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

by Wendell G. Sweet

  "Well," Jeremiah said, "maybe it's time to get out of Dodge then."

  The small joke helped to lighten their spirits, but it also got them moving. Joke or not, the missiles would launch, and they had better be as far away as they could be when they did. Ten minutes later they passed the small corner gas station, and headed back into Rochester.

  Utopia

  Luther managed to wrench himself free, but only by sheer determination. The monster thing, the thing that looked vaguely familiar, stumbled after him.

  He had just turned and began to run, when it occurred to him why it had looked so familiar, and the realization caused him to stop in mid-stride, and turn back toward it.

  The thing stopped too, and glared at him through its half-lidded milky eyes, which did not seem to Luther to be capable of sight.

  Even so, Luther was sure that it could see him somehow, and more than that he was sure that it knew him, and now he was convinced that he knew it, or what it had been.

  He looked closely, trying to be certain, unwilling to admit that he was certain, that he knew what it was, that he himself had made it, breathed life into it, and wondering how it could still be alive. It, what had been Willie, Luther now knew, was dead, but somehow not dead, not completely dead anyway. It should have been though.

  Tattered remnants of bandage clung to what was left of the Willie-things waist. His stomach cavity was split open, ropy intestines spilling forth. Black gore clung to the front of him, coating his legs and boot clad feet, and a small hole in his forehead oozed an oily substance across the slack gray face that stared back at him. He had no right to be alive, there was no way he could be alive, yet he was. The thing opened its mouth and began to speak in a rusty croak.

  "Lu-uther?" the Willie-thing queried, as it turned its head sideways. To Willie, Luther was sharply defined in bright red, but not so sharply defined that he could tell for certain, and he hadn't felt right. He hadn't felt strong. He had been hard pressed to tear himself free from Willie's hands. Was it Luther? Was he somehow weakened? He puzzled as he cocked his head to one side to see him better, but the radar like image did not sharpen.

  "W-Willie?" Luther stammered, "it is me, Luther, your friend, your king, Willie, what have they done to you?"

  Willie was not sure if Luther had truly spoken at first. He didn't precisely hear him. Instead it was more a sensing of Luther's question, and the admittance of who he was.

  "Luther?" the Willie-thing questioned again, as he shambled closer, once again cocking his head to one side. "My King?" Willie was not even sure if he was speaking, and if Luther had not vigorously nodded his head, he would not have known that he was.

  "Yes Willie! Me, Luther," Luther said nodding his head.

  Willie was much closer now, very close, and he could see the red tinged image much clearer. It was him, it was Luther, changed somehow, not as powerful, not as... evil, maybe, but it was him.

  "I came back to you Luther," he croaked, cocking his head from side to side as he spoke. "You made me, I came home to you."

  Luther was nervous, scared, in fact very scared, he admitted. He fought back that fear as he spoke. "Yes, Willie, you did come home, and... and I need you, Willie, I need your help. I did make you, and I can make you better, Willie, I can fix what they did to you, Willie," Luther lied. He was beginning to panic, the Willie-thing was moving closer, almost face to face with him, seeming to grin as it shifted its head from side to side.

  "Yoou maade meee," Willie whisper-croaked, "yoou did maake meee."

  "Y-Y-Yes," Luther stammered, and this is ridiculous, he thought. What the fuck is he doing here, how was he alive?

  "I'm not alive," Willie croaked as if reading his thought's. "I'm dead Luuther, veerry dead, just like yoou're going to be Luuther," Willie's hands shot up and quickly closed around Luther's neck. "Veerry veerry dead Luuther."

  "N-N-No!" Luther tried to scream, but all that came out was a rusty gurgle, as his air was suddenly cut off. He tried to will himself out of his body. No good, he was stuck. He tried to force the slick cold flesh of Willie's hands from his throat, but they were locked tightly, and his hands kept slipping on the oily flesh, and the hands seemed to tighten even more as he struggled. He willed himself not to think about it, to concentrate on removing the hands, and he dug his nails into the cold dead flesh for a better purchase, and renewed his efforts. He pushed. He pushed harder, and the hands seemed to be losing their grip, and they finally were forced away, and he was free. He sucked cool air into his burning lungs, released the hands, and began to run. When he reached a huge rip in the air-duct, he glanced back over his shoulder. The Willie-thing was stumbling after him.

