Earth's Survivors Box Set [Books 1-7]

by Wendell G. Sweet

  Ron Saser

  Ron was heading back to the caves that he had secretly hoped he would never go back to. He really hadn't expected to catch up with the four on the open lake, let alone capture three of them. In fact he had expected to be killed by them if he did catch up to them.

  No, that wasn't exactly true, he told himself, as he piloted the boat back toward the entrance to the caves, he had hoped they would kill him. Hoped, not expected, he was more afraid of going back, than he had been of them killing him. You couldn't be afraid of something you wanted, something you were waiting to welcome with open arms, something you needed.

  He turned his attention to the three men in the back of the boat. They were seated together, hands tied behind them, and three men stood guard over them.

  Ron had turned on the huge spotlights the boat was equipped with, and searched for Gary's body for better than twenty minutes to no avail. It was gone, most probably several feet below the water. What was left of the boat lay shattered and drifting on the surface, overturned, and Gary had not been clinging to it.

  When they had first approached the boat, Ron had given the command to fire over their heads, not directly at them, and he had not realized Gary had been hit until Frank, the tall black-haired man he remembered from Watertown, had screamed it at him. "You killed him, you piece of shit," Frank had screamed. He had shut up though when Ron had told him he could join him and right quick too, if he didn't.

  He knew however that it wouldn't please Luther. Luther had wanted to kill them himself, and now, Ron realized, probably him too.

  Well, he told himself, death is death, I'll take it whatever way I can get it. He just hoped it would be quick. Maybe since he was bringing back three of the men, Luther would make it quick. If not...? He closed that thought out, he didn't even want to consider it. Because he was pretty sure that if not, could be really bad, and he was only about twenty minutes from the caves so he would know soon enough.

  But, his mind insisted, if it was, if not, he could always shoot himself, couldn't he?

  He decided he could, and with that decision, turned his attention back to piloting the boat through the dark waters of the lake.

  Jessie

  Jessie came awake in the darkness. When she tried to move her hands to her throbbing head, she realized they were securely bound behind her. She also realized that there was some sort of light source near her, and it had only seemed dark at first because her eyes were tightly covered.

  Blind folded, she told herself, and she was gagged as well. She tried to sit up, but a wave of darkness swept her, and she slumped back down to the floor. Just before she once again lost consciousness, she heard a voice begin to speak. "Well, well," the voice began, as she spiraled deeper into the black void.

  Willie stared down at the woman. She had passed out, but she would come around, and he was fairly certain he had all the time in the world to wait for her. After all, he should be dead, and he wasn't, and, it sure didn't look like death was going to visit him soon either.

  He had come to on the way back to the small apartment on Hudson Avenue. He had been surprised at first. Surprised, because his guts were still hanging out of him, trailing on the ground as he was being carried, and one of the guys had even stepped on them as they ran, and tugged them out even further.

  It hadn't hurt then, it did now. In fact it hurt very badly now, but Willie had shoved them back inside himself once he had gotten their attention and made them stop running. Slick and cold, and of course they had tried to fall right back out, but he had grimly held on to them until they had gotten into the apartment.

  He had walked under his own power, and that had seemed odd at first too, as each step had produced an odd clunking-grinding noise from his spine, and that wasn't good at all, he suspected. But, he had walked, and he had not felt weak either, even though his blood had still been pouring out of him in fits and starts, running down the front of his jeans, and splashing to the ground.

  The worst part had been when his heart had stopped beating. It had happened just after he had gotten back to the small apartment; sat down on the worn sofa, and wrapped some torn sections of sheet around his middle to hold things together. That had scared him, and he had closed his eyes and waited for death to take him. Only to open them a few seconds later, and wonder why he was still sitting on the couch, in the dumpy apartment, and not dead and on his way to hell.

