Resistance: A Hole in the Sky

^{CHAPTER TEN} BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU ASK FOR

Capelli had been crucified. The cross consisted of a post from which the U.S. Route 81 sign had been removed—and a length of two-by-four scrounged from a nearby barn.

It was a little past noon. That’s what Capelli figured anyway, as the sun inched across the cloudless sky, and his shadow swung towards the east. His arms were tied to the crosspiece and about five feet of clothesline had been wrapped around both the upright and his legs.

Capelli had been there for hours by that time and he was cold. Very cold. Eventually, assuming that this day passed as the last two had, Bam-Bam and Inkskin would arrive with some hot soup.

Unless a group of Hybrids happened along, that is. Then, if there were more stinks than the circus performers could handle, the Chimera would be allowed to kill him. But if there were only two or three Chimera, Alfonso would pop up and stun one of the ’brids with a bolt from his crossbow. Meanwhile, Bam-Bam and Inkskin would cut the rest of the stinks down.

Once they had captured a replacement for El Diablo the circus would be back in business. And, according to Inkskin, Capelli was already slated to fight the new Hybrid. Without a knife.

Capelli attempted to generate some body heat by flexing his muscles. The result was a little bit of warmth. It was a small victory, but it made him feel better nevertheless. The afternoon wore on.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Alfonso, Bam-Bam, and Inkskin emerged from their various hiding spots and wandered out onto the two-lane highway. There hadn’t been any traffic, Chimeran or otherwise, which meant the effort to capture a stink would resume the following morning. Unless Ringmaster Jack decided to pull up stakes and go looking for another site, that is.

All three of the circus performers were carrying canteens and blankets in addition to their weapons, and Capelli figured that at least a couple of them had been napping. The clown’s makeup was badly smudged, which made him look even more sinister than usual. “What a waste of time,” Bam-Bam complained, as he loosened a knot. “You couldn’t draw flies, much less a Chimera.”

There was no point in answering, and Capelli didn’t as loops of rope fell away. His arms were next, and as Capelli lowered them, Inkskin was there to reattach his collar. Except that as the tattooed man opened the device, and was about to clamp it in place, a high-velocity bullet blew the top of his head off. The report was like an afterthought.

Capelli felt something warm wash across his face as all of the strength went out of Inkskin’s body and he collapsed. There was a momentary clatter as both the collar and the guard’s weapon hit the pavement.

And then Capelli’s training kicked in. He was already in motion, sprinting for the side of the road, when a slug snatched Bam-Bam off his feet. With a thump, he landed facedown on the white line.

By then Capelli was in the ditch and trying to figure out what was happening. Two bullets—two kills. A pro, then. Or a talented amateur. But why? And more importantly, who? Not the stinks, because they would have shot him. Or, failing that, would be surging out onto the highway.

Capelli heard the distinctive sound of a Marksman firing a three-round burst. His Marksman. Which meant Alfonso was firing back. The rotten sonofabitch. And there was Master Jack to consider, not to mention Leena, who could use a weapon when called upon to do so. What were they up to?

Capelli raised his head for a second, spotted the Bullseye Bam-Bam had been carrying, and wondered if he could make it. The weapon was a good fifteen feet away—and there was the return trip to consider. Say ten seconds out, five on the scene, and ten back. Twenty-five in all. Plenty of time for the mysterious marksman or Alfonso to shoot him. Except they were focused on each other. A notion that gained credence as another shot rang out. Capelli got up, scrambled onto the highway, and made a beeline for the weapon.

Susan felt a sudden stab of fear, and rolled away, as a bullet nicked the top surface of her right shoulder. It didn’t hurt. So chances were that the projectile hadn’t broken the skin. But the return fire was completely unexpected. Yes, there was a third man stationed next to the road, but he was armed with a crossbow. And a rifle, as it turned out. Something she had missed.

