. "Symbols mean nothing outside of
their context. But I never expected to hear that from a
religious guy!"
     "I'm full of mysteries," he said.
I was glad for our little debate. It took our mind off
the fact that the sky kept changing. It was now
completely green. Made me think of fat frogs and
mold. The lemon stench was bad enough that it
seemed the same as back on Deimos and Phobos. I
had forgotten how after a while you get used to
anything and then you could ignore it.
     Albert reminded us he was in charge of the map by
pointing out we were nearing the sabotage point. "I'd
say we're a mile away," he said.
     "Let me take the wheel back, Jill." The kid didn't
argue, glad to say. I started slowing down the
Humvee.
     "We need to tip it over on the tracks just past that
curve," said Albert. "We don't want to derail the
train."
     "Right," I said. "They should see it in plenty of
time after they come around the bend."
     "Have you given any thought to how we're going to
tip this monster over?" asked Arlene. "It must weigh
a couple of tons."
     "I sure have. That's why I brought along--Block
and Tackle in a Drum!"
     She didn't seem to appreciate the humor.
15
     No, really, A.S. I'm not joking."
"I'm not laughing."
     I held up the drum.
Arlene squinted. "C-4? Plastic explosive?"
     "Just a soupcon. A bit of spice for an otherwise
drab mission."
     The others stood back at a safe distance as I parked
the vehicle next to the tracks, molded a goodly glob
on both front and rear left tires, then rolled it forward
until the C-4 was against the ground. I fused both
bunches with identical lengths of det cord, lay flat and
closed the connection.
     Jill covered her ears; clever kid.
The Humvee is normally one of the most stable-
wheeled vehicles ever built; but even its wide body
and long wheel base was never meant to stand up to a
double charge beneath the left side. With a flash and a
bang, the C-4 did its job: the wheels blew off, but not
before the entire vehicle jerked into the air and rolled
along the longitudinal axis, landing upside down on
the rails. I held my breath as it skittered and spun--
but it came to rest still blocking the tracks.
I even had more C-4, just in case we'd needed a
slight adjustment.
     "That wasn't too tough," declared Arlene, standing
with hands on hips, surveying the undercarriage.
"Of course you'd say that," I complained, "after
letting me do all the work."
     "You! You mean you and Charlie Four!"
"What do we do now?" asked Jill.
     "We guard the gear," I said, "and hurry up and
wait. Hey, welcome to the armed forces."
     "Inconsiderate of the fiends not to post their sched-
ules for us," said Albert.
     "Amen," agreed Arlene, to Albert's amusement. I
had expected her to say something sarcastic in reply,
but she patted him on the arm. They really seemed to
like each other. Maybe their argument over Judgment
Day was a test for each other.
     The idea, of course, was for us to climb aboard
when the train stopped to clear the tracks. We'd stay
back until it started to move again; then we'd take a
running leap and catch the ladders, humping up to the
roof.
     I was worried about Jill; I had no idea whether she
could make the jump; and if she missed . . . But she
was a wiry kid and looked like a tomboy. All the
same, I quietly removed everything heavy from her
pack, including her CompMac ultramicro; couldn't
afford to let her drop it under the wheels ... or drop
herself.
     "Can I put my ear to the track and listen for the
vibration?" asked Jill. "I saw that in a movie."
"You don't think you'll fall asleep?" I asked back.
"It could be a long wait."
     She assumed the position and managed to stay
down for a good twenty minutes before flipping over
and trying the other ear. Fifteen minutes after that
she decided that it could be a long wait and joined us
over by the stuff, around the hill.
     "Why do they have to change the sky?" Jill asked.
"I don't know," said Arlene, "but it makes me
appreciate the night. At least we won't see the green
then."
     Albert passed around some beef jerky. We had
plenty of water and didn't have to worry about
rationing yet. We carried chlorine pills to purify the
water, which wouldn't help much if the aliens poi-
soned it with some nerve toxin.
     Jill poked Albert. "Why do you think these are
demons if they can be killed?"
     He looked at me, raising his brows.
"Don't give me a hard time," I said. "I haven't
discussed it with her. She can think for herself, you
know."
     "There are greater and lesser powers," he said.
"There is nothing wrong with viewing these creatures
as alien invaders as our Marine friends do. But we
believe they would not have taken on these guises
unless they were directed by genuine demonic
forces."
     "Then why don't we exercise them?" said Jill.
Arlene smiled. "You mean exorcise, Jill."
     "I like exercise better," I interjected. "Some of
these monsters seem out of shape to me. We should
capture one and PT the hell out of it."
