A Rage for Revenge

6 Mr. President

There were fourteen of them altogether, eight men and six women. And three worms. And a scattering of dogs, sniffing and growling. I noticed that the dogs kept their distance from the worms.

There was also . . . a bunnydog. A bunnydog-thing.

But it wasn't fat and cute and pink and it didn't look friendly. It was a meter high, thin and weasely and brownish red. It looked like a little naked thing that had lost its bunnydog suit; its hands were bony like a rat's and its eyes had a reddish cast. It moved freely among the dogs and the worms and the humans, sniffing and chittering like a squirrel, occasionally pausing to examine objects on the ground; rocks, plants, whatever it chanced upon. Its curiosity was insatiable. It hop-waddled up to the pile of my belongings and began sorting through them. It picked up my dog tags and sniffed and bit at them.

Delandro leaned over and took the dog tags away from the naked bunnydog thing. "No no, Mr. President. Not good."

Mr. President looked annoyed, but chittered an acknowledgment and returned its attention to the rest of my things. "James, come with me. " Delandro led me away from the dome, leaving Mr. President and the others. As we passed the Jeep I noticed there was a lot of blood all over the ground, but no bodies.

Not McCain. Not the little girl: Worms don't leave bodies. Delandro let me look, but he kept me moving. He had his hand firmly on my elbow.

We circled around to the back of the station. Incongruously, there was a picnic table nestled under a grove of tall eucalyptus trees.

Delandro nudged my arm. "Sit down," he said. I sat.

Delandro sat down opposite me. "All right, James. Where do you keep the food, the weapons, the gasoline, the medical supplies at this camp?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

"James . . . I thought we had an agreement."

"Honest," I said. "I don't know. I was exploring it myself when you arrived."

Delandro put on a thoughtful expression. Was he trying to decide whether to believe me or not?

I added, "My job is to check out abandoned sites like this one. This is a crematorium. There's nothing here. Not even fuel."

Delandro considered the information. "You have a map?"

I nodded.

"It shows the other sites in this state?"

I hesitated.

Delandro's expression tightened. I nodded.

"Thank you."

I said, "According to the map . . ." I stopped and swallowed and cleared my throat. I was having difficulty speaking. "According to my map, there are supposed to be local stations of one sort or another, all up and down the coast. Some of them are supposed to be distribution facilities, but not this one."

"Where's the nearest?"

"I don't know. The records are incomplete. There might be a couple near Atascadero. I know there are three around San Luis Obispo, and one in Buellton-but I don't know what condition any of them might be in. They were only supposed to be temporary, just until the plagues were contained."

"Hm," said Delandro. "Would any of these be heavily guarded? The one in Buellton, for instance?"

"I don't know. Buellton's a ruin--mostly abandoned. The station might be mothballed, or robot-maintained." I didn't like doing this. My throat hurt with every word.

"Would there be anything of value left?"

"Maybe. I don't know. It's hard to say. They're moving everything they can into the bay area, behind the wall. They might have cleaned the station out, or they might have overlooked it."

"Hm. Very interesting," Delandro said. He scratched his neck again, that same gesture with the back of his nails. He got up and walked away from me, leaving me sitting there alone.

I looked around.

Nobody was paying any attention to me at all. Delandro's people were systematically exploring and looting the camp. There was no sense of urgency in their movements. They were as calm as if this were a trip to the local supermarket.

Every so often someone would step out of the office dome and holler, "Look what I found!" Usually it was some domestic item. Apparently there were living quarters in the back of the building. Once it was one of the men holding up someone's pink negligee-there was a lot of sniggering and good natured bantering at that. "Take it out and get it filled." Another time, it was a food processor that one of the women had discovered.

They had forgotten all about me.

My throat still hurt. I swallowed and looked around.

The three worms were snuffling around like dogs inspecting a strange yard. Orrie was the smallest and had the clearest markings. Its stripes were ripples of pink, purple, orange, and red. The other two had similar patterns, but nowhere near as distinct or as variegated.

I was about twenty meters from the trees; nobody was watching me. Suppose I got up and casually started strolling . . .

No. This was a test. Delandro wasn't stupid.

Somewhere, somebody was watching me to see what I would do-to see if I could be trusted.

I looked around again. More carefully this time.

There was a lookout on top of the roof. But he wasn't looking in my direction. If there was somebody watching me, I couldn't see him.

I had to think about this.

The renegades began to stack their booty on the picnic table, or on the ground beside it. I guess I qualified as booty too. Nobody asked me to help.

The pregnant woman strolled over then and tossed her machine gun on the table between us. She sat down sideways, pulled a package of cigarettes out of her shirt pocket and lit one between her cupped hands. Her hair was a dull sandy color; it looked stringy; and there were tiny age lines around her eyes; but she looked hard. I didn't want to fight her. She noticed me studying her and offered me a smoke. "Want one?"

