Strike

by D. J. MacHale

  “It’s good to be a Colonel,” she said.

  “Do whatever Brock and Sanchez tell you to,” Sokol said. “Those two are the best, and just a little bit dangerous.”

  “I like that,” Kent said.

  “If all goes well, there will be a vehicle waiting for you outside the dome on the other side of the Bridge. They’ll take you out of the camp and you’ll be gone before any of the guards realize what happened.”

  “And if all doesn’t go well?” Tori asked.

  Sokol shrugged and said, “Then shoot your way out.”

  That gave us all a moment’s pause.

  “What happens once we’re out of the camp?” I asked.

  “You tell us,” Sokol said. “We don’t have any way to contact SYLO. That’s why we need you.”

  I didn’t point out that we didn’t know how to make contact with them, either.

  “Eighteen hundred hours,” Pike said. “That’s when the curtain goes up. If SYLO doesn’t step in, it’ll be a very short show.”

  “All we can do is try,” I said.

  Pike had said all she needed to say. She looked at each of us and softened a little.

  “You’re just kids,” she said, mostly to herself.

  “Badass kids,” Kent said.

  Sokol held back a chuckle.

  “No words can say how honored I am to know you,” Pike said. “Good luck.”

  We piled into the car. The last one in was Kent, who looked square at Sokol and said, “You better stop those damn drones.”

  Sokol didn’t respond. He didn’t need Kent to tell him what he had to do.

  Kent got in the car, slammed the door, and we took off.

  I looked back at the building to see Olivia appear in the doorway. She didn’t wave. She just stood there with her hands on her hips, watching us. For a second I imagined her standing on the porch of the Blackbird Inn, wearing a red bikini and holding a tray of ice tea for Quinn and me.

  I wished I hadn’t looked back.

  We drove silently through the filthy streets, each alone with our own thoughts. My mind was strangely blank. I didn’t want to stress over each possible scenario because there was no way to predict what we would face. It was more about clearing my head, preparing to roll with whatever came our way, and trying not to hyperventilate.

  After driving for what seemed like only a few seconds, Brock turned back to us.

  “We’ll park a hundred meters from the dome and walk the rest of the way on foot,” he explained. “Standard escort formation around Pierce. Sleeper and I in front, Berringer and Sanchez behind. We’ll go through a checkpoint where they’ll scan your badges. Our orders have been input into the system. There should be no problem. Do not speak unless asked a direct question. Remember, we’re escorting a prisoner to the forward camp. That’s all you need to say. I’m the officer in charge of the transfer. All questions should be directed to me anyway. Understood?”

  “What happens after we get through the Bridge?” I asked.

  “We’ll track down transport and drive out of the camp,” he replied.

  “Easy as that?” I asked.

  “Easy as that. After that, you’re on.”

  That was the part that worried me.

  We drove through the early-morning light of the Bridge city with no company. There were no other vehicles on the road and very few pedestrians. The city was only beginning to wake up. The dome loomed in the distance ahead of us. Less than nine hours from then an atomic bomb was going to be detonated inside of that structure that would hopefully save what was left of our world from the invasion.

  I stared at the buildings as we drove by, sickened by what the world had become and amazed at the shortsightedness that allowed it to happen. As much as I didn’t want to think ahead and guess what would happen as the day played out, I allowed myself to hope that we would never have to see this cursed city and time again.

  We turned the final corner onto the wide street that would lead us to the dome.

  “Oh crap,” Kent said.

  Stretched out before us was a line of attack ships that reached all the way to the dome. They weren’t the small unmanned drones that had done so much damage throughout the world; these were the giant piloted planes that could wipe out an entire city on their own. It was the type of plane that Tori and I had sabotaged, which led to the destruction of the entire fleet of Retro planes at Area 51.

  “I guess tonight really is the night,” Sanchez said with awe.

  These ships were floating in line, ready to pass through the Bridge on their way to delivering the final blow to the past. They were patiently waiting to do what they did best.

  Destroy.

  Sanchez turned onto a side street, pulled to the curb, and cut the engine.

  “This is it,” Brock announced. “Questions?”

  “What are our chances?” Kent asked.

  “Any other questions?” Brock said.

  We climbed out and walked back to the main street where the giant planes were lined up. It was a sobering sight, made all the more so because from that moment on we were going to be in serious danger.

  “Lead on,” I said. “I’m the prisoner, remember?”

  As instructed, Tori and Brock walked shoulder to shoulder in front of me; Kent and Sanchez were close behind. Now that we were near the heart of the city, and the dome, there were many more pedestrians. I kept my head down, fearing that someone might recognize me. Or worse, recognize Tori or Kent and wonder why they were wearing Air Force uniforms.

  To anybody who took notice of us, they must have thought I was some dangerous master criminal. Why else would I be getting such treatment?

  We passed by the low, rounded building with the steel doors we had seen when we first arrived. It was where the atomic devices were kept. There were armed guards in front. They had no idea of what was going to come down on top of their heads in a few hours.