  "Nooo," the Willie-thing, scream-croaked, as Luther ducked into the pipe and began to run.

  The Great Kentucky River

  Riverboats

  Joe stood on the bridge of the river boat with Delbert, talking to Jacob. It was nearly 6:00 AM, almost sunrise, and they were off the shore of a great land mass. During the night Jacob had cut steadily across the wide expanse of water, until he had sighted land.

  "I believe that's Kentucky," Jacob said now. "I guess Kentucky would sure be surprised to know she had a shore-line now. This is more like an inland sea, than a river, and deep too, nearly two thousand feet according to the sonar."

  "How close do you think we can get?" Joe asked.

  "To the shore?"

  "To New York," Joe replied.

  "Right in it, how close do you want to get?"

  "Right in it," Joe said, and grinned, "closer the better...How long before we can be there?"

  "Probably tomorrow mornin', 'round say five or so, we ought to be at lake Erie, maybe 'round Buffalo or so, if the lakes really are split, and if this river, sea, whatever it is, really goes into them."

  "They're split," Joe answered, "and this river goes right into them all right," he looked out over the water at the fresh earthen banks of the river as he spoke.

  Jacob followed his gaze. "Ripped it apart good, didn't it? Once the suns fully up, it ought to be quite a site. I've been dodging trees all night, or trying to. Big ones, whole trees, not branches."

  "I believe it," Joe said in wonder, as he gazed at the tortured landscape. "I believe it."

  "The coast of Kentucky," Delbert said, "now ain't that something you never thought you'd hear?"

  Joe nodded his head. "You hungry, Jacob? When's the last time you ate?"

  "Yesterday."

  "Is this thing hard to steer?"

  "Nope, just keep her away from the land. Keep an eye on the sonar readout, and if the bottom starts coming up, take her out deeper is all."

  "Well, they put together a great breakfast in the main lounge, if you're hungry go get some, I'll take over for a while," Joe said.

  "Okay, don't mind if I do," Jacob replied, "I could also use a little shut-eye, if you think you can handle her for a while."

  Joe grinned. He had never operated anything larger than a sixteen foot outboard in his life, and the prospect of steering this boat, something this large, was exciting, but also a little scary. "Well...okay, what else do I need to know?"

  "Nothing much. Besides, I'm coming back up here to sleep, and if anything does come up, all you'll have to do is wake me, I'll be right here, sound good?"

  "Sounds real good," Joe said, as a huge smile lit his face.

  "Hey," Delbert said, "do I get a chance too?" They all laughed, as Jacob turned over the wheel and left the bridge.

  "I'll share," Joe said jokingly, then, "Look at that, 'Dell!"

  A huge pine, undercut by the river, leaned precariously toward the water. Her uppermost branches less than twenty yards away. The sun was edging up further, and the tortured landscape was revealed much more clearly in the morning light.

  As the sun continued to rise, Joe kept the river boat chugging along, wondering at the beauty of the newly created river.

  Utopia

  Luther ran. He ran fast and hard, and he did not give int
o the urge to look back over his shoulder for the Willie-thing. He could hear it though. It was there, but he did not know how far back, or how close it was. The ducting echoed and amplified its croaking voice,

  "NOO...Noo...noo," it called from behind him, and he willed his legs to move faster.

  When he reached the opening to the outside, he did risk a backwards glance. The urge was much too hard to fight, and the Willie-thing was close, too close, no more than thirty yards behind him, and stumble-running along after him, closing the gap, a horrific grin plastered on its face as it came.

  Luther leapt through the opening and rolled across the vine covered ground outside, regained his feet, only to trip over one of the larger vines, and once again fall to the ground. A sharp pain ripped through his left ankle as he went down, and a quick glance told him the ankle was shattered. Clean white bone poked through the skin, and the pain, it was only his second experience with pain, was overbearing.

