They reconvened in the administrative room. With no outside light, they lit candles again, faces cast in deep shadows.
"Let's jump right into it," Mauser said. "An investigation into the Avalon missile incident turned up that the SAM fired at the jet was one of four. They've been hidden in a heretofore unknown cache of Karslaw's. That gives us three more shots at the Swimmer's jets. Now, how many planes do you suppose they have in total? Fifty? A hundred?"
"That's a fair range," Lowell said.
"And let's assume for a moment that we're somehow able to strike their planes on the runway despite the fact said planes are guarded by a host of soldiers. How many grounded planes do you really think we'll be able to knock out before they simply stop parking them here?"
"I would be surprised if they let themselves lose more than ten percent before making major changes."
"So by the time they quit using LAX, we're looking at forty-five to ninety more planes. And still only three SAMs."
Raina gestured outward. "If they stop landing planes, then they forfeit the ground. What do they do then?"
"Land at another airport where we're not waiting to blow them up?"
"If they start to fear to send out their jets, then we're already on our way to victory. That will allow us to move with less fear, which will make us that much more effective. Lowell, do you think we can locate more missiles?"
He rubbed his jaw. "Used to be a lot of military bases out here. Most got torn up in the first invasion. But it wouldn't surprise me if there's some lesser hardware out there. There's been no call to use surface-to-air weapons since the initial attack."
"We find as many as we can. And with them, we defang the enemy."
"This is starting to sound marginally less crazy," Mauser said. "But if our long-term strategy relies on more arms, why not leave to collect them and only return once we're ready for a proper fight?"
"It's as Lowell said to me earlier. We have to keep them pinned down here. If they're able to move about with impunity, they might easily destroy San Diego. Or bomb us while we're traveling. This method confines the fight here while allowing San Diego to provide us with food."
Georgia inclined her head. "Which we're more than happy to do. We'll contribute soldiers as we can, too."
"We'll need more than food and missiles," Lowell said. "A war like this will last months. Maybe years. We're going to need more bodies from settlements beyond San Diego. Supplies, too. Your people picked up a few lasers from the bodies last night, but those of us packing human-issue firearms are going to need more ammunition."
Raina stared at him. "So we will assign some to scavenge. Equip them with horses. Perhaps you should head this effort. You know your way around the land and are good at finding what needs to be found."
"Be glad to. Just saying this is a war. And wars are won and lost by the strength of their supply lines."
"Then let's be sure that ours are—" A heavy knock came at the door. Raina scowled. "We are in discussions."
A woman spoke angrily outside. The door swung open, revealing Tristan of the submarine. Her stringy hair was bound behind her head. Her face was smudged with so much ash that her eyes stood out like beacons. She looked half crazed.
Red came in behind her, rubbing his elbow. "I tried to stop her, but she damn near broke my—"
"Apologies for bursting in on you," Tristan said. "But you're going to want to hear what I've seen."
Mauser stood, bowing slightly. "I heard you lost your flagship. I'm so sorry."
"One of the Swimmers set a trap for us. We have to kill them all."
"Your team's assistance was priceless. The others, did they..?"
"Some made it out," she said. "Others didn't."
He moved to pull out an empty chair. "Care to join us?"
Tristan seated herself, glancing at those assembled. "I hear you mean to hit the airport again."
Raina scratched at a gouge in the table's finish. "Where did you hear this?"
"Are you aware it's been fortified? There's a wall all the way around it. That orange gunk. Five feet high or more. You won't be able to roll your mirror-carts out there this time."
"Then it's a good thing those are no longer necessary to our campaign."
"Next question. Are you aware they now have outposts beyond the airport?"
The woman spoke levelly enough, but Raina could see something haunted in her eyes. Raina's hand tightened on the edge of the table.
"The outposts," Lowell said, interrupting the pause. "Where?"
Tristan turned to the grim man. "Manhattan Beach. The big hill on PCH and 2nd Street."
"What kind of deployment?"
"It's a fort. They've walled off an intersection. Walls about seven feet high. Tower in the middle. Can't have room for more than twenty Swimmers."
