Standing Before Hell's Gate

by William Alan Webb

  “Excellent!” he said.

  Silent until now, Adder interrupted the colonel’s report without apology or warning. “If Green Ghost is away, who did he leave in charge of security?”

  Saw narrowed his eyes and Steeple read in them that he didn’t like the hulking man.

  “A man named Wingnut. I think two or three of that group are also still here, including that strange blonde woman.”

  Adder leaned forward at the waist. “Blonde woman?”

  “Yes… Nipple, that’s her name.”

  Steeple turned, curious about Adder’s reaction toward his former teammates in Task Force Zombie.

  The man’s lean cheeks and small eyes folded into slits as a strange smile, half snarl, half laugh, crossed his lips. “Where are they?”

  #

  Sergeant Major Schiller knocked, entered, and handed Steeple the morning’s reports, including a routine copy of an order given last night by General Angriff for two Apache gunships and half a platoon of riflemen to fly northeast and intervene in some contact between Dennis Tompkins and a band of Sevens. Steeple read the order twice, and immediately called Schiller on the intercom. “Schiller, get me the aircraft dispatcher, now!”

  Once seated behind the desk, he started the checklist of things he still needed to do, prioritizing those actions necessary to prevent a counter-coup. But first, he spent a few minutes adjusting the chair to fit his smaller frame. Then he rearranged the desktop’s few neutral items to his liking and had started riffling through the middle desk drawer when a phone call interrupted him. He knew it was going to take some time to get Overtime exactly the way he wanted it.

  “Dispatch? This is General Steeple, your new commanding officer. I want you to cancel a scheduled mission…”

  With any luck, this Tompkins man would die and he’d have one less headache to worry about. But why did that name sound so familiar?

  #

  0913 hours, April 28

  Sara Snowtiger’s Cave, Painted Desert, Arizona

  Sometime past midnight, Dennis Tompkins finally fell asleep inside the cave, near the mouth. Someone had placed a blanket over him and he assumed that was Sara Snowtiger, since their gear had been left tied to the horses. Monty Wilson had put the horses up the previous afternoon, but Derek Tandy scrambled down in the pre-dawn darkness to make sure they were okay. Being the youngest often meant him doing things like that, even though young was a relative term; Tandy was 74.

  Tompkins discovered this after the fact, when John Thibodeaux shook him awake with news of a radio call from Prime. The sun was well up by then, which surprised him; Tompkins usually woke at dawn when they were in the field. Wiping sleep from his eyes, Tompkins tried to blink away blurred vision with no success. The chill of night left him tired and stiff. Not daring to stand up until his eyes could focus, he scooted past the cave’s entrance so the rock didn’t interfere with reception, but low enough that a sniper didn’t pick him off.

  “Tompkins here,” he croaked. Thibodeaux heard it and handed him a canteen, from which he took three long pulls.

  “Is this Major Dennis Tompkins?”

  “This is General Tompkins.”

  There was a pause. “The purpose of this call is to inform you that your request for air and ground support has been denied. General Steeple also orders you to return to Overtime as soon as practicable.”

  “What?”

  But the only response was static.

  #

  Stunned, Tompkins leaned against the cool rock wall inside the cave, near the dwindling fire. He wasn’t conscious of anything until Sara Snowtiger crouched beside him and touched his cheek. “You’ve had bad news?” she said in a gentle tone.

  Their eyes met. “Apparently so… something’s happened to a dear friend of mine, ’cept I don’t know what.”

  “This is your friend the great warrior?”

  “Yes.” Tompkins’ surprise at her insight made him forget his plight for a second. “How did you know?”

  She smiled. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything so beautiful. Her caramel skin had lines around the eyes and corners of the mouth, and strands of purest white hung beside those of night black, but none of that mattered. He’d never felt anything like it before.

  “I sometimes see things,” she said, turning away and touching her cheek.

  “Like hallucinations, or visions?”

  “I put no labels on them, but others have called them visions.”

  “What do you think they are?”

  “I think I see possibilities.”

