by Trent Reedy
“Oh shit!” Cal shouted.
I swerved back to the left as the machine gun fired again, but only veered for a second before cutting back to the shoulder. I had to keep them guessing. If that machine gun hit us, it was over. We’d almost reached the floodlights. I dodged hard to the right, another quick left, a fake to the right, and then an intense move to the left to get us around the vehicle.
“It’s a damned Stryker,” I said when I could see the armored eight-wheeled monster without its lights blinding me. A dull clunk and scream told me I’d just hit someone, a soldier probably.
“Go, Danny, go!” Cal yelled. “They’re spinning the gun turret.”
“Shit, is that a fifty-cal?” Sweeney asked.
“Strap yourselves in. Now, now, now!” I ignored the stop sign at the highway crossing and hit the gas again, whipping the fastest, tightest turn I’d ever tried. The Beast’s thirty-six-inch super swamper tires squealed until we’d made the corner.
Sweeney checked the mirrors. “They’re going to follow us.”
“It’ll take that big thing forever to turn around,” said Cal.
“There must be hundreds of other Fed vehicles out here,” Sweeney said.
He had a good point. I hit the brakes and slowed down just a little. “Hold on to your shit. Time to lose them by off-roading it.”
“But we can’t outrun radio,” said Sweeney. “They’ve called us in already. Other units and drones will be on their way.”
The Beast’s engine revved higher as I jumped her off the side of the road into an open field. “I’m doing the best I can!”
“I don’t think it’s going to be enough,” Sweeney said.
“You saying we should just give up?” Cal asked.
“I think we’re going to have to do something you’re not going to want to do, Danny,” Sweeney said. “The Beast’s engine is going to show up on every drone’s infrared scanner. Let’s head for the old Bethelman rock quarry. We can ditch the truck there and then go on foot. The cloaks will keep us hidden.”
“What?” I gripped the steering wheel hard as the Beast rocked over a big bump. “Just leave my truck at the quarry for the Fed?”
“We can’t let them find it. They’ll know we were out here. They’ll know you survived the attack.”
“Then what —”
“He means we gotta sink it in the pit,” said Cal.
“Sorry, dude, but there’s no other way,” Sweeney said.
“I can’t …” I started, even as I turned toward the quarry. The Bethelman quarry, or “the pit” as most of us called it, was an abandoned rock quarry, basically a huge, deep pond ringed with basalt. The perimeter of the land was marked by about a billion NO TRESPASSING signs, but that had never stopped us from sneaking in there in the summer for swimming, cliff jumping, and even skinny dipping. “This truck is my baby. I restored her from practically a wreck. Right there in the backseat, me and JoBell first —”
“You gotta turn up here,” Sweeney said.
The access road was blocked by a rusty, swinging bar gate that was chained and padlocked to a pole. I gunned the engine and smashed right through it, sending the bar whipping back to the side. “Get all the shit we’re gonna need out of the back.” I stopped the truck. “I’ll take it up to the jumping cliff and get rid of it.”
Cal opened the door and climbed out. “How are you going to —”
“Just hurry up!”
When the guys had unloaded the truck, I hit the gas and sped away toward the jumping cliff. It was a solid twenty-foot drop from the cliff to the waters in the deepest part of the pond. But driving fast up the rough hill with no headlights, it was really tough to tell how close I was to the cliff. If I was still in the Beast when it went over the edge, I’d have to stay in the vehicle until it broke through the ice. Then I’d have to escape the sinking wreck as the freezing waters poured in around me. In other words, I’d be dead.
The Beast bumped along, hitting rocks and crashing through low shrubbery the whole way. I kept my hand on the door handle and gave her gas. Any second now.
I felt the slope level out a bit and knew I couldn’t wait anymore. “Goodbye, baby. I’m sorry.” I threw the door open and shoved myself to the side. But I was stuck. “Shit!” Seat belt. I fumbled for the release. Found it. Tossed the belt aside and jumped.
