by Jessy Cruise
"Nerve gas?" several people who were listening in said in fear. "Oh my God."
"I dropped two of them outside the window of the post and their canisters exploded outside. Then they opened fire on us from the west side of the house, shooting through the wall. Brenda is down and probably dead. I repeat, Brenda is down and probably dead. I dropped two more in the doorway when they tried to storm the house. I haven't seen or heard anything since then."
"Your status now?" he asked her. "Are you injured?"
"I have a wound on my arm from shrapnel and I'm very sick to my stomach, probably from inhaling some of the gas that drifted up. But I can hold on."
"Are you sure?"
"Affirmative," she said confidently. "I'm at the top of the stairs covering the entrance to the house."
"Okay," he told her. "Hold in place. We're assembling people right now and we'll be out to you as soon as we can. Keep in contact."
"Copy," she said.
Now that he had some hard information, he tried once again to get hold of position 3, again without response. He found their failure to answer a particularly ominous sign now. He checked with 4 and 5 and both of these positions answered right away. He repeated the order for them to hold in place and then put the walkie-talkie back in his pocket. He looked around the gym at all the anxious faces staring at him.
"Listen up!" he shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Everyone who can shoot a gun, move to the armory and get one. We're under attack, people and we need to fight them off."
An excited babble began although no one made any move to leave the room.
"This is not the time to talk!" Skip yelled. "Get to the fucking armory now! People are dead and there is going to be a lot more if we don't do something about it. Now move!"
They moved, responding to the tone of command in his voice. While they were doing that, Skip rushed out of the room through another door and pounded up the stairway to the office. He rushed through the door and found Jessica and Dale, who preferred not to eat with the common folk, sitting at their desks with food trays before them. They looked up at him curiously as he rushed to his desk and began pulling out his maps.
"Why are you in such a tizzy?" Jessica asked him.
"We're under attack," he told them. "Someone tried to take out position 2 with nerve gas canisters. Brenda is dead but Paula is still holding the position."
"Attack?" Jessica said, looking at him as if he were mad.
"Nerve gas?" asked Dale, giving the same look.
"Did you say Brenda was dead?" Jessica put in. "You mean... dead?"
"I mean dead," he told her viciously. "And there's still an unknown number of people inside the wall with guns. Position 3 is not answering hails on the radio and I think they might be dead there too."
Now they looked completely bewildered, unable to process what he was telling them. He gave a very brief summary of what he knew as he stuffed his maps into his pocket and pulled on his rain slicker.
"How could something like this happen?" Jessica, who was quite pale, demanded of him.
"I don't know right now," he said, "and finding out isn't the issue at the moment. Surviving is the issue. We have no idea how many of these people there are. Why don't you two get downstairs and get armed up. We're gonna have to fight, I think."
Like the people in the cafeteria, Jessica and Dale responded to the commanding tone in his voice. Without giving their customary arguments, they got up and headed out the door.
"What the hell happened?" Bill demanded of the remnants of John's squad when he found them. He had a pretty good idea of course. He had seen the two bodies and the debris from the exploded Raid-bomb in the driveway. He and his men had in fact stepped over it in order to take up position along the house next door.
One of the men explained the sequence of events that had led up to them cowering there without a leader. He started with the guard shooting from the window, passed through their attempt to silence the post by shooting through the walls, and ended with John's ill-fated attempt to clear the building.
"He thought we got 'em when we shot into the bedroom," the man, who was near tears, explained. "He was just checking to make sure."
Bill shook his head a little, wondering if fatigue had made the former hunting guide make such a stupid error. Everyone had been awake for more than twenty-four hours now.
"What do we do now?" Bill was asked. "There's still someone with a gun in that house. Should we go in through the back?"
"Maybe we should just leave," another suggested. "Try again another day."
"No," Bill said in answer to both questions. "We can't leave. This place is our only hope for food. We need to move on to the community center and try to take it down. We don't have to worry about this guard post anymore because they've probably already radioed that we're here."
"Won't they be getting ready for us if they know we're here?" someone asked.
"As much as they can," Bill said. "But I don't think that will be enough to stop us. This was a snooty-ass town before the comet. How many guns could they possibly have? Probably most of their firepower is at the guard posts. We need to get to that community center before they think to move the guards in to protect it."
"Are you sure they won't have guns?" he was asked.
"They'll probably have a few," he said confidently. "So we'll have to move a little more carefully once we get close. The important thing is that we get there before the guards are pulled in. We can still do this if we act now. So let's go! Follow me!"
He began to lead them around the front of the single-story house, avoiding crossing into the line of fire from the guard house itself. They went to the end of the street they were on and then turned left down Sycamore Avenue, one of the main roads of the subdivision that led south to the park and the community center. As they made the turn and formed up into a loose diamond shape, no one happened to look towards a row of dying bushes in front of the porch on a corner house. Since no one happened to look there, no one saw Jack crouched behind this row, watching their every move.
