A man emerged from the Sallie's unscathed rear cockpit and stood holding a wireless microphone. He wore a stunning white military uniform, with black and gold epaulets and a cluster of medals over his breast pocket. In spite of the fog, the distance, and the masterful new costume, I could see at once that it was indeed Cowper. No wonder he almost ran me down-he had been driving backward. Amazed, I pushed the boy off and stood up. Hundreds of others were coming out of hiding around us, equally bemused, murmuring in the dark.
The submarine's loudspeaker replied, "FRED, THIS IS COMMANDER COOMBS. I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, BUT IN MY BOOK IT'S TREASON. YOU ARE INTERFERING WITH CRITICAL NAVAL OPERATIONS."
Cowper said, "HARVEY, THIS WAS NOT MY ORIGINAL PLAN, BUT I'M TRYING TO MAKE THE BEST OF A BAD SITUATION. HERE'S THE DEAL: LET ME AND ALL THESE PEOPLE ON BOARD, THEN PUT US ASHORE SOMEPLACE HALFWAY SECURE. IN RETURN, WE'LL EARN OUR KEEP-I KNOW YOU'RE SHORT OF HANDS. THESE KIDS WILL DO ANYTHING YOU TELL 'EM, PLUS WE'VE GOT A CREW OF OLD FARTS WITH DOLPHINS WHO ARE JUST ITCHING TO GET BACK BEHIND THE WHEEL. HEY, I'LL RE-UP. WHERE ARE YOU GONNA FIND ANOTHER GUY WITH MY EXPERIENCE?"
"I'M NOT BIG ON EXTORTION, YOU SENILE SON OF A BITCH," said Coombs.
"WHAT EXTORTION? IT'S A HUMANITARIAN GESTURE. NOT TO MENTION KEEPING FAITH WITH THESE PEOPLE… AND ME, FOR THAT MATTER. SANDOVAL PROMISED US-TAKE IT UP WITH HIM IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT. THE BASTID IS THERE, ISN'T HE?"
"AS A MATTER OF FACT HE'S OVERDUE. IT WOULDN'T SURPRISE ME TO HEAR THAT YOU AND YOUR MOB HAVE KILLED HIM."
"I'M TRYIN' TO SAVE LIVES, YOU ARROGANT PRICK, BUT IF YOU DON'T START LETTING US BOARD RIGHT NOW, I'M GONNA BACK THE SALLIE OVER YA AND SCUTTLE THE WHOLE SHEBANG. WE GOT NOTHING TO LOSE." Cowper ducked back into the low glass cab and started the engine. To us he announced, "ALL ABOARD! NO RUNNING! BOARD THE BOAT IN AN ORDERLY WAY-THE CREW WILL DIRECT YOU BELOW… OR ELSE."
We were already moving. After the first tentative steps, boys stampeded past, too rushed to give me a hard time. I could see that the collapsed gangway didn't slow anyone down-apparently it was just as easy to hop down from the concrete ledge to the guano-caked timbers alongside the sub and from there to the stern, where a plank had been laid across. I just let myself be dragged along. Everyone else was on fire with the instinct to survive, but I felt listless and totally out of it.
Fighting the malaise, I tried to blend in with the rest as I waited for Cowper, staying close to Albemarle and the other men who were shepherding the stragglers. Below, I could see the two fallen Marine guards being fished from the water by the submarine's crew-the guards both looked shaken but alive. Other sailors were helping boys across that finger of dark water. They didn't look particularly resentful of us, which I found reassuring.
It was a surprise when some of them suddenly pointed weapons up at the landing and began to shoot. We were sitting ducks.
The gunfire caused shrieks of terror, and everyone dropped to the ground. No, I noticed, some of us didn't duck, didn't stop, but simply charged ahead with manic fury. They didn't look right. These were the ones the sailors were shooting at. There were blue people among us, and many more coming down the hill.
Exes. Xombies.
Not everyone was as slow on the uptake as I-Albemarle and the other men had already created a defensive line at the rear of the crowd and were brandishing large hammers like those used for chiseling. I would learn that these were standard equipment at the plant. "Don't panic," they shouted. "Just keep moving!" When a skinless creature in burnt security clothes rushed up through the fog, they all raised hammers like Thor and clouted it down. The problem was, it wouldn't stay down, but rebounded off the pavement like a dented gingerbread man.
"It's Reynolds!" someone screamed.
"Just like you're marking studs, boys," shouted Albemarle, pelting the thing again.
More monsters came tearing in, nimble as stage-painted acrobats. Keeping them off required a kind of assembly-line operation, a constant gauntlet of flying hammers, but our hundred-to-one advantage was quickly eroding. In places the line started breaking up into fractal eddies of hand-to-hand fighting. To the boys up front, who were taking their sweet time boarding the sub, these must have seemed more like fringe disturbances at a rock concert than a desperate losing battle, but for us at the rear it was doom breathing down our necks: medieval combat and middle-school fire drill rolled into one.
Then Cowper was at my side, splendid in his dress whites. "Don't get trampled!" he shouted over my head, "We'll make it!"
"When did you manage to change your clothes?" I asked.
"I always come prepared."
"We can't all fit in that submarine."
"Sure we can," he said. "You see those big cylinders by the road? Those used to hold ballistic missiles, but they were taken out to make room for cruise missiles and SEAL teams. That refit's been postponed indefinitely, which leaves a big empty space inside the missile compartment-you'll see. Don't worry."
I wished he looked more confident himself.
As the last of us were helped down from the platform by furiously yelling submariners-"Get out of the way! Down, down! Move your asses!"-the amount of shooting redoubled, and I was shocked to see how many Xombies were massed on the landing above. We were becoming outnumbered. Spent shells tinkled down the sides of the sub like slot-machine tokens, and icy water splashed me as bullet-riddled demons stage-dived off the edge to fall into the depths beneath the pier. The water was soon packed with thrashing bodies.
Passed bucket-brigade fashion along a line of jumpy crew-men, I finally made it up onto the sub's runwaylike deck, its entire length crowded with milling refugees. Above us soared the mammoth black cross that was the vessel's conning tower, a steel Golgotha beckoning the pilgrims with salvation.
Waiting my turn to go below, I prayed.