NASA, MacDAC, hack-
ers from many places." It sounded to me like the
President of the Twelve had been boning up on other
subjects besides theology . . . and finance. "Has Al-
bert told you about the force field?"
     "He said something about an energy wall."
"You have to find a way to shut it off. . . otherwise,
you're not going anywhere. You get offshore about
fifteen miles, then call an encrypted message in. We'll
vector you to the War Technology Center."
     ''If we can pull this off," said Arlene in her serious,
engineer's tone of voice, "and a computer expert can
dehack the alien technology, we might come up with
shields against them. Defenses, something."
     "The first problem is to crack Los Angeles," said
the President.
     "Then we're your best bet," I said. "After Phobos
and Deimos, how bad can L.A. be?" Even at the time,
this sounded like famous last words.
     "Yes, my point exactly," he agreed languidly, still
frosted; "how much simpler this would have to be
than the Deimos situation." He paused long enough
to annoy us again. "This is more than a two-man
operation." Translation: we needed keepers. Well,
that was all right with me. "You'll be infiltrating, so
we're not talking about a strike force here."
"Stealth mission," said Arlene.
     "Two more people would be about right," I said.
The President's first choice was excellent. Albert
wanted to go. "By way of apology for being the one to
turn you in," he said, holding out his big paw of a
hand. I took it gingerly; he hardly had anything to
apologize for. He winked.
     "If you'd been one fraction less of a hard-ass, I
wouldn't want you on this mission anyway."
     "This is probably a good time to tell you about
Albert's record," said the President. "He was a PFC
in the Marine Corps, I'm sure you'll be pleased to
hear. Honorably discharged. He won a medal for his
MOS." Military operational specialty.
     "Which was?" I asked Albert, eye-to-eye.
"A sniper, Corporal," he answered. "Bronze star,
Colombia campaign. Drug wars."
     "Sniper school?"
"Of course."
     "God bless." said Arlene.
Albert was fine; we both dug Albert. Couldn't say
the same about the second choice, who Nate ushered
into the ops room: she looked like a fourteen-year-old
girl in T-shirt, jeans, and dirty sneakers.
     "Fly," Arlene said, staring, "does my promise ap-
ply to bitching about personnel decisions?"
     "Say your piece."
She shook her head in incredulity. "I'd never
have expected this kind of crap from this bunch of
sexist--"
     "Uh, no offense," I mumbled to the President,
feeling pretty lame. My face flushed red-hot, as if I'd
just taken niacin.
     He chose to ignore the editorial. "I hate sending
her. Unfortunately, she's the best qualified."
Arlene stared at the girl, a foxy little item ready to
stare back. "I never thought I'd say these words,"
Arlene began, "but there's a first time for everything.
Honey--"
     "My name is Jill," she said defiantly.
"Okay, Jill. Listen closely. Please don't take offense,
but this is no job for a girl."
     "I have to go," she said. "Live with it."
"Honey, I don't want to die with it."
     "What's this joke?" I demanded.
"I told you. She's the best, uh, hacker, I think it is,
that we've got. But you deserve an explanation." He
turned to her and asked, "Do you mind if I tell
them?" She shrugged. He went on: "I apologize for
her sullen attitude."
     I don't know about Arlene, but I didn't see anything
sullen about the kid. The President never seemed to
look directly at her but kind of sideways.
     "Back in the life, before her family moved here and
accepted the faith, Jill was arrested twice for breaking
into computer systems. She served six months in a
juvenile detention center in Ojai; then her parents
joined the Church and moved here."
     All the time he was talking, he kept sneaking
glances out of the corner of his eye. He seemed to be
looking at the top of her head. She was pretending not
to be interested but hung on every word.
     "Jill was embarrassed and ashamed of her arrest
and conviction," the President said very slowly,
as if coaching, watching her all the time. "She was
locked up with a girl who was a prostitute and drug
dealer--"
     "She didn't want to be a junkie-hooker," said Jill,
speaking about herself in the third person.
     The President pretended not to hear. "She still
loves computers, but wants to be a security person
now." He took a breath, then concluded, "The aliens
killed her parents, and only missed her because she
was covered with blood and they assumed she was
dead. She was frightened by the aliens, of course--"
"I hate them," she piped in. "I want them all
dead."
     "Good girl," said Arlene, half won over.
The Mormon leader approached Jill but was careful
not to touch her. At least he finally looked at her.
"You don't like your former hacker buddies, do you?"
he asked.
     "I hate them."
"Why?"
