“Wow, cool,” Dillon said.
“No little brother,” Ryan said, sternly, “it wasn’t cool.”
Dillon’s expression changed and he looked like he was going to cry.
“He doesn’t understand,” Ally said, glaring at Ryan. She grabbed Dillon and started tickling him.
Sad or not, the boy couldn’t help giggling.
“Sorry, Dillon. I wasn’t being mean,” Ryan apologized. “It’s just that, well...”
“It’s all right, Ryan,” Wanda said and patted her son’s hand. “We’ve all been through it.”
“So are you still working in the triage?” Ryan asked Ally.
“No. I get to assist Dr. Tubbs. She’s the head veterinarian in charge of livestock in the area.”
“You mean Mom’s actually letting you go there?” Ryan looked over at his mother. “Don’t you think it’s a little dangerous for her to be out in the field?”
“She’ll be fine,” Wanda assured Ryan. “They’ll have patrols with them.”
“You just be careful out there, Sis.”
Ally gave her older brother a smile. “Quit your worrying, I’ll be fine.”
Wanda turned to Frank. “So, Jake tells me it was you that wrangled Ryan’s transfer.”
“Well, not entirely. I just helped things along.”
“Then, who?” Ryan asked.
“My understanding is you’ll be on special assignment.”
“Doing what?”
“Driver for Celeste Starr.”
“Are you serious?” Ryan was well acquainted with the woman and knew her from when the family vacationed almost a year ago in Africa. He’d found her attractive but quickly learned that she could be manipulative when she wanted to be.
“You don’t sound too happy,” Wanda said.
“I thought I was going to be doing something important.”
“You are. You’ll be ensuring her safety.”
“Couldn’t they get someone else?”
“She asked for you, personally,” Frank said.
“She did?”
“You’ll be shuttling her back and forth between Lick Observatory on Mount Hamilton and the Dish near the Stanford campus.”
“So in other words, I’m just her chauffer.”
“Basically, yes.”
***
Ryan’s unwillingness for the new assignment quickly turned to acceptance when he saw his vehicle. The black 2016 Mustang had a few scratches and the interior had seen some wear but Ryan didn’t care: the 427 cubic inch engine under the hood made up for it.
As soon as he’d left Fort Mason, he navigated through the back streets and followed 19th Avenue until he hit the onramp onto Interstate 280.
There were derelict cars all along the side of the road, some even abandoned in the two right lanes.
Which meant an open straightaway in the fast lane.
Anxious to see what the car could do, Ryan pressed his boot down on the gas pedal. The beefy engine roared to life, throwing him back in his seat. Gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands, he found the car to handle admirably. Racing down the freeway he was surprised to see the speedometer needle tick up to the 120-miles-per-hour mark. Maintaining his speed, he eased into the other lane. The wide tires hugged the road like cat claws dug into a carpet.
Satisfied with the test run, Ryan let up on the gas pedal and brought it down to a cruising speed of 60 miles an hour.
He glanced to his left and saw San Francisco International Airport down in the valley. There were maybe 10 commercial jets in the bay. Fuselages with wings sheered off, tailfins sticking out of the murky water. He could see planes that had crash-landed on the runways, the scorched airframes on the black tarmac.
He imagined most airports around the world looked the same.
The carnage hadn’t been caused by bird strikes but by a new aviation threat.
Ryan spotted giant dragonflies darting back and forth in the sky over the airstrips and the nearby shoreline of the bay.
He returned his attention to the road as the highway came to a gradual bend. A ragged line of abandoned cars was next to the center divider. As he sped closer, he could see men searching through the vehicles, scavengers looking for food or water, anything of any value. A few of them turned when they heard the Mustang’s mighty engine.
A man with a straggly beard, wearing a long trench coat stepped toward the edge of the fast lane and pointed his rifle.
Ryan goosed the gas pedal and swerved, clipping the gunman before he could even get off a shot. He checked the rearview mirror and saw the man he’d grazed, slowly getting up off the ground and shaking his fist.
“That’ll teach you to get in my way,” Ryan laughed. He continued barreling down the freeway bordered by groves of mushroom-shaped oak trees and rolling hills of wheat-colored grass.
Slowing down, he took the Page Mill Road off ramp and headed into the Stanford Hills. He followed a single lane road that had been converted into a paved hiking trail and stopped when he saw a military armor vehicle and four Eco-Marines standing guard outside a gated fence.
Ryan pulled up and put down his window. He looked at the approaching guard and told him who he was.
“We’ve been expecting you,” the guard said. “Follow the trail all the way up.”
Another guard opened the gate wide enough so Ryan could drive the Mustang through.
He followed the winding path for a hundred yards and slowed to a stop when he saw a family of three white-tailed deer grazing in a grove of eucalyptus trees. The six-point buck was big. Ryan figured it had to weigh upward of 200 pounds. The doe was slimmer. She was standing with her fawn, enjoying the sprouts around the tree trunks.
The buck raised its head suddenly and looked in Ryan’s direction.
“Don’t worry, I’m going.” Ryan was about to accelerate when he heard the buck snort out a warning. The doe and fawn bolted into the brush.
