by Mark Wandrey
“Go back!” screamed Hipstitch. “Get someone on the damn roof guns!” The weapons were unmanned because of the random sniper activity but now they had targets. In each of the three Hummers, the armored roof hatch slid back and a man wearing heavy tactical armor emerged. The vehicles were each armed with a roof mounted 7.62mm M-60 machine gun. The chattering guns chewed up the Molotov cocktail-wielding attackers in seconds. The people wanted nothing to do with an armed military convoy and as the Hummers’ wheels squealed backwards they left their dead and ran. Only one bottle struck the ground near the retreating Hummers and none of its flaming content found its mark.
The drivers chose the next street over without asking the vehicle’s occupants. That was fine with Hipstitch who was busily checking the load on his sidearm and then taking an M-4 from its rack behind his seat. “Lock and load boys, I got a bad feeling.” The men exchanged worried looks and quickly began examining their own weapons.
“Straight shot to the park!” the driver yelled a moment later. The Hummer’s engine roared and they rocketed forward across a wide avenue. Just before the park’s perimeter something slammed into the side of the Humvee and sent it spinning. The men yelled or cried out and the wheels squealed in protest. The Hummer smashed against the curb and was vaulted into the air where the hood hit a telephone pole. The pole splintered with the impact of the three-ton truck which went spinning into what remained of a fashionable coffee shop.
Through the explosion of disintegrating masonry and shattering glass, Hipstitch was aware that the Humvee was being torn apart. It all happened in a second, but to him it seemed like an eternity. When the truck finally came to rest upside down amidst the devastated coffee shop it took him some time to realize he wasn’t dead. Especially when he looked down in the gloom to see the front of his BDU was awash in bright red blood.
“Is anyone else alive?” he grunted and moved to see where the blood was coming from. His left hip had a sharp pain in it, probably from having his obese frame hung upside down by the seat belt, but that was all he could find wrong. There was a fair amount of light shining into the truck and he looked to find the source. He looked at the decapitated corpse of the gunner who had manned the roof machine gun. That explained the blood.
“I’m alive up here, General,” said the driver who was extricating himself from his seat belts.
“I’m moving too,” said another man from the far back seat.
“God, help…” moaned a voice nearby.
Hipstitch bent himself over as far as his fat belly would allow and flipped the seatbelt release. His huge bulk crashed down onto the bloody roof with a wet thud.
“Son of a bitch,” he groaned and rolled over toward the man who had called out. He was not in a good way. The man was half out a window, his legs and torso crushed between the Humvee floor. Blood was leaking out of the man’s nose and ears and he was trying to pull himself free. “You’re dead, son.”
“No, I’m just stuck here, please help me, sir. It doesn't even hurt!”
“Goodbye,” he said and ponderously climbed out of the roof gunner’s port, moving the headless body out of the way. The other two survivors were close behind.
“Don’t leave me,” pleaded the man in the ruined Hummer. Outside there was sporadic gunfire.
Hipstitch still had the M-4 he'd gotten from the Hummer. He raised it to the ready as the other two men joined him at the front of the shop. “We’re coming out!” yelled one of them, who popped his head out to examine the situation. “We’re clear,” he told his general, “our men control the street.”
“Let’s go then, son,” Hipstitch ordered and they climbed out. Just as he’d been told his men were in control of the street, but it wasn’t a good-looking situation. The other two Hummers had been wrecked as well and now he could see how. Some creative characters had commandeered a pair of garbage trucks and waited for the Army convoy, then simply rammed them from a side alley. The general’s Hummer was the first and most successful ramming, but the other two were effective enough. Most of the entrepreneurs paid with their lives and the streets were again empty. He joined the sad remains of his personal command. A half hour ago they set out from City Hall with ten vehicles and nearly a hundred men. Now they were nine soldiers, and on foot.
“This is the only way!” yelled one of the noncoms. Hipstitch looked in the direction the man was pointing. Trees could just be seen through the growing night. Though the city was shrouded in a permanent haze from the fires that raged everywhere, they could still the night sky above them. Unfortunately the street was wide and open to the sky.
“Maybe without the vehicles we won’t draw fire,” Hipstitch thought aloud. “Well, let’s make a run for it, boys. Keep together and stay on the sidewalks. Fire at anyone who approaches, and don’t stop for anything!”
They did as the general told them. All nine men burst into a trot, easily keeping pace with their rotund commander. Every time a shot came from a side street or a building window many floors above them, it was instantly answered by automatic fire. The fusillade either convinced their attackers to look for easier prey or killed them outright. But by the time they were only two blocks from the park they were all dangerously low on ammo. And it was then that they spotted what lay in their way.
About two dozen people, all looking dirty and ragged, stood across the width of the street. They were all holding hands in a continuous chain leading from one side of the street to the other. The soldiers approached cautiously until they could hear the people singing. It sounded like a hymn, but one none of them had ever heard before. “-to take me away. The Avatar is near, my remaining time draws near; oh, give me the will to do what must be done!”
