by David Lucin
She gave him a thumbs-up and checked on her team. Freddie nodded knowingly at her, then elbowed Kaydence, who took one final shot into the parking lot before falling behind cover. Tanis and Wyatt both slapped fresh magazines into their ARs while Jenn patted her pocket to confirm she hadn’t lost her lighter.
It’s not too late to back out, said a cowardly voice in her head. Tell Dylan you’re not up to this, and he’ll lead the attack instead.
No, she spat at herself in reply. She didn’t believe in fate or destiny, but there was no denying that all she’d done in the past nine months had led to this moment. She wouldn’t shirk her duty now, and every minute she wasted deliberating meant another minute her husband had to defend himself in the Skydome. The sooner she took out this machine gun, the sooner she could leap into his arms.
Husband. Despite the battle raging around her, the word brought a smile to her lips.
Wyatt jabbed her with his elbow. “Jansen!” He practically yelled her name. “Are we doing this or what?”
Focus, Jenn. You’re almost there.
“Stay low,” she shouted, “and stay behind the barricade. Nobody fires until we’re in position. First, we take out the defenders. Then I’ll go in and plant the bomb. You got it?”
Wyatt blew his cheeks as Tanis nervously adjusted her beanie. Kaydence bounced on his toes, ready for action, and Freddie pointed a finger in the direction they needed to move.
He led them along the barricade, past Quinn and her grunts, who sent a steady stream of suppressive fire toward the machine gun. The closer Jenn got to the weapon, the louder it became. Soon, she couldn’t hear anything else: not the dissonance of battle from across the parking lot, not even her own rapid breathing. Snow continued to fall, covering the world in an inch of white powder.
Freddie stopped where the barricade turned ninety degrees and cut toward the Skydome. Peeking between the bumpers of two sedans with chains on their tires, Jenn judged the distance to the machine gun as no farther than the distance between first base and home plate. Atop a sturdy tripod set into the box of the pickup, the .50-caliber machine gun—boxy, bulky, and heavily armored—would fire a short burst, pause as the AI sought out a new target, and then rotate with impossible speed and precision before opening fire again. Also in the box stood two riflemen. Along the west-facing barricade were another ten, maybe twelve. All fired into Pine Ridge Village, where Morgan’s team had withdrawn for cover.
How on Earth was she supposed to get over there and plant a bomb on that gun? The defenders outnumbered her little force by a factor of three. She had the element of surprise, yes, and the rest of the squad would add its fire into the mix in support, but would it all be enough? If only she—
The bombs!
She’d only need one to take out the .50-cal, right? The other three she could use against the Khan’s men. They might be crappy, homemade things, and Jenn still didn’t fully trust them, but they killed with stomach-churning efficiency during the fight on I-40. A few well-placed throws could solve all of her problems.
“We throw these,” she said quietly and zipped open her bag. She passed the first bomb to Wyatt, whose brow knit together in confusion. “Save one for the gun.” Out came a second. “Kaydence, Tanis, who has the better arm?”
Tanis pointed to Kaydence, so she got the lighter.
Jenn took the third bomb. “Aim for the guys along the barricade, where they’re all bunched up. Freddie, as soon as we throw, you take out those guys in the back of the truck. Make sense?”
Nods all around. Tanis activated the e-lighter, and a spark of blue electricity zapped the fuse on Jenn’s bomb, setting it aflame. As Tanis lit the other two fuses, Jenn clutched the white PVC piping and pictured herself in center field. A runner was rounding third, blowing through a stop sign. Jenn fielded the grounder, transferred the ball from her glove to her throwing hand, and then . . .
“Now!”
In one motion, she shot to her feet and threw. Wyatt and Kaydence followed her lead. When all three bombs were airborne and tumbling end over end toward the barricade, Freddie let loose with his M24, aiming for the men in the box of the pickup. One’s head exploded as the first bomb detonated. There was a crack, then a scream. A second crack cut it off. With a third, the defenders’ weapons fell silent.
