A Hole in the Sky

by William C. Dietz

  On the third day the group arrived on the outskirts of Russellville, where they faced an important decision. Should they stay on Route 7? And cut through the devastated city? Or circle around it in hopes of avoiding whatever might be lurking in the ruins?

  Kawecki favored the second option. And having made the long, dangerous trek to New York and back, Voss knew the soldier was correct. Cities, or the remains of them, were typically infected with Leapers, Grims, and worse. Or, if the stinks weren’t in residence, then some very nasty humans probably were.

  But Voss was very conscious of the time that a detour would consume and the need to restart vaccine production as quickly as possible. So as commander-in-chief he made the decision to camp the night, depart just before dawn, and put the city of Russellville behind them as quickly as possible.

  They spent the night in what had been a power plant. A careful search of the building turned up a room with more than a dozen pods in it. Or what had been pods, since the Grims or Menials had already been “born,” and had left their cocoons to rot. The stench was horrible, but fortunately the power plant was large enough that the group could camp some distance away.

  They had a long and mostly sleepless night, illuminated by the full moon and the faint glow off to the east that signaled the presence of a Chimeran base. At first the city was quiet, but it wasn’t long before a mournful howl was heard, and answered from miles away. Voss was on the roof at the time and felt a chill run down his spine.

  “What the hell was that?” the soldier standing next to him wanted to know. He’d seen a variety of Chimera, but the long, drawn-out cry was new to him.

  “That was a Howler,” Voss answered grimly. “Or, to be more accurate, two Howlers. If you haven’t run into one of them, they’re big, about the size of a lion, and fast. But that isn’t the worst of it. Once they pick up your scent they’ll follow it anywhere.”

  The soldier, a kid named Hostler, was armed with a Bellock grenade launcher. It was pointed up at the night sky. His teeth were white in the moonlight. “Maybe so, sir! But if them Howlers come after us I have the answer right here.”

  Voss recognized the bravado for what it was, and was about to say something cautionary, when he was distracted by the distant pop, pop, pop of gunfire. Chimera hunting humans? Humans defending themselves? Or humans fighting humans? Anything was possible.

  A necklace of five Patrol Drones sped by the building about an hour later, seemingly intent on an errand of some sort, as their lights slid down the street. But to Voss’s relief the humans remained undiscovered.

  After what seemed like an eternity the first hint of dawn appeared in the east and, having already broken camp an hour earlier, the presidential party filed out onto the street. They were too heavily burdened to run, but Kawecki insisted on a fast walk.

  Malikov, Aklin, Shaw, and the rest of them had no complaints, however. They knew how important it was to put the city behind them as quickly as possible. Route 7 was thick with wrecks. That forced the party to thread their way through the maze, constantly on the lookout for a variety of potential threats.

  Perhaps it was the early hour, or maybe it was dumb luck, but for whatever reason, Voss and the rest of the group were able to successively make their way through the downtown area and onto the stretch of road called South Arkansas Avenue.

  Then it was time to cross the Arkansas River to the town of Dardanelle. The bridge had been hit from above and there wasn’t much left of it. But although it would have been impossible to drive a car across the bridge, a couple of remaining beams offered a precarious path over the river. At one point Voss paused to look down, saw that at least half a dozen Furies were patrolling the water below, and knew that a fall would mean certain death.

  The others recognized the danger as well and were careful to maintain their balance as they completed the crossing and followed Route 7 through Dardanelle’s empty streets. Having reached the town undetected, Voss felt a tremendous sense of relief. The decision to cut through Russellville had paid off.

  So as the group left the south end of Dardanelle for the relatively open countryside beyond, the President was in good spirits. But that changed when the party came across a convoy of shot-up Army trucks, a burned-out half-track, and a cluster of improvised crosses. And the farther they went, the worse the carnage became.

  As the group topped a hill, a vast field of bones appeared. Thousands upon thousands of bones, some lying on the surface, the rest partially protruding from the dirt as if trying to bury themselves.

