“Yes.”
Fernandes went over to the kit and brought the unit back. He seemed to know how to use it well, because he jabbed it right into Neil, no hesitation, and a moment later Neil quieted down.
He weakened through the night, and even though they had a stockpile of dressings in the cave, Glenda went through them quickly, trying to stanch the flow of blood. Fernandes tried to comfort the girls as best he could, but he was awkward in this task and finally went to join Jake a little farther down the hill to keep an eye out for possible attacking Tarsalans.
By morning—if in fact it was morning—Neil’s breathing grew labored, and his face was so pale that Glenda was sure they were going to lose him. Yet he hung on, hour after hour, and was even able to eat some military rations. At one point, she sent all four kids out to the ledge along with Fernandes to keep a lookout for Tarsalans, even though for the last several hours—ever since the destruction of Marblehill—the aliens had been eerily inactive.
That’s when Neil started talking.
“In our will… Louise’s sister, Joanne, and her husband, Lorne… are designated as legal guardians for the kids… should Louise and I die before they reach the age of majority, et cetera, et cetera. Grab Lenny’s topographical map for scrap paper. Let’s write a… a codicil to change that.”
“Neil, you shouldn’t even think of that now. You should try to rest.”
“No, no. We’ve got to do this, Glenda. Joanne and Lorne… who knows if they’re okay. I’m sure all of Atlanta has burned to the ground by this time. We’ve got to make it so… you know… you have the necessary resources to… raise Melissa and Morgan, and send them to college… and all the things… that the girls are going to need. And to bury Ashley… properly.”
“Fernandes is talking of burying her up here… close by.”
He turned from her and stared at the cave ceiling. His eyes closed partially and he exhaled, and finally nodded. “I think she’d like that. When I die, bury me next to her. I don’t want her to be alone.”
Glenda wanted to tell him that he wasn’t going to die and that there was no need for him to think about his burial at this time, but she had extreme doubts that he would in fact pull through because he looked awful, white and clammy and ready to give up at any moment.
“Why don’t you have some more water?” she suggested.
“I’ve got pens in that case.”
“And how’s your pain? Do you need more morphine?”
“I’d sooner stay clearheaded for this.”
She saw he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so she got the topographical map, and a pen from the case. Neil dictated and she wrote the codicil in the light of a flashlight, and she couldn’t help taking heart because he appointed not only herself but also Gerry, as if he firmly believed that Gerry was going to return and that Gerry’s mission to destroy the phytosphere would succeed.
Ten hours later, when it was only Jake and Melissa standing guard on the ledge, and Fernandes, Hanna, and Morgan were trying to make themselves comfortable on coarse military-issue mats, Glenda heard a strange hissing sound up toward the cave ceiling. She shone the flashlight at the ceiling but all she saw was the rough limestone.
She shook Neil by the shoulder. “Neil. Wake up.”
Neil groaned and opened his eyes.
“Listen,” she said.
Neil’s eyes grew more focused, and he finally lifted his head off the mat. “Get the spray. They’ve sent in some macrogens.”
She quickly got an aerosol can and sprayed the air. Fernandes roused himself and helped her with a second can. The spray particles immediately tagged the macrogens, and they glowed with a dull green phosphorescence, fifty of them, flying all over the cave, several of them going into the second cavern, where the foodstuffs and medical supplies were.
The tagged macrogens eventually fell to the floor, like insects overcome by insect killer, but she was sure some must have already transferred their data to Tarsalan survivors in Chattahoochee.
She and Fernandes crushed the felled macrogens underfoot, like they were so many dead locusts. They then picked them up and threw them off the cliff overlooking the dry forest. They did all this, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. From that point on, she understood a fresh Tarsalan attack was imminent. The aliens had to know she had food in the cave. And they were starving. It was the same story all over the world—everybody fighting over food, simply so they could live another day.
Neil settled and she sat up next to him. Fernandes, unable to sleep, joined her. He talked about his wife.
“Her name is Celia. She’s in Denver. I haven’t heard from her since this whole thing began. But I got this strong feeling that I’m going to see her again. She’s smart. Like you. She’ll know how to survive through this. We always meant to start a family.”
After that, they both slept for a while.
When they got up, they decided to bury Ashley. They got some shovels, went up the hill, and dug a pit through the soft forest mulch. They laid the girl inside. Jake stood next to them holding a flashlight, his Montclair slung around his shoulder. Once Ashley was settled in her grave, Fernandes went to get the others. He came back. Neil limped along, supported on one side by Fernandes, and on the other by Melissa. At the graveside, Neil managed to say a few words. Recounted Ashley’s short life. Her interest in riding, tennis, and reading. How, though she didn’t say much, everyone could tell that she thought a lot, that she was extremely aware of the world around her, and that she loved life. “She was too young,” said Neil. “But at least she’s gone to join her mother now.”
The girls gathered some chunks of limestone and made a marker for her.
As they finally pushed the forest soil over the dead girl, Glenda couldn’t help wondering how many similar scenarios were playing themselves out all over the world.
In the meantime, she was worried that the Tarsalans had spied on them with their little flying bugs.
Her suspicions about an imminent attack were confirmed when, over the next several days, she and Fernandes counted a combined total of seventy-three new Tarsalan ships landing in the vicinity. After two days of continuous sightings, the landings tapered off and the dead forest grew still. Glenda knew that it had to be the proverbial calm before the storm.
On the evening of that fifth day, she sat on the ledge overlooking the forest, cross-legged, bony knees slightly up, her Montclair resting on her lap, and her night-vision goggles flipped down over her eyes.
Fernandes was somewhere off down the main road running reconnaissance. The forest was a collage of green trunks and branches. She saw no movement. But somewhere out there she realized there had to be hundreds, possibly thousands, of desperate Tarsalans who knew about her food. She hoped Fernandes would come back with exact numbers.
She flipped her night goggles up and looked at the sky. Why didn’t Gerry hurry up? If the phytosphere were suddenly and miraculously destroyed, and the sun shone again, wouldn’t that give everybody, including the Tarsalans, hope? Wouldn’t there be born in the breasts of humans and aliens alike a new spirit of cooperation? She wasn’t more than moderately religious, but she couldn’t help thinking of the old Biblical phrase in Genesis: “Let there be light.”
She repeated this phrase to herself, off and on, for the next half hour, chanting it like a mantra, but it did absolutely no good as the sky remained locked in darkness. She had to be frank with herself. Louise and Ashley were dead. Neil was going that way. Of the airmen, only Fernandes remained. Marblehill was destroyed. The world was forever enshrouded in darkness. And now she had to defend this cave against hundreds of alien invaders from a star forty light-years away. Worst of all, she had to do it with an army of kids.
A couple of days later, while she was sitting in the exact same spot overlooking the forest, waiting for the Tarsalan attack to come, Morgan came out of the cave and said, with zero inflection, “Dad’s dead.”
In another time, Glenda might have jumped up and raced into the cave. In another time, she might have said, “What? Are you sure? This can’t be.” But all she did was sit, her shoulders sinking, trying to pick out the features of Morgan’s face, struggling to understand how this solemn and strange third child, who always went her own way on everything, must be feeling, now that she was an orphan.
Subdued at first, Morgan cried a short while later. So did Melissa.
