Resistance: A Hole in the Sky

^{CHAPTER TWELVE} WELCOME HOME

The darkness made it difficult for Capelli to see beyond the Stalker directly in front of them. But when it passed through a curve, he could just make out that the brightly lit convoy consisted of about fifty vehicles. Some were Stalkers like the machine he and Susan had stolen. But the rest was a hodgepodge of human cars, trucks, and two Greyhound buses. Sleet was falling and could be seen slanting through the beams that probed the road ahead.

Being an ex-soldier, Capelli was surprised by the fact that no attempt had been made to conceal the convoy. And as a citizen he was depressed by the fact that there was no need for the stinks to turn off their lights, because that meant there wasn’t any organized opposition for the Chimera to worry about.

As for the convoy’s purpose, that was a mystery, and would probably remain so. All that Capelli and Susan could do was to wait the situation out and look for an opportunity to exit the column. In the meantime they had the satisfaction of knowing that they were lurching along at twenty-five miles per hour. That didn’t sound like much, but they were lucky to cover fifteen miles a day on foot. About two hours had passed by the time they saw a sign that read, “Blackwell, two miles.”

Susan had a much-creased and somewhat grimy road map spread out in her lap. The glow from the instrument panel was sufficient to read by. “We don’t want to go any farther than Blackwell,” she said. “Not if we can help it. Haven is located about twenty miles to the east.”

“Roger that,” Capelli replied. “But if we leave the highway all by ourselves there’s no telling how the stinks will react. They might let us go or they might come after us. We could fight them, of course—but we’d be badly outnumbered.”

That fear turned out to be groundless, because as the outskirts of the city came into view the lead vehicles slowed and turned off the highway. Headlights washed across deserted buildings, and a pair of eyes glowed as a feral cat stared at them from an overgrown garden. Then a dozen Patrol Drones swooped in out of the night sky to escort the convoy into what a large sign proclaimed to be the Blackwell Zinc Smelter.

But in spite of the name, Capelli got the impression of a military base as the convoy snaked between brightly lit buildings and entered a parking lot that was already 25 percent full. A thin layer of sleet covered the vehicles. “This is where it gets interesting,” Susan said tightly.

“Yeah, I’m going to park out along the edge of the lot somewhere and hope the stinks don’t care. Then, once we’re ready, we’ll make a run for it.”

“That makes sense,” Susan agreed. “And Joe…”

Susan had never called him by his first name before and Capelli took note of it. “Yes?”

“It isn’t for me to judge what you did. What’s done is done. Do you understand what I mean?”

Their eyes met, and Capelli swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes, I do. Thank you.”

The lead vehicles were parking in orderly rows by then. So Capelli guided the Stalker out and around them in an effort to place the machine under a burned-out light. “Watch the Drones,” he instructed. “If somebody takes exception to what we’re doing, they will react first.”

But as Capelli brought the Stalker to a halt, the Drones formed what looked like a necklace and sailed away. “Perfect,” Susan said. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Capelli agreed as the engine spooled down.

It took the better part of ten minutes to unload both the dog and the packs. Capelli felt a rising sense of tension, because now that he was on the ground he could see that two Hybrids were on the tarmac about fifty yards away. And if the stinks came by for a visit, the poop was going to hit the fan. Rowdy growled but didn’t bark as Capelli kept a firm grip on his leash.

Fortunately the Hybrids ambled off towards the west, which allowed the humans to turn in the other direction. And, because there was no perimeter to speak of, it was relatively easy to exit the base.

Thirty minutes later they cleared the eastern boundary of the city and followed a foot trail that paralleled the two-lane highway. Capelli figured the well-trod path was a recent development. Something both the Chimera and humans had created since the government’s collapse.

Haven was twenty miles away, so Capelli calculated that a day and a half of travel would be required to reach the town. Having gone without sleep, and with only a few hours until dawn, Capelli and Susan were in need of some shut-eye.

So when they came across one of the local phone company’s bunker-like switching stations, they gave the facility a quick once-over and made themselves at home. A heavy desk was sufficient to block the metal door, and they knew Rowdy would warn them if anyone came poking around.

