by Kenny Soward
The radio on the kitchen table burst to life, startling her.
“Sara, this is Dion. Are you there?”
Sara picked up the radio, held it to her mouth, and pressed the talk button. “I’m here, Dion. What’s up?”
“Something happened down here, Sara,” Dion said. His voice was hushed, his words edged with danger.
“Okay. Spit it out.” Sara walked past the couch, glancing up at her daughter’s bedroom door. It was cracked about an inch. Just enough for her to hear Zoe call for her, but probably not enough for the dogs to get out on their own. She’d told Zoe to always leave at least a foot for the dogs to come and go, yet her daughter always kept it shut too tight. The dogs didn’t have hands, after all, and Sara didn’t want them pawing at the floor.
“Someone attacked Kayla.”
“What?” Sara was incredulous, and she couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. “Who? Why?”
“I don’t know. Someone got through her window and attacked her. Steven and three of the Good Folk heard the commotion and rushed upstairs, but whoever it was got away.”
“Is Kayla okay?”
“She’s pretty beat up, but Steven and the others got there just in time.”
“That’s good,” Sara said, her mind whirling with possibilities.
“I just wanted you to know…”
Dion’s words faded as a chilly draft brushed across the back of Sara’s neck. She lowered the radio and spun in a circle, her hand moving to draw her pistol from its holster. But it wasn’t there, because she’d left her weapons on the kitchen table.
There was no one in the room with her, anyway. The back door was shut tight, and there was no water or mud on the floor. Eyes pinned to the glass door, Sara crossed to the kitchen table, intent on grabbing her gun. However, she realized her mistake even as she reached for the weapon. The faint squeak of a floorboard in the laundry room and a snap of movement from the corner of her eye caused her to gasp. Something hard struck Sara in the side of her head, and her vision exploded with zipping stars.
Someone grabbed her and shoved her hard across the kitchen where she slammed into the counter. Her hands inadvertently wrapped around the coffee pot half-filled with steaming, stale coffee. Instead of jerking away, Sara gripped the pot and reeled, throwing the scalding contents into the face of the woman attacking her.
Steam rolled off the woman’s skin as she snarled and lunged. Sara saw the flash of a blade and she twisted desperately, dancing aside even as she brought the glass pot down on the woman’s head in a shower of glass. Had the woman not been half-blinded by the hot coffee, Sara might have been gutted. Instead, she dove for her weapons, grabbing her pistol off the table and turning, firing blindly even as she backpedaled across the living room floor.
The bullets hit nothing. The woman was gone.
No, not gone. Fast. Sara spotted her stalking around the kitchen table to Sara’s right. The woman’s blood-red hair lay plastered against her pale cheeks as she screamed in rage. It was the crawler woman. The one who’d wanted them to hand over Kayla. Yi’s commander. The one Yi called Katrya. The one they thought had died.
Zoe’s bedroom door came open, and her daughter yelled “Mom!” as dog nails scrabbled on the hardwood floor.
Sara adjusted her aim and fired, but Katrya quickly sidestepped to get out of the way. Then she flipped her knife around, caught the blade, and pulled it back.
As Katrya whipped the knife at Sara, Rex flew from the top rail and slammed into her.
The blade sunk into Sara’s right shoulder with a meaty thud, knocking her back two steps into the wall. A table and lamp toppled over, and family photos crashed to the floor. Sara’s arm fell limp, pistol clattering to the floor.
Katrya and Rex fought back and forth across the living room as Sara looked on. Rex snarled and lunged, catching Katrya’s ankle and pulling her leg taut. Katrya snarled right back, diving on Rex and sinking her fingers into the fur around his neck.
Sara turned her attention to the knife sticking out of her shoulder. She grasped the handle with her left hand, teeth slamming together from the pain.
There came a sickening pop, bone against bone, and Rex’s snarling broke off with a pained bark. Sara glanced over to see Katrya on her knees, holding the dog’s limp head in her arms. She tossed Rex down and glared at Sara with a wide, animal grin.
