A Hole in the Sky

by William C. Dietz

  Capelli tested the blade with his thumb, was pleased to discover that it was quite sharp, and turned his back to the eight-foot-high wall that surrounded the bowl. He estimated that the arena was about seventy-five feet across. The dirt under his bare feet had clearly been brought in from outside and there were some sizable rocks mixed in with it. A cluster of lights dangled from above and Capelli had to keep his chin down to avoid the glare. He was frightened, but alert, with blood pounding in his ears.

  El Diablo was shuffling sideways. The Chimera had a good six inches on Capelli. In addition to six gold-colored eyes, and a reptilian jaw that could open extremely wide, the Steelhead had an animal-like muscularity. Its reactions were quick, it had the benefit of experience, and it was hungry. All of which were advantages.

  Could the stink draw on knowledge possessed by the Chimeran hive-mind? Or call on it for help? Maybe, but Capelli didn’t think so, because if the hive-mind knew about El Diablo’s situation, why hadn’t a force of Hybrids been sent to destroy the circus weeks or months before?

  No, Capelli figured El Diablo was on its own for some reason, just as he was. So what to do? He could throw the knife, of course. But the ex-soldier knew that the best throwing knives were double-edged, which his wasn’t. And accurate knife throwing requires lots of practice and a good eye. If the thrower isn’t the correct distance from the target, the weapon can easily hit hilt-first.

  No, Capelli reasoned, as some in the crowd booed the lack of action, throwing was out of the question. That suggested stabbing or cutting. Except that according to Bar and the rest of the donkeys, none of the previous attempts to slice and dice El Diablo had been successful. Which was why the big Hybrid was not only alive but seemingly fearless.

  The beast extended both arms and charged.

  Fortunately, Capelli had a plan. And that was to forgo the sort of offensive strategies used by previous combatants in favor of what he’d been taught by a burly hand-to-hand combat instructor named Sergeant Major Brierson. Forget anything you think you know about knife fighting, the noncom had advised. Because most, if not all of it, is bullshit. I’m going to turn you into street surgeons, which is to say people who make cuts with a very specific purpose in mind, and that’s to disable your opponent.

  So as El Diablo surged forward, Capelli chose his primary targets—which were the muscles on the top surface of the Steelhead’s sinewy forearms. Specifically the extensors that enabled the stink to uncurl and extend its bony fingers. The challenge being to stay out of the sort of death hug that ended Nix’s life.

  Time seemed to slow, and Capelli was only vaguely aware of the crowd’s roar, as he ran straight at the Hybrid. Then, at the very last second, he made a grab for the stink’s right arm, got hold of the creature’s wrist, and brought the blade down. It sliced through skin, muscle, and tendons before grating on bone.

  As El Diablo screamed in pain, and brought its left arm inwards, Capelli dropped to the dirt and rolled away. Having missed the opportunity to grab its opponent, the Steelhead paused to examine the bloody injury. After three attempts to straighten its fingers it uttered a grunt, turned towards Capelli, and hissed.

  The crowd was in a complete uproar by that time and Susan, who had a front-row seat, was staring at the man in the ring. Especially the large tattoo on his back. It included the capital letters “SRPA” and the likeness of a Hybrid skull wearing an Army helmet. The last time she had seen such a tattoo was on her brother’s half-naked body as members of Freedom First attempted to beat information out of him. Was this man from Nathan’s top-secret unit? Yes, she thought he was.

  Her presence at the event had been the result of boredom plus idle curiosity. And having seen the absurd matchup, she had been about to leave rather than witness the slaughter. But now there was a personal connection, even if it was to a man who had been a member of SRPA, an organization that supported the Grace administration.

  Bets were being placed all around—most of which were on the Chimera. Susan felt for the pouch of tokens, bet all of them on the man with the SRPA tattoo, and wondered if she was going to regret it.

  Legs, Brierson said, as he spoke to Capelli from the past. Cut them correctly and your opponent won’t be able to move. And remember, while Hybrids are somewhat different from humans, they were human at one time. That means they have a similar musculature.