Rocks and gravel hit my knees, my back, my legs, and my face as I skidded along the ground. The Beast’s engine whined as she fell out of sight. A huge crack and splash below. Then my legs were out in the open and dropping. The edge! I swept my hands along the ground, reaching for something. Anything. Finally I caught hold of a rock, clinging for life. My legs still dangled in the air over the cliff. I let out a breath and pressed my cheek to the cold stone.
I crawled to my feet and looked down at my awesome truck’s watery grave. “You were the best, girl,” I whispered. “Thanks for everything.”
I limped my way back to the guys.
“Damn, Wright, I thought we lost you!” Cal handed me a thermal cloak and I put it on.
“Yeah. I mistimed it a little.”
Sweeney had been scanning the area. He turned back to me. “You look like shit, dude. You’re bleeding everywhere.” He paused. “Sorry about the Beast.”
“No time to worry about that now.” I took my M4 back from him.
We headed out, wearing the bulky thermal cloaks, carrying our weapons and what food and supplies we could manage. While the cloaks would hide our heat signature, we would still be visible in the bright moonlight, so I led the way from tree cover to tree cover, moving quickly and quietly the short distance into Freedom Lake.
We paused to catch our breath at the Huffs’ house, crouching down between two cords of wood at the back. The ground shook and I peeked around the woodpile to see an infantry squad— nine well-armed soldiers — marching beside an M4B Schwarzkopf. I’d read up on those tanks before I shipped to basic training last summer. They had a 120-millimeter cannon, a .50-cal, and a couple M240 machine guns. The tank had enough firepower to level Freedom Lake by itself.
“Shit, we messed around too long back at the quarry,” Sweeney whispered. “They’re already here.”
Cal said, “How are we going to get all the way across town to the shop?”
“Attention!” A loudspeaker on the tank called out into the dark. “All Idaho military, militia, and law enforcement personnel must surrender to federal authorities immediately. All Idaho civilians must disarm, remain in their homes, and await instructions from federal authorities. Failure to comply will be met with deadly force.”
“We’ll wait until they pass,” said Sweeney. “Then cross the street and cut between the Blake and Reese houses. There’s a fence, but when Mary Beth invited me over, all I had to do was reach over the gate and pop a latch.”
“No way,” said Cal. “I was hanging out with Tucker Blake once, and he had a big thing for Mary Beth. Must have been after the two of you broke up.”
Sweeney shrugged. “Eh, we were never really going out.”
“Yeah, well, me and Tucker were going to see Mary Beth one night, and when we cut through the yard, the motion sensor light turned on. If that happens with those soldiers around, we’ll—”
“Cal,” I said. “The power’s out. The only lights will be on the Fed tanks.”
“Oh yeah,” Cal said.
The tank was out of sight by now and moving farther off. A few gunshots went off down the street. Seconds later, a bunch of rifles and machine guns cut loose. Then it was quiet. Whoever had taken a shot at that squad had paid for it the hard way.
“Okay,” I whispered with a shaky breath. “Weapons ready. Do not shoot unless they do. We don’t want to give away our position.”
“And we really don’t have a chance fighting these guys,” Sweeney said.
“That too,” I said. “Ready?” My friends nodded and picked up our stuff.
I came out from between the two cords and crouched-ran throug
h the Huffs’ yard. The street looked clear, but in basic training we’d learned about crossing linear danger areas, long straight pathways or streets that made handy places for the enemy to set up a machine gun. Anyone who tried to cross one could get mowed down.
I ducked down beside the Huffs’ front porch and motioned for the others to do the same. Cal crouched right beside me, so I whispered to him, “I’m going to run across the street first. If I make it, I’ll set up on the other side to cover you crossing. We go one at a time, so we’re not all clustered together in one target.” Cal nodded and I sprinted across the street, looking both ways, but mostly keeping an eye out for that tank and squad. When I dove under the bushes in front of Mary Beth’s house, I aimed my M4 down the street and motioned for Cal to follow. In that way, one at a time, we crossed the street. Then we rushed around the house, popped the latch on the gate, and ran through the Reese family’s backyard.
That’s how it went all across town. We spotted two more patrols, each with two armored gun Hummers and a dismounted squad. They’d sent at least one platoon, maybe two, to conquer Freedom Lake.