     "Speaking of which--" Albert began, but he didn't
have to finish. The train whistle was high and loud, a
lonely call from the remnants of our world. "I don't
think you'll need to place your ear to the track," I told
Jill.
     First, there was the rumbling. Then it came around
the bend, bigger than life, the engine the head of a
dragon, each car behind it a segment of spinal cord.
Thousands of tons rushed toward our little Humvee,
lying across the dark rails like a sacrificial offering.
"It's not slowing down," whispered Jill.
     There was no way the man or monster in the engine
couldn't see the obstacle in the path of the train. The
natural reaction was to slow and stop.
     Instead, they chose the unnatural reaction--
dispelling any doubts about what sort of creature was
driving. The monsters were among us.
     The damned train sped up! The drone of the giant
diesel electric motors drowned out the world, sinking
our great plan beneath drifts of sand as if drowning in
that dry ocean.
     Jill moved forward, still going to give it a try; but no
way would I let her commit suicide. I grabbed her arm
hard and shouted, "Back off, everyone!" If that behe-
moth came off the tracks, it could explode and
obliterate us like bugs. I had other plans, foremost
among them to stay alive.
     We ran, the roaring of metal-on-metal and groaning
diesels directly behind us. We felt the impact of the
collision before we heard it, as the vibration tuning-
forked through the desert into the soles of our feet and
up to our hearts. The sound ripped through my head,
made my teeth ache, and squeezed my lungs with the
weight of the crash.
     Bible stories ran through my head, the good old
King James version, with the Old Testament warnings
and massacres. Lot's wife looked behind her after the
Lord God told her not to. She was too curious for her
own good--my kind of woman. I couldn't resist a
backward glance either.
     The train plowed through the Humvee like it wasn't
even there except as a sound effect. Pieces of our
transportation flew at us, and I realized there was a
certain wisdom to Bible stories. This crap could sever
our necks and smash us to pulp. You could actually
hurt an eye.
     We kissed dirt, and something whizzed past my
right ear, but I had no curiosity to see what it was.
Finally, the dangerous sounds went away.
     Standing up to see the remains of our vehicle, I
checked that my three buddies weren't bleeding or
buried under hunks of twisted metal. The receding
train reeled drunkenly from rail to rail, like an Iowa
farm boy with a snootful on his first night of liberty. I
half expected to see a fat, red demon riding in the
caboose, leaning out and giving us the finger. Then
again, a good number of these beasties lacked the
digits and dexterity to perform such a feat.
"So," said Arlene, after a long, dramatic pause.
"What's Plan B?"
     Jill occupied herself spitting out a mouthful of dirt,
while Albert helped her to her feet. "Liabilities," I
said: "no Humvee; no train."
     "Assets?"
"We're alive; we still have our weapons."
     "Feets do your stuff," said Albert.
"We'll hike into Phoenix," I said. "It's already late
afternoon. Better for us to travel by night anyway,
especially on foot."
     "Great," said Jill, but when she didn't continue the
complaint, I let it slide. A little bitching from the
troops can have its salutary effects.
     Whatever the green crap in the atmosphere was, it
didn't prevent the stars coming out, although the
twinkle was a bit weird. Footsore and weary, we took
our first rest stop at midnight.
     "My first girlfriend lived in Scottsdale," said Al-
bert. "I always enjoyed Arizona."
     "Was she a Mormon?" Arlene blurted out.
"No; I'm a convert. We didn't believe in much of
anything, not even each other."
     "Why do you like Arizona?" asked Arlene.
"The desert is clean. The mountains are clean. And
best of all, there's no humidity."
     "You sound like a travel folder," I said.
"Not anymore," he sighed.
     "We'll get our world back, Albert," said Arlene.
An attack of commanditis seized Yours Truly: "If
we're going to save the Earth, then we need to sleep, in
shifts." I took first watch so everyone else could sleep,
but Jill joined me.
     "I can't sleep," she said, "so don't try and make
me."
     "No, I'm glad for your company," I said. "I hate
wasting the rest of the night, and I'm not tired either.
When Albert and Arlene wake up, I'm thinking we
should move on."
     "Fine with me," she said. "I think they're sweet on
each other."
     I stared at Jill, wondering where the hell that
comment came from. I didn't say a word, but the
teenager had given me something to think about
besides how many rounds it took to put down a
spidermind.
     Absolutely nothing else happened for four days,
except Arlene and Albert spent a lot of time arguing,
leaving me to debate computer ethics with the
fourteen-year-old net-cop of the month. Jill was down
on even the slightest infraction against privacy ... by
anyone.
