Serena’s voice is even sharper. “Your damn dog? You’re dragging your feet getting us out of the Capitol to save your damn dog?”
I brake again, the car coming to a halt. “I am.”
“Hell, a few minutes ago you stole this car from some guy that might be killed later because of you. Now you’re putting us at risk to drive to a damn kennel. Randy, he’s just a dog!”
I put the transmission into park, switch off the engine. “No, he’s my partner. My best friend. I can’t leave him behind. It’s only right.”
I grab the keys from the ignition and as I open the door, Serena calls out, “Why did you take the keys? I don’t know how to drive.”
I duck my head back into the opening. “Just following your suggestions, Specialist. Trust no one.”
She makes to snap back at me, but my slamming the door cuts off her voice.
The door is wooden, with a number of glass panes. It’s locked. A sign nearby says RING BELL AFTER HOURS. I ring the bell, again and again.
The door is still locked.
I turn, see Serena and Buddy still in the Impala. In the distance, more sputtering flares rise up into the clouds, marking assembly areas and displaying orders to reserve units and Civil Defense forces. Sirens are still sounding.
Back to the door, I hammer at it with my fist, again and again.
No answer.
Feeling the eyes of Serena upon me, I take out my Beretta, hold it by the barrel, rap the base against the nearest glass pane. It shatters with a satisfying crack, and I carefully snake my hand and wrist in, making sure not to cut anything on the broken shards.
There. Got the deadbolt in hand. Unsnap it, slowly draw my hand out, and I turn the knob.
Open!
Serena’s voice behind me, from an open window: “Move your butt, Randy! We don’t have time!”
I bite my tongue, thinking of lots of things to say to Serena, none of them polite, and the door swings open.
There.
I walk in, and go face to face with the business end of a double-barreled shotgun.
An Excerpt From the Journal of Randall Knox
Open House at the post yesterday, inviting in our Concord neighbors. Way to still try to smooth things over since the National Guard took over the prep school after 10/10. All visitors got a boxed ration kit, which I hear strained our supply chain but which my uncle thought was a good deal, to help relations.
Out on one of the playing fields, I was roped into doing demonstrations with Thor. Sent him out on various commands, and he did good, as always, with me slipping him dried pieces of venison when he was finished. Little crowd of families and kids watched me, lots of applause and laughs as Thor did his job.
Later I asked for volunteers, three brave boys. A bulky trio came up, jeans, torn sweatshirts, ragged boots, maybe in their early 20s. I have Thor stay behind and then I lead them out mid-field, and tell them what to expect. I give ’em each a Baby Ruth bar and they seemed okay with that, and the guy on the right, I slip him a fresh chunk of Creeper exoskeleton, from a successful bug hunt up by Tilton last week that the First Platoon completed.
Back with the crowd, I patted Thor on the back, yelled out: Thor, test! Thor streaked across the field, teeth bared, growling, and nailed the guy on the right in his chest, dropped him to the ground. I yelled Off! and more laughter and applause as Thor broke away, grinning, trotting like he was the best in the world. The guy that got knocked down took it pretty good, and I gave him another Baby Ruth bar and pocketed the exoskeleton piece, knowing it has to go back later to our Intelligence section.
By then, kids and moms and dads were around Thor, scratching his ears, rubbing his back, and my boy was loving the attention. A little girl with red hair, pigtails, said to me, he’s a brave dog, isn’t he? And I said, the bravest. Can I kiss him? she asked. Sure, I said, and she smacked one right on Thor’s lips and whispered loudly, Thor, I love you.
Crowd laughed at that. Somebody with a camera even took a picture, and another picture after Thor licked the girl’s cheek, making her scrunch up her face. I looked at the smiles and the little girl, and I went up to the photographer, slipped him two more Baby Ruth bars, asked him if he’d get me a photograph of my dog. Guy said, sure, as a souvenir?
