But what were the options? Not even Arlene could squeeze into that slender space; she probably outweighed Jill by forty pounds. They were like two different species, and thinking of me or Albert down there was a joke.
Feeling my gut clench, as well as another part of my anatomy, I said to myself: Time for the recruit to do her stuff.
The levity didn’t work. I still felt sick.
We crawled back and huddled with the others in the gap between two cattle cars full of zombies, where we could hear each other, at least. I felt like a class-A creep giving Jill her assignment; but nobody else could do it. Anyway, the kid seemed eager, not afraid. She’d make a good Marine. Did I say that before?
This time, my plan had more details: Jill would shimmy down into the tiny gap between the two cars, using some of the webbing. “Just like Spider-man!” she said. Well, whatever. We’d use all the positive fantasy images floating in her mind. She had to believe in herself absolutely to pull this off.
If they spotted Jill, she’d be dead meat, and the rest of us with her. Once she made it into the gap, she would very carefully loop the webbing several times over the nearest limb of the spidermind and pull it tight—without allowing the spidermind to notice it was being hobbled. She would attach the other end of the webbing to the titanium grappling hook the President had included in Albert’s gear. We could do that before she started out. We’d lose the hook and some of our webbing, but with luck, we’d lose the spidermind as well.
“If she makes it that far,” I said, wrapping up, “she drops the hook to the ground beneath the wheels and ducks, waiting for it to catch on a tie or something.”
“And that gross bug gets yanked off!” she said, grokking the plan immediately. “Gnarly idea, Fly!”
I let her savor the image of the alien brain scattered across the countryside. Slamming into the car behind at better’n 300 per ought to do the trick nicely, and “Spider-ma’am” would defeat the spider creep with a thick dose of poetic justice.
Now all we had to do was make it work.
While Arlene and Albert prepared the hook and line, Jill let me wrap it around her waist. She asked me to do it personally. That meant a lot to me. Then I gave her a gentle push forward and hoped Albert’s God wouldn’t choose this moment to desert us. I put in a good word for Jill with the nuns as well.
Jill climbed down the side of the car we were on, two cars back from the flatcar. So far, so good. I climbed down after her.
We crept forward at wheel level, crawling alongside spinning death so slowly, it made our previous trek along the roof seem like a drag race. Mother Mary, I thought, please don’t let there be any fence posts too close to the tracks!
We very carefully worked our way around the wheels; but if we were any higher up the train, the spidermind might have us in its sights. Hunkering down at wheel level, we were hidden by the side of the car itself.
There was enough light to keep Jill in my personal viewfinder every step of the way. I imagined her knuckles were white. Mine sure as hell were. I kept pressed right up against her back, my arms on either side of hers to make sure she didn’t slip. We finally got to the edge of the flatcar; now the show was entirely Jill’s, and all I could do was hang and wait.
23
Cheese and rice, I felt like a weenie when he took me outside the train. I swore myself I wouldn’t eff-up any more. For the mome, Fly respected me, and Arlene too. I didn’t care so much about Albert, but he was all right for one of the LDs.
Now was my chance to prove to everyone! Maybe I almost wrecked the truck when those missiles went through, and maybe they don’t know how close they came to being hosed. But if I pulled this off, I’d make up for everything! Plus I’d pay back one of those crawly bastards for what they did to my mom. And Dad.
He was right, the slot was a tight fit, even for me; but I could wiggle through. I don’t know what they would have done without me for this. As I slid along, I got grease on me. Gagged me out at first, but then I was glad, cuz it made me more slippery. Huh, like to see one of those wimp LD girls do this! She’d faint, and the human race would lose the war.
Suddenly, I saw a thin, silver thing sticking over the edge. Got wide on the end. I didn’t recognize it at first, seeing it so close up. Then I gasped—it was a spidermind foot! It was bigger than I thought. It was bigger than I was!
