r two." He nodded to the
bishop, who, as General of the Armies of the Lord,
had primary responsibility for readying our defenses.
I already knew my station: Jerry and I manned the
dike west of the city, along with two thousand other
stalwarts.
     I had an idea. "Mr. President," I called. He turned
back, pausing at the door. "Sir, I'd like to suggest that
Taggart and Sanders be assigned to the defense along-
side me."
     He stared at me, and I squirmed. "Any particular
reason? They've already had their chance and
botched it."
     "That, sir, is the reason. Let them atone for their
mistake. They may have cost the lives of righteous
men; let them at least stand beside those men and put
their own lives on the line. Let them be at peace."
I glanced at Fly and Miss Sanders, and was tremen-
dously relieved to see a grateful look on their faces. I
was right about them: stupid, maybe; but they had
honor, and they probably felt like children whose
rough play accidentally killed the pet dog. I sure
would.
     The President was a hard man; but he was a just
man--else the Lord would not have allowed him to
serve as President of the Twelve; the Father has His
ways of making His pleasure known. He shook his
head, but said, "I think you're too forgiving a man,
Albert; but you know them better than I ever could.
Take them, if your C.O. approves."
     The bishop was smiling, though not in a friendly
way. "He'll approve," he prophesied.
     Less than half an hour later we were at the line. I
took care to see that both Fly and Miss Sanders were
armed, so they would know we still extended our
trust. It was part of the healing process. And the
President's prophecy came true, albeit a little late: in
fact, it took the forces of darkness two hours to mass
and attack, not one.
     Squinting into the distance, I saw first a column of
dust at the ragged edge of vision. We watched for
several minutes before even hearing the sound; you
can see a long, long way in the Utah desert, where ten
miles seems like one. The dust came from a column of
Bradley Fighting Vehicles, the same type in which I
had trained as a gunner before going to sniper school.
Thank the Lord they hadn't yet had time to scrounge
any M-2 tanks!
     As they roared up, we surprised them: the antitank
batteries opened up at two klicks. In the still air, the
artillery captains had the eyes of angels; they dropped
the first load of ordnance directly on the advancing
line. The laser spotter-scopes helped.
     Once the troops knew they were not up against
cowed, frightened refugees, they separated and ad-
vanced while evading. I took a risk, standing atop the
dike and focusing through binoculars mounted on a
pole. It was the BATF in the vanguard, as usual,
backed up by FBI shock troops. Reporting the battle
order over my encrypted radio, I saw the gold flag of
the IRS and realized we would doubtless have to face
flamethrowers and chemical-biological warfare shells.
The bastards. Regular Army filled in the gaps and
supplied most of the grunts--cannon fodder, as we
called them.
     They brought a contingent of brownies and bapho-
mets, but no molochs, praise God. Probably didn't
have any nearby. But I'd bet my last bullet there'd be
molochs and shelobs aplenty before the week was out.
There were a few of the unclean undead, but most
of the soldiers, horribly enough, appeared to be living
allies of the demons. I hoped to spare Fly that
knowledge, that our own species would willingly
cooperate in the subjugation of men to demons from
another star; but maybe it was better he find out now.
I guess he realized how wrong he was . . . but it was
a horrible way to find out.
     Contact was established a quarter hour later, on the
north side of Salt Lake City. Within a few minutes
battle was joined in my quadrant as well.
     Fly and Arlene acquitted themselves admirably;
they were no cowards! I especially enjoyed watching
the girl in combat, too busy and scared even to worry
whether my interest was righteous or sinful. She loped
forward to the out perimeter and spotted for the
mortars; my heart was in my throat--if they spotted
her, that beautiful body would be blown to tiny pieces
in seconds.
     Bombs and shells exploded left and right, but our
positions were secure; except for the occasional lucky
shot, the evil ones hit only stragglers. But I was very
glad for my earplugs; Fly had refused a pair, but
Arlene took them.
     We threw back the initial blitzkrieg; the demons
simply weren't prepared for that savage a level of
resistance. They'd probably never encountered it be-
fore. Like the heroic Jews of the Warsaw Ghetto, who
stood up to the Nazi butchers, without despair, we
forced the bastards back and back, until at last they
withdrew and formed a circle around our force, three
klicks back--out of range, they thought.
     After two more hours passed without movement,
Arlene and Fly took a chance and returned to me.
They looked shaken. I wanted to put my arm
     around Corporal Taggart, cheer him up; how could he
have known? But the gesture would not have been
appreciated. He stepped across the dead bodies of
righteous men to come to me; he knew what he had
done, and the last soul to forgive him would be
himself. He would probably carry guilt to his grave,
unless he found a minister to unburden himself.
I had the vague thought that he was a Catholic. I
would never condone such a perversion of the teach-
ings of Christ--in normal times; but in this world,
even to call oneself a Christian is a courageous step. I
hoped he would find a priest and confess; otherwise,
he might never give himself absolution.
     "We seemed to have scored a temporary stale-
mate," he said, sounding defeated.
     "We kicked ass!" argued Arlene.
"You're both right," I said, ever the diplomat.
"But how long can we hold out?" asked Fly. "A few
days? A week? Two weeks? Eventually they'll get
reinforcements and overrun us." He didn't add and
all because of me, but I could tell he thought it.
"Eventually," I agreed. "In about five or six years."
"Years? What the hell do you mean?"
     I winked. "We've been preparing for this sort of war
for a long time, my friend ... we just never realized
we'd be fighting literal demons!"
     "Jesus . . . who were you expecting to fight?"
The blasphemy angered me, but I let it slide. He
was an unbeliever and might not even realize what
he'd said. "Exactly who we are fighting; the forces of
Mammon. We'd hoped to avert the crisis by engaging
in the world, steering it toward the righteousness of
the Constitution ordained by God Himself in 1787.
We sent our members out into the world, joined the
Army, the FBI, the Washington power structure. We
increased our numbers within the IRS and even
within NASA. But in the end, all that effort bought us
only advance warning and some spies and saboteurs
within the enemy ranks."
     Fly shook his head, dazed. He said nothing.
"Now we are the last stronghold in the continental
United States. There is but one major enclave left on
the planet for humans and the godly; there centers the
Resistance."
     "Where?"
I chuckled. "Even if I knew, Fly, I wouldn't tell
you. Your interest rate on keeping secrets isn't very
high right now."
     He smiled sardonically. "I guess I wouldn't tell you
either, if you'd just done what we did. What / did."
"We," corrected Arlene. "You were right the first
time. I stood right beside you and helped you report
to Karapetian."
     He shrugged, neither confirming nor denying.
"Are there plans to get to the Resistance?"
     "If there are, we haven't executed them yet. We can
send brief messages--too quick to triangulate or
decrypt. But we can't send people."
     "Why not?"
"There is some sort of energy barrier that prevents
us from leaving the continent . . . and at times, even
from leaving an urban center. Los Angeles has one;
you cannot fly from L.A. to anywhere else unless the
demons drop the wall--which they do only for their
own, of course."
     "But if you go around the barrier?"
"We've tried; we can't find an edge. It seems to be
everywhere. What we need to do is find the source or
the control center and shut it off. At least long enough
to get our people out, join up with the Resistance.
Otherwise, eventually, we will fall; we have years
worth of food and medicine, but not decades worth.
And after a while they will mass enough troops
against us to overrun us in any case.
     "Worst-case scenario, you two, we lose this city
after a four-month siege. That's if they throw every-
thing in the world at us."
     "Are you kidding?" demanded an incredulous
Arlene. "What about missiles? Nuclear bombs
     dropped from airplanes?"
"Our agents were heavily involved in the Strategic
Defense Initiative . . . remember?" I winked. "And
we have anti-air defenses too. We're not worried
about nukes; we're more worried about tanks and
undead soldiers. None of our defenses were erected
with molochs in mind."
     "Molochs?"
"What you called steam-demons, I believe."
     Suddenly, the radio phone buzzed. The radioman
answered, listened for a moment, saying a string of
"yessirs." He turned to me. "Albert, the President
wants to see your charges."
     "Now?"
"Tonight. The captain says he has a mission for
them . . . something to prove themselves after their
incompetence ... no offense, guys; I'm just quoting."
"None taken," said Arlene, highly offended. My
eyes began to dwell longingly on her curves and swells
again, and I brutally forced my gaze to the dead and
wounded littering the battlefield . . . even their dead.
The corpsmen were already busy, collecting the casu-
alties for transportation to hospital.
     "Got a time?" I asked.
"Eighteen hundred," said the radioman. I didn't
know his name, even though he knew mine; it made
me uncomfortable.
     I nodded. "Okay, you heard the man. Fly, Arlene,
start polishing your brass. We've got three hours
before your mission briefing. And guys?"
     They waited expectantly.
"Try not to hose it up. This time."
     Arlene Sanders flipped me the finger; but Fly just
looked down at his boots, brushing the mud off with
his hands.
     11
Arlene, Albert, and I sat in our little room
like old friends. "Albert, you were right," I said. "We
should have asked you before charging off to report to
Karapetian."
     "The fact that you had to sneak around and concoct
an absurd fairy tale should have told you something,"
he said, smiling faintly. I caught Arlene looking at
him with an interest I hadn't seen in her eyes since she
first began getting close to old Dodd. Could she . . . ?
Nah; that was a silly thought. Not with how she felt
about religion in general--and Mormons in particu-
lar. Not after her brother.
     She spoke, her voice tight and controlled. "Albert,
can you tell us what on Earth happened? I mean here
on Earth."
     "Gladly," said Albert.
Evidently, even with only half an invasion force,
the urban areas of Earth had fallen quickly. Albert
suspected that high-ranking U.S. government officials
and their counterparts in other governments, the
federal and state agencies and even the services
themselves--the U.S. Marine Corps!--actually col-
laborated with the aliens.
     I guess there wasn't much argument I could make
. . . not after seeing living human beings on the march
against us in the siege. If I cared to climb up to the
roof, I could see them still. I didn't care to.
The monsters promised a peaceful occupation and
promised each collaborator that his own government
would be given the top command slot. A tried and
true approach, with plenty of terrestrial examples: it
worked for Hitler and Stalin; now it worked for a
bunch of plug-uglies from beyond the planets.
Naturally, the aliens screwed the traitors, killing
hundreds of millions . . . utterly destroying Washing-
ton, D.C., and demolishing much of New York, Paris,
Moscow, and Beijing. The Mormons knew the invad-
ers were really serious when all the stock exchanges
were wiped out in two hours.
     "They control all the big cities now," Albert re-
ported.
     "So at least some things will feel the same," said
Arlene. Our newfound friend laughed uproariously.
He was taking to Arlene's morbid brand of humor.
"What's the Resistance like?" she asked, hanging
on his every word. I started to resent her interest.
Maybe I was only her "big brother," but shouldn't
that count for something?
     Albert turned up his hands. "How should I know?
We know only that they exist, and they have a lot of
science types, teenies. They're working on stuff all the
time . . . but so far, they haven't been able to shut off
the energy wall from outside--and the only way to get
to it from the inside is to mount an assault ... or
infiltrate."
     "Maybe that's what the President wants us to do," I
speculated; I don't think Albert had any more idea
than I, though.
