"Hey," Cy said, coming quickly to her, Lisa's AK held before him in a casual combat carry. He stopped once he reached her side. "Where's Raul?"
"Right there in the bushes where you left him, only now he's sound asleep," Mercy said, motioning with the front end of her M-16 to the spot. Cy looked and then nodded. "Poor fella," Mercy continued. "I didn't try to wake him up. He looked dog tired."
"He was," Cy replied. "He offered to let me sleep first. When I tried to refuse, he just looked at me and said," and with this he effected a Spanish accent, "'Senorita Stanridge will be most upset if you not there when Mercy finish with her and she wake up, si?"
"Si," Mercy agreed with a gentle laugh. "That look on her face when she saw you, well, I think you were the best medicine I could have possibly given her." She now gave Cy a grin. "And she for you."
"You got that right," Cy agreed heartily, giving his own pleasant chuckle as he did. Both her laughter and his chuckle quickly faded away, to be replaced by somber faces and the unnatural stillness of the night in that place. "So how's she doing?" Cy asked quietly.
"About as well as might be expected," Mercy said flatly. "You know the extent of her injuries. I've got her stabilized, but that's about all I can do. I don't have the medical knowledge to do more. She needs major surgery, especially with her smashed left knee and the possibility of internal injuries, and I'm not trained for that." She gave Cy a look that was almost pleading. "Has the Army—?"
"They know we're here," Cy responded quickly. "Raul says he saw an observation helicopter fly over while I was asleep, and then come back for a second pass. He waved at them and they waggled the 'chopper to let him know they had seen him, and then zipped away. After that, nothing."
"Why didn't they land and pick us up?" a surprised Mercy asked.
"They probably had orders not to, given what happened last time," Cy said. "Remember, General Ryan was bending his own orders on pickups when he ordered that Hog down to the deck to get us."
"And that's when the ubermensch knocked it out of the sky and killed everyone on board," Mercy stated evenly.
"Right," Cy said. "You think he's gonna risk that happening again, given the current situation? No, he's not. He's probably guessed what we found out ourselves once we got here. That thing smashed the radio transmitter while it was getting ready for us, so we've got no way to get in touch with him other than visual sighting. He also has every reason to believe that the ubermensch may be hiding somewhere, just itching to take out another of his helicopters like last time. He's not going to come after us until he has forces sufficient and strong enough to deal with that thing once and for all. I'm guessing he's putting together an armored column even now, this time with tanks and other heavy-duty weaponry instead of just heavy machine guns, and that column is going to come straight down that highway out there, guns blazing to make sure we get rescued."
"But you don't know that."
"No, but the idea gives me hope," Cy insisted. "Don't deny me my hope right now, okay? It's one of the few things that's keeping me going."
Mercy nodded. She then cracked a smile as she added. "That, and knowing Lisa's still alive."
Cy paused for a moment, then returned her smile with one of his own. "Yeah. That too."
The former Pandora medical researcher now looked thoughtful. "Question," Mercy said, "and I want an honest answer."
Cy looked at her. "Okay," he answered.
"Did she tell you about her spirit vision thing?"
Cy paused a beat, and then nodded. "Yes, she did."
"Not that I believe it, but still ...." Mercy let the words trail off, and didn't finish them, looking away and across the building's front parking lot instead.
"Yeah," Cy said. "I'll be honest, Mercy. I'd be having a hard time swallowing it if it wasn't for all of the freaky shit that's happened to us already on this little shared Outbreak lark of ours. I also saw some strange things happen when I was young and living back in Tennessee, things neither I nor anyone else could explain by normal means." He gave a chuckle. "Let's just say that while I'm a skeptic, I'm one who keeps an open mind."
"I still tend to think she had an NDE hallucination," Mercy said flatly, trying to sound authoritative but not doing a very good job of it. "I mean, the way that supposed message from the Raven Mocker focused on her as being safe, or saved, or whatever and the rest of us—"
"Oh, so that's the part bothering, you," Cy said. Mercy's head snapped around to see him regarding her in a very Spock-like fashion, with one eyebrow raised. "You're worried because you don't have a guarantee to live, like she supposedly does now."
