by B. C. Tweedt
Greyson came to rest with a flop. The grass poked as his face. His lips pressed against the soft blades as he sucked in smoky air.
Again, the ringing. Again the disorientation.
He lay in the grass and squeezed the earth as the world churned behind his eyes. He coughed and rolled to his stomach as debris rained down around him, heat still fresh against his skin and the explosion’s cloud flowing upward like a black fountain.
Rubbing at his ears, he worked away the ringing and fought against the swirling haze in his head. He looked for the militiamen, still afraid. But they were gone. The portion of street where they had been was now a cobbled crater.
Finally getting his senses back, he pushed himself up and staggered aimlessly toward Cael’s neighbor’s house even as debris continued to rain onto the grass and roofs. Kit was still limping behind him – he’d almost forgotten about him.
The other two Plurb trucks at an intersection down the street unloaded quickly – the militiamen suddenly afraid to be close to the vehicles. Greyson glimpsed Humpy in one of the driver’s seats as he drove off, disappearing around the corner.
And just when he thought the worst was over, the rumble of engines grew louder until a camouflaged Humvee parted the smoke, weaving around debris by the crater. Another followed it and several soldiers jumped out, guns raised, staying clear of the fiery crater. One soldier spotted the Plurbs on the other end of the street. Angry shouts followed. One of the leaders motioned the soldiers to cover and another typed at a keyboard attached to his wrist. Suddenly, two disc-shaped drones zipped overhead, swerving over the roofs as if surfing on air.
Greyson stalled in the alley between houses, watching the two opposing sides take up positions. It was surreal. Was it really about to happen? Could he stop it? He wanted to yell, to break up the fight, to warn them both, but he didn’t. He was too late.
The shots rang out, one and then two more – then a furious volley like he had never heard before. One of the drones crashed to a lawn, its rotors still churning like a tipped lawn mower.
Covering his ears, Greyson staggered between Cael’s house and his neighbor’s. Looking back, he saw another group of men, flowing through the backyards of the street across, dressed in hunter’s camouflage. One was celebrating the drone kill.
Definitely more militia. A few he recognized. These were Meyer’s Crossing’s. They’d chased him all the way here, and they were just joining the fight.
This is crazy! Too crazy! His mind swirled, lost in panic. He had to hide, somewhere, get out of the sudden warzone.
But before he could move from the alley, the ground shook beneath Greyson’s feet, and the shards of glass in the street clattered and clanged together. Greyson looked right and left, but it felt like the sound was coming from all sides, like a roller coaster pulling up its first peak.
And then he heard Kit whimper. Not wanting to look, Greyson turned and followed Kit’s nose toward Cael’s backyard. There was a scream, an eruption of gunfire, and a blast from a larger gun. A man’s body flew across the alley, crashing through a wooden fence. And then the whole fence toppled, cracking and splintering. As soon as the treads came into view, Greyson’s heart plummeted to his feet.
The Bradley Fight Vehicle churned the dirt as it entered the alley; its turret turned toward him.
RUN!
-----------------
Silence enveloped him, but Sam didn’t feel alone. It felt like Calvin’s killer was with him. Watching him.
But the worst thing was, Sam had recognized him.
The man had been at a different fundraiser, part of the event’s security team. Sam could remember walking past him on the way to the bathroom. He’d had a security badge with StoneWater etched on it, but he couldn’t remember the name on his tag.
What is StoneWater? Why had he killed Calvin?
Suddenly he snapped to his senses and ran to the door. He had to tell someone.
“Help!” he yelled into the hallway.
The guard down the hall raced to him, hand on his holster. “What? What is it?”
“He shot him! Someone killed my friend!”
---------------
Greyson darted to the right and dove through the neighbor’s side window just as the Bradley opened fire.
DOOOOOT-DOOOOOT-DOOOOOT!
Kit followed just behind, landing on Greyson’s back and collapsing with a whimper. Once the Bradley rolled past, Greyson gingerly picked himself off the floor, grimacing as the glass tore at his forearms. Once he had managed to kneel, he pulled Kit close and peeked out the window.
