8. Jake and Erma
Dice did not feel as if he were breaking a bargain by having one last smoke. The bargain—or rather the prayer—had been an agreement to give up smokes if the big man upstairs (or lady, or whatever) got him "out of this."
Dice had never given much thought to supreme beings of any flavor, but he had been behind the stick of a shuttle that was heading toward a big splat. At that point, Dice would have made a deal with anyone to 'get me out of this'.
When the shuttle's propulsion units had miraculously re-booted and after the impact had been deadened by the structure into which he had crashed, Dice gave serious consideration to his luck being an act of divine intervention. But when he had stepped from the shuttle and found that it had been the sticky walls of a Blue nest that had slowed his crash, he realized it more likely an act of divine comedy.
No a big nest, mind you, but big enough. Dice did not even have a pistol.
So he stuck the smoke between his lips and lit the match while he waited for the Blue to charge in and put an end to his life. Not that he wasn't afraid to die, but with so many of the foul monsters moving in for the kill…well screaming just seemed like a waste of time.
It's been fun.
Two choppers marched forward with mandibles wavering in the air above Dice's head. The creatures probably moved slowly because they rarely encountered humans who failed to fight back, let alone scream.
BLAM.
One of the Choppers rocked side to side from an impact. Dice's mouth gaped open and his cigarette dropped to the ground.
"Nice shootin' Erma! I'll blast the other one!"
Dice heard the whir of metallic wheels and saw flashes of artificial light—spotlights—flicker through the chamber. The gathered congregation of Blue turned their attention to two newcomers.
Two armored Shrikes.
Dice—immobilized by shock—watched as the pair of war machines whizzed into the chamber.
The first appeared to be a Heavy Duty model and the second a Grapple, but both had undergone major modifications.
A loud speaker boomed: "TAKE COVER THERE, SON, UNLESS YOU WANNA BE BLUE-MUNCHIES!"
Dice shook himself from his trance and crouched into a crevice under the crashed shuttle.
A volley of rockets spewed from the Heavy Duty armored shrike, each smashing a line of Blue marching forward to intercept the newcomers. Half a dozen of the beasties dropped after the warheads exploded away the front half of their insect-like faces.
"YOU GOT EM' JAKE!"
A massive, armor-plated Tank Beetle rumbled into the room and confronted the grapple at twenty yards. Dice watched that machine do something he had never seen done before.
The shrike's two fist-like metal hands launched forward like missiles in their own right: missiles formed into the shape of a fist. A heavy rope or chain trailed behind.
The two flying punches rammed into the Tank Beetle's noggin', cracking the protective outer shell and causing the monster to stumble about in pain.
The two fists retracted fast on the ropes, clanging into place at the end of the shrike's arms as neatly as if they had never been separated at all.
The Grapple then displayed two additional pieces of modification: chain guns mounted in its chest.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.
The already-damaged shielding on the creature was ripped away by the rounds, bringing its life to an end.
"NICE SHOOTIN' ERMA!"
More Blue came, pouring in from side chambers. Choppers, Tankers, and even a slimy Spring Worm.
Dice watched the battle play out. It all seemed so surreal as spotlights flashed around the cavern, shadows of Blue rumbled forth, barrels flashed like lightning, and a cacophony of sounds from spent shell casings tinging to the ground to the roar of angry monsters created a chorus of chaos in his hears.
"ON YOUR LEFT, JAKE!"
"BLAST EM' GOOD, ERMA!"
The Heavy Duty Shrike with Jake at the helm deployed two over sized bowling balls that rolled into the horde of approaching monstrosities then exploded outward a tangled web of heavy cables with sharp arrows at the ends. The lines pierced several Blue bodies, ensnaring the beasts as if they had walked into a spider's parlor.
The Grapple sprayed a hose of sticky adhesive like super glue, snagging three more of the nest's denizens. The monsters howled in frustration before heavy rounds blasted away their vulnerable cores.
"LOOK OUT ABOVE, JAKE!"
"I SEE THE EM', DON'T GO TELLIN' ME MY BUZNESS!"
The Heavy Duty fired yet another weapon—a wall of flame—at a Chopper trying to flank him from above. The animal writhed and fell from the ceiling onto its back. Jake's Shrike stepped forward, produced a massive metal spear from its right forearm, and skewered the downed Blue.
"THAT'LL LEARN EM' TO TRY AND SNEAK UP ON ME!"