     She was uncomfortable about talking but couldn't
keep the words from spilling out. "Because they don't
care about what happens to anyone else. They don't
give a rat's ass if they hack a hospital computer and
destroy a patient's records, by accident, or as a joke."
"Some joke," said Arlene.
     "They'd only be upset if they did a sloppy job," the
girl replied, her voice monotonous. "They suck."
"God bless you, Jill," said the President. "And you
know what the aliens are?"
     Jill sure did. "A million times worse. I've got to kill
them all."
     Mother Mary, a regular little parrot! Did the Presi-
dent write the script out for her? I wondered. Or was
she just adept at ad-libbing what he wanted to hear,
what would get her on the job?
     "Don't you think you should leave the killing to
Albert and this other man?" asked the President.
"That does it," said Arlene, hackles smacking the
ceiling.
     "I'm sorry, but there's no alternative to taking her
along," said the President.
     "That's not what I meant!" Arlene gave me her
special look. I sighed, but didn't shake my head or
give her the shut-up signal. I'd had about all of the
President I could take.
     "Mr. President," she began, speaking slowly as if to
a child--I realized we still didn't know his name--"I
respect your beliefs, even though I don't hold them
myself. But we are in a situation where every able-
bodied individual must do his or her best. There are
armed women outside."
     "Yes," he answered. "Adult women."
Arlene turned to Jill. "I apologize for doubting
you," she said. "I think you'll do fine." She glared
back at the President, who shook his head sadly.
I smiled, suddenly realizing we'd been had: he had
put on the whole "Mormon patriarch" act just to get
us to accept a little girl as a teammate! It was
masterful. . . and I didn't say a word to Arlene. Let
her keep her illusions.
     "If you succeed," concluded the President, "you
will have redeemed yourself thrice over."
     "And if we fail?"
"You'll be dead. Or undead. Either way, you'll
never have to think about your error again."
Gee. Thanks a lump.
     "What weapon do you have?" Arlene asked Jill.
The fourteen-year-old picked up a slim box from the
table; took me a moment to recognize it as a
CompMac "Big Punk" ultramicro with a radio-
     telemetry port. That was some nice equipment; did
she come with it, or did the President hijack it for
her?
     "You'll train her in the use of firearms," the Presi-
dent said, turned on his heel and walked away.
"I've fired guns before," said Jill.
     Arlene touched the girl on the shoulder. Jill didn't
pull away. Arlene didn't talk down to her. In a casual
tone she asked, "Do you think there might be some
pointers I could give you, hon?"
     The fourteen-year-old smiled for the first time. She
didn't answer right away. Then she said in a firm
voice, "Want some pizza?"
     Now that she mentioned it, my mouth began to
salivate.
     12
I took my cue from Arlene and reluctantly
     accepted the kid. The Mormon leader guaranteed the
girl's bona fides. Given the way he felt about the
female of the species, if he wanted Jill on this mission
that badly, that was good enough for me.
     "Welcome aboard," I said, approaching Jill and
putting out my hand. I didn't expect anything, but she
surprised me by shaking hands and smiling. Smart
kid. She knew when she'd won a victory.
     "Thanks." Jill sized each of us up, letting her glance
stay on me a little longer--not exactly pleased with
the effect, I noticed. "I won't let you down," she said
to all of us.
     "How do you know?" asked Albert, but he wasn't
being belligerent about it.
     "Yeah," said Jill, not losing a beat. "They talk that
way around here. I won't get anybody killed on
purpose."
     Arlene bent down and patted Jill on the head. The
girl didn't pull away, but acted surprised. Affection
was something new in her experience. I hoped she
would live long enough to experience a lot more of it.
But I didn't kid myself: once we entered Los Angeles,
the mission was everything, and we were all expend-
able. It had been that way since the first monster came
through the Gate on Phobos.
     "Come on," said Arlene, taking Jill by the hand.
"Your training starts now."
     Jerry had stayed with us after the boss sauntered
off. "There might not be time for that," he said. He
didn't say it as if he liked it. So far, the only person I'd
met who impressed me as something of a jerk was the
leader, and even he was no fool.
     Arlene kept her voice even and calm. "We'll make
time," she said. "Training is not a luxury."
Looking at the man's face, I could see that he didn't
like arguing with facts. He shrugged and didn't say
another word.
     "How about it, Albert?" I asked the other member
of our team. "What kind of time do we have?"
"Plenty," he said. "I've seen Jill shoot. She'll do
fine."
     "Do I get a gun of my own?" asked Jill.
"Does she?" Arlene asked Albert.
     "Sure as shootin'," he said, letting a moment pass
before we responded to his wordplay. He enjoyed the
double take.