  Were they human? Yes, they were, Voss concluded, as he and his companions made their way down into the dip beyond. And Chimeran? Yes, judging from the six-eyed skull that stared at him from a few yards away, and the enormous Titan-sized thigh bone sticking up out of the soil.

  And there were machines, too. Or what had been machines. Their metal skeletons stood here and there like pieces of abstract sculpture, each carcass marking a moment in what must have been a desperate battle. As Voss followed Kawecki around the remains of a Jeep, he could see a downed VTOL that half blocked the highway. It was riddled with holes and one engine was missing. In the cockpit was a picture of a pretty blonde just below the cockpit, marked with the name “Vera.”

  Off to the left, a burned-out tank could be seen with its cannon pointed impotently at the sky. And a couple of hundred yards down the road they came across the shattered remnants of a Chimeran Stalker. One of its four legs had been blown off and it lay slumped to one side.

  Had that been the totality of the evidence, Voss might have been able to convince himself that the battle had been a draw. But the truth lay up ahead. That was where the burned-out remains of a Protection Camp could be seen. And there, lying like the remains of a huge tree, were three sections of what had been a heavily armed defense column.

  It looked as if the tower had been sheared off about fifty feet above the ground, then fallen across a section of the camp it was supposed to protect, and shattered into three pieces. It was possible that the stinks had a ground weapon capable of such a thing, but Voss was inclined to believe that the column had been attacked from orbit. Aklin was standing next to him. Her face was pale and a tear was trickling down her left cheek. “They fought! They fought hard.”

  “Yes,” Voss replied soberly. “Now it’s our turn. Come on. I want to clear the battlefield before sundown.”

  But it wasn’t to be. There was no straight path through the maze, and the battlefield occupied at least five square miles of wreck-strewn land. As the sun dropped into the west, the group had to either make camp or travel during the hours of darkness. Something that both Voss and Kawecki opposed.

  It wasn’t sufficient to simply make camp, however. Not in the open. The prudent thing to do was to find a spot that could be fortified in a short period of time, using the minimum amount of effort. Kawecki considered a number of different possibilities before eventually settling on a rise crowned by the remains of a small house. It appeared as if the structure had been hit by an artillery shell and burned. Subsequent to that a tank or a Stalker had flattened what remained of the dwelling, scattering scorched lumber all around.

  The added elevation, and the presence of a well and a nearly intact stone foundation, made for a good start. But to make the camp even more secure, Kawecki ordered his men to create a 360-degree free-fire zone by clearing away any piece of debris large enough for a stink to hide behind.

  Then the soldiers were given orders to prepare firing positions at regular intervals around the perimeter. Finally, once the work was done, they posted sentries and then gathered around small fires. Any blaze could attract the wrong sort of attention, but Kawecki thought that the practical as well as psychological benefits were worth the risk, and Voss agreed.

  So it wasn’t long before people were getting water from the squeaky hand pump, heating rations over one of three fires, and preparing for bed. It was dark by then, and the stars were out, as Voss made the rounds with a mug of coffee
clutched in his hand. The idea was to keep people’s spirits up, give them a chance to gripe if they wanted to, and get to know them better.

  That was what he had in mind as he sat down next to Monica Shaw and asked how she was doing. It was something he had been meaning to do for days. Everybody knew what she had done, so the technician had been something of a pariah, and she looked surprised when Voss spoke to her.

  “Okay, I guess,” she said dispiritedly.

  “Good,” Voss said, as he took a sip of the lukewarm brew. “So tell me about this Judge Ramsey person. How did you come to know him? And how did you wind up the way you did?”

  Shaw shrugged. “My husband and I were refugees. Looking for a place to live. We left our home in Kansas City, and were headed for Tulsa, when a bunch of men who called themselves regulators captured us. Then, along with some other folks, we were taken to a railroad tunnel near Haven, Oklahoma. That’s where Ramsey’s factory is—and where he lives.”

  “Factory?”

