Alien Invasion (Book 2): Contact Page 19
“It’s the exhaust.” Terrence looked at Heather. “If we set the fire far enough in, it should draft out.“
“If,” Raj said.
Lila shook her head, looking at her mother and Raj. “What’s wrong with you two? I thought you wanted to go outside.”
“I do.” Heather said, although she’d surrendered much of her urgency over the last day. She wasn’t ranting about how the thumping might herald Meyer Dempsey’s return.
“This is the way,” Terrence said.
“Setting a fire. Maybe you don’t remember the fire we had before. The one that almost killed us? Oh, wait. No, of course you don’t. Because you were outside, having set it.”
“That was always controlled,” Terrence said. “We knew the smoke would vent, and that it wouldn’t burn long because the halon fire-suppression system would — ”
“Oh yes.” Heather touched her chin in mock thought. “That’s how you planned to burst in here. By tricking us into trying to save ourselves after almost burning us to death.”
“We’re fine, Mom,” said Lila, looking at Christopher.
“So you think this is a good idea?”
“I think it’s the only way.”
Raj said, “Because you have such an extensive engineering background?”
“I don’t need engineering to understand how fire works, Raj!”
“Look,” Vincent said. “We can’t go out the front door anymore. There are too many people up there. And I don’t care how much of Meyer’s artillery we take — I’m not willing to go up top just to shoot our way through the crowds. I’m not too big on killing people who don’t deserve it. But asking them nicely won’t keep people from shoving their way down here when they realize what’s under the house, and while I’m a hospitable guy, I don’t think any of us want to share with huddled masses that might number half a thousand.”
He looked around the group, waiting to see if anyone would argue. Nobody did. They’d discussed this at length. There was no way to pop the door and walk out, even in the dead of night. That had worked a few weeks ago and had worked to dispose of Morgan’s body and create a false “the bad guys left” trail. But it wouldn’t work now. Topside growth had been exponential. It was as if everyone was telling their friends, and their friends were telling friends. What they were all coming for or waiting on, Trevor didn’t understand. His father’s assertion that the place was his center in the world shouldn’t make it magical for anyone else, and it didn’t seem likely that the alien ships were going to keep returning on repeat. To Trevor, the hippies’ mood above was a kind of group psychosis, not unlike the emperor’s new clothes.
“So there’s only one option, and that’s to create a distraction,” Vincent continued. “But it’s kind of a Catch-22. We can’t go up there to create a distraction because that means going through the same door they need to be distracted from.”
Raj raised his hand. “I have a question.”
Reluctantly, seeming to know he was taking bait, Vincent said, “Yes?”
“Can anyone explain why a man paranoid enough to stockpile fucking gas masks and plastic explosives,” he pointed at the heavy door to the arsenal, “wouldn’t think to give his hidey hole a second entrance? Isn’t that the first rule in the paranoid rulebook: Never get backed into a corner?”
“Nice way to talk about the guy who saved your ass,” said Trevor’s mother.
Raj ignored her and raised his eyebrows at Vincent.
Terrence answered. “The second exit is the air shaft. It’s six-six in height and comes out in a little toolshed on the far edge of the property, back into the woods a bit. But they’ve clustered around its end, too. If we eliminate the grates and go out that way, we’ll be seen just the same. And from what I can tell, it’ll be a bitch to carry stuff out that way. You have to climb rungs set into the sides of a vertical shaft. We have that option in an emergency, but right now we need a distraction.”
“And a fire is how we do it,” Heather said.
“Yes.” Vincent crossed his big arms and nodded slowly. “There’s no fire suppression in the vent itself. We can set the fire far into it, keep the fuel wet to make it smolder more than burn. We’ll make smoke. The fire will produce smoke that the corridor’s natural outdraft will waft up the chute, through the shed, without flowing back into the bunker — as long as it doesn’t burn too hot. We can put a few fans in the shaft, to increase the draft.”
“As a bonus,” Terrence said, tapping his sketch, “if we cut into the vent here, that should give us access to reach the ducts above that feed into the house. We build the fire here,” again he tapped the schematic, “and the smoke should vent up into the house as well as to the shed.”
“I thought we wanted it to look like the shed’s on fire,” Trevor said. “To draw attention?”
Terrence nodded, eyes buried behind his giant sunglasses. “Right. We want them going to check out the big column of smoke. And they will, because that’s what people do. Fire is dangerous, but everyone wants to watch it burn. Routing some of the smoke into the house should set off the smoke alarms. Combine some smoke in one place with smoke and alarms in another. They should make the connection and leave.”
“But won’t they just go right back after they realize there’s no fire? And won’t the smoke give us away when they notice nothing in the house has burned? How will we get back? If we’re out there for even an hour, people will go back inside, won’t they?”
