William Dietz - Resistance - The Gathering Storm

“Yes, sir,” Danby responded. “But we don’t have to open those pods, do we?”

“I’m sorry,” Hale answered sympathetically, “but the answer is yes. And we don’t have a lot of time, so let’s get to it.”

What followed was one of the most disgusting tasks he had ever been required to carry out. Having slung the shotgun across his back, he removed the commando knife from its sheath, and chose a row of cocoons. By starting the cut at the top of each fleshy pod, and running the incision all the way to the floor, it was possible to pry open the cone-shaped structure. That produced a ripping sound, a sudden gush of puslike fluid that splashed his boots, and a horrible, gut-churning smell.

But that was the least of it. Worse yet were the Chimeran pupae within, some of which looked like what they would eventually become, while others remained recognizably human. They were soft, mushy things for the most part, their glassy eyeballs staring out of faces frozen in mid-scream.

Hale had just opened his fourth cocoon when a soldier called from the other side of the room. “I found Mr. Dentweiler, sir! And he’s still alive!”

Hale hurried over to where the soldier was standing. The light from the Sentinel’s weapon was centered on the pupa’s head. And while his glasses were missing, and his features were partially obscured by a filmy material, there was no mistaking Dentweiler’s face. Or the fact that he was still alive, and attempting to speak.

Hale stepped in to make a cut in the membrane that covered the official’s face and rip the filmy stuff away. That was when he saw the staring eyes, the goo that had been injected into Dentweiler’s open mouth, and heard a very faint voice.

“Pleeaasse… Kill meeee.”

The words were breathy, because Dentweiler couldn’t open and close his lips, but they were understandable nevertheless.

“What’s he saying?” Danby inquired from a few feet away.

“He wants us to kill him,” Hale replied matter-of-factly. “He’s already too far gone to be saved, and he knows it.”

“So what will we do?” the noncom wanted to know.

“Grant his wish,” Hale said levelly, as he drew the .44 Magnum. “That’s what I would want. How ′bout you?”

Danby’s throat was dry. He nodded. “Yeah, I guess I would.”

Hale backed away. There was a loud boom as the pistol went off. But instead of passing through the cocoon, the bullet was absorbed. Then, much to his horror, he saw Dentweiler blink.

So Hale ordered his men to stand back, triggered the bullet buried deep within the cocoon, and heard a muffled boom as what was left of the man exploded. Chunks of flesh flew, goo sprayed in every direction, and one of the Sentinels swore as a glob of pus hit him. That was when Kawecki’s voice was heard over the radio. “Echo-Five to Echo-Six… We have four birds ten-out and inbound. Over.”

“Roger that,” Hale replied. “Maintain the perimeter, but load the vehicles, and as many men as you can. We’ll be there soon. Echo-Six out.

“All right,” Hale said as he surveyed the chamber. “Walker’s been here a lot longer, so he won’t be as pretty as Dentweiler was, but we need to find him if we can. Let’s get back to work.”

That announcement produced a nearly unanimous groan, but the soldiers did what they were told, and it was Danby who made the gruesome discovery. “I think I found Walker, sir… But it’s hard to be sure.”

Once Hale was there, standing in front of the partially opened pod, he had to agree. Walker’s features had begun to droop as the chemicals within the cocoon went to work on them, and were barely recognizable.

“Open the cocoon and search the body,” Hale ordered. “And there’s no need to be gentle… He’s dead, and we’re short on time.”

Opening the pod wasn’t a pretty process, and once the body was exposed, Private Quinn had to search it. His features contorted as he ran his hands up and down the slimy corpse, felt a bump, and announced his find. “I have something, sir… Hold on while I cut it out.”

Two minutes later Hale was holding a package wrapped in layers of carefully sealed oilcloth. “It was under his belt, sir,” Quinn explained. “In the small of his back.”

“Good work, Private,” Hale replied. “When we get back to the base, I’m going to buy you and your squad a round of beers. Now let’s pull everyone out of the room, and throw every air-fuel grenade we have in here… I wish we could do more but there isn’t enough time.”

The entire Processing Center was on fire by the time Hale and troops arrived at the LZ, where one VTOL had already departed, and the rest were loading.

“There’s a whole shitload of stinks on their way down from the north,” Kawecki announced. “The pilots saw ′em on the way in. Plus some of our jets are playing tag with two Chimeran fighters at fifteen thousand feet. They’re outgunned though, so we need to haul ass.”

“That sounds like a very good idea,” Hale said mildly. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Ten minutes later they were in the air and fleeing west. That was when Hale had the opportunity to cut the package open, fool around with the unfamiliar machine he found inside, and listen to the spool Walker had loaded. The recording was pretty boring at first, but it wasn’t too long before the possibility of negotiating with the Chimera came up, along with the name Daedalus. A being with whom Hale was very familiar, and had strong feelings about. When the anger came it arrived slowly, like a fever that made his skin hot, and forced sweat out through his pores.

Images flickered through Hale’s mind. Dead soldiers strewn about the streets of London, the look on Nash’s face a fraction of a second before the bullet hit him between the eyes, the empty shell casings that littered the floor of his family’s home, Old Man Potter sitting in his rocking chair, Barrie going down on the roof, Spook’s tattooed face, Susan in manacles, and the smooth, self-assured man who had promised the people victory, but was preparing to betray them.

And that was the moment when all the pieces fit together, when the slow flush of anger achieved focus, and a new purpose was born.

Walker was dead, but his self-assigned mission was alive, and the man who had chosen to carry it forward was very dangerous indeed.

Sheridan, Wyoming

Monday, December 24, 1951

It was a bright sunny day, and the Chimeran battleship that hung over the area north of Sheridan, Wyoming, threw a shadow to the west, as if pointing at the secret base where Daedalus was being held.

The ship looked like a floating island, with smaller craft darting around it, and Sabre Jets etching tracks into the sky far above. As Purvis sent the Party Girl skimming in toward the town’s little airport, he knew that the enemy warship could destroy his aircraft with a single shot from one of its energy cannons.

So why didn’t it?

There was no way to know as he called Hale forward.

“So,” the pilot said, as the Sentinel crowded into the cockpit. “What do you think of that?”

Hale was speechless as he stared up through scratched Plexiglas at the monstrous ship hovering above. But what he knew—and Purvis didn’t—was that Daedalus was being held at a secret facility just outside town. And that President Grace was present as well, supposedly as part of his so-called Victory Tour. His actual reason for being there was to communicate with Daedalus, if such a thing was possible.

More than that, to negotiate with the Chimera in a last-ditch attempt to slow—if not stop—their inexorable advance. So odds were that the presence of the looming ship had something to do with those talks.