The Stranger (25 page)

Phoenix gushed, “We need people on the outside to bring survivors like yourself to the bunkers.”

“Why?”

“We can provide food, clothing, everything you need. You can make a start by bringing your own people here. Like yourselves, they can rest, enjoy some of our hospitality while we help you get organized into a secure society. You will be able—”

“Whoa, Phoenix. Hold on.” Michaela stood up. “You know we’re still outnumbered out there by thousands to one. The hornets are everywhere. We’ve tried to settle in one place, but they keep driving us on.”

“We can help you.” Phoenix paused. The excitement exerted him. I could hear his breathing rasp from the speakers. “We will be dispatching military units in armored vehicles. There’ll be helicopter gunships. They will use all the firepower at their disposal—and believe me, it is formidable firepower—to create safe home-lands for our people.”

I shook my head. “You mean you’re going to clear cities of hornets. Then what? Build a big wall around Chicago or Atlanta?”

“I understand you might be skeptical after what you’ve encountered in the outside world. But there are areas of America that are largely free of affected people, the hornets as you call them.”

“Excuse my skepticism,” I said. “Really, I want this to work as much as anyone, but it’s going to be a tall order.”

Michaela nodded. “It’s a wasteland out there. You’re lucky to find a single house that hasn’t been smashed to pieces or burned.”

“We can build new houses. We can repair those that aren’t badly damaged.”

“You’re asking us to put our faith in you?”

“Yeah.” Michaela sounded angry. “Where were all you people when our nation was being torn apart and citizens being killed by the thousand? You were hiding here in your bunkers watching
Friends
or snacking on microwave weeners.”

“Michaela.” Phoenix’s voice oozed with calm sincerity. “Michaela. We were taken by surprise. We’ve needed months to regroup and reorder ourselves. Many of our armed forces were destroyed along with civilians. Besides, we couldn’t bomb our own towns and cities, could we?”

“OK,” she said, not backing down. “Tell me what you and your bunker buddies are going to do to help the likes of us.”

“I don’t have to tell you, I can show you. Please watch the TV screen.”

Thirty-seven

Somewhere in the bunker Phoenix operated the big TV on the wall. One second a sitcom I didn’t even know the name of had been playing, the next the canned laughter vanished, to be replaced by a view of a desert with a dust road and hundreds of Joshua trees. The morning sun blazed down from a cloudless sky.

“This,” Phoenix said, “is the scene from a big military bunker complex in Texas. Exactly where I can’t say for security reasons. You’re seeing this live as it happens. Any moment now you’ll see why I’m so optimistic about things working out. Right-o. We’re going to switch to another camera. Here we go.” At the bottom of the screen ran a code that didn’t make much sense at first:
TX 03/23. EXT. CAM 3
.

When Phoenix said, “Here we go,” the scene shifted. Now we looked from a camera mounted on some high point perhaps thirty feet above the ground and showing the edge of a large concrete structure that had been painted a dappling of browns and dull yellows to camouflage it against the desert. Now part of the code changed. The first part remained the same,
TX 03
. I figured that was the location,
Texas
followed by some identification number. The next code had changed to
EXT. CAM 5
. That was easy enough to figure:
Exterior camera number five
.

Phoenix’s voice was breathy with excitement. “Do you see what’s happening now? We’re moving out. We’re taking back what’s rightfully ours.”

I looked out across the desert scene. Among the Joshua trees were hundreds of figures. From their ragged clothes and wild hair you could tell they were hornets easily enough.

“There they go!” Phoenix’s voice rose to a shout as from an opening in the bunker rolled tanks, APCs and maybe another dozen armored vehicles. They immediately plunged into the desert, crushing the Joshua trees to pulp. Seconds later they’d reached the hornets, too. Men and women by the dozen went under the caterpillar tracks or fell victim to guns of many different calibers. Tracers spat fiery sparks across the terrain to drop the hornets into the dust by the dozen. Then came the bigger guns, lobbing high explosive shells into clumps of hornets. They vanished in a flash of flame.

