the enemy while you are in captivity. Surely, as a loyal member of our species you were aware of that?”
“Of course. There are about forty active resistance fighters.” Willie was exaggerating for the sake of deterring any plans for attacking the villagers that Ronald might have been hatching. “And there are many more in the militia—a few hundred, I should think.”
Ronald was silent, thinking that over. Doubtless this was a much larger number than he had anticipated. If he believed Willie, he would have to revise his plans.
“If they should mobilize their forces,” he said, “they might be able to take this position from us. We can’t have that.”
Willie suddenly realized that the false information he was giving Ronald could lead to a drastic increase in Visitor forces.
“Of course, the resistance here believes it has successfully repulsed the occupation, so they are quite lax right at the moment.”
“Ah, I see.” Ronald seemed pleased.
Willie had apparently helped prevent a direct attack on Cutter’s Cove by overstating the size of the resistance, and circumvented the problem of more Visitor troops at the same time—at least for the moment. Still, he could have caused a lot of trouble if luck hadn’t been with him.
Ronald gestured toward the storage room where Pythias Day was imprisoned. “You have told me more in a few moments than we have been able to get out of that wizened ape even under torture.”
Willie hoped that his horror wouldn’t show. His plan to help Pythias escape acquired new urgency now that he knew they were torturing the old man. He had assumed they would resort to such means, but not so quickly. These New England people were tough, so Ronald took extraordinary measures. Or did he merely enjoy torture for its own sake? Willie had known such sadists before,
and he didn’t relish the idea of Ronald turning on him. The Visitor captain seemed to believe that Willie was one of them, so the time to act was now, before Ronald changed his mind.
“Perhaps I could talk to the prisoner,” Willie said. “I was considering saving him for the conversion process,” mused Ronald. “But it might not be a bad idea to let you talk to him.”
“Yes, 1 believe he was growing quite attached to me before your timely arrival. These humans are such sentimental creatures, you know.”
“And yet he seemed to blame you for his capture. Still, he must understand that you are one of us, even if he did keep you as a slave.”
“Precisely.”
“Very odd beings, but please try to reason with the human.”
Ronald instructed a guard to unlock the storage-room door, and Willie entered. It was dark inside, and Pythias squinted into the unexpected light from the doorway. “What the hell do you want?” Pythias spat.
“Just to talk to you.”
A light was brought in, and the door was closed. Willie waited a moment and then moved closer to Pythias, whispering, “I want to help you.”
“You can help me by getting out of here.” Pythias turned his face to the wall.
“I didn’t lead them here,” Willie said. “Surely you must realize that.”
Pythias’ face was fierce. “I don’t know anything of the kind. All I know is that before you came, we were holding our own against the Visitors and they didn’t have any idea what Doc Brunk was doing up here. Now the place is crawling with ’em.”
Willie would never be able to convince him that he was not the enemy until he actually made an attempt to
free him. He considered how this might be done, commended his spirit to Zon, sighed, and rose.
The door opened after Willie tapped on it. A bored guard stood without, waiting for Willie to step outside so the door could be locked.
Willie charged at the guard, his head down, butting him right in the midriff.
Chapter 5
The guard crashed into a shelf, glassware falling and shattering on the concrete floor. His laser pistol clattered amid the tinkling glass, and Willie scooped it up. He turned to Pythias.
“Run!” he shouted.
Pythias scrambled out of the closet with surprising agility for a man of his age. There were shouts as he joined Willie.
“I’m sorry I doubted you,” he said.
Willie handed him the laser. “Go!” he cried.
Pythias ran for the door, a blue bolt of laser fire singeing his hair. Willie turned and faced the rushing guards as Pythias fumbled with the knob. In a moment he was outside, the clean salt air in his lungs as he darted for the jeep still parked in the lot where he had left it. He saw only two red uniforms in the way. They hadn’t spotted him yet, so he stood a good chance if he could work the laser.
