by Sandy Nathan
They heard them all right. Grunts and sounds of sledgehammers striking the cement wall from the inside assaulted them. The Bigs were real, and they were right beyond the concrete. Something like a pick or shovel made a higher-pitched reverberation. Guttural voices rose and fell, growling beyond the wall.
Wes jumped back as Ellie brought the first youngster out. The child was a shapeless thing with long, floppy arms and legs. Gray. Ghastly. Unmoving.
“It’s Bobby,” Sam cried, trying to pick the boy up. Ellie buzzed menacingly, driving Sam back. “What are ye doing?” he shouted. “Stop, ye’ll kill him.”
Ellie positioned her rear feet over the lifeless child’s chest. Her hoofed foot reached out, and a hidden stinger lowered from it. She stung Bobby’s chest and he jerked off the tarp. She stung him again, and he began to cry, then move.
“Ellie! You brought him back.”
After that, they let her do what she wished. Some she stung, others she massaged. Others she fed a liquid from her mouth.
Ten children lived. She brought out an eleventh, but the girl had died days before. Elllie put the child down and buzzed out of sight.
“We must get outta here,” Sam cried. So many Bigs were beating on the concrete outer wall of the shelter that the ceiling of the little room shuddered. Pebbles and crumbles of dirt hit the floor. The ceiling split, part falling into the space where the children had been. The cement wall cracked under the Bigs’ assault, but it held. The clang and thud of tools striking concrete grew frenzied.
“Hey, ye …” The Bigs’ Voices were muffled just enough to keep them from compelling obedience. The walls of the excavation collapsed and the dark hole where the children had lived disappeared.
Sam and the others ran up the passageway to the surface.
“Get out of the way,” Wesley shouted. He and Bud rolled back all the dirt they’d removed, sealing the Bigs inside the shelter.
They went back to the campground. The children were lying under a large tent with the sides rolled up. Grace had set up pediatric IVs of saline solution for several. Others sucked at bottles of formula or water.
“Just a little at a time,” she said. They stood around, looking at the newest members of their community. Gray skin, yellowed teeth. Red-rimmed eyes, oozing sores. Patches of hair stuck out of filthy scalps. Fungus and mold mottled their bodies. The biggest one, Bobby, couldn’t sit up or walk. The littlest one was supposed to be a year old. She looked three months and couldn’t roll over. Lena cried outright, holding onto Henry. James and Mel stood silently with grave faces. Wes and Bud stared at the fruit of their labor in horror.
Only Sam beamed.
“Oh, thank ye so. Ah will take such care of these babies.”
The others didn’t see how they’d last the night.
39
“Oh, no!” Jeremy exclaimed. He had set up a field computer lab in a tent. The first thing he did was turn on all the surveillance equipment in the underground and have images broadcast to his screen. About a third of the cameras worked. They were enough. The access to the general’s munitions stash was through his computer lab in the shelter. His lab was tightly secured; the Bigs couldn’t break into it. But the computers in Arthur’s old room were very available. You could get into the lab using them. He could see two Bigs bent over workstations there. “Get Sam here. How much do they know about computers?”
Grace stood behind Jeremy, hacking at his hair. She had gotten through his reluctance to part with his dreadlocks by saying, “Jeremy, I know you love your dreads. I do, too, but those monsters can grab your hair and pull you down in a second. You know what that would mean.”
“Shit. They’re trying to get into the munitions vaults.” Their previous photos showed that the outermost chamber had been breached and resealed years ago, without weapons being removed.
“Damn! They’re really smart,” Jeremy exclaimed. “My face and voice are the security codes for unlocking the doors to the general’s weapons. They’re pulling my face and voice off the broadcast we did when we first got here, when I was trying to scare them into staying put.”
He focused on a computer inside the lab in Arthur’s room. Its screen bore his wild-eyed face taken from the earlier broadcast. One of the Bigs was working on the image, making it look like a normal face. “They’ll do the same with my voice. They must have a recording of that broadcast. They’ll have all that stuff ready in minutes. Then all they have to do is figure out the password.”
