Army of the Undead # Rafe Bernard

by Keith Laumer

  Now veins of light were speeding around the perimeter of the mass, like white blood racing in pulsing surges toward a heart. The veins spread out from the thing David had fought, and back to it These others now reached it and were consumed, but another, thicker vein of light began to travel toward the mast. It sped up and up to burst in a billion tiny beams—making a giant spray of light atop the mast, angled in the direction of Auto City.

  All this took only seconds before the incandescent flaring lights were shut off, as if an invisible hand had turned a master switch. Only the glowing metal of the tower, as it slowly crumpled, and the blazing red-eyed fires of the cars now lighted Serenda Valley.

  David pulled off vizor and goggles. The others removed theirs. They looked silently at each other. Two turned away and were sick. Two lit cigarettes, coughed, then flung the cigarettes away. Clem Makim was walking round and round, shaking his head. Wayne Draycott squatted, head in his hands. Ken Holt and Mike Lasser stood, statuelike, arms around each other's shoulders. Pietro Donelli was crying and praying softly at the same time. Sergeant Dace and Orvel Pitt helped each other rub out scorch marks on their clothing.

  David walked to the security man's car where the master radio was fitted. He opened the circuit, lifted the hand mike.

  "Starspace Valley calling Starspace City." He repeated it, waited.

  Thias Rumbold's voice said: "Starspace City to Starspace Valley. Check."

  "It is done," said David wearily. "It is done."

  He heard Rumbold's rasping sigh of relief.

  "Casualties?" said Thias.

  "Not physically. Shock has quieted the men for a time. It should pass. Has it begun in the city?"

  "Too early for any but my own firsthand knowledge. Gineas's executive suite is in flames. Firemen think the radio gear blew up."

  "It would," said David. "Sorry—I forgot to warn you I left it switched to full feed-in. It probably blew within a few seconds of this tower's final transmission. Well, that's it, Thias. I can do no more. The cleaning-up is your job."

  "We'll handle it. Other cities are sending more ambulances, doctors and mobile operating rooms. Washington has clamped a classified top secret on all communications. I guess even this call is illegal."

  "Oh yes." David smiled sadly. "They'll be very busy—now it doesn't really matter. Good-bye, Thias. Good luck!"

  TV and radio blathered and chattered and the guessing boys—"our experts on this and that"—let themselves go with joyous abandon. There was a security clamp on facts but none on guessing. The pay was high and all networks greedy for anything, but anything, to feed the news-hungry multitude.

  Carson Roller's broadcast summed up the general yakking of his numerous colleagues.

  "There is no doubt that a major crisis has developed in Auto City, but the recent announcement concerning withdrawal from sale of all new models is merely evidence of the sense of responsibility which always has existed in the auto industry and in Auto City. It does not mean that these thousands of cars are not safe."

  Then using the technique of flattening all opposition rumors by starting one of your own, he went on:

  "Although the situation is confused, it is possible there might be some automation breakdown at the Carasel and Monarch plants. The government is wise not to allow release of facts until the complete details are known and relatives informed of any casualties."

  "But we'd be lacking in conscience if we did not categorically deny the rumors that Auto City has been under attack by those mythical 'invaders.' We haven't personally heard from that well-known scaremonger, David Vincent, but no doubt he is busy scattering his poisonous theories of little green men from outer space who are dedicated to spreading alarm and despondency around our great nation. No, folks—that is one rumor we can pin right now. Whatever the cause of Auto City's current troubles, it certainly isn't David Vincent's little green men! Stay tuned, folks—we'll be back with the latest and greatest."

  David and his friends were grouped around the TV set in a motel on Serenda Highway. They had eaten well and were slowly returning to normality.

  Wayne Draycott looked at David.

  "I once said things like that about you. My God! Will they never listen?"

  "Not until they listen with their minds," said David. "Because the little green men don't have voices."

  A few days later David and Thias Rumbold sat in the plateau hut, looking out at the racing circuit.

  "It's incredible," Thias said. "Even the men who went with you to Serenda Valley seem nearly unconscious of what they saw and what they did."

  "I think I would call it partial amnesia," David replied. "People like Ollie Temper and Wayne who really believed in the aliens before the power destruction have much more memory of what went on that night than the others. Their sanity is being protected by psychic Shockwaves that have erased something unbearable from their memories."

  "I won't forget, David. Men like Ace Blumen and Rod Baker are themselves again. Auto City is safe and so will a million drivers be, thanks to you. You can call on me if the invaders ever strike again."