He pulled her cylinder from his pack. "I'm going to talk to Alison. Anyone want to come?" he said.
Joe and Viv, whose sleeping bags had been arranged side by side, interrupted their conversation to shake their heads. Solly wasn't surprised that Kuchinsky had passed on the opportunity as the sergeant had always been uncomfortable talking to Alison, but he'd expected Vivian to jump at the chance. But, it seemed, she preferred conversing with an actual human rather than an artificial one.
"Scott?"
Lee had rolled out his sleeping bag on the other side of the Humvee, away from everyone else. At the sound of his name, he lifted his head lazily. "No, you go ahead."
Solly was amazed by Lee's attitude. He'd become used to the man's jealousy over his relationship with Alison, and especially that she called Solly "father", but Lee had never passed up the opportunity to interact with her. He watched as Scott settled back down, rolling onto his side and staring across the floor. Was he watching Viv and Joe on the other side of the Humvee? Was he jealous of them now?
Solly turned on his heels and headed for the door to the basement. Frankly, he was happier when it was just him and his electronic daughter. A statement that, he realized, probably didn't reflect well on him at all.
He pressed the activation contact and, after a few moments, the cyan eye rolled into view.
"Hello, Father. Where are we?"
"Hello, Alison. Can your sensors penetrate through to the outside?"
The eye roved back and forth for a few moments. "No."
"Good, that means we can't be overheard," Solly said. He put the gas lantern down on an old workbench and took a seat. He could taste oil in the back of his throat as he drew in a breath. "We're in Shelbyville—"
"Shelbyville, Kentucky?"
"Yes. We met the mayor of Lexington. She told us that the Lee Corporation has not yet taken control of Louisville."
"But you do not believe her?"
Solly smiled. "How could you know that?"
"I detected a change in your body temperature and vocal patterns. Do you think, therefore, that the plan should be altered?"
"Perhaps, though I still don't believe she was telling a flat-out lie. It's more likely she wasn't telling the entire truth."
Lights flashed on the black display containing the eye. "You have activated the Reaper. I can sense it."
"Yes, I've put it in low power mode."
"Why? Was it the Creator's idea?"
Solly shook his head. "Scott doesn't know. No one knows other than you and me. The Creator is not well, Alison."
"I cannot detect him. Is he sick?"
"Not physically, as far as I know. But he hasn't been the same since our attack on the Reaper factory."
"He disabled me, didn't he?"
"Yes, he deactivated your power cell after you transferred back into your…body."
The cyan eye blinked. "Why did he do it?"
"He won't say," Solly said, adjusting his position on the uncomfortable wooden stool. "My guess is that he's a broken man. He doesn't think we can win. Maybe he wanted to protect you. Perhaps he knew how much it hurt to be inside the Reaper's mind and didn't want you to have to go through that again."
"But you wish me to inhabit the body of a Reaper don't you, Father?"
Solly sighed. "Yes. But I wouldn't force you, even if I could."
"You need my help," she said. It was a statement, not a question.
"We all do. Without you, we cannot succeed, and we will be enslaved or killed."
Again, the lights flickered. "But, once I am inside the Reaper, I become a target. And then there's my mother. Both of them."
"I know, though I don't think you need to fear her, or them, at the moment. I hope you'll be able to help us achieve what we must, and then I'll return you to your cylinder and we can go home."
"I don't like my body. I am asleep too much, and I cannot move. I cannot make my own choices."
Solly stroked the aluminum casing. "If we win this, I will never turn you off without your permission. And we'll find a way for you to have your freedom, I promise. But I can't pretend that you're not taking a huge risk. As I said, I will not force you."
"But if I choose not to, your plan cannot work."
"No. The best we'd be able to achieve would be to disrupt their communication system for a while. With your help, I believe we can win this war."
She paused, as if reflecting on her choice. "Creator loves me. He does not wish me to take the risk."
"Yes, I think he does love you, but then so do I."
"And yet, you would put me in danger."
"I'm sorry, Alison."
"Creator loves me."