  So as Capelli and El Diablo circled each other, the runner was eyeing the area just above the Chimera’s knees knowing that if he could sever the stink’s vastus medialis, vastus lateralis, or rectus femoris, it would immobilize the Steelhead.

  But how? El Diablo’s right hand was little more than a club now, but there was nothing wrong with its left, or its teeth for that matter. Still, he had to try. So it was Capelli’s turn to charge. A fistful of soil was concealed in his left hand and the knife was gripped in his right, as he dashed forward. Then, the moment Capelli was close enough, he threw the dirt into the Chimera’s face.

  Perhaps the tactic would have been effective against another human. But the Steelhead had six eyes, and even if four of them were blinded, it could still see. So rather than make the cut as planned, Capelli felt an explosion of pain as the Chimera’s good hand found his throat and a bony fist came around to hammer his skull.

  Everything went black for a second, the strength went out of Capelli’s knees, and he began to fall. But the darkness lifted after a moment or two, and as it did, Capelli brought the knife up and in. That saved him. Because as three inches of steel entered El Diablo’s abdomen, it let go.

  However, the talons on the Chimera’s left hand had left deep puncture wounds in Capelli’s neck and slashed his chest as they fell away. Blood gushed, Capelli back-pedaled, and the crowd went wild.

  People were on their feet, and the betting became even more frenzied as the odds shifted again. Because now that the human was wounded, and bleeding profusely, the smart money expected the contest to end quickly.

  But Capelli was a Sentinel. Or had been one. And he still had the capacity to recover from nonlethal injuries more quickly than other people could. So even as the odds turned against him, Capelli’s wounds had begun to close. That didn’t mean he was safe, however, as El Diablo began to follow him around the ring.

  What happened next was more accident than plan as Capelli backed over a stone that was mixed in with the dirt and tripped. El Diablo uttered a roar of triumph as the human fell over backwards.

  Capelli’s first impulse was to roll out of the way as the Hybrid came towards him. But another possibility occurred to him, and he went limp instead. Certain of victory, the Steelhead bent over, and was in the process of reaching for Capelli’s already bloodied throat when the human came back to life.

  The blade cut deep, found the sartorius muscle in the Hybrid’s right leg, and sliced all the way through it. Suddenly, without lateral rotation, flexion, and abduction, El Diablo was crippled.

  As the Chimera screamed, and made a grab for what hurt, Capelli brought his knees up to his chin and kicked. His feet hit the stink in the stomach and pushed it over. Dirt flew, and a cloud of dust rose as the Hybrid landed on its back.

  Bam-Bam, Inkskin, and Alfonso were rushing into the arena by that time in a belated effort to save their Chimeran meal ticket. But those who had money on Capelli weren’t having any of that. There was a sudden stutter of gunfire as someone fired a burst from a .45 M3 submachine gun. Geysers of soil flew into the air and drew a line between the circus performers and the Chimera.

  So the men were forced to retreat as Capelli scrambled to his feet and El Diablo made futile efforts to stand. That was when the pro-Capelli part of the crowd began to chant. “Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!”

  And Capelli was happy to oblige. As he circled the beast, it made a pathetic effort to match his movements but couldn’t keep up. That allowed the human to step in and slash El Diablo’s throat. Blood sprayed the dirt, the Chimera’s head wobbled, and the beast collapsed.

  Absolute pandemo
nium broke out as the winners celebrated and the losers were forced to pay up. Capelli knew there was something he should do, but he couldn’t summon the energy to do it, as the circus performers swept in to confiscate the knife and carry him towards the exit. “No!” Capelli protested. “I’m free. You promised.”

  Bam-Bam’s brightly painted face loomed above as Capelli was borne away. “We lied,” the clown replied. “You killed El Diablo—and you are going to pay.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  NOWHERE TO HIDE

  Tuesday, October 27, 1953

  Freedom Base, Blanchard Springs Caverns,

  Ozark National Forest, Arkansas

  It was eternally black inside the caverns, or would have been, were it not for the generator and electric lights. But the side gallery in which Monica Shaw and the other women slept was kept dark so they could get some rest whenever the opportunity presented itself. Except that Shaw couldn’t sleep, because she was in pain.

