A Hole in the Sky

by William C. Dietz

  Sparks, Oklahoma

  Nearly twenty-four hours had passed by the time the attack on the pod farm began. The mules were hidden in a barn located about a mile and a half away, along with two soldiers to protect both the animals and the group’s supplies. Kawecki had divided the rest of his men into three teams, each having its own objective.

  The Alpha and Bravo teams consisted of two-man LAARK teams. The first person’s job was to fire rockets at the black boxes located at the base of each energy beam. The other soldier was carrying reloads for the LAARK, plus an M5A2 carbine, which could be used to provide security.

  Meanwhile, Charlie team, led by Sergeant Pasco, was going to attack the Titans. Kawecki knew the enormous stinks could absorb a lot of projectiles. So by targeting one of the monsters with the group’s single Wraith, plus a half-dozen lighter weapons, he hoped to neutralize the giants early on. Success would depend on surprise, timing, and teamwork.

  After a short pep talk, all of the soldiers were sent out to take up the positions assigned to them. That put Alpha and Bravo teams along the south side of the rectangular farm, with everyone else up on the hill. They continued to dig in as Kawecki scanned the scene below.

  “Damn it.”

  Rawlings, who was still opposed to the attack, turned to look at the officer. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Hybrids,” Kawecki answered, as he released the binoculars in order to blow on his cold fingers. “Maybe half a dozen of them. They’re walking around in among the cocoons.”

  “Maybe we should break it off,” Rawlings suggested hopefully.

  “Or maybe we should kill them,” Kawecki said clinically. “Our snipers can handle it. But the result will be less fire on the Titans. Find Cole and Okada. Tell them to kill the ’brids before they target the Titans.”

  Rawlings nodded and slithered away.

  The first call came in over the team freq twenty seconds later. “Alpha Team. In position. Over.”

  That was followed by a burst of static and a second transmission. “Bravo Team. In position. Over.”

  Kawecki clicked his transmit switch twice by way of a reply. Then it was Pasco’s turn to speak in his ear. The noncom was at the other end of the firing line, which extended along the crest of the hill. “Charlie Team. We’re ready. Over.”

  Kawecki eyed the Titans. They were at the east end of the farm and about to turn back. The best time to attack them would be when they were close, so that the massed fire would have maximum effect. Kawecki pressed the button. “Charlie Team will fire on my command. At that point, teams Alpha and Bravo may fire at will.”

  The Titans turned. They had smooth skulls and six eyes, and wore cooling units on their backs. They carried their cannons at something approximating port arms, and Kawecki wasn’t looking forward to the barrage of high-explosive projectiles that would be coming his way in the near future. His stomach muscles tightened at the thought.

  There was nothing to do but wait as the seconds crawled by and the Titans loomed larger. Finally, just as the beasts were about to turn and head the other way, Kawecki gave the order. “Fire!”

  The Wraith was resting on an improvised bipod. That allowed the gunner to not only lie flat but to fire his weapon with greater accuracy. So as the minigun roared, and a stream of high-velocity bullets slammed into the Titan’s chest, it staggered and was forced to take two steps back.

  Meanwhile, lesser weapons were firing on the beast to the right. It uttered a scream of rage and fired its cannon. The shell hit halfway up the slope and threw a fountain of soil into the air.

  Kawecki swore, fired two grenades in quick succession, and saw both explode as they hit. Blood flew, but the grenades had very little effect, as the Titan put its head down and began to charge up the hill.

  Kawecki knew that, as the commanding officer, it was his job to keep an eye on the big picture and give the correct orders. But that was impossible as the monster fired again, Rawlings ceased to exist, and his remains fell like a warm rain. “Grenades!” Kawecki shouted. “Throw everything you have at the sonofabitch!”

  And the soldiers obeyed. Not that it made a whole lot of difference as the Titan’s head and shoulders drew even with the top of the hill. That was when Kawecki stood, threw an air-fuel grenade at the Chimera’s enormous head, and uttered a whoop of joy as it made contact with the upper part of the giant’s chest and stuck there.

