“What the fuck happened here?” Kathy demanded, her loud voice encroaching on the quiet desolation. “Where the hell is everyone?”
She directed her cameraman to take a panoramic shot of the wreckage. She’d find a way to blend it into the story somehow. The odor of old burned wood was overwhelming, and it made everything seem older, as if they had traveled back in time.
Then they drove on in silence. What had started out as mild curiosity was turning into dread. They passed another subdivision, this one slightly older, with ranch-style houses instead of McMansions. It wasn’t quite as abandoned, though half the houses looked unoccupied, with broken windows. It felt like they were being watched from behind closed curtains.
At the end of a dirt road, they found what remained of the Hunter residence, which was mostly a blackened husk. The back patio was the only part that was relatively untouched. A wooden sign with burned-in letters hung from the still-standing overhang: The Hunter Hacienda.
“Creepy” Kathy said. “You got the Pederson address?”
“Just a little further on, I think,” Seth said quietly.
They drove on. The paved highway suddenly ended in a gravel road. Gary slowed down slightly as the limo lost traction in the first few hundred feet and they nearly slid off the road.
“The middle of fucking nowhere,” Kathy muttered. “This is why I never want to leave the city.”
The top of the barn appeared before anything else. It was huge and modern, looking completely out of place in the wilderness. There was a ramshackle house nearer the fence, a one-story building that seemed to go on and on, with different generations of architectural styles. Seth got out and knocked on the door. The sound echoed, as though the space within was empty. No one answered.
Heading back to the car, he heard a clang from the side of the barn. He put his hand over his eyes and tried to see through the glare of the Arizona sun. There was some kind of movement, a flash of reflection off something metallic.
“The barn,” he said, getting into the back of the limo. To his annoyance, Gary looked in the rearview mirror for approval from Kathy. She nodded.
Backing up, they found a little side road that led to the giant structure.
A locked gate stopped them. Seth got out and examined it. What looked like a common barbed wire fence was actually much more substantial closer up. It was higher than normal, with razor wire as the topmost layer. It was thicker than usual, too, as though two different fences were intertwined. This isn’t to keep the livestock in, Seth thought, a shiver running down his spine. It’s to keep intruders out.
He heard Kathy opening the limo door behind him and stomping to his side. Her shoes weren’t the high heels she usually wore, but they weren’t exactly suitable for the wilds either. “What’s the holdup?” she demanded. She made a bullhorn out of her hands. “Hello? Anyone there?”
She examined the fence. “It’s a damned fortress.”
“What now?” Seth asked. “They obviously don’t want visitors.”
“We’ll just have to find a way in,” she said. “A little razor wire isn’t going to keep Kathy Comfort’s Justice from getting the story.”
As often happens with secure fences, the people inside had gotten tired of all the barriers and thus created a little secret entrance. It was about twenty feet away, hidden from sight by a large pine tree. A small rock outcropping loomed over the fence, and on top of the rocks was a wide, thick board that extended over the fence and down the other side.
Gary and Seth wrestled the board over the wire, and Kathy was the first one to traverse it, marching down it as if it was the Brooklyn Bridge. Gary was a little more careful, while Seth chose to go down it on his hands and knees. He saw a brief flicker of contempt in Kathy’s eyes, but he was used to it. He didn’t care what she thought. They were in dangerous territory; being careful was only sensible. Maybe she’d decide his genes weren’t worthy and stop humping him every chance she got.
Locked gates and guns often go together, he thought as they marched up the road. But he knew nothing would stop Kathy once she decided there was a story. He felt a sudden hollow feeling at the center of his chest, as if someone was sighting down on him.
The closer they came to the barn, the more they realized that wasn’t a just a ranch: it was an armed encampment. Seth had spent a tour of duty in Iraq. He’d hardly ever been outside the Green Zone, but he knew defensive positions when he saw them.