Thor gazed up at me, tail wagging. I think about the other K-9 units in our company, in other units here and across the region. About how so many, desperate to defend their partners, have gone one-on-one against the Creepers and have been burnt to cinders. In the years I’ve worked with my boy, I know how he rolls. I know what his end will be, either next mission, or the mission after that. Before 10/10, most dogs died peacefully at a vet office, in the arms of their loving families.
That’s not going to be Thor’s fate.
My voice choked, I scratched my boy’s ears and told the photographer, yeah, a souvenir. Something to remember him by.
Forever.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I stop moving.
A woman is holding the shotgun, pointed right at my face. She’s old, thin, wearing light blue surgical scrubs.
She says, “Turn back now or I’ll blow your damn head off.”
I say, “Not so fast. I’m here to get my dog.”
The shotgun stays straight, and then lowers. “I remember you. You’re that Recon Ranger from New Hampshire. The one that took on that damn Creeper with a knife.”
A tightness in my chest eases. “That’s right. I was here a couple of days ago, checking up on my dog. Thor.”
The shotgun lowers some more. “A hell of a way to make an entrance.”
“Nobody was answering the bell.”
“We’re kinda busy out back. Didn’t bother to answer. Then one of my girls told me somebody was breaking into the front door. That’s when I came out. Some times, Coasties and other troublemakers, they break in, try to steal what drugs we might have.”
I say, “Sorry about the door, but please, I don’t have much time. I want to get my dog, Thor. He’s a Belgian Malinois.”
She says, “He’s still pretty dinged up.”
I step in. “I don’t care. Lady, look, in case you haven’t heard what’s going on out there, the Capitol is about to be attacked. That’s why I’m here. And you should get the hell out of here as soon as you can.”
She turns her head away, slings the shotgun under her arm. “Can’t talk about that right now. You want to get your dog? Guess that’s best for him.”
Then her voice is hopeful. “Do you have room for others?”
I shake my head. “’fraid not.”
She shrugs with disappointment. “Then come with me.”
The veterinarian leads me around a waist-high counter, to a door that leads out back to the kennels. The sounds of dogs barking and whining hits me solidly, like a clenched fist, as I go into a large room, lined on each side by cages. Injured dogs are back there, barking, leaping, others just looking up in trembling fear. There’s German Shepherds, Belgian Malinoises like my Thor, and a mix of others, like Labrador Retrievers and English Springer Spaniels.
My heart clenches tight as I look closely at the dogs. All of them are hurt. Most have fur burned away, some have casts on their legs, and a fair number are either two-legged or three-legged, their stumps bandaged. A couple that whine the most seem blind.
I follow the woman to the end of the cages where Thor, my sweet Thor, spots me and starts barking, his sharp voice cutting through the din. There are other people back here, three girls, even younger than Serena, and they move quickly around, even though their faces are pinched with fear. All are carrying trays that have syringes and lengths of rubber tubing on them.
The woman grabs a leash, tosses it to me and above the din of the dogs, she says, “He’s yours, but he should really get a follow-up appointment at some other . . . clinic. That cast should be taken off in another week, there’s sutures to remove, and some follow-up exams . . . but I guess I can trust you . . . But tell you what. When you get ou
t of here, don’t take Interstate 60. Take a right just before the highway exit. That’ll place you on Townsend Road. Runs parallel, goes up in the hills, but it should be safer.”
I say to her, leash in hand, “Cripes, lady, you need to get out of here, too. The Creepers might start burning in any second.”
She shakes her head. “I told you my story before, right? About what I did after the first attack, back near the Hudson River? What makes you think I’m going to leave these poor guys behind?”
At a counter at the far end of the room, the young girls are carefully removing the syringes and rubber tubing from their trays and placing them in a long row. One girl’s hands are shaking so hard that she drops a syringe. The vet sees that I’m looking and she says, “We’re just getting ready,” she says. “We’re gonna stay here and do our duty, Sergeant. Maybe the Creepers will pass us by. Maybe not. But if they’re in sight and there’s nobody around to stop them, then I’ll make sure these dogs don’t suffer no more. That’s my job.”
