Alien Caller (37 page)

Then it began
its second strafing run, and he watched bullets streaming from it,
straight at his house. They churned a path of violence from the
hills to his door, and then through it and on to the lake. At least
he hadn’t used the rockets. But all the time it was coming closer
in the cross hairs.

Finally, after
an endless few seconds of nerve racking torment he felt the moment
as the plane came within range, and squeezed the trigger. A tiny,
ridiculously gentle touch for the bone shattering violence of the
weapon.

He heard noise
beyond noise. He physically felt it, just as though he was inside a
giant bell when thunder struck it. Flames shot out everywhere,
turning his back instantly into a sun burnt mess, while the recoil
flung him like a rag doll. Even as he flew he was wondering why a
recoilless missile launcher should have such a kick. But by the
time he hit the ground he had no answer, and he didn’t care.

Fortunately he
had the pleasure of watching the missile leaving a high-speed trail
as it streaked directly at the jet. At the last instant he saw the
jet start taking evasive measures, veering off sideways, but it was
too late. David celebrated as he saw the missile closing fast, and
then witnessed the glorious explosion. It was like Guy Fawke’s Day
as a huge fireball appeared in the air, with small trails of sky
rockets streaming from it. The concussion of noise from the
explosion buffeted him a few seconds later, but caught up in his
joy he didn’t care.

Then the bits
and pieces of metal began falling from it. Small blobs of grey
metal, falling like stones, burning stones, while a much larger
piece looked like a comet descending to Earth. Most of the remains
of the plane fell out of the sky somewhere in the hills behind his
house, no more than five hundred yards from where he stood, but the
smaller pieces were scattered so far and wide that many were still
landing behind him. It was just lucky that the recent weeks had
included a lot of rain, or the forest all around him would be
catching fire.

Of course he
realized, that didn’t mean Dimock was dead. In fact knowing him, he
was probably still in perfect health. Either he had ejected before
the explosion, assuming that was, that he was actually in the
plane, or else another of his allies was now toast. But at least
the F 16 was gone. One threat had been removed.

David realized
quickly that his next move had to be to return to the house, fast.
If Dimock wasn’t dead, and somehow he couldn’t bring himself to
believe he could be that lucky, he would by now be tracking David,
who was out in the open. A sitting duck for whatever nightmarish
plans he had.

He slung the
launcher under his arm, not ever wanting Dimock to get hold of it,
and sprinted for the front door. At any second he expected a hail
of bullets to rip out from nowhere and cut him down. But it never
happened and he made it inside and slammed and locked the door
before sliding the steel bars shut behind him.

Then he knew
came the hard part, as he somehow managed to slow his heart rate
down again, and resumed his seat in front of the computer screens.
And after that he just waited.

He had at least
survived round one. Round two wouldn't be far away.

Chapter
Fourteen

Round two began
a little less violently than round one, but David knew it was going
to be no easier. Especially when Dimock simply walked out of the
bush to stand in front of his house and call him out. Of course
David wasn't going to do something so stupid. He wasn't some
freckle faced kid stupid enough to let words get to him. Besides
the fact that Dimock knew he was armed, and was still happy to walk
out in front of his guns, was a clear sign that he thought David
had nothing that could touch him.

The sad thing
was that he was probably right. The worse thing was that he had to
listen to the madman's endless diatribe as he told him what he was
going to do with him and what he thought of his defences. Before he
turned to the simple insults.

“The country
bumpkin bit suits you.” Dimock meant it as anything but a
compliment. Dimock despised country folk with a vengeance, calling
them dirt grubbers, yokels, inbreds and anything else he could
think of. David knew he’d grown up in a semi-rural community, and
hated it with everything he had. But then again, he hated everyone
anyway.

“You’ve gotten
even more ugly.” David said it deliberately knowing the unusual
effect it would have on the madman. But it was also true. The
operations and years of drug taking had made him even more a parody
of a human being than he had been before. His muscles stood out
like vein covered knotted ropes even on his forehead. The cheek
bones had become even sharper, and his ever present scowl looked
like a death mask as the skin stretched tight over the sinew and
bone. He watched with satisfaction as Dimock flushed red with
anger.

“And you’re
more stupid. You know what I’m going to do to you, and you still
try and make me angry. It all comes out of your hide.” The terrible
thing was that he was telling the truth, and they both knew it.
Dimock, even with all his preparations was too strong for him. He
always had been. In fact he looked stronger than ever, more
intense, and there was something in his nervous shake that spoke of
increased speed too. Maybe he’d started into PCP as well. Nothing
would surprise David, and with the cocktail of drugs already
swimming in his system, the reactions would as always be
unpredictable, except in that they would make him more deadly.
Everything made him more deadly.

“First you’ve
got to catch me.” Which wasn’t going to be that easy, David hoped.
Inside the house he still had the steel lined walls to protect him,
and some other traps he hadn’t used. They wouldn’t stop Dimock
forever, but they would give him some time.

“Not exactly a
challenge.” And as he’d hoped, Dimock charged the wall, expecting
with his supercharged strength that he would just rip through it as
he had a thousand others. For once things went differently as he
hit the wall with an almighty crash, and unexpectedly stopped
suddenly. The whole house shook at the impact, but the wall
remained stubbornly solid. Dimock however, began cursing at his new
bruises.

“Maybe a small
one then.” David still wanted to goad him, stupid as it undoubtedly
was. Dimock was an arsehole, and anything he could do to make his
life more unpleasant than it already was, had to be good. He took
the opportunity of his sudden surprise to fire a few more shots at
him from the sniper hole, and watched with satisfaction as he
dodged in surprise. Of course nothing hit the madman, he was simply
too fast. But at least he had to move.

“Very
small.”

