“Son of a bitch!” Baxley shouted, taking aim.
“Whoa, whoa!” Nettles said, throwing up his hands as if to ward them off.
What the hell? McKenna thought.
But it only took another moment for him to realize the Predator dog was not chasing Nettles, but merely bounding after him like an excited puppy. A glint of metal in the dark, and they all recognized the monster—it was the one from the school. The one Nebraska had shot through the skull with a bolt gun. It seemed the big, ugly bastard had tracked them like some faithful mutt!
Clumping to a halt, laughing a little, Nettles said, “Jesus, Nebraska, you lobotomized the poor sumbitch.”
They all watched curiously as the thing wandered around like an obedient, if addled, puppy. It gazed at Nettles as if he was its master, then looked around and suddenly started trotting toward Rory. Remembering that the boy had been its original target, and wondering whether it might have some residue of its former duty still rattling around in its damaged brain, McKenna jumped up to intercept the beeline it was making toward his son, but even as he started to run he knew he’d never reach Rory before the alien did.
Fearful, Rory rose and grabbed a length of wood. He hurled it at the Predator dog, but the monster ducked, and the wood sailed over its head. Instead of continuing toward Rory, however, it turned… then padded away to retrieve the wood! The clicking, grunting monster rushed over to Nettles and dropped the small log at his feet.
“Well, I’ll be all go-to-hell,” Nettles said. He grinned around at them like a proud but bashful father.
While the Loonies played with their new pet, throwing sticks for it and laughing as it retrieved them, Casey went back inside the RV. After a while, satisfied that the Predator dog wasn’t about to eat his son after all, McKenna joined her, grabbing himself another beer to steady his nerves.
Blowing a lock of hair away from her face, Casey gestured toward his bottle. “Gimme a sip of that.”
She took the beer from him and gestured out the window, nodding toward Rory, who was back to drawing in the dirt, ignoring the antics of the men. “You know, a lot of experts think being on the spectrum’s not a disorder. Some think it might even be the next evolutionary step.”
“Yeah?” McKenna replied, displaying no emotion. He looked at her a moment, then said, “Goin’ down the street once? He sees this homeless guy, runs right over. ‘Hey man, what’s your name?’ Meanwhile, I’m thinkin’: Where’s the nearest edged weapon? I see a target; he sees a friend.” He gave a crooked grin, half-affectionate, half-regretful, and took a swig of his beer. “All I can do is ruin him. So, I stay away.”
His words almost felt like a confession, and for a few seconds he studied the beer label on the bottle, embarrassed and ashamed. When he finally glanced up, he was surprised to see Casey was looking at him with an almost tender expression.
“Can I be honest with you?” she asked.
He nodded.
Gently, she said, “That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”
He started to chuckle, but didn’t reply. In the conversational lull, Casey cocked her head at a distant, growing burr. It took her a moment to realize the sound was the approach of a helicopter, chopping at the air.
McKenna, however, recognized the sound instantly. By the time Casey had figured it out, he had already jerked upright and then slammed out the door of the RV, into the darkness. Casey took a deep breath and followed him out. Whatever came next, they were all in it together, for better or for worse.
She had a terrible feeling it was going to be worse.
18
Bursting from the RV, McKenna nearly ran headlong into Nettles, who stood frozen in the field, listening to the sound of the incoming chopper. All the amusement that had been on the man’s face just minutes earlier had vanished, leaving just the soldier behind. The warrior.
“Sounds like a Pave Hawk,” Nettles said, glancing at McKenna. “Sikorsky. Not civilian.”
This was all McKenna needed to hear. He whirled around, scanning the team. Baxley, Coyle, Lynch, Nebraska, Nettles himself, Casey… and Rory. Jesus, he wished he could have taken the kid home, but nowhere was safe for Rory right now. Nowhere. He consoled himself with the thought that as long as he was with his son, he could at least try his best to keep the kid alive.
How the hell had it come to this?
“Lights out! Move!” he barked, even as he darted back to the RV, reached inside, and killed the lights.
When he turned, he saw that the Loonies were all looking to him, waiting on orders. He’d become their ersatz CO, which meant it was on him to formulate a plan. Right now, his only plan was to keep as many of them alive—and out of the clutches of their various enemies—as possible. Whatever happened in the next few minutes, if some of them kept to the shadows, there was always hope for the others. If they were all captured, the government could tell any story they wanted about the violence and fear unfolding tonight.
Yet, in their faces, he could see that they thought of themselves as a team—that they wouldn’t like the idea of splitting apart. They needed something to cling to. The Loonies needed a mission.
“We’re gonna need air transport,” McKenna said. He glanced at Nettles. “And maybe some incendiaries. Nebraska, you’re with me. The rest of you, go. Get moving!”
They all stood a little straighter. Even Rory. One by one, the Loonies saluted McKenna, sealing the deal—making it official. He was their commanding officer. He snapped a salute in return, trying to hide how absurdly moved he suddenly felt, and the Loonies took that as their cue. They bolted, grabbing weapons on the way, and disappeared into the woods at the edge of the field.
McKenna grabbed Rory’s hand, nodded to Casey and Nebraska, and the four of them ran across the field. Tall grass waved around them, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough to hide them. They’d only run five yards when they nearly tripped over the Predator dog, a thick stick clenched in its mandibles.
Casey rushed at it, making silent shooing motions with her hands. “Go,” she urged, but the bolt through its head hadn’t just tamed the monstrosity. Dumb as a stump, it capered back and forth with every shooing motion, thinking Casey was playing with it.
While they’d been in the area, the men had spread out to clean their weapons and take inventory. Casey spotted something on the ground and bent to retrieve it. Only when she stood up did McKenna see that it was an errant grenade, sloppily left behind by one of the Loonies. He’d have ripped them a new asshole if they were still standing there. Instead, he felt relief as Casey tossed the grenade—pin still safely in—toward an irrigation ditch. The Predator dog raced after it, snatched it up, and then tumbled into the ditch.
“Dad, we’re never gonna make it,” Rory said.
McKenna gave him a tug and they started running again. Casey and Nebraska fell in behind them, racing toward an old barn a hundred yards across the field.
The helicopter roared in from over the tree line. The chop of its rotors went from loud to deafening as it swept overhead, circled back, and then hovered above them, its spotlight stabbing down onto McKenna and the others like God had decided it was time for them to have a conversation. They were caught dead to rights, nowhere to run.
McKenna let go of his son’s hand and spread his arms, to make sure the shooters up in the chopper knew he didn’t have a gun. Nebraska and Casey did the same.