A Hole in the Sky (16 page)

She didn’t have enough time to reload the Fareye, and the Reaper was hanging by its sling, so Susan pulled the Colt. Then, walking
towards
the oncoming stink, she raised the pistol, pulled the spur-shaped hammer back, and began to fire. “That’s for Dad! And that’s for Mom, and these are for our ranch hands.”

The heavy slugs hit the Hybrid, threw it back, and dumped the creature on its back. The Chimera was dead, but Susan had one bullet left, and was determined to use it. “And this one,” she said as she pointed the revolver downwards, “is for me.”

With a loud bang, the .45-caliber slug smashed the Hybrid’s grotesque face, flames shot a hundred feet up into the sky, and the past continued to burn.

One step at a time. That was the way Capelli made it through each long and exhausting night. Fortunately the terrain was relatively flat. But even a slight incline required the slaves to throw their combined weight against the wooden crosspieces as Master Jack’s whip nipped at their backs and they pushed the wagon upwards.

Nine days had passed since the stop in Hamley and Nix’s ill-fated battle with El Diablo. And now, according to Bam-Bam, the circus was on its way to a place called Tank Town. A community which, to hear him tell about it, was like a miniature city. Except Capelli had no intention of going to Tank Town or anyplace with Master Jack and his so-called performers. Because he planned to escape.

It was on the fifth day out from Hamley that Capelli found the broken hacksaw blade. He and the other donkeys were crouched inside a large equipment shed at the time, waiting for night to fall, when he caught a glimpse of the object, partially covered with soil. The implement was half the length it should have been, and dull as well, which probably accounted for why it had been thrown away.

Shortly thereafter, Capelli went to work on link thirty-two of the chain that ran from the wagon’s tongue to his metal collar. But his task wasn’t easy. The teeth were worn down and there was rule eight to consider: “Don’t trust anyone.” Not even his fellow donkeys—who might try to take the tool for themselves, or sell him out to one of the guards.

So sawing through the link had been a long, arduous process often carried out with cold fingers when the others were sleeping. And with nowhere else to hide the object, Capelli had been forced to stick the ribbon of steel down into his right boot, where it rubbed his skin raw.

But finally the cut had been completed and camouflaged with a paste made from oil-soaked dirt mixed with spit. Now, all Capelli needed was the right opportunity to pull himself loose and run like hell. And when he and his fellow slaves toiled up a 3-percent grade, he saw his chance.

Alfonso was the only member of the troupe who had a horse, and he was scouting somewhere up ahead. There was no moon. But with a clear sky and some starlight, Capelli could see the mixture of grass and unharvested wheat that flourished along both sides of the road. It was tall enough to hide in, and given the need to protect the wagon, it seemed unlikely that Inkskin and Bam-Bam would pursue him for very long.

So as the slaves reached the top of the rise, Capelli felt for link thirty-two, found it, and broke free. Then, cognizant of the fact that it was important to move quickly, he ran. Inkskin saw the motion and hurried to block the slave’s escape route.

Capelli had about two feet of chain to work with, and the metal flail struck the guard across the bridge of his nose. He fell, the Bullseye clattered as it hit the ground, and Capelli kept running.

Master Jack was bellowing orders by that time, and projectiles blipped past Capelli’s head, as Bam-Bam opened fire on him. Capelli was in the wheat by then. But after hours of hard work, his legs felt as if they were made of lead. He drove himself forward anyway, knowing that every yard of progress took him closer to freedom. The firing had stopped by then, because a dead donkey was nothing more than Hybrid fodder.

But then, just as Capelli was about to drop to his hands and knees in an attempt to disappear from sight, he heard the sound of thundering hooves. Voices shouted, a loop of rope fell over his shoulders, and a horse rushed past him. Suddenly, Capelli was jerked off his feet and towed towards the highway. The ground was reasonably smooth, but there were small rocks, and they pummeled his back until he came to a sudden stop in the drainage ditch.