“That’s right,” Phoenix panted. “We’re fighting back. It’s like this all over the country.”

We watched the screen as lines of troops appeared to walk toward the surviving hornets. Of course hornets never run. You can’t even make them flinch. They stood there with their God almighty hammers and clubs at the ready, but the GIs simply picked them off one by one with their automatic rifles. At last the bad guys had met their match. We were fighting back. We were winning.

We sat there for maybe an hour, watching the one-sided battle. When the troops had finished with the hornets armored bulldozers moved out to scrape the desert clean of all that butchered flesh. After the corpses were piled into heaps they were soaked in gasoline and burned. By lunchtime funeral pyres shot smoke into clear blue skies.

We watched as if we’d been welded to the seats. This was nothing less than a miracle. We were seeing the rebirth of a nation. Our nation.

“I’ve clearance to show you some more scenes,” Phoenix told us. “Sit tight.”

The banner at the bottom of the screen contained the text:
WYMG
(Wyoming?)
04/18. EXT. CAM 2
. This time helicopter gunships passed overhead to pour down bone-shattering rocket fire on a cluster of hornets running toward the camera. The same pattern followed. Armored bulldozers shoved the corpses into mounds. Then came the gasoline. Burn, baby, burn. I felt the blood roaring through my veins. Yes! We were doing it! We were wiping out the goddam monsters!

“Next scene,” Phoenix said. He sounded pleased. “You might find this a little different. Again I’m not permitted to give you a specific location other than that it’s an island in Hawaii.”

I saw a tract of grass dotted with palm trees, ending with rocks, then sea. In the distance surf rolled in creamy waves across the beach. The midday sun shone down, making the place look like paradise.

“This can’t be live,” Michaela said. “It’ll still be night in Hawaii.”

“You’re right; this was recorded yesterday. And I think this might be the best news yet.”

Not a lot happened in this scene. Half a dozen guys were lazily playing baseball on the grass. Strolling into the picture came a couple of young women in army fatigues.

“What are you showing us, Phoenix?”

“What do you see?”

“People enjoying the sunshine.”

“Exactly. What you don’t see are any hornets. The crew have left the bunker.”

“You’re saying there aren’t any hornets on the island?”

“There aren’t anymore. We destroyed the last one a week ago. Those people are safe to stroll ’round the place unarmed, take in the sun, go for a swim. Looks great, doesn’t it?”

“It does look great,” I agreed with feeling. “What time does the next flight leave?”

Phoenix gave a soft, breathy laugh. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be patient, Greg. But one day . . . who knows?”

I looked at the text at the bottom of the screen. Along with the camera number were the letters:
MKI
. That had to be the Hawaiian island of Molokai.

Phoenix spoke: “So you can bring your people here to the bunker. See for yourself; we’ve begun the battle to liberate America.”

I looked at Michaela. There was such a look of enchantment on her face as she watched those happy people in the island sunshine. They were in paradise.

That night everything changed again.

Thirty-eight

Michaela sat up in bed when I switched on the light. She looked uneasy. “They’re going to be sore if we start snooping ’round those bunker rooms.”

“You really think they’re going to throw us out to the hornets?”

“I wouldn’t like to chance it.”

“They’ll never know. They’ll all be asleep at this time of night.”

“OK. Just give me a minute to get dressed.”

I backed out through the doorway of her bedroom and waited in the corridor as she slipped on the green sweatshirt and pants. The time was creeping up to two in the morning. I’d waited until I guessed the bunker crews in the main part of the installation were asleep, and I was wagering that the sealed rooms in our annex weren’t wired to an alarm. I know there really wasn’t a good, logical reason to poke ’round in places that were off limits. But I still had a sneaking suspicion something wasn’t right. I remembered how Phoenix had put us through the degrading decontamination procedure while no doubt ogling himself rigid (and, yeah, I had a gut feeling that Phoenix was a HE, not a SHE). We knew, also, that he spied on us and eavesdropped on our conversations.

