Downfall: The Deadlander Series (Book 1)

by Colin Sims

Damn.

  ***

  Josh was getting anxious. “Where the hell is he?” he asked.

  His guess was as good as mine. We’d been sitting at one of the tables near the back of the cafeteria for ten minutes and Fred Dolan was a no show.

  “You think he noticed the Bed Wetter?” I asked.

  It had been one of my chief concerns all along. Yet somehow, the prank just didn’t feel complete without it.

  Josh thought for a moment before answering, “There’s no way. You and Ryan tested it on yourselves, right? Neither of you felt anything.”

  “I know, but still. Where the hell is he?”

  “That’s what I was asking you.”

  I scanned the cafeteria for any possible clues. Fred’s usual group of friends—all of whom deserved to be royally pranked at some point in their lives—were sitting at their usual table. Minus Fred.

  Ryan Clemente was sitting on the other side of the room, looking apprehensively at me and Josh. His expression begged the same question that we were just asking.

  I shrugged at him. I didn’t have any answers.

  “I say we do a little recon,” Josh offered. “Find him before it’s too late. Lunch is going to be over in fifteen minutes.”

  For some reason, I didn’t like the idea. It seemed premature.

  “All we’ll do is risk not being here when he shows up,” I said.

  “If he shows up.”

  Yes. If he showed up. I kicked myself for not having a contingency plan. I dreaded the thought that Fred was in the principal’s office that very moment, a row of booby traps strewn across the desk, saying he had no idea who put them there, but that the school needed to find out. Or even worse, Fred had somehow figured out that it was me who had put them there, and was waiting outside the cafeteria to punch a hole through my face. I glanced nervously at Josh and told him we had to do something.

  “You don’t say?” he said. “Like what?”

  “Put your walkie on Channel 2. I’m gonna do a little recon.”

  Josh leaned back in mock surprise. “Oh, really? So now it’s a good idea?”

  “I won’t go far. If he comes in, raise me on the walkie.”

  As I got up to leave, Josh managed to cram three separate “punk asses” into one sentence. Even for him, that was impressive.

  I’d made it halfway to the exit when I froze and did a quick about-face.

  “Crap, crap, crap,” I muttered under my breath all the way back to the table where Josh sat, grinning up at me.

  “Told you,” he said knowingly. “The recon was too risky. I knew he’d be along.”

  “First of all, you suggested the recon—and no, you didn’t know he’d be along. You were just as freaked out as I was.”

  “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Look,” Josh said, pointing to Fred as he made his way to the trays beside the food line. “This couldn’t have worked out better.”

  Josh was right. Milton Smits had just gone back for seconds. Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t noticed a “Kick Me” sign that someone—probably one of Fred’s goons—had taped to his back. It was only a matter of seconds before Fred would notice it and … well, kick him.

  “Alright, here we go,” I said, nodding for Josh to get up. He was already a step ahead of me, quietly making his way to Fred’s location.

  From my vantage at the back tables, I couldn’t quite hear what people were saying in the food line, but I saw Fred staring with a huge grin at the sign on Milton’s back. He must have thought it was Christmas.

  My walkie quietly crackled on my hip.

  “Red Two to Red One. Ready to record on your mark, over.”

  It was Ryan talking to me from the other side of the room. We’d strategically placed three separate micro-cameras—courtesy of my dad’s study—to capture the prank for instant replay. Ryan’s job was to press record at exactly the right moment so that we could play the scene on a loop using the cafeteria’s main projector. It was usually used for boring school announcements and safety drills, but the giant image it plastered on the left-hand wall was about to become very useful.

  It had been Josh’s handiwork to link Ryan’s tablet to the projector remotely. All Ryan had to do now was pick the best few seconds of Fred’s deliverance and press “play.”

  “On my mark,” I said into the walkie, watching Fred inch forward in the line behind Milton. He was only a few steps away from the “hot zone,” the spot where he’d be caught between all three cameras.

  I brought the walkie to my mouth and whispered, “Okay. Go on five, four, three, two—”

  I pressed the button on my remote, blasting the foghorn.