  Shaw nodded. “The judge manufactures ammunition, which as he likes to put it, ‘is like making money.’ We were invited to work in the factory in return for food, medical care, and a twelve-by-sixteen-foot room next to the track.”

  Voss finished his coffee with a single swallow. “Did you accept?”

  Shaw stared into the fire next to them. “There wasn’t any choice. You either agree or the regulators take you five miles away and leave you without anything other than the clothes on your back. And we have a daughter. Her name is Amy and she’s three.”

  Voss nodded. “That isn’t much of a choice. So, how did you wind up in Arkansas working for us?”

  “The judge called me into his office one day,” Shaw said dully. “He told me that somebody was trying to start a fake government down in Arkansas—and that I was to go there and become part of it.”

  “And you agreed?”

  Shaw looked up from the flames. Her eyes were huge and her chin trembled. “The judge said Roger—that’s my husband—and Amy were to stay behind. I knew what that meant. So I agreed.”

  “He said it was a ‘fake’ government?”

  “Yes,” Shaw replied. “Not that it matters, since he wants to run everything himself.”

  Voss was silent for a moment. “I can’t say I approve of the choice you made, but I certainly understand it. And I’m glad you changed your mind.”

  He was about to ask Shaw about the shipment of Hale vaccine, and what Ramsey planned to do with it, when he heard a long, drawn-out howl. He heard another, and then another, until a chorus of spine-chilling cries came from all points of the compass. Voss rose, went over to where his gear was laid out, and put his mug down. Then, with both the Rossmore and a bandolier of shotgun shells in hand, he went to see Kawecki. The soldier was on his feet, holding a Bullseye Mark III pointed up at the sky. Orders had been given and soldiers were rushing to man their various positions.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “I think we’re in a heap of trouble, Mr. President. There must be fifteen or twenty Howlers out there.”

  “Yeah! Why so many, I wonder?”

  Kawecki was silent for a moment. “I figure it’s the bones, sir. Maybe the Howlers are hungry. If so there’s plenty of marrow in those bones.”

  The comment was punctuated by a prolonged howl. The noise was not only closer, but soon echoed by other Howlers, who were clearly closing in on the encampment.

  “I wish we had more shotguns,” Voss said, as he pumped a shell into the Rossmore’s chamber.

  Kawecki, who was well aware of the manner in which Howlers could absorb bullets and other projectiles, nodded. “I suggest that we make the rounds, Mr. President. You go left and I’ll go right. Please remind those with shotguns to hold their fire until the beasts are in close. We have a Splicer, a Bellock, and a Wraith. We’ll use those to keep the Howlers at a distance.”

  The men split up, and had just started to circle the defensive wall, when a five-hundred-pound Howler came rushing out of the surrounding darkness. Hostler opened up on it with the Bellock, but he missed, and by the time the explosive round went off, the stink was already in the air. It landed on Shaw, bore her to the ground, and ripped her throat out.

  Then Voss was there, firing into the monster with the Rossmore, and killing it with three loads of double-ought buck. But more Howlers were galloping towards the compound by then. Some tumbled end-for-end as tracers from the Wraith minigun found them, or a Splicer blade ripped through their muscular bodies.

  Yet others seemed unaffected by a hail of Bullseye projectiles, rounds from M4A2 carbines, and lighter backup weapons. Then as a flare soared into the air, and went off with a gentle pop, the humans got their first look at the army of Howlers bounding towards them, and one of the scientists began to scream. Malikov ordered the man to shut up and was there to blast a stink as it soared in over the wall. It landed on a fire, produced an explosion of sparks, and lay in a smoking heap.

  Unable to keep the monsters at a distance, the humans found themselves trapped in a horrible melee. Three stinks were inside the defensive wall by then. Two soldiers and a technician went down. Voss swore as his Rossmore clicked empty. There wasn’t enough time to reload as one of the beasts turned towards him and charged.