     Jerry joined us again; now he too was in a dark suit,
though still heavily armed with a Browning Automat-
ic Rifle. It reminded me of a "Family" war between
Mafia soldiers I began to feel distinctly underdressed.
"What about the countryside?" I asked.
     Albert nodded and answered: "That's the local
resistance, such as it is. At least we are not alone. For a
little longer, at least."
     Jerry volunteered a comment: "They seem more
interested in taking slaves from the rural areas than
conquering the territory."
     Albert concurred: "It gives us a fighting chance,
they being so slow expanding their pale."
     "What is this 'special wisdom' the President offered
to share before the attack?" I asked. "Can you give us
a hint?"
     Albert and Jerry exchanged the look of comrades in
arms. "Don't worry about it," said Albert. "He's less
worried about what you know than what you see."
Albert insisted that Arlene and I rest and bathe.
The only choice offered was a cold shower, but that
was fine with us. We found clean clothes.
     Then we got the "fifty-cent-tour" from Albert, the
tour that wouldn't get him in trouble.
     Albert took us down to the hidden catacombs
they'd constructed beneath the Tabernacle complex.
The trip began with an elevator ride. The metal was
shiny and new. Everything was air-conditioned. The
doors slid open to reveal something out of the latest
James Bond movie. But somehow I was not surprised
at the vast complex they had constructed. We walked
under a gigantic V arch to bear witness to dozens of
miles of secret shelters. We were not taken behind the
locked doors to see the contents, but Albert told us
they had millions of rounds of ammunition, stores,
heavy military equipment, a whole factory, and more.
It was survivalist heaven.
     "I wonder what kind of heavy equipment?" Arlene
whispered in my ear.
     "Tanks and Humvees," I whispered back. "The rest
when he trusts us."
     "I'm sure he'll trust us plenty after we've died for
the cause," she concluded.
     "Can't hardly blame him." I could kick myself for
such self-pity, but I couldn't get my stupidity out of
my mind.
     We took a turn in the passageway and reached
another elevator marked for five more levels down.
"Jesus!" said Arlene, followed by: "Sorry, Albert."
He only shook his head. Even Albert was probably
cutting her some slack for being female. Arlene could
always sense a patronizing attitude, but she had too
much class to throw it back at someone working so
hard to play fair with her.
     "Why would you have all this?" she asked.
He didn't hesitate in answering, "To equalize our
relations with the IRS."
     "Man, all I had was Melrose Larry Green, CPA,"
marveled Arlene.
     "I'll let both of you in on something," he said,
"because it hardly matters today. All you saw today
were ground troops; but did you know the IRS had its
own 'Delta Force,' the Special Revenue Collection
Division?"
     We shook our heads, but once again I wasn't really
surprised. "In case of another Whiskey Rebellion?" I
guessed.
     "An interesting way of putting it," he said, and
continued: "They had an infantry division, two ar-
mored cav regiments, a hidden fast-attack submarine,
a heavy bomber wing, and from what I hear, a carrier
battle group."
     Somebody whistled. It was Yours Truly. If the
Mormons knew about that, could they have wound up
with some of it? This was an obvious thought, and
would make full use of an installation this size; but I
wasn't going to ask. Arlene and I were lucky to be
learning this much.
     "How'd they finance it?" I asked.
"The IRS can finance anything?" suggested Arlene,
as if a student in school.
     "Well, even they had to cover their tracks," said
Albert. "Jerry thinks they hid the military buildup
inside the fictitious budget deficit. Unfortunately, the
Special Revenue Collection Division was seized by
the demons."
     "Aliens," Arlene corrected, almost unconsciously.
"Whatever."
     This seemed a good moment to clear up the nomen-
clature: "Actually, Albert, we named the different
kinds of aliens to keep them separate. We call the
dumb pink ones the demons."
     "How did the aliens get their claws on all that IRS
equipment?" Arlene asked.
     "Hm. Because Internal Revenue was the very first
group to sell out Earth," he answered. This was
definitely not a day of surprises.
     "Do we get to ride on the other elevator?" I asked.
"Later," he said. "And I'm sorry I can't show you
behind the doors."
     "No, you've been great, Albert," said Arlene. I
could tell she was impressed for real, no joke. This
was rare. "Why don't you tell us about your checkered
military past?"
     "That's next on the agenda," he said, "and the
President will want to brief you on the mission, if he's
picked it yet."
     We took the elevator back up to face the boss. I
promised myself that no matter how much I wanted
to do it, I wouldn't say, "Howdy, pardner."
     Three more bodyguards surrounded the President.
These guys didn't seem friendly like Albert or Jerry.
He led us to the auxiliary command center (I sup-
posed the real command center was at the bottom
level of the complex), where we learned that the
nearest nerve center of the alien invasion was Los
Angeles. The monsters had set up their ultra-
advanced computer services and war technology cen-
ter near the HOLLYWOOD sign. I didn't want to ask who
sold out humanity there. I was afraid to find out.
The President didn't waste time coming to the
point: "Two highly trained Marines who fought the
enemy to a standstill in space, then floated down out
of orbit, would be better qualified to lead a certain
mission we have in mind than our own people. This is
assuming that we haven't been subject to a certain
degree of exaggeration. A man and a woman alone
could only be expected to do so much against hun-
dreds of the enemy."
     Arlene was behaving herself, but it dawned on me
that I hadn't made any promises to keep my mouth
shut. This wasn't about religion. This was about
doubting our word after we'd swum through a world
of hurt to get this far.
     I reminded myself that we needed this man; I
reminded myself we'd already hosed the job . . . but
stupidity had nothing to do with dishonor!
     "If the two of you could get to Los Angeles," the
leader continued, "and make it into the computer
system, download full specs on their most basic
technology, and get it back to the United States War
Technology Center, it would aid our defense immeas-
urably."
     "What's that?" I asked.
"The War Tech Center was created a few weeks ago,
hidden--west of here. You'll be told where when the
need arises. When you get the download."
     I thought for a moment. It couldn't be as far as
Japan or China; Beijing and Tokyo were both de-
stroyed. He must mean Hawaii.
     I couldn't resist being a smart-ass; the President
brought that out in people. "It's either Wheeler AFB,
Kaneohe Bay Marine Corps Air Station, or Barber's
Point Naval Air Station, all on Oahu," I declared.
"Do I win anything?"
     "I love Hawaii!" said Arlene. "Great weather.
Hardly any humidity."
     "But those prices," I answered.
It was a trivial little protest against the man's
pomposity and skepticism, but it made us feel a whole
lot better.
     "Please," said the President, his face turning posi-
tively florid. "As I was saying, if you can penetrate the
enemy stronghold and bring the specs to the U.S.
technology center, there are scientists there who can
do something with it. We have refugees from ARPA,
the Lockheed 'skunk works,' NASA, MacDAC, hack-
ers from many places." It sounded to me like the
President of the Twelve had been boning up on other
subjects besides theology . . . and finance. "Has Al-
bert told you about the force field?"
     "He said something about an energy wall."
"You have to find a way to shut it off. . . otherwise,
you're not going anywhere. You get offshore about
fifteen miles, then call an encrypted message in. We'll
vector you to the War Technology Center."
     ''If we can pull this off," said Arlene in her serious,
engineer's tone of voice, "and a computer expert can
dehack the alien technology, we might come up with
shields against them. Defenses, something."
     "The first problem is to crack Los Angeles," said
the President.
     "Then we're your best bet," I said. "After Phobos
and Deimos, how bad can L.A. be?" Even at the time,
this sounded like famous last words.
     "Yes, my point exactly," he agreed languidly, still
frosted; "how much simpler this would have to be
than the Deimos situation." He paused long enough
to annoy us again. "This is more than a two-man
operation." Translation: we needed keepers. Well,
that was all right with me. "You'll be infiltrating, so
we're not talking about a strike force here."
"Stealth mission," said Arlene.
     "Two more people would be about right," I said.
The President's first choice was excellent. Albert
wanted to go. "By way of apology for being the one to
turn you in," he said, holding out his big paw of a
hand. I took it gingerly; he hardly had anything to
apologize for. He winked.
     "If you'd been one fraction less of a hard-ass, I
wouldn't want you on this mission anyway."
     "This is probably a good time to tell you about
Albert's record," said the President. "He was a PFC
in the Marine Corps, I'm sure you'll be pleased to
hear. Honorably discharged. He won a medal for his
MOS." Military operational specialty.
     "Which was?" I asked Albert, eye-to-eye.
"A sniper, Corporal," he answered. "Bronze star,
Colombia campaign. Drug wars."
     "Sniper school?"
"Of course."
     "God bless." said Arlene.
Albert was fine; we both dug Albert. Couldn't say
the same about the second choice, who Nate ushered
into the ops room: she looked like a fourteen-year-old
girl in T-shirt, jeans, and dirty sneakers.
     "Fly," Arlene said, staring, "does my promise ap-
ply to bitching about personnel decisions?"
     "Say your piece."
She shook her head in incredulity. "I'd never
have expected this kind of crap from this bunch of
sexist--"
     "Uh, no offense," I mumbled to the President,
feeling pretty lame. My face flushed red-hot, as if I'd
just taken niacin.
     He chose to ignore the editorial. "I hate sending
her. Unfortunately, she's the best qualified."
Arlene stared at the girl, a foxy little item ready to
stare back. "I never thought I'd say these words,"
Arlene began, "but there's a first time for everything.
Honey--"
     "My name is Jill," she said defiantly.
"Okay, Jill. Listen closely. Please don't take offense,
but this is no job for a girl."
     "I have to go," she said. "Live with it."
"Honey, I don't want to die with it."
     "What's this joke?" I demanded.
"I told you. She's the best, uh, hacker, I think it is,
that we've got. But you deserve an explanation." He
turned to her and asked, "Do you mind if I tell
them?" She shrugged. He went on: "I apologize for
her sullen attitude."
     I don't know about Arlene, but I didn't see anything
sullen about the kid. The President never seemed to
look directly at her but kind of sideways.
     "Back in the life, before her family moved here and
accepted the faith, Jill was arrested twice for breaking
into computer systems. She served six months in a
juvenile detention center in Ojai; then her parents
joined the Church and moved here."
     All the time he was talking, he kept sneaking
glances out of the corner of his eye. He seemed to be
looking at the top of her head. She was pretending not
to be interested but hung on every word.
     "Jill was embarrassed and ashamed of her arrest
and conviction," the President said very slowly,
as if coaching, watching her all the time. "She was
locked up with a girl who was a prostitute and drug
dealer--"
     "She didn't want to be a junkie-hooker," said Jill,
speaking about herself in the third person.
     The President pretended not to hear. "She still
loves computers, but wants to be a security person
now." He took a breath, then concluded, "The aliens
killed her parents, and only missed her because she
was covered with blood and they assumed she was
dead. She was frightened by the aliens, of course--"
"I hate them," she piped in. "I want them all
dead."
     "Good girl," said Arlene, half won over.
The Mormon leader approached Jill but was careful
not to touch her. At least he finally looked at her.
"You don't like your former hacker buddies, do you?"
he asked.
     "I hate them."
"Why?"
     She was uncomfortable about talking but couldn't
keep the words from spilling out. "Because they don't
care about what happens to anyone else. They don't
give a rat's ass if they hack a hospital computer and
destroy a patient's records, by accident, or as a joke."
