Drone Wars 1: Day of the Drone

by T. R. Harris

  Unless the two targets were in the bathroom together, the cabin was empty. With hand signals, Damien sent his men inside. He followed a moment later.

  There was hot water on the stove and the remaining coffee in the two cups on the table was still warm. Could they have seen them coming and dashed out the back? That was a possibility. There was a rear door, and the two sets of tracks leading from the cabin were clearly visible.

  The forest was still in the shadow of the mountain; even so, there were no dwellings to be seen through the trees in the direction of the tracks. The length of the steps left in the snow were narrow, indicating people walking, not running, so maybe his team was still undetected. Where were they going? Two people seeking refuge from killers seldom took leisurely morning strolls, especially in ankle-deep snow and sub-zero temperatures. There had to be a purpose for leaving the cabin.

  He split his men into two groups once again, one on each side of the tracks, and they set off climbing higher up the slope. The snow was thicker here and crusty from the cold shadow of the mountain. All his men wore heavy combat boots, yet even then several slipped and fell during the climb. After several minutes, Damien began to detect the sweet smell of waffles or pancakes wafting in the still air. As they climbed higher, the smell grew stronger. A dog began to bark, with the cadenced sound echoing through the trees. There was a house up ahead, and they were getting close.

  ********

  “A phone? Of course, sweetie,” Doris Nash chuckled. “But watch the minutes. We only have so many before I have to go all the way into Hemet to get a refill card.”

  “Thank you so much. When I find my purse I’ll be sure to give you enough for a whole other card with three hundred minutes.” Tiffany introduced Xander to the old couple. Jack Nash sent him a wink when Tiffany wasn’t looking, an acknowledgement of Xander’s excellent taste in women.

  The Nash home was much larger than Tiffany’s log cabin. It was on a separate road leading up the mountain from Idyllwild, with three bedrooms, two baths and a two-car garage. The couple had built it over thirty years before as a vacation home. Now in their early seventies, it was their permanent residence.

  Jack Nash was seated before the T.V., and when Tiffany came near he quickly picked up the remote and switched the channel from CNN to Fox and Friends. The reporter chuckled. “That’s okay, Jack. At least now I know who their one viewer is.”

  Embarrassed, the wiry, nearly-bald man rushed to change the subject. “Isn’t this something, I mean what happened in Las Vegas?” Xander came to stand next to the old man’s chair. The regular programming had been preempted for more conventional coverage of the attack. The on-screen talent was detailing how the strike had occurred, and how there had already been three attacks along the Eastern Seaboard that morning. The media was on a terrorist attack watch, just waiting for the next event to happen. A military expert was being interviewed, discussing the potential impact of the attacks and the secrets that had been posted to the Internet.

  “I’m surprised you’re not in the middle of all this,” Jack said to Tiffany. She exchanged a quick glance with Xander before responding.

  “Yeah, it is my kind of story. That’s why I need the phone. I lost mine and need to call the network.”

  Doris handed her the cellphone.

  “Xander needs to call his office, too, if that’s all right?”

  “Just watch the minutes.”

  Tiffany stepped outside on the front porch to make the call. Doris joined her briefly, as she yelled at her dog Ginger to stop barking. The old black lab obliged, making it easier for Tiffany to hear.

  Xander stayed watching the news broadcast until Tiffany returned and handed him the phone. “They’re relieved, as would be expected. They’re sending a car up from Riverside to pick me up.”

  Xander nodded. “Good. I’ll be right back.”

  He stepped out the front door and into the subzero air outside. It was refreshing, and he sat in a padded chair that had been protected from the evening snowfall by the overhang above the porch. Ginger came up next to him, and after dialing the emergency response number for the RDC, he began to scratch the dog behind her ears.

  The phone was answered immediately. “Code, please,” the mechanical voice asked.

  “Six-Four-One-Nine-Red,” he answered.

  Within seconds, a live person came on the line. “Xander Moore? Confirm secondary protocol.”

  “Oscar, bravo … sunrise.”

  “What’s your location?”

  “I’m in Idyllwild, California. I’m secure at this time. I’m with a news reporter named Tiffany Collins, staying at her cabin. Can you fill me in? What was the damage?”

  “Extensive to the facility, with over eight hundred dead. The facility has been reacquired; however all systems are down or have been compromised.”

  “And the operators?”

  There was a pause on the line before the speaker continued. “Nearly one-hundred percent. The assault drones probed throughout the facility for two hours, killing everyone they could find. Coordinated attacks on the homes of the pilots happened simultaneously with that on the facility. A few stragglers who were off the grid at the time survived and have been brought in. There was a report of a secondary assault to the east of the facility, believed to be aimed at you. Can you confirm?”

  “I believe so. Look into the whereabouts of a former RDC pilot named Jonas Lemon. I believe he’s the one who compromised the Center, providing the information necessary for the terrorists to take us out. Any claim of credit yet?”

  “There’ve been over a dozen who have, but nothing credible. The traffic on this one from the major players is really quiet, which is unusual for something this big.”

  “I’m sorry, but could you repeat that,” Xander said. “There’s a dog here that just started barking.”

