mind.”
The maid entered the room at that point, so Myra was forced to wait for her to serve the coffee and go out before she could ask the obvious question.
“You said Grace has something else in mind … What would that be?”
Walker took a sip of coffee and put the cup down.
“I don't know for sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say he hopes to cut a deal for himself.”
Myra shook her head sadly.
“The rotten bastard. So this is it? We're leaving?”
“Yes,” Walker said soberly, “assuming you agree. I have all of it on the recorder. We'll make our way to Chicago and link up with Freedom First. Then, once they broadcast the recordings for the American people to hear, Grace will be forced out of office.”
Although the Walkers' hometown of Chicago had been overrun by the Chimera, a few hundred brave men and women still lived there, hiding in basements, sewers, or any other spot they could find. Places from whichlightning-fast strikes could be launched against the Chimera, even as uncensored radio broadcasts went out over the airwaves.
Something which, ironically enough, would have been almost impossible to accomplish in government-controlled areas.
So Myra knew that what her husband proposed to do verged on suicidal, but she also knew it was important as well, and she smiled bravely.
“Yes, Henry, of course I agree. All of the preparations have been made. I can be ready in an hour.”
He stood and took Myra's hand as she came to her feet.
“I love you,” he said.
“Yes,” Myra answered softly, as his lips met hers. “I know.”
As Walker and his wife left the house they knew they had about eight hours—twelve at most—before they would be missed. Although the couple normally made use of a chauffeur, they had been careful to take outings on their own as well, so the servants would think nothing of it as their employers drove away.
Later, once the truth was known, each staff member would receive a full month's severance pay.
Walker took the wheel of the black Bromley and guided the car out into traffic. Their destination was in the southeast quadrant of the city, but rather than head there directly, he chose a meandering route which provided him the opportunity to make sure they weren't being followed. Not so much by the police, but by members of the Domestic Security Agency, the increasingly aggressive arm of government tasked with identifying dissidents and taking them off the street.
When he was confident that no one was followingthem, Walker drove the car to a working-class district where they parked behind a church, then walked the last three blocks to a small one-bedroom apartment that had been rented under a false name. That was where two suitcases were waiting, along with a selection of equipment, all of which would come in handy once they made it to Chicago.
An hour later, with the recorder in one coat pocket and an Army-issue Colt .45 semiautomatic in the other, Walker was ready to go. Myra was right behind him as he carried both suitcases down three flights of shabby stairs and out to the street, where it was still raining. A battered station wagon was parked at the curb. Having loaded the suitcases into the back, Walker opened the passenger-side door, waited for Myra to get in, and circled around to get behind the wheel.
The engine caught on the third try, the wipers slapped from side to side, and a siren could be heard off in the distance. No one was present to see them off, other than the local postman—and he was busy delivering the mail.
After years spent living in a city which neither one of them enjoyed, it felt good to be free. Even if their next home was likely to be a good deal less pleasant.
The car pulled away.
CHAPTER SIX
HOME SWEET HOME
Near Draper, South Dakota
Wednesday, November 21, 1951
Snowflakes continued to swirl down out of the pewter gray sky as Hale stood in front of the mass grave, and paid his last respects to his parents and their ranch hands. Then
The maid entered the room at that point, so Myra was forced to wait for her to serve the coffee and go out before she could ask the obvious question.
“You said Grace has something else in mind … What would that be?”
Walker took a sip of coffee and put the cup down.
“I don't know for sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say he hopes to cut a deal for himself.”
Myra shook her head sadly.
“The rotten bastard. So this is it? We're leaving?”
“Yes,” Walker said soberly, “assuming you agree. I have all of it on the recorder. We'll make our way to Chicago and link up with Freedom First. Then, once they broadcast the recordings for the American people to hear, Grace will be forced out of office.”
Although the Walkers' hometown of Chicago had been overrun by the Chimera, a few hundred brave men and women still lived there, hiding in basements, sewers, or any other spot they could find. Places from whichlightning-fast strikes could be launched against the Chimera, even as uncensored radio broadcasts went out over the airwaves.
Something which, ironically enough, would have been almost impossible to accomplish in government-controlled areas.
So Myra knew that what her husband proposed to do verged on suicidal, but she also knew it was important as well, and she smiled bravely.
“Yes, Henry, of course I agree. All of the preparations have been made. I can be ready in an hour.”
He stood and took Myra's hand as she came to her feet.
“I love you,” he said.
“Yes,” Myra answered softly, as his lips met hers. “I know.”
As Walker and his wife left the house they knew they had about eight hours—twelve at most—before they would be missed. Although the couple normally made use of a chauffeur, they had been careful to take outings on their own as well, so the servants would think nothing of it as their employers drove away.
Later, once the truth was known, each staff member would receive a full month's severance pay.
Walker took the wheel of the black Bromley and guided the car out into traffic. Their destination was in the southeast quadrant of the city, but rather than head there directly, he chose a meandering route which provided him the opportunity to make sure they weren't being followed. Not so much by the police, but by members of the Domestic Security Agency, the increasingly aggressive arm of government tasked with identifying dissidents and taking them off the street.
When he was confident that no one was followingthem, Walker drove the car to a working-class district where they parked behind a church, then walked the last three blocks to a small one-bedroom apartment that had been rented under a false name. That was where two suitcases were waiting, along with a selection of equipment, all of which would come in handy once they made it to Chicago.
An hour later, with the recorder in one coat pocket and an Army-issue Colt .45 semiautomatic in the other, Walker was ready to go. Myra was right behind him as he carried both suitcases down three flights of shabby stairs and out to the street, where it was still raining. A battered station wagon was parked at the curb. Having loaded the suitcases into the back, Walker opened the passenger-side door, waited for Myra to get in, and circled around to get behind the wheel.
The engine caught on the third try, the wipers slapped from side to side, and a siren could be heard off in the distance. No one was present to see them off, other than the local postman—and he was busy delivering the mail.
After years spent living in a city which neither one of them enjoyed, it felt good to be free. Even if their next home was likely to be a good deal less pleasant.
The car pulled away.
CHAPTER SIX
HOME SWEET HOME
Near Draper, South Dakota
Wednesday, November 21, 1951
Snowflakes continued to swirl down out of the pewter gray sky as Hale stood in front of the mass grave, and paid his last respects to his parents and their ranch hands. Then
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