by Trent Reedy
* * *
Back in Freedom Lake, everything moved very quickly. Tabitha Pierce, Brad Robinson’s dad, Aimee Hartling’s first stepdad, and Dr. Nicole were waiting for us at Cal’s, as expected. Sweeney and TJ had mounted all the guns on Pale Horse. With .50-cal machine guns on both sides and a .50-cal in the rotating turret on top of the ambulance module, Pale Horse would lead the way in getting a hundred people out of town and away from the Brotherhood.
“Here you go, Eric.” Becca handed over her machine gun so Sweeney could mount it in the back door. “Test fired it for you already.”
“I’m glad you’re okay.” Sweeney took the weapon. “I was worried about you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Becca said. “Worry about the Brotherhood. They better stay out of our way tonight.”
“How did it go?” Mrs. Pierce asked.
“We ran into a little hiccup,” I said. “We took care of it.”
“Anyone hurt?” Dr. Nicole said.
I shook my head. Mrs. Pierce looked at me for a moment and then nodded. “Let’s hope that’s the last hiccup for a while. Sergeant Crocker?”
Crocker just about snapped to attention. “Yes, ma’am?”
“You better send the signal.”
Crocker went to the ASIP III radio we’d installed in Pale Horse. The other two secure radios that Crocker had encrypted to our network were on board the two school buses. The only radio contact we’d have with Becca’s dad’s pickup and Mr. Hooper’s RV would be through little Motorolas. There wasn’t much range on those, so we’d need to stay together. Crocker held down the transmit button on the ASIP handset and on a Motorola. “All calling stations. All calling stations. This is Pale Horse. Phase one complete. I say again. Phase one complete. All stations, sit rep. Over.”
“Bus one is ready. Standing by,” Mr Morgan radioed.
“Bus two. Standing by,” said Mr. Macer.
“Camper is okay,” said Mr. Hooper in his RV.
“Horse race is ready.” Mr. Wells had his pickup and horse trailer ready to drive down this crappy dirt road on the east side of town, where he would pick up Becca, Kemp, and TJ, who would be riding bicycles. They were going to plant the diversion on the south side of town, then sneak away quietly, without the sound of an engine to draw attention down on them. Before the diversion could launch, Becca and TJ had to get down there to join Kemp.
Crocker radioed. “Phase two is go in …” He looked at Becca, who held up both hands, fingers spread. “Ten minutes. How copy? Over.”
After a moment, Mr. Morgan’s voice came back. “Um, ten four. Bus one understands.”
Crocker smiled. “Got a bunch of truckers on the other radio.” The others chimed in the same way.
“They might not be familiar with Army radio lingo, but they’ve been planning for this op a long time. They’ll do their jobs.” Mrs. Pierce turned to Becca. “I wish I could talk you out of this.”
“That’s what I was saying,” Sweeney said.
“Not a chance.” Becca held up her M4. She wore six full mags in different pockets of a fishing vest. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time too. Don’t worry. Sergeant Kemp has a ton of C4 charges set up. If the Brotherhood comes after us, they’ll be torn up by a bunch of homemade shrapnel bombs.”
“But we could send grown men to launch this diversion,” Mrs. Pierce said.
“Old guys with less than half the combat experience I have, less than a quarter of my speed?” Becca said. “I’m doing this.”
“I’ll look after her, guys,” TJ said.
“Bullshit. I’ll look after you,” Becca said. “Let’s go. We’re late.”
Sweeney grabbed her and pulled her close so fast that Becca’s rifle slipped down to the crook of her elbow. It was about as smooth and sure as I’d seen him move since he’d been burned, and he kissed Becca warm and deep.
Crocker looked up from where he’d been dinking around near the Humvee. “Hey, guys, the drone is all set up on the roof, ready to deploy. When it’s time — oh.” He froze as he saw Becca and Sweeney still kissing. Me and TJ looked at each other. At the floor. The ceiling. Dr. Nicole laughed softly. Mrs. Pierce coughed.
Finally, the two of them parted. Becca looked at Sweeney wide-eyed and openmouthed.
“I love you,” Sweeney said. “I mean that. It’s never been like this before. I love you.”
