Part 3 (1/2)
”That came later. G.o.d, we didn't know what to think. The rumors we heard. Stuff about government experiments. That the Apocalypse was here and Satan walked the earth.
People getting rounded up into camps like in the n.a.z.i movies. Creatures from outer s.p.a.ce.
Turned out the truth was even weirder than the rumors, of course.
”Seems to me we were trying to make for this Mount Omega-there was talk that the vice president was there with what was left of the government and the joint chiefs. Only problem with it was no one knew where Mount Omega was. And then we came across the Padre.
”The Padre was working for someone named Rho. Not that he'd given up on Holy Mother Church, of course. He said this Rho was very special and was advising us on how to fight these things. We weren't interested. He said Rho was holed up in a safe place with food, liquor, women-I can't remember what all he promised us. None of us were interested in that, either. We'd been almost trapped and killed by those kind of promises before; the Quislings were already running us down. Then the Padre said this Rho knew what was going on. That got us. Especially your father. Some of the guys said that it was another trap, but I went with your dad, because he'd done a good job looking after me.
”It turned out this Rho was a Lifeweaver. He looked like a doctor from TV, really distinguished and everything. Guess you know who the Lifeweavers are, living with the Padre as you did. He gave us this speech about doors to other planets and vampires and vital auras and how the Grogs were things cooked up in a lab. We didn't buy any of it. I remember some of the guys started singing 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” sort of having fun with him. We thought he and the Padre were a couple of f.u.c.kin' nuts, you know? He said something to the Padre, and then, I swear to Jesus, he turns into this big gold eagle, with flames for wings. Circled over us like the Hindenburg going up. None of us knew whether to s.h.i.+t or shoot, I can tell you. Your dad told us to quiet down, and it turned back into a man again, or the image of one.
”Believe me, after that we listened. He told us about a group of Lifeweavers on a planet called Kur. They'd learned from some Touchstones the secret of how to live off vital auras.
To beings with a life span of thousands of years, the chance to have a life span of millions must have been temptation, too much temptation. They violated the Lifeweaver law, their moral code, and started absorbing aura. They were trying to become immortal. In the interest of science, of progress. According to Rho, what they accomplished instead was to turn their world into a nightmare. They became what we call vampires, beings that are, to us, immortal. They do this through taking the lives of others. These rogue Lifeweavers, the Kurians, became the mortal enemies of the rest of their race.
”The Kurians smashed Lifeweaver society. They'd been transformed from researchers and scientists into something else. Cold. Ruthless. They used their skills to destroy all op- position. Overwhelmed, all the Lifeweavers could do was shut the portals to Kur. I guess it was in an attempt to keep the infection from spreading. But it was too late. A few Kurians had already escaped and were using the Interworld Tree to attack the whole Lifeweaver order. More doors were shut, but that only cut the Lifeweavers off, stopping them from organizing an effective resistance. It was like a houseful of people each hiding from a pack of killers in separate locked rooms instead of banding together to fight.”
The sound of galloping hooves interrupted the story. A rider on one of the three horses in the group pulled up in the yard.
”Sarge,” the rider said, walking his horse in a circle, ”the lieutenant says there's a Grog column out east of here, heading this way. Mounted on legworms. Four legworms, twenty Grogs altogether. Not coming right for us, but definitely looking. You're supposed to gather everyone up and get to the Highway Forty-one bridge. If the lieutenant hasn't shown up by tomorrow, you're supposed to get everyone to Round Spring Cave.”
”Got it, Vought. Now ride on down to the river and get the kids in gear. Slowly, don't scare them out of a year's life like you did me.” The courier moved his roan off at a more sedate pace. ”d.a.m.n, but the Grogs are far out from Omaha. Maybe someone saw us outside Des Moines. Lot of Quislings live in this area nowadays.”
The sergeant gathered up the six Wolves remaining at the camp and issued orders. He motioned Valentine over.
”Sarge?”
Samuels pulled at the beard sprouting on his chin. ”Valentine, we're going to be marching tonight. We're going to stick to an old road because I want to get some miles south of the Grogs, but that means I've got to have scouts and a rear guard.
I'm shorthanded, what with the lieutenant and his group out. That means you're getting what's called a battlefield promotion. I'm going to put you in charge of the a.s.s end of the recruit column. Make sure everyone keeps up. It's going to be six kinds of dark tonight with these clouds, so it won't be easy. Lucky for us, we've been slacking all afternoon. Can you handle that?”