  “Can you see what’ll possibly happen to him? Or to us?”

  “Perhaps.” Once again she reached out as if to brush her fingers against his cheek, but then stopped. Her eyes widened in panic. “Get your friends inside. Hurry!”

  Before Tompkins could move, they heard a grunt followed by the distant crack of a rifle. John Thibodeaux began screaming. “Skip! Skip! They done hit Monty!”

  Tompkins pushed to his feet and ran onto the ledge, where Hausser, Zuckerman, and Thibodeaux lay on their stomachs.

  “Git down, Skip!” Thibodeaux and Hausser reached up and jerked him down seconds before a series of bullets spattered the cliff face behind him.

  “Where’s Monty?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  The three men exchanged glances and he could tell none of them wanted to speak up.

  “John? Where’s Monty?”

  “He’s on the ground, Skip. We was layin’ here talkin’ an’ I guess he forgot where he was. He stood up, then got this funny look on his face, and I heard the shot. He fell over ’fore I could catch him… he didn’t suffer none, Skip, they hit him in the temple.” Thibodeaux tapped the side of his head.

  “Monty’s dead?”

  “I gotta tell ya it’s true, Skip.” Tears like summer raindrops fell from Thibodeaux’s rheumy Cajun eyes. “Them devils, they finally got ’im.”

  Tompkins lay there a moment, stunned. He’d always been an even-tempered man even when fast action was called for, but now he felt rage boiling within his mind. Monty had been there with him from the start and for fifty years they’d wandered the ruins of America together. They’d survived everything, only to have Monty die after they’d all been saved, and it was his fault. If he’d never agreed to leave Overtime, they’d never have gone without him, and Monty would still be alive.

  Pushing to his feet, Tompkins ignored a few incoming rounds that buzzed past his head and stalked into the cave, retrieving his personal M-16. Snowtiger waited inside and reached out a hand to him, but he walked past her and grabbed the rifle. With the expertise of long practice, he pushed the Geissele High Speed Selector to the automatic position. From his peripheral vision, he saw her face twisted in sorrow. Ignoring her and shouldering the weapon, he walked back out onto the ledge.

  Likewise he ignored the pleas and hands of his friends, who begged him to take cover. Dennis Tompkins rarely got angry, but when he did, it consumed him. Bullets ricocheted around him and sprayed him with rock splinters. Aiming carefully, he emptied the magazine at the little blob of white-robed men far out in the desert. Even as he fired, he knew they were out of range. Finally, after the magazine ran dry, he walked back into the cave, slid down with his back against the wall, and burst into tears.

  #

  Tompkins wouldn’t open his eyes. The image of Monty’s wide face and irresistible grin splitting his chestnut-colored face filled his mind. Monty had been the one he’d counted on doing what he needed without having to ask, whether it be cooking food, gathering firewood, or systematically scouring the ruins of a building for useable items. He’d always been there and Tompkins never had to worry about him. And now he was gone, and Tompkins worried that if he opened his eyes, he would never again be able to visualize his dead friend’s face.

  Despite their own pain, Thibodeaux, Hausser, and Zuckerman all tried to comfort him, but Tompkins only shook his head and motioned to be
left alone. Then he felt a hand on the back of his own left hand, and from it spread a feeling of peace that eased his tensed muscles like a drug flowing up his arm. When it reached his mind, Monty’s face seemed to fade as if he were merely walking away for a little while. He opened his eyes to see the slight form of Sara Snowtiger sitting beside him.

  “Be at peace, Dennis Tompkins. Your friend’s shilup dwells now in the wide green lands set aside by Chitokaka for good men such as he, and his shilombish will follow you all of your days.”

  Tompkins had never felt the emotions that flooded through him now. He didn’t even know what to call them, except that he felt a sudden yearning never to leave this strange woman he’d only just met. Over his long life, he’d heard people say that when they met their soul mate is was like they’d known each other all their lives… now he knew what they meant.

  “I don’t understand your words,” he said in a low voice. With obvious shyness, he placed his right hand on top of hers. “But they make me feel better.”

