Hell on Earth (14 page)

I
backpedaled but took a piece of flame wad in the face anyway. Blinded and agonized, I dropped the shotgun to the pavement and grabbed my face, screaming. I heard
and felt
the 180-kilogram monster looming over me, and I steeled myself to take a savage swipe to the ribs.

The swipe never came. I heard the high-pitched “rim shot” sound of the AR-19 discharging on full auto, and the monster pitched forward against me. I rolled to slip it as it fell; I sure didn't want to get crushed underneath.

By the time I was able to blink my eyesight back, the rest of the spinys were room-temp . . . and Jill stood over the body of her very first kill, managing to look simultaneously triumphant, sick, and scared to death.

“Congratulations, girl,” I croaked, still grimacing at the pain, “virgin no more.”

“Thanks.” She looked as ambivalent as she probably would in a couple of years, when she lost the other form of virginity . . . unless I'm showing my age by presuming she hadn't already.

My mistake; one of the critters wasn't quite dead. When we huddled to assess damages, it leapt to its feet and took off down the alley. Arlene, the Hermes
of the group, bolted after the thing, Albert hot on her heels.

We raced the imp. I'd never seen one move this fast before. Was it that this one had the sense to be afraid, or had the genetic engineering made some improvements?

The imp scooted around a corner. Arlene followed, then Albert, and finally Yours Truly. Jill was somewhere behind.

We spied an open door across the alley, and Arlene and Albert made a beeline for it; but I noticed a nearby trailer was rocking back and forth, as if someone had just entered.

“Over here!” I yelled. I wasn't used to an imp doing something as clever as opening a door to mislead his pursuers before doubling back to his real objective; but then I hadn't expected the imp on Phobos to talk either.

The door was locked, but a trailer door hardly merited the waste of ammo. As I started to kick it, I heard a familiar sound. Once you've heard the humming-whizzing sound of a teleporter, you never forget it.

One good thump and we were in; a few sparks of light hung in space over the rectangular piece of metal. “Damn,” I said.

“Shazam!” said Arlene.

“Huh?” asked Albert.

“Just making a little joke before your time,” she said.

“Hey, I've had friends who take that stuff,” Albert countered. “It's bad stuff, ma'am.”

“We'll get into the cross-cultural discussion later, kids,” I said. “Right now we have more important problems. Like, should we follow this one or leave well enough alone?”

“If we follow,” said Albert, “it might put us in the center of this thing.”

“I think we
shouldn't
follow, exactly because it might put us in the center of this thing,” said Arlene.

They both had a good point. There was no questioning Albert's courage; but Arlene and I had the experience.

I felt a disturbance in the Force behind me. Jill squeezed in, her face hard, cheeks streaked where she'd been crying. But she was in control, the mask tight.

“Let's vote on it,” she suggested, demonstrating she'd picked up some vile, egalitarian habits from somewhere.

“Sure,” I said. “A show of hands for all those who think we should follow the imp through the teleporter.” Albert and Jill raised their hands. “Now, those against.” Arlene raised her hand.

“If you vote with her, it's a tie,” said Jill, proving she'd taken some courses in the Higher Arithmetic.

“It's not necessary for me to vote,” I said, “because Arlene's vote counts as three. The nays carry.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Jill, frustrated. Albert merely shrugged.

“Let's put a guard on the grid,” I said. “The spiny could return with reinforcements: hell-princes, pumpkins—”

“Maybe even a steam-demon,” Arlene added. We could tell that the new monster fighters weren't exactly following the conversation.

“There's lots of different aliens,” said Arlene.

“I know that,” said Jill, a touch defensively.

“I'll take first watch,” said Albert. “If we're not going to follow, I'd suggest we hide out in the trailer . . . but maybe that's not such a good idea. Instead of teleporting, the—imp?—might drive up with a tank column. Are we waiting until night before we leave?”

