Desert Angels (25 page)

But the skies were eclipsed a moment later by a large shadow. The shadow took on shape, definition and finally color. The Growler tore at the sand mound which had formed at the cave entrance, then forced his way through the aperture. Towering, the hideous mutant stared down at her.

Laura's heart sank, but it was accompanied just as quickly with her consciousness. Blackness settled over her once again, drowning out for the time being the incessant pounding noise and the dreadful picture of the Growler's knowing and evil smile.

FIFTEEN – INTO THE DARKNESS

But when she awoke, the ugliness of a world that wanted to destroy her had vanished. Like the bad dream she must have just had with the horrible, smiling beast standing over her. Her eyes fluttered open tenuously, feeling like lead weights and heralding the onrushing arrival of pain, beginning in her head then flooding to her toes. Her body felt like it was on fire.

Even as she stared at the worried face of Angela, touching her forehead gently, Laura could not help but give a quiet scream of agony. And surprise.

Angela felt helpless. There was nothing she could do for Laura; she did not have Jack's knowledge or training with regard to the human body. Jack was miles away, unaware of Laura's condition and, as evidenced by her own transformation to human form, probably asleep or unconscious.

Angela leaned forward and whispered.

"Laura. I've got to get you away from here."

It was hot, terribly hot; even Laura's eyes felt like fried eggs. Words echoed in her mind, nonsensical, blurs, garbled sounds muted by heat. Fight it, she begged herself desperately; fight it back and
listen
. She tried.

I've got to get you away from here
. Someone had just said that to her.

Yes, a good idea. Because if you don't, I'm going to buy the proverbial farm
, Laura thought she heard herself say from a thousand light years away. Something inside clicked and fell into place; fever temporarily gave way to a cold wave of reason. Laura bit her tongue savagely, stifling the delirium that enveloped her irresistibly, like a hot bubble bath.

She opened her eyes and stared at Angela, who was cradling her head and looking very anxious.

"You – you're
her
!" she managed weakly, her voice heavy and stupid to her own ears. Once, a long time ago, she had gotten very drunk with some friends in high school. Very drunk included consuming two carafe of cheap wine, a fifth of ninety-proof Popov vodka, and a putrefied looking worm that enjoyed eternal peace in an overly large bottle of tequila. After which, of course, she could have cheerfully faced disembowelment with a blunt party spoon. Very little of that night was coherently recalled, but the lasting impression on Laura was the outrageous perfidy of her own speech, if it could be called speech at that point. Time went by in a mumble; words, thoughts, anger, joy, everything that could be conveyed through the expression of the human voice was translated into the sluggish dialectic of a wasted worm-and-vodka filled grunt. The morning after found her disgusted with herself, not to mention grandly hungover. Not for any indiscretion she may have committed (Laura had never been one to chastise her own unique criteria for moral conduct); but the sense of complete and utter foolishness which she remembered enduring of herself, the inarticulate, slobbering idiot she had become due to her excesses –
this
was what Laura couldn't forgive herself for. Her one "very bad drunk" became her first and last major alcoholic experience; thereafter, she swore that the Blubbering Beast within her, a weak, tongue-tied moron that succumbed so willingly to booze, would be forever silenced.

Until now, of course; the Beast, it seemed, had returned with a vengeance. What a pity, she thought somewhat recklessly; what a fine time it would be for a little recitation of something light, like, say, Aristotle's Poetics. In standard Cherokee, no less.

Now wouldn't that impress my ghostly friend here, Laura thought and giggled a dangerously high feverish giggle.

Just as suddenly, the giggles died.

"You're –
her
, right?" Laura repeated once more, straining with the Beast.

Angela's eyes were kind; pitying, Laura thought, somewhat gratefully, again giving into that childish longing to be held and comforted. A primal desire that was becoming stronger by the second. Through the haze, she could see that Angela was startlingly beautiful. Her already perforated stomach gave a small roll of jealousy; no wonder, she thought, that Jack had loved her so.

"Yes," Angela answered in a whisper, looking behind herself quickly.