The plan was to grab a quick meal and take a two-hour nap. But when Capelli awoke, light was streaming in through the building’s slitlike windows and it was well past noon. He shivered as he put a pot of water over a Sterno can to boil, woke Susan, and went to brush his teeth in the tiny washroom. The face in the mirror was in need of a shave.

The threesome was on the move an hour later. It was a chilly day, and while they saw occasional signs of human activity, there were no Chimera to be seen. But the ever-present danger was there, and Capelli was careful to keep his head on a swivel as they crossed fields, cut through fences, and splashed across streams.

As they walked, they talked. About the past mostly, since they were still in the process of getting acquainted, but the future as well. And as Capelli listened to Susan he heard echoes of his own desires in her words. Like him, she wanted to settle down somewhere, be part of something good, and lead a normal life. Or what passed for a normal life in post-apocalyptic America. Children were never mentioned, but they were implied, and Capelli was surprised to discover that the possibility had some appeal.

But mostly he enjoyed being with her. Susan wasn’t beautiful, not in the movie-star sense, but she was pretty and he liked to look at her. More than that he liked to hear the sound of her voice, and especially her laughter, which he sought ways to provoke. And judging from the small things she did for him, Capelli got the impression that she felt something, too.

So if it hadn’t been for the ever-present threat of attack, the day would have been quite pleasant. Rowdy scouted ahead and they followed a path through a grove of nearly naked oaks. Their fallen leaves lay like a beautiful carpet on the ground and rustled underfoot.

Then, at about four in the afternoon, they spotted vultures circling in the distance. Big birds that were already fat from feasting on death and were circling their next meal. Against the lead-gray sky they looked like black crosses. “Something died,” Susan commented. “Or is about to die.”

“Yeah,” Capelli agreed. “I guess we should take a look.”

With a low whistle he brought Rowdy in. Then, with the dog trotting alongside them, Capelli and Susan made their way up a gentle slope towards the top of a hill. Instead of breaking the skyline, they dropped onto their bellies short of the summit and crawled the rest of the way.

After securing Rowdy to a sapling, Capelli elbowed his way to the crest of the hill where Susan was eyeing the area through the Fareye’s telescopic sight. Capelli brought the Marksman around for the same purpose. The first thing he saw was an overgrown field. Beyond that was some rusty farm equipment, a sad-looking farmhouse, and a barn.

The birds were circling over the area in front of the house. That’s where what looked like a little girl was crouched next to a dead body. Capelli was reminded of Leena lying out in the middle of the highway with her daughter nearby.

“See the little girl?” Susan inquired. “She needs help.”

“It’s a trap,” Capelli said firmly. “Just like the one the circus people used to capture me. And there’s rules six and eight to consider.”

Susan turned to look at him. “Which are?”

“Mind your own business—and don’t trust anyone.”

Capelli saw the quizzical expression on her face. “What?” he asked defensively. “You disagree?”

“You would be dead if I believed in rule six.”

Capelli thought about that. “Has anyone ever mentioned how obnoxious you are?”

Susan chuckled. “My brother mentioned it almost every day as we were growing up.”

Capelli heard laughter echo inside his head. He hadn’t told Susan about the voice and didn’t plan to. She’s smarter than you are, Hale said, so get used to it.

Capelli sighed. “Okay. I’ll go down. At least I’ll have someone to cover me.”

“Count on it,” Susan replied. “And be sure to circle around behind the barn. If there are people lying in wait you’ll see them.”

It was good advice. So good it was what Capelli would have done anyway. He was about to say as much when he saw the look in her eye. He’d been talking to the ex–farm girl for the last few hours. This was the other Susan. The one who had been trained to kill people and was very good at it. He bit the words off. “Roger that. I’ll leave the Marksman and the pack here.”

“Good idea. And take Rowdy.”

Capelli nodded, put the rifle aside, and shrugged his way out of the pack. After he backed down the slope, he released the dog and headed north. The Bullseye was at the ready, and it felt good to be free of the pack.

The dirt road cut through the saddle between two hills and offered a natural crossing point. Capelli slipped through, eyed the area ahead, and made for the barn. The vultures continued to circle overhead. But except for them, and the rabbit that led Rowdy north, the farm was empty of life. Or so it seemed, anyway.

