of the train was pushed open to
unpack some zombies, and we were greeted by a sight
you don't see every day. A contingent of steam-
demons was being herded by a spidermind. They were
guarding what appeared to be a truck dolly in which a
human form was wrapped up in bandages from head
to toe. There was a slit for his eyes, but that didn't
help tell us anything about the man or woman
propped up on the dolly; we could only assume this
was a human because there were straps across the
figure--a dead giveaway that he was a prisoner.
The sight made me remember Bill Ritch. The only
human they would take care to preserve with his mind
intact was a human with knowledge they needed and
couldn't extract without destroying . . . which meant
that here was someone else we should either rescue or
kill. He couldn't be left in the hands of the enemy,
giving them whatever they needed. They marched
forward out of sight, the steam-demons tramping in
eerie, mechanical lockstep.
     "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Arlene
bellowed at me.
     "Loud and clear!"
"They've got their tentacles on another of our tech
lads!"
     "Listen up!" I screamed. "Have plan!" They gave
me their undivided attention, easy to do in such
cramped quarters. "Grab guy! Run!"
     Arlene rolled her eyes, unimpressed.
"How--move?" shouted Jill.
     "Slowly!"
While we considered the strengths and weaknesses
of our position, the monsters took the bandaged figure
toward the front of the train. Although we couldn't
see very well, it was easy to figure out what happened
next.
     The train started up again, having received its
important cargo.
     "Forward!" I screamed. "Make path!"
Jill wriggled her hand slowly out to where she was
able to extend her fingers and ... the best way to
describe it was that she goosed the zombie-woman in
front of her. The nervous system of a zombie isn't
great shakes compared to when it was alive, but there
were sufficient sparks left to kindle into fire.
The zombie-woman didn't jump or make any sort
of exclamation; but she did move forward with suffi-
cient force to dislodge the smaller male taking up
space right in front of her.
     Jill let Albert get in front of her. He had a lot of
mass and widened Jill's narrow opening. The ob-
jective was clear: push forward to the connection
between the cars. With the speed of a snail we
inched forward. I figured that so long as we didn't piss
off any of them enough to shoot at us, we were doing
all right.
     Just about then, one of the zombies took a potshot.
I didn't see any particular reason for it; but what was I
doing, trying to apply reason to zombie behavior?
The bullet struck another zombie in the throat, and
it went down gurgling. We were packed so tightly, like
Norwegian sardines, that further attempts at argu-
ment by projectile would probably annihilate the
population of the cattle car.
     Jill drew the small .38 caliber revolver we'd given
her and looked scared and determined both at the
same time.
     "Hold your fire, Jill!" I shouted. She didn't make
me repeat it. The zombie with the itchy finger kept
firing wildly and suddenly connected with a point
where a metal slat and wooden post came together. A
heavy zombie near to the point of impact fell back
against the weakened spot and suddenly went right
through, leaving a huge hole big enough for even
Albert to fit through.
     "New plan!" I bellowed.
22
     By now the train was up to speed again,
smoking along at 300, 320 kilometers per hour. At
this speed, the wind could be considered a refreshing
deluxe feature for the typical bovine passenger. As I
attempted to squirm through the opening, I quickly
learned that a typhoon-strength head wind could slow
down the most dedicated Marine.
     The main thing was not to drop my shotgun as I
climbed on the sill, leaned out into the hurricane, and
stretched up until I reached the railing along the
outside top of the train. I hoped the zombies wouldn't
pay any attention to this latest change in their envi-
ronment. At some level they were still human enough
to resent this ridiculous crowding, or they wouldn't be
exchanging shots. Maybe our team would rate zombie
gratitude for giving them elbow room.
     While standing on the sill, leaning forward into the
wind, holding the railing, I reached down to help
Arlene. Her slim, dry hand slipped into my sweaty
paw, and I noted that it was cold. Arlene always had
trouble keeping her extremities warm. I hoisted her
out and up to the roof, where she hooked her legs to
hang on so she could lean back down. Then Arlene
helped me take care of Jill.
     I didn't blame Jill for being terrified. But I was
surprised when she started shaking. Or maybe it was
just the train rocking violently back and forth. I guess
this would be an experience to write home about, if
there were still a home. No matter how brave and
grown-up this fourteen-year-old wanted to be, she was
having one wild-ass situation after another thrown at
her and had to handle each without benefit of
training.
     The terror in her eyes didn't prevent her doing what
she had to do, and I didn't pay attention to the tears.
The angle was bad, but Jill weighed almost nothing--
and I heaved a sigh of relief as I finished handing her
up to Arlene.