Tanis, Wyatt, and Kaydence went to work with their rifles, pouring a torrent of fire toward the Great Khan’s men. In the truck, one slumped over the tailgate, dead. The other had vanished, presumably into the box. At the barricade, the bombs had blown away or melted patches of snow, revealing dark concrete beneath. Bodies lay twisted, mangled, and motionless on the ground.
Jenn reached for the final bomb in her bag but glimpsed movement in the truck. The machine gun whirled ninety degrees counterclockwise, its barrel now pointing straight at her team.
The world froze and went silent, as though she had stepped into a painting. For a split second but also a lifetime, raw, unfiltered terror held her in place. Try as she might, she couldn’t move, only stare at the AI gun and wait for it to shred her limb from limb. But then, as if she’d been struck by lightning, a spike of adrenaline spurred her into action, throwing her behind cover and making her shout, “Get down!”
The weapon boomed as she pressed herself flat to the ground. Glass shattered. Metal squealed. A tire popped with a violent hiss. Tanis screamed, and so did Jenn. Her radio blared with Quinn’s voice, then Dylan’s. One of the men in her team made a noise. If it was Freddie, Wyatt, or Kaydence, she didn’t know.
This is it, she realized, holding the back of her head in some hopeless last-ditch effort to protect herself from.50-caliber rounds. This is how it ends. Killed by a piece of software. Ironic, considering she studied robotics engineering in school. Would she even feel the bullet pierce her skin? Or would her world simply wink out, simply cease to exist?
She thought of Sam, his toothy smile, the feeling of his warmth in their bed, the way he would scratch her scalp when she was afraid. The realization that she would never see him again stung like she’d eaten hot coals. This marriage was supposed to last decades, not hours. Yet she cherished the brief time they had together; without question, it had been the best of her life. Mostly, she worried that her death would break his will to survive, that he wouldn’t recover from the pain of losing her. She hoped he would. He was such a good, caring person, and he deserved to be happy.
If nothing else, now she would see her brothers again. Her parents, too. And Val. She missed them all so much. What would they think of the woman she’d become? A piece of her looked forward to introducing them to this new Jenn Jansen, this brave, selfless warrior who gave her life to defend the people she loved.
With that thought, pride strangled her fear of dying, killing it once and for all, so she shut her eyes and prepared for the inevitable. An unexpected sensation of comfort wrapped her up in its welcoming embrace, like a cozy blanket on a cool night. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, she was truly at peace. Soon, there’d be no more fighting, no more suffering.
I’m ready.
Abruptly, the staccato of the .50-cal ceased, and for a second, she thought she had died. Then a loud explosion boomed. Another bomb? No, this sounded deeper, more fearsome. And there was shouting now. No, cheers.
Morgan’s unit?
Yes! That explosion—it wasn’t a bomb. It was a grenade. One of the Guard troops must have used it to destroy the gun.
Her eyes shot open. Tanis, Kaydence, and Wyatt had lifted their heads off the pavement. None appeared to be injured. Neither did Freddie, who’d curled up into a ball, hands covering his ears.
Cautiously, Jenn pushed herself into a kneeling position. The windows of the sedan she’d been using for cover had shattered, and a half dozen basketball-sized exit wounds shredded the passenger-side doors. The whole vehicle sagged toward the rear. She patted her chest and stomach, but her gloves came back free of blood.
A wave of euphoria scooped her up, and she felt as tho
ugh she was floating. Somehow, she was alive. How had she not been hit? Had the AI gun lost her when she ducked behind cover? Wouldn’t it have infrared vision that could detect heat signatures? She believed in miracles about as much as she believed in fate, but to be safe, she sent a quiet thank-you to God, anyway.
From her radio, Dylan cried, “Jansen! Jansen! Please respond!”
She fumbled in search of her mic; it had come unclipped from her jacket and now hung limply from the radio on her belt. “Yeah,” she uttered in reply while checking on her team. All wore wide smiles, even Freddie, who lay on his back, laughing. “We’re okay. Everyone’s fine.”
Wyatt poked his head over the barricade. “Jansen, look.”
She peeked past the sedan’s bumper. Squads of armed men and women, a few of them sporting tactical vests, crossed the parking lot in bounding overwatch, using the scattered vehicles as cover. The Fifth and Sixth Platoons. The boxy body of the machine gun remained intact, but the barrel was twisted, blown apart.