“Okay,” Becca gasped. She ran her fingers back through her hair and licked her lips. Then her expression hardened. “Right. Let’s go set our people free.”
Becca and TJ pedaled away on bikes. TJ had a Motorola. He’d signal before his team — code named United States — launched their distraction attack.
Mrs. Pierce checked her watch. “The distraction team is getting ready.” She spoke quietly, as if checking things off a mental list. “Mr. Wells is in position to pick them up when it’s over. The infirmary is set up in the RV. Everyone’s at the school’s bus barn, loaded up and ready.”
“I hope nobody saw them heading over there and started wondering what was going on,” Mr. Robinson said.
“Dwight, that is exactly what we don’t need to hear. They’ll radio if there’s trouble, and then we’ll be over there in a few minutes.” She pointed at Pale Horse. “Look at this thing! Armored and with four machine guns? And we’re up against a bunch of thugs in pickups and beater cars. Now, let’s go. Stations, everyone.”
Tabitha Pierce did not mess around. I’m not gonna lie. She was scarier than a bunch of my drill sergeants back at basic training.
We all climbed into Pale Horse. Mr. Robinson had the .50-cal on the back driver’s side. Dr. Nicole was on the .50 opposite him. She shook her head as she sat down and took hold of the gun’s handgrips. “I’m a veterinarian who spends most of her time fixing up people, and now I’m on machine gun duty.”
“It’s a jacked-up world,” Sweeney said.
Darren Hartling had volunteered to take the .50-cal turret. Sweeney would cover our six on the M240. I climbed into the driver’s seat, with Sergeant Crocker riding shotgun so he could work the radio and the drone when the time came. Mrs. Pierce took her place on the bench next to the door hatch between the ambulance module and the cab.
Then we waited. The heavy, hot air dripped with tension.
A beep and short static pop went off on our Motorola network. I reached for the start button, figuring it was TJ letting us know they were about to begin the diversion. Instead, Chaplain Carmichael’s voice came on. “How about a word of prayer? Lord, Heavenly Father, we ask you to please look out for each and every one of us tonight. We pray for your protection, your guidance in our ultimate pursuit of peace …”
“What does he think he’s doing?” I said. “That’s not a secure radio. If any Brotherhood guys have their radios on that channel, they’ll —”
“He’s comforting scared people.” Mrs. Pierce’s sharp voice cut in behind me. “We have folks with us who are older than me, we have babies who aren’t even a year old, and we have dozens of terrified people in between. Let the chaplain help them. Meantime, bow your head and pray so you don’t annoy God and botch this whole thing.”
She had a point there. I closed my eyes and bowed my head, leaning over the steering wheel.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
“Amen,” I said quietly with the others, adding silently to myself, Lord, please forgive us for what we are about to do.
“This is the United States.” TJ’s voice came on the net with his code phrase. “The attack on Freedom Lake begins. Now.”
An explosion sounded from across town, just like we planned — a loud-as-hell C4 charge inside a can of kerosene, sending up a mushroom cloud of fire. Gunshots rang out, and I turned around in my seat to try to see Sweeney, but it was too dark back there. I was sure he was worried about Becca too, the way I worried about JoBell.
I pressed the power button on Pale Horse. The yellow “wait” light came o
n while the vehicle readied itself to start. Shouts and more gunshots sounded from far away. “Come on. Come on,” I whispered. The light went off. I punched the start button and Pale Horse roared to life. Crocker hit the door opener to let us out of the garage, and we were off. Since I wore my night vision glasses, I left my headlights off as we flew down the empty street.
I rounded the corner and continued on for a few more blocks. Soon enough, coming up on my left was the church me and Becca had gone to since we were kids, the place where I always thought JoBell and me would get married. “It would have been so great,” I said quietly. Now we were leaving town. Maybe forever.
“What are you doing, Wright!?” Mrs. Pierce yelled. “Speed up!”
I slapped my own face. No time to be thinking of stuff like that. “Mission first,” I whispered to myself as I stepped on the gas.
The buses had to drive about four blocks east and another five north, until we reached the edge of town near the gap in the wall. If everything went according to plan, we would link up with them at the turn. Another explosion rocked the distance. And another. Tons of gunfire.
