Roberto and James steered me back to their men and the truck. Both sets of soldiers began firing questions at Weasel and Stevie. Roberto, James, and their men slowly circled the ugly behemoth, inspecting it carefully, artists evaluating a comrade’s work.
“You realize, McCall,” James said as we walked side by side around the truck, “that if this plan goes bad and The Babe gets this war wagon, everyone is in for a world of despair for many years to come.”
“This thing needs oil to run,” I said. “And fuel.”
“I know how motors work,” James said. “Just never seen one.”
“What Mac means,” Weasel interjected, “is that when this swap goes down, there’s only gonna be a few drops of oil inside the engine. Enough to start it. In a minute or two, it’ll seize up, metal will actually melt into metal inside the engine.”
“This is reassuring,” Roberto said.
“Truth,” James said.
• • • •
When their curiosity regarding the truck had been sated, the Cobras and Disciples followed us into the mall. We began walking them through the intricacies of the plan. We provided each of them with a map of the modifications—Merlin’s idea, also his drawings, with a little help from me. The sun was high enough to filter through the grimy skylights, and we had enough light to show them all what they needed to know.
The Cobras and Disciples helped us with the preparations, continued working while we left to negotiate with the Messengers, successfully persuading The Babe to bring Sarah to this place.
The mall was huge. Biggest I had ever run across in my travels, although I had heard there was a bigger one down south, near the airport they had constructed in the early 21st. They called this one the Fox Valley Mall in the 20th, probably because at some time in their distant past the Fox River had run through a scenic valley. They transformed it into a valley of low rise buildings and parking lots. A gigantic mall surrounded by dozens of mini-malls. Hundreds of rusters littering countless acres of weed infested concrete and asphalt parking lots.
Miles and miles of stores as far as you could see. It was the last big vestige of 20th and 21st cen commercialism west of Chicago before the land reverted back to its natural flat midwestern prairie dotted with small towns or suburban subdivisions.
It was virtually a small rectangular city under one roof. Over one hundred stores, including three giants—Macy’s, Sears, Penney’s—that each jutted out from one of the sides of the rectangle. From each of the three anchor stores, consumers could enter the mall from two levels. The was also and east-facing main entrance. We found evidence of nearly twenty fast food restaurants, dozens of bathrooms, offices, a first aid station, security department and a power plant that looked like the bowels of a battleship.
The interior of the mall was built almost entirely on two levels. The smaller third below ground level housed offices, security, and the power plant. The roof, dotted with skylights, rose another two stories over our heads. Where it had been breached by the onslaught of over three decades of midwestern weather, trees and weeds had taken root beneath, somehow finding purchase in the carpet or tile floors. Thousands of birds discovered places to nest, as had many small mammals and reptiles. Nature had transformed tile floors and fountains into mini forests, ponds, and prairies.
It was, in short, a maze. And with the transformations Stevie had Weasel had performed, and the help of Roberto and his nine Cobras, the mall now became a battleground similar to the ones used in Hungary in ’56 or in the Warsaw Ghetto by the Jews during WWII.
In the morning, Weasel, Stevie, and I drove to Wheaton College to negotiate for Sarah. While we were gone, the Cobras and Disciples rehearsed the plan that Stevie and Weasel had prepared while I was unconscious. Upon our return from Wheaton College, we drained the oil from the truck and continued preparing for the arrival of the The Babe and Satan’s Messengers.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
From inside, near the entrance to Macy’s, I watched a cluster of over twenty Messengers enter the mall at the top level through the entrance nearest the truck. Inside, it was dark as a tomb. My NVG’s cast a green pall around the Messengers. About half of them were wearing their infrared NVGs. Back outside, scouts informed me that other groups had broken off and were seeking alternate entrances. It would take the other Messengers a while to get in. The exterior circuit of the mall was well over a mile. They would communicate via walkie talkie. Bristling like porcupines with their knives, assault rifles and pistols, the Messengers were definitely over dressed. A blind man could have located them by the steel on steel clanking of their weapons.
The first group of Messengers entered, looking for weaknesses. The red dotted NVGs weren’t a surprise. We had figured them for that. It was one of the linchpins that would hold the wheels on our plan. From my place in hiding, I was close enough to see wide white eyes of the soldiers without the goggles. Their eyes darted back and forth wildly as they kept in contact with their goggled team members by touch. If separated from the others in total darkness, the soldiers without the goggles would be totally helpless. We would pick them off like lions on straggling wildebeests.
At least half of the men in the group I was observing were blasted on Slammer or Bad Boy. Jerky movements, nervous twitches, weapon caresses, obsessive spins to check their rear. A scurry of squirrels flicking their tails, twitching their heads and rubbing their paws together in anticipation of crossing a quiet meadow. What was out there? An eagle? A cougar? A human with a rifle and hungry kids by the cook fire? Was it too quiet?
A little paranoia was good for a soldier. Hones the edge. These guys had way too much. No focus. Good for us.
Through the green haze of my night vision goggles, I saw the first group break up into scouting teams, scurrying through the Macy’s store and out into the main mall. Neither The Babe nor Sarah was with them.
