Whatever Gods May Be (43 page)

"But what if Earth wasn't destroyed?" Phillips prodded gently.

"What difference does it make?" Zolan shrugged.  "You saw the missiles, the explosions.  Believe me, I did," he recalled with a shudder, "There's nothing moving on Earth now except maybe a few hardy cockroaches."

Phillips looked like he was about to speak again, when Thalick arrived.  Zolan still found himself cringing, as the Stinger moved to within only feet from where he was sitting.

COME     

Zolan whispered through the corner of his mouth at Phillips.  "What does he want?"

Phillips stared down in the valley.  Fires burned out of control inside of the bordering forest, while other flashes walled across the center of the valley itself.

"Something is happening," Phillips said simply.  Zolan peered at the fires and the few giant primitives now running towards the mountain base, or jumping onto the slower moving Stingers also backing away from the valley entrance.

A great line of blinking lights appeared on the skyline, stretching out of the furthest point Zolan could discern.  It looked as if someone had tied a string of torches from one end of the horizon to another.

To his horror, Zolan realized that the fire glow he was watching were not artificial at all, but very much alive.  Thousands of red sparkles peered back at him menacingly.

"Its starting," was all John Phillips bothered to say.

FORTY-FIVE

Zolan was almost buried between four giant men and women also sharing Thalick's back with Phillips.  They attempted to give the smaller humans as much space as possible, but with Thalick scaling the slope in roughshod manner, the ride was bumpy at best, which in turn made balance difficult to maintain.  Zolan had seen Earth pictures of the ancient subways in New York or Washington, and was reminded of their passengers hanging on with grim determination at close and uncomfortable proximities.  Now he and Phillips, and the rest of Thalick's baggage, clutched onto what ever parts of the Stinger's anatomy was close at hand and solid in an effort to remain aboard.

Shrieks could be heard in the distant.  Furthest to the rear, Zolan held on to Thalick's tail and glanced behind.  The light from the fires now outshadowed the hellish glow from the Redeyes pupils, but the howling calling cards rising even above the cries of panic from the tribe echoed horribly from canyon to canyon.  He watched seven or eight Stingers poise themselves for attack just behind the roaring fury of the first firebreak.  As Thalick now gained elevation, Zolan could see the numbers of the enemy the Stingers would soon have to be dealing with.  It did not take a tactical genius to figure out that the petty Thelerick force would soon be overwhelmed by the ocean of hell approaching.

Phillips crawled over to where Zolan was positioned.  Wild-eyed, he gazed at the fires with Zolan.

"It won't hold them for long.  The fire they don't mind.  It's the light and the smoke that'll keep them away for awhile."

"How long?" Zolan asked, coughing from the heavy smell of burning wood that was blowing his way.

"Half hour" Phillips replied through teary and itchy eyes.  "Hopefully, when it goes, the Stingers will have moved us all up the mountain by then.  Not that it will matter a damn!"

Zolan regarded the man inquisitively.

"What do you mean?"

"How do you feel?" Phillips asked, out of the blue.  Zolan was momentarily confused, then considered the question.  Now that he stopped to think about it, he was feeling incredibly weak again, as he once been before Thalick had found him with the Birdog.  He blinked and shook his head.

"You see? The Dark has gotten you too.  In a little while, Thalick's potion will wear off again, and you'll begin to feel the effects of the sickness.  In another day - providing they don't get us first," Phillips said, pointing at the Redeyes along the horizon, "you'll be a dead man.  Like the rest of us."

Zolan noticed that Phillips said this totally without rancor.  He turned his attention once more to the valley floor.

A hundred feet below, Thalick had passed a great bulwark of stone, piled precariously on top of a jutting tumulus.  The Stinger had been forced around the thing for smoother footing, but it now gave Zolan an idea.

"Tell Thalick to stop," Zolan said to Phillips.  The astronaut laughed an ugly laugh.  "You think it's that simple?"

"Please," Zolan urged, his mind racing with ideas and calculations, "just for a moment."

Thank god Phillips was in one of his more sober states.  He did not argue further with Zolan.  Fumbling his way along the armored back, he reached Thalick's head and yelled.

"Thalick.  Stop here."

The Stinger rolled to a halt.  As soon as he did, Zolan jumped off and squinted into the night.  The fire glow from the valley below was substantial now, enough for Zolan's superior eyesight to determine that a potential weapon was about to be overlooked.

Phillips staggered over to where Zolan was standing.  "What?" he asked tiredly.

Zolan chewed his lower lip.

"Just a thought.  You said that thy: Stingers need as much time as possible to get the tribe to safety.  Well, maybe, we can give them that time."

Phillips tried to concentrate, though the pain in his body was reaching excruciating - and distracting - proportions.  "I...don't get you, Rzzdik."

"The rocks," Zolan said emphatically, "There." He point, d almost directly ahead of him.

"I don't see anything." Phillips complained.

"Those rocks," Zolan explained impatiently, realizing a moment later that a mere Earthman would of course not be capable of seeing more than a few feet in front of him in this dim light.  "If one of the Stingers could start an avalanche, it would slow any attacker trying to scale this slope," Zolan continued, "It would work I know it!"

Phillips stared at his new-found acquaintance dubiously.

"I can't see a thing, Rzzdik.  But I believe you.  Unfortunately, we can't spare a single Stinger away from the front line.  There are Jumpers out there, too.  If any of them slip past the Thelericks, we've all had it; more so than if a few Redeyes did the same."

"What about a couple of men? It won't take much to get things rolling."

Phillips turned and regarded the impatient Thalick and the four passengers on his back.  The people were no longer standing.  They had collapsed into a half-sleep.

