Blackout

by Edward W. Robertson

  Her voice was croaky from sleep. "The hell do you want?"

  "You got people coming in," Lowell said. "Much earlier than they should be. Expect bad news."

  The first scouts showed up minutes later. Horses heaving and sweating. A small crowd had gathered in the parking lot. A man dismounted, staggering from his mount.

  "The attack went bad right from the start," he said. "We hardly made it out with our asses intact."

  Wendy stepped forward. "'We'? How many is 'we'?"

  The man glanced at the two others who'd arrived with him. "Thirty. The others are up the street. They'll be here within twenty minutes."

  "Thirty? You left with four hundred!"

  He shook his head, sweat dripping from his blond hair. "The crabs started bombing us. The others got caught behind the fires."

  Wendy swung her jaw forward. "And you left them?"

  "We had orders to return. To spread the word and defend the people here."

  "How are we going to defend ourselves when Raina and nine-tenths of our army is dead?"

  The man folded his arms, barring them over his chest. "We followed Raina's orders. You got a problem, take it up with her."

  Wendy tented her hands over her nose, inhaling deeply. "We're going to sit down with the map. And you're going to tell me exactly where you last saw the others."

  A warrior jogged off to fetch the map from up the street. Civilians took the horses away to be rubbed down and watered. Inside the store, people gathered around the lanterns, murmuring gossip and worry. Lowell hung at the fringes. The runner came back with the map and spread it across the floor.

  The scouts leaned over it. The blond man pointed to where Sepulveda fed into the airport. "That's where the first bombs hit." His finger moved south. "Then over here."

  "Where were you during this?" Wendy said.

  "To the east. With Carl. We were going to link up with the main force here, above the airport, but the jets hit us there, too. After that, all we did was run."

  The scout didn't know much more. A few guesses as to where Raina had gone—possibly into the terminal; uncertain as to whether she'd made it out—and an explanation as for why she'd called off the battle. Which was that the aliens weren't there to fight. Which seemed to be contradicted by the fact the aliens had then started bombing the humans to death.

  During the debriefing, more troopers assembled out in the parking lot. Almost all were Raina's warriors. Lowell only saw a few of the Sworn. Wendy wrapped it up with the scouts and headed outside.

  "The Swimmers have hit Raina hard." Her voice carried on the cool, damp air. "Hundreds of our warriors may be trapped at the airport. We're going to find them and we're going to bring them home. You've got ten minutes to get ready!"

  Troopers lifted their fists and scattered. Lowell made his way to Wendy. "What do you think you're doing?"

  She hardly glanced his way. "Organizing a rescue mission. Making sure we don't lose everything."

  "By now, they could be dead. If they aren't dead, they've either moved, or they've bunkered down in a spot where the last thing they want is outside attention."

  "Or they're trapped and need our help."

  "They know right where we are. They can find us. When they do, they're going to need our help to get the civilians to safety."

  Wendy set down a box of ammunition and glared at him. "What do you know, Lowell? For more than a year, you were trying to kill us. We called you the Grim Man."

  He met her stare. "If I'd wanted, I could have done much worse to these people. Now I'm here to help them. Think about what I'm saying."

  "You want to help? Then ride out with us and bring our people home."

  He got out a second piece of gum and chewed. The thought occurred to him to lead her behind the Home Depot and remove her. But he didn't have a stake in this. If Rome was burning, you didn't rush into houses to help the people who'd gotten trapped going back for their belongings. You got out of Rome.

  Wendy gathered her troops. A handful had horses. A few had bikes. Most had neither. It would take them at least eight hours to reach the airport. More, if they wanted to arrive in any condition to fight. He leaned against the front window of the store.

  "This is it," Wendy said. "This is when we make our stand." She flipped up the kickstand of her bike. "Let's move!"

  Her force jogged/rode out of the parking lot, heading north. Some forty others had gathered in the parking lot to watch them go. Laborers, mostly, though he recognized many of the Sworn. Had Wendy left most of Anson's former soldiers behind on purpose? Taking only the ones she knew and trusted?

