“Dikeme and Otha Gladson,” Dikeme said, getting the introductions out of the way. “You call him Viper?”
Michael shrugged. “What he calls himself.” He craned his neck. Looking up at Otha and Dikeme was like rubber necking at skyscrapers.
“Can you tell us what’s going on?” Otha asked.
“Glad to, but we should get back under cover first.”
“Why?”
“Because Viper checks his back trail,” Michael said.
*
Marcus knocked on the hatch of Viper’s Bradley and fidgeted while waiting for it to open. The command vehicle was parked in the center of the Headquarters group just above Garden of the Gods, where Viper could keep in touch with both columns.
The rear hatch clanged open and Viper asked, “What is it, Marcus?”
“We’ve broken through on Rampart Range and the enemy appears to be massing in Woodland Park.”
“And?” Viper always knew when Marcus was hiding something.
“The bastards buried our tanks under a landslide. Ute pass is closed.” Marcus saw Viper’s eyes glitter dangerously and swallowed hard. Bringing bad news to Viper could be risky and he wasn’t sure he’d been forgiven for suggesting retreat earlier.
But Viper surprised him again, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a loud sigh. “Omelets and eggs, Marcus. We still have a dozen Bradleys and three Abrams and now the terrain is in our favor, so push them hard. When we crush them we will control the entire east slope of Colorado.” He flung his arms wide. “Imagine it, Marcus. There will be no one left to oppose us and a new society will blossom where black justice rules.”
Marcus, who didn’t believe in black justice, or anything else except survival, nodded enthusiastically. The tightrope he walked between sycophant and gadfly gnawed on his nerves like a starving slave on a soup bone.
*
Ellen ducked behind the parapet and slammed a fresh magazine into her Beretta as rounds from the Bradley’s 7.62 mm gun whined off the granite of the Teller County Courthouse. She popped up, sent two slugs into the gunner as the commander ducked down inside the vehicle, and signaled Chad Bailey.
As the crew of the Bradley pulled the dead gunner out the hatch, Chad lofted a Molotov cocktail into the opening. The machine jerked to a halt and the back hatch dropped open as flames and burning men erupted from the interior. The men died in a hail of small arms fire.
Ellen gagged at a whiff of burnt flesh. Another Bradley down, she thought, wondering how many more were still in action. Jim Cantrell had radioed he’d seen at least eight while fighting a delaying action up on Rampart Range. She and her hunter-killer team had accounted for two.
*
Moira Goldstein’s bomb factory was in full swing. Moira, Marcia Haley and Leona Perry shoved detonators into duct taped bundles of dynamite, smeared globs of tile adhesive on them and sealed them in plastic wrap. Other adults and some of the older children poured a gasoline and soap flakes mixture into glass jars and inserted soaked rag fuses to fashion Molotov cocktails.
“I can’t believe we have children making bombs,” Leona said, her brows knit as she concentrated on her task. “This could damage them badly.”
“Not as much as being a slave--or dinner--if Viper wins,” Moira fired back. “It’s a nasty new world we find ourselves in and if history is any teacher, survival will go to the fittest.”
“Oh, I’m not arguing,” Leona protested. “But the teacher in me worries what we’re doing to them.”
“We’re teaching them that actions have consequences,” Moira said. “And who was it who found those old copies of the Anarchist’s Cookbook and The Army’s Improvised Munitions Field Manual?”
Leona laid another sticky bomb on the pile and said, “Guilty.”
“For what it’s worth,” Marcia said, “I think having them help is a good thing.”
Wayne Anderson and Jacques Lachelle ran into the old train depot pushing empty wheelbarrows.
“I see you’ve got another load ready,” Wayne said.
Jacques grabbed a full wheelbarrow and said, “Ellen says pull back to Bluebird Hill. It’s getting too hot in this part of town.” He tossed the words over his shoulder as he trotted out the door with his new load.
