The Jupiter Plague

He walked backward toward the door, dragging the girl with him. The jets whistled to life and the big blades began to move, faster and faster. When the copter began to rock on its landing gear the man in the doorway hurled the girl from him and climbed quickly inside. Sam and the sergeant jumped back as a hail of shots tore through the window. They had taken the pilot’s recoilless.50: a foot-wide piece of wood was blasted from the frame.

Slowly, ignoring the bullets that crashed into the wooden planking around him, the sergeant walked out on the porch and reached down with his left hand to pick up his pistol. The rain of fire stopped as the copter rose straight up.

Carefully, in no hurry, the sergeant walked clear of the porch, flicked off the safety and raised the pistol straight-armed before him. He waited until the copter swung away and was no longer over the girl, who still lay face down in the yard, then dropped the pistol sights onto the target and pulled the trigger.

Three times the recoilless.50 boomed, coughing out its small tangent flames, and the half inch, steel-cored slugs tore chunks of aluminum from the copter’s body. The whistle of the jets died and the blades slowed. Two more shots boomed out as it slanted sideways and fell into the maple grove behind the house and burst into flames. No one came out of the wreck.

“They were trying to leave the plague area,” the sergeant said, as he struggled to get the gun back into his holster on his right hip with his left hand. “So it meant I had to get the copter, too.” He looked unsmilingly at the dead policeman. “And Forson was a good cop.” His expression changed suddenly to a mirthless smile as he tapped an enamel and gold decoration that he wore above his shield. “First place in the pistol tournament— firing with either hand.” He started to sag and Sam caught him, led him toward the porch.

“Sit down and shut up while I put something on that hole.”

Legs sprawled before him, the sergeant sat silently while Sam sprinkled sulfa on the bullet wounds, then slapped on self-adhesive bandages. Dr. Stissing came hesitantly onto the porch.

“Finish this dressing, will you, Doctor,” Sam said, climbing to his feet. “I want to look at the others.”

The pilot was dead, the back of his skull torn away by a rifle bullet. The tanks on the copter blew up just then with muffled thuds and no one had emerged from the crumpled cabin: the men inside were beyond his help. Sam went over to the girl, who was still lying face in the dirt and sob-bing painfully.

“I’m a doctor—” he said, but when he touched her shoulder she shivered away from him and only sobbed harder. Sam wanted to move her into the house and examine her, but without using force: perhaps Stissing might be able to help.

“Doctor,” he called, “do you know this girl?”

Stissing, blinking nearsightedly, came down from the porch and bent to look at the girl’s face.

“Looks like the Leslie girl—” He moved her hands away from in front of her face. “Come on, Katy, stand up and let’s go into the house; there’s no sense in lying out here.”

With the doctor’s gentle urging she climbed to her feet and pulled her torn cotton dress about her, then let him help her inside. They passed the sergeant, sitting on the steps and scowling fiercely at the wreck of the copter, and went into the parlor, where Katy dropped onto the couch. Sam went to find some blankets while Stissing made an examination.

“Nothing serious, physical that is,” Stissing said afterward, out of the girl’s hearing. “Scratches, contusions, what you might expect in a rape and assault, I’ve had them before. That’s not my big worry. The girl saw her father killed; he’s a widower and they live alone, the other side of town. These men broke into the house, looters she said, from somewhere in Jersey, drunk and nasty, and when they started to fool around with her, her father swung on them. Killed him, right in front of her, set fire to the house, probably burnt, I never saw or heard of anything like this before, not around here…”

“We saw the house on the way in, leveled to the ground. Something will have to be done about these patients of yours.”

“Phone’s out,” the sergeant said, coming out of the house. “Not the wire either, I checked that. We better be going.”

“You’re in no condition to go anywhere…”

“It’ll take more than that little bullet hole to strand me up here in the woods.”

“You can take my car,” Stissing said, “it’s in the barn. I’ll stay here with Hadley and the girl until you can get some help from the county hospital. They can bring the car back.”

“Sorry, Doctor,” the sergeant said. “But those bowbs got to your car first. Pulled out the ignition. Only way out of here is by walking.”