  The ex-Sworn congregated, drawn by the gravity of their former comradeship. Lowell couldn't hear much of their muttering, but he could read the looks on their faces. Within minutes, their talk had laid enough tinder to catch flame.

  Fredricks emerged from the crowd of Sworn, pacing in front of them, shaking his head. "This is fubar. We're getting our asses kicked, so the first thing they do is ride more bodies off to the grinder?"

  Another former Sworn named Jud examined the breech of his rifle. "Fubar."

  "Apparently, they don't think they need to stick around and defend this place. So maybe we don't need to, either."

  Jud looked up, one eyebrow raised. "What are you thinking?"

  "This was never our home. We tried to make it work, but now the chips are down. And we're cut out of the loop." Fredricks locked eyes with each of the Sworn. "You know what a losing campaign looks like. Time to get out of here before this one reaches its inevitable conclusion."

  Lowell spat out his gum and strolled up beside Fredricks. "You can't leave. Not unless it's at the front of the civilians."

  "Dude, she just rolled out of here with everyone. How many are left who can fight? Twenty?"

  "Anyone can fight if you stick a gun in their hand."

  "And how many have experience in the shit?" Fredricks lowered his voice, glancing to either side. "If the Swimmers come through here, how long do you think we last?"

  "A lot longer than if you abandon these people. Raina took you in. You swore to support her. Now honor your vow."

  The man spread his arms wide. "She ain't here anymore, is she? Neither's Mauser. Or Wendy. Or any of their brass. You really think any of them are going to make it back? When the crabs finish up with them, how long do you think it takes before the aliens come here for us?" He smiled, wry and angry, shaking his head. "We know you, man. The old Lowell wouldn't be sitting on his thumb hoping it all shakes out okay. He'd be riding the fuck out of here."

  Lowell stared at him, the fire fading from his veins. The kid was right. Had Lowell bought into Raina's cult of personality, too? He'd tried to stop Wendy from splitting their already-depleted forces and she'd torn out of San Pedro like a posse after a horse thief. Throwing good lives after bad. The Sworn were mumbling to each other, glancing around the parking lot. Another minute, and they'd be leaving. Lowell should, too.

  A man broke from the line of Sworn, turning to face them. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. Do you remember who this man is?"

  The soldiers shifted their weight from foot to foot. The speaker was stocky, late twenties, the slightly pudgy features Lowell associated with the South, guys like Peyton Manning. His name was Perf. Lowell had no idea why he was named Perf. As far as he knew, it wasn't a name. Someone had once implied it was a diminutive of "Professor," but Lowell hadn't asked.

  Perf paced in front of them. "Most of you owe this man your life. He's always been there for us. Even—especially—when Anson wasn't. He's the one who cared. Now that things are scary, you're going to walk out on him?"

  "We ain't walking out on him," Fredricks said. "We're walking out on Raina and her cronies."

  "That's bullshit. Raina's on the front lines trying to stop the invasion."

  "And she's doing a real bang-up job, isn't she?"

  "We don't know that we've lost yet. Leave now, and you're contributing to our defeat."

  L
owell shrugged. "They want to walk out? That's on them."

  "Well, I'm not leaving." Perf faced him, chin up. "If you say they need us here, then I'll be here."

  The man's loyalty wasn't hard to understand. Lowell had saved his life. It had been right out of the movies. A few years back, when Anson's People of the Stars were no more than one gang among many vying for the northern reaches of the city, they'd tangled with a group called the Blues. The fighting had been bad. Lowell had headed a lot of the runs himself. One day near the end, his troop had run into a group of Blues downtown. Instant gun battle. Lowell had kept his side tight, though. Block by block, they'd pushed the Blues back.

  The man had caught Perf coming around the corner of a building. Locked his elbow around Perf's throat and pressed a pistol against his temple. Standard bargain: weapons down, or he'd shoot. So Lowell had told his people to lower their guns. And then he'd shot the Blue dead center in the forehead. Perf had never forgotten it.