"He does."
"You love me."
"I do."
"And you trust me to do this?"
"Absolutely."
"Many will die if I do not?"
"Probably."
"If one is risked to save many, is that not the logical choice?"
Solly smiled. "A wise man once said, 'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one.'"
"'Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan'. Mr. Spock says it when he sacrifices himself to save the crew of the Enterprise."
"Indeed. Though this is different. We don't know what will happen over the next twenty-four hours. If this was a suicide mission, I wouldn't let you do it. You will be encased in the body of a Reaper, so you should be safe enough. And we're going to rely on you to help us get away, whether we succeed or not."
Again the pause as qubits pulsed through logic gates deep inside her artificial mind. "I hate the Reaper. Though I sense no mind there, the place where it would be draws me like a whirlpool. I am afraid of it, Father."
"Me too, Alison. I wish there was another way, but we can't do it without you."
"I am tired, Father."
"Would you like me to tell you a story? Or are you too old for such things?"
"Tell me a story with a happy ending."
So, Solly sat at a table in the basement of an auto center and told the story of Jack and the Beanstalk.
They attracted an escort as soon as they entered the outskirts of Louisville, but Solly had been able to contact Oscar Weinstein and so they were taken quickly to the hotel he was using as his headquarters. Again, Scott Lee remained in the Humvee as the others entered the lobby and awaited the appearance of the Governor.
Solly's first reaction, on seeing Weinstein, was that he'd aged a decade in the intervening weeks. His round face looked ravaged by care and stress, and his eyes looked sunken. Even the thin gray mustache looked as though it hadn't been trimmed in many days.
"Ah, Solomon, my friend. It is good to see you. Good indeed. Come with me, you and your companions."
They followed him into the meeting room that had been the scene of their last audience. Solly remembered how his opinion of the old man had softened as they'd spoken together, with the fussy little bureaucrat metamorphosing into a true patriot before his eyes.
"You look well, Solomon," he said as he took his seat at the center of the main table. On the table sat a white thermal coffee pot and four mugs. "Do not bother to say that I also look well, for I would know that was a lie. Now, please help yourselves to coffee."
Solly stepped forward and dispensed a cup full of steaming black liquid into his cup. "Have you been ill, Oscar?"
"Not especially," the old man said as he took the cup from Solly. "But the stresses of rebuilding a city while the world outside goes to the dogs have taken their toll on this old body. My BonesWatch spends half its time flashing warnings at me. But I make the sacrifice willingly to keep my citizens safe. Do you not like coffee?" He said, turning to Vivian who was pausing with her hand over the pump.
"You can trust him," Solly said. "Have a drink and relax." In truth, Solly didn't completely trust Weinstein, but he wanted the old man to think he did, and after all, he could have them arrested without the need to poison or drug them. Solly swallowed a mouthful of the h
ot liquid and sighed. "That is a good cup of joe, Oscar."
Weinstein, who'd drained his mug already, smiled as Viv and Kuchinsky relented and poured themselves drinks.
"How are things going in Louisville? The Lee Corporation still here?" Solly asked, watching Weinstein closely. Did he see the old man twitch?
"We are recovering, slowly but surely, Solomon. As for the Lees, while they have proven useful in our efforts, I still govern here."
Solly took another gulp of coffee and put his mug down. "You know what they say about lying down with dogs."
"It is easy to be glib when you don't have the responsibility of an entire city on your shoulders. Now, may I ask why you are here? I'm certain this is not a social visit."
Again, as the old man was talking, Solly watched. Was there the subtlest shake of the head? He poured himself another coffee and settled into a chair opposite Weinstein.
"We'd like to check on the status of our equipment," he said.
Again, a flick of the eyes. It was as if he was warning Solly not to say any more. But, why nothing clearer? Were they under video surveillance? And, if so, why hadn't they been arrested?
"Of course. I will issue you a pass. Now, tell me what you know of the situation outside of Louisville. I hear a little from our neighbors but know nothing of what is happening elsewhere."