These were the tips of Trevor’s questions. They also had no idea what they’d find when they surfaced, and Vincent had been mum on what exactly qualified as “clearing the deck.” They needed the bivouac shantytown to disperse so they’d stop clogging the bunker’s air intakes (and allow its occupants to occasionally go outside), but right now the plan was about sneaking and hiding. What came next?
But one issue at a time.
“We go down the shaft,” Vincent answered.
“You mean the shaft with all the smoke?” Heather asked.
“After we’re up, Dan will douse the fire,” Terrence said. “The people camped around the shed will have found another place to hang out because all their shit will smell like smoke. We won’t be able to get back in through the house without being seen, but we should be able to sneak back in through the vent. We’ll be lighter, so the ladder won’t be a problem.”
“What exactly are you planning to carry in the first place?” Raj sounded as if he might already know.
“It’s no problem,” Vincent answered. “Christopher and I will carry it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“All told, the risk is low,” Terrence said, ignoring Raj. “We already know the shaft drafts pretty well, and fans in front of and behind the fire will make it draft even better. The outvents are surely concealed — we know that because no one’s come down here. The schematics show a rather large trapdoor on that end, concealed and locked with a system like the one on the main entrance. If I’m reading the plans right, air drafts out through something like two dozen smaller vents concealed to look like a primitive sort of baseboard heat system in the shed, and the chimney. It should look plenty on fire. And like I said, we can always put it out.”
“I have a question.” Again, Raj raised his hand. “What are you planning to do when you’re up there?”
Vincent didn’t look over at Raj.
“Let’s get started,” he said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Cameron slept fearfully that night. He didn’t show his fright to Piper, so she fell asleep beside him, exhausted more than peaceful.
They’d avoided the highway throughout the rest of the day just as before, but this time they both seemed to agree without speaking that they should avoid all other traces of humanity. Doing so was easy. The mountains and woods seemed to sprawl forever. As long as they didn’t cross Route 70 and followed the setting sun, they were heading in the right approximate direction. Cameron wasn’t worried about getting lost.
He’d traveled many nameless roads in the world’s corners both with his father and alone — places where GPS was worthless and maps were suspect. When attempting a return to his father, after the networks fell silent, he’d had to revisit those skills.
A person soon learned that the adage was true: Whatever didn’t kill you made you stronger. Literally: It seemed to take something maliciously trying to kill you to knock most people down. Those new to “surviving” as a bare-bones standard often fretted over food and clothing and small comforts like toilet paper. They’d sweat predators, infection, exposure. Those things were worth minding, of course, but in Cameron’s experience, the biggest threats were more obvious. Far more black and white.
Today, if he had to guess, most people were finding shelter and living a stripped-down version of their old lives — perhaps a very stripped-down version, where “survival” ended up being enough. Others were living high, building their own little groups like the Andreus Republic, scavenging what they could. Maybe a bunch were still in cities, going about their business as if little had changed — because when you got right down to brass tacks, not much had, except for the families of abductees.
What was being done to the world today was mankind’s doing, not the aliens’.
They’d managed to evade their pursuers, who seemed to have given up after losing the trail. Those people hadn’t managed to kill them as they’d killed the runner, Simon. So now he and Piper were stronger. They were alive. Little else mattered. They’d head west, then follow 70 close enough to reach Moab. Cameron knew the way from there.
Their eschewing of all human contact had left them light on supplies and needing shelter, but the air wasn’t overly frigid, and they’d found a spring for water. They’d survive. He’d be cold if he’d made this trip alone — burying himself under whatever he could find, but cold nonetheless. Fortunately, he’d brought a heater: Piper. And she had him for a heater as well.
They slept without dreams.
Cameron woke before dawn. He’d passed the night in fits, unable to get comfortable even with Piper wrapped around him. The woods were filled with sounds, but still things seemed too quiet. Whatever strange connection they’d shared, it was gone. Cameron found he missed hearing her thoughts. They’d been a warm hand, soothing scars he didn’t dare show.
Piper blinked then slowly sat up.
“Morning,” he said.
“Is it morning?”
Cameron pointed at the eastern horizon, which bore the barest blush of violet. In the otherwise black sky, that smear of color was almost bright.
“That’s not morning. Wake me when the coffee is ready.”
Cameron sighed. “We’re going to need to find transportation today.”
“I hope you brought a bus schedule.”
“I miss the horses. They’re faster than we are and don’t force us to eat as much to sustain our energy. And they consumed a naturally renewing source of food.”
Piper blinked around, fighting sleep. Cameron repressed an inappropriate flash of attraction as he watched her, telling himself that it was their tight situation causing it, rather than anything genuine.
“Can we find other horses?”
“I’m sure we could. I just can’t help but feel we should pick up the pace.”
“Why?”
“Just a feeling.”
