Blackout

by Edward W. Robertson

  Raina's mind spun like a wounded fly on the surface of the water. If they pressed the attack, they might provoke a war that wouldn't have happened otherwise. Yet if they withdrew, it would weaken Walt's chances to destroy the mothership. If the aliens did mean to make war, she might never have a stronger opportunity to defeat them.

  She would get no answers thinking in this manner. Not from the tidy workstation of the mind where you shaved and planed each thought like the pieces of a bed. She delved deeper, into the black currents of feeling, where truths took shapes of their own, uncorrupted by the fears and wishes of the brain—and where, if you had the strength, you could carry them back up to the surface with you.

  "There's no recalling Walt," she said. "No matter what we do, he will make his attack."

  Mauser watched the runways through his binoculars. "Are you suggesting we have no choice but to support him?"

  "I'm saying that it's out of our hands. All we can do is that which is best for us. If the newcomers had meant us harm, they could have done much worse to us by now. We will withdraw."

  "Righto. I'll send scouts to recall Bryson, then."

  "I'm going myself."

  "And you would risk your own safety because?"

  "If Bryson attacks them, our only choices will be to join him and enrage the Swimmers, or leave his troops to die. I can't let it reach that point."

  "Fair enough," Mauser said. "Then I'm coming with you."

  She scowled. "I need you here to lead the retreat."

  "Any idiot can lead a retreat. I believe my brand of idiocy is better spent staving off the impending disaster in the terminals." His mouth quirked. "Besides, you're a walking lucky charm. If these are the end days, I don't intend to leave your side."

  "Spread the word. Our warriors will withdraw to the north. Once they're a half mile from the airport, they're to march east as quickly as possible. They aren't to engage unless their lives are in immediate danger."

  "On it. Gather your team. I'll be ready to move in two minutes."

  He jogged off toward his sergeants. Raina located Becka and Red and explained the bones of the situation. Becka took it in stride. Red had questions—he wished them to stay and fight—but Raina silenced him by reminding him he had friends who would die in the terminals without their help.

  Mauser came back as fast as promised. "The back ranks are already withdrawing. The front will hold here another five minutes. Don't want to risk the Swimmers spotting the commotion before we're on our way."

  Without another word, Raina jogged north along the street, cutting right at the next intersection to pass behind a row of dusty houses. The road bent southeast past a solid line of apartments that looked as if they must once have been very clean and fresh. With their cover getting spotty, they continued east behind the bushes bordering the road.

  "Remind me why we didn't provide Bryson with a radio?" Mauser said.

  Raina glanced at the lights shining from the runways hundreds of yards to the south. "We can't come to rely on machines that will die as soon as the last batteries do. Besides, we only had three. One for us, one for Walt, and one for the citizens in San Pedro."

  Half a mile later, the road swung south to feed into the airport. The land between it and the runways was nothing but empty pavement. Raina veered east into a yawning parking lot of rusting cars, running behind them, head ducked low. The terminals were only five hundred yards away, but Bryson's people shouldn't be inside them yet. She should be able to cut him off on the approach from the southern side of the airport.

  Spider-like legs and squid-like arms squirmed from behind a truck. An alien stopped before her. It reared back, goggling down at her with its two bulging eyes. Raina thought she saw fear. Anger. She charged forward, drawing her swords from her hips, slashing each one upward through a diagonal plane.

  The katana bit through a tentacle, sending it sailing. The shorter blade clacked through a hardened limb. The creature tilted forward. She whipped her long sword back down, cleaving through the Swimmer's face. The blade caught in the bottom of its jaw. As the monster collapsed, it pulled her with it. She dropped the weapon, jammed her other sword into the alien's left eye, and twisted.

  Its limbs slapped the ground, twitching. She withdrew her sword, yanked loose the stuck one, and wiped the viscous yellow blood on her pants.

  "You killed it!" Mauser hissed. "What if it was one of the new arrivals? And meant us no harm?"

  "And how would it have told us that?" She grabbed its laser and flipped it at Red. "There's no time to argue. We have to find the others before this one's friends learn it's missing."

