"We, on the other hand, believe all criminals can be rehabilitated to serve a valuable role in society. We only wish to help these two criminals take their places as constructive members of your society. But make no mistake— right now, they are dangerous undesirables and we will stop at nothing to hunt them down and take them into custody. We invite you to voluntarily turn them over to us. We give you thirty of your minutes to do so. At the end of that time, if Donovan and Tyler have not been given to us, we will collect twenty hostages from among your people. These hostages will be considered accomplices in the continuing criminal behavior of Donovan and Tyler, and they will be executed here in the center of your town. This will take place near dark. We will then let you think through the night about what has happened, and at dawn, we will give you one more chance to turn over the fugitives. Failure to do so will result in the apprehension and execution of twenty more accomplices every two hours until the criminals are handed to our forces—or until you have no more people left in Crow's Fork. This is by order of Diana, supreme commander, carried out by Lydia, security cadre commander." There was a pause. "Ok, and I caution you not to attempt to escape. A substantial Visitor force surrounds your entire town. We also have electronic surveillance set up. Escape is impossible. Your only choice is to comply with justice—or else you will be inviting death."
A bolt of fury ran through Chris as he stepped back inside O'Toole's house. He checked his watch.
"Do you think she means what she says?" O'Toole asked.
"We'll know in about twenty-nine minutes."
Chapter 11
In each residence and place of business in the little mountain town, eyes watched clocks. In the barbershop, with its three chairs, Mr. Post still held the scissors in his hands. He'd been cutting young Mark Cooke's hair when the Visitors made their announcement. The teenager was still sitting in the chair; the striped cloth still tied behind his neck, the front of it still covered by the blond hair Mr Post had snipped.
In the general store, R. J. Penroy's cornflakes still sat on the floor where he'd been unloading the big shipping cartons and putting the new cereal boxes on the shelf. He'd only added those shop-for-yourself shelves a little over a year ago. It wasn't like a suburban supermarket with aisles and aisles of goods, and those guide signs hanging at the end of each row just so a person could tell whether he was anywhere near the products he'd come in to buy. Penroy had moved first to the front door when the aliens talked to the town, then to the counter to huddle with Mrs. Rollins, who was in her sixties and had a bad heart, and pretty young Stacy Prentiss, who was from an even smaller town than Crow's Fork and had married Bill Prentiss, the carpenter and wood worker They dressed a little like hippies from the flower-power days, Penroy thought, but they were a nice young couple. And while Stacy waited here, she didn't know if her husband had made it home from a job in Northville, twenty miles away. She didn't know if he was safe. Penroy wished she could know.
The garage door at Stanley Polowitz's gas station was closed now, but it had been open less than a half hour ago. Stanley, a skinny, bowlegged fellow in his forties who was a fine mechanic, had been doing his usual dozen things at once, getting Edwin Lynch's sedan ready to be taken home, answering the phones, pouring waste oil into the proper barrel for disposal, sorting parts into their proper bins, tossing sawdust onto the slick underneath the pickup stuck on the lift overnight until he could get the brake parts he needed from the Chevy dealer two towns over. Stanley and Edwin had drifted to the front of the garage when the ultimatum came booming from the alien vehicle in the middle of town. They listened, watched, and closed the garage door when it was over. Edwin Lynch wanted to hurry home, but Stanley talked him out of it—it wasn't safe to go out into the street with all those Visitor soldiers. They might just grab a few home-going hostages early, if it suited them. Who was to stop them?
Families were split up in this way all over the little town. But almost no one was alone. That was the way things were in Crow's Fork. Everybody knew everybody. Not everybody liked everybody. But they were a tolerant group, and they pitched in when someone needed help. Now they all needed help, and neighbors huddled with neighbors. In garages and general stores and barbershops. Near doors and windows, but inside familiar places, not out on the streets suddenly made unfamiliar by the presence of these invaders from another planet.
They huddled. And they waited. And they watched clocks and looked at wristwatches. They listened to see if anyone tried to give the Visitors what they wanted, these two men who were supposed to be criminals. Two men no one even knew in Crow's Fork.
