by Baen Books
He had in his pocket a pilots guild chit good for one trip somewhere, practically anywhere, he wanted to go.
Probably that chit would stay in his pocket; it had no end date, after all.
Today, though, he would be gathering his effects and heading down to Eylot for the in-person interview of a job application he’d made. Angligdin Academy was expanding, and they’d wanted an experienced Cargo Master to teach a few courses. Apparently the fact that he spoke formal and colloquial planetary Terran was good, even if he wasn’t exactly from this region.
He heard a low voice, not amplified by Hevelin’s assistance. Hevelin had finally agreed to stay in the garden of a night.
"Therny, are you awake?"
He was still deciding the answer to that when Pilot Sterna asked again, this time with a nip of his ear included. Well, she was off today, too, for a year-long run. She was provisional First Class, flying for the leather jacket and all the glory of a Jump pilot.
And he? He was going to teach, after all.
He turned over, slowly, and she sighed.
"The pilot wakes," she acknowledged. "Let us perform a preflight check. No cutting corners."
A Fire on the Hill
Brendan DuBois
Belinda Craft of Gloversville, New York, was up before dawn, checking the eggs from their brood, happy to see that the new fence she and Grandpa had repaired was still holding fast. Foxes, fisher cats, wild dogs, coyotes . . . whatever had raided them last week were at least being blocked out now. There were a dozen chickens pecking and cackling at her, and she was pleased to find five warm eggs, which she carefully deposited in a basket lined with hay.
“See you later, gals,” she said, as she went out of the coop and started walking back to their farmhouse. There was the smell of farm animals, wet hay, feed, and . . .
A slight scent of cinnamon?
Something flickered in the distance.
She turned and with basket still in hand, looked off to the west, near the soft peaks of Peck Hill State Forest.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
Rising up above the wooded hills was the highest peak, the one with the fire tower, and there was a battle going on. She had seen plenty of battles over the years, usually at a distance, quick sharp things that didn’t take long, but as she stood there, she had a feeling this one had been going on for a while. There were the flickering flashes of laser beams from the alien Creepers, and the long tongues of flame, lancing out as well, and the faint sounds of human firearms being fired back.
A military unit, then, up on top of the hill.
Trapped.
And the fire tower wasn’t there either.
She turned and went up to the farmhouse.
On the porch was a locked refrigerator, and she undid the combination lock and opened the door. The light inside the refrigerator had burned out years ago but no mind. Belinda was able to put the eggs where they belonged by feel. Later this week a salesman from the nearby Price Chopper supermarket would pick them up, and she and Grandpa would have enough to live on for another couple of weeks.
Belinda went into the kitchen and saw Grandpa hunched over the stove, watching a kettle steam to life. She had been alone with Grandpa for nearly a year, after Mom and Dad got jobs out in Detroit, which was still rebuilding after the war began and was now making new steam-powered vehicles for the Army and the Marines.
Grandpa turned and said, “How many this morning, Bel?”
She liked Grandpa’s nickname for her. “Five, Grandpa.”
“Good, that’s very good.”
He said, “I thought I heard some noises outside. What’s going on?”
She went to the sink, washed her hands. “There’s a fight going on, over at the fire tower on Peck Hill.”
“How many Creepers?”
“Can’t tell.”
“Hunh. Let’s go take a look.”
Grandpa had on just a dark blue bathrobe and slippers. He slipped past her, taking a pair of binoculars hanging from the wall in his wrinkled hands. Belinda didn’t know much about Grandpa, and unlike other old folks, he didn’t spend a lot of time bitching and moaning about how much better everything was ten years back, before the Creepers invaded. She had asked lots of times over the years what things were like Before, and he would just shrug and say, “People were still the same. It was the shiny toys that was all different. The Creepers came and took our toys away. I got over it. Lots of others didn’t. Still, if it did something, it made us all realize that we had to work together to make things right. Our duty. Damn shame, though, millions had to die to get us there.”
