When the Devil Dances

“Wendy, if you can make it out of here, especially with the kids, it will be a miracle,” he said. “You will not make it out dragging a… guy in a wheelchair. Too many ladders, too many small passages that are not exactly ‘handicap friendly.’ Understood?”

“Understood,” Wendy answered.

Getting him down the ladder was easier than it appeared. Wendy found a length of tie-down strap and lowered the wheelchair almost the entire way, then Elgars climbed down and held onto it while Wendy climbed down and repeated the operation. Harmon, as he had said, was able to descend the ladder using only his arms. Maneuvering him into the chair at the bottom was tricky, but even that was accomplished with little trouble.

The corridors had actually thinned out as people gravitated to anywhere they considered safe. They wheeled the former police officer to the cafeteria, which was already filling up with people. As anticipated, many of them had managed to find a weapon “somewhere.” Wendy wheeled him into the echoing hall and settled him behind a hasty barricade.

“I still don’t like it,” she said. She looked around and noted that most of the people in the room were older or infirm. On the other hand, most of them also looked like they were ready to handle anything hostile that came through the door.

“If it’s a small incursion and anybody else turns up with a weapon we might make it,” he said with a shrug. “And as long as you guys keep out of the way, we’ll see each other later.”

Elgars walked over and kissed him on the forehead then rubbed his stubble. “Aim low,” she muttered. “They might be riding shetland ponies.”

Harmon laughed and nodded. “I will. Get out of here.”

One of the other defenders came over, a big old man with silver hair and hands that still had the calluses of a guy who had worked for a living. He was carrying a shortened pump shotgun similar to Harmon’s and two mugs of steaming liquid. “Coffee, Dave?”

“Damn, where’d you get that, Pops?” Harmon asked with a laugh. “And I see that you are carrying a weapon, in clear violation of Sub-Urb regulation,” he added in a stern tone.

“Oh, this?” the old man said, holding up the well-tended shotgun. “I just noticed it lying there in the corridor on my way over here. Undoubtedly it was dropped in panic by some miscreant. Probably at the thought of how angry Security would be if they caught him with it; I’m sure that he was shaking in his — or her, come to think of it — boots.” He reached into his cavernous smock and pulled out a handful of twelve-gauge cartridges. “You fixed for ammo?”

Dave just laughed and shook his head. “Take off, ladies. I’ll be fine.”

Wendy gave him a last pat on the shoulder and walked out into the corridor.

“What we need,” Wendy said, “is a plan.”

Elgars looked thoughtful for a moment. “ ‘Kill them all; God will surely know his own.’ ”

“Where did you hear that?” Wendy asked.

“I have no idea, but when you said ‘plan’ it just popped in my head,” Elgars sighed. “We need weapons. Those are in my room.”

“Yeah, and we need to get the kids to Hydroponics,” Wendy added. “You go for the guns, I’ll go for the kids. We’ll meet at the entrance to Hydro. Bring all the ammo you can carry.”

“Oh, yes,” Elgars said. “That part I can guarantee.”

CHAPTER 30 Near Franklin, GA, United States, Sol III 2047 EDT Saturday September 26, 2009 ad

“I don’t suppose you’re going to let my oolt land there?” Cholosta’an said mournfully. Below, the stream of Posleen disappearing into the underground city was clear. As was the huge amount of booty seized from the military forces in the area.

“I don’t think so,” Orostan said. He was happier now that the plan seemed to be functioning and that the hated, impossible to catch, SheVa gun seemed to have fled. “There are too many objectives to be taken as it is and we are far behind schedule. Your oolt has a mission to perform and that is that.”

“As long as I get my cut,” Cholosta’an sighed. “But I could wish for some items in hand. I’ve never been in a successful assault before; it seems a waste to just let others take all the loot.”

“There will be plenty later,” Orostan snorted. “Think of this way; you get a cut of all of that. You’ll be rolling in funds by the time this mission is done. And everyone who comes through a pass we take owes us a cut; so opening the way through to the plains is more important than sacking one stinking city. I could wish there was a way to stop them entirely. I need those oolt’os taking passes and running the human forces down, not looting.”

“What is the next objective?” the younger Kessentai asked.