Sara growled and yanked the blade out of her shoulder, holding it up for Katrya to see. “Zoe, go get help! Run! Now!”
The crying girl flew down the stairs, jerked open the front door, and ran screaming into the night with Astro at her heels.
“I’ll catch her as soon as I’m done with you.” Katrya climbed slowly to her feet. The crawler was bleeding in several places. Not just from the wounds she’d sustained in the firefight the other day. Rex had torn through her combat suit at her ankle and forearm, leaving several gashes.
“You’ll have to go through me first.” Sara anchored her bare feet on the ground, steadying her knees, lifting the knife in her left hand.
“Should take me just a moment,” the crawler said. She slipped into an easy crouch despite her wounds, and Sara knew she was dealing with someone who was not only superior in strength and skill, but someone who was also insane.
Knowing her chances of getting out of the situation alive were slim, Sara stepped to the right and put herself between the crawler and the door. She wanted to give Zoe every chance she could to escape. If the little girl made it to Squirrel’s Nest, she’d be safe.
Katrya came forward with slow assuredness. She snatched at Sara’s knife hand, and Sara made a stabbing motion to defend herself, but it was far too slow.
“Not your better hand,” Katrya snickered.
The woman came in low and fast, kicking Sara’s leg from beneath her. As she fell forward, Sara stabbed downward with the knife, only to have her wrist grabbed in a vise-like grip. Rather than free herself, Sara allowed her momentum to carry her forward, mouth open and ready to bite. She caught Katrya’s chin between her teeth and bit hard. Katrya yowled and struck Sara in the stomach with her fist.
Sara fell back with a gasp, the knife flying from her hand. She hit the floor, air knocked out of her and pain shooting up her side like lightning. Katrya fell on top of her, clawed hands gripping Sara’s throat and squeezing. Sara punched at the woman with her left arm as hard as she could, but her strength was failing.
Sara fought to stay alive for a few more moments. Anything to give her little girl a better chance. Milliseconds slipped by, each like a drop of molasses, each blow landing weaker and weaker until the world grew fuzzy around the edges and started to close like white noise on a television screen.
Strong arms slipped around Katrya’s neck from behind and gripped the woman in a choke hold. They lifted her off of Sara. The crawler gasped, eyes bulging as her air was cut off.
The pressure around her throat gone, Sara sucked in a huge breath of air and watched Katrya punch backwards, trying to strike the old man with the big bushy mustache who held her in his arms. Tex’s grip was strong, and he turned his head to the side to avoid the woman’s flailing fists.
Katrya altered her strategy and threw her right elbow back, catching Tex in the ribs. The man grunted with the blow, though he didn’t let go. Sensing a weakness, Katrya threw her elbow back repeatedly, punishing Tex’s ribs until he let go and fell backward over the arm of the couch.
Stumbling forward, coughing and gasping, Katrya reached for Sara’s neck once more. Sara kicked out, causing Katrya to hesitate.
A gunshot fired loud inside the cabin, and Katrya lurched to the side as if someone had punched her in the arm. The crawler turned and glared at the shooter just as another bullet punched her in the gut. Katrya staggered backwards, her face a grimace of pain and hate as she hit the wall and then crashed to the floor.
Sara turned her head slowly toward the entryway, wondering who had just saved her. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she saw a woman sh
e didn’t know. She was dressed in baggy jeans and a frumpy-looking jacket, and she held a big pistol in both hands like a child held a toy gun. But the expression written on her round, serious face was not a child’s at all. Her blue eyes glowed like lasers in the dim cabin light, and her lips were pressed firmly together in a mask of concentration.
The woman stalked past Sara in a pair of heavy boots so new that Sara could smell the fresh leather. She put one of the boots on Katrya’s left shoulder and pressed the barrel of the weapon to the crawler’s head. She pulled the trigger, spraying the cabin wall with blood and bone. Katrya’s head fell forward, a snarl forever marking her lips.