Dice blinked fast. Was he really seeing this? Was this all a dream?
More shots. More rockets.
More dead Blue.
The battle lasted a good half an hour. Shrike barrels smoked from heat, the banter between the pilots slowed as each grew weary of the fight. However, the Blue grew weary first.
One last mammoth Tanker trotted into the room, only to be first sprayed by the Grapple's adhesive liquid then run-through by the Heavy Duty's spear.
Searchlights searched for more targets, but found none.
"All clear on the scanner," Jake's tired voice spoke in a normal voice, not a shout, for the first time.
Erma shot back. "You think I'd let them get you, honey?"
"Oh, now aren't you just as sweet as Pecan Pie?"
Dice crawled out from his hiding spot. The spotlights blared on him.
"Hey there, sonny. How'd you like the show?"
---
Dice rode along in the arm of the Grapple, comfortably held as the ship sped off to the east leaving a dying sunset behind.
The pilot of the Grapple, Erma, wore goggles over a grim face with flapping curls of gray hair above. The woman had to be in her sixties, give or take a decade.
"I hope it isn't too cold out there for you, sonny."
Dice smiled even though he shivered.
"No. Not at all. Much obliged for the ride."
"Now we're much too neighborly to go leaving a young fella like yourself on his own in a big bad Blue nest. Besides, we got ourselves a deal, right?"
Dice nodded. It was the best deal of all the deals he had made in recent days. Erma and her husband Jake wanted Dice's shuttle, even though the transport had been damaged beyond repair. In exchange, they would put him up for the night and help point him in the right direction come morning.
It occurred to Dice that Jake and Erma and their pair of Armored Shrikes could quite easily take the shuttle and all its spare parts. Dice realized, however, that such a move did not occur to Jake or Erma. They were just too darned sweet.
Jake, an elderly black man wearing goggles similar to Erma's, drove along in his modified Heavy Duty a few yards away. His voice crackled over the radio.
"Okay, honey, the door is open. Head right in."
Dice turned his attention straight ahead. The cold wind of night in the wastelands whipped through his hair. He squinted in the breeze and spied a small, rocky hill. The Shrikes headed directly toward that hill…directly toward a wall of rock. Without slowing.
"Um. Erma..hehe, I don't mean to be a left-arm driver, but I don't see any door."
The wall of rock loomed closer. The Shrikes did not slow.
"Erma…? Erma? Erma!"
Dice instinctively but futilely raised his arms to cover his head, nearing slipping from the war machine's grasp as he did. But instead of smashing into rock they past through the stone and into a dark hallway.
"Huh? What the..?
Dice turned around. He saw the soft glow of the fading sun on the far side of an image. A projected image of some sort. That soft glow disappeared as a solid bulkhead slid shut.
Erma chuckled.
"Holograph. The Blue don't come lookin' for ya' when all they see is a wall or rock."
Dice shrugged.
---
It was a noisy room, but quaint. The walls of the small redoubt had been cut from the surrounding cave and supported by wooden beams not unlike a mine shaft. However, the feeling resembled not an emergency shelter but a grandmother's house.
The noise was a low, constant chattering from the clutter of machines and gadgets; some half-made others—like a cuckoo clock—fully operational. A wide, long work bench ran the length of one wall, an old entertainment center with television set and VCR on another.
Another wall presented a line of analog clocks with placards underneath each. The clocks all told a different time for place such as London, New York, Los Angeles, Tokyo, Sydney, and Moscow. Dice could not be sure if the time kept remained accurate or not.
A deep, comfortable sofa and a pair of easy chairs flanked an oak coffee table. Open archways led to a handful of other chambers, including a kitchen from which drifted a meaty smell.
Jake sat in one easy chair and smiled at Dice as the two men sipped tea. Quaid had just finished relaying his story.
"Well I'm glad to hear those fellas at Second Earth were shooting at you. I'd be more worried about you if they didn't."
"Ah…huh? Oh, I get it. You don't like Second Earthers. Well, I'm not too much for those types nowadays myself. That's why they were shootin' at me, if you catch my meaning."
Jake stroked his beard. There were as many gray whiskers there as black.
"Well, they wanted old Jake Donner up there with them, floating around in those tin cans. Not me, though. I decided to stay put."
Erma walked into the room carrying a pot of hot water. She carefully re-filled the two men's cups.
"Wait a sec," Dice leaned forward in his chair. "Jake Donner? I've heard that name."
