Because, if humans were to take their planet back, they were going to need a strong authoritarian government rather than a dithering democracy. And that was one of the reasons he had undertaken the long, grueling trip to the Arkansas National Forest: to kill the government that was taking root there before it could grow any larger.
Ramsey was ushered onto the only elevator that still worked and taken to the spacious quarters Olmey had assigned to himself. They were decorated with a variety of furnishings packed in from a Sears store located twenty-five miles away. Ramsey thought the juxtaposition of 1950s Americana and Chimeran tech was a bit off-putting, but that didn’t stop him from tucking into a huge dinner comprising of steak, potatoes, and freshly baked pie.
The meal presented an excellent opportunity for Ramsey to tell his host about the Hale vaccine and the role it was going to play in making the American Empire a reality. Ramsey had a luxuriant mustache that drooped to either side of his mouth. He made use of a napkin to dab at it as he spoke. “Not only will the vaccine provide our people with additional protection, we’ll be able to offer immunity to other communities, and bring them into the fold as well. Then, once we have enough people to form an effective army, we’ll take this part of the country back.”
Olmey nodded sagely. “The sooner the better. That’s what I say.”
Once the meal was over, it was time for the obligatory tour of the weapons factory that Olmey ran on Ramsey’s behalf. The facility was located two levels down from the mayor’s quarters. That made it necessary for the men and their bodyguards to board the central elevator and ride it down to L-6, where an obsequious foreman was waiting to escort the VIPs through a narrow passageway into the open space beyond.
Workstations had been set up all around the circular deck. As Olmey led Ramsey from station to station he provided a running commentary. “As you know, the Marksman was developed by humans based on Chimeran tech. We’re taking that process further by developing a model that allows the user to tag his or her target. That required us to sacrifice the secondary mode of operation, of course, but the Drones are difficult to manufacture under these conditions, so we believe it’s a positive tradeoff.”
Olmey paused next to a bench where a gray-haired woman was bent over another weapon. She continued to work, but her hands had begun to tremble. “You may recognize this as an Army-issue XR-13 Bellock,” Olmey said, apparently unaware of the way his presence was affecting the woman in front of him. “But as you can see, the original rotary magazine has been rechambered to fire twelve-gauge shotgun shells. Unlike the Rossmore, which has a capacity of eight rounds, what we’re calling the XR-14 can accommodate sixteen shells, and that makes it ideal for close-in combat with Grims and Howlers. As for human opponents, well, you can imagine.”
Ramsey nodded. “Excellent … Well done. Let me know when I can buy some.”
What both men knew, but never discussed in front of others, was the underlying strategy that governed who made what. While Olmey’s people manufactured weapons, Ramsey’s were producing ammo for them, and neither group had access to a large supply of both. It was an arrangement calculated to keep malcontents from rising up and taking over either community. Plus both men employed in formants, whose job was to provide early warning of any plot to remove them from power. The price of power was eternal vigilance.
After the tour was over, Ramsey was shown into the guest suite adjacent to Olmey’s heavily guarded quarters, where he looked forward to a good night’s sleep followed by an early-morning departure. He’d been absent from Tunnel-Through for far too long, and there was a great deal of work waiting to be done.
Once in bed, and comfortable for the first time in weeks, Ramsey fell asleep quickly. There were dreams. Lots of dreams. And all of them were good.
Tunnel-Through, Oklahoma
Except for the pools of light thrown down from the fixtures mounted high above, it was dark and gloomy inside the railway tunnel. Because of the mostly flat terrain, it was one of only two such structures in the state. And thanks to Judge Ramsey’s foresight, the tunnel had been stocked with supplies and sealed off during the days leading up to the government’s collapse. That included a train with a locomotive, a flatcar-mounted diesel generator, a string of tank cars loaded with fuel, and three passenger cars, the last of which housed Ramsey’s office and private sleeping compartment.
