Doc Harrison and the Apocalypse Page 14

  “So we trusted a stupid animal and got nowhere.” Keane crosses to the wall and hunkers down with a huff.

  The grren cubs surround him and purr for his attention. He curses and shouts for them to get away.

  I gesture to Mama Grren. “What was her plan?”

  “I’m not sure,” Julie says. “Maybe she doesn’t trust us with it, because she’s not showing us anything right now.”

  I lean against the wall. Across from me, Tommy ticks off guard positions with his fingers and mutters “what ifs” under his breath. His Marine Corps mind is working overtime.

  Meanwhile, Mama Grren, who’s covered in dirt, shakes her head, spraying all of us with loose sand. We groan and clear our eyes.

  I lean over and regard Keane. “We’ll make it.”

  “Why do people always lie like that?”

  “It’s not a lie if you believe it. And if you believe it, you can make it happen, and if you make it happen, then you’re a boss like me. Get it?”

  Keane smirks, but then a new thought strikes. “Hey, you said whatever Hollis knows, you know.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not sure how. He said, ‘I will live on in the essence of Docherty Harrison.’”

  “So he gave you his immortal or what some people just call his breath.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a small piece of himself. Did he make a speech?”

  “I think so.”

  “Yeah, that’s called the depardis. It’s actually a pretty big deal. Usually only family members exchange immortals. You must’ve been really important to him.”

  “I know my father was.” I lower my head so he won’t see me choking up. Too late.

  “Hey, you all right?”

  I don’t answer.

  Julie comes over to us and crouches down. “Doc?”

  “I’m okay.”

  I bat off the tears because I don’t want Tommy seeing me like this. He’s a leatherneck with a low tolerance for whiners and criers. I compose myself and continue:

  “So Keane, can you carry more than one immortal?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I think I have my mother’s too. I feel like my father had it, but then he gave it to Hollis. And then Hollis gave it to me before he died.”

  “Yeah, immortals are passed down. I have my father’s. After the bombs, we couldn’t get to my mother and sisters in time, so we never got theirs—not that you care.”

  “Dude, really?” I ask. “You know we care.”

  He shrugs. “Guess I just like hearing it.”

  “Well, it’s true. But I got another question. I told you that I know what Hollis knows, but that’s not right. Hollis grew up here, so he must know about the grren, but I have nothing. So what’s up with that?”

  Keane nods. “The immortal is way more random, like a collection of the strongest feelings and memories. Sometimes people can force information into it, which is probably what he did with the codes and stuff.”

  “Yeah, I had them.”

  “So do you know the rest of his plan?”

  “There was another team meeting us outside the walls, but I’m sure they’re dead or gone by now.”

  “Probably. Hey, you want to see something cool?”

  “Okay.”

  He closes his eyes. His persona bursts from his chest...

  But wait a minute… it’s not him.

  It’s the sparkling figure of middle-aged man dressed in baggy, dust-covered pants, a dirty tunic, and a thick scarf tied around his long neck.

  From the shoulders up he’s nothing but gray hair and ragged beard and wrinkles. He’s like a homeless guy hanging at Walmart, begging for change. Slowly, he turns to reveal a large bump near his left temple.

  Keane opens his eyes. “This is my father.”

  “Wow. Is that his persona?” I ask.

  “No, it’s mine. His immortal is borrowing it right now. But wait. It gets better. Dad, what’s our job today?”

  “To survive.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  “By never losing hope.”

  Keane smiles. “He used to say that to me like twenty times a day. Brainwashing. It worked. For a while.”

  “It’s like he’s alive,” I say.

  “Not even close,” Keane says. “More like a video that you can feel and talk to. Better than nothing, I guess.”

  “Are you crazy?” I ask. “That’s awesome. No one on Earth can do that. When people die, all we have are pictures and videos and memories.”

  Julie raises her brows. “Can I ask him a question?”

  “Yeah, but remember, this is only a piece of him. He might not have an answer.”