Dice scratched his chin.
"Can't quite place it though."
Erma offered an explanation for her husband.
"You ever done work on an Armored Shrike?"
Dice thought back to the piece of crap machine that had helped him survive at the old supply depot. He had done plenty of work on that one.
"Well…yeah."
"Guess you didn't notice the little thing called the manufacturing plate, did ya? You'll see old Jake Donner's name on each and every one."
Dice remembered.
"Jake Donner. You invented the Armored Shrike."
Jake waved a hand in the air.
"Oh, now, I invented a lot of things. Many of them a lot better than the Shrike. And they've gone through a few changes over the years, but I still hold the patent."
Jake's eyes stared off at distant, sad memories.
"Wish the world hadn't needed the Shrike."
Erma placed the pot of water on a hot pad atop the coffee table and sat next to Dice on the sofa.
"Of course, they wanted Jake to go on up to Second Earth with them, way back in the day, that is. But he wouldn't have none of it."
"No? Why's that?"
Jake sounded indignant at the thought.
"Because this is my home. Earth. Man wasn't meant to be flying around up there in orbit. That kind of living will drive a person crazy, that's what I say. Rather stay here and face the Blue, that's what."
"Lot's of folk stayed behind," Erma said. "Like that Professor Gorski fellow who was overseeing the Sleeper program."
Jake waved a dismissive hand.
"That nut case? I told you back then, Erma, that we weren't going with him to Manitoba. We're making our home right here."
Erma explained, "We were in Moscow when the President of the United States announced Operation Clean Sweep. We decided it best to find a nice place to curl up and hide, especially after the Russians and Chinese signed on."
Jake shook his head.
"Blew up half the damn planet. I told them it wouldn't work! I told them! That's what the Shrike program was all about, see."
Jake leaned forward and told Dice, "The Blue had a numbers advantage. And no matter what the brass thought, big bombs and nukes weren't going to get the job done. You nuke a city full of Blue, you know what you got?"
Dice shook his head.
"You got the ruins of a city full of Blue. The damn things are like cockroaches. If they ain't at ground zero then they just get a nasty sun tan. Besides, they breed like roaches too and the core chambers of their nests are pretty damned resilient."
Erma chimed in while holding her tea cup, "Gotta hit them right on the nose, or you're just wasting your time."
Dice did not seem to understand.
Jake explained further, "To kill the Blue you have to go down and into their nests. You can't do that from an airplane or with an ICBM. That's what the Armored Shrikes were all about, being able to get right down into a Blue nest and punch em' in the core."
Erma agreed, "Can't do that with a tank. Too clumsy. Limited visibility and all that."
"And you sure as hell can't send a platoon of grunts in there. Sure, a good sharpshooter with a rifle might take out one or two Blue, but that's it. Not enough fire power."
Erma nodded, "They found that out in Caracas, the poor bastards."
"So," Jake said. "That's what the Armored Shrike can do. It can give the firepower and protection of a tank to an individual soldier. If we had acted quicker…" Jake wrung his hands. "…if they had accepted my ideas faster…but by the time America bought into the idea Europe was already overrun, South America was in chaos, and half of Russia was under siege. They decided to go with Clean Sweep instead."
"I'm telling you, sweetie," Erma insisted, "Clean Sweep was all about buying time for the Second Earth program. It was a secret and with all the nukes going off they were able to keep it a secret long enough to get them stations in orbit."
Jake shook his head. Erma sipped her tea. Dice did not know what to say.
So instead of talking, he surveyed their home once again. So many tools and gears and wires and boxes, all strewn around a room filled with hospitality.
"So, ah, you're going to take apart my shuttle for spare parts?"
"Not exactly. Just parts, not spares," Jake answered. "I'm a tinkerer, Mr. Dice. I invent things. Like the Shrikes we picked you up in. They're heavily modified versions, in case you hadn't noticed. Don't even run on the same types of power cells."
"Oh."
"No tell, us, dear, where are you headed?"
Dice scratched his ear.
"Well, hehe, I'm not rightly sure. But there's a Resource Recovery Station I was headed for to the east. If I can get there, I figure I can find my bearings. But it's gotta be a good five hundred miles from here."
"Oh dear."
"I'm sorry to say, Mr. Dice, that we don't have much in the way of transportation."
"Wait a moment, Jake. What about the Toasty Tart?"