     Albert was a problem. He was a big guy and not as
gymnastically oriented as Yours Truly. Arlene and Jill
attached webbing to the railing, then attached it to
Arlene. The webbing is extraordinarily strong, able to
hold tons before ripping. We didn't go into hell
without taking some decent equipment! No way was
Arlene going to fall with that stuff on her.
Now Arlene and I could help Albert up. It was a lot
easier than blowing away a steam-demon.
     We might even have enjoyed our time on the roof if
not for the hurricane head wind. It smelled a whole
lot better than inside.
     We lay on our bellies, and a ferocious gale battered
us. But we weren't blown off; in fact, we could stand
shakily, leaning into the wind. I figured there must be
some sort of air dam up front, otherwise, 300 kph
would have swatted a standing man off the top of that
train like finger-flicking a fly.
     "Listen up!" I shouted against the gale. "Single-file!
Forward! Slowly! Don't fall!"
     Arlene put her mouth right up to my ear. "How far
L.A.?"
     "Two hours--dawn--rescue human or kill him!"
"What?" screamed Jill, clearly horrified. She was
plenty loud enough to be heard. There was no need to
explain to two old soldiers like Arlene and Albert. I'd
stopped thinking of Jill as a young teen, but there was
no getting around the fact that she was a civilian.
"Death better than fate!" God only knew how
     much she heard, but she clenched her teeth and said
nothing more. The brutal arithmetic inside my head
could wait for another time; I hoped she would never
have to decide who lives and who dies. Sometimes I
envy civilians.
     There was nothing else to say. Besides, we'd all be
hoarse from shouting if we didn't shut up.
     I went first; it was my party. I set the pace nice and
slow. It took nearly a quarter hour to crawl the length
of the train; fortunately, the track through Arizona
was pretty straight. But the natural swaying of the cars
could still hurl any of us to certain death; the rails
were laid for cargo, not passengers.
     I looked back frequently; we didn't lose anybody.
Next stop: Relief City! Two cars ahead was the flatcar
with a complement of one spidermind, one steam-
demon, and one human wrapped like a Christmas
mummy and strapped down tight. The spidermind
was between us and the human, the steam-demon on
the other side.
     It occurred to me that these superior examples of
alien monster-building might sniff us out better than
the lesser breeds; and the wind did a lot to erase our
lemon odor. In our favor, we were way downwind.
The wind was so damned loud, I didn't think they
could hear us either.
     I gestured to Arlene. Time for the Deimos veterans
to do their stuff. We crawled closer, where I could see
a very narrow gap between the cars . . . too narrow
for the adults.
     I noted the fact that the spidermind was so big, a
couple of its right feet dangled limply over the side of
the flatcar . . . and that gave me an idea.
     But it was too narrow for the adults. Only Jill could
fit.
     Oh man, this was my nightmare come true. It was
never supposed to be a walk for the kid--but this?
Throw the raw recruit, not even driving age yet, into
the meat grinder against a spidermind and a steam-
demon? It was criminal . . . homicidal!
     But what were the options? Not even Arlene could
squeeze into that slender space; she probably out-
weighed Jill by forty pounds. They were like two
different species, and thinking of me or Albert down
there was a joke.
     Feeling my gut clench, as well as another part of my
anatomy, I said to myself: Time for the recruit to do
her stuff.
     The levity didn't work. I still felt sick.
We crawled back and huddled with the others in the
gap between two cattle cars full of zombies, where we
could hear each other, at least. I felt like a class-A
creep giving Jill her assignment; but nobody else
could do it. Anyway, the kid seemed eager, not afraid.
She'd make a good Marine. Did I say that before?
This time, my plan had more details: Jill would
shimmy down into the tiny gap between the two cars,
using some of the webbing. "Just like Spider-man!"
she said. Well, whatever. We'd use all the positive
fantasy images floating in her mind. She had to
believe in herself absolutely to pull this off.
If they spotted Jill, she'd be dead meat, and the rest
of us with her. Once she made it into the gap, she
would very carefully loop the webbing several times
over the nearest limb of the spidermind and pull it
tight--without allowing the spidermind to notice it
was being hobbled. She would attach the other end of
the webbing to the titanium grappling hook the Presi-
dent had included in Albert's gear. We could do that
before she started out. We'd lose the hook and some
of our webbing, but with luck, we'd lose the
spidermind as well.
     "If she makes it that far," I said, wrapping up, "she
drops the hook to the ground beneath the wheels and
ducks, waiting for it to catch on a tie or something."