That was bad. But what made matters worse was the fact that the bastard was a very good shot. As good as she was? Yes, Susan thought that was possible. She elbowed her way down off a slight rise, and snaked towards the pile of rocks where her pack was hidden. A farmer had painstakingly removed the stones from his field and she was grateful.

No sooner was she behind the pile of rocks when a bullet spanged off the rock in front of her. Had the shot been an honest-to-God attempt to nail her? Or was the projectile supposed to freeze her place? Giving the third man an opportunity to reposition himself?

Suddenly Susan regretted the impulse that caused her to follow both the circus and the man with the SRPA tattoo on his back. He was free though, and that was a good thing, or would be so long as she managed to survive.

Susan was kneeling behind the pile of stones with two inches of the Fareye’s long, slender barrel poking out through a gap. A really good sniper could put a bullet through the hole. Hell, she had met one Freedom First operative who could have shot her through the telescopic sight, but he was dead. Not from a sniper but a massive heart attack.

As Susan watched a light breeze play across the grass, she noticed a spot where the feathery stems were leaning in the wrong direction. She made a tiny allowance for the breeze and squeezed. The rifle butt nudged her shoulder, and as the bullet sped through the air, it broke the sound barrier.

The wagon and the humans who had to pull it were hidden inside a barn that was located two hundred yards off the highway. And that’s where Ringmaster Jack, Leena, and her daughter were. Having heard the gunshots, they knew something was amiss. Otherwise Alfonso, Bam-Bam, and Inkskin would have returned by then.

So Jack was faced with a dilemma. Should he venture out in order to provide his employees with some fire support, or remain in the barn and guard the donkeys? They were lined up against the south wall staring at him. He frowned. “What the hell are you looking at? Keep your eyes on the floor.”

“They aren’t looking at you. They’re looking at me.”

The voice came from behind him. And as Jack turned, he saw a man silhouetted in the side door and felt a gentle nudge. A tag! The Ringmaster knew what that meant and shouted, “No!”

But the projectiles were already on the way. They sparkled like jewels, swarmed the Ringmaster like angry bees, and tore into him. His corpulent body shuddered as if afflicted by some terrible disease, wavered uncertainly, and slumped to the ground.

“Capelli!” the man called Bar shouted. “The hayloft!”

Capelli brought the Bullseye up and took a step sideways as Leena fired her pistol. The bullet kicked up dirt just beyond where he’d been standing.

It was relatively dark up in the loft, so Capelli couldn’t see his assailant, but he had a pretty good idea of who it was. The same rotten bitch who’d suckered him into the trap weeks before. As he pulled the trigger and held it back, a dozen beams of sunlight appeared as projectiles punched holes in the wooden floor and the roof beyond. Leena uttered a cry, took two uncertain steps, and toppled forward.

Her body hit the dirt with a thump and threw a cloud of dust into the air. It was still settling as Capelli hurried up the ladder and onto the platform above. That was where he found the little girl. She was dead, having been hit by at least two projectiles, and Capelli swore softly. That hadn’t been his intention. Far from it. But there was nothing he could do. She, like so many before her, had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

His captors had been sleeping in the loft, which meant their belongings were spread about, an opportunity too good to pass up. Capelli took a moment to select a good pack and spent the next ten minutes filling it with carefully chosen items. He also appropriated Leena’s Colt Commander and took an adjustable shoulder holster from her sleeping bag.

Then, as Capelli went through Master Jack’s belongings, he came across what he recognized as Locke’s money belt. It felt lighter than before but still held a small fortune. So he buckled it around his waist before returning to the ground.

The prisoners yelled at him, rattling their chains, and trying to break free from the tractor to which they were tethered. Capelli raised a hand as he stood before them. “Listen up.”

The noise stopped and they stared at him. “I’ve got good news for you. As soon as I finish collecting the things I need, you’ll be freed. And since there’s a limit to how much I can carry, there will be plenty of stuff left for you. How you divide it, and what you do next, is up to you. So please take it easy and I’ll turn you loose shortly.”