     It was dawn on the fifth day when we arrived on the
outskirts of Phoenix. A number of buildings were
rubble, but some were still standing. We decided to
hole up in one of those. With weapons loaded and in
hand, we moved in. I was pleased to note Jill handled
herself well. This was good. If anything happened, I'd
be too busy to hold anyone's hand.
     In the first alley we entered, we ran into an appetiz-
er of three pathetic zombies. Albert, Arlene, and I
acted so quickly that Jill didn't even get off a shot--
but it was her first contact with the enemy.
We rounded the corner and found ourselves in the
enviable position of staring at three zombie backs. It
was two males and a female; one of the males a
civilian, the other an Army sergeant, and the woman
used to be a cop in life.
     Any qualms I had ever had about shooting women
in the back were burned out of me up on Phobos.
Phobos meant "fear," and fear was a marvelous
teacher. Without a word, I swung my double-barreled
shotgun up to my shoulder, sighted as if aiming for a
clay pigeon, and let fly with the outer trigger.
The living-dead female cop pitched forward with-
out a sound, her head vanishing in a haze of red and
green blood and gray brain matter. The other two
growled and started to turn, but the soldier-zombie
took two taps in the head from Arlene before he got
even halfway around. She kept her AB-10 on single-
shot; no sense wasting ammo.
     The third zombie was armed only with a stick of
some sort; it looked like it used to be a gas station
attendant. It shambled toward us, unafraid, of course;
its only desire was to beat us into a bloody pulp and
perhaps eat the remains.
     Jill whimpered and sank to one knee, fumbling her
AR-19 around. Her numb, nerveless hands shook,
and she suddenly had not even the strength to pull
back the T-bar and cock the weapon.
     Well, no reason to dump a death on her conscience,
even a zombie death; she'd have plenty more chances.
Sparing her a friendly glance, I raised my shotgun
again, the outer barrel still unfired. But Albert beat
me to the punch, expertly firing a quick, three-round
burst that caught the zombie in the face, destroying it
instantly. The guy was good: he had literally fired
from the hip on rock 'n' roll and tapped it perfectly.
I stole a look; his face was grim, determined. I had
no trouble believing he had been a sniper.
     The soup course consisted of five imps who were
attracted by the noise. Given the time of day, thinking
of breakfast would be more appropriate. Time to fry
the bacon.
     They came shuffling around the corner, already
wadding up balls of flaming snot. One was a fast
mother; it heaved its flame wad before we could get
off a shot, and Arlene had to hit the deck to evade.
I heard a snik-click, as Jill finally ran the slide,
cocking the hammer and slamming a round into the
chamber.
     I discharged my remaining barrel, knocking an imp
to the dirt; it was still alive. I crabbed sideways,
cracking the breech and sliding two more shells
inside, while Albert fired short bursts, alternating
between the nearest imps. Each burst drove the target
backward a few steps.
     Then a dead-eye spiny from the back ranks chucked
a mucus ball over the front ranks, catching Albert on
the shoulder. It splattered across his armor, still
burning, and he yelped and dropped the Uzi clone.
Arlene got to one knee, clicked the lever one notch
down, and began firing bursts at the still-advancing
imps. She focused fire on one imp at a lime, taking
them down.
     One of them slid by us somehow; none of us saw the
damned thing. All of a sudden I turned and it was in
my face, hissing and screaming like death on two legs.
16
     I backpedaled but took a piece of flame wad
in the face anyway. Blinded and agonized, I dropped
the shotgun to the pavement and grabbed my face,
screaming. I heard and felt the 180-kilogram monster
looming over me, and I steeled myself to take a savage
swipe to the ribs.
     The swipe never came. I heard the high-pitched
"rim shot" sound of the AR-19 discharging on full
auto, and the monster pitched forward against me. I
rolled to slip it as it fell; I sure didn't want to get
crushed underneath.
     By the time I was able to blink my eyesight back,
the rest of the spinys were room-temp . . . and Jill
stood over the body of her very first kill, managing to
look simultaneously triumphant, sick, and scared to
death.
     "Congratulations, girl," I croaked, still grimacing at
the pain, "virgin no more."
     "Thanks." She looked as ambivalent as she proba-
bly would in a couple of years, when she lost the other
form of virginity . . . unless I'm showing my age by
presuming she hadn't already.
     My mistake; one of the critters wasn't quite dead.
When we huddled to assess damages, it leapt to its
feet and took off down the alley. Arlene, the Hermes
of the group, bolted after the thing, Albert hot on her
heels.
     We raced the imp. I'd never seen one move this fast
before. Was it that this one had the sense to be afraid,
or had the genetic engineering made some improve-
ments?
