by AJ Powers
She stopped what she was doing and turned around, shining the flashlight on the side of her face. “I can hear them,” she said and tapped the earbud inside her ear.
“You can hear them?” he asked, a dumbfounded look on his face. “How?”
“It’s magic, now shut up and make yourself useful. Get your bag and cram as much food, water, and ammo into it as you can.” The urgency in her voice told Aaran that this wasn’t some prank, and the panic in her eyes told him it might be time to worry.
He clicked on his own flashlight and grabbed his backpack. He tossed it onto the chair before tearing the zippers off to the side. He pulled out every non-essential or water-damaged item he had and dropped them onto the floor next to the chair. All that remained was his own food, ammo and spare magazines. He then packed up his pack with items from the same box Hadas was using to fill her own pack.
“Where are we going?” he asked, hoping Hadas had some sort of contingency plan already worked out.
“I have no—” she stopped abruptly, putting her finger up to her ear again. She listened intently for several seconds before giving her head a subtle shake. “They’re close. We need to hurry!” she said with a loud whisper.
“Then let’s just go! We can always find more food later.”
“We are going to need to live off this stuff for a few days while we lay low. But if you want to volunteer to run to the grocery store while they’re patrolling the area, then be my guest.” She zipped her pack up and lightly jogged to the other side of the shop while Aaran continued to stuff his pack like a turkey. She popped the lid to one of the wooden crates and looked around inside before returning to Aaran.
“Here. Put this on,” she said, tossing him a black vest that was far too light and flimsy to be what he assumed it was.
“Is this supposed to be body armor?” Aaran asked as he held the glorified tank top in front of him. “Doesn’t seem like it would stop a pellet rifle.”
“Fine. Don’t wear it,” she replied indifferently.
Aaran took off his jacket, then pulled the vest over his head and down onto his chest. “It just doesn’t feel like a bulletproof vest,” he added while he snaked his arms back through the sleeves of his coat.
“That’s the point,” she said sarcastically as she slung her backpack over her shoulders. “This way!”
Hadas ran over to the rifle safe and spun the dial. She made no effort to block the combination this time. It didn’t matter anymore. She twisted the handle and opened the door, quickly pulling out Aaran’s Scorpion and shotgun. She then reached back in and retrieved his Glock. Aaran was hit with a torrent of relief when he once again cradled the weight of his carbine in his hands. It was the first time they had been apart since he’d acquired it last December.
Hadas reached back inside the safe and pulled out an IWI Tavor—a compact bullpup rifle that was the Israeli equivalent to the AR-15. She grabbed several spare magazines, stuffing them into her coat pockets before shoving one inside the back pocket of her jeans. She then handed the rest to Aaran. “Find a place for these,” she ordered.
Aaran knelt on the floor and opened his pack again while Hadas continued messing around in the safe. Finding enough room to store the six additional polymer mags was proving to be a difficult task, but he eventually prevailed. However, he seriously doubted that the zippers would hold for very long. His pack was beyond full.
Hadas didn’t bother locking up the safe before she turned around. “All right, one last thing,” she said and jogged over to a workbench on the back wall of the shop. She grabbed a red plastic container and unscrewed the lid.
“Wait. What are you doing?” Aaran asked, perplexity filling his words. “Is that gas?”
“Move!” she barked as she pushed past him, heading for the same wooden crates she had rummaged through earlier for Aaran’s vest. She hesitated for a moment before saying, “Screw it,” and splashed gasoline on and around the crates. “I’m not about to let the Nebula reap what my parents sowed,” she said defiantly. Walking backwards toward the truck in the corner, Hadas continued to trickle gas out onto the floor. “Grab another one of these,” she said to Aaran, pointing to the bench.
