Invaders From Mars (20 page)

The men came from their cover slowly, a few at a time. General Wilson was the first to reach the edge of what had been the sand pit.

It was at least fifteen feet deep. The inside of the crater looked like a magnified cross section of an anthill. The charge had blown through two levels of caverns and tunnels that seemed to twist and snake in all directions. The walls were ridged, spiraled, and from somewhere in the complex structure, General Wilson could see an amber glow.

“But . . . where’s the ship?” Lieutenant Bryce asked, confused, standing beside the general.

“Let’s go find out. Bring some ladders!” General Wilson shouted, grabbing one of the cables and giving it a hard tug. Holding tight, he stepped over the edge and rappelled into the crater.

David’s sleep was heavy, and rolled off him very . . . slowly. At first, he thought he was in a hospital; he thought he’d had his tonsils taken out again and was coming out of the anesthesia. But he was not on a hospital bed. He lay face down on a flat, hard, glasslike surface. Linda was lying beside him, unconscious.

David’s voice cracked when he said, “Linda?”

Pushing himself up on his hands, he looked around. They were on a roughly oval-shaped slab, lying on the middle of three roundish, flat surfaces. David recognized the smell instantly—he was in the ship. There was a sound . . . a deep, whirring hum . . .

Tugging on Linda’s arm, David said quietly, “Hey, Linda.”

Her arm was heavy; she was out cold.

The whirring grew louder.

David turned on his side, propped himself up on an elbow, and looked around. A few yards away on another table lay Captain Rinaldi, face down, motionless. Two bars of light hummed back and forth beneath him. They were bright and threw deep shadows of the captain all over the walls. Two drones flanked him, watching him carefully, waiting for a movement.

David looked up and held back a cry. Descending from a round orifice above was a long, needlelike device—it looked like a giant stinger! It slid from the aperture at a downward angle followed by a fat, lumpy base. It continued to descend until another fatter section was visible . . . then another . . . like a retractable telescope it continued to unfold from within itself. A pencil-thin beam of red light shined down on Captain Rinaldi’s neck, pinpointing the exact spot at which the tip would land. As it got longer, descended further, David saw a luminescent drop of green fluid trembling precariously on the very end of the stinger.

That’s where the cuts come from!
David realized, standing.

Above the fleshy hypodermic device was the huge, shimmering membrane he’d first seen in the central chamber. Behind it, David could make out a figure. A familiar figure—watching . . .

Mrs. McKeltch.

David’s eyes swept back down to Rinaldi’s neck as the long, glistening spike punctured the skin, sliding deep into the base of his brain.

We’re next,
he thought with a sickening lurch in his stomach.

“Linda!” David screamed, shaking her leg. “Linda, wake up!”

The drones turned their puffy eyes to him and rushed in his direction.

David darted around the operating table, still shouting, “Linda, please!” They were too close; he would have to run and leave her behind. He spun around and hurried through one of the wishbone-shaped archways. When he looked back, he saw one of them following him as the other turned back toward Linda. “Linda, wake up!” he screamed, his voice echoing hollowly through the passageway.
“Run,
Linda!”

He cut through a cloud of steam that had shot from one of the craters in the wall.

A drone lumbered out of one of the smaller side tunnels ahead and David found himself sandwiched between the two approaching creatures. He pressed on, trying to dodge the thing before him, but it reached out one of its long, powerful arms and grabbed him. Its flesh was thick and moist and the odor of it—a smell like rotting meat—clogged his nostrils as the creature pulled him into a deadly bear hug.

David opened his mouth to its limit and, with all his might, bit down on the creature’s arm. His teeth broke through the sturdy flesh and warm fluid, green and thick, squirted from the wound, splashing his face.

The drone snapped its arm away from David and let loose a deafening roar of pain, like metal being crushed.

David ran, trying to keep from wretching at the horrible fluid on his lips and face. He wiped it away frantically. He could hear them following him, their heavy feet plodding on the ground. Two more drones stepped before him, their arms outstretched. David whirled around and screamed at what he saw.