Laura noticed that they were near some rocks, partially concealing she and Angela from several mutants who were grunting among themselves about matters that were, no doubt, pressing in the psychotic world of Maddogdom. Her guards, Laura summed up painfully; a small part of a greater body of monsters that were no doubt in the immediate area. They were obviously unaware of Angela's presence; an advantage that Angela was taking great pains to preserve.

"We've got to get you out of here," Angela said softly.

It was a nice thought; but it looked fairly impossible to Laura at the moment.

"How?" she whispered, gradually realizing that she and Angela were smack in the middle of Maddog central.

Angela glanced up, her eyes coming to rest on the Ball Job parked about 50 feet away. Laura followed Angela's gaze. She groaned inwardly; with the way she was feeling, the Rover might as well be orbiting the nearest star. She couldn't blink without waves of agony pulsing through her; expecting her legs and arms to assist her in the 50 foot trek across a gulley to her vehicle was out of the question.

"You've got to try," Angela whispered. "They're getting ready to attack Jack. They want to use you as a hostage."

Laura's mind momentarily cleared, anger replacing pain. And they would win this time, Laura thought groggily, knowing that the mutants would try and use the Ball Job against Jack. Beyond the Rover, a hundred feet or so, was the howling hoard of the Maddog army, jumping, screaming, drinking and eating around an enormous bonfire that roared skyward. Apparently, they had not yet gotten around to testing the Ball Job's effectiveness; or, perhaps, they were just waiting until she was ready to show them
how
the Ball Job worked. And wouldn't that be something to look forward to, Laura considered glumly. She decided to hold off on imagining the various methods of torture these gibbering creatures might employ on her. Of course, she would never help them. But why stick around to see if they could make her try?

"Help – me," Laura begged, struggling up to an elbow.

Angela lifted the girl to a standing position, curled an arm over her shoulder and began steering her toward the Ball Job.

Angela moved only a few feet at a time; she was not strong enough to support Laura's weight for the entire move. She kept an eye on the guards, who were still involved in their dispute. After ten minutes, the two women reached the belly of the Rover. Laura crawled through the lower hatch which was open; the afterthought of actually closing it, she concluded, a complete abstract impossibility to whatever Maddog had boldly decided earlier to explore.

Angela followed the injured girl, taking one more cautious glance behind her before she disappeared into the bottom of Man's last ultimate weapon.

* * *

Angela noticed that Laura seemed suddenly stronger now, knowing exactly what she was looking for - and where - in the enormous Ball Job. Collapsing against an aft bulkhead, Laura pointed at a moveable section on the deck. The plating had a handle and Angela grabbed it; the section popped out with a resounding snap. Putting it aside, she peeked out of the lower hatch. The Maddog party was still in full swing and Laura's guards had elevated their argument to a gentle brawl. Obviously, they were under the mistaken assumption that Laura was still unconscious and would remain so for some time. So far so good, Angela noticed with satisfaction. Turning back to Laura, she found the girl already working.

The heart of the Ball Job's power glared out from beneath wires and lead casing. Glowing like some unearthly entity from another world was a translucent bubble which housed the plutonium core; the brain, heart and guts of Victor Talbot's Mars machine. Laura winced as she leaned over into the deck, rerouting circuits and pushing buttons.

While Laura occupied herself with the Ball Job, Angela remained silent. For the first time in hours, she could think. Everything had come back to her the moment she left the Dome; the instant, more specifically, when Jack had witnessed her transformation from bird to woman on tape. The memories of her past life, Jack, even her own death were like brilliant points of starlight, like those in the Light Clouds, against an eternity of blackness, coalescing suddenly into a blinding patch of white. Her reincarnation was a mystery still; but she was not terribly interested in knowing how such a feat had been accomplished.

The fact that she
had
come back was all that mattered.

Perhaps, Angela conceded, such a miracle was not to be questioned or analyzed too closely; merely accepted, lest the sacrosanct powers in charge of miracle-making descend with ferocious vengeance on those who probed too deeply.

She would not be too curious. Not yet. Perhaps, not ever.

For she felt certain that even this new rebirth would soon undergo yet further transformation.