Aaran ran over to the bench and picked up another two-gallon can that was most of the way full. He followed her over to the truck, taking great care to avoid stepping on the putrid river of flammable liquid slowly spreading across the concrete floor. Hadas dumped the small amount of gas left and dropped the container to the ground. She grabbed on to the side of the tool chest Aaran had noticed earlier and kicked at the wheels, disengaging the wheel lock. Aaran helped her roll the heavy, metal box to the side, revealing a purposefully cut hole in the drywall.
“Through here,” she said as she got down on her hands and knees and crawled through the hole.
Aaran handed her the gas can first, then had to take his pack off and slide it through before he could squeeze through the small hole. Hadas hadn’t planned on having company when she had prepped her “house” for quick escape routes.
The neighboring unit had been a general contractor’s workshop. It was filled with lumber, table saws, ladders, and numerous power tools. Twisting off the lid to the second gas container, Hadas continued to splash the gasoline around the floor from where she had left off. She came across a small pile of oily rags and a few empty cans of paint thinner sitting on top of a stack of two-by-fours, and turned the gas can upside down. With the last few drops spilling out, Hadas tossed the empty red can onto the rags and stepped back a few feet. She pulled out a book of matches, lit one, and then used that to light the rest.
She hesitated.
Then she tossed the matches onto the rags.
A loud whooshing filled the cavernous room, and they were blasted with a bubble of intense heat. The flames reflected off her glassy eyes while Hadas watched them dance across the trail she had poured. The rags were consumed first, then the lumber. The flame zoomed through the escape hole they had crawled out of and into Hadas’s family’s shop on the other side of the wall.
“Love you, guys,” Hadas said under her breath before her earpiece, along with the raging fire, warned her that now was not the time for heartfelt goodbyes. “This way!” she said with a much stronger voice as she turned and ran toward the back wall.
The room flickered with the ominous glow from the flames that consumed everything in its path. Hadas grabbed the handles of a wheelbarrow and pulled it to the side, revealing another pre-cut hole in the wall dividing the units. They climbed through and found themselves in a cabinetmaker’s shop—more food for the fire to devour as it spread.
The sound of truck engines speeding down the road overpowered the crackling fire from the other side of the wall. “We’re running out of time,” Aaran said nervously.
“Just one more to go.”
They rushed to the last hole which led outside. Hadas slid to the floor, pressing her feet against the exterior siding. Unable to bend the metal away alone, she hissed at Aaran to help, her voice laced with panic. She’d expected the siding to give way with little effort, but even with Aaran’s help, they were barely able to deform the metal enough to slide through.
Aaran gasped when he got his first taste of fresh air in several minutes. The dizzying fumes of gasoline and paint thinner, along with the smoke that had quickly permeated the interior of the building, nearly had him seeing sound. He was not fully recovered from the ordeal when a truck pulled into the lot at the front of the building.
“I’m guessing that’s not the garbage man,” Aaran said when the truck squealed to a halt.
“If it is, then we’re the trash.”
They killed their flashlights and stealthily moved over to the corner of the building. Hadas slowly peered around the corner to get an idea of what they were up against. She could just barely make out a dozen or so men pouring out of the back of a deuce and a half—a military transport vehicle—and immediately noticed the lack of flashlights bouncing around.
>
“Crap…” she muttered as she spun back around the corner.
“What is it?”
“I think they’ve got NVGs.”
“What?”
“Night vision!” she yelled with a whisper. She looked around her surroundings for a moment before adding, “Follow me. And whatever you do, keep the building directly behind you.” Aaran and Hadas could outrun flashlights, but night vision was a whole different beast. Their best shot was to keep the workshop between them and the vigilant eyes of their hunters. And with a little luck, the shop would soon be fully engulfed, which would wreak havoc with the technology-enhanced eyesight the Sentinels had strapped to their heads.
Hadas listened to her earpiece for a moment before she sprang up and ran toward the tree line directly behind the building.
Fantastic. More trees, Aaran thought as he followed.
More trucks rushed down the road twenty yards off to their left, forcing them to drop to the soggy ground. Seconds later, they were back on the move. Hadas’s pace quickened. Aaran looked back and saw flames breaking through several dozen points on the building. The glow of the raging inferno revealed several Sentinels investigating the area, including a group that kicked down the door to Hadas’s house before storming inside.