Jose’ and Flint were outside, tracking the remaining Messengers. When the Messengers were all inside, Jose’ and Flint would return, joining Roberto’s team, avoiding action until we could get Sarah and The Babe to the spot where we would attempt to free her. Within thirty minutes all Messengers were under the roof. Jose’ and Flint joined their team and everyone stayed back and observed, waiting for The Babe and Sarah to move in the right direction, staying in touch through the comm sets.
“Who’s got eyes on the group with The Babe?” I whispered through the throat derm.
Through my earpiece, Roberto informed me he had them in sight. He had split off to observe The Babe. His only job for now. They were in the southwest corner, lower level near a store that sold sunglasses in the 21st, nothing else, just sunglasses.
“This is so crazy,” Roberto whispered, “it’s almost funny. He’s got eight really tall guys surrounding him. Every time he moves, the circle tries to keep up with him. Like ducklings imprinted on the mother. When he changes direction, they all start bumping into each other.”
“What about Sarah?” I asked.
“There’s someone in there with him,” he said. “Can’t get a clear visual. Must be her.”
Roberto was reporting from the back of a store that sold prescription eye glasses and contact lenses when the mall was in operation. The Messengers would never spot him unless they actually went into the store, an unlikely event since they had over a hundred to choose from. On the off chance that they did enter, Roberto had two back doors—one through a hole in the wall into an audio-video emporium next door; the other through a genuine door that led to a service hallway that snaked through the interior of the mall.
All of us had similar escape routes.
• • • •
Now that we knew where all the Messengers were, and that they had no idea whatsoever of our placement or strength, our job was essentially that of sheep herders.
In the middle of the giant rectangle that was the mall, there was one spot where they had added a third level in the 20th or 21st, an area beneath the other two, a large circular depression wh
ere the planners had decided to accommodate all of the food purveyors who had hawked their wares to hungry shoppers decades ago.
Fifteen fast food restaurants—a gastric world’s fair from the 21st, serving chop suey, tacos, pizza, Chicago style dogs, Polish sausage, roast beef sandwiches from Philadelphia, chicken from Kentucky, more chicken from Boston, gyros, cookies, ice cream, even a store that sold only potatoes—formed the outside of a large circle. Inside the circle was an anthropologist’s wet dream. Overturned tables, chairs and benches. Discarded food wrappers, newspapers, coupons, shopping guides. Forlorn toys, motherless purses, empty toy boxes. There was enough room to accommodate several hundred 21st cen shoppers in better, tidier days.
It was to this third level, the basement, that Sarah was to bring The Babe to retrieve his key. Sarah knew where we wanted her, but having never been in the mall, she didn’t know how to get there.
We would help her.
It was like the children’s game of hot and cold. When you got close to the objective, your mother or brother would holler, “Hot. Hot. Hotter. Look out! You’re gonna burn yourself.”
When the Messengers were cold, we ignored them. When they finally approached the killing ground, discouraged by seeking but not finding, like the random meanderings of rats the first time in the maze, we planned to encourage them.
• • • •
Duke lay beside me. We were behind the serving counter of a chicken place, the one from Kentucky. Even with the splint still on his leg, he could provide us with another edge. I needed his heightened senses.
Across from me, behind a restaurant that seemed to quickly serve Pandas, in the service hallway that circled the courtyard of fast food restaurants, Stevie patiently awaited my signal. James’ team of Disciples was several hundred meters removed from this action. If all went well, we would not need them for this part of the plan. They were in hiding waiting for the “go” signal.
Roberto would keep tracking The Babe’s group, and when he approached the food service area, he would join up with the rest of his Cobras. When Roberto joined them, their team could send a withering cross fire down on the Messengers when they finally came to the location of our choosing. Came down to retrieve the truck key from me in exchange for Sarah. Only there wouldn’t be any exchanging going on. The Babe would go for it all.
When The Babe was close enough for us to initiate the action, Weasel was to leave the group he was tracking and take position with me and Stevie on the bottom level.
Ten on top—Roberto and the Cobras. Four on the bottom—Weasel, Stevie, Duke and me. Thus we would have thirteen of us in the firing zone. I didn’t count Duke because he couldn’t shoot. Double cross-fire. With the extra edges and the escape routes we had built in case something went wrong and James’ Disciples in reserve, it was a good plan.
Time to implement it.
• • • •
Via the comm set, I checked in with the two Cobra lieutenants, Jose’ and Flint. They were both inside, working with split teams, each observing groups of Messengers searching the darkened mall. The Messengers were scattered throughout the mall in teams ranging in size from ten to twenty-five soldiers.
Roberto entered the circuit. “The Babe is on the second level,” he said, “heading your way. Let’s get them moving. I’ll track them to make sure they keep heading toward you, then I’ll sneak around the perimeter to join up with my guys above you.”
“What about Sarah?” I asked. “You sure she’s there?”
“Definitely a woman inside the circle,” he replied. “I got a glimpse of her. Hands bound in front. Legs free. Looks like she’s got a gag across her mouth. Her goddam head is shaved, McCall.”