The Bradley flew through the alley, as fast as a car, shooting its gun liberally at hostile targets.
DOOOOOT-DOOOOOT-DOOOOOT!
Each bullet took chunks out of the ground, a house, or a man. Whatever was targeted was shredded to pulp. The militiamen across the street dispersed, and those lucky enough to survive the first barrage took refuge inside houses. The Bradley darted down the street shooting left and then right, taking bullets like nothing, stopping on a dime and reversing just as fast.
Suddenly another Pluribus truck swerved around the corner and a few of the men in the back caught sight of the Bradley as its turret swiveled toward them. A few of them stumbled out, and the driver started to drive off before they were all out safely.
DOOOOOT-DOOOOOT-DOOOOOT!
Bodies flung to the curb, helpless to do anything. The bullets tore the back end off the truck as it ran over a fire hydrant, sending water blasting into its undercarriage and spewing into the street.
Sensing it had a deathblow to deal, a mechanical whirring sound accompanied the box-like missile launcher that lowered from the side of the Bradley’s turret.
Greyson wanted to scream. Get out! Get out!
The driver fell from the open door, slipping on the hydrant’s gushing water.
The missile launched with a fantastic whoosh of smoke and fire. Greyson winced. Almost instantaneously, a great thunderclap shook the block and the vehicle blew sky high, smashing against a front porch with a roar of fire.
Seemingly wanting more, two more militiamen opened fire from the second floor across the street. The remaining drone swerved in their direction and the soldiers returned fire, peppering the outside of the house with bullet-holes. The Bradley’s turret was already turning that way.
Greyson ducked back inside. He’d seen enough. It was a massacre. And somehow it was real. War. Actual war. It scared the wits out of him.
Then he heard soldiers’ shouts and the crackle of radios toward the front of the house, out of view. Humvee engines passed by. Maybe they were leaving. Maybe. He had to check.
But when he did, he saw them – two soldiers with their backs to a Humvee, watching the flanks. They had been looking directly at his window.
Frick!
He ducked.
------------
The soldier kept his eye on the dark window, but tapped the bulletproof glass band that extended from his helmet to his right eye. The tactical reticle displayed the information he needed in a firefight right before his eye – like a transparent computer screen. He could see the drones’ targeting cameras (even the one that had been downed), his text objectives, and all of the friendlies’ tracker positions spread about on a map layout of the town.
“Rewind ten seconds.”
The soldier’s tactical reticle rewound his own sight-video.
“Stop. Analyze.” A green box zoomed in on the boy’s face. It only took a second to process. The box’s color turned from green to red and the text gave him all the information he needed to know.
The boy was wanted dead or alive.
His conscience prickled, but the orders were clear.
He turned to the other soldier. “The boy’s a hostile. On me.”
----------------
Greyson peeked out the window. They were coming straight for him!
“Kit, come!”
Greyson jumped to his feet and zipped to the hal
lway, but shapes ran by the side window. Startled, he jolted back just as two soldiers crashed through the front door.
“U.S. Marines! Surrender!”
Greyson glanced back as he sprinted into the kitchen, but dug to a stop as soon as he feet hit tile. He froze in place, startled and in awe – a Bradley had fallen through the second floor, crushing the kitchen table before nestling at a jagged angle. The countertops lay in pieces about the room, and water sprayed from underneath the sink, cascading off its brilliant armor.
Brushing the surprise off, he realized it had blocked the back doors, trapping them inside. But before he could panic, Kit was way ahead of him, crawling underneath the mechanical beast.
“Go, boy!”
Greyson slid through the watery tile and followed Kit, crawling underneath the tipping treads. The metal creaked and groaned above him, its weight playing with gravity, begging to crush him.
But he made it through just as the soldier’s gloved hands reached in after him. He jerked his shoe away and bound to his feet.