     We went to an aboveground arsenal. Seeing what
they kept up top made me more anxious to see behind
those doors downstairs. As it was, they wouldn't
notice the absence of Jill's weapon of choice, though it
was a little strange seeing the fourteen-year-old hold-
ing an AR-19 like she was used to it.
     Jill noticed my expression. "We need all the fire-
power we can get," she said.
     "You're right. Let's see what you can do with it."
And thank God she didn't have her heart set on an
AK-47. The kick would knock her on her butt. At
least the AR-19 was a small enough caliber.
     There were plenty of places to shoot. We went to a
makeshift range where someone had gotten hold of
old monster movie posters. Jill chose one already
pretty badly shot up: a horns-and-tail demon from an
old British movie. It looked a lot like a hell-prince.
One of the horns was shot out, but the other was still
intact.
     "I'll take the bone on his head," she announced.
She missed with the first burst, pulling up and to the
right; but she nearly shredded the target anyway.
Arlene went over and whispered something in her
ear. Jill smiled and tried again. This time the bursts
were shorter and stayed on target. The demon's
second horn was history.
     "What did you tell her?" I asked Arlene. I always
appreciate a few well-chosen words.
     "Girl talk," she said, arching her dark eyebrows.
"Kind of a shame to destroy these collector's
items," I observed when we ran out of ammo.
     "No problem," said Albert. "We have hundreds of
these. The President used to visit the church in
Hollywood, and we have a lot of contacts."
     "How did I do?" asked Jill, bringing us back to the
original point of the exercise.
     "I thought I'd need to teach you something," said
Arlene. "Guess you're mostly ready. Mostly." The
day was shaping up nicely. We could do a whole lot
worse than Jill.
     I was still in a good mood when we had dinner with
the President that night. They set a good table, and he
boasted how they could keep this up for a long time.
After dinner, Jill toddled off to bed in the female-
teens quarter. Albert wanted to spend time with an
older woman we'd been informed was an aunt, and I
managed to get Arlene alone in the presidential
garden.
     Although night had fallen, the security lights in the
garden were bright, thanks to the generators of our
hosts. I saw Arlene frowning in thought. "Albert may
have an extra mission," she said, "scouting out new
converts for the Church."
     I laughed. "Hey, don't make it sound so sinister. We
should ask any survivors to join us, male or female."
"Unless they've gone insane," she said, "and there
are parts of Los Angeles where it would be difficult to
know."
     "Well, I'm glad we have Albert and Jill with us."
She brightened. "Me too. That young lady im-
presses the hell out of me. Maybe she's lucky to be
going off with us to face demons and imps."
     Arlene never lost her ability to surprise me.
"Lucky?" I echoed. "Why do you say that?"
     "She's past puberty, Fly. They'd probably marry
her off to one of these ..." She didn't finish.
I recognized that the conversation was on the
slippery slope to more trouble than a barrel of pump-
kins. Arlene's prejudice against anything and every-
thing religious, and especially against Mormons, was
disturbing; the people in this compound, Mormons
and others alike, had done nothing to warrant such
anger. Time for a strategic retreat. "So, what do you
think of the President?"
     "What do you think?" she threw it back at me.
"Well, as I've said before, you don't have to like
someone in power to recognize that you need cooper-
ation from the boss. This man is no fool; he's playing
his own game."
     Arlene shook her head, but it wasn't because she
disagreed with me. "I always understand a leader,"
she said. "It's the followers who confuse me. This
man is a master of transferring authority. His follow-
ers won't argue with someone who says he gets his
marching orders direct from God."
     "Yeah, but in the war we're about to fight, let's hope
God really is on our side. Or we're on God's side, I
mean."
     She took a stick of gum out of her pocket, popped
the contents in her mouth, and gave forth with her
considered opinion: "Agreed. Any god, any goddess,
anything to give us an edge is fine by me."
     I ignored the blasphemy. Honestly, she does it just
to needle me. "Where did you get the gum?" I asked.
"Jill," she said between chews. "Want a stick?"
"No thanks." Gum is not one of my vices. But I was
impressed with how quickly Arlene had been won
over.
     We went back in the compound, expecting to return
to the room we'd been in before. A matronly woman
we hadn't seen before greeted us. "Hello, my name is
Marie," she said. "I'm here to show the young woman
to the female quarters."
     Arlene and I exchanged knowing glances. I think we
both did a commendable job of not bursting out
laughing. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept
without Arlene taking watch. We'd already been
through the sexual-tension zone and popped out the
other end with the understanding that we were bud-
dies, pals, comrades.