"And that gross bug gets yanked off!" she said,
grokking the plan immediately. "Gnarly idea, Fly!"
I let her savor the image of the alien brain scattered
across the countryside. Slamming into the car behind
at better'n 300 per ought to do the trick nicely, and
"Spider-ma'am" would defeat the spider creep with a
thick dose of poetic justice.
     Now all we had to do was make it work.
While Arlene and Albert prepared the hook and
line, Jill let me wrap it around her waist. She asked
me to do it personally. That meant a lot to me. Then I
gave her a gentle push forward and hoped Albert's
God wouldn't choose this moment to desert us. I put
in a good word for Jill with the nuns as well.
Jill climbed down the side of the car we were on,
two cars back from the flatcar. So far, so good. I
climbed down after her.
     We crept forward at wheel level, crawling alongside
spinning death so slowly, it made our previous trek
along the roof seem like a drag race. Mother Mary, I
thought, please don't let there be any fence posts too
close to the tracks!
     We very carefully worked our way around the
wheels; but if we were any higher up the train, the
spidermind might have us in its sights. Hunkering
down at wheel level, we were hidden by the side of the
car itself.
     There was enough light to keep Jill in my personal
viewfinder every step of the way. I imagined her
knuckles were white. Mine sure as hell were. I kept
pressed right up against her back, my arms on either
side of hers to make sure she didn't slip. We finally got
to the edge of the flatcar; now the show was entirely
Jill's, and all I could do was hang and wait.
23
     Cheese and rice, I felt like a weenie when he
took me outside the train. I swore myself I wouldn't
eff-up any more. For the mome, Fly respected me, and
Arlene too. I didn't care so much about Albert, but he
was all right for one of the LDs.
     Now was my chance to prove to everyone! Maybe I
almost wrecked the truck when those missiles went
through, and maybe they don't know how close they
came to being hosed. But if I pulled this off, I'd make
up for everything! Plus I'd pay back one of those
crawly bastards for what they did to my mom. And
Dad.
     He was right, the slot was a tight fit, even for me;
but I could wiggle through. I don't know what they
would have done without me for this. As I slid along, I
got grease on me. Gagged me out at first, but then I
was glad, cuz it made me more slippery. Huh, like to
see one of those wimp LD girls do this! She'd faint,
and the human race would lose the war.
     Suddenly, I saw a thin, silver thing sticking over the
edge. Got wide on the end. I didn't recognize it at
first, seeing it so close up. Then I gasped--it was a
spidermind foot! It was bigger than I thought. It was
bigger than / was!
     The end of the foot fluffed out like bell-bottom
pants, like my grandparents wore, like on the Brady
Bunch. God, I was glad they didn't live to see the
monsters kill their children.
     I stretched, flipping the webbing, trying to loop the
foot; but I couldn't reach that far! That PO'ed me--I
was going to dweeb-out just cuz my arms weren't like
an orangutan's.
     Then the leg twitched. I screamed and jumped--
and fell.
     I slipped down, banging my knee and barely catch-
ing the edge of the flat thing . . . my face was an inch
from the tracks.
     Oh Lord--the wind blew off the ties, freezing my
cheeks, and I smelled smoke. I think I even . . . well,
peed my pants. Shaking like a leaf, I hauled myself
back up. I spared a glance back at Fly; he looked like
he might have peed his pants too. I shrugged--sorry!
I'm sorry, but hacking systems would never seem
serious after this. Just a toy. This was real. I knew I
was taking a big chance, but there was no way else to
reach the foot: I rested my knee on the bed of the
flatcar and stretched higher, and then I could reach
the leg.
     The spider moved again! I wasn't able to get back
down before the leg pinned me back against the
firewall of the car behind. I was stuck like a fly in the
spidermind's web.
     I didn't make a sound; I could barely breathe, but I
didn't panic this time--I didn't have any you-know-
what left. It didn't know I was there ... so I hung.
It would kill me the second it realized I was there,
same way I'd crush a bug; I was still alive because I
was hidden from view by the huge leg itself. 'Course,
it might kill me without ever knowing I was there; if it
put its weight on that foot, it would pulverize me.
The place where it had me firmest against the wall
was at my knee. The upper part of my body could still
move. I still had a good reach. So I did what I came to
do. I didn't let myself think what would happen if I
failed.
     I passed the webbing four times around the leg. My
heart froze each time. I was in Girl Scouts once; the
only thing they taught me that I still remember was
how to tie a square knot. I tied the best buggin' square
knot of my whole life!
