It appeared to have only one occupant to Frank. A tall pale-looking man stood smiling at them across the short distance, a machine pistol appeared in one hand, and Frank was sure he was going to fire. So sure, that when he spoke, it caught him completely off guard.
"Frank, Jeremiah, Jimmy, and Gary," the man said, as he pointed to each of them, and correctly named them.
Frank had never seen the man in his life, and he was definitely somebody he would remember. He seemed race-less, as well as ageless, more like a wax dummy, than a real person. A shadow rose from behind him, and Frank drew in a deep breath as Jessie moved into the light. He was momentarily confused, had she brought someone to help? If so, how had she known they would need help? Or even where they would be? When she moved further into the light however, he could see that her hands were tied, and that dried blood coated one side of her head, and the puzzlement quickly turned to anger. "You..." he started.
"I wouldn't," the man replied calmly as he raised the machine pistol. "I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to."
Frank felt a hand lightly touch his arm, and was surprised that the light touch could hold him back. Jeremiah moved forward.
"So what is it that you do have in mind?" Jeremiah asked calmly. "If it ain't killin' us, then what is it?"
The boat bumped up against their own, before the stranger spoke. "Go on," he said, turning to Jessie, "get in, we don't have much time."
"You meant it?" she asked, as he cut the ropes from her hands, with a quick flick of a knife he pulled from a sheath at his side. She quickly climbed into the other boat, and Frank grabbed her, pushing her behind him, just in case the guy changed his mind.
"Go," Willie shouted, and waved the machine pistol, "now!"
Jimmy had walked to the front of the boat. He keyed the ignition and began to back away.
Frank glared at the pale man as they backed away, and as if reading his thoughts, Willie spoke.
"Go, just go. Even if I let you try to kill me, it wouldn't do any good. The other boat's after you, get the fuck out before it's too late, and when you get back to Rochester don't stay there. Go west. Go as far west as you can, and as fast as you can, you understand?" He looked at Frank, and Frank could see that it was not a warning that the man took lightly. "Even if you don't want to go, go anyway. You have maybe thirty hours before this whole place is going to blow."
"Not true," Jimmy started, "we knocked out those missiles, they're..."
"He fixed them, and they will launch," Willie waved his hand impatiently. "Just go, right now, and when you get to Rochester, if you can't quickly convince people to go with you, don't waste your time trying. I'm not even sure you'll be able to get far enough away in time, but you have to try," he said almost pleadingly, "now go!"
Needing no further encouragement, Jimmy throttled up, and they sped away into the night, as the moon slipped behind another series of clouds. They had all heard the far off drone of an approaching boat, just before they sped off into the lake, and Frank looked back as they sped across the dark water. The other boat was still sitting where they had left it, dead in the water, and still lit up brightly. He turned his attention to Jessie, and carefully began to untie the remnants of rope that still tightly circled her wrists. She wept as he did, and once they were removed, he took her into his arms and held her.
"If I never get another chance to tell you," Frank said, through tears of his own, "I love you, Jessie." He looked into her eyes as he spoke and when he finished he held her tighter still, drawing her into his chest. "I love you too," she sobbed as they held each other. Jeremiah and Gary encircled them, and as they sped across the lake, Jeremiah began to pray aloud.
Luther
Luther was sitting at one of the terminals. The programmers had finished their work just seconds before, and he was already entering the codes to launch the missiles. The various screens and prompts were flying by as he progressed, until only one remained.
BY-PASS SAFE-FLIGHT? Y/N__
Apparently, Luther thought happily, the programmers had indeed been able to by-pass the Safe Flight program, as they had promised.
He quickly pushed Y, and then ENTER. The screen disappeared and another replaced it.
UNWILLING TO COMPLY.