Despite his best efforts, Aaran couldn’t match Hadas’s pace. Between the intense pain in his knee and the unfamiliar landscape, it didn’t take long for him to lose sight of her on the cloudy night. “Hey! Where’d you go?” he asked with a hushed voice, but there was no response. “Hadas!” he called out, a little louder this time.
Hadas backtracked over to him. “Are you trying to get us killed?” she snapped.
“Sorry, but my knee is…” Aaran trailed off when he heard the incoming helicopter. “Ah, damn it!”
“Try and keep up,” she said as she spun back around and took off for the abyss of trees ahead.
Using the sound of her footsteps slopping through the muddy forest floor, Aaran did his best to track her without sight. But when the helicopter arrived on the scene, her quiet retreat was drowned out by the loud whir of the propellers. With no visual of Hadas, Aaran just kept moving in the direction they had been heading, hoping he would catch up.
Aaran’s surroundings suddenly became bathed in a thin layer of light, allowing him to spot a shadowy Hadas up ahead. He looked over his shoulder and watched in terror as the bright searchlight attached to the helicopter pierced through the diminishing tree canopy above. It was maybe fifty yards behind him, and slowly closing in.
“Run, Hadas!” he screamed, but couldn’t even hear his own voice.
He lost sight of her again as the swaying trees around him rained down red and yellow leaves from the rotor wash above. His environment began to glow a bit brighter as the searchlight trailed closer behind him. Leaning forward, Aaran hastened his pace, his knee be damned.
Dodging trees and small boulders, Aaran dug deep and moved faster than he’d thought possible. His efforts were paying off, and he slowly started outrunning the sweeping searchlight. He finally spotted Hadas again, she was waiting for him at the edge of the woods. He could see her shouting something, but he couldn’t hear a word of what she was saying.
He had closed the gap to thirty yards when she turned around and darted across the road up ahead. Aaran snapped his head back for a quick update on the searchlight’s progress. Fortunately, something had caught the pilot’s attention for a brief moment, allowing Aaran to creep further ahead of the tunnel of light that he so desperately wanted to avoid.
Hadas was across the street, partially hiding herself behind a traffic signal box just off the sidewalk. She was waving Aaran over when suddenly she put both hands up flat, her head turning to the left.
Aaran halted and dove behind the thickest trunk he could find. All he could hear was the helicopter, but he didn’t need to hear to know that trucks were coming down the road. He looked toward the road and saw three sets of headlights rolling down the gentle hill.
He turned his attention back into the depths of the forest and watched helplessly while the helo’s tractor beam swung around in smooth, efficient patterns. Another fifteen seconds and he was going to find himself right in the middle of it. He spun back around and watched as two MRAPs and a Humvee roared by, turning through the intersection way faster than they should have. The tires let out a deep squelch as the heavily armored vehicles shifted their weight to one side of the axles. Straightening out from the sharp turn, the trucks’ RPMs all ramped up and they sped away toward the inferno down the road.
Aaran looked back at the light, the edge of the cone just fifteen or twenty yards away. When he turned back to Hadas, she was flailing her arms wildly to get his attention. She yelled something, but again, Aaran couldn’t hear her voice, but he could read her lips.
“Move your ass, now!”
Aaran sprinted across the street and caught up to Hadas just as she took off running again, hoping to put as much distance between them and the search party as they could before dawn.
Chapter 9
Hadas stopped in front of a set of double doors at a church and pulled a small, flat case out of her pocket. She opened the plastic box and grabbed two thin, metal tools before handing the box off to Aaran. While she fiddled with the locked door, Aaran looked around nervously at a world that was starting to see the effects of the rising sun. Though they had managed to put a few miles of ground between them and the heart of the activity, he was sure that they were going to get pegged at any moment.