     Great. What next? Next you die, girl.
I thought I would cry, but my eyes were dry. My
mouth was parched and my heart raced, but that was
all. When I thought about all the stupid things we cry
about, like boys and grades and losing a best girl-
friend, it seemed strange I didn't cry then.
Then something happened inside. I felt calm for the
first time since I saw the monsters. I didn't mind
dying if I could take one bastard with me. A big one.
I unslung the grappling hook and let it dangle
between the cars. Pinned against the wall, I wouldn't
be able to duck down. Once I dropped the hook, the
spider would be yanked to a stop as the train kept
moving, and I would be crushed to a grease smear.
Thought about my new friends. Thought about
     what if Fly had kissed me. Thought about wishing I
was anywhere else. Then I let go of the hook.
24
     I didn't know what was going on with Jill,
couldn't see a thing. She fell and screamed, and I'd
popped around and seen her half under the track;
then the spidermind shifted and I had to leap back.
Now I didn't dare show myself--I'd get us both
killed.
     I thought Jill would have finished by now. I'd bet
money she wouldn't lose her nerve. Either she was
still waiting for an opening, or something had gone
wrong.
     Then I heard the heavy thud and metal-scraping
sound that could only be the hook dropping under the
train. It bounced up and down, over and over, while I
waited and waited and waited for that big mother
with the brain and the legs to be yanked into oblivion.
What happened next was so stupid and unlikely, it
was like crapping out ten times in a row: the damned
hook bounced up and hooked onto the train itself!
The little voice in the back of my head I hadn't
heard from recently chose this moment to speak to
me in the voice of an old kids' science show: So,
Flynn, what have we learned from today's experiment?
Well, Mr. Wizard, we've learned that if the train is
moving at the same speed as the spider-bastard, abso-
lutely nothing will happen!
     I humped back hand over hand, ducking down to
check under the train, looking for the hook. Saw it! I
slid through the train's shock absorbers. Time for
more help from the nuns. If we hit a bump, the shocks
would slice me in half. Suddenly, the train itself
seemed like one of the monsters.
     I made it through, then slid along the undercarriage
on my back across the covered axles, under the train,
until I could reach the flippin' hook. The damned
thing was caught on an Abel.
     I reached for the sucker and succeeded in touching
it. Yep, there it was. Touching it was a cinch. I could
touch it all I wanted without falling onto the track and
being ground to hobo stew.
     Getting it loose was the problem.
Once upon a time, I won a trophy in junior high
gymnastics; there were only five of us, but I was the
best in that class. I thought I was pretty hot stuff that
day. Looked to be the moment for an encore perfor-
mance.
     I went looser with the legs, increasing the possibility
of falling but giving me a longer reach. I didn't want
to perform this trick more than once.
     Not only did this stunt run the risk of my becoming
part of the track, there was the extra worry of losing
the duck gun dangling precariously from my back.
Not having my weapon could be as close to a death
sentence as getting run over by the Little Train that
Could.
     I got my hand around the hook, heaved, and yanked
it free. I did a war whoop worthy of a Comanche . . .
then I shut my eyes--I hate the sight of my own
bloody, mangled corpse--and dropped the thing to
the ground.
     This time the law of averages was enforced by the
probability police. The hook caught on a spar and
held. I gripped my perch and braced for impact.
I clenched my whole body as the webbing
     tightened--then the freaking stuff broke. It wasn't
supposed to do that! The end whipped like an enraged
snake, lashing across my back. But I didn't let go.
I waited for the sound of that massive body being
yanked to its doom. Still there was plenty of nothing.
This was becoming irritating. But there was some-
thing: despite the howling of the wind and the ma-
chine pounding of steel wheels on steel rails, I heard a
high, piping squeal. It sounded like a scream from
hell.
     As I began clambering back through the shocks and
up the side of the train, I heard explosions. Something
was happening. I climbed faster ... to be greeted by
the scene of the steam-demon shooting its missiles at
the spidermind. The latter was at a disadvantage,
listing as it moved, badly off balance.
     The webbing had torn one leg off the monstrosity. It
didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what
happened next. Losing a leg would put the
     spidermind in a bad mood. It wouldn't be philosophi-
cal about it. No, it would fire a burst from its guns at
the only target in sight: the steam-demon.
     For all their power, these guys had a weakness as
deep as the ocean. Conquerors and masters need
some self-control.
     My primary goal now was to find Jill and get her
out of here; but I didn't see her from this angle. She
was probably still hugging the other side of the flatcar
where she had lassoed the spidermind's leg.