  Honestly, I hadn’t expected it to be that loud.

  Fred Dolan’s entire body did a strange type of convulsion, like a compacted spring, and he jumped sideways, knocking into the kids beside him.

  The rest of the cafeteria jumped with a collective gasp, looking straight to Fred.

  The look on his face was priceless. And thanks to our cameras, it could and would be relived over and over and over and …

  “WHAT THE—?!” Fred span around, his eyes like saucers. “WHO—?”

  “BWAAAHHH!!”

  I couldn’t help it. I hit the horn again.

  This time, Fred actually slipped onto his back like a cartoon and his food tray hit the ceiling.

  “This is incredible!” a muffled whisper came over the walkie. Ryan Clemente looked about as stunned as Fred.

  “Here goes the Bed Wetter,” I whispered back, pressing the second button on the remote.

  Pop!

  Amidst the confusion, the sound of the firecracker was practically silent, but it didn’t stop Fred from flopping over like a fish.

  “Oh, no!” I heard him yell out.

  The initial shock in the cafeteria was beginning to give way to laughter. Especially once Fred stood up.

  Josh took his cue and announced, “Did he just pee his pants?”

  “My God, he did,” another voice agreed. I was shocked to see it was Milton Smits.

  “SHUT UP!” Fred thundered. “I WILL KICK—”

  “BWAAAHHH!!”

  “HOLY HELL!” Fred slipped backwards again. This time though, he scrambled to take off his backpack.

  Ryan, Josh, and I watched in rapt fascination. The rest of the cafeteria was still laughing about Fred’s jeans, but for us, our final surprise was extra special. It was a true booby trap, no more remote controls. Somehow, that made it all the more exciting. Fred’s hand went straight for the zipper.

  Now, technically speaking, I’m sure there are some people who might say that a blast of confetti wouldn’t be very scary. But for Fred Dolan, in this circumstance, not expecting it …

  Poof!

  “AHHH!!”

  The tiny bits of colored paper flitted around Fred like a cloud of butterflies, and he fell over again. At that point, the cafeteria had descended into chaos. Kids were starting to fall out of their seats from laughing too hard.

  But Downfall wasn’t over. I looked across the room to Ryan.

  He raised the walkie to his lips. “Pressing ‘play’ in three, two—”

  But right as he was about to hit the button, the school bell starting ringing at full blast. The thing was deafening, reminding me of my alarm clock when I woke up that morning.

  “Oh, come on!” I saw Josh shout through the noise. He started picking his way back to our table.

  A lot of the kids in the cafeteria were still laughing, but with the relentless bell blaring in our ears, it was hard to tell. I could barely hear myself think. I couldn’t believe it. It was the world’s worst time for the bell to go off. By the time Josh got back to me, I had a theory.

  “Teachers must have heard,” I shouted in his ear.

  I wasn’t too worried anyone else in the cafeteria would hear me. I wasn’t even sure if Josh could hear me.

  He cupped his hand over his mouth to yell something back, which sounded like, “Fucking teachers
!”

  A few seconds later the ringing stopped. There was a brief pause as everyone looked around the room. I noticed that Fred had managed to scurry over to his friends’ table, even though they were still chuckling at him.

  “Talk about the worst timing,” Josh complained quietly.

  I agreed. “How could they have known so fast?”

  Before Josh could answer, a new sound filled the cafeteria. It answered both our questions and was almost as loud as the bell. Everyone at Boise Prep had heard it plenty of times. By law, our school had to conduct a safety drill every month. But the sound of the Emergency Alarm wasn’t what sent a chill down my spine. It was the image on the cafeteria’s projector. Undoubtedly, it was being shown all over the school. Maybe all over the city.

  A blinking green triangle.

  Josh’s jaw looked like it had become unhinged as he echoed the single thought that was zipping through my head.

  “What the hell?” he mouthed slowly.

