Windsor-Smith, on the other hand, claims to be a liberal, and until her conversion to the anti-SRP movement, she could be counted on as reliably progressive. She says her opposition to SRP is in keeping with her other political principles. “‘Safe Reproductive Practices’ is just code for government control of human reproduction and control of the female body,” she told Garrett Carney last night. “It’s the exact opposite of everything liberals and feminists claim to represent.”
And yet when Windsor-Smith, the daughter of the first female president of the United States and a card-carrying member of the Bodies and Minds League, stunned the country by announcing she was opposed to SRP and questioned the scientific consensus about the pathogen popularly known as the “Samford Virus,” she found herself suddenly allied with people like Romita. Remember, this is a man who once suggested women could help eliminate unemployment by staying at home with their children instead of working. Now he and Windsor-Smith travel around the country like old friends speaking about the “evils” of Safe Reproductive Practices.
CONTINUE READING ON PAGE 2
VIEW COMMENTS
TheStillPoint: I don't suppose it's occurred to you that if people on the left and the right are opposed to it, they might be on to something?
justaplaintheist: I don't suppose it has occurred to YOU that if both extremes agree on a position, that position is probably wrong?
TheStillPoint: Since when is Windsor-Smith an example of “extreme”?
justaplaintheist: Oh, I don't know. Since she argued for outlawing the burka?
thelastargonaut: For that matter, since when is Romita an extremist? Oh, I know. It's because he's a conservative. You liberals are darn good at labeling anybody who disagrees with you an “extremist.”
justaplaintheist: @thelastargonaut Oh, and right-wingers aren't?
thelastargonaut: Go fuck yourself.
justaplaintheist: Way to raise the level of conversation around here.
thelastargonaut: Go. Fuck. Your. Self.
TheStillPoint: Does this have to happen in reply to my comment?
TheStillPoint: Does anybody know how to turn off notifications for comment replies?
EducationalBS: my mother is a fish
dinosaur: You can't even count on supposed progressives to be sensible anymore. Nobody THINKS. What are we supposed to do? Let our kids be born with disabilities all in the name of “reproductive freedom”? Idiots. SRP GIVES people reproductive freedom. Men, women, EVERYONE.
25
The drones whirred near the top of the tunnel. Val could barely make out their shape and features. Four props kept them in the air. Cameras protruded from their fronts like insect eyes. Black and gray bodies housed instruments and sensors.
I think they see us, thought Braden.
Just don’t move, thought Val.
A mechanical whir came from one of the drones. A door in the housing opened, and what looked like a barrel emerged.
No, thought Val, her throat going dry. All caution gone, she reached for one of the pistols in the waistband of her jeans. But the dart fired before she could draw the gun. She felt Braden sigh as it struck him.
Mom...
In one motion she drew the pistol with her right hand and grasped for the dart in her son’s abdomen with her left. She found it near his belly button and jerked it out. She felt sedative spray out the tip and onto her arm.
Using the red light as a bullseye, Val aimed at the drone that fired the dart and pulled the trigger twice. Even with the silencer, the sound was deafening inside the culvert. The drone reeled and fell right on top of Val, one of the prop blades cutting into her leg. Without thinking about the pain, she kicked it away and turned the pistol on the other drone. She shot it twice just as its body opened to reveal the dart gun. This one fell in a buzzing and twitching heap on the first drone. Yellow sparks lit the culvert for a few seconds.
“Mom,” croaked Braden. “I feel bad...”
“I know,” Val said. She got to her knees and pulled him to a sitting position. “Some of the sedative got in you. You’re going to be really sleepy.” She grasped his shoulders and shook him. Mud slimed between her fingers. “But you have to fight it, okay?”
“Okay,” said Braden, but his head lolled. He shook it hard and looked up at her, his eyes wide from fighting the drowsiness.
“We have to go now,” she said. “The drones came from that way.” She pointed deeper into the culvert. “So we’ll go back the way we came. Come on.”
She helped him stand and put on the backpack. Gripping his hand tight, she headed toward the culvert entrance.
“I can’t...” said Braden. “I can’t read your mind.”
“It’s the drug,” said Val. “It’s just how drowsy you are.”
Braden stumbled and fell into the water that ran along the culvert bottom. “I can’t move anymore,” he said. “I have to stop.”
“No,” Val said. She crouched next to him. “You have to fight it.”
“I can’t.”
“Son!” Val hissed, but Braden tried to lie down against the ribbed wall of the culvert.
“They won’t find us... in here,” he said.
Val steeled herself. “Son, I hope you forgive me for this.”
She slapped him across the face. Not as hard as she could, but hard enough that his cheekbone hurt her fingers. Braden let out a small cry, and his eyes opened wide, watering with pain.
Val held him tight in her arms. “I’m so sorry, Braden. I’m so sorry.”
“Mom,” he sobbed.
“We’re running for our lives,” Val said. “We’re running from the bad guys. From the end of the world. Do you understand?”
He nodded against her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. She touched his face.