But Capelli wasn’t satisfied until he checked the barn’s interior, approached the house, and entered through the back door. The house had been looted, but there were no signs it was occupied. So where had the man and the little girl come from? That question was still on his mind as Capelli exited through the front door. What looked like a recent campfire was visible in front of the house. The body was still there, as was the little girl, who was wearing a coat that was much too large for her. She looked frightened.

“Don’t be scared,” Capelli said gruffly. “I won’t hurt you. Is this your father?”

“Daddy’s sick,” the grubby-faced moppet explained. “He won’t wake up.”

Capelli knelt on the east side of the body so that if it came to sudden life he wouldn’t block Susan’s shot. Then he felt for a pulse. It was thready, and the man’s breathing was shallow.

Capelli was no doctor, but he was an ex-soldier, and familiar with the symptoms of hypothermia. He looked up at the girl. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Amy.”

“Tell me something, Amy! Are you cold?”

The little girl shook her head. “Daddy gave me his jacket.”

Susan arrived at that point. She was carrying both packs and the Marksman. “Who’s your new friend?”

“This is Amy,” Capelli answered. “And the man is her father. I think he’s suffering from hypothermia. As far as I can tell, Amy and her dad don’t have any gear. And she’s wearing his jacket. Let’s get him into my sleeping bag, start a fire, and pour some tea down his gullet.”

It took twenty minutes to warm the man to the point where he could speak. He was wrapped in Capelli’s sleeping bag with his back against Susan’s pack as he told the story.

“My name is Shaw. Roger Shaw. Amy and I were thrown out of a community called Tunnel-Through. They left us with nothing more than my pocket knife and the clothes on our backs,” he said.

“We spent the first night huddled in a hollow between some big boulders. I managed to start a fire the Boy Scout way, with a bow, a stick, and a fireboard. I knew the light could attract trouble, but we needed the heat, and it worked out okay.

“When the sun came up, we set out to find a place where we could do some scavenging and wound up here. The house was pretty well picked over. There weren’t any clothes. But I found a can of peaches in the back of a cupboard, and was still searching the place, when two men arrived out front. They looked rough, and were well armed, so I figured we should hide.

“I knew they’d search the house and I was right,” he continued. “As they came in the front door, we went out the back, and made straight for that truck.”

The man was pointing towards the jumble of rusting farm machinery northwest of the house. There an old flatbed truck was sitting on blocks. Capelli nodded. “Then what?”

“Then we got in, closed the door, and got down on the floor.” Shaw shrugged. “It was a good hiding spot. The men never came close. But rather than leave the way I hoped they would, the men set up camp. And as night fell it got colder. A lot colder. I gave Amy the peaches and juice a little bit at a time. That got her through.

“Eventually morning rolled around, and the sun came up, but I couldn’t stop shivering. I began to feel dizzy, and was about to pass out, when the men finally left. I got out of the truck, stumbled over to where the campfire had been, and realized that I was going to need some firewood. So I was about to go find some when the lights went out. When I woke up you were here. Thank you, by the way—I’m very grateful.”

Capelli stood and made a beeline for the truck. Rowdy went with him.

Shaw frowned. “Where’s he going?”

Susan was sitting cross-legged, trying to comb the tangles out of Amy’s dirty hair. “I’m not sure. But, if I had to guess, I’d say he’s going over to check on rule six. Or is it rule seven? No, that’s ‘pee when you can.’ ”

Shaw, who was completely mystified, watched Capelli return.

“So,” Susan said, “what did you conclude?”

Capelli held an empty peach can up for her to see. “I found this in the cab.”

“So they can come with us?”

“Yeah,” Capelli said evenly. “They can.”

The walk from the farmhouse to the outskirts of Haven was eerily quiet. It was open country, with occasional groves of trees, and lots of flat farmland. All of which appeared to be deserted. But Capelli knew that appearances can be deceiving as they entered the town. It looked as if a Chimeran hunter-killer team had taken a stroll through Haven and leveled most of it. “I saw a flash of light from the direction of that tower,” Susan said. “Somebody’s watching us.”

Capelli looked, saw a three-story structure poking up out of the ruins, and nodded approvingly. “As they should.”

