Red visited the mayor of Last Haven in secret, hoping to convince him to ready his people for a possible evacuation. After talking to him for a mere five minutes, and he learned that the that Last Haven’s mayor didn’t believe men had ever landed on the moon, Red decided not to broach the subject of an alien invasion. But he couldn’t leave the residents of Last Haven to the Celeruns.
He walked the streets of Last Haven, hinting about it to those he met. The conversation usually went the same way:
“Hello, I’m Red Wakeland, the mayor of Hewego.” He would shake their hands, smile real big, like he used to do to customers when he was a car salesman. “I just want to let you know that there’s a rumor going around about a rogue band of soldiers sweeping through the United States, big dudes.” Red held his hand way over his head for emphasis. “All in green from head to foot. They’re so ugly you could swear you’re not seeing right. Some say they don’t even look human. I think there’s something to this rumor, so stay alert. And if you see anyone that fits that description, run as fast as you can toward Hewego. Come straight to my place and I’ll show you what to do. Okay?”
“Uh, okay.” He could tell they thought he might be a little off his rocker, but they weren’t totally dismissing him either.
His motivation wasn’t totally pure. The bunker, for the long haul, needed a lot more people than the numbers that Hewego alone could provide. The ideal population, according the general’s notes, was twenty thousand. Hewego and Last Haven together numbered less than six thousand. Every person mattered.
Red planned to have enough vehicles to carry all of them, plus a little extra, just in case. He popped the hood of a Dodge Caravan, and focused his thoughts onto the engine and its surrounding parts. His mind traveled through tubes and coils, running along the inside of the grimy engine like a maze. His thoughts were drawn to the neglected and deteriorated parts like metal shavings to a magnet. That’s when he saw the sparkplugs, worn to nubs.
“Easy fix,” he said. “That is if I can get to them.” Damn cab forward designs made everything difficult to access, but working with his hands had a way of clearing his head, and as long as he kept busy, it felt like nothing bad would happen. It was those idle moments at night, when he stared at the ceiling in the silence, that the darkness escaped from its cage to ravage his mind. Just knowing those Celerun were up there somewhere, plotting humanity’s death, caused him to pace around the house at night like a madman. He would obsessively check all the locks on the doors and windows. If only keeping them at bay could be that easy!
He’d peer through the age-rippled panes of glass in the windows, searching the night, imagining that every movement was an alien scout, watching and waiting, ready to storm the house.
He and Elizabeth still hadn’t come up with a way to convince Hewego that the danger was real. Last Haven, the people on their own without a real leader, was heavy on his mind.
Even if he managed to get both towns into the bunker, how would he convince them to stay there until Armageddon?
Red and Elizabeth consulted Father Bob on the matter. Even though the priest was still agnostic about the aliens, he agreed that IF they were real, considering all the general’s data, the only feasible plan was to evacuate as close to the countdown as possible. It was reassuring to have another person agree, but Red hoped that the aliens would give a sign of their presence sooner than that. Fear of the invasion would be a strong incentive to follow anyone with a survival plan…enter the Wakelands.
Blanche and Nate drove up in a Ford pick-up truck. Michael jumped out of the truck bed, carrying a Roughneck storage container.
Red pulled his head out from beneath the hood of the van. “It’s about time. Those better be guns in there.”
“Nope,” Michael said brightly. “Something even better.”
“Not more jewelry?”
A sheepish look crossed Michael’s face and he tried to hide behind Blanche.
“This is getting out of hand. The house already looks like Smaug’s lair. No more junk, Michael. Do you understand?” Michael glanced down at the ground, embarrassed, and murmured something about ‘dreams of needing money that wasn’t money’. Red sighed. “Oh, all right. Take that pail of pretty pebbles home.” Michael grinned as if he were on the verge of tears
“Don’t worry,” Blanche told Red. “We made it educational—stopped at a museum.”
“How about the guns?”
“The gun shops were picked clean,” Nate informed Red. “So we went to the National Guard Armory. The place was a bitch to break into, but Blanche used her superpower to lift me over a fifteen-foot fence.”
“Don’t call it a superpower,” Blanche said, her face reddening. “The term is so, I dunno, comic bookish.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Maybe if you’re a twelve-year-old boy…”
“Then what am I supposed to call it?”
“Others are calling the power charisma.”
“Charisma?” Nate replied. “That sounds lame. Like, what? We’re supposed to be charming the world to bend to our needs?”
“No, I mean charisma as in a divinely conferred power or talent—an extraordinary ability.”
“You call it what you want,” Nate said, rolling his eyes at the term. “And I’ll call it what I want. Mine is definitely a superpower.”
“That cheapens it,” Blanche said.
“How so?”
“You two can call it the Howdy Doody as far as I’m concerned,” Red interrupted. “All I want to know is how the search went.”
“Well,” Blanche started. “Since I lifted that bale of hay off of Mr. Brown, I haven’t been able to levitate anything heavier than a brick. About five pounds is my max. I didn’t think I could manage Nate, but he convinced me how important it was, and I did it.”
