Ramsey’s announcement was greeted with a moment of silence, followed by genuine applause, as the citizens of Tunnel-Through realized how fortunate they were. Not Shaw, though, because Monica was still nowhere to be seen, and there was a growing abyss where the bottom of his stomach should have been.
The workers and their families were dismissed a couple of minutes later, but Shaw carried Amy up onto the riser, where he was able to intercept a man named Martin Lewis. “Excuse me, Mr. Lewis,” Shaw said formally. “But I was given to understand that my wife Monica would return with Judge Ramsey. Is she here? And if so, could we see her, please?”
Lewis had been a rancher before the Chimera took over, and his face was still brown despite many months of living in the tunnel. A network of wrinkles radiated away from his beady eyes. They rearranged themselves as he frowned. “Shaw, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wait here… I’ll see what I can do.” Lewis disappeared into Ramsey’s passenger car, and five long minutes elapsed before he returned. Shaw tried to read the toady’s weather-beaten face but couldn’t. “Follow me,” Lewis said. “The judge would like to speak with you.”
Those were ominous words, because such a summons was rarely a good thing. “Where’s Mommy?” Amy wanted to know, and Shaw kissed her forehead.
“I don’t know, honey,” Shaw said, as he followed Lewis into the richly appointed railroad car. “I hope we’re going to find out.”
Two men, both armed with pistols, stood to either side of the doorway that led into Ramsey’s office. The judge was seated behind a large desk. It was covered by a green blotter and stacks of paper, each held in place by brass apothecary weights. Ramsey had removed his jacket by then, which meant the Webley was visible, as was his enormous paunch. Ramsey nodded as Shaw entered, but he neglected to get up, or offer his visitor a seat.
“I’m sorry to say that I have some bad news for you,” Ramsey said, as he selected a cigar from the box at his elbow. “As you know, your wife agreed to carry out a very important task on my behalf. And things went well at first. But then, according to what a couple of witnesses told us just before we shot them, she warned the so-called President that we were about to attack. Her misguided act made no difference to the outcome. But our casualties were unnecessarily high as a result of your wife’s treachery.”
Ramsey paused to clip the end off the cigar, strike a kitchen match on the underside of his desk, and turn the enormous tube of tobacco over the flame. Then, once the cigar was drawing to his satisfaction, he resumed speaking. “A small group of people escaped the complex,” Ramsey intoned, “and your wife may have been among them. But, given the overall situation, and the speed with which they had to depart, I believe it’s safe to say that all of the worthless scum are dead by now. Do you have any questions?”
Shaw felt a terrible sense of sorrow. Somehow, deep inside, he knew the story was true. Monica was dead. But he felt a strange sense of pride as well. Because even though her decision to give warning ran counter to her best interests, not to mention her family’s, the act had taken courage. A great deal of it. “No, Judge,” he said stoically. “I don’t have any questions.”
“Good,” Ramsey said, as he released a puff of smoke. “Because I have very little time to waste on either traitors or their families. I told your wife that if she betrayed me I would banish you and your daughter to the badlands. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Lewis! Take them away.”
Shaw felt as though he was part of a living nightmare as he and Amy were escorted through a maze of side tunnels—and from there to a hatch that opened onto a ravine. Then, without so much as a word, the steel door closed behind them. Shaw put his daughter down on the ground and looked around.
Next to the hatch was an exhaust port, through which Shaw could hear the distant rumble of a generator. There were no other sounds. The Chimera owned North America, sunset was no more than two hours away, and all they had was the clasp knife in his pocket and the clothes on their backs.
“Daddy, I’m hungry,” Amy proclaimed. “And I’m cold, too.”
Shaw wanted to cry and swear at the same time. But he couldn’t. Not with Amy holding his hand. “Come on, honey,” he said gently. “We need a place to hide.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
WELCOME HOME
The darkness made it difficult for Capelli to see beyond the Stalker directly in front of them. But when it passed through a curve, he could just make out that the brightly lit convoy consisted of about fifty vehicles. Some were Stalkers like the machine he and Susan had stolen. But the rest was a hodgepodge of human cars, trucks, and two Greyhound buses. Sleet was falling and could be seen slanting through the beams that probed the road ahead.
Being an ex-soldier, Capelli was surprised by the fact that no attempt had been made to conceal the convoy. And as a citizen he was depressed by the fact that there was no need for the stinks to turn off their lights, because that meant there wasn’t any organized opposition for the Chimera to worry about.
As for the convoy’s purpose, that was a mystery, and would probably remain so. All that Capelli and Susan could do was to wait the situation out and look for an opportunity to exit the column. In the meantime they had the satisfaction of knowing that they were lurching along at twenty-five miles per hour. That didn’t sound like much, but they were lucky to cover fifteen miles a day on foot. About two hours had passed by the time they saw a sign that read, “Blackwell, two miles.”
Susan had a much-creased and somewhat grimy road map spread out in her lap. The glow from the instrument panel was sufficient to read by. “We don’t want to go any farther than Blackwell,” she said. “Not if we can help it. Haven is located about twenty miles to the east.”
“Roger that,” Capelli replied. “But if we leave the highway all by ourselves there’s no telling how the stinks will react. They might let us go or they might come after us. We could fight them, of course—but we’d be badly outnumbered.”
That fear turned out to be groundless, because as the outskirts of the city came into view the lead vehicles slowed and turned off the highway. Headlights washed across deserted buildings, and a pair of eyes glowed as a feral cat stared at them from an overgrown garden. Then a dozen Patrol Drones swooped in out of the night sky to escort the convoy into what a large sign proclaimed to be the Blackwell Zinc Smelter.
But in spite of the name, Capelli got the impression of a military base as the convoy snaked between brightly lit buildings and entered a parking lot that was already 25 percent full. A thin layer of sleet covered the vehicles. “This is where it gets interesting,” Susan said tightly.
“Yeah, I’m going to park out along the edge of the lot somewhere and hope the stinks don’t care. Then, once we’re ready, we’ll make a run for it.”
“That makes sense,” Susan agreed. “And Joe…”
Susan had never called him by his first name before and Capelli took note of it. “Yes?”
“It isn’t for me to judge what you did. What’s done is done. Do you understand what I mean?”
Their eyes met, and Capelli swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes, I do. Thank you.”
The lead vehicles were parking in orderly rows by then. So Capelli guided the Stalker out and around them in an effort to place the machine under a burned-out light. “Watch the Drones,” he instructed. “If somebody takes exception to what we’re doing, they will react first.”
But as Capelli brought the Stalker to a halt, the Drones formed what looked like a necklace and sailed away. “Perfect,” Susan said. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”