Weasel had been monitoring. “Mac,” he said, “I’m coming back in with you.”
“What’s your group doing?” I asked.
“I’d say they’re a tad edgy,” he replied calmly. “Group of about twenty freaked out Messengers roaming around down here. We need to start the party before they start lookin’ around in these stores and stumble across some of us. They’re so pumped up, I’m surprised they’re not shooting each other.”
“How much time to work your way back to me and Stevie?” I asked.
“Give me ten minutes.”
“Roberto,” I said the Cobra leader, “I’ll start it up when you’re in position with your team above us. I need you up there to tell me what’s happening. Weasel,” I continued, “can you switch from your group to monitor the reactions of The Babe’s group? You got enough time?”
“Give me a break, Mac,” his sarcastic reply snapped back. “I designed this fucking labyrinth. No sweat.”
“James,” I said. “Hold your position. We’re gonna need you soon.”
“Four-Ten,” he replied. I thought I heard Weasel sigh.
“OK. When everyone is in position, we start.”
• • • •
In the middle of the food court, hidden under a table, invisible even to goggle enhanced eyes, was a boom box, powered by freshly charged solar lithium ions, with a cued up cd.
I pushed the ‘play’ button on the remote control in my hand. From the boom box came a muffled dog bark. Then a whine. Then I pushed the ‘stop’ button.
“Jesus Christ,” Roberto came back at me from his position two stories above us, “looks like some one stuck a fork in ‘em. They’re all twirlin’ around like a bunch of dogs chasin’ their tales and pointing their rifles all over the place. One of ‘em is on the long talker. Out.”
“The Babe just got the message on this end,” came Weasel’s voice. “They’re moving in your direction, Mac. I’ll follow. Once they meet up with the others, I’m coming down the back way. Out.”
Weasel slipped in from the back hallway five minutes later. Duke had picked up him up three minutes before he arrived. Duke was in a state of alertness, ears up, head frequently cocked the way he did when action is impending.
“What’s the status?” Weasel asked.
“Haven’t heard from Roberto for a few minutes,” I replied. “I don’t know what anyone’s doing up there.” I nodded up with my head.
“About fifty of the Messengers are above us on the third level,” Weasel said. “That includes The Babe and his basketball team. And Sarah. I saw her, Mac. She’s all right. The ones up top are pretty much spread around the circle that overlooks our position. Figure another hundred roaming the mall looking for trouble.”
“What are they carrying?” I asked him.
“Usual shit. Mostly M 16’s. Couldn’t see The Babe well enough to see what he’s using.”
“McCall,” came Roberto’s voice in our ear pieces, “They’re fanned out up here. Just milling around. The Babe’s arguing with one of his soldiers. Some of the others are beginning to search this level. Get ‘em outta here before they find us. Out.”
They were getting hotter. We had about a third of them in one place. Now I needed The Babe to make his move. We would do nothing until he came to us.
We had all pledged to avoid contact with the Messengers until we initiated the plan to extricate Sarah. When she was safe, we would go for The Babe.
“Get in position,” I told Weasel.
He smacked my shoulder and patted Duke on the head and slipped out behind me. He was headed to the other side. When in position, he, Stevie and I would each be on a point that would divide our circular area into three equal parts—Stevie in the hall behind the Panda store, me in chicken—the one from Kentucky—and Weasel over behind a Gyros serving counter.
I punched the tape on again. Another dog bark. For good measure, I thumped the counter I was hiding behind with the butt of my assault rifle, the thirty round HK 81. All of us were carrying HK’s or the Israeli Galil Sar as the primary weapons because they fired the heavier 7.62mm rounds. We each had another assault rifle for back up, all firing the same rounds as the M 16’s, 5.56mm. I also had the HK 21A1 belt fed machine gun beside me. Security blanket.
From my angle I co
uld see a small portion of the railing, two stories above, that kept 20th shoppers from falling down into the lower levels. Five goggled heads peaked over it, little red lights glowing brightly, looking down into the blackness below them our area. They saw nothing but overturned tables and chairs and scraps of 20th cen garbage.
“That got their attention.” Roberto whispered. “They’re all gathering around the railing, yammering away like a bunch of fucking crows. Out.”
In two minutes Roberto informed us that The Babe was pulling men into his safety circle and issuing orders. Everything was quiet for three minutes after that.
Then they made their first move.
“Three guys coming down to you. Good luck,” Roberto whispered.
They skittered down the mild incline of the ramp that descended to our position. No stairs here. The ramp looked like a Z. Down and back they came. Twice I saw them through my goggles. Rifles ready, single file, they maintained two meters distance from one another. With their goggles on they looked like frogs on acid. The red glow of the light on their NVG’s indicated they were seeing the environment as clearly as I was. All of them were sporting football helmets. Two of them were wearing shoulder pads, a nice look, but they got in the way when you needed to shoulder a rifle.
It was either Slammer or Bad Boy that was whipping through their veins. The three soldiers danced without grace on the balls of their feet, energized by the drugs, unable to control the false messages of power and invincibility their brains were sending. They could probably have run through a wall.
Blood of the Dogs_Book I_Annihilation Page 44