"Some joke," said Arlene.
     "They'd only be upset if they did a sloppy job," the
girl replied, her voice monotonous. "They suck."
"God bless you, Jill," said the President. "And you
know what the aliens are?"
     Jill sure did. "A million times worse. I've got to kill
them all."
     Mother Mary, a regular little parrot! Did the Presi-
dent write the script out for her? I wondered. Or was
she just adept at ad-libbing what he wanted to hear,
what would get her on the job?
     "Don't you think you should leave the killing to
Albert and this other man?" asked the President.
"That does it," said Arlene, hackles smacking the
ceiling.
     "I'm sorry, but there's no alternative to taking her
along," said the President.
     "That's not what I meant!" Arlene gave me her
special look. I sighed, but didn't shake my head or
give her the shut-up signal. I'd had about all of the
President I could take.
     "Mr. President," she began, speaking slowly as if to
a child--I realized we still didn't know his name--"I
respect your beliefs, even though I don't hold them
myself. But we are in a situation where every able-
bodied individual must do his or her best. There are
armed women outside."
     "Yes," he answered. "Adult women."
Arlene turned to Jill. "I apologize for doubting
you," she said. "I think you'll do fine." She glared
back at the President, who shook his head sadly.
I smiled, suddenly realizing we'd been had: he had
put on the whole "Mormon patriarch" act just to get
us to accept a little girl as a teammate! It was
masterful. . . and I didn't say a word to Arlene. Let
her keep her illusions.
     "If you succeed," concluded the President, "you
will have redeemed yourself thrice over."
     "And if we fail?"
"You'll be dead. Or undead. Either way, you'll
never have to think about your error again."
Gee. Thanks a lump.
     "What weapon do you have?" Arlene asked Jill.
The fourteen-year-old picked up a slim box from the
table; took me a moment to recognize it as a
CompMac "Big Punk" ultramicro with a radio-
     telemetry port. That was some nice equipment; did
she come with it, or did the President hijack it for
her?
     "You'll train her in the use of firearms," the Presi-
dent said, turned on his heel and walked away.
"I've fired guns before," said Jill.
     Arlene touched the girl on the shoulder. Jill didn't
pull away. Arlene didn't talk down to her. In a casual
tone she asked, "Do you think there might be some
pointers I could give you, hon?"
     The fourteen-year-old smiled for the first time. She
didn't answer right away. Then she said in a firm
voice, "Want some pizza?"
     Now that she mentioned it, my mouth began to
salivate.
     12
I took my cue from Arlene and reluctantly
     accepted the kid. The Mormon leader guaranteed the
girl's bona fides. Given the way he felt about the
female of the species, if he wanted Jill on this mission
that badly, that was good enough for me.
     "Welcome aboard," I said, approaching Jill and
putting out my hand. I didn't expect anything, but she
surprised me by shaking hands and smiling. Smart
kid. She knew when she'd won a victory.
     "Thanks." Jill sized each of us up, letting her glance
stay on me a little longer--not exactly pleased with
the effect, I noticed. "I won't let you down," she said
to all of us.
     "How do you know?" asked Albert, but he wasn't
being belligerent about it.
     "Yeah," said Jill, not losing a beat. "They talk that
way around here. I won't get anybody killed on
purpose."
     Arlene bent down and patted Jill on the head. The
girl didn't pull away, but acted surprised. Affection
was something new in her experience. I hoped she
would live long enough to experience a lot more of it.
But I didn't kid myself: once we entered Los Angeles,
the mission was everything, and we were all expend-
able. It had been that way since the first monster came
through the Gate on Phobos.
     "Come on," said Arlene, taking Jill by the hand.
"Your training starts now."
     Jerry had stayed with us after the boss sauntered
off. "There might not be time for that," he said. He
didn't say it as if he liked it. So far, the only person I'd
met who impressed me as something of a jerk was the
leader, and even he was no fool.
     Arlene kept her voice even and calm. "We'll make
time," she said. "Training is not a luxury."
Looking at the man's face, I could see that he didn't
like arguing with facts. He shrugged and didn't say
another word.
     "How about it, Albert?" I asked the other member
of our team. "What kind of time do we have?"
"Plenty," he said. "I've seen Jill shoot. She'll do
fine."
     "Do I get a gun of my own?" asked Jill.
"Does she?" Arlene asked Albert.
     "Sure as shootin'," he said, letting a moment pass
before we responded to his wordplay. He enjoyed the
double take.
     We went to an aboveground arsenal. Seeing what
they kept up top made me more anxious to see behind
those doors downstairs. As it was, they wouldn't
notice the absence of Jill's weapon of choice, though it
was a little strange seeing the fourteen-year-old hold-
ing an AR-19 like she was used to it.
     Jill noticed my expression. "We need all the fire-
power we can get," she said.
     "You're right. Let's see what you can do with it."
And thank God she didn't have her heart set on an
AK-47. The kick would knock her on her butt. At
least the AR-19 was a small enough caliber.
     There were plenty of places to shoot. We went to a
makeshift range where someone had gotten hold of
old monster movie posters. Jill chose one already
pretty badly shot up: a horns-and-tail demon from an
old British movie. It looked a lot like a hell-prince.
One of the horns was shot out, but the other was still
intact.
     "I'll take the bone on his head," she announced.
She missed with the first burst, pulling up and to the
right; but she nearly shredded the target anyway.
Arlene went over and whispered something in her
ear. Jill smiled and tried again. This time the bursts
were shorter and stayed on target. The demon's
second horn was history.
     "What did you tell her?" I asked Arlene. I always
appreciate a few well-chosen words.
     "Girl talk," she said, arching her dark eyebrows.
"Kind of a shame to destroy these collector's
items," I observed when we ran out of ammo.
     "No problem," said Albert. "We have hundreds of
these. The President used to visit the church in
Hollywood, and we have a lot of contacts."
     "How did I do?" asked Jill, bringing us back to the
original point of the exercise.
     "I thought I'd need to teach you something," said
Arlene. "Guess you're mostly ready. Mostly." The
day was shaping up nicely. We could do a whole lot
worse than Jill.
     I was still in a good mood when we had dinner with
the President that night. They set a good table, and he
boasted how they could keep this up for a long time.
After dinner, Jill toddled off to bed in the female-
teens quarter. Albert wanted to spend time with an
older woman we'd been informed was an aunt, and I
managed to get Arlene alone in the presidential
garden.
     Although night had fallen, the security lights in the
garden were bright, thanks to the generators of our
hosts. I saw Arlene frowning in thought. "Albert may
have an extra mission," she said, "scouting out new
converts for the Church."
     I laughed. "Hey, don't make it sound so sinister. We
should ask any survivors to join us, male or female."
"Unless they've gone insane," she said, "and there
are parts of Los Angeles where it would be difficult to
know."
     "Well, I'm glad we have Albert and Jill with us."
She brightened. "Me too. That young lady im-
presses the hell out of me. Maybe she's lucky to be
going off with us to face demons and imps."
     Arlene never lost her ability to surprise me.
"Lucky?" I echoed. "Why do you say that?"
     "She's past puberty, Fly. They'd probably marry
her off to one of these ..." She didn't finish.
I recognized that the conversation was on the
slippery slope to more trouble than a barrel of pump-
kins. Arlene's prejudice against anything and every-
thing religious, and especially against Mormons, was
disturbing; the people in this compound, Mormons
and others alike, had done nothing to warrant such
anger. Time for a strategic retreat. "So, what do you
think of the President?"
     "What do you think?" she threw it back at me.
"Well, as I've said before, you don't have to like
someone in power to recognize that you need cooper-
ation from the boss. This man is no fool; he's playing
his own game."
     Arlene shook her head, but it wasn't because she
disagreed with me. "I always understand a leader,"
she said. "It's the followers who confuse me. This
man is a master of transferring authority. His follow-
ers won't argue with someone who says he gets his
marching orders direct from God."
     "Yeah, but in the war we're about to fight, let's hope
God really is on our side. Or we're on God's side, I
mean."
     She took a stick of gum out of her pocket, popped
the contents in her mouth, and gave forth with her
considered opinion: "Agreed. Any god, any goddess,
anything to give us an edge is fine by me."
     I ignored the blasphemy. Honestly, she does it just
to needle me. "Where did you get the gum?" I asked.
"Jill," she said between chews. "Want a stick?"
"No thanks." Gum is not one of my vices. But I was
impressed with how quickly Arlene had been won
over.
     We went back in the compound, expecting to return
to the room we'd been in before. A matronly woman
we hadn't seen before greeted us. "Hello, my name is
Marie," she said. "I'm here to show the young woman
to the female quarters."
     Arlene and I exchanged knowing glances. I think we
both did a commendable job of not bursting out
laughing. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept
without Arlene taking watch. We'd already been
through the sexual-tension zone and popped out the
other end with the understanding that we were bud-
dies, pals, comrades.
     But now we were back in the Adam and Eve
department. The only question that really mattered
was, did we trust these guys to keep us alive while we
slept? The fact that they were still here was pretty
good evidence.
     "What kind of security do you have here?" I asked
the woman.
     She didn't understand. "Good enough to keep you
out of the henhouse," she answered with a slight
smirk.
     I rolled my eyes. That wasn't what I meant, but--
ah, skip it.
     "See you in the morning," I said to Arlene.
For the first time in a long time, I was alone. Maybe
the President still had doubts about me, but they put
me on a long leash.
     Suddenly I realized I didn't know where I was
supposed to sleep. The room we'd been in before
made sense. We'd been allowed to use it when we
freshened up, but we were under guard then. I wished
I'd thought to ask the woman if that was where I was
supposed to go.
     I didn't know anyone in the hallways, but they
didn't pay any attention to me as I went past; they
weren't afraid . . . what a strange concept that had
become. I could have asked them about a men's
quarters, but I wasn't in a rush to have the old YMCA
experience if I could avoid it. If I wasn't going to bunk
with Arlene, then I wanted to be alone.
     Privacy suddenly exerted a strong appeal: to be
alone without a hell-prince stomping on my face, to
sleep without worry of a zombie who used to be a
friend cuddling up next to me and sharing the rot of
the grave, just to enjoy silence and solitude, without
spinys fudging it up. Yeah, the more I thought of it,
the better I liked it.
     I retraced my way back to the room. After the
corridors on Deimos, this was almost too easy. The
door wasn't locked. Then I noticed that the lock had
been removed. Now that I thought about it, there
were no locks anywhere. But the room was empty,
gloriously empty, and that was good enough.
     I went in, closed the door, flipped on the light.
There was a miracle. The light came on. No conserva-
tion or blackout measures in this small, windowless
room. Which meant I could do something more
     important than sleeping.
The book was where I'd left it. Normally, the Book
of Mormon would not be my first choice of reading
material; the sisters would not approve. Under the
circumstances, I was grateful to have it.
     I started at the beginning, with the testimonies of
the witnesses and the testimony of the Prophet Joseph
Smith. This told the story of the finding of the gold
plates with the Holy Book written thereon. Reminded
me of the old joke about the founding of the Unitari-
an Church: a prophet found gold plates on which was
written . . . absolutely nothing!
     As I read, I remembered an old Hollywood movie
about Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, founders of
the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints.