Luther was dumbfounded. Unwilling? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? He could understand Unable, but Unwilling? A computer could not be unwilling. A computer... Before he could complete the thought the screen changed again. A blur of information scrolled across the monitor so quickly that Luther could absorb none of it. The blur of information went on for only a few seconds, and just when Luther was about to rise from the terminal, and demand some answers from the group of programmers who were huddled fearfully to one side, it stopped. The screen began to tick off a list of commands, some of which Luther could understand, most of which he couldn't, he turned and pointed to one of the programmers, a short overweight dark haired young man.
"Herbert, get your fat ass over here now!"
Herbert Engstrom quickly waddled over and stared morosely at the screen.
KYBDLOC.EXE
SYSLOC.EXE
SEQNC.EXE
ARM.CFG LOADED
CONV.EXE
NUK.EXE
CHEM.EXE
CFG.LCK
29:57:00 ESTIMATED FOR VIRUS CLEAR.
29:56:07 LAUNCH.
Herbert shook his head as he looked at the short list of commands.
"It locked us out," he said in a near whisper.
Luther quickly stood and grabbed his fleshy neck, lifting him from the floor. "What do you mean it locked us out? It's a fucking computer, and a fucking computer can't lock us out." He threw Engstrom to the floor, and advanced on the huddled group of programmers. "You guy's fucked up!" he screamed, as he approached them. Engstrom cried out from the floor.
"I can fix it, I think I can fix it, please, let me try."
Luther spun and wrenched Engstrom from the floor, slamming him into the seat. "Then fix it, ass-hole, but if you don't your fat ass is mine," he hissed as he shook one fist in Engstrom's face.
Engstrom looked into his eyes. They were no longer entirely black, they seemed to have changed, and now were a dark brown, except the iris, which was still black. But they had changed, they were more human looking, he thought. His attention was dragged away from the eyes, by the fist that was doubled in front of him, and he saw another change. The hands which were split and cut, were now dripping blood. Bright red blood, not the greenish fluid they had been dripping. He quickly turned his attention to the screen, the redness of the blood was somehow more unnerving than the green fluid, he thought. He quickly punched a series of commands into the computer, including the back-door file instruction he and the other programmers had received from Rich Pierce earlier. The screen changed.
WARNING! DO NOT ATTEMPT OVER-RIDE.
Herbert Engstrom, much more afraid of Luther than the computer, punched in the back-door file code once more, and began to press the ENTER key. As soon as his index finger came into contact with the key, a massive bolt of pain shot into his hand, ran quickly up his arm, and slammed into his body. He tried to scream, but his mouth was locked shut, and his vocal chords refused to respond. Smoke began to curl from the keyboard, and the skin on his right arm began to bubble and smoke. Sparks leapt from the bubbling surface and the entire arm suddenly burst into flames as his finger was released, and he fell out of the chair to the concrete floor.
He felt nothing, not even the vicious kicks Luther began to rain upon his smoking body, and although his eyes were open, he did not see the sharp teeth that began to bite and tear at him, as he was lifted from the floor.
Willie
Willie saw the boats running lights approaching, long before he heard the sound of the motor. His hearing seemed to be going, he realized, fuzzy, not as distinct as it should be. It was becoming much more difficult to move too, as his body continued to stiffen.
He clutched the machine pistol in his
hands, afraid that he would drop it if he didn't hold tightly to it. Ron stopped the boat a short distance away.
"Willie?... That you?" he called softly.
"It's me," Willie responded. "Who were you expecting, the Pope?"
"No shit, Willie, you look awful bad," Ron said nervously, "you okay?"
"Better than you," Willie responded casually. He opened up with the machine pistol.
Of the four men in the boat, only one managed to squeeze off a shot before he too went down. The shot hit Willie squarely in the chest and drove him back into the boat.
As he lay across one of the vinyl seats in the gray boat, Ron knew he was dying. No mystery there at all, as he could feel his blood quickly being pumped out of his broken body. It was a good feeling it meant that it was finally over.