“Good job,” Red said, trying to imagine Nate floating over the fence; he was far more impressed with Blanche’s ability to levitate objects, thinking it more valuable than fixing a broken engine in this post-mechanized world. “You ought to practice using your, er...charisma more often,” he suggested. “There’s no telling what you could do with it.”
“Yes, mayor,” she said, nodding as if considering his words a command.
“Now, what about the guns?” Red repeated in impatient exasperation.
Nate laid the guns out neatly on the hood of a nearby Volvo station wagon. “We didn’t know what ammunition belonged with which gun,” Nate explained. “So we took everything.”
“Place the ammo next to the gun you think it goes with. I’ll make any necessary correction. Then do me the favor of equipping each vehicle with a gun or two.”
“Who are we invading?” Nate asked enthusiastically.
“We are not the invaders, but the invadees.”
The two young people exchanged questioning looks.
“People say you’ve lost your marbles, Bossman.”
“People say a lot of things,” Red replied. “And I say that before the leaves begin to fall, every man, woman and child will need to leave Hewego in a hurry. Keys are in the ignitions.”
“Mayor Wakeland,” Blanche said worriedly, peeking underneath the hood of the van into which he’d been pouring transmission fluid. “Do you know something that we don’t?”
“Yes, I do, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Does this have anything to do with the lights that we saw last night?”
Red slammed the hood shut. “What lights?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?” Nate seemed surprised. “The whole town is talking about it.”
Red furrowed his brow inquisitively.
“A huge silver UFO…” Nate said.
“Shaped like a wedding cake,” Blanche interrupted. “With layered tiers….”
“Appeared about right there,” Nate pointed to the eastern horizon. “And hovered there in the sky for at least an hour.”
“Before shooting straight up into the
stars.”
Red felt every muscle tighten. Dare he hope this was enough to convince everyone of an impending alien invasion?
“People are saying the air force is operational again,” Blanche said, optimism dancing in her bright green eyes. “And that the government has reorganized. Do you think it could be true, Red?”
He swallowed his inclination to say hell no, it’s the beginning of an invasion, you ignoramuses, but he didn’t want to feed false hopes either. “The government’s gone. That I know.”
“Then what could it be?”
“A UFO, that’s what,” Nate said.
This time Blanche was the one to roll her eyes.
Red bit his tongue, deciding to let her enjoy the delusion of security a little longer.
“Going to the National Guard was a brilliant move,” Red commented as he sorted through the guns. He spied an automatic weapon similar to one he had used in the service. Finding the matching clip, he clicked it into place, and fired a couple of practice shots into the woods.
“Cool,” said Nate.
He chose a heavy rifle for Nate and another lighter one for Blanche, and automatic pistols for both, taking several hours out of his day to give them a crash course on loading, handling, shooting and carrying their weapons safely. Blanche was a natural; she didn’t flinch at the noise of the gunfire, and her shoulders and wrists were stronger than Red had guessed at first, so she could brace against the recoil. He gave her a heavier gun. Nate wasn’t half-bad either, but they both needed more practice. Unfortunately, time wasn’t on their side.
“Listen, and listen good,” Red said. “From here on out, you are to carry these pistols at all times, and the rifles when you can, and if you should see someone who is not a person, shoot first and ask questions later. Now get to work.”
“How can someone not be a person?” Blanche asked, scrunching her face into a question mark.
“You’ll know when you see them.”
“Them?” she pressed further. “Who’s them? Does this have anything to do with the wedding cake everybody’s been talking about?”
“Thank you for the delivery,” Red said, his tone hinting strongly to them that it was time for them to leave. Blanche looked back to Nate, who shrugged. Red knew they thought his behavior odd, but he could live with that for now.
“Uh, okay, then,” Nate said. Blanche climbed into the driver’s seat of the pick-up and they drove away.
Chapter 15
Rumors flew about the UFOs, but Red was disappointed because people were more curious than afraid. Give it time, Elizabeth assured him, but there were only two more weeks until the 18th.
Red worked on the speech he was going to give before the evacuation, practicing in front of the mirror, and then in front of Elizabeth. Thinking about addressing Hewego had given him more than one panic attack, but it wasn’t like he’d never addressed a crowd before.
Back when he owned the auto dealership, motivational speeches were a regular thing. He had been a big fan of Zig Ziglar, so he tried to pretend he was just speaking at a car sales conference. A sales pitch, but instead of selling knives, or real estate, or cars—he had to sell his fellow villagers a new reality, one that included hostile alien invaders, and once he had convinced them of the aliens’ existence, he’d sell the Hewaygoans a bunker.
“Who am I kidding?” He sunk down onto the bed, holding his head in his hands. “They’re never gonna buy any of this.”
Elizabeth did her best to keep Michael out of the loop, because she wanted his last days under the sun to be happy ones. Red saw the wisdom in that and pushed himself to act cheerful in front of his adopted son, but Michael figured out something was up anyway. He’d often drop whatever he was doing to give Red a spontaneous hug and then walk away, shoulders slumped, a morose expression darkening his smooth features.