Stepping back, the woman stared at the dead crawler a moment before turning to Sara with a curt shake of her head. “Sorry about the mess, but I had to make sure she was dead.” Then she tucked her smoking gun back into the waistband of her baggy jeans and knelt beside Sara. Smoothing back her hair, the woman fixed Sara with a firm look. “Now, just hold on. Help is on the way.”
Tex entered Sara’s field of vision, holding his ribs with a painful grimace. “Thank the Lord you drove up to the gate when you did, Rita. I couldn’t have timed it better myself.”
“No problem, Uncle Tex.” Rita smiled and kept smoothing Sara’s hair back against her head. “You’ve got to take bullies down quick and hard, I know that much.”
Sara’s body only knew pain. Her right side ached terribly, and every breath came in a gasp. Warm wetness saturated her shirt and leaked down her side in a sticky mess. Sara reached out and gripped Rita’s jacket, pulling her close.
“Thank you,” Sara said with a grimace. “Tell Jake…”
The pain locked her voice, and darkness took hold.
Chapter 30
Jake, Atlanta, Georgia
“You could let me disarm the bomb,” Jake suggested.
Yi shook his head with a wistful smile. “I was hoping we could discuss something philosophical. Perhaps we could remark on the beauty of this simple moment. Our last moment on this planet. A moment that deserves some poignant words.”
“Or we can discuss how you justify killing thousands of people.”
“As an American, none of this should surprise you. The world hates you.”
“You’re wrong about that, Yi,” Jake shook his head. “We care about the world, and the world cares about us.”
“I suppose it depends on who you ask.”
“You’re probably right about that,” Jake agreed. “I’m going to say you have a biased opinion.” He glanced down at his pistol. Yi had thrown it on the bed, but Jake would have to almost dive across the mattress to get it.
“We’re wasting what precious time we have left,” Yi scoffed. “I should have expected as much from an American. I should just shoot you.”
“How about a bet then?”
“A bet on what?”
“I’ll bet I can disarm this bomb in less than two minutes.”
Yi laughed out loud, turning his dark eyes on Jake with genuine amusement. “I don’t think so. One thing I’ve learned about Americans is that you have a knack for snatching victory out of the jaws of defeat. I won’t tempt fate again.”
“Hey, a compliment for us lowly Americans,” Jake chuckled nervously. “I’ll take it.”
“It’s the only compliment you will ever get from me,” Yi finished, and he turned his eyes back to the window and the night sky beyond it.
“So, no bet?”
“No.”
“Then, you leave me no choice.” Jake sat back in his chair, trying to appear casual. “Jenkins? You there?”
The sound of helicopter rotors chopping air grew louder until it was almost deafening, and the big military airship appeared from the west, swooping in before settling into a tight, almost motionless, hover in front of the window. Jenkins sat behind Clara, the .50 caliber gun named after her mother. The gunner’s eyes peered down the gun sights at Yi through her clear goggles.
“I’m right here, Jake.”
Yi stood and limped over to the bomb. At the same time, he swept the rifle around with his right hand to cover Jake, its stock resting against his waist. Jake’s eyes moved from the helicopter to the gun in Yi’s hand, and he began to rise slowly from his chair.
“You can’t shoot me without hitting the bomb!” Yi shouted over the helicopter noise. “Not that it matters. Killing me will not change a thing!”
“Jenkins isn’t going to shoot you!” Jake shouted back as he reached for the pistol Yi had thrown on the bed. “I just needed her to distract you for a moment.”
Yi’s head jerked around, eyes narrowing as he saw what Jake was doing. He squeezed the M4’s trigger, but the firing pin clicked on an empty chamber. Yi turned and gripped the charging handle, jerking it back and releasing it to load a round. He pulled the trigger again, and once again the gun clicked instead of firing.
Jake had replaced the half-full magazine with an empty one from the stairwell. He raised his Ruger and shot Yi in the face.
“Get in here, Spitz,” Jake called as Yi’s body hit the floor.
Spitz rushed into the room, placing Jake’s wiring tools on the bed along with his laptop.
“Okay, I need my expert,” Jake said, kneeling next to the bomb and reading the counter. “We’ve got three minutes and thirty-nine seconds.”