“I know. It’s okay.”
“Let’s move.”
They started toward the culvert entrance again. Braden stumbled a little, but he managed to pick himself up and continue every time. Val thought she could hear the sound of a Dragonfly, but the noise seemed to be coming from the other end of the culvert.
“Where will we go?” said Braden.
She couldn’t let herself think about that right now.
“I don’t know. For now, we just keep moving.”
When they reached the end of the culvert, Val stopped and put her hand on Braden’s shoulder. He swayed.
“Once we’re outside, we wash off as quick as we can, and then we keep moving downstream. You be ready to do whatever I say. No hesitating. Got it?”
Braden nodded, but his eyes were vacant. Val squeezed his hand.
“I’m sorry I slapped you,” she said, fighting back tears.
“It’s okay,” he said. He shook his head again.
They climbed down from the culvert’s mouth and waded into the creek. Val plunged her hands into the water to wash off and splashed it onto her face and hair. The cool took her breath away.
She wondered where they had taken Kim. Not to a public hospital, surely. No doubt they’d take him to a government facility. Would they give him medical treatment at all? Or would they let him die? The rational part of her said yes, of course they would save him. They’d want him alive to question him about Val and Braden, but the fearful part of her saw him lying on the floor of their home. Left there to bleed out.
“I can read you a little bit,” he said. “Do you think they’ll let Dad die?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
His silence said he was trying to read her and see if she really believed it.
“I’m serious,” she said. “They would have shot us immediately if they’d wanted us dead.”
“Okay.”
They stayed close to the bank and the trees as they splashed downstream. Val could hear the Dragonfly scouring the woods to the northwest. The lift engines whined and made her think of an electric drill running at high speed.
“You think they’re going to torture him?” said Braden, his voice cracking. “With a drill?”
“What?” said Val. “No. I was thinking the Dragonfly sounds like a drill.”
“Oh.” He sounded relieved. “I guess that stuff from the dart is still... I can only hear and see a little.”
Val was glad for it—glad he couldn’t feel the panic that had settled in her chest like a coiled serpent. She had no idea where they would go from here. This creek led toward the highway and past that to the river. There were no towns. No structures. Just woods. No doubt the Dragonfly pilot would have called in others when they were spotted in the culvert—
Suddenly the whine of the Dragonfly got louder and closer, its thrust engine screaming. White lights shone over the tops of the trees, and wind gushed down on them from above.
“Mom?”
“Run!” Val screamed. “The woods!”
The western bank was a steep hill thick with pines and oaks. If they made it deep enough into the trees—
But before they could make it to the water’s edge, the Dragonfly emerged from behind the trees and turned to hover in front of them. Blinding lights. The lift engines blew ripples in the water in a wide circle and a fine mist into Val’s face.
A voice boomed from a loudspeaker. “Stay where you are or we will open fire!”
Val put her hand on Braden’s shoulder. He was trembling.
“I don’t suppose you could help now?” she said.
A pause. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ve got this.”
“Put your hands on your heads!”
“Do what he said,” said Val, placing her hands on top of her head. “But get ready to run.”
“Okay.” The boy clasped his fingers together on top of his head. Val could see his hands trembling.
“Do not move. You are under arrest.”
The hovering Dragonfly extended its landing gear. The four long wings, which gave the craft its name, began to tilt upward slowly. As the wings tilted into a vertical position and pointed the thrust of the engines horizontally, the vehicle lowered to a soft landing.
“Go... now!” said Val. She turned, and the two of them ran toward the bank, water splashing around their ankles. But they hadn’t made it more than a few yards when the sound of gunfire cracked. Water erupted from the creek in a long line in front of them, blocking their way to the woods. They halted, and Braden slipped on a rock. He fell on his backside in the water.
“That was a warning!” shouted the loudspeaker voice. He was angry—but also scared. Homeland Security agents dealt with serious terrorist threats every day, but this man was afraid of her and her son. What did they believe about him?
You know what they believe about him, Val thought. And it’s true. He’s probably the biggest threat they’ve ever encountered.
The Dragonfly sat down on its landing gear. The black-tinted canopy opened to reveal two men in the cockpit, which was arranged like the old Apache and Cobra helicopters that Val’s grandfather had flown. The pilot sat in front, his seat low. The gunner sat in back, higher for visibility. This was the UAD-9 Dragonfly. The urban patrol and assault version. More versatile and nimble in the air than a helicopter. Introduced right after Val came home from Iran. She could remember seeing them for the first time and briefly considering Homeland Security just because she wanted to pilot one.
“Should I get up?” said Braden.
“Just stay put,” said Val. She put her hands into the air.
“Don’t move!” shouted the pilot. He climbed out of the cockpit, followed by the gunner. The pilot drew a sidearm, and the gunner took a carbine from a compartment in the side of the cockpit. “If that kid does anything weird, we’re going to put both of you down.”
The two men stepped into the Dragonfly’s lights and became silhouettes.
“Do you have any weapons on you now?” said the gunner, aiming the carbine at Val.
