Minus America (Book 3): Rebel Cause

by Isherwood, E. E.

  Kevin, a small black man with the deepest voice Brent had ever heard, knew a guy who managed a car repair shop. He owned a giant wrecker, which was now parked on the street. Carter, the alleged pyro who may or may not have burned down his family’s failing pool supply store, said he knew of a trucking company they’d done business with inside the city. A tractor-trailer with that company’s name sat behind the wrecker. Brent didn’t let Trish go off alone, so they’d gone together and brought back two tankers from a truck stop.

  As he climbed out of his rig, he noticed a line of trash trucks down the street. “Who brought those?”

  Andre raised his hand. “It must have been trash day in this part of the city when they attacked us. Me and Ross brought in six of them, and we didn’t have to look that hard.”

  Brent rubbed his hands together. “Good job, men. Let’s make one more trip to the truck stop I just came from. You aren’t going to believe how many of these shiny tankers are there.”

  “Are they full?” asked Kevin.

  “I think so,” he replied. He wasn’t a trucking expert, but the engine strained to pull the one he’d taken. It had to be close to full, and the numerous hazard signs convinced him it was carrying gasoline.

  The rest of the daylight hours went by as Brent and his men improved their collection time. They figured out it was best to pair up—one man would start a civilian car found in the subdivision, then they’d go to the truck stop. They’d leave the little car there, then bring back two trucks. When Brent arrived in another tanker, the whole street looked like an oil refinery.

  “This should do it, guys.” He was proud of what he’d been able to accomplish in a short time, but the real heavy lifting would begin once it got dark. He looked over the nearest truck, and his guys gathered around.

  In the evening, a flatbed truck rolled up the street and parked next to Brent. It was a rental from a Home Depot store, painted in the distinctive orange color of the home improvement chain. Its arrival meant the completion of another of the missions he’d created for his men.

  “What did you bring us?” Brent asked the driver.

  Cliff waved at him. “Check it out.” He pointed to the flatbed.

  Brent moved around to get a look at his cargo. The familiar orange buckets were filled to the tops with metal objects, making it look like he’d brought back a king’s treasure that was spilling over into the truck’s bed. Instead of gold, however, they were large bolts and strips of rebar. There were also twenty or thirty cinderblocks stacked inside.

  The driver came around behind Brent. “I filled up the buckets like you said. It was easy to do when there was no one inside to stop me. I just dumped out the boxes of bolts. I, uh, might have driven my truck right in through the front doors to make it easier.”

  “Smart thinking,” Brent replied.

  The man went on, “I also got all the emergency roadside kits I could find, as well as two dozen ten-foot lengths of copper wire, though I have no idea what it’s all for.”

  Brent couldn’t wait for the sun to go down. He’d had nothing but time over the past few hours to imagine how they were going to assemble all that they’d brought together into a weapon designed for war. It wasn’t Vietnam, and those weren’t regular soldiers at the airfield, but he was about to teach all of them, friend and foe alike, what it meant to be a pissed-off American warrior.

  “I know exactly what it’s all for,” he said dryly.

  CHAPTER 17

  Minneapolis, MN

  As soon as Ted touched down at the Minneapolis-Saint Paul Airport, the plane behind them disappeared from their system. He had no illusions of losing the enemy craft; the only question was whether the opposing force had radioed to ground units already in Minnesota or not.

  They ran through the darkened airport terminals, careful as always to avoid the piles of clothing. There were long lines of passengers at several of the gates, as well as lots of traffic inside the food court. All four had the same idea when they ran by a food kiosk; he grabbed a couple energy drinks and several bags of chips. The others pulled off their favorite junk foods as they ran for the pilot’s lounge.

  “Through there. Hurry!” he yelled. Ted had been to the airport in the past, but he’d never spent much time there. Most airports had a restricted area where pilots and flight crews were able to relax. Often, airport administration and operations were nearby. “Yes, that’s it.” He pointed to an exit.