“There they are,” I said as the corner came into view. We hooked a right to pull in front of the two buses, with the RV between them.
Crocker turned on his comm. “Hartling,” he shouted toward the back. “Flip that switch in the center of the top of the drone, and then get away from its propellers.”
A few seconds later, we heard a quiet buzz above us, and Crocker tapped and swiped at his comm. The glow from the screen made his face look even more pale as he bit his lip. “Didn’t have a chance to test this. The controls are harder than I thought, but the drone is away.”
“You gotta time it perfect,” I said. “Keep them guessing. Don’t give them time to react.”
“I know,” he said.
“We’re like three blocks away. You want to hurry and —”
“Shut up, Private! It’s not easy. I’m trying to get it back down toward the … They’ve spotted it. Two guards left. One has a radio.”
Shots rang out from up ahead.
“They hit the drone!” Crocker said. “One of the rotors is messed up.”
“Sergeant,” I said, “if they see us coming, they’ll call us in, and then our cover is blown.”
“I know!”
“Just fly it down there and —”
“Wright, let him do his job!” Mrs. Pierce yelled. “You can do it, Sergeant.”
“A pickup has pulled up behind bus two. Are we expecting company?” someone said on the radio. “They got a rifle pointed at us out the passenger window, motioning us to pull over.”
“Oh shit!” I pulled to the side and hit the brakes. “Ready on the guns. Nobody in that pickup survives! Crocker, do your thing.” I grabbed the handset for the ASIP. “All stations, this is Pale Horse. Pull past us. Whatever happens, you do not stop. You roll on to the meeting point. Pale Horse out.”
“And I looked!” Sweeney shouted the verses we’d learned years ago in Sunday school, the verses my truck was named for. “And behold a pale horse!”
We bumped up the curb into someone’s yard as the first bus and the RV passed.
“And his name that sat on him was death,” I said. The second bus zipped by.
“Gun ain’t going!” Mr. Hartling yelled.
“Or maybe not,” I said.
About six shots went off as the pickup passed us. Mr. Hartling screamed. I hit the gas and came up behind the pickup.
Mr. Hartling yelled. “Aw, damn it!” he groaned. “I’m hit!”
“Doc, you stay on your gun,” I yelled back. Besides the turret, we had no forward guns, and Hartling was hurt. We’d never go fast enough in this heavy thing to pass that pickup and get them with the side guns.
“I’m a nurse!” Mrs. Pierce yelled. “I’ll take care of Hartling. Eric, get him down out of that turret.”
“Hurry, Sweeney!” I keyed the radio mike. “Bus two. Slow down. Now!” The bus’s brake lights flared red, then the Brotherhood’s lights lit up. “Ready on the gun, Doc!” I passed the pickup on its left and Dr. Nicole let loose with at least twenty rounds. Their whole cab was torn apart, and the pickup rolled off the road and hit a tree.
“I need bandages,” Mrs. Pierce said calmly. “Eric, give me your shirt. They got him right in the shoulder and I can’t find an exit wound.”
“I brought extra bandages,” Sweeney said.
I wished I could see what was going on back there. Wished I could help. I could hear Mr. Hartling, breathing heavily through clenched teeth. The convoy was ahead of us. The lead bus would roll into plain view of the northern wall in just about two blocks.
A panicked voice came over the Motorola. “We got a wounded baby here! Portia Keelin! Doc Randall, we need you!”
“Stop the vehicles,” Dr. Nicole shouted. “Let me out. I gotta go help.”
“We have to keep moving,” I yelled. “We have to get out of town before the Brotherhood stops us, or this whole thing falls apart.”
A big explosion rocked the air ahead of us. “Got ’em!” Crocker shut off and stowed his comm. “The guards and the drone were just shredded by shrapnel. Just when I was getting the hang of flying that thing too.” He radioed on the ASIP to tell the convoy the gap was clear.
I radioed back with Crocker’s Motorola. “Which bus for the wounded kid?”
“Second.”
We were off-roading as we rolled out of Freedom Lake, bumping over the uneven ground. Hartling cried out in pain from being knocked around. Without Dr. Nicole, we would be down two gunners. And stopping this close to the wall was a bad idea.
