As Darkness Falls

by David Lucin

  “So, Jansen?” Aiden asked. “Think we’ll be going home?”

  “I’m not sure, but if you want me to sign somewhere that I promise not to make us stay, I—”

  A deafening pop cut her off. A fraction of a second later, the bark of a rifle echoed through the valley.

  Lopez swore and jerked the wheel left, then right. The truck fishtailed in the dirt road as Tanis shrieked, high and shrill.

  Intuitively, Jenn knew they were under attack, but the part of her brain responsible for self-preservation had suppressed any feelings of panic while whisking away questions about who had done this, how, or why. They were distractions, and indulging them could get her killed.

  “We lost a tire!” Lopez shouted.

  Jenn scanned the bumps and nooks in the terrain. That shot could have come from anywhere. “Step on it. Get us out of here!”

  She began to radio for help but froze when blood burst from Lopez’s chest. A second gunshot boomed, but Jenn could hardly hear it. Buzzing began in her ears, starting low but growing louder and louder until it drowned out the screams from her grunts in the back seat. Time slowed, almost stopped. Lopez, clearly in shock, released his grip on the wheel and clutched at his wound with both hands. Crimson coated his fingers. He looked at Jenn with wide, disbelieving eyes, as if to ask, Is this real?

  Was it? How could it be? A second ago, she was joking with her squadmates. Now Lopez had been shot. Her mind swirled, reeled, denied what was happening around her. She grappled with her instinct to shut down, fighting with all her strength to stay focused and think straight.

  A heartbeat later, she’d successfully wrestled her lizard brain into submission, and all at once, her senses returned: the smell of iron and blood, the shouts from Tanis, the jumbled words that might have been questions from Aiden or Wyatt or Freddie—she couldn’t tell who. A spiderweb of cracks radiated outward from a small hole on the driver’s side of the windshield, making it difficult to see straight ahead, but she felt the truck slowing down and veering to the left.

  The world sped up, playing in fast-forward. The truck bounced as it sailed off the road. Jenn reached across the cab, took the wheel, and pulled it hard, but she was too late. The front end dipped into a crevice and plowed into the earth. A crunching sound followed as her seat belt slammed against her chest, forcing the wind from her lungs. Her head struck an airbag exploding outward from the dash, and a fierce burning sensation lanced down her neck and spine.

  And then silence. It came on so suddenly Jenn thought she might have gone deaf. She could only hear herself breathing into the airbag as it deflated. Soon, there were faint moans, a gurgle, a cough.

  Lopez! She had to help him. But they were under attack, weren’t they? She couldn’t remember. The memories of the last few seconds were fuzzy like a quickly fading dream.

  Yes, they were shot at. But how? Someone must have been hiding out there, waiting to ambush them. Okay, then why? They had no supplies other than a few weapons, a pair of binoculars, and what they would eat for lunch. Could this be the same raiders who attacked the National Guard at Sunset Point and stole the Humvee? Was it the Major?

  She peeled her face off the airbag. The truck was on an angle, the front end lower than the rear. Lopez’s head slumped awkwardly over his shoulder, and his arms hung at his sides. A line of blood dribbled from his mouth. More covered his shirt. Lots more. Belatedly, Jenn realized he was dead.

  “Out of the truck!” Freddie ordered, reaching across Wyatt to open the door. “We’re sitting ducks in here. Move, move, move!”

  Jenn agreed, relieved that Freddie had leaped into action. “Do it,” she said, then added into her radio, “Quinn, Dylan, anyone, this is Jenn. We’re under attack. I repeat: we are under attack. On Route 59 between lookout points.”

  She pushed against the door with her elbow. To her surprise, it popped right open. Awkwardly, she rolled out and landed on a bush. The others were out now, kneeling close to the vehicle, their rifles up as they searched for their attackers.

  “Quinn!” she tried again. “Do you copy?”

  Still no answer. These radios had a theoretical range of twenty-five miles, but without an amplifier or a drone relaying the signal, in practice, that number dropped to two or three. She should be close enough to Quinn to make contact, but down here in this valley, without a line of sight, her calls might go unheard.

