"And we aim to please," the giant adds, chuckling again.
"This is Samson," Luther introduces him. "He was with me in Sector 51."
Samson brings the light down to illuminate his massive, bearded face. His eyes gleam with good-natured humor as he says, "Howdy." The light rises, leaving him in shadow again.
"Howdy," I mutter. His name suits him. I face Luther. "Women, you say. From what sector?"
"Fifty." He smiles ironically. "Our wives, supposedly—the other half of the equation necessary for our planet's repopulation. The government scientists had everything planned out, but they failed to factor in something very important: free will. They never considered the possibility that the women would want nothing to do with us as far as procreation is concerned."
"Bunch of lesbians?" Figures. Underground for twenty years, they had to find a way to satisfy themselves. I'm sure Samson and Luther shared a few intimate moments of their own.
"Not exactly." There's a grave look in his eyes now. "We're facing certain dangers…with which you're not yet familiar, it would seem. When we found the women—numbering less than thirty, out of an original complement of one hundred fifty—they made it clear to us that survival was their priority for the time being, not baby-making. We agreed, for we'd lost many of our own as well."
Dangers? Worse than killer sand and rocks that decide to pound weary travelers to death?
"So, Mother Earth is after you guys too?"
"If only that were all."
"Hey, it's enough. Believe me, if it hadn't stopped all of a sudden when it did, that dust storm or whatever it was out there would've killed me."
"She saved your life."
"Huh?" I manage to articulate.
"She sees the spirits. They communicate with her."
I'm staring, and my mouth is hanging open a little, but I can't seem to do anything about it. Luther looks serious, but the words coming out of him are complete gibberish. What the heck is he talking about?
"Spirits?" I force a chuckle. "Like ghosts or...?"
"What are your spiritual beliefs, Milton?"
"I don't believe in ghosts." Jackson's face—twisted with surprise and covered in blood—flashes through my mind. I sure hope ghosts don't exist, because if they do... "Is that what was chasing me?"
Ghosts of the departed? All the ones I led to the noose, back now for vengeance?
"What I mean," Luther rephrases his question, "is what are your beliefs about spiritual matters?" He watches me for a moment. "Do you believe in the Creator?"
"God? Hell no!"
Samson chuckles.
Luther appears unaffected. "You feel strongly about it."
"Well, yeah. I mean, how could anybody believe in God after D-Day? How could any all-powerful god let something like that happen to the planet?"
Luther raises an eyebrow. "It could be argued that we're the ones who let it happen, and that even so, we've been given a second chance. But I digress. The reason I ask you is because we have seen things—similar to your experience with the rocks and sand—that defy logical explanation. I ask about your beliefs because it will take an open mind to begin to comprehend what's happening here."
I'm staring again. This is definitely the strangest conversation I've had in a while. Not that I've had many lately, but this one really takes the cake.
"For example..." I hope he fills in the blank.
"Take my hand." He holds it out to me over the light.
Weird, but I reach for it anyway. Samson shuffles his feet as Luther takes my hand in a strong grip, and I return it. Then his fingernails extend outward like long claws, pinching into my skin without breaking the surface.
"What the—!" I jump to my feet, my heart lurching. He doesn't release his hold. "Let go of me, you freak!"
"We've been changed, Milton. All of us, in one way or another. You yourself can run faster than any human in the history of the world."
"Changed?" I stare at his claws. A memory of the bald girl sweeps back into my mind: how she launched herself through the air and landed at my feet. And how she could also see in the dark. "Changed how? Why?"
His claws slowly retract, and he releases his grip on my hand. It hangs limply in mid-air. "We've been given certain gifts, Milton. I don't know how else to describe them. Some are shared among a few of us, while others are unique to the individual. Many of us have more than one ability."
"Well, aren't you special," I sneer, backing away from the rock table. I have to get out of here somehow, leave these freaks behind and be back on my own, outside where I belong. "So you're all mutants?"
He shakes his head. "Not mutations, as far as we can determine. Seldom is a random physiological mutation beneficial to the organism, and never can it be activated at will. Our changes are unlike anything that's ever arisen in nature." He pauses. "They've helped us stay alive in spite of a well-armed adversary that outnumbers us five to one, according to the most reasonable estimates."
"Right. The ghosts." He's out of his mind, and he's a freak of nature, to boot. I've got to grab that glowstick and make a run for it. The ladder can't be too far away.
"Not ghosts, Milton. These creatures are flesh and blood. Men like us once, but something went horribly wrong and changed them as well."
"They'd be the mutants," Samson mutters.
Fresh air, that's what I need. Clear my head. These guys and their bald beauty must have gone stir-crazy a long time ago, probably after their mutations started kicking in. I don't blame them. Probably wasn't their fault. I'm sure they're great folk and all, but they're not my type. I prefer your average variety of human.
I'll keep looking.
"Let me guess: those mutants happen to be cannibals?"
Before Luther can respond, I snatch up the glowstick and make a run for it without any idea where I'm going. The light extends a meter ahead of me, and I hold it out