Hadas picked the lock with almost frightening efficiency and swung the door open. She flashed a few hand signals, but Aaran only understood one of the four signs she’d made: get inside. He walked in first, handing Hadas the pick set when he passed. With both hands now available, he reached for his carbine and rested his cheek on the stock as he glued his eye to the red dot. It was darker inside than it was outside, and the grainy holographic dot blinded him, forcing him to twist the knob on top four clicks to the left.
He heard the door shut behind him, then the deadbolt twisting into place. Hadas walked over and put her hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got point,” she said in a tone that left no room for debate. “And keep it dark,” she added.
Sweeping their guns around the small sanctuary, Aaran and Hadas instinctively worked together like an elite spec-ops team. It was almost like they knew what the other was thinking—the kind of dynamic people could only have after working closely together for many years.
Or, two people linked together by a Neuroweb.
“Get down,” Hadas broke sound discipline as she hid herself between the pews. Aaran did the same.
Before Aaran could ask, headlights from the road illuminated the tall, slender windows going down the length of the sanctuary. The threatening shadows from the blinds stretched across the room before sliding up toward the pulpit, suddenly disappearing after the truck passed by.
Hadas gave the all-clear after a moment, and they continued their sweep.
Aaran’s eyes, having adjusted to the darker environment, were able to spot doors on either side of the pulpit up ahead. When he veered toward one of the exits, Hadas followed closely behind. A jiggle of the handle let Hadas know her skills would be required, and Aaran stood guard behind her while she picked the lock. He kept his eyes fixed on the double doors they had come through moments earlier. His fatigue and apprehension ignited his imagination and saw the doors explode open, countless Sentinels pouring in for a quick but bloody kill. After a few blinks, he confirmed that the doors remained shut, and the only noise in the room was coming from Hadas’s picks.
A few seconds later, the lock was disengaged. Holding the Tavor in her right hand, Hadas opened the door with her left and moved through. Aaran followed her through backwards, keeping his eyes glued to the double doors at the front of the church. Hadas shut and locked the door once Aaran was through. Feeling slightly safer, Aaran let out a deep exhale. They were now in a hallway that was less than ten
feet long and had only one other door. Hadas walked straight to the door and pushed it open.
The newly-risen sun barely illuminated the room they entered. It was about half the size of the sanctuary and seemed to be the center of the church, with hallways and rooms leading in different directions. Aaran and Hadas split up, each taking a handful of the doors and clearing the spaces behind them. With no threats looming in any of the rooms he’d checked, Aaran walked back out to the central room and waited for Hadas. She came back a minute later and nodded for Aaran to follow her.
He trailed Hadas to the kitchen. She led him to a hatch in the floor in the far corner. Hadas opened the hatch, revealing a narrow stairway that dropped into a dark void below. Since the kitchen was an interior room with no windows, Aaran clicked on his flashlight and pointed it down the steps. An ungodly amount of spiderwebs swayed as the stale air from the basement channeled up through the hatch.
Aaran raised an eyebrow and tightened his face.
“Are you more afraid of a couple of spiders or the heavily-armed bastards outside looking for you?” she asked.
Aaran scoffed at the comment. “I’m not afraid. It’s just not exactly how I envisioned spending the day.”
“Yeah, well, setting my house on fire and leaving behind everything connected to my past wasn’t exactly on my to-do list today either. But life comes at you fast, Aaran, so either roll with the punches or feel free to go get yourself tagged and just become one of the drones out there.”
Aaran held up his hands in a signal of submission. “Lighten up, Hadas. I was just kidding.”
“I wasn’t.”
Aaran was unprepared for her less-than-uplifting response, and avoided eye contact when he shuffled by her and stepped through the hole in the floor. The planks of wood that barely passed for stairs wobbled beneath his feet as he descended into the musty basement of the church. He was unsteady on the precarious stairs and almost lost his footing. With no handrail to grab, he stumbled and nearly fell to the concrete floor below. He could hear the snickers coming from the top of the steps.