  The Titan released its cannon in order to paw at the device, but it was too late. The grenade generated a soft whump as it went off and the Chimera’s head, hands, and upper torso were enveloped in yellow-orange flames.

  Even though the beast was blind and disoriented, it staggered uphill with blazing hands extended. That was when some of the outgoing projectiles punched their way through the Chimera’s torso and slammed into the cooling unit strapped to its back. The result was a series of overlapping explosions that blew the Titan apart and hurled chunks of raw meat high into the air. They thumped down all around him as Kawecki shifted his attention to the larger battle.

  The other Titan had been able to reach the top of the slope off to the left in spite of a steady stream of slugs from the Wraith. The Chimera was holding a soldier with one hand while ripping the human’s extremities off with the other. Rather than run the risk of hitting their buddy, Charlie Team’s fire had fallen off. “Fire, damn you!” Pasco roared. “Davis is dead.”

  So Charlie Team fired as Kawecki shifted his attention to the pod farm. Two of the supporting energy beams had been extinguished by then and there was a flash of light as a third exploded.

  The Hybrids were down, thanks to some good shooting by the snipers. But no sooner had Kawecki noted that fact than a wave of zombie-like Menials flooded into the farm from the east. Once they spotted the Alpha and Bravo teams, the stinks split into two columns and ran straight at the humans. “Down below!” Kawecki shouted. “Supporting fire!”

  The second Titan exploded at that point, but Kawecki didn’t have time to look, as he and half of Charlie Team shifted their fire to the pod farm. The Menials looked like ants when viewed from the top of the hill, and like ants they kept on coming. But the hail of projectiles slaughtered so many of the Chimera that the newcomers had to climb over piles of their own dead in order to throw themselves at the humans.

  Fortunately, the continued fire from both the hill and the rocket teams themselves was enough to stop the gruesome onslaught as Kawecki shouted into the radio, “Alpha and Bravo teams! Shift your fire to the supports! Take them out and pull back.”

  As luck would have it, the remaining energy beams were evenly spaced. So even though the roof had begun to teeter uncertainly, it remained horizontal to the ground. Then, as the last of the power supply boxes exploded, the gigantic sheet of transparent material collapsed onto the cocoons below.

  Now Kawecki could see down through the roof as the fleshy pods exploded. As each cocoon popped, it produced a wet farting sound that merged with all the rest to generate a muted roar. Bloody goo spurted sideways and was simultaneously pressed downwards to form what looked like an enormous laboratory slide.

  Kawecki heard gagging sounds as one of the soldiers threw up and a horrible stench rose to envelop the hill. “I’m sorry,” Kawecki said to no one in particular. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. But it’s over now.”

  Pasco had been close enough to hear. The day when every stink has been killed, he thought to himself. That’s the day when it will be over.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CAN YOU DIG IT?

  Monday, December 28, 1953

  Haven, Oklahoma

  Capelli could see a dusting of stars through the arched openings on all four sides of the clock tower. He remembered the sense of awe he had felt staring up at the constellations from the roof of the apartment house where he had grown up. But now as Capelli looked up at glittering pinpoints of light, it was the darkness between them that captured his attention. Because if the Chimera were from another planet, what else
was out there?

  Capelli’s ruminations were interrupted as the ladder rattled and a man climbed up through a hole in the floor and onto the platform. He was dressed in multiple layers of clothes. “Hey, Capelli! How’s it going?”

  Mike Unver had been a high school science teacher back before the Chimerans invaded, and Capelli liked him. Unver was in his late fifties. His graying hair was combed straight back, and a pair of large glasses lent him an owlish appearance. The scope-mounted .30-06 he was carrying had originally been used for deer hunting but had an even more serious purpose now. “It’s going fine,” Capelli answered. “I haven’t seen anything other than a few stray dogs.”

  “Good,” Unver replied. “I could use some peace and quiet after the city council meeting.”

  “It’s still in session?”

  “Oh, yeah! And will be for some time. Are you going?”

  “I’d love to skip it,” Capelli confessed. “But ‘people who don’t participate can’t complain.’ That’s what Susan says. So there will be trouble if I don’t show up.”

