by B. C. Tweedt
When he removed his hands from his muffs and turned around, he saw Liam hovering at eye level, above the picnic bench. He could have sworn it winked at him with its little red eye dot thing, but nevertheless, it buzzed away without a chance for Jarryd to thank him.
“Thanks,” he muttered under his breath. “But I had ‘em,” he said turning to the corpse.
Then the corpse burst into flames.
The fire swarmed his body in a flush of heat and light, but Jarryd could only take a deliberate step back to admire his work.
“Just had a few kinks.”
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Just as Drake had opened the refrigerator door, a gun had gone off. Pistol-fire, three shots. The soldier grunted and more gunfire erupted, this time from the soldier’s silenced automatic rifle.
Drake retreated back inside the fridge with a quick thud of the door as chaos erupted inside the kitchen. The gunfire was just outside the door. He heard a light shatter, walls crumble, and then the high-pitched war cry of a raging female. A body slammed into his little hideout, shaking it on its four legs. There were the dull thuds of a fistfight, heavy sucks of air, and the scrambling of feet.
Drake pushed at the door, ready to join the fight, but another body hit the fridge, slamming it back closed. A woman’s pained cry whimpered on the other side of the door, just inches away from Drake’s ear.
In the dark, he listened to the frantic thrusts of hand-to-hand combat, scared half-to-death. But he had to do something. And by the sounds of it, he had to do it soon.
With a mighty push, he jumped out. In an instant, he knew what he had to do. The soldier had a woman in his bulging arms, choking her. The sight sent a murderous chill down his spine; he slammed his arms over the man’s neck and pulled back hard.
Like he had sat on a bucking bronco, he was swung off his feet, first to the left and then the right. The strongest arms he had ever felt were latched on his hands, yanking them away from the man’s neck. He pulled harder, slipping from the man’s grip. The soldier choked, sputtered, and then jerked backward, backpedaling at breakneck speed.
When Drake’s back hit the wall, the lights went out. His grip was gone and he woke up seconds later, slumped on the floor with plaster still falling on his hair. His wrists felt hot. Burning. But he was too lightheaded to care. He was vaguely aware of the giant standing in front of him, but his fear kept him frozen.
When the giant fell, Drake was more confused than relieved.
A woman took his place over him. She put the rifle’s strap over her shoulder and reached down to him.
“Get up,” she said, making it happen.
He shook the plaster from his hair and the cobwebs from his brain. His senses returned as if he were turning up the volume.
“You with me?” she asked waving her hand by his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said woozily.
She squinted at him, unwinding the guitar string from one of his bloody wrists, then rushed to the giant’s body. She tugged off his vest, put it on, rifled through belt pouches, taking what she wanted. She knew exactly what she wanted. Like a soldier. Drake eyed her, becoming less and less dazed, but still just as confused.
Then, like in some horror movie, the woman snapped open a switchblade knife, tore off the man’s ski-mask, and grabbed his ear. When she pulled at his ear and put the knife to it, Drake whimpered. “What are you doing?”
He turned his head, trying to ignore the sounds the knife was making.
“Embedded ear piece,” was all she said.
All at once he wanted to get away from this woman. “The kids,” is what he said, making his excuse as he peeked into the hall and then wobbled into it. Bullet holes riddled the plaster, but he raced past and opened the door. Several kids shrieked; adults protected them with outstretched arms; Kit barked; and an Asian girl halted her elbow just before it struck his neck.
“It’s me,” he said dumbly.
Ankeny pulled her elbow in and glanced over his shoulder. “And who’s that?”
The woman with a bulletproof vest, automatic rifle, and four-eyed goggles stood wiping a bloody earpiece.
“Rachael!” Asher shouted, standing in the middle of the group. But taking a closer look, he cocked his head. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” she said, twisting the half-wiped earpiece in her own ear. “We aren’t safe here.”
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“Jarryd!” came Avery’s call. She ran, carrying her board, standing beside him to watch the burning. “What happened?”
“I shredded his gnar,” he shrugged. “Then lit him on fire.”
More footsteps approached and Jarryd swung to stand between them and Avery.
“The Hive! Put it out!”
It was Grimes, Windsor, and Greyson suddenly rushing to extinguish the flames, throwing snow by the handful. They had it out soon enough, leaving the charred remains smoldering. Jarryd coughed at the smoke as Greyson shot him a look.
“Grimes. Get it unlocked,” Greyson said, still glancing between Jarryd and the corpse.
“Who made you dictator?” Grimes objected. “This is a democratic republic, and I didn’t vote…”
Greyson grabbed him and pulled him by the collar to the Hive. “Do it!”
Grimes muttered under his breath, “Fascist,” and picked up the device still attached by the cord. Taking it like a game controller, he nodded to himself, typing at its buttons. “This is a Redmond device. High-tech. The highest!”
“Yeah, yeah. Just do it.”
“He was uploading a new program to their software. They would have killed us all.”
“Can you fix it?” Greyson asked, his jaw set as he paced to each corner of the patio, peeking at their flanks. He told them there were three red dots converging on their location. Liam was heading toward one, but he couldn’t intercept them all fast enough. “Fast?”