Ryan gazed up into the trees.
A giant jumping spider leaped out of the branches, landed on the back of the stag, and sank its fangs deep into the deer’s shoulder. The buck threw back its head. A horn tip poked into one of the spider’s eyes, but the injury didn’t deter the arachnid from continuing its attack.
It took only a few seconds for the paralyzing venom to take effect. The buck’s legs gave out and it fell to the ground. Its eyes were glazed over as it lay on the ground, its side heaving. The spider methodically spun the deer into a cocoon so that it could drink its fluids at a later time.
Ryan looked up in the trees and saw more cocoons in the higher branches. He was repulsed by what he had just seen but knew there was nothing he could do about it and drove off.
A few minutes later he passed a sign warning hikers about the dangers of mountain lions.
Once he reached the hilltop, he saw the control station next to the 150-foot diameter communication satellite dish, and headed toward the building.
Ryan shut off the engine and climbed out of the Mustang. He saw half a dozen armed Eco-Marines guarding the perimeter. He could hear gas generators running in the rear of the building.
A young woman with red hair was standing outside the entrance. She was wearing a gray Stanford sweatshirt and jeans. “Welcome to the Dish, Ryan.”
“Thanks.”
“Come in and I’ll introduce you to Milt.”
Ryan followed Celeste inside the facility.
“So, what is it you’re doing here?” he asked.
“We’ve been trying to contact a functioning satellite in hopes of recalibrating it and making it operational, but so far, we haven’t had any luck.” Celeste led the way down a hall and into a large room.
One entire wall was made up of electronic power supplies, tuners, amplitude modulators, oscillators, and various other pieces of equipment needed to broadcast and receive signals to and from space. Most of the instruments had black knobs and meters and reminded Ryan of an old stereo system his mother once had. The units
were stacked on top of each other, housed in six-foot-tall metal cabinets.
There was an office area with some gray metal desks and chairs across the room that looked like it was no longer in use as they were piled with cardboard boxes.
A thin man with white hair was sitting in an old-style Naugahyde vinyl swivel chair in front of a long wood-grain console. He had on a pair of headphones and was adjusting a dial on a panel. He removed his headphones when he saw Ryan and Celeste enter.
“Ryan, this is Milt Tabors.”
Milt slowly pulled himself out of the chair and stood to shake Ryan’s outstretched hand.
“Good to meet you, sir,” Ryan said giving the man a firm handshake but careful not to squeeze the old man’s hand too much.
“Likewise, Ryan.”
“Milt’s been working here for...” Celeste paused and looked at Milt, “how long is it?”
“Since 1977. I was here when they launched Voyager 1 and 2.”
“Really,” Ryan said.
“Probably the only probes still working out there.”
“You mean they’re still operating after all these years?”
“I know, hard to believe,” Milt said. “They’re 12 billion miles out there in space and still transmitting signals back to Earth with a power source equivalent to a light bulb.”
“That is amazing.”
“It is when you consider we haven’t been able to raise hide or hare from any of the Low Earth Orbit satellites and they’re only 1,200 miles away.”
“But don’t we have astronauts up there?” Ryan asked.
“You mean the International Space Station?”
“Yeah.”
“Haven’t heard a peep out of them for months,” Milt said.
“We keep trying,” Celeste said, “but the spacecraft’s been heavily damaged.”
“How do you know?” Ryan asked.
“I’ve seen it from the observatory.”
“So what, they’re all dead?”
“We believe so, yes.”
15
Wade and Debra stared at the bare shelves in the walk-in pantry. A half bag of canned goods was on the floor next to two plastic one-gallon milk jugs filled with the last of their drinking water.
“This is it, huh?” Wade said. “All of our reserves.”
“You couldn’t expect it to last forever.”
“So what do we have, maybe a week?”
“I’d say we only have enough food and water for maybe three, four days.”
“Then I’ll have to go find some more.”
“You’re going to go out and ransack someone’s house, break into a store?”
“If that’s what it takes,” Wade said.
“How does that make us any different from those lowlife thieves?”
“Deb, this is no time for a morality lesson.” Wade turned and placed his hands on Debra’s shoulders so he could look her straight in the eyes. “We’ve been barricaded in this house for five months. We have to face reality. Either I go out and find us some food and water, or we’re all going to have to leave. Are you ready for that?”
“No, Wade.”
“Besides, why should we go without when there’s scum out there helping themselves to whatever they want?”
Amy screamed from the other room.
“What now?” Wade said. “Don’t tell me it’s another stupid spider.”
“Wade, she’s only a child.”
“I know, but we have more important things to worry about right now.” Wade hurried out of the kitchen and went into the living room. The first thing he noticed was that the sliding glass door that led out to the deck was wide open. He’d forgotten to lock it.
Three rough-looking men with guns were in his living room. He could see two more men out on the deck posted as lookouts, leaning against the railing, and holding rifles.
The man standing by the couch had a full black beard and a shaved head. He had hold of Amy. His dirty hand was covering her mouth. A pistol was tucked in his belt.
“Let go of my daughter,” Wade said.
