He was experimenting with using pine sap as an air-tight sealant for the chinks in the walls when Volt charged into camp in a blur of orange limbs and leapt into the food cellar.
“Your cat takes after you,” Shawn laughed. Ness scowled at his sappy hands. Downhill, an alarm-wire jangled. The mirth drained from Shawn’s face. “Probably just a raccoon.”
“One of those day-raccoons.” Ness rose. “I’m with the cat.”
He grabbed his shotgun from the corner and hurried down the ladder to the dirt cellar. It was cool, dark. Another alarm jangled. Shawn slid halfway down the ladder and silently pulled the door closed, sealing them in a deep gloom. Before Ness could make fun of him for freaking out, twigs snapped from the edge of the camp.
Ness breathed through his mouth. Something heavy dragged through the needles and leaves. The cabin hinges squeaked. Footsteps thumped the dirt, muffled yet harsh, far too rapid to be human or mammal. A second set of steps rattled the boards of the horizontal door to the cellar.
Ness tasted bile. Shawn raised his pistol. Dirt sifted through the gaps around the door. Under a card table topped with boxes of crackers and oatmeal, Volt’s tail whipped side to side.
The low, thoughtful hum of a truck engine drifted from downhill. The steps ceased. Shadows flickered through the gaps. The door rattled. Footsteps pounded back down the hill, fading quickly.
Shawn tipped back his head, mouth agape. They waited in the darkness. Two minutes later, a faraway explosion rattled up the slopes.
“Should we run?” Ness whispered.
“Grab your cat.” Shawn took three quick breaths and eased open the door. Sunlight flooded the cellar. Shawn disappeared into daylight. Ness followed him up. The same sharp gouges he’d seen at the Rogers’ littered the clearing around the cabin. Shawn gestured uphill. They ran.
Ness didn’t glance back until they reached the clearing on the plateau above camp. Down near the Rogers’, oily smoke geysered into the air. Shawn didn’t stop until they reached the old campsite on the other side of the mountain. Ness was breathing hard, but could have kept going.
“We leave tonight,” Shawn said. “Any objections?”
“That we didn’t leave three days ago.”
“Duly noted.”
They took turns napping until evening. Long after sunset, they returned across the ridge to the cabin. When they’d first taken to the mountains, Shawn had insisted they each pack an emergency “Oh Shit” bag full of the basics—food, water, weapons, tools, medicine, a blanket, extra shoes. Now, they grabbed these from the cabin, along with as much extra food and water as they could stuff into their other backpacks. The night hung on to the day’s heat, but Ness wore his coat; he didn’t have enough space to carry it.
Volt trotted after him up the slopes. On the western side, they descended to the stolen army jeep. Shawn coasted past the trailers and as far into town as he could, then grimaced and turned the key. The battery worked. Headlights off, he threaded through the downtown bars and headed to the main drag.
Ness glanced behind them, wind buffeting through the open roof. “Where are we going?”
“Anywhere they don’t got villainous lobsters raining down from the sky.”
He hit the highway and flipped on the lights. The road curled between endless hills of yellow grass. Ten minutes later, it descended into Pullman, the college town across the border, once infamous for its campus-wide parties. Blackened bodies twisted from the power poles. As they roared across town, a flashlight blared from the roof of a dorm. Ness scrambled up behind the machine gun and swung around. The flashlight clicked off.
Shawn floored it up a long, steep hill. Pullman disappeared. They drove through a land that had always been empty. The speed-borne wind was cool and smelled like sagebrush and dust. They peeled through a small town, its main street fronted by brick banks and baroque woodwork from the first decades of the 20th century. Within two minutes, they were back in the desert. Dead farms fronted the road now and then, but most of the land was empty dirt scruffed with sage and weeks-dead weeds. After the better part of an hour, the highway split into a T, one road continuing west, the other south.
Shawn stopped in the middle of the intersection and gritted his teeth. “What do you think about Seattle?”
“The likeliest spot in the entire Northwest for villainous lobsters.”
