Bowen stared at Loeb’s outstretched hand. “Yeah, all right, I’ll go. Can’t sleep anyway.”
The four men slipped out of the house through the kitchen and found Ferret there relieving himself in the bushes.
Michael stopped to look at the sky. “Dr. Loeb, I’ve always thought we were God’s chosen people, but when I look up at the stars and realize how small we are, I feel so alone and insignificant.”
“There are billions of worlds in the universe, Michael. We’re not alone, just very far apart.”
A dark stream of clouds trailed across the moon. Cameron framed the sky in his hands: “That’s Orion, isn’t it? The Hunter?”
Loeb looked up and realized that more was wrong than just 6.8 billion people missing from the planet.
The living room sofa was warm and comfortable. Someone had relit the fire. Electric Christmas candles twinkled in each window of the room. The smell of cinnamon, oranges, and cloves from a potpourri on an end table made Loeb want to vomit. He sat up slowly and focused on Michael, who was sitting opposite him in a chair.
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, thanks. I guess I fainted?”
Michael nodded. “We found the room with all the cameras, but no one was there. Cameron thinks it’s being monitored remotely from the White House.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Not too long. Would you like some water or something to eat?”
“No. Get the others. Now.”
When everyone was there, Loeb began, “We have to get to Washington.”
Bowen opened another bottle of scotch. “We’ve been down that dead end too many times, Doc. What’s the point?”
“You’re a survivalist, Bowen. The point is survival.”
“Finding one more peeping Tom isn’t going to change a damn thing. I’m staying here till spring, then I’m heading south.”
“It won’t do you any good.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Cameron asked me earlier what they were saving us from. What indeed? Why spend hundreds, even thousands of years and countless resources transporting every living being off this god-forsaken planet? Why?”
“Who gives a crap? Even if there is a ‘they’ like you say, ‘they’ didn’t take us. We’re stuck here. We’re on our own now.”
“You’d better hope we’re not.”
“Look, I don’t care if someone is watching us from D.C. It’s not going to change a damn thing. You can take your crackpot theories and stick ‘em where the sun don’t shine. Once the weather breaks I’m out of here.”
“Bowen, listen to me. What if I told you that everyone’s disappearance was just the beginning, that something terrible is happening right now, something that will make your little jaunt south as meaningless as putting on Coppertone before you’re thrown into a blast furnace?”
The ice in Bowen’s drink clinked against the side of his glass like a lonely chime on a breezy day.
Loeb looked out the window at the star-filled sky. “Billions of stars and planets, more galaxies than can be counted. Creation really is a beautiful thing if you stop to think about it…”
“So what?”
“So, I want to see it one last time through the telescope at the Naval Observatory in Washington.”
“Loeb, you’ve totally lost it. We have to go to D.C. because you want to look at the pretty lights?”
“You’re right, Bowen. I have lost it, and if I’m wrong, you can shoot me.”
The Tunnel
They found the tunnel in a remote wing of the shelter. A single twelve-passenger electric car sat at the platform facing a concrete tube lit at regular intervals by triangles of dim yellow light.
“According to this map, there’s a stop under the National Cathedral. That’s where we’ll get off. It’s only a few blocks from there to the Observatory,” Loeb told them. “The long delays, the cost overruns, the eighty-some years of construction — it all makes perfect sense now. They weren’t having trouble with the cathedral. They were building this.”
The smooth reinforced concrete walls were icy to the touch. Cameron blew into his fist. “This is amazing, Dr. Loeb, and no one has any idea it’s here.”
“So much for hundred dollar hammers and thousand dollar toilet seats,” Ferret said. “I’ve been saying it for years. All this top secret crap — that’s where you’re hard-earned tax dollars are going.”
The train ran itself after Loeb punched in the instructions to its computer. It was seventy miles to the White House, somewhat less to the Observatory.
“I’m glad you decided to come, Bowen.”
“Well, Loeb, it’s like this. I’ve lived in the woods all my life. I’ve slept in the rain, and I’ve laid in the mud. And for what?”
Michael patted him on the shoulder: “It’s never too late to repent. God understands.”
“Who’s talking about God? I’m just saying I’m a lousy cook, and I could get used to the whiskey and cigars.”
The tunnel angled downward as they left the mountains. It was getting colder, and the heater in the car switched itself on.
“When I was growing up I always wanted to be an astronaut, not a policeman, not a fireman; it was always astronaut,” Loeb said. “To fly into outer space and see the stars up close… That was what I always wanted. Then I found out I hated flying. I get airsick. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“From astronaut to astrophysicist,” Cameron laughed. “I always wanted to be a fireman until I burned my hand on the stove. Then I found out I could write and not get burned so badly or so often. What about you, Ferret? An interesting guy like you, what did you want to be when you were growing up?”
“I wanted to ride the rodeo, be a real cowboy like Roy Rogers.”
“Roy Rogers… He was a person? I thought it was just a fast food chain.”
“You do realize he was born in Cincinnati?” Loeb pointed out. “And that ‘Roy Rogers’ wasn’t his real name.”
“Don’t care. Roy was one of the good guys. Always will be.”
“Since we’re all telling our life stories, what about you, Bowen?” asked Loeb.
“Does it matter now?”
“Don’t tell me you grew up with no aspirations other than to stalk the wild asparagus?”
“Loeb, I’ll bet that mouth of yours gets you in a lot of trouble.”
“No so much any more, actually.” Loeb went back to staring out the window at the lights flying by in the tunnel.
“I was in a band in high school. We wanted to be rock stars.”
“What made you change your mind, Mr. Bowen?” asked Cameron.
“We sucked, just like every other punk kid band. That’s what.”
Cameron turned to Michaeclass="underline" “That leaves you. What did you want to be when you were growing up?”
Michael shifted in his seat. “My aunt and uncle were missionaries. I always wanted to be one, too, ever since I was a boy. It was my calling, God’s calling. It just didn’t work out that way.”
“Funny, isn’t it, how none of us ended up what we wanted to be?”
“I visited them one summer,” Michael went on. “But a rival tribe attacked the village. They didn’t like the idea of us converting their neighbors, so they beheaded my uncle and tortured my aunt.”
The train bumped over a connection and followed the green signal at the intersection into a wider tunnel on the left.
“They let me live. They sent me home to tell all the others that they would get the same treatment if we ever came back. I never did. I was too afraid. I was just a boy.”
“Okay, that’s pretty awful. I’m sorry, Michael, I was just making conversation.”
“I should have gone, Cameron. It was my calling, and God has been punishing me ever since.”