Resistance_ The Gathering Storm Part 6

Grace had to acknowledge that Walker had done a truly remarkable job of bringing the U.S. military onto a wartime footing, and Vice President McCullen led the rest of the cabinet in a round of applause.

But the show of confidence was quickly swept away as Grace cleared his throat.

He eyed the faces around him, then turned his attention to Chief of Staff Dentweiler. "And now it's time for an update regarding the Omega Project. Bill? If you would be so kind ..."

Dentweiler was ready. He nodded and light reflected off of his gla.s.ses as he looked down at his notes.

"I'm sure you'll recall that during our last meeting I raised the possibility that a missing soldier named Jordan Shepherd, aka Daedalus, might represent our only realistic channel of communication with the Chimera." He paused, and several men nodded.

"Since that time I've met with various experts, including SRPA's Dr. Malikov. All the people I met with were told that the purpose of the interview was to obtain information regarding the circ.u.mstances under which Daedalus was freed from custody, and to a.s.sess what kind of threat he might pose. At no time was any information given regarding the Omega Project.

"There were several different opinions, of course," Dentweiler said, as his eyes flicked from face to face, "but there were areas of agreement as well. Especially where the subject's medical history was concerned.

"As part of a top secret program called Project Abraham, Private Shepherd received an experimental vaccine intended to counter the effects of the Chimeran virus. After Shepherd was inoculated, a genetic recombination took place. In retrospect Dr. Malikov-who was in charge of the program-believed that Shepherd was immunocompromised at the time of the vaccination.

"In any case, the genetic recombination altered both Shepherd's physical and mental state far beyond projected parameters, and produced what most of us would regard as a monster. But," But," Dentweiler added meaningfully, "according to those who had an opportunity to interact with Shepherd-Daedalus before his escape, it was determined that he Dentweiler added meaningfully, "according to those who had an opportunity to interact with Shepherd-Daedalus before his escape, it was determined that he can can communicate with humans. Although the process is often difficult. communicate with humans. Although the process is often difficult.

"That's partially due to the fact that Daedalus seems to be in what amounts to telepathic contact with hundreds, if not thousands thousands, of Chimera at any given time. As a result he has been known to pause in mid-sentence for up to three or four minutes before resuming the conversation.

"Making the situation even more difficult," Dentweiler continued, "is the fact that Daedalus can be totally incomprehensible at times. He seems to be especially inclined toward obscure rants which even the experts are hard-pressed to follow. Some of the people with whom I spoke claim that Daedalus can impinge on their thoughts, although the evidence of that is rather thin.

"With all of those considerations in mind," Dentweiler concluded, "I came away with the impression that Daedalus could indeed serve as a go-between, if we can find a way to motivate him."

He took his seat, and after a few moments of silence, McCullen was the first to speak up.

"All right," he said evenly, "let's say Bill is correct. Let's say there is is a way to communicate with the Chimera. That still leaves a very important question unanswered. What kind of offer would we make?" a way to communicate with the Chimera. That still leaves a very important question unanswered. What kind of offer would we make?"

But if McCullen hoped to lead the discussion into a dead end, he was quickly disappointed, because the President had given the matter considerable thought.

"Good question, Harvey," Grace responded approvingly. "And the answer is clear. If the Chimera agree to leave what remains of the United States alone, we will withdraw our forces from other countries, and allow them to rule the rest of the world unimpeded."

"That's outrageous!" outrageous!" Walker interrupted, his face beet red. He stood to address the group. "Such an offer would run counter to what we promised the citizens of the United States-and it would violate mutual defense agreements with more than a dozen governments! Walker interrupted, his face beet red. He stood to address the group. "Such an offer would run counter to what we promised the citizens of the United States-and it would violate mutual defense agreements with more than a dozen governments!

"Not to mention the fact that it wouldn't work. Would the Chimera honor such an agreement? Or would they use it to buy time? I say they'll use it to buy time, and turn on us like the monsters they are!"

Grace remained unperturbed.

"The Secretary of War may be surprised to learn that I agree with him," he said calmly. "Only a fool would trust the Chimera. However, the notion of buying time cuts two ways-because we may need to do so as well. And remember, Henry, the Omega Project is an option option, not a formal policy statement. So there's no need to get your boxers in a knot."

The comment produced a round of chuckles, just as it was intended to, and Walker took his seat. But nothing in his appearance suggested he was going to let the matter go.

The meeting ended a few minutes later. McCullen approached Walker in an attempt to mollify him, but the Secretary of War was in no mood for compromises. When the Vice President reached out to touch Walker's arm, he jerked it away.

Walker took his hat and raincoat off the rack in the hallway outside, and made the long walk from the Cabinet Room to the front lobby alone.

There was no one to see Walker off, but had the Secretary of War glanced back over his right shoulder as he stepped out into the rain he would have seen Dentweiler standing inside the press room looking out. He was smoking a cigarette-and the expression on his face was anything but friendly.

But Walker's attention was elsewhere as he entered the back seat of the black town car.

"The office, sir?" the uniformed driver wanted to know. "Or home?"

