Earth's Survivors: box set

by Wendell Sweet

  Frank and Jeremiah came back around the barn with the ladder, and leaned it up against the smooth surface of the Missile, adjusting it so it fell just below the cables that entered the body.

  "I'll go," Jeremiah said, as he started up at the ladder before anyone could protest. He gained the top of the ladder, and gently pulled at the bundle of wiring, after first peeling back a protective rubber hood that shielded the wires where they entered the missile. The wires did not budge.

  He looked down at the upturned faces of the other men. "Looks to be a special sort of plug-like thing can't see how it releases though."

  "Probably don't 'till it launches," Gary said gloomily, "cut the buggers, Jeremiah, if she blows, she blows, we got nothin' to lose."

  Jeremiah began to cut, and as he cut each wire all of them cringed, expecting the missile to suddenly explode. When the steel blade of the knife grounded out one of the wires that was obviously hot, the resulting shower of sparks caused them all to cry out. The shock nearly knocked Jeremiah from the ladder, but he managed to loosen his grip on the knife and hold on. The knife fell to the ground below, the blade distorted and notched where the high voltage from the wire had arced into it, the plastic handle smoking.

  Frank was up the ladder quickly, and only half way up did he remember that the ladder was metal, and if... If nothing, he told himself, as he continued to climb.

  "You okay?" he asked, once he had gained the top of the ladder, and grabbed Jeremiah's jeans to steady him. "Come on, let's get down from here, come on, Jeremiah, back up, I'll hold you."

  Once they had reached the ground, and Jeremiah had shaken his head several times, he began to feel somewhat normal again. He didn't remember Frank climbing the ladder, and he didn't remember coming down either. He picked up the knife, which was still warm to the touch, and looked at it. The blade was curved, almost hooked now, and he could clearly see the notch that the wire had burned into it. The plastic wood grain of the handle was nearly smooth too.

  Other than a small burn in the palm of his right hand, and a slight vibrating sensation in that same arm, he felt okay, he guessed, and he certainly looked a lot better than the knife did, he reasoned. "I think I'll live," he stated matter-of-factly, as he let the knife fall back to the ground, "anyone have another knife?"

  Gary pulled one from his front pocket, and Frank grabbed it before Jeremiah did, turned, and quickly climbed the ladder up to the bundle of wires. "Don't be a friggin' hero," Gary called after him, "for God's sake be careful," he warned

  Frank had no intention of being anything but careful. He slowly pulled each wire apart, making sure it couldn't touch any others, as he finished cutting all but the last wire. "Now what?" he asked, "if I cut the last one the cables gonna fall, and if it hits the beam, or the ladder...?"

  Jimmy scrambled up the ladder and supported the cable as Frank hacked through the last wire, then they carefully backed down the ladder. About ten feet from the ground the cable came up short, and Jimmy was forced to let go of it. They both jumped, as he released the cable, and landed in yet another shower of sparks, as the cable swung against one of the steel girders support rods. It stuck fast, at first, welding itself to the rod. But its own weight pulled it free within a few seconds, and it swung out and away, ending up far from the girder, where it slowly swung to a halt.

  "Lets’ do the other one," Frank said, as he and Jeremiah carefully pulled the ladder down.

  Twenty minutes later they were finished. Frank had taken a great deal of care with the second cable, to be sure there was no repeat of the first incident. They had taken the ladder down, and left it in the field.

  "I wish I knew for sure if those wires being cut will stop 'em from launching," Gary said glumly, as they walked away from the missiles. They sat on the long rear porch of the old farm house and stared out at the missiles, that sat gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight.

  "I don't see why they haven't launched already," Jimmy wondered aloud.

  Frank pulled a case of the beer close to him, opened it, and they each took one, sipping quietly, as they stared glumly at the two slender white needles that rose from the farm.

  "I'm going back," Frank said at last. "If they launch on the way... fine. If they don't, maybe I'll be able to see Jessie once more before they do. I sure don't want to just sit here and die, or wait to die," he finished solemnly.