     The imp scooted around a corner. Arlene followed,
then Albert, and finally Yours Truly. Jill was some-
where behind.
     We spied an open door across the alley, and Arlene
and Albert made a beeline for it; but I noticed a
nearby trailer was rocking back and forth, as if
someone had just entered.
     "Over here!" I yelled. I wasn't used to an imp doing
something as clever as opening a door to mislead his
pursuers before doubling back to his real objective;
but then I hadn't expected the imp on Phobos to talk
either.
     The door was locked, but a trailer door hardly
merited the waste of ammo. As I started to kick it, I
heard a familiar sound. Once you've heard the
humming-whizzing sound of a teleporter, you never
forget it.
     One good thump and we were in; a few sparks of
light hung in space over the rectangular piece of
metal. "Damn," I said.
     "Shazam!" said Arlene.
"Huh?" asked Albert.
     "Just making a little joke before your time," she
said.
     "Hey, I've had friends who take that stuff," Albert
countered. "It's bad stuff, ma'am."
     "We'll get into the cross-cultural discussion later,
kids," I said. "Right now we have more important
problems. Like, should we follow this one or leave
well enough alone?"
     "If we follow," said Albert, "it might put us in the
center of this thing."
     "I think we shouldn't follow, exactly because it
might put us in the center of this thing," said Arlene.
They both had a good point. There was no ques-
tioning Albert's courage; but Arlene and I had the
experience.
     I felt a disturbance in the Force behind me. Jill
squeezed in, her face hard, cheeks streaked where
she'd been crying. But she was in control, the mask
tight.
     "Let's vote on it," she suggested, demonstrating
she'd picked up some vile, egalitarian habits from
somewhere.
     "Sure," I said. "A show of hands for all those who
think we should follow the imp through the
     teleporter." Albert and Jill raised their hands. "Now,
those against." Arlene raised her hand.
     "If you vote with her, it's a tie," said Jill, proving
she'd taken some courses in the Higher Arithmetic.
"It's not necessary for me to vote," I said, "because
Arlene's vote counts as three. The nays carry."
"Oh!" exclaimed Jill, frustrated. Albert merely
shrugged.
     "Let's put a guard on the grid," I said. "The spiny
could return with reinforcements: hell-princes,
pumpkins--"
     "Maybe even a steam-demon," Arlene added. We
could tell that the new monster fighters weren't ex-
actly following the conversation.
     "There's lots of different aliens," said Arlene.
"I know that," said Jill, a touch defensively.
"I'll take first watch," said Albert. "If we're not
going to follow, I'd suggest we hide out in the trailer
. . . but maybe that's not such a good idea. Instead of
teleporting, the--imp?--might drive up with a tank
column. Are we waiting until night before we leave?"
"On foot we'd wait," I said, "but in this truck, the
Bad Guys will probably just assume we're members of
the club. Who but a monster or zombie would be
driving in this region now? Besides, Albert is right; we
have to get out of here like now."
     "Assuming zombies can drive," mumbled Arlene.
"If they have brains enough to shoot, they have
brains enough to drive," I said.
     "Can I drive the truck?" asked Jill, eyes wide. "It
would really be cool."
     I've created a Frankenstein's monster! I thought.
"Can you drive a stick?" I asked. She nodded. "A big
rig like this, double-clutching, multiple forward gears?
Have you ever?"
     "Well, not this big," she admitted. "But I'm sure I
can handle it."
     Normally, that wouldn't be good enough. But this
time, I wanted all three seasoned fighters in the back
in case the imp came back with a beastie battalion.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Maybe we can take the
truck and not be stuck with the damned teleporter." I
went back to it, crouched down and examined it
thoroughly. It was literally melded to the steel floor;
the only way to leave it would be to ditch the entire
trailer. But we still had to get to a place of safety
before we could stop long enough to unhitch cab from
caboose.
     "How about I go up front and look for the keys,"
said Jill, growing happier by the second. She wasn't
about to let this opportunity slip by her.
     "I'm going with you," I said, praying the monsters
would not choose this moment to invade.
     There were no keys in the cab, but I found a set in
one of those little magnetic holders outside, under-
neath the left front fender. This bothered me. If the
monsters were using the truck, why would they hide
the key? Or had they not even used this vehicle as a
vehicle since they attached the teleporter?
     I didn't know how long we'd use the cab--maybe
only long enough to hop the next train, assuming we
could warp back to the original plan. But in the field,
no plan was any good that didn't adjust instantly to
reality. If the truck could get us a good piece of the
way, we should go for it. If it caused more problems,
then we could always switch back to playing hobo.
