V 11 - The Texas Run

by George W Proctor (UC) (epub)

  Stepping out, Garth’s gaze was met by the same sort of industrious activity he had seen below. Here, within one of the ship’s massive storage rooms, fatigue crews took the capsules fed to them from the flight-deck conveyer system and neatly packed the precious cargo away.

  “Commander.” A young lieutenant glanced up from a control console and snapped to attention. “I didn’t hear the elevator, sir.”

  Garth smiled and nodded. “As you were.”

  The lieutenant’s eyes shifted back to the control console. His fingers danced over a keypad, and a minidisplay screen winked alive with a line of phosphorescent green figures. A pleased smile moved over his human-imitating lips.

  “We’re above our quota for this week, Commander Garth,” he reported. “If all continues at this rate, we should reach a new high in processing. At least two hundred thousand, I would estimate.”

  “Fine, Lieutenant, fine. Twenty-five percent above production when Mary was supervising processing. Our Great Leader will be pleased.” Garth granted the lieutenant a smile as he walked to the railed edge of the concourse on which he stood.

  Mary, who had earned the name of Dark Death of Dallas while commanding the Dallas-Fort Worth processing centers, had been one of Scientific Commander Diana’s personal students. The woman, along with several other high-ranking fleet officers, had died when resistance fighters had bombed a party given by Diana in the California town of Play a.

  Garth did not mourn the loss. For all her flash and show, Mary had been no more than one of Diana’s spies, reporting his every move to her mentor. That processing had so dramatically increased since the woman’s demise would be a sharp thorn in Diana’s side.

  With hands firmly planted on the rail, Garth stared across a gaping canyon that yawned on each side of the concourse. His gaze moved over a glistening wall of gelatin-filled capsules. Slowly his neck craned back. For as far as he could see above him, the wall of capsules lofted upward, disappearing in the chamber’s own misty atmosphere. The same scene repeated itself in reverse when he looked down.

  From top to bottom of the great Mother Ship, this artificial canyon stretched, over three human miles, with a width and length each equal to a mile. Gradually, methodically, this chamber and its sisters on the ship would be filled with the capsules the squad vehicles brought each day. Just contemplating the millions upon millions of capsules required to complete the task left him dizzy.

  And in each capsule—a human, quick frozen in suspended animation. Each awaited the time they would be reawakened. Some would be given the honor of taking to the battlefield and giving their lives for the glory of the Great Leader in his never-ending battle against the “Others,” that malignant race who opposed the Visitors’ right to rule the stars. Far more would find their way onto reptilian tables.

  Garth pivoted on the balls of his feet and started back to the elevator. Once again he saw the lieutenant busily punching a capsule count into the Mother Ship’s computer. The scrolling minidisplay tickled something at the back of Garth’s mind.

  With that elusive something flitting about in his head, Garth entered the elevator and barked a command for it to return to his quarters. The mechanism responded by beginning its long ascent to the Mother Ship’s uppermost levels.

  The computer. Garth gave a name to the thought that evaded him. The ship’s computer might provide an avenue to vent the frustration and anger gnawing at him. The computer held personal records on every resistance member his intelligence network had been able to identify. All he had to do was pull the records on the redheaded bitch who had died before he had gotten to her.

  Yes, he nodded to himself. Something hidden in those records would give him a key, provide a method to finally repay the female for all that she had cost him.

  When the elevator stopped and its door opened, Garth strode straight for his desk to punch in the name that had

  The Texas Hun

  haunted him all day. Seconds later the computer flashed the information he sought on the monitor. It took no more than a cursory perusal of the electronic records to locate the key he desired.

  Chapter 11

  A distant ramble of thunder intruded into a gentle dream of a sunny, warm southern California afternoon. Rick tried to block out the disquieting sound, but it only mounted until the comforting images that caressed him shattered.

  He opened his eyes and blinked. Momentary disorientation gave way to the realization that he still sat in the living room of Charlie Scoggin’s underground home. Sheryl Lee, nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, stirred, her emerald-green eyes languidly opening. A sleepy smile slid across her red lips.