"What about a raid?" Mauser said. "Their troops are far more vulnerable there than at LAX. If we're surgical about it, we could loot a number of lasers. That would lessen our ammunition problem."
"You'll want to try to get some of the orange stuff, too," Tristan said. "It's like Kevlar against lasers."
He arched an eyebrow. "Where did you pick up that tidbit?"
"Fighting one of their installations on Maui."
"We will raid them," Raina decided. "And you will lead this mission, Tristan."
Tristan's mouth twitched. "I'd love to."
"My knights will go, too," Georgia said. "They know how to handle themselves against other people. Against aliens, though, they could use the experience."
"There's no reason to delay," Raina said. "If you get going by noon, you can hit them tonight. Such an attack might even provoke them to bring more planes to the runways."
Georgia and Tristan departed to begin preparations. At the table, Mauser coughed.
Mia leaned forward. "Okay, I'll say it. They've fortified the airport. We don't have any rocket launchers. How are we supposed to get at their planes?"
There was a long moment of quiet. Lowell chuckled. "Spud guns."
Mauser blinked at him. "Spud. Guns? Are you sure you meant to place these two words together?"
"We used to make them when I was a kid. Some PVC pipe, some glue, and some propane, and you got yourself a mortar. Can launch a potato a thousand feet."
"And what about a grenade?"
"Probably too heavy." Lowell ran his thumb along the side of his jaw. "Smoke grenades might work, though. If we don't have any handy, we should be able to find them at police stations. Drop a few of those on the runway to conceal what we're up to. Lasers won't work as well in the smoke, either."
"And what exactly will this smoke be covering?" Raina said.
"Resistance movements figured out decades ago how to hurt a technologically superior invader." He gave her a regretful look. "But it won't be pretty."
* * *
By early afternoon, Tristan, Georgia, and Bryson departed the high school with a force of thirty Dunemarket dragoons and twenty Scarred-Handed Knights of San Diego. Raina moved about the grounds, assessing their supplies and discussing how to distribute their numbers in nearby neighborhoods to avoid being annihilated by a single bombing run. As she did so, she kept one eye on the sky, particularly the portion between Cerritos and Manhattan Beach. There was no more jet activity than was normal these days.
After consulting the phonebooks, Lowell led an expedition to nearby police stations and home improvement centers. He had sounded skeptical that they'd find any propane at this point, but he had a hound's nose for scavenging, returning that evening with everything he needed for his spud guns, including dozens of smoke bombs packed into crates.
Shortly before midnight, with the first guns assembled—they were little more than long white tubes—Lowell and Bryson went to the football field to hold a trial run. A soft shoomp carried on the cold, damp air.
When they got back, Red was still laughing. "Can I trade my rifle for one of these?"
"They work?" Raina said.
&nb
sp; "I'll have to try it with a smoke bomb before I know for sure." Lowell hefted one of the white tubes. "But it looks like we're good to go."
Raina was tempted to stay up until word returned from the west, but knowing she'd need her sleep, she went to bed in the classroom reserved for her. At five that morning, a hand shook her awake. Two scouts had returned from Manhattan. Their grins told her everything.
The rest of the troops arrived forty minutes later. Tristan, Georgia, and Bryson were all there, dirty and sweaty but intact. Raina gave them a few minutes to clean up before summoning them to administration.
They took their seats. Tristan's skin seemed to glow. There was no sign of whatever had been troubling her the day before.
"It went off like clockwork," Tristan said. "We climbed the surrounding rooftops and sniped every Swimmer on the walls."
"What about the tower?" Raina said.
Bryson snorted. "They'd left the front door wide open. We shot down every Swimmer who tried to shut it. We only lost three people storming the building. Four overall."
In exchange, they'd killed fourteen Swimmers, seized eighteen lasers, and hauled off several slabs of the orange matter, accomplishing all of this before the jets had arrived to incinerate them. Raina knew the outcome had been highly lucky, yet the unlikeliness of their level of success didn't dampen her spirits. They had found where the Swimmers were weak and they had struck ruthlessly. After the long days of hiding in buildings and dashing down the burning streets, starving and tired, the victory felt as refreshing as her previous night's sleep.
