Earthfall (12 page)

T
he two Self-Contained
Exploration Vehicles rolled across the shattered landscape, making their way westward as fast as they could. Several roads and interstates were still marginally navigable; even though the war that had decimated much of the United States had been violent and almost completely lethal, it was the aftermath that had caused the most damage. The deadly fallout that had descended across the Midwestern portion of the country had worked its dire magic over the course of days and weeks, giving sickened populations the ability to try to travel. As such, the roadways near major cities and towns were choked with automobiles of all types, from thrifty economy hybrids to tractor-trailer rigs hauling sixty-foot trailers. While many of these tie-ups had already been mapped, once the SCEVs moved past the areas that had previously been reconnoitered, they found themselves confronted time and time again with impassable traffic jams, columns of motor vehicles that were now nothing more than rotting sheet metal and delaminating fiberglass. Occasionally visible behind the dusty, grime-covered windows of several vehicles, the mummified remains of humanity could be seen.

The two rigs had to backtrack from those impassable snarls and strike out overland. But the SCEVs had been designed for just such a voyage. Patterned after the venerable HEMT-T A3 tactical truck used by the military, the SCEVs were able to roll across fields and over hills without much incident. So long as soft ground was avoided and treacherous ravines were skirted, the two rigs pushed on, fording dried-up creeks and virtually empty riverbeds when necessary. Overhead, skies the color of cobalt gleamed, free of any sort of storm activity. It was an austerely beautiful sight, but still, the day was lethal with radiation from the war and that which descended from the heavens, thanks to the decimated ozone layer.

The vehicles drove on, bouncing and jouncing across the terrain, unperturbed by the deadly conditions. Their turbine engines wailed, and their big, knobby tires bit into the dry soil, leaving long plumes of dust that rose into the air behind them.

As the sun slowly set, the day died another death as night reigned supreme. The SCEVs did not stop; their floodlights cut a swath through the gathering darkness, illuminating the terrain ahead with brilliant light that would have blinded anyone who looked directly at them.

If anyone had been alive to witness the event, of course.

***

Mulligan sat in the command seat on the left side of the cockpit, the control column in his left hand. He kept his eyes on the instruments, maintaining a watchful position and scanning the radar display that mapped the terrain beyond the pool of light cast by the rig’s floodlights. Leona watched him from the corner of her eye for the first hour of their shift together, then finally just looked at him directly every now and then. If he noticed, Mulligan said nothing. He merely continued to do his job, which was to oversee the rig’s progress across the darkened landscape. Leona had to admire his single-minded determination. It had been years since he’d been out in the field, but he handled the rig like a pro, always skirting barely noticeable breaks in the terrain that might have slowed their progress to a crawl. And he did so without the ham-handed acceleration and braking that someone like Tony Choi would have subjected them to. Mulligan knew how to keep the SCEV on course, and obviously knew the value in making the trek as comfortable as possible.

Finally, the big sergeant major stirred. He reached inside one of the pockets on his Army combat uniform blouse and pulled out a long, cylindrical tube. Holding one end in his mouth, he unscrewed the cap on the other end, then reversed it and tipped it back. At first, Leona thought it was some sort of beverage in a decidedly unusual-looking container. Instead, it was something she hadn’t seen in years—a cigar.

“You’re not going to actually
smoke
that thing, are you?” she asked, a little shocked. “It’s against regulations, you know …”

“Lieutenant, sometimes the only good regulation is a broken regulation.”

Leona was properly scandalized. “You’re kidding,” was all she could say. “Do you realize what that will do to the CO2 scrubbers? Not to mention the smell—”

“Relax, Lieutenant. I know all about the delicate balance of the rig’s environmental systems. Don’t worry, I’m not going to light up. I only do that on special occasions.” Mulligan chewed on the end of the cigar. “If one ever happens to pop up, that is.”

“God—you actually
do
smoke those things? How can you stand to do that to your body?”

Mulligan scanned the instruments, then looked out the viewports. “After everything we’ve been through, ma’am, one might think a little secondhand smoke wouldn’t be high on your list of worries.”

“Everything’s high on my worry list, Sergeant Major.”