Valentine threw out his chest. ”Yes, Sergeant!” But nervous sweat was running down his back.
Already a few recruits were returning to the area around the old barn, some with wet clothes plastered to their bodies. They broke camp. Usually the shouts and curses of the Wolves trying to get their green levy to move faster came from simple habit, but this time the words were in earnest.
They moved off into the deepening night. Before, they had done only night marches when arcing around Des Moines. The Grogs out of eastern Nebraska patrolled this area. They could follow a trail in day or night by sight, by ear, or by smell.
They moved at a forced march with Valentine bringing up the rear. They walked, and walked fast, for fifty minutes, then rested for ten. The sergeant kept up a punis.h.i.+ng pace.
Complaints started after the fourth rest. By the sixth, there was trouble. A recruit named Winslow couldn't get to her feet.
”My legs, Val,” she groaned, face contorted in pain. ”They've cramped up.”
”More water, less hooch, Winslow. The sarge warned you. Don't come crying to me.”
The column began to move. Gabby Cho, who had been keeping Valentine company at the rear, looked at him won-deringly. Valentine waved her off. ”Get going, we'll catch up.”
Valentine began ma.s.saging Winslow's quadriceps and calves. He tried to stretch one leg, but she moaned and cried something unintelligible into the dirt.
Insects chirped and buzzed all around in the night air.
”Just leave me, Val. When it wears off, I'll jog and catch up.”
”Can't do it, Winslow.”
He heard the three Wolves of the rear guard approach. It was now or never.”Up, Winslow. If you can't walk, you can hobble. I'll help you. That's an... order.” He reached out a hand, grabbed hers, and tried to pull her up. ”But I'm not gonna carry you; you've got to move along as best you can.”
The Wolves, rifles out of sheaths, looked at Valentine with raised eyebrows. They thought the situation humorous: a cramp-stricken recruit and would-be noncom trying to get her up by issuing orders with a voice that kept cracking.
”What's going on?” asked Finner, who was in the rear guard. ”You two picked a h.e.l.luva time to hold hands in the moonlight.”
”She wants us to leave her,” he explained.
”No, she doesn't,” one of the Wolves demurred.
”Okay, Winslow,” Valentine said, drawing his gun. ”I've given you an order.” The word still sounds odd, he thought. ”And you're not obeying it. I'm not leaving you to get found and...
made to talk about us or where we're going.” Do people really talk like this? ”So I guess I'll have to shoot you.” He worked the gun's action and chambered a bullet.
”Val, you've got to be joking.”
He looked at Finner, who shrugged.
Laboriously, she got to all fours. ”See, Finner, I can barely crawl!”
Valentine's bullet struck the dirt a foot to the left of her ear, sending pebbles flying up into her face.
She ran and he followed, leaving the three Wolves chuckling in the darkness.
Samuels met them at the rear of the column. ”Christ, Sarge, he tried to kill me,” Winslow said, telling her end of the story. The sergeant planted a boot in her scrawny behind.
”Keep up next time, Winslow. Valentine,” he barked, fist and palm cras.h.i.+ng together.
The two men waited while the file drew away. ”Don't ever use your gun, except as a last resort on the enemy. Not out of consideration to that non-hacker, but 'cause the Grogs can hear like bats. You get me?”
”Sorry, Sergeant. Only thing I could think of to get her moving. Her legs were cramped up, she said.”
”Next time, kick 'em in the a.s.s, and if that doesn't work, you come get me.”
”I thought you said I was responsible for keeping them moving, sir.”
Sergeant Samuels considered this, then fell back on old reliable. ”Shut up, smart-a.s.s. I didn't give you permission to pull a gun on anyone. Get back in line. Keep 'em moving.”
Finner, drawing near with the rear guard, had a few words with the sergeant. Samuels doubled the column, returning to the front.
”Hey, Valentine,” Finner said, jogging up to him. ”Don't worry about it. You tried to get her on her feet, when most guys in your spot would've turned to us. Don't let the sarge BS you about the gunshot; a single shot is tough to locate unless you're next to it. Plus, that thing doesn't make all that much noise. I told the sarge that if I thought there was a problem, I wouldn't have let you do it.” ”What did he say?”
”He said I shouldn't think too much, it was dangerous for a guy like me. He added a few comments about my mother, too.”
A cloud, shaped like a snail with an oversize sh.e.l.l on its back, began to cover the rising moon.