Yet she knew better than to let it go to her head. The campaign of attrition would require dozens of victories just like this one. Among those, there would inevitably be defeats as well. It wouldn't take many before they no longer had the strength to fight back.
* * *
Once more, she stood in the fields north of the airport and looked on the runways. This time, however, fewer than thirty people were in immediate range of orders, dispersed in the fire-gutted shells of apartments and houses.
Mauser moved beside her. "Bryson's snipers are in position. So is Lowell's artillery. We're just waiting on your command."
"I need a moment with him."
"Another? I think it's safe to say he's made his decision."
She looked Mauser in the eye. "And I will make sure he means it before I send him into the fire."
Mauser bowed his head. Raina walked away from him and approached the eighteen-year-old boy who stood alone in the blackened front yard of a collapsed house.
Seeing her, he bent one knee. "My queen."
"I'm not your queen, Grayson. Only a chieftain. How are you?"
He straightened and faced her square on. "Ready."
"You are sure this is what you want?"
"Their plague killed my mom and my sisters. Their bombs killed my father. My only regret is that I can't kill them all."
"I know what you feel," Raina said. "And so I must tell you that you might not always feel his way."
He cocked his head, eyes gleaming. "I thought this was what you wanted of me."
"I don't want it. I need it. And it doesn't have to be you."
"I need it, too. I'm ready to claim my vengeance."
She nodded shortly. "Then come and take it."
Grayson grinned and followed her through the dark streets. Once they had line of sight with the parked fighter jets—the tarmac held three of them, along with one cargo vessel—Red brought out Grayson's vest. He helped the boy strap it around his chest. Over this, they draped an apron of the orange material over his torso and fit him with a roughly-bound cap of the same alien matter.
Despite suggesting this tactic, Lowell was nowhere to be seen. Raina held Grayson's gaze. "May you find what you're looking for."
She stepped back. Mauser gestured to Bryson. Bryson lifted his arm. Four warriors peered through the scopes of rifles braced through a hedge that had survived the fires with minimal damage. Bryson lowered his arm.
A rifle popped. The second and third fired so close together they made a single bang. The fourth followed a heartbeat behind. Across the field, the two Swimmer sentries posted behind the orange wall dropped, tentacles flailing up like streamers.
With an airy whoomp, the spud guns fired.
Raina smacked Grayson on the shoulder. "Go!"
He snarled and jolted forward, racing across the weedy field. The snipers kept their scopes trained on the wall. A spotlight beamed from the wall, homing in on the gunmen. Bryson shot out the light with a fizzle of sparks.
He jumped to his feet. "Move!"
His people scattered. Lasers seared from further down the wall. Grayson was still alone in the field, no more than a shadow. Raina gritted her teeth. The first canister came down fifty feet in front of him.
Smoke blasted from it, filling the air with thick white clouds. Grayson disappeared within. A second can clanked beyond the wall, blasting more smoke. A laser flashed from the orange boxes on the runway, crackling into the haze. It was followed by a fusillade that lit up the pavement like noonday.
The third canister landed beyond the others, spewing yet more smoke. The cloud spread toward the nearest jet. A new spotlight beamed across the field.
"Fall back!" Raina could feel the fist clenching her heart once again. Grayson was nowhere to be seen. "There's no more for us here!"
The artillery teams picked up their spud guns and ran deeper into the charred neighborhood. So too did the warriors. The snipers held position, firing on any Swimmer that poked up its head, dissuading pursuit.
And Raina stayed, too. Gazing into the darkness. Willing the boy's legs forward. Beseeching the moon and all its stars to let him find peace.
A silhouette appeared in the hazy space between the three parked jets. Grayson thrust up his fists and disappeared in a sphere of flame.
22
Bait stared, limbs contracting toward his body. It wasn't an encouraging gesture. He motioned over his tablet, conjuring up words. "OUR BARGAIN IS ALREADY MADE. YOU WILL KILL THE REBEL LEADER, DDEN, AND IN EXCHANGE MY PEOPLE WILL BRING YOU PEACE"
"I'd love to do that for us," Walt wrote on his notepad. "But I want Carrie back, too."
