Dafydd ab Hugh & Brad Linaweaver - Doom 03 - Infernal Sky

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Prologue
"Why are there monsters?"
An exhausted woman looked at her little boy, who
had asked the question that was burning in her own
mind. His voice didn't tremble. She reached over to
wipe his face. They were not wearing camo right now,
and the smudges of dirt were only dirt. It wasn't right
for a ten-year-old to be a seasoned veteran of war, she
thought, but all of the human survivors on Earth
understood what it meant to fight for their lives
against alien invaders.
A long time ago, when she was ten, her only
question was "Are there real monsters?" What a
wonderful world that had been, a sane world where
nightmares stayed where they belonged, lodged in the
gray matter between the ears. Only in dreams would
you encounter giant floating heads that spit ball
lightning; angry crimson minotaurs; shambling hu-
man zombies fresh from their own death; flying metal
skulls with razor teeth dripping blood; ghosts colder
than the grave; fifteen-foot-tall demons with heavy
artillery in place of hands; obscenely fat shapes, only
vaguely humanoid, that could crush the life from the
strongest man in a matter of seconds; and, finally,
there was the special horror of the mechanical spider
bodies with things inside them that were far worse
than any arachnid.
There was no way to answer David, no explanation
for why dream shapes crawled across the land that
once was a country called the United States on a
planet called Earth.
She thanked God that her son was still alive. After
her husband died, there were only three of them.
Three. The number made her cry. They weren't three
for long.
She'd never had time to grieve over the man she
loved. The monsters didn't give her any time at all.
Her daughter, Lisa, had been thirteen.
At least her husband had died bravely, ripped apart
by the steel legs of a spider-thing. For a brief moment
the woman had caught a glimpse of the evil face
peering out from the dome mounted on top of the
mechanical body. She couldn't stop herself crying
out! Her husband couldn't hear her. But the spider-
thing heard everything.
She still blamed herself for that momentary loss of
control. Her daughter might have been alive today if
Mom hadn't freaked out and drawn the attention of
the mechanical horror at that instant. The sounds of
the monster were the worst part as it headed toward
the remaining members of the family. The heavy
pounding would stay in the woman's head forever,
along with the screaming of her terrified daughter—
right before the girl's head was torn off.
A human head makes a sound like nothing else
when it's played with and crushed.
She thanked God David hadn't seen what hap-
pened to his sister. But lately she found herself
wondering if she should ever give thanks for anything
again. Although she'd always been religious, she was
forgetting how to pray. She told herself it was like the
Book of Job: everyone was being tested as everything
was taken away. But the Book of Job didn't have
spider-things in it.
"I don't know why there are monsters," she said,
finally responding to her son's question. "These crea-
tures come from outer space. We've learned some
important things about them."
"What?" he asked.
She looked out the window of the basement where
they'd been hiding for the past week. It was a clear
night, and she could see the stars. She used to feel
peaceful when she looked at the night sky; now she
hated those eternal spots of fire.
"We've learned they can die," she said quietly.
"They are not what they appear to be. They're not
real demons."
"Demons? Like the minister used to tell us about?"
She smiled and ran her fingers through what was
left of her son's hair. "They can't take you to hell,"
she said. "They can't do anything to your soul. Real
demons don't need guns or rockets. And, as I said,
real demons don't die."
David looked out the window for a while and then
said, "But they are monsters."
"Yes," she agreed. "We have to believe in them
now. But I want you to promise me something."
"What, Mom?"
She pulled him close and tried not to notice his
missing arm. "There's something more important
than believing in monsters, David. Our minister
thought we were in End Times. He didn't even try to
fight the spider-things, except with his cross and his
Bible. But they can be fought with weapons. The
human race will prevail! If we have faith in ourselves.
I want you to promise that you'll always believe in
heroes."
"Heroes will save us," he echoed her. The two of
them stood together for a long time, looking out the
window at the blind white stars.
1
"So how did you guys escape from that
death trap?" asked Master Gunnery Sergeant Mul-
ligan.
"With one mighty leap, sir ..." I began, but he
didn't like my tone of voice.
