A Hole in the Sky (15 page)

A full five minutes passed after that with no sign of pursuit. So Susan was just about to pack up and leave when one of the men who had come on to her appeared. He was armed, but wasn’t wearing a pack, which seemed to suggest an errand of some sort. Of course that didn’t mean he was looking for her, since there were lots of other reasons why he might venture out.

But if the man
wasn’t
looking for her, then why was a bloodhound straining at the leash in his hand, and leading the way? Susan remembered the big animal now. It had been with the man, sniffing around her ankles, as he invited her to have a drink with him. Something that seemed innocent at the time but took on added significance as the beast bayed and towed its master along.

As the twosome made a beeline for the water tower, Susan was well aware of the fact that many months had passed since she’d fired a rifle. But the skills learned as a little girl, and subsequently honed by the Freedom First instructors, were there waiting to be used.

With no crosswind to speak of, and the air relatively dry, all Susan had to do was squeeze the trigger. The Fareye produced a loud report. The bullet knocked the man’s right leg out from under him, and he went down hard. The dog stopped, circled back, and stood next to its master.

Susan could have killed her pursuer, and probably should have, but was satisfied to shoulder her pack and hurry down the ladder. By keeping the tower’s stiltlike support beams between her and the wounded man, she hoped to prevent any possibility of return fire.

The man was about three hundred feet away. He had a bushy beard, wild uncut hair, and was dressed in denim overalls. And he was tough. Having secured a
makeshift pressure dressing with a blue bandanna, the man was back on his feet. Or foot, since he couldn’t put much weight on the other one. “I’ll find you!” he shouted. “And when I do, you’ll wish you had never been born.”

Susan stopped in her tracks, uttered a sigh, and turned back towards the man. Then, having moved to the left in order to get a clear shot, she raised the Fareye. The man could have fired at her then—but was using his rifle as a cane. So Susan shot him in the head and was already turning away as the body fell.
Some people are just plain stupid. That’s what Dad said, and he was right
.

After securing supplies in Falcon, Susan headed north through Limon and Last Chance, Colorado, to U.S. 36. It paralleled U.S. 40 to the south, but was likely to be less traveled by both humans and the Chimera. That made it ideal insofar as Susan was concerned. Of course, “less traveled” didn’t mean safe. Far from it.

A pair of Howlers had picked up Susan’s trail just west of Atwood, Kansas. It had taken eight long hours, and all the skill she possessed, to establish an ambush, and to take the lion-sized beasts down.

Then, a few miles east of Norton, Susan had been forced to take shelter in a line shack for two days due to heavy rains. Although that had been good in a way: she had taken the opportunity to bathe in a nearby stream, wash both sets of clothes, and fine-tune her gear. That included converting Brewster’s western-style holster into a shoulder rig.

Once the weather cleared, Susan returned to the road. She spotted the jagged top of the defense column seven days later. The tower grew steadily taller as the afternoon wore on. She was a quarter-mile away when the sun began to set.

Having scanned the area for a good ten minutes to
determine that the way was clear, Susan passed through a hole in what had been part of the perimeter fence, and crossed a fire-blackened defense moat.

From there it was a short trip up an embankment, through a gap between a couple of gun positions, and into the debris-strewn area that surrounded the column’s sturdy base. Tons of material had fallen from above. The only sounds were generated by the eternal whine of the prairie wind, her own footsteps, and the rattle of metal treads as she climbed the stairs. She could not help but think about the others who had made the same journey and were almost certainly dead. If not as a result of the battle that had rendered the column impotent, then as a result of some other fight, as the Chimera systematically pounded North America into submission.

But after a good night’s sleep, and with the sunshine angling in from above, Susan was in a good mood as she rolled out of the bag into the chilly air and went about her morning routines. All of the metal surfaces around her were covered with a layer of glittering frost. Water was limited to what she had in two Army canteens, but she was used to such inconveniences, and it wasn’t long before she was dressed and cooking breakfast over a can of Sterno. She still had plenty of oatmeal, but was running low on everything else. That included tea, which she missed very much.

