Resistance_ The Gathering Storm Part 18

Hale swore as a projectile knocked his right leg out from under him. He hit the concrete hard, fought to roll over, and brought the launcher into position. There wasn't enough time to use the scope properly, to take careful aim, but the Angel was only fifty feet away.

So Hale pulled the trigger, felt the rocket leave the tube, and gave thanks for a direct hit. Judging from the horrible caterwauling noise it made, the stink was hurt, but he knew how tough Angels could be, so he struggled to reload as the Chimera spidered forward.

Meanwhile, Tanner had struggled to his feet and leveled the minigun at the surviving Hybrids. The weapon's multiple barrels produced an ominous whine as they began to rotate, followed by a throaty roar as the gun began to fire. Waves of advancing Chimera fell as he hosed them down, his teeth bared, blood pouring from a shoulder wound.

That gave Hale the time he needed to finish loading the LAARK and fire a second rocket at the Angel. There was a loud BOOM BOOM as it hit, followed by an explosion of blood, meat, and bone that sprayed the entire area. as it hit, followed by an explosion of blood, meat, and bone that sprayed the entire area.

The Angel was dead, but by some miracle a Steelhead had survived Tanner's barrage and gained the platform. Auger firing, it was advancing on Hale.

The Sentinel thought about the Rossmore, and realized it was back in the office. He was waiting for the stink to kill him when Ralf attacked. Because the Auger bolts were a threat to Spook, who was just coming around, the Howler went for the Steelhead's throat, tore it out instantly, and remained crouched over the body.

Jacoby wheeled himself out onto the platform. Broken gla.s.s made a persistent crackling sound as it broke beneath the chair's wheels. Coming to a stop, the Freedom First leader aimed a glob of spit at one of the lifeless Hybrids. It hit dead-on.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," he said defiantly as Hale regained his feet. "This is our our f.u.c.king city, and you can't have it." f.u.c.king city, and you can't have it."

The battle for the Adams/Wabash station had been won.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

LIVE BAIT.

Santa Barbara, California Thursday, December 6, 1951 It had been a clear winter's day in Santa Barbara, as the sun began to sink over the Pacific Ocean, and shadows gathered between the houses that lined Garden Street. It was a quiet neighborhood, in which people had a tendency to keep to themselves, so other than the elderly man watering his lawn on the opposite side of the street, there was no one present to witness the arrival of a black Humber town car in front of Hannah Shepherd's house.

The house was a modest affair, indistinguishable from the homes around it except for the gold star displayed in the front window, and the meticulously kept garden out front. The man watched expressionlessly as the car's driver got out, circled the town car, and opened the rear pa.s.senger-side door. Then, as a man in a gray business suit made his way up the walk that led to the Shepherd house, the neighbor heard his wife call him in for dinner.

It was Thursday, and that meant meatloaf, one of his favorites. So he turned off the hose, walked around to the side door, and went inside.

Life was good.

Having arrived on the tiny front porch, Dentweiler switched his briefcase from his right hand to his left, straightened his tie, and pressed the b.u.t.ton located next to the door. He could hear the distant bing-bong bing-bong as a chime sounded followed by rapid as a chime sounded followed by rapid click, click, click click, click, click of leather-soled shoes on a hardwood floor. of leather-soled shoes on a hardwood floor.

As the door opened Dentweiler found himself facing a woman with shoulder-length brown hair, a narrow, almost patrician face, and an expressive mouth. Her eyes were big, brown, and warily neutral. He recognized her from the photos in her husband's voluminous personnel file.

"Yes?" Hannah Shepherd said, careful to keep one foot behind the door. "How can I help you?"

The ID case was ready and Dentweiler flipped it open to expose a picture of himself over a full-color presidential seal. "My name is William Dentweiler," he said. "May I come in? There's something important that I need to talk to you about."

Hannah looked up from the ID case and frowned. "Are you from the Department of Veterans Affairs?"

"No," Dentweiler said smoothly. "I'm from the Office of the President."

Hannah's eyes grew wider. "As in President of the United States?"

"Yes," Dentweiler replied matter-of-factly. "It's about your husband, Jordan."