  I shifted my eyes back to the image as I added quietly, “There’s no way …”

  The “blinking” signified that the alarm was one hundred percent not a drill. It meant that Boise was under attack. And the green triangle … I could barely remember the last time there was a drill for that. And even then, it was more like a joke. It was impossible. Someone, somewhere must have hit the wrong button.

  A green triangle was for Mantidae …

  Chapter 4

  It was a drill. It had to be. There had been something weird going on with the New America delegation that morning. That must have had something to do with it. Maybe the BDF was doing some type of special, citywide drill as a demonstration. I looked over at Josh, and I asked him if he believed the whole Mantidae thing.

  “Not for a second,” he shouted over the noise.

  But regardless, we were moving into the lines near the exit with the other students. Any moment now, a gaggle of teachers would arrive to lead our exodus to the school’s underground bunker.

  Josh and I were making our way to the back of the third line when Ryan Clemente found us. He looked as cool as a cucumber.

  “Look at you,” I told him. “Not a worry in the world.”

  He looked around and smiled darkly. “It’s a bunch of horseshit,” he yelled. “They just ruined our finale!”

  “The whole ‘blinking triangle’ doesn’t freak you out?” I asked.

  Josh answered for Ryan, “That’s just part of the drill. They have to make it seem real.”

  I looked at Josh for a moment and could tell he was worried, despite whatever he was saying. There was an unnerving shiftiness to his eyes as he tried to appear calm. I feared that if I looked in a mirror, I’d see the same thing.

  A handful of teachers with clipboards had entered the room and were hurriedly ticking off students’ names as they scurried down the lines. One of them was Mr. Schneider, the same teacher we had pranked the previous year. He appeared to be the most determined of the bunch. He was tall, even taller than Alec, with lean muscle and narrow eyes. I was pretty sure he was over fifty, which meant he wasn’t a reservist in the BDF anymore, but he still looked the part. He also acted the part.

  When he got to our line, he skipped the students ahead of us and marched straight at me, announcing over the alarm that I had to come with him immediately. I glanced at Josh and Ryan before looking back.

  “What did I do?” I asked him.

  He glared at me. He didn’t look like a man who wanted to waste time.

  “There’s a team en route to pick you up. Don’t argue. Come with me right now.”

  A team? I thought, looking back to Josh and Ryan. They both shrugged, looking as confused as I was.

  I took a step to follow Schneider, but apparently not fast enough. He grabbed my wrist in a steel grip and yanked me away from my friends. I would’ve tried to protest, but the sirens made it impossible to get his attention. Everything seemed to be moving faster and faster, more urgent. We were practically running as we exited the cafeteria. As soon as we entered the hallway, I saw something that made my blood freeze.

  There were at least two dozen BDF soldiers in full fighting gear, aiming their rifles and sweeping the classrooms. Definitely not standard procedure for a drill.

  One of them saw Schneider and tossed him an M4 and a flack jacket loaded with extra magazines. My former teacher strapped on the vest with practiced efficiency as we sped toward the exit.

  “Your bodyguard will be outside,” Schneider informed me. “He will get you over the bridge and to the rendezvous.”

  The sirens weren’t quite as loud in the halls, but they were still loud enough to create a feeling of chaos. What in the world was Schneider talking about? What rendezvous? I raised my voice to a shout and asked him, “What’s going on?” as I struggled to keep up.

  “You hear the sirens?” he asked, indicating the speakers along the ceiling.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then there’s your answer. The city is under attack.”

  “But Mantidae?” I asked.

  Schneider pushed through the exit doors and into the noon sun. It was a bright day, and hot.

  Navid’s jeep pulled onto the curb just as we stepped outside. He ran out of the vehicle with his rifle and barked at Schneider, “I’ve got him!”

  Schneider pushed me forward. “Good luck,” he told Navid quickly. “They’re already at the Walls.”

  For a moment, as Navid shoved me into the passenger seat, it seemed like he and I had never met before. Usually he acted like my friend, but now he was all business, strapping me into the jeep before racing to the driver’s side.

  “Are you injured?” he demanded, getting behind the wheel.