Now, as the sound of the locomotive’s horn echoed through the tunnel, Roger Shaw was filled with joy as he lifted his daughter Amy up and carried her out of the family’s cubicle onto the west walkway. “Here we go, sweetie,” he said. “We’re going to see Mommy!”
Amy had a head full of curly brown hair and a slightly upturned nose, just like her mother’s. “See Mommy, see Mommy!” the child chanted excitedly.
Father and daughter joined the steady stream of people who were headed south onto the track-spanning wooden platform located to the rear of the train. Ramsey and the final group of regulators had returned from Arkansas, and all sorts of rumors were circulating as Shaw followed the crowd to the assembly area. “The Chimera are going to leave the planet,” one woman said.
“No,” a man insisted. “I heard that they turned the entire city of Tulsa into a gigantic pod farm.”
“That’s bullshit,” another worker proclaimed sourly. “Ramsey wants to run his mouth. And we have to listen. It ain’t no more complicated than that.”
Shaw secretly agreed, but was afraid to say anything, knowing that some of Ramsey’s most vocal critics were informers. Men and women who would prime the conversational pump, get someone to agree with them, and turn the sucker in for a favor of some sort. And he couldn’t afford to wind up on Ramsey’s shit list, not so long as the bastard had Monica under his control, and there was Amy to look out for.
So all Shaw cared about was the fact that Ramsey had returned. Because if the judge was back, then Monica should be back, and he couldn’t wait to see her. But as Shaw joined the crowd behind Ramsey’s passenger car, and maneuvered his way up front, there was no sign of his wife on the riser where Hunter and the others were gathered.
So Shaw felt a bit uneasy as Ramsey emerged from the passenger car and stepped onto the platform. His toadies led the tepid applause. The judge was resplendent in a gray cowboy hat, snowy white shirt, and string tie. A black suit and a pair of gleaming boots completed the outfit. “Thank you!” Ramsey said, as if in response to genuine applause. “It feels good to be back in Tunnel-Through after a successful campaign. It’s my pleasure to announce that our brave regulators were able to dig the pretenders out of the hole they were living in—and destroy the fake democracy they planned to impose on the American people.”
The toadies clapped. So everyone including Shaw did likewise, and Ramsey beamed happily. “But that’s not all,” he continued. “Not only were the usurpers trying to seize control of our country, they had developed a vaccine to protect themselves against the Chimeran virus, and we brought more than four thousand doses home!”
This line didn’t generate any applause, largely because Ramsey’s toadies didn’t understand what their leader was talking about. “Think about it, my friends,” Ramsey continued. “Once vaccinated, a Spinner bite won’t mean anything more to you than an accidental cut would. Clean the wound, cover it with a bandage, and you’ll be ready to go. And, because you are members of this community, every one of you will receive a vaccination during the next five days.”
Ramsey’s announcement was greeted with a moment of silence, followed by genuine applause, as the citizens of Tunnel-Through realized how fortunate they were. Not Shaw, though, because Monica was still nowhere to be seen, and there was a growing abyss where the bottom of his stomach should have been.
The workers and their families were dismissed a couple of minutes later, but Shaw carried Amy up onto the riser, where he was able to intercept a man named Martin Lewis. “Excuse me, Mr. Lewis,” Shaw said formally. “But I was given to understand that my wife Monica would return w
ith Judge Ramsey. Is she here? And if so, could we see her, please?”
Lewis had been a rancher before the Chimera took over, and his face was still brown despite many months of living in the tunnel. A network of wrinkles radiated away from his beady eyes. They rearranged themselves as he frowned. “Shaw, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wait here … I’ll see what I can do.” Lewis disappeared into Ramsey’s passenger car, and five long minutes elapsed before he returned. Shaw tried to read the toady’s weather-beaten face but couldn’t. “Follow me,” Lewis said. “The judge would like to speak with you.”
Those were ominous words, because such a summons was rarely a good thing. “Where’s Mommy?” Amy wanted to know, and Shaw kissed her forehead.
“I don’t know, honey,” Shaw said, as he followed Lewis into the richly appointed railroad car. “I hope we’re going to find out.”