"But he's dead," Hannah objected, as the color drained out of her face and her eyes flicked toward the star in the window. "He was killed in action."

"Yes, and no," Dentweiler countered mysteriously. "May I come in?"

She nodded and pulled the door open, waited for the man with the rimless gla.s.ses to enter, and closed the door behind him. There was no hallway-the front door opened directly into the small living room, the main feature of which was a brick fireplace and a highly stylized oil painting of Jordan Adam Shepherd that hung above it. He was dressed in an Army uniform, and judging from his expression, was determined to wear it with honor.

Dentweiler crossed the room to examine the portrait more closely. Even allowing for some help from the artist, Shepherd looked quite handsome. A far cry from the monstrous thing thing the innocent-looking soldier had become. the innocent-looking soldier had become.

"The painting was a present," Hannah explained. "From Jordan's parents ... after his death."

"It's nicely done," Dentweiler replied. "May I sit down?"

"Yes, of course," Hannah replied apologetically. "Where are my manners? Can I get you something to drink? Some coffee perhaps?"

"No, thank you," Dentweiler responded as he unknowingly sat in Jordan Shepherd's favorite chair. A contemporary-looking couch took up most of the wall across from him. That was where Hannah sat down, careful to sweep her housedress back under her thighs and keep her knees together.

Dentweiler had two categories for women. Those he deemed worth having s.e.x with-and those he wasn't interested in. And Hannah Shepherd fell into category one. Partly because of her slim good looks, and partly because she came across as so pure that Dentweiler felt a perverse desire to bring her down. But that would have been pleasure, and he was there on business.

He cleared his throat.

"First, please allow me to apologize on behalf of the United States government. Simply put, most of the things you were told about your husband's death weren't true. Jordan, and hundreds of men like him, volunteered to take part in a top secret program that resulted in a serum which helps our soldiers survive wounds that would kill you or me. He wasn't allowed to tell you about it, nor were we, and the program remains secret even now."

"So, Jordan's alive?" Hannah inquired eagerly, her voice full of hope. "He wasn't killed in action?"

"No," Dentweiler allowed soberly, "he wasn't. But I'm sorry to say that as a result of the program, your husband underwent many mental, emotional, and physical changes. That didn't happen to all of the volunteers, but our experts believe Jordan was immunocompromised at the time of initial treatment, which produced some unantic.i.p.ated results.

"It was the government's intention to care for him, of course," Dentweiler added quickly. "But all such efforts came to an end when he escaped."

"Escaped?" Hannah echoed. "How? And from where?" where?"

"Due to all the changes he underwent Jordan could be violent at times," Dentweiler explained darkly. "He was undergoing treatment at a government facility in Iceland when he killed a number of the people stationed there, and disappeared."

"My G.o.d," Hannah said feelingly, as tears trickled down her cheeks. "Where did he go? What did he do?"

"I'm sorry," Dentweiler replied gravely. "But subsequent to his escape, your husband went over to the Chimera. He was recaptured later, but then freed by Chimeran commandos. Our understanding of the Chimeran hierarchy is iffy at best, but judging from the casualties the stinks were willing to suffer in order to release Jordan, they place a high value on him. We don't know why."

Hannah was sobbing into her hands by then-shoulders shaking as Dentweiler went over to comfort her. "I know this is difficult," he said sympathetically, as he took a seat on the couch. The pocket square he offered her was so immaculate it clearly had never been used. "I wish there was a better way to tell you, but this is the best I can do."

Hannah accepted the handkerchief and made use of it to blot her tears as she got up and excused herself. She was gone for a good five minutes, and Dentweiler heard the sound of running water before she returned, her eyes red, and her face still a bit damp.

"I'm sorry," Hannah said, as she sat on the couch. "It's all such a shock."

"Yes," Dentweiler agreed understandingly, "it is. And I wish I could give you some time to absorb the news, but there's a war on. Simply stated we need your help."

Hannah looked surprised. "Really? In what way?"

"We want to contact your husband," Dentweiler replied gravely. "In hopes that he can help us open a channel of communication with the Chimera."

Hannah frowned. "Like an interpreter?"

