Skeletons (26 page)

“Doesn't speak . . ." Lawrence said. "I'm so sorry for you, young lady." He touched my arm briefly, looked sad. "Tell them, Lawrence," his wife said. "They should know."

"Yes," Lawrence said. "Being so much younger than my wife Katherine or me, you should be made aware that the human race really is doomed."

Mrs. Garr said nothing.

"I'm afraid it's true," Lawrence continued. "Not because the dead outnumber the living. Their numbers have already been reduced significantly by violence. Not even because of the inherent violence they seem to harbor for the living and their wish to turn the living into those like themselves. The reason is, in my opinion, that they just simply have such better minds than we do. Better leaders. Even now, in the world capitals, power struggles have been going on. There will be one large war within the ranks of the dead, in which all of the strongest fight it out for world domination. But think of these strong minds—Napoleon, Ramses the Second, Henry the Fifth! Many of them will die, and the ones who don't adapt quickly to modern technology, like poor Julius Caesar, who set up catapults inside the walls of the Vatican, and was toppled from power the day after that network . . .”

"CNN, Lawrence," Katherine prodded gently.

"Yes, the day after CNN spoke with him. CNN was shortly taken over by radical groups itself, at first Ku Klux Klansmen from the middle part of this century, whose numbers proved inadequate, and then by the provisional ruling government of Atlanta, which is presently headed by Huey Long."

He stopped, drew out his pipe, patted his pockets.

"If only I had some tobacco ..."

"Go on, dear," Katherine said.

"Yes ... well, my point is that a struggle is going on, and those who adapt quickly and well, and with the most intelligence, will prevail. And after the war among the dead is over, they will then begin a new world order, into which I'm afraid we won't fit. So we will be either `turned,' as the phrase goes, or"—he waved his hand—"wiped out."

"Isn't it terrible?" his wife said.

"Terrible, yes," Lawrence said, "but inevitable, I'm afraid."

Abruptly, Lawrence turned away from us, went to the edge of the observation deck, and looked down. His wife looked sadly after him.

"He's right, you know," she said. "He was right about Japan and World War Two, and about Vietnam. They listened to him then, and he had his journals to publish in. But since his retirement no one listens to him. I think if he just had his tobacco, and somewhere to publish, he'd be so content."

She walked to her husband, put her arm around him.

"There's a battle starting!" Lawrence said excitedly.

There was a bright flash below and a solid boom, followed closely by two others. We went to the edge of the deck. Ralph appeared from the other side of the deck and joined us.

"Holy shit," he said.

Lawrence shook his head. "These young people, this coarse language—"

He was silenced by a brilliant explosion halfway down the side of the Empire State Building. We felt the building rock. I traced the line of fire back to a howitzer that had positioned itself on Fifth Avenue, a half block in front of us.

"They'll be calling in air strikes next," Lawrence said. "It's not us they want. I'll wager they don't even know we exist. What we're seeing here is a battle for the control of New York City, between Theodore Roosevelt's older, less mechanized forces and the more modern ones headed by his cousin Franklin Delano. FDR will win, at least here. I'm afraid he'll find that control of New York is no longer a guarantee for winning national office, though. He should have gone straight to Washington if he wanted that. I do miss those early reports from . . ."

"CNN, Lawrence," his wife said, without a trace of irritation. "Dear me," she added almost immediately. "Isn't that—“

Her husband had gone to the pay telescope, swiveled it around, and was pointing it up the street, in front of the tanks. He turned away from the machine, patting his pockets furiously.

"I don't suppose you'd happen to have—" he started to ask Mrs. Garr.

"Here, Lawrence," his wife said, putting a quarter into his hand. "But it's our last one."

The professor turned back to the telescope, put the twenty-five-cent piece in eagerly, and re-trained the machine on a now visible column of skeletons marching toward the Empire State Building in perfect ranks.

"Yes, I do believe . . ." Lawrence said, peering furiously into the machine. "It is! I can see the bare outline of their uniforms. The Seventeenth Light Dragoons. Magnificent!"

He turned the telescope over to his wife.

"We had heard about this, on the radio," he said to us. "They were General Cornwallis's crack troops stationed in New York City during the Revolutionary War. A marvelous straight-arrow band of fellows." He turned to his wife. "Can you see their buttons, dear? Do you see the shine on those boots?"

"I can see the red of the uniforms distinctly," Katherine replied.

"Let me see, lady," Ralph said, taking over the telescope.

"They're fools, of course," Lawrence said, "and they'll be cut to ribbons by the tanks, which are under
Fiorello
La Guardia's control, the last we heard. It took La Guardia two weeks to unseat Peter Stuyvesant. For a while it looked as though Stuyvesant had the quick mind necessary to adapt, but when La Guardia retained control of the National Guard, and the Armory on Sixty-sixth Street, and especially after securing an alliance with Franklin Roosevelt, Stuyvesant was doomed from that moment on. I believe we're seeing that doom come to fruition."

While Lawrence regained the telescope, we peered down into the street. The tanks had turned their turrets from the Empire State Building and trained them on the oncoming troops.

"It won't be long now, I'm afraid," Lawrence said, with a mixture of sadness and excitement.

The tank turrets blossomed fire and smoke. We heard the dull thud of the shots. A moment later the advancing ranks of the dragoons were broken by three huge holes. When the smoke cleared, the column was closing ranks, leaving drifting dust behind.

"
Whammol
" Ralph said, laughing

The tanks fired again; again the ranks were broken but quickly mended. There were salvos of gunfire from the flanking buildings now, and we saw the tiny skeletal figures puff into nothingness left and right.

