Matthew Tysz - The Last City of America

His elbow gave way. His face hit the floor. He grunted. Got back up. Tried to get to his feet. Fell again. He kept crawling.

A beam fell ten feet in front of him.

“My lord!” a voice called.

Aden couldn’t turn his head. He pressed forward. He felt a strong arm sweep him from the floor and fly him across the lobby. He was outside, his arm over the shoulder of a male nurse.

He wasn’t sure if it was the dizziness that made him say it: “If you were white, I think we’d both be dead, kid.”

The nurse laughed. “I’ll get you out of here, lord.” He took Aden down the stairs to the street. Aden found that he could walk on his own to the bright red marker on the ground. The nurse lifted the manhole cover.

The Crown gave a final shudder—the strongest yet—before it started to fall.

“Down, my lord, now!” The nurse guided Aden in, following quickly. The ground shook. It felt like the ladder was about to snap from the concrete. Nothing could be heard when the rumble was at its loudest. The Crown was screaming.

Aden found the damp floor of the sewer. The manhole was closed quickly. He could still hear the muffled rumbling of explosions above ground. Other buildings collapsing. Fighter jets.

“This is Grakus, isn’t it?” The nurse turned on a flashlight. It lit the whole tunnel.

Aden nodded. “Did your family make it out?”

The nurse nodded. “My parents ran for the sewers with my brother and sister as soon as they heard those planes.” He found the orange line on the wall and started walking. “I’m sure your daughter and her husband are okay.”

Aden walked slowly. “Thank you.”

The pain in his back and right leg was terrible, but he could bear it. He followed the nurse through the rancid sewer. They encountered other people—families, couples, children—traversing the darkness in the same direction.

Beams from many flashlights cast an army of shadows on the grimy, leaky walls. Structures of all sizes rumbled to the ground above them.

The crowd got bigger as more extensions met the main tunnel. Many of them were young. Aden never realized how many children the city had.

Less than a hundred feet in front of the still-growing mass, the roof of the tunnel disappeared in a deafening clash. The red sky and the burning city filled the view above them. The sounds poured in. The people screamed.

The nurse ran to help the few who fell. Aden followed.

“You have to keep going, my lord,” said the nurse. “Get our people out of here.”

Aden nodded. He grabbed the nurse’s shoulder. “Find me when we’re in a safer place. I will repay you.”

The nurse left him and Aden looked around. The panic didn’t hold. The people kept moving. More were still joining. Aden ran to the front and got everyone’s attention, started organizing them. Strongest in the back, weakest in front.

A group of hospitalized patients joined them. Many were being wheeled on stretchers by doctors, nurses and other patients. Aden checked them all frantically, then found him.

“Mr. Velys!” he came to the side of Adrian’s father. “Are you alright?”

Velys wore an oxygen mask and was almost motionless. His eyes were barely open. But he nodded.

“Good.” Aden pat him on the shoulder. “Good man.” He motioned the group to be taken to the front, where those farther back could assist them if something went wrong.

The tunnels and the orange lines began to come together, and soon enough there were no more branches. Aden continued to lead his people through it as what was left of their home came down above their heads.

Had it already been a full day?

The soldiers and vehicles had poured into the sea of rubble after the sun had set. The night that followed was lit by the cannons of Chicago. The ground shook relentlessly, bits of rubble rattling down the sides of the many mounds between them and the city wall.

Angela could barely keep in touch with all of her captains. At least a couple hundred men were lost by the time the sun came back up. Probably a lot more. And of those who were left, not all of them would reach the wall at the same time. She told whoever could hear her to pick a spot as close to the wall as possible without Chicago’s snipers spotting them. As soon as she felt that as many men were in position as were going to make it, they would attack the wall.

Doubt took hold of her again and again in the thunder of the night. But with the dawn came hope. Chicago was putting everything into their assault on California. Without the wall, there was nothing to stop her army from occupying the city. All she had to do was destroy that wall.

Once again, the sun was falling. She could barely see it through all the dirt kicked up by twenty-four hours of bombardment.

She walked through a clearing—a valley of dirty road surrounded in gray rubble—with a small piece of her army. In the valley, she found a helmet. It was on the ground beside an upturned Humvee. She knelt beside the helmet, picked it up.

The vehicle had tried to climb the mound ahead, was shelled when it reached the top, thrown back onto the street in the dirty valley where it now lay.

Her radio came on. Another lieutenant reporting that he lost some men in a strike. Moments ago, others were reporting sniper fire. They could barely see the wall, but the snipers could see them.

Angela picked up the radio. “All units stay in cover as ordered. Stay along the rubble. Do not walk or ride over the mounds. Do not walk down the center of the streets. I don’t care how long it takes—do not let them see you.” She put it away and moved on.

The sun had long set when the wall was above her. Most of the army should have been there by now.

All lieutenants reported in. Angela didn’t want to know the casualties. It didn’t matter. Just their positions. They were spread far, but all tanks were within range of her. Snipers couldn’t take their tanks, but they probably had rockets up there. Maybe mortars.

She came to the last big mound of rubble before the open field and the wall. She climbed it almost to the top, but kept her head low. Her captain did the same.

“Are we close to the gate?” said the captain.

“I don’t see it,” Angela was trying to think of a hundred things at once. “But it’s probably better guarded than any random spot on the wall.” The spot in front of her looked random enough.

Unconsciously, she summed up the casualties. The number materialized in the back of her head and made its way to the front as she was planning the next move. About five percent. She felt relief that it was low, and then worry that she could feel relief while a thousand mothers and daughters and wives would soon be screaming.

She just couldn’t think about that now.

She spoke to the radio. “All tanks, attack formation. Do not let them see you until I give the signal.”

Angela waited until the tank commanders replied that they were ready. Two of the tanks were right next to her: one half way up a mound, its turret nearly pointing out. The other was on the ground behind a mound, its turret facing the wall, its body facing the turn.

Angela launched a flare at the wall, and the tanks rolled. All along the rubble, turrets popped. The wall was covered in a rising ball of smoke. The firing continued.

The wall fired back.

Rockets soared from the top of the wall against the rubble. One of the rockets smacked against the tank next to Angela. The tank was not down. Its turret rose in retaliation. It fired at the top of the wall. Missed. Another rocket came down for it. This time the tank stopped moving.

Once again, Angela turned to her radio. “All units fire at the wall! All units—fire at the wall!”