Pointing it at the nearest of them, he squeezed the trigger. The Visitor was hit squarely in the back, clawed hand reaching for the hole burned through his body as he went down. His cries alerted his companion, who stared in amazement as Pythias rushed toward him. He tried to take aim, but Pythias fired a second burst. The Visitor went down as the beam pierced his brain.
Pythias was at the jeep in seconds. He jumped in as an energy bolt scored the jeep’s body, burning his hand.
Ducking down in the driver’s seat, Pythias searched for the extra key hidden under the mat.
Another beam struck the jeep, narrowly missing the left front tire. If they got a tire, he was sunk. He found the key and raised it to the ignition. It seemed to take forever to fit it into the tiny slot. He glanced up to see a wall of red uniforms running across the parking lot toward him. They would close in on him in seconds.
The key went into the ignition. He turned it, shoved the gearshift into reverse, and squealed backward out of the parking lot, turning as he went.
Laser beams flew past him, one igniting the dry needles of a Scotch pine as he zigzagged down the narrow cliffside road. As he rounded the bend, he knew he was out of sight. They would undoubtedly send the skyfighter after him, but if he could just beat them down the cliff, he knew some dirt roads through woods so overgrown they would never get a shot at him.
He was driving so fast now that every bump sent the jeep leaping off all four tires. Braking only when he came to a curve, Pythias came close to plunging off the road to his death into the sea below several times. Somehow, he managed to stay on the road, his white-knuckled hands clutching the wheel with grim determination. He was better than halfway down to sea level when a shadow passed over the jeep.
Blue beams sent up showers of rock and gravel, some of it raining down on Pythias’ head. He wished that he had a helmet, but he supposed his head was hard enough.
Reaching a straightaway, he gunned the engine. The beams were firing all around him, the skyfighter almost directly overhead.
Somehow he made it down to sea level, big rocks on either side of him as he bounced and hurtled along at a desperate speed.
A dazzling burst of light blinded him, and when he could see again he swerved to keep the jeep on the road. The plastic on the dashboard was bubbling, melted from the laser blast that had come within inches of killing him.
He could see the woods ahead. If he could just keep them guessing for a few more seconds. . . .
The laser fire seemed to redouble itself. Blue beams rained down around him as he rode a gauntlet of death. Suddenly he heard a bang, and the jeep began to careen wildly. A tire had been hit, blown out. Pythias pressed his foot to the floor, and the brakes squealed.
But he couldn’t bring the jeep under control on this bumpy road. It pitched over on its side, and Pythias was tossed into the air.
Another laser beam hit the jeep, this time burning through to the gas tank. The jeep exploded in a tremendous sunburst, detritus flying in every direction. A huge plume of smoke boiled over the wreckage, obscuring the skyfighter from Pythias’ sight.
He had landed in a blueberry thicket, scratched but not much the worse for wear. He got to his feet, tested his limbs, and ran the last few yards to the woods.
The forest’s nurturing darkness enveloped him as he ran. He paused o
nly to glance briefly behind him.
The skyfighter had landed on the gravel embankment next to the road, and the ramp was extending from its side now. In a moment the place would be crawling with Visitors.
Pythias moved deeper into the woods. The fire crackled behind him, and he heard the shouts of the creatures who were hunting him, strange, rasping voices speaking in an unknown tongue.
It was that very alienness that would save him now. He had lived sixty-seven years in these parts, and these woods were like second nature to him. They would never find him in here.
Sweat streaming from his brow, breathing labored, Pythias Day moved deeper into the woods, the sounds of the Visitors growing faint in the distance.
Chapter 6
Willie was pushed to his knees before Ronald, who stared down at him imperiously.
“Why did you betray my trust?” Ronald demanded.
“He saved my life when his people would have killed me,” Willie said. “I felt that I had to do the same for him.”
“And what of your own people, Willie? Did you feel nothing about your own?”
“We are wrong to make war on the Terrans,” Willie said.
A guard pushed his face into the floor.