"Home," Walker said. "And step on it."

Having pulled the recorder out of his pocket, Walker pressed the stop b.u.t.ton.

There was a definitive click click as the recording ended. as the recording ended.

Henry Walker and his wife, Myra, had rented the large house near Dupont Circle because neither one of them liked Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., nor had any intention of remaining there once Grace left office or Walker was replaced.

But as the town car pulled into the circular drive in front of the three-story building, it was still home-if only for a few more hours.

A servant with an umbrella hurried to open the door, and rain rattled on the taut fabric as the man escorted Walker to the formal entry where a maid stood waiting to take his hat and coat.

"Mrs. Walker is in the library, sir," the young woman said. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, please," Walker replied, and he made his way down the first-floor hallway to the library. It was the one thing that Myra liked most about the house. The pocket doors were halfway open, and she was sitting in her favorite chair next to the bay window. She rose to collect a kiss.

Though well into her fifties Myra was still slender, fit, and pretty. Too Too pretty for a grizzled old warrior like Walker, some said, but Myra was in love with the inner man, and one look at her husband's homely face told her everything she needed to know. pretty for a grizzled old warrior like Walker, some said, but Myra was in love with the inner man, and one look at her husband's homely face told her everything she needed to know.

"So nothing has changed? Grace still plans to negotiate with the Chimera?"

Walker scowled.

"He says that the Omega Project is an option option, not a policy, but that's a crock. Things are going poorly, dearest ... Very Very poorly. And it's only a matter of time before he tries to contact them. He says we could use the negotiations to buy time. I think Grace has something else in mind." poorly. And it's only a matter of time before he tries to contact them. He says we could use the negotiations to buy time. I think Grace has something else in mind."

The maid entered the room at that point, so Myra was forced to wait for her to serve the coffee and go out before she could ask the obvious question.

"You said Grace has something else in mind ... What would that be?"

Walker took a sip of coffee and put the cup down.

"I don't know for sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say he hopes to cut a deal for himself."

Myra shook her head sadly.

"The rotten b.a.s.t.a.r.d. So this is it? We're leaving?"

"Yes," Walker said soberly, "a.s.suming you agree. I have all of it on the recorder. We'll make our way to Chicago and link up with Freedom First. Then, once they broadcast the recordings for the American people to hear, Grace will be forced out of office."

Although the Walkers' hometown of Chicago had been overrun by the Chimera, a few hundred brave men and women still lived there, hiding in bas.e.m.e.nts, sewers, or any other spot they could find. Places from which lightning-fast strikes could be launched against the Chimera, even as uncensored radio broadcasts went out over the airwaves.

Something which, ironically enough, would have been almost impossible to accomplish in government-controlled areas.

So Myra knew that what her husband proposed to do verged on suicidal, but she also knew it was important as well, and she smiled bravely.

"Yes, Henry, of course I agree. All of the preparations have been made. I can be ready in an hour."

He stood and took Myra's hand as she came to her feet.

"I love you," he said.

"Yes," Myra answered softly, as his lips met hers. "I know."

As Walker and his wife left the house they knew they had about eight hours-twelve at most-before they would be missed. Although the couple normally made use of a chauffeur, they had been careful to take outings on their own as well, so the servants would think nothing of it as their employers drove away.

Later, once the truth was known, each staff member would receive a full month's severance pay.

Walker took the wheel of the black Bromley and guided the car out into traffic. Their destination was in the southeast quadrant of the city, but rather than head there directly, he chose a meandering route which provided him the opportunity to make sure they weren't being followed. Not so much by the police, but by members of the Domestic Security Agency, the increasingly aggressive arm of government tasked with identifying dissidents and taking them off the street.

When he was confident that no one was following them, Walker drove the car to a working-cla.s.s district where they parked behind a church, then walked the last three blocks to a small one-bedroom apartment that had been rented under a false name. That was where two suitcases were waiting, along with a selection of equipment, all of which would come in handy once they made it to Chicago.

An hour later, with the recorder in one coat pocket and an Army-issue Colt .45 semiautomatic in the other, Walker was ready to go. Myra was right behind him as he carried both suitcases down three flights of shabby stairs and out to the street, where it was still raining. A battered station wagon was parked at the curb. Having loaded the suitcases into the back, Walker opened the pa.s.senger-side door, waited for Myra to get in, and circled around to get behind the wheel.

The engine caught on the third try, the wipers slapped from side to side, and a siren could be heard off in the distance. No one was present to see them off, other than the local postman-and he was busy delivering the mail.

After years spent living in a city which neither one of them enjoyed, it felt good to be free. Even if their next home was likely to be a good deal less pleasant.

The car pulled away.

CHAPTER SIX.

HOME SWEET HOME.

Near Draper, South Dakota Wednesday, November 21, 1951 Snowflakes continued to swirl down out of the pewter gray sky as Hale stood in front of the ma.s.s grave, and paid his last respects to his parents and their ranch hands. Then came the clang clang of metal on metal, which caused him to pivot toward the barn, Rossmore at the ready. of metal on metal, which caused him to pivot toward the barn, Rossmore at the ready.