     But now we were back in the Adam and Eve
department. The only question that really mattered
was, did we trust these guys to keep us alive while we
slept? The fact that they were still here was pretty
good evidence.
     "What kind of security do you have here?" I asked
the woman.
     She didn't understand. "Good enough to keep you
out of the henhouse," she answered with a slight
smirk.
     I rolled my eyes. That wasn't what I meant, but--
ah, skip it.
     "See you in the morning," I said to Arlene.
For the first time in a long time, I was alone. Maybe
the President still had doubts about me, but they put
me on a long leash.
     Suddenly I realized I didn't know where I was
supposed to sleep. The room we'd been in before
made sense. We'd been allowed to use it when we
freshened up, but we were under guard then. I wished
I'd thought to ask the woman if that was where I was
supposed to go.
     I didn't know anyone in the hallways, but they
didn't pay any attention to me as I went past; they
weren't afraid . . . what a strange concept that had
become. I could have asked them about a men's
quarters, but I wasn't in a rush to have the old YMCA
experience if I could avoid it. If I wasn't going to bunk
with Arlene, then I wanted to be alone.
     Privacy suddenly exerted a strong appeal: to be
alone without a hell-prince stomping on my face, to
sleep without worry of a zombie who used to be a
friend cuddling up next to me and sharing the rot of
the grave, just to enjoy silence and solitude, without
spinys fudging it up. Yeah, the more I thought of it,
the better I liked it.
     I retraced my way back to the room. After the
corridors on Deimos, this was almost too easy. The
door wasn't locked. Then I noticed that the lock had
been removed. Now that I thought about it, there
were no locks anywhere. But the room was empty,
gloriously empty, and that was good enough.
     I went in, closed the door, flipped on the light.
There was a miracle. The light came on. No conserva-
tion or blackout measures in this small, windowless
room. Which meant I could do something more
     important than sleeping.
The book was where I'd left it. Normally, the Book
of Mormon would not be my first choice of reading
material; the sisters would not approve. Under the
circumstances, I was grateful to have it.
     I started at the beginning, with the testimonies of
the witnesses and the testimony of the Prophet Joseph
Smith. This told the story of the finding of the gold
plates with the Holy Book written thereon. Reminded
me of the old joke about the founding of the Unitari-
an Church: a prophet found gold plates on which was
written . . . absolutely nothing!
     As I read, I remembered an old Hollywood movie
about Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, founders of
the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints.
Hollywood . . . where we would be going. Hollywood
was in the hands of the monsters. Vincent Price
starred in the Mormon movie and also in a million
monster movies. I was sure this all meant something.
I started the first book, made it to the second and
the third; and kept reading until I reached Chapter
Five in the Book of Alma, Verse 59:
     For what shepherd is there among you having
many sheep doth not watch over them, that the
wolves enter not and devour his flock? And
     behold, if a wolf enter his flock doth he not
drive him out? Yea, and at the last, if he can, he
will destroy him.
     That seemed like a good place to stop because I
doubted I would find a more agreeable sentiment
anywhere else in the Mormon scriptures.
     13
Did you sleep well?" Arlene asked, winking.
     "Not bad," I said. "I think it's the first night I
didn't dream about monsters."
     The sun was up, the sky was clear, and for a
moment it was possible to believe that none of this
had ever happened. A dog ran by, a healthy mutt that
someone was feeding--not a sign of impending star-
vation, but perhaps an overgenerous use of resources.
"Guess what?" she said with an impish smile. "I
didn't dream about monsters either. But I did
dream."
     Teasing was simply not Arlene's style. She really
surprised me. "Maybe that's why they segregate the
boys and the girls," I said. "To make everyone think
about it."
     "We can't keep any secrets from you," said Albert,
joining us outside the main cafeteria.
     "Except the ones that count," I replied, not alto-
gether innocently. I was still thinking about secrets
and closed doors, and an unknown, upcoming mis-
sion.
     "Where's Jill?" asked Arlene.
"Already inside, having breakfast," he said. "We
should join her. Afterward, we'll receive our briefing."
It had been a long, long time since I'd eaten
pancakes, with real maple syrup yet. I didn't think I'd
be able to get coffee in Salt Lake City, but there was
plenty of it for those with the morning caffeine
monkey on their back. This was a pretty trivial
monster in the grand scheme of things.
     And then we got down to business. We returned to
the ops room from the day before. The President was
waiting for us dressed in a conservative black suit. He
could've passed as an undertaker, not the most inspir-
ing image to send us off to California.
     "The entire state of California is in enemy hands,"
he said, then led us over to a map of the relevant
states. Red lines marked all the existing train tracks.
