The day after: An apocalyptic morning (107 page)

              Relying mostly on his own instincts to navigate by, Skip brought them around in a broad circle, passing over some low hills and a large debris field that had once been the south part of the developed area. He slowed his airspeed but increased his altitude and soon the main part of El Dorado Hills became visible in the distance.

              "There it is," he told his back seat passengers.

              Paul, not bothering to crane his head to peer out the front, checked his watch. "Right on time," he said.

              "Are you ready to talk to them?" Skip asked.

              "I'm ready."

              "Okay," Skip replied. "Jack, if you would be so kind?"

              "Right," Jack answered, reaching down and fiddling with the VHF radio for a moment. "Okay, Paul," he told him when he was finished, "your headset is patched in. Just key up that transmit button and you'll be live."

              "And be sure to un-key it if you want to talk privately to us," Skip warned as he pulled into a high hover.

              Paul nodded, putting his fingers on the button, which was located on the side of his earpiece. "Here goes nothing," he muttered and then keyed it up. "El Dorado Hills," he said. "This is Paul Terra onboard the helicopter from Garden Hill. Is anyone out there?"

              Everyone was quiet as they listened for a reply in their headsets. They waited ten seconds, hearing nothing.

              "El Dorado Hills," Paul repeated, "this is Paul Terra, representative of Garden Hill speaking to you from the helicopter. Is anyone out there? Please reply."

              "Good afternoon, Mr. Terra," a male voice answered a few seconds later. "This is Patrick Wilson, representative of El Dorado Hills, speaking to you on the radio you dropped to us."

              A sigh of relief was breathed in the aircraft as everyone let out the breath that they had been holding. Careful smiles were exchanged.

              "Mr. Wilson," Paul said, speaking formally. "I'm glad you decided to communicate with us. You probably have us on visual hovering just to your south. Are you reading my transmissions all right?"

              "I'm reading you just fine," was the reply. "Please state for us exactly what your intentions are today."

              Paul was somewhat taken aback by the curtness of the tone. "Our intentions," he answered, "are nothing more than establishing contact with another group of survivors. As we stated in the letter we delivered to you, we come in peace and we mean no harm to you or those in your town. We just want to talk, maybe find some common ground. As we also stated in our letter, if you do not wish to talk to us or communicate with us, we will go away and leave you alone."

              "Well," Wilson answered back, "we decided that we would leave that option open for the time being. Suffice it to say that your appearance and the drop you made has created quite the turmoil among us down here. We finally decided to hear what it is you have to say before we elect whether or not to maintain any kind of contact with you."

              "Understandable," Paul said. "And let me assure you that the decision whether or not to attempt this contact has created quite the turmoil in our town as well. Eventually the decision was made to give it a whirl, so here we are."

              "Here you are," Wilson replied. "How are things up the hill where you came from? Are you the only group of survivors in the area?"

              Paul took a few breaths before replying, a part of him very reluctant to share information with strangers. Was this really a good idea? Good or bad though, it had been decided that they would be truthful with these people as much as practical. "Things are going fairly well for us up there," he said. "Many of our houses are still intact and livable and we have recently secured enough of a food supply to carry us through, hopefully, until the sun comes back out. Armed men at one point attacked us but we were able to fight them off before they did too much damage. As for other groups, we've done recon of the Interstate 80 corridor from the snowline at six thousand feet all the way to the valley and along the Highway 50 corridor from the valley to Placerville. There are a lot of dead people out there but not many living ones. The only other group that we've taken note of is in Auburn."

              There was a long silence on the airways, probably while this Patrick Wilson person was discussing what had been revealed with others. Finally, after about a minute, he came back on the air. "Forgive the pause in conversation," he told them, offering no explanation for it. "Have you made contact with Auburn as you are doing with us?"

              "We have not," Paul told him. "We don't know what the exact population of Auburn is at this point but it is obvious from our observations that it is considerably more than what we have. There were also certain things about the town that made us a little uncomfortable with it. We elected to avoid contact with them for the time being."

              Another long pause occurred. "Please clarify," Wilson said when he came back on, "what you mean by 'certain things'. Do you believe you have something to fear from Auburn? Do we have something to fear from them?"

              "We don't really know if anyone has anything to fear from them," Paul said. "We're just being careful at this point. There is really no single thing that made this decision for us; it's more a combination of many things - their larger population being one of them. They also have a lot of guns. After some discussion among ourselves, we just thought it best to leave well enough alone."

              "I see," came the reply, again after several moments of silence. "And where did you get the helicopter?"

              "We got if from the airport at Cameron Park," Paul told him. "One of our townspeople is a pilot and we had an expedition out that way a few weeks ago. We've airlifted the fuel from the airport and returned it to our town. We should warn you that there is evidence of a group of people that are armed and practicing cannibalism out here on your side of the canyon."

              "Cannibalism?" he returned, his voice showing strong emotion for the first time.

              "Yes," Paul said. He explained about the bodies that Skip and company had found that had literally been butchered.

              "I must say," Wilson said slowly, "you've managed to shock us here."

              "I'm sorry," Paul said, "we just thought that maybe you should know."

