Resistance: A Hole in the Sky

^{CHAPTER EIGHTEEN} FINAL JUDGMENT

Susan Capelli was sitting upright in the trunk of a 1953 Cadillac, peering out through the four-inch gap between the lid and the car’s rounded body. She was wrapped in a blanket, leaning against her pack. The vehicle was sitting on four flat tires in a small parking lot. To her left, about three hundred feet away, stood a water tower. She could see the lookout stationed up on the walkway. The pimply-faced youth wasn’t a day over eighteen. Too bad he was going to die.

The hill, and the tunnel concealed within it, lay beyond. After circling around and approaching from the south, Susan had been able to infiltrate the area the night before. The car, and the cover it gave her, were a godsend. Two regulators had passed within fifteen feet of the vehicle earlier that day without giving it a second glance.

Now, as the pale yellow sun began to sink towards the western horizon, she saw little activity in the area. The exception being the lookouts posted on the flanks of the hill itself. She couldn’t see the north side, but knew where the sentries located in front of her were, and planned to kill them as soon as Joseph arrived. If Joseph arrived—which, as the hours crawled by, seemed less and less likely.

But he’s a Sentinel, she told herself. Possibly the last Sentinel. And Sentinels are hard to kill. The thought provided her with a momentary sense of comfort. But that feeling soon fell prey to the unresolved doubts which had gone before. The result was a persistent uneasiness that, combined with the nausea she’d been experiencing, made Susan feel ill. Please, God, she prayed. Please keep him safe. And deliver him to me.

Moments later, as if to mock her, three Chimeran fighters roared over the hill. Susan’s initial reaction was to view the aircraft as a bad omen. Then she realized that the fighters might portend good news. What if her husband’s efforts had been successful? What if he was closing in on Tunnel-Through from the west? That would explain the presence of enemy aircraft.

Susan felt a sudden surge of adrenaline, checked her weapon for the umpteenth time, and wished more members of the alliance were present. But they were needed at home, where she was supposed to be. Capelli would be furious with her for coming. Susan knew that. But she wasn’t about to let the regulators or the stinks kill her man.

It was difficult to sit there for hours on end, and her butt was starting to hurt. So she was about to shift her weight when the Cadillac shook slightly and a series of muffled explosions were heard. The Chimera were coming! And that meant Capelli was alive.

That was all the information Susan needed. After hours of careful observation she knew exactly where Tunnel-Through’s lookouts were—and she knew Judge Ramsey would be counting on them to provide him with a constant flow of intelligence. So if she could blind the bastard, and cut him off from the outside world, it would be a big help to the stinks. And ironically enough, that was what she wanted to do.

So with the efficiency of a woman determined to protect what was, and what could be, she shot the teenager in the head. As his body fell away from the tower and plummeted towards the ground she was already swinging the Fareye towards the hill beyond. The second target was located behind a bush she had marked earlier. Having heard the shot, the regulator was on his feet, binoculars to his eyes, looking for her.

She had to raise the barrel slightly due to the distance involved—and there was a westerly breeze to consider. With the crosshairs centered on a point slightly above and to the left of the lookout’s head, she applied pressure to the trigger. The man went down as if poleaxed. The battle for Tunnel-Through had begun.

Capelli could have flown faster, and would have had it not been for Rowdy, who was loping along below the Attack Drone as they headed east. Capelli felt an unexpected sense of elation as a dozen regulators charged out of a copse of trees to intercept him. Because rather than turn and run, as he had been forced to do recently, Capelli could tackle the horsemen head-on.

Projectiles sparkled as they hit the Drone’s shield. Capelli responded with a burst of rockets, whooping with joy. The missiles exploded and sent chunks of bloody flesh flying in all directions. A burst of machine-gun fire was sufficient to put most of the survivors down. Then he had to pull up and circle around as the Stalkers continued to close in from the west. “They’re over here!” Capelli shouted into the wind. “Come and get the bastards.” Rowdy heard his voice, even if the stinks didn’t, and continued to lope along below.

Then a shadow flickered over the Drone, a stick of bombs slammed into the hill, and black smoke billowed up to stain the sky. The first fighter was closely followed by a second and a third, as the Chimeran pilots began to prepare the objective for the ground assault to come.

Did the fly-stinks realize that the Attack Drone had been hijacked? He had no way of knowing. Not that it mattered a great deal, since Capelli’s machine was too small and maneuverable for the fighters to engage effectively.

But the Stalkers were a threat, and a very significant one, as they fired a broadside that exploded all around him. The resulting shock wave threw the Drone into the side of the hill. Capelli fell, and everything went black.

For the first time in months Judge Ramsey felt scared. But he knew it was important not to show it. So as Hunter stood in front of the big desk, and waited for permission to deliver his report, Ramsey made a show out of lighting a cigar. “Okay,” he said finally, once the tube of tobacco was drawing properly. “What’s the situation?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Hunter replied honestly. “Someone or something began to kill the lookouts on the south side of the hill about half an hour ago. And when I sent men up to replace them, they got killed too.”

Ramsey frowned. “What is the bastard using? Projectiles or bullets?”