The end of the foot fluffed out like bell-bottom pants, like my grandparents wore, like on the Brady Bunch. God, I was glad they didn’t live to see the monsters kill their children.
I stretched, flipping the webbing, trying to loop the foot; but I couldn’t reach that far! That PO’ed me—I was going to dweeb-out just cuz my arms weren’t like an orangutan’s.
Then the leg twitched. I screamed and jumped—and fell.
I slipped down, banging my knee and barely catching the edge of the flat thing . . . my face was an inch from the tracks.
Oh Lord—the wind blew off the ties, freezing my cheeks, and I smelled smoke. I think I even . . . well, peed my pants. Shaking like a leaf, I hauled myself back up. I spared a glance back at Fly; he looked like he might have peed his pants too. I shrugged—sorry!
I’m sorry, but hacking systems would never seem serious after this. Just a toy. This was real I knew I was taking a big chance, but there was no way else to reach the foot: I rested my knee on the bed of the flatcar and stretched higher, and then I could reach the leg.
The spider moved again! I wasn’t able to get back down before the leg pinned me back against the firewall of the car behind. I was stuck like a fly in the spidermind’s web.
I didn’t make a sound; I could barely breathe, but I didn’t panic this time—I didn’t have any you-know-what left. It didn’t know I was there . . . so I hung.
It would kill me the second it realized I was there, same way I’d crush a bug; I was still alive because I was hidden from view by the huge leg itself. ‘Course, it might kill me without ever knowing I was there; if it put its weight on that foot, it would pulverize me.
The place where it had me firmest against the wall was at my knee. The upper part of my body could still move. I still had a good reach. So I did what I came to do. I didn’t let myself think what would happen if I failed.
I passed the webbing four times around the leg. My heart froze each time. I was in Girl Scouts once; the only thing they taught me that I still remember was how to tie a square knot. I tied the best buggin’ square knot of my whole life!
Great. What next? Next you die, girl.
I thought I would cry, but my eyes were dry. My mouth was parched and my heart raced, but that was all. When I thought about all the stupid things we cry about, like boys and grades and losing a best girlfriend, it seemed strange I didn’t cry then.
Then something happened inside. I felt calm for the first time since I saw the monsters. I didn’t mind dying if I could take one bastard with me. A big one.
I unslung the grappling hook and let it dangle between the cars. Pinned against the wall, I wouldn’t be able to duck down. Once I dropped the hook, the spider would be yanked to a stop as the train kept moving, and I would be crushed to a grease smear.
Thought about my new friends. Thought about what if Fly had kissed me. Thought about wishing I was anywhere else. Then I let go of the hook.
24
I didn’t know what was going on with Jill, couldn’t see a thing. She fell and screamed, and I’d popped around and seen her half under the track; then the spidermind shifted and I had to leap back. Now I didn’t dare show myself—I’d get us both killed.
I thought Jill would have finished by now. I’d bet money she wouldn’t lose her nerve. Either she was still waiting for an opening, or something had gone wrong.
Then I heard the heavy thud and metal-scraping sound that could only be the hook dropping under the train. It bounced up and down, over and over, while I waited and waited and waited for that big mother with the brain and the legs to be yanked into oblivion.
What happened next was so stupid and unlikely, it was like crapping out ten times in a row: the damned hook bounced up and hooked onto the train itself!
The little voice in the back of my head I hadn’t heard from recently chose this moment to speak to me in the voice of an old kids’ science show: So, Flynn, what have we learned from today’s experiment?
Well, Mr. Wizard, we’ve learned that if the train is moving at the same speed as the spider-bastard, absolutely nothing will happen!
I humped back hand over hand, ducking down to check under the train, looking for the hook. Saw it! I slid through the train’s shock absorbers. Time for more help from the nuns. If we hit a bump, the shocks would slice me in half. Suddenly, the train itself seemed like one of the monsters.
I made it through, then slid along the undercarriage on my back across the covered axles, under the train, until I could reach the flippin’ hook. The damned thing was caught on an Abel.