“What’s the password?” The group gathered around.
“Jeremy Edgarton …” he said. They gasped. Jeremy continued, “Prisoner of Hermitage Academy. Life sucks, dinna ye kin?’ I didn’t make it that easy. But it’s not that hard, either. We need to get over to the other side of the shelter. I need my computers there, too.
“Do they know any more, Sam? Do they have computer specialists?” Jeremy asked.
“I don’t know—I was not allowed near. They closed the library and kept the books for themselves. And Arthur’s computer lab. Not all the Bigs are like Sam Big. He rules by right of blood and by his might. The Voice, and his,” Sam searched for a word. “Power. He can do things with his mind. Others are not so …”
“Intuitive?” Henry suggested.
“Yes, or …”
“Vicious?”
“They are all vicious. Some of the Bigs are just a little taller than me, and they don’t have the faces,” he indicated the distorted facial structure of the most obvious Bigs, “but they are as bad as the worst. They can fool you into thinking they are good. They are not. Look at the pictures and see what they are doing. Don’t be fooled if you meet one.”
Jeremy’s computer showed one holding up a printout of his image to the security system’s viewer. They heard a voice that sounded like Jeremy’s coming out of the speaker.
“They don’t have the password.” Jeremy chuckled. “And they don’t know that they get three tries and the thing locks up tight. They won’t be able to get in. Only I will. But we need to get over there. There are three entrances to the shelter: the canary hole, the back entrance in the lawn, and the big entrance from where the ballroom was.”
“There’s another entrance,” Sam said. “Where we dug the babies out.”
“But we filled that up again.”
“That’s loose dirt. Easy for a Big to dig through. They were breaking through the cement. If they want out that way, they will come.”
“Oh, good.” Jeremy said. “There are thirty-four of them for sure and nine of us, ten with Ellie. How do we cover all these fronts?”
“And take care of the babies,” Sam added.
“I’d like to stay with the babies,” Lena said. “I love babies. Plus I’m so sore from that ride I can hardly move. I could remember how to ride just fine; it’s just that my muscles haven’t caught up.” She put her hands on her lower back and stretched. Jeremy heard a crack. “I’m best off staying here.”
“That’s a good idea, Lena,” Grace said. “But have you ever handled guns? If they get past us and find out the children are here, they’ll come for you.”
Lena smiled. “Grandpa taught me how to shoot. I was quite the sharpshooter. If you’re eating squirrel for dinner, you learn to hit your target.”
“We’re not leaving before we’ve suited up,” Grace said. “We have eight suits. Wes, you and Bud should wear them, too. They offer full body coverage, including hands, feet, and face. They’re bulletproof and highly fire-resistant. If a missile hits you, they won’t help, but pretty near anything else, you’ll be OK. We will use the whole night kit underground: suits, night glasses, facemasks, boots. I’ll show you.”
Grace disappeared into her tent. They waited.
“Boo!” she said, creeping up behind them. “The boots are more or less silent.” They looked around in surprise. She was almost invisible, even when they knew where she was. “We’re reaping the benefit of the Russian army’s research. They found that 100 percent black is invisible.
Every army wants invisible warriors, so they worked hard to make these suits as black as possible. And they succeeded. These will make our chances of survival in the underground much greater.”
They ran off to get suited up.
40
The oak-studded meadow was so quiet after everyone left. Lena turned to the children. She loved babies, but these were so weak. The task of caring for them was almost as scary as being by herself. What if one died while she was on duty?
Lena looked up and noticed something else: The thunderstorm around the front of the shelter was gone. Totally. She looked into the heavens, “Shaq, my good little dog. I know you fell in love with Ellie, but please don’t forget your first mama. I might need your help today. Please watch for me along with the others.”
Turning to the kids, she set about determining what each needed. Grace had unhooked the few that had IVs. That was good, because Lena had no idea how to change the IV bags or do anything with them.