Hollywood . . . where we would be going. Hollywood
was in the hands of the monsters. Vincent Price
starred in the Mormon movie and also in a million
monster movies. I was sure this all meant something.
I started the first book, made it to the second and
the third; and kept reading until I reached Chapter
Five in the Book of Alma, Verse 59:
     For what shepherd is there among you having
many sheep doth not watch over them, that the
wolves enter not and devour his flock? And
     behold, if a wolf enter his flock doth he not
drive him out? Yea, and at the last, if he can, he
will destroy him.
     That seemed like a good place to stop because I
doubted I would find a more agreeable sentiment
anywhere else in the Mormon scriptures.
     13
Did you sleep well?" Arlene asked, winking.
     "Not bad," I said. "I think it's the first night I
didn't dream about monsters."
     The sun was up, the sky was clear, and for a
moment it was possible to believe that none of this
had ever happened. A dog ran by, a healthy mutt that
someone was feeding--not a sign of impending star-
vation, but perhaps an overgenerous use of resources.
"Guess what?" she said with an impish smile. "I
didn't dream about monsters either. But I did
dream."
     Teasing was simply not Arlene's style. She really
surprised me. "Maybe that's why they segregate the
boys and the girls," I said. "To make everyone think
about it."
     "We can't keep any secrets from you," said Albert,
joining us outside the main cafeteria.
     "Except the ones that count," I replied, not alto-
gether innocently. I was still thinking about secrets
and closed doors, and an unknown, upcoming mis-
sion.
     "Where's Jill?" asked Arlene.
"Already inside, having breakfast," he said. "We
should join her. Afterward, we'll receive our briefing."
It had been a long, long time since I'd eaten
pancakes, with real maple syrup yet. I didn't think I'd
be able to get coffee in Salt Lake City, but there was
plenty of it for those with the morning caffeine
monkey on their back. This was a pretty trivial
monster in the grand scheme of things.
     And then we got down to business. We returned to
the ops room from the day before. The President was
waiting for us dressed in a conservative black suit. He
could've passed as an undertaker, not the most inspir-
ing image to send us off to California.
     "The entire state of California is in enemy hands,"
he said, then led us over to a map of the relevant
states. Red lines marked all the existing train tracks.
"There used to be a high speed train between L.A. and
Salt Lake City. We destroyed the train to prevent the
aliens from sending us a cargo of themselves. I refuse
to refer to those creatures as soldiers. We also thought
the train might be used to send us an atomic bomb."
"Would they even know how to use the trains?"
asked Arlene.
     "You fought them, didn't you? They can use any-
thing we can. Machinery is machinery. It offends me
how they used our own, God-given atomic weapons
against us. We are fortunate the radiation and poisons
have not contaminated this area. God has inter-
vened." Atomic, not nuclear; an interesting word
choice.
     "We'll be going into radiation?" asked Jill. She had
not thought of this until now.
     "You'll be entering undestroyed areas, and our
scientists tell us that the invaders have neutralized
much of the fallout in the areas they control."
Arlene interrupted, as usual. "When we fought
them on Phobos and Deimos, they were comfortable
with higher radiation levels than a human being; but
that doesn't mean they could survive H-bomb
     fallout."
For a moment I thought the President was going to
bite her head off, but then he controlled his temper.
"We have antiradiation pills for you to take and wrist
bands that will glow red if you get a near-lethal dose.
In addition, you'll have some protective gear if you
require it. And any weapons you can bear, of course."
"How do we get to L.A.?" I asked.
     "Take the train," answered Albert.
"Great. How do we get to the tracks? I thought they
were all ripped up."
     "Not all the track was destroyed," said the Presi-
dent. "You can take one of our Humvees south,
following the railroad track to a good spot for getting
aboard the train." Getting aboard. . . How easily he
breezed over that slight difficulty!
     And another small difficulty. "Um . . . the aliens
are going to let us drive right out in a Humvee?"
Albert snorted. The President glowered at him,
then returned to the question. "Of course not. You'll
leave here and pass underneath enemy lines. The
Humvee is hidden in a safe location--Albert knows
where it is."
     "I do?"
"Where you hid after blowing the tracks three
weeks ago."
     "Ah." Albert nodded, remembering the spot. Well,
that made one of us.
     "Underneath the aliens," I asked, "you have a
tunnel?"
     "It's always wise to build in a way to expedite
escape," said Albert. "All our safe houses use them--
including this facility. Usually exit from a basement,
dive down thirty or forty feet, then continue a long
way, miles perhaps."
     "How did you build all that without anyone
knowing?"
     "We had a lot of time on our hands." He grinned.
"And a lot of members in street maintenance posi-
tions."
     "You must ride the train into Phoenix," continued
the President, producing a pointer and stabbing
Phoenix.
     "Why Phoenix?" asked Arlene.
"The train that goes from Phoenix into L.A. can't
be stopped and can't be boarded; Phoenix is under
demonic possession. If you stow away before Phoenix
and escape detection, you might not be boarded.
Then it's smooth riding all the way into L.A." He put
down the pointer with a flourish.
     Jill laughed. She sounded a lot older than she was,
listening to the scorn in her laugh; it suggested a
lifetime of frustration.
     The President did not act as defensive as I would
have expected. "I know it's a long shot," he said. "I'm
open to any better suggestions."
     "I wish I had one," said Albert.
I expected Jill to launch into a tirade, but instead
she kept her mouth taped.
     "The plan sounds workable to me," I said. "Every-
thing is a long shot from now on."
     At no point had anyone talked about who would
lead this mission; I suspected the President would
want his own man in charge, and I prepared myself
for an argument.
     Then Albert surprised me: "Corporal Taggart is in
charge, of course." He surprised the President too,
who started to object, then bit off whatever he'd been
about to say. Leadership was clearly already deter-
mined.
     The President allowed us to pick our own weapons:
a double-barreled scattergun for me, and a .41 caliber
hunting rifle with a scope for long-range work. Arlene
was back to her perennial AB-10 machine pistol and a
scoped .30-30. Albert surprised me by picking some
foreign-made Uzi clone I'd never seen before; I didn't
think a Marine would go in for that kind of flash. But
1 guess it wasn't really different from Arlene's AB-10,
though a bit bigger; and even that might give it more
stability in a firefight. Albert said he would just use
Arlene's .30-30 for any sniping . . . and Jill already
had her AR-19, of course.
     We also took pistols, ammo, grenades, day-to-night
goggles--we had to be careful to conserve the battery
power, using them only when absolutely necessary; no
recharges--and one of the more exotic energy weap-
ons I never liked; not a BFG, which they'd never
heard of, but a gas-plasma pulse rifle. We packed food
and blankets and other useful items, including a
complement of mountaineering (or wall-scaling)
equipment: knotted rope, a grappling hook, crampons
and pitons, the usual usual.
     The Humvee waited--God and Albert knew
where. Would we find it? Would it run if we did? I
tried not to think about such questions as, with great
solemnity, the President of the Twelve led us through
the inner compound to a small, cinder-block building
. . . and to the escape tunnel.
     14
Other members of the community gathered
     around us before we departed. Somewhere back in my
mind, I wondered why we weren't hearing a heroic
anthem to speed us on our way. Where was the brass
band? Where were the speeches? In my mind, I heard
fragments of the speech: "Never before have so few
faced so many in the defense of so few." Well, that
wasn't exactly right.
     There were a large number of heavy barrels of fuel
oil in the building, seemingly stacked somewhat hap-
hazardly. A pair of soldiers approached one particular
barrel carrying an odd tool that looked like a giant-
sized jar opener.
     They lowered the prongs over the barrel and pushed
levers forward, running steel rods through the lip.
Then they put their shoulders to the two ends of the
"jar opener" and walked counterclockwise. Rather
than tip over, the barrel unscrewed like a light bulb;
they lifted the heavy, false barrel from the narrow
tunnel, just barely wide enough to admit a single man
of my size.
     Arlene took point. She tchked and winked at the
President and blew him a kiss; his face flushed bright
red. Then she held her AB-10 pointed straight down
and dropped out of sight. Albert followed, then Jill; I
went last.
     We dropped into what looked at first like pitch-
dark; then, as our eyes adjusted, we found the slight
ambient light adequate to see a few meters ahead and
behind.
     The light came from phosphorescent mold, and the
tunnel was deliberately carved to look natural, a
fissure meandering left and right but mainly going
straight northwest. It was wide enough for two
abreast, and Arlene and Albert walked the point--
Albert because he alone knew the route. I took tail-
end Charlie, leaving Jill reasonably protected in the
center.
     Before we started, I cautioned the crew: "From here
on, no talking, not even for emergencies. We'll use the
Marine Corps hand language; Jill, you just watch me.
They may have listening devices, hunting for tunnels.
Let's not make it easy on them, all right?"
     The tunnel was cool and dark, a relief from the hot
sun of the Utah desert; at night, I hoped it would also
insulate us from the freezing overnight temps. We
could be underground for ... how many klicks?
Eight kilometers, signed Albert in response to my
silent question.
     Six passed by at breakneck speed . . . well, as
breakneck as you can get shimmying through under-
ground caverns with rough, natural-hewn floors in
limited light. Took us more than six hours, in fact, not
much of a speed record. But the end was in sight,
metaphorically speaking. We had just finished our
fourth rest and were ready to tackle the final quarter.
As Arlene ducked and stepped under an archway, I
heard a sound that chilled me to the marrow: the
startled hiss of an imp.
     We were not alone.
Reacting to the sound, Arlene backpedaled; she
stuck her arm out and caught Albert on her way back,
knocking both of them to the ground.
     The move saved their lives; a flaming ball of mucus
hurled past where they had stood but an instant
before and splattered explosively against the wall.
Arlene didn't bother rising; she raised her machine
pistol and fired from supine. I swung my shotgun
around and unloaded the outside barrel; between the
two of us, we blew the spiny apart.
     It had buddies. As Arlene and Albert scrambled to
their feet, and the latter fumbled his Uzi clone,
swearing under his breath in a most un-Mormonlike
manner, I pushed Jill to the ground and unloaded my
second barrel, decapitating a zombie who wielded a
machete.
     I cracked and reloaded; Albert finally got every-
thing pointed in the right direction and loosed a
volley of lead.
     We had surprised the bastards, and now they
weren't even sure where we were shooting from. To
make things worse, the zombie troops had zeroed in
on the imps, catching them in a cross fire with us.
I pushed Arlene forward, and she charged, taking
advantage of the distraction. Yanking Jill to her feet, I
followed; but we were several steps behind our team-
mates.
     Arlene broke left and Albert kept on straight, taking
after the two clumps of spinys--who made the fatal
mistake of turning their attention to their own pathet-
ic troops.
     To my horror, I realized what this resistance meant:
the tunnel was breached; if the aliens knew about the
tunnel, then soon troops would come pouring down
the pipe, lurching directly into the heart of the last
human enclave for hundreds of klicks!
     Albert must have realized the terrible danger at the
same moment. He took advantage of a lull to flash a
frantic sign: explosives--tunnel--blow up--hurry!
I got the message. The Mormons had intelligently
lined their own escape tunnel with high explosive; if
we could somehow find the detonator, we could
collapse the tunnel, saving the compound.
