Resistance (26 page)

Illumination, such as it was, came from the lights built into or taped onto their weapons. White blobs overlapped each other and roamed the ceiling, walls, and floor as the twelve-man column followed their young guide through her subterranean world.

Then the situation changed as Spook paused in front of a pipe that was about four feet in diameter. It opened into the larger drain at a point approximately three feet off the floor. After peering back, as if to make sure that the Sentinels were still with her, Spook entered the smaller tube and promptly disappeared.

Hale watched Richards and the rest of them remove the secondary weapons that were slung across their backs, and slip them into canvas drag bags which each man would tow behind him lest the barrels get caught on an obstruction of some sort. Tight spaces weren't good, but Hale figured that Spook knew that, and wouldn't have chosen such a route unless it was absolutely necessary to do so.

It took a full five minutes for the team to enter the
pipe. Hale went last, the M5A2 carbine dragging behind him as he elbowed his way forward with the shotgun cradled in his arms. The surface beneath his chest was dry, and would remain so until the snow started to melt and the spring runoff began.

Thanks to the light projected from under the Rossmore's barrel and reflected from one wall back to the other, Hale could see Tanner's drag bag and the soles of his enormous boots as the other Sentinel made his way forward. It was a slow, painstaking process and Hale hated the way the tube hugged him from all sides.

At one point it was necessary for him to pull himself over the corpse of a badly mauled rat. But he'd been forced to deal with worse—much worse—and he kept on going. He was in a rhythm by then, and starting to feel better about things.

“Leapers!”

Spook yelled over the radio Richards had given her, but the horrible screeching noise spoke for itself as the cat-sized Chimera dropped out of vertical drain holes to land in the pipe they occupied. It was just about the worst thing that could have happened at that point, since none of the Sentinels could fire forward without hitting the man in front of them.

So as one of the horrors landed on Tanner's legs, and turned to attack Hale, the only thing he could do was to thrust his shotgun barrel into the Leaper's gaping mouth, using it as a club. Fangs broke as the weapon went in, and the stink shrieked in pain as Hale drew his commando knife, and slashed at the beast. A good twenty inches separated the two combatants, but the Fairbairn Sykes was long enough to make contact, and the tip found a major artery.

Blood sprayed the inside surface of the pipe as Richards shouted over the radio.

“Fire up into those drains! Kill them before they can drop!”

Private Russ Dana was directly in front of Tanner. He was one of two Sentinels armed with an L11-2 Dragon, which he had already used to fry one of the Leapers. Samson's boots had been singed by the momentary belch of flames but there were no complaints as Dana rolled over to direct the flamethrower upward.

There was a subdued roar as a tongue of fire shot up through the vertical drain, found flesh, and cooked one of the falling Leapers. The body caught on an obstruction, another stink landed on top of it, and began to eat its way downward.

He and Henning sent blast after blast of liquid fire up to intercept the gibbering beasts even as one or two others managed to roll over and bring other weapons into play. Hale's Rossmore generated a deafening
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM
sound as he fired upward and empty casings fell back on him. They were hot, and therefore uncomfortable, but a lot better than the alternative.

Then, as suddenly as the attack had begun, it was over, and the team was free to elbow their way forward again. Those located at the tail end of the line had no choice but to drag themselves through the bloody remains of their attackers, and the stench typical of all Chimera combined with the throat-clogging odor of cooked flesh and the harsh smell of gunsmoke.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity of crawling, but was actually only ten minutes, Hale saw Tanner's boots disappear, followed by his drag bag. Then it was Hale's turn, and he stuck his head out into an open chamber, where the others were waiting to pull him clear.

As before a flare was inserted into a crack, and it produced a harsh blue-green glow as minor wounds were checked. Some of the Sentinels took long drags from their I-Packs, and others looked to their weapons. Hale slipped shells into the Rossmore, and he swung the shotgun up just as something
huge
materialized out of the darkness.

“Don't shoot!” Spook said tersely. “Ralf won't hurt you … Will you, boy?”

At that point Hale and the rest of them were treated to an amazing sight as a brawny lion-sized Howler padded over to stand on its rear legs while it licked Spook's face.