Jill opened the glove compartment and found a
map showing the most direct route to L.A.--good old
I-10; the best truck stops were marked for conve-
nience. The original driver had been most obliging. If
we were lucky, some of these stations might be
abandoned, with stocks of fuel waiting for us. I could
do without demonic attendants offering free human
sushi with every fill-up. I'd definitely go with self-
service, even if I had to shoot it out for the privilege.
Jill started the engine and I gave her a lecture about
reading gauges. As if I had any idea what I was doing!
But you can't let kids think you don't know.
This led right into a few more lectures about
overheating the engine, dust storms, fatigue factors,
and highway hypnosis.
     At no point did Jill try to shoot me. Her self-control
was exactly what you demand of a good Marine.
"At least there won't be many cars for me to run
into," she predicted. If I didn't know better, I'd think
she wasn't trying to cheer me up.
     "Go west, young lady," I said as a parting shot.
"Find us somewhere safe to park and disconnect. I
don't like hauling around this reinforcement roach
coach."
     "See you later," she answered.
I returned to the back and caught Arlene grinning
like the Cheshire cat that just ate the bird store. Albert
seemed amused by something as well.
     "You were up there a long time," she said.
"Looking for the keys," I answered solemnly.
"You took a long time getting back here since the
engine started," said Albert.
     I wouldn't let them get to me: "Giving her a few
helpful tips, that's all. I'm sure she'll do fine." At that
precise moment the truck lurched forward and
stalled. Everything in the back shifted forward, except
for the teleporter pad. The teleporter pad was just
fine.
     Arlene laughed. At no point did I try to shoot her; if
Jill could hold it, so could I. I'm trained, a
professional--a Marine.
     Jill finally got the hang of shifting--I suppose she
had had some training--and we were on our way. She
proved herself a teenager by driving too fast; then she
swerved suddenly, creating a new mystery to solve:
what the hell was she avoiding?
     Being thrown around inside gave me motion sick-
ness; I hadn't felt this bad since the last time I was on
a friend's boat and got seasick. But I wasn't complain-
ing. Not me.
     Besides, just about the time I would have risked
Arlene's mirth, the spiny sent us a Christmas present.
There was a brief moment of warning, the hum-
ming and the glow. We trained our weapons on the
spot, allowing for a split second of identification.
There was always the remote possibility of a human
escaping from hell.
     Then the thing materialized. It wasn't a recruit for
humanity's army. And it wasn't a zombie, an imp, or
any other old friend. The bastards had sent us a new
monster.
     There was something especially odd about the
appearance. This sucker wore clothes! He had on red
shorts and a white T-shirt. At a quick glance, it looked
like a living skeleton in lederhosen. There wasn't time
for a closer look--we already delayed firing a second
too long. The idiotic wardrobe threw us off.
The thing jumped at me, picked me up with one
hand and threw me at the wall. I rolled with the
impact and scrambled to my feet, still holding onto
my twelve-gauge; but before I could fire, the monster
had Arlene in one claw and Albert in the other. Thin
as it was, we were like rag dolls in its hands.
Jill was shouting through the partition, wondering
what was wrong. I would have loved to tell her, but I
was otherwise occupied, waiting for a clear shot.
The skeleton flung Albert down, but kept hold of
Arlene. The angle made Arlene a shield, so I started
maneuvering around, trying to maintain my footing
with Jill's increasingly panicked driving. As I tried for
a better position, the damned bone pile turned and
punched out Albert!
     I mean, it hauled off and slugged him, and he went
down for the count. The stupid red shorts suddenly
seemed like boxing shorts. If the invaders were devel-
oping a sense of humor, I knew the true meaning of
horror.
     Adding to the fun, Jill started swerving left and
right. Maybe she thought she was helping. She wasn't.
I heard a horrible crunching sound, and I was thrown
to the floor . . . but Red Skeleton remained planted as
if it had grown roots. Jill must have run into a car--
but from here, it was impossible to tell whether it had
been parked or was tooling down the road with Satan
himself at the wheel. At the moment, I didn't care
about anything except dismantling that freaking skel-
eton.
     Back on my feet, duck gun in hand, I shouted loud
enough for Jill to hear: "Keep steady and keep going!"
I was afraid that if she came to a sudden stop, it would
be an advantage for Mr. Bones. I needed my opening.
Then the dumb monster gave it to me. He put
     Arlene down so he could slug her. I let him place her
out of the line of fire, and the minute she was down, I
got in close to the thing and introduced its mouth to
both barrels. The mouth opened just like a human
one. I made sure it would never close again. I blew its
head clean off.