“Enough of that!” Ronald commanded. “I would hear what he has to say.”
“But, Captain ...”
“Silence.” Ronald looked down at Willie. “Continue.”
“By the teachings of Amon,” Willie said, “the precepts of the preta-na-ma, our conduct on Earth is forbidden.”
“But it is the preta-na-ma that is forbidden. And as for Amon, he is in exile, no better than a common criminal.”
“You know that is not true,” Willie said.
“I, a simple soldier? How would I know any more than I am taught?”
“The truth cannot so easily be suppressed,” Willie said. “For a time, we might continue as we have been,
taking much and giving little. But that is a corrupt way, and it will eventually destroy us from within.”
“So you are a philosopher, are you?” said Ronald. “Then I shall concoct a fittingly philosophical punishment for you, my friend. But it will require a little thought.”
Willie looked up at Ronald’s cruel, serpentine features.
“Take him away,” Ronald commanded the guards.
A rowboat cut slowly through the water in the late afternoon sun. Two people were aboard, a young woman and a middle-aged, bearded man. The man clutched a valise tightly while the woman rowed. They made their way between the rocks off a heavily wooded island and hopped out, unmindful of the cold surf on their feet as they pulled the boat onto the sandy shore.
“The cabin’s up this way, Sarah,” the man said.
The girl, pretty but businesslike, followed him into the woods. They walked for over an hour and then emerged into a clearing. A little cabin sat bathed in the shafting sunlight.
“Why did you build it away from the water?” Sarah asked.
“To protect it from nor’easters,” the man said. “Those trees form a natural windbreak, and provide privacy.”
The woman nodded. “It’ll make it harder for them to spot it.”
“Even from the air, it’s not easy to see.”
They walked up to the cabin, and the man pulled open the groaning door.
“It wasn’t locked?” Sarah asked.
“No need for that out here. Besides, there’s nothing to steal inside anyway.”
They went in, and the man searched for lanterns.
When he found one, he struck a match and lit it. “Still plenty of oil in this one,” he said absently. “And there’s enough wood for a fire here, at least for tonight. We’ll chop more in the morning.”
Sarah nodded, watching him carefully unwrap the string sealing the valise. When he had it open, he withdrew a pouch. Opening that, he took out five tiny vials and set them on a rough wooden table.
“There they are,” he said, “the last hope of mankind.”
“If only we’d had time to test them on the Visitor volunteer,” Sarah said. “We can’t know for certain it’s going to work, Dr. Brunk.”
“No, not for certain.” Dr. Randall Brunk turned toward a plastic-covered window and looked out at the woods. “But it’s the only chance we have to defeat them.”
He went to the table, slumping into an ancient chair next to it, from which rose a cloud of dust. His face drew near the vials of clear liquid. “All that work, and this is all we have to show for it,” he said. “Three bottles of the toxin, and two bottles of the antidote. But if I’m right, we have the power right here in our hands to stop the Visitors once and for all.”
He gathered up the vials and put them back in their pouch.
“If they hadn’t warned us on time, though, all our work would have been in vain.”
“Well,” said Sarah, “we’re here now, and the resistance has been alerted. There’s nothing we can do but wait it out.”
Dr. Brunk sighed. “We’ve come so far, too far to be thwarted now, Sarah.”
“You’re tired. Why don’t you rest awhile? I’ll walk back to the beach and see that the boat’s well hidden while you’re asleep.”
“Thank you, dear.”
Sarah went out, and Dr. Brunk closed his eyes, trying to sleep. But in the darkness, he seemed to see reptilian shapes leering, taunting him. He had spent his life as a chemist, working for the good of mankind. And now the Visitors had forced him to use his knowledge to create a substance to destroy Earth’s enemies. And, God help him, he could only pray that it would work.
Chapter 7
“I should have never let him go,” John Ellis murmured angrily into his beer.
“Couldn’t really stop him, John,” said Wilbur Grogan. “It was his decision.”