Once the meal was over and her gear was packed, Susan took the Fareye and made her way over to the east side of the deck. It had been too dark to scan the surrounding countryside the evening before, but now she could see for many miles.

Just before President Grace’s death, and over the objections of those who spoke for Freedom First, the Grace administration had not only constructed defense columns like the one Susan was standing on, but so-called Protection Camps as well. They were small towns, really,
in which hundreds of thousands of displaced citizens could be housed, and kept under control.

The city of Concordia had been host to such a camp, and as Susan swung the Fareye from left to right, she could see what remained of it. Hundreds of barrack-style buildings were all set up on a grid, complete with little parks that were positioned with checkerboard-like regularity. The open areas were overgrown now, but Susan could imagine children playing in them, as their parents looked on.

It was a reasonably peaceful scene at the moment, or would have been, were it not for the strange flower-like structure that had blossomed at the southern end of the camp. Susan thought it was some sort of Chimeran spaceship at first. But, after studying the object for a while, she concluded that it was a prefab fortress. The sort of thing the aliens could drop wherever a small base was required.

The black metal dome sat about six feet off the ground. It featured a com mast and three petal-shaped ramps. She assumed there was a fourth on the south side of the structure. A hodgepodge of human vehicles were parked around the dome, which suggested that the stinks had learned to use them.

Susan was too far away to make out very many details. But she could seen tiny figures coming and going and knew that they were Hybrids. It was difficult to keep count, since it was hard to know how many Chimera were inside the structure at any given moment, but Susan estimated that fifteen to twenty of the aliens were in residence. And the longer she watched, the angrier she became. She was sick and tired of running and hiding from the creatures who had murdered her family.

Those emotions gave birth to an idea that was both audacious and more than a little absurd. What if Susan could wipe out all of the stinks associated with the base?
It wouldn’t mean a damned thing where the big picture was concerned. The Chimera would still be in control of the United States. But it would be a victory of sorts. That got her to thinking, and a plan started to come together.

The Chimera had taken Concordia. And now it was time for the bastards to pay.

Having left the tower a little after noon and stashing her gear in a culvert, Susan was waiting at the west side of the Protection Camp when darkness fell. Now, being right next to one of the outlying buildings, it was easy to see why critics including Freedom First had been so opposed to what they called “citizen concentration camps.” Meaning places where a substantial portion of the population could be forced to live according to rules laid down by an increasingly dictatorial government.

But Susan knew it was important to put such concerns aside as she entered the maze of buildings with the Fareye slung across her back and the Reaper in her hands. She didn’t want to use the weapon, though. Not yet anyway. Because in order to execute her plan, she needed a stink magnet and a reliable source of light. Something other than the Chimeran base, which was lit up like a Christmas tree.

As Susan darted from building to building, she had to watch out for the debris that lay everywhere—and for either a Chimera or one of their Drones. Although judging from the way the firebase was illuminated, the aliens hadn’t been attacked in a long time.

After counting the streets from the tower, Susan knew when she arrived at what she thought of as 15th Avenue. She circled a burned-out car and crossed the street. Having entered the long, narrow building on the other side, she used blips of light from a hand torch to navigate down a dusty hallway. It was lined by tiny apartments,
glorified bedrooms really, all equipped with bunk beds and basic furnishings.

Susan had a pack of cigarettes. Not to smoke but to trade, one coffin nail at a time, to those who did. But in this situation she was about to turn a tube of tobacco and a pack of matches into a trigger. She placed a cigarette crosswise inside the packet of matches, being careful to keep the tip well away from the match heads.

According to Susan’s Freedom First instructors, the average burn time for a Camel was four to five minutes. Plenty of time in which to reach her next destination. But first she gathered a pile of flammable materials together, lit the cigarette, and placed the triggering device next to a big wad of dry newspaper.

With that accomplished, she hurried out into the night and made for the nearest watchtower. The two-story structures were located at regular intervals throughout the camp. Their purpose being to protect the inhabitants and control them.