"Yes," Dentweiler agreed, "like an interpreter. But first we need to pull him in, and while he has undergone a lot of changes, we have reason to believe that the human part of him is still in love with you. And, because he has developed some very unusual mental abilities, it's possible that Jordan could communicate with you if conditions were right."

Hannah looked down at her hands then back up again.

"The human human part? Does that mean what I think it means?" part? Does that mean what I think it means?"

"I'm afraid it does," Dentweiler admitted. "I haven't seen him myself, mind you, but I understand that he looks more Chimeran than human at this point, and will probably become more so as time pa.s.ses."

Hannah swallowed, albeit with difficulty.

"I see ... So what would you have me do?"

"There's no way Jordan could come here," here," Dentweiler said, "not without getting killed. So, if you're willing, we'd like to take you to a facility located just south of Chimeran-held territory. A place where Daedalus could come." Dentweiler said, "not without getting killed. So, if you're willing, we'd like to take you to a facility located just south of Chimeran-held territory. A place where Daedalus could come."

"Daedalus?" Hannah inquired. Hannah inquired.

"It's the code name we use for him," Dentweiler replied smoothly, "from Greek mythology. Daedalus was said to be a very skilled craftsman."

That seemed to satisfy Hannah, who was silent for a few moments as she wrestled with everything she'd been told. Finally, she nodded in response. "Okay, I'll do it."

"That's wonderful," Dentweiler replied. "Your country will be most grateful."

Suddenly there was the sound of engines, followed by the squeal of brakes and the slamming of doors. Hannah rose and went to the front window. The blinds were up, and even though it was now dark outside, she could see the military-style trucks, and the goverment agents who had taken up stations out front. There was anger on her face as she turned back into the room.

"You were going to take me anyway, weren't you? Even if I said no."

"Of course not," Dentweiler lied. "When we move you, we want to make certain you're safe, so the troops are for your protection. Now, if you would be so kind as to pack a bag, we'll depart in fifteen minutes."

Hannah Shepherd had never been on a plane before. So the trip north on the military DC-3 transport was not only exotic, but scary. The first part of the ride was b.u.mpy, too, and at one point Hannah was afraid that she was going to be sick, but managed to keep down the box lunch Dentweiler had given her, and thereby avoided the embarra.s.sment of barfing into a bag.

Things smoothed out after that. The plane was a fourteen-seater, and the only other pa.s.sengers were Dentweiler and two agents, so Hannah had plenty of room to spread out. She tried to sleep, but was too keyed up, and was left to stare at the little cl.u.s.ters of lights that slid past below, all the while thinking about Jordan.

He had been funny in high school, and it was his quirky sense of humor that had attracted her to him in the first place. He had a serious side, though, which had included big plans for the future, and their life together.

"We have to defeat the Chimera," he used to say. "That comes first. But then, after I get out of the service, I'm going back to school. I want to start a company, a big big company that will build houses for everyone who lost their homes during the war. And then I'm going to build a huge home for you, Hannah, and buy you everything you could possibly want, and we'll live happily ever after. What do you think?" company that will build houses for everyone who lost their homes during the war. And then I'm going to build a huge home for you, Hannah, and buy you everything you could possibly want, and we'll live happily ever after. What do you think?"

"I think I'd be happy with half half of your dream, or a quarter of your dream, as long as I have you," Hannah had answered. And she had meant every word of it. of your dream, or a quarter of your dream, as long as I have you," Hannah had answered. And she had meant every word of it.

But that future had been buried, along with what she'd been told were her husband's remains, and Hannah had been forced to go on without Jordan. Something she had still been trying to adjust to when Dentweiler showed up at her door.

Now Jordan was alive, except in a different form, which Dentweiler described as "more Chimeran than human." Could Could she look at him? And still feel what she had before? she look at him? And still feel what she had before?

There was no way to know, so Hannah kept her face to the window as the engines droned monotonously, and occasional groupings of lights pa.s.sed below. They were like islands in a sea of blackness-visible at the moment, but for how long?

Sheridan, Wyoming, was far enough north that it was subject to occasional Chimeran air raids, so the airport remained blacked out until the DC-3 was on final approach. That was when two parallel lines of lights snapped on, the transport lost alt.i.tude, and Hannah felt the sudden jolt as the airplane's fat tires touched down.

