“That sounds logical,” Capelli agreed. “But where are we going to find them?”
“I don’t know,” Susan answered. “But I told them that you would find a way.”
Capelli kissed her smile. “You did, did you?”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Yes,” Capelli said, as he led her towards the bed. “You certainly are.”
It was a gray day, and an ice-cold wind was blowing out of the west. Mel Tilson was scared as he paused to check his back trail. And for good reason. He was traveling alone in a time and place when even large parties of humans were vulnerable.
But desperate times call for desperate measures. As Tilson scanned the dull monochromatic countryside, he knew that the anti-alliance crowd was wrong. Haven wasn’t strong enough to survive on its own. The only hope was to form a close relationship with Tunnel-Through and Judge Ramsey. So rather than being in bed sick, the way his wife told people he was, Tilson hoped to meet with Ramsey. The problem being that something was wrong.
Tilson wasn’t a trained warrior like Kosmo, or the new man Capelli, but he’d been raised on a ranch and knew a thing or two about the outdoors. One of which was that when the birds stop chirping, and the countryside becomes eerily quiet, chances are that a predator is on the loose. And since the birds had been singing in spite of his presence, and the gunshot he’d heard fifteen minutes earlier, it seemed likely that someone or something new had entered the area.
So with his Bullseye at the ready, Tilson backed into a thicket of trees, and sank to the ground. Then, in spite of an almost irresistible urge to run, he forced himself to remain motionless. Seconds later his instincts were proven correct as a soft thrumming sound was heard and three Hunter Drones drifted into the clearing.
Had they been following him? Or was their presence at that particular time and place a coincidence? Not that it mattered as the machines paused and Tilson held his breath. Then, with the surety of a compass needle swinging north, the machines swiveled in his direction and began to advance.
The Drones were armed with heavy machine guns that fired superheated kinetic projectiles. As they opened fire, Tilson heard the ominous roar and dived forward. The saplings around him seemed to vaporize into a cloud of wood, bark, and leaves. He felt the debris rain down on him as he covered his head with his arms and began to pray.
Then, for the first time in his life, God responded. There was the chatter of automatic weapons, followed by three partially muffled explosions, and a ground-shaking thump as something heavy landed within a few feet of him. Tilson looked to the right and saw the smoking ruins of a Hunter Drone.
“Come on,” a male voice said, as strong hands pulled Tilson to his feet. “There’s no way to know if the stinks will send reinforcements or write the Drones off to normal wear and tear. So let’s get the hell out of here.”
Tilson had been up in the clock tower on the day when the regulators rode into Haven. So he recognized the man in the cowboy hat and duster as the person who had spoken on Ramsey’s behalf. “Is your name Hunter?”
“Yes, it is. Do I know you?”
“I was in Haven on the day you offered the community a chance to hook up with Tunnel-Through,” Tilson answered, as a regulator returned the Bullseye.
Hunter had a firm grip on Tilson’s elbow by that time and was steering him towards a horse. “So they sent you to say yes?”
“No,” Tilson admitted. “The trip was my idea. I would like to meet with Judge Ramsey.”
“Can you ride?” Hunter inquired noncommittally.
“Yes.”
“Okay, once I’m aboard, swing up behind me.”
Tilson did as he was told and quickly discovered that there were five men in all. One of them was leading a mule with a dead deer tied across it, which accounted for the rifle shot he’d heard earlier.
The hunting party trotted through broken country with the assurance of men who knew exactly where they were headed, which turned out to be a ravine that led straight towards a softly rounded hill.
A few inches of water was flowing along the bottom of the draw. It splashed and ice crackled as the horses passed between a pair of bushy saplings and a pair of guards before entering a huge drainage pipe. Or that’s what Tilson thought it was until a series of widely spaced electric lights appeared, and the passageway opened onto a railway tunnel complete with a stationary train.
There were walkways to both sides, and people turned to look as the horses appeared, but none of them seemed to be surprised as Hunter pulled up next to the last passenger car. Tilson jumped to the ground, where Hunter joined him a few moments later.
“The judge is a busy man,” Hunter said. “So you might have to wait. But I’ll check to see if he can meet with you.”
Hunter disappeared into the railroad car, and Tilson was left to stare at his surroundings, as Tunnel-Through’s well-fed citizens came and went. The town had more people than Haven. A lot more. And Tilson was impressed by the purposeful feel of the place. Not to mention the steady rumble of a generator, the electric lights, and how warm it felt. Much warmer than Haven’s tunnels.
Such were Tilson’s thoughts as Hunter appeared on the platform above and waved him aboard. “You’re in luck. The judge has fifteen minutes between meetings. Please leave your weapon with one of the guards.”
After surrendering the Bullseye, and passing between a pair of grim-looking regulators, Tilson was shown into a richly furnished office. A man in a black suit came to his feet and extended a pudgy hand. “Welcome to Tunnel-Through. I’m Judge Ramsey.”
“My name is Tilson. Mel Tilson. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
“Please,” Ramsey said. “Have a seat. Mr. Hunter tells me that you’re a citizen of Haven.”
Tilson couldn’t help but feel pleased by the way in which he’d been received. And, contrary to the stories Roger Shaw liked to tell, Ramsey was a pleasant man. “Yes, sir. My wife and I had a shoe store there back before the stinks took over. We were part of the original group that dug tunnels between basements to create a safe place to live.”
“Except it isn’t safe, is it?” Ramsey inquired shrewdly as he lit a cigar. “Because safety flows from strength, and there aren’t enough of you to go it alone.”
“That’s what I told them,” Tilson agreed, “after Mr. Hunter came by. But they have heard negative stories about Tunnel-Through. So the proposal to become part of your new government was voted down.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ramsey responded, as a halo of cigar smoke formed around his head. “So what brought you here?”
Tilson shrugged uncertainly. “I wanted to talk to you and see Tunnel-Through with my own eyes.”
Ramsey nodded. “That makes sense. I’d do the same. Tell me, Mr. Tilson… Are your fellow citizens aware of your trip?”
Tilson shook his head.
“That’s just as well,” Ramsey said judiciously. “There’s no point in getting people all riled up. Now here’s what I would suggest! How ’bout you and I stay in touch? Mr. Hunter could help you establish a message drop at the edge of town.”
There were some obvious dangers associated with the proposal, and Tilson discovered that his mouth was dry. “What would you want to know?”
“Just everyday stuff,” Ramsey said reassuringly. “What folks are talking about, community projects, that sort of thing. I feel certain that the rest of the citizens will come around eventually. And when they do, I’ll need someone I can trust to provide the community with leadership. Do you follow me, Mr. Tilson?”