     But how? Where? I doubted even Albert knew
where the nearest fuse lay--and wouldn't blowing the
tunnel blow us up as well?
     But considering that it was I who brought this
trouble upon them, it was clearly my duty to do it...
even at the loss of my own life in the explosion.
But first we'd have to take care of these brown,
leathery bastards.
     Arlene had gone left and Albert straight; but one
imp suddenly lurched out of the darkness to our right
out of nowhere. I caught it out of the corner of my eye.
"Jill!" I shouted, violating my own orders. "Look
out!"
     Fortunately, like Rikki Tikki Tavi, she knew better
than to waste time looking. She hit the deck face first
as I unloaded both barrels over her body.
     The imp landed nearly on top of the girl. If it had, it
probably would have crushed her to death: those
damned demons mass 150 kilograms!
     Arlene and Albert finished killing their targets, and
I started to relax.
     Then I noticed what the imp I had just killed held
in its claws. Damn, but it sure looked suspiciously like
a satchel charge.
     For an instant I froze, then that little voice behind
my eyeballs whispered, Fly, you know, standing like a
statue might not be the best career move right about
now. . .
     "RUN!" I bellowed, bolting straight forward, pick-
ing up Jill on the fly. I ran right up to the imp and
right over it, gritting my teeth against the expected
blast.
     It didn't blow up. Not until we had all made about
ten meters down the tunnel.
     The explosion was loud, but not deafening; it was
the sequence of seven or eight explosions after the
satchel charge that rattled my brains.
     We kept running like bloody lunatics as we heard
the loudest report yet. It sounded like it was directly
over our heads--and the tunnel began to collapse.
A million tons of rock and dirt crashed down on my
head, and something hard and remarkably bricklike
cracked my skull. I was hurled to the ground by the
concussion . . . and when I swam back to conscious-
ness, I found myself lying half underneath a huge pile
of collapsed tunnel roof. Had we been just a few
footfalls slower, we'd have all been buried under it.
A steel brace arched up from our position, slightly
bent. About five meters overhead I saw daylight; but
ahead of us there was only rubble.
     "Congratulations," gasped Arlene, picking herself
up and choking in the dust. "You found the only door
frame for a hundred meters in each direction! You
sure you never lived in L.A., say during an earth-
quake?"
     No one was crippled; Jill needed first aid for a nasty
cut on her forehead, and I needed about five or six
Tylenols.
     Albert stared forward into the collapse, then up at
the sky. "Course correction, Corporal," he said. "I
think it's time we rose above all this."
     We made a human ladder: I stood at the bottom,
then Albert on my shoulders, then Arlene on his.
Reaching up, she caught hold of the bracing beam and
held herself steady for Jill to climb like a monkey up
and out. She secured a rope and threw the end back
down for the rest of us.
     Outside, the sun was just setting, a faint flash of
green in the western sky. The exploding, collapsing
tunnel left a long, plowed furrow running jaggedly
along the hard-packed dirt of the desert floor.
We hurried away from the site, found a rocky hill
and lay on our bellies on its top. When the stars
appeared, Albert sighted on Polaris, then pointed the
direction we should journey. "The ranch is another
four klicks yonder," he said. "We ought to be there
before midnight."
     Three hours later we skulked onto the deserted,
burned-out ranch. Near the barn was a huge haystack.
Inside the haystack, covered in a yellow, plastic tarp,
was a surprise.
     Ordinarily, I'd have rather run during the night and
holed up in the daylight; but the aliens were more
active at night. And more important, we were all
utterly spent. Arranging a three-way watch over Jill's
protest, we collapsed into sleep. Despite her threat,
Jill didn't awaken until Arlene shook her the next
morning.
     The engine of the Humvee groaned into life, the
coughing gradually diminishing. The thing might
actually run, I thought. Jill almost jumped up and
down with excitement as the machine started to
move. She was a kid again, forgetting all the crap of
the universe in the presence of a new toy. The little
things that bothered her sense of dignity vanished.
She was why we would win the war against the
monsters, no matter how many battles were lost. And
no matter what happened to us.
     "Here we go," said Albert, holding an Auto Club
map as if it were a dagger. He was a lot more dashing
than the President.
     "Let's kick some monster butt," said the old
Arlene.
     After two hours of a steady, off-road seventy kilom-
eters per hour, we'd seen no signs of the changed
world; but I knew this illusion couldn't last. While it
did, I enjoyed every minute of it. An empty landscape
is the most beautiful sight in the world when it doesn't
contain smashed buildings, burning remains of civili-
zation, and fields of human corpses. Of course, it
would have been nice to see a bird, or hear one.
There was a long line of straight road ahead, so I
asked Jill if she would like to drive the Humvee.
"Cool," she said. "What do I do?"
     I let her hold the wheel, and she seemed satisfied. A
Humvee is a big horse, and I wasn't about to put the
whole thing in her charge. But she seemed comfort-
able, as if she had driven large vehicles before , . .
possibly a tractor?
     Our first stop was for a bathroom break. That's
when I saw the first evidence that Earth wasn't what it
used to be: a human skull all by itself, half buried in
the dirt. Nothing else around it--no signs of a strug-
gle. But dislodging it with my shoe revealed a small
patch of clotted scalp still on the bone. The ants
crawling over this spot provided the final touch. What
was this fresh skull doing here all by itself?
"Ick," said Jill, catching sight of my find. I could
say nothing to improve on that.
     "What's that odor?" asked Arlene.
"It's coming from up ahead," observed Albert.
It was the familiar, old sour lemon smell. . .
unmistakable bouquet of finer zombies everywhere.
As we resumed the journey, the terrain altered.
There were twisted shapes on the horizon made of
something pink and white that glistened in the sun.
They reminded me of the flesh blocks that might still
be pounding endlessly up and down on Deimos.
These were shaped more like the stalagmites I'd seen
in my spelunking days. They didn't belong out here.
The whiff of sour lemon grew stronger, which
meant zombies shambling nearby or rotting in a ditch
somewhere close. My stomach churned in a way it
hadn't since Deimos.
     The sky altered as well. The blue slowly shaded into
a sickly green with a few red streaks, as if pools of
green sludge were leaking into the sky.
     We were all quiet now, fearing that to say anything
was to ruin that last glow of quiet friendship before
the storm. I glanced at Jill. She wore a determined
expression better than the President of the Council of
Twelve wore his gun.
     Arlene and Albert checked out the ammo and guns,
more for something to do. Jill was content to stay up
front and help drive the vehicle.
     Arlene finally broke silence: "You know, Fly, they
gave us more than we can pack with us when we dump
the Humvee, if we're going to be able to stow aboard
the damned train when it slows down."
     "Yeah," I said. "Take what you can."
Jill looked over her shoulder. "Can I help?" she
asked.
     "We're doing okay," said Albert.
"You're not throwing out my machine gun, are
you?" she asked suspiciously.
     Albert laughed, the first sound of happiness since
we crossed over into what I was already dubbing
Infernal Earth. "Honey, we'll toss food and water
before we let go of a good weapon."
     "My name's not--" she started to say, then noticed
Albert's friendly expression. Context and tone of
voice made a difference. I wouldn't be surprised if we
weren't the first people in her life to treat her like a
person.
     There was the sound of an explosion to the west. "Is
that thunder?" asked Jill. She stared to the right, but
there was nothing to see.
     "No," I said. "Someone is playing with fire-
crackers."
     "Something, more likely," said Arlene.
"Behold," said Albert in a low voice, obviously
speaking to himself, "that great city Zarahemla have I
burned with fire, and the inhabitants thereof."
Jill suddenly surprised me by turning around and
facing Albert, asking: "Are you saying the monsters
are a judgment of God against the human race?"
"No," he said, "I think it is a testing."
     Arlene had promised not to talk religion with the
boss. Now the circumstances had changed. Albert was
a comrade. She'd talk about anything to a comrade.
"Would you say what the Nazis did to the Jews was
a testing?" she asked angrily.
     "The most important lesson from what Hitler did
to the Jews," he said calmly, "was that at the end of
the war, they were still in the world. I'd call that a
testing, one they passed by surviving when the 'Thou-
sand Year Reich' was destroyed. If they'd been de-
stroyed, it would have been a judgment."
     Arlene fumed at Albert, but didn't say anything.
Obviously, his answer irritated her at some level, but
she couldn't think of an intelligent response.
"In space," she said finally, "on Phobos, we found a
giant swastika." She let her observation hang in the
air, waiting for the Mormon to respond.
     "What do you think it means?" he asked.
Arlene sighed. "I don't know; except it's a reason
for me to hate them more."
     "I would hate them just as much," said Albert, "if
you had found the cross up there, or the flag of the
United States, which I believe was also inspired by
God. A symbol used by aliens means nothing to me.
We know them by their fruits."
     "Oh, fug," said Jill. "This is like being back in class.
Don't give me a test, Albert."
     I figured it was a good time to move on. "I'm with
Albert," I said. "Symbols mean nothing outside of
their context. But I never expected to hear that from a
religious guy!"
     "I'm full of mysteries," he said.
I was glad for our little debate. It took our mind off
the fact that the sky kept changing. It was now
completely green. Made me think of fat frogs and
mold. The lemon stench was bad enough that it
seemed the same as back on Deimos and Phobos. I
had forgotten how after a while you get used to
anything and then you could ignore it.
     Albert reminded us he was in charge of the map by
pointing out we were nearing the sabotage point. "I'd
say we're a mile away," he said.
     "Let me take the wheel back, Jill." The kid didn't
argue, glad to say. I started slowing down the
Humvee.
     "We need to tip it over on the tracks just past that
curve," said Albert. "We don't want to derail the
train."
     "Right," I said. "They should see it in plenty of
time after they come around the bend."
     "Have you given any thought to how we're going to
tip this monster over?" asked Arlene. "It must weigh
a couple of tons."
     "I sure have. That's why I brought along--Block
and Tackle in a Drum!"
     She didn't seem to appreciate the humor.
15
     No, really, A.S. I'm not joking."
"I'm not laughing."
     I held up the drum.
Arlene squinted. "C-4? Plastic explosive?"
     "Just a soupcon. A bit of spice for an otherwise
drab mission."
     The others stood back at a safe distance as I parked
the vehicle next to the tracks, molded a goodly glob
on both front and rear left tires, then rolled it forward
until the C-4 was against the ground. I fused both
bunches with identical lengths of det cord, lay flat and
closed the connection.
     Jill covered her ears; clever kid.
The Humvee is normally one of the most stable-
wheeled vehicles ever built; but even its wide body
and long wheel base was never meant to stand up to a
double charge beneath the left side. With a flash and a
bang, the C-4 did its job: the wheels blew off, but not
before the entire vehicle jerked into the air and rolled
along the longitudinal axis, landing upside down on
the rails. I held my breath as it skittered and spun--
but it came to rest still blocking the tracks.
I even had more C-4, just in case we'd needed a
slight adjustment.
     "That wasn't too tough," declared Arlene, standing
with hands on hips, surveying the undercarriage.
"Of course you'd say that," I complained, "after
letting me do all the work."
     "You! You mean you and Charlie Four!"
"What do we do now?" asked Jill.
     "We guard the gear," I said, "and hurry up and
wait. Hey, welcome to the armed forces."
