Army of the Undead

by Rafe Bernard

  "Jee-ho-sha-phat," Ollie breathed. "So they stage accidents and take over selected people! And we believe these people survived a crash when in fact they're dead?"

  "That's about it."

  Ollie flipped a hand toward the white patch.

  "So they must all die like that—just burn up? What was that thing you fired?"

  David told him.

  "So they are really a mass of some sort of chemical energy?" He shuddered.

  David smiled. "Well, so are we, Ollie. When the spirit leaves us, our body becomes a mass of dissolving chemicals."

  "Oh, brother! What in hell have I got myself into?" said Ollie plaintively.

  "Don't let 'em scare you," said David. "Fear gives them power over you. It's a mixture of animal sense and highly developed mental telepathy. But the aliens are groping with the problem of how to use their power to the full. And each time we destroy what they build up, they have to start all over again. You heard how I spoke to Lester Shalk?"

  "Yeah, until I fouled it up."

  "You came between us," said David. "In another few minutes I would have hypnotized him. Then perhaps I could have obtained a link to his control."

  "You seem doubtful."

  "I've no doubt that I had his control force dropping," said David. "He had lowered the atomizer and was becoming slightly lethargic." He shrugged again. "Forget it, if you can. In this work you have to pass on quickly, as the aliens do. They have no knowledge of or use for emotion. That's why Lester wasn't troubled anymore by his wife. The whole body functions normally, except for emotion." David changed the subject. "What is this car? You called it a Breeze-along."

  "That's our code name. It's really a baby Windflight. We did all our experimental work on it, then marketed it in the Carasel Compact Car range."

  "And Lester Shalk had no right to be up here in it?"

  "No. Those cars musn't be used off the test track back at the plant. We've withdrawn it…" Ollie suddenly yelped, "Hey!" Then: "It doesn't matter."

  David eyed him shrewdly. "Have you just remembered that Breeze-along cars have been in most of the Highway 640 crashes?"

  "Okay," said Ollie. "So now you know." He glanced up as an engine roar sounded over the mountain. "That's torn it! Old man Rumbold in his helicopter has spotted us. He's coming down. He'll want to know a whole lot more than we dare tell."

  "Thias Rumbold, eh?" said David, gazing up at the chopper as it descended to the V.P. area. "This could well be the Rumbold showdown." He looked at Ollie. "Make up your mind, Ollie. Are you with me or not? Because if old man Rumbold is an alien I'm going to destroy him. He might well be the invaders' control."

  "And if he isn't?"

  "Then he's got to be on our side—but fast."

  Ollie watched the helicopter, turned and looked at the white patch, then at David. "I've got one helluva choice, haven't I, fella? Okay, I'm with you."

  They walked to meet the big man climbing out of the landed helicopter. Big, authoritative, craggy—heavy muscles and barrel torso rippling under his lightweight suit. Powerful man, powerful personality, and all minimized by the look in his eyes.

  Ollie stepped forward to greet him. David hung back, watching intently, seeking the signs. The eyes puzzled him. They were not the eyes of an alien-controlled body. Yet this, as he well knew, was not always a true guide. The policeman on Highway 640, Meria Deltora, and to a lesser extent Sergeant Banner, were examples of the difference. Deltora's eyes were warm, full of life. Banner's eyes were less zombielike than Hicks's had been. The transmutation was not always effected in the same way. Perhaps age had something to do with it. Perhaps the aliens had mastered a degree of personality transference. The subject was deep, intricate, and altogether beyond solution at this moment.

  David could only assess from his own experience, for, like the aliens, he too was learning. Then Thias Rumbold's eyes looked straight into David's as Ollie explained who David was and what he was doing there. At this moment David saw the flickering of keen and highly controlled intelligence. Thias Rumbold strode forward, gripped David's hand in a massive bear-paw grasp.

  "I've just left Willard Knight and Clive Shelden," he said. "You and I have things to say to each other." He turned to Ollie. "You can get the hell out of here," he said. "Take your time getting back to the base, then disappear for the rest of the day. I don't want you back at the plant yet. Understand?"