  “And I was worried about you failin’ asleep on me.” She lazily lifted her head, sat up, and stretched. “I could use about forty-eight more hours of that.”

  Rick only half listened to her. He concentrated on the thunderlike rumble that had destroyed the dream and awakened him. In spite of the fact that he was now awake, the thunder continued.

  “What is it?” Sheryl Lee’s brow furrowed.

  “Listen. It’s growing louder.”

  She did, her head cocking to the right. “It sounds like a car.”

  “Or cars.” Rick shoved himself up from the sofa and hastened into the kitchen, where he snatched the Uzi from atop the table.

  “Surfer Boy?”

  “I think you’d better dress. It sounds like we’ve got

  company coming,” he replied, turning back to the robe-clad woman.

  Sheryl Lee didn’t question him, but darted into the house’s interior.

  Tucking his stolen energy pistol into the belt of his jeans, Rick moved to the door leading to the hangar and opened it. The sound was louder—the mounting rumble of several approaching motors.

  “Son of a bitch!” The curse hissed through the young man’s clenched teeth.

  With his folksy ways and steak and eggs, they had allowed Charlie Scoggin to gamer their trust. Then they had let the old man leave to summon the snakes!

  No. Rick refused to accept the scenario his panicked brain pieced together. He had seen Charlie and his Mustang in action. The man was no collaborator. Of that Rick was certain.

  Then what?

  He opened the door wider and started to step out. A hand grasped his shoulder from behind. Before he could spin about, Sheryl Lee spoke.

  “You’re not leavin’ without me, Surfer Boy. We’ve come this far together; it’s no time to break up a partnership.”

  “I was just going to slip outside to see if—”

  “Then we’ll slip out together,” she cut the explanation and nodded for him to lead the way.

  Outside they moved around the perimeter of the mound of sand and rock covering Scoggin’s underground home and disguised hangar. In the light of the waning moon, they saw Charlie’s jeep at the head of a caravan of seven pickup trucks that rolled over the canyon floor.

  “ What in hell?” Rick used the words to conceal his sigh of relief.

  Sheryl Lee only shook her head in mute answer as they watched the jeep swing around the mounded sand.

  Charlie, a broad grin stretching from one ear to the other, waved them to follow him when he passed.

  “What is this?” Sheryl Lee trotted to the man as he halted and slid from the driver’s seat.

  “The way to save them medical supplies, liT lady. That’s if the lizards haven’t already gotten at ’em,” Charlie said when Rick joined his companions. The older man turned to the pickups that rounded the mound. “Ain’t as fast as airmail, but overland freight beats nothin’ at all.”

  One by one the pickups halted. Cab doors swung wide and two men stepped from each of the vehicles. No, Rick corrected his first impression. Men and women with faces set like granite walked to where they stood.

  “Folks,” Charlie said, turning to the trucks’ occupants, “I want you to meet the two brave young people I told you about—Sheryl Lee Darcy and Rick Hurley.” Smiles turned the stolid masks into warm hum
an faces. Several arms shot out and hands grasped Sheryl Lee’s and Rick’s hands, shaking them.

  “You two done yourself proud,” a man spoke, while a woman said, “You kinda remind me of my own daughter. She was a student at Texas Tech when the Visitors hit Lubbock.”

  Charlie raised his arms and voice. “Folks, I know ya’ll would like to visit and get to know these two, but time’s one thing we’re runnin’ out of. If we’re goin’ to save the medical supplies, we’ve got to move—and move now.”

  “Then why’re you wastin’ time talkin’, Charlie Scoggin?” a woman called out. “Let’s get a move on.” “You heard the lady—move out.” Charlie motioned Sheryl Lee and Rick into his jeep. “I’ll explain everything as we go.”

  “What about weapons for these people?” Rick climbed into the rear of the jeep. “We might run into shock troopers out there.”

  “They’ve got shotguns and deer rifles in their pickups.” Charlie eased beneath the steering wheel and turned the ignition key. He pumped the gas pedal two times when the motor caught, then shifted into gear. “I also told ’em to go for the head and legs, if it comes down to a fight. None of ’em have Teflon-coated bullets.”