“You got the numbers?” Michaela asked as she stepped into the corridor.

“Right here.” I touched my pocket.

“You know, if sirens start screaming because we’ve tripped some alarm we’re going to be in the crap waist deep.”

“Don’t worry.”

“These military types don’t like people disobeying orders.”

“Phoenix said he was on the civilian side of things.”

“But there are army personnel here.”

“I’ll tell them I was sleepwalking.”

“Yeah, right, and you just happened to dream access code numbers to locked doors.”

“There’s probably nothing behind them anyway.”

“Then why bother risking our necks to poke in some storerooms full of pails and brooms?”

“Phoenix isn’t telling us everything.”

“And what makes you think he’s not listening to us right now? There could be bugs hidden in the walls.”

“There might,” I agreed. “But the guy’s got to sleep sometime.”

She sighed. “Let’s get this over with then.”

We walked along the corridor, past the stairway that led up to the living room level, through the double doors and into the bleak-looking concrete passageway beyond with the sealed doors that had a brooding quality about them. It was colder here, too. Michaela shivered, gooseflesh raising her arms into bumps. She folded her arms.

“No, Greg. Whichever way you look at this I don’t like it.” Her shoulders gave another shiver. “These doors are locked for a reason.”

I pulled the sheet of paper that contained the porn doodle of Dr. Roestller and the columns of numbers from my pocket. “See this?” I said, and read out the four-digit number. “Seven-six-o-eight. The letters by this one are SB.” I nodded at the door labeled
SICK BAY
. “I guess this one matches with that number.”

Michaela’s unease grew. “You’re not looking in there, are you? All you’ll find are Band-Aids and bed-pans.”

Glancing down at the list of numbers, I matched doors to code numbers. Beside each steel door was an illuminated keypad, inviting me to tap a number and— open sesame!—I’m in. “One of the doors doesn’t have a keypad.” I nodded toward a set of twin steel doors. I read the word stenciled there. “
Comm-Route
. What do you think that means?”

“I don’t know, Greg. Come to that, I don’t really care. Listen.” She touched my arm. “I don’t think we should be doing this.”

“You think I’m being goddam nosy?”

“Yes. Phoenix has invited us to bring the rest of our people here. Don’t louse it up for Zak and the others.”

“But there’s something he’s not telling us.”

“Such as?”

“Didn’t you think that sudden invitation to Phoenix’s house party seemed convenient?”

“You saw what I did on TV. The military have launched an offensive against the hornets.”

“I know. I’m as pleased as the next man.”

“But?”

“I don’t know, Michaela. I just don’t know. . . .” I murmured the words as I ran my hands over the twin doors marked
COMM-ROUTE
. These were more solid than the doors to the sick bay and boardroom. What’s more, a lip of steel ran ’round the doorway to seal them tight. They made me think of bulkhead doors in a submarine. I ran my fingers ’round the edge of the doorway. “Rubber seals,” I said. “It’s meant to be air-tight. But look at this at the bottom.” I crumbled a piece of rubber between my finger and thumb. “It’s rotted.”

Meanwhile Michaela looked ’round, as if she expected a voice to boom out, ordering us to return to our rooms.

“Hell,” I said, “this stuff is coming away by the yard.” A length of rubber looking like black spaghetti came away in my hand.

“Greg, leave it, please. They’ll go ape if they think you’re wrecking the place.”

“It’s rotted to crud.”

“Greg, I’m going back to my room. You do the same . . .
please.”

“Michaela—”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting to find, apart from a whole heap of trouble. But we’ve got a chance to bring our people into a place of safety. Don’t you understand what that means? They can eat and sleep and take it easy just like we have. Listen, Greg, Phoenix is giving us a chance to live normal lives again. We can’t just . . .
Greg, what’s wrong?”