     The train hit a bad bump, exactly the impact that
would have left me beside myself when 1 was doing
my Tarzan of the shocks routine. The two monsters
took the bump personally and increased the ferocity
of the battle. I realized the high piping sound was
from the spider--it probably made the noise when it
lost its leg. The steam-demon emitted more human-
sounding screams.
     The wind seemed to be picking up, but neither
contestant paid any attention to the weather. As I
watched the spidermind tear up the steam-demon
with a nonstop barrage from the Gatling gun, I
remembered how difficult Arlene and I had found
taking one of these down before. The demon was
nothing compared to the other.
     But if there were a cosmic bookie keeping tabs on
this one, the final decision was still in doubt. The
steam-demon followed the optimum strategy for his
position, firing missile after missile at the robot
exterior to the spidermind's brain. Cracks were begin-
ning to appear.
     I stayed put, praying for the best possible outcome.
By the time the spidermind's brain case finally ex-
ploded, the steam-demon was so ripped it could
barely stand. Under the circumstances, things were
working out better than the original plan. After all, if
the spidermind had been eliminated as intended, we
would still have had to contend with the problem of
the steam-demon.
     While I was congratulating myself on the turn of
events, the train took a sudden turn and the tottering,
cybernetic creature nearly fell off the flatcar. That
would have been the perfect climax to the duel of the
titans.
     Dawn started to streak the horizon with a sickening
shade of green. The improved light made it much
easier to pick out details of the local terrain; such as
the high rock gorge we were just then passing over,
thanks to a narrow bridge. This would be a splendid
place for the steam-demon to take its final rest. The
perfect end, as I'd already thought, to the perfect
battle. Then I could find Jill and congratulate her on a
mission well done.
     The only flaw in this scenario consisted of a single
claw--the claw the steam-demon used to grab hold
and save itself as it fell right next to me. Right next to
me!
     It was bad enough seeing the demon this close up.
Far worse . . . it saw me. As weak and near death as
the thing was, it recognized a living human a few
inches away. Very slowly, it raised its missile hand.
It was slow; I was a whole lot faster. I back-drew my
double-barreled shotgun and fired both barrels, one-
handed, squeezing both triggers simultaneously.
Quite a kick. The blast tore off its entire hand at the
wrist... the gripping hand.
     The steam-demon plummeted off the car to the
ground, exploding noisily as it got off one last missile
shot that went straight up through the track ahead of
the train, in between the rails, right on a curve in the
bridge.
     The train didn't bother slowing as it rolled over the
missile-damaged point. I could imagine a cartoon
demon with an engineer's cap, throwing back a shot
of the good old hooch and not worrying about the
condition of the track ahead.
     As we passed, I saw in greenish daylight growing
brighter by the minute that part of the inside rail was
bent up from the blast. If it had been the outside rail
instead, we would have plunged into the gorge. The
President of the Twelve would've needed to audition a
new act.
     "Jill!" I howled. "Jill!" Climbing up to the flatcar
was easy, but I suddenly had a cramp deep in my
back. It was so bad that it paralyzed me for a moment.
I wouldn't let something like that stop me now. I
twisting around trying to loosen up, still calling, "Jill,
Jill!"
     Where the hell was that kid? I was starting to
worry.
     I reached the end of the flatcar, looked down . . .
and saw her there, gazing up at me with wide eyes.
"You all right?"
     She nodded, but not a word came out. Maybe she
was suffering from shock. I reached down and she
took my hand. I didn't care about the twinge in my
back now. I hauled her up.
     "Great!" I said.
"Alive?"
     "Of course!"
"Oh." She still seemed not entirely sure.
     I grabbed and hoisted her. Now my back felt fine,
and for a crazy moment the sick-o green dawn looked
beautiful.
     I put her down. The mummy and we were alone on
the flatcar now.
     A warm glow spread through me, not unlike the
warm jet of a hot tub. My old voice spoke, something
good for once: The debt is nearly paid.
     What debt? Oh. The debt of my stupidity in bring-
ing assault onto the enclave.
     That debt.
"Wait here." I could have sent her up the ladder to
signal the others to join us, but she had earned a rest
as far as I was concerned. Her vacation from hell
might not last longer than a few minutes, but I wanted
her to enjoy every second before I ordered her to face
death yet again. I got them myself, bringing them to
the cacophonous flatcar.
     Arlene and Albert looked as exhausted as Jill, and
as tired as I felt. Next time, we'd fly.
     Arlene bent over and began unwrapping, revealing
the face of another human in a world where being
human was something special.
