Dark Victory - eARC

by Brendan DuBois

  But Serena says, “Guess I clean up well, eh, Randy?”

  I clear my throat. “Very impressive, Specialist.”

  “Serena, Randy. Still Serena.”

  “Where did you get those clothes?”

  Beth comes in, wiping her hand on a towel, grinning. “My fault, young man. I could fit this boy with some clothes from Roger, my youngest. But for Serena here . . . well, I dug deep into my closet, for clothes I had years back, when I was in college.”

  She touches Serena’s shoulder, adjusting the yellow knit top, like she’s trying to get back memories of when she was so young and slim. Beth says, “God, I miss those days . . . I was at Northeastern University, in Boston, studying computer science.”

  Beth pauses. I see she’s trying to gather herself. She takes a breath, smiles tightly, and says, “So here I am. No more Northeastern, no more Boston, no more computers.”

  In the bathroom I strip off my clothes and gingerly open the door, and then place my clothing on the hallway floor. Back in the bathroom I still have my 9 mm Beretta and the dispatch case with a chain and handcuff at the end. One of the lessons from a drill sergeant who worked from a wheelchair back when I entered service at twelve years of age: trust but verify. I’m trusting Eddie and Beth Carlson of Adams, Massachusetts, but there’s always a need to verify that trust. Some of the older vets have told me chilling tales from the beginning of the war, when some civilians—crazed by the relentless attacks from the Creepers and convinced all was lost—turned on the military when they could, stealing their clothing, their equipment, their food, their lives.

  That wasn’t going to happen to me, even now, with the war over. There’s a straight-back chair in a corner by a small window. I pull it over and shove the back under the doorknob. I put my pistol and the dispatch case on the chair, and go to the tub, surprised to see it empty. I had expected to use gray water, but Eddie must be doing well indeed. I draw a bath and sink in, the hot water causing me to take a sharp breath, and then I relax, the steam and water soaking my aching muscles. I lie back, look at my skin, see the old scars, the bruises, the scratches. I stretch some and wiggle my toes, the nails black and broken. I sit and listen and remember earlier this day, when I had gotten up before Buddy and his sister and even Thor. Knowing it was still wrong, I did it anyway, going into her purse, taking out that old copy of Seventeen. I slowly flipped through the pages in the early morning light, looking at the artifact from another age.

  I ignored the words, had looked at the photos, of the beautiful young girls and the handsome young men. Both photos had fascinated me, of young women who were well-fed, dressed and always smiling. The young men looked happy as well, their smiles and skin perfect. They had tasty food and sweet drinks any time they wanted, electronics that gave them music and books and movies in an instant from anywhere in the world, and medical care that was so expansive it could waste resources on straightening their teeth or noses.

  I hated and envied them at the same time, and when Serena had stirred some under my jacket back among the rocks, I quickly put the magazine back into her purse.

  A knock on the door. “Yes?” I call out.

  From behind the door Beth says, “There are clean clothes on the floor, belonging to my boy Edgar. When you get dressed, lunch will be ready. And my word, what a sweet dog you have.”

  I’m not as well dressed as Buddy and Serena. The blue cotton shirt is so tight that it’s hard to button, and the pant legs are so long, I have to fold up the ends so they don’t drag across the floor. Eddie and Serena smile as I go into the dining room, but I ignore them as lunch is served. I put my pistol and the dispatch case under my chair. We’re in a formal-looking dining room with a hutch on one end, and we eat well, me and Serena and her brother, and our two hosts. Eddie explains, “My boys Edgar and Roger are out in the fields, but they’ll be back in a bit. They have to bag their own lunches. I’ll have Edgar ride you into town.”

  I say, “In Adams, is there transportation out west, to New York state?”

  Eddie says, “Sure is. Greyhound has a pretty good bus service, leaves on the hour.”

  I want to ask more but Beth comes in and we simply have the finest meal I’ve had in a very long time: chicken stew with fresh salad, an oil dressing, and freshly baked bread with sweet butter, all washed down by cold milk that’s so thick and delicious it’s practically a meal in itself. Thor is at my feet and when I think no one is looking, I slip him pieces of chicken and bread.