"Nothing of the sort," Mercy snapped. "It's very delusional, and just the sort of thing I'd expect when ...." She stopped speaking when Cy's expression changed from Spock-like to a definite frown. After that she looked contrite. "I'm sorry, Cy. I'm tired, so tired. Maybe all of this is finally getting on my nerves, and the fact that there's a wounded ubermensch out there getting ready to do its best to kill all of us, Raven Mocker delusions notwithstanding, isn't helping."
Cy stepped up to her. Much to Mercy's surprise, he lifted a hand and put it on her shoulder in a show of friendship and support. "Hey, it's okay. We're all on edge right now, and you know what? I'll bet you've had the least sleep of any of us." Mercy blushed and looked away as Cy continued. "Why don't you go back in there with Lisa and take a catnap if you can, in the time we got left? You look like you could use it."
"But what if the ubermensch comes back?"
"Oh, I'm sure there'll be gunfire aplenty to wake you up," Cy joked. "Now get going. I think we've left Lisa alone long enough." He gave her a wicked grin. "Hey, maybe there's a zombie inside somewhere that thing missed while it was setting its trap for us, and it thinks Lisa would make a nice appetizer."
"That's not funny," Mercy said, suddenly lifting a knuckle and biting on it. She lowered it and looked at Cy. "I'll go all the same, though. Thanks, and thank you for the talk."
"Not at all," Cy said, as he removed his hand and put it back on his weapon. "Sleep well, Mercy."
"Sleep?! After what you just said?!" Mercy pretended to exclaim, but there was a tired twinkle in her eyes. She turned, and then trotted up the building stairs.
Cy watched her go. He waited until she was gone, and then he chuckled. He then looked up to the top of the building and spoke. "You get all of that, Raven Mocker?"
The big black raven perched on the top edge of the building, on the part that was directly above the building entrance, cocked its head from one side to the other and then back again as it stared down at the human male below addressing it. It did nothing else. It was an ordinary action for any bird, and yet there was something sinister about it when it was performed by this particular bird, this oddly unusual raven which seemed to be strangely fixated on the Metro City Outbreak survivors. Cy had noticed it was there as soon as he came back outside, but he had said nothing about it for Mercy's sake. Now he stared at the raven and the raven stared back. They stood that way in a good old fashioned staredown, until Cy eventually broke eye contact and turned away, laughing as he did. "Fine," he muttered. "You win. Have it your way." He heard a rustling of feathers and brief flapping of wings behind him as he walked to where Raul was sleeping, but he pretended to ignore it.
Cy settled himself down behind the hedge close enough to Raul to where he could wake him up in an instant, and yet still be able to see the front gate of the Pandora complex. Of course there was no guarantee that the ubermensch would return that way, but it was the only entrance accessible from the highway. Given what he had seen and experienced of the creature's capabilities so far, he guessed it would favor the direct approach to its prey. The front gate was not the straight line approach from Metro City, but it was the easiest without having to cut through lots of backwoods and hilly terrain without even a gravel road of any appreciable length in the general direction to follow. Besides, the creature had set its original trap to force their group in the direction o
f the front gate and into the complex itself. It had wanted them inside the complex all along. Well, here they were. All that was left was for the creature itself to finish whatever it was doing and then get there. Probably fixing up its injuries and loading up on usable Army weapons, ammo, and armor from the ruins of his convoy, Cy firmly believed. He looked at his watch, and then both nodded and grunted.
"Eh?" Cy heard a sleepy voice beside him say. "What you say, senor?"
"Nothing," Cy replied quietly. "Go back to sleep, Raul. We've still got time."
"But how you know?"
"I just know. Trust me."
"Si." There was a pause, and then. "Miss Lisa?"
"She'll live, thank God, but she's messed up pretty bad. That's why we gotta make sure we stay alive long enough for the Army to come rescue us. Now go back to sleep, okay?"
"Si, senor."
Before long, Cy heard the sound of soft snoring. He turned his head and looked up at the black raven perched on top of the main lab building. "You'll let me know when it's time, won't you Raven Mocker?" he asked softy.