We paused again in Mr. Shiratori’s backyard. His daughter had a little playhouse there, and the three of us managed to creep inside to catch our breath.
“You guys okay?” someone whispered from the playhouse door. We all freaked and aimed our weapons. “Take it easy. It’s Coach Shiratori.”
“Geez, Coach!” Cal pointed his rifle downward. “You about got yourself killed.”
“What are you doing out here?” Sweeney asked.
Mr. Shiratori frowned. “I should ask you the same question. The Army is everywhere.”
“We’re in trouble,” I said. “We’re going someplace to hide.”
He crawled the rest of the way into the cramped playhouse. Everybody shuffled to give him room. “Where?”
Me and my friends looked at each other for a second. “We can’t tell you,” said Sweeney. “We have to keep it a secret.”
“Makes sense,” Coach said.
“But listen, Coach,” Sweeney went on. “Can you do us a favor?”
I frowned. What was he talking about?
“I need you to talk to Travis Jones. Tell him to tell Dave Schmidt that I said he’s a guy Schmidty can trust.”
“What?” I shifted where I sat. “Come on. We don’t need to get TJ wrapped up in this.”
“I know you two have had your problems,” Sweeney said to me. “Everybody else knows it too. That’s why nobody will suspect him. And we’re going to need someone to be our eyes and ears outside. Unless you want to risk the girls’ lives?”
I couldn’t think of a good comeback.
Sweeney said to Coach Shiratori, “So when it seems safe, talk to TJ about Dave Schmidt.”
“I think ‘safe’ is going to be a relative term for quite some time,” said Shiratori. “But I’ll pass along the message.”
Cal picked up his AR15. “I’d say we’ve rested enough. Unless we’re staying in this playhouse forever, we’d better move.”
“Yeah, it’ll be light soon,” I said. “From here on out, it’ll be pretty much a fast sprint to the safe house.”
“I’m faster than you,” said Sweeney. “I can handle it.”
I started moving toward the door. “Then let’s go. If anyone asks, Coach, you didn’t see us. You’ve been inside all night.” Shiratori nodded. “And one more thing. JoBell. Will you please look out for her? Help her if you can?”
“I’ll do my best. You boys be careful.”
We grabbed our gear and left the playhouse. When we were all ready, we took off, our thermal cloaks flying out behind us like capes as we ran. It was only a couple blocks, but it felt like the longest run of our lives. When we finally reached the shop, I checked the street to make sure nobody was watching. Luckily, the shop was kind of at the edge of town, across the street from some giant steel grain bins. There were no houses around. Nobody to spot us.
I could hardly see in the darkened shop, but I knew the place so well that it didn’t matter. I opened the back closet door and knocked on the floor hatch.
It lifted a crack. “Wright?” Sergeant Kemp asked.
“Yeah, we’re back,” said Cal. “Barely. Let us in.”
Cal went below, but Sweeney stopped at the hatch. “You coming?” he said to me.
“I’ll be right there.” I stood in the empty shop where I used to park the Beast and looked out through the little round window in the garage door. The sun was just coming up, and in the distance I heard the rumble of a tank. A Chinook helicopter descended somewhere over near the high school, probably coming in for a landing on the football field, possibly carrying another whole infantry platoon. Freedom Lake, my hometown, was now under federal military occupation.
Sweeney put his hand on my shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “It’s over, for now.”
I sighed and went with my best friend into the basement, wondering when I’d next see the sun.
The bunker was lit by the dim light from a battery-operated survival lamp. I surveyed the room. Luchen lay on his stomach on a cot in a corner across from the stairs. His pants were down and a T-shirt bandaged his ass. Danning, Herbokowitz, and Nelson occupied cots in a row near the stairs, with Specialist Sparrow sitting on Nelson’s cot next to his feet, her head in her hands. That Bagley guy sat with his back against the wall near the entrance to the escape tunnel, his arms around his drawn-up legs.
The rest of the guys sat on folding chairs next to the cook stove and microwave in what I guessed was going to be our kitchen area. Crocker was fiddling with the hand-crank emergency radio Schmidty had put down here. Everybody was quiet, kind of in shock, so I guessed it was up to me to take charge.