  "How long before radiation can kill you?" Jimmy asked in a resigned voice.

  "Maybe a couple of days at the outside," Gary replied. "But, we'll probably wish we were dead long before that," he paused. "Might be that they ain't nukes," he continued hopefully, "but if they are, I guess we'll know soon enough. Maybe within a few hours, as close as we was to 'em."

  "Well," Jeremiah said, "seems to me that if they were nuclear warheads, that silo would've been lead lined. Don't that make sense?"

  "Yeah!" Jimmy said enthusiastically. "It should've been and it wasn't, just fiberglass, and that wouldn't have been any protection from radiation, and the Army had to have had guys working here, right?"

  "Okay," Frank said, "maybe so, but if they aren't nuclear, then what are they?"

  "Maybe conventional," Jimmy said, still enthusiastic.

  "Probably chemical," Gary followed, "and if they are, it probably won't matter where we go, or what we do...The wind will spread it everywhere. I ain't so sure we killed 'em. I ain't so sure they ain't gonna launch."

  They sat in silence, sipping at the warm beer, staring at the missiles.

  "Then we have to do more," Frank said, a determined look on his face. "We have to make damn sure they don't launch." Frank looked around at the farm.

  Besides the barn, silos, and house, there were two other outbuildings. Both were falling down sheds really, they didn't look to him to have been converted for use by the Army. "Listen," he said "farms have tractors, right? You ever see one around here, Gar'?"

  "Always used to be," he answered, "what're you drivin' at, Frank?"

  "I think he's thinkin' about pushin' those babies over," Jeremiah answered. "That about right, Frank?"

  "Yeah, it is. I mean they look as though they're only resting in those launchers, don't they? It shouldn't be too hard to tip them up and over, would it?"

  Jeremiah was already up and walking toward one of the sheds. "Could blow 'em though. You think, Gary?" he asked, as he walked away.

  "Could, but you're gonna do it anyhow ain't you," Gary sighed, as he got up and followed.

  "I am at that. Course it's been a while since I was on a tractor. I hope this time ain't like the last," Jeremiah said.

  Gary looked over at Frank. "Beats me," Frank said as he shrugged his shoulders.

  The first shed was empty, but the second yielded the tractor, and not the old International that Gary remembered, but a new-looking John Deere model.

  Jeremiah started the tractor, after locating the keys on a peg just inside the shed door, and drove out into the field, coming to stop underneath the slim missile. He raised the bucket slowly until it clinked softly against the metal underbelly, then slowly gave the up-lever little nudges, until the missile lifted about a quarter inch off the launch cradle. He jockeyed the tractor forward, and carefully lifted the bucket simultaneously, raising the missile higher as he did. The tractors front tires began to sink into the ground once the full weight of the missile was on the bucket, and the missile screeched as it swiveled up from the launch mechanism. Jeremiah cramped the wheel full right, as he backed slowly away, and just cleared the launch arm with the forward most part of the missile. He lowered the bucket as he continued to reverse, transferring the full weight of the missile onto the front of the large tractor, and dragged it the remaining few feet, up and over the launch assembly. The rear of the missile reached the edge of the launch arm, and they all held their breath as Jeremiah slowly reversed, and the missile came free, crashing rear first into the ground.

  The impact buried the rear of the missile a good foot into the ground. But it did not e
xplode, or start ticking, or whatever the hell it was that missiles did, Frank noticed with relief.

  The second one was even easier, due to the concrete pad of the silo, and the much harder ground surrounding it. Less than an hour after they had begun, they were finished, and once again seated on the rear porch of the old farm house.

  "That was nut's," Gary said, "nobody would ever believe it if we told 'em. In fact if any of you guy's had told me I'd help do something like that, I would've told you, you were soft in the head."

  "Yeah," Frank said smiling, "but we did do it, didn't we? Can you believe it?"

  "Only 'cause I did it," Jeremiah said.

  "Surprising what fear can make you capable of," Jimmy said softly.

  "I've read stuff like that though," Gary said, "people lifting'' cars off loved ones, things like that, fear is a mighty strong motivator all right."

