“Sorry,” Ted said. “But your pals said you might be stubborn.”
The door opened, and they half-dragged, half-carried Mortimer across the roof.
Mortimer’s fried brain registered night. He’d been hanging in the dungeon longer than he’d guessed. The second thing he noticed was the Blowfish on the far side of the roof, bobbing in the gentle breeze.
As they lifted him into the gondola, Sheila appeared, looking horrified.
“What did you do to him?”
“He made a fuss,” Ted said. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”
Mortimer lay flat on his back in the gondola. “Where’s…B-Bill?”
“Too much weight,” Ted said. “He was mighty pissed about being left behind. We needed somebody to guard the blimp while me and the reverend came for you, and your little girl here don’t weigh a thing.”
Frantic movement, men pulling lines, tossing over sandbags. Mortimer felt the Blowfish lift. Subtle movement. They were letting the Blowfish drift on the wind, probably didn’t want to risk the angry whine of the little engine.
Sometime later, Mortimer heard Ted say, “Okay, we’re out far enough.”
He heard the engine crank, and they pointed the Blowfish north.
Mortimer got to his feet, leaned over the side of the gondola, felt the cold air on his face. His whole body throbbed.
“Are you going to be okay?” Sheila asked.
“Yeah.”
“When you feel better, remind me to kick your ass.”
Mortimer nodded. “Right.”
They’d replaced the blimp’s ham radio, and Reverend Jake turned knobs and shouted into the microphone. “Blowfish to Joey One. Come in, Joey One.”
Through the static came, “Joey One here. Go ahead, Blowfish.”
“Black Bart plans to stampede the cattle in the morning. Repeat, it’s on for tomorrow morning. You’ve got to mobilize right now.”
“We hear you, Blowfish.”
Mortimer watched the dark, dead city slide by beneath them. Somewhere down there, he’d abandoned his wife.
L
They eventually put down in a secure field north of Kennesaw just before dawn. Ted’s underground comrades were there to light the landing zone and provide food. Mortimer sat in a big tent, a blanket around his shoulders, spooning pea soup into his face. He felt like a disaster victim getting Red Cross relief.
Ted perched on the picnic bench next to him, slurped soup. “Beats the hell out of rat jerky.”
“All these people to land a blimp?” Mortimer said. “You’ve set up a whole camp.”
“This is rendezvous point Alpha,” Ted told him. “We’ve been gathering and stockpiling supplies and keeping them hidden for months. That way Armageddon’s forces can mobilize quickly. We’ll supply them when they breeze through here right before hitting the Czar.”
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the son-of-a-bitch, one-man-army superhero.”
Mortimer looked up, saw Bill scowling down at him, the Union officer’s hat back on his head.
“I know, I know,” Mortimer said. “I already got an earful from Sheila.”
“This partnership isn’t going to work if you keep running off all by yourself and hogging all the fun.”
Mortimer lifted his right hand. “It won’t happen again.”
“Okay, then. Follow me. I’ll show you something.”
Mortimer followed Bill out of the camp. He still clutched the blanket around him. They’d taken his jacket back at the CNN Center. Bill led him up a steep embankment, and they found themselves overlooking Interstate 75, twelve empty lanes that had often been bumper-to-bumper back in the day.
Bill pointed south toward Atlanta. “Watch for it.”
Nothing at first, then Mortimer saw it, a flash of light, then another, a rapid-fire series of orange-white bursts. Every fourth or fifth flash, a faint
“Ted’s underground folks,” Bill said. “They’re trying to fuck things up a little, maybe throw off the Czar’s timetable. Ted said a team was going to try for the gasoline, maybe blow up their supply, but he doesn’t think it’ll work. Too well guarded. There’s a lot of people dying tonight.”