The raven cocked its head at the human, first one way and then the other. It then righted it and stared straight at him for several seconds, while he continued to watch. This time, it was the one that first broke eye contact, as it raised one wing and stuck its head under it in a pose of sleep.
Cy laughed softly. "As I guessed. We still have time. Thanks."
Back outside the city quarantine barriers, General Ryan watched as a small convoy of twelve Army flatbed tractor-trailer rigs pulled into the main staging area for the armored column he was getting ready to deploy into Metro City. Six of them carried vehicles that looked a lot like vintage M48 Patton tanks, the Korean War era precursor to the M60 Pattons with which his forces were currently equipped. Each one was conspicuously marked MARINES, and each came with a crew of U.S. Marines in full battle dress with field kits to assist, but the Army personnel pretended like this was perfectly normal procedure while on deployed duty. The other six flatbed rigs carried what were unmistakably M113 Armadillo armored personnel carriers (APCs) all marked U.S. ARMY, but each had an extra unusual-looking weapon mounted on its back which vaguely resembled a scale-down tank turret. Ryan, his aide, and a new person in the form of a senior Marine colonel watched and chatted as their men went through the process of starting up both the old tanks and modified APCs, then driving them off the flatbed trailers. "God, but those tanks are dusty, sir," Ryan's aide remarked with a smile.
"Those are among the last of the old Marine M67 Zippo tanks," General Ryan replied with a smile. "Right, Bob?"
"Right," replied Colonel Robert "Bob" McKeegan, USMC, from his position beside General Ryan. "Been in storage ever since the war. You guys still have some of your Zippo APCs in service, but I heard you got rid of your own Zippo tanks and most of your Zippo APCs before we did. Anyway, they did very well at the Battle of Hue, as I saw with my own eyes," he ended, giving a smile only a seasoned combat soldier could give.
"You got that right," Ryan responded. "The higher-ups have been getting rid of both kinds whenever they could ever since the war ended, keeping only the minimum they deem necessary. Politics and diplomacy and all that." He gave a short laugh. "Didn't think we'd need them any more."
"Shows you what they know."
"Yeah. Lucky for us I remembered we still had this batch of Zippo APCs assigned to a unit over at Whitefield, and you were kind enough to point us to the last six old tank Zippos you guys still had, Bob."
"My pleasure," McKeegan replied. "One last workout before they get cut up into sardine cans. Going out with a bang, or maybe a big flame in this case."
"Do they still work, sir?" Ryan's aide asked.
"The motors are still good, son," McKeegan said, "otherwise we couldn't have got them onto the flatbeds. The true test is about to begin, though. Watch."
A large area had been cleared in front of and to each side of the lead Zippo APC. Its driver swung it around so the man mounting the weapon in the back would have a clear line of fire through the cleared area. Both looked to the officer in charge, and then he to General Ryan and Colonel McKeegan. McKeegan grinned and waved towards the APC, and then Ryan barked a command to its crew.
"FIRE!"
The gunner hit the firing switch on the weapon. A rod of fire shot from the weapon on top of the APC. It sailed a good 200 yards or so almost all the way down the cleared area, leaving both flame and oily black smoke in its wake. It stopped as soon as the gunner released the firing switch. Everyone was grinning, including both Ryan and McKeegan. "Good!" Ryan shouted to them. He turned to look at his Marine friend. "Your turn, Bob," he said.
McKeegan didn't waste any time. "Bring up the first tank!" he ordered loudly.
The same procedure was repeated, but this time with one of the old Marine Zippo tanks. Its Marine driver trundled it into position, and its Maine gunner rotated the turret until it was also aiming down the cleared test strip. McKeegan looked at Ryan, who grinned and nodded, and then it was McKeegan's turn to snap the order.
"FIRE!"
The same thing happened as before. A long and hot rod of flame shot from the turret's barrel and down almost the full length of the cleared area. It stopped as soon as the Zippo tank's gunner released the firing switch inside the turret.