Dice could not be sure he had heard that correctly. He wiggled one finger in his ear incase wax had caused a distortion. It had not.
"Oh, yes, say, the Toasty Tart. Emma, you're right. That could probably make it five hundred miles. Give or take."
Erma patted Dice on the knee in a grandmotherly fashion.
"Now don't you worry Mr. Dice. We'll get you on your way in the morning. You'll be just fine."
The sharp 'ting' of a timer caught Emra's attention.
"Oh. The venison stew is almost ready. I'll be right back."
She walked from the room. Jake watched her go with half a smile. Dice was impressed. He could feel the warmth between the two. He wondered what they had been like when their love had been new.
Probably like Yuji and Marlene.
"So, Mr. Dice. How did you get all wrapped up with genetic corn seed, kidnapped daughters, and jilted lovers?"
"Oh, hehe, well, I'm usually not the type of guy to go sticking my nose in other people's business. In fact, I was gunna walk away and leave it all alone. But they kinda dragged me in."
"Ah, yes. But maybe it was your destiny calling, Mr. Dice."
"My huh?"
"Your destiny. Or maybe karma, if you'd like. I can see that you fancy yourself a loner. Probably even fantasize of being a brigand or scoundrel. But Mr. Dice, you are a man with a heart."
"Well, now, I wouldn't go saying that."
"It's okay. Admit it. It's what makes us human, Mr. Dice. It's the difference between those of us who stayed behind on this Earth and those who went up into those space stations."
Dice scratched the back of his neck.
"I don't know about that. I've seen a lot of misery down here on Earth. People starving. Others stabbing each other in the back. It's one big mess, that's what I'd say."
Jake countered, "You think those people living under Victor's thumb up on Second Earth have it any better? They're up there, in their phony-oxygen floating coffins and they're dying, Mr. Dice. They just don't know it. Those space stations are sucking the life out of them. Man wasn't meant to float around in the void of space. He was meant to be here, on his planet."
"I guess you'd know more about that than me."
Jake smiled at Dice.
"I think, Mr. Dice, you know a lot more than you give yourself credit for."
---
The modified Heavy Duty Shrike buzzed across a farmer's field and through the remains of a destroyed village. A Jeep with Erma at the wheel and Dice riding shotgun while holding his precious cargo case of vials followed at a safe distance.
The stucco and wood and plaster of the village homes had long ago been destroyed and burned. Human skeletons and fossilized Blue carcasses could be spied among the ruins, but the battle that had come to that part of world had long since been decided.
Dice felt more rested and better fed than he had in weeks. Hell, maybe years. For the first time since he had run out of gas, he felt a sense of optimism. Optimism not only about surviving another day, but also about himself.
Seeing Erma and Jake surviving in the midst of this whole big mess made him realize that maybe there was hope. The two of them were like soft spots in a hard world: still warm and kind and full of life. Dice felt certain they had touched his own soft spot; the spot deep inside his heart that sat hidden behind his own hard outer shell.
He realized he had to see this whole thing through. Not merely for the sake of saving Elena but also for his own. He could not walk away from a person in trouble. Not now.
The convoy past through the remains of the small village and approached a large warehouse on the grounds of what had once been a tiny air strip. A dead Cessna covered in tumble weeds and rust sat sentry on the overgrown dirt tarmac. Its dust-covered windows looked like tired old eyes on a coon dog eyeing the approach of strangers.
---
The sun had fully risen and afternoon fast approached. The sound of the pump passing helium continued on as it had for hours. At first, Dice had felt that the noise of the machine would surely attract Blue, but with the passing of time it had become nothing more than background sound.
The helium was being pumped into a large, oblong blimp with a banana-shaped open-air gondola. On the white sides of the airship was a cartoon of a big-eyed child smiling and holding a rectangular breakfast pastry below the stenciled words: TOASTY TARTS MMMMMM.
Dice shook his head and walked back inside the dark hanger where Emma and Jake scavenged for any useful items they may have missed in the past.
"Um, hey, I think this thing is almost full."
Jake—wearing a helmet with a belt-in flashlight—pulled his head from a dark locker.
"What's that? Oh, good. Then you'll be on your way soon."
"Yoo-hoo, Mr. Dice. Over here!"
Dice followed Erma's call. As he walked across the large chamber a pair of birds fluttered away from the rafters so high overhead and flew out a hole in the roof.