Dimock moved
out of range of his front camera, and David knew he was probably
going to get something to help him pry open the walls of the house.
Maybe another gun, although anything less than an armour piercing
high calibre machine gun wasn’t going to help much. The bullets
would just lodge in the wood and armour plate.

A few seconds
later he returned with a crow bar, and David realized he’d raided
his boat shed. But far from annoying him, it gave him hope as the
madman fell into his first trap. Metal walls weren’t just about
strength. They could carry electricity too. He flipped the switch
that activated the generator and waited as he approached.

Sure enough
Dimock immediately attacked one of the walls with the bar, moving
like a panther. He hoped to force the sharp end through the wall
and then pry it open like a tin can with his inhuman strength. He
should have known better. David had seen a video of him using the
technique on an armoured door many years ago, and it wasn’t
something he was ever likely to forget. Nor was what he had done to
the occupants of that fortified home.

Dimock ran at
the wall in a blinding rush, crowbar held overhead like a spear
which he stabbed deep into the wall. There was a loud thump
followed by an explosion, as seventy thousand volts ran from the
bar to his hands. The bar’s tip came through the wall, but then
stopped as the motive force behind it vanished. Screams told him
that he had finally hurt Dimock, but also that he was still alive.
No doubt his thickened skin had given him more protection than
would a normal man’s.

He focused the
external cameras on him and watched as Dimock limped quickly away,
holding his hands. David knew he’d been burnt, and suddenly he also
understood where he was going. The same place he would with serious
burns. Cold water. David realised in that same instant that he had
a chance to finally kill Dimock, maybe his only one.

He grabbed at
the nearest heavy machine gun, and leapt for the sniper hole,
opening it in one fluid move while depressing the trigger. The hail
of bullets sprang out, in the general direction of Dimock while he
made a run for it, with all the blinding speed the drugs gave him.
He was a blur of motion, and David had barely enough time to watch
him leap into the lake. But he also knew as Dimock vanished out of
sight, that some of those slugs had hit their target. The after
image of the little spurts of blood and the sounds of those soft
impacts told him that. But a hit wasn’t enough to kill. Maybe not
even enough to slow him down.

David slammed
the door shut again, and ducked back behind his desk to review the
computer records. He had to know how well he’d done. His life
depended on it.

A few agonizing
seconds later he watched in slow motion as the video showed two
bullets scoring on his enemy. Neither was unfortunately fatal, one
having shot him in the backside, the other having grazed his
shoulder, but at least they would hurt. They would also slow him
down and if he was just lucky enough, Dimock might suffer some
serious blood loss. Finally there was some hope. Not a lot, but
some.

He turned back
to the active monitors and waited. It would take him ten minutes to
soak the burns he figured, and then he might want to remove a
bullet, maybe put a few stitches in his new wounds. Time to figure
out what to do next. And what Dimock would do.

Chances were,
David figured, he’d forget his mad compulsion to kill him by hand,
and go for some major artillery. Probably what he should have done
from the beginning, if he hadn’t wanted so badly to see his victim
suffer. But Dimock had now learned that it wouldn’t be as easy as
usual and he wasn’t stupid. Insane but still smart. The real
question was exactly what he’d use.

A bazooka?
Rocket launcher? Bombs? Poison Gas? David knew he would surely have
all of those things in reserve. He’d been free over a day, and
those would have been his first priority after finding out where he
lived. The only question was whether David’s preparations could
handle them. It was a long wait.

He caught a
brief glimpse of Dimock leaving the water fifteen minutes later,
through one of the remote cameras. Slow motion replay told him he
was hurt too, limping a little. The shot in the buttocks at least
had done some damage. But even so he was still incredibly fast, and
damnably good at vanishing. Besides, he was certain to realize he
was under observation, and was likely playing to the cameras.

David guessed
he would be heading for his base, going for weapons, probably
munitions. Maybe also some first aid. But he wouldn’t be away long.
The battle had been joined and Dimock wasn’t one to let a good
fight end early. He would grab what he needed and be back, probably
in less than half an hour. But what with?

Whatever he
had, David knew it was time to start planning his end game. So far,
Dimock had been under-prepared, not expecting his level of
readiness. From this point on he would be much better prepared. So
David needed to be too.

But this time
he promised himself, he would use some of the booby traps he’d
prepared. The first time the jet had caught him off guard, and not
knowing if Dimock was alive or dead after the crash, or when he’d
strike, he’d held back again. But now it was time to show his
hand.

Top of his list
was the soporific gas, Ether D. An experimental crowd pacifier
unsuitable for use in the States or any other civilized country,
he’d bought it in bulk from a Chinese General, for the American
researchers to study. Hoping he’d never need it, but knowing it was
one way to fight a superman, and like so many of the other
munitions he’d bought for particular assignments, he’d kept some.
The CIA paid, and what they didn’t use he kept.

But the best
thing about the gas wasn’t that it would put Dimock to sleep,
though he would have loved that. It couldn’t do that. What it would
do, he hoped, was slow him down. His high speed reactions, his
colossal strength, all would be very, very slowly eroded, while he
hopefully knew nothing about it. He would feel perfectly fine until
the end. There would be no sound, no smell to give it away. And
hopefully no escape. Once he was slowed down to roughly human
levels, David could take him. In theory.

In practice
though, he had to keep reminding himself that Dimock’s body was not
normal. What would drop a normal man might have no effect on him.
It might even make him faster and more dangerous, as everything
else seemed to. And that was always assuming he didn’t suspect, and
hadn’t put in some nose filters like David. Just as David knew
Dimock’s methods, so did Dimock know his. He might well suspect gas
and plan for it. He was also cunning and might also pretend he
hadn’t, trying to draw David out into his own trap in turn.