Razor wire fences surrounded the entire perimeter, with small bulwarks every few dozen yards. There were clear firing paths created by the angle of the fences. The barn itself, besides being huge, was encased in thick layers of hardwood, the most expensive kind. There were firing portholes along the sides, and even as Seth looked, he saw the muzzle of a long barrel come out of one and point right at them. He froze, even as Kathy and Gary kept marching forward.
“Stop right there!” someone shouted from above. There was a round platform on top of the barn, looking like the crow’s nest of a huge sailing ship. A tall blonde woman was training a huge gun down on them. A .50 caliber, Seth thought wonderingly. Is that even legal?
The wide doors of the barn flew open. Two men wearing fatigues and armed with what appeared to be machine guns came sprinting out. One went left and one went right in a smooth flanking movement.
Seth instinctively raised his hands.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Kathy said. “Lower your hands, Seth. You aren’t in Afghanistan.”
“Raise your hands!” one of the men shouted. “Now! RAISE THEM!”
Seth restrained a laugh at the amazed expression that came over his boss’s face.
Chapter Seven
Day of the Pulse
Napoleon Bonaparte led his troops into battle. Beside him, a bullet shattered the face of his chef de bataillon, who tumbled backward off his horse. Napoleon didn’t flinch. He knew the common soldiers in the ranks behind him were watching and whispering, proud of their leader’s courage.
Is it courage when I feel no fear? he wondered. Death was nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious was to die daily.
A sense of destiny filled him. He knew that he would survive this battle and every battle that followed. Death, when it came, would be unexpectedly humdrum. History would long remember him for his victories, and for his last glorious defeat.
The enemy was trying to outflank him, but Napoleon had anticipated that before the battle had even started. Marshal Ney waited with the cavalry behind a small village to the east.
Napoleon scanned the battlefield. The bright blue and brown and red uniforms of the combatants, the flash of light from lances and swords, the steady thrum of gunfire: it all thrilled him. Ordered lines of enemy troops blocked him in every direction. Except one.
There. The only under defended part of the battlefield—though, as usual, that was clear only to him. He goaded his horse forward before the enemy understood their danger. His horse charged, understanding his eagerness, leaving his bodyguard behind, once again caught by surprise. They shouted at their mounts, spurring them in a frenzy to catch up.
A small patrol defended the structure, a bombed-out farmhouse.
Napoleon spurred his horse over the low rock fence surrounding the yard. The redcoats rose up in alarm, amazed by the resplendent figure in their midst. Boney himself was staring down at them, sword in hand.
None of them raised their rifles or charged him with their bayonets. Then it was too late, as the Imperial Guard, the Immortals, flowed into the courtyard. The redcoats threw down their muskets.
The field was clear before them—the enemy was now neatly divided in half.
The cannons on the hillside above thundered, one after another, a steady barrage. Boom, boom, boom.
#
Napoleon woke up, his heart pounding. He jumped from his bed, his four hooves clattering on the stone floor, surprised as always that he wasn’t human. He slept as a human, dreaming of gl
orious battles. He was human in mind and spirit. No, better than human. Smarter. More ruthless and unforgiving.
Sometimes his namesake’s spirit filled his body, demanding to reverse the ancient defeats and once again vanquish all who opposed him. He had studied the human for so long that Bonaparte’s thoughts seemed his own.
As if prompted came the voice: Imagination governs the world.
Someone pounded on the door again, sounding like the cannons in his dream. Hannibal was at the door, appearing annoyed that there was a door to Napoleon’s room at all. Most Tuskers didn’t have doors. They lived communally, like their wild cousins the boars and javelinas.
Hannibal also resented that Napoleon had been put in charge of the Tusker defenses. He was, in most ways, a more imposing figure than Napoleon.
“Genghis wants you,” Hannibal grunted. “Right away. They’re coming.”