  “I see someone,” Freddie said. “Twelve o’clock!”

  Jenn lay prone and aimed her rifle in that general direction, then squeezed off a shot. As she worked the bolt to chamber another round, a chorus of AR fire rang out. She didn’t detect any movement, but for now, all they could do was return fire and wait for relief.

  The shooting ceased, then Wyatt shouted, “Four o’clock!”

  When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw a figure ambling across a low ridge. A flurry of gunfire from her team sent it to the ground.

  “Jansen!” The sound of Dylan’s voice blaring through her radio nearly stopped her heart. Her message, or at least part of it, must have gotten through to Quinn. “Acknowledged: you are under attack. Drone and two squads on their way in trucks and ATVs. ETA ten minutes.”

  Ten minutes. An eternity.

  As she relayed that information to her team, he asked, “What’s your status?”

  She reached for the mic clipped to her jacket, but the truck’s window exploded. Another round pinged off the front end. A third whizzed by her head so close she felt the air move. Yet more peppered the vehicle as she scurried deeper into the crevice.

  They’re flanking us, she realized.

  With shaky fingers, she pressed the talk button on her radio and said over a fresh wave of return fire from her squadmates, “Hurry up! We’re—”

  A geyser of dirt erupted not six inches from her face. A half second later, her brain commanded her to roll away.

  Down in the crevice with Jenn, Tanis peeked her head over the lip, then quickly ducked behind it once again. “Trucks coming up the road. Three of them.”

  Trucks?

  Before Jenn could see for herself, Dylan yelled, “Jansen! Drone’s picking up movement on your six. Four hostiles approaching fast.”

  The front, the right, and now the rear. They weren’t just being flanked; they were being surrounded. Help was on its way, though, and they only had to hold out for . . .

  How long had passed? It felt like hours, but probably only a minute had elapsed.

  Careful to stay behind cover, Jenn shifted to face the new threat coming at her from the north. The gunfire abated as she crawled on her hands and knees to the other side of the crevice, where she managed a brief glance over the edge.

  She saw four figures less than thirty yards away. All moved at a fast walk, rifles trained on her position. A rotocopter drone, its gunmetal gray body barely visible against the sky, hung high behind them. They either hadn’t noticed it or didn’t care they were being watched. Surely they knew Militia reinforcements were on the way.

  With her iron sights lined up on a target, her finger touched the trigger, but the clap of weapons fire sent her to the bottom of the crevice.

  The shooting continued. None of it came from her team; she, Tanis, Wyatt, Freddie, and Aiden had all retreated to the relative safety of this natural trench line. She heard tires on gravel now. Indistinct chatter, too. Someone giving orders.

  And then, abruptly, the gunfire ceased.

  Tanis opened her mouth like she wanted to speak but had forgotten how. Wyatt and Aiden both lay on their backs, rifles held tight to their chests. On his stomach, Freddie inched his weapon toward the top of the crevice. As soon as the barrel cleared the lip, three shots hammered the truck behind them.

  A male voice shouted out, “Guns on the ground! Do it now!”

  Dread coiled in Jenn’s guts. These attackers weren’t here to kill and loot; they were here to kidnap. Aside from the shot that hit Lopez, none of the dozens fired in her direction had landed. Either those men an
d women out there were terrible shots, or they were missing on purpose. Hunkering down at the bottom of this trench, Jenn couldn’t begin to comprehend why anyone would want to take her and four of her squadmates. Her mind was too busy figuring out how to prevent that from happening.

  “I said now!”

  Tanis’s lip quivered while Aiden muttered something that sounded a lot like a prayer. Freddie seemed ready to continue the fight, and despite the circumstances, Jenn felt a pang of pride.

  “You’ve got until the count of five!” That voice was close, its owner just outside the crevice.

  “Or what?” Jenn blurted out. “Reinforcements will be here soon, so if you want out of here in one piece, you should probably get back in those trucks and drive away.”

  “If I hit zero and don’t see ten hands, I’m lobbing a grenade in that little hole of yours, so it’s up to you: come with us or wind up torn to shreds.”