  “I hear that. I said no one credible has claimed credit.” There was a delay on the line before the person on the other end spoke again. “Is the dog yours?”

  “No, we’re at a neighbor’s house using their phone. We left ours at the Center.”

  “Is the dog’s barking unusual?”

  Xander felt the line of questioning was strange, until he answered the question. “I don’t know. She did bark when we came up to the house—”

  “Are you armed?”

  “No.”

  “Then vacate the location immediately. Do not return the way you came, and if possible acquire a firearm. Take the phone with you and make contact again once you’re in the clear. I’m sending backup, but it will not arrive in time.”

  Xander watched as Ginger stood in the back yard and continued to bark, staring into the woods in the direction of Tiffany’s cabin. He snapped the small phone shut and put it in the pocket of his borrowed jacket before going back inside.

  “I’m sorry to say this, but I believe we’re all in danger.” He saw Tiffany turn pale, while the Nash’s just looked at him with quizzical frowns.

  “I’m one of the people who worked at the facility in Las Vegas that was attacked yesterday,” he said by way of explanation. “And I believe there are people coming up the hill right now who want to kill me.”

  Tiffany ran to the back window and pulled back the curtains. All she could see was Ginger frantically barking at the edge of the dark forest beyond the small yard.

  Doris and Jack noticed the worried look on Tiffany’s face and knew instinctively that Xander was telling the truth.

  “Are you one of the good guys or the bad guys?” Jack asked Xander.

  Tiffany turned from the window. “He’s one of the good guys, Jack, and they’re out to kill me, too, I’m sure.”

  “Well, whoever they are, they won’t leave us alone, either—at least that’s what happens in the movies.” Jack went into a back room and returned momentarily with two weapons, one a double-barrel shotgun, the other a bolt-action hunting rifle. “Grab the shells, Doris.”

  His wife obediently opened a drawer in
the dining room hutch and pulled out two boxes of shotgun shells and another of thirty caliber bullets. From another drawer she produced a Glock-21 .45 caliber semi-automatic handgun.

  She noticed the startled looks on the faces of her two guests. “One can never be too careful living up here in the mountains.”

  Jack Nash handed the hunting rifle to Xander. He took the heavy weapon and looked at Tiffany. The woman saw the worry on his face. “You don’t know how to use it, do you?” she said incredulously.

  “This is a Weathersby Vanguard S2 Sporter bolt-action 30-06 sniper rifle with a Nikon Monarch 3-12X42 BDC scope.”

  “Damn, son, you know your weapons,” Jack Nash commented with admiration.

  Xander looked at him with that same nervous expression Tiffany had noticed. “So what’s the problem?” she asked.

  “I’ve never actually fired one … not really. They were part of the arsenal in Havoc II.”

  “What’s Havoc II?” Doris asked.

  “It’s a damn video game,” Tiffany answered with disgust. “You mean you know all about the weapon but you’ve never fired the real thing? That’s just great.”

  “I do know how to shoot a handgun, but not a rifle.”

  Tiffany took the Vanguard from him. It was a bolt-action, single shot. She opened the chamber and took the bullets Doris handed her. “You damn city folk,” she said. “You couldn’t find your ass if it was on fire. Give him the Glock, Doris, but you might load it first.”

  The white-haired woman handed him the handgun. “There’s already a magazine in it—fifteen rounds. And here’s another. Just pull the slide back to cock it.” After that, she went in the bedroom and returned with a small .22 rifle. “More my size, anyway,” she said. “Now the two of you head out the front. We’ll slow them down from here.”

  “I can’t let you do that,” Tiffany said. “These guys are trained killers. You might take out a couple of them, but then they’ll just blast your house to pieces.”

  “That’s covered in our homeowner’s insurance,” Jack said with a smile. His eyes were bright, as if he was enjoying the moment. “Now go.”

  Xander took Tiffany by the arm. “C’mon. The only way to save them is by leading the bad guys away from here.”

  Tiffany nodded before allowing Xander to drag her through the front door. “I’m sorry!” she cried out before the door slammed shut.

  “They’re going to get killed!” she said as they ran down the driveway.

  “Not if we can draw the attackers away from the house.”

  They met up with the small, single-lane paved road that wound down the mountain and into town. Slick with ice, still solid in the cold of the morning shadow, Xander slipped and slid a good twenty feet down the hill before coming to a rest. Tiffany helped him to his feet, just as they heard the first loud staccato of gunfire, the first being several low-pitch booms, followed by the buzz of small-caliber automatic weapons fire. Then more booms, along with the occasional pop-pop of the .22. Ginger was still barking, at least until a sharp yelp sounded and the dog fell silent.

  Tiffany leveled her rifle in the general direction of the Nashes’ backyard and let off several shots. The automatic weapon fire ceased, as did the sound of Jack’s shotgun. A few seconds later there was another boom-boom, and then nothing.

  “They’re coming this way!” Xander yelled out.

  “That was the idea. I just hope it’s not too late.”

  There were more homes on this street, and the gun battle had brought many of the residents out on their porches to see what was happening. With the attacks from yesterday being broadcast on every channel, people were on edge, although none had truly believed that the violence could reach them. But now there was gunfire in their peaceful mountain retreat.