     This slowed it down. Unfortunately, decapitation
was not the last word with this guy. He'd spent so
much time throwing us around like preteen sparring
partners, I hadn't even noticed the pair of rocket
launchers strapped to its back--until now. In its
death throes, Bones bent forward like a hinge and
fired a rocket from each tube.
     Its head was pointing toward the front. . . and
that's where the rockets went.
     The thing splintering into constituent bones, but
Arlene was up from the floor in time to scream "Jill!"
I was already out the trailer door and scuttling along
the running board before the echo died away.
17
     The rockets blew through the front of the
trailer and the back of the cab, passing on either side
of a white-faced Jill while she was driving. Either side.
By some miracle worthy of every Holy Book ever
written, both rockets missed her.
     "Jesus and Mary!" I shouted. I slid through the hole
where the cab wall used to be and sat down next to
Jill. She was white as cotton, shaking like an AK on
full-auto, gripping the wheel so hard I half expected
her to leave indentations. First Rule of Talking to the
Driver When the Driver is in Shock: "It missed you,
Jill; you're all right."
     She nodded very slowly, but didn't speak. I tried
another tack: "Wouldn't you like a break from driv-
ing?" She nodded again. "Well, why don't you pull
over, uh, there," I said, pointing to a tree-lined side
street. There was nothing around here; we could pull
the plug on the teleporter trailer. Jill pulled over.
"Would you stay up here on watch while I return to
the others?" I asked.
     She finally spoke: "Yes. I will. Fly." I patted her on
the shoulder, glad she'd addressed me that way. I
suspected she would be driving more conservatively
after this. I decided not to ask her about the car.
As Jill parked and sobbed, I crawled back into the
trailer. "Our new convenient, modern cab," I said,
"lots of ventilation makes it easier than ever to move
back and forth."
     My attempt at gallows humor fell on adder's ears.
"Fly," said Arlene, voice shaking, "maybe we should
acquire another vehicle."
     "Why?" I asked. She stared at me dumbfounded.
"Let's take a closer look at our new critter," I con-
tinued.
     On first contact it appeared to have no skin at all.
But close examination showed a thin layer of almost
transparent epidermis. Close up, it looked a man in
the terminal stages of starvation.
     "I'd hoped we wouldn't see anything like this," said
Arlene.
     Albert started to get the drift and asked: "You never
saw one like this in space?"
     "No," I answered, "but we saw a place where they
manufactured creatures on an assembly line."
"And living blocks of flesh," said Arlene. "I'm
certain it was human flesh--experiments creating
human flesh."
     "The evils of science," said Albert.
I saw Arlene tense up, but this time it was my turn.
"There's no putting that genie back in the bottle, my
friend. We master everything the universe offers, or
we're wiped out, another failed experiment. No happy
medium or ignorant bliss."
     He held up his gun. "Maybe you're right," he said.
"This weapon would be black magic to Joseph Smith.
I should pick on the engineers instead of the scien-
tists. Some scientists say that some things we can do,
we must never do."
     "Such as?" asked Arlene.
"Godless genetic manipulation," he answered.
"That's what we're fighting, isn't it?"
     "Scientists who talk that way are the worst traitors
to the human race," said Arlene. "I don't really mind
religious people being afraid of new discoveries," she
said, "but scientists are supposed to know better. This
enemy's greatest power is biology. They've turned it
into a superweapon. If that means we have to learn to
use it ourselves, then we have to ... otherwise, we're
disarmed."
     "You'd turn us into monsters like that?" asked
Albert, pointing at the dead one. "Or our children?"
he added.
     "No, of course not," she said. "But why should you
object to genetically engineering angels?"
     "Because they already exist and will help us in the
hour of need."
     "Mexican standoff," I said. "This head-cutting is
officially declared a tie. Now, shall we return to the
matter at hand?"
     "Well, Fly," purred Arlene, "whose turn is it to
name this sucker?"
     "I'm sure it's yours," I lied.
She must have already decided, because right away
she said, "That's easy; a bony."
     "Brilliant," I said. "Don't you think so?" I asked
Albert.
     "I guess," he said. "I guess we should be able to tell
them apart."
     "Albert, would you mind checking on Jill?" I asked.
He was happy to get out of there. As Arlene and I
started decoupling the trailer, I whispered in her ear,
"So what do you think?"
     "I think they're getting closer to copying our real,
human form. Even the stupid clothes are a dangerous
advance. A goal of the aliens is probably to create
false humans; if they succeed, they can infiltrate the
areas not under alien control . . . like Salt Lake City."