Val had her two 9mms tucked into her waistband, and Braden still wore the dead agent’s gun on his hip. As soon as he stood up, they’d be able to see the print under his wet clothes.
With the spotlights shining toward her, it was hard to see what kind of body armor the two men were wearing. Val thought it was the same armor as the agents at the house. Bulletproof vest. Shoulder, arm, and leg pads. This left the head, neck, sides, groin, and major joints exposed. But she couldn’t get to her guns fast enough to do anything. The one with the carbine would mow the two of them down the second she moved.
“Do you have any weapons?” said the pilot, his voice trembling. The bastard was terrified. He turned to the gunner. “If she moves at all, shoot the kid.”
Holstering his pistol, the pilot approached her. “Keep your hands up and don’t move. I’m going to frisk you. You move, the kid dies.”
Val’s heart pounded so hard she thought the pilot ought to be able to hear it. She could let him frisk her and take the guns, or she could go for them and hope she could shoot in time. She knew better than to believe the pilot’s threat. When she went for her pistols, the gunner’s instinct would be to turn the carbine on her, not to shoot Braden. That might give her time to get the shot in. Even though she was a pilot, she had been one of the quickest draws in her unit. That was a long time ago, but she still had her reflexes.
But what if you’re not fast enough this time? said Braden’s voice in her head. He let out a groan, and at the same time the gunner dropped, leaned over, and put one hand on the forehead of his helmet.
The pilot reacted before Val. “Son of a—” He reached to his thigh holster.
Val moved. She drew herself into a side-stance and gave him a side kick, striking him in the thick armor of his vest. Since she was standing in water, it was awkward and didn’t really hurt him. She felt the imprecision in her ankle, which stung with being bent too far. But the kick knocked the pilot off-balance, and as he stumbled backwards in the water, she drew her pistol and put a bullet into the top of the man’s head. He fell face-first onto a rock with a sickening wet thud.
Braden was screaming now, and the gunner fired a burst of rounds from his rifle in his general direction. Sprays of water erupted from the creek, but nothing struck Braden. Val put a bullet into the gunner’s knee, sending a splash of blood flying. Firing another burst of rounds toward the woods, he collapsed into the water.
“Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout!” he screamed, waving his left hand as if warding off an swarm of angry insects. He fired another burst.
Val ran toward the gunner. “Stop now, Braden!” She needed him to save his mental energy for what was next.
When she reached the gunner, she kicked him in the head and snatched the rifle from his hand. She also took his rifle and sidearm, tossing them both downstream.
“Don’t kill him!” shouted Braden in a voice that sounded half like a dry heave.
Val put her pistol back in her waistband and aimed the rifle at the gunner, looking into his terrified eyes.
“He’s a damn monster,” gasped the man, grimacing at the pain in his leg. “A freak.”
Val put her right foot on the man’s mangled knee and pressed. He screamed and writhed, trying to pull his leg from under her, so she pressed harder. His scream crescendoed into a high-pitched wail.
“Stop it, mom!” said Braden. Even after being called “freak” and “monster,” he wouldn’t let go of his compassion. At another time, she might be her ashamed of herself, but not now. Right now, she needed something from him. She picked up her foot. The man’s scream died to a sob.
“I knew men in the service who took worse than that without screaming like little pussies,” said Val. She leaned over and put the muzzle of the rifle a few inches from his face. “Tell me where the GPS transponder is on that Dragonfly.”
The man’s sobs died to a sniffle. He looked straight up the top of the rifle at Val’s face. “You think you’re
going to fly that—”
Val jabbed the muzzle into his eye, and he screamed again.
“Tell me,” she said. Behind her, Braden was completely silent, but Val could feel the energy coming off of him. His power was coming back.
The man gnashed his teeth. “It’s under the pilot’s seat,” he said. “But if you... pull it out without the deactivation code, the Dragonfly won’t lift off. And no, I don’t know the code.”
Val stared at him. Of course she couldn’t pull it out without the code. The same had been true of the transports that she flew in Iran and Afghanistan. Dammit.
Is he telling the truth? she thought, hoping for Braden to hear.
The man’s features, which had been stretched with the agony of his leg and the jab in the eye, relaxed a little.
He’s not lying, thought Braden. I don’t think so, at least.
The man’s face changed slightly, and Val thought she could see something like triumph there. He looked toward the sky.
“You hear that?” the man said. “You’re not going anywhere except a hole in the ground. And that kid is going to a research facility for freaks where he’ll be—”
Val knocked him out with the butt of the rifle. His head rested precariously on a rock that barely protruded from the water. It might slide off and slip under the surface, but she didn’t care. She could hear the sound, too. More Dragonflies. At least two of them.
She turned to Braden. “We have to go now.”
She glanced at the parked Dragonfly, longing, but even if she could lift off in time, it wouldn’t do them any good to fly it with the transponder still running. They’d be tracked everywhere they went.
“Let’s go,” she said.
The Way Out Page 14