"Not quite the range of the APCs, sir," Ryan's aide observed. "A good ten yards less or so, I'd say."
"Close enough, for what we've got to do," McKeegan replied. "They can't help it if they're older. They'll still do the job all the same, just like they did at Hue." He looked at Ryan. "Satisfied, Bill?"
"You betcha," Ryan grinned back. He now turned to address the officer-in-charge. "Okay, I'm satisfied. Pass the word to get everybody formed up. We're gonna saddle up and move out as soon as we can, once everyone's ready."
"Yes, sir!" the officer replied. He spun about on his heel and then scurried away, barking orders left and right as the two senior officers watched.
Somewhere over the Atlantic, flying across international waters in a private corporate jet whose ownership, registration, and crew were fortunately not American, Pandora CEO B. D. Nye accepted with thanks the drink that had just been offered him by a rather good-looking stewardess. If he had been a much younger man, he might have allowed himself both the luxury and pleasure of admiring her aft view as she moved up the aisle in order to reach the cockpit and offer service to the cockpit crew. Instead, he again settled back into his seat, took a long and slow sip from his drink, then set it in a drink holder within easy reach of his seat. After that, he let his head sink back and closed his eyes. He wasn't trying to sleep, however, and remained fully conscious. What he was doing was remembering. He thought no more of Piter and June, of the rest of Pandora, or of events in the now-distant Metro City. He was instead remembering last year's Bellville Cup, and the come-from-behind last-minute win that had been brilliantly executed by a beautiful half-breed Cherokee female stock car racer taking part in her first major semi-professional race on the NASCAR Sportsman Circuit. Had he but known back then. Had he but pressed his case more strongly. That had been his fault, he decided. He had underestimated her and her importance in the grand scheme of things, given his lack of pertinent information at the time, and now his mistake had come back to bite him. Had he but known, then maybe. Nye opened his eyes, picked up his drink and took another long and slow sip, then again put it back in its holder. This time he did not close his eyes, but looked out the window at the sunlight dancing above the tops of the clouds. They seemed to invite him to come away with them, back to a time and place that were now no more, so he could revisit those past events once again ... and again revisit where he had first gone wrong with Lisa Stanridge.
The 1982 Bellville Cup Race was over at the Metro City Motor Speedway, which was located a short distance outside of town. The awards ceremony had just finished, Lisa had stepped down from the winners' stand after posing for several pictures with the second and third place win
ners, and had just handed off her first-place trophy to Rob Vesper, who was now standing beside her with his wife Cathy. He was the owner of Vesper's Auto Service, and he had given Lisa a stock car racing sponsorship when no one else would, her being a virtual unknown along with the unspoken issues of both her gender and her Indian heritage. Lisa had been fortunate in hooking up with Rob, because he believed in people having the chance to prove themselves. As a result of his faith in her, his business fortunes had sailed up along with her subsequent successful racing career. The three of them - Lisa, Rob, and Cathy - were now walking to one of the exits on the side of the track when they found a large party of suited men approaching them, escorting two other suited men in their midst.
"Uh oh," Rob said, leaning over to Lisa and half-whispering to her. "That's Mr. Nye and his chief hack from Pandora. I'll bet he's pissed off that you beat both his handpicked racing team and that car he had specially built for them."
"I'll be careful," Lisa said, as she locked eyes with Nye. They remained locked as Nye's group approached, the ring of outer bodyguards parting to accommodate Lisa and the Vespers within their circle and then closing again. Once the group had stopped moving, Lisa and Nye were less then two feet apart with eyes still locked. The Vespers looked worried. The face of Piter de Voormand, Nye's chief hack as Rob Vesper had called him, remained completely bland and emotionless. On the other hand, there were powerful emotions working behind the eyes of one B.D. Nye, although he was doing his best to conceal it.
Lisa decided she would be the one to break the ice. "Hello, Mr. Nye," she said calmly. "This is an honor."
Nye's face suddenly cleared as he forced a smile. It was as cold as his cobalt blue eyes. "No, Ms. Stanridge. The honor is mine, and I commend you on your driving skills today."
Escape From Metro City Page 21