by David Lucin
First Platoon continued firing. Bullets punctured windows and doors, killing those who remained in their vehicles. A few of the horde had survived the initial onslaught and were taking cover behind anything they could find. One poked his rifle out from around the back end of a Hyundai pickup. Jenn aimed at him, but before she could pull the trigger, a hail of .50-caliber machine-gun fire ripped through his torso, splattering the bumper and tailgate with gore.
She choked down bile, disgusted by the sight. It was grislier than she expected, yet she felt nothing but contempt. She hated these people. If given the chance, they would do worse things to the residents of Flagstaff. They’d already done them to those poor souls in Window Rock. This was retribution, plain and simple. The victims of this bloodbath had gotten what they deserved.
Without remorse, she emptied the remainder of her thirty-round magazine into the three closest vehicles, all of them pockmarked with bullet holes. She hit several bodies, but she was fairly certain they were already corpses. As she inserted a fresh magazine and slapped the bolt release to chamber a round, Dylan ordered, “Hold your fire.”
“Hold your fire!” she repeated, along with Quinn, Freddie, and a host of others down the line.
Abruptly, the shooting stopped. On Route 66, the fighting went on, but the silence on the interstate was eerie. Nothing moved in the kill zone. It was like a cemetery down there.
Yet for all the damage the Militia had done, it wasn’t enough. Not even close. The dead beneath her represented a tiny fraction of the horde’s overall strength. Success in this battle depended on the bulk of the convoy proceeding down the interstate at once. That hadn’t happened. Yes, the trap had worked—remarkably well—but Jenn couldn’t see this as anything but a failure. Nothing like the dream outcome she’d fantasized about earlier.
As if to confirm that fear, the drones began firing again, but not into the kill zone—away from it, in the direction of the White Horde’s main body. They were also on the move, crossing the Fourth Street bridge to this side of the interstate.
Worry tangled her guts. Something was wrong.
The Khan must have been testing the Militia’s defenses on Route 66 and I-40 while leaving the bulk of his vehicles safely in reserve. Wisely, his advance elements were large enough to force the Militia’s hand. They suffered losses, yes, but he’d sprung the trap and tricked the defenders into revealing themselves. Now he might be sending his troops toward these positions on foot. If the platoons on the interstate were surrounded, the battle would be over and Jenn would never see her husband again.
“What’s going on?” Quinn pointed at the drones and the bridge. “Why are they shooting down there?”
Before Jenn could answer, Courtney shouted, her voice straining and cracking with the effort, “Fall back to the trucks! We’ve got incoming on our right flank!”
19
Shouting came from Fourth Platoon on the opposite side of the interstate, and the troops there began to withdraw into the trees. Jenn’s platoon followed suit, climbing the wall. Her nearby squadmates, including Quinn and Freddie, shot her quick looks, as if to ask, Are we really doing this? Determination rang through her voice: “Let’s move it!”
Rifle slung across her chest, she struggled over the wall and scooped up her backpack. Awkwardly, her weapon swinging with each step, she made a beeline to her assigned truck, the Ford she’d taken into New Mexico. Freddie, one of the drivers, was already halfway there, bounding on long legs.
Courtney, in the middle of the street, waved the troopers forward and shouted, “Go! Go! Go!” Farther down, Dylan did the same.
Freddie climbed behind the wheel. A second later, the Ford’s lights flicked on and the other doors opened. Jenn took the back seat, leaving shotgun for Courtney. Tanis and Wyatt piled in on her left and right. She counted the soldiers clambering into the box and trailer. Twenty-one. No, twenty-two. That made for a total of twenty-seven, Courtney included. First and Third Squads hadn’t suffered any casualties, then, and no one appeared to be injured. Jenn breathed out a long sigh of relief, but the feeling was short-lived. She worried for the units on Route 66, where the sounds of battle hadn’t let up.
“Drive!” Courtney ordered as she hopped into the passenger seat.