Susan let the Reaper hang crosswise over her chest so both her hands and feet were free to climb the ladder. A series of quick steps carried her up through a circular opening to the point where she could step off it onto a wooden deck. It was surrounded by four waist-high walls and topped with a conical roof. The structure wouldn’t protect her from .22-caliber bullets, much less blasts from an Auger. But hopefully the element of surprise, and the cover of darkness, would offer sufficient protection.

Kneeling in front of a south-facing window with the Reaper within easy reach, Susan brought the Fareye around and slipped the sling up over her head. By that time she could see a red-orange glow through the windows of the building in which the fire had been set. And
it wasn’t long before flames escaped through open doorways and began to climb the outside walls.

Would the Chimera ignore the blaze? Or would they attempt to put it out? There was no way to know. But one thing was for sure: If the neighboring structures caught fire, and the conflagration began to spread, the fire would threaten their base. And that was a good thing.

So she watched with interest as a Chimeran transport roared up the street and came to a halt. Half a dozen Hybrids got out. But, rather than fight the fire, they began to scan the area with Augers in an effort to locate the person or persons responsible for the blaze. The whole thing was absurdly easy at first, thanks to the fact that the Hybrids were silhouetted against the flames. All Susan had to do was move the Fareye from target to target and pick them off one at a time. Five of them went down before the survivors realized what was happening and sought cover.

Rather than try to figure out where the Hybrids were hiding, Susan turned her attention to the heretofore brightly lit dome. It suddenly went dark as an engine started and reinforcements piled into a second transport.

Susan smiled grimly as the headlights came on and she inserted a fresh magazine into the rifle’s well. It appeared that the hive-mind, or whatever it was that controlled the Hybrids, hadn’t run into that situation before. By using the headlights as reference points, she was able to put three bullets into the area where the windshield should have been. The transport swerved left, then right, and smashed into a building. It didn’t blow up, which was unfortunate, but Susan was happy nevertheless as she passed the sling over her head and felt the Fareye thump her back.

Having grabbed the Reaper, Susan was in the process of turning towards the opening at the center of the room
when a Patrol Drone popped up through the aperture and a bright light speared her eyes. The robot exploded as a burst from the Reaper struck it. But other machines were visible outside the windows by then, and she felt a searing pain as a couple of projectiles grazed her ribs.

At that point the situation became desperate as Susan held the trigger down while turning a full circle. Drones exploded one after another, bits of shrapnel stung her face, and the Reaper clicked empty.

Susan ejected the empty magazine and replaced it with another as she made for the ladder. She clamped the side rails between her boots and slid to the ground. Her boots thumped as they hit the ground. Auger bolts flashed around her and lesser projectiles kicked up geysers of dirt. It was time to run.

As Susan zigzagged through the firelit maze of buildings, the whole notion of taking on a couple dozen Hybrids by herself seemed stupid now. She would be lucky to survive. A breeze came up as a Bullseye tag blipped past her head. Sparks flew high into the air, where they circled for a moment, before being carried to other buildings. In no time at all, cedar-shingled roofs caught fire and the blaze began to spread.

The surviving Hybrids stopped firing within a matter of seconds, and Susan could imagine them running towards the suddenly vulnerable dome. At that point it would have been smart to keep going, retrieve her pack, and clear the area as quickly as possible. But one of her father’s favorite sayings was “Never leave a job half finished.”

So Susan switched to offense. The open wound hurt, but she forced herself to ignore the pain as she jogged south. At least ten buildings were on fire by then, and there was plenty of light to see by as she neared the dome. The lights were back on and half a dozen ’brids were standing in front of the structure as if to guard it.

Susan brought the Fareye around, braced the rifle against a signpost, and triggered a series of quick shots. All but one of them flew true. Then the weapon was empty as the sole surviving stink spotted the weapon’s final muzzle flash and turned in her direction. It charged straight at her, firing as it came. Projectiles buzzed past her.