  Unver grinned. “Are you sorry you tied the knot?”

  Capelli shook his head. “Hell no.”

  “That’s the spirit. So go down and do your duty. As least it’s warm. And Capelli …”

  “Yeah?”

  “Take some body armor with you. You’re going to need it.”

  Capelli laughed, slung the Marksman over his shoulder, and backed onto the top rung of the ladder. It carried him down to the ground floor. A trapdoor provided access to a flight of wooden stairs and the main east–west tunnel below. From there it was a short walk to a door that opened into the recently completed meeting room.

  As Capelli stuck his head inside, he saw that just about all of Haven’s adult citizens had managed to cram themselves into the standing-room-only session. And that was unusual, because most of the council’s meetings were sparsely attended. But, since the question of whether to place Haven under Judge Ramsey’s control was up for discussion, everybody wanted to have a say. And no wonder, given how important the decision was.

  Capelli saw Susan on the far side of the room, and began to work his way over to her as Potter stood at the front of the chamber, speaking in opposition to the proposal.

  “It would be one thing if Ramsey was a member of the executive or even the legislative branch of state government,” the ex-banker said. “Or if he was a duly appointed official of the federal government. But he’s neither one of those. Simply put, Ramsey is an ex-member of the judiciary. A man who has taken advantage of the current situation to set himself up as a warlord, violating many of the laws he swore to uphold.

  “And,” Potter continued, as his eyes darted from face to face, “if you don’t believe me, ask Roger Shaw. He and his wife lived under Ramsey’s rule and were treated as little more than slaves. Ramsey forced his wife to become a spy, and after she warned federal officials that Ramsey’s regulators were about to attack, Roger and his daughter were thrown out of Tunnel-Through with nothing more than the clothes on their backs.”

  Potter paused at that point as if to add emphasis to his final words. “Is that the sort of community you want to be part of?” he inquired rhetorically. “I think not. That’s why I and a majority of the city council oppose placing Haven under Ramsey’s authority. Thank you.”

  The speech got a round of enthusiastic applause from those who didn’t want to give up Haven’s autonomy, and that included Susan. She gave Capelli a peck on the cheek as he took his coat off. They stood with their backs to the earthen wall. Capelli slid the sling off his shoulder and allowed the rifle to rest on the floor. Most of the people around him were armed, and had to be, since an attack could theoretically come at any moment. And the next speaker, an ex-businessman named Mel Tilson, took advantage of that fact.

  Tilson had thick black hair, a dark five-o’clock shadow, and the manner of the shoe salesman he had once been. “Take a look around you,” Tilson demanded. “Is this the way you want to spend the rest of your lives? Living like gophers?”

  Tilson had at least a couple dozen supporters and they shouted, “No!” in response to the questions.

  “That’s what I thought,” the shopkeeper said, as if the entire room agreed with him. “If you want to live above-ground, and sleep better at night, the answer is to join forces with other people. Because there’s strength in numbers.

  “Now maybe you don’t like the way Judge Ramsey’s invitation was delivered. And I agree that it could have been more tactful. But that doesn’t change the way things are. By joining up with the folks in Tunnel-Through we would have the regulators to protect us, living conditions would gradually improve, and we would receive access to the new vaccine. And that’s a big deal, my friends! A very big deal. And even Roger Shaw, who Mr. Potter mentioned earlier, admits that such a vaccine exists. So let’s take advantage of the heaven-sent opportunity to improve life for both ourselves and our children. Thank you.”

  Tilson’s supporters were a lot louder than Potter’s. But once the votes were tallied, the so-called Ramsey proposal was rejected by a vote of ninety-one to forty-seven.

  “You’ll be sorry,” Tilson told some of his more vocal opponents as they filed out. “Ramsey won’t let it rest. The regulators will be back. Then we’ll have to fight them and the stinks.”

  “Tilson has a point,” Capelli said, as Susan and he followed the north–south tunnel home. “The regulators will be back.”