"Oh, don't give me that, Corporal Taggart," he
said. "You guys are holding out on me. You can't tell
me you were trapped near the top of a forty-story
building in downtown L.A. with all those freakin'
demons after you, and then just leave it there."
When he said "you guys," he meant we didn't have
to call him sir. Not here, not now. "That's exactly it,"
I said with a big grin. "We left!"
"We probably ought to tell him," said Arlene sleep-
ily. She stretched like a cat in her beach chair, her
breasts seeming to point at the horizon. She'd left her
bikini top back at the hotel. The view was spectacular
from every angle.
For the last few days we'd been pretending that life
had returned to normal. Hawaii was still a stronghold
of humanity. On a good day the sky was normal. Blue,
blue everywhere, and not a single streak of bilious
alien green. The wonderful sun was exactly what it
ought to be—yellow, round, and not covered with a
new rash of sunspots. At least not today. We'd slapped
on plenty of suntan lotion, and we were soaking up
the rays.
We weren't going to waste a good day like this. The
radar worked. The sonar worked. The brand-new
really good detection equipment worked, too. Every
detection device known to man was in use for sea and
sky. We almost felt safe. So the three of us decided to
play. The master gun was a great guy. Off duty, he
liked to be called George. He didn't mind being
teased, either.
Hawaii Base employed the services of a number of
scientists and doctors. I'll never forget Arlene's reac-
tion when they said that Albert was going to be all
right, despite his having taken a face full of acidic imp
puke. Best of all, he wasn't going to be blind. Once
Arlene heard that, she allowed herself to genuinely
relax. I was damned glad that our Mormon buddy had
pulled through. He'd proved to be one hell of a
marine all the way from Salt Lake City to the monster
rally in L.A. What was more, he'd proved to be a true
friend.
The docs said they could bring Ken back all the
way. Not that Ken had been exactly dead; but he
might as well have been when the alternative was to
exist as a cybermummy, serving the alien warlords
who had turned Earth into a charnel house. He'd
already helped us against the enemy by communicat-
ing to us through the computer setup our teenage whiz
kid, Jill, had thrown together in record time. Arlene
and I had used every kind of heavy artillery against
the demonic invaders, first on Phobos, then on
Deimos, and finally on good old terra firma. Jill had
taught us that a good hacker was invaluable in a war
against monsters.
That's why we were so happy when we landed at
Oahu and found not only a fully operational military
establishment but also a prime collection of scientists.
Arlene and I were warriors. Our task was to buy the
human race that most precious of all commodities:
time. Victory would require a lot more than muscle
and guts; it would require all the brainpower left on
the old mud ball. We needed to learn everything about
these creatures that had brought doom to the human
race. And then we would pay them back ... big time.
Yeah, Arlene and I felt good about the men and
women in white coats. For one thing, they said it was
okay to swim. It had been such a long time since I'd
plunged my body into something as reasonable as
cool salt water that I hardly cared about their reports.
If it didn't look like a pool of green or red sludge, that
was all I needed to know. The Pacific Ocean looked
fine to yours truly, especially today as we enjoyed
fresh salt breezes that would never carry a whiff of
sour-lemon zombie stench.
Jill had decided to spend the day working instead of
joining us. One of the best research scientists had
taken her under his wing. Albert had gone to town. Of
course, the "town" was every bit as much a high-
security military zone as the "hotel." (I'd never had
better barracks.) After what we'd all been through,
this place was heaven on earth. The other islands were
also secure, but they were not set up for the easy life
we enjoyed here.
As I took a sip of my Jack Daniel's, I reflected on
the miracle that I felt secure enough to risk taking a
drink. For the past month of nonstop hell, first in
space and then on Earth, I wouldn't have risked
dulling my senses for a second, or saturating my
bodily tissues with anything but stimulants. Earth
could still count on Corporal Flynn Taggart, Fox
Company, Fifteenth Light Drop Infantry Regiment,
United States Marine Corps, 888-23-9912. I was in
for the duration.
Glancing over at Arlene, I was pleased to see that
she was healing nicely. Even though we treated each
other as best buddies instead of potential lovers, I
wasn't blind. Even the flaming balls of demon mucus
hadn't burned out my capacity to see that PFC Arlene
Sanders had the perfect female body, at least by my
standards: slender but with well-cut muscles and with
everything in ideal proportion.