"So, what did you make of Governor Weinstein?" Solly asked as he took the wheel. He'd been relieved to find the Humvee untouched, with an alert Scott Lee sitting in the front seat.
"He's hidin' sometin'" Viv said from behind him. "Looked pretty scared to me."
"Joe?"
"Yeah. Creepy little guy. I thought you said you liked him?"
"I think there's more to him than you think at first," Solly replied. "But something's spooked him, that's for sure."
Vivian grunted. "And that something is the Lee Corporation. You can bet on that, Solly. I feel like we are fallin' into a trap, know what I mean?"
"Yes. And I agree, but we haven't got any choice. We have to see it through now. If we are being played, then they'd be down on us as soon as we made a break for it. No, best to roll the dice and hope for double sixes."
More of Louisville had been cleared since they'd been here before and the place had the feeling of a living city as people and vehicles moved on errands of their own. An unnaturally quiet city, to be sure, but closer to normality than anything Solly had seen since the Long Night. Though he knew it to be a false peace—the lull before the storm—he felt an irrational temptation to simply park and join the crowds. It might be fake, but it was a mighty alluring fantasy.
Weinstein's pass got them through the two barriers between his hotel and the PNC Tower. The street had been cleared of the debris and smashed glass that had been scattered across it and throughout the first floor of the black glass building.
"Are you ready for this, Scott?" Solly said, twisting around to look at Lee, who'd spent the journey staring blindly out of the window.
Scott Lee turned his head slowly to look at Solly out of eyes entirely devoid of life. "Do I have a choice?"
"You always have a choice, Scott."
He gave a weak shrug and said, "Do you have Alison?"
"Of course," Solly said, putting his hand inside his jacket and pulling out the metal cylinder. "I won't activate her until we're ready for the transfer."
Solly got out and then leaned back inside, looking at Vivian. "I don't suppose there's any point in telling you to wait here in case we need a quick getaway?"
He was surprised to see sadness in her expression. "Be real, Solly. If we do this, there ain't gonna be no getaway. They'll be down on us like a ton of bricks."
Solly's smile vanished. She was right, of course. He glanced across at Kuchinsky and could see that he agreed.
"Are you coming, then?" he said, looking from one to the other.
They both nodded.
Chapter 14
The line had been drawn just south of Colorado Springs. A barrier had been constructed across the CanAm Highway out of rusting cars and trucks dragged out of the city and suburbs. Five cars deep and three high, gaps had been left between those in the top layer for gun emplacements, and the barrels of assault rifles bristled from smashed windows to point down the road.
And yet it was all entirely futile. Nathan Woods knew this and so, he suspected, did everyone else willing to give the situation a moment's thought. Pretty soon now, the best-equipped army remaining in the world would come rolling up the Ronald Reagan Highway with more than enough firepower to blow away the defenses. In truth, they wouldn't find it difficult to simply bypass the barrier—it wasn't as if the terrain was particularly challenging, especially for tanks.
Nathan sat on a camping chair, his back soothed by the warm metal of the car behind him, looking along the road. He wasn't trying to spot the enemy—he knew he'd have plenty of warning to get out of the way—he was enjoying this combined suntrap and windbreak. He flicked his lighter and, using his palm to shelter the cigarette from the gentle breeze, he lit up and drew in a deep drag.
"That's a bad habit," Su-Mi said, glancing across at him. "It'll get you killed one day."
They both chuckled at that. Gallows humor had been the only kind on offer lately. He took her hand and squeezed it. She wore an eye patch now, but there was no hiding the emotional and physical damage she'd endured. But, oh, how proud he'd been when she'd led the Rattlers out of that market in Albuquerque. The Chinese had been caught between their own machine guns and the vengeance of a feral band of fighters, and they had been routed. Nathan wondered how many other victories the home forces had achieved in the past weeks. Not many, he'd be prepared to bet.