Two men, both armed with pistols, stood to either side of the doorway that led into Ramsey’s office. The judge was seated behind a large desk. It was covered by a green blotter and stacks of paper, each held in place by brass apothecary weights. Ramsey had removed his jacket by then, which meant the Webley was visible, as was his enormous paunch. Ramsey nodded as Shaw entered, but he neglected to get up, or offer his visitor a seat.
“I’m sorry to say that I have some bad news for you,” Ramsey said, as he selected a cigar from the box at his elbow. “As you know, your wife agreed to carry out a very important task on my behalf. And things went well at first. But then, according to what a couple of witnesses told us just before we shot them, she warned the so-called President that we were about to attack. Her misguided act made no difference to the outcome. But our casualties were unnecessarily high as a result of your wife’s treachery.”
Ramsey paused to clip the end off the cigar, strike a kitchen match on the underside of his desk, and turn the enormous tube of tobacco over the flame. Then, once the cigar was drawing to his satisfaction, he resumed speaking. “A small group of people escaped the complex,” Ramsey intoned, “and your wife may have been among them. But, given the overall situation, and the speed with which they had to depart, I believe it’s safe to say that all of the worthless scum are dead by now. Do you have any questions?”
Shaw felt a terrible sense of sorrow. Somehow, deep inside, he knew the story was true. Monica was dead. But he felt a strange sense of pride as well. Because even though her decision to give warning ran counter to her best interests, not to mention her family’s, the act had taken courage. A great deal of it. “No, Judge,” he said stoically. “I don’t have any questions.”
“Good,” Ramsey said, as he released a puff of smoke. “Because I have very little time to waste on either traitors or their families. I told your wife that if she betrayed me I would banish you and your daughter to the badlands. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Lewis! Take them away.”
Shaw felt as though he was part of a living nightmare as he and Amy were escorted through a maze of side tunnels—and from there to a hatch that opened onto a ravine. Then, without so much as a word, the steel door closed behind them. Shaw put his daughter down on the ground and looked around.
Next to the hatch was an exhaust port, through which Shaw could hear the distant rumble of a generator. There were no other sounds. The Chimera owned North America, sunset was no more than two hours away, and all they had was the clasp knife in his pocket and the clothes on their backs.
“Daddy, I’m hungry,” Amy proclaimed. “And I’m cold, too.”
Shaw wanted to cry and swear at the same time. But he couldn’t. Not with Amy holding his hand. “Come on, honey,” he said gently. “We need a place to hide.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
WELCOME HOME
Thursday, November 12, 1953
Blackwell, Oklahoma
The darkness made it difficult for Capelli to see beyond the Stalker directly in front of them. But when it passed through a curve, he could just make out that the brightly lit convoy consisted of about fifty vehicles. Some were Stalkers like the machine he and Susan had stolen. But the rest was a hodgepodge of human cars, trucks, and two Greyhound buses. Sleet was falling and could be seen slanting through the beams that probed the road ahead.
Being an ex-soldier, Capelli was surprised by the fact that no attempt had been made to conceal the convoy. And as a citizen he was depressed by the fact that there was no need for the stinks to turn off their lights, because that meant there wasn’t any organized opposition for the Chimera to worry about.
As for the convoy’s purpose, that was a mystery, and would probably remain so. All that Capelli and Susan could do was to wait the situation out and look for an opportunity to exit the column. In the meantime they had the satisfaction of knowing that they were lurching along at twenty-five miles per hour. That didn’t sound like much, but they were lucky to cover fifteen miles a day on foot. About two hours had passed by the time they saw a sign that read, “Blackwell, two miles.”
Susan had a much-creased and somewhat grimy road map spread out in her lap. The glow from the instrument panel was sufficient to read by. “We don’t want to go any farther than Blackwell,” she said. “Not if we can help it. Haven is located about twenty miles to the east.”