  As we neared the dome we entered an area separated from the street by a low metal fence. It was a chute that funneled personnel into the security check before entering the dome. I kept my hands in plain sight, folded in front of me. It gave me a feeling of security to feel the two pulsers that were hidden in my sleeves. In my mind I practiced a hundred times how I would let them slip out, ready to shoot.

  Brock marched right up to the Retro soldier who was stationed in front of a metal archway that we would need to pass through before entering the dome.

  “Prisoner transfer to the forward camp,” Brock announced, holding his black pad device out for the security guy to see.

  I kept my head down, but looked ahead, ready for any sign of trouble.

  The guard looked bored. He made some entries into his own black pad, probably to confirm the transfer orders that Pike had put in.

  “I’m jealous,” the guard said.

  “Why’s that?” Brock asked.

  “You’re gonna be on the other side when the action starts,” he said, gesturing to the line of monster planes.

  “Right,” Brock said. “When’s kickoff?”

  “Sometime after nightfall,” the guard replied. “You have no idea how crazy it’s going to get around here.”

  “Oh, I can take a good guess,” Brock said. “Are we clear?”

  The guard stepped aside to let us pass.

  “Have a good trip,” the guard said. “Light those bastards on the other side up for me.”

  “That’s the plan,” Tori said.

  Brock shot her a stern look.

  We passed through the checkpoint and strode toward the dome.

  The giant doors were open, having been retracted into the shell of the immense structure. They would have to be closed by the Sounders or the blast wouldn’t be contained and the entire city might be wiped out.

  None of us said a word
, but I knew that all of our hearts were beating a little faster, because mine sure was. We strode directly into the dome as if we belonged. Inside, in front of the giant frame that held the Bridge, was a hovering Retro fighter, ready to move through to the past. A few Retro soldiers stood guard around the structure, which was different than when we had arrived. I wondered if security had been tightened because of the Sounder activity over the past day. Or maybe it was because they were preparing the next wave of the invasion. Whatever the reason, it meant that the Sounders were going to have more of a challenge to bring in the bomb.

  Gratefully, none of the guards looked on edge. They seemed more like bored traffic cops as they kept the flow of gear, planes, and personnel moving through the Bridge.

  We were moving directly for the Bridge when a guard called out to us.

  “Hey! Who’s this guy?” he shouted.

  We stopped as the guard strolled up, staring at me.

  “Why does this scum get to go back?” he asked.

  “He’s infected with a virus that was eradicated two hundred years ago,” Brock said without missing a beat. “It’s fatal. Want to kiss him goodbye?”

  The guard turned white and backed off quickly.

  “Whoa, no, carry on. Good riddance.”

  The guard turned and hurried off.

  “You thought of everything,” I said softly.

  “We try,” Brock said. “Ready?”

  We all stood there, bathed in the glow from within the frame.

  “I want to go back,” Tori said. “But I don’t.”

  “Eight hours,” Sanchez said.

  “Let’s go!” Kent exclaimed.

  We had to wait a few more seconds as the black fighter disappeared into the white light of the Bridge, before stepping up to the frame for our turn.

  “Stay alert,” Brock warned.

  “I can’t be any more alert than I am right now,” Kent said. “I’m ready to pee my pants.”

  “Don’t do that,” Brock said.

  He stepped into the light and disappeared. Tori went directly after him and I was the next up. I didn’t hesitate for a second.

  The act of stepping through this impossible “Bridge” through time gave absolutely no sensation or sense of movement. It was no different than stepping through a doorway from one room to the next, only the next room was centuries in the past and was an entirely different stream of existence. I walked out of the light and into the dome of the past as easily as if I had gone through a doorway in my house.

  The past dome looked no different than when we had come through the day before. Other than the black plane that had floated out of the giant doors ahead of us, there was very little activity.

  “Smells much better,” Kent said after he came through behind me. “Never thought I’d appreciate a place because of the way it smelled. Or didn’t smell.”

  “Keep moving,” Brock commanded.

  My heart had been thumping from the moment we stepped out of the military vehicle back in the future. Now it was absolutely pounding. We were back in the camp where Tori, Kent, and I were prisoners. Known prisoners. We had already made one escape, and now we would attempt a second.

  Brock and Tori led us out of the dome and into the hot, bright light of the Mojave desert. As much as I hated Bova’s cruel camp, it was a welcome relief to see clear skies and an uncluttered view of the mountains. It made me even more angry to think of what the world would become.

  “Now what?” Tori asked.

  Brock pulled his communicator from his pocket and tapped it a few times. “Our ride should be waiting right . . . there.”

  He pointed to our right where a camouflage Humvee was parked.

  “How did you pull this off?” Kent asked.

  “You know we have people on this side,” Sanchez said. “Once you all agreed to come back, we sent people through to alert them and set it all up.”

  The vehicle was only thirty yards away. We were one step closer to getting out of there. We all walked quickly but deliberately toward the waiting vehicle. Glancing around I saw no signs of the aerial attack that had hit the camp just the day before. Wreckage was cleared away and even the burned barracks was now just an empty patch of sand. The SYLO attack hadn’t affected the camp in the slightest. I really hoped that wouldn’t be the case with the next one.