“Yes. Just canceling it…and unlocking…and opening…”
VERP!
The box beeped at them; they stepped back in unison as if they had been on a railroad track when the train blew its whistle.
Whi-rrrrrrrrrrrrr.
The walls of the box fell in segments, collapsing like a deck of cards shuffling itself, and the inside was revealed. Stacked on top of each other in a double helix, were twenty-five drones powering up with flickering lights and a chorus of electronic whirrs and beeps.
Greyson stepped back again and again, pulling the others along with him. “Grimes, they’re gonna be on our side, right?”
“Though I’ve never worked with a Hive before, let alone seen one, there’s a high probability that…”
The top drone burst free from the group and the kids hit the deck as it fired its weapon.
Chapter 55
The first drone swooped over them and its gun fired a burst into a StoneWater soldier racing around the corner. His body shook with the bullets and spun to the snow. Greyson watched from his stomach as the drone kept its trajectory, flying higher and higher with a trail of other drones buzzing behind it.
But the line dispersed as soon as they were in open air, sending drones in every direction like a tornado had taken hold of them and sent them spinning. For a moment it was surreal watching the drones buzzing away like bees looking for nectar, gleaming in the night. The snow’s cold bit at his exposed wrists, but lying on the ground was inviting. It felt secure; it was a relief seeing twenty-five allies fill the skies, protecting him. Now he could relax.
But he knew he couldn’t.
The battle erupted only seconds later. The drones’ guns flashed like they were paparazzi taking pictures of the camp from above. The StoneWater soldiers were the stars, hiding their faces from the intrusive photographers. But these stars didn’t just hide. They fought back, knocking several drones apart with silent bullets that struck like daggers, sending the drones into a death spiral, bleeding metal parts.
&nb
sp; Greyson pushed himself to his feet, joining the others in watching the spectacle. “That should keep them off us for awhile. Now we get Avery to the war room and bunker down until Rubicon gets here.”
“Just Avery?” Grimes asked.
“She’s needed for the mission; if the rest of us make it, it’s a bonus, got it?”
Grimes scrunched his brow, eyeing the unmoving soldier, dead in the snow. “Though she’s attractive, she’s no more special than I am. I was able to release the Hive and am obviously irreplaceable…”
Frustrated, Greyson turned, took a walkie-talkie from his fanny pack, and raised it to his mouth.
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“Get to the war room!” The walkie buzzed with Greyson’s voice. “Bunker down until Rubicon gets back!”
Drake sided up to the Day Care’s window and held the walkie up. “Roger. Almost on our way.” He put the walkie in his pocket and watched Rachael peeking at the window as he rubbed at the cloth wrapped around his wrist wounds. The blood was already drying, cracking, pulled by the cloth’s movement, but Ankeny had said that it wasn’t that bad. It stung like heck, but there were worse things to worry about.
“What’s with the bracelets?” Asher asked from his position on the floor. He was the first in a long line of sitting children, huddled and frightened.
Drake shrugged and knelt next to him, knowing he needed to keep him calm. He showed the bracelets to him as Rachael put her finger on her new earpiece. Her eyes were active as she listened, monitoring the enemy’s communication to determine their next move. “I collect them. Camps. Concerts. Companies give them away. People make them for me.”
“Which is your favorite?” Asher asked.
He flipped through them. Cloth, hemp, beads, rubber, metal – there were dozens, each with a different meaning. One was most definitely his favorite. The oldest one – the one that he’d repaired multiple times.
“This one,” he said, pulling the frayed pink one to the front. He showed him the faded letters, running his finger across them.
“Fight like a girl?”
Drake smiled, remembering the person who had given it to him. “That’s right.”
“Chloe.” Asher stated in an abrupt change of tone.
“Chloe? Who’s that?”
“She’s…she’s…I forgot her. She’s in the C-Center. With the others. We need to help her!”
Drake swallowed his words, still watching Rachael. Surrendering to the fact, he said, “There’s nothing we can do.”
“Nothing?” Asher asked, his voice rising.
Recognizing the boy’s signs of panic, Drake put an appeasing hand on his shoulder and hushed him. “We can’t go to them now. That’ll only put more people in danger.”
Asher’s eyes began to bubble, spurning Drake to regret his words. But he couldn’t back down. “You like this Chloe girl?” he asked in a whisper.
Asher made sure no one was overhearing and then nodded twice, his brow furrowed in anger.
“She like you back?”
Asher feigned disinterest, but it was helpless. “Not really.”
Drake glanced at Rachael, who heard something that prompted her to shuffle to the door and grab the knob. He turned back to Asher, rushed. “I liked a girl once, but my dad told me I couldn’t date ‘til I was 16. I hated him for it at first. But he said until then, I should focus on becoming the type of man that my type of woman would want to date. So, if Chloe’s so great, you should focus on becoming the type of boy she would want. Good, strong, selfless.”
Asher let the advice settle, chewing it over with intense eyes.
“And a good place to start is right now – helping these kids. Got it?” Drake asked.
The boy’s anger turned to resolve, his chin hardening flat. “That’s what Greyson would do.”
Drake’s gaze then softened and he squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Then be like Greyson.”