One of the drones behind him was standing with its arms stretched open, as if to embrace him. Sliding from its middle, speeding through the air straight for David, was a long, fat tentacle. It moved so fast, David didn’t have time to consider escape. It wrapped around his waist and squeezed tight. Lifting him off the ground a few feet, it began to retract, pulling David quickly toward the creature’s waiting arms.

General Wilson and his men stormed down one of the tunnels, leaving the ladders behind for their escape. The general was alert to everything around him—the strange odor, the screwlike spiral of the tunnel—waiting for the slightest sound or movement.

“Incredible!” a voice behind him gasped.

He turned to see Dr. Feighan, one of the NASA scientists, examining the tunnel wall.

“God damn it!” the general blurted. “Only my men are to be down here!”

“But
look
at this!” the doctor marveled. “It’s as if they . . . they
screwed
their way through the earth!”

“I don’t have to be a
scientist
to see that!” General Wilson snapped, stepping to the doctor’s side and grabbing his arm. “But you have to be a
Marine
to be down here!” He turned to one of his men. “You! Take this man back up and keep him out of here!”

The Marine escorted the doctor back to the hole.

“Okay,” the general called, “let’s go.”

They pressed on, guns at the ready. Their feet sounded like distant thunder.

At a bend in the tunnel ahead, General Wilson spotted a tall shadow approaching. He held up his hand. The men stopped and raised their guns.

Captain Rinaldi stepped around the corner and faced them.

“Rinaldi!” the general exclaimed. He smiled. At last, something good had happened. “We found you! What’s—”

“Stop,” Rinaldi said quietly. “Go back.”

General Wilson felt the muscles of his face relax, then felt his shoulders fall.

Rinaldi took another step toward them. Shadows played over his gaunt, queasy face.

He was not the Captain Rinaldi who had been pulled into the sand earlier.

“Rinaldi, are you—”

“Go . . . back . . .” He took a few more steps.

“Jesus,” the general sighed, waving for one of his men to step forward.

Rinaldi didn’t stop. He came closer and closer.

General Wilson nodded.

The man opened fire.

The bullets made Rinaldi dance and thrash. When he collapsed, lifeless, his uniform was darkening with blood.

General Wilson stepped forward and stood over his friend. A tendril of smoke rose from the dead man’s neck as a needle slid out and sizzled . . .

The drone lowered its tentacle, depositing David before the sluglike creature that rested on its throne. The drone had carried David high above its head through the tunnel and up a ramp. Its grip had been tight and when it let go, David took a deep, gasping breath of dank air.

The long, snaking creature was inches from David’s face and he backed away from it, only to bump into the drone. The thing before him wheezed and hissed; its breath passed over David like a breeze from a garbage dump and he winced, turning his head and coughing.

When he turned, he spotted Mrs. McKeltch. She stood with her back to him, her hands locked just above her lumpy hips, staring through the opaque membrane.

David took a step toward her and was held back by the drone. From where he stood, he could see hazy images through the membrane, beyond Mrs. McKeltch. A limp figure was being secured to a table.

Linda!

“Let her go!” David shouted at Mrs. McKeltch.

She looked over her shoulder at him, then turned to him fully. Her lips squirmed into a satisfied smile.

“You’re a very lucky boy, David Gardiner,” she said. “Not everybody gets to meet the Supreme Martian Intelligence.”

Slowly, David turned to the creature. It arched above him gracefully, hovering over the throne, the cilialike strands dangling below it. Wheezing like a fat man, it studied David. Muscles in its creased and flabby face twitched; its beady eyes blinked; its nostrils flared.

“Please . . .” David stepped toward it, searching his mind for the right words. “Please don’t hurt Linda. Can’t you just—”

“You’ve caused us a great deal of trouble already, David Gardiner,” Mrs. McKeltch interrupted, walking toward him.

David ignored her. “Nobody did anything to you,” he continued pleadingly, looking up at the Supreme Intelligence. “My mom and dad, Linda, all the others . . . they’re good people. They never—”

“It’s too late!” Mrs. McKeltch spat. “Too late.”

David turned on her like an animal. “Shut up! I’m talking to him!” He turned to the creature again. “Please, can’t you just—”

“It is too late, David Gardiner!”

He turned to her again, clenched his teeth, and growled, “Look, I’ll stay after school every day for the rest of my
life
if you’ll just shut . . .
up!”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise.