“Don't ask,” Richards said as he appeared at Hale's elbow. “It was wounded, Spook found the beast, and nursed it back to health. But watch what you do … Ralf will attack
anything
that threatens her. Human
or
Chimera.”

Hale had never heard of such a thing, much less witnessed it, but he was coming to realize that by living in such close proximity to the Chimera, Chicago's freedom fighters were finding new ways to adapt and survive.

With the fearsome Ralf ranging ahead, Spook led the team through a maze of interconnecting tunnels and passageways, slogging through ankle-deep water. All were deserted, but there were signs of habitation. As Hale walked along he saw graffiti, ledges where cooking fires had scorched the walls, and in one sad case a mound of broken bricks with a white cross painted directly above it. There were occasional signs of battle, too, including areas where the walls were pockmarked with bullet holes, empty casings littered the floor, and well-gnawed bones lay scattered about.

Eventually, having traveled the better part of two
miles, the team was forced to pause in front of a well-guarded steel gate. Based on appearances Hale concluded that the obstruction had originally been put in place to filter debris out of what was transformed into a raging river at certain times of the year. Twin ladders led up toward the surface, and would allow maintenance workers to remove accumulated garbage from the filtration system below the streets.

But modifications had been made—a pass-through door had been added, and two heavily armed men were there to guard it. They nodded to Spook, eyed the Sentinels warily, and kept their weapons handy as Ralf followed his mistress through the opening, followed by the SAR team.

From a point fifty feet farther on, a hand-excavated passageway led to a large subway tunnel that had originally been separated from the main storm drain by seventy-five feet of solid earth and rock. Tracks ran both ways and gleamed dully under the light cast down from fixtures above. Clearly the Freedom First rebels had some sort of power plant, and weren't afraid to use it. Still another sign of how resourceful they were.

A flight of stairs led up to a platform where Chicago's citizens had waited patiently for the trains to arrive. Posters advertising the merits of the city's public transportation system hung above the wooden benches lining the wall, and another set of well-worn stairs led to the street above. The stairway was blocked by a makeshift wooden barricade with carefully placed Chimeran-made land mines, and was covered by raking fire from a large-caliber machine gun.

The weapon was positioned at the bottom of the stairway, and manned by a boy-girl team, both of whom appeared to be about twelve. They waved to the Sentinels
as they passed by, and shouted greetings to Spook, who raised a hand by way of reply.

She led the Sentinels along the platform, past a shoeshine stand and an empty newspaper kiosk to a glassed-in office where the local subway sector manager had once held court. It was furnished with a huge wall map of the transit system, a calendar that boasted a topless brunette, and a beat-up metal desk. Some mismatched chairs, a bookcase filled with binders, and a coatrack completed the decor.

That was where Richards called a halt and ordered Kawecki to put half the team where they could defend the station, giving the rest of the Sentinels a chance to grab a bite to eat.

While they pulled out their rations, Ralf licked himself and lay down next to a bench, and Richards and Hale followed Spook into the office. The person in charge of Freedom First Chicago awaited them there. He had been a big man once, well over six feet tall, but now he was missing both his legs. He had fuzzy red hair, a craggy brow, and a fist-flattened nose. The wheelchair that supported his torso had clearly seen heavy use, and was fitted with holsters on both sides.

“Welcome!” the rebel leader said cheerfully, and he eyed Hale curiously. “My name is Jacoby. Sam Jacoby. Pardon me if I don't get up.”

Hale chuckled politely as he went forward to shake hands. It was probably an old joke, one Jacoby likely used to break the ice and put new acquaintances at ease.

“Glad to meet you, sir,” he said as the other man's fingers nearly crushed his. “My name is Hale.”

Jacoby took in the yellow-gold eyes, raised his bushy eyebrows, but remained silent and turned to Richards.

“It's good to see you again, Bo. So the lieutenant has
been immunized, I see. Do all the people you work with have Chimeran eyes?”

“No,” Richards replied flatly. “Only Hale. But the rest have Hybrid-fast reaction times, they can take more punishment than you or I, and they heal quickly.
Very
quickly, so long as they don't take major damage. It comes in handy.”