Piper nodded. Cameron didn’t need to explain. During the previous day’s odd mental acrobatics, they’d both sensed something as indistinct as the foreboding felt while looking at the cluster of three trees. A sense of being watched — of something unseen ducked out of sight milliseconds before they spun their heads to catch its eyes upon them. During the worst of their pursuit, the sensation had been too much in the background to mind. But once in the clear, their connection to one another had broken, leaving only its ghost. It felt pressing, causing them to look back. Especially up, as if their watchers might be arriving from above.
“We could get a car.”
“No roads.” Cameron shook his head. “Who would drive a car right now? Haven’t you ever seen any disaster movies? Everything bad happens when people try to drive.”
“Meyer drove us from New York,” Piper said sheepishly.
Cameron looked away. “Well. I’m sure it made sense at the time.” And hey, maybe it did. Before panic, roads were fine.”
“What then?”
“Those ATVs were pretty nifty. Where do you think we can get one?”
“You aren’t worried about the noise?”
“Actually,” Cameron said, “I was wondering where we’d find one. But now that you bring it up, yes, I’m worried about the noise. Also, I don’t suppose you know where we can find a glider plane?”
Piper shrugged. A cute gesture — sarcastic without being pandering.
But he should stop this.
Their banter was annoying. If two other people had been doing it and he’d been watching, he’d have told them to knock it off. No flirting with the big man’s wife. Because that’s what Meyer Dempsey was, even if nothing else: a big man. An important man. Cameron knew Benjamin was right when he saw the throngs flocking to the place of Dempsey’s abduction. Meyer wasn’t the only one who’d sensed something about that place, and even if no one in Moab knew what he’d sensed, it didn’t change the fact that he had, and had built a home there. His abduction wasn’t coincidental. The sooner they found out how or why Meyer and Vail were important, the better.
Cameron picked up his rifle and slung it back over his shoulder, rubbing the spot on his chest that seemed to be a bruise rather than a broken rib.
“Horses then.”
Piper looked up. “What? You want to go now?”
“Do you want to stay for the continental breakfast?”
“But it’s barely light.”
Cameron peeked at the bandless watch he kept in his pocket — his great-grandfather’s timepiece still ran, though he’d never bothered to make it suitable for his wrist. Before the networks fell, it always made more sense to check his phone for the time. Well, the joke was on the world. Granddaddy’s watch still had a purpose other than sentimentality after all.
“We’ve slept nine hours.”
“Nine hours!” Piper stretched. “I don’t believe you.”
Cameron found himself wanting to banter back as she smiled playfully at him in the scant predawn light, but he forced himself to look away, now snugging the rifle.
As if on cue, Piper’s stomach grumbled.
“I guess I don’t need to remind you we don’t have any food. We could go scavenging for mushrooms, but I think it’s worth following a surface road a bit and looking for a farm. If we can find an abandoned one that had horses, they’ll probably still be in the barn. Two birds, one stone. We need transportation either way, so we can look for any leftover supplies while we’re daring to approach a man-made building. And if there’s no food in the pantry, maybe they’ll have cows. I’ll milk them to get us some calories if I have to.” Cameron shrugged. “Way I figure it, when people abandon a place, they probably don’t think much about their chores.”
“Why would you abandon a perfectly good farm?”
Cameron didn’t want to answer. The chances that a farmer would simply leave seemed slim, but the odds that the farmer could have been killed or dragged away were plenty robust. And besides, when people panicked, many moved around. If he didn’t know better, Cameron would have thought the same about Meyer rushing his family across the country when the ships had appeared on Astral. Why not stay where he was? It made no sense. But that was humankind for you, always looking for greener grass.
“Let’s just see what we can find,” Cameron said.
It took them until the sun was fully up to come across the first farm’s back fence: an obvious no-go. They stayed low, Cameron wishing he had the binoculars that had been in his backpack with the rest of his gear. But even from this far they could see a pair of armed sentries. They moved on, stomachs grumbling.
On and off, Cameron pulled out his radio. The batteries would only last so long, but it turned out that power, at least for the moment, wasn’t the problem. He’d programmed the radio with open frequencies, but communication with Vail had thus far proved impossible. They could hear chatter. Ninety percent was military. But in dead spaces, Cameron tried raising the bunker, using the call signs and codes he’d worked out with Vincent before leaving, trusting Terrence’s antenna modifications in Vail to do its job. But there had been almost nothing.
“Any luck?” Piper asked as he returned the radio to his belt.
“Lots. But I still can’t raise them. It’s strange.”
“Do you think they’re okay?”
Cameron hadn’t a clue. And considering the care they’d taken to ensure they’d be able to communicate, the lack of response made “they’re not okay at all” the most reasonable explanation for the silence. But he kept quiet. It could be anything: sunspots, maybe even that double line of Carnac stones they’d crossed that had scrambled their thoughts so completely. Maybe they were fine. And they’d stay that way, with Vincent and Terrence in charge. Even Dan would give his life for them. He’d damned near given his life for Cameron enough times before they’d rendezvoused with Vincent and Terrence.