To the Supreme Intelligence, he said, “Don’t you understand? You can’t do this to people! You can’t control them like . . . like puppets! You’re not gonna get away with this!”

Mrs. McKeltch stepped to his side and raised her hand above her head.
“One,
two,
three,
four,
five!

Ignoring her, he shouted at the beast, “You won’t get away with it! We’ll
stop
you!”

One of the tentacles wrapped around the throne slowly uncurled and raised above the creature, then whistled downward like a whip. It slammed David to the floor, face down.

The wind was sucked from David’s lungs and a web of pain spread over his back. Grunting, he turned his head to see Mrs. McKeltch’s stubby black shoes inches from his face. He craned his head back just enough to look up at her face.

She was grinning as she hissed, “It’s
your
turn now, David Gardiner.”

The tentacle held him down firmly. He turned his face toward the Supreme Intelligence. Its mouth was curled into a sneer. The thin lips parted slowly to speak. The voice was a cold, mocking impersonation of Dad.

“Poor little guy,” it said cruelly. “Poo-hoor little guy.”

“No!” David screamed. He began kicking his legs and flailing his arms until he squirmed out from under the creature’s tentacle. Crawling frantically, he got far enough away from the Supreme Intelligence to stand safely. He turned to the creature, saw its angry, piercing eyes, and David felt a rush of violence inside. He ran toward the Supreme Intelligence, ducking its whipping tentacle, and screamed. “I’ll fix you, you . . . you
dick head!”

David clenched his fist, pulled his arm back, and threw a punch with all his weight. His fist smacked between the creature’s two flaring, wet nostrils and sunk into the flesh a bit.

Like a turtle pulling in its head, the Supreme Intelligence slid back into its aperture several feet, raising its head high above the throne, writhing its tentacles. Its eyes squeezed shut until they were lumps of taut muscle and its mouth opened; the roaring scream that came from it was David’s idea of what it sounded like in hell.

The Supreme Intelligence continued to recoil; electric blue bolts of rampant energy raced around the chamber; sparks flew.

The drones staggered like drunkards, blinking with confusion.

Mrs. McKeltch pressed her hands to the sides of her neck and opened her mouth, but did not scream. She stumbled around silently, her mouth gaping.

The huge membrane sparked and fizzed.

David turned to run and heard Mrs. McKeltch moan,
“Nooo!”

Her hand clamped onto his shoulder and pulled him back. Thinking fast, David reached over his shoulder into his backpack and grabbed his pouch of pennies. He spun around and held the pouch by its opening, swinging it hard. It struck Mrs. McKeltch in the temple and shattered. Pennies scattered everywhere and immediately began to sizzle and melt into the floor of the chamber.

Pennies!
David thought, watching them disappear.
Copper! The ship uses copper! That’s why they want it—for power!

He stumbled backward as Mrs. McKeltch reached for him again. She staggered to her left, tripped, and fell on a bobbing, convulsing drone. It grabbed her blindly, lifting her off the ground. She began kicking her legs and opened her mouth to protest, but was silenced. The drone stuffed her into its cavernous mouth head first. Her legs hung out over the jagged fangs, kicking and kicking . . . until the drone snapped its jaws shut.

Blood spurted everywhere in a black-red shower as the drone tipped its head back and pulled her now limp body further into its mouth . . .

David turned away and dashed toward the membrane, keeping a safe distance from the shooting sparks. Looking through it to the other side, he saw Linda lying face down on the table. The needle lowering slowly . . . closer and closer to her neck . . .

Crossing the chamber quickly, David looked at the Supreme Intelligence again. It was painfully writhing its way back into its aperture, screaming all the way. The whole ship was affected, as if David had damaged a major organ. The drones stumbled and fell; energy bolts slammed dangerously around the chamber.

David ran down the ramp for all he was worth . . .

Curtis and his men were still in the tunnels, trying to find their way into the ship. As they moved briskly toward yet another bend, Curtis thought he heard something.

“Halt!” he shouted, lifting a hand. “Listen!”

Somewhere in the winding tunnels he could hear a boy’s voice: “Captain Curtis! General Wilson! Over here!”