“Clear the street!” Hipstitch yelled at them. When there was no response he fired a single shot from his machine gun in the air. There was a pause in the singing but they quickly resumed. “I said move!” he roared at them and strode closer, his troops following. This time he fired a three round burst into the concrete at their feet. Concrete splinters flew up at the group hitting several of them and making one man fall to the ground screaming. The people closed ranks, the fallen man being replaced by a woman who had been sitting to the side, just out of view.
“Prepare to fire,” Hipstitch growled to his men.
“But sir-” a corporal complained.
“But what, mister?”
“They’re unarmed civilians,” said another man, a private with a bloody arm bandage. Hipstitch raised his weapon and fired on full automatic. His gun went empty almost immediately but not before sending two more of the singers spinning to the ground in bloody heaps.
“General!” his oldest aide yelled in surprise.
“They’re blocking our way to the park,” the general said and ejected the spent magazine from his weapon, “you idiots want to die here?” The looks on their faces were not encouraging. Neither was the fact that he couldn’t find a spare magazine. “I’m out of ammo, one of you men give me a magazine then help me clear the street.” None of them moved. “You bunch of fucking cowards,” he said and moved to grab one of their guns. The man yanked it back and shook his head. “What’s your problem? I’m giving you all a direct order!”
“Killing innocent civilians?” asked another man.
“In this case, yes!”
“Then the order is illegal,” said the senior noncom who stepped back and lowered his gun. No one noticed several of the singing men and women remove shiny metal tubes. With a solid smack each tube launched a bright phosphorous flare into the night sky.
“What are they doing?” Hipstitch yelled and dropped his rifle, pulling out his sidearm instead. The 9mm popped again and again as the aging general fired with slow deliberation. One, two, three, four of the people went down under his fire. Then a rifle butt came out of nowhere and slammed into his gun hand. He yelped more in surprise as the weapon was knocked from his grip.
“That’s enough,” his senior noncom said, turning the rifle around a
nd aiming it at him.
“This is a trap, don’t you see? We were led here by people I thought were on my side. Those crazies down there are nothing more than a distraction! Why do you think they launched those flares? We have to get the hell out of here.”
“You’re a lunatic,” the man said simply, “I’m only sorry I didn’t realize it in time to save the thousands who have died needlessly in the last few days.”
“Fuck you, I’m getting out of here right-” The crack of a .223 round was instantly followed by a shooting pain in his thigh. He yelled and fell to the ground. “Motherfucker!” he screamed and tried to staunch to flow of bright red blood. “I’ve been hit five times in the line of duty, but never by my own men.” As hard as he squeezed, the blood kept coming. He realized it was probably his femoral, which meant he was probably dead. “What do you expect to accomplish by this?” The other men all watched with their eyes wide and mouths hanging open. His senior aide had the look of grim determination that Hipstitch had seen on many enemies he’d faced over the years, enemies who made the decision that their own lives were the price of obtaining a goal.
“You need to wait here.”
“For what?” Hipstitch snarled through clenched teeth. The pool of blood under him grew steadily and he could hear the sound of turbine engines and the thumping of rotor blades approaching. He looked up wildly, realizing how exposed their position was. “We need to get off the street; helicopters are coming in on those flares!”
“That’s what I figured when they popped them, sir.” Hipstitch tried to stand but just before he got to his feet his femur snapped with a sickening pop. Already damaged by the bullet wound, it wouldn’t support his massive weight. He screamed and fell back to the filthy street.
Above them a pair of Comanche attack choppers appeared and swept over the street, their pilots taking stock of the situation below. They screamed by and then executed flipping turns to come back again. Hipstitch watched through his fading sight as the attack chopper lined up with the street and bore down on them. The noncom closed his eyes and lowered his head with a small smile on his face. One of the men ran but the others just dropped their weapons and waited. The singing of the surviving fanatics reached a crescendo just as the helicopters opened fire.
Mindy looked up from the computer she was holding just after the Portal closed. A little more than two hours and sixty of their number were through. A short time ago, there had been a gun battle between the Portal military defenders and a squadron of attack choppers. The defenders didn’t know they weren’t protecting military leaders any more. It reminded them all that time was short. Their actions took on an additional sense of urgency. “Nice of the guards to defend the base and thus allow us to escape right under their noses.”
“They probably wouldn’t return the sentiment,” Billy said from behind her.
“Sorry, didn’t think anyone would hear my mental musings.”
“It’s okay, really, most of us are aware of how deep this little action of civil disobedience goes. It’s survival of the fittest, and it looks like the brains have won over brawn for a change. The meek shall inherit the Earth.”
“Or Bellatrix, in this case,” she said and he looked at her with a wry grin
The Portal closed several minutes ago without another person going through. Mindy turned her attention to see why there was a delay and had to spend several minutes easing a dispute over several pieces of relatively unimportant equipment. Finally, the next person went through, the last of the women, and the crates they were arguing over followed close behind.
“Let’s keep it moving,” Mindy called over the diminishing crowd, “we don’t know how long before Hipstitch will be showing up.”