Grandpa put on a long, worn coat over his bathrobe, held to the side of the wall as he slipped his big feet into boots, and he said, “Make two knapsacks, will you? Food, water, some bandages and such. That old tube of burn cream.”
Bel said, “Mom and Dad won’t like that.”
“Mom and Dad aren’t here,” he said, “I am. Meet you outside. Make sure to lock the doors and take the kettle off the stove.”
She had one more question. “Grandpa, why are we doing this?”
He looked surprised at her question. “It’s our duty, girl. Now, hurry along.”
It took longer than she expected, but Grandpa seemed patient. He stood near the porch, holding up binoculars, watching the battle up on Peck Hill. It was still dark and there were long lines of burning light overhead, as the cloud of orbital debris continued to reenter the atmosphere and burn up. The war had started when Belinda was only two, and since then, she only knew the night sky from the constant burning up of space debris, from that first day when the Creepers destroyed every man-made satellite in orbit, and then from a few weeks ago, when the Air Force finally managed to destroy the Creepers’ orbital base.
Once she had asked Grandpa how long it would take for all the wreckage up there to finally burn out so folks could see a clear night sky, and he had said, “Maybe when you’re my age, Bel. Maybe.”
She walked over to Grandpa, carrying the two knapsacks. He had binoculars up to his eyes and whispered, “Oh my, somebody’s getting burned hard up there.”
“Can you tell how many Creepers?” she asked.
“Too many,” he said. “Come along, hon. Let’s go to the small shed.”
There were four outbuildings for their farm, and the shed was the smallest. Grandpa unlocked the door with a key on a long chain that hung around his neck, and in the morning light, went in and came out with two bicycles.
“Here,” he said. “Beats walking, for a while, at least.”
She took the smaller bicycle and he went inside and came back out, this time, with a shotgun slung over his back. There were a number firearms secured in the main house and out buildings, and Belinda had learned to use them all. This was a very old Remington 12-gauge, single shot, but as Father would say, “It was better than nothing.”
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Where are we going, Grandpa?”
“Don’t you know,” he asked, smiling. “We’re riding to the sound of the guns.”
She followed him on a cracked and bumpy road, thinking, well, you really couldn’t hear the guns that well. When the wind shifted, there was the faint pow-pow-pow of automatic weapons, and a heavier thump that came from firing the Colt M-10, the only true weapon that could kill a Creeper, since it used some sort of chemical gas to kill the bugs.
The knapsack was firm but heavy on her back. Grandfather biked slow but steady, with his own knapsack on his back and the shotgun slung over as well. Belinda tried not to let the impatience get to her, though she didn’t know where Grandpa was taking them. He obviously knew where he was going, and as they rode along, she smiled.
If this went on for a while, no school today.
The sky was light enough now so she could make out the road better, and the setback farmhouses, most with gray smoke easing up into the sky. She knew this part of the countryside pretty well, including a wide rift in the forest to th
e left, where trees were struggling to grow back and there were gashes in the earth that were just starting to grow over. Years ago she had been told this was a haunted wood, that when the Creepers invaded when she was just a child, one of those jumbo jets that could carry hundreds of people crashed there when the nukes dropped by the Creepers fried all the electrical stuff and caused all the airplanes to fall out of the sky.
Twice—on a dare—she had snuck into the woods and found little bits of burnt metal, some old wiring, chunks of plastic, and a bone. She wasn’t sure if the bone had been human or animal, but she never went back after that.
Grandfather followed the curve of the road and up ahead was an intersection, and a roadblock.
It was made of sawhorses and planks, and a very old rusted pickup truck with white letters carefully painted on the side: FULTON COUNTY MILITIA.
Belinda followed Grandfather as he stopped the bicycle, got off with a sigh, and leaned the bike against a fallen telephone pole. Three men and a woman with fatigues, blue jeans, and carrying rifles or shotguns stood by the pickup truck, and they watched as she and Grandpa approached.
