Peter Clines - Ex-Patriots

The dead woman saw him and stumbled forward. Her skin was like leather, and there were a few twigs and tiny leaves in her dark hair. He could see an elaborate cobweb stretched from a ragged ear to her shoulder. Her brittle lips were pulled back in a smile.

“I knew you’d come,” he said. “I kept telling them you were out there somewhere. None of them believed me.”

He pulled her close. His wife wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.

“HOW MUCH LONGER WE GONNA KEEP THIS UP?” Hundreds of dead faces split into hundreds of grins. “YOU ASK ME, YOU GONNA RUN OUTTA BULLETS LONG BEFORE I RUN OUTTA BODIES.”

“First things first,” said St. George. “Let’s get this gate blocked.”

Freedom gave three quick hand signals and the chisel-nosed truck coughed to life. It was a long, eight-wheeled vehicle with a crane mounted on the end of it. They pulled it across the gate and the soldiers fired around and under it as the driver leaped clear.

St. George hooked his fingers under the truck’s frame and heaved. The flatbed’s side lifted up and he grunted. The damned thing was armored and weighed twice what he’d thought. He got the tires three feet off the ground, then four. He heard a rattling noise as some of the chains on the bed slid off the far side, but he couldn’t get it to the tipping point.

His forearm throbbed. He could feel his pulse in the wound and the wet bandage over it. It felt like the fang was tearing into him all over again.

Legion laughed from a hundred throats.

“Unbreakables,” shouted Freedom, stepping forward, “give the man some assistance.”

The captain’s oversized hands slammed into the truck’s frame next to St. George’s. Pierce, Kennedy, and Garfield added their strength, too. The side of the truck went up another six inches, then six more, and the five of them rolled the ponderous flatbed onto its side across the gate. The soldiers behind them cheered.

“That’s not going to hold forever,” said St. George.

“Agreed,” said Freedom. “The fence line’s been compromised in at least three places, and weakened beyond each of them.” He pointed at either side of the gate, where the chainlink sagged. “No tension, no strength.”

“Sir,” said Kennedy, “we haven’t been able to reach Captain Creed. If Colonel Shelly is dead…” She looked at him with a neutral face.

“Ranking officer?” guessed St. George. “So, what are we going to do?”

Freedom knelt and scratched a rectangle in the sand. “We’re here,” he said, pointing. He made two quick crosses on the opposite side and gestured to one on the corner. “We’ve got breaches here and here. That’s where your friends are.”

“And this one?”

“Most of third company’s there. Two more squads on the way.”

“How many is that? Fifty, sixty soldiers?”

“More or less,” said Kennedy.

“Any of them your people?”

Freedom shook his head. “We’ve got Twenty-two here. Squad Eleven’s still cleaning out the barracks. That leaves Twenty-one escorting Agent Smith.” He glanced at the gate. “First Sergeant, now that we’re here with St. George let’s get Sergeant Pierce and his people to the south east corner.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know this place,” said St. George. He nodded at the upended flatbed. “Are we going to be able to block the other holes?”

The captain looked at the map in the dirt. “Maybe,” he said after a moment. “It depends on how much Legion has to throw at us.”

“Zzzap?”

The gleaming wraith shot into the sky. When he was a few hundred feet above the base he turned in a slow circle, taking in the lay of the land. A moment later he raced back to the ground. Lots of exes coming, he said. I’d guess you’re looking at two thousand or more in any given direction.

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Kennedy. “Most of them should be coming from the southwest, Yuma. Every other direction is a hundred miles of nothing. Where are they all coming from?”

“They’re coming from Yuma,” said St. George. “These aren’t random wanderers. They’ve been moved into position. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d been herding them out here for months. He might have half the population of the city here.”

There’s also a couple good-sized packs inside the fence line. One’s coming this way from the north. He looked at Freedom. I didn’t see many of your people, though.

The officer raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

I mean I don’t see anyone. Shouldn’t they all be on guard towers or making barricades or something?

“They’re probably already in position.”

I’d still be able to see them.

“Most of these buildings have a degree of shielding for heat and radiation,” said Kennedy. “Once someone’s at their post they’d be shielded.”

The towers have radiation shielding? scoffed Zzzap. Still, shouldn’t there be a couple stragglers or something? Somebody still moving somewhere?

“The Army isn’t big on stragglers,” said Kennedy.

St. George silenced them with a gesture. “What about evacuation, then? You must have a plan. You didn’t think some chainlink fences were going to hold forever.”

“We can’t abandon our post,” said Freedom.

“You sure?”

“It’s out of the question,”

“Okay, then,” St. George said. “Last thing then. Can all of you hold the gate here while I get to the helipad?”

“Sir,” said Freedom, “I think we owe Mr. Smith more than that.”

* * *

Harrison led his squad up the staircase into the records building. Smith was right behind him. Taylor and Hayes dragged the prisoner with Polk at the rear. The sergeant stepped into the dim hallway, checked each direction, and waved them to follow. From the stairwell it was a short jog to the lobby, and the lobby doors were a few hundred yards from the helipad.

Harrison’s jacket was stained red just below his chin. There were drops on his collar, too, just below his ears. “Sir,” he said, “if we’re taking the Black Hawk, what about the rest of the men? Will they meet up with us later?”

Smith sighed. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to leave them behind,” he said.

“I’m not sure I follow you, sir.”

“Getting this prisoner to Groom Lake is our top priority. And don’t you remember, Colonel Shelly gave me vital orders that need to be delivered there?”

“Yes, but…Sir, there’s a thousand soldiers and support staff here. We can’t abandon all of them.”

“Necessary losses, I’m afraid. You understand, don’t you?”

Harrison reached up and wiped away more blood. It flowed from his ears and nose in a set of steady streams. He blinked and his tears were stained pink. “That…with all due respect, sir, we can’t do that.”

“I understand,” said the agent with a sympathetic nod. He looked at the cloaked woman. “Moral conflict,” he said, shaking his head. “It starts to break down their brain. A vicious circle, really. The degradation of affected areas frees them from my control, which means I need to exert more influence, which leads to more degradation.”

The staff sergeant looked up from his bloody hands. “Sir?”

“It’s always good to know there are men like you in our armed forces,” said Smith. “Men who aren’t going to blindly follow orders without at least questioning the morality of them. Could I have your sidearm, sergeant?”

“Of course, sir.” Harrison pulled the weapon from its holster, checked the chamber and the safety, and handed it grip-first to the agent. “It’s all set to go, sir. You just need to flip the safety.”