Minus America (Book 3): Rebel Cause

by Isherwood, E. E.

  Tabby? Where are you?

  East St. Louis, IL, three minutes earlier

  Tabby and her two friends were up against the wall with two machine guns pointed at them. One of the white floating drones hovered above the two horse-robots, and there was nowhere left to go. It seemed like her time on Earth was reaching an end.

  All I need is a blindfold and a cigarette.

  The drones were so confident of their supremacy they didn’t even ask her and the two teens to drop their weapons. She hung onto her shotgun, tentatively pointing it at one of the horses, figuring maybe she could damage one before it shot her dead.

  A flash of darkness caught her eye, and it went toward the horse-drone closest to her. The machine stumbled sideways as if someone had climbed on. A second shape came down the stairs after the first, which seemed to catch the attention of the remaining drone. Tabby did the math and figured out the happy-go-lucky Biscuit had followed the much more serious Deogee, now chomping repeatedly at the first drone.

  “Leave them alone!” Tabby shouted as she lunged at the robot. The instant she touched it, her ears nearly burst with all the explosions generated by the chain gun on the back of the horse’s framework. The steps where Biscuit had been running were ripped apart by the bullets, though she couldn’t see if the dog caught some of the shots, too.

  The floating drone acted like the brain for all the others. “Warning: To avoid additional pain, please cease resistance.”

  “You want us to make our deaths easier on ourselves?” Tabby shouted, sure the programmed voice had no sense of humor, even the dark kind.

  “No thanks!” Peter shrieked, before letting loose with his shotgun.

  Tabby joined in, knowing there was nothing to lose. She’d been holding her shotgun at the ready, so she separated from the robot and trained the barrel on what should have been the face of the mechanical creature. Her ears had been dulled by the intense concussions of the heavy machine gun, so the shotgun blast sounded tame by comparison.

  The shot ricocheted off the heavy shield-like mantlet protecting the head in a thunderous light show of sparks.

  She fired again, but her aim was ruined when the horse snapped a leg sideways, pushing her onto the filthy tiled floor. That gave the machine time to reorient on its companion and aim its gun toward Deogee as if it had no care for hitting its partner robot.

  “No!” she screamed into the din.

  The machine gun barrel on the first robot started spinning, but then it stopped before any bullets came out. Deogee continued to maul the second robot, though Tabby figured her efforts were hopeless if her shotgun couldn’t even dent it.

  The floating drone came down a few feet, hovering over the madness. “Warning: Breach imminent. Please step away from outer wall.”

  Tabby jumped toward Audrey and Peter, who were both still up against the wall. Peter held his shotgun without shooting, and Tabby stopped her firing, too. They couldn’t shoot while Deogee was tied up with the machines. Biscuit was in there, too. The black lab ran in circles around one of the enemy shapes, barking constantly.

  The wall next to them caved in, filling the immediate area with an explosion of dust and debris, followed by giant spotlights. A tracked vehicle came through the breach and haze. It was as big as a tank and seemed to have no trouble getting through the brick wall and rolling onto the warehouse floor.

  At first, she huddled with Audrey and Peter, simply to stay clear of the machine and the junk falling from the wall. However, when she regained her presence of mind, she stood in front of the kids, though fighting a tank could only end one way.

  When the smoke cleared enough to see movement, and the last few bricks fell from the wall, the white drone floated back into view with a new message. “Please stand by for localized reboot.”

  “Screw that,” she said under her breath.

  Deogee hadn’t let up a bit on the backside of the robot horse. She kept her grip on wires and hoses that seemed to come out of its rear leg. The dog snarled and shook itself back and forth as if the haunch was a chew-toy.

  The second horse stood there looking at the first, its gun trained on Deogee as she moved. Tabby figured it would open fire the moment it was clear of its partner, which made her hesitate to interfere. If she called the dog off and made her come over, the second machine would shoot her. If she let her continue, the best case was she somehow managed to disable the robot and then get shot by the other one.