  "May I suggest that Ollie Temper remain with us?" said David.

  "You can suggest, but he's not going to," said Thias Rumbold. "I didn't exactly choose this spot to meet you, but there's not a better one for us to be alone."

  "You are not an alien," said David. "But your son is. Ollie Temper has witnessed my destruction of an alien back there. You've avoided meeting me ever since I've been in your city and through your plant. This is the showdown, Mr. Rumbold. Either you are with us, or one of us will not be leaving this mountain."

  Ollie looked in surprise at the big security chief, noting the smile playing around the heavy jaw and mouth line. Everybody at Carasel knew old man Rumbold. True, they didn't see as much of him as they used to—not since his son Gin had assumed so much power—but Thias Rumbold was a legend in Auto City. He had come through from way back in the early days of the unions, the guns and the blackjacks, the tear gas and the mounted police. Thias Rumbold didn't scare. Thias Rumbold had one god, and that was Carasel Motors. No one told Thias Rumbold unless it was the President of the Company, and no one had ever heard that happen. Until now.

  "Let's not waste any time in falling out, Mr. Vincent," said Rumbold. "If you say Ollie stays, then he stays."

  "You are not surprised to learn that your son Gineas is an alien?"

  "My son died two years ago, as far as I am concerned," said Rumbold. "He's a stranger and an enemy. He has tried to destroy me. But better men than he have tried. Now you say he's an alien. I know only that he is no longer my son. Today is the day I have been waiting for. For me, Mr. Vincent—the time is now."

  They moved into the V.P. hut.

  Chapter 10

  THERE IS THE CLUE

  David had assessed the Rumbold meeting as a showdown. The previous difficulty he'd found in meeting the big boss of Carasel Security—virtually the security boss of the whole city—convinced him that the aliens had infiltrated right to the top. The attempt on his life by Lester Shalk made him even more certain in this assumption. Who else would order his death on the mountain? Who else knew he was on the mountain?

  For all their power, the aliens had a peculiarly fixed pattern of behavior, but that pattern had been decided upon by their control. They didn't seem able to switch plans quickly. This was understandable—considering that only a handful of men in the whole county could even understand and accept the presence of the aliens—because they were nonearth forces that had to operate through earth forces. They killed only to make a new entity for themselves.

  Thias Rumbold also viewed their meeting as a showdown because he had been waiting for this opportunity. He'd wasted no time in explaining this.

  "I've got friends in high places, too," he'd growled as they sat in the V.P. hut. "And I've got power—big power. The trick in having power is in knowing exactly when to use it. I've been waiting over six months to use mine. You don't start up a nuclear reactor to obtain heat to fry one egg. I've given my life to the auto industry and this city. In fact, I'm one of the small group of men who built it, made it great and kept it great. I've known something was wrong for just about the length of time it's been wrong, but it was caused by nothing that I, or any other top man, had ever experienced before. In my time I've fought and licked 'em all—saboteurs, commies, industrial espionage, foreign infiltration, union wreckers, slumps, booms and wars. You name it, I've licked it."

  "My own son… I groomed him to follow me. But two years ago I knew he hadn't got the stuff it takes for a man to fill my shoes. Big-headed? Sure I am. Because I am big, and I am big with the power that keeps a man big. Okay, so
that's Thias Rumbold. You take him or leave him, but right now in this hut on a mountain he meets the one man he has ever admitted to be bigger than himself. Because this is one thing I can't lick by giving orders, by controlling strategy and action. I'm one who sneered at you, David Vincent. Now I look you in the eye and say: Tell me what I can do to save my world? You know it's under attack. You know by whom, and why. If you want a private army with guns, I'll get 'em for you. If you want suicide squads, I'll lead 'em for you."

  "Who else have you told this to?" David asked.