  Not physical pain, since there was nothing wrong with her body, but emotional pain that stemmed from the horrible decision she’d been forced to make. Within the next hour, acting on information obtained from her over the last few months, Judge Ramsey’s regulators were going to attack the base. Their goal was to destroy the nascent government and steal the five thousand doses of Hale vaccine that were ready for distribution. Except that under the dictatorship that Ramsey planned to establish, the only people receiving the vaccine would be his supporters.

  None of this was of interest to Shaw. All she wanted to do was protect her husband and three-year-old daughter, both of whom were under Ramsey’s control.

  But what was right? And what was wrong? Or did such concepts have meaning anymore? Survival of the fittest. That was the new morality. Or so Shaw continually told herself. Except now, faced with the imminent slaughter of the President and his staff, Shaw realized that she’d been wrong. If there was any hope for humanity, it lay in battling not only the Chimera, but people like Ramsey. Even if that meant sacrificing her husband and daughter.

  Tears were streaming down Shaw’s face as she threw the blanket off and swung her boots over onto the floor. She was fully dressed in anticipation of the coming attack. Carefully, so as not to wake the others, Shaw made her way over to the cot occupied by Cassie Aklin. Then, having touched the other woman’s shoulder, she said, “Cassie! It’s Monica.”

  Aklin had been dreaming. Nathan Hale was sitting on the other side of her kitchen table in Denver. His strange golden eyes were locked with hers and he was smiling. “There isn’t any point in worrying about tomorrow, Cassie! We have tonight. Let’s enjoy it.”

  Then Hale disappeared as someone else said her name. “Cassie, it’s Monica. I need to talk to you.”

  Aklin resented the loss of her time with Nathan and felt a rising sense of irritation. “Monica? Can this wait? I need some sleep.”

  “No,” Shaw whispered flatly. “I did something terrible, Cassie! Something I’m ashamed of. I told them when President Voss would be in the cave—and when the latest batch of Hale vaccine would be ready. They’re going to kill the President and steal the shipment.”

  Aklin sat up straight, threw off her covers, and made a grab for the clothes on the chair next to the cot. “They? Who are they?”

  “They call themselves regulators, although they’re more like outlaws. They work for a man named Ramsey. He’s holding my husband and daughter prisoner up in Oklahoma. He said he’d kill them unless I cooperated. So I went along. But I couldn’t go through with it.”

  Aklin swore as she tied her boots. “How much time do we have?”

  “Forty-five minutes, give or take.”

  Aklin came to her feet, slipped a chest protector over her head, and grabbed the Bullseye that was leaning against a wall. If looks could kill, then the one she aimed at Shaw would have been fatal. “You made a difficult decision—but you made it late. I hope you aren’t expecting a medal or something. We’re going to see President Voss. You lead the way. And Monica!”

  Shaw wiped some of her tears away with her wrist. “Yes?”

  “If you try to run, I’ll shoot you.”

  Thomas Voss was not only awake, but hard at work when the emergency klaxon began to bleat, and Shaw entered the cubicle people jokingly referred to as “the Square Office.” Aklin was right behind the technician, her face grim.

  “We have a confirmed condition five, Mr. President. I don’t have enough time to explain—but this isn’t a drill. Please follow me.”

  Voss wanted to say, “No,” and demand an explanation. But he knew that if Aklin said the facility was about to come under attack, then it was. So he swore, made a grab for the jacket that was hanging on a nail, and followed the women out of the cube.

  Voss could tell that Shaw had been crying and that Aklin was angry with her. Was it tied in with the condition-five evacuation somehow? Yes, he figured it was, and wondered what Shaw had done to make his chief of staff so upset.

  As the trio left the office and crossed the floor of the cavern to the escape route, soldiers ran towards the main entrance, and they heard muted gunfire.

  “We have reason to believe we’re up against about a hundred hostiles,” Aklin said. “All human.”