"I'm afraid they won't be much help.  But you're right.  It's worth a try," Phillips said hoarsely, then looked pointedly at Zolan.  "Feel up to the job?"

"I can't do it alone.  One more man, at least."

Phillips began to amble himself down the slope.  "Let's go." Zolan protested instantly.

"Colonel, you're in no condition-"

"There's no one else, Rzzdik.  I think you can see that.  Besides, it would take too long to explain to any one of my stronger men, and we don't have the time."

Help me! Help my people! Zolan remembered Valry's words and sighed.

"Alright." he said resignedly.  He felt dizzy again, and a wave of nausea nearly sent him to his knees.  "But I think I'll need some more help from Thalick."

Thalick waited while Phillips and Zolan "refueled" themselves from his tail.  He understood what the two men had planned, and found no objection to the idea.  Perhaps, if things went really bad and the Stingers were overwhelmed, this diversionary tactic the alien man had proposed might indeed be useful.  Besides, at least Phillips and Zolan were far enough up the mountain to be rescued at a later time.

As the two men disembarked for the last time, Thalick continued his climb upwards towards the high ledge where Green Belly had transported several hundred people in the past two hours.  It would be the only trek to this mountain sanctuary for Thalick; he would be needed at the valley front once the Redeyes decided to brave the firebreaks.

Fifteen minutes later, and Zolan and the crippled Phillips were crouched behind one massive stone balanced over a pile of clearly unstable rock.  Earth and gravel collapsed around them, and Zolan snorted with satisfaction.  He had been right; with luck and timing, half the mountainside could be sent tumbling on top of the Redeyed bastards.

"What would happen if a Stinger got caught under this?" Zolan asked with sudden concern.

Phillips laughed weakly.  Zolan could see that he was bleeding again from his decapitated arm.

"Don't worry about them," Phillips assured him, "You couldn't hurt one if you tried.  Hard as diamonds."

Zolan grunted and stared at the Stingers below.  Already the fires started in the mutant forest, and along the valley perimeter were dying out quickly.  The glow from this aftermath was now more dim than the more penetrating one from the Redeye horde a hundred yards beyond.  Dejected, Zolan settled himself against the enormous boulder he would use to trigger the avalanche, and glanced at the sick Phillips next to him.

He suddenly remembered something.  Reaching into his coat, Zolan picked out the small flask he always kept for emergencies.  He twisted off the cap and swallowed.  The combination of newly injected Stinger venom and home-made whisky made Zolan's head spin.

"Try this," Zolan offered the bottle to Phillips.  The astronaut took the flask and followed Zolan's example.  "Whoah! What is that? Rocket fuel?"

Zolan smacked his lips and snickered.

"Something like that," he said, and took the flask back from Phillips.  "Won't save your life, maybe, but it sure can't hurt your soul."

Phillips chuckled briefly, then held Zolan's eyes to his own.  "I wish we would have had more time."

Zolan understood.

"So do I," he said unhappily.  There was really nothing further to be said along these lines.

Phillips smiled tiredly, then glanced up the slope of the mountain.  Thalick was on his way back down again, having deposited his load of humans in Green Belly's care a thousand feet higher.

"Poor Thalick," Phillips reflected solemnly, "he hasn't been the same since..." he didn't finish the sentence, as his own troubled thoughts intruded.

Zolan didn't press further.  He knew the old man was thinking of Valry again.

Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the air.  It was followed by a thousand just like it.

Zolan jumped to his feet and stared into the valley.  The Redeye force was now moving forward.

Then star nor sun shall waken,

Nor any change of light:

Nor sound of waters shaken,

Nor any sound or sight:

Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,

Nor days nor things diurnal;

Only the sleep eternal

In an eternal night.

FORTY-SIX

Stonepainter worked furiously, though his fingers trembled with terror as he could hear the whine of the Redeye pack approaching.  He could have left hours ago with the rest of the tribe, watching the final battle from the safety of a thousand-foot high ledge overlooking the valley.

But he had chosen to stay.

He did not know why, for Stonepainter was not so mentally degenerate as to fail to understand what fate now lay in store for him.  By remaining the low caves near the desert, he had sacrificed his chance to live awhile longer with his family on the slopes above.  A compelling demon within him had not allowed him to depart.  He knew that the drawings must be completed.

He was almost done now; a few minutes more, that would be all.  If only the Stingers could give him that, then all would be well.  .

Stonepainter's tools were strewn on the cave floor.  They consisted of several, specially cut rocks and an assortment of colored minerals which he had carefully piled into sections nearby, and were nearly all depleted.  This wasn't important; he would have enough for the finishing touches.

The small fire he had built near the entrance of the cave had filled the place with smoke.  It was also billowing outside, and as a result, Stonepainter could only see a few feet beyond the exit.  Still, the hellish intensity of the approaching vampires eyes was not completely blotted out.  They would get to him before long; not a second could be lost.

The wall tableaus now finished with a new character added; the strange man who had arrived with Thalick earlier that evening.  Stonepainter had never seen bifocals before, so his crude replication of them made the man who was wearing them look almost comical.  Stonepainter had drawn this new player carrying the one called Phillips in his arms and looking to the sky.  Beneath his feet was what appeared to be a globe; Stonepainter would not have understood what a planet was, but his eye for detail had allowed him to imitate the form of one with spectacular detail.  Like a good sketch artist, he had copied exactly what he had seen in his minds eye, without worrying about the reasons behind such visions.  Though it seemed somewhat ludicrous to Stonepainter, the big man was happy nevertheless.  Without the strange visions, he was sure he never would have come up with such colorful ideas.

One detail remained, and it was here Stonepainter paused with wonder.  This part of his mental picture-making was the most difficult to duplicate.  He scooped up a handful of crushed chalk in his palm and felt it crumble between, his fingers.