I can’t talk, I can hardly see. I don’t want to be here. Thor is still barking in delight and I open the cage, get the leash on him, and I have a race with him to see who can get out of this killing zone the quickest.
Outside I slow Thor down, pick him up, and take him to the car. Serena gets out and pushes the seat back, and I gently lay him down on the rear seat. Buddy scoots over and Thor turns and licks his face. Buddy smiles. I slam the door and race around to the front, throw open the door. I fumble around for a few agonizing seconds and find the key, insert and turn it.
A harsh grinding noise.
Damn!
Serena says, “What the hell are you doing, Randy?”
“Apparently not a hell of a lot, specialist,” I snap back. “And it’s Sergeant.”
I remember something and push down the clutch and brake, try again.
The grinding noise is replaced by the sound of the engine turning, turning, turning.
Not starting.
Explosions off to the south. Serena whimpers.
I try again, push down the accelerator, my feet clumsy and colliding together, and—
Success!
The engine roars into life.
I switch on the sole headlight, work the lever to get into reverse, and back out of the parking lot. The dim light from the Impala captures a figure at the open door to the kennels, lighting up a young girl, staring at us as we make our escape.
“That girl,” Serena says, as I put the car into first and speed out of the parking lot. “It looks like she wanted to come with us.”
“No time,” I say. “No room.”
“Ran—I mean, Sergeant,” she says. “What went on inside there?”
I shift into second, then third, and say, “Specialist, you don’t want to know.”
The old woman’s directions are perfect, and I take a right onto Townsend Road, passing some old abandoned businesses, and then a few homes and farmhouses. Serena says, “Why aren’t we taking the highway?”
“This runs right next to the highway,” I say. “Probably safer. You know how Creepers like to use the highway when it suits them. With the Army and National Guard gearing up, with Creepers on the move, we could get caught in the middle.”
She keeps quiet and I glance up at the rearview mirror. Thor is panting with contentment, and I slide a free hand back, trying to rub his snout. He spots me and leans forward, and licks and licks my hand.
A good feeling.
After a few minutes the road starts to rise up, and I don’t see any homes or farms about, just farmland. “Specialist, keep a sharp eye. Don’t want to blunder into a Creeper column.”
“Got it.”
We drive along for a few more minutes, Serena moving her head around. Over the sound of the engine I can make out Thor panting with happiness at being back with me. I reach overhead to where there’s a small roof light that comes on when the doors open up. I luck out, since there’s a little switch, which I flip on to illuminate the inside. “Specialist, look in the . . . that small door there . . . the thing there. Glovebox. Yeah. See if there’s a map.”
She opens a lid and pushes some papers around, and comes out with a folded map that says EXXON on the cover. “It’s old but it’s for this part of the state,” she says.
“Good,” I reply. “We’re going to need it.”
Serena closes the lid. “Why do they call it a glovebox anyway?”
I try to think of a snappy answer when the engine coughs, dies.
“Damn!” I push down on the accelerator.
Nothing happens.
We coast to a stop, then start to roll back. I hit the brake, turn the wheel, and we back into a stone wall. A sharp, grinding noise, and we don’t move again.
Serena says, “Oh, Randy . . .”
The dome light is still on. I glance down at the dashboard, trying to figure out what I’m seeing, and to the right, is a simple dial that has an E and an F. There’s a red needle, and it’s pegged against E. Hadn’t noticed it before, which made sense, since this is the first time I’ve ever driven a car.
“Out of gas,” I say desperately. “We’re out of gas. C’mon, time to bail.”
Outside a steady rain is starting to fall. I can still hear sirens off in the distance, and another flare climbs up into the sky. We’re looking down at the lights of the Capitol, and block by block, the lights start going out, as Civil Defense starts cutting power to the buildings. A pathetic gesture, since Creepers can attack day or night, but I know the feeling: better to do something than to sit still and do nothing.
I go to the rear of the dented car, put the key in the trunk. Serena is next to me, and I say, “If we’re lucky, the driver’s smart enough to have some spare gas.”
It takes a couple of hard turns, but the key opens the trunk. A little light comes on, illuminating a spare tire, jack, and a dull red gasoline jerrycan.