  Shaw’s head was down, and Voss was about to demand more information, when Kawecki and a squad of heavily armed soldiers appeared. They wore armor, plus packs kept ready for such a situation, and immediately took the lead. “They’ll make sure our escape route is secure,” Kawecki said as the men jogged past.

  Malikov and four heavily burdened scientists arrived a couple of seconds later. Voss knew they were carrying everything required to start making Hale vaccine. Unfortunately, there was no way to save the lab equipment or the five thousand doses that were scheduled to go out the following day. That would take mules and a pack train.

  “Ve are ready,” Malikov said stoically. Voss knew Malikov had survived at least a hundred close calls over the last few years. And, judging from the Rossmore in his hands, the cadaverous-looking scientist was ready to fight again.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Voss said. “Your people will bring up the rear. It’s imperative that we protect them and the cultures they’re carrying.”

  “Ve understand,” the scientist responded.

  But then a series of explosions sounded. The time for conversation was over.

  Kawecki led the way and Shaw was next in line, closely followed by Aklin, Voss, Malikov, and his scientists. The sounds of fighting began to fade as the group followed the path through a narrow opening and into the passageway beyond.

  Having passed through the gap, Kawecki ordered the rest of the group to continue on while he paused to start the timer on a pre-positioned demolition charge. Voss heard the explosion a minute later as the officer caught up and managed to squeeze past.

  From there the trail led gradually upward. What illumination there was originated from the lights attached to weapons and a few hand torches. Voss caught occasional glimpses of wet limestone walls, stalactites hanging from above, and crystal-clear pools of water that shivered as they passed.

  Finally, after climbing a couple of hundred feet, the path delivered the group into a small cave where emergency supplies were waiting for them. Voss selected a pack with his name on it, and was in the process of putting his arms through the straps, when a dull thud was heard.

  “They blew the doors,” Kawecki said darkly. “They’re inside now.”

  Voss looked at Shaw as she began to sob. “They work for a man named Ramsey,” Aklin said. “He’s holding Shaw’s husband and daughter hostage. That’s why she volunteered to work for us. You can view her as a traitor or a patriot. Both descriptions are accurate.”

  Voss selected a Rossmore from a rack of weapons and checked to make sure that the shotgun was loaded. “Watch her, Cassie! Don’t let her do anything stupid. I want to know more about this Ramsey person. A lot more.

  “Marvin, order the men in the main cavern to break co
ntact, and pull out. Let’s save as many people as we can. Tell them to report to Freedom Base Two.”

  Kawecki nodded grimly. “And once they’re clear?”

  “Blow the cavern.”

  Kawecki raised a radio to his lips and gave a series of orders. Then, walking single file, the government of the United States of America was forced to abandon Freedom Base One. Another battle had been lost.

  It took more than two days for the group to make its way out of the national forest onto Route 7, which they followed south towards the city of Russellville, and the Ouachita Mountains beyond. Voss and his senior team had been well aware of the need for a backup location, and a site that was located northwest of Hot Springs had been selected over two other possibilities.

  Route 7 was very scenic, thanks to the hilly terrain and a wealth of evergreens and oaks. The fall foliage was pretty to look at. And that would have been nice had Voss and his party been on a vacation. But the journey was extremely stressful, because everyone knew the Chimera could be hiding in the trees or waiting around the next bend in the road.

  It was better than the alternative to following Route 7, however, which was to leave the highway, and travel cross-country. A process that would take too long, and would force the party to cross treacherous rivers and climb steep slopes. So all the group could do was stay alert, hug the side of the road, and hope for the best.

  They saw lots of rusting cars, trucks, and buses along the way. But in spite of the signs of past carnage, the group had only one close call during the first part of the trip. A Chimeran shuttle came speeding down the highway only fifty feet above the pavement. The angular machine looked like a collection of flying knife blades. With a high-pitched scream, it flashed past the roadside picnic area where Voss and his party had paused to eat.

  They were hidden by a screen of trees from the shuttle as it followed the road south. But had the machine arrived even ten minutes earlier, the group would have been caught flat-footed out on the highway. The timing was a piece of good luck—and a reminder that the stinks were still very much in charge.