“What do you think they’ll do?”

“I don’t know. If it was me, I’d let people stroll through. But if they began to poke around, or set up camp, I’d scare them off.”

That made sense to Susan as the group made its way down what a sign proclaimed to be Grand Street. It wasn’t so grand anymore. The Chimera had left a broad swath of destruction through the town and no effort had been made to repair the damage, which made sense.

One thing was strange, however. Or so it seemed to Susan, who had a sharp eye for details. There wasn’t very much lumber lying around. Of course, it takes plenty of wood to shore up tunnels and keep them in good repair. So if the locals were living underground, then most of the available materials had been put to use somewhere under her feet. Is this the place? she wondered. The kind of community she was looking for? Maybe. It was too early to tell.

Grand Street delivered the group into the center of town, where they found themselves facing what was once a park. The tower they had seen earlier was off to the left. Shattered storefronts, piles of rubble, and wrecked vehicles surrounded the square, the exceptions being a library, which looked to be intact; a whitewashed church; and a partially damaged bank.

Shaw had caught up with them by then. Amy was perched on his shoulders. “Are you sure people live here?”

“I’m not sure of anything,” Capelli responded. “But yeah! I think people are watching us. Let’s see if I can flush them out.”

Capelli took a dozen steps forward to ensure that he could be seen from the tower and all of the other structures around the square. The sky was blue and the afternoon air was still. He took a deep breath and shouted as loudly as he could, “I’m a runner—and I’m here to see Terri Locke! If Terri Locke is here, I would like to speak with her on behalf of her brother Alvin.”

No response. Not even an echo. Or so it seemed until Rowdy began to bark and an elderly man appeared. He was wearing a knit hat and a blue overcoat, and he walked with the aid of a cane. Capelli took hold of Rowdy’s collar as the man drew near. “Hello! My name is Capelli. Joe Capelli. And you are?”

“Expendable,” the man answered with a grin. “That’s why they send me out to talk with people.”

Capelli laughed. “Well, you have nothing to fear from us. I’m a runner and I have a package for Terri Locke.”

The man nodded noncommittally as he turned to Susan and smiled. “Welcome to Haven, my dear. My name is Frank Potter.”

Susan took the opportunity to introduce both herself and the Shaws. Amy was hiding behind her father but came out when Potter offered her a piece of peppermint candy.

Capelli watched with interest. Potter might describe himself as “expendable,” but his blue eyes were extremely bright, and they never lingered anywhere for very long. Capelli had the feeling that in a matter of three or four minutes the entire party had been evaluated, inventoried, and categorized. Whatever happened next would depend on Potter’s judgment.

And that was clearly the case. After a few minutes of seemingly idle chatter Potter turned to Capelli. “Let’s go over to my office and discuss the matter further. Please leave your pack and weapons here.”

So Capelli shrugged the pack off and gave the pistol, Marksman, and Bullseye to Susan for safekeeping. Then, with Potter at his side, he walked east towards the bank.

“My grandfather founded it,” the old man explained, “and it has been in the family ever since. It has seen better days, though. Watch your head as you pass through the front door.”

Capelli had to duck under a sagging support beam in order to follow Potter into a generously proportioned lobby. From there the old man led him past a row of teller’s cages to a damaged door. Broken glass and other bits of debris crunched under Capelli’s boots as they entered an office that was open to sky. Weather had taken quite a toll, but the banker’s huge desk was still there, and a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman was perched on one corner of it. She had brown hair and a full face, and was dressed for a winter day. “I’m Terri Locke,” she said as she stood, and offered a gloved hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Capelli said sincerely, as they shook. “My name is Joe Capelli. Alvin hired me to escort him from Burlington, Colorado, to Haven. He said this is a wonderful place to live and it was his intention to settle here.”

Tears had begun to well up and trickle down Terri’s cheeks. She wiped them away. “He’s dead isn’t he?”

Capelli nodded soberly. “We were ambushed by a large number of Grims near Colby, Kansas. Al was badly wounded and died a few days later.”

Terri accepted a handkerchief from Potter and blew her nose. “And you came all the way to Oklahoma to tell me that?”