  Rick glanced back as the truck convoy circled Scog-gin’s home and pulled onto the canyon floor. He could make out the vague forms of rifles racked in the rear windows of the pickups. While ordinary ammunition wouldn’t penetrate the armor Visitor shock troopers wore over their chests and backs, shotguns and deer rifles would be deadly if aimed at heads and legs.

  “Who are they?” Sheryl Lee asked.

  “People, just people,” Charlie replied.

  Rick heard the names Charlie rattled off, but he couldn’t retain them. They were farmers and ranchers, people the Korean War veteran merely described as “neighbors.” Like the nameless woman who had compared Sheryl Lee to her daughter who had been caught in Lubbock during the Visitors’ raids, all had family or friends who had died or disappeared when the snakes had returned to Earth.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to thank them enough, Charlie.” Sheryl Lee glanced over her shoulder at the caravan of pickups that followed the jeep.

  “You two are the ones they want to thank, honey.” Charlie’s expression was somber. “We’re isolated out here, but every one of us knows what’s going on. These folks aren’t lucky like yours truly. I’ve got my Mustang; I can strike out. It’s not much, I admit, but I can fight. My friends back there haven’t had that chance.”

  He paused as though trying to find the right words. “You and your medical supplies have given them the chance they’ve been achin’ for, liT lady. This is real, not just squad vehicles and skyfighters whining overhead beyond their reach. They’ve got something solid they can sink their teeth into. And believe me, once they take hold, they’re like snappin’ turtles; they won’t let go no matter what!”

  That familiar sensation Rick had felt on every one of his resistance missions filled his chest. How could anyone help but feel pride stirring? The men and women in the pickups were total strangers, yet they were laying their lives on the line this night to help those in distant Dallas and Fort Worth. He couldn’t remember a single name Charlie had mentioned, but in that moment he loved each and every one of them and felt no shame in that love.

  With the pickups lagging a mile behind, Charlie trundled the jeep cautiously toward the two abandoned wrecks that lay half buried in the sand.

  “Looks clear.” Charlie halted the jeep and pulled himself up so that he peered over the windshield.

  “The lizards might have found the wreck and left shock troopers inside just in case we returned.” Rick surveyed the C-47’s wreckage. Nothing moved around it or the cracked hull of the skyfighter.

  “Then we have a little surprise waitin’ for them. Take a look into the toolbox to your right, son,” Charlie directed.

  Rick did and pulled out two bundles, each made up of four sticks of dynamite tied together with baling wire. A short fuse protruded from each bundle. “Where did you get these?”

  “Emmett Voss had it at his place to help stubborn mesquite stumps out of the ground.” Charlie handed Rick a lit cigar when he turned to face the Californian. “Keep that stogie bumin’ cherry red. At the first sign of trouble, touch off one of those fuses and chuck the dynamite fast. You’ve got five-second fuses on both them bundles.”

  Placing one of the bundles carefully beside him, Rick accepted the cigar while maintaining a cautious distance between it and the bundle still in his right hand. He puffed at the cigar and did his best to stifle the nonsmoker’s cough that lodged in his throat.

  Chuckling, Charlie eased the jeep into gear once again and moved forward. “Now we’ll see if snakes come out in the dark.”

  The fighter pilot’s foot gently pressed the accelerator, the jeep inched toward the two wrecks. Sheryl Lee lifted her energy pistol and swung it from Wanda Sue to the skyfighter, ready for an attack from either of the downed aircraft.

  Rick completely forgot the rancid taste of the cigar as his attention focused oi> the scene ahead. His eyes searched both C-47 and skyfighter, then probed the shadows cast by the dim moonlight. Nothing.

  “So far, so good.” Charlie halted twenty feet from Wanda Sue’s open hatch. He tugged the jeep’s stick shift into neutral. “Sheryl Lee, slide over here while I check inside. ” He looked back at Rick. “You just stand by with that dynamite.”

  Before either could answer, Charlie stepped from the jeep and unholstered the ancient Peacemaker hung on his hip. Two metallic clicks sounded as he thumbed back the six-shooter’s hammer and trotted to the transport plane’s door. Back pressed against fuselage, he paused, listened for a few moments, then ducked inside. Five heartbeats later he emerged and held up a hand with rounded forefinger and thumb touching to signal that everything was all right.