  In spite of the pain he forced himself onto his good leg, and hobbled onward for another ten feet before he tripped again, and fell heavily to the ground once more. The fucking vines seemed to be purposely tripping him up! He thought in terror.

  He rolled over as quickly as he could. If the Willie-thing fell upon him, he wanted to be able to fight it, try to stop it. He had once, and if he had once he should be able to again. But, as he was thinking something terrible was happening, he realized. The vines were moving, and several of them began to wind around his arms, his legs, and his torso, binding him tightly, pulling him backwards into the ground, and holding him there, and then the Willie-thing was upon him, and the cold hands were around his neck, and there was no more time to think. The Willie-thing was killing him, the Willie-thing was trying to tear his fucking head off in fact, and it hurt, it hurt really bad, and he couldn't move his arms no matter how hard he tried, the vines were holding him tightly, and this wasn't fair, it was cheating, and it hurt so much, and...

  ...Willie tried to unclench his hands, but they had frozen, and he could no longer move them. They had served their purpose though, he realized, as Luther's head rolled slowly away from his body. They had closed like a vice, and shredded bits of skin and muscle still clung to them. He stood slowly and stepped back, before he sank to the ground.

  The vines did not seem at all interested in him, but they were still winding around what was left of Luther, and binding him tightly. Pulling him apart, dragging him into the earth. One thick searching section found Luther's head, and quickly wound around it, squeezing convulsively. The head exploded from the pressure. Clumps of gray matter and a thick jet of blood spewing forth as it did. Several other vines began to scramble for the pieces as Willie watched. In a very few seconds nothing remained, except freshly turned soil, that boiled and churned, as if liquid, instead of solid.

  Willie sank back into the vines. They moved restlessly beneath him, but they did not wrap themselves around him and take him as he had hoped they would. There was no salvation, save the three words, and he opened his mouth and whispered them into the early morning air.

  "Father, forgive me," he whisper croaked, and waited. He expected they would work. He needed them to work, and when they did not immediately, he spoke them again, urgently, pleadingly.

  "God forgive me, please!"

  The please couldn't hurt, he reasoned. He waited... He waited for what seemed like hours. He waited until the sun was poking through the trees, but salvation did not come. Salvation did not even say why it couldn't come, nothing happened at all, and Willie finally admitted to himself that salvation was not going to come. Salvation was not even possible. It might have been, when he was alive it might have, but he wasn't alive, and hadn't been alive since he had shot-up in the alley in Seattle and died. He hadn't been sure he had died then. Luther had told him in fact that he hadn't died, but he knew now that he had. He had died, and because he had died, salvation was not possible any longer.

  He forced himself to get up from the ground, and shuffled back into the tunnel. The vines were creepy, and if he could not die, he didn't want to chance that they might change their mind about him once they were finished with Luther. At least he was some place, even if he was trapped in a decomposing body, and that was better than being trapped underground, dragged underground, and eaten, or whatever it was they were doing to Luther. Being no-place, and not being able to move, or see was not something he wanted. Better to stick with his body than that.

  Willie stumbled into the control room sometime later, sat down in front of one of the terminals, and stared at the banks of screens that covered one wall.

  Alien

  In a faraway desert, the rising alien suns shone down upon the sands. The battle was rapidly taking its toll. Rivers of blood soaked the sands. Michael and the Defender, fought wearily on, their armies dwindling, their once magnificent steeds bloodied and torn, lay in the sand amidst the fallen soldiers, and soon they would be the only two still standing.

  Across the ocean the white robed figure, turned its attention away from the battle momentarily, and closed his eyes. It listened to a calling from far away, considered it, then opened its eyes once again, and turned back to the battle.

  TWELVE

  Joe kept the river boat off the shore, into the deeper section of the body of water. At first he had thought it would be hard to steer, or impossible to keep track of the sonar and steer at the same time. But he had gradually become accustomed to it as the boat plowed through the water.

  Jacob, who had awakened only moments before, stood beside him watching the banks roll by, and pointing out debris, as Delbert had done, in time for Joe to get around it. The trees, whole trees in the water, were disconcerting. Joe's biggest fear was ramming one, and sinking the boat. A few minutes later when Jacob took over, he was actually relieved.