Though the community center itself was too far away for the sounds of gunfire during the battle for position 2 to reach, Stacy's house, where Jack was now living, was not. Located out as far as anyone had been settled so far, the pops and crackles of the various weapons had been audible enough to bring him out of the restless, worried half-sleep he had been engaged in. Thoughts of the impending showdown tonight had been driven out of his mind in an instant as he realized that a much more important issue was now taking place. Though he couldn't be completely sure, the shooting had sounded like it was coming from the guard post, which could only mean that the town was under attack.
He had jumped up and donned his clothing as quickly as possible, threading his pistol through his belt and putting his boots on without bothering to tie them. He had no radio so he did not know exactly what was going on and he had no rifle since they were all in the armory or at the guard posts. His first thought was to get to the community center where Skip was and where the defenses would be assembling. But the community center was much further away then the guardhouse was. Shouldn't he get over there first and see what was going on? Maybe somebody was injured there and needed help. If nothing else, there was a radio there and he could use it to get hold of Skip for instructions.
He exited the house, not bothering to lock it, and began heading north, staying off the main streets and sticking to the less traveled routes, which tended to wind back and forth. He knew exactly where to turn and where to go straight. A big part of Skip's training had been map reading and memorization skills. He knew every one of the sixty plus streets and avenues in Garden Hill and could tell you where they went.
He reached the corner of Sycamore and Blossom, which was about two hundred yards from position 2, just as Bill and his men had come trotting up from their attack on position 3. Luckily he spotted them before they spotted him and he took refuge in the row of bushes he was passing, his pistol in his
sweaty hand, his mind wishing desperately for a pair of binoculars. From where he was sequestered he was able to see a few lumps on the driveway that looked like they might be bodies on the ground but he couldn't be sure. The eight men that had prompted his refuge here all disappeared between position 2 and the house next to it on the west. They stayed in there for nearly five minutes.
When they finally emerged, Jack saw there were now more of them. Eight had gone in, but twelve came out. Every one of them had a rifle held at port arms position. They crept around until they were out of the sight line of position 2 and then they began jogging right towards him. His grip tightened on his pistol as they approached and he wondered just how many of them he could shoot before they gunned him down like a rabid dog. He was putting his money on three, but thought that four was maybe possible. When they passed him without even a glance in his direction, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief and wished to have an M-16 in his hands. With the automatic rifle he thought that maybe he would be able to take all of them out. Well, if wishes were horses, etc, etc...
As the invaders moved further down Sycamore Avenue he took a moment to wonder if they had left anyone behind to keep an eye on the guard position. Logic told him that they wouldn't do that so he got up and dashed quickly across the street. Moving carefully in case logic happened to be wrong, he advanced house by house, his gun still in his hand, until he was standing against the garage door of the house next door. By now he was clearly able to identify the two lumps in the driveway as human bodies, and those of invaders at that. Their rifles were still lying next to them and the sharp smell of urine and feces was powerful enough to reach him even there. He wondered what the hell had happened. What were all of those metal fragments and what was that sharp, chemical odor that was almost strong enough to override the other stenches?
Putting these speculations out of his mind, he returned to the task at hand. As Skip had taught his students during the training, he stepped slowly up the corner of the building so he could see if anyone was still over there. His pistol was pointed downward, not upward, as television cops liked to do. Though pointing up looked more dramatic to a viewing audience, it was much faster and more natural of a motion to bring a weapon to bear by raising the arms up from the waist then bringing it down from the shoulder. He poked his head around the corner and saw nothing but a bunch of empty shell casings along the wall. He took a deep breath and then dashed across the open space to the guard post's driveway.
Over here the chemical and biological odor was much stronger, almost sickening. He could now see that the metal fragments that littered the driveway were from a can of insect spray. He could also see the .45 pistol lying broken in two pieces on the ground. He knew that pistol. It belonged to Paula. Its presence on the ground was a very disturbing sight.
Anxious to get away from the choking pesticide and bodily secretion fumes, he continued to creep along the garage door until he was able to peer around and look at the front door. He saw that it had been opened and that two more bodies, invaders by the looks of them, were lying in the entryway. So nobody had made it into the house, or had they?
Knowing he was taking a chance but confident in his ability to get away if the occupant turned out to be an invader, he called out. "Is anyone in the house? This is Jack!"
It took a few seconds but finally a female voice answered back. "Jack? Is that really you?"
"Yes," he answered. "Are you okay in there?"
"I'm holding," she replied. "Who is with you?"
"No one," he said. "I came from my house. I'm coming in, don't shoot at me!"
"All right."
Slowly, his pistol still in his hand, he trotted to the front door and stepped over the bodies that were lying there. "Where are you?" he asked.
"Step all the way inside first," she said from somewhere above him. "I want to make sure you're not a hostage."
"Right," he told her, coming towards the staircase. "I'm all alone. They're all gone."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"I watched them go," he said, mounting the stairs and reholstering his pistol. "They're heading for the community center. Where's your radio?"