“He won’t be showing up,” said a new voice. It was Leo Skinner being escorted in by a pair of burly police officers. He looked considerably less out of sorts than his colleague, Dr. Osgood, who was now shaking his head and talking to himself.
“Welcome, Leo!” Mindy cried and ran down to meet him.
“You won’t be so cordial when you hear what I have to say.”
“Why? And what happened to Hipstitch?”
“He’s dead.”
“Well that at least is no surprise,” Billy said with a snort. “Killed by his own command, no doubt.”
“No, killed by me if you really must know.” The police and remaining men from the Portal Project were too busy to hear the conversation but Mindy, Billy and Osgood all jerked their heads around to stare at the smiling astronomer. “He’d served his purpose.”
“Oh, God,” Osgood said and pointed at his colleague, “you’re the one? You’re the one Hipstitch was afraid of, the one who arranged all this?”
“You really thought that fat old grunt was capable of orchestrating all this, did you?”
“But you said you found out through your security clearance at NASA,” Mindy said.
“I did, but not by accident. I’m on the Alpha Prime team.”
Mindy shook her head. “The team that would be contacted in the event of an alien landing? I thought that was all bullshit.”
“It was real, back in the 90s’, but it was disbanded just after the millennium. Through some quirk of fate the e-mail contact tree was still intact. I found out about this little beauty within hours of its arrival. Being a political insider with NASA and the NSA for decades has given me lots of friends, friends in high places, and friends who would pay anything to survive.”
“You would barter with the only way off the planet?” Mindy asked incredulously.
“I’ve bartered for the survival of the space program with the US government and and other power hungry assholes for years on end. This was just my chance to turn the tables for once. Now it was me with the power, it was me with the big gun. Oh, they lined up to do whatever I asked them to. From murders to money, all I had to do was send off an e-mail. But this,” he said and gestured at all the men working busily, “this was the last thing I expected from you! You were going, I’d made up my mind already, so why all this?”
“All this? I’m trying to save some people.”
“So was I, what’s wrong with getting a little bit extra in the deal?”
“The difference is I’m bringing along the stuff we need to survive, not whatever makes the paying customers happy.”
“Many of my customers probably won’t make it because of this ill-timed intervention by the legitimate government, but that’s just as well. They were all assholes anyway. But I have to thank you, really.”
“Why would you thank me? We’ve taken the Portal and are sending our own choice of people over.”
“Because you sent all those women and children first, that was a stroke of brilliance even I didn’t think of. But right now the game is over.” He reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a handgun.
Billy laughed in his face. “You going to stop all of us with that one little pea shooter?” It didn’t go unnoticed as two police officers appeared out of nowhere, weapons drawn and held in a two-handed grip.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Leo said with a shrug, “that’s what I have all those expensive friends for.” Outside the dome the roar of helicopter rotors and the scream of powerful jet engines appeared out of nowhere.
“Helicopters!” screamed one of the cops from a doorway.
“At least a dozen of them!” agreed another. All work came to a halt as the men looked around with panic in their eyes.
“Let’s make a run for it,” Billy said, “just shoot that old fart and run through the Portal!”
Mindy looked at the massive pile of equipment, then at the portal. A lot of essential materials had been moved over, but it was mostly the big bulky stuff like computer mass storage arrays and solar powered equipment. The true long-term survival gear was still there in smaller crates that would be easier to match up with the heavier men.
“Let’s just kill him,” another officer said.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Leo
said and held up a tiny radio, “one press of this button and they will chew this place to pieces.”
“You’ll rupture the Portal,” Mindy warned him, “just like New Delhi!”
He glanced at the dais with the slightest hint of concern on his face, but then he seemed to think about something else. “A few million tons of rock will be here in hours, young lady, I’ll chance it. If I don’t get to go, none of you do.”
“Can’t we make some kind of a deal, Leo?” Mindy asked. “I mean, that’s what it’s all about, right? Let some of these people go, the husbands and parents of the kids and women already over there, and take this equipment that’s set up. Trust me; it’s a lot better than the shit you were going to take.”
“Oh, I will take your equipment,” he said after glancing at some of the labels, “you have exceptional tastes. But as for the people, I’m afraid I can’t agree. You see those husbands and fathers are related to those kids and wives. My hand-chosen men out there are of a different genetic background and mating them with those women and kids will insure our survival as a species.” There were shouts and howls from the men as several more weapons were now pointed at him. His finger tightened on the button and Mindy screamed for them to hold their fire. “The game is over, how it ends is ultimately up to you.”
She looked from him to all the people standing around her. She saw the looks of fear on their faces and she also saw the looks of hope they cast in her direction. Billy’s face was the most telling. He smiled weakly and lowered his gun. “The fate of the planet is bigger than any one person,” she said and hung her head in resignation. “Everyone put your guns down.”
“That’s a good girl,” Leo said with a viscous smile, “I knew I could count on you.”
“We can take this idiot,” the black police officer said, refusing to lower his gun.
“Yeah,” agreed another cop, “I ain’t letting him go fuck my wife and little girl! Let’s us just all make a run for the Portal thing!”