The Uninvited (34 page)

 

 

“General?” A spotter-plane pilot radioed back to the CP. “We got a convoy on the way up to the bridge. A long one. Cars, school buses, trucks, vans. Flashing lights front and rear.”

“How's the weather there?”

“Improving. But still too turbulent for choppers to try any evac. I'm staying above it.”

General Bornemann changed frequencies. “Sheriff Ransonet? What in the hell are you pulling?”

“Just out for a little drive, General. It got a little stuffy all cooped up back there. If you know what I mean. Things were getting close.”

“Going to blow the whistle, Vic?”

“No. I was, though. I was gonna drive this convoy right up to the bridge and blow the sirens and honk the horns and make a general nuisance of myself. Maybe get some press attention. But what the hell? It's not your fault.”

“That infection might be airborne—if you haven't already figured that out.”

Yeah, I know. Mrs. Campbell was with Dr. Whitson for a time. He told her, or she overheard him talking to somebody.”

“Campbell?”

“The wife of Bob Campbell—the ex-ball player.”

“Fine linebacker. Yeah. You know, Vic, you have some heavy people in that convoy. The press would just love to get ahold of that news.”

“Got an ex-Green Beret here, too, although he never talks about it. I think he was some kind of a hero in Vietnam.”

“Who?” The General's voice took on a different tone, a more urgent note.

“Fellow by the name of Brett Travers.”

“Travers! Hell, man. He's a Medal of Honor winner. He's one of the ten most decorated men to come out of Vietnam. Captain Travers. Led an A-Team.”

“Hold on for just a second, I'm going to turn this convoy west. Keep them away from your area. Long as we're rolling the bugs can't get us. I hope. Now, what were you saying?”

“We were talking about Travers. Look, Vic, I'm going to do something that may very well end my career. Big deal. I've been in since '44. Keep those people on the move for another two or three hours. Angle toward the northernmost bridge on the west side of your Parish. I'll get back to you.”

“What are you going to do, General?”

Bornemann laughed. “I'm gonna try to get some American citizens out of a bad spot, Vic, like I been trying to do for the past twenty-four hours. I just couldn't come up with a plan that'd work. But you just gave me some heavy ammunition.” He switched off.

Vic slowly led the convoy in a westerly direction, rolling at about thirty.

“Colonel Dickson?” General Bornemann said. “Would you walk with me for a moment.”

The CO of the Combat Engineers assigned to this operation walked through the rain with his CG. “Yes, sir?”

“Jerry, I don't give a damn for my future—I can retire very comfortably after thirty-six years. But if you come in this with me, you'll never make general.”

“I'm not going to make it, anyway, sir. Besides, Captain Chambers talked to me a couple of hours ago. Didn't go into much detail, just asked if I wanted in.”

“And your reply?”

“Yes.”

“All right. You remember a linebacker name of Bob Campbell?”

“Yes, sir. Great ballplayer. Decorated in Nam, too.”

“He's one of them trapped in there.”

Colonel Dickson whistled. “Damn, that's tough news.”

“Yeah.” General Bornemann dropped his heavy artillery. “But so is Captain Brett Travers.”

The Combat Engineer stopped dead in the mud. “The Green Bennie?”

“Right. Tough, isn't it?”

The General looked at the Colonel. A silent message passed between them.

“I'll see you around, General,” Colonel Dickson said.

“I'm sure you will, Colonel.”

General Bornemann walked back to his tent. He was whistling a happy tune.

“Fuckin' officers!” a rain-soaked MP muttered to his buddy. “What the hell is he so happy about?”

“'Cause he's about to put his ass in a dry tent, and we're stuck out here. That's why.”

“Captain Chambers?” The engineer located the Green Beret. “I need a few minutes with you.” They walked through the rain.

“What's up, Colonel?”

“We talked about it a couple of hours ago.”

The Captain grinned. “Yes, sir.”

“I'm pulling some of my people out of here, in twos and threes. Easy-like. I'm going to repair that bridge on the west side of the Parish. You said you were going to get some gear together. Did you?”

“Yes, sir. General Bornemann OK this?”

“Not in so many words.”

The Captain's smile broadened.

“Captain Brett Travers is one of those trapped in there.”

“The hell!”

“Yeah. So is Bob Campbell.”

“The ball player? The Marine from the early days of Vietnam?”

“Yeah.”

They walked on, slopping through the mud.

How'd you find out about this?” Captain Chambers asked.

It was Dickson's turn to smile. “Let's just say a little birdie with stars on his shoulders told me.”

“My men located the fire trucks. They're at the bridge. The guards there will go along with us. The Navy in the Velour said they'll be deaf, dumb and blind.”

“Well, let's sorta angle over to the hospital tents,” the Colonel suggested. “I'll bet we can find someone along the way we can talk into joining us.”

Ten minutes later, the rear of the hospital tent was open, and supplies were being passed down the line, into trucks. A joint Army and Navy venture.

In his CP, General Bornemann was playing pinochle with the President's aide. He whistled happily.

How come you're so pleased?” the aide questioned suspiciously. “You're losing.”

“It's not whether you win or lose,” the General grinned hugely. “It's how you play the game.”

“You military people are weird!”

 

 

As the long convoy rolled through the stormy morning into the equally stormy afternoon, they witnessed the full horror of the mutants' destructiveness. Small communities were lifeless ; not a dog or a cat had lived through the feeding frenzy of the creatures. Pastures were bare of livestock; only the dully shining bones were visible from the highway.

They came upon cars and trucks parked by the side of the road and glimpsed firsthand what was left of the occupants. After seeing the first few, the people in the vehicles kept their eyes forward after that.

“It's awful,” Kiri said, sitting beside Brett in his truck. “I just can't imagine what the government will do to these Parishes if we get out of here. After we get out.”

We'll get out,” Brett promised. “One way or the other. As for the Parishes, the government will destroy them, probably with fire. I don't see how they'll have any choice in the matter. But it's going to be interesting to see how the rest of the nation reacts when it learns what happened in here.”

“Brett?” Kiri touched his arm, fingers gripping him. She pointed. “Look over there.”

A large group of men had jumped from cover and were running across an open field, toward the convoy. All carried rifles and had pistols belted around their waists.

“Dog eat dog,” Brett muttered.

Sheriff Ransonet rounded a curve and cursed when he saw the highway ahead was blocked. “Halt the convoy!” he ordered through his walkie-talkie. “All men to the right side of the vehicles. Keep your fingers on the triggers and sight those men in.”

Using his outside speaker, mounted on top of the car, between the flashing lights, Vic ordered the men in the field to halt. They stopped at the fence. Only a ditch separated them from the convoy.

Vic did not recognize any of the men. Must be from Baronne, he thought. From 'way up in the boondocks. “What do you people want?” Vic asked, his voice metallic in the dark afternoon.

“We want to go with you all,” one said.

No way,” Vic replied.

“You can't git through,” a man said. “You just try it and see what happens. But maybe we can work something out. You give us yore women and we'll let you pass.”

The thirty-odd men by the fence stood rock-still as the sound of rifles chambering live rounds was heard up and down the convoy.

“You in the dirty cowboy hat and beard,” Vic said. “Get your ass over the fence and move those trucks blocking the road. You've got five seconds to start moving.”

“What happens at the end of five seconds?” a man asked.

You die!”