Mask (10 page)

Wally stared at the machine and shook his head.

“Let’s do it then.  Power it up.”

Wally walked over to a large electrical panel and flipped some switches and then returned to the machine’s control panel and flipped open a metal cage that protected the power switch from accidental power-ups.  He stopped and looked up to Lane and then toggled the switch on.

The machine whirred and parts began to move and the blow-off valve squealed as it started exhausting excess pressure and then fell silent as the punch built pressure.

“I welded this back plate on the side of the track here so we have about twelve inches clearance,” Wally said pointing.

“You’ve done good work here.  Before we try it, what else should I know?”

“I have the cases there for people to stand on, a cart here to, you know.  And then we can put them in the Bunker through the door over there, that way new people won’t be so scared.  As scared.  Shit, you know what I mean.  This whole mess is...”

“I know,” he replied quietly.

“Anyway, I got a ledger so we can record, you know, everyone’s names.”

Lane stepped towards the doorway and saw the ledger on the table.  He braced himself and walked back to the humming punch.  The trigger was a caged pad attached by a thick braided cable.  He picked it up from the small work bench and moved to the side of the machine.

“Did you calibrate it?”

“Yeah, the punch stops about five millimeters from the backer plate I put up.”

Lane raised the trigger and held it between them, their eyes met and then they both stared at the punch and Lane hit the trigger.

The steel shaft that was the punch shot sideways at incredible velocity and struck the brake pad with a painfully loud metallic thump.  They both jumped.

Lane looked down at the concrete floor.

“Go upstairs and get some blankets and table linens, towels, whatever you can find.  We are going to be ankle deep in blood and we don’t want to be slipping.”

“Will do, Boss,” Wally said, ignoring the macabre nature of the request.  “Oh, one more thing.”  Wally reached over and picked up a throttle-body housing and held it up to Lane.

The housing was about four inches wide with bolt holes at each corner and a three inch diameter bore that ran through the middle.

Wally held it up to the punch, “See we can hold it here and anchor it with this pressure fitting here.  That way for the, the — Christ, Lane.  Are we really going to do this?”

Lane took the throttle-body from Wally’s shaking hands and set it down on the adjacent work bench.

“Do you think it’s wrong?”

“No, yes, shit.  What if help comes?  What if we do this and the marines come back right after?  What if we don’t have to?”

“How long does it take to recharge”

“I don’t know, about a minute I guess.”

“So we need a little over an hour to do this thing, right?’

“About that,” Wally answered.

“I wonder how long it will take them to get inside and make their way down here?”

Wally looked down.  “Not long.”

“Wally, look at me, we can wait until we see them at the tree line.  We can wait until the very last second.  They don’t know if we are heavily defended or not, right?”

“I guess.”

“So we keep at the radio and we wait.  We’ll get everyone ready down here.  We’ll keep a few lookouts top side and when they come we’ll race down here and get started.  How’s that?”

Wally nodded his approval.

“Hey, Wally.”  Lane laid a hand on Wally’s shoulder and studied his face.  “We’ll wait, but no matter what, we’ll get through this.”

Wally looked sullen and unconvinced.

Lane pulled back his hand and punched Wally in the shoulder, grinning.

Wally didn’t budge, he only narrowed his eyes.

“Look on the bright side, you get to sleep late tomorrow,” Lane said and then softer, “Now, go get those linens.”

Wally nodded and headed back into the vestibule and up the stairs to the residential quarters.

Lane picked up the throttle-body and secured it to the tomato and stepped back.  He grabbed the trigger and pressed it again.

The noise reverberated around the room.

He buried his face in his hands.  “Jesus Christ, this is going to be awful.”

******

Everyone had quietly been herded down the stairs, some waiting in the vestibule and others sitting on the steps.  The children, no longer playing, were picking up on the emotions of their parents and began to cry.  Some wailed.  The finality sank into the teenagers and they held each other for comfort.  The stairway was a hall of sorrows and the vestibule had become the
Bridge of Sighs.

Catherine sat on the upper steps holding William, while Lily cried at her feet.  “They say the waiting is the hardest part,” she said to no one in particular.

A dark haired, red eyed woman turned and said, “They were right.  Of course,
they
are safely back on Earth.  I’m in no hurry.”

Catherine squeezed her shoulder and Dee Roe reached back and squeezed Catherine’s hand in return.

Together they would do what they must.

******

Lane stood at the windows, scanning the tree line.  Dawn was less than two hours away.  They had been sitting in the dark, playing dead throughout the night.  But now, as the horizon threatened the coming of a new morning, like some misbegotten harbinger of hope, he could feel it — they were close.

“We have a volunteer,” Doc Larson said as he joined Lane at the windows.

Lane glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Larry Tolsen.”

“Lab tech?  He’s that British guy right, the one with the shaved head and tattoos?”

“Yes.  No children or wife.  He’s young, but a good guy.”

“Hell Doc, they’re all good guys.”

Doc Larson nodded in agreement and they both watched the tree line.

“How long will we have?”

“We need to make some barricades, to slow them down.  But, if they use some rational military strategy, I assume they’ll do some reconnaissance first before they attack.  But once they attack, I doubt we’ll have more than twenty minutes.”

“That’s not enough time.”

“I know, but I can’t argue with Wally.  What if the goddamn cavalry fly in at the last second and save us?  We have to wait.”