Sometimes Arlene did her mind-reading act. Now
she glanced in my direction and gave me the once-
over. I guess similar thoughts were going through her
mind. More than our bodies were healing. Our souls
had taken a beating. When we first arrived on the
island, and Arlene could finally accept that we had
found a pocket of safety, she had tried to sleep; but
she was so stressed out that only drugs could take her
under. Even then she'd wake up every half hour, just
as exhausted as before.
I wasn't doing too well when we first arrived, either.
But I was too worried about her to pay attention to
my own aches and pains. She said she'd never felt so
empty. She couldn't stop worrying about Albert. So I
told her all the things she'd said to me when I was
down. About how it was our turn to man the barri-
cades and we had to keep going, past every obstacle of
terror and fatigue and despair. Then I shook her hard
and told her to come out of it because we were on
vacation in Hawaii, dammit!
Master Gun Mulligan was an invaluable help
throughout this period of adjustment. He was an old
friend none of us had ever met before. You meet that
kind in the service when you're lucky. It makes up for
all the Lieutenant Weems types.
Of course, you should only tease a friend so far. The
master gun had every right to know how we'd pulled
off our "impossible" escape from the old Disney
Tower. He just had the bad luck to be caught between
Arlene Sanders and Fly Taggart in a game of who-
gives-in-first.
"All right," said Mulligan, half to himself, slipping
a little as he climbed out of his beach chair. He was a
big man, and he was right at the weight limit. He
didn't really have to worry about it, though. No one
would worry about the minutiae of military rules for
a good long time. If you could fight and follow orders,
the survivors of civilization as we know it would sure
as hell find you a task in this human's army.
Mulligan planted his feet firmly, put his hands on
his sizable hips, and gave us his personal ultimatum.
"Here's the deal," he said. "I'm going back to the
'hotel' to bring us a six-pack of ice-cold beer. When I
return, I have every intention of sharing the wealth.
That's what will happen if you make me happy. But if
you want to see a really unhappy marine, then don't
tell me how the two of you escaped from a forty-story
building with a mob of devils after your blood when
the two of you are in a sealed room, the only exit to
which is one window offering you a sheer drop to
certain doom."
"You've expressed yourself with admirable clarity,"
said Arlene. She loved showing off that college educa-
tion. Didn't matter to me if she ever graduated. She'd
picked up plenty of annoying traits for me to forgive.
"Yeah, right!" he said.
"We'll take your suggestion under advisement."
Arlene laid it on thicker.
"Bullshit!" said Mulligan, turning his back on us
and storming off down the beach.
"One, two, three, four," I said.
"We love the Marine Corps," he boomed back at
us, still headed toward his—and maybe our—beer.
"I think we'd better tell him," I said.
"He wants to know who the big hero is," she
replied. "So he can get an autograph." I noted that she
didn't say "his" or "her."
"You're on," I replied. God, it was fine to sit in the
sun, soaking up rays and alcohol, watching the gentle
waves rolling in to the shore, seeing an actual seagull
once in a while . . . and giving a hard time to a really
nice man who was a newfound friend.
Our moment of pure relaxation was interrupted,
but not by anything satanic. It was an honor when the
highest-ranking officer in Hawaii—and maybe in the
human race, for all we knew—strolled over to talk to
us while he was off duty. He wasn't our commanding
officer, so that made us slightly more at ease when he
insisted on it. The way Arlene blushed suggested she
would have worn the top to her bikini if she'd
expected a visit from the CO of New Pearl Harbor
Naval Base, Vice Admiral Kimmel.
"What are you two up to?" asked Admiral Kimmel.
We hadn't noticed him walking down the beach. He'd
come from the direction where the sun was in our
eyes.
"Sir!" came out of our mouths simultaneously and
we started to get up.
"As you were, marines." Then he smiled and re-
peated his pleasantry as if he expected an answer.
"We were unprepared for your surprise attack,"
Arlene said to the commanding officer and got away
with it. He laughed.