One of the men looked to be a reserve Army soldier, because he was wearing a full set of fatigues. He said, “Sorry, folks, this place is restricted. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a hell of a fight going on up at the fire tower.”
“We know,” Grandpa said. “We want to bring supplies up to the soldiers.”
“You won’t make it,” the man said.
“We’re going to try.”
The woman said, “This ain’t no place for an old man and young girl. Tell you what, you give us the supplies, we’ll pass ’em along to any regular Army unit that comes by.”
Grandpa said, “Ma’am, that’s one fair offer, but I’ve been on this Earth a long time. You and I both know what would happen to these supplies if a regular Army unit doesn’t come by.”
“You don’t trust us?” she asked.
“No, we just don’t know you,” Grandpa said.
The lead man said, “Old man, look, this is restricted area, we’re trying to keep it clear from civilians like you.”
Grandpa stepped forward. “But I’m not a civilian. Look.” Grandpa took out his wallet, fumbled through some cards and such, and pulled out a slim piece of plastic, which he passed over. “Look,” he said. “My Armed Forces identification card.”
The three men and woman huddled around as the lead guy held the card up to the light. They looked at Grandpa and the card once, and then twice. The woman said, “Sure is an old card.”
“I’m an old man.”
The lead guy said, “The expiration date . . . it’s been scratched off.”
Grandpa said, “The only expiration nowadays is the real one. Now. My granddaughter and I, we’re going to pass through. All right?”
The card was handed back. “Hell of a thing. Okay, you can go. But why bring the girl into it?”
Grandpa said, “She’s already into it.”
The lead guy got friendlier and gave them directions, and Grandpa and Belinda rode their bicycles for another fifteen minutes or so. They stopped where there was a rough trail visible off to the left, leading up the side of the hill that held the fire tower, and they hid their bicycles and started walking. By now it was dawn and the air was getting warmer, but Belinda shivered.
“Grandpa?”
“Yes, hon?”
“I don’t hear any birds,” she said. “Do you?”
“No, but that’s a good sign, trust me,” he said. “It means we’re close to the Creepers, and that means we’re close to the soldiers we’ve come here to help. Let’s go.”
Belinda was pretty sure that wasn’t a good sign at all, not hearing birds, but she followed her grandfather into the wide trail, into the woods.
At first the trail was easy, going up at a slight slope, and Grandpa set the pace. After some minutes passed Belinda stopped short, hearing a snap/sizzle sound, knowing it came from a Creeper firing a laser. She was going to say something to Grandpa, but he either didn’t hear it or ignored it, for he kept on pacing.
The brush and tree branches closed in tight on the trail, and then Grandpa had to pause for a break, and after a while, there was another pause, and then . . . a longer one.
“Well, well,” Grandpa said, sitting on a boulder, leaning his back and the knapsack against a tree trunk. Belinda didn’t like what she saw. His face was pale gray, lips had a shade of light blue, and his eyes were flickering. “Well, well,” he said again.
“How much longer do we have, Grandpa?”
“Mmm,” he said, and he glanced up and down the trail. “Not much longer. That nice fella back there . . . he said this trail meets up with the access road. From the road, it leads right up to the top . . . but . . . but. . . .”
Grandpa closed his eyes, his chest lifting up and down, and his breathing slowed, started rattling.
Belinda waited.
She reached over, touched his thin shoulder. Grandpa’s eyes opened. “Yes, child, what is it?”
“You said we should get to the road soon, but there was something else.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “Sorry. Closed my eyes there for a moment. Just resting. Yes, the road. Clear path to the top. Which means the Creepers will know that, too. So you need to be careful.”
Belinda nodded, readjusted the straps on her knapsack. “Wait,” she said. “What do you mean I have to be careful. Aren’t you coming with me?”
