Resistance: The Gathering Storm

Their destination was the city of Chicago, where the Walkers planned to join Freedom First and give that organization the recordings in which President Grace could be heard discussing what Walker viewed as treason.

The three of them had slept in the station wagon the day before, because they were well into what Twitch referred to as “the stink.” Chimera-occupied territory. So there was nowhere else to sleep except in a cold car, parked in an old barn, a hundred feet off the highway.

Now, as they listened to radio station WLK, and Twitch hummed along with Tony Bennett’s “Cold, Cold Heart,” Walker sat in the seat next to him, and Myra was propped sideways in the back seat.

Twitch had thinning hair, beady eyes, and a hatchet-shaped nose. A two-day growth of beard covered his gaunt cheeks. His incessant humming was starting to drive Walker crazy, and Twitch had a bad case of body odor, which was one of the reasons Myra had chosen to remain in the back seat.

Of course, we’ll smell like Twitch soon, Walker mused, and it won’t seem so bad then.

It had been snowing on and off for days, so they had put chains on the tires, which rattled against the inside of the wheel wells as the vehicle followed the road northwest past the remains of Lowell off to the east. There weren’t any tire tracks to follow, which was why Twitch was keeping the speed down to twenty-five miles per hour. It was a precaution Walker approved of.

The wash of the car’s headlights provided Walker with occasional glimpses of empty houses, burned-out vehicles covered in snow, and clusters of improvised crosses. Drainage ditches were frequently used as makeshift graves because they were both handy and the right depth.

The journey rolled by rather peacefully, with only the soft murmur of the radio, the incessant whir of the heater, and the steady rattle of chains to keep Walker from falling asleep. But then, as the station wagon started up a long sloping hill, Twitch swore. He wasn’t a talkative man, which made anything he said important enough to pay attention to.

Walker sat up straight. “What’s wrong?”

“Lights,” Twitch said laconically, as his head gave an involuntary jerk to the left. “Behind us.”

Walker felt a heavy weight land in the pit of his stomach as he looked back over his shoulder, past Myra’s sleeping form, stretched out across the back seat. Twitch was right. There, about a quarter of a mile behind, two headlights could be seen through the filthy rear window. “Who are they?” he wondered out loud.

“Don’t know,” Twitch answered grimly. “But I can tell you who they aren’t… And that’s friends of ours. You’d better wake your wife and get ready to bail out. If it’s a car that belongs to human jackers, that’s bad, ?cause they’ll take everything we have and leave us to die, but if it’s being driven by the Chimera, then we might as well blow our brains out and save them the trouble.”

It was a long speech for Twitch, and Walker knew the runner was serious. So he reached back to wake Myra.

“Wake up, hon… And lace up your boots. We have company.”

Myra sat up quickly, looked back, and saw the lights just before they disappeared into a dip. She made no response, but Walker knew she was scared, and had every right to be.

“It could be a coincidence,” Twitch said tersely, “but I doubt it. We can’t turn off, because they’d just follow our tracks. And odds are they have a roadblock waiting for us up ahead, so I’m going to pull over. Grab your packs, get out, and run like hell… Then, assuming you get clear, make your way north. Sorry, folks, but that’s the best I can do.”

“But what about you?” Myra wanted to know, as she pushed her husband’s pack over the seat. Both of them secured their heavy winter coats, and put on thick gloves. “What will you do?”

“I’m going to turn the lights off, turn around, and run straight at them,” Twitch replied grimly. “They won’t be expecting that. And, if I’m lucky, I’ll squeeze past to the left or right.”

Walker had doubts. Was this some sort of an elaborate hoax? A way for Twitch to rid himself of his clients, without having to drive all the way to Chicago? The lights might belong to a friend of his, a person who had been paid to show up at that point, and would accompany Twitch back to Indianapolis.

Such a thing was possible, Walker knew that, but he didn’t think so. Why go to so much trouble when Twitch could shoot his human cargo instead? So after accepting his pack, Walker unbuckled one of two money belts that he wore around his waist and laid it on the seat between them. The pockets were filled with gold double Eagle coins. The only kind of payment runners would accept anymore.

“There you go, Twitch… The second half of your fee.”

Twitch looked down, then straight ahead again.

“Thank you, Mr. Paulson… And one more thing…”

Walker’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes?”

“If the stinks close in, shoot Mrs. Paulson right away.”

Walker felt a cold, clammy hand clutch at his intestines, and never got a chance to reply as the car skidded to a halt.

“Now!” Twitch said urgently, and he pointed. “Run east, that way!”

So Walker hopped out and opened the passenger-side door for Myra. She handed her husband the pump- action Winchester shotgun purchased in Indianapolis, and got out of the car.

They shut the doors in quick succession, and true to his word Twitch made a U-turn, skidding around until the tires found traction and the car headed back the way it had come. A few seconds later it was gone, as a pair of beams appeared to the south.

Having already shouldered his pack, Walker helped position Myra’s, and led his wife up off the road. There was a three-foot bank, and no sooner had they climbed it than a flash of light strobed the wintry landscape and a clap of what sounded like thunder rolled across the land.

“The bastards got Twitch,” Walker said bitterly while a fireball floated up into the night sky. “God damn them to hell!”

There was no time to wonder who—or what—the bastards were, or to mourn Twitch, as the headlights quickly grew brighter. The two of them turned and ran.

The snow was deep, however, and it was slow going. They hadn’t made much progress when a loud thrumming noise filled the air. It came from above, some sort of aircraft. Suddenly a bright spotlight shot down to sweep the ground in front of the fugitives.

They changed course and ran north, both gasping for breath by that time, but to no avail. The spotlight—or the Chimera who were operating it—seemed to know exactly where they were as a circle of white light washed over them.

Walker pumped a shell into the shotgun’s chamber, and was about to shoot Myra in the back of the head when a ball of blue light hit him from above. His muscles seized up and he fell helpless to the ground.

Myra was firing her pistol up into the air by then, but the puny .38 caliber bullets had no effect on the ship that was hovering above, and seconds later she, too, was lying on the ground, her face contorted in pain. Without warning the light disappeared as the aircraft responsible for it veered to the east, and the thrumming noise began to fade into the distance.

Walker struggled to regain control of his body, and had just managed to sit up when a cluster of handheld electric torches came bobbing out of the surrounding darkness. One of them was directed into his face as a pair of Hybrids jerked him to his feet.

“I have no idea whether you want to live,” a female voice said, “but if you do then don’t resist.” The voice was human.

Walker was still processing the words when the pack was jerked off his back and alien fingers probed his clothing. They found and removed the .45, two spare magazines, and his folding knife. But other items, including Walker’s wallet, compass, and the recorder taped to the small of his back were left where they were. Whether that was intentional, or the result of a sloppy search, wasn’t clear. Later, after they had a chance to talk, Walker would discover that Myra’s experience had been similar. It was as if the stinks were after weapons—but had no interest in anything else.

And why should they? Anything that couldn’t hurt them was irrelevant.

As Walker squinted his eyes against the bright light the torch came up to light the woman’s face from below.