by Mich Moore
South. The men had a track record that shot down all naysayers.
Mark looked each man in the eye. "All who are in favor of the first proposal say 'aye.'"
All of the men spoke as one. "Aye!"
"All who are in favor of the second proposal say 'aye.'"
"Aye!"
Both Paul and Mark looked supremely satisfied. "The 'ayes' have it then."
3
En Route to Chicago, Illinois
The three buses pulled out of Redstone on the second morning of April. They were covered so well in grime and urban graffiti that it was impossible to detect the thick plates of steel fastened over their skins, or the neat rows of hinged portholes designed to accommodate waist-gunners. Highway bandits were becoming numerous and better organized along many of the major highways. While management did not expect any trouble, Colonel Higgins thought it prudent to be prepared. It would be a fourteen-hour drive to Chicago, and a lot could happen. The first bus, code name B-1, contained Major Hillerman, the two videographers from Redstone, and twelve plainclothes Army Rangers led by a grizzled veteran named Eugene Palladino. Chang, Kuiper, Lieutenant Brady, Tara, Derek, Broussard, and the six AIs rode in the second bus, B-2. Susan Boward had had a family emergency and was in New York City. The third bus, B-3, carried Roger, Herschel, Walters, Powell, Z, Kwolski, and Bautista, as well as the mobile lab. The master log had been cleared for the two-week excursion, but Chang wanted some basic tools along just in case another hiccup occurred.
As they drove north along the ribbon of I-57, Brady tapped into the convoy's PA system and briefed all of the travelers on what to expect when they reached Chicago. Everyone would have to submit their identification cards to the Chicago Border Patrol. The IDs issued to the Lincoln Hill Boys in Nevada were still valid. If the national police database threw up any red flags, a special chip in their cards would reroute them to a secure back channel at the CIA where they would be given a government stop sign backed by the official presidential seal. This would serve as a firewall against any further inquiries.
Chicago was now a self-sustained fortress city, with its own Air Force (supported by Scott Air Force Base, located 189 kilometers southwest of the city), a Navy, and the Army's 40th Heavy Brigade. Chicago's mandate from Washington was to serve the communities along the five Great Lakes and to protect them and the water bodies themselves against all enemies of the Legitimate Government of the United States of America. Chicago was also the only major American city that had not suffered any type of Advance South attack or natural disaster, and the powers that be were determined to keep it that way.
They arrived in town on sunset eve. Besides the high urban energy, the first thing that struck them was the air over the megalopolis. It was brown, almost gelatinous. A person had to take it on faith that there was still a sun hanging overhead. And the smell. The stench of ammonia mixed with decaying organic matter was so powerful in some spots that it caused the eyes and lungs to burn. Other than that, the city was in fine shape.
The buses let the human passengers off at a midtown hotel. The AIs were crated in portable kennels and taken up to their rooms via the service elevator. Redstone had rented out the entire fifth floor in order to ensure privacy and maintain secrecy. If a breach occurred, Hillerman and Brady had standing orders to neutralize the situation up to, but not including, the actual termination of life.
The rooms proved to be a little on the cozy side and the furnishings seemed somewhat dated, but the fully stocked refrigerators and food baskets kept the grumbling to a minimum.
Broussard showered and changed into jeans and a bulky sweater. It was dark now and chilly. The room's small heater would warm the knees but little else if you stood next to it. He pulled out his laptop and began surfing the Net. He had been at it for an hour when someone knocked on his door.
"It's open."
Bautista strolled inside, stinking of marijuana smoke. He had changed into jeans as well and had gone the extra step of shaving off his beard, although the Fu Manchu moustache remained.
He wordlessly plopped down on the wide couch and turned on Broussard's television. After listlessly thumbing through a bunch of selections, Bautista announced, "Hey, you've got the good channels. All I have is a bunch of family crap."
"That 'family crap' is good for you."
"Says you." He read from the list of available movies. "Horny Housewives. Debbie Does America. Hey, I think I saw that one. It's about this girl who—"
Broussard whirled around in his chair. "Mike, can you watch that in your room?"
"I just told you that I ain't got this in my room."
"I'm trying to work here." Broussard got up and grabbed the remote control. After a few clicks he handed it back to Bautista. "There. You can either watch NatGeo or your own four walls."