  The Magnum came out of the shoulder holster smoothly enough, but Voss wasn’t sure if he could bring the heavy revolver to bear in time, as the Howler launched itself into the air. So he fired a second too soon and knew the bullet had gone wide. Then he pulled the trigger again, saw the hit, and barely had time to activate the secondary fire function as a quarter-ton of Chimera slammed into him.

  Voss was falling backwards as the large-caliber bullet exploded deep inside the Howler’s chest, and blew chunks of bloody meat in every direction. But the crushing impact of the Chimera’s body drove Voss to the ground and forced all the air out of his lungs. And that’s where he was, gasping for breath, when Kawecki and one of his men arrived to roll the corpse off him.

  “It’s over,” Kawecki said, as he pulled the President to his feet. “I think so, anyway.”

  Voss was bent over with his hands on his knees. He felt like he was going to puke. “How many?”

  “Four dead, counting Shaw. Two or three wounded.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And Cassie?”

  Aklin appeared out of the gloom. “I’m fine, but you look like hell. Come on! Let’s see if we can get some of that blood off you.”

  Kawecki watched the President walk away. “We could do worse,” he said to himself. “Much worse.”

  The private standing next to him frowned. “Sir?”

  Kawecki looked at him. “What the hell are you doing here? Get Perkins and drag the stinks out of here. What do you think this is? A frigging picnic?”

  The private nodded. “Yes, sir! I mean, no, sir.” Officers. Who could understand them? There was no answer, nor did he expect one, because some things simply are.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU ASK FOR

  Tuesday, November 3, 1953

  South of Tank Town

  Capelli had been crucified. The cross consisted of a post from which the U.S. Route 81 sign had been removed—and a length of two-by-four scrounged from a nearby barn.

  It was a little past noon. That’s what Capelli figured anyway, as the sun inched across the cloudless sky, and his shadow swung towards the east. His arms were tied to the crosspiece and about five feet of clothesline had been wrapped around both the upright and his legs.

  Capelli had been there for hours by that time and he was cold. Very cold. Eventually, assuming that this day passed as the last two had, Bam-Bam and Inkskin would arrive with some hot soup.

  Unless a group of Hybrids happened along, that is. Then, if there were more stinks than the circus performers could handle, the Chimera would be allowed to kill him. But if there were only two or three Chimera, Alfonso would pop up and stun one of the ’brid
s with a bolt from his crossbow. Meanwhile, Bam-Bam and Inkskin would cut the rest of the stinks down.

  Once they had captured a replacement for El Diablo the circus would be back in business. And, according to Inkskin, Capelli was already slated to fight the new Hybrid. Without a knife.

  Capelli attempted to generate some body heat by flexing his muscles. The result was a little bit of warmth. It was a small victory, but it made him feel better nevertheless. The afternoon wore on.

  It was mid-afternoon by the time Alfonso, Bam-Bam, and Inkskin emerged from their various hiding spots and wandered out onto the two-lane highway. There hadn’t been any traffic, Chimeran or otherwise, which meant the effort to capture a stink would resume the following morning. Unless Ringmaster Jack decided to pull up stakes and go looking for another site, that is.

  All three of the circus performers were carrying canteens and blankets in addition to their weapons, and Capelli figured that at least a couple of them had been napping. The clown’s makeup was badly smudged, which made him look even more sinister than usual. “What a waste of time,” Bam-Bam complained, as he loosened a knot. “You couldn’t draw flies, much less a Chimera.”

  There was no point in answering, and Capelli didn’t as loops of rope fell away. His arms were next, and as Capelli lowered them, Inkskin was there to reattach his collar. Except that as the tattooed man opened the device, and was about to clamp it in place, a high-velocity bullet blew the top of his head off. The report was like an afterthought.

  Capelli felt something warm wash across his face as all of the strength went out of Inkskin’s body and he collapsed. There was a momentary clatter as both the collar and the guard’s weapon hit the pavement.

  And then Capelli’s training kicked in. He was already in motion, sprinting for the side of the road, when a slug snatched Bam-Bam off his feet. With a thump, he landed facedown on the white line.