  "Well if you ever write a book, you can add this to it," Frank said, "chapter seven four scared men dismantle two nuclear bombs. Should sell like hot-cakes." He stood as he finished speaking. "I'm going back, how about you guys?"

  "Only thing to do, we're done here," Gary agreed.

  Jeremiah and Jimmy stood, and the four men began to walk back toward the road, away from the farm.

  "If it kills me; if it was a nuclear job," Gary said, as they walked away, "I don't care. It was worth it."

  "Is it a good idea to go back?" Jimmy said, suddenly alarmed, "could someone else... Well, could someone else catch it, are we, like, contaminated or something?"

  The question brought them all to a sudden halt in the middle of the vine covered road.

  "Don't look at me," Gary said, as they all turned toward him, "I don't know, I really don't," he paused for a second. "He's got a good point, and I ain't got a clue, ain't that a bitch?"

  "Lets’ not go jumpin' to conclusions," Jeremiah said calmly. "If we are, going back ain't gonna make a real big difference. Nothing saying we gotta leave the boat once we get there, especially if we take sick along the way. It's a good three hours back, and as close as we were I think we'd be feelin' it by then. If we're sick... We just stay on the boat in Fairport, we don't get off, so we can't make anybody else sick, if it is catchin'," he finished.

  "If we aren't sick?" Frank asked.

  "We play it by ear, I guess," Jeremiah replied. "But staying here ain't gonna help us at all, is it?"

  "No, it sure ain't," Gary agreed.

  Jimmy seemed calmer, as he agreed, and Frank nodded his head as they struck off down the road, back to the boat. Silence descended between them as they walked. Even once they had started the boat and Gary had piloted them out into lake, the silence still held.

  We're waiting to see who gets sick first, Frank thought, as the boat plowed through the water.

  When darkness finally descended a few minutes later they were all relieved. The darkness was good, Frank decided, they didn't have to look at each other as they waited.

  NINE

  Luther

  After ten seconds of blank screen, the exterior monitors came back on with no explanation of why the count-down sequence had ended. Luther stared from screen to screen.

  On one screen he could see Ron, with a small group of men, searching some obscure section of the cave system. He picked up a nearby phone and quickly punched in the number for Ron's voice pager.

  "Status report. Now," Luther barked into the handset, before he set it back down.

  He was struggling to maintain his calm, and would have succeeded if he had not continued his search of the screens. Seventh from the left, fourth bank of screens. Actually seventh and eighth screen both, he told himself, as he walked closer to the screens. Now what the hell was going on there?

  Both screens were showing images of the old farm house. The same old farm house, Luther realized, that he had not wanted to hear about. The same old farm house where four men were now standing, between the old house and the barn, and the same old farm house he had dismissed, and now realized had been important. Very important. Because in the background he could clearly see a long white cylindrical object lying next to the barn, and that object... That object was a missile, he realized, a fucking missile, and what was it doing on the ground and not in the launch cradle beside it? And what were those bastards doing there instead of here? How had they known to go there, when he hadn't known? He looked down at Iverson's broken and bloodied body, and then looked back at the screen.

  The men were now walking away, and as they neared one of the cameras, that was hidden in a tall pine at the rear of the house, he willed himself to be there. Right now! He thought, and waited. But nothing happened at all, he was still in the Operations Room staring at the screen, and not at the farm where he should have been. He tried again. The Operations Room seemed to shimmer and grow hazy for an instant, and he could almost see the four men walking toward the overgrown road, and then nothing. He was back in the solidity of the Operations Room, and the image was gone.

  He flew into a rage, as he advanced on the screens.

  Frank

  Frank had settled into the backward facing seat for the trip back to Rochester, and so was the first to see the lights approaching behind them. It had been dark no longer than ten minutes, and he had been thinking once again how good that was, when suddenly the running lights of another boat had appeared behind them, far behind them. Just how far he couldn't be certain, it was impossible to judge in the dark on the open water. But the lights were there, and they were closing fast.

  "Better give her some speed, Gary," he yelled, as he got to his feet.