“No,” Capelli answered as he unbuckled the money belt. I came to Haven to give you this. I knew Al would want you to have it.”

Terri accepted the belt, peeked into one of the pockets, and looked up at Capelli. “Gold?” There was a look of consternation on her face.

“Yes, ma’am. There was more originally. However, I was captured by a group of people who took some of the coins and spent them. But, thanks to the woman who is waiting out in the square, I was able to recover the belt and bring it here.”

“That’s an amazing story,” Terri said. “And you are an amazing man. Most people would have kept the coins for themselves. I’d like to give you a reward.”

Capelli shook his head. “No thank you, ma’am. But there is something you could do for me. If you’re willing, that is.”

Terri’s eyebrows rose. “Really? What’s that?”

Capelli jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Susan and I are looking for a place to settle down. And Roger and Amy need a place to live too. Is there any chance we could stay here?”

There was a long moment of silence. Potter was the one who broke it. He was seated in the same chair his father had occupied years before. “I vote yes.”

Terri smiled. “I’m the mayor, and Frank sits on the city council, so you have two votes. But you’ll need more in order to stay. And folks will want to get acquainted with you and your friends before they take you in. That means a trial period. One in which you will have some but not all the privileges of citizenship. Would you and the others agree to that?”

“I would,” Capelli answered. “And I think Susan and Roger will as well.”

“Good,” Terri said genially. “Welcome to Haven.”

Three weeks passed. The townspeople assumed that Capelli and Susan were a couple. And, since neither of them denied it, they were assigned to what was referred to as a “starter” just off the main north-south tunnel. The so-called starter was really no more than an opportunity to excavate their own underground home. It wasn’t stated in so many words, but both of them knew that if they were invited to stay in Haven it would have a lot to do with how hard they worked on the starter, and for the benefit of the community.

So Capelli volunteered to help with the community center that was being dug under the town square, and joined the forty-six-person defense force, which was led by a no-nonsense ex-marine named Tig Kosmo. The ex-noncom was suspicious of Capelli at first, but was soon won over by the newcomer’s willingness to follow orders, and understanding of everything military. None of which prevented Kosmo from referring to Capelli as a “doggie,” which was his name for anyone who had served in the Army.

Susan was invited to participate in the food-gathering parties that ventured out to gather such edibles as were available at that time of year. A task that Terri Locke and many of the community’s women took part in.

So there was a bit of a stir when Susan asked if she could be a hunter instead. Because as the lead hunter, a cantankerous man named Levi Smith, put it, “Outside of my momma, I ain’t never seen a woman who could hit the broad side of a barn with a shotgun, and our job is to hunt meat, not excuses.”

But at Terri’s insistence, Susan was given an opportunity to prove her skill. And when Susan dropped a deer at 650 yards, Smith not only put her on the three-person team, he kicked a man off to make room for her.

So that, plus Susan’s country-girl skills at everything from sewing to candle-making, won her fans among men and women alike. Meanwhile, it was her expertise at digging tunnels and shoring them up that enabled the twosome to take their “starter” and enlarge it into a relatively spacious twelve-by-sixteen-foot room complete with an eight-foot ceiling, built-in shelving, and a salvaged sink. The starter didn’t have any running water, not yet anyway, but it was furnished with items scrounged from abandoned houses.

Meanwhile, Capelli thought that his relationship with Susan was going well. They agreed on the important things, were a good team, and had been sleeping together since arriving in Haven. And maybe that was enough. But by then Capelli knew that certain symbols were important to her.

Still, knowing that and doing something about it were two different things until the day when Kosmo led Capelli and a squad of volunteer fighters into a town about five miles from Haven. The objective was to find and destroy Spinners, their pods, and any stinks that might be in the area. And it was a good thing, too, because after entering the town the team flushed a Spinner out of the local grade school, and killed it.

Of course, the presence of a Spinner suggested the possibility of pods, so it was necessary to sweep the entire town, and it was while searching the inside of what had been a jewelry store that Capelli found the item he needed.

The store had clearly been looted more than once. But someone, a thief most likely, had dropped a piece of jewelry on the floor. And none of the people who had passed through during the subsequent months had been fortunate enough to spot it. Not until Capelli came along, a rare ray of sunshine penetrated the nearby window, and the unmistakable glint of silver caught his eye. Capelli bent over, picked the ring up off the floor, and smiled.