But this event was still a ways off. Angela's priorities were clear: save Jack from the Maddogs – and if possible, save Laura, too. This latter task was taking on added importance in Angela's mind. Notwithstanding the fact that she had come to love Laura, Angela strongly suspected that her own destiny lay somehow linked to the girl, and that without Laura's survival, her own life (or existence, as it were) was in serious jeopardy.

Yet Angela felt that the prospects for Laura's immediate future were glaringly dismal. Her powerful psychic intuition informed her that Laura would be dead in a few hours. Indeed, the injuries Laura had suffered in the cave should have killed her much earlier. Angela prayed that her heretofore perfect clairvoyance would on this one occasion fail her completely.

"Finished!" Laura declared suddenly, falling against the back wall and sucking in air.

Angela looked down at the spider web of wires and cables.

"What did you do?"

Laura stared at Angela for the first time. Her eyes widened a little – as if only now she realized this creature from beyond the grave, indeed, beyond comprehension was assisting her; was showing kindness to her.

Angela recognized the expression on Laura's face and was moved; it must not be an easy thing, she thought, to be talking with a living ghost.

"What – are you?" Laura stammered weakly, wonder and incredulity penetrating the mask of dull pain that covered her face.

"I don't know," Angela answered. Truthfully, she thought.

Laura's mouth started to trickle a little blood. Angela winced.

"You shouldn't have left us," Laura struggled with every word. "He -" and she paused here, fighting back tears, "- loves you still."

Angela wanted to suddenly hug Laura, but resisted, knowing the gesture would be both painful and awkward. If anyone was listening, god or devil, she would have gladly exchanged her life for Laura's at that very moment. Angela had not lived long enough to have a daughter; if she had, she would have wanted her to be like Laura.

"Jack loves you, too, sweetheart. And you belong to him. What I am is - " Angela hesitated, not quite sure what to say. She shrugged at last in resignation. "I don't belong with Jack anymore. You do. Trust me; some things you shouldn't question."

Laura managed a tired, understanding smile.

"That's – what Jack said. Magic. Sometimes, he said, magic is supposed to be a secret. And if you discover that secret – you lose it – forever. It’s hard for a scientist like me to acknowledge that."

They regarded each other silently.

"You love him very much, don't you?" Laura asked.

Angela didn't say anything. She didn't have to; Laura watched the solitary tear role down the other woman's cheek.

Laura's expression changed; her face a contorted mask of agony reminded Angela of the dreaded Jack-O-Lantern. Angela held her this time, taking her into her arms. Laura cried, dying and knowing it (for the first time), a child suddenly, needing attention and warmth and comfort. Angela provided all of these things, talking quietly to her. As the pain subsided, Laura looked at Angela, her eyes exhausted and red. But with a kind of determination that reminded Angela of the old Laura, back in the Talbot compound, killing vampires – and loving it.

"I've set the timer on the core to explode by morning. When it does, it will be like an atomic bomb going off."

Angela swallowed hard and nodded. She understood what Laura wanted; it was, in fact, what Angela had secretly been praying for. A miracle to save Jack and Eden.

"Warn Jack, Angela. Before its too late."

And with that, Laura again dipped willingly into the anesthetized world of unconsciousness.

* * *

Warn Jack she would - but not without first getting Laura far from the tender loving clutches of the Maddogs. Getting Laura out of the Ball Job was the most difficult task; she was smaller physically than Laura, and it was a formidable effort. Angela prayed that Jack wouldn't abruptly awaken and send her spinning back to the helpless, useless form of a pigeon. But preparing for this eventuality, she worked quickly.

Laura ended up being dragged for the good part of two miles, as Angela didn't have the strength to carry her. So involved were the Maddogs with their celebration (no doubt revolving around their presumed victory over Eden soon to come) that Angela had sneaked out of the encampment unnoticed.

It had been a lucky break.

It would be a short lived victory and Angela knew it. As soon as the guards decided to check on their prisoner, find her gone, a full scale hunt would be launched. Realistically, Angela accepted the dismal probability that the Maddogs would find Laura sooner or later; as determined as she was, Angela could only cover so much ground with a hundred and ten pound body in tow. If she didn't discover a means of whisking Laura further away (say, Philadelphia, she thought humorlessly) then the girl would be back in Maddog hands before you could say Jack Calisto.