Pulling The Dragon's Tail (57 page)

* * * * * *

The sun sank lower in the sky, casting long
shadows behind them on the beach. A few gulls flew overhead. But
even their cries seemed somber. In the distance people gathered
around other campfires. Thatcher and Nate returned and put more
wood on the fire.

Thatcher had much to say. “Much of the video
transmissions are off-line. I do have some video of New York City.
All the boroughs are completely flooded, levees entirely broken.
Hundreds are dead. Long Island’s extremely damaged. It’s a grim
picture. There are reports of flooding in Florida all the way to
Orlando.” He sighed. “Hey, they’re currently showing a live picture
of La Palma.” He transmitted it to the others.

Nate remarked grimly, “I know it doesn’t stop
the suffering and loss, but I think we made a difference. Some of
the central sections of the island are still standing, which means
some of the bombs didn’t detonate or were reduced in
intensity.”

Thatcher continued. “The news also reports that
in separate communiqués Red Dawn and Gideon’s Army are mutually
taking credit for the attack. The UN and Interpol have quadrupled
the reward money for Sheridan’s capture. Oh, and Nate, this ought
to interest you, a spokesman for the Organ-not Chang—has announced
a shakeup in leadership. Okay, news report’s over.” He looked
around at his friends, all with moribund and pensive looks pasted
to their faces. “Nobody’s gonna rescue us are they?”

“We are on our own for the moment,” responded
Es. “It will take years to clean up North and South America’s east
coasts.

“Yep,” said Nate stoically. “Somehow, humanity
has to find a way to pull together.” He watched as Es held Dr.
Hilliard’s hands. Then he noticed with a sense of curiosity her
swollen eyes.

“Thank you, Nate,” Es said.

Nate grasped her hand gently. “You’re
welcome.”

“How are you doing since, um, you know
…Herschel,” inquired Es.

“I think I’ll be okay,” Nate responded
thoughtfully. “Sister Mariah may not think so though.”

“Ya know, you guys are all pretty big heroes in
my book,” said Thatcher.

Nate returned the compliment. “You’re not so bad
yourself.”

“And Ryker,” reminded Es.

“And Ryker,” repeated Thatcher, lifting up a
non-existent glass to the wind. “To Ryker.” Bringing his hand down,
he added thoughtfully, “There’s so many stories to write
about.”

“Are you going to report on the existence of the
Alpha Group?” asked Es.

“Reporting’s my life and my passion. But this
story is too big, just too precious to mess up. Lord knows, I’ve
messed up a lot of things, but not this one,” he vowed. “It’s not
just another story. It’s about you all, about Dr. Hilliard, about
changing the nature of biological life. And it’s about my
friends.”

“I dunno,” teased Nate. “Maybe we need to put
another nano-tracker in him, just in case.” Turning serious he
said, “Maybe it
is
time to blow the whole lid off. It looks
like we have bigger issues to face than prolonging the Experiment’s
secret. What do you think, doctor?”

With a wink at Es, Hilliard replied, “I’m
appointing you as spokespeople for the Alpha Group to decide
that.”

Nate stretched and stood up. “Tomorrow, we go
and start to help the clean-up around here. I’m relieved too; I’ve
just received a message from Sister Mariah. England has only had
minor damage.”

“Will you join the CHOFA committee working on
the wormhole problem?” wondered Es.

“I’m going to decline because I’m going to be
too busy. Can I count on your help, doctor?”

Es interrupted, “Um, Nate. “We need to talk
about…something.”

“She’s waking up!” exclaimed Thatcher.

Campbell slowly stirred and blinked her eyes
open. “Oh, my head!”

“Don’t touch the IV line!” ordered Es.

“Yes, Dr. Es. What’s happening?” she moaned.

“We’ve decided to have a beach party,” teased
Nate.

Thatcher added,” It’s a post-tsunami, post
Herschel-demise, post sub-dural hematoma, post
grandfather-granddaughter reunion sort of beach party.”

“Herschel’s dead?” asked Campbell, who saw
Thatcher and Es point at Nate. “You did it?”

“Yeah,” Nate said. “It was hard, it was
terrifying, it was gruesome, but I did it.”

Campbell tried to read his body language.
Was
he remorseful? Glad? What?
“Thank you for saving us from that
terrible monster.”

Unaccustomed to the hero role, all Nate
responded with was, “I did what I felt was my duty.”

“And that has made all the difference,” said
Campbell smiling. She had never been prouder to be with Nate than
at that moment.

“What a sight you make, Campbell,” commented Es.
“You and your grandfather.”

“Dammit-forgot my camera,” quipped Thatcher.

“So how are you feeling?” asked Hilliard.