“Everybody!” Moira yelled. “We need to load up and head for Bluebird.” As she shoved ingredients into boxes she thought about her sister-in-law, Aeriella, sailing serenely above the chaos, safe in the ISS. At least Aeriella wasn’t forced to fight for her life against cannibals.
*
Luna City
Aeriella flew along the corridor toward the sound of the alarm with Mary Adams and Linette Laverne in close pursuit. All over Luna City everyone would be rushing to respond to the emergency. As she neared an intersection she jumped and spun pointing her feet toward the corner so she could change direction down the side hallway without stopping. Loonies called this move the ricochet and most of them had it down pat. Halfway through the crossover she slammed into Muhammad Rahotep as he rushed through from the right.
They both ping-ponged off the walls and smacked together again, then rolled down the corridor. She came to a stop facing him and saw the naked rage on his face. It was a look too familiar to Israeli Jews who saw it daily in the eyes of their Arab neighbors.
“You Jew bitch!” he said, shoving her as she started to rise.
She bounced off the wall, cracking her head so hard her eyes watered.
He raised a closed fist and Mary Adams yelled, “Muhammad!”
“It was an accident,” Linette added, clearly appalled.
Muhammad lowered his fist, regaining control of himself.
“The alarm,” Aeriella said, and they all took off again, but not before she got another of those looks from Muhammad.
Arabs and Jews, she thought sadly. Would the hatred never end? Her brother Aaron had left Israel for America to escape that violence. At least he ended up in Colorado, far from any ocean. From what she had seen from her sightings that state was largely intact so maybe…. She pinched herself mentally. Maybe it’s best not to think of those on the surface. Better to focus on staying alive up here.
The alarm was just a drill, but not without its benefits, she decided as she entered the infirmary. She’d learned that Muhammad hated her and forewarned was forearmed. Groaning at her own pun she taped a scalpel to her forearm and hid it under her sleeve.
*
Aaron Goldstein soared high over Woodland Park. Too high to discern the details he wanted to see, but every time he flew the Pegasus lower he took rifle fire from Viper’s troops. Still, he’d counted half a dozen burning Bradleys as Viper’s army swarmed like killer bees over the northern and eastern reaches of Woodland Park. He also saw the three Abrams tanks when they arrived and radioed a quick update to Ellen.
*
The ground shook from the nearby blast, the walls shuddered and fine dust drifted into the room. Jim Cantrell sneezed explosively. “Sorry about that,” he said.
“What?” Ellen asked, her ears ringing.
“Never mind.” He peeked out the window using a periscope made of duct tape, mirrors from a compact and cardboard tubing from paper towels. “Are the charges set?”
“Yes,” she replied.
The tank cannon was rotating toward them.
“We gotta move,” Jim said, pushing her out the back door. As they dropped into an open manhole Ellen pushed the button on the detonator. The blast hammered them to their knees and Ellen tasted blood in her mouth.
She poked her head up and radioed Aaron. “Did it work?”
“It’s too dusty,” Aaron replied. “I can’t see a--wait a minute--yeah, there’s debris covering the front of the tank but it won’t pin him for long.”
Jim picked up a sticky bomb and dashed down the tunnel. He veered left at the intersection and ran another hundred feet, stopping under another manhole. He climbed the metal rungs, pushed the manhole cover aside and grinned. He was under the tank, j
ust like he’d planned. He shoved the sticky bomb in between the treads and the gears and lit the fuse. Dropping back into the sewer he ran like hell was on his heels.
He hadn’t quite reached the intersection when the dynamite blew and converted the tank into a badly damaged pillbox--still deadly, but no longer mobile.
He staggered around the corner and saw Ellen giving him a thumbs up.
“Well, that’s great,” he said, “But I doubt it’ll work again. What’s next?”
*
Garrett and Linda Haley, Don and Marcia’s teenagers, came up with the next bright idea for stopping the tanks.
“I don’t like putting them in harms way, either,” Don Haley, said. “But they’ve convinced Marcia and me it’ll work and I think it’s worth a try.”