They lay in two rows, five each row, on a tarp on the floor of a tent with rolled up sides. The first thing she did was lower the sides. The children were squinting and turning their faces away from the sun. They’d never seen daylight, poor things. After closing the tent except for the front flap, she got heavier mats for them to lie on and put towels on top of the mats. The fluids they’d given the children had gotten their systems going. Some of the little boys resembled fountains. She realized that diaper duty was going to take up much of her time. Except they didn’t have diapers. Towels under them would have to do. She’d wash them in the pond later.
In the darkened tent, they began to look around. And she studied them. She thought of the children as babies because they were so stunted and small. Sam said the oldest, the floppy-legged boy named Bobby, was twelve. He looked maybe six. He looked like one of those kids they showed in the newspaper every once in a while whose crazy parents had locked him in a cellar and fed him once a week. He couldn’t stand up. She doubted he could roll over—none of them could. His legs and arms were so rickety she wondered if he’d ever stand.
The others ranged in age down to what? The littlest ones looked like babies. She realized what Sam had done: He’d created the burrow for them and put them in it. He had no access to it from inside the growing fields, and however he fed and watered them must have been invisible to anyone passing by the cement wall.
Why did Sam need to rescue them? He had said that these were the best of the village, the only ones not polluted by the genetic weaknesses and mutations of Sam Baahuhd’s first wife. Who would destroy their best? Why did Sam need to save the children?
Lena got it all at once. Sam said they were cannibals. The photos they’d seen showed the men running wild in the women’s pen. With no birth control, they must have had many babies, from all the bloodlines. What did they do with them?
Eat them. Lena blanched. God in heaven, no. A newborn wouldn’t make much of a meal to a full-grown Big. They must raise them somewhere that the cameras didn’t show, and when they were big enough, eat them.
Oh, God. She sat down heavily on the tent floor. A stupid thing to do; she needed to be vigilant and watch the perimeter of the camp. But the realization of the depravity in the shelter stunned her. Sam’s tall form came to her. He was so good and kind. Or was he? How could he be, coming from there? Did he have rages like the others that hadn’t appeared yet? He’d told them to kill the Bigs without listening to them, that all of them were evil. Were they? Or was he?
But Grace had taken to Sam, had married him after one night. He had healed her; that was obvious. Lena trusted Grace. Sam must be OK. He had to be OK, or what they were doing was murder.
She looked at the “babies.” They lay there, naked, filthy, and looking at her. Totally helpless, except for something lovely coming from them. She could feel their souls.
“Well, children, we’re here together. We should get to know each other.”
At the sound of her voice, ten sets of eyes focused on her. Their eyes were mostly greenish blue. A few had brilliant blue eyes, while others were a muddy blue; still others had hazel eyes. No dark brown eyes. Their eyes were huge, probably looking larger because of their emaciated bodies. Their whites gleamed silvery in the semi-darkness. They lay absolutely still, staring at her.
“Do you like Sam? Sam?” she said.
“Sam,” said Bobby. “Sam?” The others tried to say the name, some doing it well.
“Sam. Does Sam take care of you?”
The repetition of his name was a mistake. They stared at the crack in the tent, searching for Sam.
“Sam.” “Sam.” “Saaam,” became a wail. They were calling for Sam.
“Shh!” she said. “He’ll be here soon enough. He’s taking care of some bizness over yonder. He’ll be here.”
They loved him; she could see that. Their anxious looking for him continued. And she kept watching. They didn’t like lying apart from each other. They weren’t people from the normal world, who wanted space. She arranged them in two rows, side to side. Once they were in contact with each other, they relaxed. After she touched the children, Lena noticed a crawly feeling moving up her hands. Parasites.
Those filthy babies bothered her. She got some more towels and a bucket of water they’d brought up for washing. She also got a cup of cooking oil. Might as well try to loosen up that dry skin. She also brought all her guns inside, just to be careful.