I reached for the sucker and succeeded in touching it. Yep, there it was. Touching it was a cinch. I could touch it all I wanted without falling onto the track and being ground to hobo stew.
Getting it loose was the problem.
Once upon a time, I won a trophy in junior high gymnastics; there were only five of us, but I was the best in that class. I thought I was pretty hot stuff that day. Looked to be the moment for an encore performance.
I went looser with the legs, increasing the possibility of falling but giving me a longer reach. I didn’t want to perform this trick more than once.
Not only did this stunt run the risk of my becoming part of the track, there was the extra worry of losing the duck gun dangling precariously from my back. Not having my weapon could be as close to a death sentence as getting run over by the Little Train that Could.
I got my hand around the hook, heaved, and yanked it free. I did a war whoop worthy of a Comanche . . . then I shut my eyes—I hate the sight of my own bloody, mangled corpse—and dropped the thing to the ground.
This time the law of averages was enforced by the probability police. The hook caught on a spar and held. I gripped my perch and braced for impact.
I clenched my whole body as the webbing tightened—then the freaking stuff broke. It wasn’t supposed to do that! The end whipped like an enraged snake, lashing across my back. But I didn’t let go.
I waited for the sound of that massive body being yanked to its doom. Still there was plenty of nothing. This was becoming irritating. But there was something: despite the howling of the wind and the machine pounding of steel wheels on steel rails, I heard a high, piping squeal. It sounded like a scream from hell.
As I began clambering back through the shocks and up the side of the train, I heard explosions. Something was happening. I climbed faster . . . to be greeted by the scene of the steam-demon shooting its missiles at the spidermind. The latter was at a disadvantage, listing as it moved, badly off balance.
The webbing had torn one leg off the monstrosity. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened next. Losing a leg would put the spidermind in a bad mood. It wouldn’t be philosophical about it. No, it would fire a burst from its guns at the only target in sight: the steam-demon.
For all their power, these guys had a weakness as deep as the ocean. Conquerors and masters need some self-control.
My primary goal now was to find Jill and get her out of here; but I didn’t see her from this angle. She was probably still hugging the other side of the flatcar where she had lassoed the spidermind’s leg.
The train hit a bad bump, exactly the impact that would have left me beside myself when I was doing my Tarzan of the shocks routine. The two monsters took the bump personally and increased the ferocity of the battle. I realized the high piping sound was from the spider—it probably made the noise when it lost its leg. The steam-demon emitted more human-sounding screams.
The wind seemed to be picking up, but neither contestant paid any attention to the weather. As I watched the spidermind tear up the steam-demon with a nonstop barrage from the Gatling gun, I remembered how difficult Arlene and I had found taking one of these down before. The demon was nothing compared to the other.
But if there were a cosmic bookie keeping tabs on this one, the final decision was still in doubt. The steam-demon followed the optimum strategy for his position, firing missile after missile at the robot exterior to the spidermind’s brain. Cracks were beginning to appear.
I stayed put, praying for the best possible outcome. By the time the spidermind’s brain case finally exploded, the steam-demon was so ripped it could barely stand. Under the circumstances, things were working out better than the original plan. After all, if the spidermind had been eliminated as intended, we would still have had to contend with the problem of the steam-demon.
While I was congratulating myself on the turn of events, the train took a sudden turn and the tottering, cybernetic creature nearly fell off the flatcar. That would have been the perfect climax to the duel of the titans.
Dawn started to streak the horizon with a sickening shade of green. The improved light made it much easier to pick out details of the local terrain; such as the high rock gorge we were just then passing over, thanks to a narrow bridge. This would be a splendid place for the steam-demon to take its final rest. The perfect end, as I’d already thought, to the perfect battle. Then I could find Jill and congratulate her on a mission well done.
The only flaw in this scenario consisted of a single claw—the claw the steam-demon used to grab hold and save itself as it fell right next to me. Right next to me!