"There used to be a high speed train between L.A. and
Salt Lake City. We destroyed the train to prevent the
aliens from sending us a cargo of themselves. I refuse
to refer to those creatures as soldiers. We also thought
the train might be used to send us an atomic bomb."
"Would they even know how to use the trains?"
asked Arlene.
     "You fought them, didn't you? They can use any-
thing we can. Machinery is machinery. It offends me
how they used our own, God-given atomic weapons
against us. We are fortunate the radiation and poisons
have not contaminated this area. God has inter-
vened." Atomic, not nuclear; an interesting word
choice.
     "We'll be going into radiation?" asked Jill. She had
not thought of this until now.
     "You'll be entering undestroyed areas, and our
scientists tell us that the invaders have neutralized
much of the fallout in the areas they control."
Arlene interrupted, as usual. "When we fought
them on Phobos and Deimos, they were comfortable
with higher radiation levels than a human being; but
that doesn't mean they could survive H-bomb
     fallout."
For a moment I thought the President was going to
bite her head off, but then he controlled his temper.
"We have antiradiation pills for you to take and wrist
bands that will glow red if you get a near-lethal dose.
In addition, you'll have some protective gear if you
require it. And any weapons you can bear, of course."
"How do we get to L.A.?" I asked.
     "Take the train," answered Albert.
"Great. How do we get to the tracks? I thought they
were all ripped up."
     "Not all the track was destroyed," said the Presi-
dent. "You can take one of our Humvees south,
following the railroad track to a good spot for getting
aboard the train." Getting aboard. . . How easily he
breezed over that slight difficulty!
     And another small difficulty. "Um . . . the aliens
are going to let us drive right out in a Humvee?"
Albert snorted. The President glowered at him,
then returned to the question. "Of course not. You'll
leave here and pass underneath enemy lines. The
Humvee is hidden in a safe location--Albert knows
where it is."
     "I do?"
"Where you hid after blowing the tracks three
weeks ago."
     "Ah." Albert nodded, remembering the spot. Well,
that made one of us.
     "Underneath the aliens," I asked, "you have a
tunnel?"
     "It's always wise to build in a way to expedite
escape," said Albert. "All our safe houses use them--
including this facility. Usually exit from a basement,
dive down thirty or forty feet, then continue a long
way, miles perhaps."
     "How did you build all that without anyone
knowing?"
     "We had a lot of time on our hands." He grinned.
"And a lot of members in street maintenance posi-
tions."
     "You must ride the train into Phoenix," continued
the President, producing a pointer and stabbing
Phoenix.
     "Why Phoenix?" asked Arlene.
"The train that goes from Phoenix into L.A. can't
be stopped and can't be boarded; Phoenix is under
demonic possession. If you stow away before Phoenix
and escape detection, you might not be boarded.
Then it's smooth riding all the way into L.A." He put
down the pointer with a flourish.
     Jill laughed. She sounded a lot older than she was,
listening to the scorn in her laugh; it suggested a
lifetime of frustration.
     The President did not act as defensive as I would
have expected. "I know it's a long shot," he said. "I'm
open to any better suggestions."
     "I wish I had one," said Albert.
I expected Jill to launch into a tirade, but instead
she kept her mouth taped.
     "The plan sounds workable to me," I said. "Every-
thing is a long shot from now on."
     At no point had anyone talked about who would
lead this mission; I suspected the President would
want his own man in charge, and I prepared myself
for an argument.
     Then Albert surprised me: "Corporal Taggart is in
charge, of course." He surprised the President too,
who started to object, then bit off whatever he'd been
about to say. Leadership was clearly already deter-
mined.
     The President allowed us to pick our own weapons:
a double-barreled scattergun for me, and a .41 caliber
hunting rifle with a scope for long-range work. Arlene
was back to her perennial AB-10 machine pistol and a
scoped .30-30. Albert surprised me by picking some
foreign-made Uzi clone I'd never seen before; I didn't
think a Marine would go in for that kind of flash. But
1 guess it wasn't really different from Arlene's AB-10,
though a bit bigger; and even that might give it more
stability in a firefight. Albert said he would just use
Arlene's .30-30 for any sniping . . . and Jill already
had her AR-19, of course.
     We also took pistols, ammo, grenades, day-to-night
goggles--we had to be careful to conserve the battery
power, using them only when absolutely necessary; no
recharges--and one of the more exotic energy weap-
ons I never liked; not a BFG, which they'd never
heard of, but a gas-plasma pulse rifle. We packed food
and blankets and other useful items, including a
complement of mountaineering (or wall-scaling)
equipment: knotted rope, a grappling hook, crampons
and pitons, the usual usual.
