The pool. “Come on.”
They crawled through the gate, stashed their weapons along the fence, and slipped into the warm, swampy water.
When the defenders drew close, Kai whispered, “Under,” took a deep breath, and ducked underwater.
He couldn’t see anything but green silt floating in brackish water. Because good soldiers don’t do much talking in the midst of battle, he couldn’t count on hearing the defenders pass. His best bet was to hold his breath as long as possible, though not so long that he surfaced gasping for air.
Tina and Luis were dead. It was the first moment he’d had to register that. They were still in the garage. How had all four of them been so stupid? When Kai saw that key in Luis’s hand, he’d instantly formed an image of the four of them bursting through the garage door, careening down the street and out of harm’s way. In a car that hadn’t been started in fifteen years.
Stupid, stupid.
Kai’s damaged lungs began to ache. He guessed they’d been under no more than thirty or forty seconds, probably not long enough for the defenders to pass. Worse, he needed to cough. His lungs were twitching, his throat tingling madly.
If he was going to cough, better to do it underwater, where the sound wouldn’t carry. He let it go, expelling most of the air from his lungs, then held on a few more seconds before gently lifting his face above the water.
A defender was standing directly over him. Kai took a deep, slow breath through his nose as Shoelace’s face surfaced beside him. The defender looked left and right, then moved on.
Two more came into view. Like the first, these two were focused on threats from nearby houses and other areas that provided potential cover; none thought to look in an old swimming pool.
When they were out of sight, Kai and Shoelace pulled themselves out of the pool and retrieved their rifles.
“We should touch base with HQ, find out where we’re supposed to rendezvous,” Shoelace said as water dripped off him and pattered to the concrete.
Kai took a deep, sighing breath, then looked off at the smoking wreckage. The thought of heading back into that insanity made him want to cry. If they went, they would die. He was certain of that. Kai didn’t want to die. He wanted to see his son again, his wife.
It was time to fold, he realized. Time to collect what chips he had left and leave the table. He looked at Shoelace and said, “I think we should find a house that’s still standing and crash there until this thing is over.”
Shoelace chuckled, but Kai gave him a level look. “No, I’m serious.” This war was so big, so complicated, no one would miss two soldiers. “We can get some sleep, read a book.”
Shoelace gave Kai a pained look. “Kai, I can’t do that. Like the sergeant said, if we don’t stop them now, we’re not going to.”
“We’re not going to,” Kai said. “We both know that.”
“We at least have to try.” When Kai didn’t respond, Shoelace shook his head, then took a few steps toward the house, which was now nothing but a big bonfire on a concrete foundation. “You know what these stilts are like. You know that better than I do.”
“I don’t want my son to grow up an orphan the way I did.”
“I have four kids!” Shoelace shouted. “I’m afraid they won’t get to grow up at all.” Suddenly his face just fell. He looked at Kai, shook his head slowly, ponderously, then held out his hand.
Kai shook it. “See you again sometime.”
“Sure. You know, if the defenders take the area, you’ll be caught behind enemy lines.”
Kai shrugged. “They won’t bother me if I keep my head down.”
Shoelace headed in the direction the defenders had gone. Kai watched him walk for a moment, then he went in the opposite direction. He had about two days before the full defender ground force would arrive. By then he needed to be stocked up with food and supplies, and to be in a basement somewhere.
His stomach was a knot of guilt, more for letting Shoelace down than anything else. The rest of them would fare about as well with or without him. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t owe them anything.
A half mile away Kai found Jaden, Julie, and their family. There was a stream running under a little bridge on the access road that led into the housing development. They’d taken a position under the bridge. Not a bad move, all in all.
They were all dead.
58
Dominique Wiewall
July 11, 2045. Colorado Springs, Colorado.
Orders were shouted. All around the war room, rapid conversations took place. Dominique left her swivel seat as unobtrusively as possible, and went to stand by the exit. Not that she was planning to go anywhere; she just felt like she should get out of the way, because she was of no use in this situation. Worse, she felt as if people were silently asking the back of her head why she’d made the defenders complete psychopaths.
“They’re securing oil fields and refineries as they advance on Baghdad,” some colonel shouted. He was near the front, looking at a live feed of a tactical map. “Long-range rockets launched from the Persian Gulf have hit the center of gravity in Baghdad. No word on the status of the premier and other leaders working there.”
A civilian in a black suit was suddenly at Dominique’s side. He offered her a bottle of water. “You all right?”
She accepted the water with a nod of thanks. “I’m just trying to stay out of the way. I’m not of any use in this situation.” Someone shouted to the president. She watched him climb the steps, two at a time, then huddle with two strategists. “To be honest,” she said laughing, “I’m not even sure why I’m here. I was on the Australia team.”
“Oh, I can answer that, Dr. Wiewall. The operation in Australia was recorded—everything is recorded; we’re being recorded right now. The president went over that recording, so he knows who fucked up and who didn’t. You didn’t.”
Dominique laughed harshly. “No, I only designed the bloody things. I didn’t fuck up at all.” If felt good to say it, to get it out in the open.
“You had to be quick. Not to mention, you saved the human race.”
She stepped closer, grateful for the words, for a sympathetic ear. “I’m still responsible for what they are. I should have considered what they’d be like, not simply how effective they’d be in battle.”
The man gave her a kind smile. “I’m not sure you’re being fair to yourself.”
She offered the civilian her hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t know you.”
“Forrest Rosenberg. Secret Service.”
“Thank you for telling me about the recordings. I feel better, knowing everyone in the room doesn’t think I’m an idiot.”
“No problem.”
59
Kai Zhou
July 11, 2045. Mapleton, Utah.
A wounded defender lay beside the road. His side was flayed open, his arm gone above the elbow. Shrapnel wounds, from a tank round or a howitzer. Probably a tank. The defender had torn a strip from his pants to use as a tourniquet. The arm that was missing was the one that had held the defender’s built-in weapons system. His rifle was nowhere in sight.
“They left you behind?” Kai called from a distance. They just left their mortally wounded behind to die, like they could care less about each other.
“Yes,” the defender said. He was in obvious pain. Maybe they were short on morphine and didn’t want to waste it on a hopeless case.