     Huddling against the forty or fifty kilometer per
hour wind that leaked around the engines and air dam
ahead of us, remnants of the 300 kph hurricane two
meters either left or right, we crouched over our
mummy, staring. We saw the features of a black man,
mid-thirties. As we shifted him around on the plat-
form, I estimated his weight at about sixty-four kilos.
Not a bad weight for 1.7 meters.
     "What done him?" Jill shouted. A good question,
though I could barely hear her small voice over the
roar of train and wind. Computer and electronic jacks
were all over his flesh, stuck like pins into a doll. He
was unconscious. There were so many jacks, he'd
probably be in extreme pain if awake.
     Arlene pulled the lid back from his right eye,
revealing a cloudy white orb, so completely glazed
over that you couldn't make out a pupil. Even after
encountering a who's who of monsters, fiends, and
other denizens of hell, something really bothered me
about seeing this helpless man before me.
     He didn't reek like sour lemons, thank God. He was
no zombie.
     I still hadn't discussed with Jill or Albert what
Arlene and I had mulled over--namely, the possibili-
ty that the Bad Guys were trying for more perfect
human duplicates. Practice makes perfect. We had no
idea how the zombies were created. Sometimes I
thought they really were the reanimated dead; but
other times I could buy the idea they were trans-
formed while still alive. However the enemy was
doing it, the lemon stink was a by-product of dealing
with real human bodies.
     If the enemy ever made perfect human copies from
scratch, there would be no lemon smell, or anything
else to give them away.
     Arlene tried various methods of waking up the
man, even slapping him in the face, but nothing
worked. She looked at me and shrugged.
     Jill reached out and gingerly touched one of the
jacks sticking out from the man's flesh. She managed
to look crafty and thoughtful, even with her red hair
whipping around her face like a brushfire.
     She fingered the jack again and scowled.
Then Jill looked at me and mimed typing on a
keyboard. She raised her brows. What. . . ? I blinked;
light finally dawned on marblehead. She wanted to
hack this guy's brain?
     Well why the hell not?
We all crowded around the mummy, making a
     windbreak for Jill. Leaning so close, I could actually
make out a few words. "Need--jack--find out
     what--wants to fight--can't promise it'll--might be
the break . . ."
     I couldn't hear everything, but I got the gist.
The real question was what on earth was inside that
brain that was worth the protection of a spidermind
and a handful of steam-demons? Back on Phobos and
Deimos, the alien technology we had seen was differ-
ent, biological somehow. They used cyborgs, combi-
nation biological-mechanical, like the spidermind it-
self. Was that what this dude was, some sort of link
between humans and alien technology?
     Or the other way around?
Well, whatever. We weren't going to find out any-
thing in a wind tunnel. . . somehow, some way, we
simply had to get this guy off the damned train.
Somehow I doubted we could just ring the bell and
say "Next stop, conductor."
     I hoped the cybermummy would be enough of a son
of a bitch to join us when we unwrapped him.
"Vacation over!" I bellowed over the gale. "War
on!" Arlene gave me a dirty look, so I knew that the
awesome responsibility of command still rested on
my shoulders.
     The   man   seemed   physically   manhandled   and
bruised, but not seriously damaged, except for their
attempt to transform him into an appliance. The
question was, how would we get him off the train?
If we waited until we rolled into the station in L.A.,
I could imagine a slight difficulty in persuading a large
contingent of, say, steam-demons into helping us with
our cargo. The absence of the spidermind from the
flatcar would take a bit of explaining as well. We
lacked the firepower to make our argument com-
pletely convincing.
     "Suggestion," rumbled Albert. It was hard to pick
out his words; the timbre of his voice was too close to
the throb of the engines, and he wasn't a good
shouter. No practice, probably. I only caught some of
what he said and wasn't too sure about what I did
catch.
     "Father--trains! Trick or treat--Jill's age--
incorrect car--aggravates--emerging break . . . !"
I stared, trying to parse the incomprehensible
"plan." Trick or treat? Jill's age aggravates the emerg-
ing break?
     Or was that brake--emergency brake! Something
about an emergency brake.
     He tried again: "Couple of cars!" he hollered.
"Couple--car!"
     Couple of car. Cars? No, car ... couple-car.
I smacked my forehead. Decouple the car. Which
must activate, not aggravate, the emergency brake.
Jesus and Mary! What a nightmare; a loud one!
That seemed like a plenty good plan to Yours Truly.
