The City of Mirrors
Page 131
“We better go,” Hollis said. “It’ll be dark soon.”
They gathered the horses and rode on.
—
General Gunnar Apgar, standing at the top of the wall, watched the shadows stretching over the valley.
He glanced at his watch: 2015 hours. Sunset was minutes away. The last transports bringing workers in from the fields were churning up the hill. All of his men had taken up positions along the top of the wall. They had new guns and fresh ammunition, but their numbers were small—far too few to watch every inch of a six-mile perimeter, let alone defend it.
Apgar wasn’t a religious man. Many years had passed since a prayer had found his lips. Though it made him feel a little foolish, he decided to say one now. God, he thought, if you’re listening, sorry about the language, but if it’s not too much trouble, please let this all be bullshit.
Footsteps banged down the catwalk toward him.
“What is it, Corporal?”
The soldier’s name was Ratcliffe—a radio operator. He was badly winded from his run up the stairs. He bent at the waist and put his hands on his knees, taking in great gulps of air between words. “General, sir, we got the message out like you said.”
“How about Luckenbach?”
Ratcliffe nodded quickly, still looking at the ground. “Yeah, they’re sending a squad.” He paused and coughed. “But that’s the thing. They were the only ones who answered.”
“Catch your breath, Corporal.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Now tell me what you’re talking about.”
The soldier drew himself erect. “It’s just like I said. Hunt, Comfort, Boerne, Rosenberg—we’re not getting anything back. No acknowledgment, nothing. Every station except Luckenbach is off-line.”
The last bus was passing through the gate. Below, in the staging area, workers were filing off. Some were talking, telling jokes and laughing; others separated themselves quickly from the group and marched away, headed home for the night.
“Thanks for passing that along, Corporal.”
Apgar watched him totter away before turning to look over the valley again. A curtain of darkness was sweeping over the fields. Well, he thought, I guess that’s that. It would have been nice if it could have lasted longer. He descended the stairs and walked to the base of the gate. Two soldiers were waiting with a civilian, a man of about forty, dressed in stained coveralls and holding a wrench the size of a sledgehammer.
The man spat a wad of something onto the ground. “Gate should be working fine now, General. I got everything well greased, too. The thing will be quiet as a cat.”
Apgar looked at one of the soldiers. “Are all the transports in?”
“As far as we know.”
He tipped his face to the sky; the first stars had appeared, winking from the darkness.
“Okay, gentlemen,” he said. “Let’s lock it up.”
—
Caleb was sitting on the front stoop, watching the night come on.
That afternoon, he’d inspected the hardbox, which he hadn’t looked at in months. He’d built it only to please his father; it had seemed silly at the time. Tornadoes happened, yes, some people had even been killed, but what were the chances? Caleb had cleared the hatch of leaves and other debris and descended the ladder. The interior was cool and dark. A kerosene lantern and jugs of fuel stood along one wall; the hatch sealed from the inside with a pair of steel crossbars. When Caleb had shown the shelter to Pim, their second night at the farm, he’d felt a little embarrassed by the thing, which seemed like an expensive and unwarranted indulgence, completely out of step with the optimism of their enterprise. But Pim had taken it in stride. Your father knows a thing or two, she signed. Stop apologizing. I’m glad you took the time.
Now, looking west, Caleb took measure of the sun. Its bottom edge was just kissing the top of the ridgeline. In its final moments, it appeared to accelerate, as it always did.
Going, going, gone.
He felt the air change. Everything around him seemed to stop. But in the next instant, something caught his eye—a rustling, high in a pecan tree at the edge of the woods. What was he seeing? Not birds; the motion was too heavy. He got to his feet. A second tree shuddered, then a third.
He recalled a phrase from the past. When they come, they come from above.
He had levered a round into the chamber of his rifle when, behind him, in the house, a voice cried out his name.
—
“Hold up a second,” Hollis said.
An Army truck was tipped on its side in the roadway; one of its back wheels was still spinning with a creaking sound.
Sara quickly dismounted. “Somebody might be hurt.”
Hollis followed her to the truck. The cab was empty.
“Maybe they walked out of here,” Hollis said.
“No, this just happened.” She looked down the road then pointed. “There.”
The soldier was lying on his back. He was breathing in quick bursts, eyes open, staring at the sky. Sara dropped to her knees beside him. “Soldier, look at me. Can you speak?” He was acting like a man who was badly injured, yet there was no blood, no obvious sign of anything broken. The sleeves of his uniform bore the two stripes of a corporal. He rolled his face toward her, exposing a small wound, bright with blood, at the base of his throat.
“Run,” he croaked.
—
Caleb burst into the house. Pim was holding Theo, backing away from the door to Dory’s room; Bug and Elle were clustered at her legs.