“I suppose that is the wisest course.  Still, it would be nice to know if we even had a cavalry.”

“Doc, I have the unpleasant premonition that we are the last humans on this fucking planet.”

Doc Larson couldn’t help but feel it too.

Lane saw it first, but Doc Larson turned his gaze quickly — a movement at the southeastern tree line.

Lane put his hands to the glass. “What?”

“It’s an enviro-suit.  Someone is coming back.”

“Guess I was wrong,” Lane mumbled.

They stared at each other and then shouted for one of the other lookouts to take their position and headed to the air-lock.  Someone was coming home.

******

The air-lock was positioned at the far southern end of the complex.  They ran through the darkened corridor as fast as they could.  The pressure doors were locked from the inside and they didn’t want whoever it was to wait outside any longer than necessary.  As they ran, each wondered who was coming, neither had the breath to discuss it.  Was it one of the soldiers or one of Glenda’s tribe?  Whoever it was, they were moving fast and for the moment, they were alone.

They reached the air-lock and began the procedure to open the outer doors.  Doc Larson searched the grasslands for sight of the lone runner while Lane manned the controls.

The outer door opened just as the figure came into view, running into the outer chamber and collapsing.  Lane immediately closed the outer doors and began purging the air and decontaminating the occupant.  Several minutes passed during the procedure and still the mysterious figure had not looked up.

A green light illuminated over the door and a buzzer went off signaling that the chamber was clean.  Lane opened the inner door and rushed into the decontamination chamber.

The figure slowly pulled off his helmet and stared up.

Allen ran up behind them and spoke first, “Who the hell are you?”

The man was in his mid-thirties, balding and pale.  He sucked in air and slowly stood with their help.  They all walked back into the complex and closed and secured the air-lock.  Lane escorted the man to a chair along the wall.  He steadied himself on one of the arms and spun, falling into the chair.  His head bobbed against his chest.

“Water,” he said feebly.

“Allen?” Lane asked.

“On it,” Allen responded and sprinted back down the hallway.

Slowly, the man began to breathe normally and relaxed.  He studied Lane and Doc Larson.  “Is this 9?”

Lane responded, “Yeah.”

The man nodded.  “Commander?”

Lane looked at Larson and then back to the stranger.  “What about him?”

Allen raced up with a field bottle and handed it to the man.  He drank some, spit it out and then drank deeply.

He looked at Allen and nodded his appreciation, leaning his head back against the gray paneled wall.

Lane gave the man a moment to gather himself and then asked, “What about the commander?”

“Where is he?  We need, need to — to talk.”

“He’s not here.  The marines left two days ago and we haven’t heard from them since they engaged the Alien forces.”

“Alien forces, alien — alien monsters.  If you haven’t already figured it our yet, we’re all fucked, you know?  Just plain old fucked.”

“Enough with the bullshit,” Lane said sternly, “we need information.  So let’s start with who you are?”

The stranger shook his head and stared up at Lane, eyes not quite focusing.

“
Carson.  Outpost 11.  We, I mean…” Carson began to tremble and then Lane motioned with both hands to take it down a notch and relax.

Carson
lifted a hand to Lane and shook it, took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“I’m a biologist from Outpost 11.  They hit us hard yesterday morning.  I think, yeah yesterday.  We got the communiqués before they started jamming our radios.  Even the Outpost’s internal communications run on wireless, so we were deaf, you know.  We couldn’t hear or talk to anyone.  A few of us were outside when they came.  We couldn’t talk to Command, so we tried to get to Outpost 10 — just ran for it.  They took out the communication satellites too.  You know, the satellites?  They got them too.  We got separated and I tried, you know, I still tried to make it to 10.”

“And?” Lane asked.

“It was gone.  I tried to make it there, to warn them or something, but it was — it was already gone.  You know, when I got there — nothing.”

“Did you see them?” Larson asked.

Carson
shook his head and then responded, “Yeah, just dark shapes, black somethings.”

“At Outpost 11, how did they attack?” Lane asked.

“Fast, real fast.  Like spiders, you know?  They have technology, we — we can’t match.  They came, you know, from everywhere.  Our marines didn’t have a chance.  They were everywhere, just everywhere.”

Lane looked at Allen and Larson and then asked, “You said they started jamming the communications yesterday?  They’ve been jamming us for two days.”

“Yeah?  Two days?  Maybe they’re saving you, you know — targeted you.  Like Outpost 3, saving you.”

Lane grimaced.

“You said the other Outposts didn’t make it?” Allen asked.

“No, they all got hit just before us.  11 is gone and 10, you know, that’s gone too.  So are the others.  You’re it.  This is the last Outpost.  The last one, you know?  Must have been saving it.  We’re done, just — done.  We need
EVAC
, that’s it.  We can’t fight them.”

“Are there ships still in the air?”  Lane asked.

“I, I don’t know, maybe.  There were.  Some supply ships and Stingers were at 11, but they left, you know — they left when the attack came.  So maybe, probably not, but maybe.”

“There isn’t going to be any
EVAC
then,” Allen said.

Carson
just stared at Allen blankly.

Lane studied Allen curiously.  “We already knew that, least we have to assume it.  We’ll stay on the radio just in case.”

Allen nodded.

“Jamming though,”
Carson said as his eyes dimmed.

“Yeah, we know.  Do you know where they are? 
Carson!  Stay with me here, okay?  Did you see signs of them?  Outside, before you got here?”