  "Just one man in Washington—the man himself. He said there might come a time for the sort of action I wanted, but right now wasn't it. I blew up. He said, 'Fine, fine—blow your top all you want, but tell me who you want fought. Just tell me that, Thias Rumbold, and you can have anything you ask for.' " The big man had glared at them both. "I couldn't tell him. There's an army in my plants, in my city, in my own force, in the police and fire forces. I know it. An army working and waiting to take over. Not like anything else that's ever happened before—only the signs. Star Two told me to tell you. He said you wouldn't laugh."

  "Why should I know what or whom you mean by Star Two?"

  "Don't ride me, Vincent How the hell d'you think I know? Because the man told me. He gave me that classified phone and code-call. When I received Clem's message about your car, I thought they'd got you because Star Two said you'd put yourself up as a target."

  "Sheer luck," said David. "I don't drive downhill in the way they expected. One more circuit of the mountain and I'd have crashed. The same way every single Wind-flight will crash." He stared hard at Thias Rumbold. "You weren't surprised when we told you Lester Shalk was up here. Why?"

  "Because I know my son sent him. Shalk came up the back road over the mountain."

  "Again—why?"

  "Because my son ordered him to get you."

  "You heard him?"

  "I hear every goddam thing he says. Ever heard of the weaver relay system?"

  "No."

  "Top classified." Rumbold had glared at the silent Ollie. "You're not hearing or seeing anything. Get it? No remembering. Because if you do and you talk—you won't ever talk again."

  "You think I will?" said Ollie. "I'm not one of that goddam army."

  Rumbold nodded curtly. "The weaver relay is woven into any garment. It's indestructible by normal wear, washing or dry cleaning. I can monitor every word my son says, no matter where he is." He smiled but without humor. "It's illegal to use it as a private individual. The punishment is death, or life imprisonment. I've got three hundred of 'em and it's taken me nearly six months to plant fifty. That's their big fault. They're meant for weaving into uniforms, or any other special government gear."

  "You bugged the Racing Wheel Club," said David, suddenly aware of facts which had eluded him before.

  Thias Rumbold didn't show any surprise at the accusation.

  "Sure." he said. "It's plastered with bugs. So are all the toilets in the plants, and a few other places. I let everyone think I was getting past it. 'Poor old Thias,' they said. 'He doesn't do so much these days! Taking it easy. Young Gin will step up most anytime now.' Sure I was taking it easy. In a hideout filled with monitoring and recording gear."

  "Anyone else know this?"

  "Two people. Wayne Draycott and Liane Verrel."

  "Liane!" David was shocked.

  "She's an expert on electronics, didn't you know? Nope, I guess you didn't. And Draycott had to know because he wondered where the heck she was spending all her spare time."

  "So he knew the club was bugged?"

  "He had to know."

  "And you all kidded Carmen—even her daughter helped?"

  "We all wanted to save Carmen from any further pressure. I understand you know the circumstances of how her husband died. These bugs were as much for her protection as anything else. But we monitored only my son or any other executives—never private family stuff between those three. We couldn't risk letting Carmen Verrel know that I believed there was something in what her husband had said before he died. It would only have put more pressure on her and not done her any good." Thias Rumbold chuckled as he added, "You and your doors without hinges! Sure fooled me. I thought that you really were a salesman of some kind of trick door. I wish it hadn't fooled me because I could have got to you sooner."

  "Ruthless, aren't you? All this bugging of folks' private talk," said Ollie. "You got me bugged too?"

  "'Fraid so, son. But you live a nice clean life. Lovely family, you've got."

  "You bastard!" said Ollie with much feeling.

  "Yeah," said Thias. "I lose more friends that way."

  "I hope you get more than life for this," Ollie fumed.

  "I should live that long! Simmer down, Ollie, What's a little private monitoring compared with the death of an industry? It'd kill you too, son. Kill all of us."

  "So you learned what?" David asked.

  "A lot of things that didn't make much sense. A whole dossier of things that don't seem to make much sense. Yet as the dossier grew bigger I realized they were all connected, yet there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. The worst thing I learned was that my son was head of a growing army. And I learned that he killed our best driver, Chick Verrel, in broad daylight on this very mountain circuit."

  "That was hard for you to take," said David.

