J.M. Dillard - War of Worlds: The Resurrection (3 page)

What would her father say if he knew what she was doing now?
You think you know it all, don't you, Lena?
She could hear him start with that lecturing tone.
So

quick to judge. . . thinking only in shades of black and white. But the world isn't that way; it's all shades of gray, and you shouldn 't judge a man until you've been in his position.

I know what's right, Papa, and you'll see. Someday I'm going to save the world.

From what?

From itself. From political oppression.

A sigh, a shake of the head.
My daughter the martyr. There's more than one way to save the world, Lena.

Lena might have listened. But Urick knew better; the only shades of gray came from those people who lived corrupted lives. She was here to cleanse the

world from unscrupulous men like her father . . . and from corrupt, decadent governments like the one in Washington, whose morality was dictated by the almighty dollar.

Urick registered the time. At least they were on schedule. She felt a tightness in her chest and practiced breathing slowly, methodically, then glanced out of the corner of her eye at Chambers, knowing that the sight of him would calm her. The lights on the highway reflected off the lens of Ms wire-rimmed glasses; they were still close enough to the city for there to be occasional traffic this late at night. He was older than she, in his early forties, a quiet man possessed of incredible determination, and he had a strange way of sensing when she was thinking about him. He caught her sly glance, tilted his face toward her—a handsome face, with compelling eyes and thick brown hair that was swept back to reveal a high forehead. The sign of great intelligence, her mother had always said. Chambers gave Urick a slight, encouraging smile. She returned it; she was not afraid to die, she decided, so long as she died with him.

A brilliant man, Chambers. A political science professor at UCLA unlike any other college professor Urick had known—for Chambers possessed strong beliefs, and he believed in acting on those principles. From the first lecture Lena Urick had been mesmerized. Yet it was more than just a schoolgirl crush—no, it was a political awakening for her, and she refused to let their relationship be cheapened by such emotions. For his part, Chambers maintained a scrupulously paternal attitude toward her. Urick thought of him as the man her father would have been had greed not corrupted him.

She forced herself to look back down at the map. They were less than an hour away from their destination, away from the line Urick knew she must cross, after which there could be no turning back.

"Damn," Chambers said softly in his deep voice. The rig shuddered and whined as he downshifted.

She looked over at him, startled. "What's wrong?" The instant she said it, she saw the flashing light reflected off the side mirror. Her heart began thumping wildly.

"Don't know." Chambers eased on the brake and pulled over to the shoulder. The rig groaned to a halt. Urick stared at the police cruiser reflected in the mirror, then at Chambers.

He didn't look at her; he was busy watching the uniformed policeman walk up to the driver's side of the cab. Urick moved to reach for the guns behind the seat. Chambers held up his hand.

"Not yet," he said softly. She drew her hand away and forced herself to sit still, to not look panic-stricken.

Chambers peered down through the open window of the cab and smiled at the policeman.

"I'll need to see your operator's permit and waybill," the cop said with the voice of a man in his early twenties. Theoretically, Urick hated the cop because of the role he played in repressing society; personally, she had nothing against him, and was unsettled at the
thought of using the Uzi this soon, against someone so young. When she thought of killing, she pictured herself killing corrupt old men her father's age, not kids barely out of school.

"Is there a problem, Officer?" Chambers was playing it just right: polite because he didn't want to get a ticket, with the barest hint of irritation at being pulled over. In the midst of her fear, Urick felt a surge of admiration for him.

The cop didn't reply, he gestured for Chambers to hand over the documents. As Chambers sighed and reached for the glove compartment, Urick caught his eye with a look that said
Do you think he knows? Shall I reach for the Uzis?
She didn't dare whisper it with the cop so nearby.

Chambers shrugged.
No. Not yet.. .
She helped him find the forged permit and the waybill. Chambers handed them down to the cop. There was a pause, and then: "Please step out of the vehicle, Mr. Chambers."

Urick held her breath as Chambers opened the door and complied. She caught a brief glimpse of the cop before Chambers slammed the door shut—a blond-haired kid who looked too young to shave and was giving Chambers that stern chip-on-the-shoulder stare. There was no reason to be so near panic. Cops always made you get out of the car. But why the hell had they stopped the rig? Chambers hadn't even been speeding... .

"All the way to the rear," the cop said.

Chambers' boots crunched against the gravel as he moved to the rear of the truck. Urick slid over to the

driver's side and craned her neck out the window to watch. The blond cop followed Chambers to the back of the truck, where a second cop was waiting. They were going to make Chambers open it.

And they were going to get one hell of a surprise.

Urick peered into the side mirror and strained to listen; the young cop was still talking, though he and the other cop had stepped out of view. Chambers, slightly off to one side, was just visible. "Waybill doesn't list your freight, Mr. Chambers. Just says one metric ton."

Chambers sounded indignant. "Company didn't hire me to do the paperwork."

"Any objection to us having a look?"

In the flashing light she could see Chambers' silhouette shrug and pull the key from his chest pocket. There was going to be shooting. She should have scrunched down inside the cab to protect herself, but Chambers was talking. She was frightened for him, and wanted to hear what he would say.

His tone was casual as he proffered the key. "If you don't mind, I'll wait in your car while you poke around. Stuff in there's low-grade nuclear waste. They usually pack it up real good, but... me and the missus still plan on having a few kids." It was the story they'd rehearsed a thousand times for this very emergency, but the line about the kids and the request to sit in the cruiser were ad-libbed.

She could have laughed out loud. Perfect, Chambers! That way he could hide in the safety of the police car ... i/the cops still felt like poking around.