I squatted by the door. Another strip of rubber seal came away. Wet and cold. Condensation had been working on the rubber for years. The rubber lay limp as a dead snake in my hand. The moment it fell from between the door and the steel frame I felt a jet of air play against my lips and nose. Cold as ice, it carried the smell of damp, confined spaces. When you lever back the slab of a tomb it must feel and smell like this. Faint toadstool odors. Moss. Damp. Decay. Chilled air that sends a shiver down your spine and fills your head with images of shriveled eyes and long-dead bones.

“Greg? You don’t look well.” She sounded anxious. “What’s wrong?”

The jet of air struck my face . . . something liquid about it . . . a sense of poisons floating there . . .

“Greg, are you—Greg, don’t!”

I slammed against the door. My fist punched at the steel. I punched again. My skin ripped across the knuckle, sending blood streaming across gray paint-work, smearing
COMM-ROUTE
.

I snarled through gritted teeth, “They’re in there . . .
they’re in there!”

“Hornets?”

I nodded, my muscles snapping so tight in my stomach and back that I wanted to roar with pain. “Comm-Route . . . it means Communicating Route, doesn’t it?” I pushed myself back from the door to stop myself trying to tear it down with my bare hands. “That’s the tunnel link between this annex and the main bunker.”

“Easy, Greg . . .”

I clenched my fists as my stomach muscles spasmed like they were trying to rip out through my skin. “They’re in there. They’re inside . . .”

“That can’t be right. We’ve talked to Phoenix. We’ve seen the bunker crew. This place is secure; it’s like a fortress; hornets can’t be—”

I backed away from the door, shaking my head, perspiration running down my face, my heart pounding. “They’re here . . .” My voice came in a rasp. “They’re here . . . I don’t know how . . . but they’re here . . .”

Her eyes were frightened, huge-looking. “Greg, come away from the doors . . . no, right away.” She pulled me back. “Let me see your hand; you’ve cut it.”

“No. I’m going to find out what’s happening here.”

I yanked the sheet of paper from my pocket. Scanning it, I compared the words on the doors to the numbers I’d copied down. “Sick Bay. Boardroom . . . they don’t seem important. What’s this one?” I looked at a steel door. “Quartermaster store. There should be fire-arms in there.”

“I’ll feel more confident with a gun in my hand.”

Michaela suddenly became businesslike. “Tell me the code.”

“Four-seven-nine-nine.”

“Got it.” She tapped the number into the keypad. The electronic lock buzzed, then clicked. Michaela pushed the door. It opened easily. A light flickered on inside. “Oh, hell.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Empty. Someone cleaned it out.”

I glanced into the storeroom. Bare shelves. Empty racks that must have once held rifles. “There were guns here,” I said. “But Phoenix’s people didn’t want guests helping themselves. Try the next one.” To do this I had to pass the big double doors with my blood smeared across
COMM-ROUTE
. Instantly the Twitch came back to me. God, yes, those sons of bitches were in there. But how did you get through those twin doors? No keypad, so no electronic lock. No handles. It must be locked from the other side.

“Greg . . . Greg? Are you sure you want to do this?”

I looked at Michaela, my stomach muscles jumping.

“Greg, you don’t look well.”

You look crazy
. That’s what she wanted to say. I knew my nostrils were flared. I was panting. My eyes would be blazing like the fires of hell. But then, this was a bad one. I could believe there were a thousand hornets lined up there, waiting to burst in and pound us to bloody hamburger meat.

I took a deep breath to try to steady my racing heart, but, hell, nothing would stop the muscles in my stomach writhing like a bunch of snakes. “There’s nothing written against the next numbers,” I said. Jesus, I felt surprised at how calm I sounded. “Try all of them.”

“OK. First one.”

“Six-seven-three-one.”

She tapped the number into the keypad beside the door marked
BACKUP OPS
. She waited for a moment. No buzz. No click.

“Next,” she said.

“Four-four-one-one.”

She punched in the code. Nothing.

“OK. Next.”

“Eight-seven-three-o.”

Buzz. Click
.