  "Yes. But for different reasons. It took me apart to learn it. Yet I couldn't come out in the open and prove it. My own son and the man who was like a son to me. I sponsored Chick Verrel. Looking back, I'd say that it was his death that set me probing. And, like I say, I've not really achieved anything more than proof for myself that some force is growing through all the plants. Then I remembered something Chick told me. A whole lot of gibberish about UFOs and ghostly figures. Once I remembered this, a number of things started clicking. And I began to link up a lot of them, but I still couldn't get enough evidence to move."

  "You wouldn't," said David. "They don't communicate plans by word. They use mental telepathy. You'd pick up only unguarded words of the physical outworkings. Tell us what your son said to Lester Shalk, and you'll see what I mean."

  "He said sort of jerkily, 'Mountain, atomize.'"

  David nodded. "The minimum of physical direction. All the rest would be understood, but the important physical action had to be emphasized in words. Lester would know who I was, what car I was in."

  "How could he?" said Ollie. "We changed cars, remember?"

  "We relay this TV circuit to certain offices," said Thias. "My son would see it."

  "And relay the picture by telepathy," said David. "A different numbered car wouldn't fool him. Now you know why massed force is no use." He slammed a straight question at Rumbold. "Did you close up the press on the Highway 640 accidents?"

  "Yes. D'you think I was going to let the world know our new cars were crashing one after the other? They weren't crashing anywhere else."

  "They will," said David grimly. "Any time now. You've got to pull them all in. All the Windilights, all the Breeze-alongs. You've got to hit this so hard that Auto City will be under siege."

  "Announce to the world that our whole production is unserviceable?" Rumbold glared.

  "Just that."

  "And if I don't?"

  "They will be, anyway. The aliens are gearing for that, but thy're not ready yet. You played into their hands by suppressing the accident reports. They wanted you to do that. We just haven't the time to go through every one of thousands of production-line workers in every plant and every section of your component suppliers. We've found the gear-seizure device on the Wind-flights, but there'll be others in different models. All these will pass your inspection tests in the plants because the aliens have infiltrated those sections too. They'll pass the dealers' predelivery checks because they won't show up until the cars are actually in service."

  "God a'mighty! Can you prove this?"

  "No more than I can prove how many aliens are in your
works. No more than you can prove what you have already accepted. My acceptance is my proof. The death of Shalk is Ollie's proof. The silicone strip was Clem's proof. But all these are after the event. We now have to act before the main event. You asked Washington. They passed you to me. What proof did you have? You accepted, and you came."

  "But we'll start a nationwide panic!"

  "Panic generates fear. Fear is a power, but we shall be in control of it." David smiled. "Well, at least the aliens won't be! There are things to be done before you release the information. Some I can't tell you because I don't know myself exactly what they are. I know only that I have now to follow a certain course. They failed to kill me today. Before they try again I must find an answer to one vital question." He drummed his fingers gently on the table top, staring out through the window at the rain clouds sweeping over the breast of the mountain.

  So intense was his concentration that David appeared to forget that Thias Rumbold and Ollie Temper were present. He began speaking in the manner of a man probing deep into a problem and searching for its solution.

  "The aliens' projecting power has increased since last time. So has their physical control. But Shalk's power was shallow and not well co-ordinated. Nor was Hicks's. Does this mean that human mechanisms are still functioning in some of the lesser aliens and therefore blocking the leaders' power control? Shalk was sent by Gineas Rumbold, but Gineas cannot be anything but a main feed because Shalk's power was so shallow.

  "If Gineas Rumbold is occupied by a leader, he'd have more than enough power. Could be that they are overextended. Could be that they are finding they require more power for widespread physical control than they expected. I don't see that. It can't be right. So it means they are using power in great quantity to sustain some physical activity beyond what we can assess." David broke off to look at Thias Rumbold as he asked, "Are your plants quiet? No organized strikes or mass demonstrations?"

  "None. Just an undercurrent of general discontent. More products are being turned back as faulty. Morale is low, but even our experienced personnel officers cannot find the cause."