“Yeah, I remember you always being the high-maintenance sort. Even as a kid in basic, you always wanted to know why things were done one way and not the other. But like I said, you’re safe. I’m not going to light the thing.” Mulligan seemed to think that ended the conversation. He continued to drive and make his instrument scans with a metronomic regularity that Leona actually admired. While Command Sergeant Major Scott Mulligan was a riddle wrapped up in an enigma, she was surprised to see just how disciplined he was.

“Well … where did you get it?” she asked after a long pause.

“I grew it.”

“You did? Where?”

“I have a small portion of the hydroponics farm allocated to me. I grow a tobacco plant there, and harvest it when the time is right. Then I make my own cigars.” Mulligan switched the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. “Not as good as a Cohiba Edicion, but they get the job done.”

Leona nodded and scanned the instruments herself. She had nearly another three hours before she took the left seat and Choi came forward to take the copilot’s seat. “I see.”

Mulligan said nothing.

“So … what did you do before the war, Mulligan?”

“I defended truth, justice, and the American way.”

She smiled at that. “Why do you always act like such a hard-ass?”

“It’s no act, Lieutenant.”

Feeling suddenly bold, Leona pressed on, even though the big man’s body language seemed to indicate he wasn’t particularly interested in chatting. Just the same, this was the first time she’d ever been in close proximity to the mysterious senior NCO of Harmony Base. If he thought he was going to go for a couple of weeks without interacting with the rest of the crew, he was severely mistaken.

“So other than being a soldier, what else did you do? Were you ever married?”

Mulligan’s only reaction was to reposition the cigar in his mouth. In the glow of the flat panel displays on the instrument panel, Leona thought she saw a glimmer of a scowl flit across his face.

“What’s the matter, Sergeant Major—couldn’t get a date?”

Mulligan finally turned to her. His face was as devoid of emotion as the surface of the moon was absent of air, but his tone was anything but sedate. “Lieutenant, keep this up and the only thing you’ll get out of me is a severe whipping from an enlisted man. We’re not here to get to know each other on a personal level—we’re on a mission. As such, I would respectfully recommend you concentrate on the current mission essentials, which at the moment are backing me up on the instruments and assisting in terrain avoidance, while ensuring the rig’s systems are checked according to schedule. Is that clear, ma’am?”

Leona clenched her teeth, a little pissed off at his tone. He was perilously close to insubordination.

So what’re you going to do, try and pull rank on
Mulligan
?
Yeah, do that. It’ll be all sorts of fun.

“I read you, Sarmajor,” she said.

“Hooah,” Mulligan said simply, then turned away from her and peered out the viewports. Leona watched him for a moment, then sighed and leaned back in her seat.

It was going to be one very long mission.

***

“So how’s it going?”

Rachel’s voice sounded distant and remote over the headset transceiver Andrews wore as he lay stretched out on one of the bunks in the rear of SCEV Four. He had strapped himself into the narrow, slightly bowed bed in a bid to keep from being pitched to the deck should the rig roll over some broken terrain, and he’d asked Rachel to do the same. While it was a small thing, she had no experience with SCEV operations, and ignoring even mundane details like that could get her killed.

“Everything’s good on this side,” he told her, speaking softly even though he was alone in the compartment. “You getting by over there?”

“Sure. Jim’s patient with me, and Kelly’s giving me some pointers. Tony’s doing the same, but I think he’d rather be over on your rig than stuck over here.” Rachel paused. “Come to think of it, so would I.”

“Non-starter, babe. Separation of church and state and all that.”

“Oh, I’m your church now? Or am I your state?” she asked, a playful lilt in her voice.

“Well, I do worship you.”

“Such a sweet talker you are.”

“Isn’t that why you married me?”

“Yes. Well, that and the fact that you’re great in the sack.”

Andrews laughed. “Now, now … keep it clean. The channel’s encrypted, but you can never be sure.”

Rachel laughed as well. “I know, I know. Besides, I have to start my shift in a few minutes. I’m taking right seat.”

“Who has left? Jordello?”

“Yeah. She’s going to show me the ropes for the next few hours.”

