Red the First (15 page)

“
Who am I kidding?” He sunk
down onto the bed, holding his head in his hands. “They’re never
gonna buy any of this.”

Elizabeth did her best to keep Michael
out of the loop, because she wanted his last days under the sun to
be happy ones. Red saw the wisdom in that and pushed himself to act
cheerful in front of his adopted son, but Michael figured out
something was up anyway. He’d often drop whatever he was doing to
give Red a spontaneous hug and then walk away, shoulders slumped, a
morose expression darkening his smooth features.

September 17th fell on a Saturday. The
general’s instructions were clear that the key needed to be turned
on September 18
^th
. Father Bob always held a Saturday
afternoon Mass, which many of the villagers attended regardless of
their prior religious affiliations as Bob was the only cleric in
Hewego, so this would be the perfect time to divulge the bunker’s
existence. The general’s notes warned that people were fickle,
behaving like sheep, suggesting that the leaders of the communities
give their residents little time to dwell on the situation.
Civilians tended to question authority. If allowed time to think
about the information, they would get antsy, start to second guess
every claim, every decision, and demand to go home. If one left,
that would trigger a deeply wired instinct to follow, and if the
evacuation occurred before the eleventh hour, half the population
would trickle back to Hewego.

Red had originally thought it too risky
to make the exodus so close to the final countdown, but having read
through the general’s notes on how to arrange the transfer and
convince people to come, he had to admit that from a psychological
standpoint, getting everyone there just before the bunker went on
lockdown made a lot of sense. After this 4 pm Mass, he would
deliver the ‘good’ news about the discovery of the underground
shelter that everybody needed to see. They would all go together,
make it into a sort of impromptu parade. What a thin excuse for
getting the whole town to leave at once! Would anybody buy his
sales pitch?

It had been a long time since he sold a
sucker a used car, and the new simpler life he’d led for the past
years had left him feeling like a new man, but now it was time to
slip into old habits. He needed to convince, not just one person to
buy a car they didn’t think they needed, but a whole town to go see
this wonderful bunker with all the modern amenities they’d been
longing for since the plague. And once they’d all gotten safely
into the bunker, he had to convince them that the world was being
overrun by aliens, an invasion which could only be stopped by
blowing up the sweet world above. Good Lord, he felt like Satan
slithering in the apple tree, trying to lure Eve with the apple.
Once she bit into it, life would never be the same. Red had been a
good salesman in his day, but not brilliant, and he was out of
practice. He was dreading his initial speech.

For the speech, Red dressed in a nice
suit. As a salesman, he learned that a well-dressed man always
looked more credible. He walked toward the town center alone, where
others would be gathering for the Mass.

Elizabeth had spent the afternoon
vomiting. She pretended it was from something she had eaten, but he
knew it was a bad case of nerves. She was freaked out about his
speech, the exodus, the idea of living underground for the rest of
her life. Whether the people bought it, or rejected it, the world
was about to change—again.

Father Bob lived on the second floor of
the Old Tire Hut. Services were held on the former tire sales
floor. Sales—Red told himself that was a good omen for an ex-car
dealer.

He found Father Bob in the back office,
reading from the bible, scribbling a few notes. Red looked at his
Doomsday watch. Thirteen hours and fifteen minutes left until the
countdown.

“
Good to see you, Red, what
can I do for you?”

“
I’m just just reminding you
about my announcement at the service.”

“
Today’s the day—isn’t
it?”

“
Yep.”

“
After I conclude the
service, the pulpit is yours.”

“
Do you have my back,
padre?”

“
My aim is your soul,
Red.”

They shared a little laugh but that
didn’t ease the tension. Red chose a folding seat near the front
row, refusing to mingle. People were straggling into the service,
some alone, some in small groups. Professor Linkletter stood at the
front of the room, where the lectors read scripture during the
service, to sing the welcoming hymn. She was a polished alto. Red
was sure she could have gone pro before the apocalypse, if she’d
been interested in a career in the soft arts.

Music used to be something he took for
granted. Now, it was appreciated like birthday cake—a highly
anticipated treat. Closing his eyes, he tried to lose himself in
the soothing strains of Henry B Lytes’s famous hymn. It was one of
his wife’s favorites. “Abide with me; fast falls the eventide; the
darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide…” The professor’s buttery
voice soothed his frayed nerves, but just a little.

Looking neither left nor right, he
clutched the speech, staring at the golden box behind the altar.
Michael had told him once that when the candle beside the box was
lit, it meant that God dwelled inside. That was almost as
unbelievable as green alien invaders. But the Celeruns were for
real. He’d seen one with his own eyes, heard one with his own ears,
touched one with his own hands. He gazed fiercely at the golden
box. The candle beside the box danced in the breeze.

“
Lord,” he said, unable to
pull his eyes away from the gleaming container. “If you’re in
there, then you know about my plans. Please, help me to convince
the people. Please, help us through these days to come.
Amen.”

Red sucked in a breath, and let it out
in a controlled exhale. Elizabeth had entered without his noticing.
She slipped into the seat next to him, touching his arm to get his
attention. He was grateful to have an ally and the weight on his
shoulders got a little lighter with his wife’s companionship. His
wife wasn’t Catholic, neither was he, but Michael had been raised
in the faith. The boy took pride in being an altar server. If it
wasn’t for that, Red wouldn’t go to any church at all. Before the
plague, he had chosen his religion based on which one could bring
him the most business.

He liked Father Bob though. The man was
easy-going, for the most part, but in Red’s opinion, the priest was
too particular about only Catholics receiving communion. That was
the wrong message for a mixed community which thrived only because
of their unity and Red had told the priest exactly what he thought
about it. Father Bob had gone into a theology lesson, but Red
remained firm in his opinion. So did Father Bob.