“My guess is bullets. Although it’s hard to tell with head shots.”

“It’s probably a human, then,” Ramsey concluded. “Although that’s kind of strange given the circumstances. So what have the lookouts on the north side got to say?”

The train shook, and some of the items on Ramsey’s desk rattled, as more bombs exploded above. “We had reports of a piloted Attack Drone,” Hunter replied. “And we had a report from one lookout saying that ten or twelve Stalkers are inbound from the west. Then the bombs began to fall. Now we’re blind.”

Ramsey felt an emptiness where his stomach should have been as he looked out the window into the tunnel beyond. He could hear small chunks of concrete hitting the roof and could see people running every which way as they sought shelter from the falling debris. What was it that Shakespeare had written? “Discretion is the better part of valor”? Yes, Ramsey thought to himself. It sure as hell is. He brought his eyes back to find that Hunter’s were waiting. “The engine is running?”

“Yes, sir. Per your orders.”

“And the charges are ready?”

Hunter nodded. “Ready and waiting.”

“Okay,” Ramsey replied. “Get all of the regulators onboard. You have five minutes.”

“What about the workers, women, and children?”

“We don’t have room,” Ramsey said hollowly. “I wish we did. You have your orders. Execute them.”

If Hunter disagreed with his employer’s decision, there was no sign of it on his face. “Five minutes. Yes, sir.” Then he was gone.

A blob of gray ash fell onto the front of Ramsey’s snowy white shirt. He blew it off. The whole thing was unfortunate. Very unfortunate. Why, after months of missing it, had the stinks been able to zero in on Tunnel-Through? There was no way to know.

But that was what contingency plans were for. Would the mayor of Shipdown welcome him with open arms? Maybe, and maybe not. Not that it mattered so long as Olmey did what he was told.

The thought brought a grim smile to Ramsey’s face as the train’s whistle blew three times, regulators rushed to enter the passenger cars, and gunshots were heard as they turned to fire on any citizen who tried to follow them aboard. A woman appeared outside the window. Her fists made a thumping sound as they beat on the glass. Ramsey closed his eyes.

Capelli was surrounded by darkness. Thunder rolled in the distance, the earth shook beneath him, and his head hurt. Something told him that he should get up. But he couldn’t remember why, and it was much easier to simply remain where he was. Then he felt something akin to wet sandpaper scrape across his face. The sensation was so annoying that he opened his eyes. And there, just inches away, was Rowdy’s blood-encrusted snout, his breath fogging the air. The dog whined eagerly and licked Capelli’s nose.

“Stop that,” Capelli said, as he sat up. “Talk about bad breath! What have you been eating, anyway?”

Rowdy was in no way offended by the comment and continued to nuzzle Capelli as he struggled to his feet. Much to his surprise, the Attack Drone had survived the collision with the hill and, though more than a little battered, was hanging motionless ten feet away.

Capelli attempted to ignore the pain in his head as he made his way over to the machine. And just in time, too—a Stalker pilot spotted him and opened fire. Geysers of dirt flew up as Capelli jumped onto the motorcycle-style seat and opened the throttle.

Then he was off, with Rowdy running along behind. They were headed east, and as soon as he could, Capelli turned right. The curve of the hillside led him back towards the west and Tunnel-Through’s southern entrance. Were the stinks aware of it? Capelli wanted to make sure they were.

But that plan went up in smoke as a series of carefully calculated explosions threw tons of rock aside and a massive locomotive nosed its way out of the tunnel and into the wan sunlight. The engine had a blocky appearance, was decorated with horizontal stripes of orange and black paint, and made a loud roaring sound. A sizable cowcatcher was sufficient to push medium-sized boulders out of the way as the train gathered speed. It didn’t require a genius to figure out that Ramsey was trying to escape. And Capelli knew that if he was allowed to do so, the ex-judge would return.

So Capelli executed a broad, sweeping turn that would allow him to strafe the train from front to back. And judging from the storm of projectiles striking the Drone’s shield, his approach had not gone unnoticed.

Capelli saw the engineer duck as projectiles bounced off the locomotive’s steel flank. Windows shattered as the Drone approached the first passenger car and a regulator was thrown back into the interior. And so it went, until all of the cars had been attacked and Capelli was forced to arc away.

But the train was still rolling and, as if to emphasize that fact, the engineer blew the horn three times. The long, drawn-out shrieks were like screams of defiance as the behemoth continued to gather speed.

The overlapping explosions and the sudden appearance of the locomotive came as a complete surprise to Susan. As was the piloted Drone that rounded the east side of the hill to attack it. She assumed a Hybrid was at the controls until she saw Rowdy racing along behind the machine and realized what that meant. Somehow, somewhere, her husband had taken control of the Drone and was using it for his own purposes. The most important of which was to stop the escaping train.

So as a pair of crablike Stalkers minced forward, their weapons blazing, Susan knew what she had to do. The problem being that she was too low for the shot she needed to make. So she raised the lid, jumped down onto the ground, and closed it again. Then it was a simple matter to step up onto the bumper and climb onto the roof.