  The door was closed, and it had a security panel that required a keycard to operate. He didn’t have the required card, but several of the airport employees nearby had what he needed. Ted respectfully pulled the card off one of the maintenance uniforms and got them through.

  They went up several flights of stairs before entering the square room with huge wraparound windows displaying the airport and the nighttime skies above the dark city of Minneapolis. Dozens of workstations had chairs with civilian clothes piled on them, each placed in front of radar, weather, and communications terminals.

  “It’s still working,” he said breathlessly. Most of the airport had gone dark with the loss of power, but everything in the air traffic control tower was lit up. He figured generators would have kicked on the second main power went out, but since he didn’t know when the switchover happened, he worried everything was going to shut down as he watched. “We have to hurry.”

  “What are we looking for?” Kyla asked.

  Meechum ran to the nearest working terminal. “We want to see if we’re being chased, right?”

  Ted nodded at her. “Yes, exactly. I wanted to get up here before that other plane had a chance to clear out or land.” He jumped in front of one terminal, then slid two or three down the line until he found the one he wanted. “Got ya!”

  The others gathered around. He touched a bunch of numbers on the screen. “Uh oh. We weren’t being followed by just one plane. Look at them all.” He pointed to a half-dozen aircraft coming in from the south, in addition to one that was a lot closer. “They’re running with transponders on, so they can ID each other. We had our transponder off, to stay hidden, but they must have caught us on radar along the way.”

  “Should we have kept it on?” Kyla said reflectively.

  “No, we were unauthorized, either way,” Emily said.

  “So, what does this mean for us?” Kyla pressed.

  They all bunched up at the workstation as Ted explained. “This is the one that was following us. You can see how it’s the only aircraft close to the airport. It’s a…” His voice trailed off.

  “What?” Kyla asked, crowding in on his left.

  “It’s a civilian craft. I was sure it was military based on how it kept pace with us. It’s a Bombardier 850. Basically, a big executive aircraft.” He had no illusions about the intent of the pursuit. Maybe they couldn’t spare a military plane to investigate a little puddle-jumper flying across the Great Lakes. The pilot only needed to stay close. But it was the other aircraft which bothered him, since they were moving a lot faster. “These are military.” He pointed to the six dots at the lower part of the screen.

  The group watched the moving dots for half a minute before he realized they were mesmerized by the active radar’s sweeping motion.

  “It looks like they’re coming for us,” Ted said in a steady tone. “We better get moving.” He leaned away, hoping the others would follow. When he looked to the next computer screen, he noticed it was a TV station that had been shot to pieces. His attention was drawn to the scene.

  The big number 5 behind the anchor desk had distinct holes in it, as did the wall next to it. The lights were funny, like a few had been turned off, or the station was running on low power. A small counter ran at the bottom, suggesting the shot was live.

  “Hey, guys, check this out.” Despite the impending threat, they had time before any aircraft got to the ground. He risked a look at the computer system. It was designed to record live television, like a Tivo. He figured the video monitor was useful for air tr
affic personnel during emergencies.

  Maybe I can see the instant of the attack.

  He paused the live shot, then reversed it. It went by slowly until he hit the button again. The reverse speed increased until it was going by hours at a time. The studio remained the same as he watched, but suddenly, the number 5 fixed itself in an instant. The rewind went on until two people appeared at the desk.

  “Stop!” Meechum ordered.

  He cued the tape back and forth until he found the precise moment he wanted. As one, they held their breath until the moment they all knew was coming. The well-dressed man and woman at the news desk spoke about breaking news happening on the West Coast, then they disappeared from existence.

  “No effing way,” the Marine remarked.

  “Show it to me again,” Emily requested.

  They all got as close to the screen as possible to see it happen. The newscasters were there one second, then gone the next. As they watched it over and over, it seemed less real to him, like someone had edited the tape.