No one but Frank O'Toole, and he didn't have them.
The thirty minutes were up. Out on the street, Lydia nodded to a handful of red-uniformed shock troopers gathered around her. They fanned out to join squads of soldiers waiting nearby. In lines of five, they spread through the town like crimson tentacles reaching to grab fear-riddled victims. They advanced on houses, on shops, on the barbershop and the general store. In the lengthening shadows of late afternoon, the Visitors collected their
hostages.
"Hey, where's Alex?" Annie asked. The sun would be setting soon, and she'd been seeing to the horses while Ham, Donovan, and Barry tried to figure out what to do
next.
"Who cares?" Ham said.
Donovan gave him a chilling glare. "I don't know, Annie. We kind of lost track of things about ten seconds after Barry's pilot called us."
"You're not going to want to leave in the next few minutes, are you?" she asked.
"I don't think so," Donovan said. "We're probably safer up here. Plus they don't know we're here, so we've got an clement of surprise that may come in handy."
Annie nodded. "Okay. Well, I'm gonna take a quick look around and see if I can find him. If we want to camp here for the night, we've got bedrolls and a little food. I packed 'em, just in case."
Donovan grinned. "You're a good guide. We'll be
okay."
Annie left and Donovan turned to Tyler "You're a real bastard, you know that?"
"Yeah, I know. So what?"
Alex had wandered off to think, and soon found himself following a shallow, meandering brook. Golden bars of light filtered through the leaves as the sun slipped closer to the horizon. He stopped to listen to the sounds of the woods—birds, squirrels, branches bending and rustling—
—and the whine of spinning tires. He ducked low to peer under tree limbs and tried to peg the direction of the sound. He moved stealthily toward it, still following the stream. After a hundred yards or so, he saw a washed-out plank bridge and a dirty jeep stuck on one bank of the stream. It was wider and deeper here, which was why the bridge had been built in the first place. Two men were standing thigh deep in water, trying to push the vehicle, and a woman sat in the driver's seat.
"Hey, need a hand?" Alex called.
The driver let up on the accelerator and her companions stopped pushing. "Yeah," said one of the men, a balding blond with an unkempt beard. The other man was younger and much taller. The woman's face was dirt streaked, and all of them seemed edgy.
"Yeah," the blond man repeated. "What are you doing out here?"
Alex carefully stepped down to the water's edge. "I was about to ask you the same question. This bridge's been out for months—nobody goes this way."
"That's why we're going this way. Don't you know what's going on in town?" the woman said, a tremor in her voice.
"You mean Crow's Fork? No, we've been out here all day."
"Who's we?" the tall man asked.
"Oh, three others, up at the mine. What's going on in town?"
The three travelers exchanged nervous looks. "Visitors," the blond man finally said. "They landed, looking for two guys—Donovan and Tyler, I think their names were."
Alex started at the mention of the names, then tried to cover his interest. "Yeah? What do they want 'em for?"
The blond man shrugged. "Not sure—we don't live in town, we're from o
utside, but a friend of ours called us and warned us to get as far away as we can. Said people in town are stuck, prisoners. That's why we're taking the back roads—don't want any lizard patrols to spot us. You and your friends better forget about going back into town if that's where you're headed."
"They didn't get these two guys?" Alex asked cautiously.
"Nope," said the woman at the wheel. "They're going to take hostages and kill them if the town doesn't hand them over."
"Really?" Alex started backing up the grassy bank.
"Hey! I thought you were going to help us!" the blond man shouted angrily.
"I—I can't. Gotta tell my friends about this. Sorry," he called back as he scrambled up to the trail and broke into a trot.
But he didn't return to the mine. He kept running until he got to the gravel two-lane, saw a sign that said, "Crow's Fork—2 Miles," and jogged in that direction.
Annie sat on a tree stump by the side of the trail, her knees hugged to her chest.
"Hey." It was Ham's voice, and she looked up briefly, then hunched back into a ball.
He came over and knelt in front of her. "You okay?"
