James Hunt - Broken Ties

The trucks burst through the security gates and peeled out onto the highway. The military MPs were hot on their tails. Gunshots blasted back and forth from both sides. The driver of the lead truck, trying to escape, clicked his radio mic on.

“When do we blow it? Well, how much farther do we have to go? They’ll have air support on our asses in less than two minutes! Roger that.”

The driver clicked his mic off angrily. His passenger next to him, dressed in army fatigues, reloaded his rifle. The name McGuire was pasted on across the uniform.

“What’d he say, Blake?” McGuire asked.

Blake shifted into sixth gear as the speedometer pushed to ninety.

“We can’t blow it until we’re twenty miles out,” Blake said.

“Shit, are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

Blake checked the side rearview mirror and saw an RPG flying into the rear truck. The blast almost shook them off the road, and fire and metal flew through the air.

“We’re not gonna make it!” McGuire screamed.

“Tell Team Two to hop on the fifty-caliber,” Blake said.

“Copy that.”

McGuire flipped on the radio and gave the instructions to the truck behind them. A few minutes later, they could hear the thunderous shots of the gun blasting away at the MPs chasing them.

“You sure they won’t be able to crack the code before we launch?” McGuire asked.

“They won’t be able to get through the fire wall.”

“How much further?”

“Fifteen miles.”

“Slow down.”

“What?”

“I’ll have Team Two catch up with us, and then we’ll concentrate fire.”

“Copy that.”

McGuire moved to the backseat of the truck and jumped through the opening in the roof to man the .50-caliber on their armored truck.

He racked the chamber, and when the second truck moved into position, he squeezed the trigger. Between the two guns, they lit up the cars behind them like fireworks.

Blake had the gas pedal almost all the way to the floor. The speedometer was over 100 miles per hour. He did his best to keep the wheel steady, but with the increased speed any sort of adjustments were jerky.

Only twelve more miles.

“How we looking back there?” Blake asked.

“They’re starting to drop back, but we’ve got choppers coming inbound fast,” McGuire replied.

Blake knew that once air support made it their way, they’d be toast. He didn’t have an option.

“McGuire! Come down and take the wheel,” Blake said.

McGuire descended back into the truck, and he grabbed hold of the wheel while Blake kept his foot on the gas. He pulled the laptop from his bag and flipped it open.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, opening files and entering passcodes until a screen finally popped up that read, “Launch Code Sequence.”

“I thought we had to be twenty miles out?” McGuire asked.

“We do.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Keeping us alive.”

Blake finished typing in the last piece of code and hit enter. Behind them, they could hear the blastoff of the missile launching into the atmosphere.

Mike’s hand twitched on the clipboard and the pen dropped to the floor. He winced, forming a fist, fighting through the pain. He paused, letting his will gather to force his hand open again. Once the shaking subsided he bent down to pick up the pen.

The shelves in the basement of the cabin were still lined with rations, but Mike knew it wouldn’t last them much longer. He’d planned for a six-month supply of food, but that was for five people. Now he had seventeen mouths to feed. If they kept consuming at the rate they were going the shelves would be barren in matter of weeks.

With the inventory done Mike picked up the lantern with one hand and the basket with the morning’s breakfast in the other, and headed upstairs.

Anne was pulling some of the pots and pans out of the cabinet when Mike set the basket on the counter.

“How’s it looking down there?” Anne asked.

Mike handed her the clipboard. She ran her finger down the list, shaking her head as she flipped through the pages.

“How long do we have?” Anne asked.

“Best case six weeks. Worse case three.”

When Mike reached for the clipboard his hand shook from another tremor.

“Mike,” Anne said.

She grabbed his hand and rubbed gently.

“They’re fine,” Mike said.

“Take some of the medicine downstairs.”

“No, I don’t want to waste it. They don’t hurt that bad yet.”

Mike focused all of his will to keep his hands steady when Anne reached down to kiss them. He didn’t want to tell her that it took him twenty minutes in the morning, working through the pain, to perform the simple task of curling his fingers into a fist.

“I’ll start getting everyone up. We need to have a house meeting,” Mike said.

Mike’s dad, Ulysses, was already up when he stepped into his room. Nelson, his son Sean, and Freddy were still asleep on the floor.

“I tried giving the boys the bed, but they wouldn’t take it,” Ulysses said, stepping in between the bodies lying on the floor.

“Don’t give them a hard time about it. They just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“No, they just want to give it to me because I’m old.”

Mike waited to roll his eyes until Ulysses brushed past him. He watched his son for a moment before he woke him. He always enjoyed watching him sleep. Before the EMP blast, everyday before work, Mike would walk into each of his kids’ rooms and kiss them on the forehead before heading to work. It was his ritual, and it helped make the 5 a.m. wake-up time a little easier.

“Hey, bud. Time to get up,” Mike said.

Freddy groaned and rolled onto his back. His Spiderman shirt was pulled up, exposing his belly. Mike tickled him. Freddy squirmed and giggled.

“Dad! Stop!”

“It’s time for breakfast. Get Sean up, will you?”

Nelson woke up, looking groggy, and reached for his glasses.

“Breakfast in ten, Nelson.”

“Right,” Nelson said, yawning.

Mike headed down the hallway to his daughter’s room. Before he reached the handle the door swung open.

“Hey, Dad,” Kalen said.

“Hey, Kay.”

It threw Mike off, her being awake. It wasn’t like her. On the weekends when they had to be somewhere in the morning, he would have to use a crowbar to pry her out of bed, but then again, things had changed since then.

“Breakfast ready?” Kalen asked.

“Your mom’s getting everything ready. You sleep okay?”

“Yeah, it was fine.”

The bruising around her neck had mostly faded with the exception of a few blotches of faint purple on the sides. When Mike arrived at the cabin yesterday, his wife told him what happened while he was gone. She waited to tell him until last night, and it hadn’t left Mike’s mind since. It festered like a disease. His daughter was almost raped, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

Mike watched Kalen head down to the kitchen. He was worried about her. She seemed too put together for what happened. Something didn’t feel right.

“You’ve got quite a girl, Mike,” Fay said, walking up behind him.

Fay pulled her hair back and flipped it through a band, giving herself a ponytail. Mike’s eye went to the pistol strapped to her hip.

“Did you sleep with that thing?” Mike asked.

Fay laughed.

“Mike, who the hell sleeps anymore?”

She slapped his arm and went to join everyone at breakfast.