     The Humvee waited--God and Albert knew
where. Would we find it? Would it run if we did? I
tried not to think about such questions as, with great
solemnity, the President of the Twelve led us through
the inner compound to a small, cinder-block building
. . . and to the escape tunnel.
     14
Other members of the community gathered
     around us before we departed. Somewhere back in my
mind, I wondered why we weren't hearing a heroic
anthem to speed us on our way. Where was the brass
band? Where were the speeches? In my mind, I heard
fragments of the speech: "Never before have so few
faced so many in the defense of so few." Well, that
wasn't exactly right.
     There were a large number of heavy barrels of fuel
oil in the building, seemingly stacked somewhat hap-
hazardly. A pair of soldiers approached one particular
barrel carrying an odd tool that looked like a giant-
sized jar opener.
     They lowered the prongs over the barrel and pushed
levers forward, running steel rods through the lip.
Then they put their shoulders to the two ends of the
"jar opener" and walked counterclockwise. Rather
than tip over, the barrel unscrewed like a light bulb;
they lifted the heavy, false barrel from the narrow
tunnel, just barely wide enough to admit a single man
of my size.
     Arlene took point. She tchked and winked at the
President and blew him a kiss; his face flushed bright
red. Then she held her AB-10 pointed straight down
and dropped out of sight. Albert followed, then Jill; I
went last.
     We dropped into what looked at first like pitch-
dark; then, as our eyes adjusted, we found the slight
ambient light adequate to see a few meters ahead and
behind.
     The light came from phosphorescent mold, and the
tunnel was deliberately carved to look natural, a
fissure meandering left and right but mainly going
straight northwest. It was wide enough for two
abreast, and Arlene and Albert walked the point--
Albert because he alone knew the route. I took tail-
end Charlie, leaving Jill reasonably protected in the
center.
     Before we started, I cautioned the crew: "From here
on, no talking, not even for emergencies. We'll use the
Marine Corps hand language; Jill, you just watch me.
They may have listening devices, hunting for tunnels.
Let's not make it easy on them, all right?"
     The tunnel was cool and dark, a relief from the hot
sun of the Utah desert; at night, I hoped it would also
insulate us from the freezing overnight temps. We
could be underground for ... how many klicks?
Eight kilometers, signed Albert in response to my
silent question.
     Six passed by at breakneck speed . . . well, as
breakneck as you can get shimmying through under-
ground caverns with rough, natural-hewn floors in
limited light. Took us more than six hours, in fact, not
much of a speed record. But the end was in sight,
metaphorically speaking. We had just finished our
fourth rest and were ready to tackle the final quarter.
As Arlene ducked and stepped under an archway, I
heard a sound that chilled me to the marrow: the
startled hiss of an imp.
     We were not alone.
Reacting to the sound, Arlene backpedaled; she
stuck her arm out and caught Albert on her way back,
knocking both of them to the ground.
     The move saved their lives; a flaming ball of mucus
hurled past where they had stood but an instant
before and splattered explosively against the wall.
Arlene didn't bother rising; she raised her machine
pistol and fired from supine. I swung my shotgun
around and unloaded the outside barrel; between the
two of us, we blew the spiny apart.
     It had buddies. As Arlene and Albert scrambled to
their feet, and the latter fumbled his Uzi clone,
swearing under his breath in a most un-Mormonlike
manner, I pushed Jill to the ground and unloaded my
second barrel, decapitating a zombie who wielded a
machete.
     I cracked and reloaded; Albert finally got every-
thing pointed in the right direction and loosed a
volley of lead.
     We had surprised the bastards, and now they
weren't even sure where we were shooting from. To
make things worse, the zombie troops had zeroed in
on the imps, catching them in a cross fire with us.
I pushed Arlene forward, and she charged, taking
advantage of the distraction. Yanking Jill to her feet, I
followed; but we were several steps behind our team-
mates.
     Arlene broke left and Albert kept on straight, taking
after the two clumps of spinys--who made the fatal
mistake of turning their attention to their own pathet-
ic troops.
     To my horror, I realized what this resistance meant:
the tunnel was breached; if the aliens knew about the
tunnel, then soon troops would come pouring down
the pipe, lurching directly into the heart of the last
human enclave for hundreds of klicks!
     Albert must have realized the terrible danger at the
same moment. He took advantage of a lull to flash a
frantic sign: explosives--tunnel--blow up--hurry!