  Silence descended on them for half a minute. The instant of the attack was there, recorded for posterity, though it did them little good.

  “Can you fast-forward the tape?” Kyla asked. “When you were rewinding, I thought I saw some other people, like when the place gets messed up.”

  Ted looked at his niece. “Sure.”

  He went forward again until he found the moment the anchor desk was shot. For a split-second of fast time, a group of young people sat at the desk, followed by the destruction of the set.

  “Hey!” he barked. “You were right.”

  Ted cued up the tape to the exact moment before the strangers appeared. When he had all eyes on the screen, he hit play. A pretty young woman came up to where the female anchor had been during the attack. She wore yoga pants with a white long-sleeve shirt; three long braids rolled off her head as she leaned over. She picked a lapel microphone off the chair, then shoved the woman’s clothes onto the floor.

  “Hello? Is this thing on?” the woman asked to someone off the screen.

  “I hear you!” a girl replied. “Your voice is coming through the speakers outside.”

  The young lady stared at the screen for a long time but didn’t say anything. Ted recognized the look of someone who was in shock.

  “Say something,” a young man’s voice insisted.

  “Here we go…” The girl took a seat and motioned for unknown people to join her.

  Two teen boys and girl closed ranks with the young woman in the seat, but they didn’t sit down. The dark-haired girl held hands with one of the boys; he was big-boned, though not overweight. The girl in the seat was younger than Kyla by a few years, but she seemed composed and didn’t hesitate as she spoke.

  “My name is Tabitha Breeze. I’m from Bonne Terre, Missouri. I survived the poison gas with three students from Seckman High School.” The three others waved nervously. “This is Peter Ellison, Audrey Hampton, and Donovan Callaway. We’re here in the studios of Channel 5. Please help us evacuate.”

  Poison gas? It was the first he’d heard of such a theory.

  They watched the entire exchange, including an older pair of men who joined them. One of them looked old and filthy. The other was younger, with a blue sports cap. At the end, Ms. Breeze apologized for giving guns to the younger teens, though he sensed in her voice she was secretly glad to have weapons. He wondered about the two men and how they’d all found each other.

  Everyone drifted off screen as the live shot continued, but he didn’t turn it off since the big number 5 was still intact. “Wait, guys. It’s going to happen.”

  He held his breath despite himself. As the seconds ticked by, he was tempted to hit fast-forward again, especially since there were aircraft on the way, but he let it run in real time. Eventually, two or three minutes later, the distinctive crack of a shotgun rattled the camera. Kyla and Emily reacted to the intense situation by pulling back a bit.

  “Was that a gunshot?” Kyla asked. “I’m sure it was,” she answered herself.

  Still, Ted didn’t move. The number 5 was still intact. He watched, even as the others hovered behind him. “Wait for it,” he said dramatically.

  It took another minute, but the rattle of a chain gun made the shotgun seem quiet by comparison. He imagined the young kids getting torn to bits by the war machinery, though there were no clues as to why those youngsters were getting tangled up with such weaponry.

  The next part happened so fast he almost missed it. The young man in the blue hat ran behind the anchor desk. A moment later, the backdrop number 5 was eviscerated by bullets.

  “Run!” Kyla shouted to the screen. The man’s blue hat hovered at the back of the desk, then the guy seemed to duck off screen.

  A second later, a large mechanical robot paced by. Ted had seen a similar one before, in front of the White House. It stood as tall as a man’s waist and looked like a four-legged animal, if the creature was only made of metal. “Oh, man. They’re in some shit.”

  “They have mechanical horses?” Kyla asked.

  “I thought it was more like a robot cat,” he replied absently, unable to stop watching.

  “Cat, horse, whatever,” Emily stated, “those children are in trouble.”

  As he watched, the machine dropped its head so the chain gun mounted on its back had clearance to spit out untold rounds.

  The horse-robot plodded off screen, presumably to follow the man in the blue hat. The video image returned to how it was when he’d first seen it. The big 5 was damaged. The wall was full of holes. No living people were in view of the camera.

