Hell on Earth by Dafydd Ab Hugh Read Free Book Online Page B

body with a grinning, boyish face topping it off. Twenty-two, twenty-three, tops.
    â€œHow do?” said the man. His buddy was a lot thinner, and he held an old Ruger Mini-14 pointed at Arlene.
    He caught my expression and grinned at me as if he could read my mind. Here was proof positive we were facing honest-to-God, living humans: they had pride in a good weapon.
    â€œHi,” I said, moving my eyes from man to man.
    â€œGood morning,” said Arlene.
    â€œHey,” said the other man by way of greeting, noticing how my eyes kept drifting to his piece. “Took me quite a while to get one of these,” he said conversationally.
    â€œBeautiful weapon,” I said, noticing that the beefy guy was still calm.
    The thin one nodded and said, “They are compact, easy handling, fast shooting and hard hitting.” He paused, then added: “Don’t you agree?”
    Thunk. The penny dropped. They were testing us.
    â€œOh, yes,” said Arlene, jumping in. The thin guy looked at her a little funny and waited for me to say something.
    â€œOne of my favorite weapons,” I said. “Hardly any kick. Not like the bigger calibers.”
    Finally the big guy spoke again: “Jerry, these people don’t want a lecture.”
    Jerry squinted at him. “They’re military. Look at their clothes.” We weren’t asked to confirm or deny anything, so we kept our mouths shut. Jerry had plenty of words left in him: “They’re interested in a good weapon. Aren’t you?”
    He looked straight at me and I answered right away: “I sure am, especially that one you’ve got.”
    Jerry smiled and went on: “Albert gets tired of hearing me go on about what a good model this is. They were even reasonably priced until they were outlawed.”
    â€œNot a problem now,” said Arlene. “I’m sure there’s plenty of squashed zombies you can take one off’n.”
    Whenever she spoke, the men seemed a bit uncomfortable. I had the impression she was getting off on it.
    Arlene looked over at me and winked. We’d fought enough battles to read each other’s expressions and body language. Her expression told me that things were looking up as far as she was concerned, but she couldn’t resist getting in the act: “I like an M-14,” she said.
    Jesus, it was like going shooting with Gunnery Sergeant Goforth and his redneck buddies!
    The men started to warm to her a little. “Good choice for a military gal,” said Albert. We all just kind of stood there for a moment, smiling at each other, and then Albert broke the ice by changing the subject.
    He asked, in the same friendly tone of voice: “You wouldn’t happen to be in league with those ministers of Satan invading our world?”
    â€œWe were wondering the same thing about you,” said Arlene. I gave her a dirty look for that.
    The beefy kid with the double-barreled duck gun chuckled. “Don’t mind her saying that, mister. It shows a proper godly attitude. I hope you both check out; I like you. We talk the same language. But we can’t take any chances.”
    They searched us both thoroughly, found the knife, and impounded it. We were weaponless. In a way, I was glad. These guys weren’t acting like amateurs . . . which meant they had a chance against the invaders.
    â€œOkay,” said the man with the bird gun, “we’ll take you to the President of the Council of Twelve.”
    Arlene grimaced, which told me she knew what he was talking about; but she kept her promise. Not a word came out of her about the religious stuff. The title sounded impressive enough to tell me that the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints was still in business big-time.
    Maybe she was right, and they were a cult; but I don’t know any difference between a cult and a religion except as a popularity contest. They had survived, and we needed