Ellen studied the two earnest teenagers. So young to have seen so much suffering, but the two remaining tanks had teamed up and were rampaging through town, flattening every position they came across.
“Okay,” she said, hating the fact she had no choice. Children didn’t get much childhood in hard times.
*
The lead tank literally rolled over the barricade of abandoned cars, crushing them while its machine gunner fired at the retreating troops. The main gun roared and the corner of a building some Freeholders were sheltering behind disappeared.
“It’s like using a sledgehammer to swat mosquitoes,” the tank commander said, as they entered the intersection and stopped.
The main gun operator smiled at him as he loaded another H.E.A.T round. “Cept we swattin honkeys,” he said.
The tankers mostly ignored the bullets ricocheting off the body of the tank. When fully buttoned up they were practically invulnerable to small arms fire; and the enemy appeared to be out of the antitank rockets and mortar shells that claimed the other two tanks in their squadron.
The Tank commander rotated the turret slowly, looking for targets. The only problem with having all the hatches closed was limited visibility through their small viewports. Was that a shadow?
*
Aaron Goldstein saw his opportunity and dove on the two tanks. Bullets zipped by, a few punching holes in the light weight aluminum skin of the Pegasus. Steady, he thought and manned himself to keep from flinching as the rounds cracked past.
As he swooped over the tanks he pulled the release cords and two large trash bags fell onto the tanks below.
He laughed like a crazy man as he zigzagged away gaining altitude. Who would have believed he’d attack tanks with water balloons filled with black paint and used motor oil.
*
“What?” The tank commander swore as his viewports went dark. He keyed his radio and asked, “What happened?”
The reply from the other tank was broken and static-filled. “Don’t know. ...see anything...black.”
“Where the fuck’s my infantry support?” the commander yelled into his field phone. But the phone box on the back of the tank had been targeted by snipers and was out of commission. And his infantry was ducking for cover as the Freeholders opened up with M 60’s and captured M 50’s.
*
Linda Hailey peeked out the broken window at the blinded tanks and thumbed the controls. A small radio-controlled truck darted out of the 7-11 parking lot, bouncing over the rubble and made a beeline for the tank. Sparks trailed from the long fuse of the sticky bomb in the truck bed. Linda deftly steered the little truck under the tank and stopped it, while her brother, Garret, mimicked her actions, parking his toy truck under the other tank.
The twin blasts shredded the tracks of the tanks and ignited the motor oil.
“Cool,” Garret said, peeking out at the now blind and burning M 1’s.
Dan Hailey shot Garret a thumbs up and gave Linda a quick hug. “You did great,” he said. “Now let’s get out of here before their infantry pulls itself together.”
*
“But the fighting is here,” Jim argued. He pointed toward the hills. Michael’s still out there and…”
“And we’re dangerously low on ammo,” Ellen Whitebear interrupted. “We stalled them today but tomorrow they’ll roll right over us if we don’t get more.” She tapped his chest with her index finger. “I need to find out what happened to our supply column. They should have been here hours ago.”
He sighed. “Wish I still had the copter.”
“Take a couple of mounts from the outriders stable.”
He nodded once and started to leave.
“Jim?”
He half-turned to face her, one eyebrow raised.
“Be back before dawn tomorrow, Jim. If they don’t hit us tonight, it’ll happen then.”
“They’ve had a long, hard day, Ellen. They won’t attack tonight.”
“From your lips…” she whispered as he loped up Bluebird Hill to the stables.
Chapter 36: Changes in Latitude
“You notice how the stars are different?” Otha asked.
“Hard to miss,” Michael said.
“I miss chocolate,” Dikeme chimed in, completely off point, raising grins from the men. “Seriously, I miss chocolate candy bars, chocolate ice cream, chocolate covered peanuts, chocolate--” she broke off as she caught the small package Michael tossed her; M&M’s chocolate covered peanuts.
“Found a couple of cases in a Surplus store last year,” Michael explained, adding, “We use them as emergency field rations.”