Shawn nodded and took the southbound fork. They climbed into a scabland of basalt cliffs. Tumbleweeds clogged barb wire fences. Mice darted across the road. Crickets sang and sang.
It took an hour for the farmland to resume. Signs sprung from the side of the road advertising fresh blueberries and apples and cherries. Vineyards rested in the night.
“I’m about to crash over here,” Shawn said. “Your choice as to whether it’s into a bed or a guard rail.”
“Let me think.”
They started down a long and shallow hill. Miles away, the distinct blackness of buildings surrounded a vast river winking in the moonlight. A few miles north of town, Shawn pulled into a motel at a small cluster of buildings: a truck stop, a McDonald’s, an ARCO, an actual general store. He gazed up at a sign even bigger than the one at the McDonald’s.
“King City? Whoever named this place was full of shit.”
Ness frowned at the closed motel doors. Maybe they could break a window? As he tried one handle after another, Shawn strolled into the two-room office that had served as reception, jumped the counter, and walked out with a key to room 237. The room smelled agreeably of dust and sported two full beds. They grabbed their stuff from the jeep. Volt vaulted onto the nearest bed. Shawn turned on the Coleman lantern with a hiss. It sprayed the room with harsh white light and equally harsh shadows.
“Are we going to stay here?” Ness said. “There’s a whole town to scavenge down the road.”
“Dunno yet.” Shawn toweled the sweat from under his arms. “Awfully hot.”
“There is a river.”
“Yeah, and it flows west. To a part of the country that doesn’t look like what’s underneath God’s bed when He forgets to vacuum for a year.”
Ness brushed his teeth and gargled with a mouthful of water. Shawn clicked off the lantern. Ness lay in bed listening for the rumble of engines. Maybe they shouldn’t have run at all. Maybe they should have stayed in the mountains of Moscow and accept whatever fate came their way. It would have been much easier than this drive into the desert of nowhere, the first leg of a search that could go on forever. It was no longer humanity’s world. He should have let the government take him after he’d found Tim’s body. They would have taken care of him. Brought him somewhere safe. It would have been better than putting in so much work with so little guarantee they’d still be alive next week. What if the aliens kept coming? How long would they have to keep running? Didn’t you reach a point where it just wasn’t worth it? What if they already had and just didn’t know it yet?
In the morning, Shawn was gone. Ness found him in the parking lot smoking a Camel and gazing west. Volt lay sprawled in sunlight that was already far too warm.
“Want to show you something,” Shawn said.
He led Ness up a hill behind the motel. Dust and cheatgrass seeds popped with every step. At the top, Shawn pointed back north and to the west.
“You see that?”
Ness accepted Shawn’s binoculars. White clouds rose from the plain. At first Ness thought it was smoke, that the city was burning, but instead of a field of flames, the clouds rose from a cluster of squat round vents.
“Know what that is?” Shawn said.
“I don’t know.”
“‘Cause those don’t look like the cooling towers you’re used to.”
“Cooling towers?” Ness said. “Like, a nuclear power plant?”
“Not just any nuke plant. Hanford. The one that built the plutonium we dropped on Nagasaki.” Shawn’s lighter flicked. Tobacco roiled from his mouth. “And it’s still running.”
14
The bo
at rose and fell with the waves. The dark orb hung in perfect stillness, the vibration of its engines shaking the meat on Tristan’s bones.
“What is that?” Alden said.
“An incredibly large object,” Jack said. “Personally, I’ve made it my life’s mission to stay away from those.”
Tristan reached out for the side of the cabin. Spray misted her face. “It’s a ship, right? Do you guys hear its engines?”
“Reckon so,” Jack said. “Never knew my guts had ears.”
Laura shrank to the deck, hugging her knees. “They’re aliens.”
“Well, that’s one possibility.”
“That thing’s the size of an island! What else could it be?”
The jib began to flap. Jack absently tightened its thin rope. “An actual island? Maybe Hawaii heard our pleas and decided to come to us. Everyone’s always going to it, but when does it get a holiday?”
Dark, sporelike specks fell away from the craft, angling north, south, and directly inbound. Tristan glanced back at the towers of the city. “I think we should turn around.”
