by B. C. Tweedt
Jarryd brushed it off. He’d already gotten the hang of it. He piloted it onto the narrow road, climbing higher and higher as the evergreens zipped by and the snowflakes parted around his head like he was warping through the stars. He even opened his mouth to catch them on his tongue.
“Here they come!” Rachael warned.
Jarryd closed his mouth and gripped the stick, ready for anything.
“Three Humvees. I hear a heli, too. Not ours!”
A heli? With missiles? He wasn’t ready for that! “Shoot ‘em!” he shouted.
Rachael turned the turret as they bounced along the terrain. For a moment Jarryd was able to see the Humvees with their headlights on. Spotlights hit the woods around them and the machine guns began to shred the pine branches into confetti.
Clang, clang, clang!
Bullets ricocheted off their armor, but he couldn’t help but think that only one needed to find his head – and he’d be done. His snowboarder’s helmet wouldn’t protect him from a bullet.
“Get inside!” Rachael shouted.
Already ahead of her, he reached and grabbed the hatch’s handle and pulled it down with a bang, just as more bullets slammed their armor. He let up on the accelerator and pressed his forehead to the viewfinder.
He could barely see. The night vision was difficult to interpret, as trees blasted toward them. He heard the cracks as the Bradley smashed into trees and crushed them under its treads.
They’d gotten off the path.
“Jarryd…” Greyson warned.
“Get that drone up! I can barely see!”
Their cannon began its barrage, even louder inside than it was out. A missile fired, and the explosion thudded against the mountain.
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Liam buzzed to the explosion, skimming the tops of the trees. Its armor had been cracked in a few places. Even a few bullets had left their mark, but despite being empty of bullets, it was fully functional and ready to help.
It watched from above as the Bradley began to fight back, spraying cannon fire into the path behind, its tracer fire lighting up the forest as it zipped past the trailing Humvees’ windshields. The firing was inaccurate with such bumpy terrain. Another missile missed its target, slamming a hillside and dislodging trees from their roots. One fell across the Humvees’ path, but they barreled through.
The Humvees fired back, keeping their distance until the path widened and the trees began to thin out. One veered to the left, churning up a flatter portion of the mountain, making its own path toward a switchback in hopes of getting ahead of the armored beast.
Liam relayed all the information he could back to the DOC, but Liam was otherwise helpless. Until it was given the command to attack.
As if joyful, it plummeted toward the action, swerving into the trees, zigzagging between trunks and making its path to the lead Humvee. It matched the Humvee’s speed and then hovered closer and closer to the machine gunner until it had sided next to him.
The gunner saw it out of the corner of his eye, took a second glance, but reacted too slowly. Liam slammed into the side of his head, knocking him cold. Then, regaining its bearings, it sped to the same Humvee and floated down to its front hood. With precision, it slowed until it rested on the windshield, its tire-sized bulk filling the driver’s vision.
The soldier shouted obscenities. Waved his arm. Swerved.
The passenger pulled out his sidearm.
But when the command from the DOC came, Liam veered away, leaving the Humvee just in time for the switchback. It skimmed the back of the turning Bradley and ricocheted over the edge, toppling into the tops of evergreens and collapsing to the ground.
Looking to repeat the trick, Liam sped to follow the chase, but the other Humvees had caught on, targeting their fire in its direction. Trunks exploded around it and it retreated back above the canopy – but not before it saw the Humvee pull in front of the Bradley and slow, with three soldiers jumping from the back onto its armored front.
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Greyson saw what was coming from his DOC, unbuckled his seatbelt, and shot to the ladder.
“They’re on top!” Jarryd shouted from up front.
Greyson held on tight as Jarryd jerked the Bradley left and right, trying to shake their boarders from their perches. More trees splintered.
“What are you doing?” Windsor asked Greyson from his seat.
“I don’t know!” he shouted as he climbed to the passenger hatch in back and pushed it open, letting in a rush of air.