Breathing heavy, he surveyed the new set of dark halls in the back of the house. A stairway rose to the second floor and a backdoor showed an unlit patio. He thought of sneaking away, but he spotted a motion-sensing light just under the awning.
Heavy footsteps. Radio crackle.
The soldiers had found a way around. Flashlights were also bouncing outside. The only way out was up, and he had an idea.
He motioned for Kit to be quiet, jerked open the backdoor, triggered the motion light with a well-placed ball bearing, and padded stealthily up the stairs, leaving the back door wide open. As quiet as possible, they made their way up the stairs where the cargo container had pierced the roof before dumping the Bradley into the kitchen. Just beyond the container, a man huddled with his wife and children in the bathtub, wearing their pajamas.
“Shh!” Greyson whispered to them with his finger to his lips as he tiptoed up the last step.
The soldiers’ voices came from below as they spotted the back door. “Through here!”
They took the bait.
The soldiers had just stepped outside when the smallest child waved at Kit. “Doggy!”
Greyson cursed under his breath. The soldiers halted on the patio and turned quickly. Their flashlights lit the bottom of the staircase.
Changing plans, Greyson put his back to the landing’s wall and motioned Kit to a spot at the top of the stairs. “Play dead,” he whispered. Kit obediently rolled to his side and lay still with the more realistic death they had practiced. A moment later the soldiers bounded up, their equipment rattling on their backs. They were heavy. That would be their downfall.
Greyson locked eyes with Kit – and waited. The soldiers approached. He could hear their breaths.
“Is it dead?” one of them asked.
“Just leave it…”
Greyson held up his hand to Kit, and just as the front soldier hit the last step, he gave Kit the talking motion.
In a dark, confined place, a dog’s bark can be a frightening weapon.
RrrrUUUUUFFF!
The soldier visibly jerked and yelped at the top of the stairs, stiffening his back and holding his weapon in front of him just as Greyson shouted, “Sic ‘em!” and rounded the corner. Dog and boy pushed with all their might.
The soldier wavered at the top, lashed out, grabbing for something, but came up with nothing as he toppled backward into his friend. Their bodies tangled as they fell stair after stair.
Not waiting to watch, Greyson jolted back into escape mode.
Using the back end of the Bradley as a foothold, he grabbed the empty container’s lip and pulled himself inside. Making sure Kit followed, he caught the voice of the pursuing soldier, talking into his radio. “High-value target on the run. Back-up at my position!”
Greyson eyed his escape. The container served as a ramp upward through the roof, hanging out the side of the house. It was just close enough to the neighboring roof for an escape – he hoped.
“We gotta jump!”
Kit whimpered and circled in the slippery container, holding his bandaged leg in the air. His leg was too weak.
“Come on, boy!”
The soldiers rattled up the stairs.
Greyson couldn’t wait any longer. “Follow me!” He burst up the metal ramp as Kit surprised the pursuing soldier coming from behind.
Clang-clang-clang-clang-CLANG!
Greyson leapt over the alleyway between the houses and pounded onto the neighbor’s shingles. Gaining his balance, he turned for Kit.
But he wasn’t there.
In his place was the soldier, gearing for the jump.
Clang-clang-clang-clang-CLANG!
With a snap, Greyson’s ball-bearing struck him just before he leapt, throwing him off. The soldier awkwardly flew toward the shingles but came up short. He hit the sidewall hard and collapsed to the alley below.
Greyson only had time to let out a guilty sigh before another soldier pulled himself into the container; he drew his rifle.
Greyson bolted across the roof and slid down the opposite side as the bullets rang out behind him. Finally, with the crest of the roof at his back he took a frantic moment to breathe – to think of his next step – but his mind was hijacked by one thought. Kit.
He’ll make it out. He will. He has to.
But will I? How?