  She ran along the cars, keeping both eyes sharp for any movement. The rows seemed endless. So much metal wrestled from the ground by humans, to be returned there by the rain and wind of the world. Was that what had been so important to the old ones? The building of cars?

  Fitting, then, that the cars had outlasted them.

  She approached a street, stopping to examine it before crossing into another parking lot. They passed under the gnarled roadways leading to the terminals and came to the tunnel where Bryson would be waiting to strike.

  Raina slowed to a walk. She called out in the voice of a mourning dove, her notes carrying into the black tunnel.

  A warrior emerged. Allie, her eyes shining from the darkness of her face. "Raina? What are you doing here?"

  "Where is Bryson?"

  "He took the troops up a few minutes ago."

  "Which section?" Mauser said. "Upper or lower?"

  "Upper," Allie said. "With plans to secure the lower afterwards."

  Raina cursed. "There has been a mistake. We're withdrawing. Keep watch on the tunnel. If we haven't returned in half an hour, go back to San Pedro."

  They couldn't risk entering the lower level and running into more aliens. They'd have to try to catch Bryson on his way into the upper floor. Raina turned and sprinted back the way she'd come. The footfalls of the others echoed behind her. It was terribly loud, but there was no more time to waste on stealth. Not when Bryson was minutes away from sparking a war that could not be undone.

  They raced up the curve of the ramp, reaching the airport's upper floor within three minutes. Skeletons of people and vehicles rested in the night. On the sidewalks, however, the bodies were fresh. Four Swimmers and two humans. The air smelled of seaweed and blood.

  "They found battle." Raina drew her swords. "Walk softly and watch sharply."

  Red swung open the door. Raina slipped through it, gazing across the empty counters and the ATM-like machines in front of them. Red bore a rifle, Mauser a pistol, Becka a bow. Small wet dots shined from the tile floor. Raina touched one, smelled it. Blood.

  The trail led to the right. Raina followed it to a wide set of stairs. The landing above was snarled with waist-high black poles connected by ribbons of fabric. The scraps of light from behind and ahead weren't enough to see by. She sheathed her small sword and felt her way forward with her feet and free hand.

  She detoured around a machine that resembled a fishbowl for humans and passed into a lobby of shops and restaurants that must once have been like an enclosed Dunemarket. Wide corridors ran to both sides. Raina paused to listen, breathing through her mouth to make less sound.

  "I'd assume they're that way." Mauser pointed west. "That would take them closest to the—"

  As if Mauser's gesture had summoned the sound, a man yelled out from the west. Gunfire tore down the hallway. Voices rang out in confusion, drowned out by the bark of command.

  "Let me guess," Mauser said. "Head toward the shooting?"

  "Be extremely careful," Raina said. "Bryson doesn't know we're coming."

  "Can we at least define our objectives before charging into the fray?"

  "Get Bryson and the warriors out. Engage as little as possible."

  Red flipped the safety off his rifle. "Ready when you are."

  Raina ran to the west. Guns roared down the passage. Blue lights strobed across the
tile. The far exit opened to a long hallway with broad entrances to the gates on both sides. The racket of the gunfire quadrupled. Muzzles flashed two-thirds of the way down the corridor. Fat laser beams flashed from slightly closer.

  "Sons of bitches cut Bryson off," Red said.

  Mauser rolled his lips together. "Technically, there are plenty of exits down there. But considering they all lead to the runways, I imagine that's a last resort."

  Raina stuck close to the walls, glancing over each seating area as she passed. The windows wrapping the gates allowed far more light in than they'd had back at the shops. As they neared the battle, she saw no other Swimmers.

  Stray bullets whined down the hall. Most were aimed at a steakhouse where the aliens had taken cover. Chips of wood sprayed from the counters and tables within it.

  Raina swerved into one of the gates and hunkered behind a row of chairs. "They've trapped Bryson's forces. All they have to do is wait for backup to swarm in from outside."