“On foot we'd wait,” I said, “but in this truck, the Bad Guys will probably just assume we're members of the club. Who but a monster or zombie would be driving in this region now? Besides, Albert is right; we have to get out of here like now.”

“Assuming zombies can drive,” mumbled Arlene.

“If they have brains enough to shoot, they have brains enough to drive,” I said.

“Can I drive the truck?” asked Jill, eyes wide. “It would really be cool.”

I've created a Frankenstein's monster! I thought. “Can you drive a stick?” I asked. She nodded. “A big rig like this, double-clutching, multiple forward gears?
Have
you ever?”

“Well, not this big,” she admitted. “But I'm sure I can handle it.”

Normally, that wouldn't be good enough. But this time, I wanted all three seasoned fighters in the back in case the imp came back with a beastie battalion.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Maybe we can take the truck and not be stuck with the damned teleporter.” I went back to it, crouched down and examined it thoroughly. It was literally melded to the steel floor; the only way to leave it would be to ditch the entire trailer. But we still had to get to a place of safety before we could stop long enough to unhitch cab from caboose.

“How about I go up front and look for the keys,” said Jill, growing happier by the second. She wasn't about to let this opportunity slip by her.

“I'm going with you,” I said, praying the monsters would not choose this moment to invade.

There were no keys in the cab, but I found a set in one of those little magnetic holders outside, underneath the left front fender. This bothered me. If the monsters were using the truck, why would they hide
the key? Or had they not even used this vehicle as a vehicle since they attached the teleporter?

I didn't know how long we'd use the cab—maybe only long enough to hop the next train, assuming we could warp back to the original plan. But in the field, no plan was any good that didn't adjust instantly to reality. If the truck could get us a good piece of the way, we should go for it. If it caused more problems, then we could always switch back to playing hobo.

Jill opened the glove compartment and found a map showing the most direct route to L.A.—good old I-10; the best truck stops were marked for convenience. The original driver had been most obliging. If we were lucky, some of these stations might be abandoned, with stocks of fuel waiting for us. I could do without demonic attendants offering free human sushi with every fill-up. I'd definitely go with self-service, even if I had to shoot it out for the privilege.

Jill started the engine and I gave her a lecture about reading gauges. As if I had any idea what I was doing! But you can't let kids think you don't know.

This led right into a few more lectures about overheating the engine, dust storms, fatigue factors, and highway hypnosis.

At no point did Jill try to shoot me. Her self-control was exactly what you demand of a good Marine.

“At least there won't be many cars for me to run into,” she predicted. If I didn't know better, I'd think she wasn't trying to cheer me up.

“Go west, young lady,” I said as a parting shot. “Find us somewhere safe to park and disconnect. I don't like hauling around this reinforcement roach coach.”

“See you later,” she answered.

I returned to the back and caught Arlene grinning like the Cheshire cat that just ate the bird store. Albert seemed amused by something as well.

“You were up there a long time,” she said.

“Looking for the keys,” I answered solemnly.

“You took a long time getting back here since the engine started,” said Albert.

I wouldn't let them get to me: “Giving her a few helpful tips, that's all. I'm sure she'll do fine.” At that precise moment the truck lurched forward and stalled. Everything in the back shifted forward, except for the teleporter pad. The teleporter pad was just fine.

Arlene laughed. At no point did I try to shoot her; if Jill could hold it, so could I. I'm trained, a professional—a Marine.

Jill finally got the hang of shifting—I suppose she
had
had some training—and we were on our way. She proved herself a teenager by driving too fast; then she swerved suddenly, creating a new mystery to solve: what the hell was she avoiding?

Being thrown around inside gave me motion sickness; I hadn't felt this bad since the last time I was on a friend's boat and got seasick. But I wasn't complaining. Not me.

Besides, just about the time I would have risked Arlene's mirth, the spiny sent us a Christmas present.

There was a brief moment of warning, the humming and the glow. We trained our weapons on the spot, allowing for a split second of identification. There was always the remote possibility of a human escaping from hell.