“Roger that,” Capelli replied. “But if we leave the highway all by ourselves there’s no telling how the stinks will react. They might let us go or they might come after us. We could fight them, of course—but we’d be badly outnumbered.”
That fear turned out to be groundless, because as the outskirts of the city came into view the lead vehicles slowed and turned off the highway. Headlights washed across deserted buildings, and a pair of eyes glowed as a feral cat stared at them from an overgrown garden. Then a dozen Patrol Drones swooped in out of the night sky to escort the convoy into what a large sign proclaimed to be the Blackwell Zinc Smelter.
But in spite of the name, Capelli got the impression of a military base as the convoy snaked between brightly lit buildings and entered a parking lot that was already 25 percent full. A thin layer of sleet covered the vehicles. “This is where it gets interesting,” Susan said tightly.
“Yeah, I’m going to park out along the edge of the lot somewhere and hope the stinks don’t care. Then, once we’re ready, we’ll make a run for it.”
“That makes sense,” Susan agreed. “And Joe …”
Susan had never called him by his first name before and Capelli took note of it. “Yes?”
“It isn’t for me to judge what you did. What’s done is done. Do you understand what I mean?”
Their eyes met, and Capelli swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes, I do. Thank you.”
The lead vehicles were parking in orderly rows by then. So Capelli guided the Stalker out and around them in an effort to place the machine under a burned-out light. “Watch the Drones,” he instructed. “If somebody takes exception to what we’re doing, they will react first.”
But as Capelli brought the Stalker to a halt, the Drones formed what looked like a necklace and sailed away. “Perfect,” Susan said. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Capelli agreed as the engine spooled down.
It took the better part of ten minutes to unload both the dog and the packs. Capelli felt a rising sense of tension, because now that he was on the ground he could see that two Hybrids were on the tarmac about fifty yards away. And if the stinks came by for a visit, the poop was going to hit the fan. Rowdy growled but didn’t bark as Capelli kept a firm grip on his leash.
Fortunately the Hybrids ambled off towards the west, which allowed the humans to turn in the other direction. And, because there was no perimeter to speak of, it was relatively easy to exit the base.
Thirty minutes later they cleared the eastern boundary of the city and followed a foot trail that paralleled the two-lane highway. Capelli figured the well-trod path was a recent development. Something both the Chimera and huma
ns had created since the government’s collapse.
Haven was twenty miles away, so Capelli calculated that a day and a half of travel would be required to reach the town. Having gone without sleep, and with only a few hours until dawn, Capelli and Susan were in need of some shut-eye.
So when they came across one of the local phone company’s bunker-like switching stations, they gave the facility a quick once-over and made themselves at home. A heavy desk was sufficient to block the metal door, and they knew Rowdy would warn them if anyone came poking around.
The plan was to grab a quick meal and take a two-hour nap. But when Capelli awoke, light was streaming in through the building’s slitlike windows and it was well past noon. He shivered as he put a pot of water over a Sterno can to boil, woke Susan, and went to brush his teeth in the tiny washroom. The face in the mirror was in need of a shave.
The threesome was on the move an hour later. It was a chilly day, and while they saw occasional signs of human activity, there were no Chimera to be seen. But the ever-present danger was there, and Capelli was careful to keep his head on a swivel as they crossed fields, cut through fences, and splashed across streams.
As they walked, they talked. About the past mostly, since they were still in the process of getting acquainted, but the future as well. And as Capelli listened to Susan he heard echoes of his own desires in her words. Like him, she wanted to settle down somewhere, be part of something good, and lead a normal life. Or what passed for a normal life in post-apocalyptic America. Children were never mentioned, but they were implied, and Capelli was surprised to discover that the possibility had some appeal.
But mostly he enjoyed being with her. Susan wasn’t beautiful, not in the movie-star sense, but she was pretty and he liked to look at her. More than that he liked to hear the sound of her voice, and especially her laughter, which he sought ways to provoke. And judging from the small things she did for him, Capelli got the impression that she felt something, too.
A Hole in the Sky Page 18