  He had thought at first that maybe he just didn't realize he was dead, and so had closed his eyes once more and waited. It had done no good, when he opened them he was still there in the crummy apartment, sitting on the scruffy sofa, with two of his men looking at him. "Am I really here?" he had asked. They had both responded nervously that he was, and he would be all right, because they had a doctor and he was on the way, and just to stay quiet, and what should we do with her? They had asked, pointing at Jessie. He had told them to tie her up and get the fuck out, and that he didn't want to see the doctor.

  It was confusing, how could it hurt so badly if his heart wasn't beating? And if his heart wasn't beating, how could he even know that it hurt so badly? He had opened a fresh quart of cheap whiskey, and took a deep drink in hopes that it would ease the pain, but that had been a mistake. It seemed to enrage the pain, and it flared up stronger than ever.

  The other thing it did was come right back out almost as soon as he poured it in, and seep through the sheets and down the front of his pants in an amber, slightly pink-tinged flood, and he had slowly gotten up and informed the men on the porch, that maybe it was a good idea to send in the doctor when he got there, after all.

  The doctor had unwrapped the sheeting and examined the stomach wound closely, and had tried to get Willie to lie down. When it was obvious that Willie wouldn't, he had resorted to a threat. "You're damn lucky to be alive," the doctor had said, "and if you don't lie down you won't be for much longer."

  That had made Willie wonder for a second. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked, he had thought. The doctor had worked quickly, cleaning the wound, and stitching what he could right there on the couch. He had then packed the stomach wound, before he had Willie turn over so he could see the entrance wounds. That was when the doctor had begun to lose his cool. Willie's spine was shattered, the spinal cord severed. He had held his cool only long enough to check Willie's heartbeat, which didn't exist, and then had bolted through the front door, leaving his bag behind.

  That had convinced Willie that he truly was dead, or should be dead or something like that. He wasn't sure what he was, but he was sure that he wasn't alive.

  He had finished winding the bandages around his waist himself, and taped the ends tightly together. The pain seemed to be subsiding, he realized, and when he took a small experimental sip from the bottle, it seemed to stay inside him, in fact it seemed to drive out the pain now, and so he began to work on the bottle in earnest. He hardly noticed the spreading yellowish stain on the fresh bandage, he only cared that the pain was subsiding.

  Willie got up from the couch, and made his way to the small kitchen. Clunk-grind, clunk-grind. That sound would get on his nerves before too much longer, he knew.

  The woman, Jessie, Luther had said her name was, had slept long enough, he decided, they needed to talk. He drew some water from the tap into a large jelly glass, walked back into the living room, and without pause splashed the water in her face. He grinned as she sputtered back to life. Willie bent down and removed the gag, so she could speak.

  "I'll be," he said, as her eyes opened, and she stared around the room, "it's alive."

  "Untie me, and I'll show you how alive I am," Jessie said angrily, as the cobwebs that had clouded her mind cleared.

  "I bet you would," Willie responded, smiling, "but I don't have any intention of untying you, at least not now," he added hopefully.

  They stared at each other across the short space, and Jessie broke the silence. To hell with it, she thought if he intends to kill me nothing I say will change it. "So what do y
ou have in mind?" she asked with an edge to her voice.

  "I intend to make a bargain with you," he answered smoothly, "you can even have a choice... my way, or I kill you right now." His smile never faltered as he spoke, and a cold light came into his eyes. "You see," Willie continued, "I'm supposed to take you to him."

  "Who's him?"

  "You know."

  "You tell me," she countered.

  "Okay," Willie replied, "we'll play stupid. I don't care I've got all the time in the world."

  She relented after a few seconds, when it became obvious that he did not intend to speak. "Okay fine," she said, "Luther, right?"

  "Yes indeed," Willie replied, "now if you want to go... well, great, it's your choice. But if you don't, we can strike a bargain. What d'you say?"

  "Depends on what you have in mind. I chose my side, and I don't intend to change my mind," she stated firmly.