“Hi, Bobby. It’s Lena again. I’m going to give you a little wash off. We’ll do better later. This is just for now. I had two daughters, so I know how to wash kids just fine.” She soaped him carefully, looking at his scaled, wrinkled skin.
Bobby pooped and demonstrated that his innards were riddled with worms. They’d have to worm them all. And delouse everyone, including herself. Why didn’t the stories talk about parasites? Fiction was so nice and clean. That’s why it’s fiction, she thought.
“Bobby,” she cooed. He was so sweet. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. He had little bowed lips so that he looked like a doll. His eyes were wide and trusting, despite all that had happened to him. He held his arms out to her. He looked like—Arthur! Jeremy’s driver, Arthur, had come home for dinner with Henry many times. “Do you know Arthur?”
“Art’ur. Bobby o’ Art’ur.” Bobby waved his arm, attempting to indicate himself.
“You’re an Arthur,” she said, amazed. “You look just like him. I knew your … grandfather, Bobby. He was a nice man. A good man.” Who made the wrong choice by going underground. But who knew it before the war?
She moved quickly to wash the other children. They loved to be touched. Their faces glowed when she washed them, even those that seemed almost in a stupor. Sensation was the key in their world. When she was finished, they were cleaner and oiled. Their towels were changed. And her hands were filthy. The crawling sensation had climbed up her arms and reached her body.
Picking up the sharpshooter rifle, she made the rounds of their meadow, eyes searching for anything unusual. All was quiet. She brought formula and water to the babies, which they devoured this time, knowing what it was. They were stronger, she could see that.
She went outside and waited. Only the chirps of birds and rustling of small animals disturbed the peace.
Until the explosions came. She counted three of them. Two were from the front of the shelter and one originated where the canary hole must have been. The children started crying. She picked up her rifle and went in to them.
“Shh,” she said. “Shh. Be quiet.”
She opened the tent flap and walked out.
He grabbed her before she could raise her gun. She never saw where he came from. The rifle flew out of her hands, useless. He held her by the throat at arm’s length, studying her.
He looked somewhat like Sam. Taller than he was, and heavier. His features were coarser, but not gross like the monsters they’d seen in the pictures. Bright blue eyes, gray skin, gray teeth. Something moved on his skin, worse than the ch
ildren’s.
“I never saw a darky,” he said in a pleasant way. His speech had a hint of the village brogue, but less pronounced than Sam’s. “Such a pretty. Pretty face, pretty teeth. White.” He chuckled at the wonder of her teeth. A vision flashed through Lena’s mind: Her face bloodied with her teeth broken and splattered down her chin. She had to do something.
“Have you been here long?” she said, smiling. Surprisingly, she wasn’t shaking.
“Long enough to know you have babies in there.” His hand tightened on her throat.
“Did the explosions make a hole so you could escape?”
“Wha’ differ’nce does it make?”
“I was just wondering if you heard the explosions.”
“Aye,” he looked at her shrewdly.
“What’s your name?” She managed another smile.
“Why?”
“Just curious.” She wasn’t thinking at all, babbling, trying to keep him talking. He was naked, like everyone in the underground. His body told her exactly what he intended to do to her.
“We’ll get down to names later, darky. Right now, I need to take care of this,” he indicated his erection. “I never had one fresh as you. When the rest get here, sure you won’t look the way you do now. When I’m done, I’ll stomp the heads of those brats.”
He pulled at her bulletproof vest. The vest was a poncho. To put it on, she’d slipped her head through a hole in the middle. It dropped down to cover her torso, front and back. It had a wide tab that ran between her legs, fastening at her waist in front. It fastened with the highest tech Russian hardware. He couldn’t get the vest off.
After trying to undo it, he yanked hard, pulling her off balance. She fell, and managed to roll away from the tent before he was on top of her. She had never seen anyone move the way he did. He was as fast as Sam had been in his wrestling demo with Grace. She realized her disadvantage on the ground; she could not get away from him.