  “Oh, I think he will.” Julie purses her lips and glances at Keane. “Uh, wait. What’s his name?”

  “Ask him.”

  She does.

  “My name is Corrales Centennial Trusand.”

  “Hollis has the same middle name,” I tell Keane.

  “It’s an old tradition,” he explains. “The continent where you were born. Here. Centennial. It’s one of the largest on Flora.”

  “I get it. So you’re Keane Centennial Trusand. That’s kind of badass.”

  “Whatever.”

  Julie looks impatiently at us. “Are you done?”

  “Yeah, go ahead,” I answer.

  She puts a finger to her lips, and then regards Keane’s father. “Sir, can you tell us more about your son?”

  “Hey, wait,” Keane says. “I see where this is going.”

  “Where’s it going?” Julie asks, sounding more than ready to defend her question.

  Keane’s cheeks are already red, and oh, yeah, he’s going to explode. “That’s personal stuff. Even I don’t ask him that.”

  “Why not? Are you afraid?”

  He gropes for an answer. “Just... forget it.”

  Without warning, Keane’s father starts talking:

  “My son’s entire life has been a battle, right from day one. He was born three months early, and he’s been impatient ever since. They told us he wouldn’t be a normal child...”

  “I’m shutting this down,” Keane cries.

  “Wait!” Julie urges him.

  Corrales pauses, as though he’s listening. “Will you let me finish? I was about to say I couldn’t be more proud of Keane because when the world ended, his life really began.”

  Corrales ripples to static and fades out.

  And there’s Keane... with his face buried in his hands.

  Julie drapes an arm over his shoulders. “He’s right about you. He’s right.”

  “No. I didn’t prove anything.”

  “You proved to us that you have a good heart. You got that from your parents, and no one can take it away.”

  “You shouldn’t have seen that,” he snaps.

  Julie’s voice softens. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Keane, listen to your old man,” I tell him. “When the world ended, your life began, right?”

  Slowly, he lifts his head and wipes a glob of snot from his lip. “My Dad, he’s just... he’s gone.”

  “But we’re here,” Julie reminds him. “We stick together, and we’ll get through this.”

  “Because it sucks to die alone?”

  I grin weakly. “Misery loves company. So... can you teach me how to talk to my mother?”

  “I’m not in the mood right now.”

  “Well, son, I hope you’re in the mood to get out of here,” Tommy says, sliding down from the tunnel. “Because it’s coming. It’s coming big time. Do you hear that?”

  We hold our breaths and listen. Nothing at first, but then a low and distant rumble. Sand loosens from the ceiling and trickles to the floor. The ground shakes more violently.

  “What is it?” I cry.

  “It’s incredible!” Julie says, touching Mama Grren’s ear so she’s connected. “Really… really… incredible!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  While we
were sitting around, waiting for sunset, our new ally Mama Grren sent out her personas for help.

  And she got it, all right.

  Got it in the form of over five hundred grren who’ve

  been living and breeding in the Highlands for the past fifteen years. Over five hundred grren, each with six personas.

  You do the math. It’s like Narnia on steroids.

  Julie says that because her family helped that injured grren, their entire pack is now willing to help us escape and return home with them to the Highlands. They’re highly motivated, too, because for years the nomads have hunted them. So now it’s dinner and payback rolled into one.

  Tommy lifts a thumb over his shoulder. “Y’all are in for something, boy! There be monsters up there! Oorah!”

  “Everybody ready?” Julie asks, climbing onto her bike. “The grren will finish off the tunnel, meaning the hole’s gonna get a lot bigger, so we’ll be spotted.”

  “Meaning we’ll need to move fast!” I add.

  Keane puts on his goggles and wraps a scarf around his nose and mouth.

  I do likewise. Then I lean over and present my fist.

  He bumps it and nods. He seems confident.

  And that’s awesome, because if something happens to him, I’m not sure I could handle it—especially after listening to his father.