The prisoners didn’t take it easy. Some of them shouted demands and others pleaded with him as Capelli took what he wanted from the wagon. Once Capelli was fully equipped, he retrieved the key from Master Jack’s vest pocket. It was slippery with blood.

Capelli shouldered his pack and checked to make sure that the Bullseye was full up before going over to turn the donkeys loose. They grew very quiet, their eyes following his every move, as the big padlock fell free and landed in the dirt.

Capelli was backing away by then—with the assault rifle raised. “I’ll leave it to you to find the key to those collars. Bam-Bam and Inkskin are on the highway. That’s where I would start if I were you.”

Because the prisoners were hooked to the master chain, and Capelli was armed, they couldn’t prevent him from leaving. Bar said, “Thanks,” but the rest were yelling insults as Capelli paused to confiscate Jack’s Bullseye before backing out through the door.

Once outside, Capelli paused to check his surroundings. Where was the mysterious sniper? And more important yet, where was Alfonso? Especially given all of the gunfire. That seemed to suggest that Alfonso was wounded or dead.

But Alfonso was a cagey bastard, and a crack shot, so he couldn’t take anything for granted. Capelli crossed the open area between the barn and the highway in a series of short dashes and flopped onto his belly after each sprint. But even as the prisoners exited the barn and shuffled his way, no one shot at him.

The scene on the highway was just as Capelli had left it, with two bodies sprawled on the concrete. As he eyed the field to the east, he felt a strange crawling sensation, and wondered if he was under surveillance. Was the sniper there? Watching him? Yes, that was a distinct possibility.

Capelli turned and saw that the donkeys were only a hundred feet away and closing fast. That was when he realized that he would have to collect Inkskin’s Bullseye or run the risk that one of the prisoners would use it against him. Having scooped the weapon up, he lugged all three assault weapons through the ditch and into the field beyond. Then, as soon as he thought it was safe to do so, he removed the magazines from two of the Bullseyes and left the weapons behind.

Capelli had seen the bullet take the top off Bam-Bam’s head, so he had a pretty good idea of where the shooter must have been hiding. He began to walk in that general direction, but he hadn’t traveled more than twenty feet when he ran into Alfonso’s body.

The circus performer was lying facedown, and judging from the messy exit wound, had been shot in the forehead. Capelli’s Marksman rifle lay in front of the body. After slinging the Bullseye over his shoulder, he bent to pick it up. Once he’d straightened, he saw that a woman was standing thirty feet away.

She was tall. Maybe five-eight or so. A gentle breeze ruffled her light brown hair. She had green eyes, a high forehead, and a spray of freckles across her nose. “You have blood on your face.”

Capelli reached up, felt the crusty stuff, and remembered the way the top of Bam-Bam’s head had flown off. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“That’s a nice weapon.”

“Yes,” Capelli replied. “It was mine before it was his.”

“Now it’s yours once again.”

“Thanks to you.”

The woman smiled bleakly. “You’re welcome. You took care of the rest?”

“Yes.”

“And the prisoners?”

“They’re free by now. Why did you do it?”

The woman shrugged. “I saw the fight in Tank Town. My brother had a tattoo identical to yours. There were a whole lot of things we disagreed on. But he was a brave man. So I freed you for him.”

“Your brother was a member of SRPA? What was his name? Maybe I knew him.”

“Hale,” the woman answered. “My brother’s name was Nathan Hale. My name is Susan Farley. Mom and dad adopted Nathan after his parents died.”

Sardonic laughter flooded Capelli’s mind. Surprise! the voice said. My sister saved your life. How weird is that? Are you going to tell her?

“I knew him,” Capelli admitted. “More than that, I reported to him. And you’re correct. He was a very brave man.”

That’s all? the voice wanted to know. Come on, Capelli. Tell her what you did. Maybe she’ll shoot you. Lord knows you deserve it.

The light had started to fade. “Which way are you headed?” Capelli inquired. The words sounded awkward. Like those of a schoolboy hoping to escort a girl home.

Susan smiled. “Was that an invitation?”