With her door still open, Freddie hit the accelerator, and the Ford lurched forward, struggling under the weight of two infantry squads with gear. Quickly, though, it picked up speed. He followed the circuitous route through this townhouse complex and eventually emerged onto Fourth Street, a four-lane road covered in two or three inches of compact snow. He drove away from the bridge and punched it along a straight stretch. The sound of the tire chains gaining traction and cutting through ice filled the cab.
The troops in the trailer had all hunkered down to shield their faces from the wind. First Platoon’s other truck, a Tesla, followed close behind. Jenn half expected to see a line of hostile vehicles in pursuit, but there were none. She heard the drones, however. The throaty bark of their machine guns grew more distant with every passing second.
“What happened back there?” she asked.
Bracing herself with a hand against the dash, Courtney replied, “The horde didn’t fall for it. Sent out two probing forces, one down Route 66 and one down I-40. Over half the force stayed behind. A good chunk of that was leaving the highway and coming right at us.”
No, no, no. Jenn had suspected as much, but hearing confirmation from Courtney made painfully clear the battle had been lost. As she’d feared, she was powerless to affect its outcome. She and her squad had executed their part of the ambush perfectly, yet here they were, retreating.
She drove her fingernails into her thighs. If she could glean a positive in this mess, it was that the platoon would now withdraw to the Skydome as planned and she would soon see Sam.
“What do you mean they were coming right at us?” Wyatt asked. “How? There’s no exit onto Fourth Street.”
“A few of the bigger trucks with chains mounted the shoulder, barreled straight through a fence.” Courtney sounded like she’d just finished running a marathon.
Tanis stirred on Jenn’s left. “Are they following us?”
Freddie took a hard right at a T-intersection, then proceeded down a two-lane road flanked by tall, snow-covered ponderosa pines.
“Townsend sent the drones out to cover our withdrawal,” Courtney said. “They’ll be able to hold off those trucks long enough for us to get away.”
Hopefully. Jenn craned her neck and looked out the back window. The rear tires ejected a rooster tail of snow, blocking most of her view, but she didn’t see any vehicles pursuing them, only the Militia’s Tesla.
“Are the Fifth and Sixth okay?” she asked. “I could still hear the gunshots when we were leaving.”
Courtney’s cheek twitched. “I’m not sure. I was only getting snippets of info, but it doesn’t look good. The horde was sending reinforcements.”
“We need to help.” Jenn knew there was nothing her unit could do, not against such superior numbers, but she couldn’t just sit here while the horde rolled over the rest of the Militia. “I mean, can we cover them before we go to the Skydome?”
Again, Courtney’s cheek twitched. “We aren’t going to the Skydome.”
“What?” Jenn, Freddie, and Wyatt all said at the same time. Freddie added, “Then where am I driving us?”
“Airport,” Courtney said flatly.
“Sorry, what?” Jenn repeated. “I don’t understand. I thought the whole plan was to withdraw to the Skydome if the ambush went belly up.”
“It was. Something changed. Dylan didn’t give me the details, just told me we’re going to the airport. That’s it.” The trees on either side of the road gave way to a wide, empty parking lot on the right and a truck stop on the left. Two autonomous semis were parked at a line of charging stalls beneath a tall canopy. Courtney asked Freddie, “You know how to get there?”
“Yeah,” he said, drawing out the word. He clearl
y didn’t like the idea of going to the airport, either.
A hundred questions flooded Jenn’s mouth, but she swallowed them for now. Courtney wouldn’t have the answers she needed. Withdrawing to the airport must be part of Liam’s strategy, but what good would that do if the horde was free to enter the city? And why the airport of all places? The uncertainty bothered her, pricked at the back of her brain. She felt blindsided. Lied to, even. Yes, she was only a squad leader, but she had a right to hear about these contingencies, didn’t she?
She rubbed her ring finger furiously. What would Sam think when she didn’t return to the Skydome? Would he assume she’d been killed in the battle? If her whole platoon went to the airport, he’d have no way of knowing if she was alive or dead or bleeding out somewhere, alone in the snow and the cold. Or what if the horde attacked the Skydome while she was at the airport? He could fight for himself, yes, but they were a team; they should be facing this danger together.