  The tank’s wheels squeaked in the treads, like metal on metal, but she didn’t look back until a hum started up. She glanced back, aware that the deep resonance of the hum was so low as to barely be heard. It was, however, shaking her teeth with bass.

  “What the—” She turned around to process what the tank had become. Unlike every other tank she’d ever seen, this one had no gun on the top. Instead of a turret, the metal superstructure had spread out, a bit like a radar dish. It was curved, about ten feet tall and twenty wide, and it crackled with electrical energy. It pointed toward the two metal horse-bots, which created the illusion the net was going to be used to retrieve them.

  Deogee hadn’t let go of the backside of the robot, and even though Biscuit wasn’t chomping at metal, she barked excitedly next to the wolf, as if telling her what to do. Tabby took a step in the tank’s direction, afraid it was going to hurt the pups. “Wait!”

  The hum rose to such a level that she had to put her hands over her ears, though it barely helped. She happened to be looking at the wolf-dog as it relentlessly tore at its target. As the hum became unbearable, Deogee disappeared. Biscuit seemed to run behind an invisible curtain as she went away, too.

  The robots were still there. They recovered from their assault and both shifted orientations, so they faced her and the kids. One of the tracks on the tank went backward, scraping the floor with a squeal, which changed the facing of the metal mesh of the radar dish. None of that mattered, however, as she figured out the dogs were gone.

  “You killed my dog,” she said dryly. Then, realizing it had really happened, she lost it. “You killed my dog!” She oriented her gun on the drone, which shifted up to avoid what was coming. Tabby fired but missed. “I’m going to kill whoever is behind that drone!”

  The tank’s hum began again, as if it needed a short time to build to critical mass.

  She fired repeatedly, vaguely aware the mechanical horses had come to attention nearby with chain guns trained on the three of them left in the warehouse. She’d never been more frightened in her life, but she’d never been as sure of the need to fight back.

  The flying drone made it behind a metal pillar as Tabby and Peter both unleashed shots at it. The intense gunshots no longer mattered. The painful hum almost drowned out both shotguns, and it made it easier to crank out all the rounds she had left in the magazine.

  In the back of her awareness, she knew there was no hope. If the machine guns didn’t cut her down, the hum was going to make her disappear like the dogs. An enemy with such incredible weapons couldn’t be stopped.

  Out of ammo, she held the shotgun out in front of her as a blocker. The barrel was too hot to hold, so she kept her hand on the front stock. Peter was out of ammo, too. He held his shotgun like a baseball bat.

  “Come on, you bastards!” she shouted. Her legs wobbled in her stretch pants, but she made herself hold position. Audrey covered her ears. Peter stepped in front of her. A few moments later, the intense auditory assault rose to such a level, it could have been coming from inside her brain.

  Whatever it was that zapped out and got Deogee and Biscuit, it was coming for her next.

  Love you forever, Mom and Dad.

  CHAPTER 21

  Minot, ND

  After getting a first look at their target, Ted insisted they retreat to somewhere safe, so they could talk about what to do next. They got back in the car and drove a few miles down the road to a small abandoned food store. Once inside, they made a layout of the base using canned goods. While eating the
ir favorite foods, they talked about possible entry points that would put them closest to where Meechum thought they’d find the correct building.

  After an hour of talk, and with a full belly, Ted’s eyelids suddenly weighed fifty pounds each, despite the important business they were conducting below the bright halogen lamps. Emily noticed his condition after one or two head bobs. “Ted, we both could use some sleep. Why don’t we get a few hours of shut-eye?”

  He waved her off. “I slept in the car. You ladies can hit the hay. I want to stay up to keep watch.”

  The three women looked at each other in a way he didn’t like. Emily turned back to him. “No one gets good sleep in a car. These two got some decent zees in the plane; they’ll keep watch for us.” She motioned to Kyla and the Marine.

  He tried to blow it off again. “I’ll drink some coffee. There’s a whole store of the stuff.”

  “Nope,” Emily replied. “Are you going to argue, or am I going to have to pull rank? I’m your commander-in-chief. I can order you to rest.” Before he could think up a response, she grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the soup-can mockup of the air base. Meechum and Kyla stifled laughter on his way out.