Erma stood next to a small folding table on which rested an unfurled map. Dice strode to her side.
"Now, see, here," she pointed at the map and traced a line. "The Resource Processing Station you're looking for is about four hundred miles due east of here. We'd let you take our car, but we don't have enough gas to get you there."
"Hey, no prob. I mean, I know all about gas problems, believe you me."
Erma comforted Dice with a pat on his shoulder.
"If you go due east you'll come to a series of mountains and in the center of them all like a big punch bowl is a lake. It's about three quarters of the way between here and where you want to go. No listen, we call this Silver Lake. It has some Russian name, but I can't pronounce it, deary."
Dice smiled and nodded.
"So, this Silver Lake is on a direct path to where I want to go."
"That's right. But—"
Jake's voice interrupted Erma's navigational assistance.
"Hey Erma, check this out. There's an old Piper Cub engine here. Do you think we can modify it?"
Erma strode away from Dice.
"Let me see. You talk to Dice. I was just telling him about Silver Lake."
Jake took over helping Dice.
"So she told you about Silver Lake."
Dice nodded.
"Yeppers."
"Okay, now come with me Mr. Dice."
The two men walked toward the exit. Next to that exit rested a large container covered with a tarp. Jake pulled back the tarp and swung open the wooden crate underneath. Inside rested a large silver chain gun.
"Here you go, Mr. Dice."
Jake struggled to pick up the heavy gun. Dice reached in and took it from the older man's hands.
The thing had weight. It felt good. It felt deadly.
The two men walked outside and approached the nearly-filled blimp.
"Now, Mr. Dice, see this rail inside?"
Dice peered inside the gondola. A metal rain ran around the perimeter of the basket.
"Yeah."
"The gun mounts on that rail. I renovation I made myself back when I thought Erma and I might just want to go flying away from here someday."
"But you decided to stay?"
"That's right. We realized running wouldn't do us no good. Sooner or later you just have to plant down roots and take a stand."
Dice grinned wryly, "I suppose so, yeah."
Quaid then mounted the gun on the inner rail. He found two boxes of ammunition bands inside the gondola.
"Now, you know all about Silver Lake, right? You know what to do, right?"
"Um. Well, I know it's on a direct path—"
"Jake! Yep, I think we can hammer that big old mess of pistons into something useful."
Erma walked out from the hanger with a big smile.
"Oh good," Jake answered her. "You see, Mr. Dice, even old Earth's trash can still server a purpose, if you have the right mind about it."
Dice accepted the idea and then helped Jake remove the pump from the full-inflated blimp. The airship cast a shadow over the hanger and the people below.
Dice swung himself inside the gondola. Erma handed him his container that carried the vial of genetic corn seed and the vial of designer drug.
"Don't go forgetting this, after all the trouble you've been through."
She gave him a peck on the cheek for good measure.
"Okay, Mr. Dice, " Jake finished. "We went over how to steer this thing. Should be a snap for a man who can fly shuttles."
"Um," Dice conceded. "I crashed the shuttle."
"Oh dear. Well, in any case, remember the defensive measures I told you about. The chain gun and the shock plates."
"Gotchya."
The mooring lines were removed, sand bags dropped, and the blimp floated upwards. At fifty feet, Dice engaged the rear propeller, driven by an electric engine that relied on solar panels for power. Jake, it appeared, had expended a lot of effort in readying the ship for travel before he had decided to stay put.
Erma and her husband watched Dice float off into the sky to the east.
"Well," she said. "You finished telling him about Silver Lake, I trust."
"Huh? Oh, well, you said you told him about Silver Lake."
"No, I started telling him about it. I never got to finish with all you're 'come look at this engine' ranting."
Jake's face corkscrewed into concern.
"Erma, you warned him not to go over Silver Lake, didn't you? You told him to go around to the north or south, right?"
"I most certainly did not. I never had the chance."
Jake cupped his hands and shouted toward Dice so high above.
"DICE! STAY AWAY FROM SILVER LAKE!"
Dice, far ahead, placed a hand to his ear to try to hear their yells.
"STAY AWAY FROM SILVER LAKE!"
Dice shouted a repetition of what he thought he heard.
"THE WAY IS SILVER LAKE! GOTCHYA!"
"Oh Dear, he's heard us wrong," Jake lamented as the Toasty Tart blimp sailed off to the east.
Erma shook her head in disappointment.
"And he was such a nice boy, too."