The door looms in front of her, growing larger with every step she takes. She nearly screams as something that can only be a bullet whines past her ear close enough to make her hair flutter. Then she finds herself face first in the snow as bullets erupt from everywhere at once.
Hearing the firestorm, Andrews flings open the door and rushes out, followed by his compatriots. Bracketing Dakota on either side, they empty their weapons into the darkness as the roar of the planes becomes almost overwhelming.
“We need to leave now, Ma’am!” Andrews shouts over the din.
Koda nods to signal her understanding, and, with a final burst of gunfire, turns and heads for the door, the others in tow.
Kirsten turns herself over in the snow just in time to see the barrel of a gun shoved in her face by a very angry looking woman.
“No!” Koda shouts, knocking Johnson’s weapon away just in time. The bullet pierces the ground not more than a foot to the left of Kirsten’s arm. “She’s human!”
Johnson looks stunned, then pales as she realizes what she almost did. Koda shoves her in the direction of the door, then grabs Kirsten and hauls her to her feet. “Move! Now!!”
They can hear the planes directly overhead as they dart into the darkness of the underground tunnel.
The first of the bombs hit as the group thunders down the stairs and into the crew quarters. The entire underground structure shakes and men and women are thrown into walls and over tables as they struggle to move away from the conflagration overhead. Kirsten’s knees buckle, but the arm around her waist keeps her from falling. It is all she can do just to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Soaked, freezing, numb and dizzy, survival is the only thing that matters.
The anger will return later, and when it does, Kirsten will give these people a little King-sized conflagration of her own.
Through the swaying bridge and into the crew’s quarters they run, resisting the instinctive urge to duck and cover as gigantic explosion after gigantic explosion shudders the underground complex. It’s like being inside of an earthquake.
Kirsten trips going up the first set of stairs. Her weak and numb legs simply do not have the feeling or the strength left to do the job. Instead of falling, however, she is borne up with the tide of bodies running for their lives.
Shooting out of the crew quarters, the group runs into the tunnel and its swaying, never-ending bridge.
Then falls the most titanic explosion yet, seemingly directly overhead. Trapped on the bridge, the group collapses to their knees, grabbing the struts for dear life as it sways alarmingly. A series of massive explosions follow like the finale of a fireworks show. With each concussion, the bridge swings more violently until it is almost sideways. Her half-frozen hands useless, Kirsten wraps both arms around the center strut, placing her face against the icy metal, and holds with all her will.
Ramirez, a young airman, shouts as he is toppled over the guardrail. Dakota and Andrews both manage to snag the young man before he plummets to what likely would be his death.
“Stop kicking!”
His fear sweat provides a greasy grip and Koda feels her hand slipping. The bridge rocks again and Andrews loses his grip on the young man, who screams loud and long.
“Goddamnit, Ramirez! Stop kicking!!!” With a grunt, Koda readjusts her grip and manages to keep hold of the panicking airman. “Andrews! Get back up here and give me some help!”
Stumbling to his feet, Andrews manages to shoot an arm out just as another bomb falls and rocks the bridge. “Fuck! I’m losing him! I’m losing him!”
“On three! Pull! One, two, three, NOW!”
With the last of their strength, Koda and Andrews yank Ramirez up and over the guardrails. The young man grunts as he lands on his back, driving the breath from his lungs. Bending over, Andrews grabs the man by the front of his jumpsuit and hauls him to his feet. “Now move! Move!!”
Kirsten feels hands on her arms, and she looks up into concerned blue eyes. Her implants are ringing so loudly that she can’t hear what the tall woman is trying to say to her. Even lip-reading is out of the question as the bridge continues to rock back and forth at an alarming rate. She feels her death grip on the strut loosened, and a second later, she’s pulled back to her feet and herded through the tunnel like a steer to market.
Finally outside the interminable tunnel, she sees, for the first time, the objects sharing this underground bunker with her. Long and sleek, they are earth’s total destruction in fragile metal shells.
Her eyes go wide with shock, and the anger, so much a part of her anymore, comes roaring back. She turns to the woman behind her, lips spread in a snarl. Though she can’t even hear the sound of her own voice, she’s sure it’s loud enough to be heard on the moon.
“A nuclear missile silo?!? You brought us into a nuclear missile silo with half the world’s bombs dropping on our heads?!?!?”
“Keep moving!” Koda orders, punctuating her shout with a shove to Kirsten’s back which starts her legs moving again.
Another set of steps rises up seemingly to the heavens and, once again, Kristen allows herself to surge along with the tide of humanity. Anything to escape the deathtrap she finds herself in. Even being in a factory full of androids hadn’t scared her this badly.
Up ahead, like a beacon of hope, an open door stands, letting in the meager light of a newly dawned day. Kirsten feels the strength surging into limbs made dead by the cold, and she pushes for the door and freedom.
Suddenly, the light is cut off as the door slams closed, plunging them into darkness once again. A hail goes down the line. “What’s happening?” “What’s going on?” “Hey! Who turned out the lights?”
“Firefight,” Johnson replies, leaning against the now closed door and breathing heavily. “There must be a hundred of ‘em out there!”
Dakota pushes her way to the front of the group. Andrews follows on her heels like a well trained puppy. A quick nod is exchanged before Koda grabs the handle and yanks back hard. The sound of gunfire being exchanged is almost inconsequential compared to what they’ve just been through—small, like the pop-pop-pop of a Daisy air rifle shooting at tin cans in a summer hay field.
Johnson wasn’t far off in her assessment. Dakota eyeballs at least one hundred armed androids firing at her handful of soldiers hunkered down behind a small cement abutment. There is a football-field sized span of distance between the bunker door and the beleaguered squad.
Andrews looks up at her, a question in his eyes. The weight of an unasked for command sits heavy on her shoulders once again—an unwelcome guest with no plans of leaving. Her quick mind sorts through and discards several possible scenarios. Suddenly, she smiles and Andrews’ eyes bug nearly out of his head. “Ma’am?”
“Listen.”
He does.
A slow smile spreads across his face as he hears a telltale whut-whut-whut-whut-whut-whut.
The smile morphs into an outright grin as a squadron of BlackHawk attack helicopters come over the rise like a swarm of black, terminally pissed-off wasps. Fire spits from their gunports and droids scatter like autumn leaves in the snow. Line after line of androids fall, blown to bits by the awesome firepower of the flying destroyers.
The small group trapped behind the abutment cheers as the BlackHawks destroy the final androids, and set down in a clear patch of snow. Their rotors still turn at a brisk clip as the pilots jump down and stride over to the group.
One in particular is very familiar, and as he spots Koda, he gives a big, boyish grin and changes his steps to head in her direction.
“Move out, everyone!” Dakota orders, then steps aside as grateful men and women push past her and into the fresh, open air of a new day.
“Didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun, did ya cuz,” Manny grins, wrapping Koda in a tight embrace.