Earth's Survivors: box set

by Wendell Sweet

  They moved off toward the boats, after they promised to let Joe know how long it would be before they were able to leave. Joe turned back toward the entrance to the broken pavement of the parking lot. Several hundred people were silently, expectantly, staring back at him.

  "You're on, babe," Becky whispered in his ear, as he tried to find his voice. He shifted his mind into high gear.

  "We've got a lot to do," he began, "we need food, as much as we can lay our hands on, freeze dried, canned, packaged, be careful what you get, we don't need to get sick." He continued as his mind took over. "If you're not armed you'll need to be, and those of us who are will need more ammunition. We need first aid kits, bandage, aspirin, all the basics, and as much as you can readily lay your hands on...Who knows the city?" Several hands shot up. "You folks should know where to look for those things then. See if you can get what we need, and..."

  Jacob and David had walked back while he was talking, and he glanced at them.

  "'Bout an hour tops, big diesels, and they're topped off, so we don't have to fool with fueling 'em, that saves a couple of hours," Jacob replied.

  Joe turned his attention back to the crowd. "Okay, try to be back within an hour," Joe said, "and be careful. There's no telling who you might run into. Try staying in large groups that should discourage anybody that might think of attacking you."

  The group began to split up and move off as Joe watched. It was amazing to him that they had listened, let alone that they were acting on his...orders, he asked himself. Was he leading them? That made him slightly afraid, but he pushed the thought from his head, and followed Jacob into one of the river boats. Becky and Ali followed David, and Delbert trailed along behind Jacob and Joe, limping as he came.

  While Jacob and David concentrated on making the boats ready with a small crew of four men each, Joe, Becky, Delbert, and Ali, along with a large group of helpers, began to remove all the plush accommodations from the river boats. Gaming tables, slot machines, all were either thrown overboard or carried from the boats and left sitting on the docks. Along with most of the furnishings that had made the vessels so inviting. They needed all the space they could get for the people they hoped to find, and bring back with them.

  Both river boats were equipped with full kitchens, and Becky and Ali, along with several others, began setting the kitchens in order. Presently, steaming cups of coffee were being handed out to everyone.

  As the parties that had been sent out arrived back with food and medicinal provisions, along with weapons and ammunition, things were quickly put in order, and the returning parties pitched in to help with the removal of the furnishings and gaming equipment.

  They had arrived just before dark, three hours after they had arrived they were ready to shove off.

  Both boats had been specifically designed as floating casinos, and had never been intended to cruise any river. Their multi-tiered decks, and old fashioned river boat looks, were strictly for show.

  However, underneath the facade lay dual three thousand horsepower diesels, and with both diesels flat out the boats were rated at a top speed of 38 knots. Neither had ever gone over twelve though, Jacob guessed, and even that had probably been few and far between. So the top speed was untested, and Jacob was more than just curious about it. To look at the two boats, one would be hard pressed to guess the great speeds they were capable of. Custom designed, with most of the amenities that would be found on a luxury yacht, yet they were still just fat, squatty river boat. They certainly didn't look capable of 38 knots, Jacob thought. But six thousand horsepower was an awful lot, more even, than most tug boats, and it would be interesting to get them out on the new river and find out just what they would do.

  Both boats, Jacob knew, had spent most of their time moored at the city docks, and when they did leave dock, it was only for short weekend cruises within the small river system. Gambling weekends for high rollers. Consequently, they had never been equipped with an automatic pilot system, as most vessels of their size were. Even if they had been, Jacob told Joe, matter-of-factly, he would have refused to use it. The waters they would be traveling were completely uncharted, and although the sonar system reported sufficient depth, he didn't trust it. Once they were out into the new river there was no telling what they might find, he reasoned.

  Joe stood on the bridge of the Gypsy Rose with Becky, as Jacob slowly turned into the mouth of the new river. Delbert and Ali stood off to one side. They were all tired. The long hours of no sleep were beginning to catch up to them.

  Jacob turned from the wheel. "Slept all day," he said, "knew you were coming. I'm good for the night, and that'll be enough to get us most of the way to where we're going."

  "Think so?" Joe asked.

  "Know so," Jacob replied, "you folks might as well get some sleep, I will wake you if anything happens."

  "I am pretty beat," Joe admitted, "thanks, Jacob." The four of them left the bridge, and walked to the main gaming room. The gaming room had been almost completely stripped, and several people lay sleeping on the thick pile carpet. Within a very few minutes the four of them were among their numbers, fast asleep.

  Willie Lefray

  Willie did not bother trying to gain entry to the caves at the air treatment facility. He knew that entrance was sealed, just as he knew of another entrance that was open, where he would be able to gain entry.

  When he was as close as he could get by water to that other entrance, he beached the speed boat, and began to walk.

  Walking was difficult, the cold flesh and muscles of his legs were stiff, and the joints of the knees were almost unwilling to move at all, and although his arms too were stiffening, they were nowhere near as bad as his legs.

  He suspected that the main reason was the excess of blood, and other body fluids, that had settled into his lower extremities, swelling his legs to almost double their normal size, and if he didn't do something soon, he realized, he wouldn't be able to keep them moving. They were too heavy, too bloated.