"We can expect better frauds as time passes," I said.
"Now let's get to the next town along the railroad line,
hop a train, and continue to L.A."
     Albert and Jill were glad to hear the new plan.
While Arlene and I were busy worrying each other,
Albert had helped calm Jill down to the point where
she insisted on doing whatever driving remained.
Fortunately, it was a sleeper cab for partnered
driving; we squeezed in, Arlene and Albert in the
back, me up front with Jill, and set off down the road.
We passed a score of alien patrols, but the truck must
have had the mark of the beast on the grill, for none of
them threw us a second glance.
     The next town along the line was Buckeye. We
ditched the truck cab, then waited for night. We found
an alley and enjoyed the busy sounds of night life in
this modern world: troop trucks every few minutes,
the tramping of little zombie feet, screams of pain,
howled orders from hell-princes, and the occasional
earthshaking tread of steam-demons. Even more
soothing to our shattered nerves were mechanical
sounds that reminded me of the spidermind, evi-
dently a smaller model. I wondered if this one got
better mileage.
     "Have you noticed an odd thing?" whispered
Arlene.
     "You mean besides everything?" I replied.
"The aliens generally seem to know when humans
are around," she said.
     I hadn't thought about it before, but the facts
supported her. "How?"
     "Remember that lemony smell of theirs, right?" she
continued her line of argument. "What if we smell as
bad to them? They might detect us by the odor we
give off."
     "Maybe they deliberately give the reworked zom-
bies that odor so they can tell them apart from living
humans?"
     "You know, A.S., if the aliens start manufacturing
infiltrators, they sure as hell can't smell like zombies.
That would be a dead giveaway." My heart bled for
the technical difficulties faced by the alien imagineers.
The importance of having Arlene and Yours Truly
on this mission was the background we brought with
us. Remembering how we had turned the monsters
against each other upstairs, I figured we could try it
again when the time came. In fact, it should be even
easier to turn the monsters against the new infiltra-
tors: they wouldn't smell wrong enough.
     Meanwhile, there was the little matter of our imme-
diate survival and carrying on to L.A. . . . and that
meant hopping a freight as soon as possible.
"I have another plan," I told my loyal troops. I
hoped it would sound as good to me as I was about to
make it sound to them.
     We waited for another truck to go by before settling
down to the conference. It was easy to size up the
strengths and weaknesses of our little foursome. Jill
was brainy but callow; Albert was forthright, strong,
reliable, stalwart, and no dummy. But he had yet to
show the special kind of intelligence and instincts
needed for command (another reason for the Presi-
dent of the Twelve not to press about who would
command this mission). Arlene was cynical and so-
phisticated, the best woman soldier I'd ever known.
But at some deep level she lacked a certain badness
that was so much a part of Yours Truly that I didn't
have to think about it.
     The reason for me to be in charge was that I
wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice all our lives if I thought
it would make a difference in winning a crucial battle
in this war. Arlene could make the same decision, but
she'd hesitate where I wouldn't. In a strange way, I
was the safest of the adults to befriend the teenager
because no friendship or emotional ties would cloud
my military judgment. With all that Arlene and I had
faced up to this point, I counted myself fortunate that
we had survived. I was also glad that I hadn't needed
to be a perfect bastard. Yet.
     The truck passed, and they waited to hear the plan.
"You all know that we must infiltrate the train station
and stow away on an outgoing train. The risk will
increase once we do this. Let me point out that until
we reach the enemy computers, Jill is the only one not
expendable. After she retrieves the data, everyone is
expendable, so long as one of us survives to get it
through to the War Technology Center. Get it out to
Hawaii; they'll find you."
     "Yes," said Arlene calmly. Albert nodded. Jill
stared wide-eyed as my words registered.
     I continued: "I noticed a number of abandoned
grocery stores as we were working our way in. I don't
know if zombies still eat human food, but I doubt it.
And I'm certain the monsters don't."
     "Maybe the aliens can't digest what we eat," said
Albert.
     "Well," mused Arlene, "they can eat us; and we are
what we eat." She was being her usual, grisly self; but I
was the only one who smiled.
     "Whatever," I said. "So here's the plan. Albert, you
buzz to one of these stores and collect all the rotting
lemons you can."
     "I get it," he said. "That'll smell like those zombies
we gunned down . . ."
     "Like all zombies," said Arlene.
". . . and confuse their sniffers," he finished his
thought. "Arlene--would you come with me?" He
paused, as if surprised at what he'd said. He looked at
me, remembering our informal chain of command.
"Is it all right if she comes with me?" he asked. "I
mean, if it's okay with her." He stared at her a little
sheepishly.