  Jenn’s blood ran cold. This guy was bluffing, right? No way he had a hand grenade. But did she want to test him? If this was the same group that stole the Humvee from Sunset Point, he might be telling the truth.

  “Here we go,” he continued. “Five!”

  Tanis had thrown herself flat to the earth while Aiden covered his head like the grenade was en route already.

  “Jansen!” Dylan again. She covered her mic with a palm so her attackers couldn’t hear. “What’s going on?”

  “They’re ordering us to surrender,” she whispered. “Saying they’ll throw a grenade at us if we refuse.”

  The man shouted, “Four!”

  “I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Dylan said. Oddly, the calmness in his voice was terrifying. It sounded like he’d given up hope. “Don’t be a hero, okay? I don’t want you dying out there for nothing. Just know we’re coming, and we’ll get you back. I promise.”

  “Three!”

  Anger simmered inside her. She had done these people no wrong, yet they attacked her and killed Lopez anyway. She envisioned herself firing wildly at them with no regard for her own life, if only to experience the satisfaction of killing one of them.

  Don’t be a hero, she heard Dylan say.

  “Two!”

  Jenn looked at her squadmates, who stared at her in turn, eagerly awaiting her instructions. Freddie would have been listening in on her conversation with Dylan. He worked his jaw and gave her a quick nod, then said quietly, “I’m with you. Whatever you decide.”

  She appreciated his support, but what could she do? Stay here and see if that man kept his promise of throwing a grenade into their trench? She’d vowed to keep her people safe, and that meant ordering them to lay down their arms and surrender.

  “One!”

  The anger rose to a boil. She wanted nothing more than to continue the fight and put a bullet in whoever killed Lopez, but this wasn’t over yet. Reinforcements were coming, and she had faith that Dylan and Liam and the rest of the Militia would do everything in their power to rescue her.

  “Okay, you win!” The words burned her mouth. Reluctantly, she lay Espinosa in the dirt and threw up her hands, the others following her lead. “We surrender.”

  12

  Dear Daddy, the handwritten letter from Debbie read.

  Alone, Liam sat at his desk in the command tent. Since all communications between the roadblock and the home front—as Liam had begun to think of Flagstaff—occurred via messenger, soldiers and their families had revived the age-old practice of exchanging letters. Every forty-eight hours or so, a bagful of mail would arrive at the FOB, and another would be taken home. Mail days were Liam’s favorite; without fail, there was always a letter from his girls.

  Living at Uncle Mikey’s house is fun, the letter continued. The day before Liam left for Sunset Point, Erin and Debbie moved in with Mikey, his sister, and their parents. Debbie, it seemed, had forgotten her earlier objections. He showed me how to make a fire. I’m not aloud—Erin obviously helped Debbie compose these letters, but Liam loved how she didn’t correct every single spelling mistake—to play with it by myself. I promise I’m really safe. It snowed yesterday and me and Mom made a snowman.

  That gave Liam the chills. Yesterday was only October 8. He’d tried explaining to Debbie that winter this year would be different, but he’d stopped short of stressing how it would also be dangerous. How was an eight-year-old supposed to understand the concept of nuclear winter?

  I miss you and I’m proud of you. Come home soon. Love, Debbie.

  He blinked frantically, trying in vain to keep his eyes dry. After stowing the letter safely in his top drawer with all the others from Debbie and Erin, he fetched a pad of paper and a pen to compose a reply.

  Dear Debs—

  The radio on his desk crackled, interrupting him. “Lieutenant Townsend for Commander Kipling. We need you in operations right away.”

  An edge of fear sharpened her words. It sent Liam’s heart racing, and he shot out of his chair. Leaving his letter unfinished, he darted outside, headed for the operations tent. On his way, he checked toward the roadblock, where he half expected a horde of refugees to be scaling the barricades, but all appeared to be in order. What was wrong? Townsend was normally so cool and composed, and in most circumstances, she would simply come speak with him in person, not contact him via radio. What was so urgent?

  “What do we got?” he asked as he stormed into the tent, where Terrence Nielsen and Townsend hunched over the fold-out table.

