“Get out of the way,” Carrothers shouted. Stafford pulled the woman and the girl to one side. The captain, Carrothers was pleased to see, didn’t hesitate. He charged up the steps, ran right through the front screen door, and then kicked in the front door, their automatic weapons firing directly into the house. The girl made a plaintive noise and covered her ears; the woman’s mouth dropped open in surprise. The other soldiers went right in after the captain.
Carrothers pulled an Armalite rifle out of his vehicle and followed them in. There was a haze of smoke in the front hallway. At the end of the front hall, the kitchen door had been reduced to shards of woods hanging in a shattered frame. He realized he could not hear anything inside the house, especially in full chem gear. He looked at his watch. Twenty-four minutes. After first kicking open the doors to the classroom on the left and Gwen’s parlor on the right, the team had taken up positions in the hallway. One man was kneeling at the bottom of the stairs, pointing his rifle up the steps. There appeared to be lights on in the kitchen.
Carrothers thought quickly. He did not really want to kill Carson, as Waddell had suggested, not unless he actually did something. But they were rapidly running out of time. The captain looked over at him.
Carrothers tried to think of another way to do it, couldn’t, and gave the signal. The 6aptain and two men moved forward cautiously, keeping their weapons pointed at the remains of the kitchen door. Carrothers looked at his watch. Twenty-three minutes.
On signal from the captain, all three rushed the door, colliding with one another as they burst through it. Carrothers followed. He had just about reached the kitchen door when there was another blast of gunfire and the sounds of shattered glass falling on the floor. Then silence.
Carrothers approached the door carefully. The light inside the kitchen was hazy from gunsmoke. He poked his rifle barrel around the corner, took a deep breath, and then stepped in. All three soldiers stood in a crouch inside the kitchen, pointing their weapons at the man at the table. All the glass was blown out of the back door, and there was a string of bullet holes marching up into the ceiling above the door.
Somebody panicked, Carrothers thought. Then he, too, concentrated on the man at the table.
He saw the cylinder — finally, and intact, thank God.
The man was clutching it in his left hand. His head was tilted forward at an odd angle, as if he was paralyzed. His eyes were open and fixed in a fever-bright stare, but he didn’t appear to be focusing on anything at all.
“He won’t hurt you.” The woman’s voice came from behind him, and he whirled and nearly shot her in his surprise. Stafford followed her into the kitchen, with the girl behind him, as Gwen pushed the barrel of Carrother’s rifle aside and walked over to Carson. “He won’t hurt anybody anymore.”
Carfothers stared down at Carson. The man was catatonic. There was no way they could just shoot him, no matter how much the higher-ups at the Pentagon an dover at Justice might appreciate that gesture.
Carrothers walked forward and pried the cylinder out of Carson’s rigid, scorched fingers. It felt hot even through his heavy gloves. He carried it gingerly across the room to the big refrigerator, swiped everything out of the upper freezer compartment onto the kitchen floor, and put the cylinder gently into the space, where it hissed on the cold metal. Then he closed the door.
“General?” the captain said. “The time, sir?”
Carrothers looked at him blankly for a moment, and then he remembered what was coming. He looked down at his watch. Eighteen minutes. Christ on a busted crutch!
He told the three soldiers to bring Carson with them, then told Gwen and the others to get out of the house immediately. As the soldiers scrambled to get Carson, he tried to decide what to do about the cylinder. Take it with them, or leave it in the house? The freezer would slow whatever the hell was going on inside it, so it was safer to just leave it there. If they didn’t manage to call off the air strike in time, it would be destroyed with the house, which was still a safe option. He hesitated. After all this, he didn’t want to leave it. He looked at his watch again.
Seventeen minutes.
He hurried back out onto the front porch and looked up into the dawn sky. There was now plenty of light, although the surrounding mountains blocked most of the skyline. He realized that, with the cylinder intact, he didn’t need this damned mask. He stripped it off and hurried down the steps. The captain, still fully MOPPed up, was already out and had the other Suburban turning around. Carrothers yelled for his driver, who had been the man stationed at the foot of the stairs, to get Out here. The man came tumbling out of the house, tripping in his heavy boots over the door coaming.
“Get me the satellite link, on the double!”
He looked at his watch as the man ran to align the antenna and turn on the gear mounted on the front console of the vehicle. Sixteen minutes.
The rest of the soldiers came out. Two of them were dragging Carson along. There was no sign of the civilians. At that moment his driver popped back out of the Suburban. “No path right here, General.
Mountain’s got it blocked. We have to move the vehicle.”
H Son of a bitch! Carrothers thought. Fifteen minutes. He imagined he could already hear the venomous clatter of approaching attack helicopters. Did he have time to go back in there, warn the woman to get out of there, move the satellite antenna, and still call off the strike?
Would she do it, or would she argue? She’d argue. Fuck it.
“Let’s go,” he yelled. The other soldiers stuffed the catatonic Carson into the second Suburban. “Go! Go! Go!” he yelled. “Air strike inbound! Snakes and Hogs! Chain guns and napalm!”
The soldiers practically levitated into to their vehicle as Carrothers’s driver got the lead Suburban turned around. Carrothers jumped in and the driver peeled out, showering the entire front of the house with gravel and fishtailing wildly down the driveway before he got it under control, only to have to slam. on the brakes when he got to the road to avoid hitting the stone wall on the other side..
“Which way, sir? Which way?!” the driver yelled.
“For God’s sakel” Carrothers shouted. “Go left. Go left! Now! Now! Do it! Back to the fucking field!” Thirteen minutes. He knew the satellite path was clear in the field. He looked back at the house, but there was still no sign of the civilians. He should have gotten them out. Shit!
The driver turned left and then hard left through the gap in the stone wall, fishtailed again, and then the rear tires began to howl as they hit a patch of mud. The driver floored it, winding out the engine until Carrothers thought it would come apart, but the vehicle’s rear end was settling instead. They were a hundred yards from the place in the field where they had had a clear shot to the satellite before. Would it work from here? Did they have time to get out and try? Twelve minutes.
Then there was thunderous bang from behind, will plashing both of them as the other vehicle came through the gap in the wall and ran into the back of them. But the crash punched their vehicle out of the hole and they were off again, banging up the hill, bounding over hummocks of grass and rocks. They reached their earlier parking patch and the driver slammed on the brakes, nearly throwing Carrothers through the windshield.
“Go! Go! Go!” Carrothers yelled again, extricating himself from the dashboard. The driver piled out to set up the satellite antenna and try again for a hit on the bird. This time he got a link. The other vehicle arrived behind them, its front grille smashed all to hell. He could see the captain inside, still in the passenger seat, still in his full chem suit. Nine minutes.