  When we’re nearly done, Eddie looks at me and says, “Suppose you can’t tell me why you need to go to New York.”

  “That’s right,” I say.

  “But a smart fella like me would think you’re probably heading to one of the new bases. Maybe even the Capitol.”

  I catch Serena’s eye and I’m pleased she keeps her mouth shut. Her brother is deftly taking a piece of bread and wiping the soup bowl clean. Thor puts his head on my lap. I scratch his muzzle.

  Eddie senses he’s gone too far and says, “Never you mind. Beth’ll tell you that I don’t know when to keep my damn mouth shut, that’s for sure. You ought to hear what they call me at town meeting every March. But I hope things will change for the better for you and everyone else your age. Heck, from what we’ve heard, looks like the war is finally over, with their orbital station being destroyed. At least that’s what the President says . . . though truth be told, that bitch on wheels that works for him, Tess Conroy, she’s the one who really speaks for him. But still, good news . . . but if I can speak cleanly and plainly, most days, for me it was a good thing we got attacked back on 10/10.”

  Serena drops her spoon. Buddy slowly turns his head. Beth is quiet as she comes in and clears out our dishes. I try to speak, can’t find the right words, and Eddie says, “Heresy, I know. But the truth is the truth. Before 10/10, I was an assistant manager at Aubuchon Hardware in North Adams. Had this old beat-up farm, lots of land, and property taxes you wouldn’t believe. Now . . . I’m working all of this land, and some land belonging to my neighbors that I’ve leased. I own that Aubuchon store I once worked at. We farmers are the Googles and Intel of this generation, kids. This is one of the richest farms in the valley. Look at my Ford carriage if you don’t believe me.”

  I try to keep my temper in check. “Good for you. Billions of others weren’t so fortunate.”

  Eddie shrugs. “The price of change, the price of progress. What kind of world were we before the Creepers came? Too many people, too little food and water. Famines. Wars. Refugees. Climate change. Terrorist attacks where people were killed because of their religion. Even in the so-called civilized world, what kind of people were we? Nobody lived life anymore. It was all Twitter, Facebook, e-mails, iPods and texting. Kids rode in cars that had movie theaters in the back so their parents could ignore them. Nobody cared about the land anymore, or their neighbors, or even their country. We were spoiled children. Like it or not, the Creepers took us back to a place that Jefferson had dreamed about: an America of simple farmers and merchants. Minding our own business. Staying out of foreign affairs, foreign wars.”

  Serena whispers, “So many dead.”

  “True,” Eddie says, turning to her. “So very many dead. After the 10/10 attacks, I lost family, friends and neighbors, too. We’re mourning. Of course. But take the long view. Who mourns the millions dead from World War II. Or World War I? Or the ravages of Genghis Khan or Alexander the Great? True, we’re struggling now, but if we’ve truly won the war against the Creepers, like the President says, then ten or twenty or thirty years down the road, it’ll work out. People will adjust, will love their new lives. Heck, boy, you’re young and strong. If you weren’t in the Army, you could start working here tomorrow for me. If you ask me, having the Creepers invade was the best thing that could have happened to this unhappy world.”

  I rub the top of Thor’s head. I’m tempted to tell my boy to tear out Eddie’s throat. Serena looks pale. Even Buddy seems out of sorts from what our host
has said.

  “Then excuse me if I don’t ask you,” I say.

  By the time we’re outside on the wide wrap-around porch, I’ve changed back into my freshly-washed fatigues, but Serena is still wearing the civilian clothes given to her by Beth Carlson. She’s carrying her uniform in her hands and says, “Room in your pack for this?”

  “Out of uniform, aren’t you . . . Serena?”

  She says, “I haven’t worn anything this nice for such a long time, Randy. Beth insisted that I take her clothes with me. Said she’d never be able to fit in them, and it was a sin to let them go to waste. Look, I’ll be in uniform when we get to the Capitol. Promise.”

