The Parasite War (28 page)

"Hey, you ugly motherfucker! Over here!"

The pounding stopped as the neonate turned to see who was shouting at it. Shina stood perhaps fifty feet away, pistol pointed at the hideous creature. She fired, the bullet missing as it spanged against the metal door. The report echoed loudly through the interior of the copper statue.

Angered, the neonate forgot about Alex and Jo. It lumbered toward Shina, a liquid growling erupting from its malformed throat.

"Yoo hoo!"

Confused, the creature turned toward Ronnie, who taunted it from fifty yards across the way. It looked from one to the other, as both women fired at it.

Alex and Jo glanced at each other, put their shoulder to the door, and shut it with one terrific effort. The monster's pounding had knocked some of the rust off the hinges, making it easier for them. There was a heavy bolt on the door, which they shot into place.

"Got to get up to the top," Alex said. He knew that Shina and Ronnie would not be able to distract it for long. He had to drop the napalm from a sufficient height so that he and Jo wouldn't be cooked, and that meant that they had to go all the way up to the statue's crown.

"I'll take the canister," Jo said.

Alex shook his head, though she already knew his thoughts. It was too heavy for her. He would have to carry it up it spite of his pain. Holding it like a baby, he started up the stairs.

Already, the pounding at the door had resumed. The neonate had figured out the ruse and was ignoring its tormentors. It wanted Alex, and it wanted him now. The force of its blows began to dent the door. It worked on the weakened spot until the top of the door began to bend inward. A shaft of light penetrated the gloom as the opening became larger and larger.

Alex struggled up the curved stairs, gasping under the weight of the canister despite Jo's help. Each step was an agony, but he kept going. It was no longer mania that gave him strength, but the knowledge of what was at stake.

The neonate was out of their sight now, but the shriek of twisting metal echoed through the statue's interior. It would be inside in minutes.

Alex tried to climb the stairs more rapidly. The pain was too intense, though, and he almost blacked out. If he dropped the canister now he would kill Jo—and the neonate would live. He had to keep going.

They were inside the statue's head now, the concave imprint of Liberty's face looming large. But they had to go higher. The openings in the crown were what they needed.

But Alex couldn't go on. Even with the sound of the crumpling sheet metal door floating up from the statue's base, he couldn't do it. He fell back against the railing, dripping with sweat.

"You've got to go on, Alex," Jo said, tugging at his arm. "I can't do it. It's too heavy. You've got to keep going."

Alex nodded, his ragged breathing too labored for him to speak. He pushed himself away from the railing with one foot and staggered upward the last few steps.

Jo helped him to one of the openings in the front of the crown. Alex leaned out and peered down. Far below, he could see the impossibly huge creature bending back the sheet metal furiously, trying to get inside. It had been unable to smash the door in because of the heavy bolt, so it would crumple the sheet metal, pull it out, and toss it away. It was only seconds from doing just that when Alex dropped the napalm B.

The canister tumbled end over end, diminishing in size as it went. It hit the granite and erupted in a fiery torrent that engulfed everything around it. Flames cascaded up the front of the statue like a blazing waterfall in reverse.

The neonate hissed and staggered across the granite slabs, bathed in a gel of inflamed polystyrene, benzine, and gasoline, burning at over fifteen hundred degrees Fahrenheit. The creature turned in circles, arms outstretched, blindly trying to find its way to the water. Its screaming was the most horrific sound Alex had ever heard. At last it fell to its knees and toppled over, cinders flying from its quaking limbs.

It shuddered for several minutes, and then was still. The flames gradually died down and only the blackened bones, thick as steel girders, smoldered in the morning sun.

Six survivors returned in the fireboat's punts, Jack manning the oars of the one in which Jo and Alex rode. Shina, Polly, and Ronnie were in the other. Alex stared back at Liberty Island, watching the smoking black hump. He almost expected the neonate to resurrect itself and come after them.

The choppy water made the little craft bob around a bit, but he didn't care about that, either. Jo held him tight as they neared the docks of Manhattan.

The infected at South Ferry had dispersed, and the waterfront was deserted now except for the guerrillas who stood on a wharf waiting for the survivors to return. Rowboats passed the punts, sent out to bring back the dazed guerrillas on the floundering fireboat, as well as any survivors who were still in the water. As the two punts approached the wharf, a line was thrown down. Jack caught it and secured it to a piling.

Alex had to be helped onto the wharf. He was sure that he hadn't suffered any broken bones, though he considered that a miracle.

There was no cheering, in spite of their victory. Too many of their comrades had died on Liberty Island for them to celebrate today. A few of the guerrillas who had stayed ashore had been killed in skirmishing, too.

A little knot of people gazed silently out at the smoke rising from Liberty Island, as Shina rowed the other punt to the wharf. A moment later, she and Ronnie stood in silence with Jo, Alex, and the rest of the guerrillas.

At last Shina spoke, saying, "It's too cold to stand here all day. Besides, we got us some hunting to do."

Most of them murmured in agreement, and turned away from the harbor. Jack hesitated, waiting to see if Alex would need more help.

"It's all right, son," Alex said. "You and Ronnie go ahead."

That left only Jo, who embraced Alex fiercely. "We won," she said.

"Yeah," Alex agreed, tears in his eyes. "We won."

The sun was high over the ocean as they turned to join the others. For the rest of their lives, Alex and Jo would share one another's thoughts, and this knowledge consoled them after all that they had lost.

The guerrillas had already come such a long way, but it was only the beginning. There was hope now, at least . . . and perhaps something more than hope. Through the horror of recent days, a glimpse of eternity had been revealed to Alex and Jo, a vision of the stars. They had reason to believe that once the human race regained its birthright, there would be no limit to what men and women could achieve.

They walked back through the ruins of the city, tired but eager to rebuild their world.