“Well, try not to roll the rig, all right? That’s Choi’s job.”

Rachel laughed again, then grew serious. “How are things with the asshole?”

Andrews frowned, put out by her derogatory language. “Mulligan’s been fine. Professional. He’s getting the job done, and he’s keeping to himself. He knows he’s an anachronism out here, so he’s not pushing any buttons.” That last part was a bit of a lie, for he felt that Mulligan was smirking at them on the inside. The senior NCO certainly didn’t try to hide his smug aloofness, and that bugged Andrews quite a bit.

“Don’t trust him, Mike.”

“I’ve got my eye on him, babe. Don’t worry about it.”

She snorted. “How can I
not
worry about it? You’re over there, with him—”

“Easy, now,” Andrews said, not wanting the conversation to devolve into another one-sided shit-flinging contest. “I know the guy’s history, and we’ve been over this already. He’s not going to screw things up. Take it easy, Rachel.”

After a long pause, she said, “I’m trying.”

Andrews was suddenly painfully aware of the distance that separated them, and he found he very much wanted to hold her in his arms—not just to help ease her distress, but because she was so close to him, yet so very far. As much as she worried about him crewing with Mulligan, he found it difficult not to obsess over her being in the field as well. He’d had the training and had volunteered to be inducted into the US Army after the war, so field time was part of what he was all about. For her, it was an entirely accidental occurrence, and he feared for her safety, despite the fact that Jim Laird was as competent at SCEV ops as he was. Kelly Jordello and Tony Choi were able hands, as well. There was no lack of practical experience surrounding Rachel, and Andrews really couldn’t have asked for her to be protected by a better team.

“Hey, be glad you’re not over here. Seriously,” Andrews said, “you don’t have to smell Spencer’s farts. The guy has no class. He just blows ’em all over the rig. I don’t know what the hell it is he’s eating, but it’s practically chemical warfare over here.”

Rachel laughed, but it sounded false, forced. Andrews sighed. There wasn’t any way to help her relax, and that made him feel even worse about things.

The rig slowed suddenly and bumped to a more-or-less gentle halt. It was time to change shifts, which meant Mulligan would be surrendering the left seat to Leona, while Spencer moved forward to occupy the copilot’s seat. Outside, SCEV Five would be rolling to a stop as well, and Rachel would have her first opportunity to act as a rig copilot.

“Okay, I guess this is it,” Andrews said. “You take care of yourself, babe.”

“I will. What are you going to do now?”

“Get some sleep. What else is there to do? In six hours, I’ve got to stand up and prepare for my next shift.”

“Right. Well, sleep well. Pleasant dreams. I love you, Michael.”

“I love you too, hon. Take it easy, all right?”

“I will. Good night.” And with that, the link went dead.

Andrews leaned back in his bunk and pulled the headset off, listening to the sounds of the crew change. A moment later, the pressure door at the head of the compartment opened, and Mulligan stepped inside the sleeping area. He flipped on one of the overhead lights, and Andrews screwed his eyes shut against the sudden brightness. Mulligan made a brief, apologetic noise, then walked to the rear of the compartment where the head was located. He pulled open the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. Andrews heard the lock click into place.

A moment later, the SCEV started moving again. Andrews hoped Mulligan didn’t piss all over the place, and if he did, that he’d have the decency to clean up after himself.

***

Hours later, Mulligan awoke in his bunk. The sleeping area had been designed to accommodate persons of average height and weight, and he found the bunks were just a bit too short to comfortably house his six-foot-six-inch frame. Therefore, he was forced to sleep curled up, something that he found unpleasant, given that he needed to be strapped in as well. That alone made for a less than restful sleep. Even though he had long since grown used to the jouncing and bouncing of the SCEV as it plowed across the landscape, he found that his head would invariably strike the side of the bunk’s hard plastic shell, and that always jolted him awake. He moved the thin pillow a bit in a bid to gain some protection, but that could only last for so long. Mulligan consigned himself to being tired and even more grumpy than usual over the next several days.

And if the lack of sleep wouldn’t to him, then the voyage across the burned-out remains of the United States most certainly would.