“Of course,” Napoleon said, still feeling his namesake’s imperious presence. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
Hannibal grunted. It was very close to a challenge. Napoleon immediately regretted rubbing it in. It must be hard for Hannibal to come in second in every test, in every endeavor. But what Hannibal never understood was that when Genghis ordered them to study mankind’s wars, the best way to do that was to think as much like a human as possible.
“Thank you, Hannibal. I’ll be right there,” Napoleon said.
“I’m to accompany you,” Hannibal said, as if being a glorified guard was something to be proud of. Napoleon almost said so out loud.
“Very well.” Napoleon glanced around, as if looking for his clothes so he could get dressed. Then he shook his head ruefully. The dream about his namesake had been particularly vivid this time. He was still thinking more like a human than a Tusker.
Napoleon donned his backpack, which contained tools that Tuskers had adapted from human-made ones. “Lead on.”
Saladin stood guard outside Napoleon’s chambers. Napoleon had a single room to himself, as befitted a general, unlike the communal quarters of most of the Tuskers. He needed the time to himself, to think like a human. To plan like a human. To dream like a human.
To defeat the humans.
His lieutenants fell in behind him, silent and somewhat sullen. They marched through the hollowed-out tunnels of the South Hill of the Witch’s Tits. Napoleon’s sudden ascendance had surprised some of the older Tuskers. He had few friends or allies. But he did have Genghis.
Few were awake so early in the morning, but those they encountered in the tunnels quickly got out of Napoleon’s way, bowing before him. It made him uncomfortable, especially the thought that Tusker society was mimicking the less admirable aspects of human society.
All pigs are equal, but some pigs are more equal than others. He’d come to terms with Orwell’s Animal Farm, which he’d hated as a youngster, because he now had the experience to realize how uncannily shrewd it was.
Instead of turning toward the Great Hall, Napoleon turned in the opposite direction, toward the North Hill. Hannibal and Saladin almost lost him as he made the quick turn; which wouldn’t have bothered Napoleon at all. He had little time alone anymore, except when he was locked in his room. The crisp desert air covered the cactuses with thin, frosty dew. It was still dark; they were far from the artificial lights of human civilization, and the blackness was that of a primeval past, deep and impenetrable.
“Where are you going?” Hannibal asked. “The Great One has summoned us.”
“I know what he wants,” Napoleon answered. “I’m pretty sure I know what he will ask. I want to have the answer.”
Disorder is always in a hurry, Bonaparte commented.
The ground vibrated beneath their hooves as they entered the second hill. There was the far-off hum of The Machine. It was an unnatural thing, and even the most self-aware Tuskers had to fight their instinct to run from it.
Napoleon knew, or at least hoped, he’d find Marie there. He’d returned to his quarters the previous evening to find her gone. It wasn’t unusual for her to work late, but working all night was something new. All of them sensed that the humans were coming, and they were all scrambling to get ready. Marie, along with Tesla, had the most important job of all. Her real expertise and interest was in biology and chemistry, but she was tasked with the job of helping Tesla make sure The Machine was ready.
Marie was working at Tesla’s side, as usual. She looked up and gave Napoleon a twitch of her muzzle as a greeting. Both of her front hooves were in work gloves, and she was crouched over a small piece of machinery, her forehead wrinkled in concentration.
“The humans are coming,” Napoleon said without preamble. They had all hoped for more time, but there was no help for it. “Are we ready?”
“Damn you, no!” Tesla cried, turning from his own workbench. Every time Napoleon saw the scientist Tusker, he was in a tizzy about one thing or another. He was even smaller than Marie—a runt who probably wouldn’t have survived in a litter of their primitive ancestors. At first, Napoleon was jealous of the time Marie spent with Tesla, until he realized that the little genius was interested only in his work.
Tesla marched right up to Napoleon, rising up on his hind legs. Even then, he was barely tall enough to look Saladin and Hannibal in the eyes. “We need at least another week, damn you!”
“You have a few hours,” Napoleon said. “Maybe less. The humans have been sighted.”