“You don’t give the orders, I do,” said the man sitting in Wade’s favorite chair. He was wearing a filthy ball cap with the bill pointed backwards. The derelict’s beard was gray and bushy. He had a crazy look in his eyes, especially when his fingers caressed the cold steel of the Colt revolver on the armrest.
The third man was thin and scraggily. His long dogface was lined with wrinkles like he’d spent most of his life homeless out in the sun. He looked at Wade and grinned while he urinated on the carpet in the corner of the room.
“Jesus, man, what the hell are you doing?” Wade said, disgustedly.
Debra stepped into the living room and huddled beside Wade. “My God, Wade. Who are these people?”
“Deb, get back in the kitchen.”
“Hey, little lady, come join the festivities,” said the man in the chair.
“You better do as he says.” The dogface man didn’t even bother to pull up his zipper as he turned and pointed his handgun.
Wade looked over at Amy and saw the fear in her eyes. He knew there was no point in trying to reason with them and he had to do something fast. The man in the chair must have seen the wheels turning in Wade’s head.
“Take your gun out. Pinch the grip nice and slow.” He grabbed the Colt off the armrest and pointed the gun at Wade.
Wade brought his hand up and used his forefinger and thumb to lift his Browning out of the shoulder holster.
“Now, throw it over on the couch.”
Wade tossed the gun.
“Good. Now tell your old lady to come over here.”
“Wade?” Debra clung tightly to his arm.
“What is it you want?” Wade said.
“I think it’s perfectly clear what we want,” the man in the chair said. He looked up at the man restraining Amy. “Take her into the bedroom.”
“No!” Debra yelled. “Don’t you dare!”
“Who’s going to stop us? Certainly not him.” The man in the chair grinned at Wade.
Amy kicked her legs when her abductor lifted her off the floor and started to carry her across the room.
“Take me instead!”
The man in the chair studied Debra.
“You heard me. I’ll go.” When the man didn’t react, she said, “That is, unless you don’t like...”
“Norton, lock the girl up,” the man in the chair said. “Let’s save her for later. We’re going to have some fun out here.”
Norton carried Amy down the hall. A few seconds later a door slammed and Norton returned.
“Get down on your knees, hands behind your head.”
Wade dropped to his knees and clinched his fingers together behind his head.
“Now, you, get over here and take off your clothes.”
“Deb, you don’t have to do this,” Wade said as his wife stepped further into the living room.
“I can’t let them hurt Amy,” Debra replied in a low voice.
“They’re going to kill us either way.”
Debra started to unbutton her shirt.
“Bastards, I’m going to kill you!” Wade yelled.
“Shut him up,” the man in the chair said.
The dogface man strode over and pistol-whipped Wade across the face. He slumped forward on his hands and knees. Blood oozed out of the deep cut in his cheek and dripped onto the carpet.
Debra removed her shirt and dropped it on the floor. She made no attempt to undo her bra.
“Now the pants.”
“Deb, no!” Wade’s head was spinning but it didn’t stop him from trying to get up.
A hammer cocked back and he froze.
He could hear Amy crying from her room. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life. How could he save his family from these mad men?
Wade raised his head and looked out through the open sliding glass door.
One of the men outside was staggering back with a knife in his ne
ck. The other man turned and a knife impaled his chest.
The three men in the living room were too busy watching Debra slipping down her pants to notice what was happening outside.
Wade saw a hand appear around the doorframe and pitch a throwing knife in his direction. As soon as it landed on the carpet, he picked it up and stabbed Dogface’s right kneecap. The man howled and dropped his gun.
Norton went to pull his pistol out of his waistband.
Wade grabbed Dogface’s gun and shot Norton in the forehead then put two bullets into Dogface’s chest to shut him up.
The man in the chair trained his Colt on Wade.
Jack Stonewell stepped behind the Barcalounger and stuck the blade of a throwing knife deep into the sitting man’s ear.
Wade got to his feet and rushed over to Debra, still wobbly having just stepped out of her jeans. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he said, catching her before she fell.
“Oh God, Wade. I thought for sure...”
“We’re okay. Get dressed. Amy needs you.”
Debra snatched her shirt and jeans from the floor, and rushed down the hall.
Jack went around the room, kicking each man on the floor with his steel-toed boot making sure the scumbags were dead.
“Not sure why I didn’t get an invite to your party,” Jack said, wiping the blood off the blade of his throwing knife on the shirt of the dead man in the recliner and slipping the dagger into a sheath on his belt along with half a dozen other knives.
“Glad you decided to crash it,” Wade said. He went over to Jack and gave the man an appreciative hug.
“You know, this might be a good time to blow this pop stand. These guys are only the tip of the iceberg.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Tell Debra to pack up some clothes and get your stuff together. My truck’s just outside.”
“Where’re we going?”
“Fort Mason.”
16
Cass spent a couple hours studying Rob’s technical manual so she could learn how to further program the robonaut so that it would respond to her voice and follow her commands. She was glad she had minored in mechanical engineering or she wouldn’t have understood a word of it. The instructions were step-by-step with illustrations and helpful diagrams, and endless pages of complex electrical schematics.
Battleground Earth Page 6
