She took a stick of gum out of her pocket, popped the contents in her mouth, and gave forth with her considered opinion: "Agreed. Any G.o.d, any G.o.ddess, anything to give us an edge is fine by me."

I ignored the blasphemy. Honestly, she does it just to needle me. "Where did you get the gum?" I asked.

"Jill," she said between chews. "Want a stick?"

"No thanks." Gum is not one of my vices. But I was impressed with how quickly Arlene had been won over.

We went back in the compound, expecting to return to the room we'd been in before. A matronly woman we hadn't seen before greeted us. "h.e.l.lo, my name is Marie," she said. "I'm here to show the young woman to the female quarters."

Arlene and I exchanged knowing glances. I think we both did a commendable job of not bursting out laughing. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept without Arlene taking watch. We'd already been through the s.e.xual-tension zone and popped out the other end with the understanding that we were bud- dies, pals, comrades.

But now we were back in the Adam and Eve department. The only question that really mattered was, did we trust these guys to keep us alive while we slept? The fact that they were still here was pretty good evidence.

"What kind of security do you have here?" I asked the woman.

She didn't understand. "Good enough to keep you out of the henhouse," she answered with a slight smirk.

I rolled my eyes. That wasn't what I meant, but- ah, skip it.

"See you in the morning," I said to Arlene.

For the first time in a long time, I was alone. Maybe the President still had doubts about me, but they put me on a long leash.

Suddenly I realized I didn't know where I was supposed to sleep. The room we'd been in before made sense. We'd been allowed to use it when we freshened up, but we were under guard then. I wished I'd thought to ask the woman if that was where I was supposed to go.

I didn't know anyone in the hallways, but they didn't pay any attention to me as I went past; they weren't afraid . . . what a strange concept that had become. I could have asked them about a men's quarters, but I wasn't in a rush to have the old YMCA experience if I could avoid it. If I wasn't going to bunk with Arlene, then I wanted to be alone.

Privacy suddenly exerted a strong appeal: to be alone without a h.e.l.l-prince stomping on my face, to sleep without worry of a zombie who used to be a friend cuddling up next to me and sharing the rot of the grave, just to enjoy silence and solitude, without spinys fudging it up. Yeah, the more I thought of it,the better I liked it.

I retraced my way back to the room. After the corridors on Deimos, this was almost too easy. The door wasn't locked. Then I noticed that the lock had been removed. Now that I thought about it, there were no locks anywhere. But the room was empty, gloriously empty, and that was good enough.

I went in, closed the door, flipped on the light.

There was a miracle. The light came on. No conserva- tion or blackout measures in this small, windowless room. Which meant I could do something more important than sleeping.

The book was where I'd left it. Normally, the Book of Mormon would not be my first choice of reading material; the sisters would not approve. Under the circ.u.mstances, I was grateful to have it.

I started at the beginning, with the testimonies of the witnesses and the testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith. This told the story of the finding of the gold plates with the Holy Book written thereon. Reminded me of the old joke about the founding of the Unitari- an Church: a prophet found gold plates on which was written . . . absolutely nothing!

As I read, I remembered an old Hollywood movie about Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, founders of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints.

Hollywood . . . where we would be going. Hollywood was in the hands of the monsters. Vincent Price starred in the Mormon movie and also in a million monster movies. I was sure this all meant something.

I started the first book, made it to the second and the third; and kept reading until I reached Chapter Five in the Book of Alma, Verse 59: For what shepherd is there among you having many sheep doth not watch over them, that the wolves enter not and devour his flock? And behold, if a wolf enter his flock doth he not drive him out? Yea, and at the last, if he can, he will destroy him.

That seemed like a good place to stop because I doubted I would find a more agreeable sentiment anywhere else in the Mormon scriptures.

13.

Did you sleep well?" Arlene asked, winking.

"Not bad," I said. "I think it's the first night I didn't dream about monsters."

The sun was up, the sky was clear, and for a moment it was possible to believe that none of this had ever happened. A dog ran by, a healthy mutt that someone was feeding-not a sign of impending star- vation, but perhaps an overgenerous use of resources.

"Guess what?" she said with an impish smile. "I didn't dream about monsters either. But I did dream."

Teasing was simply not Arlene's style. She really surprised me. "Maybe that's why they segregate the boys and the girls," I said. "To make everyone think about it."