     "I was going to assign you one of us," I said. "So
long as there are four of us, it's crazy for one to go off
alone. We'll always pair off when we have to sepa-
rate."
     "I'd like to go with Albert, then," said Arlene in an
even tone of voice, betraying nothing.
     "Fine," I said. "Jill and I will wait here until you
return. We'll assume you've run into trouble if you're
not back by, hm, 2200." Among items I was grateful
for, we still had functional watches. Who gave a damn
what day of the week or month it was any longer? The
importance of a wristwatch was to coordinate ac-
tivity.
     Jill and I watched as A&A checked their weapons
and moved out. They ran across the open space,
Arlene first, Albert bringing up the rear, and then I
could breathe again.
     "When do we move out?" asked Jill.
"In a moment. We're still safe here."
     The word "safe" triggered something in her. "I
hadn't thought about it until what you said, but I
don't like being more ..."
     "Critical to the mission."
"Uh-huh. Critical. It feels weird."
     "Don't worry," I said. "After you've done your
hacker bit, you have permission to die with the rest of
us." I tried for a light tone of voice but the words
sounded wrong.
     "I'm not afraid to die," she said.
"I know you're not. You did great in the truck, the
way you kept driving. I'm proud of you." Her whole
body relaxed when I told her that.
     I figured she could handle some more of my deep
thoughts. Arlene and I had been through so much
together that there were things I could say easier to
the new recruit: "Cowardice is usually not the prob-
lem in war, Jill. Most people have more guts than they
realize. Most can be trained to do all right."
"What's the problem, then?" she asked through
slitted eyes.
     I looked up and down the alley. We were still alone,
and it was a pleasure to hear the sounds of demonic
industry muffled and distant. The danger was at arm's
length, a good place to keep it as long as possible.
"In a way, we're lucky to be fighting monsters."
"Lucky?" she half shouted.
     "Keep your voice down!"
"Sorry."
     "Fighting monsters makes it easy. Up to now, all
the wars on Earth have been between human beings.
That's much harder."
     Her face scrunched up as she pondered what I said.
It was like watching thoughts march across her face.
"I could never hate human beings the way I hate the
demons," she said.
     "You're lucky to feel that way," I said.
"How does fighting monsters make it easier?" she
threw at me. "They're harder to kill than people."
"We don't take any prisoners," I said. "We don't
have to worry about any of that. And if we did take
one, we don't have to decide whether we should
torture him. Hell, we don't even know if they have a
nervous system like ours."
     "Torture?" she asked, wide-eyed again. Then she
thought about it. "I could torture them."
     "To get information?" I asked.
"To pay them back for what they've done."
     "Could you torture humans if they'd done the same
things?"
     "I don't know," she said. "What kind of torture?"
Looking at her, I remembered an officer who briefly
passed through Parris Island as my class officer before
moving on to Intelligence, maybe even the CIA (who
knows?).
     He took a whole slate of medical courses, though he
had no interest in being a doctor. He had a weak, limp
handshake. He probably couldn't fight his way out of
a revolving door. He scared the living crap out of me.
I figured I'd given a fourteen-year-old enough to chew
on for one day.
     "Any kind." I didn't elaborate.
"I think I could torture any humans who join the
aliens," she said.
     "Then you're home free," I said. "I don't think the
enemy is doing any recruiting except for zombies."
She brightened. "And we know what to do with
them, don't we, Fly?"
     "We sure do." I tried out one of my playful punches
on the kid's arm, like I did with Arlene. She pulled
away at first, then sort of apologetically punched
back. She gave off all the signs of having been abused
once. By human beings, probably. Human beings
always confuse the issue.
     Now it was time for us to hurry up and wait.
18
     I kind of felt bad leaving Fly and the kid to go
traipsing off with this geek.
     The first time I saw Albert, I thought he was a trog.
Maybe it was the way he held his weapon against the
head of the only other man in my life besides Wilhelm
Dodd who's ever been really worth a damn: Flynn
Taggart, corporal, United States Monkey Corps. As I
joined this Mormon beefcake on the grocery store
expedition, I found myself sneaking glances at his
profile, and finding strength where I'd first suspected
weakness.
     I've always loved strong men. That's how I remem-
ber my father. He died when I was only ten, so I may
not remember him with complete objectivity. But
that's the way I want to think of him. I grew up
defending his memory against my brother, who acted
like a snot and said Dad deserted us.
     I hadn't thought about my family since the invasion
began, except when Fly got me going on my brother
and the Mormon Church. I'd be happy to keep it out
of my mind and off my