  "That looks like a fortified position," Red said. "Throwin' ourselves at that is suicide."

  "Why do you think I haven't already charged them?"

  "There is another option," Mauser said. "We could leave."

  Raina ducked as a bullet ricocheted across the gate. "We can't do that."

  "Even if it's hopeless otherwise?"

  "I'm the reason they're here. If I can't get them out, I no longer deserve to lead."

  Mauser gazed at the bar protecting the aliens from assault. "There may be a service entrance of some kind. But it'll take too long to find. I say we exhort Bryson to get his ass outside and meet him there."

  "Y'all are going to hate me," Red said. "But we could try this." He produced a large metal egg.

  Mauser punched him on the shoulder. "You might have thought to mention the grenade before I advocated cowardly fleeing."

  "No way I can huck it that far. We're gonna have to find a way to get closer without getting cut down."

  "That's easy." Raina grabbed the grenade and ran back into the great hallway, Red and Mauser calling after her.

  A single laser seared past her side. Bullets struck the ceiling, raining dust into her hair. She cut across the opposite gate, ducking within it to shield herself from friendly fire, then ran along the outer wall of the steakhouse, keeping tight to it and as low as possible.

  "Bryson!" she called. "We're here. Be ready to run!"

  Orders rang out from Bryson's warriors ensconced in the gates beyond. The shooting decreased slightly, striking higher against the interior of the restaurant. She yanked the pin from the grenade. Lasers burned across the no man's land between the steakhouse and the gates. Raina reared back and hurled the grenade over the bar.

  An explosion rattled the terminal. Chips of wood and glass burst from the bar. Yellowy guts spattered the walls and floor; dust and smoke whorled through the air. She could hear limbs clattering over boards within the steakhouse, but even if the surviving aliens had the courage and presence of mind to keep fighting, the cloud of particles would stymie their lasers.

  "Run!" she bellowed. "To me! To me!"

  Warriors yelled out in resolve. Raina dashed back from the smoking wreckage. Bullets shredded into the rubble. Dozens of men and women streamed through the darkness, firing haphazardly to cover their movement.

  "Raina?" Bryson charged toward her in a low crouch. "What are you doing here?"

  "Move your feet!"

  Mauser, Red, and Becka ran from the gate to join the retreat. A laser winked from the steakhouse, crackling against the dust. A woman at the rear of the column emptied her pistol behind her.

  "Get a lantern going!" Mauser said. "Tout suite!"

  Moments later, light glared from the front of the withdrawal. They passed into the main trunk of the airport.

  "Nobody's shot at us for the last thirty seconds," Bryson said. "Feel like telling me what the hell's going on?"

  Raina glanced back, swords bouncing against her hips. "Out on the runway, the new Swimmers were arresting the old ones. We're no longer sure if they mean to fight us."

  "They sure didn't have any problems shooting at us in here!"

  "After you had initiated combat first?"

  "Well, yeah." Bryson's tone lowered greatly. "Those were my orders, weren't they?"

  "And you were executing them well. If we had attacked the runway, they would have had no backup within the terminal."

  "So you've called off the assault?"

  "I couldn't risk setting off a new war." She grimaced. "Although I might have done so regardless."

  They reached the stairs, thundering down them to the lobby. Raina hung back, making sure that her soldiers had all made it through and that there was no serious pursuit. Her people looked sweaty, riled up, and in some cases bloody, but they had suffered minimal losses and showed no sign of panic.

  She jogged down the stairs, joining Mauser out on the sidewalk.

  "The plan from here," he said. "I assume it involves more running?"

  Raina weaved through the broken vehicles, waving her hands over her head to incite the others to follow. "We'll take the tunnel. There's good cover on the other side. We'll travel as far as we can tonight, then finish the trip to San Pedro tomorrow."

  Her people streamed down the road, following its sweep toward the long decline to the tunnel.

  Mauser kept pace beside her. "You know, Team Submarine claims to have a Swimmer on their crew. Presumably, they can communicate with it. Perhaps we should task it with trying to speak to the newcomers. See what they have to say."

