Hell on Earth (13 page)

I figured it was a good time to move on. “I'm with Albert,” I said. “Symbols mean nothing outside of their context. But I never expected to hear that from a religious guy!”

“I'm full of mysteries,” he said.

I was glad for our little debate. It took our mind off the fact that the sky kept changing. It was now completely green. Made me think of fat frogs and mold. The lemon stench was bad enough that it seemed the same as back on Deimos and Phobos. I had forgotten how after a while you get used to anything and then you could ignore it.

Albert reminded us he was in charge of the map by pointing out we were nearing the sabotage point. “I'd say we're a mile away,” he said.

“Let me take the wheel back, Jill.” The kid didn't argue, glad to say. I started slowing down the Humvee.

“We need to tip it over on the tracks just past that curve,” said Albert. “We don't want to derail the train.”

“Right,” I said. “They should see it in plenty of time after they come around the bend.”

“Have you given any thought to how we're going to tip this monster over?” asked Arlene. “It must weigh a couple of tons.”

“I sure have. That's why I brought along—Block and Tackle in a Drum!”

She didn't seem to appreciate the humor.

N
o, really, A.S. I'm not joking.”

“I'm not laughing.”

I held up the drum.

Arlene squinted. “C-4? Plastic explosive?”

“Just a soupçon. A bit of spice for an otherwise drab mission.”

The others stood back at a safe distance as I parked the vehicle next to the tracks, molded a goodly glob on both front and rear left tires, then rolled it forward until the C-4 was against the ground. I fused both bunches with identical lengths of det cord, lay flat and closed the connection.

Jill covered her ears; clever kid.

The Humvee is normally one of the most stable-wheeled vehicles ever built; but even its wide body and long wheel base was never meant to stand up to a double charge beneath the left side. With a flash and a bang, the C-4 did its job: the wheels blew off, but not before the entire vehicle jerked into the air and rolled along the longitudinal axis, landing upside down on the rails. I held my breath as it skittered and spun—but it came to rest still blocking the tracks.

I even had more C-4, just in case we'd needed a slight adjustment.

“That wasn't too tough,” declared Arlene, standing with hands on hips, surveying the undercarriage.

“Of course you'd say that,” I complained, “after letting me do all the work.”

“You! You mean you and Charlie Four!”

“What do we do now?” asked Jill.

“We guard the gear,” I said, “and hurry up and wait. Hey, welcome to the armed forces.”

“Inconsiderate of the fiends not to post their schedules for us,” said Albert.

“Amen,” agreed Arlene, to Albert's amusement. I had expected her to say something sarcastic in reply, but she patted him on the arm. They really seemed to like each other. Maybe their argument over Judgment Day was a test for each other.

The idea, of course, was for us to climb aboard when the train stopped to clear the tracks. We'd stay back until it started to move again; then we'd take a running leap and catch the ladders, humping up to the roof.

I was worried about Jill; I had no idea whether she could make the jump; and if she missed . . . But she was a wiry kid and looked like a tomboy. All the same, I quietly removed everything heavy from her pack, including her CompMac ultramicro; couldn't afford to let her drop it under the wheels . . . or drop herself.

“Can I put my ear to the track and listen for the vibration?” asked Jill. “I saw that in a movie.”

“You don't think you'll fall asleep?” I asked back. “It could be a long wait.”

She assumed the position and managed to stay down for a good twenty minutes before flipping over and trying the other ear. Fifteen minutes after that she decided that it could be a long wait and joined us over by the stuff, around the hill.

“Why do they have to change the sky?” Jill asked.

“I don't know,” said Arlene, “but it makes me appreciate the night. At least we won't see the green then.”

Albert passed around some beef jerky. We had plenty of water and didn't have to worry about rationing yet. We carried chlorine pills to purify the water, which wouldn't help much if the aliens poisoned it with some nerve toxin.

Jill poked Albert. “Why do you think these are demons if they can be killed?”

He looked at me, raising his brows.

“Don't give me a hard time,” I said. “I haven't discussed it with her. She can think for herself, you know.”