Grandpa looked sad. “I can’t Bel. I wish I could. But I can’t. I’m all tuckered out. Here . . . ” He leaned forward, took off the knapsack, let it fall to the ground. “Go in there and rearrange stuff, as much as you can carry. And don’t forget the burn cream.”
She felt scared and warm as she went to work. Going up to the battle site, by herself . . . tears started trickling down her cheeks. She looked up. Grandpa was looking far, far away.
“Grandpa, I don’t want to go,” she said. “I’m scared . . . and I don’t want to leave you here.”
He didn’t say anything. Just kept on looking out to the woods.
Grandpa sighed. “We were all so scared, back then. . . . How could you not be? You trained and trained for all kinds of scenarios, all kind of engagements. . . . But nothing like this . . . Nothing like an invasion from the Creepers. . . . We eventually learned a lot, but, by God, what a steep learning curve, paid with blood, burns and cities . . . we were so very, very scared those first few weeks . . . ”
His words dribbled off and then he snapped around, looked at her. “Sorry,” he said, voice weak. “I must have dozed off . . . ”
Grandpa rubbed his hands together, picked up the single-shot Remington shotgun. “Here, take this. And this.” His hand went back into the coat, came out with two twelve-gauge shells.
She bit her lower lip, nodded, picked up the shotgun. Grandpa’s voice strengthened. “You go up there, child, all right? You help those soldiers. And you make sure you give your knapsack to a soldier, all right? In full uniform. No militiaman, no one pretending to be a militiaman.”
“Okay, Grandpa.”
“And be careful for the Creepers, but watch out for Coasties or any other sorts out there, like goddamn vampires, heading into a battlefield. You got those gangs that strip the dead, steal supplies, steal anything they can get their hands on, they hang around battle sites . . . and you know what to do if you have to use that shotgun.”
The shotgun was so heavy in her hands. “Yes, Grandpa. Don’t aim unless you aim to shoot, shoot to kill, and aim small, miss small.”
Grandpa nodded. “That’s right. With the shotgun, if you’re close up, you shouldn’t miss. But for God’s sake, you know what to do if you run into a Creeper.”
She said, “Yes. Freeze.”
“Good girl. Now. Get moving, okay?”
Gosh, his face was so white, she thought. Belinda turned and then went back, kissed her Grandpa on the cheek. His face was cold and bristly.
/> “Go,” he said. “I’ll be right here. Don’t fret.”
She started up the trail, and within a minute, could no longer see Grandpa.
The way got steeper and rougher, and she was breathing harder and harder with each step. She had to rest at least three times and she was hoping she was getting close to the road. The branches were hitting at her face, the knapsack—which was getting heavier with each step—was getting snagged on the brush and saplings as she pushed through.
She rested again.
Damn aliens, she thought. If they had attacked later, she would have missed this and she’d be in school today.
School.
Warm and safe, working on numbers and grammar, not out in the woods like this, carrying this big pack.
It wasn’t fair.
Belinda wiped at her eyes and kept on walking.
And another five or so minutes went by, and she could tell she was getting close. The light was clearer and the brush was thinner, and that meant the access road was pretty near.
Okay, she thought. At least on the road, it’ll be easier, much easier.
There.
There was the road.
She smiled.
And two men emerged from the brush, and stepped in front of her.
Belinda stepped back, nearly tripped over an exposed root. They were filthy, long dark beards, dirty faces, wearing faded baseball caps, worn canvas coats, old patched jeans and boots repaired by tape and string. The one on the left looked older than the other, but not by much.
“Hey, little girl,” he said. “Where you going?”
Belinda thought the man’s accent was off, was different, and she instantly knew he was a Coastie. When the Creepers invaded ten years back, they dropped asteroids into the oceans and big lakes around the globe, setting off tidal waves that drowned millions. Those who escaped into the inland, and who refused to stay in refugee camps, were called Coasties.
“Speak up!” the second said. “Where you going?”