"We can't keep any secrets from you," said Albert, joining us outside the main cafeteria."Except the ones that count," I replied, not alto- gether innocently. I was still thinking about secrets and closed doors, and an unknown, upcoming mis- sion.

"Where's Jill?" asked Arlene.

"Already inside, having breakfast," he said. "We should join her. Afterward, we'll receive our briefing."

It had been a long, long time since I'd eaten pancakes, with real maple syrup yet. I didn't think I'd be able to get coffee in Salt Lake City, but there was plenty of it for those with the morning caffeine monkey on their back. This was a pretty trivial monster in the grand scheme of things.

And then we got down to business. We returned to the ops room from the day before. The President was waiting for us dressed in a conservative black suit. He could've pa.s.sed as an undertaker, not the most inspir- ing image to send us off to California.

"The entire state of California is in enemy hands,"

he said, then led us over to a map of the relevant states. Red lines marked all the existing train tracks.

"There used to be a high speed train between L.A. and Salt Lake City. We destroyed the train to prevent the aliens from sending us a cargo of themselves. I refuse to refer to those creatures as soldiers. We also thought the train might be used to send us an atomic bomb."

"Would they even know how to use the trains?"

asked Arlene.

"You fought them, didn't you? They can use any- thing we can. Machinery is machinery. It offends me how they used our own, G.o.d-given atomic weapons against us. We are fortunate the radiation and poisons have not contaminated this area. G.o.d has inter- vened." Atomic, not nuclear; an interesting word choice.

"We'll be going into radiation?" asked Jill. She had not thought of this until now.

"You'll be entering undestroyed areas, and our scientists tell us that the invaders have neutralized much of the fallout in the areas they control."

Arlene interrupted, as usual. "When we fought them on Phobos and Deimos, they were comfortable with higher radiation levels than a human being; but that doesn't mean they could survive H-bomb fallout."

For a moment I thought the President was going to bite her head off, but then he controlled his temper.

"We have antiradiation pills for you to take and wrist bands that will glow red if you get a near-lethal dose.

In addition, you'll have some protective gear if you require it. And any weapons you can bear, of course."

"How do we get to L.A.?" I asked.

"Take the train," answered Albert.

"Great. How do we get to the tracks? I thought they were all ripped up."

"Not all the track was destroyed," said the Presi- dent. "You can take one of our Humvees south, following the railroad track to a good spot for getting aboard the train." Getting aboard. . . How easily he breezed over that slight difficulty!And another small difficulty. "Um . . . the aliens are going to let us drive right out in a Humvee?"

Albert snorted. The President glowered at him, then returned to the question. "Of course not. You'll leave here and pa.s.s underneath enemy lines. The Humvee is hidden in a safe location-Albert knows where it is."

"I do?"

"Where you hid after blowing the tracks three weeks ago."

"Ah." Albert nodded, remembering the spot. Well, that made one of us.

"Underneath the aliens," I asked, "you have a tunnel?"

"It's always wise to build in a way to expedite escape," said Albert. "All our safe houses use them- including this facility. Usually exit from a bas.e.m.e.nt, dive down thirty or forty feet, then continue a long way, miles perhaps."

"How did you build all that without anyone knowing?"

"We had a lot of time on our hands." He grinned.

"And a lot of members in street maintenance posi- tions."

"You must ride the train into Phoenix," continued the President, producing a pointer and stabbing Phoenix.

"Why Phoenix?" asked Arlene.

"The train that goes from Phoenix into L.A. can't be stopped and can't be boarded; Phoenix is under demonic possession. If you stow away before Phoenix and escape detection, you might not be boarded.

Then it's smooth riding all the way into L.A." He put down the pointer with a flourish.

Jill laughed. She sounded a lot older than she was, listening to the scorn in her laugh; it suggested a lifetime of frustration.

The President did not act as defensive as I would have expected. "I know it's a long shot," he said. "I'm open to any better suggestions."

"I wish I had one," said Albert.

I expected Jill to launch into a tirade, but instead she kept her mouth taped.

"The plan sounds workable to me," I said. "Every- thing is a long shot from now on."

At no point had anyone talked about who would lead this mission; I suspected the President would want his own man in charge, and I prepared myself for an argument.

Then Albert surprised me: "Corporal Taggart is in charge, of course." He surprised the President too, who started to object, then bit off whatever he'd been about to say. Leadership was clearly already deter- mined.