The hour after victory had been a grim time. Dealing with the dead had been bad enough—especially those Rattlers who'd fallen in that final assault—but it had been those too badly injured to move that had been the hardest to handle. One Chinese soldier was really no more than a boy. Nathan had knelt beside him, and, as he looked into his opponent's terrified eyes and saw only agony and grief, all the euphoria of victory had dissolved in the black fog that descended on his mind and heart. The boy's legs were shattered beyond any hope of repair and Nathan held his hand as his lifeblood soaked into the soil of the country he'd come to occupy. Killing in combat was something Nathan had become accustomed to. Watching a young man die in slow motion was quite another matter.
But it was Morelli who haunted his dreams. She'd been thrown into a metal barrier by a Chinese grenade. Her body was a scarlet landscape, lacerated from chin to waist. And her spine was broken. To move her was to kill her; to leave her was to condemn her to a slow death. She begged him to end it for her. Su-Mi had suggested leaving her with a revolver so she could do it herself, but Morelli shook her head and asked him, again. She took a photo from her blouse pocket and kissed it. Then she closed her eyes and waited.
Back in the present, Nathan felt his eyes moisten as he pulled the photo out and looked at it. A bloodstained image of a smiling man on a beach with his arm around a happy Jen Morelli. A scene from a world that was forever gone—for them and for everyone. He slipped the photo back into his pocket and patted it.
"It was a kindness," Su-Mi said. She'd watched him go through this ritual dozens of times in the days since the attack on Albuquerque. She only hoped he was healing and not slipping further into darkness. "I know you'd do the same for me, if it came to it."
Nathan took a drag before emitting a cloud of smoke into the air. He was pulled from his funk by approaching footsteps. "Hello, Jake," he said.
"How'd you know it was me?"
"You walk on your heels, son. Make a noise like a bull elephant on heat."
He sensed Jake looking down at his feet. "No, I don't. Anyway, Stiles wants you."
"Don't you mean General Stiles? Where's your respect for the hierarchy?"
Jake snorted. "Funny. You gonna go or not?"
Nathan took a final puff and stubbed the butt on the red meta
l of the car behind him. With a heave, he raised himself to his feet, brushed the dust and ash from his fatigues and, pausing only to kiss Su-Mi, he ambled around the barrier and into the ranks of the allied forces.
He found Stiles in the cargo container he was using as his makeshift headquarters. The atmosphere inside had all the optimism of the Führerbunker in the last days of World War Two, with the only animation coming from the bald man in an olive T-Shirt. General Stiles looked up from the map he was studying.
"Ah, the war hero. Come in, Sergeant."
Nathan walked inside and snapped a salute as the three others in the room filed past him.
Stiles put his hand out and Nathan took it with a smile.
"Haven't deserted yet, Nate? Your time's running out, my friend."
Woods smiled. "Where have I got to go? Anyway, you need someone around to watch your back. I see you've got your ass-wipers sorted already." He gestured over his shoulder at the closed door.
"I couldn't blame you for running north. That's where most of the TLX officers are heading. We got no chance of stopping the Kimmies here."
"That's not what you've told the troops."
Stiles shook his head. "They know the truth. But the line has to be drawn somewhere, and we need to delay them long enough for the evacuation to be finished. If we can get the women and children away, then at least we're fighting for something."
Woods nodded. Stiles had told his soldiers of the evacuation. They now had something to fight, and die, for. By holding off the advancing Chinese for a few hours, the remaining citizens of Colorado Springs and the surrounding area—or, at least, the women and children—would be flown to safety from the airport just north of there.
The evacuation had been a feat of organization and sheer willpower that only someone with the force of personality of Stiles could achieve. He'd been a major in the Marines before joining the TLX at the same rank. By far the most capable officer in President Murphy's oppressive regime, he'd found himself sidelined like all other threats to the president's fragile ego. But after Murphy's death and the invasion of the Chinese and North Koreans, he had become the only effective leader of the official resistance. Nathan had wanted to join Stiles, but he'd been impossible to find in the chaos of the war, so the Rattlers had formed around Nathan and he'd done his best to resist the enemy.
Showdown: Book 6 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival series: (The Long Night - Book 6) Page 11