“Did we do it?” she asked.
Freddie sat up and draped his arms over his knees. “Yeah, I think we did.”
* * *
“They’re pouring in from the west!” Johansen called over the radio.
“Send reinforcements,” the Great Khan said from the rear of his pickup, his voice hoarse, throat sore from shouting directives to his captains. “Draw them from the Skydome if you must.”
“Fall back!” Johansen continued. “Everyone, get your asses in the stadium!”
The Khan gripped the radio with such force the fragile plastic cracked and groaned. He should have executed Johansen days ago, at the first sign of insubordination. Now his most influential captain openly defied his orders at the climax of the battle.
The battle is already lost, Gaia said. Look.
He gazed out his window. To the east, his defenders withdrew from the barricade. Several vehicles littered the inside of the parking lot. Some men used them for cover while continuing to fight, but others simply tossed their weapons aside, fell to their knees, and threw their hands into the air.
The enemy presses our position from both flanks, and our forces in the Skydome are in chaos. Defeat is inevitable.
“It is not,” the Khan growled, then barked into his radio, “Johansen! Withdraw your men from the Skydome at once. We must blunt the enemy’s assault here. Then we will seek our prize.”
Do not be foolish, child. He will not answer you now.
The Khan attempted to contact his other captains. The radio remained silent, so he threw it across the cab, where it smacked against the opposite door with a thwack.
The sound of gunfire approached, seemingly from all directions. As did the flickers of muzzle flashes in the night. The noose was tightening. Perhaps Gaia was right and the battle was lost. “How did this happen?” he asked her. “Our horde was invincible.”
Hubris. There was no mockery in Gaia’s voice; she was merely stating a fact. To believe our horde was invincible invited defeat. Assured it. Truly, you have followed in the footsteps of Xerxes.
Through the windshield, the Khan watched as a flash of orange and yellow engulfed a pickup truck. Shrapnel laced through one of his warriors, throwing him to the ground. Another pair lifted their hands above their heads in a show of surrender but were promptly shot down.
The enemy shows you no mercy, Gaia said. Fitting, perhaps.
Six of his honor guards surrounded the truck: two at his window, two at the hood, and two at the rear. They would defend their Khan to the end, but he grew doubtful they could save him.
His hand began to tremble. “What will they do with me?” he asked Gaia. “Take me alive or execute me in cold blood?”
I cannot say, but there is a third possibility.
He became aware of the Glock 17 pistol on the seat beside him, next to his headdress.
Join me, child. Return to your Great Mother. You will be welcomed with open arms and cared for on my spiritual plane. Here, you will find peace.
There was a knock on the window. One of his honor guards, wearing a black ski mask, said something the Khan couldn’t hear. Then he lifted his rifle, dropped to a knee, and began firing. His other five honor guards came into a line beside the first, weapons all aimed toward a group of attackers bounding in from the west.
The Great Khan rested his hand atop the Glock.
Do not fear, Gaia said. It will be painless.
He held the weapon in his lap and shut his eyes, ignoring the gunfire from his honor guards. If he focused, he could make out the blue-eyed woman. Vaguely, he saw her stuffing clothes into a suitcase. The boy was there, too, the one with the sandy-blond hair. He waited by a doorway, a duffel bag over his shoulder. They were going someplace, and intuitively, the Khan knew he would not be permitted to follow. In them both, he sensed great disappointment and greater disgust. Revulsion, even.
All at once, he was overcome with sadness and regret. Who were these people, and what did they mean to him? As the leader of the White Horde, he had grown numb to the suffering of others. Why now did their pain distress him so?
Gaia nudged his mind, and the roar of battle filled his ears once more. Your enemies come for you, she told him. You must act quickly, before it is too late.
He lifted the pistol and pressed the barrel to his temple. His finger touched the trigger, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull it, not without remembering. “Who were they, Mother? The two I see. Please, tell me. I must know.”
Only once you pass on. He could almost feel Gaia’s touch, her soft caress across the nape of his neck. It is time, child.