The admiral continued standing. Sometimes rank
avoids its privileges. He took off his white straw hat
and used it to fan himself in the sweltering heat. His
thin legs were untouched by the least hint of tan, but
there was plenty of color, courtesy of his Bermuda
shorts and the tackiest Hawaiian shirt of all time.
When he was off duty, he wore this uniform to
announce his leisure.
"I'm glad someone of your generation knows the
history of her country," the admiral said, compli-
menting Arlene. "It's a strange coincidence that I
have the same name as the admiral who was here
when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. How much
of our history will be destroyed in this Demon War,
even if the human race survives? Guard what is in
your head. The history books of the future may be
written by you."
Arlene sighed. "When we go back into action I
don't think we'll be doing much writing, except for
reports."
"Signing off with famous last words," I threw in
helpfully. It suddenly occurred to me that I might
know something about the admiral that would be
news to Arlene, who was the acknowledged expert on
science-fiction movies and novels. It would be nice to
stump her right here and now on something impor-
tant.
Before I could get a word out, though, Arlene
smiled and said, "Fly, are you familiar with Admiral
Kimmel's book? He's a Pearl Harbor revisionist."
Damn! She had done it to me again, making exactly
the point I was about to make. With this final proof of
Arlene's telepathic ability, I decided in all future
combat situations to let her go over the hill first.
Especially if there happened to be a steam demon on
the other side.
Admiral Kimmel chuckled. "If I hadn't been
friends with the late president of the United States, I
would never have written that book," he told us,
remembering pre-invasion days. The president had
died when Washington was captured by the bad guys.
"He was the one who changed my mind about Pearl
Harbor," the admiral continued, "not my Japanese
wife, as many believe. I believe the evidence proves
that top officials in Washington withheld important
information from the commanding officers at Pearl
Harbor before the Japanese attack in December of
1941. Well, we don't have to worry about that sort of
nonsense in this war."
I nodded, adding, "There's no Washington."
As we talked, I noticed that Arlene became more
relaxed. We discussed our military backgrounds in the
days before the monsters came. I was glad we had a
man in charge of the island who had been a division
officer on a battleship, and a captain seeing action in
the Gulf before that. He'd been doing a shore tour as a
commander when the world capsized.
"There's a pleasant sight," he said, pointing at the
sea. There was a cloud on the horizon. A small white
cloud.
He started to leave and then turned back, his face
suddenly as stern as a bust of Julius Caesar. His
mouth was his strongest feature as he said, "They
won't beat us. It's as if these islands have been given a
second chance. There will never be a surprise attack
here, not ever again. Let them come, in their thou-
sands or their millions. We're going to teach them that
we are worse monsters than they are. This is our
world, and we're not giving it up. And it won't stop
there. We'll take the battle to them, somewhere,
somehow. . . ."
He wanted to keep talking, but he'd run out of
words, so his mouth kept working in silence, like a
weapon being fired on an empty chamber after the
ammo is used up. We both felt the emotion from this
strong old man.
Arlene stood up and put her hand on his arm. She
helped him regain his composure. The gesture wasn't
regulation, but who cared?
For years I'd been asked why a rabid individualist
like me had chosen a military life. Some of the people
who asked that question understood that I wanted a
life with honor, especially after having lived with a
father who didn't have a clue. They could even
understand someone putting his life on the line for his
fellow man. It was individualism that confused them.
I became a marine because I believe in freedom: the
old American dream that had defied the nightmares
of so many other countries. Every Independence Day
I made a point of reading the Declaration of Indepen-
dence out loud.
I loved my country enough to fight for it. Now we
faced an enemy that threatened everything and every-
one on the planet. Any military system that had its
head stuck up its own bureaucratic ass was finished.
Now was the time to adapt or die. Now was the time
to really send in the marines!
2
"I almost brought you some iced tea," said
Mulligan, "with lots of lemon."
Arlene and I both grimaced. "He's getting mean,"
she said.
"A sadist," I agreed. We'd told the master gun
plenty about our adventures, and he had fixated on
the way Albert, Jill, Arlene, and I had passed our-
selves off as zombies by rubbing rotten lemons and
limes all over ourselves. The odor of the zombies had
forever spoiled the taste of citrus for me.
