He worked his way between abandoned structures and along darkened streets until what looked like a single headlight appeared in the distance. He grabbed Rowdy’s collar and pulled the dog behind a garage as a Patrol Drone hummed past. Then, once the machine was gone, it was time to continue west.
As Capelli zigzagged through the streets, the light he’d seen earlier grew even brighter and the Chimeran base appeared ahead. The newly constructed fence glowed as if lit from within, and Capelli figured it was charged with electricity. Hybrids could be seen patrolling the perimeter as well. All of which was interesting but didn’t matter, because Capelli had no intention of entering the base. The LAARK would take care of that for him.
Capelli told Rowdy to stay, placed the Marksman on the ground next to his right knee, and ducked out from under the rocket launcher’s sling. He freed the weapon and then checked to make sure it was loaded, and that an extra two-round magazine was ready for use.
Now he had to choose a target. Something taller than the intervening fence. And as Capelli stared into the sight, he found he had a number of choices. Two buildings were tall enough to qualify as targets, in addition to the smelter’s smokestack. It bore the company’s name, and given the angle he would be firing from, looked like the best bet. So Capelli brought the LAARK to bear, aimed as close to the bottom of the structure as he could, and took a deep breath. After the first rocket left the launcher there would be no turning back.
Capelli thought about Susan, his right index finger tightened, and the LAARK jerked as a rocket sped through the frigid air. It hit dead center on the stack. A wink of red-orange light, then a resonant boom. The explosion blew a hole in the brick chimney but left it otherwise intact.
So Capelli fired a second missile. He heard the impact but was too busy loading a new magazine to view the results. Then the rocket launcher was up on his shoulder, ready to fire again. The ragged hole in the smokestack was bigger than before and an undulating siren could be heard. Capelli ignored the temptation to look around and focused all of his attention on the target. The third rocket hit home, but the fourth flashed through empty space, because the one-hundred-foot-tall stack was falling by then.
Capelli lowered the weapon in time to see the tapered cylinder land on the smelter’s parking lot, where it crushed two Stalkers before breaking into three sections and sending a thick cloud of coal dust up into the air.
Rowdy barked excitedly as Capelli put the LAARK down and grabbed hold of the Marksman. The plan was to leave the launcher where the stinks could find it—and to eliminate as much weight as possible. “Come on, boy,” Capelli said as he stood. “It’s like the man said… Let’s run like hell.”
It would take the Chimera at least ten minutes to figure out the angle of attack, send some ’brids to check out the area from which the rockets had been fired, and find the LAARK. And Capelli planned to make the most of the lead time.
Rowdy took the lead as they followed a zigzag course between derelict houses and onto a street that led towards the rising sun. The fiery disk was big, bright orange, and a potential ally.
With that in mind he pounded his way toward the church he had identified more than an hour earlier. It, like every other building in Blackwell, had been broken into during the many months since the fall. The structure’s arched windows stared sightlessly at the street, the front door hung askew, and the interior was badly trashed.
But Capelli had no time for sightseeing. His left boot came down on a hymnal as he opened a door and followed a flight of twisting, turning stairs upwards. The steeple was home to a bell, with louvered shutters on all four sides.
Capelli used the rifle butt to shatter four horizontal strips of wood on the west wall and shoved the weapon’s barrel out through the resulting hole. Then, he ordered Rowdy to stay, and put his eye to the telescopic sight. What he saw was what he had expected to see.
Having determined that the attack had come from the east, the Chimeran hive-mind sent two dozen Hybrids in that direction. Capelli’s position was well concealed, and with the rising sun behind him, he eyed the oncoming mob. From his vantage point above and in front of the aliens he could see each one of them, including the stinks towards the rear.
So rather than alert the entire group by firing on the first row, Capelli took careful aim at the very last alien. The creature’s head rose and fell rhythmically as it ran. Capelli waited for the ’brid to sink fractionally, applied pressure to the trigger, and felt the wooden stock kick his shoulder. A fraction of a second later, the Chimera’s head came up and blossomed into a bloody cloud. Those at the front of the formation heard the gunshot, but assumed the projectile had missed, as they began to spread out.
But Capelli was ready for that and continued to harvest alien lives until the survivors realized what was happening and sought cover. That was his cue to exit the steeple as the half-blinded ’brids began to pepper the structure with Bullseye and Auger fire. It sounded like a hailstorm had hit the church as hundreds of projectiles struck the front of the building and pencil-thin rays of light stabbed the gloomy interior. Splinters flew all around them, and the church shook like a thing possessed as Capelli and Rowdy bolted out through the back door.
Now he had to run—confident in the knowledge that the Chimera were well and truly hooked. But could Capelli stay ahead of them? That was the question. And the answer was maybe. If he could sustain the right pace, stay hydrated, and maintain situational awareness.
And it wasn’t too difficult at first. The air was cold, Capelli was fresh, and as he left Blackwell for the flat countryside to the east there was nothing significant to slow him down. So in half an hour Capelli covered about four miles. He had established a good rhythm, and was jogging down the white line, when two rows of projectiles blew divots out of the road to either side of him. A Chimeran fighter roared over his head seconds later and arced away.
Capelli swore, turned to the right, and jumped over a drainage ditch. Within a matter of seconds he was in knee-high wheatgrass. It had been taller back towards the end of summer, but a succession of snowfalls had beaten it down. Still, it was the only cover available, so Capelli went facedown in the field as the fighter came in for a second run. Projectiles struck, columns of half-frozen soil soared into the air, and dirt rained back down. But Capelli and Rowdy were a good ten feet outside the main impact area. So only a small quantity of dirt landed on them. The incoming projectiles had been close, however. Too close, as Capelli jumped to his feet.
The fighter was dangerous, no doubt about that, but it was fast, so fast it couldn’t slow down enough to effectively engage such a small ground target. While the aircraft was banking away, and preparing to make another gun run, Capelli had time to advance. Even if he couldn’t get very far. Of course, that strategy wouldn’t work for very long. Sooner or later the fighter pilot would get lucky. And even if the Chimera didn’t, it seemed safe to assume that more stinks were closing in from the west.
So as Capelli jogged forward he kept an eye peeled for the grove of scraggly trees, the outhouse next to it, and the old travel trailer. The very sight of them was like an injection of energy. He ran forward as the fighter circled to the north, jerked the trailer’s metal door open, and grinned. The L11-2 Dragon was right where he had left it. Along with a canteen full of water, a couple of candy bars, and a first-aid kit.
The Marksman went over Capelli’s shoulder; he stuffed one of the candy bars into his mouth, and took hold of the flamethrower with both hands. Then, he backed away from the Airstream and turned and ran. A burst of explosive projectiles plowed through the trailer with a roar and shattered a tree beyond.