  I can’t help but smile and I zip open my assault pack, gently fold and put her uniform away. It’s an Army uniform, but it’s also tailored and cut for a woman, and I like the feel of the fabric. I zip the pack shut, look around. Buddy is standing by us, and Thor is at his feet. I wonder what Thor thinks of our silent companion. Eddie is out by the barn with a young man that I expect to be his son, Edgar. They’re hitching up a pair of black Morgan horses to the Ford carriage.

  A door slams and Beth Carlson walks out, wiping her hands on a light yellow dish towel. Her face is like stone. She comes up next to me. “You seem like a bright boy.”

  “Some in my squad would disagree.”

  She says, “You might not believe this, but you’re a hell of a lot brighter than my idiot husband.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” In the space of a few words, her voice becomes sharp, bitter. “All that bold talk of a new life, of being a rich farmer instead of an assistant store manager, going back to the life of Jefferson. A simpler and better America. Crap. All crap. He’s not in the kitchen every day, struggling to make meals without an electric stove, refrigerator, or microwave.”

  Her voice suddenly catches. “Look over there, by that oak tree. See it?”

  I see it. I had noticed it when we had ridden up to the house. There’s a tiny white picket fence surrounding a stone. She takes a choked breath. “That’s where my Amber is buried. She was born two years after 10/10. Sweetest little girl . . . I gave birth in our bedroom back there, with the help of a midwife. No drugs. No anesthesia. No spinal block. She was a tough birth but worth it . . . God, she was so sweet, so beautiful. Blonde hair like corn silk. And then . . . two years later . . . there was a measles outbreak in the county.”

  The horses are now hitched up to the wagon. Beth says, “Measles. Goddamn measles. With no vaccines, no drugs . . . she died in a week. My girl. If it weren’t for those goddamn aliens, she’d be alive today. I’d be using my degree and computer skills. And Eddie would still be an assistant manager at a hardware store, dreaming of his precious Jefferson.”

  She spits on the porch. “Damn fool.”

  For the second time that day we clamber into a carriage, and Edgar is a younger and clean-shaven double of his father, wearing jeans stained with dirt and a simple light blue farmer’s jacket. While getting ready to get into the Ford-made carriage, Edgar is staring at Serena. I make sure she sits right behind Edgar, so he couldn’t see her legs by glancing back as he drove the horses. Of course, by doing so, I get to see Serena and her legs, a fair exchange. Buddy sits next to his sister, and Thor climbs up on the leather seat next to me, breathing happy.

  He swivels in the bench, a single-shot 12-gauge shotgun at his side, and says, “You folks all set back there?”

  “We are.”

  “What’s your dog’s name?”

  “Thor,” I say.

  “Does he hunt aliens?”

  “Best in the world,” I say.

  He laughs. “Glad to hear it.”

  Edgar makes a cluck-cluck sound and we’re off. Behind us in the wide dirty driveway, Eddie waves at our departure, and he puts his right arm around his wife. She stands as still as a statue. I look one more time at the little white picket fence and simple stone, and then we’re down the dirt driveway, on our way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Out on the town road, the asphalt is still smooth, though weeds and brush are growing through some wide cracks. Telephone poles are one side of the road, the old phone and power lines sagging and broken, dangling down like thin vines. We pass an occasional driveway, some still paved, others made with dirt. There are only a few abandoned cars dumped on the road, and Edgar expertly moves the team and carriage around them.

  I say to Serena, “What’s up with the toenails?”

  She giggles, crosses her arms. “It was Beth’s idea. After she got me dressed in her clothes, she said we should go all out. So while Buddy was taking his bath, we went into their bedroom and she did my nails. The local gals have a recipe for making nail polish.”

  Serena sticks her feet out. “What do you think?”

  Her legs are smooth and fine and unblemished, and one would think that painted toenails were definitely a wartime extravagance, but I find her feet adorable. I have this quiet little urge to give them a rub, but with a sense of shame, I suddenly recall Abby’s legs: strong, muscular, scarred from tumbles off her combat dispatch bike and once from a flying piece of shrapnel when she rode too close to a skirmish line during a Creeper hunt. I think if someone offered to paint her toenails, she’d counter-offer with a kick to the shins.

  “I think . . . I think they’re pretty,” I say, feeling the words are kind of lame.