Marie turned from what she was working on. She spoke in a soft voice. “We can activate a pulse, but the range will be limited. It will also expend the energy we have gathered. It will take that much longer to reboot it.” She turned to Tesla, as if only he understood her frustration. “If only we had a few more days to work on it!”
“If you will just let us do our work!” Tesla said. “At full power, this Machine will take care of these humans once and for all.”
“Whatever pulse you can muster will have to do,” Napoleon said. “The immediate danger is the approaching attack. If we fail, what happens after that won’t matter.”
“We should wait,” Hannibal said. “We can ward off this attack easily enough. The humans have no idea what they’re walking into. I say it is better to have The Machine at full power.”
Napoleon nodded to acknowledge that he’d heard the objection, then turned to Tesla. “How far will the pulse go?”
“Perhaps only a few hundred yards,” Tesla answered, more calmly since it was a problem to be figured out. “If we are very lucky, it might stretch a few hundred miles. But Marie is right: if we set it off prematurely, we will have to start over. It may be many days before we can set off the Big Pulse as planned.”
“It will have to do,” Napoleon said. Tesla was never ready, but Marie would give him an accurate estimate later. “Be prepared for my signal.” He turned to go.
Marie grunted something softly behind him, and he turned back. She touched snouts with him. “Be safe, my love,” she said.
Napoleon stiffened in embarrassment. Marie made him weak. She made him look soft. Yet he was forever amazed and grateful that she had chosen him to be the father of her children. Hannibal looked away in disgust, while Saladin and Tesla pretended to ignore the exchange.
“Be ready for my signal,” he repeated brusquely.
#
The Great One was alone in the Great Hall, the central chamber of the first hill, the space they had originally excavated and where most of the Tuskers had hidden for their first years in exile. Now Genghis used it as his audience chamber. It echoed, and the emptiness felt regal somehow.
The Great One was still large and imposing, but a weariness had settled over his visage. The long hairs that hung from his snout and that had given rise to his human name, Genghis, were turning white.
If Napoleon often dreamed he was human, Genghis actually acted like a human, more often than not walking upright on two legs or sitting upon his haunches on a throne. Genghis wore opposable-thumb glov
es all the time now, his simple invention that made it possible for the Tuskers to match the humans in dexterity. He spoke only English now, maintaining that the Tusker language was too new to contain the nuances required for leadership.
Or for war.
He offered Napoleon a human computer pad on which a video was playing-. Napoleon shrugged off his backpack and put on his own gloves before taking the device. Such machines still seemed evil, belonging to humans, not animals.
Genghis reached over and restarted the video. The image was shaky, as if whoever had recorded it hadn’t known how to handle the machine. But it was clear that the humans who were approaching were armed.
Napoleon felt his heart speed up, and a surge of energy ran through his body. He studied the humans. They were dressed in fatigues and assembled in military formation. So it begins.
“I will take command immediately,” Napoleon said. His thoughts were already focused on the coming battle. He turned to go, but a sharp grunt from Genghis turned him around.
“I’m sorry, Napoleon,” Genghis said. “I need you at my side. Hannibal will lead the defense.”
Napoleon couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t the Great One groomed him for exactly this situation? The Tusker army would be following his order of battle. He’d imagined the fight in his mind over and over again, working out every scenario. “I should be there, Genghis,” he objected. “Battles never go as planned.”
Beside him, Saladin and Hannibal froze, and Napoleon realized that he’d questioned the Great One’s commands for the first time. But Genghis showed no signs of anger.
“You must have faith in your own plans,” Genghis said. “You don’t need to be there. Hannibal and Saladin are quite capable of taking care of the situation.”
Napoleon realized Genghis was probably right—and yet the idea of missing the first battle was dismaying. “The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos,” Napoleon said, using Bonaparte’s words. “The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemy’s.”
The Omnivore Wars Page 5