“Yes,” Capelli answered honestly. “It was. But I won’t try anything. I promise.”

“I’ll shoot you if you do,” Susan replied. “But I’d like to hear about my brother. If you don’t mind talking about him, that is.”

The last thing Capelli wanted to do was talk about Hale. But he didn’t want to part company with Susan Farley, either. “No, I don’t mind. Are you ready to go?”

“I will be as soon as I get my pack,” Susan answered.

Rather than return to the highway, and a possible confrontation with the newly freed prisoners, the twosome stuck to the fields. Half an hour later they entered a rocky depression where an overhang offered protection from above and a ring of fire-blackened stones marked the site of a previous fire. “So, what do you think?” Susan inquired.

Capelli raised a hand. Had there been a noise? The sound of a twig snapping? The answer came in the form of a joyous bark, followed by a blur, as a large dog bowled Capelli over. “Don’t shoot!” he yelled, as Rowdy licked his face. “He’s friendly! Most of the time, anyway.”

“I’ve seen him before,” Susan said, as Capelli struggled to his feet. “He was roaming the area when I caught up with the circus. What kind of dog is he anyway?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Capelli said, as he gave Rowdy a pat. “But there’s some Rhodesian ridgeback in him. Or so I’ve been told. It’s good to see him. I thought he was dead.”

It was nearly dark by then, so Susan produced a flashlight. The beam played over the campsite. “So as I was saying! Does this look okay to you?”

“It’s fine,” Capelli said. “Let’s perform a quick check to make sure there aren’t any pods in the area.”

Susan agreed, and thirty minutes later they had a fire going, and were cooking a communal meal. The warmth felt good. “So,” Capelli said, in hopes of delaying the Hale conversation for as long as possible. “How did you wind up in the audience watching a Steelhead beat the crap out of me?”

“The Steelhead wound up dead, as I recall it,” Susan observed dryly.

Capelli served the food, and as they began to eat, Susan told him about the attack on her parents’ home, the dangerous trip through stink-held territory, and how she had been recruited by Freedom First. An association that led to a failed assassination attempt, prison time, and forced labor in the Lucky Buckle Mine. “So I broke out,” she concluded, “traveled east, and wound up in Tank Town.”

Capelli sensed there was more to the story. A lot more. But he figured she would share the details when and if she felt like it. “You’re lucky to be alive,” he observed. “Although skill clearly had a lot to do with it.”

The firelight illuminated Susan’s face from below. She shrugged. “Country girls know how to survive. Enough about my adventures. Tell me about the Sentinels—and my brother.”

Yeah, the voice said. Tell Susan about me.

Capelli stared into the flames. “You know he’s dead.”

“Yes,” Susan said soberly. “That’s what I figured. But I never received anything official.”

“That’s because the Sentinels were top secret,” Capelli explained, “and all of us were listed as KIA. Then the government collapsed and millions of people were buried in unmarked graves. Or not buried at all.”

Susan blew steam off her mug of tea. “How did Nathan die?”

Capelli tried to meet her eyes but couldn’t. “Your brother was infected while fighting in England. The virus should have taken over his body, should have turned him into a Chimera, but for some reason it didn’t. Not right away.

“Then a scientist named Malikov injected experimental subjects with the Chimeran virus as part of Project Abraham. Later on he developed an inhibitor treatment to keep the virus under control. All of the Sentinel troopers received it, including your brother, but there were signs that he was beginning to change in spite of the injections. And, as the fighting grew even more intense, he refused treatment in order to battle the stinks.”

Capelli’s words were followed by a moment of silence as tears began to roll down Susan’s cheeks. “What are you saying? That my brother turned into a Chimera?”

Capelli forced his eyes to make contact with hers. “No. He was beginning to change. I thought so, anyway. And if he had, the entire team would have been in danger. So I shot him.”

There was an audible gasp as Susan took a deep breath. “You-you shot my brother?”