Groups of armed skeletons drifted out of the side streets and streamed toward the dragoons. Still the Britons refused to break ranks. I heard a dim shout of command, and the dragoons fixed their bayonets. Their numbers had been reduced by half.

The battle was joined. As the rear ranks of Dragoons were cut to pieces by tank shells, the front were decimated by M-16 fire, hand grenades, and martial arts close-up combat. It was soon over.

"Is that it?" Ralph said, turning away to go sit by the door again. "Man that was boring"

Lawrence abandoned the telescope, sadly. "They never had a chance," he said.

"There, there, dear," his wife soothed.

In the street below nothing remained of the Seventeenth Dragoons. A drift of smoke sifted piles of dust. Once again the tank turrets turned toward the Empire State Building, and we heard and felt their dull pounding.

The steel door was rapped on twice. Ralph rose and opened it a crack, his gun ready.

He opened the door all the way, revealing the uniformed black man named Randy and the woman who had taken us up in the elevator.

"Have fun?" Ralph said, smirking.

Randy ignored him.

"First the good news," Randy said somberly. He fished in the pocket of his khaki jacket and produced a packet that he tossed to Lawrence. It landed at the professor's feet. He picked it up.

'Tobacco!" the old man cried happily. He peered at the cover of the plastic pouch. "Not my regular brand, but it will do marvelously!"

"Candy store downstairs had it," Randy said. "Now the bad news," he continued. He looked away, and waited for the booming sound of cannon fire to expire below before continuing.

"I got through on the radio downstairs," he said. "They're sending a copter from the heliport like they promised. But it's already half-full. All of us can't go."

He looked at us, but his face was not as hard set as he wanted it to be. The woman next to him still looked at the ground. "Helen and I are going. There'll be room for ... one more."

He continued quickly. "Settle it among yourselves. Draw straws, or whatever you want to do. But be quick about it. The chopper will be here in eight minutes. He's only going to touch down for thirty seconds. Helen and I will be on the other side of the deck."

They walked quickly away.

"I told you he was putting it to her," Ralph said. "Well, shall we draw straws?" Lawrence said.

"Nah, I've got a better solution," Ralph said. He hefted his gun up. "I'm going."

"But young man—" Lawrence began.

Ralph waved the gun in Lawrence's face. "I'm going, and that's it. Make believe I drew the short straw, if it makes you feel better." He looked at each of us in turn. "And if any one of you says anything to
loverboy
or Helen, I'll shoot you. Is that clear enough?"

He turned and walked to the other side of the observation deck, looking back once to grin and wave. "Bye-bye."

"Why, I've never—" Lawrence sputtered, starting after Ralph. "In all my years I've never—"

"Lawrence," his wife soothed, holding him back. "Let the boy go. It doesn't matter. You know neither you nor I would have gone without the other, and I'm sure Mrs. Garr here would not have left Claire behind. The only qualm I feel is that Claire didn't get a chance to get on that helicopter."

I shook my head and held on to Mrs. Garr.

"There, you see, Lawrence? It would have turned out this way, anyway. It's all for the best. Let the young man go."

"But the unfairness of it!" Lawrence sputtered.

The tanks fired again. The building shuddered.

There came a new sound, a distant ratcheting that grew in volume. We looked up. Through the pall of smoke covering the city to the east, rode a helicopter, bearing distinctive army markings. It drew closer.

"Hide," Lawrence said suddenly.

Katherine said, "Lawrence, why in heaven's name—”

“Do as I say," Lawrence repeated, leading us to the metal door.

We went down the steps. Lawrence closed the door after us. We were in dim light. Lawrence led us down an echoing hallway to the other side of the building, where we climbed another set of steps.

There was a door there. Lawrence opened it, admitting us to a spacious office with huge curving windows giving a view of the observation deck.

We could see Randy, Helen, and Ralph waiting, looking up.

"Stay in the shadows so we can't be seen," Lawrence cautioned.

We stayed by the back wall and watched.

The helicopter appeared, hanging in the sky, then dropped closer.

Randy waved up to it.

The copter lowered even farther. We could hear the roar of its chopping blades. A door in its side slid back. A rope swing was lowered down.

Randy helped Helen into it, called up something. The sling was raised.

When Helen reached the top, she disappeared quickly into the copter's open door. The sling lowered again, and Randy got on.

The sling went up, and Randy climbed into the copter.

The rope was lowered again, and Ralph was hoisted up.

When he reached the opening, skeletal hands reached out to pull him in.

He struggled. Helen appeared briefly in the doorway, groping for the rope, trying to climb out of the copter. But already her strength was failing, a long wash of red draining from her cut throat. Randy's form appeared, struggling with a skeletal figure who slashed at him repeatedly.

At the top of the rope two figures tried to pull Ralph into the copter. He fired a shot. One of them burst into dust. The copter jerked, then steadied in the air.

Helen, flaking away to skeleton, rose and helped to subdue Randy while he was cut by another bony figure. As Randy turned to skeleton Helen motioned toward the observation deck.

"She's told them about us," Lawrence whispered.

Ralph shot again, hitting Helen in the chest. As Randy rose in skeletal form Helen turned to dust before him.

Holding himself back on the rope, Ralph shot again, into the interior of the copter.

The copter gave a sudden lunge downward. It tilted right.

The rotors hit the edge of the building and snapped.. The copter rolled over, chuffing like a giant beast. One of its landing struts caught momentarily on the safety extension at the edge of the observation deck. There was a loud scrape as it twisted free.

Ralph, poised outside the open door, fired off a last shot, stuck his handgun in his jeans, and clung wildly to the rope.

The copter lurched. Ralph was jerked away from it, shaken free of the rope, and hurled out over the edge of the Empire State Building, screaming.