" 'Course I could let you have one of these instead,"
Mulligan continued, holding out two frosty Limbaugh
brews, one in each paw.
"The man's getting desperate," I said.
"Who goes first?" asked Arlene, ready to spill the
beans; and Mulligan hoped they would be tastier than
the typical MRE.
The admiral had left us. He looked like an old
beachcomber as he wandered down the beach. I
thought about what he'd said—how he'd tied the past
and future together with these precious islands as the
center of his universe. Maybe they were the center of
the universe for all humanity.
"Beers first," I volunteered, holding my hand out.
Mulligan looked as happy as Jill when I let her drive
the truck. He passed out the brews and settled his
considerable bulk back in his beach chair.
"Once upon a time ..." I began, but Arlene
punched me so hard it made her breasts jiggle very
nicely. With that kind of encouragement, I got plenty
serious.
"We had to take down the energy wall so Jill could
fly out of L.A. and get here," I began. "In the Disney
Tower we located a roomful of computers hooked into
a collection of alien biotech—"
"Yeah, yeah," Mulligan said impatiently. "I re-
member all that. Get to the window already!"
So I did.
We were too high. I'd never liked heights, but it
seemed best to open the windows.
"We took down the energy wall, at least," I had said
over my shoulder. "Jill must notice it's gone and start
treading air for Hawaii."
Arlene nodded, bleak even in victory. I didn't need
alien psionics to know she was thinking of Albert.
"The war techies will track her as an unknown rider,"
added Arlene, "and they'll scramble some jets; they
should be able to make contact and talk her down."
"Great. Got a hot plan to talk us down?" I asked
my buddy.
Arlene shook her head. I had a crazy wish that
before Albert was blinded, and before Arlene and I
found ourselves in this cul-de-sac, I'd played Dutch
uncle to the two lovebirds, complete with blessings
and unwanted advice.
Somehow this did not seem the ideal moment to
suggest that Arlene seriously study the Mormon faith,
or some related religion, if she really loved good old
Albert. The sermon went into my favorite mental file,
the one marked Later.
She shook her head. "There's no way," she began,
"unless . . ."
"Yes?" I asked, trying not to let the sound of
slavering monsters outside the door add panic to the
atmosphere.
Arlene stared at the door, at the console, then out
the window. She went over to the window as if she
had all the time in the world and looked straight
down. Then up. For some reason, she looked up.
She faced me again, wearing a big, crafty Arlene
Sanders smile. "You are not going to believe this, Fly
Taggart, but I think—I think I have it. I know how to
get us down and get us to Hawaii."
I smiled, convinced she'd finally cracked. "Great
idea, Arlene. We could use a vacation from all this
pressure."
"You don't believe me."
"You're right. I don't believe you."
Arlene smiled slyly. She was using the early-bird-
that-got-the-worm-smile. "Flynn Taggart, bring me
some duct tape from the toolbox, an armload of
computer-switch wiring, and the biggest goddam boot
you can find!"
The boot was the hard part.
The screaming, grunting, scraping, mewling, hiss-
ing, roaring, gurgling, ripping, and crackling sound
effects from beyond the door inspired me to speed up
the scavenger hunt. Hurrying back to the window
with the items, I saw Arlene leaning out and craning
her neck to look up.
"Do you see it?" she asked as I joined her. Clear as
day, there was a window washer's scaffold hanging
above us like a gateway to paradise. When the inva-
sion put a stop to mundane activities, all sorts of jobs
had been left uncompleted. In this case, it meant
quantities of Manila hemp rope dangling like the
tentacles of an octopus. A few lengths of chain, with
inch-long links, were even more promising than the
rope. The chain looked rusted, but I was certain that
it would support our weight.
The tentacles started above us and extended well
below the fortieth floor—not all the way to the
ground, but a lot farther away from the demons in the
hallway working so hard to make our acquaintance.
Arlene used the duct tape and the wiring to create a
spaghetti ladder that didn't look as if it would hold
her weight very long, never mind my extra kilos. But
we needed an extra leg up to get over to the ropes.