Then the lights went out as the DC-3 taxied off the main runway and over to a hangar that was partially lit by the wash from a pair of half-taped headlights. A ramp was pushed into place as the copilot opened the door and cold air pushed its way into the cabin.

Dentweiler was on his feet by then, and waited while Hannah released her seat belt and slid out into the aisle. A couple of minutes later they were outside and entering a car as luggage was loaded into the trunk.

"It will be a short drive," Dentweiler informed her. "Then you can get some sleep. The program will get underway in the morning."

Once they left the airport it was pitch black outside so Hannah had no way to know where they were going. The car followed a two-lane highway for what seemed like about five miles before turning off onto a gravel road which twisted and turned between rocky hillsides, and eventually arrived at a gate guarded by a squad of Army Rangers.

IDs were checked, the gate swung open, and the car drove through. The gate swung shut with a sharp clang clang.

Hannah Shepherd felt like a prisoner.

There was pain.

Not personal-pain, originating from the swollen body in which Daedalus was trapped, but other-pain other-pain being experienced by someone else. And Daedalus was an expert where pain was concerned. It had been a simple thing once, a signal that something had gone wrong with his body, and should be corrected. being experienced by someone else. And Daedalus was an expert where pain was concerned. It had been a simple thing once, a signal that something had gone wrong with his body, and should be corrected.

But during the months they had experimented on him, Daedalus had learned there were different types types of pain. Flavors really, like ice cream, each having its own individual taste, texture, and consistency. of pain. Flavors really, like ice cream, each having its own individual taste, texture, and consistency.

Since his escape from the facility in Iceland, Daedalus had been free to deepen his understanding of pain by inflicting it on others, and vicariously experiencing what they they felt, as both their real and telepathic screams echoed through the ether. felt, as both their real and telepathic screams echoed through the ether.

So as the first tendril of fear-laced emotion made contact with his mind, Daedalus sampled it in much the same way a wine connoisseur might try a new vintage, and wondered why this particular anguish was somehow a.s.sociated with him. Especially since the world was so awash in pain that it const.i.tuted little more than emotional static.

Then he had it, because this particular cry of pain was not only "addressed" to him, but had originated from one of the shadow people who populated his previous existence. A time when he had been a part without a whole. A poor cast-off creature forever doomed to live alone, rather than within the comforting embrace of the vast virus-guided oneness that provided each and every Chimera with both a place and a purpose.

For the most part shadow people were to be ignored, and Daedalus would have ignored this this searching tentacle of pain, had it not been for one thing: It was from Hannah. Something was causing her voice to be heard more loudly-and with greater intensity than all the other voices on the planet. Hannah was the one shadow person Daedalus still cared about, the woman he had promised to "cherish in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, and forsaking all others." searching tentacle of pain, had it not been for one thing: It was from Hannah. Something was causing her voice to be heard more loudly-and with greater intensity than all the other voices on the planet. Hannah was the one shadow person Daedalus still cared about, the woman he had promised to "cherish in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, and forsaking all others."

There were no orders as such. Just desires that originated with Daedalus and were immediately translated into concrete actions by lesser forms who, had they been asked, would have been unable to distinguish between his objectives and their own.

The initiative amounted to wasted energy, insofar as the Chimeran virus was concerned, but the virus didn't have an individual persona, and was reliant on the overall success of its various forms to conquer Earth.

And that that effort was going very well. effort was going very well.

Dentweiler was expecting an attack, so when three Chimeran fighters swept in from the north followed by a shuttle loaded with Hybrids, only the officers around him were surprised. They had been openly cynical regarding the mechanics of the plan, especially the part related to mental telepathy, but were ready nevertheless. So everyone took cover as the fighters shot up the base, and even went so far as to fire back, although that was mostly for show. Because Dentweiler wanted wanted the stinks to achieve their purpose, which was why Hannah Shepherd stood at the very center of a natural depression, where she had been tied to what had once been a telephone pole. the stinks to achieve their purpose, which was why Hannah Shepherd stood at the very center of a natural depression, where she had been tied to what had once been a telephone pole.