Elizabeth squirmed in the seat next to
Red. She looked gray around the edges, biting her nails as they
waited to face the ridicule.

“
The professor is in fine
form this morning,” he whispered, trying to help her focus on
something else. She sniffled and he realized that she was
crying.

Michael came down the aisle holding a
processional cross, clutching the pole tightly. Two girls from his
school followed behind him, holding large candles. Jerome entered
next, with a bible hefted high over his head. Father Bob entered
last, wearing a green robe.

“
Listen to the lyrics, Red,”
Elizabeth said as Professor Linkletter continued to sing. “It’s
like they were written especially for these times.”

Father Bob made his way to the front of
the church to face everyone. He made the sign of the cross in the
air and said, “Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the
Lord Jesus Christ.”

“
And with your spirit,” the
congregation answered.

One of the service garage doors
suddenly swung upward, and a long shadow fell across the
congregation. The man who had interrupted the service stood there
with sunlight pouring in behind him through the door. Red’s eyes
struggled to adjust to the intrusion. He realized it was Nate,
dripping with sweat, gasping.

“
Last Haven is under
attack!” Nate struggled to catch his breath, but managed to pant
out, “Survivors are streaming into town as I speak!”

Red stood to attention. “Who’s
attacking them?”

“
You’re not gonna believe
this. Aliens, and not the kind from Mexico!” Some people giggled,
but the members of the council looked alarmed. As far as Red was
concerned, Nate couldn’t have come at a better time. He crumpled up
his speech and tossed it to the floor.

“
Nate, you idiot, how dare
you interrupt church for one of your silly pranks,” Farmer
Morningside said from the back row.

“
Go home, Nate.” An old man
said. “We don’t need your kind of trouble.”

“
For God’s sake, you’re in
church,” a woman said. “Quit lying.”

“
This is no prank, no lie!
One of the UFOs landed near Last Haven a few hours ago. You all
know the ones I’m talking about; you’ve all seen them! Green aliens
came out of it and are killing everybody in sight.” Nate said. “If
you don’t believe me, come outside and take a look for
yourselves.”

“
General Moore warned us
about this,” Elizabeth turned to face the congregation, wagging a
scolding finger at the council members in attendance. “But none of
you would listen.”

“
We better take a look,”
Father Bob said, exchanging a frightened look with Red and
Elizabeth. “Everybody outside.”

The crowd followed Nate outside to look
in the direction of Last Haven. Pulses of blue and red light
illuminated the horizon over the neighboring town, while plumes of
black smoke striated the blue sky.

“
That’s just ol’ Buck doing
some back burning,” Farmer Morningside said crankily.

A man from Last Haven stumbled up the
road toward the town square, and several men rushed out to help.
They carried him fireman-style into the center of the crowd. His
skin was hanging in ribbons off half his face. Wicked burns covered
the left side of his body. People quickly got Doc, who elbowed his
way through the crowd, ordering them to bring him to his
office.

“
Monsters came out of the
sky,” the man moaned, clutching Doc’s shirt. “And we can’t stop
them.”

Suddenly a whiz of air swept through
the crowd.

Two noiseless silver machines,
resembling jet-skis, but much sleeker, skimmed over the ground on
cushions of air. One rider’s round head was topped with a thick mop
of dandelion-yellow hair. The other’s bald skull was covered with
something that looked like dimples on a golf ball. Jaws dropped,
and people hugged their children protectively to their
sides.

The alien drivers, tall and green,
steered their hovercrafts around the people, then tore through the
center of the gathering, forcing everyone to scatter. The bald
alien raised a shiny rod. Red raised his black .38 in response,
shooting both of the aliens—one between the eyes, the other in the
temple. They fell dead at the feet of the screaming crowd, now
panicked into clustering back together again for
protection.

“
Why did you do that?”
Blanche demanded to know. “We don’t even know what they
wanted.”

“
I know what they wanted,”
Red said. “And that’s why they’re dead.”

“
Oh, boy,” Farmer
Morningside took off his hat. His hands shook as he swiped his
sweaty forehead with a red bandana. “That black fella knew what he
was talking about.”

The Wakelands stepped in.

“
These creatures are not
human,” Red said to the villagers, still goggling at the corpses at
their feet. “They’re Celeruns, members of an ancient alien race
whose goal is to rid the universe of all species except their
own.”

People stared down at the ground where
the large green creatures had fallen. Nobody moved or spoke as they
tried to absorb the implications.

“
The world’s governments
have known about them a very long time.” Elizabeth took over the
narration. “But those governments did too little, too late, to stop
the threat. Now the burden falls on us, but my husband has a
plan.”

All eyes turned to Red, warily and
fearfully. He nodded, and picked up with Elizabeth’s
prompt.

“
The Celeruns thought that
the shock-value of their mere presence would be enough to shatter
Hewego into disorganized panic.” The people in the crowd were
hugging each other. Some were crying. Those who weren’t looking at
the dead aliens in horrid fascination, watched Red instead,
absorbing his every word. “But Hewego is stronger than that because
we are prepared.”

“
This can’t be happening.”
A woman clutched her cheeks and began to weep. Frantic talking
erupted through the crowd. Red had lost his audience.

Doc tugged at a dead alien’s face as
if he thought it might be a mask. When he couldn’t get it off, he
opened the creature’s mouth, and aimed the little flashlight he
always carried into the now-exposed cavity; what he glimpsed within
left him visibly shaken. The crowd held its breath, waiting for his
verdict.

“
This body is not human,”
Doc announced. “Or even animal. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever
seen.”