefully regimented routine, followed so rigorously on the Ares, had fallen apart after they returned home, and the ramifications were catching up with her.
"Perhaps we should go," Owen suggested, turning to Trisha. "The movement of riding could help lull you to sleep, and the rest can only help."
"Oh, don't be too sure about that," Trisha replied with a brave smile on her face. "But I agree, we should get moving."
Terry stopped walking as Chris rose to his feet. "Why are we in such a hurry to get to Houston?" he asked. "Isn't Trisha's health the important thing right now? We should go raid a doctor's office or something."
"That's not a bad idea," Chris said. "We'll watch along the way and stop at the first one we see."
Terry looked at Chris in disgust. "Do you even care that something's wrong with her? She's got the flu
or something, but all you care about is getting to the big spotlight."
Chris took a step forward, his eyes flaring. "Do not ever question my concern for a member of this crew."
The temperature was rising in the room, and the tension along with it.
"Then what are we doing? What's the rush in getting to Houston? Are we afraid it's going to disappear too?"
Chris folded his arms. "We have a responsibility to mankind to figure out what happened to them, and that light is our best lead-"
"Oh, the light, the light-who cares about the stupid light?!" Terry said, shouting now. "It's probably just a really, really big laser pointer. Or maybe it's Elvis on his comeback tour, playing to a soldout arena... .
"This isn't helping anything, Terry," said Owen, standing.
"No kidding, Beech! You know what else isn't helping? Risking our lives to get to this great big light in the sky when the entire world is dead! Don't you people recognize the end of the world when you're living in it?!"
"Hey, this is good," Trisha said lightly, resting her head on one arm again. "Why don't we just build a big testosterone mud pit in here and let you three go at it?"
"Terry, I'm going to ask you one last time to settle down and drop the attitude," Chris said, ignoring Trisha.
"Or what?" Terry shouted as he tramped forward until he stood toe-to-toe with Chris. "What are you going to do? Throw me in jail? Send me to my room with no supper? Demote me? What is the matter with you?! We! Are! The! Only! People! Here!" he screamed into Chris' face.
"No, we're not," Owen replied.
"Oh come off it!" Terry raged. "That was a fluke! The bridge was rusted and falling apart. There wasn't anybody else there! Come on, I can't be the only one thinking it...."
Chris looked around the room, pausing for a moment on each face. "How about it? Anybody else think I was just seeing things that aren't there?"
Owen was the first to speak. "If you say it, then I believe it, Commander."
"Me too," Trisha crooned in a woozy voice from her chair.
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