I slid a cigarette out of the pack. I leaned toward her so she could light it with the same match. I could have grabbed the gun...

I leaned back and puffed on the cigarette. I blew smoke at her. She looked back at me. She grinned and said, "You're not so stupid, are you?"

"Not terminally, anyway." I shrugged, I waved a hand to indicate the people moving around us. "Just because I don't see him doesn't mean somebody doesn't have a gun pointed at my head somewhere."

She smiled and blew smoke to one side. She studied me. One of her front teeth was missing. She said, "There's nobody watching you. You overestimate your own importance if you think that. You can get up and walk away if that's what you're thinking of doing. In fact, I know that's what you're thinking of doing. So if you want to, do it."

"I wouldn't get ten meters, would I?"

She shrugged, puffed on her cigarette, and said, "I don't know. You might. You might even make it to your Jeep. But Orrie hasn't eaten yet. Not today. And he's sitting in your Jeep, waiting for you. Or anybody. He's been given permission to eat anyone who gets near it. So if you're going to rabbit, you'll have to do it on foot."

"And for sure I wouldn't get far that way. I hear worms are better trackers than dogs. Is that true?"

"I know how you can find out." She laughed. "My name's Jessie. "

"How long have you been with Delandro?"

"Almost a year now. Jason is the best. He's a genius, you know."

"No, I don't know."

"He is-you'll see. But he's also something more than that, something special. He's an Alpha. Do you know what that means? It means power. Jason is a Source. I know you don't understand that. It's all right. Just let the experience of him flow into you." Her eyes were very bright. "You'll find out."

"You think very highly of him, don't you." It was as noncommittal a statement as I could think of.

She turned to face me. She took a drag on her smoke. She said, "Listen, when Jason found me, I was one of the walking wounded. You know about the herds, don't you?"

I nodded. "I've seen the one in San Francisco."

"Yeah. But that one's artificial. They gather all the walking wounded into one place, because they think that's the easiest way to handle them-two thousand at a time. I was in,one of the real herds," she said candidly, "down in Los Angeles. There were only thirty or fifty of us-that's the best size. We were a loose pack, just wandering around like a dazed bunch of zombies. I don't remember much about it. I remember being hungry and I remember feeding on whatever there was to feed upon. And then, there was Jason-and he wouldn't let me be a zombie any more. He brought me back to life. I'm alive now. I'm part of the future." She patted her belly proudly. "I have a job to do."

"Congratulations," I said dryly. I took a last puff on my cigarette and flicked it sideways across the compound. A shiny black millipede darted across the dirt, grabbed the butt, and ate it, glowing ember and all. One of the worms slid over, grabbed the millipede and popped it into its mouth.

Jessie stubbed her cigarette out on the bare table top. "Let me tell you something-" She was suddenly deadly serious. "We represent a new order, a new way of operating in the universe. We live in a totally different domain of human experience than you. We want to bring you up to that level-and we will too, eventually. But right now, you still think you have an allegiance to the robber barons, and you'll kill for that supposed allegiance. Therefore, you represent a danger to us. We need to neutralize that danger. We don't want to kill you. But we will, if it's necessary."

"Yes, of course," I said flippantly. "It's part of your survival programming, right?"

She looked surprised. "As a matter of fact, yes." And then she added intensely, "But the difference between us and you is that we're in control of our programming. That's Jason's gift. Real freedom. We're not trapped inside the false allegiances and inaccurate connections that you think are your life. You want to live, Jim? We'll teach you to live-and more than that: we'll give you a freedom that you've never experienced before! But the joke is this: everything that's going to happen to you-especially everything we do to destroy your inaccurate allegiances and false connections-is going to look like a threat to your survival. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

I looked at her. "You're not just a chatty little mad lady, are you? You're the political indoctrination officer. Right?"

She didn't blink. "I asked you a question," she said. "Do you understand?"

"Oh, yes. I do understand." I could feel my hostility rising again. "Maybe more than you think."

"Bullshit," she said. "You don't understand anything. You're still part of the unawakened."

"Unawakened?"

"You're a zombie too," she said. "You're walking around in your own kind of trance. You think you're alive? You don't know what living is. Yet."

I looked away from her. I looked at the sky, the trees, the distant buildings. Anything but her. She waited patiently. Finally, I met her gaze again. "May I have a drink of water?"

She handed me her canteen. The water was warm. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Did you expect me to be?"

"Are you scared?"

I took another drink. I looked at the ground. I shook my head. I wasn't answering her question, though she must have thought I was. No, I was thinking: Oh, Mamma McCarthy, what has your baby boy gotten himself into this time?

Without looking at her, I shoved the canteen back in her direction. She took it from my hand and said, "Don't worry. You'll get over it." And then she got up and walked away.