Hell on Earth Page 11

  “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.

  17

  The 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.”

  “Why?” I asked. She stared at me dumbfounded. “Let’s take a closer look at our new critter,” I continued.

  On first contact it appeared to have no skin at all. But close examination showed a thin layer of almost transparent epidermis. Close up, it looked a man in the terminal stages of starvation.

  “I’d hoped we wouldn’t see anything like this,” said Arlene.

  Albert started to get the drift and asked: “You never saw one like this in space?”

  “No,” I answered, “but we saw a place where they manufactured creatures on an assembly line.”

  “And living blocks of flesh,” said Arlene. “I’m certain it was human flesh—experiments creating human flesh.”

  “The evils of science,” said Albert.

  I saw Arlene tense up, but this time it was my turn. “There’s no putting that genie back in the bottle, my friend. We master everything the universe offers, or we’re wiped out, another failed experiment. No happy medium or ignorant bliss.”

  He held up his gun. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “This weapon would be black magic to Joseph Smith, I should pick on the engineers instead of the scientists. Some scientists say that some things we can do, we must never do.”

  “Such as?” asked Arlene.

  “Godless genetic manipulation,” he answered. “That’s what we’re fighting, isn’t it?”

  “Scientists who talk that way are the worst traitors to the human race,” said Arlene. “I don’t really mind religious people being afraid of new discoveries,” she said, “but scientists are supposed to know better. This enemy’s greatest power is biology. They’ve turned it into a superweapon. If that means we have to learn to use it ourselves, then we have to . . . otherwise, we’re disarmed.”

  “You’d turn us into monsters like that?” asked Albert, pointing at the dead one. “Or our children?” he added.

  “No, of course not,” she said. “But why should you object to genetically engineering angels?”

  “Because they already exist and will help us in the hour of need.”

  “Mexican standoff,” I said. “This head-cutting is officially declared a tie. Now, shall we return to the matter at hand?”

  “Well, Fly,” purred Arlene, “whose turn is it to name this sucker?”

  “I’m sure it’s yours,” I lied.

  She must have already decided, because right away she said, “That’s easy; a bony.”

  “Brilliant,” I said. “Don’t you think so?” I asked Albert.

  “I guess,” he said. “I guess we should be able to tell them apart.”

  “Albert, would you mind checking on Jill?” I asked. He was happy to get out of there. As Arlene and I started decoupling the trailer, I whispered in her ear, “So what do you think?”

  “I think they’re getting closer to copying our real, human form. Even the stupid clothes are a dangerous advance. A goal of the aliens is probably to create false humans; if they succeed, they can infiltrate the areas not under alien control . . . like Salt Lake City.”

  “We can expect better frauds as time passes,” I said. “Now let’s get to the next town along the railroad line, hop a train, and continue to L.A.”

  Albert and Jill were glad to hear the new plan. While Arlene and I were busy worrying each other, Albert had helped calm Jill down to the point where she insisted on doing whatever driving remained.

  Fortunately, it was a sleeper cab for partnered driving; we squeezed in, Arlene and Albert in the back, me up front with Jill, and set off down the road. We passed a score of alien patrols, but the truck must have had the mark of the beast on the grill, for none of them threw us a second glance.

  The next town along the line was Buckeye. We ditched the truck cab, then waited for night. We found an alley and enjoyed the busy sounds of night life in this modern world: troop trucks every few minutes, the tramping of little zombie feet, screams of pain, howled orders from hell-princes, and the occasional earthshaking tread of steam-demons. Even more soothing to our shattered nerves were mechanical sounds that reminded me of the spidermind, evidently a smaller model. I wondered if this one got better mileage.

  “Have you noticed an odd thing?” whispered Arlene.

  “You mean besides everything?” I replied.

  “The aliens generally seem to know when humans are around,” she said.

  I hadn’t thought about it before, but the facts supported her. “How?”

  “Remember that lemony smell of theirs, right?” she continued her line of argument. “What if we smell as bad to them? They might detect us by the odor we give off.”

  “Maybe they deliberately give the reworked zombies that odor so they can tell them apart from living humans?”

  “You know, A.S., if the aliens start manufacturing infiltrators, they sure as hell can’t smell like zombies. That would be a dead giveaway.” My heart bled for the technical difficulties faced by the alien imagineers.

  The importance of having Arlene and Yours Truly on this mission was the background we brought with us. Remembering how we had turned the monsters against each other upstairs, I figured we could try it again when the time came. In fact, it should be even easier to turn the monsters against the new infiltrators: they wouldn’t smell wrong enough.

  Meanwhile, there was the little matter of our immediate survival and carrying on to L.A. . . . and that meant hopping a freight as soo
n as possible.

  “I have another plan,” I told my loyal troops. I hoped it would sound as good to me as I was about to make it sound to them.

  We waited for another truck to go by before settling down to the conference. It was easy to size up the strengths and weaknesses of our little foursome. Jill was brainy but callow; Albert was forthright, strong, reliable, stalwart, and no dummy. But he had yet to show the special kind of intelligence and instincts needed for command (another reason for the President of the Twelve not to press about who would command this mission). Arlene was cynical and sophisticated, the best woman soldier I’d ever known. But at some deep level she lacked a certain badness that was so much a part of Yours Truly that I didn’t have to think about it.

  The reason for me to be in charge was that I wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice all our lives if I thought it would make a difference in winning a crucial battle in this war. Arlene could make the same deision, but she’d hesitate where I wouldn’t. In a strange way, I was the safest of the adults to befriend the teenager because no friendship or emotional ties would cloud my military judgment. With all that Arlene and I had faced up to this point, I counted myself fortunate that we had survived. I was also glad that I hadn’t needed to be a perfect bastard. Yet.

  The truck passed, and they waited to hear the plan. “You all know that we must infiltrate the train station and stow away on an outgoing train. The risk will increase once we do this. Let me point out that until we reach the enemy computers, Jill is the only one not expendable. After she retrieves the data, everyone is expendable, so long as one of us survives to get it through to the War Technology Center. Get it out to Hawaii; they’ll find you.”

  “Yes,” said Arlene calmly. Albert nodded. Jill stared wide-eyed as my words registered.

  I continued: “I noticed a number of abandoned grocery stores as we were working our way in. I don’t know if zombies still eat human food, but I doubt it. And I’m certain the monsters don’t.”

  “Maybe the aliens can’t digest what we eat,” said Albert.