Resistance by William C. Dietz Page B

pause every ten minutes or so and conduct a 360-degree scan of his environment as far as he could see—whichwasn't very far. But with the exception of a forlorn steer and a briefly glimpsed white-tailed deer, he saw no signs of life until he topped a rise and spotted a line of enormous footprints that cut across his path. Each pod-print was so deep that not even the heavy snowfall had been sufficient to fill them in, although there had been enough to obscure the shape. Given the configuration, though, the vibrations he had experienced the night before must have been caused by a Chimeran battle mech, possibly a Goliath.
    There were other signs of the machine's passage as well, including shattered boulders, trampled trees, and a black scorch mark off in the distance. Something—or some
one
—had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
    The thought made him pick up the pace. He needed to get home.
    His progress was generally uneventful, although a pack of feral dogs followed him for a while until eventually turning away to follow a more promising scent. He began to see familiar landmarks, like the frozen pond where both cattle and the local wildlife came to drink in the summer, and the tumbledown line shack his foster father's father had built, and the windmill that brought deep-lying water up to fill a metal tank.
    The windmill was still now, its metal blades hung with icicles, its purpose lost—along with an entire way of life.
    After the first inclination to rush ahead, Hale forced himself to slow down again. Because if his parents had left, and the ranch house still stood, it could serve as a haven for almost anything. Chimera included.
    With that in mind Hale took cover in a cluster of trees. He removed both his pack and snowshoes, and stuffed everything under some low-hanging branches.Then, carrying only the I-Pack plus weapons and ammunition, Hale worked his way forward.
    The house had been built in a hollow where it and the outbuildings were sheltered from the prairie winds, so it wouldn't be visible until he was practically on top of it. He traveled the last few feet of the journey on his belly with the Fareye at the ready and the Rossmore slung across his back.
    As his head inched up over the top of the rise his heart beat faster.
    The house was intact!
    The snow fell like a lacy curtain around the two-story structure. It looked as it always had, and could have been featured on a Christmas card. It was so quiet that the sudden pistol-shot sound caused Hale to jump.
    A quick scan of the terrain revealed that an overloaded branch had snapped under the weight of the snow.
    Having slowed his breathing, Hale turned his attention back to the house. He knew better than to rush in, and made use of the Fareye's scope to examine every inch of the structure's facade. That was when he saw details that caused his spirits to plummet.
    There wasn't any glass left in most of the windows, the walls were riddled with bullet holes, and the front door was ajar.
    There was no sign of life, so Hale made the decision to trade weapons, knowing that if he was forced to fight
inside
the house the Rossmore would be the better weapon. Then he rose, and began to advance.
    Snow crunched under his boots and deep drifts made it necessary to lift his feet high as he angled down the slope. Once on flat ground he took momentary cover behind the ranch's snow-encrusted propane tank beforedashing across the parking area to crouch by the pump house, where he paused to eyeball his surroundings.
    Then, as certain as he could be that there weren't any nasty surprises waiting for him, Hale left the shelter of the pump house and made his way up the snow-drifted walkway. His boots made a hollow thumping sound as he climbed the front steps to the wraparound porch. The screen door had been holed, and hinges squeaked as Hale pulled it open.
    A nudge from the Rossmore was sufficient to push the wooden front door out of the way to reveal a