  "I'm glad I tried it," Joe said, "but I wouldn't want to do it for a living."

  "It's all I ever wanted to do," Jacob replied seriously, "since I was little, and my dad took me for a ride on one of the old time river boats. It was all I wanted, and I've done it for more than forty years. All I ever wanted...I suppose that I'll have to find something else to do now, though, I doubt there'll be a lot of call for pilots for a good while," he finished with a sigh.

  "What will you do?" Joe asked, "The world's open."

  "Well, Dave and I were talking, and we thought it might be something to head across the ocean. Just get a boat, sailing boat, and go. See what there is to see. Saw a nice one back in Texas."

  "Yeah?" Joe asked.

  "Yeah," Jacob agreed, and smiled. "The Mary Elizabeth. She is pretty, Joe. Real pretty. A hundred feet if she's an inch. Perfect for sailing. Just sittin' there."

  Joe couldn't help but answer the smile on Jacob's face. "Sounds like a good plan... Becky and I are going back to Washington. There's a little park, and... Well, we were there and we're going back. Live there, maybe have some kids, just live," Joe finished.

  "That sounds like a good plan too," Jacob agreed. "You worried much about getting through this?"

  "Yeah... I'd be lying if I said I wasn't, but I'm just trusting, I guess. Just hoping I do, everybody does, the ones with us now, and the ones we're going to get. You think that's unrealistic, Jake?"

  "No, not unrealistic, just aiming high maybe, hoping high, and I don't see anything wrong with that at all," Jacob replied.

  "Me either," Joe stated. "Jake, I'm going to leave you alone for a while, see if I can't hunt up that wife of mine, and get her up here so she can get a look at some of this. Probably never see it again."

  "When you love the water you're never alone," Jacob said. "Course loving something physical does have its advantages. I ain't that old," Jacob finished and winked.

  Joe laughed. "You're a card, Jake," he said, as he walked away.

  Willie Lefray

  Willie tried again to move, but it was no use. He had no clear idea of how long he had been sitting in front of the terminal, but while he had sat there, his bod
y had locked up tight. He could not budge it at all, and it made him feel claustrophobic, even though the control room was wide open.

  He had been watching the screens for some time, when the terminal he sat at had issued a short beep. That had dragged his attention away from the screens. He shouldn't have heard it, he realized, as he hadn't heard any other sounds, and as far as he had known up to that point, he wasn't able to hear anything at all. Maybe he hadn't heard it, he reasoned, maybe he had imagined it. He listened, or tried to, but there was no sound save the rush of silence, that had stolen his hearing earlier. He focused his attention on the letters that swam on the monitor screen. The radar-like vision was slowly deserting him, and he was barely able to make out the large print.

  PLEASE MOVE AWAY FROM

  THE TERMINAL.

  Apparently, while he had been watching the screens he had slumped forward, and both clenched hands were now touching the keyboard, depressing several of the keys. The keyboard was one of the new ones, that even Willie, who was ignorant of computers, had heard of. The keys were sensors, he knew, and were somehow able to interpret electrical current from your body, and convert that current into recognizable data. The keys simply acted as an interface between the operator and the computer, and the terminal, apparently sensing the input, was asking him to remove his hands. He suspected his body had no electrical current, and so the terminal was simply responding to the pressed keys. The joke's on you, Mr. Computer, Willie thought, I couldn't move if I wanted to.

  After peering through the red haze at the screen for a few seconds, he decided he had imagined the beeping sound, and even if he hadn't, there was nothing he could do about his hands. In fact his entire body seemed hopelessly locked away from him. He had no sooner shifted his attention back to the main screens, when he began to feel a tingling at the base of his skull.

  It surprised him, and caused him once again to drag his attention back to the terminal.

  What was he feeling? He wondered, and how was he feeling it?

  There seemed to be no answer, he thought, as he stared at the terminal, except, well, except that when he looked down at his hands, curled on the keyboard, they were smoking, and the flesh was bubbling, and what did that mean? Was he being burned? Had he short-circuited the machine somehow?