     "Inconsiderate of the fiends not to post their sched-
ules for us," said Albert.
     "Amen," agreed Arlene, to Albert's amusement. I
had expected her to say something sarcastic in reply,
but she patted him on the arm. They really seemed to
like each other. Maybe their argument over Judgment
Day was a test for each other.
     The idea, of course, was for us to climb aboard
when the train stopped to clear the tracks. We'd stay
back until it started to move again; then we'd take a
running leap and catch the ladders, humping up to the
roof.
     I was worried about Jill; I had no idea whether she
could make the jump; and if she missed . . . But she
was a wiry kid and looked like a tomboy. All the
same, I quietly removed everything heavy from her
pack, including her CompMac ultramicro; couldn't
afford to let her drop it under the wheels ... or drop
herself.
     "Can I put my ear to the track and listen for the
vibration?" asked Jill. "I saw that in a movie."
"You don't think you'll fall asleep?" I asked back.
"It could be a long wait."
     She assumed the position and managed to stay
down for a good twenty minutes before flipping over
and trying the other ear. Fifteen minutes after that
she decided that it could be a long wait and joined us
over by the stuff, around the hill.
     "Why do they have to change the sky?" Jill asked.
"I don't know," said Arlene, "but it makes me
appreciate the night. At least we won't see the green
then."
     Albert passed around some beef jerky. We had
plenty of water and didn't have to worry about
rationing yet. We carried chlorine pills to purify the
water, which wouldn't help much if the aliens poi-
soned it with some nerve toxin.
     Jill poked Albert. "Why do you think these are
demons if they can be killed?"
     He looked at me, raising his brows.
"Don't give me a hard time," I said. "I haven't
discussed it with her. She can think for herself, you
know."
     "There are greater and lesser powers," he said.
"There is nothing wrong with viewing these creatures
as alien invaders as our Marine friends do. But we
believe they would not have taken on these guises
unless they were directed by genuine demonic
forces."
     "Then why don't we exercise them?" said Jill.
Arlene smiled. "You mean exorcise, Jill."
     "I like exercise better," I interjected. "Some of
these monsters seem out of shape to me. We should
capture one and PT the hell out of it."
     "Speaking of which--" Albert began, but he didn't
have to finish. The train whistle was high and loud, a
lonely call from the remnants of our world. "I don't
think you'll need to place your ear to the track," I told
Jill.
     First, there was the rumbling. Then it came around
the bend, bigger than life, the engine the head of a
dragon, each car behind it a segment of spinal cord.
Thousands of tons rushed toward our little Humvee,
lying across the dark rails like a sacrificial offering.
"It's not slowing down," whispered Jill.
     There was no way the man or monster in the engine
couldn't see the obstacle in the path of the train. The
natural reaction was to slow and stop.
     Instead, they chose the unnatural reaction--
dispelling any doubts about what sort of creature was
driving. The monsters were among us.
     The damned train sped up! The drone of the giant
diesel electric motors drowned out the world, sinking
our great plan beneath drifts of sand as if drowning in
that dry ocean.
     Jill moved forward, still going to give it a try; but no
way would I let her commit suicide. I grabbed her arm
hard and shouted, "Back off, everyone!" If that behe-
moth came off the tracks, it could explode and
obliterate us like bugs. I had other plans, foremost
among them to stay alive.
     We ran, the roaring of metal-on-metal and groaning
diesels directly behind us. We felt the impact of the
collision before we heard it, as the vibration tuning-
forked through the desert into the soles of our feet and
up to our hearts. The sound ripped through my head,
made my teeth ache, and squeezed my lungs with the
weight of the crash.
     Bible stories ran through my head, the good old
King James version, with the Old Testament warnings
and massacres. Lot's wife looked behind her after the
Lord God told her not to. She was too curious for her
own good--my kind of woman. I couldn't resist a
backward glance either.
     The train plowed through the Humvee like it wasn't
even there except as a sound effect. Pieces of our
transportation flew at us, and I realized there was a
certain wisdom to Bible stories. This crap could sever
our necks and smash us to pulp. You could actually
hurt an eye.
     We kissed dirt, and something whizzed past my
right ear, but I had no curiosity to see what it was.
Finally, the dangerous sounds went away.
     Standing up to see the remains of our vehicle, I
checked that my three buddies weren't bleeding or
buried under hunks of twisted metal. The receding
train reeled drunkenly from rail to rail, like an Iowa
farm boy with a snootful on his first night of liberty. I
half expected to see a fat, red demon riding in the
caboose, leaning out and giving us the finger. Then
again, a good number of these beasties lacked the
digits and dexterity to perform such a feat.
"So," said Arlene, after a long, dramatic pause.
"What's Plan B?"
     Jill occupied herself spitting out a mouthful of dirt,
while Albert helped her to her feet. "Liabilities," I
said: "no Humvee; no train."
     "Assets?"
"We're alive; we still have our weapons."
     "Feets do your stuff," said Albert.
"We'll hike into Phoenix," I said. "It's already late
afternoon. Better for us to travel by night anyway,
especially on foot."
     "Great," said Jill, but when she didn't continue the
complaint, I let it slide. A little bitching from the
troops can have its salutary effects.
     Whatever the green crap in the atmosphere was, it
didn't prevent the stars coming out, although the
twinkle was a bit weird. Footsore and weary, we took
our first rest stop at midnight.
     "My first girlfriend lived in Scottsdale," said Al-
bert. "I always enjoyed Arizona."
     "Was she a Mormon?" Arlene blurted out.
"No; I'm a convert. We didn't believe in much of
anything, not even each other."
     "Why do you like Arizona?" asked Arlene.
"The desert is clean. The mountains are clean. And
best of all, there's no humidity."
     "You sound like a travel folder," I said.
"Not anymore," he sighed.
     "We'll get our world back, Albert," said Arlene.
An attack of commanditis seized Yours Truly: "If
we're going to save the Earth, then we need to sleep, in
shifts." I took first watch so everyone else could sleep,
but Jill joined me.
     "I can't sleep," she said, "so don't try and make
me."
     "No, I'm glad for your company," I said. "I hate
wasting the rest of the night, and I'm not tired either.
When Albert and Arlene wake up, I'm thinking we
should move on."
     "Fine with me," she said. "I think they're sweet on
each other."
     I stared at Jill, wondering where the hell that
comment came from. I didn't say a word, but the
teenager had given me something to think about
besides how many rounds it took to put down a
spidermind.
     Absolutely nothing else happened for four days,
except Arlene and Albert spent a lot of time arguing,
leaving me to debate computer ethics with the
fourteen-year-old net-cop of the month. Jill was down
on even the slightest infraction against privacy ... by
anyone.
     It was dawn on the fifth day when we arrived on the
outskirts of Phoenix. A number of buildings were
rubble, but some were still standing. We decided to
hole up in one of those. With weapons loaded and in
hand, we moved in. I was pleased to note Jill handled
herself well. This was good. If anything happened, I'd
be too busy to hold anyone's hand.
     In the first alley we entered, we ran into an appetiz-
er of three pathetic zombies. Albert, Arlene, and I
acted so quickly that Jill didn't even get off a shot--
but it was her first contact with the enemy.
We rounded the corner and found ourselves in the
enviable position of staring at three zombie backs. It
was two males and a female; one of the males a
civilian, the other an Army sergeant, and the woman
used to be a cop in life.
     Any qualms I had ever had about shooting women
in the back were burned out of me up on Phobos.
Phobos meant "fear," and fear was a marvelous
teacher. Without a word, I swung my double-barreled
shotgun up to my shoulder, sighted as if aiming for a
clay pigeon, and let fly with the outer trigger.
The living-dead female cop pitched forward with-
out a sound, her head vanishing in a haze of red and
green blood and gray brain matter. The other two
growled and started to turn, but the soldier-zombie
took two taps in the head from Arlene before he got
even halfway around. She kept her AB-10 on single-
shot; no sense wasting ammo.
     The third zombie was armed only with a stick of
some sort; it looked like it used to be a gas station
attendant. It shambled toward us, unafraid, of course;
its only desire was to beat us into a bloody pulp and
perhaps eat the remains.
     Jill whimpered and sank to one knee, fumbling her
AR-19 around. Her numb, nerveless hands shook,
and she suddenly had not even the strength to pull
back the T-bar and cock the weapon.
     Well, no reason to dump a death on her conscience,
even a zombie death; she'd have plenty more chances.
Sparing her a friendly glance, I raised my shotgun
again, the outer barrel still unfired. But Albert beat
me to the punch, expertly firing a quick, three-round
burst that caught the zombie in the face, destroying it
instantly. The guy was good: he had literally fired
from the hip on rock 'n' roll and tapped it perfectly.
I stole a look; his face was grim, determined. I had
no trouble believing he had been a sniper.
     The soup course consisted of five imps who were
attracted by the noise. Given the time of day, thinking
of breakfast would be more appropriate. Time to fry
the bacon.
     They came shuffling around the corner, already
wadding up balls of flaming snot. One was a fast
mother; it heaved its flame wad before we could get
off a shot, and Arlene had to hit the deck to evade.
I heard a snik-click, as Jill finally ran the slide,
cocking the hammer and slamming a round into the
chamber.
     I discharged my remaining barrel, knocking an imp
to the dirt; it was still alive. I crabbed sideways,
cracking the breech and sliding two more shells
inside, while Albert fired short bursts, alternating
between the nearest imps. Each burst drove the target
backward a few steps.
     Then a dead-eye spiny from the back ranks chucked
a mucus ball over the front ranks, catching Albert on
the shoulder. It splattered across his armor, still
burning, and he yelped and dropped the Uzi clone.
Arlene got to one knee, clicked the lever one notch
down, and began firing bursts at the still-advancing
imps. She focused fire on one imp at a lime, taking
them down.
     One of them slid by us somehow; none of us saw the
damned thing. All of a sudden I turned and it was in
my face, hissing and screaming like death on two legs.
16
     I backpedaled but took a piece of flame wad
in the face anyway. Blinded and agonized, I dropped
the shotgun to the pavement and grabbed my face,
screaming. I heard and felt the 180-kilogram monster
looming over me, and I steeled myself to take a savage
swipe to the ribs.
     The swipe never came. I heard the high-pitched
"rim shot" sound of the AR-19 discharging on full
auto, and the monster pitched forward against me. I
rolled to slip it as it fell; I sure didn't want to get
crushed underneath.
     By the time I was able to blink my eyesight back,
the rest of the spinys were room-temp . . . and Jill
stood over the body of her very first kill, managing to
look simultaneously triumphant, sick, and scared to
death.
     "Congratulations, girl," I croaked, still grimacing at
the pain, "virgin no more."
     "Thanks." She looked as ambivalent as she proba-
bly would in a couple of years, when she lost the other
form of virginity . . . unless I'm showing my age by
presuming she hadn't already.
     My mistake; one of the critters wasn't quite dead.
When we huddled to assess damages, it leapt to its
feet and took off down the alley. Arlene, the Hermes
of the group, bolted after the thing, Albert hot on her
heels.
     We raced the imp. I'd never seen one move this fast
before. Was it that this one had the sense to be afraid,
or had the genetic engineering made some improve-
ments?
