The Hole (27 page)
A tall plume of dust and smoke rose over the horizon. The ground underfoot trembled and shook, and Fred found that he was holding his breath, waiting for the vibration, the
hum
that would signal a fresh collapse. His heart raced, and all he wanted to do was run. Sarah gripped his hand, tight enough to bring pain.
The rumble receded, and the plume of smoke dispersed in the wind.
* * *
They spent several hours in the makeshift hospital as doctors and scientists prodded and poked and took more samples.
At one point Charlie looked over at Fred and winked.
“Looks like we both got lucky,” he said, pulling Ellen close to him and kissing her full on the lips. Fred could do little else but laugh.
“Yeah. But what I really need is a beer.”
He knew as he said it that he didn’t really mean it. What he needed was right next to him. He pulled Sarah close, and she snuggled against him. Suddenly beer was the farthest thing from his mind.
“What say we blow this place and find a bar?” Ellen said, and that got a laugh from all four of them.
Fred was feeling almost mellow, but the mood didn’t last. A uniformed officer came into the tent and walked purposefully towards them.
“Come with me,” he said, without a word of explanation.
“What if we don’t want to?” Ellen replied, showing the first sign in a while of the woman she had been
before
.
The man’s only reply was to put his hand on his pistol.
Charlie sighed.
“Looks like the beer will have to wait. Let’s see what’s in store for us now, shall we?”
They followed the army man out. A jeep waited outside the tent, and the officer motioned that they should get in.
“The general needs your opinion on something,” he said as they climbed into the seats. Then nobody spoke as they drove off through what was left of the town, taking detours around holes and collapsed buildings. The scale of what had happened shocked them all into silence for the whole length of the journey.
When the jeep stopped, Fred realized he was home; or as close to it as he was likely to get. He got out of the jeep and stood amid the ruin of the trailer park. They had come to a halt at the edge of a deep hole.
Is it the same one?
He didn’t want to get any closer, not knowing what he’d do if he looked down…and saw a mop of blonde hair down there in the dark. Wind whispered in his ears.
Weemean
.
He almost jumped, but the others showed no signs of having heard anything.
“This is what the general wanted you to see,” the army man said, and motioned them over to peer down into the hole.
Fred followed the others reluctantly to the edge and looked over.
There was a forest of pods lining the walls, going down into the dark as far as they could see. Each pod was long and elongated, almost like a head of corn. And inside each a figure, barely formed, writhed and twisted, all of them eager to be born.
Fred turned away, trying not to vomit.
“Why don’t you just bomb the shit out of them too?” Charlie asked.
“The general needs to know,” the army man said, his voice soft. “Are these the townsfolk? The missing people?”
Charlie spat at the man’s feet.
“Do they
look
like people to you? You tell your general to get on with his
slash and burn
…and to do it right quick, before this spreads as far as County.”
It was only then that Fred noticed the worry lining the officer’s face.
“County have got enough problems,” he whispered. “Seems like everybody in the state is coming down with headaches and nosebleeds.”
* * *
The officer drove them back to the edge of town. No one spoke until they were once again outside the tents of the makeshift hospital. The soft
crump
of explosions sounded, and more smoke rose over the town.
Fred looked to Charlie. The older man appeared deep in thought.
“It
is
over, isn’t it?” Ellen Simmons asked.
Charlie spat on the ground.
“Maybe; and maybe not. But I’ve been thinking about what Doc said about sacrifices. And nobody knows just how far the old tunnels spread below here. We can only hope the army know what they’re doing. But I’ll tell you something…”
He looked at Fred and winked.
“Ain’t no way in hell I’m cleaning
this
mess up.”
* * *
Together, the four of them walked out of the disaster zone.
As they approached an armed barricade, one of the guards sneezed into a handkerchief, soaking it with fresh blood.
Fred tensed, but no one stopped them as they passed through.
They walked on. Neither he nor the others looked back.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William Meikle is a Scottish writer, now living in Canada, with fifteen novels published in the genre press and over 250 short story credits in thirteen countries. His work has appeared in a number of professional anthologies and magazines. He lives in Newfoundland with whales, bald eagles and icebergs for company.
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