The Bradley’s barrel was just above him, blasting at the Humvee behind. Rachael had finally caught them on the switchback, the bullets blasting into the Humvee’s side until it exploded in a flaming spin.
Once the firing stopped, Greyson climbed higher and peeked toward the turret; he caught Rachael’s eyes peering through the bulletproof glass section of the armored plates. She peered back. “What are you doing?”
And then Greyson saw a soldier climbing the turret behind her. His HUD latched onto the man’s sidearm.
It was too late to load a ball.
“Get down!” he yelled.
Rachael ducked her head just as the soldier blasted the back of the glass with his sidearm. It was a moment later that Rachael’s arm poked up with her own pistol.
The bullets pounded the soldier’s armor, sending him in a somersault down the front of the turret onto the Humvee’s cargo bed.
Greyson took the opportunity to push off the last rung to the outside.
The wind was powerful and sharp, a constant force pushing him toward the Bradley’s edge, where steep drop-offs loomed below. He grabbed for holds on the armor, climbing as if he was on a rock face. When he reached Rachael’s gunnery hatch, he peeked at the situation up front. Two goggle-less soldiers yanking on the pilot hatch. Jarryd was yanking back from below, desperately trying to keep control of the vehicle at the same time. The soldier that had been shot was collecting himself on the Humvee’s cargo bed, standing, readying for another thrust. And the machine gunner had his gun trained on the front but held his fire for fear of hitting his comrades.
Whispering his plan to Rachael, Greyson holstered his slingshot, reached back for the rear-facing cannon barrel, and grabbed on with both gloved hands. He felt the heat radiating and almost had second thoughts, but there was already no going back.
From inside, Rachael swung the cannon turret around, and he hung on for dear life as it swung him over the side of the relentless, crushing treads and then back toward the Bradley’s front plating. He leapt free before the Humvee’s machine gunner could react, found his footing, and dove on the front soldier as Rachael let loose with the cannon – its bullets ripping the machine gunner away.
Greyson’s swing had caught the soldier off guard; the thrust of his leap pounded the soldier back into his comrade, and Greyson grasped on to his vest, helping with the man’s fall until the very end – when their bodies smacked the Humvee’s cargo bed.
Greyson was the first to regain his balance, still gripping the man’s vest. He struck the man’s nose with a sick crack.
But Greyson held his fist back, astonished. The man’s artificial nose had not only broke, but had shifted from his face, leaving a red gap where it should have been, above his fragmented mustache. Greyson held his fist back, not wanting to hit the grotesque face.
The retaliation came swift. The professional soldier broke the boy’s grip, struck his forehead with a head-butt, and threw him to the side – where he rolled onto the Humvee’s bed in a daze.
Greyson felt the blackness trying to cover him – make him sleep. It was nearly impossible to stay awake. The tiredness was heavy, massive, thick.
He was only aware of sounds. The creaking of the soldier’s boots as he stood to finish him off. A faint beating of a helicopter’s blades. The quieting of the Bradley’s engine as it dropped back, leaving the Humvee to race ahead.
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Wait. No… The Bradley was decelerating. His only hope, with Rachael and the others, was retreating!
Fighting away the black, he blinked in the light, peeking under the soldier’s legs to the retreating Bradley. And there was Jarryd’s head peeking up from the pilot’s hatch, his eyes not full of fright – but of determination. Then there was a rumble of the Bradley’s acceleration. The soldier still stood over him, fixing his cracked nose; but now he turned to take in the rapidly approaching Bradley.
It had been a ploy.
It was coming back for him.
The impact sent the fake-nosed soldier tumbling backward onto the Bradley’s front; the other soldier maintained his balance for a moment, but Greyson’s clarity was back. A swift kick to the man’s calf sent him to the bed with a thud.
Pushing himself up, he no longer felt the Humvee’s tires rumbling underneath. The Bradley had latched itself under its back bumper.