  Xander caught the eye of an intense-looking couple, just before they ducked back in their home and bolted the door shut. Without warning, Tiffany grabbed his arm and pulled, causing him to slip and fall on the icy road again.

  “What the hell, Tiffany?” he scolded.

  “I have an idea. Follow me.”

  They ran toward a turn in the road next to a large, two-story cabin. She moved along the side of the home before snatching the large plastic lid off a trash can. “This will do,” she said. “See, no handle, just side latches.”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Just over there is an area the kids use to sled down in the winter. I used to do it, too, when I was younger. It goes all the way down to Pine Crest.”

  “You want us to ride the lid down the hill?”

  “Yep. It’s either that or face off against those killers. In my opinion, sledding would be a lot more fun.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  Tiffany ran to the crest of a small ridge and looked over. “There’s not a lot of snow, but enough. You get on first, on your belly. I’ll lie down on your back. Watch out for the rifle. I don’t want to lose it.”

  The small pile of snow next to them began to erupt at spots, like miniature geysers, followed by the distant echoes of gunfire from up the hill.

  “Hurry!” Tiffany called out.

  Xander fell on the plastic saucer just as Tiffany’s full weight pressed down on his back. His face was precariously close to the ground, and as the disk began to slide off the ridge, it dipped and he took in a mouthful of dirty snow.

  Then the slope suddenly fell off under them, and in less than a second the saucer was racing down the hill at breakneck speed. The path they followed was well-worn, having been used for years by neighborhood kids. Most of it was wide, even though in parts it narrowed to only twenty feet or so between trees and huge, granite boulders. Xander did his best to steer the saucer by shifting his weight, yet it was Tiffany who had the most skill. She rode his back, with both of her hands gripping his shoulders as she leaned left and right.

  They were really moving now, trees just a blur zipping by. Then Xander heard an “Uh oh,” from Tiffany just before she rolled hard to her left, taking him with her. They rolled off the garbage can lid together and began tumbling in the thin layer of snow. Arms flailed and jackets tore as they hit pockets of dirt mixed in with the patchwork of snow.

  As he trundled, Xander noticed the blue plastic lid take flight off a sharp rise at the end of the run … and then he plowed headfirst into a two-foot high snow bank at the base of a tall pine tree. He hit something hard that stopped him completely, and found himself sitting in a pile of snow with his back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, his vision as wobbly as his other senses.

  He heard a yell, and turned just in time to see Tiffany Collins fly off the same small sharp rise in the run as had the trash can lid. Her cry trailed off as she disappeared over the ledge.

  Xander climbed to his feet, a little groggy but otherwise unharmed, and plodded though the snow to the point where the woman and the trash lid had disappeared. The sled run ended where it met Pine Crest road, just before the dirt road that led to Tiffany’s cabin. Kids had apparently built a dirt launching ramp at this point that was now covered in a layer of snow, where the most-daring would attempt to soar over the road before landing on another downhill slope, where the ride could continue. The lid didn’t make it; it was half buried in snow at the far side of the road. Tiffany, however, was nowhere to be seen.

  Xander scampered over the ledge and onto the wet asphalt of Pine Crest Road. He ran to the other side, where the trail continued, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the newscaster hiking up the right side of the trail about thirty yards below. When she was reached the road, Xander extended an arm and helped her over the last pile of snow.

  “I forgot about that part,” she said in her defense. “I do remember it being a lot more fun in the past. I nearly smacked into a tree.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, nothing broken, but I did lose the rifle somewhere. I’d hate to have some kids find it.”

  She started to walk across the street before Xander stopped
her. “We don’t have time for this. The bad guys could slide down here, too.”

  “You’re right, of course. But we don’t have a car, and I doubt if we can reach your crazy helicopter before they catch up.”

  Xander looked to where the dirt road splintered off from the main road, and the three, dark blue Chevy Suburban SUV’s parked there, looking totally out of place for the surroundings. “Do you know how to hotwire an SUV?” he said.

  “No … do you?”

  “We’re going to find out.”

  The pair climbed up the road the short distance to the first SUV. Xander tried the handle and the door opened. He looked at Tiffany and smiled before jumping into the driver’s seat. He bent down so he could see the keyhole while reaching underneath for the edge of the plastic panel covering the ignition system. He’d seen plenty of people on T.V. do this: just yank off the panel and connect a few wires.

  He heard a jingling near his left ear. He looked up and saw Tiffany holding a set of keys by her fingertips.

  “You found them … where?” he asked as he righted himself.

  “They were in the visor,” she replied with a smug look on her face. “I guess this is how hit squads do it. It wouldn’t pay for the guy with the keys to the getaway car to get shot or blown up. This way anyone making it back here can get it started.”

  “Makes sense. Now grab the keys from the other two and let’s get out of here.”

  Thirty seconds later Xander had whipped the huge sports utility vehicle around and was racing down Pine Crest Road. Tiffany rolled down the window, and as the truck turned south on SR 243, she tossed the keys out into a small snow bank.

  “You know, that will only stop them for a minute. I’m sure guys like that do know how to hotwire a vehicle.”