“What else do we need to do for the wounded?” I asked. “We can’t just sit around if —”
“Hey, Wright,” Cal said quietly. “Your friend is dead.”
“What? Who?” Then I focused on PFC Nelson, his still chest, his calm face no longer twisted up in pain. “Why? What happened?”
“Where? When?” Sparrow shouted. “What the hell do you think happened to him, moron? Massive chest wound. He lost too much blood. There was damage to his insides. How the hell should I know? I spent three weekends at a combat lifesaver course that taught me to stop bleeding, treat for shock, and run IVs. I’m not a damned doctor!”
“Whoa.” Sergeant Kemp went to Sparrow and put his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged him off, but he stayed by her side. “Easy, Specialist. Nobody’s blaming you. You did all you could.”
“Which was precisely dick!” Sparrow said. “The only real bandages we have left are trying to stop the bleeding in Danning’s gut and leg. Everybody else is patched with T-shirts or scarves or whatever. We need to get these people real medical treatment or they’re gonna—”
“Hey, Wright. Where’s your girlfriend?” Herbokowitz asked me.
“She’s at Sweeney’s for now, I guess until the Fed lets people outside. Then she’ll go home to her dad.”
“I thought you were bringing her here,” said the first sergeant.
I hesitated before replying. “She wouldn’t come.”
“Damn it, Wright,” said Herbokowitz.
“What?”
“Now we’re really screwed,” said Sparrow.
“What’s the problem?” said Cal. “We said goodbye to the girls and came right back. Nobody saw us.”
“You tell them where we are?” Herbokowitz asked. “Do they know about this place?”
“I don’t …” My cheeks felt hot. “I didn’t tell them we were here. I don’t think I did.”
“Oh, great,” said Sparrow. “He doesn’t think he did.”
“I didn’t tell them where we were going!” I said. I looked at Cal and Sweeney.
“I didn’t,” said Sweeney.
“Me neither,” said Cal.
“But they’ve been to this shop before. They might know about this place,” said Sergeant Kemp.
Did they? I racked my brains, trying to remember whether I ever told JoBell or Becca about Schmidty’s hideout. Had I just condemned us all?
“Well, it ain’t like the girls are going to run to the Fed and tell them where we are, even if they do think we’re here,” said Cal.
“The Fed might not give them a choice,” said Herbokowitz, “not if they want information bad enough. And it doesn’t seem like they’re really concerned about people’s rights as long as they stop us rebels.”
“I’ll go get them,” I said. “Bring them here. It’ll be fine.” I headed for the stairs, but Sparrow and Kemp jumped in front of me. I shoved Kemp aside, but then Sweeney joined Sparrow.
“Dude, no way,” said Sweeney. “We barely made it back here. You’ll never get all the way to my house on foot without being caught. And even if you did, you’ll only get yourself and the girls killed trying to come back.”
“Plus, you ain’t never gonna convince JoBell to go with you,” said Cal.
“Wright,” said Herbokowitz. “No more cowboy shit. We have to work as a team if we’re gonna make it through this.” He sighed. “Nothing left to do but wait.”
Sweeney held out a beer to Sparrow. “While we wait, want a cold one? We don’t have any fridge. Might as well enjoy these now. Might help, you know, to take the edge off.”
Sparrow snatched the brown bottle from his hand and chugged half of it right away.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
“Brought it from my place.” Sweeney grinned.
“On the run for our lives, and you still can’t do without beer?”
“I could do without it,” said Sweeney. “But why would I want to?”
Herbokowitz bit his lip in pain as he sat up on his cot, leaning against the cement block wall. The scarf around his injured leg was solid red. “I could use a beer right about now.”
“You probably don’t want alcohol after you’ve lost that much blood, First Sergeant,” said Sparrow.
“Thank you for your expert medical opinion, Specialist.” Herbokowitz accepted a beer from Sweeney and closed his eyes as he took a drink. He held it up and looked at the bottle with raised eyebrows. “It’s got a bite.”
