Halfway Heroes

by Dustin Martin

PARTMENT sign next to the steps had a bullet hole in it. A fearful chill seeped through Lydia’s skin when she saw this, and she felt her muscles tense. Although Gould assured her that the van was solid and safe, like everyone else he kept anxiously glancing around the scene. Lydia saw his eyes swivel to the right and left, as if an attack might come from any side. His mouth hung open and he constantly licked his lips. To her, he wasn’t exactly the picture of reassurance.

  Police cars had been driven so that their fronts were on top of some civilian vehicles, blocking the roads in and out right before the station and creating an uneven wall. Bodies were strewn in the streets ahead. Lydia prayed that none was her mother or her friends. She feared for Debra’s safety and that of everyone she knew. The van and the line of officers behind it had to stop at the wreckage. They waited in the van, hardly breathing, afraid that some enemy might pick up any faint sound.

  Not only was the station quiet, but so were the frost-layered streets. They were cold, empty, lonely. Dead, Lydia thought. She shivered. Rogers was busily scanning the rooftops while Sylvia turned to Gould.

  “So, should we get out?” she whispered, slipping on her gloves. Everything about the group was tense. Lydia’s vocal chords were taut. She wasn’t even sure if she could speak right now. What if the SN91 had already been released and they were unaware of it? She shooed the idea from her mind. If so, surely they’d be dead already.

  Although Gould mouthed that they should leave, Rogers shook his head. “I don’t like this.” He pursed his lips, craning his neck as if he could find a better view of their surroundings. “They’re waiting for us.”

  “What else can we do?” Gould said, shrugging. “Alright, everyone remember the plan?” He looked at the three teenagers. “Stick close to Sylvia or one of us, okay? Get to the station.”

  Rogers was on the radio, breathing orders to the officers. “We’ll have to circle around the cars ahead. Stay low and stick close to cover. Everyone make for the station—Gah!” Sudden popping bursts in the window sent shards of glass flying about. Rogers leapt out of the van and sought cover behind the wrecked vehicles. Bullets struck the seat where he had been. “Snipers! Everyone out! Everyone out! To the station!” he yelled.

  Gould opened the back door. Everyone jumped out, rushing with the other officers toward the station. One cop fell, a bullet piercing his chest. Lydia reached out to him, dragging him along. She threw him forward, out of harm’s way. She yelped as a bullet hit the ground just ahead of her. Sylvia grabbed her hand and pulled her along, in the direction of the station.

  Lydia collided against an open truck. The rest of the group took cover beside her. Rogers relayed information to Gould through hand gestures, his back against a police car. “Okay,” Gould said, adjusting his glasses and interpreting for the group. “We have two snipers. On the roof of the store across from the station. To our right. Rogers’s right.”

  “Is there a side entrance?”, Sylvia asked one of the officers.

  The officer nodded. “Yes, but it’s on the other side of the building.”

  “Great,” Sylvia said. Several bullets struck the truck door close to her.

  “Is Lydia strong enough to bash a hole in the side of the station?” Gould asked.

  “Possibly,” Sylvia said. “But that would leave her exposed. Could we get to the sniper’s position from here?”

  Meanwhile, Lydia was sizing up the truck. It didn’t appear to be too heavy for her. Much heavier than the medicine balls and other items Brentle had offered, yes. But now was the time for a true test. “I have an idea,” she said to Sylvia.

  “By all means, let’s hear it,” she said.

  Lydia indicated the truck. “If you keep me covered, I could probably throw this up

  to the roof.”

  “Probably?”

  “Probably,” Lydia said.

  “Worth a shot,” Gould said. He pulled out a pistol and then signaled to Rogers and the police. “On my mark, fire at the roof.” He counted down on his fingers. Everyone opened fire on the roof.

  Lydia spread her legs and lifted the truck from its rear. The back wheels left the ground, then the front ones. She hefted it higher, higher, the unfamiliar strain excruciating. Her bones were buckling, unused to the pressure, but she soldiered on. “Hurry!” Sylvia screamed. A stray bullet caught the truck’s window. Lydia nearly dropped the heavy load.

  A little more! She had the vehicle up to her chest. Lydia thought she could go higher, but the snipers were aiming at her. She pulled the truck to the side and flung it. She collapsed on the ground and snapped her head up. Everyone watched slack-jawed as the truck soared into the air. The snipers scattered. The truck smashed through the store roof’s lip, sending debris tumbling to the street.

  Yes! Lydia grinned.

  Aidan helped her up. “Good one,” he said.

  “Inside the station!” Rogers ordered. “Inside! Move! Move it!”

  Everyone scrambled through the front doors of the station, carrying a few wounded officers. They ran past the information desk in the foyer, into a large inner office shared by several rows of desks, and were immediately met with gunfire.