  "Well good for you, I didn't expect you to," Willie said. "And relax I don't want to turn you over to him." He giggled, and Jessie cringed. "You see, it's complicated, but also simple, sort of anyway. I don't give a shit about what He wants. He can't hurt me anymore. It's not a noble gesture either, so don't think that, I don't give a shit about you or your side either. What I do care about is my side, and on my side there's some work to do," he seemed to think for a moment. "Yeah," he said firmly, "there's a lot of work to do. So, we bargain, or we don't. You do what I want, and I'll set you free. No strings. Now, do we bargain, or not?"

  Gary Jones

  Gary made it to the shore. It took most of the strength he had left to do it, and at first he was convinced they had been farther out in the lake, so he hadn't even tried. But once his eyes had become accustomed to the dark and he had reminded himself that he had been hugging the shore line, he struck off toward the shore, as he tried to ignore the pain in his chest. He wasn't sure just how badly he was injured. He had probed his chest with one finger, and had found a long furrow, but it seemed as though the bullet had only grazed him. He would be able to check closer once he reached the shore.

  He had felt like a coward at first, hiding under the overturned boat, but he had slowly convinced himself that it was the only thing he could do. He supposed the others thought he was dead, but there wasn't much he could do about that either. If he had come out from under the boat, he would have accomplished nothing. He would have been with them sure, but being with them wouldn't have helped any of them. So he had hid, and prayed that they would not be so paranoid that they would fire into the overturned boat. They hadn't. They had in fact seemed to tire of looking for him quickly, and had left.

  He had waited for a while, to make sure they were gone, before he had come out, and he was relieved that none of the others were floating anywhere on the surface, he had come close to convincing himself that they would be. Of course, he thought, as he reached the shore and hauled himself out of the water onto a muddy bank, that didn't mean they had all made it. He would just have to hope they had.

  He stood slowly, and waited for his heart to resume a somewhat normal beat. The wound in his chest throbbed, and he knew he would have to do something with it. At least disinfect it, he told himself. Either way it would have to wait, it wasn't like there was much he could do about it right now.

  He looked around in the darkness. He had a fair idea of where he was, but no idea how he could reach the caves before the others, and… and what, he asked himself. You aren't even armed. You have no idea where they went, they certainly didn't go in the way Frank said he came out, that's all under water now, and how will you catch them?

  He knew they were only ten miles or so from the old Jeffery's farm when the boat had caught them, so by now, his mind reasoned, they could be back, and in the caves. He stopped and forced himself to calm down.

  Nearest town? He asked himself.

  Henderson Harbor, his mind supplied, boat docks, campers, vacationers, there would have to be a boat of some sort there, he reasoned. He stood for a minute and considered, placing the landscape before him in his mind, then moved off in the direction of Henderson Harbor.

  Willie and Jessie

  "So," Willie asked, "do we have a deal?"

  "How can I trust you?" she asked. The guy was definitely creepy, and didn't look to be in any kind of shape at all, to be traveling like he had in mind, she reasoned. At first she had thought, and then became convinced, that he had wanted to bargain for sex. She wasn't unattractive, she knew, but the guy didn't seem to be interested in her body at all. That had relieved her at first, but then her mind had begun to whisper, that if he wasn't interested in her body, he probably intended to kill her no matter what she agreed to, or didn't agree to. When he had told her she would simply have to go with him, back to Watertown, she couldn't believe it. She still didn't. There must be more to it than that, she reasoned. "How do I know you won't kill me once we get there?" she asked.

  "If I wanted to kill you, I would do it now," Willie said in a serious tone of voice. "If I go alone, He'll know. If you go with me, it will seem as though it's perfectly normal."

  She thought about what he said. At least it might offer an opportunity to escape along the way, or after they arrived. She didn't believe for a second that he would really let her go. It was impossible to believe or hope in. "Okay," she decided, "I'll go with you. I really don't have much of a choice, do I?" she didn't want to sound too eager.

  "Oh, but you do. I offered you a choice at the beginning. Go with me, or die now," Willie replied, grinning.

  "Some choice," she said sarcastically.

  "Not the greatest, I agree, but it is a choice. Now what's it gonna be, stay and die, or go and I'll release you once we're there?"