“This is Chief Tom Meierhoff,” a calm voice spoke through Jake’s headset. “I’m a nuclear weapons specialist from the United States Navy. Let’s get right to the task at hand. Do you see my cursor floating on the laptop screen?”
Jake glanced at Spitz’s laptop screen to a mockup of the crawler bomb. A dot blinked in the center of the screen before it moved around with an experimental jiggle. “I see your cursor. I’ve got my tools out. I’m ready to begin.”
“I’m going to make this easy for you,” Tom said. “Let’s remove the cap first. We’re semi-familiar with this model of bomb, so I think we can get you inside rather quickly. Locate the separation between the cap and body by first tilting the chassis so that the cap is facing upward.”
Together, Jake and Spitz got the bomb tipped onto its side so the cap was in the correct position.
“Got it,” Jake said.
“Now, you should be able to unscrew it. If it doesn’t come easily, use a screwdriver to wedge beneath the cap and pop the tabs.”
Jake followed the instructions, placing both hands on the cap. It did not come easily, so he took the captain’s advice and wedged a screwdriver between the cap and case.
“Where are you calling from, Tom?” Jake asked, more to calm his nerves than to make conversation.
“I’m calling you from Washington.”
“Is the president around?” Jake asked jokingly.
“I can neither confirm nor deny that the president is listening in,” Tom replied.
“That’s not a lot of pressure at all,” Jake sighed. He found all five tabs and popped them with the screwdriver. Then he unscrewed the cap and set it aside. “Cap is off.”
“Great, Jake. What do you see?”
Jake told him, and the captain guided Jake in the removal of the wire casing using the schematics on the laptop screen. Jake was careful not to uncover the actual explosives, or they might be exposed to deadly radiation.
Once the wire casing was removed, Jake identified several clusters of wires for Tom. Then, under Tom’s direction, he began to snip the wire harnesses with wire cutters to separate each cluster. Jake winced with every snip, sweat pouring down his face. One accidental cut, one little nick, could spell the death of thousands.
A minute later, Jake had all the wires separated. He and Tom went through each one, ruling out everything but the live power wires.
In the end, Jake separated two dark-colored wires from the rest.
“Which one?” Jake asked. “One is red. The other is just a different shade of red.”
Spitz shined a flashlight on them. “The one on the right is a brighter red.”
�
�Great,” Jake said.
“I can’t tell you which one it is,” Tom said. “But I’m sure one of those wires connects to the primary explosives. Your guess is as good as mine. Good luck, Jake. You’ve got forty-three seconds to decide.”
The responsibility was Jake’s and Jake’s alone. While part of him wanted to laugh, another part of him wanted to cry. His thoughts wandered to Sara before he jerked them back to the task at hand.
“Spitz, do you have the schematics of the crawler transmitter?”
“Right here,” Spitz said, clearing the laptop screen and then pulling up another diagram.
Jake studied it intently, recalling how he’d bypassed the transmitter’s core CPU. Originally, he’d cut the brighter red wire and had nearly blown the transmitter.
He couldn’t make the same mistake again.
Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out Alice’s dog-eared Uno card, staring at it as the people in his life flashed before his eyes. So many depended on him. Sara and the kids. Marcy, Alice, and Timothy. The people of Atlanta.
It all came down to an educated guess based on his experience.
“You’ve got this, Jake,” Spitz encouraged him.
“No final words or prayers?” Jake quipped.
“I said you’ve got this, dude,” the kid insisted. His jaw worked back and forth with tension before he nodded at the wires. “Make the snip and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Jake held up Alice’s wildcard in one hand and the wire cutters in the other.
The clock reached ten seconds, then five.
Jake nestled the darker red wire between the wire cutter’s sharp edges and squeezed.
Chapter 31
Jake, Gatlinburg, Tennessee | Two days later
A chill wind cut across the yard, causing their windbreakers and coats to flutter, shoulders hunched against the cold. Dead leaves lay crunching and stiff from the frost. Branches rustled quietly in chatter above them as they waited to begin the funerals of two friends.