“I could have stopped him.” Ellis lifted his glass and drained it in a few quick gulps. “Better get a few men and look for him and that lizard.” His face darkened at the mention of Willie.
Ellis rose from the booth and walked to the bar to pay Mike Sherman, the owner and bartender of Mike’s Tavern, the only drinking establishment in town.
“John,” Sherman said, “maybe you oughtn’t jump to any conclusions. Pythias is a funny old bird, you know. Just because he hasn’t put in an appearance since this afternoon don’t necessarily mean something’s happened to him.”
“I say it does mean just that!” Ellis rasped, his hand shooting across the bar and grabbing Sherman’s shirt. The big man pulled Sherman toward him roughly, a neon beer sign lighting his heavily jowled face in a sinister way.
“Take it easy, John,” Wilbur said. “We already jumped the gun once today.”
“And look what happened,” Ellis snarled, turning on him. “Old Pythias wanted to do everything by the book, and now he’s gone.” He shoved the bartender back into his glasses, and a few of them teetered and smashed on the floor. “I say we go up to that laboratory and either
find Pythias Day or kill us a few Visitors for revenge. Now, what do you say?”
A murmur of approval rose from the men gathered in the bar. Sherman could see that they were turning into a mob at Ellis’ instigation, but he could do nothing. He was afraid to speak out again after the way he’d been treated a moment ago.
“What are we waiting for?” Ellis bellowed. “Let’s get going!”
The men tramped out of the bar, cradling their shotguns and rifles. Sherman had even seen a few handguns among them. It was as though the violence they had known when they fought the Visitors couldn’t be contained. They had to go out and kill again. What would come of it, he couldn’t say, but he’d been around long enough to know that it wouldn’t be good.
Pythias couldn’t run anymore. His body was so sore he was lucky to be moving at all, and he suffered from dozens of tiny cuts, welts, and bruises. Still, he pressed on through the dark forest, working his way inexorably back toward the village. Another few minutes and he’d be at the Backlick Road, the shortest wa
y from Cutter’s Cove to the cliffs. He wouldn’t actually walk on the road, just stay near enough to see cars’ headlights. Any sign of Visitors, he’d be back into the woods so deep even a pack of bloodhounds would never find him.
Moonlight occasionally pierced the tops of the birches and evergreens, providing just enough illumination to find his way.
Pythias broke off some dried twigs barring his way and stepped into a creekbed. It would be easier going if he followed this for a while, since it was bound to lead toward town.
A few minutes later, he caught the glimmer of headlights. Three, four, five vehicles, coming down the
Backlick Road. He could hear the drunken shouts of men.
Pythias stumbled forward out of the creekbed, running toward the cars in spite of the pain.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Over here!”
The cars kept moving, headlights forming cones of light that swayed from side to side as they screeched around curves. Pythias came out onto the road, screaming for them to stop. It was too late; the last car was a quarter of a mile ahead of him, and they would never see him in the dark.
“Goddamn drunks would probably have got me killed anyway,” he said sourly, watching them drive up a cliffside at top speed.
Just as he was about to turn away, he spotted something on the ocean side of the cliff. It was a light, but not the moon. No, it was coming from the wrong direction. Something rose slowly over the top of the cliff.
“Good Lord. . . .’’It was the skyfighter. The cars were driving right toward it now.
The skyfighter took a stationary position over the highest point of the cliff, where the road took a sharp turn. A bolt of blue light shot out of its bird-of-prey prow. The car in front caught fire, swerved, and went off the edge of the cliff. The screams of the men inside could be heard as they plummeted to their deaths.
A second car was hit, exploding right there in the road. The vehicle behind it tried to stop, the squeal of the brakes audible to Pythias. But it was no good. The driver couldn’t stop in time. His car fishtailed into the burning wreckage, and both vehicles went over the cliff. The fourth car was picked off by a laser, roasting the men inside alive.
V 09 - The New England Resistance Page 2