"Great," I said. "This looks like a job for Fly
Taggart."
Before I could clamber out the window, however,
her hand was on my arm. "Hold on a minute," she
said. "My idea, my mission."
The locked door was rattling like a son of a bitch,
and the thought of our entrails decorating the office
made me a trifle impatient. That was one kind of
spaghetti I could pass over.
"Arlene," I said, as calmly as possible under the
circumstances, "I have absolute confidence in you,
but this is no time to hose the mission. Let's face it, I
have more upper body strength and a greater reach
than you do, so I should go first." While I explained
the situation, we both worked feverishly to finish our
makeshift rope. Then I tied it around my waist.
Naturally I gave her no opportunity to argue. I was
at that window so fast she probably feared for my life.
A good way to keep her from staying pissed. I took
one mighty leap, making sure she held the other end
of the lifeline, and I climbed up and over, where I
grabbed hold of the nearest rope and started lowering
myself, groaning a bit at the strain and reminding
myself that I had all this great upper body strength. I
only wished I had more of it to spare.
Once I was on the ropes, I swung myself over to
where Arlene could reach them more easily. She
clambered out the window over my head and fol-
lowed my lead.
The annoying voice in the back of my head chose
that precise moment to start an argument. Damned
voice had a lousy sense of timing.
Getting tired, are you? Feeling a bit middle-aged
around the chest area? Old heart hanging in there? The
arms are strong from all those push-ups and pull-ups,
but how's the grip? Your hands are weaker than they
used to be, aren't they? You know, you haven't had
these injuries looked at. . . .
"Nothing a blue sphere couldn't fix up," I mut-
tered.
Medikits aren't good enough for you, Corporal?
You'd rather trust in that alien crap, huh? And how do
you know that you and Arlene weren't altered in some
diabolical manner when your lives were saved in that
infernal blue light?
"I'm hanging from a freakin' rope and you choose
this moment to worry about that?" I shouted.
"Fly, are you all right?" Arlene called down.
"Okay," I called back, feeling like a complete idiot.
Normally I don't argue out loud with the voice in my
head.
"Don't go weird on me now," she said. "If I fall, I
want my strong he-man to catch li'l ol' me."
"No problemo," I promised. "But I think we're
getting enough exercise as things stand." Well, at least
I'd convinced her I was playing with a full deck again.
As if life had become too easy for us, the door in the
office flew off with such force that it smashed through
what was left of the window and went sailing in the
direction of the freeway. The door was as black and
twisted as if someone had turned it into burned toast
and tossed it in the trash.
The first monster to peer out the window, if black
dots count as eyes, was one of the things Arlene had
wisely dubbed a fire eater. It must have only recently
joined the other pukes and taken care of the door
problem for them. In a flash it could solve the rope
problem, too, burning our lifeline to cinders. We
didn't have a fire extinguisher this time.
Fire Guy wasn't alone, either. He was the gate-
crasher, bringing with him a whole monster conven-
tion. They'd be pouring down the ropes after us like
molasses on a string if we didn't do something fast.
I stopped the story there because I wanted to finish
my beer, and because I had my eye on another can of
Limbaugh. The master gun had brought a six-pack, so
with the aid of higher arithmetic, I figured I had
another one coming.
"And?" asked Mulligan, fire in his eye; and the way
his mouth was working you could say fire in the hole,
too.
"As the fire eater was getting ready to burn our
ropes—and you can always tell an attack is coming by
the way its skin bubbles and its body shimmers like a
heat mirage in the desert—I swung out and then
came in hard, kicking in a window with one try. In the
remaining seconds I pulled the rope taut and Arlene
shimmied down into my arms as tongues of flame
摘要：

v1.0ScannedandspellcheckedbyJaks(stillneedsproofreadingandformatting)Prologue"Whyaretheremonsters?"Anexhaustedwomanlookedatherlittleboy,whohadaskedthequestionthatwasburninginherownmind.Hisvoicedidn'ttremble.Shereachedovertowipehisface.Theywerenotwearingcamorightnow,andthesmudgesofdirtwereonlydirt.It...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：134 页 大小：318.53KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-24

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