Hauling the mummy up to the semiprotected roof,
we staggered overhead toward the last car; that's the
one we would decouple. The train was going as fast as
before, but we humped a lot faster along the roof this
time. Killing the spidermind and steam-demon
worked wonders for our self-confidence. Jill's attitude
was so changed that I could probably dangle her over
the edge, holding onto her ankles, without her show-
ing a quiver, though I was glad we didn't require such
a demonstration.
     There were three cattle cars, which we had to pass
by creeping along the sides, centimeters away from
staring zombies. I thought sure they'd start shooting
at us--what a time to die! At least the demons
wouldn't keep their mummy.
     But the reworked humans merely stared with malig-
nant stupidity. They'd been given no orders, you see
. . .just like bureaucrats at the Pentagod.
     When we reached the last car, an enclosed cargo
car, I looked down through the slatted roof to see that
the interior was stuffed with zombies. As expected.
Albert slid down between the cars in search of the
emergency decoupler. After checking it, he climbed
back up and shouted, "When?"
     Another good question. We didn't want to be stuck
in the middle of the desert. If we hung until the
suburbs of L.A., we should be able to hold our own
combatwise and be close enough to supplies, shelter,
and other transportation.
     I tried to remember the L.A. geography. "River-
side!" I shouted. That is, assuming the train passed
through Riverside. If not, any eastern bedroom com-
munity would do.
     Seeing was considerably easier in the daylight, even
in the pale green light. For the moment, I didn't even
mind the greenish hue of an alien sky. Get rid of these
damned invaders, and we could look up at the natural
color of blue minus the gray haze for which L.A. was
famous. It would take a lot of work increasing the
population to get everything back to normal, but it
would be a satisfying challenge.
     "Single!" hollered Albert. Why was he telling me
that? "Single in couple!" Whoops--signal when he
should decouple the car. He climbed back down.
Arlene tossed me a faint nod and half smile, then
gingerly slithered down the ladder and joined him.
25
     Fly was too good a friend for me not to be
honest with him. But I was so surprised how fast
things were going that there wasn't anything for me to
say. Who could talk in this breeze, anyway?
     Fly, like most guys, made certain assumptions
about women. When we decided just to be friends, I
expected a certain strain. But we were pals, buddies,
comrades. I liked it that way.
     But bring another man into the picture, and there
are consequences. Fly was a big brother. He never did
take to Willie; and I don't think he ever thought
there'd be the slightest chance I'd ever fall for a
religious dude--especially a Mormon!
     "Fall" was a bad image. I squeezed down between
the surging cars, watching the river of brown streaks
racing below us as the ground sped past. Albert stood
on the metal tongue-thing that held the cars together;
he kept switching his grip back and forth as the cars
shimmied. I never realized they moved that much.
I was falling for Albert. Crazy, buggin', retarded.
Nothing short of the end of the world could have
brought this about.
     One "end-of-the-world," order up! Maybe we could
reverse what had happened and give the human race a
reason to go on living. Survivors. Those who refused
to go down until the fat monster sang.
     On Phobos, I thought I might be the only human
being left alive in the universe. Then on Deimos, I
thought Fly and I might be the only two human
beings.
     However few there were on Earth to stand against
the invader, all that mattered was that Fly and I were
no longer alone. And looking down on the wide
shoulders of my new friend, I hoped I'd be "un-alone"
in other ways too.
     Drawing near, I saw his lips moving, reciting words
that could have been from the Bible for all I knew.
Some kind of prayer, I reckoned; it seemed to calm
him, give him courage. Guess there's some good in
religion after all, if you knew where to look.
I wondered if he had the entire Book of Mormon
memorized, or just the "good parts," the passages
that suited his prejudice? I knew, somehow, that
Albert wasn't like that--maybe the first guy I ever
met who guided his lifestyle by his faith, instead of
the other way around.
     He stopped, looked up at me and smiled. With an
opening like that, he could hardly blame me for taking
the next step farther down the ladder.
     "Albert!" I shrieked. He said something, but I
couldn't hear him. I was probably embarrassing him.
That was nothing new for me when it came to
     interpersonal relationships. "I find you really attract-
ive!" I bellowed romantically, secure in the knowl-
edge that he couldn't hear a damned word. Then I
shut up and listened to the train wheels.
     "Something mumble something," he said. Damn,
he was embarrassed. But he pressed on, as brave with
me as he'd been with the monsters. Now why did I
make such a comparison? Typical, Arlene, I said to
myself; always your own worst critic.
     I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, I silently
mouthed into the maelstrom.
