rushing forward in mute frenzy. 'Xombierama,' said a much-pierced boy in awe.
Fear sounded all over the deck as this inhuman host, this nightmarathon, swept across the field and down the landing in an avalanche of flailing blue arms and legs. People steeled themselves for the bitter end, but appalling as the enemy seemed, its numbers served only to clog the already-precarious stern crossing, and a great many were simply crowded off into the propeller wash. Also initially alarming were the spastic multitudes swarming the Sallie, their rushing bodies spilling off as if from a sluice… but they were too late: Sandoval's leap had been lucky-the submarine had moved just out of jumping range, and the naked throngs pummeled harmlessly down the ship's side like a lumpy waterfall, piling up at the waterline to claw against the passing hull.
It really began to seem that the handful of Exes already on board were all we had to fear (which was certainly bad enough). But then the Sallie began to tip over on us.
'Whoa,' people moaned, seeing the rig teeter from the weight of massing bodies. If they hadn't kept jumping off like lemmings it would have gone already. My heart constricted, and I tried to will the ship to move faster: Come on come on come on…
So close. As the ship's big rudder fin finally came even with the Sallie, the great crawler tilted past the point of no return. Cracking sounds like gunshots could be heard as its plank bed flexed, and the rear wheels levitated upward. Keens of mass dread erupted from all of us as the front end of the thing dipped into our surge, but still didn't topple-the banks of tires at its axis gripped the ledge until the last possible instant, until the vehicle was so improbably steep that the audio equipment on its back plummeted through the Ex-humans hanging below.
'It's gonna hit the screw, it's gonna hit the screw,' someone jibbered.
The Sallie dropped.
It went loudly, each of its nine rows of wheels slamming first against the concrete ledge, then against the lower wooden pier-BABAMBABAMBABAMBABAM! As it jounced downward, it must have just cleared the giant propeller, because the ringing, fatal blow we were all holding our breaths for never came. What did happen was scary enough: A mound of water engulfed the stern, carrying away Exes but also rows of men. Some of them escaped the propeller and were left bobbing in our wake. We could hear them calling in the dark.
Not many of us had the energy to be mortified. I couldn't see if Cowper was still aboard or not, and for the moment I didn't want to know. A few hysterical kids were being restrained. I understood: At that instant my biggest fear was that someone might include me in their compassion, might slow our flight. I would've gladly killed someone like that, even though we were safely out of reach of the Ex mass.
But there was nothing to worry about. The boat didn't stop.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was very cold and windy out on the open water; the only shelter we had was each other. Grief sounds threaded the night. A lot of people had to go to the bathroom, but unlike the others I couldn't just pee over the side. Albemarle, Cowper, and the rest of the adults came forward to see what could be done, which wasn't much. There was no one from the sub's crew to appeal to, except maybe hidden atop the conning tower, and they wouldn't answer our shouts. The searchlight had been turned off. When Cowper's uniform went by in the dark I grabbed a sleeve.
'Not now, honey, okay?' he said, pulling away. 'Sit tight.'
Bereft, watching the dark shore recede, my initial flush of gratitude quickly passed, and I began to get anxious. How long did the crew expect us to stay out here? A rough head-count was organized: There were about four hundred people on deck, less than fifty of them adults. At least half the older men we'd started out with were gone. Boys were the great majority, mostly teenagers like me (well, not exactly like me-these were more the suburban-gangsta crowd), who seemed to have the same casual expertise about the sub that other kids had about Nintendo. Sea urchins. Listening to them, I quickly learned that the sub was the boat, the conning tower was called the fairwater or sail, and the leathery black deck was a steel beach. They had prepared for this nuclear orphanage. But obviously something had gone wrong… and I, the only female, was to blame.
'This is bullshit, man,' said the hairnet guy. Turning on me once more, he groused, 'This is all your fault. If you hadn't of come, things would be different. You're bad luck.'
Vision swimming with pathetic tears, I said, 'What is your problem, kid? I'm serious. Are you off your medication or something? Because even the dumbest knuckle-dragging moron would see that this is not an appropriate time or place to be pulling this bullshit.'
'Oh, you really auditioning to be my bitch now.'
A voice over my shoulder said, 'Shut up, Mitch.' It was the boy in the chipmunk costume. He was a head taller than the other, but somewhat less menacing: Sesame Street versus Crenshaw. Squeezing between me and the homeboy, he added, 'Give it a rest, man. She's been through enough.'
'What you say?' Mitch exploded, shoving his furry shoulder. 'Huh? You got somethin' to say, you clown? Pussy? Oh, she been through enough, is that it? Fuck you! You wanna do somethin' about it? What you gonna do?' The costumed boy didn't react but just watched the other with tired patience. 'That's what I thought,' Mitch said at last, spitting at his feet and pushing past us into the crowd.
After a moment the bigger boy said softly, 'He lost his whole family, I mean we all have, so you know…'
I nodded in perfect understanding. After a short interlude, I asked, 'What's with the chipmunk costume?'
'I'm not a chipmunk. I'm Safety Squirrel.'
'Aren't squirrels supposed to have a big fluffy tail?'
'It got caught in the machinery. That's the tragedy of Safety Squirrel.'
Gruff sounds of an argument broke out under the tower. Men were shouting, 'Throw the son of a bitch overboard!' and a raw voice beseeched, 'SPAM, I'm SPAM-ask Coombs!' Making my way forward, I practically tripped over a man sitting on the deck. He was the bald guy-Sandoval-who had jumped across from the Sallie. He looked stunned and was hugging his right knee as if in pain. The other men loomed all around.
'Quiet, Lulu,' Cowper said brusquely when I found him. To the injured man, he said, 'We've had to fight for what we were promised. A lot of men I've known for years were lost. Since you're the one who made the promises, Jim, you're kind of in a spot.'
Gravel-voiced, the other replied, 'I didn't have any choice, Fred. Jesus, I'm glad to see you.'
'I bet you are. We're all happy as clams to see you, too.'
'Now just hold on. It wasn't up to me. When I made that offer to all of you, I didn't think there was anybody left in Washington who would bother about a decommissioned, neutered boat. STRATCOM had her birds in Kings Bay-they weren't interested anymore. I figured she was a big fat windfall for us. Can you blame me? With communications all down, and the crazy talk out of Cutler: We were bombing Canada, or it was the Rapture-crap like that? I never heard back from Group Ten, much less the Nuclear Posture Review, so we decided to reactivate her as SSGN on Coombs's authority. Don't laugh-he was the most senior person we had. We never got any acknowledgment from COMSUBLANT. Then all of a sudden a tender shows up carrying promotions and sealed orders for all the NavSea people-'
'Not to mention SPAM,' Albemarle snapped.
'Right, SPAM. Tons of SPAM. I was as disappointed as anybody. Suddenly SPAM took precedence over everything else. In the absence of any other orders, Coombs might have been willing to entertain the thought of an employee sealift, but after that it was his sworn duty to execute this SPAM operation. I lost my vote.'
'But you run the company,' said Cowper. 'You're a civilian contractor, not his subordinate. You're the chairman, for God's sake, the CEO. You could've stood up to him, and Reynolds would've backed you.'
'You think so? And be a traitor to his country? Maybe. I didn't see it that way, Fred. It's been my experience that some ex-Navy guys are pretty patriotic.'
This was the wrong thing to say. Albemarle jumped in. 'We're plenty patriotic, you asshole. This is about saving Americans. I notice you were pretty quick to save your own ass back there.'
'That's because I'm Sensitive.'
'You weren't too goddamned sensitive to let Bob Martino get blown away.'