“You, sir, are a Djin. What do I get for my other two wishes?”
Michael chuckled, shaking his head.
She carefully opened a small hole in the M&M’s bag, took a single one out and placed it on her tongue like a sacrament. She followed this a short time later with a heavy sigh.
“Well, you’ve made a friend for life,” Otha said.
“Hopefully two,” Michael said. “The Freeholds could use a couple like you.” They had spent the afternoon slowly trailing Viper’s army, keeping well back of his rear guard, waiting for darkness, getting acquainted. Now that the stars were coming out they resumed their earlier conversation.
“You said you’ve been doing a survey,” Michael said. Otha had told him about Pike’s Peak being lower or sea level being higher.
Otha nodded and said, “More like a wild-assed guess, what with no GPS and no accurate sea level baseline.”
“But you’ve noticed we don’t have as much twilight time.” Michael said. “Reminds me of the tropics. One minute it’s evening and the next it’s dark.”
“That’s because at the equator the Earth is spinning at a bit more than a thousand miles per hour,” Otha said. “While at forty degrees north Earth’s circumference is smaller and it’s only spinning at about seven hundred ninety-five miles per hour.”
“My God,” Michael said, getting it. “That means...” He paused, still struggling to wrap his head around the idea.
“The best I can figure is we’re at about five degrees north latitude,” Otha said.
“So the North American plate...shifted thirty-five degrees?”
“Sort of,” Otha said. “I mean--”
“He thinks the entire mantle slipped,” Dikeme said, returning from chocoholic heaven.
“Basically, yes I do,” Otha said. “So ALL the plates slipped.”
Michael stared up into the night sky and said, “I thought I saw the Large Magellanic Cloud, but I just couldn’t believe it.”
“Believe it, my friend. Every astronomy textbook will have to be rewritten and every navigator has to start from scratch. We’ve experienced severe Changes in Latitude like that old Jimmy Buffet song.”
They sat silently, letting the darkness deepen and their thoughts run until Michael said, “It’s dark enough now. I’ve got to get going.” He rose to his feet and shouldered his pack and rifle. “You head for Woodland Park the way I told you, and be very careful. My wife, Ellen, will have sniper teams and listening posts out; and given the people we’re fighting, you’re the wrong color to sneak up on our lines, so put those red
arm bands I gave you on now. If you don’t hit our lines before sunrise find something white to tie around your left arm. Red was today’s color of the day.”
He paused while they tied red strips of cloth around their left arms, then said, “Good luck, you two. Remember the password?”
“Pegasus,” they both said. They looked at each other and smiled and when they looked back he was gone.
*
Luna City
Marissa Reilly peered through the telescope and said, “If I wasn’t seeing this with my own eyes...” The computer engineer from Australia was staring at her homeland. “It’s north of the equator.” Her voice was soft and full of wonder.
“And my country is almost on the equator,” Leila Yoruba, the astrophysicist from South Africa said.
Marissa rolled her deep green eyes. “My point is, everything looks wrong.”
“You’re telling me? Africa split in two at the great rift valley. Mongolia sits at the top of the world. And we’re living on the moon staring down at the Earth like vultures. Everything is completely bonkers.” Tears filled Leila’s doe brown eyes and rolled across her blue-black cheeks. She brushed them away, muttering, “Damned hormones.” She was eight months pregnant and confined to Luna City for the duration of her term.
“Are you okay?” Captain Henri Dupree asked. He’d been waiting his turn at the telescope.
“Of course I am,” Leila snapped. “I’m swollen up like an elephant with udders the size of blimps--”
“I like your blimps,” he said, cheerfully ignoring the dangerous glint in her eyes.
“You...you...man.” She stamped her foot down, launching herself toward the ceiling. One-sixth gee took a lot of getting used to.
“Guilty as charged,” Henri said, as he caught her ankle and tugged her back down. “Now, is there anything else you’d like to blame me for? Or can I take my turn at the scope?”
The Dying Time (Book 1): Impact Page 37