  "What?" Gary started, as Frank reached past him and shoved the throttle to its stop.

  Jeremiah and Jimmy had turned as soon as Frank had spoken, and were now staring off the back of the boat at the approaching lights. Gary took one quick look backward, and then shoved at the throttle to make sure Frank had pushed it all the way forward. The boat behind them was gaining.

  Luther

  Luther had managed to hold his panic in check, long enough to punch in the number for Ron's pager once more, and tell him to get back to the Operation Room on the double. Then he had forced himself to sit down. It made him angry to think that it had been his own fault that the men had been able to sneak in and ruin the missiles. He realized now what Iverson had been trying to tell him.

  But he talked out of turn, his mind reasoned, and that could not be allowed.

  Even so, he argued with himself, I should have listened before I had him shot, and that was old news, because as soon as Ron got back he would send him after them. They would never make it back to Rochester. The new news was what worried him, and that was that he seemed to be losing control.

  Not control of the situation, but control over his body. Just yesterday he had wished himself to Fairport, and he had been there in a split second. He had watched them get in the boat, and he had known they were coming to the caves.

  No! He suddenly realized. He had been convinced they were coming to the caves. Tricked, tricked again, and now he could not go where he wanted to go, and what did that mean, he wondered. Was there any special significance attached to that? Was it temporary, or permanent? Thinking about it scared him, and so he tried to force it from his mind, but it wouldn't let go. It nagged at him, and the more he thought about it the angrier he became.

  When Ron had arrived ten minutes later, he had attacked him, had actually had his scrawny neck in his hands and was choking the life out of him for taking so long to arrive, before he realized that he couldn't do that.

  Not that he couldn't do it, because he obviously had been, and not that he shouldn't do it, because he really did want to, but that he wasn't supposed to be able to do it, and that had made him stop. Stop cold. He had very nearly killed him anyway, by that time. He had left him gasping on the floor, as he wondered about this new gift. This gift that he had not had just a few hours ago. Was it a good gift? A bad gift? Was it a gift? Or was it a trick? Another trick in the long line of tric
ks, from that old bastard who called himself God of this Earth.

  When Ron had regained his feet, Luther had sent him on his way, and then he had sent a group of twenty men out to the farm, to see what could be done. One of the computer technicians, a nervous young man with thick-lensed black-plastic glasses, was put to work as well, to see whether or not the launch program could be salvaged. The technician had glanced once at Iverson's body, shuddered, and then had gained control of himself. He had sat down at one of the terminals in the Operations Room, and began to hack his way into the launch program. Luther watched.

  Ron had quickly negotiated the air-vent system leading to the surface. For the last several yards they had slogged through water four feet deep, and Ron, as well as the men with him, had very nearly drowned at the mouth of the system as they fought their way up the steel rugged ladder, and out into the darkening night. The inflow of water was tremendous, almost choking off the exit from the caves, and Ron wondered how long it would be before it would choke off the exit. Soon, he hoped.

  Luther sat and wondered about his new found talent. It was good in a way, he realized, he could actually harm someone if he wished, he no longer had to rely on someone else to do it for him. In fact he could actually kill someone, he realized. In fact, he almost had, and if the only trade off had been the power to be wherever he wished, he could accept that. He did not wish to participate in the actual fight anyway. But now that he could, he did wish to participate in the destruction of the four men, and the woman. In fact, now that he knew that he could participate, he had to. He had to experience what it would feel like to inflict pain. He had seen the panic in Ron's eyes, and it had excited him.

  It had always excited him, but he had always been forced to watch, not participate. Actually participating was much more stimulating. He had lost no other powers that he could ascertain. He had been able to produce the long gray boat, and he knew that it was waiting at the entrance to the caves. He knew that he would win this battle, that it was a given, and that no matter what that old meddling bastard tried to pull, it would be to no avail. He knew those things, and he knew other things too. That talent was still in his possession. Maybe the old bastard had tried to trick him and had failed. Maybe the trade-off for taking away some of his power, had been giving him another power.