  Whew, I need to wave off the emotions.

  Okay. I adjust my grip on the handlebars.

  The anticipation swells in my chest.

  Under Julie’s guidance, Mama Grren digs us a ramp for our bikes. Once she’s finished, Julie gives us the signal.

  Now think about this for a second.

  Not only am I heading out of the Palladium and under the stars of an alien planet for the very first time—

  But I’m pedaling straight toward an enormous pack of bloodthirsty animals that I hope remembers we’re the good guys, especially when we’re dressed like the bad guys.

  Mama Grren and her cubs spring up the dirt ramp and out of the tunnel.

  Julie follows, riding point.

  I’m tight on her wheel, and with legs already burning, I ascend the ramp and emerge outside.

  From the corners of my eyes, I spot the colossal concrete-and-metal walls jogging off in both directions. No lights. The nomads must’ve cut the power.

  Above us, these amazing star-filled bands of the galaxy arc toward the mountains.

  Directly ahead, a massive dust cloud forms over the grren like smog over Los Angeles.

  My tires feel mushy and the handlebars shake with a life of their own as the grren charge even faster.

  Maybe three hundred feet away and closing...

  A powerful, musky scent fills the air.

  And then all five hundred grren jump into their personas at the same time. Five hundred become 3,500! The desert lights up in spectacle that takes my breath away.

  A dozen shades of green collect into waves that flicker and shimmer and glimmer and glow. The waves crash across the sand and spread out.

  Paws hammer the ground. Hisses, barks, and roars fill the air. Gunfire cracks and booms from the walls.

  Julie lowers her head and pedals faster to keep up with Mama Grren, who’s heading straight for the stampede.

  I struggle a moment, losing traction in a patch of sand.

  Keane comes up behind me, places his hand on the small of my back, and pushes me free.

  “Catch up!” Tommy orders us.

  We come out of the saddle and attack, pedaling until we’re breathless but back on Julie’s wheel.

  And just in time.

  “Stay close!” she orders.

  I’m trembling and can barely hold the bars.

  The vast army of grren looks unstoppable.

  Sounds unstoppable.

  Is unstoppable.

  In fact, this is like riding head-on toward a freight train or a tidal wave, and someone’s telling you in a very sweet Mrs. Doubtfire voice that “you look so wonderful in your little goggles and scarves, and not to worry, dears, everything will be just fine.”

  But the old granny is lying! We’re all gonna die!

  The grren are fifty feet away. Twenty!

  And then a miracle as the great charge of glowing grren begins to divide. Mama Grren stays on course, leading her cubs through the frenzy.

  Three, two, one, and our little group is consumed by the charging monsters.

  Rumbling, hissing, barking, thumping, howling...

  That’s all I can feel and hear.

  It’s like a thousand TVs all blaring the epic battle scenes from every movie you’ve ever seen. I’ve never heard anything as loud or scary.

  Now a second miracle.

  Six grren turn back to join us, assuming positions on our flanks and behind us. It takes a moment for me to realize what’s happening:

  They’re shielding us from gunfire.

  Rounds punch into their shoulders and backs, but they seem unaffected. I can’t believe they’re doing this for us.

  Now I’m smiling behind my scarf. No one back on Earth would ever believe this. Not those pimple-faced dorks in fourth period lunch, not even Big Hoffer, the best gamer I know and a UFO nut who’s been to Roswell, New Mexico twice looking for aliens because he and his father “want to believe.”

  Nope, this is too insane. I’m here, and I hardly believe it.

  And so we press on through wave after wave, with the grren brushing our shoulders and dodging around us at the last possible second.

  At this point, nomads stationed along the walls or outside the Palladium do one of two things: they abandon their posts and run for lives—because they’ve never ever seen anything like this—or they stupidly hold their positions and begin to unleash rounds of mortar fire.

  Explosions flash white in the distance like phone cameras at a concert. Grren wail in agony but keep moving.