              "I understand and agree," he told them. "Thank you for sharing that with us." There was another pause, this time with the microphone open. They heard Wilson take a deep breath, as if deciding something. After a moment he asked, "Can you stand by on the air for just a minute? There's something I wish to discuss with my companions here."

              A look was passed around the chopper. "Uh... sure," Paul finally answered. "We'll be standing by. Just start talking again when you're ready."

              "Thank you, I'll be back with you in a moment." With that, there was a click as the connection was closed.

              "What was that about?" Paula asked.

              "I think Paul gave him some food for thought," Skip answered.

              "It would seem so," said Paul. He turned to Skip. "Skip, what's your take on this? You're good at listening to people and hearing deceit and all that. What do you think so far?"

              Skip thought about that for a moment. "I'm not sure," he said. "It's hard to read people over a scratchy radio link. You have to be able to see their body language. He seems sincere enough based on what I've heard, but we don't know what's going on down there."

              "What do you think they're doing right now? Why the pause for discussion?"

              "I couldn't even begin to guess," Skip said. "Jack, how we looking on the FLIR?"

              Jack, who had been scanning the area since they'd first pulled into a hover, looked up. "Nothing down there," he said. "No people, no animals, nothing. Just trees and mud."

              "Well, they're not setting up an attack on us," Skip said. "At least there's that."

              "I'm just glad they answered us," Paula said. "It would've been depressing to waste all of this fuel and sacrifice one of our radios just for nothing. I think they're a lot like us."

              "Why do you think that?" Paul wanted to know.

              "I don't know," she said. "Woman's instinct? Psychic flash? Something just tells me that they're being on the up and up down there."

              "Interesting," Paul said thoughtfully.

              A full five minutes went by before the click of the transmission being opened reoccurred. "Mr. Terra," said Wilson's voice, "are you still there?"

              "We're still here," Paul replied.

              "Mr. Terra," he said, "I have discussed this with my fellow townspeople here and we have come to a decision. We would like to extend an invitation to your group to meet with us face to face. It seems that you have much information that we would be negligent to ignore. We, in turn, have information that you might find useful as well. Is there any way that you would consent to landing?"

              "No," Skip said immediately, before anyone else had a chance to respond. His words were only transmitted to the helicopter occupants since he had not keyed up his headset.

              "Stand by on that, Mr. Wilson," Paul said. "We need to have a discussion of our own."

              "I understand," Wilson returned. "Please be advised that if you do not wish to land in our town, perhaps you could drop someone off outside of it and we could pick them up. We would be agreeable to this as well. I know that promises do not mean very much in this day and age, but we will promise to return your people safely whenever they wish to go."

              "We'll take that into consideration," Paul said. "Please stand by, we'll get back to you."

              "Standing by," he told them. The click of closed transmission came again.

              "Absolutely not," Skip said firmly. "We will not land this helicopter down there."

              "Skip," Paula started.

              "No," he repeated. "It's too risky. Establishing contact is one thing. Risking giving those people hostages is quite another. We have no idea what their intentions are."

              "I think we should do it," Paul said.

              "What?" Skip said, taking his eyes off his instruments to look at him. "Are you crazy? You want to land right in their town and take the chance that they'll capture us and the helicopter?"

              "Oh, I agree that we shouldn't risk the aircraft," he said. "But landing outside of town and having them pick me up, that is an acceptable risk."

              "Acceptable?" Skip asked incredulously. "What if they tell us they'll kill you if we don't turn over the helicopter to them? What if they tell us that they'll cut off pieces of your body one by one until we land the helicopter there? We can't give them a hostage!"

              "Trust, Skip," he said. "That's what this whole thing is based upon, isn't it? Trust has to start somewhere. They've made what seems a sincere offer, and I intend to take it. If they take me hostage, you will leave me down there no Micker what they threaten, no Micker what they do. I'm expendable, this helicopter is not."

              "Paula," Skip appealed, "tell him that he's crazy! Tell him!"

              "He's crazy," she said slowly, eyeing her husband nervously, "but I'm afraid that I have to agree with him. Someone has to take that first step."

              "Oh Christ," Skip replied, shaking his head. "You're both crazy. Well I'm not going to do it. I refuse to drop anyone off down there. We'll just have to continue communicating by radio until..."

              "Skip," Paul interrupted, "I order you to drop me off down there."

              "You... you order me?" he said slowly.

              "I know I can't physically force you to do it," he told him, "but I am giving you an order as the leader of Garden Hill. I am the government there and you are the military. It is the military's job to obey the orders of the government regardless of whether they agree with those orders or not. Isn't that the way it works? Isn't that the only way it can work? Or are you staging the first military coup of the new age?"

              Skip looked at him stunned as he heard these words.

              "I'm afraid he's got you there, babe," Paula said seriously.

              Skip sighed. "Shit," he muttered. "All right. I will follow your fucking order, but I'm putting in a complaint with the goddamn civil service commission. And if you get taken hostage down there, I'm going to kick your fucking ass."

              "And mine," Paula said softly.

              "What?" Skip and Paul both said in unison, turning towards her.

              "You can't be serious," Paul said.

              "I'm dead serious," Paula told them firmly, cutting Skip off before he had a chance to add anything else. "They should see a woman down there as well as a man. That will help assure them that the tales we tell about Auburn are truthful. They need a woman's perspective down there as well as a man's."