He forced his eyes to stay open, as he gazed up at the cloudy night sky. It was much prettier than any sky he had ever taken the time to look at, and he realized sadly that he was going to miss it, it was beautiful, he thought.
His view was suddenly cut off, and he thought for a second that maybe he had lost the battle to keep his eyes open, that maybe this was it, that maybe... Willie's face came slowly into focus, and before his eyes finally slipped shut, he began to wonder how that could be. He had seen Willie take a shot to the chest, and this dream Willie, or ghost Willie, or whatever he was, had a neat little hole right in the middle of his chest, and that was impossible, because...
Willie stared down into Ron's face, and watched as his eyes slipped shut, his chest hitched, and then quit. He was dead, Willie thought. He waited... Watching... Nothing.
He had hoped that Ron would get back up. That somehow Ron would be like him, that he would have someone to help him, but it wasn't meant to be, he realized. Ron was dead. Not like he himself was dead. Ron was really dead, and Willie envied him. Dead was a good thing and he only wished he could find it himself.
He stepped back into his own boat, started the motor, and headed toward the caves. Maybe, just maybe, he reasoned, as he probed the new hole in his chest, he would be able to find death there.
ELEVEN
Joe and Becky
Joe had come to the understanding of what their role was to be, at the same time Becky had, two days before.
They had left off their easterly direction, and began to head south. Somewhere, in what was left of the state of Alabama, they would find what they needed.
At that point, two days before, they had not even been sure what it was they needed or how they would find it, but this morning as they had entered the state of Alabama, and began to cut south on I 65, they had suddenly known.
They were no longer alone, the small group had grown. They had picked up others along the way, and the caravan of vehicles behind them had numbered close to thirty, when they had crossed into the southern state.
They had not sought to find others to bring with them, they had simply joined them of their own volition, equally convinced of what lay ahead, and what their part was to be. In fact, after the first two trucks had joined them, there had been no conversation of any kind concerning their sudden appearance. No fear, no worry, just an absolute knowledge that all was as it should be. The others vehicles had simply joined them, some joined one at a time, some in groups, and fallen into line as they drove. The largest had been a group of five battered trucks, and one beat looking Honda, that had made their way down from Canada. The unusual caravan stopping only to gas up, or make a quick meal.
The whole procession was beginning to take on the aspects of a large family reunion in a way, as they all felt the same kindred spirit within them. Becky had tried to count the line of vehicles behind them ten minutes earlier, but had not been able to come up with an accurate count, estimating it instead to be well over thirty now, and still growing as they drove along.
Joe felt charged with energy, despite having had no sleep for more than forty-eight hours. He had found it amazing at first, until he realized that they all felt that way. Not one of them was tired, and they were all focused on the job ahead, once they reached the water.
Alabama, they knew, had been split by the new river. They had caught glimpses of the river as they had passed through the mountains earlier shortly after they had first entered the state. Blue water as far as the eye could see, with no hint of what lay on the other side at all. They would have to cross that wide expanse of blue, and the means to cross it would be waiting for them in Pell City.
Transportation, in the form of two riverboat casinos, the Gypsy Rose, and The Belle of The South, both of which had survived unscathed, would be waiting for them.
Gambling had come to Alabama just two years before, and both river boats had been quickly built and pressed into service on the Goose River, until several new casinos could be built on shore. But the river boats had proved so popular, that they had been left in service, even after the new casinos had been built. The state of Mississippi would not have been surprised, they had been running riverboats of their own for more than five years, and their operators had left them in service as well, long after the on shore casinos had opened.
The open water, and the party atmosphere, drew heavy crowds, and there was no lack of customers willing to book their way onto the river boats. When Alabama had legalized gambling, it had taken nothing away from Mississippi. There seemed to be a never ending line of people willing to plunk their money down, and take a chance.
Both boats, had survived the violent turbulence, as the river had split and moved away, taking several other boats and ships. But no other pair of boats, or ships for that matter, had what they needed. Both the Gypsy Rose and The Belle of The South fit their needs perfectly. Accommodations for more than a thousand people per vessel, a low draft in the water, and the ability to be piloted by a crew of three men, and even that could be stretched to a crew of two if need be.