"Neal, the mood is downright funky."
"Sorry." He hurried back to his computer. "I just remembered that Diane's parents live here. I'm trying to get their address, but Hillerman's got so many controls on this thing I can barely navigate."
"You want me to try? Got nothing else to do."
"No, thanks. I'll get there eventually." Broussard's fingers were flying over the keyboard. "You get in touch with any of your people yet?"
"Got an email back from a cousin who lives in Santa Fe," Bautista replied. "He says he thinks he saw my mother and aunties at the airport last month, but they weren't able to connect."
"Where? In Santa Fe?"
"Manila. He and his wife flew back to check on her folks."
"That's great! Get a waiver from Hillerman so that you can make long distance calls."
"Naw. Won't work. The flooding from this Super Quake took down most of the cell phone towers over there, and my parents' village never had landlines." He took a deep breath. "It's pretty messed up, but at least they're safe."
Broussard lowered his head, his eyes resting upon his own hands. "The not knowing is rough. I sure wish I could get ahold of Diane."
Bautista flicked through a few more channels. "She's all right, Butch. She's a good woman. God'll keep her safe."
There came another knock on his door.
"Mike, get that, will you?"
Bautista took his time getting to the door. "Who is it?" he asked in his most menacing yard bird voice.
A familiar female voice called out from the other side. "Michael? Is that you?"
Both Broussard and Bautista gave a start. "That sounds like Dina!"
Bautista threw open the door. There stood Dina Hodges on the other side, dripping in diamonds and chinchilla fur. Two hefty bodyguards bracketed her. She spread her furry arms wide open, and Broussard and Bautista ran into them like delighted children. Dina squeezed them tightly and gave them each light pecks on the cheek.
"Oh, I'm so happy to see you again, my darlings!"
The men pried themselves out of her warm embrace.
"Wow!" Broussard exclaimed. "What are you doing in Chicago?"
The fur coat must have been heating her up because she pushed it onto her shoulders and inadvertently revealed a décolletage that left little to the imagination.
"Beau has a board of directors' meeting, and when I heard that the old gang was also going to be in town, I simply had to come." She cupped Broussard's face. "Oh, it's so good to see you again." She turned to Bautista. "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto."
Bautista grimaced but didn't say anything.
"So," she asked, happily stroking her ponytail. "Neal, how does it feel to be at the top?"
Broussard chuckled. "I'll fill you in when I get there."
She winked. "Do that." She drew the heavy coat back down from her tanned shoulders. "Gotta run. I want to say 'hi' to the others. I'll be in touch!"
After she left Broussard said, "Boy, it sure was good to see her again."
"It sure was," Bautista wholeheartedly agreed. "'Cause I think Beau done bought Miss Dina a nice, new pair of titties!"
The second Enlightened Dead Tour started the
next day. Brady, Kuiper, Chang, Powell, Broussard, and the AIs were driven out to Chicago's Midway Airport. Again, the AIs were transported in covered pet crates. The city's second largest flight center had been repurposed since the beginning of the war to handle all of the casualties east of the Rockies. This left O'Hare Airport to handle all of the commercial and military flights for Illinois, Indiana, and southern Wisconsin. The choking layer of smog now menacing Chicagoland had its beginning there.
That first sweltering day at Midway brought home the enormity of the disaster that was befalling the nation. There were literally acres of wounded and dying men and women inside of the terminals and in canvas tents erected in the parking lots. Bands of blood-splattered doctors and nurses trouped like joyless minstrels in ever widening spirals around first the surgery pits and then to the seemingly endless rows of individual cots, each bearing either a body writhing in pain or another body lying far too still. Soldier and civilian lay side by side under the shady skies; death was playing equal opportunity scourge here. In spite of the heartbreaking scenes, cheery music played softly over the public address system. American flags, Chinese lanterns, and flower baskets sung out to the dispirited ensembles a gay chorus of "Hallelujah" from every light post, and the banks of tables laden with drink and food did much to lessen the shock from the merry-go-round of gore.
The hospital-née-airport guide for the DAT team was a plump fellow whose name and face fled the mind as soon as his form was out of sight. He was