     He shook his head and shrugged, which might have
meant, I don't have the faintest idea what you're
saying . . . but I preferred to interpret it as Nonsense,
darling; my religion is really important to me, but so
are you--and I know how you feel about it,
     He had me there. I didn't want to say anything right
then. Physical combat can be so much easier than the
other kind! I listened to the steady rhythm of the train
wheels pounding in my skull like a .50 caliber ma-
chine gun, drowning out even the 300 kph typhoon we
rolled through. The irregular rattling sound of the
coupler, waiting for Albert's hands to reach down and
seize it, sounded like ground-to-air artillery.
I looked at the ground unfurling beneath us like a
giant banner; then I looked up at blurs that might be
trees or telephone poles, shading a dawn green as a
lime before it rotted and became zombie lotion.
"I can't give you what you want," I said at normal
speaking volume. Even I couldn't hear me.
     He said nothing, but looked up shyly at me.
I liked him calling me beautiful. With his eyes, at
least. I liked it a lot. Being honest came more easily
now that we were both admitting our mutual attrac-
tion. Well, you know what I mean--this wasn't
exactly the best spot for a romantic conversation; but
I knew what he would be admitting if I could hear
him.
     It wasn't only that I had problems with his religion;
I didn't like any of them. I don't like turning over
moral authority to a bearded ghost that you can't find
when everything blows up.
     Besides, we might not be compatible in other ways.
Hah, how pure Arlene that was! Telling the man I
wanted all the reasons why it would never work. I was
grateful that it was so noisy down here that Fly
couldn't hear a word. Time to shift from negatives to
positives.
     "But Albert, we could give it a try," I said, not
caring that I was basically talking to the wind and the
wheels. He wasn't even looking at me at the moment,
concentrating on keeping his balance and not losing a
finger in the metal clacking thing.
     "We could, like, date. You know, spend a few nights
together, if we live through this. Who knows? Some-
thing might happen."
     Again he left me to contemplation of the train and
the terrain. He was obviously struggling over what I'd
said. It was pretty obvious that four forces were
fighting in him at this moment: morality, manners,
moi, and volume-comma-lack of.
     Finally he worked up his nerve, craned his neck
again where he could look me in the eye and said,
"Something rumble something question mark?"
     Now that was a conversation stopper. But I only let
it stop us for a moment. "You mean, you're a virgin?"
I asked, incredulous.
     He tilted his head to the side; was that a yes?
"But you're a Marine!" I howled in amazement.
I burst out laughing at my own outburst. The
Church of the Marine loomed larger in my mind than
any competing firm.
     Of course, there are Marines who remain loyal to
their wives or abstain from sex for religious reasons.
Hey, fornication is not part of the job description!
Amazing, but true. Still, the odds were against the
clean-living Marine. "You ever heard the phrase,
'There are no virgins in foxholes'?" I asked.
He watched my animated, one-sided dialogue--it
wasn't really a monologue--in puzzlement, tortured
soul that he was. I couldn't give up that easily. What
about the various ports and landing zones he must
have visited on his sea tour? Bombay, Madrid, Ma-
nila, Hong Kong, Calcutta, Kuwait City!
     Albert smiled at me again. Progress! I had an
admission. I knew how I would conduct the cross-
examination: "So tell me, Mr. Marine Corps sniper,
did you never visit any of the local sex scenes? The
cages of Bombay that hang over the street, where you
have sex with a pross in full view? The port-pros in
Manila? The Hong Kong sex tours, where a soldier
with a few bucks in his pocket can visit a dozen
knocking shops in a day and a half? Kefiri City, with
more glory holes than any other . . . ?
     You don't know? Uh, you place your you-know-
what through a hole in a wall and somebody on the
other side does, you know.
     Yeah, maybe it was morals. Maybe he just didn't
want his gun to turn green and fall off.
     The angle was probably tough on his neck, but he
swiveled his body a little so he could almost face me.
"Something jumble something interrogative?"
     Me? Well no, not exactly. He stared at me awhile
longer. No, those places tend to be attractions for a
male Marine. What would I do with a glory hole, for
Pete's sake?
     Heh, I could work the other side, theoretically. All
right; he might have been naive in some ways, but he
was a man of the world in others. The contradictions
in this big man appealed to me. He contained multi-
tudes.
     I reached out and touched his cheek, glad he didn't
pull away. I was afraid he might have been ready to
write me off as a Marine slut. No dice; I was a
responsible girl. . . responsible behavior in today's
world meant carry extra loads and sleep with both
eyes open. To quote everybody's third-favorite weird
German philosopher, Oswald Spengler:
     Life,