  From the corner of my eye I spot a pickup truck full of nomads being knocked onto its side by a small pack of grren. The men shriek as the grren tear them from the vehicle.

  I look away—

  Just as we reach the rear of the stampede.

  And just as quickly, the rumbling dies off.

  We’re out in the open now.

  The foothills lie about a mile off, and, with our glow-in-the dark companions leading the way, we steer for them.

  But then, after covering just a quarter mile, the path gets real hairy with jagged rocks and deep ruts that rush up out of nowhere. We have to slow down, and seeing our difficulty, Mama Grren adjusts her pace.

  But then my skin crawls. Why?

  Because the sound of beating rotors gets louder.

  Twin spotlights wipe across the desert.

  For a second I’m caught in a beam, and as it pans away, I risk a look over my shoulder.

  Yep, it’s a hoverjet with lights mounted below its cockpit. Door gunners stand on either side of the open bay, their fat guns swiveling to follow our every move.

  “Stop right there,” comes a voice through a loudspeaker. “Tell the grren to back off.”

  “What do we do?” Julie hollers.

  “Go!” I tell her.

  The grren bark and hiss. Spotlights find us once more. The hoverjet descends even closer.

  Julie stomps on the pedals. I’m with her.

  Keane and Tommy are right on my wheel.

  Rotors drum in my ears and whip sand in all directions.

  “Stop and dismount your bikes!”

  We ignore the order.

  The fat guns cough and boom and spit lead. Bullets stitch wide along our right flank.

  It’s a warning volley.

  Doesn’t matter. Scared the hell out of me.

  Julie, too. She’s hollering.

  Keane reminds us there are no gods.

  And Tommy’s got his rifle in one hand, ready to get busy.

  “This is your last warning!” cries the pilot.

  “There’s a tunnel,” Julie shouts. “Right up behind those rock
s! We’re almost there!”

  I see what she’s talking about: a pair of boulders near the base of the foothills. Just a hundred feet away.

  Mama Grren sprints off. Her cubs fight to catch up.

  Julie weaves through the rugged terrain, picking up more speed. She picks a good line through the sand, and I follow.

  We’re in a mad dash now.

  Fifty feet.

  More gunfire rolls us up our left flank, punching holes and spitting sand.

  One of the cubs squeals and drops to the dirt.

  Another grren scoops up the wounded cub and swings it onto its shoulders. The cub hangs on.

  Damn, the hoverjet descends to within twenty feet.

  Can’t hear anything but the engines.... and then both guns rattle and echo off the hills.

  The grren nearest me takes four rounds across its back, staggers, groans, but returns to its jog.

  Twenty feet.

  Our escorts peel off the flanks.

  The guns go silent.

  What’s happening? I chance a look behind us.

  Four grren have leaped in the air, soaring across the stars toward the hoverjet.

  Their muscular bodies are cast in deep shadow, but their eyes flash like rainbow-colored crystals.

  Two of them land on the edge of the open bay but slip out. They manage to swipe at and catch the landing skids before falling off.

  The other two plow right into the door gunners, knocking them away from weapons. The barking and roaring and shrieking are enough to chill your blood.

  Seeing what’s happening, and recognizing his fate, the pilot banks hard and away, trying to shake free his attackers.

  Meanwhile, Tommy’s broken off from us, wheeled around, and squeezing off rounds that drum across the pilot’s door.

  As his rifle goes silent, four grren become twenty-eight, and they’re all over the jet like a plague of claws and fangs.

  By now we’ve reached the boulders and sweep around them. About ten feet away lies a triangular hole marking the tunnel entrance. We descend at about a thirty-degree angle, so I’m riding the brakes behind Julie.

  The floor looks well trampled, meaning the entire pack of five hundred must have passed through here.

  Somewhere outside, an engine whines in protest, rotors chomp sand, and metal screeches. Boom-boom... and then… nothing...