The President allowed us to pick our own weapons: a double-barreled scattergun for me, and a .41 caliber hunting rifle with a scope for long-range work. Arlene was back to her perennial AB-10 machine pistol and a scoped .30-30. Albert surprised me by picking some foreign-made Uzi clone I'd never seen before; I didn'tthink a Marine would go in for that kind of flash. But 1 guess it wasn't really different from Arlene's AB-10, though a bit bigger; and even that might give it more stability in a firefight. Albert said he would just use Arlene's .30-30 for any sniping . . . and Jill already had her AR-19, of course.

We also took pistols, ammo, grenades, day-to-night goggles-we had to be careful to conserve the battery power, using them only when absolutely necessary; no recharges-and one of the more exotic energy weap- ons I never liked; not a BFG, which they'd never heard of, but a gas-plasma pulse rifle. We packed food and blankets and other useful items, including a complement of mountaineering (or wall-scaling) equipment: knotted rope, a grappling hook, crampons and pitons, the usual usual.

The Humvee waited-G.o.d and Albert knew where. Would we find it? Would it run if we did? I tried not to think about such questions as, with great solemnity, the President of the Twelve led us through the inner compound to a small, cinder-block building . . . and to the escape tunnel.

14.

Other members of the community gathered around us before we departed. Somewhere back in my mind, I wondered why we weren't hearing a heroic anthem to speed us on our way. Where was the bra.s.s band? Where were the speeches? In my mind, I heard fragments of the speech: "Never before have so few faced so many in the defense of so few." Well, that wasn't exactly right.

There were a large number of heavy barrels of fuel oil in the building, seemingly stacked somewhat hap- hazardly. A pair of soldiers approached one particular barrel carrying an odd tool that looked like a giant- sized jar opener.

They lowered the p.r.o.ngs over the barrel and pushed levers forward, running steel rods through the lip.

Then they put their shoulders to the two ends of the "jar opener" and walked counterclockwise. Rather than tip over, the barrel unscrewed like a light bulb; they lifted the heavy, false barrel from the narrow tunnel, just barely wide enough to admit a single man of my size.

Arlene took point. She tchked and winked at the President and blew him a kiss; his face flushed bright red. Then she held her AB-10 pointed straight down and dropped out of sight. Albert followed, then Jill; I went last.

We dropped into what looked at first like pitch- dark; then, as our eyes adjusted, we found the slight ambient light adequate to see a few meters ahead and behind.

The light came from phosph.o.r.escent mold, and the tunnel was deliberately carved to look natural, a fissure meandering left and right but mainly going straight northwest. It was wide enough for two abreast, and Arlene and Albert walked the point- Albert because he alone knew the route. I took tail- end Charlie, leaving Jill reasonably protected in thecenter.

Before we started, I cautioned the crew: "From here on, no talking, not even for emergencies. We'll use the Marine Corps hand language; Jill, you just watch me.

They may have listening devices, hunting for tunnels.

Let's not make it easy on them, all right?"

The tunnel was cool and dark, a relief from the hot sun of the Utah desert; at night, I hoped it would also insulate us from the freezing overnight temps. We could be underground for ... how many klicks?

Eight kilometers, signed Albert in response to my silent question.

Six pa.s.sed by at breakneck speed . . . well, as breakneck as you can get shimmying through under- ground caverns with rough, natural-hewn floors in limited light. Took us more than six hours, in fact, not much of a speed record. But the end was in sight, metaphorically speaking. We had just finished our fourth rest and were ready to tackle the final quarter.

As Arlene ducked and stepped under an archway, I heard a sound that chilled me to the marrow: the startled hiss of an imp.

We were not alone.

Reacting to the sound, Arlene backpedaled; she stuck her arm out and caught Albert on her way back, knocking both of them to the ground.

The move saved their lives; a flaming ball of mucus hurled past where they had stood but an instant before and splattered explosively against the wall.

Arlene didn't bother rising; she raised her machine pistol and fired from supine. I swung my shotgun around and unloaded the outside barrel; between the two of us, we blew the spiny apart.

It had buddies. As Arlene and Albert scrambled to their feet, and the latter fumbled his Uzi clone, swearing under his breath in a most un-Mormonlike manner, I pushed Jill to the ground and unloaded my second barrel, decapitating a zombie who wielded a machete.