     The imp scooted around a corner. Arlene followed,
then Albert, and finally Yours Truly. Jill was some-
where behind.
     We spied an open door across the alley, and Arlene
and Albert made a beeline for it; but I noticed a
nearby trailer was rocking back and forth, as if
someone had just entered.
     "Over here!" I yelled. I wasn't used to an imp doing
something as clever as opening a door to mislead his
pursuers before doubling back to his real objective;
but then I hadn't expected the imp on Phobos to talk
either.
     The door was locked, but a trailer door hardly
merited the waste of ammo. As I started to kick it, I
heard a familiar sound. Once you've heard the
humming-whizzing sound of a teleporter, you never
forget it.
     One good thump and we were in; a few sparks of
light hung in space over the rectangular piece of
metal. "Damn," I said.
     "Shazam!" said Arlene.
"Huh?" asked Albert.
     "Just making a little joke before your time," she
said.
     "Hey, I've had friends who take that stuff," Albert
countered. "It's bad stuff, ma'am."
     "We'll get into the cross-cultural discussion later,
kids," I said. "Right now we have more important
problems. Like, should we follow this one or leave
well enough alone?"
     "If we follow," said Albert, "it might put us in the
center of this thing."
     "I think we shouldn't follow, exactly because it
might put us in the center of this thing," said Arlene.
They both had a good point. There was no ques-
tioning Albert's courage; but Arlene and I had the
experience.
     I felt a disturbance in the Force behind me. Jill
squeezed in, her face hard, cheeks streaked where
she'd been crying. But she was in control, the mask
tight.
     "Let's vote on it," she suggested, demonstrating
she'd picked up some vile, egalitarian habits from
somewhere.
     "Sure," I said. "A show of hands for all those who
think we should follow the imp through the
     teleporter." Albert and Jill raised their hands. "Now,
those against." Arlene raised her hand.
     "If you vote with her, it's a tie," said Jill, proving
she'd taken some courses in the Higher Arithmetic.
"It's not necessary for me to vote," I said, "because
Arlene's vote counts as three. The nays carry."
"Oh!" exclaimed Jill, frustrated. Albert merely
shrugged.
     "Let's put a guard on the grid," I said. "The spiny
could return with reinforcements: hell-princes,
pumpkins--"
     "Maybe even a steam-demon," Arlene added. We
could tell that the new monster fighters weren't ex-
actly following the conversation.
     "There's lots of different aliens," said Arlene.
"I know that," said Jill, a touch defensively.
"I'll take first watch," said Albert. "If we're not
going to follow, I'd suggest we hide out in the trailer
. . . but maybe that's not such a good idea. Instead of
teleporting, the--imp?--might drive up with a tank
column. Are we waiting until night before we leave?"
"On foot we'd wait," I said, "but in this truck, the
Bad Guys will probably just assume we're members of
the club. Who but a monster or zombie would be
driving in this region now? Besides, Albert is right; we
have to get out of here like now."
     "Assuming zombies can drive," mumbled Arlene.
"If they have brains enough to shoot, they have
brains enough to drive," I said.
     "Can I drive the truck?" asked Jill, eyes wide. "It
would really be cool."
     I've created a Frankenstein's monster! I thought.
"Can you drive a stick?" I asked. She nodded. "A big
rig like this, double-clutching, multiple forward gears?
Have you ever?"
     "Well, not this big," she admitted. "But I'm sure I
can handle it."
     Normally, that wouldn't be good enough. But this
time, I wanted all three seasoned fighters in the back
in case the imp came back with a beastie battalion.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Maybe we can take the
truck and not be stuck with the damned teleporter." I
went back to it, crouched down and examined it
thoroughly. It was literally melded to the steel floor;
the only way to leave it would be to ditch the entire
trailer. But we still had to get to a place of safety
before we could stop long enough to unhitch cab from
caboose.
     "How about I go up front and look for the keys,"
said Jill, growing happier by the second. She wasn't
about to let this opportunity slip by her.
     "I'm going with you," I said, praying the monsters
would not choose this moment to invade.
     There were no keys in the cab, but I found a set in
one of those little magnetic holders outside, under-
neath the left front fender. This bothered me. If the
monsters were using the truck, why would they hide
the key? Or had they not even used this vehicle as a
vehicle since they attached the teleporter?
     I didn't know how long we'd use the cab--maybe
only long enough to hop the next train, assuming we
could warp back to the original plan. But in the field,
no plan was any good that didn't adjust instantly to
reality. If the truck could get us a good piece of the
way, we should go for it. If it caused more problems,
then we could always switch back to playing hobo.
Jill opened the glove compartment and found a
map showing the most direct route to L.A.--good old
I-10; the best truck stops were marked for conve-
nience. The original driver had been most obliging. If
we were lucky, some of these stations might be
abandoned, with stocks of fuel waiting for us. I could
do without demonic attendants offering free human
sushi with every fill-up. I'd definitely go with self-
service, even if I had to shoot it out for the privilege.
Jill started the engine and I gave her a lecture about
reading gauges. As if I had any idea what I was doing!
But you can't let kids think you don't know.
This led right into a few more lectures about
overheating the engine, dust storms, fatigue factors,
and highway hypnosis.
     At no point did Jill try to shoot me. Her self-control
was exactly what you demand of a good Marine.
"At least there won't be many cars for me to run
into," she predicted. If I didn't know better, I'd think
she wasn't trying to cheer me up.
     "Go west, young lady," I said as a parting shot.
"Find us somewhere safe to park and disconnect. I
don't like hauling around this reinforcement roach
coach."
     "See you later," she answered.
I returned to the back and caught Arlene grinning
like the Cheshire cat that just ate the bird store. Albert
seemed amused by something as well.
     "You were up there a long time," she said.
"Looking for the keys," I answered solemnly.
"You took a long time getting back here since the
engine started," said Albert.
     I wouldn't let them get to me: "Giving her a few
helpful tips, that's all. I'm sure she'll do fine." At that
precise moment the truck lurched forward and
stalled. Everything in the back shifted forward, except
for the teleporter pad. The teleporter pad was just
fine.
     Arlene laughed. At no point did I try to shoot her; if
Jill could hold it, so could I. I'm trained, a
professional--a Marine.
     Jill finally got the hang of shifting--I suppose she
had had some training--and we were on our way. She
proved herself a teenager by driving too fast; then she
swerved suddenly, creating a new mystery to solve:
what the hell was she avoiding?
     Being thrown around inside gave me motion sick-
ness; I hadn't felt this bad since the last time I was on
a friend's boat and got seasick. But I wasn't complain-
ing. Not me.
     Besides, just about the time I would have risked
Arlene's mirth, the spiny sent us a Christmas present.
There was a brief moment of warning, the hum-
ming and the glow. We trained our weapons on the
spot, allowing for a split second of identification.
There was always the remote possibility of a human
escaping from hell.
     Then the thing materialized. It wasn't a recruit for
humanity's army. And it wasn't a zombie, an imp, or
any other old friend. The bastards had sent us a new
monster.
     There was something especially odd about the
appearance. This sucker wore clothes! He had on red
shorts and a white T-shirt. At a quick glance, it looked
like a living skeleton in lederhosen. There wasn't time
for a closer look--we already delayed firing a second
too long. The idiotic wardrobe threw us off.
The thing jumped at me, picked me up with one
hand and threw me at the wall. I rolled with the
impact and scrambled to my feet, still holding onto
my twelve-gauge; but before I could fire, the monster
had Arlene in one claw and Albert in the other. Thin
as it was, we were like rag dolls in its hands.
Jill was shouting through the partition, wondering
what was wrong. I would have loved to tell her, but I
was otherwise occupied, waiting for a clear shot.
The skeleton flung Albert down, but kept hold of
Arlene. The angle made Arlene a shield, so I started
maneuvering around, trying to maintain my footing
with Jill's increasingly panicked driving. As I tried for
a better position, the damned bone pile turned and
punched out Albert!
     I mean, it hauled off and slugged him, and he went
down for the count. The stupid red shorts suddenly
seemed like boxing shorts. If the invaders were devel-
oping a sense of humor, I knew the true meaning of
horror.
     Adding to the fun, Jill started swerving left and
right. Maybe she thought she was helping. She wasn't.
I heard a horrible crunching sound, and I was thrown
to the floor . . . but Red Skeleton remained planted as
if it had grown roots. Jill must have run into a car--
but from here, it was impossible to tell whether it had
been parked or was tooling down the road with Satan
himself at the wheel. At the moment, I didn't care
about anything except dismantling that freaking skel-
eton.
     Back on my feet, duck gun in hand, I shouted loud
enough for Jill to hear: "Keep steady and keep going!"
I was afraid that if she came to a sudden stop, it would
be an advantage for Mr. Bones. I needed my opening.
Then the dumb monster gave it to me. He put
     Arlene down so he could slug her. I let him place her
out of the line of fire, and the minute she was down, I
got in close to the thing and introduced its mouth to
both barrels. The mouth opened just like a human
one. I made sure it would never close again. I blew its
head clean off.
     This slowed it down. Unfortunately, decapitation
was not the last word with this guy. He'd spent so
much time throwing us around like preteen sparring
partners, I hadn't even noticed the pair of rocket
launchers strapped to its back--until now. In its
death throes, Bones bent forward like a hinge and
fired a rocket from each tube.
     Its head was pointing toward the front. . . and
that's where the rockets went.
     The thing splintering into constituent bones, but
Arlene was up from the floor in time to scream "Jill!"
I was already out the trailer door and scuttling along
the running board before the echo died away.
17
     The rockets blew through the front of the
trailer and the back of the cab, passing on either side
of a white-faced Jill while she was driving. Either side.
By some miracle worthy of every Holy Book ever
written, both rockets missed her.
     "Jesus and Mary!" I shouted. I slid through the hole
where the cab wall used to be and sat down next to
Jill. She was white as cotton, shaking like an AK on
full-auto, gripping the wheel so hard I half expected
her to leave indentations. First Rule of Talking to the
Driver When the Driver is in Shock: "It missed you,
Jill; you're all right."
     She nodded very slowly, but didn't speak. I tried
another tack: "Wouldn't you like a break from driv-
ing?" She nodded again. "Well, why don't you pull
over, uh, there," I said, pointing to a tree-lined side
street. There was nothing around here; we could pull
the plug on the teleporter trailer. Jill pulled over.
"Would you stay up here on watch while I return to
the others?" I asked.
     She finally spoke: "Yes. I will. Fly." I patted her on
the shoulder, glad she'd addressed me that way. I
suspected she would be driving more conservatively
after this. I decided not to ask her about the car.
As Jill parked and sobbed, I crawled back into the
trailer. "Our new convenient, modern cab," I said,
"lots of ventilation makes it easier than ever to move
back and forth."
     My attempt at gallows humor fell on adder's ears.
"Fly," said Arlene, voice shaking, "maybe we should
acquire another vehicle."
     "Why?" I asked. She stared at me dumbfounded.
"Let's take a closer look at our new critter," I con-
tinued.
     On first contact it appeared to have no skin at all.
But close examination showed a thin layer of almost
transparent epidermis. Close up, it looked a man in
the terminal stages of starvation.
     "I'd hoped we wouldn't see anything like this," said
Arlene.