I got the message. The Mormons had intelligently
lined their own escape tunnel with high explosive; if
we could somehow find the detonator, we could
collapse the tunnel, saving the compound.
     But how? Where? I doubted even Albert knew
where the nearest fuse lay--and wouldn't blowing the
tunnel blow us up as well?
     But considering that it was I who brought this
trouble upon them, it was clearly my duty to do it...
even at the loss of my own life in the explosion.
But first we'd have to take care of these brown,
leathery bastards.
     Arlene had gone left and Albert straight; but one
imp suddenly lurched out of the darkness to our right
out of nowhere. I caught it out of the corner of my eye.
"Jill!" I shouted, violating my own orders. "Look
out!"
     Fortunately, like Rikki Tikki Tavi, she knew better
than to waste time looking. She hit the deck face first
as I unloaded both barrels over her body.
     The imp landed nearly on top of the girl. If it had, it
probably would have crushed her to death: those
damned demons mass 150 kilograms!
     Arlene and Albert finished killing their targets, and
I started to relax.
     Then I noticed what the imp I had just killed held
in its claws. Damn, but it sure looked suspiciously like
a satchel charge.
     For an instant I froze, then that little voice behind
my eyeballs whispered, Fly, you know, standing like a
statue might not be the best career move right about
now. . .
     "RUN!" I bellowed, bolting straight forward, pick-
ing up Jill on the fly. I ran right up to the imp and
right over it, gritting my teeth against the expected
blast.
     It didn't blow up. Not until we had all made about
ten meters down the tunnel.
     The explosion was loud, but not deafening; it was
the sequence of seven or eight explosions after the
satchel charge that rattled my brains.
     We kept running like bloody lunatics as we heard
the loudest report yet. It sounded like it was directly
over our heads--and the tunnel began to collapse.
A million tons of rock and dirt crashed down on my
head, and something hard and remarkably bricklike
cracked my skull. I was hurled to the ground by the
concussion . . . and when I swam back to conscious-
ness, I found myself lying half underneath a huge pile
of collapsed tunnel roof. Had we been just a few
footfalls slower, we'd have all been buried under it.
A steel brace arched up from our position, slightly
bent. About five meters overhead I saw daylight; but
ahead of us there was only rubble.
     "Congratulations," gasped Arlene, picking herself
up and choking in the dust. "You found the only door
frame for a hundred meters in each direction! You
sure you never lived in L.A., say during an earth-
quake?"
     No one was crippled; Jill needed first aid for a nasty
cut on her forehead, and I needed about five or six
Tylenols.
     Albert stared forward into the collapse, then up at
the sky. "Course correction, Corporal," he said. "I
think it's time we rose above all this."
     We made a human ladder: I stood at the bottom,
then Albert on my shoulders, then Arlene on his.
Reaching up, she caught hold of the bracing beam and
held herself steady for Jill to climb like a monkey up
and out. She secured a rope and threw the end back
down for the rest of us.
     Outside, the sun was just setting, a faint flash of
green in the western sky. The exploding, collapsing
tunnel left a long, plowed furrow running jaggedly
along the hard-packed dirt of the desert floor.
We hurried away from the site, found a rocky hill
and lay on our bellies on its top. When the stars
appeared, Albert sighted on Polaris, then pointed the
direction we should journey. "The ranch is another
four klicks yonder," he said. "We ought to be there
before midnight."
     Three hours later we skulked onto the deserted,
burned-out ranch. Near the barn was a huge haystack.
Inside the haystack, covered in a yellow, plastic tarp,
was a surprise.
     Ordinarily, I'd have rather run during the night and
holed up in the daylight; but the aliens were more
active at night. And more important, we were all
utterly spent. Arranging a three-way watch over Jill's
protest, we collapsed into sleep. Despite her threat,
Jill didn't awaken until Arlene shook her the next
morning.
     The engine of the Humvee groaned into life, the
coughing gradually diminishing. The thing might
actually run, I thought. Jill almost jumped up and
down with excitement as the machine started to
move. She was a kid again, forgetting all the crap of
the universe in the presence of a new toy. The little
things that bothered her sense of dignity vanished.
She was why we would win the war against the
monsters, no matter how many battles were lost. And
no matter what happened to us.
     "Here we go," said Albert, holding an Auto Club
map as if it were a dagger. He was a lot more dashing
than the President.
     "Let's kick some monster butt," said the old
Arlene.
     After two hours of a steady, off-road seventy kilom-
eters per hour, we'd seen no signs of the changed
world; but I knew this illusion couldn't last. While it
did, I enjoyed every minute of it. An empty landscape
is the most beautiful sight in the world when it doesn't
contain smashed buildings, burning remains of civili-
zation, and fields of human corpses. Of course, it
would have been nice to see a bird, or hear one.
