“Okay, I guess,” she said dispiritedly.
“Good,” Voss said, as he took a sip of the lukewarm brew. “So tell me about this Judge Ramsey person. How did you come to know him? And how did you wind up the way you did?”
Shaw shrugged. “My husband and I were refugees. Looking for a place to live. We left our home in Kansas City, and were headed for Tulsa, when a bunch of men who called themselves regulators captured us. Then, along with some other folks, we were taken to a railroad tunnel near Haven, Oklahoma. That’s where Ramsey’s factory is—and where he lives.”
“Factory?”
Shaw nodded. “The judge manufactures ammunition, which as he likes to put it, ‘is like making money.’ We were invited to work in the factory in return for food, medical care, and a twelve-by-sixteen-foot room next to the track.”
Voss finished his coffee with a single swallow. “Did you accept?”
Shaw stared into the fire next to them. “There wasn’t any choice. You either agree or the regulators take you five miles away and leave you without anything other than the clothes on your back. And we have a daughter. Her name is Amy and she’s three.”
Voss nodded. “That isn’t much of a choice. So, how did you wind up in Arkansas working for us?”
“The judge called me into his office one day,” Shaw said dully. “He told me that somebody was trying to start a fake government down in Arkansas—and that I was to go there and become part of it.”
“And you agreed?”
Shaw looked up from the flames. Her eyes were huge and her chin trembled. “The judge said Roger—that’s my husband—and Amy were to stay behind. I knew what that meant. So I agreed.”
“He said it was a ‘fake’ government?”
“Yes,” Shaw replied. “Not that it matters, since he wants to run everything himself.”
Voss was silent for a moment. “I can’t say I approve of the choice you made, but I certainly understand it. And I’m glad you changed your mind.”
He was about to ask Shaw about the shipment of Hale vaccine, and what Ramsey planned to do with it, when he heard a long, drawn-out howl. He heard another, and then another, until a chorus of spine-chilling cries came from all points of the compass. Voss rose, went over to where his gear was laid out, and put his mug down. Then, with both the Rossmore and a bandolier of shotgun shells in hand, he went to see Kawecki. The soldier was on his feet, holding a Bullseye Mark III pointed up at the sky. Orders had been given and soldiers were rushing to man their various positions.
“So, what do you think?”
“I think we’re in a heap of trouble, Mr. President. There must be fifteen or twenty Howlers out there.”
“Yeah! Why so many, I wonder?”
Kawecki was silent for a moment. “I figure it’s the bones, sir. Maybe the Howlers are hungry. If so there’s plenty of marrow in those bones.”
The comment was punctuated by a prolonged howl. The noise was not only closer, but soon echoed by other Howlers, who were clearly closing in on the encampment.
“I wish we had more shotguns,” Voss said, as he pumped a shell into the Rossmore’s chamber.
Kawecki, who was well aware of the manner in which Howlers could absorb bullets and other projectiles, nodded. “I suggest that we make the rounds, Mr. President. You go left and I’ll go right. Please remind those with shotguns to hold their fire until the beasts are in close. We have a Splicer, a Bellock, and a Wraith. We’ll use those to keep the Howlers at a distance.”
The men split up, and had just started to circle the defensive wall, when a five-hundred-pound Howler came rushing out of the surrounding darkness. Hostler opened up on it with the Bellock, but he missed, and by the time the explosive round went off, the stink was already in the air. It landed on Shaw, bore her to the ground, and ripped her throat out.
Then Voss was there, firing into the monster with the Rossmore, and killing it with three loads of double-ought buck. But more Howlers were galloping towards the compound by then. Some tumbled end-for-end as tracers from the Wraith minigun found them, or a Splicer blade ripped through their muscular bodies.
Yet others seemed unaffected by a hail of Bullseye projectiles, rounds from M4A2 carbines, and lighter backup weapons. Then as a flare soared into the air, and went off with a gentle pop, the humans got their first look at the army of Howlers bounding towards them, and one of the scientists began to scream. Malikov ordered the man to shut up and was there to blast a stink as it soared in over the wall. It landed on a fire, produced an explosion of sparks, and lay in a smoking heap.
Unable to keep the monsters at a distance, the humans found themselves trapped in a horrible melee. Three stinks were inside the defensive wall by then. Two soldiers and a technician went down. Voss swore as his Rossmore clicked empty. There wasn’t enough time to reload as one of the beasts turned towards him and charged.
The Magnum came out of the shoulder holster smoothly enough, but Voss wasn’t sure if he could bring the heavy revolver to bear in time, as the Howler launched itself into the air. So he fired a second too soon and knew the bullet had gone wide. Then he pulled the trigger again, saw the hit, and barely had time to activate the secondary fire function as a quarter-ton of Chimera slammed into him.
Voss was falling backwards as the large-caliber bullet exploded deep inside the Howler’s chest, and blew chunks of bloody meat in every direction. But the crushing impact of the Chimera’s body drove Voss to the ground and forced all the air out of his lungs. And that’s where he was, gasping for breath, when Kawecki and one of his men arrived to roll the corpse off him.
“It’s over,” Kawecki said, as he pulled the President to his feet. “I think so, anyway.”
Voss was bent over with his hands on his knees. He felt like he was going to puke. “How many?”
“Four dead, counting Shaw. Two or three wounded.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“And Cassie?”
Aklin appeared out of the gloom. “I’m fine, but you look like hell. Come on! Let’s see if we can get some of that blood off you.”
Kawecki watched the President walk away. “We could do worse,” he said to himself. “Much worse.”
The private standing next to him frowned. “Sir?”
Kawecki looked at him. “What the hell are you doing here? Get Perkins and drag the stinks out of here. What do you think this is? A frigging picnic?”
The private nodded. “Yes, sir! I mean, no, sir.” Officers. Who could understand them? There was no answer, nor did he expect one, because some things simply are.
CHAPTER TEN
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU ASK FOR
Capelli had been crucified. The cross consisted of a post from which the U.S. Route 81 sign had been removed—and a length of two-by-four scrounged from a nearby barn.
It was a little past noon. That’s what Capelli figured anyway, as the sun inched across the cloudless sky, and his shadow swung towards the east. His arms were tied to the crosspiece and about five feet of clothesline had been wrapped around both the upright and his legs.
Capelli had been there for hours by that time and he was cold. Very cold. Eventually, assuming that this day passed as the last two had, Bam-Bam and Inkskin would arrive with some hot soup.
Unless a group of Hybrids happened along, that is. Then, if there were more stinks than the circus performers could handle, the Chimera would be allowed to kill him. But if there were only two or three Chimera, Alfonso would pop up and stun one of the ’brids with a bolt from his crossbow. Meanwhile, Bam-Bam and Inkskin would cut the rest of the stinks down.