The wedding took place a week later. The location was the whitewashed church on the main square. It was a mostly happy occasion. Although it was cold, and people were on edge because two Ravagers and fifteen Hybrids had passed through town earlier in the day.

It wasn’t the first time such a thing had occurred, and the tunnels were sufficiently deep that the people moving back and forth in them couldn’t be spotted with an Auger. But such visitations were worrisome nevertheless. So Capelli and Susan suggested that the ceremony be held underground.

But the mayor wasn’t having any of that. “We aren’t worms,” she proclaimed. “Weddings should be held in a church.” Therefore it was agreed that while the nuptials would take place in the church, the ceremony would be kept brief in order to minimize the potential danger, and in recognition of how cold it was. A decision that Capelli and Susan understood and endorsed.

And so it was that as people gathered in the church, Tig Kosmo threw a security screen around the town, and a warmly dressed Reverend Rawlings began what promised to be a very short ceremony. In spite of the cold air, Capelli was dressed in a shabby tuxedo and Susan was resplendent in the white wedding dress that one of the women had loaned to her.

That’s where Capelli’s attention was, or should have been, but something was wrong. Not with the wedding, but with Rowdy, who was standing stiff-legged a few feet from the altar staring back at the front door. And there was no mistaking the growl that rumbled deep in his throat. So Capelli looked in that direction, saw the air shimmer, and made a grab for the Colt Commander that was holstered under his left arm.

The onlookers produced a gasp of surprise as he jerked the pistol out into the open. It was pointed at Susan until he turned and fired three times in quick succession. The nine-millimeter slugs brought the charging Chameleon down. The monstrous creature became visible as it died, so the townspeople could see the Chimeran field generator strapped to its back, and the long curved claws for which such beasts were known.

But even as the well-wishers tried to absorb this, Capelli fired again and a second stink fell not two feet from the first. It was second nature for Capelli to eject the partially used magazine, and insert a new one in its place, as members of the embarrassed security force entered the church, their heads swiveling back and forth.

There was a moment of silence. Terri was first to speak. Her breath fogged the air. “It was a trick,” she said thoughtfully. “The stinks left two Chameleons behind to kill anybody who came out of hiding after they were gone. Thank God for Rowdy.” The dog, who was oblivious to that sort of praise, continued to lick himself.

Capelli returned the Colt to its holster. “Sorry about that, Reverend! Where were we?”

The minister’s face was ashen, and the hands that cradled the Bible began to tremble. “Do you, Susan Farley, take this man to be your husband?”

Susan smiled serenely. “I do.”

“Give her the ring,” Rawlings instructed. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” And with that, the minister hurried away. It was December 25, 1953, and the best Christmas Capelli could remember.

You don’t deserve her, the voice inside Capelli’s head observed. But welcome to the family.

It had been raining for two days when Tom Hunter and a force of twenty regulators closed in on the town of Haven. They wore cowboy hats of various hues and long oilskin dusters, split so as to hang down along both flanks of their well-groomed horses. All of them carried arms and ammo made at Shipdown and Tunnel-Through. A policy calculated to simplify training, logistics, and repair.

And making the regulators even more dangerous was the fact that one of them was armed with a pulse cannon, two men were equipped with Chimeran field generators, and four carried Ravager-style energy shields. They could not only take on a Chimeran hunter-killer team if forced to do so, but had the capacity to subdue most of the communities within a fifty-mile radius of Tunnel-Through.

But that wasn’t Hunter’s mission. He had been sent into the countryside to persuade the communities to join what Ramsey called the New American Empire. Because, as the judge liked to put it, “The smart ones will take one look at our regulators, realize that we could wipe them out if we chose to, and join up. We’ll deal with the stupid ones later.”

The plan made sense, and as the regulators thundered into Haven, they had already brought two isolated groups of survivors into the fold. And Hunter saw no reason why the community of Haven would be any different. Though hidden from the Chimera, the town was well known to the locals.