  Townsend said, “Sir, on their way to lookout positions on the interstate, a fire team from First Squad of First Flagstaff Platoon was ambushed. After a brief firefight, five of our troops, including the squad’s leader, were taken and loaded into pickup trucks. Currently, they’re being driven south along Route 59. We have ATVs pursuing, and I’ve ordered both recon drones into the air.”

  Liam was overcome with a sense of vertigo. That was Jenn’s squad. Although he tried to maintain a professional distance with his subordinates, particularly those below his platoon leaders, he couldn’t deny his fondness for Jenn. She was like a second daughter to Gary, and Gary was one of Liam’s closest friends, so he felt a personal responsibility to keep her safe.

  “How did this happen?” he asked, still somewhat in disbelief.

  Townsend chewed her lip, hesitating. “They must have snuck past our lookouts at night, and there are dozens of off-road trails where the trucks could have been hidden.” Her expression hardened. “Sir, this was a coordinated attack with the express purpose of kidnapping our people.”

  He planted his hands on the table, reeling from the deluge of information, and took a moment to digest everything Townsend had told him. Questions about who did this and why rolled around in his head, but he could ask them later. Right now, he had to focus on rescuing his people.

  On the tablet, a map of the area was already open. Liam slid it closer and zoomed in. Route 59, an old dirt highway, ran parallel to I-17 through the western valley. It then turned into Maggie Mine Road, which continued south until it spilled into Black Canyon City.

  “Townsend, I want a squad of your Guard heading down the interstate.” He pressed a finger to the tablet. “I’m assuming these trucks are following back roads into Black Canyon City. If we hurry, we can intercept them there. And transfer them command of the recon drones.” The Guard’s two medium-range recon drones could transmit live video feeds up to fifteen kilometers; any farther and the signal would become too weak to receive. Thus, in order to track those enemy vehicles in real time, the drones’ operators had to remain within that fifteen-kilometer radius. If they fell too far behind, the chase would be over.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The tent flap flew open, and in came a red-faced and sweaty Baker. “It’s the Major,” he said and joined Liam at the table. “It has to be. Same guys who attacked the rest stop the day we showed up.”

  Subconsciously, Liam had assumed as much, but for now, those kinds of details remained trivial. He still felt a twinge of disgust, hating
the possibility that he and the fabled Major shared a rank. No self-respecting officer in the U.S. military would stoop to raiding and killing to survive, would he?

  Doors slammed shut outside the operations tent, followed by the squeal of tires. “My squad’s away, sir,” Townsend reported. “Two pickups, one taking the northbound lanes, the other in the southbound lanes.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  Her radio squelched, and Sergeant Vasquez said, “Ma’am, the drones have a visual on three trucks heading south on Route 59. The ATVs are continuing their pursuit but can’t keep up.”

  “Call them off,” Liam told Baker. “They’re not going to be any help to us now.”

  Baker relayed the order into his radio as Liam inspected the tablet once more, confirming Route 59 and Maggie Mine Road led into Black Canyon City and nowhere else.

  A tense minute ticked by. Then a second, a third, a fourth. Liam compulsively licked his lips, not caring that they had begun to sting. Baker studied the map like he was trying to burn the images into his brain, and Townsend held the radio close to her ear, eagerly awaiting an update from Vasquez. In this kind of situation, Liam would have preferred being at the sharp end, where he could physically do something. By the looks of Townsend and Baker, they felt the same way.

  “Something’s wrong,” Baker said, his nose still in the tablet. “It’s been eight minutes. Black Canyon City is only thirteen klicks from here.”

  Liam considered that Vasquez was out of radio contact, but the recon drones, while limited in their ability to send complex data like video, excelled at amplifying and relaying two-way radio signals up to a distance of forty or fifty kilometers.

  He snapped his fingers at Townsend, who said into her radio, “Townsend for Vasquez.”

  When Vasquez didn’t respond immediately, Liam started considering worst-case scenarios. Had the Guard been attacked, too?

  “Vasquez, do you copy?”

  “Vasquez here,” came the reply, muffled in static.