Jacoby nodded grimly.

“Good. I'm glad to hear that the Grace administration finally did
something
right. God knows we're going to need all the help we can get, if we're going to win this war.”

“Yes,” Richards agreed soberly. “That's something all of us can agree on.”

“So, why the visit?” Jacoby demanded tactlessly. “As you know, the government hasn't given us piss-all since they pulled out of Chicago. Present company excepted, of course. So you must be here on a special mission of some sort.”

“That's true,” Richards admitted reluctantly, as he went on to describe the meeting with Chief of Staff Dentweiler, the government's case against ex-Secretary of War Henry Walker, and the evidence that pointed toward a trip to Chicago.

“I know you dislike Grace and his administration,” Richards finished, “but Walker plans to open negotiations with the stinks if he can. And that would be bad for everyone—including the members of Freedom First.”

Jacoby nodded slowly, as if still in the process of assimilating what Richards had said.

“You've got that right, Bo,” he said deliberately. “But I'm afraid that you made the trip for nothing. Walker sent us a letter, via runner. He said he was on his way to Chicago, carrying something of importance, but he didn't say what.

“Then, a few days ago, we got word that Twitch, the runner who had agreed to bring the Walkers to Chicago, had been killed. Some people figure the Walkers are dead, too, but others think they got away and are headed for our base in Montana. Personally, I don't have a clue as to what happened to them. God help them if the Chimera got ahold of them.”

Hale waited for Richards to respond, and when the other officer didn't, he cleared his throat. “No offense, Mr. Jacoby, but why should we believe you?” he asked, careful to keep his voice as neutral as possible. “Given your dislike of the government, you could be protecting Walker.”

Richards frowned and opened his mouth as if to speak, but Jacoby raised a hand.

“That's a fair question, son … But suffice it to say that Bo's correct. If Walker showed up here, and tried to open negotiations with the stinks, I'd shoot him myself!”

Suddenly an Army-style field phone on Jacoby's desk rang. Jacoby picked it up, held the receiver to his ear, and listened for five seconds before slamming the device down.

He mashed a red button, and a klaxon began to bleat. He had to shout to be heard over the din. “A trainload of stinks broke through the barrier a mile south of here and is headed this way! There isn't enough time to run, so we'll have to stay and fight. Welcome to Chicago, gentlemen—and here's hoping you live long enough to get out again.”

The rebels were well organized for civilians, but the Chimera had the advantage of speed and the element of surprise, so the humans were still taking up defensive positions when the first blocky car appeared. It was
going way too fast, as if the Hybrid at the controls hadn't had much practice driving it, and sparks flew as the brakes were applied and the train came to a shuddering stop.

The cars' curved roofs came within inches of the arched ceiling and were painted yellow, with black stripes. The stinks had chosen to commandeer one of the work trains normally used for maintenance, rather than a regular commuter train. Dozens of Hybrids emerged and a hellish firefight began. Glass shattered as plasma projectiles fired from a Bullseye sleeted across the office, and everyone hit the floor. Everyone except Jacoby, that is, who sent his wheelchair rolling forward, and drew his .45s.

He fired both pistols in alternating sequence, swearing at the Chimera as he did so, careless of the projectiles that whipped around him.

Hale knelt two feet back of the shattered window, triggered two 40mm grenades from the M5A2, and had the satisfaction of seeing both of them shatter windows and explode
inside
the second car.

Fortunately for Jacoby and his freedom fighters, the Sentinels were present to absorb the brunt of the initial attack and keep a lot of stinks bottled up on the train as others fell to combined fire from a multitude of sources. The battle was far from one-sided however, as Corporal Vedka took an Auger round right between the eyes, Private Henning died in a ball of flame when a stray projectile struck the fuel canister for his Dragon L11-2, and Private Oshi was struck down by half a dozen spines from a Chimeran Hedgehog grenade.

Serious though the causalities were, they were nothing compared to the slaughter imposed on the stinks who were forced to perform a macabre dance as a hail of bullets jerked, spun, and even lifted them off their feet before
throwing them down onto the oily ground. Even the children on the machine gun got into the act by swiveling their weapon around to fire on the enemy.