     Albert started to get the drift and asked: "You never
saw one like this in space?"
     "No," I answered, "but we saw a place where they
manufactured creatures on an assembly line."
"And living blocks of flesh," said Arlene. "I'm
certain it was human flesh--experiments creating
human flesh."
     "The evils of science," said Albert.
I saw Arlene tense up, but this time it was my turn.
"There's no putting that genie back in the bottle, my
friend. We master everything the universe offers, or
we're wiped out, another failed experiment. No happy
medium or ignorant bliss."
     He held up his gun. "Maybe you're right," he said.
"This weapon would be black magic to Joseph Smith.
I should pick on the engineers instead of the scien-
tists. Some scientists say that some things we can do,
we must never do."
     "Such as?" asked Arlene.
"Godless genetic manipulation," he answered.
"That's what we're fighting, isn't it?"
     "Scientists who talk that way are the worst traitors
to the human race," said Arlene. "I don't really mind
religious people being afraid of new discoveries," she
said, "but scientists are supposed to know better. This
enemy's greatest power is biology. They've turned it
into a superweapon. If that means we have to learn to
use it ourselves, then we have to ... otherwise, we're
disarmed."
     "You'd turn us into monsters like that?" asked
Albert, pointing at the dead one. "Or our children?"
he added.
     "No, of course not," she said. "But why should you
object to genetically engineering angels?"
     "Because they already exist and will help us in the
hour of need."
     "Mexican standoff," I said. "This head-cutting is
officially declared a tie. Now, shall we return to the
matter at hand?"
     "Well, Fly," purred Arlene, "whose turn is it to
name this sucker?"
     "I'm sure it's yours," I lied.
She must have already decided, because right away
she said, "That's easy; a bony."
     "Brilliant," I said. "Don't you think so?" I asked
Albert.
     "I guess," he said. "I guess we should be able to tell
them apart."
     "Albert, would you mind checking on Jill?" I asked.
He was happy to get out of there. As Arlene and I
started decoupling the trailer, I whispered in her ear,
"So what do you think?"
     "I think they're getting closer to copying our real,
human form. Even the stupid clothes are a dangerous
advance. A goal of the aliens is probably to create
false humans; if they succeed, they can infiltrate the
areas not under alien control . . . like Salt Lake City."
"We can expect better frauds as time passes," I said.
"Now let's get to the next town along the railroad line,
hop a train, and continue to L.A."
     Albert and Jill were glad to hear the new plan.
While Arlene and I were busy worrying each other,
Albert had helped calm Jill down to the point where
she insisted on doing whatever driving remained.
Fortunately, it was a sleeper cab for partnered
driving; we squeezed in, Arlene and Albert in the
back, me up front with Jill, and set off down the road.
We passed a score of alien patrols, but the truck must
have had the mark of the beast on the grill, for none of
them threw us a second glance.
     The next town along the line was Buckeye. We
ditched the truck cab, then waited for night. We found
an alley and enjoyed the busy sounds of night life in
this modern world: troop trucks every few minutes,
the tramping of little zombie feet, screams of pain,
howled orders from hell-princes, and the occasional
earthshaking tread of steam-demons. Even more
soothing to our shattered nerves were mechanical
sounds that reminded me of the spidermind, evi-
dently a smaller model. I wondered if this one got
better mileage.
     "Have you noticed an odd thing?" whispered
Arlene.
     "You mean besides everything?" I replied.
"The aliens generally seem to know when humans
are around," she said.
     I hadn't thought about it before, but the facts
supported her. "How?"
     "Remember that lemony smell of theirs, right?" she
continued her line of argument. "What if we smell as
bad to them? They might detect us by the odor we
give off."
     "Maybe they deliberately give the reworked zom-
bies that odor so they can tell them apart from living
humans?"
     "You know, A.S., if the aliens start manufacturing
infiltrators, they sure as hell can't smell like zombies.
That would be a dead giveaway." My heart bled for
the technical difficulties faced by the alien imagineers.
The importance of having Arlene and Yours Truly
on this mission was the background we brought with
us. Remembering how we had turned the monsters
against each other upstairs, I figured we could try it
again when the time came. In fact, it should be even
easier to turn the monsters against the new infiltra-
tors: they wouldn't smell wrong enough.
     Meanwhile, there was the little matter of our imme-
diate survival and carrying on to L.A. . . . and that
meant hopping a freight as soon as possible.
"I have another plan," I told my loyal troops. I
hoped it would sound as good to me as I was about to
make it sound to them.
     We waited for another truck to go by before settling
down to the conference. It was easy to size up the
strengths and weaknesses of our little foursome. Jill
was brainy but callow; Albert was forthright, strong,
reliable, stalwart, and no dummy. But he had yet to
show the special kind of intelligence and instincts
needed for command (another reason for the Presi-
dent of the Twelve not to press about who would
command this mission). Arlene was cynical and so-
phisticated, the best woman soldier I'd ever known.
But at some deep level she lacked a certain badness
that was so much a part of Yours Truly that I didn't
have to think about it.
     The reason for me to be in charge was that I
wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice all our lives if I thought
it would make a difference in winning a crucial battle
in this war. Arlene could make the same decision, but
she'd hesitate where I wouldn't. In a strange way, I
was the safest of the adults to befriend the teenager
because no friendship or emotional ties would cloud
my military judgment. With all that Arlene and I had
faced up to this point, I counted myself fortunate that
we had survived. I was also glad that I hadn't needed
to be a perfect bastard. Yet.
     The truck passed, and they waited to hear the plan.
"You all know that we must infiltrate the train station
and stow away on an outgoing train. The risk will
increase once we do this. Let me point out that until
we reach the enemy computers, Jill is the only one not
expendable. After she retrieves the data, everyone is
expendable, so long as one of us survives to get it
through to the War Technology Center. Get it out to
Hawaii; they'll find you."
     "Yes," said Arlene calmly. Albert nodded. Jill
stared wide-eyed as my words registered.
     I continued: "I noticed a number of abandoned
grocery stores as we were working our way in. I don't
know if zombies still eat human food, but I doubt it.
And I'm certain the monsters don't."
     "Maybe the aliens can't digest what we eat," said
Albert.
     "Well," mused Arlene, "they can eat us; and we are
what we eat." She was being her usual, grisly self; but I
was the only one who smiled.
     "Whatever," I said. "So here's the plan. Albert, you
buzz to one of these stores and collect all the rotting
lemons you can."
     "I get it," he said. "That'll smell like those zombies
we gunned down . . ."
     "Like all zombies," said Arlene.
". . . and confuse their sniffers," he finished his
thought. "Arlene--would you come with me?" He
paused, as if surprised at what he'd said. He looked at
me, remembering our informal chain of command.
"Is it all right if she comes with me?" he asked. "I
mean, if it's okay with her." He stared at her a little
sheepishly.
     "I was going to assign you one of us," I said. "So
long as there are four of us, it's crazy for one to go off
alone. We'll always pair off when we have to sepa-
rate."
     "I'd like to go with Albert, then," said Arlene in an
even tone of voice, betraying nothing.
     "Fine," I said. "Jill and I will wait here until you
return. We'll assume you've run into trouble if you're
not back by, hm, 2200." Among items I was grateful
for, we still had functional watches. Who gave a damn
what day of the week or month it was any longer? The
importance of a wristwatch was to coordinate ac-
tivity.
     Jill and I watched as A&A checked their weapons
and moved out. They ran across the open space,
Arlene first, Albert bringing up the rear, and then I
could breathe again.
     "When do we move out?" asked Jill.
"In a moment. We're still safe here."
     The word "safe" triggered something in her. "I
hadn't thought about it until what you said, but I
don't like being more ..."
     "Critical to the mission."
"Uh-huh. Critical. It feels weird."
     "Don't worry," I said. "After you've done your
hacker bit, you have permission to die with the rest of
us." I tried for a light tone of voice but the words
sounded wrong.
     "I'm not afraid to die," she said.
"I know you're not. You did great in the truck, the
way you kept driving. I'm proud of you." Her whole
body relaxed when I told her that.
     I figured she could handle some more of my deep
thoughts. Arlene and I had been through so much
together that there were things I could say easier to
the new recruit: "Cowardice is usually not the prob-
lem in war, Jill. Most people have more guts than they
realize. Most can be trained to do all right."
"What's the problem, then?" she asked through
slitted eyes.
     I looked up and down the alley. We were still alone,
and it was a pleasure to hear the sounds of demonic
industry muffled and distant. The danger was at arm's
length, a good place to keep it as long as possible.
"In a way, we're lucky to be fighting monsters."
"Lucky?" she half shouted.
     "Keep your voice down!"
"Sorry."
     "Fighting monsters makes it easy. Up to now, all
the wars on Earth have been between human beings.
That's much harder."
     Her face scrunched up as she pondered what I said.
It was like watching thoughts march across her face.
"I could never hate human beings the way I hate the
demons," she said.
     "You're lucky to feel that way," I said.
"How does fighting monsters make it easier?" she
threw at me. "They're harder to kill than people."
"We don't take any prisoners," I said. "We don't
have to worry about any of that. And if we did take
one, we don't have to decide whether we should
torture him. Hell, we don't even know if they have a
nervous system like ours."
     "Torture?" she asked, wide-eyed again. Then she
thought about it. "I could torture them."
     "To get information?" I asked.
"To pay them back for what they've done."
     "Could you torture humans if they'd done the same
things?"
     "I don't know," she said. "What kind of torture?"
Looking at her, I remembered an officer who briefly
passed through Parris Island as my class officer before
moving on to Intelligence, maybe even the CIA (who
knows?).
     He took a whole slate of medical courses, though he
had no interest in being a doctor. He had a weak, limp
handshake. He probably couldn't fight his way out of
a revolving door. He scared the living crap out of me.
I figured I'd given a fourteen-year-old enough to chew
on for one day.
     "Any kind." I didn't elaborate.
"I think I could torture any humans who join the
aliens," she said.
     "Then you're home free," I said. "I don't think the
enemy is doing any recruiting except for zombies."
She brightened. "And we know what to do with
them, don't we, Fly?"
     "We sure do." I tried out one of my playful punches
on the kid's arm, like I did with Arlene. She pulled
away at first, then sort of apologetically punched
back. She gave off all the signs of having been abused
once. By human beings, probably. Human beings
always confuse the issue.
     Now it was time for us to hurry up and wait.
18
     I kind of felt bad leaving Fly and the kid to go
traipsing off with this geek.
     The first time I saw Albert, I thought he was a trog.
Maybe it was the way he held his weapon against the
head of the only other man in my life besides Wilhelm
Dodd who's ever been really worth a damn: Flynn
Taggart, corporal, United States Monkey Corps. As I
joined this Mormon beefcake on the grocery store
expedition, I found myself sneaking glances at his
profile, and finding strength where I'd first suspected
weakness.
     I've always loved strong men. That's how I remem-
ber my father. He died when I was only ten, so I may
not remember him with complete objectivity. But
that's the way I want to think of him. I grew up
defending his memory against my brother, who acted
like a snot and said Dad deserted us.
     I hadn't thought about my family since the invasion
began, except when Fly got me going on my brother
and the Mormon Church. I'd be happy to keep it out
of my mind and off my