She finally stood up, or at least she tried to. She was very wobbly on her feet. Jack was able to see a large stain on her shirt where she had thrown up. He was also able to see, though he didn't really want to, a dark patch in the crotch of her jeans where she had urinated on herself. She sat back down, leaning against the wall. "I got gassed a little when they hit," she said. "Some kind of nerve gas or something. I think I'll live but I'm pretty sick right now. I keep throwing up and... you know?"
"It was Raid," he said. "I saw the cans outside. What the hell is going on? Where's Brenda?"
"She's dead," Paula said. "They shot her through the wall in the bedroom. Are you sure they're all gone?"
"Yes," he said, holding out his hand for the radio. "Give it to me, I need to talk to Skip. He needs to know they're coming."
She handed it to him and he keyed it up. "Skip," he said, "this is Jack at position 2. Are you there?"
It took about fifteen seconds but finally he replied. "Jack?" he asked. "What are you doing there?"
"I heard the shooting and I came to see what was happening," he said into the radio. "I saw them, Skip. They've left the guard position and they're heading down Sycamore right towards you, moving fast. There are twelve of them and they are armed with rifles and pistols. They left here less than five minutes ago."
Skip had, by that point, made his way out into the parking lot of the community center, where Mick was slowly assembling troops. After hearing Jack's report he took a look at the map he had spread out on the front seat of the fire engine, putting his finger on Sycamore Avenue. Adding five minutes to the corner of Sycamore and Blossom, accounting for a reasonably fast pace, he figured that he had three minutes, maybe four before the invaders arrived at the north end of the park. He took another look outside and saw that fifteen people, mostly women but a few men, were armed up. Only one or two of them looked like they might be halfway competent with the rifles they had been given. Most were fumbling as they tried to put ammunition in.
"This is not good," he muttered, cursing Jessica and Dale for overriding his suggestion some weeks before that all guns be stored loaded, with the safeties on, in case of attack. He put the two council members out of his head and picked up the radio again. " Christine, are you there?"
" Christine here," her voice responded immediately.
"Have you been listening to Jack's traffic?"
"Affirmative," she told him. "I copy twelve armed men heading down Sycamore Avenue towards the community center."
"Good," he said. "I want you and Maggie to take your weapons, as much ammo as you can carry, and get to the corner of Manzanita and Sycamore as fast as you can. Hole up over there where you can see what's going on and report to me when they pass by. You should be able to get there before them. Hold your fire until you're told. Report only for now."
"Copy, Skip," she said. "We're on the way."
"Jack," he said next, "are you still with me?"
"I'm here, Skip," his voice said.
"Take the 16 and the radio and go as fast as you can to the corner of Cypress and Manzanita. Find yourself a place to hole up there. Take any extra ammo you have as well. Wait for orders there."
"Got it," he said.
"Is Paula still okay?"
"She's sick but she's chillin'," he answered.
"Good," Skip said. "Tell her to keep chillin'. We'll send someone to get her as soon as we can. Position 4 and Position 5, you guys just keep your eyes out. I'll call you if I need you."
He stuffed the radio back in his pocket and stepped down from the fire engine, grabbing the AR-15 he'd taken from the supply room and slinging it over his shoulder. Jessica and Dale, both with shotguns in their hands, were standing directly behind him, listening to everything he did. It seemed like Jessica wanted to say something to him but he pushed by her, g
oing over to Mick.
"Mick," he said. "We got about three minutes or so until they're here. There are twelve of them, armed with rifles and pistols, and they were last seen moving south down Sycamore. I'll take the people you have here and deploy them over on the far side of the parking lot, by the playground. You go inside and get another group together. Get yourself a radio and stand by for orders. I'll probably have you firm up the far side of the building. You'll be able to find reasonable cover behind the cars and trucks parked out there. Don't come out with less than ten people though and whatever you do, don't let anyone else out of that building until I say so."
"Right," Mick said, turning and running back towards the door.
Skip then turned to the motley collection that he had. "All right, people," he said. "Get your weapons locked and loaded and follow me. We got twelve armed men heading our way from the north."
Bill called a sudden halt to his eleven troops. "This road here," he said, pointing at a side street that went off to the east. "It leads to that other road that goes along the east side of the park." He turned to Glenn Paxton, who he figured was the least incompetent at command. "Glenn," he told him. "You take Mike, Steve, and Lou and keep moving south, until you get to the last row of houses before the park. Find cover there and start shooting at anyone out front. If no one's out there, shoot a couple rounds anyway to try and draw any fire they have."
"What are you gonna do?" Glenn said, terrified at the thought that he was being put in charge of something.
"I'm gonna take the rest of the guys and hit them from the east. While you're keeping them occupied, we'll move in. Be careful not to shoot us."
"But..."
"Just do it," Bill yelled. "Now." He slapped him on the back to get him in gear.
Glenn reluctantly gathered his task force together and led them down Sycamore. Once they were on their way, Bill and his group began heading east. When they got to the corner, they hooked back to the south.
Skip was finally getting his own troops into something approximating good positions. He had then deployed on their bellies behind the wooden planks that made up the large sawdust pit within which the jungle gym was contained. He himself was lying in the middle, directly between Jessica and Dale, who were both trembling like paint-shakers.