September 17th fell on a Saturday. The general’s instructions were clear that the key needed to be turned on September 18th. Father Bob always held a Saturday afternoon Mass, which many of the villagers attended regardless of their prior religious affiliations as Bob was the only cleric in Hewego, so this would be the perfect time to divulge the bunker’s existence. The general’s notes warned that people were fickle, behaving like sheep, suggesting that the leaders of the communities give their residents little time to dwell on the situation. Civilians tended to question authority. If allowed time to think about the information, they would get antsy, start to second guess every claim, every decision, and demand to go home. If one left, that would trigger a deeply wired instinct to follow, and if the evacuation occurred before the eleventh hour, half the population would trickle back to Hewego.
Red had originally thought it too risky to make the exodus so close to the final countdown, but having read through the general’s notes on how to arrange the transfer and convince people to come, he had to admit that from a psychological standpoint, getting everyone there just before the bunker went on lockdown made a lot of sense. After this 4 pm Mass, he would deliver the ‘good’ news about the discovery of the underground shelter that everybody needed to see. They would all go together, make it into a sort of impromptu parade. What a thin excuse for getting the whole town to leave at once! Would anybody buy his sales pitch?
It had been a long time since he sold a sucker a used car, and the new simpler life he’d led for the past years had left him feeling like a new man, but now it was time to slip into old habits. He needed to convince, not just one person to buy a car they didn’t think they needed, but a whole town to go see this wonderful bunker with all the modern amenities they’d been longing for since the plague. And once they’d all gotten safely into the bunker, he had to convince them that the world was being overrun by aliens, an invasion which could only be stopped by blowing up the sweet world above. Good Lord, he felt like Satan slithering in the apple tree, trying to lure Eve with the apple. Once she bit into it, life would never be the same. Red had been a good salesman in his day, but not brilliant, and he was out of practice. He was dreading his initial speech.
For the speech, Red dressed in a nice suit. As a salesman, he learned that a well-dressed man always looked more credible. He walked toward the town center alone, where others would be gathering for the Mass.
Elizabeth had spent the afternoon vomiting. She pretended it was from something she had eaten, but he knew it was a bad case of nerves. She was freaked out about his speech, the exodus, the idea of living underground for the rest of her life. Whether the people bought it, or rejected it, the world was about to change—again.
Father Bob lived on the second floor of the Old Tire Hut. Services were held on the former tire sales floor. Sales—Red told himself that was a good omen for an ex-car dealer.
He found Father Bob in the back office, reading from the bible, scribbling a few notes. Red looked at his Doomsday watch. Thirteen hours and fifteen minutes left until the countdown.
“Good to see you, Red, what can I do for you?”
“I’m just just reminding you about my announcement at the service.”
“Today’s the day—isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“After I conclude the service, the pulpit is yours.”
“Do you have my back, padre?”
“My aim is your soul, Red.”
They shared a little laugh but that didn’t ease the tension. Red chose a folding seat near the front row, refusing to mingle. People were straggling into the service, some alone, some in small groups. Professor Linkletter stood at the front of the room, where the lectors read scripture during the service, to sing the welcoming hymn. She was a polished alto. Red was sure she could have gone pro before the apocalypse, if she’d been interested in a career in the soft arts.
Music used to be something he took for granted. Now, it was appreciated like birthday cake—a highly anticipated treat. Closing his eyes, he tried to lose himself in the soothing strains of Henry B Lytes’s famous hymn. It was one of his wife’s favorites. “Abide
with me; fast falls the eventide; the darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide…” The professor’s buttery voice soothed his frayed nerves, but just a little.
Looking neither left nor right, he clutched the speech, staring at the golden box behind the altar. Michael had told him once that when the candle beside the box was lit, it meant that God dwelled inside. That was almost as unbelievable as green alien invaders. But the Celeruns were for real. He’d seen one with his own eyes, heard one with his own ears, touched one with his own hands. He gazed fiercely at the golden box. The candle beside the box danced in the breeze.
“Lord,” he said, unable to pull his eyes away from the gleaming container. “If you’re in there, then you know about my plans. Please, help me to convince the people. Please, help us through these days to come. Amen.”
Red sucked in a breath, and let it out in a controlled exhale. Elizabeth had entered without his noticing. She slipped into the seat next to him, touching his arm to get his attention. He was grateful to have an ally and the weight on his shoulders got a little lighter with his wife’s companionship. His wife wasn’t Catholic, neither was he, but Michael had been raised in the faith. The boy took pride in being an altar server. If it wasn’t for that, Red wouldn’t go to any church at all. Before the plague, he had chosen his religion based on which one could bring him the most business.
He liked Father Bob though. The man was easy-going, for the most part, but in Red’s opinion, the priest was too particular about only Catholics receiving communion. That was the wrong message for a mixed community which thrived only because of their unity and Red had told the priest exactly what he thought about it. Father Bob had gone into a theology lesson, but Red remained firm in his opinion. So did Father Bob.
Elizabeth squirmed in the seat next to Red. She looked gray around the edges, biting her nails as they waited to face the ridicule.
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