  He felt no pain in his body at all, in fact there was no sensation of any kind whatsoever, except the ever increasing pull of his legs as he plodded along, and there was nothing to do for it, except... Well, except, he reasoned, to empty them. To get rid of the extra weight that was pulling him down. It should only take a few seconds to do.

  He tried at first to remove his pants so that he would be able to see what he was doing, but that had proved impossible. His fingers were unable to perform the delicate operation of working the zipper catch, and even if they had been able to, the legs were so badly swollen that he would never have been able to wrench them off. Instead he had simply hacked through the material, and into his calves, until he had found the major arteries of both legs.

  It was horrifying, but it also held him spellbound. He had to keep reminding himself that it wasn't really his body any longer, just a shell. Just a thing that should be dead, but had somehow refused to be. And it had worked, it did relieve some of the stiffness. Not as much as he had hoped it would, but some. His biggest fear during the operation was not that he was actually mutilating his own body, and somehow harming it. The biggest fear had sprung from how much it didn't matter. How dead his body really was, and what would he do if he were trapped in it? Trapped until it refused to move, and then still trapped while it rotted away to nothing, and then what? Would he still be trapped within the bones? When the bones dissolved would he be trapped within the dust? Still able to think, but unable to leave his remains? Trapped forever? And how long was forever?

  As he plodded along he tried to push the growing fear from his mind, but it wouldn't go, and, he thought, that was a joke too. He no longer had a mind. What had been his mind was splattered all over the inside of the boat, so, how could he even think?

  "No brain, no pain," he muttered aloud, and even that was bad. His voice was no longer his own. Instead it was a horrid croak. Gravelly, and creaky, and not much more than a whisper.

  He could still see, although it w
as like looking through a thin veil of dark fabric, and he had to concentrate on whatever he was looking at to be sure of what it really was, and it was not more than a few seconds later that he realized that he could no longer hear at all.

  He had heard his voice, hadn't he?

  Yes, he assured himself, he had, but now he could not hear at all. That ability had faded, and then finally just stopped all together, and now the world was a loud rush of silence.

  He had never realized just how loud silence was. Once the eyes finally went completely he would be without any senses.

  He could smell nothing at all, that had been one of the first things to go, and he was glad it had. He was pretty sure he didn't smell so good, and he was glad that with everything else he had to put up with, that smelling his own body as it decayed, was not one of them.

  The only plus he could see was that he still felt strong. Not his body, but his... Spirit, he asked himself. Himself? Whatever it was that was left, that was him, that part of him was strong, and he was sure he could momentarily transfer that strength to what was left of his body.

  Maybe, he thought, if the three little words didn't work, that ability that he knew he possessed to transfer his strength to his body would. Maybe once transferred, it would not be allowed to come back to... Well, to wherever it had come from. He suspected that was bullshit that it would come back, but it was at least another alternative to the three little words. Because if those three little words didn't work, and he didn't have some other way to leave this body behind, he would be trapped. Forever and ever, amen. He walked on.

  The entrance was covered by steel grating, he saw after a great deal of squinting through the ever darkening curtain in front of his eyes. He hadn't known that, but he supposed that it was of little consequence, as if it had been of some importance, he would have known. He wouldn't be able to simply slip through the bars, he saw, which really left only one alternative, and that was to transfer some of that power into his body and pull the grating free.

  And if it didn't come back?

  So what. Big fuckin' deal. At least he would be dead.

  But, his mind insisted, if you're trapped in this body, where are you transferring that power from? Are you somewhere else? Not really here? Only dreaming you're here?

  He pushed the questions away, reached down, wrapped his stiffening fingers around the grating and concentrated on pulling it free. It was almost effortless. He did not hear the screeching of the steel as it twisted, or the grinding as it ripped free of the concrete. To him it was noiseless, and effortless. What was hard was loosening his grip on the grating. Once closed, his fingers were reluctant to reopen, and what was depressing was that he had been able to withdraw the power from his body with no effort at all. He had not been trapped, the power had come right back. He had not died as he had hoped, and the only hope now of freeing himself were the magic words, and, he knew, they were a long shot.

  "Forever and ever, amen," he croaked, as he dropped down into the darkness inside the opening.

  Rochester

  The Rochester War Memorial was crowded. As crowded as it was though, it was very nearly silent. What little conversation there was, was whispered and hurried.

  After the attack, everyone had gravitated to the building, bringing the dead with them, and leaving them where they now lay, at the rear of the large auditorium, draped with blood splattered sheets and tarps, whatever they had been able to find that would do the job.

  No one, as yet, had taken charge. In fact no one seemed to want to take charge. They all seemed to be waiting once again. For what they had no idea just waiting in the silence of the huge auditorium.

  Connie and Lisa, who had made the trek to Rochester from Watertown, stood outside the front doors talking to Bess. They had gone into the War Memorial earlier with the others, but the graveyard-like silence had driven them back outside. Everyone inside did seem to waiting for something and to them that something seemed to be death. The three women who stood talking had refused to entertain that thought, and after trying to talk to some of the people inside, had gotten out before that same fear could infect them. Even so, they were not all entirely convinced that death was not coming.