His breathing slowed as his eyes opened to the world around his rooftop vantage point. Suddenly the entire battle was in his periphery, the lights and sounds producing a haunting show. Fires pockmarked the black night, the gunfire ringing like fireworks. An attack helicopters’ guns flashed red with yellow tracer fire, bolting into the mountains like surges of electricity on wire. Soldiers weaved through the broken train like a playground. The two winged-drone zipped overhead, taking spirals of smoke with it through the air. A transport copter hovered, blowing the grass into a perfect circle as soldiers roped to its center. And amongst it all, Bradleys danced between alleys and roads, with white headlights for eyes, fishing for men.
War was frightening and beautiful at the same time.
--------------
Sydney and Jarryd gaped in amazement. Though they had been frantically looking for Avery, they had arrived just in time for the Aqua Theater’s spectacular show.
Soaring orchestra music and resounding drums thumped the air with the National Anthem, all as red, white, and blue lights swirled in the pools and on the giant projector screens. Images of firemen, soldiers, and Red Cross workers made a patriotic collage, paying homage to the heroes of the August attacks.
Though Sydney was still scouring the standing crowd for any signs of Avery or her pursuers, Jarryd covered his heart with his hand and sung along with sparkling eyes.
“…and the rockets red glaaaaaa-re…”
Fireworks blasted overheard, shooting reds and whites and blues in beautiful circles behind the massive ship, sending the flashes onto the heads of the “ooo”ing and “awe”ing spectators.
Sydney and Jarryd were looking up, watching the display just at the right time. Streaking across the night sky was a girl, churning her legs as if running in mid-air.
“What…?”
“It’s her,” Sydney said, disappointed.
Sure enough, Avery zipped across the gap above, holding tightly to the zip-line’s handlebars.
Jarryd was lost in admiration. “Wallaby darned. Isn’t she awesome?”
The spectators seemed to agree as the fireworks finished with a bang.
--------------
Greyson watched the battle like a movie happening all around him. He was in awe, but he was numb, like his mind had given up.
Numb. He felt nothing anymore. Except for fear.
The fear crashed through his veins as a disc-shaped drone rose from behind the house with a haunting, mechanical hum. It was larger than the other drones, sleek and shiny. It rose slowly, straight up, until it was eye level with Greyson, two little red dots gleamin
g through a tinted black ring circling its perimeter. It was watching him, and a thick gun hung from its underside, pointed at him.
Already frozen, Greyson stared at it in horror. There was nothing he could do. He was dead.
“Greyson!”
He jerked.
“Here!”
It was a man’s voice from below. He followed the sound, but couldn’t see anything. Until someone waved. It was a figure in all black, hidden in the night’s shadows behind a shed, half destroyed by the train. The figure had no face – only a mask with glowing green lenses for eyes.
And then, faster than Greyson could react, the drone swiveled and fired its gun. The sound and muzzle flash popped like a firecracker, but it hadn’t been aimed at Greyson. Another drone that had risen behind Greyson burst apart like plastic struck with a hammer. Its remains bounced down the roof to the grass below.
Greyson didn’t know how to react – so he didn’t. He couldn’t anymore.
The surviving drone suddenly buzzed away, over the black figure’s head. It had saved him.
“Hurry!” the figure yelled at Greyson.
When the Bradley began unleashing its fury on the house, he didn’t need to be asked twice.
DOOOOOT-DOOOOOT-DOOOOOT-DOOOOOT!
Holes ripped into the roof as he ran. Suddenly the shingles wavered under his weight, and Greyson fell through, falling to a bed below. Regaining his senses and rolling to the side, he darted down the hall and flew down the stairs as the house was devoured around him. Wood and plaster sprayed his body; flashes from the Bradley’s gun lit the inside with polka dots as the flashes filtered in through the holes.
But Greyson ran on. Stairs. Turn. Hall. Fall. Get up. Kitchen. Dining room. Hole in the wall. Dive. Backyard. Man in black. Run.
The man in black grabbed him and tagged him with an infrared locator, explaining that it’d keep the drones off of him. Another man in black joined them. They zigged and zagged through wrecked train cars. Their guns shot in short bursts. Soldiers fell. A sniper covered them from the hills, knocking men down as if God had reached out to stop their hearts. Trees. Four-wheelers! He hopped on.