  "Go."

  "Good choice."

  "Will you untie me?"

  "No."

  "Then let's go," she said.

  Willie reached down and pulled her roughly from the floor. The dizziness threatened as she stood. He cut the ropes that bound her ankles, and reached into a black leather bag beside the couch. "Here," he said, as he handed her a sample packet of aspirin.

  "Water?"

  "Chew 'em," he answered.

  Reluctantly she chewed and swallowed the bitter tasting tablets. Her head pounded, and they were better than nothing she supposed. Willie offered the bottle of whiskey to wash the taste down with, but she refused. "Suit yourself, I don't care," Willie said, as he tipped the bottle and took a long drink, most of which immediately soaked through the front of the yellowed bandage. Jessie was sickened and repulsed at the sight, but also scared.

  "Yeah, they got me good," Willie said, as if reading her thoughts, "but don't worry, it'll heal."

  It sure didn't look as though it would heal Jessie thought, not if it was, well, leaking out, and it sure looked like it was leaking out, and if it was, shouldn't he be dead? Or dying? You can't live that way, can you?

  Maybe he'll die along the way, her mind whispered, because if he didn't, that might mean...well it could mean...

  Could mean what? She asked herself. No answer. She pushed the thought away as Willie shoved her roughly through the front door and out into the night. Mike was standing on the front porch.

  "You-? You're, here? On this side?" she asked incredulously. Mike just lowered his head, and as Willie shoved her off the porch and onto the ground, she twisted around and yelled back at him. "You're a piece of shit, Mike, you know that?" Before she could say anything else, Willie shoved her into a waiting car.

  As the car sped off Mike raised his eyes from the porch decking, and watched it go.

  TEN

  Bluechip

  Richard Pierce knew computers, as well as seven different computer languages. He was currently keyboarding his way through a series of batch files, to tie up the restructure of the Project Bluechip program, with the help of an on-line editor. The editor was doing most of the work for him, and consequently the process was speeded up dramatically. On his own it would have taken several days of experimenta
tion to arrive at the place he now found himself, after only a few short hours.

  POP-11, the language he was currently working, was based on an inter-active artificial intelligence, and operating system combined. It had been marketed only briefly under the trade name Poplog, before being snapped up by the government. The Department of Defense had bought out the small company, along with all rights to the new operating system. Project Bluechip had been launched a short time later, and the software needed to run the project had been written in the new language by a sequestered military think-tank. Richard Pierce had been a part of that think-tank. Of course the government had not put all of its eggs in one basket. The over six million gigabytes of keyboarding that had needed to be done, had been split between the eighty programmers in the group, and only two top programmers had been involved in the actual assembly, final formatting, and de-bugs. Richard had not been one of the two programmers.

  Even so he had left a back door into the program sections he had developed, and had been relieved to find them still intact. He had assumed they would be, that they had not been discovered, as if they had been he would have been dismissed from the project, and most likely jailed.

  The other thing that had helped him learn more about the system was a close relationship with Sampson Powers, one of the lead programmers. Powers loved to talk. Never specifically about the final assembly, but enough general details of the program that he was so proud to be a part of, that Richard had ended up deducing the balance of the program and its purpose.

  He had also been called upon to modify one of the sections of his programming, which had necessitated the trip to the underground base. At first he had wished desperately to be out of Project Bluechip when the missiles had struck, and back in California. Once he had seen the satellite pictures he had quickly changed his mind and had been grateful that he was in New York, and deep beneath the earth in the bowels of the base. It hadn't seemed like a prison so much anymore, he told himself, as a haven. The rock walls he had grown to hate, he had begun to love, but time had changed that perception and he had decided to try for the surface before the time to try was gone. Richard Weston, the commander of Bluechip, seemed to be further out of touch with reality every day. Pierce had helped a young woman escape just a few days before, and he had watched on a series of cameras that still survived far above ground as she had not only made good her escape, but had also made her way out of the city. He had taken his own chance early three days later.