  "Do you think they'll come back?" Lisa asked, vocalizing the fear they all felt that the first attack was not to be the last.

  "I do," Connie sighed, "and if we all just sit and wait for it, they'll be able to take us with no problem. Walk in here and just shoot us dead if they feel like it."

  "I don't think they'll try to do that," Bess countered, "they don't know that most of us are just sitting here waiting."

  "They knew enough to find Jessie, and they knew that Frank and the others were gone, so why wouldn't they know that too?" Lisa asked. "I mean it only seems logical," she finished, sounding convinced of her own words.

  "If you really believe that, then maybe you ought to be back inside with the rest of them," Bess said, waving one hand impatiently at the open door. "What you need to do, girl, is get your head on straight. You've been nothing but a pouting little baby since things got serious. Seems to me things were just great for you up until that point, and then when you realized that this wasn't some damn game, and that yes, even you could die too, you lost your mind and skittered back into that poor little girl routine, and that ain't gonna help you in the least. If that's as strong as your faith is, maybe you should've left with that Dave guy you were sweet on. Faith in God ain't something you can pick up when you need it, and then toss down when the going gets a little tough, girlie. It ain't, and you need to make up your mind, exactly what it is that you embraced. We got four strong men out there somewhere. Maybe we still have Jessie too, I don't know, and maybe all four of them won't make it back alive. I don't know that either. But what I do feel, well, know, in a way, is that some of them, or maybe all of them will make it back, and won't that be a pretty picture if we're all just sittin' on our cans waitin' when they get here? No. What we need to do is work on these people, not give up, just keep on working on 'em until they get off their cans and do something," she took a deep breath, and hefted the machine gun she held in one hand.

  "If the ones on the north side do come back, I for one ain't about to go without a fight. I ain't stupid though. One person against them will go awful damn quick and I'd much prefer a couple thousand to just me any day. I ain't afraid to die, but I don't want to, not yet anyhow."

  Lisa had fallen silent while Bess had been speaking. Connie, who had no doubts whatsoever which side she had chosen, and would remain on, had simply listened. She had known that the scene was coming, and was only surprised that Bess had been able to hold back for so long without saying anything at all. What most surprised Connie though, were the words that came from Lisa when Bess had finished talking.

  "You're right," Lisa said, "I won't even try to qualify it, or deny it. You're right."

  Her eyes were shiny, and she seemed on the verge of tears. "So are you with us?" Connie asked, not sure of just exactly what her statement had meant.

  "No, I'm not," she paused and drew in a deep breath. "I am selfish, and I don't think I really do believe, and you're right, I should have left with Dave. I don't want to be here. I don't believe any of them are coming back, and I don't want to die. It's that simple. So, fuck you and your God," she finished angrily. She drew another deep breath, and then walked down the stone steps and into the street. Connie was tempted to call her back. To somehow try to reason with her, but she knew that you did not reason or bargain with God, so she stayed silent.

  "Don't blame yourself Bess," Connie said, "if it wasn't tonight it would have been tomorrow, or the next day. Pointing it out to her didn't change a thing, it was still her choice to make, and she made it of her own free will."

  "I know that, and I wouldn't take the words back if I could," Bess said sadly. "I had hoped that it might turn out differently though."

  "Better to have her against us right now than later though..." Connie said. "...She'll tell t
hem you know. She'll tell them we're just waiting, and they'll come."

  Bess sighed. "Yeah, I guess if we're going to get these folks motivated, we better get to it now then." She turned as she finished speaking, and walked inside the stillness of the War Memorial.

  Willie Lefray

  Willie hit the pavement with a wet smacking sound, heard only by the rats that inhabited the long tunnel.

  The grating had covered a long circular concrete tunnel. It reminded him of a storm drain he had once played in when he was a child, only on a much larger scale. He knew that less than a hundred yards ahead this concrete tunnel branched off into a series of steel air ducts that would lead him inside the underground city. He would of course have to break through the welded ducting once he got to where he wanted to be, but he knew now that breaking through the ducting would pose no problem. What he had needed torches to do the first time, could now be done with his bare hands. He would have to be careful, however, as he needed those hands, and they would do him no good at all if they were all busted up, or if he accidentally lost one breaking through the ducting.

  He could see nothing inside the dark tunnel, but sight was not necessary at all, he realized. He seemed to have radar, or something like what he thought radar was. He had no idea how radar worked, it was just a term he could use to describe to his questioning mind what he was able to do. He could sense where he needed to go, not see it, but sense it, and he knew where to turn, and exactly where he would need to break through the ducting to get into the caves, and he knew where the tunnel he would come out into went, and how to get from there to where Luther was, and that was all he needed to know, right?

  "Right," he croaked." He was no longer aware when he did or didn't speak out loud, as even the vibration that told him he was speaking had slipped away. It had left with the last tiny bit of hearing he'd had left, and he was certain, although it was, he was sure, pitch black inside the ducting, that he had lost what little eyesight he'd had as well. The radar-like ability was getting much better though, he suddenly realized.