“Bull’s-eye, we’re in.” She pushed open the door. Inside, the room had the feel of a dark cavern.

“Take it easy,” I said. “I don’t know if we’ve got company in here.” I leaned in, feeling the inside wall for a light switch. My fingers located a plastic pad. I pushed it. Instantly, fluorescence came with a fluttering brilliance. “Looks as if we’ve struck the jackpot.”

Michaela stepped in, her eyes wide with awe. “Just look at this place. Look at all the equipment! It’s like a TV newsroom.”

Good description. The room was maybe thirty-by-forty feet. In two rows, one behind the other, were workstations complete with keyboards and monitors, while filling just about the entire end wall was a vast booster screen. At the side of it were a bank of electronic clocks.

I glanced at my watch. “They’re showing the time coast to coast.”

“This must be the backup command center in case the one in the main bunker gets knocked out.”

“If this is a duplicate of what’s in the main building, then we could do all the stuff that Phoenix does, accessing other bunkers.”

“I guess.” Now thoughtful, she ran her fingers along the desktop, drawing furrows in the dust. “If we knew how to work it.”

“Try.”

“Greg? I don’t know where to begin.”

“You had a computer at home, didn’t you? You used one at college?”

“Sure, but—”

“Then the principle must be the same.” I pressed a button on one of the computer terminals. Nothing happened. “Huh. Maybe there’s some central control you need to switch on first. A circuit breaker or—”

“Greg.” I felt her hand on my arm. “Look at the big screen. Something’s happening.”

The booster screen that filled the wall had developed a snowstorm. A second later that flickered out, to be replaced by a color bar test pattern with the words
HIT ANY KEY
through the center. Michaela reached forward, her slender finger running beneath the computer monitor. She rotated a control beneath it and the screen brightened, to reveal a screen identical to the one plastered across the wall.

“Hit any key,” I said. “Here goes.” I tapped a key at random on the keyboard.

“Better make it fast,” Michaela said. “Somewhere I’m sure the alarm bells are ringing.”

“OK, five minutes, then we’re out of here. What now?”

“Wait, it looks to be booting up.”

“Here.” I pulled up a swivel chair. “You’re going to be better at this than me.”

She shot me a grim smile. “Thanks for your confidence . . . uh, that doesn’t look good.”

I read the words on the screen. “ ‘Enter password.’ ”

“Any ideas?”

“Is there a way to bypass it?”

“Sure there is, only I haven’t a clue how to begin.” She looked at the now bloodstained paper in my hand where my wound had leaked onto it. “Anything on there?”

I scanned the note. Straightaway my eyes went to the meaningless phrase that had been heavily underscored beside the word:
MEMORIZE!
I murmured, “Thank the Lord for our forgetful friend. Type in
maple eagle green
.”

She did so, slender fingers racing across the keys. God, she was good.

But: “ ‘Incorrect password.’ Try again?” She sighed. “It looks like a dead end. We should get out of here before—”

“No . . . it’s me. I’m a blockhead. I didn’t give it to you properly. In lower case type
maple dash eagle dash
green
.”

“OK. Enter.” She pressed the key. We both stared at the screen, as if waiting for marvelous things. What came next might not have been marvelous, but it was something. The huge booster screen suddenly filled with lists of words.

“We’ve got menus,” she said. “What they mean, God knows.”

I scanned them, reading at random. “Inventory. Fuel stock. Quartermaster regime. Comms mail. Comms voice. Comms vid. Archive. Personnel Register. Personnel Directory.” I shook my head. “It’s not looking very helpful, is it?”

“Not a great deal. The computer’s inviting us to choose whether we want to e-mail people or communicate by voice or, I guess, by video conferencing system. Yup, look up on the wall.”

I followed her line of vision. Bolted to the wall was a closed circuit TV camera.

“Let’s hope they’re not watching us now.” I searched the menu list on the screen again. “Try this.” I pointed at a box. “The one marked Installation Directory.”