“Yes,” Capelli said woodenly. “I thought it was my duty to do so. Some people agreed with me. But most of them didn’t. So I was thrown out of the Sentinels—and I’ve been wandering around the badlands ever since.”

Susan’s eyes narrowed as she wiped the tears away with the back of her left hand. Suddenly Capelli found himself looking down the barrel of a .22 pistol. Her voice was matter-of-fact. “I should shoot you.”

Capelli nodded. “That would make sense. Sometimes I think I should shoot myself.”

Ten long seconds dragged by. Suddenly the pistol disappeared under her jacket. Capelli’s eyebrows rose. “You aren’t going to shoot me?”

“Not tonight.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Possibly. It’s too early to say.”

“Okay, then! Would you like some more tea?”

“Yes, please.”

The fire crackled, their shadows loomed against the cliff, and Rowdy yawned. He was content.

When Capelli awoke it was to a cold, gray morning. A front had moved into the area overnight, and judging from the look of the pewter-gray sky, it was going to rain. But that was okay with Capelli, because after weeks of imprisonment he was free! And thanks to Rowdy’s presence he’d been able to sleep well.

So Capelli was in a good mood until he rolled out of the sack to discover that Susan had left. It wasn’t surprising. Not after what he’d done to her brother. But, unlikely though such a scenario was, he’d been hoping that she would manage to forgive him.

Oddly enough, the voice tried to console him. Look at it this way, Capelli! She could have shot you. The fact that she didn’t is forgiveness of a sort.

He spent the next half-hour brushing his teeth, taking a chilly sponge bath, and starting a fire. The water was boiling, and Capelli was about to pour some oatmeal into it, when Rowdy bounded into camp, his tail a-wagging.

“Is that hot water for me?”

Capelli’s head came up. Susan was standing about ten feet away. “I took a look around,” she announced. “The area is clear. For the moment at least.”

So saying, Susan shrugged her pack off, put it down, and opened the flap. Two minutes later she was crouched on the other side of the fire, drinking tea.

Had she really been out looking around? Or was that a cover story? What about the possibility that Susan left, changed her mind, and doubled back? There was no way to know—and Capelli wasn’t about to ask. “It looks like you have a new friend,” he said with a nod towards Rowdy.

The dog was lying next to Susan, looking up at her with worshipful eyes. “He’s a sweetheart,” she said. “He reminds me of the dog I had back home. So where are we headed?”

Capelli felt a rising sense of hope. There had been no discussions, no negotiations, just the casual use of the word “we.” Did that mean what he thought it did? That Susan had chosen to remain with him for a while? The possibility of that made him unexpectedly happy. But the situation was delicate, he could sense that, so he chose his words with care.

“I was on my way to Haven, Oklahoma, when the circus people captured me.” Having told her that much, Capelli went on to share the rest of the story, including the deal with Locke, and the way the big man died. “So I can’t take him to Haven,” Capelli concluded. “But I can deliver this. He wanted his sister to have it. And, thanks to you, I was able to take it back.”

Capelli removed the money belt from his open pack, went around the fire, and gave it to her. When Susan peeked into the pocket and saw the coins, she gave the gold back. She was impressed by Capelli’s determination to deliver what he could easily have kept for himself—as well as his willingness to trust her. Maybe the decision to turn back hadn’t been so stupid after all. Even if she should hate him. But Nathan was stubborn. Very stubborn. And, if he refused treatment, then Capelli might have been correct. Either way, he’d been honest about it—and that was worth a lot.

“And there’s something else,” Capelli said, as he returned the belt to his pack. “Locke believed that Haven is special. A place where he could settle down. I’d like to find out if he was correct.” Their eyes met across the fire. Susan sipped her tea. “So would I.”

Days passed. Then a week, as they circled the city of Wichita, and continued south. There had been sightings, and a run-in with some Grims, but the strategy had been successful. Now, after a long day of walking, the twosome had arrived at an airfield outside the small town of Wellington. It consisted of a three-story control tower, a single runway, and three hangars. Two were empty and a dusty Piper J-3 Cub occupied the third.

