The invasion began with a roar as two fighters dropped out of the sky, skimmed the airfield, and soared upwards again. Capelli’s first thought was that they had been spotted, and he was reaching for the Marksman, when Susan touched his arm. “Look!”
By kneeling in front of the window, with only the top of his head and eyes exposed, Capelli could look out over the airport with very little chance of being seen. And the sight that met his eyes was both amazing and frightening.
There were Drones. Dozens of them. All sweeping in from the north. The overlapping beams they projected lit the way for at least a hundred Hybrids. And he could see Stalkers bringing up the rear. Capelli was quite familiar with the big spider-like machines, which he knew to be the equivalent of human tanks. “This isn’t about us,” he concluded. “There are far too many of them. The stinks are on the move for some other reason.”
And the prediction proved to be true as both the Drones and Hybrids passed the tower by. Then they divided themselves into smaller groups and spread out. “They’re securing the airport,” Susan observed. “With us inside.”
Capelli was impressed by Susan’s calm, no-nonsense manner. “Yeah! Look at the Stalkers. They’re settling in for the night.”
And it was true. As each machine came to a halt, Hybrids could be seen exiting the mechs. Most of them were heading towards the far side of the airstrip, but a few were wandering around. “It’s just a matter of time before a stink comes up here,” Susan observed.
“True,” Capelli agreed. “And since there’s no place other than the washroom to hide in, we’ll have to kill it and do so quickly. So quickly that it doesn’t have a chance to send a mental image to the Chimeran hive-mind. Then, if we’re lucky, the rest of them won’t notice.”
Susan looked skeptical. “Really?”
“Hybrids are like ants,” Capelli replied. “At this moment thousands of them are dying worldwide for a variety of reasons. Kill one and the rest won’t notice unless they see it occur—or the hive-mind has reason to think that something unusual has taken place. That’s when the you-know-what hits the fan.”
Both of them ducked as a Patrol Drone paused outside and a beam of light played across the back wall. Then it was gone, and Capelli heaved a sigh of relief. “That was close.”
Susan took a peek. “Uh-oh! Two stinks left the nearest Stalker and they’re coming this way.”
“Damn,” Capelli said disgustedly. “We could handle one of them with a knife. Now we’ll have to use a gun.”
“True,” Susan replied calmly, as she removed the Ruger from its shoulder holster. “But that doesn’t mean we have to make noise. Here’s a little something I purchased back in Tank Town.”
Capelli watched as she removed a fat tube from one of her pockets and began to screw it onto the .22’s barrel. “A silencer? Perfect. Let’s hide in the washroom. Remember, it has to be quick.”
The restroom was so small that Capelli had to stand on the toilet, and Rowdy was forced into a corner as Susan took up a position next to the door. The dog growled but stopped when Capelli ordered him to.
Susan stood with her pistol at the ready. She could hear brief bursts of stink speech as the ’brids came up the stairs. Then it was possible to smell the Chimera as they entered the control room. The odor was reminiscent of rotting meat.
All of their gear had been pushed back into a corner. But it wouldn’t take the Chimera long to find it. So as the Hybrids paused to look out through the windows, Susan pushed the door open and stepped into the control room. She held the pistol with both hands.
The semiauto produced a soft phut, phut, phut sound as Susan fired. The stink on the left fell like a rock as two .22 slugs punched their way through the back of its skull. The second ’brid started to turn. Susan pulled the trigger, saw the Chimera’s head jerk as a bullet hit it in the jaw, and corrected her aim. The next bullet hit the Hybrid in the left ear and penetrated its brain. The ugly-looking monster was already dead and falling when Susan reflexively triggered another shot. It shattered the front window and sent shards of glass tinkling onto the concrete below.
Rowdy growled and rushed out to investigate the dead bodies. Capelli was right behind him.
“I broke a window,” Susan said tightly. “Glass hit the concrete below.”
Capelli eyed the scene outside. There were no signs of alarm. “This would be a great time to get the hell out of here.”
“It would,” Susan agreed. “But how?”
“See the Stalker down below? The one these two arrived in? We’ll drive it out of here.”
Susan’s eyebrows rose. “You are one crazy bastard.”
Capelli grinned. “You got that right. Get your stuff—and one more thing…”
“Yes?”
“I like the way you kill stinks.”
Susan smiled. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
Capelli shook his head. “No, just you.”
Ten minutes later they were packed and ready to go. Susan descended the spiral staircase first, her silenced pistol at the ready. Capelli was right behind her with Rowdy on an improvised leash. Then they were out the door and into the cool night air.
Capelli paused for a moment and scanned the immediate area. There were no stinks to be seen. So he led Rowdy and Susan around the corner and out towards the Stalker. The belly hatch was open and a narrow ladder extended downwards. “Shuck your pack and climb in,” Capelli instructed. “I’ll shove Rowdy up the ladder. There’s a gun turret up above the cockpit. He can ride there. Be sure to tie him in. Then, once you’re ready, I’ll push the gear up.”
Susan shrugged her pack off, climbed up into the machine, and gagged as the cockpit’s fetid odor caught in the back of her throat. But there was no time to think about that as Capelli shoved the big dog up through the hatch. With a firm grip on Rowdy’s leash, Susan guided him up a couple of steps into the gun turret. He made a whining noise but stopped as she scratched behind his ears. Once the animal was secured she hurried back down.
Capelli passed the packs up to her, and while she looked for a place to stow them, he entered the cockpit. “You’d better get that harness on,” he suggested, dropping into the pilot’s chair. “This thing is going to throw you around.”
“So you’ve done this before?”
“Twice. Once in a captured unit that was used for training purposes—and once in the field when there was no other choice.”
Capelli lifted a cover out of the way and thumbed a switch. Susan heard a loud whine, more than two dozen indicator lights came on, and the hull began to vibrate. He flipped a switch and she felt a violent jerk. “Sorry about that,” Capelli said, as he took hold of the aircraft-style control stick. “I’m a bit rusty. Here we go.”
The machine lurched from side to side and generated whine-thud sounds as four articulated legs carried it across the airstrip towards the access road on the far side of the airport. Susan was looking up at the rearview monitor. “None of them are following us.”
“Good,” Capelli replied. “That’s what I was hoping for.”
Ten minutes later they were approaching Route 81 when Capelli saw lights on the highway and realized that he was looking at a southbound convoy. Susan looked from the screen to Capelli. “What are we going to do?”
“We’ll join them,” Capelli said. “And hope for the best.”
“Which is?”
“We get forty or fifty miles down the road and bail out.”
“And if we can’t?”
“Then it’s been nice knowing you,” Capelli said, as he glanced her way. “Are you sorry you came?”
“No.”