“Please! She’s bleeding all over! We need Doc Randall!”
“Stop the convoy!” Dr. Nicole yelled.
Mrs. Pierce leaned into the cab and grabbed both the Motorola and ASIP radios. “This is Pierce. Hit the gas. We have to get out of here before we’re spotted. Nobody stops! It’s too dangerous.”
A bunch of frantic radio traffic came back, screaming for help.
“Mrs. Pierce?” I asked.
“Drive, Danny! When we get over that hill up there, only bus two and us will stop,” Mrs. Pierce said. “Nicole, get to the back door. Get ready to run up there as soon as we stop. No time to move anyone to the RV. You’ll have to use the med kits on the bus and work on the move.” After a two-minute eternity, we cleared the hill that would hide us from view of the town. Pierce radioed, “Bus two, stop now. Everybody else, keep moving!”
When we stopped, the back door opened and then shut, and I watched Dr. Nicole sprint ahead. When she was up in the bus, we took off again.
“Mr. Hartling,” said Mrs. Pierce. “The bad news is, that shoulder is going to hurt like hell, and to be honest, you’ll probably be dealing with chronic shoulder pain for the rest of your life. The good news is, I’ve stopped the bleeding, and you, sir, are going to live.”
“What happened on the gun?” I called to the back.
“Just a mistake,” Sweeney said. “I checked it. The safety was still on. I’ll cover the turret.”
The safety. Unbelievable. We’d gone over and over the guns a dozen times while we prepped for this mission. Now Mr. Hartling and a baby were shot, and we were down two gunners, all because the guy couldn’t remember to flick a switch.
“We can’t have any more screwups like that,” I said. “We’re lucky that it wasn’t worse back there. None of that shit should have —”
“Enough, Wright,” Mrs. Pierce said. “Things happen in war that none of our training prepares us for. We adapt and move on. You’re not helping anyone by throwing a fit.”
“It’s my left shoulder,” Mr. Hartling said. “I can run the passenger side fifty-cal back here.”
When we reached North Priest River Drive, the convoy turned south. Hopefully, anyone who saw us leaving town would keep heading north searching for us. I passed the buses so Pale Horse could lead the way in case there was trouble. We weren’t due to stop for at l
east another hour, when we’d meet up with Cal, JoBell, and Mr. Grenke in our fuel truck.
“I, um … don’t know how to use this radio right.” Dr. Nicole’s voice came over the Motorola. “Calling Pale Horse. Portia Keelin is dead. I did everything I could. Too much blood loss. I’m so sorry.”
My hands slid down either side of the steering wheel a little. The whole point of all this was to get people to safety. How safe were we? How safe were we gonna be? I didn’t trust myself to say anything with all that pissed-off rage boiling up inside me, with the sadness and regret crushing me down.
Crocker finally radioed back. “Bus two, this is Pale Horse.” He licked his lips. “Roger that. We’re sorry for the loss.” He let go of the transmit button. “What do we do? Stop to bury the child? Take the body with us and bury her at the Alice Marshall School when we finally get there?”
“That could take days,” I said. “That body won’t be …”
“Give me that radio.” Mrs. Pierce reached out her hand to Crocker, who passed her the handset. She keyed the mike. “This is Tabitha Pierce.” Her voice was a little rough, but she spoke with confidence, reminding me a little of First Sergeant Herbokowitz. “We’ve suffered a terrible, heartbreaking loss. All our thoughts and prayers are with Portia’s family, especially with you, Cora Keelin. I know nothing I can say now will help dull the pain of this tragedy, but when we planned to leave Freedom Lake, we committed our lives to one another and to our shared, brighter future. Now we are traveling on the first part of that dangerous journey, our journey to escape war and oppression. It’s up to all of us now to come together, to draw strength from one another, so that little Portia’s death will not be in vain, and so we can protect all of our people still with us.” She paused for a moment. “We’re radio silence except for emergencies and official business from here on out. We will not stop until we’ve reached the rendezvous point with our fuel truck. Pale Horse, out.”
I hit the steering wheel as we drove on through the dark. “Another one dead, and we could have stopped it. She’s not going to be the last. What good is breaking free from the Brotherhood if we’re all dead?”