Then the thing materialized. It wasn't a recruit for humanity's army. And it wasn't a zombie, an imp, or any other old friend. The bastards had sent us a new monster.

There was something especially odd about the appearance. This sucker wore clothes! He had on red shorts and a white T-shirt. At a quick glance, it looked like a living skeleton in lederhosen. There wasn't time
for a closer look—we already delayed firing a second too long. The idiotic wardrobe threw us off.

The thing jumped at me, picked me up with one hand and threw me at the wall. I rolled with the impact and scrambled to my feet, still holding onto my twelve-gauge; but before I could fire, the monster had Arlene in one claw and Albert in the other. Thin as it was, we were like rag dolls in its hands.

Jill was shouting through the partition, wondering what was wrong. I would have loved to tell her, but I was otherwise occupied, waiting for a clear shot.

The skeleton flung Albert down, but kept hold of Arlene. The angle made Arlene a shield, so I started maneuvering around, trying to maintain my footing with Jill's increasingly panicked driving. As I tried for a better position, the damned bone pile turned and
punched out Albert!

I mean, it hauled off and slugged him, and he went down for the count. The stupid red shorts suddenly seemed like boxing shorts. If the invaders were developing a sense of humor, I knew the true meaning of horror.

Adding to the fun, Jill started swerving left and right. Maybe she thought she was helping. She wasn't. I heard a horrible crunching sound, and I was thrown to the floor . . . but Red Skeleton remained planted as if it had grown roots. Jill must have run into a car—but from here, it was impossible to tell whether it had been parked or was tooling down the road with Satan himself at the wheel. At the moment, I didn't care about anything except dismantling that freaking skeleton.

Back on my feet, duck gun in hand, I shouted loud enough for Jill to hear: “Keep steady and keep going!” I was afraid that if she came to a sudden stop, it would be an advantage for Mr. Bones. I needed my opening.

Then the dumb monster gave it to me. He put
Arlene down so he could slug her. I let him place her out of the line of fire, and the minute she was down, I got in close to the thing and introduced its mouth to both barrels. The mouth opened just like a human one. I made sure it would never close again. I blew its head clean off.

This slowed it down. Unfortunately, decapitation was not the last word with this guy. He'd spent so much time throwing us around like preteen sparring partners, I hadn't even noticed the pair of rocket launchers strapped to its back—until now. In its death throes, Bones bent forward like a hinge and fired a rocket from each tube.

Its head was pointing toward the front . . . and that's where the rockets went.

The thing splintering into constituent bones, but Arlene was up from the floor in time to scream
“Jill!”
I was already out the trailer door and scuttling along the running board before the echo died away.

T
he rockets blew through the front of the trailer and the back of the cab, passing on either side of a white-faced Jill while she was driving. Either side. By some miracle worthy of every Holy Book ever written, both rockets missed her.

“Jesus and Mary!” I shouted. I slid through the hole
where the cab wall used to be and sat down next to Jill. She was white as cotton, shaking like an AK on full-auto, gripping the wheel so hard I half expected her to leave indentations. First Rule of Talking to the Driver When the Driver is in Shock: “It missed you, Jill; you're all right.”

She nodded very slowly, but didn't speak. I tried another tack: “Wouldn't you like a break from driving?” She nodded again. “Well, why don't you pull over, uh, there,” I said, pointing to a tree-lined side street. There was nothing around here; we could pull the plug on the teleporter trailer. Jill pulled over.

“Would you stay up here on watch while I return to the others?” I asked.

She finally spoke: “Yes. I will. Fly.” I patted her on the shoulder, glad she'd addressed me that way. I suspected she would be driving more conservatively after this. I decided not to ask her about the car.

As Jill parked and sobbed, I crawled back into the trailer. “Our new convenient, modern cab,” I said, “lots of ventilation makes it easier than ever to move back and forth.”

My attempt at gallows humor fell on adder's ears. “Fly,” said Arlene, voice shaking, “maybe we should acquire another vehicle.”