  She wiggles her toes. She seems to like my words, no matter how lame they are. “So what do we do when we get to Adams?”

  “Eddie said Greyhound leaves on the hour, every hour. We just get transport to . . . our destination, and if all goes well, we should be there before nightfall.

  ”Serena says, “Wow . . . to see Dad, after all this time. Can’t believe it.” She taps the dispatch case on the carriage floor with her foot. “And you . . . you’ll be able to finally complete your mission. What do you think is in there, anyway?”

  My turn. “Sorry, Serena. OPSEC.”

  She takes that in good spirits. “You know, that handcuff on the end of the chain. Bet you could still put it on your wrist. Must be a key waiting for you at the other end.”

  I shake my head. “Not going to give somebody else a chance to hack off my hand, even if I’m dead.”

  She smiles. “I can see why.”

  We ride along and the road narrows, and we no longer see driveways or farmhouses up on the overgrown pasturelands. Even with the narrow road, we still have a view of the sky, and Edgar shouts out, “Cripes, look at that!”

  The sky is partially overcast but a fairly large chunk of space debris is re-entering, as big as I’ve ever seen over the years, bright as a large star, sparkling streamers of light following as it speeds overhead. It disappears behind the clouds but there’s still a glow of light as it descends into the atmosphere, and then the near trees block the view.

  Edgar says, “Pretty big piece. Whaddya think? Part of their orbital station?”

  “Could be,” I say. “Lord knows the Air Force blew it into enough pieces.”

  “It’d be nice if that piece lands on one of their bases, don’t you think?”

  “That’d be something to see,” I say, and Edgar returns to his horsemanship, and Serena says, “My dad says it was a mistake to destroy the orbital station.”

  Surprised I say, “What’s that?”

  “You heard me,” she says with confidence. “My dad says it was a mistake to destroy the orbital station.”

  “What, we should have sent flowers?” I ask. “The orbital station was a big as a small moon, built from their star craft. Probably contained thousands of Creepers. It controlled the killer stealth satellites, and it built and sent out the bases that landed on Earth. We knew it communicated with the Creepers on the ground. It was the damn head of their invasion and occupation. Cut off the head, it’s easier to destroy the rest.”

  She says, “That’s the popular opinion, but my dad’s always taught me not to trust popular opinion.”

&n
bsp; “So what’s the unpopular opinion?”

  The road narrows even more, and the trees branches are crowding overhead. Shadows have fallen across the cracked asphalt and it’s gotten cooler. Serena looks to her brother, rearranges a strand of hair on his head. Buddy’s bandage from yesterday is still in place. Serena says, “My dad thinks we should have captured it. Said it obviously it took years to come up with a plan to destroy it. Why not take a couple of more years and capture it? Think of what we could have learned! The Creepers . . . they’re evil, they’ve killed billions of us, drowned and destroyed scores of cities, but star travel. They know how to travel between the stars. My dad thinks it would have been worth capturing the orbital station, to get that knowledge.”

  I ponder that, and look at Serena’s pretty face. I think of Abby and her brown skin and thick eyebrows, and the scratches and blemishes on her face, and look again at Serena.

  “Well?” she asks.

  “You know, I hadn’t really thought about it that much, but your dad does make sense.”

  She seems proud. “Really?”

  “Really,” I say. “Maybe we should have captured the orbital base. Finding the secret of star travel would have been worth it, if only for one thing.”

  “Which is?”

  I scratch Thor’s back. “To build our own star craft, to travel to their home world and turn it into glass that glows in the dark.”

  Some time later the carriage hits a bump as we go around a tight curve, and the dispatch case slides across the floor. I bend down to retrieve it and my pistol tumbles out of my holster. My face warms right up from embarrassment; nothing like losing your weapon to get you into serious hack. I pick up the pistol, sit back up, and the road is blocked by two wooden sawhorses across the road with three soldiers standing next to it. A few meters ahead of the sawhorses is an old-style Humvee, parked to the right. Weapons are slung over their shoulders. A painted sign hangs below one of the sawhorses. stop for army inspection. Edgar pulls the horses to a halt and Serena turns to see what’s going on. Her brother stares ahead. Thor sits up, ears at attention.