Though his head swam and the bumps of the road made him waver, he felt a second wind. This is what he had trained for. He had run, but they had caught him. Now he had to make them regret it.
He pelted the soldier on the bed with a kick to the face. He pulled his slingshot, aimed at the fake-nosed soldier on the Bradley and put a ball into his wrist. The gun he’d drawn clanged and stuck in a coiled towing rope attached to the Bradley’s front.
Rachael had climbed to the top of the gunnery hatch with her pistol ready. BANGBANG-BANG!
The Humvee’s passenger had stood to join the attack, but now fell into a passing tree with a crack. The driver slumped over the wheel, dead.
BANGBANG-CLICK!
Two more bullets at the mustached soldier’s body armor sent him sprawling again, knocking the pilot’s hatch into Jarryd’s head and closing him back inside. With a reeling pilot, the Bradley shook and took a path into the trees, taking the Humvee with it. Greyson braced himself and peered at their direction. Beyond the forest lay a cloudy clearing. He had to pull his goggles down to be sure.
Clouds?
He turned back to the Bradley that propelled them all forward, thinking and breathing hard.
As the soldier groaned beside him, he jolted to action with a fury. He put his electric glove to the man’s neck and zapped him. Not to put it to chance, he pushed the man’s body off the side.
The last soldier pushed himself up from the pilot’s hatch. His tattooed arms rippled with muscle. His gross mustache rose in a sneer, pushing his crushed nosepiece out of place. And he reached to grab his gun as Rachael jumped him from behind.
The soldier and Rachael fought, their arms locked in a battle to the death as the Bradley raced on through the snow. At first, the soldier’s face was smug, as if Rachael amused him; but when he caught a glimpse of something beyond Greyson, it turned to horror.
Greyson turned to match his gaze. The clouds were almost upon them.
His eyes grew wide as the wind picked up. He turned back. “Jarryd, stop!”
His hat flew from his head in the wind, but he let it go. When he turned back, he not only saw clouds, but an Apache helicopter. The StoneWater soldiers in the cockpit were looking at them. The missiles under its wings pointed at them.
The snowflakes hit Greyson’s cheeks as he holstered his slingshot; he prepared for the worst.
Chapter 59
Jarryd hit the brakes as hard as he could and pressed them clean to the floor. The machine rumbled and slid. He heard the Humvee detach with a clang, and still they slid.
There was a seismic explosion in front of them that rattled the Bradley’s hull until his teeth chattered.
He held his breath. Windsor let out a long scream as he gripped his seat.
They slid and slid and slid some more.
But finally, after an eternity, they stopped.
For a long while he just listened. There were no more machine guns. No more boot steps above his hatch. No more cannon fire. Only the whump-whump-whump of a helicopter.
He turned and stared at Windsor who merely stared back without a word. The silent exchange spoke volumes. They were thankful to be alive – and a little surprised as well.
Eventually, Jarryd turned back to the front and peeked in the night vision periscope, expecting to be surrounded.
But there was nothing. Nothing at all.
Where did the Apache go? Why isn’t it shooting us? Are more men roping down to capture us from behind?
He just had to see. He pushed the hatch hard and it opened with a creak. Snowflakes fluttered inside, calm and wet. The beating of the heli’s blades was steady, and its spotlight was as bright as the sun.
Jarryd rose out of the hatch, just his goggled eyes. He stared a little longer than he needed, but his precaution was overcome with a sense of absolute relief.
There was a piece of jagged metal sticking from the air – floating. The air around it vibrated, out of synch with the rest of the sky. It was enough of a clue for Jarryd. Then, to confirm his suspicions, the heli suddenly appeared in the middle of the sky as if transported from another dimension. It hovered where the Apache had been only moments before, taking its space as its prize and the jagged piece of shrapnel in its hull as a memento.
Rubicon’s frickin’ invisible helicopter.
He lifted himself halfway out before…
FRICK!
He dropped back inside, his heart fluttering high in his throat. There was no ground beneath them. There was the Bradley’s front plate and then nothing but black abyss.