Inkskin was there to lift Capelli up, drag him onto the pavement, and beat him back down. The lower part of the guard’s face was black with blood and he was furious. From his vantage point on the ground, Capelli realized that there were three horses in all as the man who had roped him swung a leg over his mount’s back and stepped down. “Thanks,” Bam-Bam said, as the rope was removed from Capelli’s shoulders. “The bastard damned near got away.”

Master Jack had arrived on the scene by then and took advantage of the opportunity to kick Capelli in the ribs. The blow hurt like hell. Capelli curled up into the fetal position. Then, turning to the rider, the ringmaster spoke. “Are you from Tank Town by any chance?” he inquired conversationally. “We were told to expect a contact roughly five miles out.”

“You heard right,” the man replied, his breath fogging the air. “My name’s Grady. I’m what the boss calls a ‘coordinator.’ ”

“So Tank Town is still in operation?”

“We’ve been in business for fifty-three days without being attacked by the Chimera. And that ain’t no accident,” Grady added, as he coiled his rope. “In order to enter Tank Town you’ll have to do it at night, you’ll have to follow one of our guides, and you’ll have to obey the house rules once you’re inside.”

“Okay,” Master Jack replied. “That sounds reasonable. What’s this I hear about an entry fee?”

“You’ll have to pay a fee to get in,” Grady confirmed. “Plus the boss takes ten percent off the top of anything you make.”

There wasn’t much light, so Capelli couldn’t see the expression on the ringmaster’s face, but he could tell that the fat man was annoyed from the tone of his voice. “
Ten percent?
That’s kind of steep, isn’t it?”

Grady put a foot in a stirrup and swung up onto his horse. “That’s a matter of opinion, I guess. But a large audience is real hard to find these days.”

Master Jack was in no position to push back and knew it. “Point taken. We’ll follow your guide in.”

Inkskin jerked Capelli to his feet, shoved him towards the rest of the donkeys, and added a kick for emphasis. “Welcome back, Capelli. You’re going to be sorry.
Real
sorry.”

Capelli stumbled, caught himself, and knew that he was.

Both Boss Orley’s guide and Ringmaster Jack wanted to make it into Tank Town before sunrise. And for good reason. So long as the stinks controlled the sky, everyone on the ground was vulnerable. Especially during daylight hours.

All of the slaves were ordered to push harder. But when Master Jack’s whip cracked, it was Capelli who felt the
pain most often. Because everyone was angry with him. Including most of the other donkeys. They blamed him for the extra work, even if that didn’t make sense.

So it was back to one-step-at-a-time as the hours ticked away, the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon, and the guide led the slaves off the highway. Her name was Tupo, and Alfonso rode at her side as she led the slaves into a shallow river. After a hard right turn, the donkeys were forced to drag the heavy wagon upstream. A strategy clearly intended to prevent traffic from creating the sort of trail that might be noticed from above. “Put your shoulders into it!” Bam-Bam demanded, as the wagon lurched over loose rocks, and El Diablo screeched.

It was difficult to find a solid footing on the river bottom, but Capelli did the best he could, as the tip of the whip found his left ear and left it numb. Fortunately, the trip from the highway to the point where a massive pipe opened onto the streambed was mercifully short. A left turn took them into the metal tube. A wood floor had been installed to accommodate vehicles, and occasional lights hinted at the presence of a generator.

Finally, after passing various points where raw sewage was pouring out of smaller pipes into the main tube, they came to the place where some sort of a pump had been demolished to make way for a wooden ramp. Pieces of machinery and chunks of broken concrete had been piled to either side, leaving the way clear for the slaves to muscle the wagon up the slope, through a ragged hole, and into the empty reservoir beyond. Judging from the presence of pens filled with pigs, cattle, and horses, it was being used as a communal barn. The odor that pervaded the place was only slightly less nauseating than the one in the big pipe.

Tupo led Alfonso and the rest of them over to a spot
where the wagon finally came to a halt, and Master Jack paid the entry fee with what Capelli felt sure was one of Locke’s gold coins.

It was blessedly warm inside Tank Town. After being ordered to strip, the slaves were hosed off like animals. They were then allowed to dress in the same filthy clothes and led to a pen where they were watered and fed. Once his stomach was full, Capelli lay down on a fresh scattering of straw and went to sleep. It was like falling into a bottomless well, and he felt grateful as the blackness swallowed him up.