  “Come on, tough guy,” she said quietly. “I found some throw pillows you can use for your head.”

  In his mind, he fought the noble battle to list the reasons why he needed to stay awake, but he couldn’t come up with good ones. Flying the plane and riding in the world’s most uncomfortable car had taken their tolls on him. The stress of getting close, but not too close, to the runway had added to the physical toll. By the time she had him on the floor, pillows as promised, he was ready to listen to her.

  “You know, you’re pretty handy to have around, and not just because you’re the President of the United States…” He hung it out there, implication thick on the air, but he didn’t follow it up with the words his heart truly wanted to say. He’d been with her almost every waking minute for the past three days and he’d come to depend on her, but he couldn’t come out and say anything more personal. Not in the middle of a military operation.

  “Oh?” she said with exaggerated doubt. “I assume you mean because I can fly a plane and drive a boat, right, Major MacInnis?”

  Her brown eyes shimmered in the harsh white light of the grocery store, and he was tired beyond belief, but he knew she was yanking his chain. Still, as much as he wanted to pull her down and kiss her, he closed his eyes.

  “No, it’s because you can drive a train…”

  Emily stood there for ten or fifteen seconds as if building to a reply, but he heard her shoes turn on the tiles and take a few steps away. “Good night, Ted. You’re pretty handy to have around, too.”

  His last thought about Emily was more practical.

  This really is a comfy pillow.

  Folsom, CA

  Dwight managed to stay upright on the bike as he followed Bernard to the supply truck. They took turns filling up their flamethrower tanks, then they drove a few more miles to a rocky field where a large troupe of other bikers had bedded down for the night. He pulled out a light sleeping bag that had been in one of his bike’s saddlebags.

  Bernard took him to the far end of the field, so they were in an area with less people. Poppy laughed the whole way, asking Dwight over and over how anyone could sleep with two motorcycles breaking the silence. He, in turn, shushed her several times. It would cause too many questions if a talkative bird woke people up.

  When he finally laid down on the hard ground, he fell right asleep. However, hours later, his slumber was interrupted when Poppy pecked at his exposed head. He retreated down into his bag but left a small opening so he could talk to her.

  “No, you stupid cow, I’m not going to get it out now.” He didn’t want anyone to know he’d taken an extra bottle from the liquor store. It was only flask-size, but he’d snagged it when he followed Bernard out the door. Why Poppy wanted him to get it out was beyond him, though he really wanted to drink it.

  The bird cawed loudly, and he craned his neck a bit outside the bag to see if anyone had heard her. Bernard was about ten feet away, behind his parked motorcycle, but he didn’t stir, even when Poppy flapped a few feet above his head.

  “Why don’t I leave?” he asked, repeating her question. “Do you see all these men in black? They aren’t here for a Johnny Cash convention!” He clumsily pointed left and right, speaking as quietly as possible. “They’re here to destroy everything in the cities.”

  She laughed at his hypocrisy.

  “I don’t want to see the big surprise. Why would you say that? All I want right now is a warm blanket and something warmer in my stomach.” Suddenly, he realized he did want to bring out the flask, no matter who was close by.

  Poppy wouldn’t let it go, and he wouldn’t agree she was right, so he got into a spiral of arguments with her. At first, it was about the surprise, but the back-and-forth started to include the hidden flask, his shaky hands, and it came back around to a heated argument about how many cats were sleeping in his bed at that moment back in San Francisco. From there, their chatter descended into one of his “crazy scenes.”

  He knew it was happening while it took place, but he was powerless to stop it. The voice coming out of his mouth seemed detached. He had plenty of room to roll around in his sealed sleeping bag too, as if it helped him make his point. By the time Bernard stopped him from rolling and shook him like a madman, he sensed that he’d been shouting at Poppy at the top of his lungs.

  Dwight sprang up like he’d awakened from a nightmare.

  “Did anyone see us?” he asked Poppy in a lowered voice.

