Nathan Jones - Determination

Even as he watched, in a display so obvious it might as well have been a parade, the blockhead attacking force packed itself up and left.

Carl had come up to join him, as well as a few volunteers from the back of the truck. They all broke into confused murmurs as they watched the departing enemy. “So that’s it?” Carl asked. “All that time and effort getting all those troops together, and they turn tail and run before encountering even a hint of resistance?”

Martin shrugged. “Maybe they finally released it was a bad idea. Only a fool underestimates the enemy.”

“Or maybe they got called to fight somewhere else,” Travis suggested. He pointed. “Look, they’re heading north towards Highway 6.”

Lewis felt an itch between his shoulder blades. “Something’s off about this. Maybe they planted mines and are trying to lure us into them, or they’ve got snipers or guys with grenade launchers sneaking up on us. Let’s get out of the canyon.”

He suited his words by trotting back to the truck, slinging his missile launcher into the passenger foot space and climbing in to the middle seat. Carl handed the other missile launcher up to him, waited for him to arrange it beside the first one, then scrambled in and slammed the door behind him.

His dad was already starting the engine, and as the last of the volunteers hopped into the back the vehicle lurched into gear. With a squeal of tires his dad turned them around, and the padded seat beneath Lewis bounced as they roared back up the road as fast as the heavy vehicle could accelerate.

As they went Lewis did his best to keep his balance and focused on the area around them, searching for any possible signs of danger. There didn’t seem to be any, and his prickling feeling of danger faded as they got higher up the canyon. Especially once they passed the explosives Graham had rigged. That territory was unquestionably theirs, so it was easier to feel safe beyond that point.

Still, it didn’t hurt to be cautious. “What’s it looking like up there Jane, Tam?” he asked.

“The blockheads are moving out,” Tam replied. “Heading north towards the highway.”

His dad shook his head. “Why on Earth?” He glanced in side mirror, even though he couldn’t possibly see the valley with it. “I watched them arrive, Lewis. Just drive right up, deploy for an attack, then sit there. And then, after scaring our pants off for less than an hour, they’re gone? There’s no way that’s the best thing they could be doing with their time.”

They rounded a bend going close to 40, and waiting in the shadows beneath a tree up ahead Lewis saw a dozen soldiers, faces masked by camouflage bandannas. One stepped away from the others and lifted the distinctive shape of a rocket-propelled grenade to his shoulder.

“Look out!” he shouted. But he couldn’t depend on his dad to react quick enough, so he reached out and yanked on the steering wheel. The truck swerved, hard enough to slam Lewis back against Carl, and a streak of fire flashed by the driver’s side window. As they went over the side of the road, plummeting down the steep slope of the gully toward the stream below, the deafening concussion of an explosion from behind rocked the entire truck.

His dad yelled a surprised question as he fought to get the runaway vehicle back under control, voice distorted by being jounced around the cab as they half rolled, half skidded over bumps and rocks.

Lewis was being jounced around too, and his efforts to regain his balance kept getting thrown off by his dad or Carl slamming into him. It didn’t help that only half his attention was on that task, as he fumbled to turn on his radio’s transmitter. “Tam! There’s enemies on the r—” he started to shout, then yelped as a particularly vicious bounce slammed his dad’s head into his face.

That bounce turned into an eternal moment of weightlessness as the truck finally flipped, and he heard screams. Loud screams from his dad and Carl, muted screams from the volunteers in the back.

Then gravity remembered its job, slamming him down into the ceiling with a noise like a gong shattering. Or maybe that was the windshield breaking.

In the future, it would probably be smart to put on a seat belt, even when driving away from a potential combat situation at breakneck speeds. Or maybe especially then.

Of course, if for some reason you had to quickly leave the vehicle, the seat belt might delay you just long enough to be fatal. You’d have to weigh the probability of a blockhead with a grenade launcher causing your truck to flip, slamming you headfirst into the ceiling, over just about any time that you might need to get out fast.

Right, blockhead with a grenade launcher. Focus , Lewis.

He hadn’t quite passed out, but for what seemed like hours he felt like he was floating in a small bubble, and everywhere outside it was searing pain in his head. He couldn’t focus his thoughts on anything immediate, anything important, so they kept drifting to his usual analysis of a situation and how to best respond to it.

Sometimes his mind quickly grasped on a solution, like lightning. Other times with deliberate focus it squeezed around the problem like a vise, exploring all angles, exhausting all possibilities, until finally cracking it. But however he did it, he solved the problem.

Which was all well and good, but his mind was drifting again. Probably because this time it was his mind that felt like it was in the vise, ready to crack if he exerted the slightest pressure. But if enemies were coming to kill him anyway, he might as well go out kicking and screaming. Or at least screaming.

With grim determination he focused through the hazy bubble and into his searing headache, trying to figure out what was going on. He could hear a distant, muted popping noise. Not quite regular enough for popcorn, but that wouldn’t have made sense anyway. He opened his eyes and tried moving his limbs as he became aware of them.

The cab was dark around him. There was a sharp pain in his back, something solid digging in there. His G3? He also felt a tangled weight over his legs, and another weight pressed against his side. Wetness on that side. Water? They’d been headed for the stream. No, he could smell a sickly metallic tang. Blood.

His dad, or Carl? Which side was which? The sudden fear of loss gave him something else to focus on, and he fumbled at his combat vest. Which pocket held the flashlight? He’d reached for it hundreds of times, but that almost reflexive action failed him.

He pawed over pockets with spare magazines for his G3 and his 1911, and the empty one where he usually carried his night vision goggles, which he’d left behind as unnecessary. Finally he realized the light wasn’t in his vest at all, but on his belt, and his hand immediately lowered in the familiar motion to grab and unclip it.

The light blinded him for a moment until he covered it with one hand, and his headache nearly got the better of him again. The windshield in front of him was blocked by what looked like mud, same with the driver’s side window. They must’ve plowed into the ground once they were upside-down.

His dad was the weight across his legs, blood trickling from his nose and one leg bent at an unnatural angle. Lewis felt a surge of fear and forced himself to shift his position, ignoring the lancing pain in his back where the G3 dug in as well as in his head. He was barely able to reach his dad’s outflung arm, and only after two tries managed to wrap his hand around the forearm and press his thumb against the inside of his wrist.

A pulse, steady. His fear turned to relief. His dad should be okay, once they got out of here.

With effort Lewis twisted around the other way. The pain in his back eased as he took weight off the rifle, but fireworks popped behind his eyes at the effort. On that side he could see a mass of tangled leaves and branches pressed against the passenger window, a hint of light filtering through. None of the reinforced glass had broken, although the windshield sported a long crack across it. The roof might’ve dented, although he couldn’t really tell with most of it covered by him, his dad, and…