“There are greater and lesser powers,” he said. “There is nothing wrong with viewing these creatures as alien invaders as our Marine friends do. But we believe they would not have taken on these guises unless they were directed by genuine demonic forces.”

“Then why don't we exercise them?” said Jill.

Arlene smiled. “You mean exorcise, Jill.”

“I like exercise better,” I interjected. “Some of these monsters seem out of shape to me. We should capture one and PT the hell out of it.”

“Speaking of which—” Albert began, but he didn't have to finish. The train whistle was high and loud, a lonely call from the remnants of our world. “I don't think you'll need to place your ear to the track,” I told Jill.

First, there was the rumbling. Then it came around the bend, bigger than life, the engine the head of a dragon, each car behind it a segment of spinal cord. Thousands of tons rushed toward our little Humvee, lying across the dark rails like a sacrificial offering.

“It's not slowing down,” whispered Jill.

There was no way the man or monster in the engine couldn't see the obstacle in the path of the train. The natural reaction was to slow and stop.

Instead, they chose the
unnatural
reaction—dispelling any doubts about what sort of creature was driving. The monsters were among us.

The damned train sped up! The drone of the giant diesel electric motors drowned out the world, sinking our great plan beneath drifts of sand as if drowning in that dry ocean.

Jill moved forward, still going to give it a try; but no way would I let her commit suicide. I grabbed her arm hard and shouted, “Back off, everyone!” If that behemoth came off the tracks, it could explode and obliterate us like bugs. I had other plans, foremost among them to stay alive.

We ran, the roaring of metal-on-metal and groaning diesels directly behind us. We felt the impact of the collision before we heard it, as the vibration tuning-forked through the desert into the soles of our feet and up to our hearts. The sound ripped through my head, made my teeth ache, and squeezed my lungs with the weight of the crash.

Bible stories ran through my head, the good old King James version, with the Old Testament warnings and massacres. Lot's wife looked behind her after the Lord God told her not to. She was too curious for her own good—my kind of woman. I couldn't resist a backward glance either.

The train plowed through the Humvee like it wasn't even there except as a sound effect. Pieces of our transportation flew at us, and I realized there was a certain wisdom to Bible stories. This crap could sever our necks and smash us to pulp. You could actually hurt an eye.

We kissed dirt, and something whizzed past my right ear, but I had no curiosity to see what it was. Finally, the dangerous sounds went away.

Standing up to see the remains of our vehicle, I checked that my three buddies weren't bleeding or buried under hunks of twisted metal. The receding train reeled drunkenly from rail to rail, like an Iowa farm boy with a snootful on his first night of liberty. I half expected to see a fat, red demon riding in the caboose, leaning out and giving us the finger. Then again, a good number of these beasties lacked the digits and dexterity to perform such a feat.

“So,” said Arlene, after a long, dramatic pause. “What's Plan B?”

Jill occupied herself spitting out a mouthful of dirt, while Albert helped her to her feet. “Liabilities,” I said: “no Humvee; no train.”

“Assets?”

“We're alive; we still have our weapons.”

“Feets do your stuff,” said Albert.

“We'll hike into Phoenix,” I said. “It's already late afternoon. Better for us to travel by night anyway, especially on foot.”

“Great,” said Jill, but when she didn't continue the complaint, I let it slide. A little bitching from the troops can have its salutary effects.

Whatever the green crap in the atmosphere was, it didn't prevent the stars coming out, although the twinkle was a bit weird. Footsore and weary, we took our first rest stop at midnight.

“My first girlfriend lived in Scottsdale,” said Albert. “I always enjoyed Arizona.”

“Was she a Mormon?” Arlene blurted out.

“No; I'm a convert. We didn't believe in much of anything, not even each other.”

“Why do you like Arizona?” asked Arlene.

“The desert is clean. The mountains are clean. And best of all, there's no humidity.”

“You sound like a travel folder,” I said.

“Not anymore,” he sighed.

“We'll get our world back, Albert,” said Arlene.