“So what do you think?” Susan inquired. “Should we camp here?”

“It looks deserted,” Capelli answered. “But I saw some Leaper scat on the way in, and we’d be very exposed. What if they swarmed us?”

“How ’bout the tower?”

Capelli eyed the structure. The glassed-in control room would provide them with a good view of the surrounding area and make it easier to stay warm. But once inside the structure it would be impossible to leave if they were surrounded. Of course, perfect camping spots were nonexistent. “Let’s find some water, top off the canteens, and go for it. We’ll use Sterno for cooking.”

The airport had its own water tower and the faucet outside the tiny terminal building was still functional. It wasn’t long before the pair were up in the tower making themselves at home. They even brought Rowdy inside, closing the door behind him.

Capelli and Susan were used to each other by that time and went about their various chores with very little discussion. Because of the tower’s height, and the flat country all around, they knew that even the least bit of light would be visible through the windows. So as the sun went down, the couple went to considerable lengths to minimize the use of flashlights as they cooked a simple dinner and got ready for bed. And it was then, just as they were about to turn in, that the Chimera began to arrive.

The invasion began with a roar as two fighters dropped out of the sky, skimmed the airfield, and soared upwards again. Capelli’s first thought was that they had been spotted, and he was reaching for the Marksman, when Susan touched his arm. “Look!”

By kneeling in front of the window, with only the top of his head and eyes exposed, Capelli could look out over the airport with very little chance of being seen. And the sight that met his eyes was both amazing and frightening.

There were Drones. Dozens of them. All sweeping in from the north. The overlapping beams they projected lit the way for at least a hundred Hybrids. And he could see Stalkers bringing up the rear. Capelli was quite familiar with the big spider-like machines, which he knew to be the equivalent of human tanks. “This isn’t about us,” he concluded. “There are far too many of them. The stinks are on the move for some other reason.”

And the prediction proved to be true as both the Drones and Hybrids passed the tower by. Then they divided themselves into smaller groups and spread out. “They’re securing the airport,” Susan observed. “With us inside.”

Capelli was impressed by Susan’s calm, no-nonsense manner. “Yeah! Look at the Stalkers. They’re settling in for the night.”

And it was true. As each machine came to a halt, Hybrids could be seen exiting the mechs. Most of them were heading towards the far side of the airstrip, but a few were wandering around. “It’s just a matter of time before a stink comes up here,” Susan observed.

“True,” Capelli agreed. “And since there’s no place other than the washroom to hide in, we’ll have to kill it and do so quickly. So quickly that it doesn’t have a chance to send a mental image to the Chimeran hive-mind. Then, if we’re lucky, the rest of them won’t notice.”

Susan looked skeptical. “Really?”

“Hybrids are like ants,” Capelli replied. “At this moment thousands of them are dying worldwide for a variety of reasons. Kill one and the rest won’t notice unless they see it occur—or the hive-mind has reason to think that something unusual has taken place. That’s when the you-know-what hits the fan.”

Both of them ducked as a Patrol Drone paused outside and a beam of light played across the back wall. Then it was gone, and Capelli heaved a sigh of relief. “That was close.”

Susan took a peek. “Uh-oh! Two stinks left the nearest Stalker and they’re coming this way.”

“Damn,” Capelli said disgustedly. “We could handle one of them with a knife. Now we’ll have to use a gun.”

“True,” Susan replied calmly, as she removed the Ruger from its shoulder holster. “But that doesn’t mean we have to make noise. Here’s a little something I purchased back in Tank Town.”

Capelli watched as she removed a fat tube from one of her pockets and began to screw it onto the .22’s barrel. “A silencer? Perfect. Let’s hide in the washroom. Remember, it has to be quick.”

The restroom was so small that Capelli had to stand on the toilet, and Rowdy was forced into a corner as Susan took up a position next to the door. The dog growled but stopped when Capelli ordered him to.