"IF THERE IS PEACE THEN YOU WILL HAVE YOUR CARRIE"
"Forgive me for not wanting to take your word for it, Mr. Alien Guy Who I Just Met. Find Carrie and get her down to the ground. Do that, and I swear I'll kill every last body you point me at."
In the bathroom, Bait closed on him, limbs rising. "YOU WILL DO AS YOU PROMISE OR I WILL SMASH YOU TO CHUM AND DROP YOUR PIECES IN THE SEA"
Walt folded his arms. "Go ahead. But that means you'll have to find a new super-assassin human patsy. Or you could spend ten minutes finding Carrie. Which sounds easier?"
Glaring at him with baseball-sized eyes, Bait lowered his limbs. "YOU ARE A LIAR OF LIES. YOU WAITED TO MAKE DEMANDS UNTIL I COULD NOT REFUSE"
"Cunning, right? But that's a good thing. Because I'll be equally cunning in your service."
Bait led him out of the shower stall and to the flatbed cart parked beside the door to the bathroom. Walt climbed into his little box and Bait wheeled him into the hall. After a number of turns, a door swished open. Bait pushed him a few feet forward, door hissing closed, then stopped. A second door opened.
Once Walt was inside the second chamber, Bait removed the lid. Walt found himself in a small room with a bench and a desk, both of which were attached to the floor, and a two-foot hole in the wall that presumably opened into one of the aliens' nest-like sleeping compartments.
Bait held up his tablet. "TELL ME OF CARRIE"
Walt described her, trying to stick to the physical details without waxing on about human descriptors of beauty. To the Swimmers, "beautiful" was probably whoever had the roundest claws and juiciest cloaca.
"AND HOW WAS SHE TAKEN"
"We heard that the guy who took down the first ship used a hot air balloon," Walt wrote. "So we tried to pull the same trick. Except
the stories were bullshit, because we didn't even make it to the ship before your jets shot us down. Then one of your submarines fished her out of the ocean."
"THIS TASK IS SIMPLER THAN FEARED." Bait scuttled to a cabinet built into the wall and produced a length of rubber, three feet long and as thick as Walt's index finger. "YOU STAY HERE"
Walt pointed at the rubber. "Is that strictly necessary?"
"FORGIVE ME FOR NOT WISHING TO HAVE YOUR WORD FOR IT, MISTER HUMAN I JUST MET"
Walt laughed. Bait bent down, clamped one end of the tubing around Walt's right ankle, and the other end around the leg of the bench. The Swimmer went to the door, checked outside, and departed. A lock clunked shut.
Walt counted to twenty, then stood from the bench. He couldn't reach the plastic cabinets in the far wall, but there were others behind him. One was filled with pink bandoliers and a number of green ribbons and triangles of fabric. He couldn't tell if these were ceremonial pieces or Swimmer lingerie.
Another was filled with a number of small compartments holding plastic and metal trinkets. Largely inscrutable, though they reminded him of some of the pieces he'd looted from the first aliens he'd killed after the Panhandler. One of which had been a tracking device that had nearly gotten him killed by the angry pals of the deceased. He fiddled with the smooth, heavy trinkets. Some had buttons or clickable surfaces. The first few produced no obvious results. When he clicked the center of a shiny metal disk, the door unlocked with a soft chunking sound.
Clicking it again locked the door. Very interesting. There was a second identical disk among the knickknacks; it too locked and unlocked the door. He pocketed it and put the first one back in the cabinet. After a fruitless check for lasers or knives, he closed the wall panel and sat down.
There was a display set into the opposite wall featuring lit green symbols, but if these included a clock, Walt was completely incapable of reading it. By his best guess, it had only been twenty minutes before the door opened and Bait returned to his cramped little cabin.
"I HAVE FOUND CARRIE," Bait wrote on his tablet. His claws sank. "SHE IS DEAD"
Blackout Page 29