  “Only Monty’s physical body has died. Part of your friend lives on in the glorious place prepared for him by the Creator, and part is still with you and always will be.”

  “He’s still got my back?”

  Her smile widened. The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes loaned her face an empathetic look that somehow made him feel like he never wanted to leave her side.

  “Yes,” she said.

  The cave tunnel disappeared into blackness. Tompkins stared into the void for several minutes. “Why do they do it?”

  “Why do the Sevens hurt people?”

  It surprised him that she’d understood his question. “Yeah, why are they like the way they are? I don’t get it and never have.”

  At that her smile faded and her eyes seemed to focus on something Tompkins couldn’t see. “I can only answer you in my own way. Nalusa Chito is the great deceiver, the soul eater who turns men to evil if they have thoughts of ill intent. Most of the Sevens believe they follow a prophet from their god, but that is false. He is instead a servant of Nalusa Chito, and by worshipping this deceitful man they have allowed evil into their hearts. Do not feel sympathy for such men, General Tompkins, Nalusa Chito cannot force himself on you. You must ask him to enter your soul. They asked for their guilt.”

  “Please call me Dennis.”

  Snowtiger’s blush was hidden by her dark skin. “All right.” When he simply stared at her, she smiled. “My family’s lore says that my great-great-great-grandmother Nara Snowtiger confronted Nalusa Chito himself once, on the banks of the Mississippi River.”

  “I’ll bet there’s a story there.”

  “One of our tribe lost his family on the Trail of Tears—”

  “I thought that was the Cherokee.”

  “Yes, but years before Cherokee were ejected from Georgia and Tennessee, my people were forced off their lands in Mississippi and made to march to Oklahoma. Many died along the way, including this man’s wife and daughter. His name was Nita Tohbi, and his wife was my great-great-great-grandmother’s sister. Their loss drove him mad. He vowed vengeance on the men he blamed for his family’s deaths, and in his despair the Great Deceiver came to him, whispering that only revenge would let him be at peace. It was a lie, of course, but he embraced Nalusa Chito, who wanted only to eat his soul. On the night that the steamboat Sultana exploded, my grandmother confronted the Soul Eater and saved the man’s shilup from being devoured.”

  “The Sultana? Your great-great… grandmother was there when the Sultana sank?”

  “Yes.” He could think of nothing to say to that, and so they were quiet for several long minutes. The other three men scooted to the cave mouth to give them as much space as possible. Finally Tompkins said, “Can I hug you?”

  Snowtiger’s expression betrayed surprise at her answer. “I would like that.”

  #

  Chapter 46

  Welcome to my Nightmare.

  Alice Cooper

  Operation Overtime

  0936 hours, April 28

  “Hey, Yuri!” Nikki Bauer yelled through the doorway of the small room used for weapons maintenance. An M-16 rested in her hands with the charging handle open. “I thought you said you lubed these weapons… what did you use, an eyedropper? You know that wet and dirty is a lot better than dry and clean… Yuri, you out there?”

  “So you like to be lubed up, huh?”

  The voice was deep, with a distinct New England accent. In the second before she turned to see who had spoken, Nikki’s brain registered it as familiar, unfriendly, and dangerous.

  He stood with arms crossed and legs splayed apart in a fighter’s stance. The man’s wide shoulders and immense bulk blocked the doorway. Adrenaline flooded her body as her heart kicked into fifth gear. Memories flooded her consciousness and she knew that despite his size, he was very fast. Not as fast as her, but fast enough in this confined space.

  “Adder…” she whispered.

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here… if it’s not the psychotic brat,” he said. “Where are the rest of your playmates?”

  She hesitated. “My brother’s bringing them all down here… they oughta be here any minute.”

  Adder cocked his head to the left. She could see his eyes roaming over her body before locking into hers. “You didn’t used to be such a bad liar, or able to hold your temper… you were crazy. It’s the only thing I ever liked about you…” He pointed right at her. “You’ve changed.”