  With only steps to go, I allowed myself to believe that we were going to make it.

  “Zero Three One One!” a woman called.

  I froze. I had hoped I would never hear that number again, especially not then.

  It was the commander of blue unit. She was leading her prisoners through the empty expanse in front of the dome when she spotted me.

  We were stopped dead in our tracks. Even Brock seemed unsure of what to do.

  The woman approached, looking confused.

  “What the hell is going on?” she said. “I thought Bova and Feit had found you and—”

  The words caught in her throat when she saw something that made even less sense to her: Two of her other prisoners were there as well, and they were wearing Air Force uniforms.

  “Wha . . .” she gasped, then quickly pulled a communicator from her back pocket.

  “Show’s over,” Brock announced.

  He raised his pulser and fired, knocking the woman back and onto the ground.

  So much for stealth.

  “Let’s go!” Sanchez announced and ran for the Humvee.

  The rest of us were right behind him.

  I slid the two pulsers out of my sleeves.

  When we got to the vehicle, the two Sounders jumped in front while Tori, Kent, and I climbed in back. Sanchez fired up the gas engine and hit the accelerator. There was no time to be cautious. We had to get out of there.

  “Stay down,” Sanchez barked. “They’re going to be coming at us from every angle.”

  He wasn’t kidding. Before getting shot, the unit supervisor must have pushed the panic button, because Retro soldiers appeared from everywhere, trying to head us off. They had their pulsers up and started firing. Sanchez was good: He swerved at full speed, trying to make a difficult target. The Humvee was big and sturdy. A few shots of energy pounded us, rattling the heavy vehicle and knocking us around, but it didn’t stop us.

  “We’re making it too easy for them,” Tori announced. She rolled down the window and started shooting back. She aimed dead ahead and to the side, spraying our attackers. The blasts of energy forced the Retros to scatter as the buildings around them were rocked. Brock did the same from the other side. The Retros continued to fire back, but with more caution, because they now feared they would be shot themselves.

  Sanchez drove with his foot to the floor, taking sharp, high-speed turns that I was sure would flip us over.

  “Look out!” Kent shouted.

  Another vehicle was headed directly for us. It was a game of chicken. Sanchez didn’t blink. He charged straight ahead on a direct line for the oncoming car.

  “Shoot him!” Kent screamed.

  Brock leaned out of the window and fired.

  He hit the windshield, forcing the car to swerve. That’s when Sanchez made his move. He spun the wheel hard to the right, fishtailing our vehicle into a violent, skidding turn. Our back end clipped the front of the enemy’s vehicle. It was a brutal jolt, but it didn’t stop us.

  “We’re gonna make it,” Kent said.

  We were nearing the last of the new buildings. All around us, prisoners scattered to get out of our way as Retro soldiers fought to get a clean shot at us.

  It was too late. They hadn’t rallied fast enough. Sanchez didn’t let off of the gas and we charged past the last of the barracks and out into the wide-open spaces of the Mojave. The camp had no fences surrounding it. Once we sped past the line of huge antiaircraft guns that protected the dome, ther
e was nothing around us but miles of open desert.

  “Yeah!” Kent screamed.

  “We’re not safe,” I said. “They could follow.”

  “Or send out the drones,” Tori said.

  “That depends,” Brock said.

  “On what?”

  “On how much they care,” he replied. “They’ve got more important things to worry about than a couple of escaped prisoners. Tonight begins the second phase of the invasion. In the big picture, you aren’t that important to them.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Kent said.

  “Of course if they knew who you really were . . .”

  Tori twisted around to look back at the camp, which was quickly growing smaller.

  “I don’t see anybody coming,” she said.

  That didn’t matter to Sanchez. He didn’t let up off of the gas. We had to have been doing a hundred across the flat desert. He pressed on like that for several minutes while we all held our breath.

  “I think we made it,” Kent said full of nervous hope. “Right? We made it. Do you think we made it? I think we did.”

  Brock turned to face us. “We made it.”

  “Good, I thought so,” Kent said quickly.

  “So . . . where to?” Brock asked.

  I wished I had the answer. I wanted to be able to tell them exactly where to go so we could be picked up by SYLO, but I didn’t have a clue.

  “Maybe back to Area 51,” Tori said. “That’s where they picked us up after the fleet was destroyed. It’s as good a spot to start as any.”

  Brock lifted his communicator and said, “If I knew what frequency they were operating on I might be able to . . .”

  He stopped talking and frowned. Something he saw on his device was bad news.

  “What?” Tori asked.

  “Repeat,” Brock said into the device.

  He read whatever the response was and his eyes went wide.

  “Stop the vehicle!” he shouted to Sanchez.

  Sanchez gave him a quick, surprised look and hit the brakes. The car skidded across the dry surface, twisting and slipping so violently that I feared we were going to roll as we went from a hundred to zero in three seconds flat.

  “Get out!” Brock screamed.