She shrugged.
"Talkative mood, eh, Halsey?"
She shrugged again.
"Donovan told me I was a bastard. I agreed with him. But you always knew that, right?" He paused, but there was still no response. "Look, Alex knows these woods as well as you do, so he's probably fine. Hey, if you want to be alone, I'll go." He started to move away slowly. "If you want the company, just say so." He took another step back.
Annie spoke without looking up. "Why did you come after me?"
"To apologize."
"You haven't done it yet."
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess I forgot. Hey, I'm sorry for what I said, for picking on your boyfriend."
Now she looked at him. "Thanks," she said without expression.
"Don't mention it."
They were quiet for a long moment, eyes still on each other "Hey, Tyler," she said, crooking a finger at him, beckoning. He came closer, bent over, and she reached up, grabbed his collar, pulled him down, and kissed him softly. He straightened, his brow furrowed.
"Halsey, what was that for?"
She tilted her head quizzically. "Damned if I know." She unfolded her legs and linked her arm in his. They started back for the camp.
The four Visitor skyfighters were gathered in a circle, like some futuristic wagon train. Each was ringed by helmeted guards, and cabin lights were visible through the windows of one—the command ship, where Lydia sat in the rear compartment, a makeshift field office set up in the cramped space between the cockpit in front and the gunner's nest aft. James approached Lydia's craft and ducked low to enter the open hatch.
"Commandei;" he said, "those hostages have been gathered."
"Good. I want to get rid of them while we still have enough daylight for people to see what will hapeen to them if they don't cooperate." Her boots had been removed and they stood next to her seat. She reached down and pulled them on. James stepped aside and they both went out in the cooling early evening air.
Twenty frightened people stood in a haphazard group some distance away, and Lydia gave herself a moment to scan these humans. There was an even mixture of male and female, young and adult. She took her communicator in hand, touched a button, and spoke; her voice reverberated from a speaker in her skyfightei; and the entire town could hear.
"This is Lydia, security cadre commander. Your time is up, and you have forced us to take an action we would prefer not to take. Because the two criminal fugitives have not been given to us, we must kill twenty of your people— twenty accomplices to the crimes of Donovan and Tyler. They are enemies of the state. We—"
Lydia's speech was interrupted by a shout from a guard behind her. She spun in place and headlights flashed in her eyes. She was momentarily blinded, and when she turned again, eyes shaded, vision cleared, she saw several of her troopers running toward a car that was careening erratically toward the Visitor rover vehicle. The guards had their rifles aimed and shouted for the car to stop.
Lydia advanced a few steps, but James held her back. She shook loose, but it was too late for her to do anything other than bellow at her officers, "Shoot now!"
The troopers complied, four laser bolts surging at the runaway car split seconds apart. The windshield shattered and the metal tore and the car swerved suddenly and rammed a tree. Then it exploded. By the light of the licking flames, Lydia peered into the passenger compartment. James stood beside her.
"There's no driver in there," Lydia said.
"Are you sure?"
They took a couple of steps closer; their artificial skins serving as protection against the heat. James peered in for himself. "You're right. Just what do these humans think they're doing?"
"Oh, they know what they're doing—sabotage." She marched back to where the prisoners were being held. "Arrange them in a line," she barked. The shock troopers followed the ordei; then backed up into a line of their own. Lydia spoke into her communicator again, continuing her broadcast.
' 'People of Crow's Fork, I want you to see the rewards for criminal behavior." She turned to the makeshift firing squad. "Fire."
The troops pulled the triggers, and their rifles shot continuous beams instead of bolts. At the instant the beams hit their targets, an unearthly wail went up, like a ghostly, screaming wind.
The sound made Chris shudder He knew that the yictims only had a second to cry out before the energy of the lasers killed them. Now only a muddy red fireball existed where human bodies had been moments before as the people were vaporized before the eyes of the rest of the town. One of the Visitors called out a cease-fire order and the weapons stopped. The echoing sound lingered, then faded. And then there was nothing where twenty innocent people had stood.