An attack of commanditis seized Yours Truly: “If we're going to save the Earth, then we need to sleep, in shifts.” I took first watch so everyone else could sleep, but Jill joined me.

“I can't sleep,” she said, “so don't try and make me.”

“No, I'm glad for your company,” I said. “I hate wasting the rest of the night, and I'm not tired either. When Albert and Arlene wake up, I'm thinking we should move on.”

“Fine with me,” she said. “I think they're sweet on each other.”

I stared at Jill, wondering where the hell that comment came from. I didn't say a word, but the teenager had given me something to think about besides how many rounds it took to put down a spidermind.

Absolutely nothing else happened for four days, except Arlene and Albert spent a lot of time arguing, leaving me to debate computer ethics with the fourteen-year-old net-cop of the month. Jill was down on even the slightest infraction against privacy . . . by
anyone.

It was dawn on the fifth day when we arrived on the outskirts of Phoenix. A number of buildings were rubble, but some were still standing. We decided to hole up in one of those. With weapons loaded and in hand, we moved in. I was pleased to note Jill handled herself well. This was good. If anything happened, I'd be too busy to hold anyone's hand.

In the first alley we entered, we ran into an appetizer
of three pathetic zombies. Albert, Arlene, and I acted so quickly that Jill didn't even get off a shot—but it was her first contact with the enemy.

We rounded the corner and found ourselves in the enviable position of staring at three zombie backs. It was two males and a female; one of the males a civilian, the other an Army sergeant, and the woman used to be a cop in life.

Any qualms I had ever had about shooting women in the back were burned out of me up on Phobos. Phobos meant “fear,” and fear was a marvelous teacher. Without a word, I swung my double-barreled shotgun up to my shoulder, sighted as if aiming for a clay pigeon, and let fly with the outer trigger.

The living-dead female cop pitched forward without a sound, her head vanishing in a haze of red and green blood and gray brain matter. The other two growled and started to turn, but the soldier-zombie took two taps in the head from Arlene before he got even halfway around. She kept her AB-10 on single-shot; no sense wasting ammo.

The third zombie was armed only with a stick of some sort; it looked like it used to be a gas station attendant. It shambled toward us, unafraid, of course; its only desire was to beat us into a bloody pulp and perhaps eat the remains.

Jill whimpered and sank to one knee, fumbling her AR-19 around. Her numb, nerveless hands shook, and she suddenly had not even the strength to pull back the T-bar and cock the weapon.

Well, no reason to dump a death on her conscience, even a zombie death; she'd have plenty more chances. Sparing her a friendly glance, I raised my shotgun again, the outer barrel still unfired. But Albert beat me to the punch, expertly firing a quick, three-round burst that caught the zombie in the face, destroying it
instantly. The guy was good: he had literally fired from the hip on rock 'n' roll and tapped it perfectly.

I stole a look; his face was grim, determined. I had no trouble believing he had been a sniper.

The soup course consisted of five imps who were attracted by the noise. Given the time of day, thinking of breakfast would be more appropriate. Time to fry the bacon.

They came shuffling around the corner, already wadding up balls of flaming snot. One was a fast mother; it heaved its flame wad before we could get off a shot, and Arlene had to hit the deck to evade.

I heard a snik-click, as Jill finally ran the slide, cocking the hammer and slamming a round into the chamber.

I discharged my remaining barrel, knocking an imp to the dirt; it was still alive. I crabbed sideways, cracking the breech and sliding two more shells inside, while Albert fired short bursts, alternating between the nearest imps. Each burst drove the target backward a few steps.

Then a dead-eye spiny from the back ranks chucked a mucus ball over the front ranks, catching Albert on the shoulder. It splattered across his armor, still burning, and he yelped and dropped the Uzi clone.

Arlene got to one knee, clicked the lever one notch down, and began firing bursts at the still-advancing imps. She focused fire on one imp at a time, taking them down.

One of them slid by us somehow; none of us saw the damned thing. All of a sudden I turned and it was in my face, hissing and screaming like death on two legs.