“Dunno,” Jack said. “Those things will be on us before we make landfall.”
“They’ll be on us either way. We’re totally exposed out here. I don’t want to wait around to be snatched up like the last beer at a party.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Laura’s voice was a monotone with a glassy edge of despair. “You can’t run. You can’t hide.”
“You don’t know that,” Tristan said.
“Look at that ship. All those jets. It doesn’t matter what we do. In five minutes, we’re dead.”
Tristan glanced at Alden, who was mesmerized by the vessel, then knelt in front of Laura and jabbed a finger at her face. “We’re all going to cry until we can’t move—once we’re safe and away. For now, keep your fear away from my brother.”
“Hell,” Jack said. He angled the jib. The boat pulled southward. By the time it swung its prow to the high glass buildings, the first of the jets streaked overhead, dark wedges that left corkscrew contrails across the sky. Tristan hunkered against the cabin, as if that would hide her. The jets flew past and banked above the city, circling.
Jack zigzagged between south and southeast, fighting the inland wind. The shore grew, a thin strip of jumbled rocks fronting stone steps up to bright white buildings. A second wave of craft floated from the main ship. These were fatter, lumbering like bumblebees. The sailboat ground into the rocks as the first of the followup ships buzzed into the city.
Tristan flung their backpacks ashore. Alden hung onto the railing, jarred by the waves, leaning over the side to examine the water. Tristan took a deep breath and swung over the side. The water was witheringly cold. Her feet struck the bottom; she found she could stand.
“Come on!”
Jack followed her down. He and Tristan held up their arms to Alden. He leaped and they half-caught him, holding his head clear of the water. Laura closed her eyes and flung herself over the rail. She emerged from the water, coughing. Jack grabbed her by the shirt and hauled her up the broken rocks.
Tristan scooped up her pack. One of the bumbleships veered from its path and headed toward the grounded sailboat.
She ran up the steps, shoes squirting seawater. Engines thrummed overhead, paused above the plaza just ahead of them, and descended on a cushion of air.
“Might I suggest a different route,” Jack said. He dashed south.
“Dude, they are aliens,” Alden said. “They look like if an octopus had sex with the aliens from Aliens!”
Creatures surged from the landed ship. Balloonish heads projected from ovoid bodies. Sticklike legs clattered over the concrete square. Tentacles dove into pouches and waggled furiously at the others around them. The things streamed south, following the humans into the city.
Glass-fronted shops faced the street, staring blankly as Tristan and the others pounded along. A torso lay under the wheels of a delivery van. The arm had been gnawed to tendon and bone. Skyscrapers climbed in the north. Tristan didn’t recognize the streets. Jack zagged down the roads as if he were still steering the boat against the wind.
“Where are we going?” Tristan said.
“I was letting my legs decide that one,” Jack panted.
The clatter of claws echoed behind them. “I think they’re gaining.”
“Well, it’s not exactly fair, is it? They’ve got ten legs and we’ve just got the two.”
The clean white stores shifted to brick walkup apartments. The streets narrowed. They could try a car, but even if they found one with keys, the batteries would no doubt be dead. The sewers? No time to pry up a manhole. They needed to get out of sight. Get lost in a maze. They swerved down a back street behind two apartments blocks.
“There.” Tristan pointed to a corroded fire escape, its lower ladder stuck some nine feet above the ground. “We get inside, go out the front of the building, try to lose them.”
“Worth a shot.” Jack sprinted toward the ladder. He knelt, laced his hands into a basket, and nodded at Alden. “Ready for a jump, chief?”
“No sweat,” Alden said. “I know what to do if I fall.”
“Scream?” Jack grinned. Alden stepped into his hands. Jack boosted him up, arms straining. Tristan got beneath her brother and pushed on his butt. His arms waggled. He grabbed the lower rung of the ladder and pulled, one of his feet kicking Jack’s head. Jack pushed him up by the feet and Alden crawled up onto the platform.