  Still without a word, he darted to the skyfighter. Hesitating beside the rent in its side, he listened once again before entering. When he exited, he called out, “Rick, stow that dynamite and put out the cigar. There’s a flashlight in the toolbox. Signal the others with two long beams.”

  Flipping the cigar away, the young freedom fighter exchanged the bundles of dynamite for the flashlight. He turned around, lifted the light, and flashed it for two seconds. He turned it off, then gave another flash. A pair of headlight beams blinked on and off twice in answer.

  “We can have some of the boxes unloaded by the time the others get here.” Sheryl Lee switched off the jeep’s ignition and slipped from behind the wheel.

  Replacing the flashlight, Rick climbed from the jeep and followed the redhead into Wanda Sue's belly.

  “That’s the last one.” Rick handed a box marked Bandages to a rancher named Jess Tubbs, then watched it proceed down the line of men and women to the waiting pickup.

  “Took two hours.” Charlie snapped the cover of a pocket watch closed and stuffed the timepiece into the coin pocket of his jeans. “I was hopin’ we’d do it in half the time. But it’s done and that’s what counts. Soon as that tarp’s tied down, we can get out of here.”

  “And leave Joe Bob?” Sheryl Lee glanced at Joe Bob’s body, which still lay slumped in the pilot’s seat where he had died.

  Charlie drew a deep breath and released it in a slow hiss. “Some things don’t sit right with a man, Sheryl Lee. Leavin’ your friend there without a Christian burial is one of them. But I don’t see any way round it. Leavin’ him there like that just might convince the snakes that he was all alone in this plane. And that might give us the edge we need. Keep the Visitors off our tails for a while.”

  Sheryl Lee bit at her lower lip and looked back at the cockpit again. Hesitantly, she nodded. “He’d have probably wanted something like this anyway. The crazy bastard loved this old plane. No place else he’d rather be.”

  “Charlie,” the lanky cattleman named Emmett Voss called from outside the plane. “Everybody’s loaded and lashed down.”

  “Then ya’ll know what to do,” Ch
arlie answered when he and his young companions ducked out of the plane. “Meet us at the mouth of the canyon tomorrow an hour after sundown.”

  The farmers and ranchers turned and walked toward their trucks.

  “Tomorrow?” This from Rick. “We’re not leaving until tomorrow night?”

  “This night’s ’bout used up, son.” Charlie pushed back his cap and stared at the starry sky. “We couldn’t make more than thirty or forty miles ’fore sunup. There ain’t much cover for at least a hundred miles. I don’t want us to get caught sittin’ out in the open. Tonight we all head home and get what rest we can, ’cause we’ll be getting damned little of it come tomorrow night.” Truck engines started, and Rick turned to watch the seven pickups pull away, moving across the flatlands without the aid of their headlights.

  “Help me tote that snake who nearly got you today back into the skyfighter, then we can be on our way,” Charlie said.

  Rick nodded and walked with the man to where the Visitor Sheryl Lee had killed earlier lay in the sand. With Charlie lifting the arms and Rick handling the legs, they carried the alien back into the skyfighter and placed him in the pilot’s seat.

  Charlie sucked at his teeth. “Wish to hell they were both burnt a little more. All it takes is a glance to see how both of ’em died.”

  Rick admitted the energy blast burns on both bodies were obvious. He pulled the Visitor pistol from his belt. “You want to do it . . . or shall I?”

  “It’s your gun, son.” Charlie turned and walked from the ship as Rick lifted the gun and began to bum the bodies beyond recognition.

  Two minutes later, when he exited the skyfighter, both aliens appeared to have died when their ship crashed and burned.

  “Get me the hell out of here,” was all the Californian said when he rejoined his companions in the jeep.

  While Charlie steered over the night-shrouded plain, Rick leaned over the side of the jeep and heaved what remained of his supper. He had been wrong earlier when he accused the Visitors of robbing him of his humanity. What he had done back in the skyfighter had been dirty. Ana no matter how necessary his actions had been, he could not stop the nausea that painfully knotted his gut.