“Fine, Grandpa, except for this headache.” For
the first time since she awoke, she looked at him. “Where’s the
stem patch? Where’s your helmet?”

Mitchell Hilliard cleared his throat and glanced
at Es. “It’s time.”

“Thatcher! Nate!” barked Es. “Let’s get some
more supplies from the aircraft. Now!” And reluctantly she let go
of Dr. Hilliard’s hand.

A few moments later found grandfather and
granddaughter alone. The fire crackled beside them. Campbell
shivered and snuggled closer to her grandfather.

Under the constraints of time as he had never
experienced time before, Hilliard wasted none of it . Stroking her
cheek, he said, “My body is dying. I will be forced to fly away
from you shortly.”

“Grandpa!” She weakly got up and faced him.
“What’re you saying? Why aren’t you wearing the stem patch? And why
is it on me?”

“We encountered a problem. It seems that two
unforeseen events happened. Beckett messed with the patch, making
it less potent.”

“And?” she asked in a fear-tinged voice.

“And your head trauma took precedence over my
well-being.”

Campbell opened her mouth, and then closed it.
It came back to her. Herschel, the house falling, the pain in her
head. And then the reality sunk in, a reality she wasn’t prepared
to accept. “I don’t understand. Wait!” She shook her head, trying
to fathom what was happening. “You did this? For me?”

“Yes, for you. I only wish I could gaze into
your eyes one more time, but my kinesthetic senses will have to
suffice. I feel your eyes on me. Oh, you’re such a beautiful
sight.”

Campbell remained in shock. Their reunion had
only just started. “This can’t be true, Grandpa! Isn’t there some
other way? If I’m better, why can’t the patch be reapplied to you
again? And—”

“The deed is done, Campbell. My work will still
continue after I’m gone. You will remember much when I have
transitioned out of this body.”

It was too much for Hilliard’s granddaughter.
She buried her head into his chest, deeply sobbing. She cried at
the loss of his dream to attain immortality. She cried at the
unfairness of not having more time with him. Yet there were also
tears of joy; a deep, intrinsic sense of satisfaction that she had
restored to the world, or at least to herself, the proper legacy of
Mitchell Hilliard.

* * * * * *

The descending darkness of night lay beyond the
flickering firelight. Silently, slowly, Es, Thatcher and Nate
approached the silhouetted figures of grandfather and
granddaughter.

“Is he gone?” asked Thatcher, tentatively.

The prone man suddenly opened his sightless
eyes. With a shaky voice, Hilliard said, “Not yet, I’m not!”

“There are really no more options?” pleaded
Nate, now seated cross-legged on the sand.

“Death still defines us all, my son, and perhaps
always will. But I hope, at least, that Campbell found a bit of
what she was seeking.”

Campbell nodded wordlessly and squeezed his
hand. Her moist eyes probed Nate. Then she returned her glance to
her grandfather. “Everything, except for…more time.”

“And Nate,” asked Hilliard. “Have you found what
you were looking for?”

Nate smiled. It felt like a test question with
Professor Hilliard. “Yeah. I came looking for how to serve Father
Abraham. But what’s even more important is serving humanity. I’m
joining the Organ. It’s the best way to fight the likes of Sheridan
North and deal with the End-Date. Tomorrow, we start putting the
world back together. There’s no other choice.”

A weepy Campbell cleared her throat, wiped her
eyes and sniffed her tears. “Grandpa, do you remember our
song?”

“Why yes, yes I do. Oh, how you’d dance around
the campfire while I played my fiddle.” Mitchell Hilliard, with a
look of longing and contentment, spoke to Dugan. “Please pull up
song, I believe it’s number fifty-five on my play list,
Dance of
Life
.”

Soon the strains of a fiddle resounded in each
one’s dataport. As sparks from the fire lifted skyward, an old
country ballad played it’s haunting tune; a message of hope and
possibility, of courage and faith, of being down and fighting back,
of taking what life had to dish out and enjoying one’s time on this
awesome, awful, wonderful planet, of dancing until the music played
no more, and of accepting the incessant drumbeat of time and
eternity.

The sun peeked suddenly through the cloud in its
descent toward nightfall. Radiant hues of reds and oranges painted
the horizon. For a moment, time stood still. The shining orb hung
on the edge of the water, unmoving.

A moment later, the sun touched the surface. And
much too fleetingly, the sun disappeared into the night. A moment
later it was only a memory.

High overhead to the northeast, the first star
twinkled in its primordial position. Far below that distant star,
the massive conveyer belts of ocean water, seemingly forever
destined to warm the northern climes of Europe, ground to a halt.
Europe would no longer receive their life-giving warmth, just as
Maurice Emmerick had first predicted forty years earlier. The
End-Date had arrived on Planet Earth.

The End