  “Yes, they will,” Susan agreed as she pushed the salvaged door open. “That’s why we have to prepare for war.”

  Capelli turned his flashlight off as Susan lit a succession of candles. They produced a soft glow that made the primitive space look homey. “War? That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Susan replied steadfastly. “It’s logical. Once Ramsey has assimilated all of the communities that are willing to come over peacefully, he’ll use the additional strength to come after holdouts like Haven.”

  Capelli placed the Marksman in the weapons rack and turned to open his arms. Susan stepped in to place her cheek against the flat plane of his chest. “We were looking for a place to live,” she said simply. “And we found one. Now we have to protect it.”

  Capelli kissed the top of her head. “Don’t tell me! Let me guess. You have a plan.”

  “We have a plan,” she corrected him, as she leaned back to look up into his face. “I’ve been talking to Mayor Locke, Mr. Potter, and some of the other pro-independence types. All of them agree. We need to form an alliance that’s strong enough to fight Ramsey. And that means more weapons. Because the people of Tunnel-Through are busy manufacturing their own.”

  “That sounds logical,” Capelli agreed. “But where are we going to find them?”

  “I don’t know,” Susan answered. “But I told them that you would find a way.”

  Capelli kissed her smile. “You did, did you?”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “Yes,” Capelli said, as he led her towards the bed. “You certainly are.”

  Tunnel-Through, Oklahoma

  It was a gray day, and an ice-cold wind was blowing out of the west. Mel Tilson was scared as he paused to check his back trail. And for good reason. He was traveling alone in a time and place when even large parties of humans were vulnerable.

  But desperate times call for desperate measures. As Tilson scanned the dull monochromatic countryside, he knew that the anti-alliance crowd was wrong. Haven wasn’t strong enough to survive on its own. The only hope was to form a close relationship with Tunnel-Through and Judge Ramsey. So rather than being in bed sick, the way his wife told people he was, Tilson hoped to meet with Ramsey. The problem being that something was wrong.

  Tilson wasn’t a trained warrior like Kosmo, or the new man Capelli, but he’d been raised on a ranch and knew a thing or two about the outdoors. One of which was that when the birds stop chirping, and the countryside becomes eerily quiet, chances are that a predator is o
n the loose. And since the birds had been singing in spite of his presence, and the gunshot he’d heard fifteen minutes earlier, it seemed likely that someone or something new had entered the area.

  So with his Bullseye at the ready, Tilson backed into a thicket of trees, and sank to the ground. Then, in spite of an almost irresistible urge to run, he forced himself to remain motionless. Seconds later his instincts were proven correct as a soft thrumming sound was heard and three Hunter Drones drifted into the clearing.

  Had they been following him? Or was their presence at that particular time and place a coincidence? Not that it mattered as the machines paused and Tilson held his breath. Then, with the surety of a compass needle swinging north, the machines swiveled in his direction and began to advance.

  The Drones were armed with heavy machine guns that fired superheated kinetic projectiles. As they opened fire, Tilson heard the ominous roar and dived forward. The saplings around him seemed to vaporize into a cloud of wood, bark, and leaves. He felt the debris rain down on him as he covered his head with his arms and began to pray.

  Then, for the first time in his life, God responded. There was the chatter of automatic weapons, followed by three partially muffled explosions, and a ground-shaking thump as something heavy landed within a few feet of him. Tilson looked to the right and saw the smoking ruins of a Hunter Drone.

  “Come on,” a male voice said, as strong hands pulled Tilson to his feet. “There’s no way to know if the stinks will send reinforcements or write the Drones off to normal wear and tear. So let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Tilson had been up in the clock tower on the day when the regulators rode into Haven. So he recognized the man in the cowboy hat and duster as the person who had spoken on Ramsey’s behalf. “Is your name Hunter?”

  “Yes, it is. Do I know you?”

  “I was in Haven on the day you offered the community a chance to hook up with Tunnel-Through,” Tilson answered, as a regulator returned the Bullseye.

  Hunter had a firm grip on Tilson’s elbow by that time and was steering him towards a horse. “So they sent you to say yes?”