In the face of that horror, Chris's mind wandered to the act of defiance that had preceded it. Who'd been responsible for that out-of-control car? Someone in town was determined not to take Visitor atrocities without fighting back.
Alex covered his face, cold tears on his cheeks. Hidden by bushes and trees, he lay on his belly on a hillock overlooking Crow's Fork. His mind reeled—those creatures had just killed a score of innocent people in cold blood— and he was actually going to brazenly march into town and demand to see their commander?
Are you nuts, Alex? He answered his own silent question, out loud: "Must be."
He tried to shake the numbness out of his limbs. He got to his knees, leaning his hands on the grass. He felt nothing. He willed his feet to move ahead, down the hillside.
Down to a place that had turned, in less than a day, into a close approximation of hell.
O'Toole sat limply on his desk, shoulders hunched forward, jaw slack. "She just burned them down, twenty lives gone—like matches tossed into a campfire." His voice was hushed, empty.
Chris stood just inside the open dooi; the fading light from outside framing his hair. "Look, O'Toole, I know you knew those people. Hell, we've all lost friends to the Visitors—if not this time, the first time they invaded."
Eyes hollow, O'Toole lifted his head to focus on Chris. "No, no, I never lost anybody I cared about. Not in the first wai; not in this one—not until you people brought your goddamned war up here with you. Nobody cared about this place, nobody bothered us. Your war was your wai; not mine. Those twenty innocent people died because of you and Maragato and Tyler and Donovan. God knows where they are—maybe Alex and Annie are dead too."
"O'Toole, listen to me—"
"No, you listen to me. You get out of here and you take him with you."
"We can't. We gotta wait. We gotta see what's going down next and we gotta get Lydia and the Visitors back for what they did." Chris came closer to O'Toole, hoping he could persuade him if he could look the man in the eye.
When Chris was seven feet from the door, Maragato broke for the opening. Chris abruptly changed direction, and his feet skidded on the woode
n floor. He dove and grabbed Maragato's leg, and they both tumbled into the wall. The little Japanese spy had inhuman strength, and it suddenly dawned on Chris that he wasn't human at all. He decided to change wrestling tactics. Instead of grappling for a superior position, Chris drove his fingers into Maragato's face, tearing at the flesh.
"O'Toole, help me!" Chris yelled. "This guy ain't human."
Chris clawed with all the strength in his left hand while he tried to maintain some control over his writhing adversary with his right.
O'Toole watched, still not moving, until he heard a guttural snarl rise out of the struggle. Down to his bones, he knew that sound didn't come from a human throat. For a fleeting instant, he saw something long and greenish-black snake out of Maragato's mouth. A stream of sparkling spittle issued from that nightmarish tongue and Chris yelped in pain, throwing up a hand to protect his eyes. He let go of Maragato, who rose up ready to finish Chris off. It was the instant of advantage he needed to—
The chair crashed across Maragato's head.
O'Toole had swung from his heels and followed through with stunning force. Maragato flipped backward and crumpled to the floor, still conscious but dazed. Chris leaped to his feet and kicked Maragato's face, the impact making a squishing thud. The alien slumped down in a heap. Chris staggered and O'Toole caught him, holding him under the arms until he was steady.
Breathing heavily, Chris drew his gun from its holster, released the safety, and approached Maragato. The skin on his face was gouged, but there was no blood.
O'Toole's eyes bulged in shock as he watched Chris dig his nails into the torn flesh, then peel it back, revealing the dark, scale-covered face of a Visitor!
O'Toole watched the lipless gash for a mouth, the slitted nostrils, the reptilian tongue lolling as the thing that had been Kyoshi Maragato straggled back to consciousness. O'Toole couldn't pull his staring eyes away from the Visitor
With his gun trained on Maragato, Chris backed up and came to O'Toole. "We never had the real Maragato. When Lydia kidnapped the guy from Japan, she had him replaced with a fake."
"But why? You were never supposed to get your hands on those agents again. They were going to be sent to Diana and probably killed. So why go to the trouble of creating an impostor?"
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