  What he hadn't told Perf was that Anson had given him orders to kill every single Blue no matter how many of his own people it cost.

  Across from them, Fredricks mashed his lips together. "Stay and die, if that's what you think honor is. Me? I'm gonna live."

  He walked out of the parking lot. A minute ago, all of the Sworn might have gone with him. Now, only five followed. A dozen remained.

  "I've got a bad feeling about this," Lowell said. "I want eyes on both sides of town. Wake up the citizens and bring them here. I want to be ready to move the second I give the orders."

  He jogged back to the house where Randy slept. He'd been moving around too much and the wounds on his back were aching. Randy was still in bed. Lowell told him to get up, grab a bag, and head to the Home Depot.

  When Lowell returned, the parking lot was more crowded than ever. The human-crewed submarine had arrived at the docks, bringing forty soldiers back from the aborted battle. Lowell spoke to a woman named Lena, along with several others, but they didn't have much more to tell than the scouts who'd come to Wendy. The attack had been aborted; a battle had happened anyway; the Swimmers had called in air strikes.

  None of the soldiers agreed how many of their people had died. Estimates ranged from twenty to two hundred or more. There was another line of gossip about the aliens arresting themselves, but Lowell couldn't entirely track that.

  He found himself directing the soldiers back to the Home Depot. Deep down, though, he thought he agreed with Fredricks. Why stick out his neck, then? Maybe it was because of what Perf had said, or Randy's belief that the only way out was together. Maybe it was just because there was nobody else to take charge—and if he abandoned the post, it would add that many more bodies to his toll.

  He didn't like the idea of gathering everyone at the Home Depot. Too easy to knock them out with one blast. And while many of those who couldn't fight had been relocated to San Diego, and almost all of those who could had been brought to the airport, over a hundred non-combatants remained. The skeleton crew of ex-Sworn and the returned troops pushed that past 160. Enough of a crowd to draw the attention of anything that flew over them.

  Lowell was in the act of redistributing them to four different storefronts along the road when the first jet screamed across the sky.

  His eyes snapped to a dark wedge hauling across the clouds, inbound from the northwest. Perf and Lena ran toward him, faces the business-like calm of soldiers who know the time has come.

  "Let's go," Lowell said. "We wait for them to make the first move, and we die where we stand."

  "We can take the sub," Lena said. "That's the only thing their jets can't hit."

  "How many can it hold?"

  "Eighty. Maybe more."

  "No go. We've got twice that many."

  "And what do you propose?" She gestured east. "We march overland? Where they can blast us at their leisure?"

  "That's the only route that gets everyone out of here. After we've put a few miles between here and us, we spread out, but close enough to watch out for each other. Perf, get everyone on the road."

  Lena stepped up into his face. "I'm not putting our warriors in harm's way again tonight. Die on the road, if that's your wish. We take the sub."

  "Do you think you need my permission?"

  She glared at him, then spun on her heel and moved toward the soldiers massed in the parking lot. Perf was already hollering orders to the former Sworn. They dispersed, calling to the civilians outside and in the store. People streamed into the street. The jet had already made one pass and was circling around, bleeding speed. Lowell didn't like that.

  "Time to go," he called, projecting his voice over the noise of the engines and crowds. "Fast as you can. If we get split up, rally at the Long Beach IRS. It's just past the river. Let's hit it!"

  He struck east toward the Harbor Freeway. Civilians massed behind him, the Sworn jogging at their flanks like sheepdogs. They crossed the freeway to the surface street running parallel to it, curving to the northeast. No lights, no talking. Just the tramp of feet and the clatter of gear. They weren't moving as fast as he would have liked, but they never did.

  "Thank you for doing this," Randy said.

  "Somebody had to."

  "But I know you didn't want to."

  A man cried out. People pointed southwest. Flames mushroomed from just west of the Dunemarket.

  Lowell watched them burn. "They're striking the Seat. Old intel. Might buy us time to get out of here."