Horses snorted and their hooves clattered as the riders brought their mounts to an intentionally showy halt. With the exception of a few men who had been ordered to keep their weapons ready, the rest of the regulators sat with their hands on their pommels. Details that Hunter knew the citizens of Haven would take note of.

The town was deserted, or so it seemed as a steady drizzle fell, and water dripped from the brim of Hunter’s hat. But he knew eyes were on him as he lifted the bullhorn that hung from his saddle and spoke into it. “Citizens of Haven! I know you’re out there—and I know you can hear me. My name is Tom Hunter. I was sent by Tunnel-Through’s founder, Judge George Ramsey, to deliver a very special invitation.”

A good ten minutes of silence followed. But Hunter understood. The regulators had taken the community by surprise, and there was a need to confer before a response was forthcoming. But eventually the front door of what had clearly been a bank opened and four people emerged.

The delegation included an old man and a middle-aged woman, both of whom were sharing a large umbrella. Two bodyguards brought up the rear. One was bare-headed in spite of the rain and armed with a V7 Splicer. The other wore a knit cap pulled down over his ears and was carrying what Hunter recognized as an HVAP Wraith minigun. And judging from the way he held it, the man with the cap knew what he was doing.

Both weapons had clearly been chosen because of the horrific damage they could inflict on the tightly massed regulators. Suddenly, Hunter wondered if the show of force had been a good idea. But it was too late to redeploy his men, so all he could do was put a good face on things. “Good morning,” Hunter said, raising a hand to touch the brim of his hat. “Like I said earlier, my name is Tom Hunter.”

“I’m Terri Locke,” the woman replied, as she looked up at the man who loomed over her. “The man on my right is Mr. Potter. I’m the mayor and he’s a member of the city council.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Hunter said. “I don’t like having guns aimed at me. Please tell your bodyguards to point those weapons somewhere else.”

“And we don’t like uninvited guests,” Terri replied grimly. “Order your men to pull out—and I’ll tell my men to lower their weapons.”

Hunter wasn’t used to push-back and didn’t like it. But his orders were clear: Bring people into the empire peacefully if possible. He forced a smile. “Have it your way. Who knows? Maybe we’ll be on the same side soon. Judge Ramsey is trying to unite all of the local communities under a single government. He calls it the New American Empire.”

“Why?” Terri inquired suspiciously. “So he can run everything?”

“No,” Hunter replied patiently. “So we can fight the stinks more effectively and take our country back.”

“That’s what the federal government is for.”

“Really?” Hunter said sarcastically. “What has the federal government done for you lately? More than that, where the hell are they?

“Whereas we’re right here. And we can offer you and your citizens more protection than you can provide for yourselves, health care from a real doctor, and vaccinations against the Chimeran virus.”

Hunter saw the look on Terri’s face and nodded. “You heard correctly. I’ve been vaccinated and so have my men. So if a Spinner bites one of us we won’t turn. Nor will our families. And that’s a powerful incentive to join up. What do you say?”

“That’s a wonderful development if true,” Terri replied. “But a decision to place Haven under Judge Ramsey’s leadership and control is no small thing. Especially in light of the fact that one of our residents used to live in Tunnel-Through—and he paints a rather bleak picture of life there. In any case, I will have to discuss this matter with my constituents.”

“Who have you got?” Hunter demanded confrontationally. “Mathers? Shaw? Both of them are liars. But if you want more information, then send someone to talk the situation over with the judge. But don’t take too long. Other communities are joining up—and you wouldn’t want to be left out.”

With that, Hunter jerked his mount’s head around and sent the beast galloping out of town. The rest of the regulators followed suit. Half a dozen piles of steaming manure marked where they had been gathered.

Once the last rider had disappeared from sight, Kosmo turned to Capelli. “Well, doggie! That was fun, wasn’t it? By the way, it’s a good thing we didn’t have to open up on the bastards, because the HVAP doesn’t work.”

Capelli looked down at the Wraith and back up again. “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Kosmo said matter-of-factly. “Wraith parts are real hard to come by.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I figured it might have a negative impact on your morale.”

“You’re a rotten sonofabitch… You know that?”

Kosmo grinned agreeably. “That’s what they tell me. Let’s go. I’m getting wet.”