  I grimaced for a second as my mind struggled to catch up with whatever the hell was happening. Navid seemed even more frantic than the teachers. He looked over at me, his eyes furious, and repeated, “Michael, damn it, are you fucking injured or not?”

  “No,” I answered quietly, then louder, “no.”

  Navid slammed on the gas and the jeep bounced off the curb with a heavy jolt, the tires screeching. “We’re getting out of here,” he yelled. “Watch the road!”

  The jeep’s engine roared as we blasted down the street. Neither of the doors had windows and the roof was made of flapping, green canvas. The sudden rush of wind added to the noise. I shouted over it, “Is this for real?”

  He yanked hard on the steering wheel, sending us fishtailing around a corner. “As real as it gets,” he told me. “We have to get you back to the Capitol House.”

  Of course, I thought stupidly. It suddenly dawned on me why I was being rushed away. I sometimes forgot I was the President’s kid.

  People were fleeing in every direction, getting to emergency shelters. Navid had to slow down to avoid hitting anyone, yet kept his hand on the horn, honking constantly. When we reached an empty straightaway, he gunned it. The engine thrummed as he up-shifted, gaining speed. It was loud, but definitely not as bad as the emergency sirens. In fact, it was the first time in the past few minutes when there wasn’t something blasting directly in my ears. That’s when I heard it.

  Gunfire.

  It was faint and in the distance, but I recognized it clearly—the rattling of .50 cals and the sickly buzz of mini-guns. I looked at my watch. It was 12:30. No firing practice allowed.

  “This is really happening!” I suddenly announced, wheeling toward Navid.

  He looked at me. “No shit.”

  “But Mantidae,” I yelled. “Aren’t they supposed to be dead?!”

  Navid shrugged. “Who the hell knows. No one tells me anything like that. I just know the city’s under attack, that’s all.”

  “Have you seen my parents?” I asked. “Are they all right?”

  “Should be. The Capitol House is near the center of town, far from any walls. Plus, they should be in the bunker by now.”

  We turned off the short straightaway and jumped onto Capitol Boulevard. Fro
m there, the Capitol House was about a mile north. Navid kept the accelerator pressed firmly to the floor. As we drove, an entire column of troop transport trucks roared past us, heading the other way. Before long, we were at the main bridge that spanned the Boise River. On the other side were rows and rows of hydro-towers—the very same ones that I always passed in the mornings. The thought made me suddenly think of Alec. Where was he during all this? He was Special Missions …

  I started to ask Navid, but was cut off when the jeep shook from a wave of heavy concussions.

  “Howitzers,” Navid yelled, swerving to keep us steady. “Gotta be close!”

  They were. I spotted them amongst the hydro-towers. From what I knew from Alec, the BDF had a dozen self-propelled Howitzers called Paladins. I could only see about six of them hiding amongst the buildings.

  “Cover your ears!” Navid suddenly warned as we passed over the bridge.

  There was another cascade of deafening “BOOMS” as the cannons let loose, one after the other. On the sixth Howitzer, just as I was expecting it to fire, something happened. It was so bright and so loud and so fast that my eyes were closed for most of it. But the sixth tank … from what I saw … was hit by lightning.

  Navid slammed on the breaks.

  I stared dumbfounded at the smoldering rubble that a second ago was a thirty-ton tank and screamed, “Did you see that?”

  “It came from the Wall,” Navid gasped, looking over his shoulder. “Christ, we have to get out of here.”

  He pressed his foot on the accelerator again. The jeep lurched forward. I wasn’t sure if we were headed in the right direction. I wasn’t sure if there was a right direction anymore. The lightning that hit the tank hadn’t come from the sky. It had come from behind us, horizontally. I didn’t know of any human weapons that could do that.

  “Go, go, go!” I screamed, twisting to check behind us. There was some sort of commotion along the Security Wall. It was too far away to see any details, but there were explosions popping off like fireworks. I looked forward again and — CRACK!

  The force of it nearly shook the jeep off its axles. Another of the Howitzers was reduced to a charred tangle of scrap metal.

  “This is bad,” I declared.