  Despite it being the middle of the night, dozens of men sat up in their sleeping bags. He saw them in the starlight.

  “Someone did,” Bernard answered dryly.

  Amarillo, TX

  Brent’s plan had to be simple, given the composition of his ad hoc fighting unit. The petty criminals weren’t good at strategic planning, but they did know how to drive trucks and tell time. After getting a few hours of sleep, he had everyone ferry the trucks from their suburban oasis to two locations closer to the airport. He chose to park his group of trucks along a four-lane road about two miles from the paved runway. A small rise in the grass fields between there and the airport terminal blocked direct line-of-sight to the destination; he’d scouted the location earlier in the evening.

  A second group of three men prepped their trucks a mile away. He’d spread them out so they wouldn’t all be caught if the enemy finally scouted the area. He also figured it doubled his chances of hitting the long airport runway. However, those men had rejoined him so they could hear his pep talk.

  “Gentlemen, and lady,” he said, looking at Trish, “I want to explain what we’re trying to accomplish, because once we do this, I think we’re going to be on their shit list. If anyone wants to back out, be my guest. I’ll give you a head start on your escape from them.” He chuckled, confident no one was going to abandon him. They’d all seen the attack firsthand and on the replay tapes back at the prison.

  Brent’s team gathered in a half-circle around him as he stood on the sidestep of a brand-new tanker truck. “The bastards over there are so confident we’re dead, they aren’t even out here looking for us. We’ll only get one chance to do this right, so that’s why I’ve had you all bring as many trucks as you could get your hands on.”

  They’d used the early evening hours to prepare the basics on each vehicle. That included attaching the five-gallon buckets of bolts and rebar, rigging up the copper wiring into the cabins, and preparing the heavy cinderblocks for each gas pedal. The last piece of the puzzle was in his hand.

  “We’ve got to be careful with these babies, okay?” The orange road flare was about eight inches long and an inch wide, with a removable cap on one end. “Once we open the spigots, you can’t get sloppy with these.” He waved it in his hand, making sure everyone saw it.

  “Does anyone have any questions?” He hadn’
t yet given them the final plan, so he expected some confusion, given that it was three in the morning. His intention was to execute his plan at the time of day when the enemy was most tired, but his men were tired, too.

  Trish raised her hand. “Are we going back to the same house where we parked the trucks earlier?”

  At first, that was the plan, but over the last few hours, he’d begun to worry more and more about being discovered. If there were satellites watching from space, they might be curious about why all those trucks had parked there and then moved. If they went back, they might find themselves in more trouble. Instead, he’d come to a different conclusion.

  “After the attack, I want you to drive that way.” He pointed west on the four-lane highway. It would go through the town of Amarillo and from there, they would get closer to the prison. He didn’t want them going straight there, though, lest they bring the bad guys with them. “Not back to our home, but to the Cadillac Ranch.”

  The ranch was a local tourist trap where someone had buried ten old Cadillacs in a field, face down, so their back halves stuck out of the soil. The graffiti-laced cars were right off the highway on the far side of the city. Once they linked back up, he would return to the prison using a longer route.

  Silent nods all around.

  “All right. Let’s do this. Check your watches. It’s now coming up on three-oh-five.” They used the new watches from Walmart to synchronize with the three men at the other job site, so they all launched the attack at the same time. “We start in ten minutes, at three-fifteen precisely.”

  He watched and waited as the three men drove away, but ten minutes passed in what felt like seconds. “All right, open the valves and start your engines,” he said to Trish, Cliff, and Kevin. “It’s time to kick the tires and light the fires.”

  He hopped into the cabin of the tanker truck and started her up. The lights had all been punched out with a hammer, so there was no chance of exposing them to the enemy. He drove it about twenty yards off the highway, facing the airport. It was easy to do since the grassy ground was almost perfectly flat. While the motor idled, he climbed down and opened several valves under the tanker, so fuel spilled into the soil. The two others did the same for their tractor-trailers. Kevin stayed in his cabin, since he drove a dump truck.