Kent Montana and the Really Ugly Thing from Mars by Charles L. Grant

Author:Charles L. Grant [Grant, Charles L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: humor, science fiction
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2017-08-03T00:00:00+00:00

4

Gander Pond was in serious trouble.

4a

It was horrible.

III

Special Effects

1

“Now listen up, people!”

Above the rooftops of Gander Pond, the eastern horizon glowed angrily, its hellish light pulsing like a metropolitan borealis gone mad. Bathed in such crimson and gold misery, the surrounding hills seemed to shimmer and shift, advance and retreat, making all who watched the display disoriented and disturbed; the stars were washed out when the light intensified, and when the light subsided, the waning moon seemed stained a solemn red. Eyes watered and nostrils flared in discomfort whenever the summer wind shifted and wafted the smoke and its attendant stench of battle over the town.

And through it all, the horrific tympanic beat of intermittent explosions, booming and crashing, accompanied by the fearsome bellowing of an unearthly creature.

“Hey, listen up!”

At street level, the cleanup process had been aborted when the tank and Jeeps filled with weary soldiers rumbled into town and took up a defensive posture—the tank straddling the white line with cannon aimed east, the Jeeps parked diagonally from curb to curb, their battle-hardened passengers crouched expectantly behind them. Thus were there shards of glass glittering still in the gutters, tattered napkins and scraps of paper fluttering helplessly through the air, and bits of singed clothing and people still stuck to crumbling walls, bent streetlamps, and the rusted teeth of empty storm drains.

Here and there houses still burned; eventually the movie theater roof collapsed; the mortuary’s basement was reasonably instantly flooded when a minor water pipe burst; and Eunice Ellader spent a good hour chasing what was left of her Uncle Bill down Elm Street toward the circus.

It was a nightmare.

A few of the critically injured were still tended to by Good Samaritans plaintively crying out for medics and ambulances. Those who were able to walk did so, as quickly as possible, west. The four hotels, finally able to run on the strength of their own private generators, generously opened their lobbies and bars to the emotionally battered and afflicted for nominal charges; the restaurants created soup-and-salad kitchens for those unable to make their way home; and the police department steadfastly maintained its presence wherever possible in order to stave off panic and make sure that all who were in need of assistance were able to find it.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!”

The whole situation was barely three inches shy of complete chaos.

Even Private First Class Ham Delphim’s untrained eye could see that, which was why he could not understand why none of the civilians paid any attention to Major Settbach, standing so nobly and inspirationally atop the tank and trying to get people to pay attention to her. It was incredible. She was, after all, the U.S. Army. She also had the tank. And no one else seemed willing to assume the leadership position. To his mind, it was crime. Like that hotshot newspaper editor, who had thought the major was bluffing about the telephone call. As soon as she left the office, the man had given Ham a man-to-man wink and reached for the receiver.

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