Jack beckoned at Tristan and crouched down. She stepped into his hands, grabbing his shoulders. He grunted, lifted. She grabbed at the ladder. It was deeply pitted. Rust scraped her hand. The ladder creaked, jolted.
“Reckon you might want to hurry,” Jack said, voice pinched.
She scrambled up the ladder. It groaned and dropped an inch beneath her. Alien feet chattered from the entrance to the street. Tristan leapt from the ladder to the landing. The ladder gave way with a shriek. Its legs hit the street and it tilted like a falling tree, hitting the pavement with a sharp clang.
Beneath her, Laura leapt and leapt, her upraised hands feet below the platform. “Help me up!”
Creatures flooded the far end of the street. They’d be on the apartment in seconds. Tristan turned and kicked in the apartment window. She used her pack to sweep the jagged top edge clean of glass and shoved Alden inside.
“Let me up!” Laura screamed. Rust flaked from Tristan’s feet, speckling Laura’s upturned face. “You bitch!”
Jack bolted away from the oncoming horde. Laura turned and found herself alone. Tristan tumbled through the broken window. The apartment smelled of faded death. Filtered sunlight touched the avocado-colored carpet. She ran for the entry. From the street, Laura screamed, a rising howl. It cut off before it reached its peak.
“What about Jack and Laura?” Alden said.
“Come on.” Tristan grabbed his shoulder and pulled him through the front door. Their footsteps echoed in the cramped stairwell. The lobby’s tiles were grimy and gray. The street was empty. Jets rumbled in the distance. She sprinted toward what she thought was east, pulled her bag over her shoulder, and pawed out her pistol. The grip was tacky with seawater.
“We left them,” Alden said, voice soft with understanding.
“There was no time. Those things were right there.”
“But they’re dead now.”
“Probably. And if we’d stayed for them, we’d probably be dead, too.” Anger shuddered across the panic that had taken her body ever since she’d seen the massive vessel hanging over the Pacific. “But we’re not. Because we kept moving.”
She jogged down another side street. Two cars sat smashed at its center. Broken glass ground under Tristan’s shoes. She emerged onto a broad avenue of shoe stores and coffee shops and wine bars. A squadron of aliens scrambled down the street. One pointed a tentacle. The others rushed straight toward the two humans.
Tristan leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger. It clicked impotently.
Twice, three times. Worthless. Dampened in her leap from the boat. She stuck it in her pocket and ran.
Dozens of footsteps clattered behind her. A jet ripped across the sky, pursued by the scream of its own engines. The footsteps closed, striking the pavement in a spider-dance of chitinous points. Alden’s foot hit a pothole. He dropped hard and stayed down.
Tristan closed her eyes. She whirled, putting herself between her brother and the monsters, and formed her kung fu fighting stance, left hand extended in a guard, right held close to her chest to strike.
“Come on!” she screamed. “Come and take him!”
The aliens slowed, fanning out. Their swollen, irisless eyes stayed level as their legs churned beneath them. Tentacles darted forward as if tasting the air. Tristan screamed again, a wordless cry, and charged.
An alien extended its tentacle. A canister gleamed in its treaded grip. The canister hissed, engulfing Tristan in pale mist. Her limbs felt soggy, as heavy as drenched clothes; she fell in stages, flopping at the aliens’ pointed feet.
Her head swam. One of the creatures clicked forward, tentacles snaking smoothly from its body. Her world went dark.
15
Ness stared across the yellow hills at the steaming vents of Hanford. “What do you think?”
Shawn spit in the dust. “I want to know what you think, Sherlock.”
“Do we want to live somewhere with power?”
“I don’t give a damn about having working alarm clocks. What I want to know is whether we can use it to fight back.”
“Well, then the question is who’s running it,” Ness said slowly. “Some vestige of the government? Real scientists? Or scavengers like us?”
“What’s it matter?”
“The government is apt to blow us up for coming too close to their high-security nuclear power plant,” Ness said. “Scavengers are apt to blow us up because they don’t know how to run a high-security nuclear power plant.”
The Last Days: Six Post-Apocalyptic Thrillers Page 120