There was a long line of straight road ahead, so I
asked Jill if she would like to drive the Humvee.
"Cool," she said. "What do I do?"
     I let her hold the wheel, and she seemed satisfied. A
Humvee is a big horse, and I wasn't about to put the
whole thing in her charge. But she seemed comfort-
able, as if she had driven large vehicles before , . .
possibly a tractor?
     Our first stop was for a bathroom break. That's
when I saw the first evidence that Earth wasn't what it
used to be: a human skull all by itself, half buried in
the dirt. Nothing else around it--no signs of a strug-
gle. But dislodging it with my shoe revealed a small
patch of clotted scalp still on the bone. The ants
crawling over this spot provided the final touch. What
was this fresh skull doing here all by itself?
"Ick," said Jill, catching sight of my find. I could
say nothing to improve on that.
     "What's that odor?" asked Arlene.
"It's coming from up ahead," observed Albert.
It was the familiar, old sour lemon smell. . .
unmistakable bouquet of finer zombies everywhere.
As we resumed the journey, the terrain altered.
There were twisted shapes on the horizon made of
something pink and white that glistened in the sun.
They reminded me of the flesh blocks that might still
be pounding endlessly up and down on Deimos.
These were shaped more like the stalagmites I'd seen
in my spelunking days. They didn't belong out here.
The whiff of sour lemon grew stronger, which
meant zombies shambling nearby or rotting in a ditch
somewhere close. My stomach churned in a way it
hadn't since Deimos.
     The sky altered as well. The blue slowly shaded into
a sickly green with a few red streaks, as if pools of
green sludge were leaking into the sky.
     We were all quiet now, fearing that to say anything
was to ruin that last glow of quiet friendship before
the storm. I glanced at Jill. She wore a determined
expression better than the President of the Council of
Twelve wore his gun.
     Arlene and Albert checked out the ammo and guns,
more for something to do. Jill was content to stay up
front and help drive the vehicle.
     Arlene finally broke silence: "You know, Fly, they
gave us more than we can pack with us when we dump
the Humvee, if we're going to be able to stow aboard
the damned train when it slows down."
     "Yeah," I said. "Take what you can."
Jill looked over her shoulder. "Can I help?" she
asked.
     "We're doing okay," said Albert.
"You're not throwing out my machine gun, are
you?" she asked suspiciously.
     Albert laughed, the first sound of happiness since
we crossed over into what I was already dubbing
Infernal Earth. "Honey, we'll toss food and water
before we let go of a good weapon."
     "My name's not--" she started to say, then noticed
Albert's friendly expression. Context and tone of
voice made a difference. I wouldn't be surprised if we
weren't the first people in her life to treat her like a
person.
     There was the sound of an explosion to the west. "Is
that thunder?" asked Jill. She stared to the right, but
there was nothing to see.
     "No," I said. "Someone is playing with fire-
crackers."
     "Something, more likely," said Arlene.
"Behold," said Albert in a low voice, obviously
speaking to himself, "that great city Zarahemla have I
burned with fire, and the inhabitants thereof."
Jill suddenly surprised me by turning around and
facing Albert, asking: "Are you saying the monsters
are a judgment of God against the human race?"
"No," he said, "I think it is a testing."
     Arlene had promised not to talk religion with the
boss. Now the circumstances had changed. Albert was
a comrade. She'd talk about anything to a comrade.
"Would you say what the Nazis did to the Jews was
a testing?" she asked angrily.
     "The most important lesson from what Hitler did
to the Jews," he said calmly, "was that at the end of
the war, they were still in the world. I'd call that a
testing, one they passed by surviving when the 'Thou-
sand Year Reich' was destroyed. If they'd been de-
stroyed, it would have been a judgment."
     Arlene fumed at Albert, but didn't say anything.
Obviously, his answer irritated her at some level, but
she couldn't think of an intelligent response.
"In space," she said finally, "on Phobos, we found a
giant swastika." She let her observation hang in the
air, waiting for the Mormon to respond.
     "What do you think it means?" he asked.
Arlene sighed. "I don't know; except it's a reason
for me to hate them more."
     "I would hate them just as much," said Albert, "if
you had found the cross up there, or the flag of the
United States, which I believe was also inspired by
God. A symbol used by aliens means nothing to me.
We know them by their fruits."
     "Oh, fug," said Jill. "This is like being back in class.
Don't give me a test, Albert."
     I figured it was a good time to move on. "I'm with
Albert," I said