I easily pick up the can.
It’s empty.
“Some luck,” I say.
We get moving on the road, Serena carrying my assault pack, holding Buddy’s hand, and after a few hesitant steps from my partner, I can’t stand to see him limp and wince. I pick up Thor and hold him to my chest, and my sad little squad rises up the hill, the dead Impala behind us.
My back and head still ache from the thrashing I got earlier from Riley, and Thor seems to gain weight with each passing meter. My breathing gets ragged and tired, and twice I call a halt, so I can put Thor down on the ground and catch my breath. Each time I do so he licks my hand and I rub his head and say, “Good boy, you’re being a very good boy.”
Serena comes over the third time I call for a rest, and she drops my assault pack and says, “Randy, I’m beat. That pack is too damn heavy.”
“Suck it up, Specialist,” I say sharply back. “I’ve got my hands full here.”
From somewhere she produces a tiny flashlight, which she switches on, lighting up the wet grass and my boy Thor. He’s on his side, panting some, and Serena aims the beam on the bandages around his torso.
“Randy, he’s bleeding. Look.”
I don’t want to see it but I have to. My fingers gently press against the bandages, and Thor whimpers. Serena says, “The walking . . . the carrying . . . you’re opening up his wounds, Randy.”
Tears well up in my eyes. “It’ll be okay.”
Serena says, “Sergeant, it’s not going to be okay. He’s hurting. You know it. You’re making it worse. And we’ve got to get my brother to the right people.”
Thor raises up his head, looks at me, and then lies back down again. The rain is drumming against my back and exposed neck. Serena says, “Sergeant . . . we haven’t even gone a kilometer. At this pace, we’ll both collapse within the hour. You know it.”
I bite my lower lip and stand up, and say, “Specialist, what I—”
The world behinds us explodes.
I grab Serena and pull her down, and she takes her brother down next to her. The earth
rumbles, shakes, quivers. I roll over on my back and a bright bulb of light and flames is rising up over the Capitol.
A flash of light, as a hard bright line screams down from the cloud cover, striking the Capitol.
Another half-dome of destruction rises up, up, and up.
The noise hits me like a cement block against my chest. A roaring, thundering blast of destruction, followed by a hot breeze.
Another hard line of light.
And another.
And another.
Serena clambers over to me, grabs my hand. “Oh my God . . . oh my God . . . oh my God . . .”
My voice is strangled. “The Creepers . . . they’re using their killer stealth sats. They can still use their sats in a coordinated attack! The bastards . . .”
“But their orbital station . . .”
Another hard line of light, and another half-dome of light and flames and smoke rises up. “Destroyed. Sure. We thought the station had overall control of the sats. But they’re aliens, Serena . . . what the hell do we know about them after ten years? Sweet Jesus . . .”
I find myself on my feet. Look down on the burning Capitol. Look over at Buddy Coulson, sitting there quietly. Serena is next to me. “Thousands . . .” she whispers. “Thousands must be dead down there. Oh God, Randy.”
Thor is rustling at my feet. I can’t bear to look down at him. She says, “Do you think the President got out?”
“Don’t know,” I say. “If he didn’t . . . they can always find another one. Come on, we’ve got to keep moving. The killer sats might want to widen their fire, take out the suburbs.”
I kneel down, slide my hands underneath Thor, and he barks a sharp, high-pitched cry. I slowly withdraw my hands, settle back on my haunches. Serena kneels down next to me, gently touches Thor’s head. My throat is thick and it’s hard to breathe. Softly she says, “Randy . . . Sergeant . . . you’ve got your job, your responsibility. Something bigger than all of us. My brother . . . he has the key maybe to end this war, to stop the dying and burning and the destruction. If my dad, if your dad . . . if they hadn’t been arrested, Buddy and me, we would have hooked up with them. Then the message Buddy carries would have been released. Then maybe this attack on the Capitol . . . maybe it wouldn’t have happened.”
Dark Victory: A Novel of the Alien Resistance Page 29