  “Like hell I have,” she said, but cringed at her own words; they came out weak and whiny. She spoke louder, hoping that would make up for the lack of power behind her voice. “My brother is due back any minute and you’d better be gone when he gets here.”

  Adder only shook his head. “I’m disappointed. I was looking forward to fucking your brains out while you tried to stop me, but shit, girl, you’re not worth the trouble now. Whatever happened to you broke you. You’re just a normal skank now.”

  “Nick’s gonna kick your ass!”

  “Nick’s under arrest, so he’s not gonna do any ass-kicking for a while, and your worthless piece of shit brother is up in Northern California, so now it’s just you and me. Good thing for you I don’t rape helpless women.”

  “Just ones that fight back? What a man you are.”

  He grinned. “You’re starting to change my mind about you.”

  “Try it and you won’t have a head left,” said a voice from behind.

  “Hello, Wingnut,” Adder responded without turning around. He didn’t even seem startled. “Put the gun down. I heard you coming at least thirty seconds ago. You never were the quiet type.”

  “Turn around slow.” Wingnut rarely spoke and Nikki jumped at the sound of his voice. “I’d love to shoot you, but I won’t unless you make me.”

  “That’s not gonna happen, but here’s what is… I’m the new S-5 for the Seventh Cavalry, which makes me your commanding officer. I know you’ve got a rifle aimed at my head, but I haven’t seen it yet, which means I can’t prosecute you for it. Lower it now and everything’s copa.”

  “I don’t think so. We answer to Green Ghost.”

  “That worthless piece of shit has a shoot-on-sight order on his head. You won’t be seeing his ass around here again in this life.”

  As he’d spoken, Nikki’s fists had balled. She took a step forward, but when she spoke, it sounded more like a petulant teenager than the deadly, borderline psychotic Nipple. “You take that back, asshole!”

  Adder frowned. “That’s just pathetic.”

  “I’ll show you pathetic. I should whip your ass!”

  “I wish to hell you’d try.”

  Nikki’s face turned red and she blinked several times. Her brain choreographed the moves to her attack exactly as they always had. She threw herself forward into a tuck and roll designed to come up inside of Adder’s reach for a two-fingered thrust at his Adam’s apple, but when she moved it felt like her limbs had bricks strapped to them.
Compared to all of her previous fights, the world moved in slow motion. Instead of a potentially fatal blow to his throat, Nikki came out of the roll with the heel of Adder’s hand slamming into her forehead. Like a speeding car hitting a brick wall, she recoiled backward, stunned into semi-consciousness.

  Adder had always been the biggest of all the Zombies, but his speed took people by surprise. As he stopped Nikki and drove her backward, Wingnut aimed a vicious kick at the base of his spine. It should have been a crippling blow, except Adder anticipated exactly that move and twisted out of the way. Wingnut’s foot slid past his stomach and he grabbed the ankle with both hands. Shoving up and back, he sent Wingnut hopping backward on his left leg until he tripped over a case of ammo and fell hard to the stone floor.

  Adder followed and raised his foot over Wingnut’s head. “Want some more?”

  Then he stiffened and stepped back. Nikki had come to enough to see him raise his hand and touch his ear, the characteristic sign of someone listening to an ear mike.

  “On my way,” he said, apparently into an unseen microphone. Then he turned to them. “Looks like you two dipshits got off light today. The next time we meet, show more respect to your new commander. If you decide to join us and obey my orders, I’ll forget all this. I can use you. I never had anything against you guys, only Ghost.”

  #

  Chapter 47

  And so at last the bitter road ends

  And we stand before Hell’s Gate;

  The Devil awaits us just inside,

  We should not make him wait.

  Sergio Velazquez, from “Impatient Satan”

  Overtime Prime

  1022 hours, April 28

  Nervous officers filled the conference room. They’d all passed the strange men bearing rifles on their way to the hastily called meeting of the commander’s staff, and endured the men’s insolent glares. Now two more such men were stationed at either end of the narrow room. Khin Saw stood in front of his chair at the close end of the table, the commanding officer’s chair, and nodded as each department head entered and found their seat.