  "It's the same problem as before. If they are here to destroy us, they'll only lie to us. How can we trust what they say?"

  "We can't," Mauser said. "But if they're truly here for peace, we're going to have to trust them at some point."

  "Like once they're flying away, never to be seen again."

  He smirked. "You may be on to something."

  The tunnel gaped less than half a mile away. Her nap earlier that evening had restored some of Raina's strength, but her legs were beginning to wear out. They might need to encamp closer to the airport than she would have liked. Still, if they diverted to the east or west, away from the obvious course, it would take an entire army of Swimmers to locate them within the corpse of the city.

  An engine screeched across the sky. A woman pointed up at the clouds to the north. Lights blinked from a vessel speeding through the night. The lights swooped downward, veering south.

  "Get off the road!" Raina said. "Take cover!"

  Warriors scattered like fish driven before a seal, scrambling into the shrubs along the shoulder or rolling under the cars jammed into the road. Overhead, the lights brightened, gray tails of smoke streaming behind them. They slammed into the ground above the tunnel.

  Flames ballooned gigantically, red and black clouds of smoke roiling into the sky. Rocks streaked through the air. As the thunder of the impact rolled over the highway, the tunnel groaned and collapsed.

  11

  He fell.

  This was good. It took him away from the heat and flames. His head felt like it had been kicked from the inside. Wind tore past his face so hard he could barely breathe. He wiped tears from his eyes and shielded his mouth, catching his breath. The ocean spread beneath him. Thousands of feet away, but coming up fast.

  It smelled like something was burning. It appeared to be him. His parachute. He had one buckle undone before his addled brain reminded him that he was falling from a very great height, and that if he ditched the parachute, smoldering as it was, he would definitely, absolutely die.

  Quite a problem, that. Burn to death, or drown? As deaths went, these were frequently cited as the absolute worst that nature could offer. The choice was so offensive he was tempted to get out his knife and go out on his own terms.

  But there were still aliens to deal with. And Carrie was down there, too.

  He rebuckled the chute around his body. The smoldering smell was chemical. Artificial fabri
c. He winced. He hoped it was fireproof, but god knew where Raina had gotten the chutes from. He gulped at the air, searching for Carrie's parachute against the sea—there it was, a gray circle on the darkness, thousands of feet below him.

  For the moment, anyway. He was already below the level of the mothership and descending rapidly. This was part of the plan to reach the sea and extinguish the flames as rapidly as possible, but how low could he get before he got too low? He knew it would take a second or three for the chute to fully deploy. How fast was the terminal velocity of a falling human? They never displayed these things in video games. Would have been helpful. Over a hundred feet per second, he knew that much. Maybe twice that. To be on the safe side, he'd need a thousand feet.

  He glanced about. The city was too far away to use as a reference, but the hills of Palos Verdes were close enough to make out. They were at least a thousand feet high, probably closer to fifteen hundred. He eyeballed what appeared to be their peak. As he came level with it, he counted down from two.

  At zero, he pulled the cord.

  Straps jerked against his crotch and chest, provoking a grunt from his gut. It was like being plucked up by a giant. One with a hangover and a long-standing bigotry toward anything human-sized. Fabric fluttered, streaming above him, unfurling into a broad, squashed hemisphere. Parts were charred, flapping crazily, but he was definitely floating rather than plummeting.

  Below him, the small gray dot of Carrie's parachute vanished into the sea. He leaned against his straps, angling toward her splashdown. Embers smoldered on the fringe of his chute. He willed the wind to blow them out, but they spread, an orange line inching its way along the fabric.

  He glanced down. He could no longer see any trace of Carrie whatsoever; having looked away, he had no reference or landmarks, just flat black sea. His heart lurched. He leaned harder, pulling himself into a spiral. The ocean rushed to meet him.

  He tensed his body. He breathed in and out, fast and deep, flooding his body with oxygen. At the last second, he took the deepest breath he could, then blew most of it out so there would be no chance of the impact knocking the wind out of him.