Frustration tore through her veins, boiling her blood. She found herself blaming Dylan. He was only following orders, but he and Jenn had a special relationship, didn’t they? Why didn’t he tell her about this plan? If she’d known, she could have told Sam not to worry.
Freddie went beneath an underpass and turned left, onto an on-ramp, then picked up speed and merged onto the interstate. For what could have been the hundredth time, Jenn checked behind the truck. The Tesla continued to follow, but otherwise, the road was empty. The pileup of vehicles in the kill zone must be preventing the horde from pressing forward along this route.
No more than ten minutes later, Freddie exited off the highway, circled a roundabout, and headed east, in the direction of the airport. He followed a two-lane road lined with pine trees until it terminated at a tarmac. The rolling gate to the chain-link fence was already open.
“In here.” Courtney pointed to a hangar on their left. Like the gate in the fence, its door was open. How long had this plan been in place? Withdrawing here certainly wasn’t a last-minute decision.
Freddie navigated around an idle baggage cart, a pair of cylindrical fuel tanks, a radio tower, and a tiny twin-engine airplane, all of it covered in a thin layer of snow. The hangar itself sat empty, save for metal tool cabinets lining the walls, a few stepladders on wheels, and another baggage cart. The space wasn’t large, big enough for two of the small airplanes.
The instant Freddie parked the truck inside the hangar, Jenn reached for her seat belt, only to notice she hadn’t fastened it. She elbowed Wyatt, who got the message and let her out. A fire was building in her chest, and the only remedy was an answer from Dylan.
His truck pulled into the hangar behind the Ford. As he opened his door, she rushed him. “The airport? Really? Were you not planning on telling me this?” There was an edge to her voice, and it stung her ears, but that fire hadn’t abated, not even a little. If anything, it was growing hotter. “It would have been nice to know I might never see Sam again so I could say goodbye or tell him to come with me.”
A muscle in Dylan’s jaw pulsed. She knew him well enough to recognize his irritation, but she wouldn’t back down. He owed her an explanation.
“Well?” she prodded as the troops of Second and Fourth squads piled out of the Tesla and its attached trailer. Most of them were watching her and Dylan intently. The possibility that she was overreacting crossed her mind, but only for a second. Then she returned to thinking about Sam being trapped in the Skydome without her.
“Only a few of us knew,” he said in the same voice he’d used to scold her when she asked him about West Ukraine. “It wasn’t safe to tell everyone. We couldn’t risk the Khan finding out about the plan to come here if someone was captured and interrogated.”
Intuitively, his explanation made sense, but she was too angry to accept it. “And what exactly is that plan? How can we help here? The ambush was a flub. We should be at the Skydome.”
A few murmurs rumbled through the circle of troopers surrounding them. Jenn saw a few nods, too.
Dylan breathed in deeply, but his posture remained tense, rigid. On the exhale, “We need to maintain our ability to maneuver. If we hunker down in the Skydome, the Khan can just wait for us to run out of water.”
“But he wants our supplies,” she argued. “For all his talk about wiping us out, this is really about food. Liam even said so at the briefing yesterday. That means he’ll—”
“Listen, Sergeant.” He aimed a stern finger at her, and his normally pale complexion had turned a shade of red. “I don’t need to explain to you why the commander makes a strategic call, and I don’t need to stand here and justify it. You’re a squad leader, and your job is to carry out my orders. If you’ve got a problem with those orders, Novak can take your place and you can walk to the Skydome. It’s no skin off my back.” Emotion filled his words, made his voice rise in pitch. She couldn’t tell if he was angry, frustrated, or just tired. Maybe all three at once.
Whatever the case, she shrank under his withering stare. The fire in her chest had died, replaced by heavy guilt. It felt like she’d eaten a boulder.
Dylan had a point. She was being selfish, thinking only about Sam, not the bigger picture. Worse, she’d given him the impression her commitment was wavering. The last thing she wanted was for him to question her loyalty to the Militia.