  He quickened pace to a light jog. The column followed suit, hurrying past a dock full of cargo cans rusting on the pavement. A deeper engine hummed across the southern sky. The road bent east past another shipyard. Gunfire erupted to the south. Too far away to gauge location, but Lowell knew it was from the docks. Lena's people had run into Swimmers on the ground. Lowell felt no joy in having been proven right.

  Ahead of them, another engine warbled through the night, heavier than the jets. Before he could place it, it shut down. It had landed, then. Troop carrier.

  Bombs crumped from the south. Not much hope for Lena at that point.

  "Perf," he said. "I need scouts. They're trying to cut us off."

  Perf peeled away, calling soldiers to him. They scattered into the streets. The march along the docks was nearing the canal that marked the border of Long Beach. Cranes poked from the piers. The next few minutes would be vital. If they made it across the bridge, it would take them less than ten minutes to cross the river. From there, they'd have any number of places to run or hide. Assuming the Swimmers were focused on San Pedro—

  Footsteps raced toward them. Perf was already on his way back.

  "We got Swimmers coming," the stout man panted. "Forty-plus. They've already cleared the bridge. They'll be on us in five minutes."

  Lowell voiced an obscenity. He had the numbers, but most of his weren't fighters. Even if they could hold off the enemy troops, the Swimmers would call in the air support. Bomb them to ashes.

  "We'll hide." He pointed to the docks. "That warehouse."

  Perf's mouth hung half open. "They've got troops on the ground. They're here to hunt us down. Exterminate us."

  "Then we'll have to hope they miss us. You got a better idea?"

  "I'll go."

  Lowell thumbed his jaw. "What are you thinking?"

  "I'll take a few of the boys," Perf said. "Hit them fast, then run north. Draw them away while you scoot through."

  Lowell examined the man's face. A trip like that—outnumbered ten to one, with an objective to keep the enemy engaged—none of them would make it back. If Perf knew that, his face didn't show it.

  Maybe that was for the best.

  "Go," Lowell said. "Once you've got them off us, take PCH east. We'll be waiting."

  Perf grinned, a hard, defiant thing. He pulled three of the Sworn from the ranks and ran east. Lowell gestured his people a block south. They'd hardly gotten in position behind a Citibank when the rifles started popping to the east. The blue light of lasers strobed across
the tops of the buildings. Perf's men yelled to each other, squeezing off shots. The ruckus of the battle shifted north. Lowell edged along the faces of the buildings, approaching the bridge across a limb of the harbor. He watched both sides, trying to ignore the fading screams. Seeing nothing, he ran from cover to the bridge. No lasers answered.

  He went back for his people. They sprinted forward. Two rifles boomed steadily from the north. By the time the civilians were across the bridge, only one gun was shooting. After another minute of hard running, and it went silent, too.

  They ran on, coming to the river and crossing over. Lowell pushed them onward, past the dark hotels and decaying waterfront. He didn't stop until they'd made it past the causeway after Seal Beach and had moved into the safety of the houses clogging the shore.

  He gazed east, catching his breath. San Pedro was miles away, but there was no mistaking the towers of smoke rising from it. The Swimmers were torching the place. Burning housing and supplies.

  "Those men," Randy said softly. "They knew what they were doing?"

  Lowell nodded. "And we're standing here because of them."

  "What's next?"

  "The Swimmers are taking out San Pedro. There's nothing left for us here."

  Behind his glasses, Randy's eyes were steady. "That means there's no going back. Where are we headed? The Rockies?"

  "Not this time," Lowell said. "We're going to Better San Diego."

  He turned his back on the city and headed on down the road.

  15

  Smoke roiled through the nighttime street. It stung her nostrils and her lungs, but Raina noticed it no more than she would a sparrow cheeping from a nearby tree. Smoke was now the way of things. The city was burning. She wasn't sure it would stop until there was no more city left to burn.

  She edged around the corner of the pancake house. To the east, flames flapped from an apartment building. The jets keened overhead. Smoke wafted across the southern street like a fog from the sea. She watched it for movement that was not itself, but it was clear.