She grinned in the dark cab and waited. There was a long pause as the cops presumably took notice of Chambers' clean white jump suit and made the desired connection; then the cop's partner spoke.

"Reason we pulled you over, Mr. Chambers, you've got a short in your taillights."

"I'll check it out right away, Officer."

"Do that," the young one said. "Drive careful now, okay?"

A door slammed; the flashing light was replaced by headlights and the sound of the cruiser wheeling away at top speed. She climbed out of the cab and joined Chambers, who stood watching them leave. She wanted to gloat, to congratulate him on his cleverness, but, as usual, he was thinking only of what had to be done.

"Taillight's out," he said shortly, dropping the key back into his pocket and giving it a pat. "Check the fuse and let's roll. We're behind schedule." He headed back to the cab, slapping the rear door of the trailer as he passed by.

On the nine-foot chain-link fence that ran alongside the road, the sign read:

Jericho Valley Disposal Site

authorized personnel only

Entrance 1000 Yards

A strange little song began to repeat in Urick's mind, a song she hadn't thought of in years:
Joshua in

the battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho . . . Joshua in the battle of Jericho, and the walls came tumblin' down.. .

Chambers downshifted and maneuvered the rig past the sign and onto the narrow gravel path leading to the first gate. They'd driven along in silence after the taillight incident. At some point, even in the darkness, Urick could tell that Chambers was nervous. For some strange reason the thought calmed her, and the closer they drew to the disposal site, the stronger her sense of unreality became.

Chambers sounded the air horn. Urick looked down at the glowing numbers on her watch: right on schedule. Two helmeted soldiers stepped out of the guard shack on the other side of the gate; one of them hit a switch, and the outer gate slid open.

Chambers put the tractor-trailer in low gear and eased it past the gate, which closed behind them. Urick read more signs on the guard shack:
federal

reserve, no trespassing allowed, nuclear and toxic wastes stored here.

Urick didn't glance at her surroundings; she'd already memorized them. It was a tiny base, consisting of nothing more than a small barracks, a guard shack, and stack after stack of steel barrels.

One of the soldiers came up to the driver's side of the cab, and without a word reached up for the paperwork Chambers handed down. Unlike the cop, the soldier seemed satisfied with what he read; he nodded at his partner, who responded by pressing another switch. The inner gate behind the guard shack slid open. Chambers rolled the tractor-trailer past it and let go a shaky sigh.

So he
was
terrified after all, Urick thought with a twinge of disappointment. Not that it mattered; not that anything mattered, except what she had to do.

And it was almost time. She reached into the space between the seat and the back of the cab and carefully pulled out the Uzi. Chambers was already out as she climbed down, keeping the hand with the Uzi behind her back.

The soldiers had come out the rear door of the guard shack and were approaching the rig with smiles on their faces. Young corporals, clean-shaven, barely twenty years old.
This is the enemy,
Urick told herself.
These are dead men.
In every revolution, Chambers had explained, there had to be deaths.
We don't relish killing. . . but to achieve our goals we must sacrifice some on the altar of world freedom. Perhaps, if our victims knew the good their deaths would bring, they would volunteer . . .
Urick studied their leering faces and doubted it. Typical army types. Probably enlisted for no better reason than to get a free education. Suddenly, she was filled with overwhelming hatred for them.

"Got some fresh coffee in the shack," one of them said pleasantly to her, making her realize that the smiles were for her alone.

Chambers answered before she could. "Maybe later," he said stonily.

The other corporal took a step nearer. "When did you folks add women to your crews?"

"Are you threatened by a woman, soldier?" Urick asked. Her voice had a shrill edge to it. Stupid of her to argue. She should have simply killed him.

"No, ma'am," the questioner answered politely. "I just like 'em, is all."

Her hand tightened on the Uzi; Lena fled forever, leaving only Urick, and Urick realized with an eerie thrill that she was going to enjoy what she was about to do. She smiled coldly at the soldiers. "What a nice thing to say."

She drew the Uzi out for them to see and pointed it at the one who offered coffee. The effect on them was gratifying; the corporals gasped in unison and thrust their hands into the air. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Chambers smiled. He was pleased with her performance, then; he was the one who suggested she handle the Uzi—because they'd never expect any trouble from a woman, he'd said, but she knew it was to test her loyalty. There was but one last line to cross.

"What the hell's going on?" The coffee drinker demanded.

"Liberation, my friend," Chambers told him.

One of them moved, Urick didn't know which, but her finger squeezed the trigger without her consciously deciding to do so. Because of the silencer, the burst made very little noise as it tore into Corporal Coffee, lifting him off his feet and knocking him a good yard backward and down. She looked at him lying there, the front of his uniform shredded and blood-soaked, and felt nothing.

The remaining corporal made a noise something

like a sob. He raised his hands even higher as he backed away from Urick and the gun. His face contorted. "My God, lady, why—?"

She raised the Uzi again.

"Hey, just cool it, okay?" His voice rose to hysterical pitch.

"It's okay, soldier," she told him calmly, sweetly, and smiled to herself as he relaxed a little. She was aware of Chambers' eyes on her, a little surprised that she was toying with her victim, but she didn't care. "Everything's cool."

She squeezed the trigger again. The second corporal fell back, his expression startled.

No time to think now. Only work to be done. Chambers went over to the rig and opened a side panel. He set up the rocket launcher while Urick, the Uzi dancing on a strap slung over one shoulder, ran to the back of the trailer, unlatched the doors, and swung them wide. Inside the trailer, engines revved.