Susan stood with her pistol at the ready. She could hear brief bursts of stink speech as the ’brids came up the stairs. Then it was possible to smell the Chimera as they entered the control room. The odor was reminiscent of rotting meat.

All of their gear had been pushed back into a corner. But it wouldn’t take the Chimera long to find it. So as the Hybrids paused to look out through the windows, Susan pushed the door open and stepped into the control room. She held the pistol with both hands.

The semiauto produced a soft phut, phut, phut sound as Susan fired. The stink on the left fell like a rock as two .22 slugs punched their way through the back of its skull. The second ’brid started to turn. Susan pulled the trigger, saw the Chimera’s head jerk as a bullet hit it in the jaw, and corrected her aim. The next bullet hit the Hybrid in the left ear and penetrated its brain. The ugly-looking monster was already dead and falling when Susan reflexively triggered another shot. It shattered the front window and sent shards of glass tinkling onto the concrete below.

Rowdy growled and rushed out to investigate the dead bodies. Capelli was right behind him.

“I broke a window,” Susan said tightly. “Glass hit the concrete below.”

Capelli eyed the scene outside. There were no signs of alarm. “This would be a great time to get the hell out of here.”

“It would,” Susan agreed. “But how?”

“See the Stalker down below? The one these two arrived in? We’ll drive it out of here.”

Susan’s eyebrows rose. “You are one crazy bastard.”

Capelli grinned. “You got that right. Get your stuff—and one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“I like the way you kill stinks.”

Susan smiled. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

Capelli shook his head. “No, just you.”

Ten minutes later they were packed and ready to go. Susan descended the spiral staircase first, her silenced pistol at the ready. Capelli was right behind her with Rowdy on an improvised leash. Then they were out the door and into the cool night air.

Capelli paused for a moment and scanned the immediate area. There were no stinks to be seen. So he led Rowdy and Susan around the corner and out towards the Stalker. The belly hatch was open and a narrow ladder extended downwards. “Shuck your pack and climb in,” Capelli instructed. “I’ll shove Rowdy up the ladder. There’s a gun turret up above the cockpit. He can ride there. Be sure to tie him in. Then, once you’re ready, I’ll push the gear up.”

Susan shrugged her pack off, climbed up into the machine, and gagged as the cockpit’s fetid odor caught in the back of her throat. But there was no time to think about that as Capelli shoved the big dog up through the hatch. With a firm grip on Rowdy’s leash, Susan guided him up a couple of steps into the gun turret. He made a whining noise but stopped as she scratched behind his ears. Once the animal was secured she hurried back down.

Capelli passed the packs up to her, and while she looked for a place to stow them, he entered the cockpit. “You’d better get that harness on,” he suggested, dropping into the pilot’s chair. “This thing is going to throw you around.”

“So you’ve done this before?”

“Twice. Once in a captured unit that was used for training purposes—and once in the field when there was no other choice.”

Capelli lifted a cover out of the way and thumbed a switch. Susan heard a loud whine, more than two dozen indicator lights came on, and the hull began to vibrate. He flipped a switch and she felt a violent jerk. “Sorry about that,” Capelli said, as he took hold of the aircraft-style control stick. “I’m a bit rusty. Here we go.”

The machine lurched from side to side and generated whine-thud sounds as four articulated legs carried it across the airstrip towards the access road on the far side of the airport. Susan was looking up at the rearview monitor. “None of them are following us.”

“Good,” Capelli replied. “That’s what I was hoping for.”

Ten minutes later they were approaching Route 81 when Capelli saw lights on the highway and realized that he was looking at a southbound convoy. Susan looked from the screen to Capelli. “What are we going to do?”

“We’ll join them,” Capelli said. “And hope for the best.”

“Which is?”

“We get forty or fifty miles down the road and bail out.”

“And if we can’t?”

“Then it’s been nice knowing you,” Capelli said, as he glanced her way. “Are you sorry you came?”

“No.”

Capelli reached over to hold her hand. “Neither am I.”