They gathered the horses and rode on.
—
General Gunnar Apgar, standing at the top of the wall, watched the shadows stretching over the valley.
He glanced at his watch: 2015 hours. Sunset was minutes away. The last transports bringing workers in from the fields were churning up the hill. All of his men had taken up positions along the top of the wall. They had new guns and fresh ammunition, but their numbers were small—far too few to watch every inch of a six-mile perimeter, let alone defend it.
Apgar wasn’t a religious man. Many years had passed since a prayer had found his lips. Though it made him feel a little foolish, he decided to say one now. God, he thought, if you’re listening, sorry about the language, but if it’s not too much trouble, please let this all be bullshit.
Footsteps banged down the catwalk toward him.
“What is it, Corporal?”
The soldier’s name was Ratcliffe—a radio operator. He was badly winded from his run up the stairs. He bent at the waist and put his hands on his knees, taking in great gulps of air between words. “General, sir, we got the message out like you said.”
“How about Luckenbach?”
Ratcliffe nodded quickly, still looking at the ground. “Yeah, they’re sending a squad.” He paused and coughed. “But that’s the thing. They were the only ones who answered.”
“Catch your breath, Corporal.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Now tell me what you’re talking about.”
The soldier drew himself erect. “It’s just like I said. Hunt, Comfort, Boerne, Rosenberg—we’re not getting anything back. No acknowledgment, nothing. Every station except Luckenbach is off-line.”
The last bus was passing through the gate. Below, in the staging area, workers were filing off. Some were talking, telling jokes and laughing; others separated themselves quickly from the group and marched away, headed home for the night.
“Thanks for passing that along, Corporal.”
Apgar watched him totter away before turning to look over the valley again. A curtain of darkness was sweeping over the fields. Well, he thought, I guess that’s that. It would have been nice if it could have lasted longer. He descended the stairs and walked to the base of the gate. Two soldiers were waiting with a civilian, a man of about forty, dressed in stained coveralls and holding a wrench the size of a sledgehammer.
The man spat a wad of something onto the ground. “Gate should be working fine now, General. I got everything well greased, too. The thing will be quiet as a cat.”
Apgar looked at one of the soldiers. “Are all the transports in?”
“As far as we know.”
He tipped his face to the sky; the first stars had appeared, winking from the darkness.
“Okay, gentlemen,” he said. “Let’s lock it up.”
—
Caleb was sitting on the front stoop, watching the night come on.
That afternoon, he’d inspected the hardbox, which he hadn’t looked at in months. He’d built it only to please his father; it had seemed silly at the time. Tornadoes happened, yes, some people had even been killed, but what were the chances? Caleb had cleared the hatch of leaves and other debris and descended the ladder. The interior was cool and dark. A kerosene lantern and jugs of fuel stood along one wall; the hatch sealed from the inside with a pair of steel crossbars. When Caleb had shown the shelter to Pim, their second night at the farm, he’d felt a little embarrassed by the thing, which seemed like an expensive and unwarranted indulgence, completely out of step with the optimism of their enterprise. But Pim had taken it in stride. Your father knows a thing or two, she signed. Stop apologizing. I’m glad you took the time.
Now, looking west, Caleb took measure of the sun. Its bottom edge was just kissing the top of the ridgeline. In its final moments, it appeared to accelerate, as it always did.
Going, going, gone.
He felt the air change. Everything around him seemed to stop. But in the next instant, something caught his eye—a rustling, high in a pecan tree at the edge of the woods. What was he seeing? Not birds; the motion was too heavy. He got to his feet. A second tree shuddered, then a third.
He recalled a phrase from the past. When they come, they come from above.
He had levered a round into the chamber of his rifle when, behind him, in the house, a voice cried out his name.
—
“Hold up a second,” Hollis said.
An Army truck was tipped on its side in the roadway; one of its back wheels was still spinning with a creaking sound.
Sara quickly dismounted. “Somebody might be hurt.”
Hollis followed her to the truck. The cab was empty.
“Maybe they walked out of here,” Hollis said.
“No, this just happened.” She looked down the road then pointed. “There.”
The soldier was lying on his back. He was breathing in quick bursts, eyes open, staring at the sky. Sara dropped to her knees beside him. “Soldier, look at me. Can you speak?” He was acting like a man who was badly injured, yet there was no blood, no obvious sign of anything broken. The sleeves of his uniform bore the two stripes of a corporal. He rolled his face toward her, exposing a small wound, bright with blood, at the base of his throat.
“Run,” he croaked.
—
Caleb burst into the house. Pim was holding Theo, backing away from the door to Dory’s room; Bug and Elle were clustered at her legs.