  “We’re not the only ones fighting for our lives,” Ted remarked.

  East Saint Louis, Illinois

  Tabby had made sure everything she did was average. She picked a boring-looking four-door car, gray in color, and used that to drive on the highway toward St. Louis. She did the speed limit and kept an eye out for any signs of walking or flying drones, giant snowplows, or strangers lurking around the shoulders. An hour later, as the sun was going down, she exited the highway in East St. Louis, intending to get one quick look at the bridge over the river. She was convinced it was the only place where they’d find trouble.

  They drove around for a short time, searching for the perfect place.

  Finally, with Deogee and Biscuit at her feet and the two teens close by, she studied the city from the rooftop of an old warehouse. It provided a perfect overview of downtown St. Louis and the highway bridge a little to the south of it. The city was ruined. Many of the tall buildings near the Arch were either filled with smoke and fire or had recently been burned. Ash rose into the sky beyond, as if the area on fire was much larger than the downtown. Still, her attention went to the interstate bridge to her left. From her vantage point, it was obvious there was activity at the near side of the span, and it wasn’t a bunch of people fleeing the inferno. “Look at the bridge, guys.”

  “I see them. What are they?” Audrey asked.

  “They look like giraffes,” Tabby replied. “There’s two of them, like they’re standing guard. One is in the middle of the eastbound lanes. The other is in the westbound.”

  “You don’t think they’re protecting us from going into the fire, do you?” Audrey asked, full of doubt.

  “No. They aren’t the same as the horse models with guns, or the floating ones with speakers. I think those are a type of guard model. Why else would they sit up so high?”

  “I don’t care what they’re for,” Peter laughed. “Can we run them over?”

  Tabby thought back to a recent visitor to her family’s Bonne Terre mine tour. The man had gotten up early to drive his family from across the state. They’d made it almost all the way there, but they’d hit a large deer a few miles before town. When they pulled into the parking lot, Mom and Dad took her outside to see the car. The front end had been mangled, and the glass windshield had a bloody hole on the passenger side. The giraffe model was a lot bigger than any deer
, plus it was made of metal.

  “No, that wouldn’t be wise,” she replied.

  Peter huffed. “Then what do we do? We have to get over the river.”

  “I know,” she said dryly. There were other bridges, some not far away. They could also find a boat. Perhaps that would surprise the invaders more than running over their sentinels.

  Deogee nudged her leg, though she waved her off. “Not now, girl.”

  “Do either of you know about other bridges to the south? How far do you think we’d have to go before we found another one?” Tabby was embarrassed to ask. She’d been driving for two years, since she turned sixteen. She should probably have a better grasp of the area.

  Deogee growled, getting all their attentions.

  “What is it?” she asked with a touch of impatience.

  She had no idea what to make of the sound, or the dog’s odd behavior, but Biscuit behaved like Deogee was threatening her. Ears back, head down, tail between her legs.

  “What the?” she asked.

  It wasn’t Deogee scaring her. The sound of a flying drone carried over the air. It was getting closer. They were standing on the roof, in full view of the city—a mistake which only became painfully obvious as she turned for the door.

  “Run!” she whispered.

  CHAPTER 18

  Minneapolis, MN

  Kyla stood there as Uncle Ted flipped off switches and buttons up and down the row of terminals in the control tower. Some of them turned off the radar screens, but he got to one computer which seemed to control the runway lights. “Why are you doing that?” she asked. “Shouldn’t we be running?”

  Once they’d seen the video of the girl, Tabby-something, and the robots shooting at her and her friends, she had a new respect for the enemy invasion force. They weren’t only blips on a screen or traitors on a boat. They’d come to America armed with a superweapon that erased all the people, and they were obviously using robots to clean up whatever was left. She wished she could go back in time and ask Ben if he knew about all this. He had warned her the bad guys knew how to survive.