Earth Witch stepped between them. "She made her decision. You need to leave now." The others joined her.
The network executive stared at them for several seconds. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Wally didn't think it possible for somebody to turn so red in the face. Finally Mr. Berman said, quietly, "You're making a huge mistake, Kate. The worst fucking mistake you'll ever make." He got back in his car. Through the open passenger-side window, he yelled, "I'll slap you assholes with lawsuits so hard your ghosts will be lonely!"
Wally reached out. He rested one finger on the roof of Mr. Berman's car. The BMW peeled away. An ochre pinstripe appeared under Wally's fingertip. Mr. Berman tumbled to the pavement thirty yards away in an explosion of orange dust.
The others stared at him, wide-eyed.
Wally shrugged. "Steel-frame construction. Them Germans sure do make some nice cars." Then he hefted Curveball's bag in one hand, his suitcase in the other, and entered the airport.
The metal detectors would be a problem. The last time he flew, the studio had handled everything. But his friends would figure something out, he was pretty sure.
Jonathan Hive
Hey, Guys. My Dad's Got a Warehouse! Let's Put on a War! Posted Today 8:16 pm
GENOCIDE, ASWAN | EXHAUSTED | "WHO BY FIRE"LEONARD COHEN
It's been a hell of a day, but I'm still standing (in the metaphorical sense, since I'm sitting on my ass in a bar in Syrene).
I'm falling asleep on my again-metaphorical feet here. But I'll do the best I can to catch you folks up. A little geography first. You'll need it.
Okay. There are two cities at Aswan. Aswan itself is on the east side of the river, near the train tracks. The Egyptian army's over there. In the middle of the river, there's Sehel Island (and Kitchener's Island, and Elephantine Island, and Amun Island with, I shit you not, a Club Med), where a bunch of the Living Gods are holed up. On the west side of the river, there's Syrene. That's where we are. The Aswan airport's on our side. Got that so far?
Okay, next (and much to my surprise), there's not a dam. There's two dams. The Low Dam is older, farther north (which is to say downstreamup and down the Nile's confusing when you're used to reading north as up) and nowhere near as apocalyptic as the High Dam. The High Dam? That's to the south.
When you were a kid, maybe you heard about how the Nile flooded every year. Well it doesn't anymore. Because that whole goddam flood is stuck back behind the High Dam. I mention the dams not only because if they blow, a whole lot of people die, but also because they're the only two ways across the river that don't involve boats. So if you had a big infantry force bent on killing a shitload of people like, say, me, the dams are pretty much where it's going to be an issue.
We knew that when we got here. It also became pretty clear that the Egyptian army really wanted to get across the damwhat with their helicopters and tanks and guns and bombs and their whole fucking army, we weren't going to be able to stop them.
Funny thing happened, though.
The cavalry arrived.
The war council met at a restaurant about three blocks from the Monastery of St. Simeon. The place smelled of baked raisins and garlic, and the light from the windows made the air seem cleaner than it was. The Living Gods sat at a huge table, arguing, planning, debating, and despairing. Jonathan had picked up enough of the language to catch a word or phrase here and there, but for the most part, he and Lohengrin were excluded. FortuneSekhmet, reallywas shouting and pounding the table, or nodding, or shaking his head and pointing east.
"There are still the helicopters," Lohengrin said.
"We are aware," Sekhmet replied, using Fortune's throat. "But on the island, there is some protection from the ground troops."
Fortune didn't look good. The whole not sleeping thing was eating at him like a cancer. And Jonathan was quite aware that neither Fortune nor Sekhmet were going to rest until the refugees were safe, or everyone died. Lohengrin was looking pretty tired, too. Sobek had lost a couple teeth. No one was doing well.
"The problem here," Jonathan said, louder than he'd intended to, "is that we're fucked."
To his surprise, the table went quiet. He blinked. All eyes were on him.
"Well," he said, "we can hole up here and hope that they all just go away, but when you get right down to it, we're fucked, right? The island is a pain in the ass for the ground troops to get to, but if they take the west bank, they can starve us out or do some kind of pincer attack or nuke us from orbit. Whatever. And everyone we move to the island because it's safer there means one less we have to defend the dams. We don't have scorpion lady. We don't have Horus. So, I'm sorry to say it, but I think we're fucked."
"God," a voice said from behind him. "You are such a loser, Bugsy. No wonder we voted you out."
Slowly, he turned.
Curveball, a duffel bag over one shoulder. Earth Witch beside her, frowning with her arms folded. The wheelchair-bound minister, Holy Roller, smiling and avuncular even now. Hardhat, grinning. King Cobalt, maybe grinning; under the mask, who could tell? Simoon and Bubbles looking more like runway models than warriors. Rustbelt standing in the back like an old-time locomotive with self-esteem problems.
"Uh," Jonathan said.
Curveball stepped forward, her duffel bag sliding to the floor. She walked past Jonathan and Lohengrin, straight to Fortune. For a moment the pair were silent. Then FortuneFortune, not Sekhmetnodded.
"So," Curveball said, "what's the plan?"
They talked all night. It was epic. I slept through a lot of the last part, and more than a little, because getting a little hope can make you realize just how tired you've been up until then.
The strategy was pretty basic, since none of us really knew what the hell we were doing. But we had a plan, and we had a bunch of aces and some guns and the determination that the killing was going to stop.
And it would. Either because we'd turn them back, or they'd run out of people to slaughter. One way or the other, it was coming down there.
We'd picked the place to make our stand.
The moon was beautiful, a crescent of silver floating in the black sky. The city lights of Syrene and Aswan were dark, each side keeping information from the enemy. Jonathan sat on the street, his hands on his knees, looking up at the stars.
"Hey," Simoon's voice said. "Bugsy."
He looked over his shoulder. The woman stood in the doorway of the restaurant. The voices raised in debate behind her sounded oddly joyful for a council of war.
"How's it going in there?" he asked.
Simoon stepped forward, letting the door close behind her. The voices didn't vanish, but they grew distant.
"It'll be a while before anyone decides anything," she said. "But I think it's going well. What about you?"
"I could sleep right here in the gutter," Jonathan said. "Seriously. Just stretch out and snooze off."
"Probably should. Rest, I mean. Not the gutter part."
"Yeah. I'll get to it," he said.
"I wanted to say thanks."
Jonathan looked up at her. She was prettier than he remembered. She'd been good-looking, but now in the moonlight, with her hair down, she was beautiful.
"Thanks?"
"For butting in," she said. "For listening in on my phone calls. For getting John Fortune involved. All like that. I wouldn't have had the balls."
"I'm not sure I really did you any favors," he said.
Simoon shook her head, her gaze lifting to the buildings, the horizon, the sky.
"No," she said. "I'm glad. I've never actually been here, you know. But I'm from here. So, you know, thanks."
"Anytime," Jonathan said.
There's a real problem playing defense. We didn't get to pick when the shit came down. That was all them. The Living Gods took their aces and a bunch of guns across to Sehel Island. Hardhat went too, the theory being that he could build a temporary bridge with his girders to evacuate if the army managed to land there.