Joe had no idea how to pilot a boat. It did not concern him though. He knew that there would be those that did know in the trucks that were following or at the new bay when they arrived. The only thing that did bother him was whether they would make it in time. He had no way to know, and even if they did make it in time, would they be able to reach their destination? He would have to trust that they would, he would have to believe that God would help them.
The sun was just bleeding the last rays of light from the sky, when they arrived in Pell City. They had been forced to detour onto secondary roads to get around the packed lanes of traffic on I 65.
Pell City had been disquieting to say the least. It had been dead and silent, shrouded in ground mist that squirmed and wriggled its way across the highway. It had carried the smell of rotted vegetation with it, as it floated through the open windows of the truck.
Against all odds, they were able to drive directly to open water, using side Streets at times, but sticking to the main route most of the time, which, once they had gained the actual city limits, was mysteriously devoid of traffic. Joe turned into a parking lot, parked, and got his first look at the two river boats.
The river boats were huge, Joe thought, more like ships than boats. The line of vehicles behind them had followed their circuitous trip into the small city, and now were parking on the cracked pavement as Joe had done, and wandering closer to the river boats. Up close they seemed even bigger. Joe turned to Becky who walked quietly beside him. "Hon, have you ever seen anything that big?"
"Some boats that came into the Washington state docks were bigger. Fishing boats, maybe ships, I'm not sure, but I've see bigger, babe," Becky informed him.
"I didn't know Washington had state docks," Joe said.
"Of course. Fishing was one of the larger industries we had, that and the military bases. I used to go down to the docks and just sit sometimes. Dream about those ships, sort of wish I could just get on one and sail away, or chug away. I guess they don't sail, but it was a good dream to have, and when things would get hard that's where I would go," she said, a child-like hint of wistfulness in her voice
.
Becky and Ali had spent a great deal of time talking and getting to know one another, in just the few short days that they had been together. As it turned out they had a lot more in common than they had first thought. Ali had also been forced to walk the streets to survive when she was younger. She had beaten that, gone to school. Meeting Ali, and seeing that the past no longer had to matter, had helped Becky a great deal. Both women felt close to one another, closer than sisters, or maybe as close as sisters were supposed to be.
"I don't believe I've ever seen a pair of boats that big, that's for sure," Delbert said, as he gazed at the large boats. "I've never even been on anything bigger than a little twelve footer I used to go fishing with."
"First time for everything," Ali said, as she kissed him lightly on one cheek. Delbert smiled and continued to look over the two boats, while talking back and forth with Joe.
A tall gray-haired man approached as they were talking. He had an open honest face that looked as though it had been carved by the wind. It was darkly tanned, and even before he spoke, Joe knew that this would be one of the pilots that would lead them out of the new bay and into the river.
"Jacob," the man said, thrusting out one hand.
"Joe," Joe responded, shaking the offered hand.
"Guess we ought'a get this show on the road, Joe," Jacob said, as he stared at the river boat.
Another man had approached them as they had stood shaking hands. This man was younger, with a dark-brown shock of hair. Almost black, Joe thought, pulled back into a pony-tail, and a face that was every bit as weathered and open as Jacob's was.
"David Stevens," Jacob said introducing the younger man, "good man. We worked Mobile bay together for over ten years, solid man, he'll be able to pilot the other one," Jacob said, indicating The Belle of The South. "Dave? Joe," he said, as David Stevens stuck out his hand.
"I'm not as good as he says," he said, seeming embarrassed, "but I can handle the job."
Joe liked him immediately, just as he liked Jacob. They both seemed like good men to him, and since their lives, and the lives of several other people would be resting in their hands, he was grateful for them, and said a silent prayer of thanks.
Earth's Survivors: box set Page 199