It was bad enough seeing the demon this close up. Far worse . . . it saw me. As weak and near death as the thing was, it recognized a living human a few inches away. Very slowly, it raised its missile hand.
It was slow; I was a whole lot faster. I back-drew my double-barreled shotgun and fired both barrels, one-handed, squeezing both triggers simultaneously. Quite a kick. The blast tore off its entire hand at the wrist . . . the gripping hand.
The steam-demon plummeted off the car to the ground, exploding noisily as it got off one last missile shot that went straight up through the track ahead of the train, in between the rails, right on a curve in the bridge.
The train didn’t bother slowing as it rolled over the missile-damaged point. I could imagine a cartoon demon with an engineer’s cap, throwing back a shot of the good old hooch and not worrying about the condition of the track ahead.
As we passed, I saw in greenish daylight growing brighter by the minute that part of the inside rail was bent up from the blast. If it had been the outside rail instead, we would have plunged into the gorge. The President of the Twelve would’ve needed to audition a new act.
“Jill!” I howled. “Jill!” Climbing up to the flatcar was easy, but I suddenly had a cramp deep in my back. It was so bad that it paralyzed me for a moment.
I wouldn’t let something like that stop me now. I twisting around trying to loosen up, still calling, “Jill, Jill!”
Where the hell was that kid? I was starting to worry.
I reached the end of the flatcar, looked down . . . and saw her there, gazing up at me with wide eyes. “You all right?”
She nodded, but not a word came out. Maybe she was suffering from shock. I reached down and she took my hand. I didn’t care about the twinge in my back now. I hauled her up.
“Great!” I said.
“Alive?”
“Of course!”
“Oh.” She still seemed not entirely sure.
I grabbed and hoisted her. Now my back felt fine, and for a crazy moment the sick-o green dawn looked beautiful.
I put her down. The mummy and we were alone on the flatcar now.
A warm glow spread through me, not unlike the warm jet of a hot tub. My old voice spoke, something good for once: The debt is nearly paid.
What debt? Oh. The debt of my stupidity in bringing assault onto the enclave.
That debt.
“Wait
here.” I could have sent her up the ladder to signal the others to join us, but she had earned a rest as far as I was concerned. Her vacation from hell might not last longer than a few minutes, but I wanted her to enjoy every second before I ordered her to face death yet again. I got them myself, bringing them to the cacophonous flatcar.
Arlene and Albert looked as exhausted as Jill, and as tired as I felt. Next time, we’d fly.
Arlene bent over and began unwrapping, revealing the face of another human in a world where being human was something special.
Huddling against the forty or fifty kilometer per hour wind that leaked around the engines and air dam ahead of us, remnants of the 300 kph hurricane two meters either left or right, we crouched over our mummy, staring. We saw the features of a black man, mid-thirties. As we shifted him around on the platform, I estimated his weight at about sixty-four kilos. Not a bad weight for 1.7 meters.
“What done him?” Jill shouted. A good question, though I could barely hear her small voice over the roar of train and wind. Computer and electronic jacks were all over his flesh, stuck like pins into a doll. He was unconscious. There were so many jacks, he’d probably be in extreme pain if awake.
Arlene pulled the lid back from his right eye, revealing a cloudy white orb, so completely glazed over that you couldn’t make out a pupil. Even after encountering a who’s who of monsters, fiends, and other denizens of hell, something really bothered me about seeing this helpless man before me.
He didn’t reek like sour lemons, thank God. He was no zombie.
I still hadn’t discussed with Jill or Albert what Arlene and I had mulled over—namely, the possibility that the Bad Guys were trying for more perfect human duplicates. Practice makes perfect. We had no idea how the zombies were created. Sometimes I thought they really were the reanimated dead; but other times I could buy the idea they were transformed while still alive. However the enemy was doing it, the lemon stink was a by-product of dealing with real human bodies.
Hell on Earth Page 15