The Fareye felt light as a feather as she brought the rifle up to her shoulder. The locomotive had two horizontal windows. Both were very small. The engineer’s head was no more than a dark blur beyond the dusty glass. But as the engine came towards her, Susan had to try. She squeezed the trigger, a hole appeared in the safety glass, and the target disappeared. The train began to slow. But would that be enough?

Ramsey swore a blue streak as he fired the Webley and the incoming projectiles tore his office apart. The Attack Drone was right outside. So close that he could see the man seated behind the translucent shield smiling. But that wasn’t the worst of it. An explosion sounded and the passenger car jerked to a sudden halt.

The man on the Drone was forced to break off the attack as a half-dozen smaller machines swooped in to attack him. That gave Ramsey an opportunity to stand and reload.

Ramsey had just pushed the last bullet into place and closed the weapon when the door slammed open and Hunter appeared with Tilson at his elbow.

“The stinks blew the train in half,” the regulator announced emotionlessly. “But some of the horses survived, and Thunder is waiting outside. We’ll make a run for it.”

It wasn’t much as plans go—but something was better than nothing. So Ramsey followed the others onto the platform behind the passenger car. Two regulators were waiting on the ground with extra mounts.

“There’s no horse for me,” Tilson said plaintively. “What am I going to do?”

“Die,” Ramsey said, as he shot Tilson in the chest. “Maybe that will shut you up.”

Then, Ramsey swung his unwieldy body onto Thunder’s hand-tooled saddle, and kicked the Clydesdale with both heels. That put the huge horse into motion as more Stalkers converged on the scene—and Hybrids rushed forward to prevent the fugitives from escaping. But for a moment it seemed as if the four of them were untouchable as they followed the train tracks through a sleet of projectiles.

However, that was when Ramsey looked up to see the pile of smoking wreckage that had been the Attack Drone. And there, standing next to it, was a man and a dog. Ramsey was reaching for the sawed-off shotgun holstered to the right side of the saddle when the man raised a pistol and fired. Both of the regulators were snatched out of their saddles and thrown to the ground.

The shotgun didn’t have much range. Ramsey knew that. So he held his fire as Hunter took a bullet in the chest, and was just about to pull the trigger, when a Chimeran missile corkscrewed in, hitting the ground fifty yards in front of him. It went off with a flash of light and a loud boom.

Thunder came to a sudden stop; Ramsey was thrown over the horse’s head, and hit the ground hard. That knocked the wind out of him. But Ramsey knew he had to stand, had to run, and managed to push his body up off the ground. At that point he saw the man lying on the ground, clutching a bloody thigh. A woman was kneeling next to him. She had a rifle, which was butt-down on the ground. Probably because she thought he was dead.

The shotgun was gone, but the Webley was in its holster, and Ramsey pulled it. The .455-caliber pistol was up and ready to fire when a Chimeran bomb penetrated Tunnel-Through and went off. A series of secondary explosions shook the ground as rocks were thrown high into the air and the tunnel collapsed.

Having witnessed the destruction, Ramsey turned back just in time to see the man fire. Ramsey felt a sledgehammer strike his chest and fell onto his back. He was lying there, staring up at the gunmetal-gray sky, when the man appeared. His left arm was draped over the woman’s shoulders and the pistol was pointed down at him. Why? Ramsey wondered to himself. Why? He coughed and felt something warm trickle down over his chin. It was difficult to speak. “Do I know you?”

“No,” the man said. “You don’t.”

The gun produced a loud boom, but Ramsey didn’t live long enough to hear it. Tunnel-Through was dead.

Five days had passed since the Chimera had obliterated Tunnel-Through. It was nighttime, and Mr. and Mrs. Capelli were lying on the roof of Haven’s five-and-dime, looking up at the stars from under three layers of blankets. It was a picnic of sorts—a celebration of the fact that they were still alive.

Ironically, it had been the citizens of Judge Ramsey’s well-hidden community that saved their lives. Because as Tunnel-Through collapsed, and its citizens ran out into the open, the Chimera turned in on them. A terrible slaughter followed.

Capelli had only been able to escape the carnage by leaning on Susan and hobbling away from the railroad tracks. Then, after wiggling into the crawl space underneath a nearby railroad shack, they were able to hide until the Chimera left the area sixteen hours later.

The trek to Haven was long and painful. But Capelli didn’t care. Not so long as he had Susan and Rowdy at his side. Now, after a good dinner, it was time to lie next to his wife and consider the future.

“We need a couple of bedrooms,” Susan remarked. “One for the baby and one for us.”

“Yeah,” Capelli agreed reflectively. “That’s going to take a whole lot of digging.”

Susan smiled from inches away. “Do you have anything better to do?”

“Nope. I don’t.”

She snuggled up to him. “It feels good to be home.”

Capelli was about to reply when what looked like lightning flashed along the southern horizon and the sound of thunder rolled across the land. Except that the sky was clear—that noise could not be thunder. Somewhere, down towards Oklahoma City, people were dying. And other people are alive, the voice put in. Thanks to you. Well done, Sergeant Capelli. Well done.