“Dylan, I—” she began, but he stormed past her, making for the far end of the hangar.
When she spun on a heel to follow him and apologize, Courtney blocked her path.
“Get out of my way.” Jenn sidestepped to the left, but the tall woman mirrored the movement.
“Let him go.” Courtney clamped her hands down on Jenn’s shoulders.
“I want to say sorry.” Half-heartedly, Jenn tried to break free, but Courtney held her in place.
“I know you do, but you both need to settle down first. We’re all dialed up to a hundred right now.”
As always, Courtney wore a mask, betraying no emotion. Her cool demeanor helped bring the moment into focus. Jenn had made a scene in front of the whole platoon and openly questioned her commanding officer’s orders. In a way, she’d also questioned his competence. How would she feel if Freddie had done the same to her? Or Quinn? When she thought of it like that, she realized Dylan had shown her a good deal of restraint. In his position, she might not have been so patient.
Overcome with embarrassment and shame, she watched as he slung off his backpack and dug around inside. For what, she didn’t know. She wanted to talk to him and clear the air now, but one wrong word could make the situation worse. “Okay. You’re right.”
“Good.” Courtney gave Jenn’s upper arm a friendly squeeze.
A third truck pulled into the hangar, with Dhaliwal driving. Jenn desperately hoped to see some members of the Fifth and Sixth Platoons arrive as well. “Do you know what happened on Route 66?” she asked Courtney. “Are they coming here, too?”
Courtney’s eyes darted from left to right. Most of the troopers had scattered and congealed into small groups of five or six. Chatter echoed off the hangar’s metal walls and ceiling. Stories of the battle, no doubt. “I haven’t heard all the details,” Courtney said quietly, “just what I caught on the platoon channel. Murphy was with them.”
Invisible fingers scraped their ice-cold nails across Jenn’s spine. “Yeah.”
Now Courtney spoke in a whisper: “Nobody can get in contact with him. His last radio call said he was holding his ground so the wounded could evac safely.”
“What?” A few heads turned in Jenn’s direction. In a whisper of her own, she asked, “How many casualties? Do we know?”
“No, not yet, but if I had to guess, I’d say we lost a platoon’s worth, maybe a platoon and a half.”
A sense of vertigo hit her like she’d drunk a whole jug of beer in a single swig. Based on the volume of fire coming from Route 66, she’d inferred the fighting there was intense, but fifty troopers? Seventy-five? She thought of the men and women making bombs at the Sky
dome, the ones with whom she exchanged cordial nods as she passed with Allison. And what about Murphy? Despite being stern and meticulous, he had the Militia’s best interests at heart. He made himself available to the soldiers, talked to them, cared about how they were doing. He was one of the first to congratulate Jenn on her engagement to Sam, and he always asked about Maria. He couldn’t be dead. It was impossible.
“He’ll be okay,” Jenn croaked out. Her stomach churned, her mouth watered, and she feared she might be sick in the middle of this hangar. She was lying to herself, but lying was better than acknowledging the possibility that Murphy was gone. “I know it.”
“I hope you’re right,” Courtney said. “I really do.”
* * *
With six honor guards on his flanks and to his rear, the Great Khan made his way down Route 66, minding the shell casings and the nails littering the snow-covered asphalt underfoot. To his right, the north, stood a strip mall, the parking lot empty. Behind it loomed low, snowy mountains. Ahead was an old garage. Its sign advertised a specialty in foreign vehicles. Beyond that, a pawn shop, a closed-down fast-food restaurant, a motel. He expected more from the famous Route 66, that symbol of an idyllic 1950s and 1960s America. Here, he saw nothing but a snapshot of mankind’s long, slow decay.
They passed beneath a set of dead traffic lights, where two of his vehicles, a white pickup and a black minivan, rested idly. The windshield of the pickup had been shattered, and its front tires were flat. On the hood, the paint had chipped away in a dozen places. Bullet holes filled the minivan, and blood graced the intact driver’s side window.