Again he shut his eyes, trying to picture the faces, but all he saw was darkness. As tempting as he found Gaia’s offer, he sensed deception. “You’re lying,” he said and lowered the pistol. “This is a trick, a punishment for my failure.”
I am the Great Mother. I have no need for tricks. Join me, and I will show you whom you wish to see.
To his knowledge, Gaia had never lied to him, but tonight, as his horde gasped its last breath, he found himself unwilling to believe her. To remember, he must live. And he desperately wanted to remember.
He dropped the Glock between his feet, onto the floorboard. Outside, three of his honor guards lay dead. A fourth writhed and rolled, clutching a blood-soaked patch of his pants. The final two had, to the Khan’s disappointment, locked their fingers behind their heads and fallen to their knees.
Enemy warriors, guns raised, stormed the vehicle and encircled it. One of them, a man in a black jacket and a black turban, jabbed his rifle toward the window. “That’s him!” he shouted to his comrades. And then, to the Khan, “You, freak show, hands where I can see them!”
The Khan merely smiled, so the warrior tried the door, only to find it locked. But then the window exploded inward, struck with the butt of a rifle, showering him with glass. In the time it took to blink, the door was flung open, the Khan was forced facedown into the snow, and a boot was planted atop his back. He offered no resistance; there was no escaping his fate, not now.
“Radio the commander,” the man with the turban ordered, sounding jovial, confident. And why not? His army had defied the odds and secured a stunning victory. The Khan had half a mind to congratulate him. “Tell him we’ve taken His Majesty the Great Khan alive—again.”
23
“The White Horde is surrendering,” Craig said through the radio.
Surrendering? Gary considered the possibility that he’d imagined the words; to stave off panic, his brain could be telling him what he wanted to hear. He held Maria tight, tighter than he thought possible, as gunfire continued echoing in the stadium below.
Then the radio crackled with Craig’s voice again. “I repeat, the White Horde is surrendering. Be advised, enemy troops remain in the Skydome. Watch your six, and do not let your guard down until we’ve cleared every single room in this place.”
Maria’s breathing slowed, became less ragged and desperate. “Did he just sa
y . . .”
“I’m not sure.” Gary remained skeptical. He hadn’t imagined Craig’s voice, as he thought a minute ago, but he needed confirmation from the source he’d come to trust the most. He switched the radio back to the channel he shared with Jordan. “Gary for Sheriff Wilson. Are you there? Are you all right?”
Jordan’s reply came through a heartbeat later. “Wilson here. I’ve been calling you for the last ten minutes, Mayor Ruiz. Was starting to think you were a goner. You and your people all good up there?”
The others in the press box had begun lifting themselves off the floor. No one uttered a sound as they watched Gary closely. He turned up the volume on the radio so they could hear. “Yes, we’re safe. Sorry, I was listening to the police chatter. Chief Morrison said the horde is surrendering. Can you confirm?”
A long second passed. “Can confirm. Those buggers are laying down their arms.”
Cheers filled the tiny space. Over them, Gary heard Allison squeal. On her hands and knees, she scrambled to her family and embraced them all at once. Sam hugged his mother, and Charlie put an arm around her son, who buried his head in her lap.
A thousand pounds of tension floated off Gary all at once. He sank to the floor in a puddle, feeling as though he’d eased into a warm bath after an eighteen-hour patrol shift. They’d done it—the plan had worked and the Militia had broken the White Horde’s positions outside. Only now that victory was assured did he allow himself to admit how uncomfortably close they had come to defeat. A testament to what this town could accomplish when everyone pulled together.
As pride swelled in his chest, Maria went rigid in his arms, and her grip around his midsection tightened.
He began to ask what was wrong, but then worry seized his guts, twisting them painfully. Next came the guilt. It smothered him like a pillow to the face. How had he forgotten about Jenn? She could have been wounded in the attack. Or killed. He couldn’t lose her, too.
“Sheriff,” he practically shouted into the radio. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to steady his voice before continuing. “I know it’s selfish, but I’m wondering about Jenn Jansen. She was part of the team that stopped by Prescott in May. Is there anyone you can get in touch with to find out if she’s all right?”