POOF! POOF!
Rachael’s smoke grenades erupted in the boulevard, puffing out thick curtains – one to the left and one to the right.
Drake turned to Asher. “And you can always pray for her. And us.”
Asher blinked hard before closing his eyes, mouthing words to himself.
Rachael closed the door, her rifle sitting in the crook of her elbow, and glanced from the praying Asher to the line of kids behind her. Each one had been assigned an older buddy. Adults and Beep carried infants. Even Ankeny held a young girl’s hand, and she held her doll with a pretty pink dress. “Just a quick run across the street,” Rachael barked in a soothing way. “Don’t let your buddy stop or look back.”
“Amen,” Asher whispered, opening his eyes in time to see a pistol in Rachael’s hand.
She held it out for Drake. “Take the rear. They’re clearing the whole camp. None get left behind.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, grabbing the pistol and shoving it under his belt.
Rachael gave him a head nod, peeked at the billowing smoke, and readied her weapon. The way she crouched, with the rifle parallel, fitted snug in her shoulder pocket, her eye looking down the sights, Drake knew she was a soldier herself. Maybe she had retired at one point, but that didn’t matter. At this very moment, she was a soldier. And he was glad to follow her.
She floated outside the door, her rifle bouncing from roof to roof, taking small, controlled steps on the brick. The drones battled above her, their machine gun fire cracking in the night, lighting the sides of the log buildings with each blast. The sounds were intense, more deep and real than any surround sound system, causing many of the kids to plug their ears.
Shrapnel – broken drones hit the boulevard, banging hard and sharp through the smoke. One drone, nearly intact, came in like a meteor, blasting through the opposite building’s window, disappearing inside with a series of bangs and a smoky mess.
“Go!” Drake ordered in the nicest voice he can manage. It was almost too sweet. “Stay close to the person in front of you! Don’t break the train. Choo-choo!”
The kids filed out, two by two, following Rachael as she led them through the curtain of smoke to the right. The smoke flickered with the light of muzzle flashes. They reminded Drake of storm clouds.
So far, so good.
When the last of the chain had gone, Drake gave Asher’s hand a pump. “Ready, guy?”
“Is Greyson going to meet us there?”
He didn’t want to lie – but he didn’t know. “I’m sure he will. Hold on tight.”
Asher visibly gulped, still showing signs of his tears; but, when he gave a thumbs up, Drake guided him into the boulevard under a haze of gunfire.
Chapter 56
Greyson led them through the camp at break-neck speed with his slingshot loaded and primed, only stopping to better read his mini-map. There were still red triangles everywhere as the drones picked up enemies and relayed their positions. The greens had dwindled to fifteen or sixteen, but they were still lighting up the streets with their firing, ripping windowpanes apart by the dozen.
Liam hovered over Greyson’s group, giving him eyes around each corner.
When he saw the billowing smoke in the Day Care’s area, he picked up the pace. Who had set it off? And why? Had Rubicon arrived, or were StoneWater soldiers giving themselves cover?
They darted through a grove of evergreens, slogging through the crunchy snow. It was coming down heavier now – the snowflakes thick and wet, sticking on their hats and faces only to melt soon after.
He stopped them at the corner of one of the cabins at the top of a hill. It gave a little better vantage of the camp. They were only a block away from the main boulevard. He could also see the corner of the Convention Center and its parking lot, where vehicles were in a fierce traffic jam. People streamed out of it like water over rocks, fleeing. And he saw the vehicles.
Humvees that had once encircled the center were now racing to new positions, the gunners on the
back firing the .50 caliber turrets into the air, fighting off the Hive drones.
And then he saw the Bradleys. Two of them, painted in StoneWater’s gray and white camo. One had stationed itself between the Convention Center and the boulevard, its cannon facing toward the parking lot, daring anyone to attempt a getaway.
The other was churning toward the Main Lodge.
“Geez,” he sighed.
“Not again,” Windsor moaned.
The others only watched, surrendered to their awe.
“We have to beat it there,” Greyson realized. “Hurry!”
Liam swooped above them, its gun at their heads.
POOT-POOT-POOT-POOT!
The window shattered behind them, bathing them in glass as they ducked.
Greyson didn’t wait to see what Liam was shooting at. “Go!”
They sprinted to the next block where more smoke was spreading in front of the Main Lodge. He could hear children’s voices amidst the din of gunfire and the approaching treads of a Bradley.
“This way!”
He jumped through the smoke and into the boulevard. The moose statues were to their left; the banner displaying “Where Everyone’s an Adventurer” had been knocked loose on one end, now fluttering vertically. Through the heavy snow, Greyson saw the entrance of the lodge filled with a line of children. A soldier – a woman – held the door for them with her foot, her gun aimed at him. She lowered the weapon and waved them in. An ally?
He didn’t waste time; he jetted across the bricks, his shoes slapping next to drone parts sticking from the snow. The smoke was growing thicker, and the wind kicked it his direction. Liam shot through it at some invisible target.
Greyson flicked on his infrared and found the heat from the soldier’s gunfire coming from the Main Lodge’s second floor. The soldier ducked Liam’s bullets and fired again at the street.