They were at the edge of the sheerest cliff.
“We…we should get out now,” Jarryd muttered to Windsor.
“The helicopter…”
“It’s Rubicon. But we’re hanging off a frickin’ cliff.”
Windsor’s eyes widened. “Mother Teresa! Where’s the soldier-lady? And Greyson…?”
In a few moments Jarryd had jerked to action, pulling himself out of the hatch, screaming their names. Forgetting his fear, he knelt on the Bradley’s front plate, staring off the edge, into the wispy clouds. “Greyson! Rachael!” he screamed to the right and left, where trees jutted from rocky ledges.
Jarryd’s heart sunk as he threw off his goggles and jumped to the ground on the side of the Bradley. His eyes began to tear. He couldn’t breathe.
The Humvee had gone off the cliff. Greyson had been on it.
He’d been thrown off the cliff.
His best friend. The one who he could tell anything. The one who never made fun of him – who never looked at his front teeth when talking to him. The one who didn’t dare move on Avery – even though everyone knew she liked him better, and he liked her back. But he didn’t, because he was my best friend.
Jarryd crawled to the edge. He saw the Humvee’s smoldering remains. He saw the Apache’s remains still toppling on the rocks below.
So far below.
“No way,” Windsor muttered with a crack in his voice. He stood on the Bradley, realizing what Jarryd now knew.
Greyson was dead.
Chapter 60
Sydney retreated to her snack bag during intermission, ignoring the girl drama erupting in the hall, then returned to the edge of the stage. Pulling back the curtain, she peered at the audience as many got up to stretch their legs, grab refreshments of their own, and check their phones for election updates.
She looked and looked, but her family still wasn’t there.
Worried, she dropped the curtain back and dug in her snack bag. Instinctively, she reached for her favorite candy first and twisted it in her fingers. The sense of foreboding weighed on her – and her appetite just wasn’t the same.
The Hershey’s kiss was her favorite, and had been for a long time – well before Greyson. But looking at it brought back too many memories.
It had been a year. At times she thought she had gotten over him. Forgotten and moved on. But then there were the times she saw a red hat, or the times when boys looked at her in the halls, or
when she ate a Hershey’s kiss…
Would she get to see him tonight? What if he hadn’t made it out of Dallas? Would she ever she him again?
She unwrapped it and took a bite, savoring the smooth chocolate. Then she wrapped the rest, put it back in the bag, and slid with her back against the wall, sitting down as it melted in her mouth. She’d see him again. And he’d never get to see her in this outfit. If he did, he’d laugh at her, call her a girl, and cover his eyes in shame.
She smiled.
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Windsor had joined Jarryd, kneeling next to him with a comforting arm as he cried. But he was the first to hear Forge shouting from the side of the helicopter.
“Help!” Windsor heard.
The heli turned sideways and swerved closer to the ledge, though the trees kept it from coming too close.
Windsor perked his ears.
“Help them up!” came the shout.
Help them up? Had he heard right?
“Help them up!” Forge shouted again, pointing at the Bradley.
Windsor and Jarryd both looked to the Bradley. Nothing had changed. It stuck out a foot or two over the ledge. It still showed signs of the battle, with scrapes from the Humvee’s bumper, and the coiled towing rope had fallen loose.
And it moved.
The rope moved as if someone were pulling on it.
Windsor and Jarryd popped to their feet, climbed the Bradley and pulled on the rope. The resistance was incredible, but they managed to pull it inch by inch. They struggled for a hard, sweaty minute, their boots slipping on the snow accumulating on the armor plating until a soldier roped down from above. It was SmokeStack who rescued them, his massive arms pulling Rachael and Greyson up and over the Bradley’s lip. He snagged Greyson’s vest and lifted him to safety with little effort. Jarryd was on top of him in no time, hugging him for all he was worth.
“You’re alive! I thought you were toast! Goners, man!”