The sun was just about to set, and Susan Farley was gnawing on a raw carrot as she sat on a ledge with her back against a rock. From her vantage point on the hillside, she could look down into the gully a couple of hundred feet below. The family, as she thought of the group, had chosen to camp under a railroad bridge next to a gurgling stream. An attempt had been made to screen the fire with pieces of canvas draped over a framework constructed with sticks, but she could see hints of the orange-red glow nevertheless, and took an odd sort of comfort from it.

Susan had been following along behind the group of five men, three women, and two children for the better part of three days, with occasional breaks to forage for food. There were lots of overgrown vegetable gardens in Kansas. Not to mention wild carrots and so-called prairie potatoes, although she was tired of being a vegetarian.

There was game, of course—plenty of it, given how few people there were. But Susan had been reluctant to shoot anything for fear of giving herself away to the Chimera, or alerting the “family” to her presence, which might cause them to break contact.

That was silly, of course. Especially since the original plan had been to follow along behind and let them flush out any stinks that might be lying in wait. And the strategy worked, because a horde of about thirty Leapers attacked the group early the next afternoon, only to be decimated by the heavily armed humans.

But gradually, as Susan watched the family through the Fareye’s scope, an unintended bond began to form. The members of the group appeared to be relatively happy, judging from the way they interacted with each other. It gave Susan a vicarious sense of companionship. Something she was surprised to discover that she both needed and felt guilty about.
They’re going somewhere
, Susan thought to herself.
And I need supplies. So I’ll follow them. Then, once we arrive, I’ll break it off
.

So Susan ate a raw potato, made herself a cup of slightly bitter dandelion tea, and slipped into her sleeping bag half an hour later as a way to combat the cold. The family was still up, and the evening breeze brought occasional bursts of laughter her way. It felt good to know that some form of happiness was still possible—and the thought led to a pleasant dream.

When Susan awoke the next morning the sun was up, although barely visible through a thick overcast, as a light drizzle fell. It was a miserable beginning to the day. But Susan had no choice but to get up, boil some vegetables for breakfast, and break camp.

And it was then, as she was fastening the straps on her pack, that she spotted the Hybrids—a file of them, all crossing the railroad trestle, and silhouetted against the pewter-gray sky. Her heart skipped a beat. Would they look down? And see the family below? Or continue on their way?

While mostly hidden from the family her position was
visible from the bridge, so Susan took cover behind a large rock, before bringing the Fareye up. She was watching the stinks when one of them pointed downwards. Then it fired down between the railroad ties. The others did likewise, and the family answered from below.

But the humans were going to be slaughtered. That much was obvious given how exposed they were and the fact that the stinks held the high ground. So she reacted accordingly. The Fareye barked and a Chimera fell. The body flipped end-for-end before splashing into the stream and being swept away.

Meanwhile, as both the aliens and the group below them continued to exchange fire, Susan shot another Hybrid. A halo of blood appeared around its head before the creature collapsed onto the bridge, where it lay with an arm dangling over the side. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the battle was over as the last stink staggered and went down.

Susan watched from above as the family broke camp. One of the men had a white bandage wrapped around his left bicep. But none of the group had been killed, and Susan was grateful.

Once the family was ready to go, the woman Susan thought of as Nancy stepped out into the open. She held something over her head as she turned a full circle. Then, as if performing a pantomime, she bent over to place whatever it was on a flat rock next to the stream.

After watching the group leave, Susan shouldered her pack, and made her way down the slope to the brook below. Once she splashed across she came to the rock, saw what the woman had left for her, and felt a sense of warmth. Because while the family didn’t know her name, or anything about her, they knew someone had been watching over them. And the Hershey bar was their way of saying “thanks.”

Susan toyed with the idea of making herself known to the family during the next couple of days, but it didn’t feel right somehow, so she was still tagging along behind them when the oil refinery appeared on the far horizon. That’s what she assumed it was, anyway, although she was no expert.