But rather than the sudden burst of gunfire he half expected, the only sounds were the gentle tinkle of the wind chimes hanging from the porch of his childhood home, the rasp of his own breathing, and the steady crunch, crunch, crunch crunch, crunch, crunch of his footsteps as he made his way over to the barn. of his footsteps as he made his way over to the barn.

There was a yawning black hole where the big doors hung open. Hale entered cautiously, shotgun at the ready, but saw nothing other than what he expected to see. His father's office was located at the near end of the cavernous building, the workshop was next to it, and stalls lined the west wall. Stalls Hale had been responsible for mucking out each day along with all the other ch.o.r.es his father insisted on. He'd been resentful then, but those duties didn't seem so bad now, and Hale would have been glad to return to that carefree time.

The north end of the barn was stacked high with bales of hay intended to get the family's livestock through the winter.

Hale's father had purchased sheets of steel and laid them just inside the entrance, where they would protect the wooden floor from the wide range of abuses that the entryway would otherwise have suffered. Now, as Hale took a step forward, he saw a hunting knife lying in the middle of the metal ramp.

His head went back and his eyes focused on the half-loft located directly above his father's office. A central walkway led across the rafters to the point where the hay was stacked. All of which had been an indoor playground for Susan and himself.

Is someone up there now, concealed by the darkness? Yes, Hale thought so, and he felt certain that the knife's owner was human. Because had any of the Chimera been present they would have attacked. Yes, Hale thought so, and he felt certain that the knife's owner was human. Because had any of the Chimera been present they would have attacked.

"I know you're here!" Hale shouted. "Come on out ... I won't hurt you. My name is Hale ... Lieutenant Nathan Hale. And this is my parents' ranch."

There was a long moment of silence, followed by a vague rustling, and the sound of footsteps somewhere over Hale's head. Then he heard what sounded like a boy's voice. "Don't shoot! We're coming down."

Moments later the end of a rope slapped the steel ramp, and a boy in his late teens slid down, followed quickly by a younger girl. The boy hurried to retrieve the knife-leaving the girl to speak for both of them. She had big brown eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and a wide mouth.

"My name is Tina. That's my brother, Mark ... He's the one who dropped the knife. I told him not to play with it, but he did."

Hale saw that both youngsters were dressed in multiple layers of clothing, and both were armed. The boy had a lightweight Reaper carbine slung across his chest and carried at least half a dozen extra magazines stored in a modified Chimeran battle harness. The girl was wearing some sort of semiauto pistol in a shoulder holster and had what Hale recognized as a sawed-off .410 shotgun as well. The weapon dangled from a lanyard.

"I recognize you," Tina added. "Except for the eyes ... They look Chimeran."

"You recognize recognize me?" Hale inquired incredulously. "Have we met?" me?" Hale inquired incredulously. "Have we met?"

Tina shook her head.

"No, Mark and I are from Pierre. We were going south when a Chimeran fighter strafed the road. Mommy and Daddy were killed, but we got away. That was four-no, wait-five weeks ago, and we've been on our own ever since. The house was empty when we got here, but there were pictures all over the floor. That's how I knew you."

Mark had brown eyes, just like his sister, and the beginnings of a fuzzy beard. Hale noticed that the teen's right index finger was extremely close to the Reaper's trigger as he spoke. The boy followed his gaze.

"No offense, mister," he said skeptically, "but what about your eyes? They don't look right."

"All of the Chimeran forms are the work of a virus," Hale explained. "I was infected while fighting the Chimera in England. That caused my eyes to change color. But I take shots and breathe a special aerosol mist that keeps the virus in check."

Mark still looked skeptical but Tina's thoughts were focused elsewhere.

"Did Susan make it out?" The question had a plaintive quality, as if Tina identified with Susan, and thought that if the older girl had been able to escape, then maybe she could, too.

"I don't know," Hale replied honestly. "I hope so. But we have more immediate things to worry about. I'm going back now. Will you come with me?"

Tina looked at her brother as if to get his blessing, and received a curt nod by way of a response.

"Yes," Tina said, as her eyes swung back to make contact with Hale's. "We've been stuck here for the better part of two weeks now. We made two attempts to leave, but ran into Chimeran patrols both times, and were forced to return."

"That's right," Mark agreed. "We were going to head out last night when a couple of drones came sniffing around."

"That was my fault, I'm afraid," Hale confessed. "I was forced to kill some Chimera on the way in, and they came looking for me. But the search seems to have died down-so maybe we should head out tonight. Before the weather starts to improve."

The youngsters looked at each other, then back again. "Maybe tomorrow," Mark said dubiously. "But not tonight."

"Why not?" Hale wanted to know.

"Because the zombies are coming tonight," Tina answered soberly. "That's what we call them anyway ... They come through here every four days, and tonight is the night."

Hale frowned. "What do they look like?"

"They look kind of human," Mark replied cautiously. "Only they have eyes like yours. And they always arrive in large groups. They're dangerous," he added, "but not very smart."