Strike (7 page)

“Yeah, so?”

“So when it does, we’re in the exact right spot to cause some trouble.”

Kent smiled. “I like causing trouble. Why the hell not? It’s not like we’ve got anything to lose.”

“For now let’s just do what we’re told and keep our eyes open.”

“What do you think that guard meant by Sounders?” he asked.

“I have no idea, but it makes me think that we aren’t the only ones who want to stop the Retros.”

“What about SYLO?”

“Yeah, SYLO. They’ll be back. This isn’t over. I think we should do all we can to stay alive until things start hitting the fan. That’s when we’ll move.”

“I’m with you, Tucker. But right now I’ve got to sleep. This medicine is knocking me out.”

“I’ll stay right here,” I said, but Kent didn’t hear. He was already asleep.

I pushed the bed back into position and lay down. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how weary I was. Whatever rejuvenating effect the shower had on me had long since worn off. I put my head down on the flat pillow, hoping that sleep would come quickly.

It didn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother. And Tori. And for that matter, Granger. Had the SYLO leader died in the crash? As much as being with Kent gave me the confidence to start talking big about causing trouble for the Retros, I had trouble looking beyond that into the future. Even if we got out of this camp, what kind of life would we be looking at if everyone I cared for was gone? With the kind of firepower the Retros had, I couldn’t imagine SYLO being able to protect Pemberwick Island for long. For all I knew it was already overrun by the Retros, and if my father was working with SYLO, what were the chances of his having survived the attack?

I was looking at the very real possibility that I was now alone in this new world. Alone with Kent Berringer. How ironic was that?

I had to force myself to stop looking beyond the next day. The next hour. The next minute. As I had done since deciding to escape from Pemberwick, the best I could do was exist in the moment . . . and hope that I was going to fight for a future that I might actually want to be part of.

Eventually I fell into a desperately needed deep, dreamless sleep . . . that didn’t last anywhere near long enough. I was soon jolted awake by the sound of an explosion. It was still dark out. There was no way to know what time it was. Another explosion erupted soon after, this one even closer than the first. Next came the sounds of people running and yelling. What was happening? Was SYLO attacking? Had their missiles gotten through? Was the gate to hell about to be pulverized like the one under construction back in Fenway Park?

All around me the recuperating prisoners were waking and sitting up in their beds, looking as dazed as I felt.

“Nobody move!” a Retro soldier yelled as he ran past the beds, wielding his black baton threateningly.

Kent sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Is this a dream?” he asked.

Another explosion hit, followed by screams.

A second soldier ran through and was stopped by one of the medical staff.

“Is it another air raid?” the nurse asked.

“No,” the soldier replied. “It’s a breakout.”

“H
ow do you feel?” I asked Kent.

“Like ass. But better.”

“Stay here, keep healing,” I said. “I’ll go see what’s happening.”

I jumped out of bed and ran for the door on the far end of the infirmary. Some of the patients were sitting up, groggy and confused. Most didn’t move. They couldn’t be roused from their deep, healing sleep . . . even by the sounds and excitement of a massive prison break.

I jumped outside of the door in time to see another explosion erupt on the far side of the compound. It didn’t seem big enough to cause any real damage. The base wasn’t being attacked by SYLO, at least not as far as I could tell.

Retro soldiers ran from every direction with their baton weapons raised, headed for the latest explosion.

Boom!

There was another explosion that seemed to be a few hundred yards from the first. I turned back to the infirmary and scanned for a way to get up onto the roof where I’d be able to survey much of the camp. Using the skills I learned from climbing up and down the drainpipe on our house on Pemberwick Island, I put my foot up on the window frame, then grabbed on to a light fixture, which allowed me to crawl onto a small awning over the door. With a few kicks and a little struggling I hoisted myself up and over the top.

The roof was long and flat, and from that high angle I had a view of the entire camp. Or base. Or whatever it was. There looked to be dozens of similar buildings either completed or in various stages of construction. They were clustered in groups of four or five with large empty areas between them, like the one where Kent and that weasel prisoner fought.

At the center of it all was the giant steel igloo. It was like the hub of a wheel, with camp roads and buildings stretching out from it like spokes. There looked to be a runway leading out from the massive door. This was where they launched the black fighter aircraft. Since the planes took off and landed vertically, the runway didn’t need to be very long. The dome was surrounded by a concrete tarmac where a few idle fighters sat.

My perch on top of the infirmary allowed me to view the extent of the Retro city. The entire camp was surrounded by black. The desert. What I couldn’t see were the hundreds of antiaircraft cannons that had protected the dome from SYLO attacks, nor the wrecks of fighter planes that had crashed into the desert while trying to blow it off the face of the earth.

I registered all of this with only a quick look because what was happening far off to my right was way more interesting. I’d never seen a prison riot before, but this sure looked how I imagined one to be. Individual clouds of black smoke rose in several areas, probably from the explosions. There were several fires burning, but they were each contained, as if the bombs had gone off in between the buildings. None of the buildings looked to be damaged. It made me think that the explosions were more about making noise than causing destruction.

At the edge of one clearing, beyond three burning fires, a crowd of prisoners was gathered. There looked to be a few hundred of them and they were growing in number. Their arms were locked as they chanted something that took me a while to decipher.

“Water! Water! Water!”

This might not have been a prison break after all, but more of a demonstration. During the day we were forced to do backbreaking labor under the hot desert sun and weren’t given anywhere near enough water to keep us hydrated. This nighttime riot seemed more like a massive show of anger over how we were being treated than a breakout attempt.

I didn’t think for a second that it would do any good.

Facing the chanting crowd was a row of Retro soldiers. Though the prisoners outnumbered them ten to one, the Retros had weapons they weren’t shy about using. I hoped the demonstrators knew what they were doing because they would certainly pay a heavy price for this insurrection.

The Retro soldiers didn’t move. They held their baton weapons with both hands but had yet to aim them at the protesters.

The crowd was getting more animated. Their shouts of “Water!” grew louder and more insistent. Tension was high. If either side made a move against the other, it would certainly trigger violence. Part of me wanted the prisoners to rush and attack the Retro guards. There were enough of them to be able to grab a few weapons and do some real damage. But that meant many prisoners would be shot, and from the look of things nobody was willing to risk that.

I relaxed, thinking there wasn’t going to be a mass execution that night. It was at that moment that I caught a glimpse of movement on the other side of the camp. It was a bus, not much different than a school bus, but painted in dark colors. It moved without headlights along a narrow section of barracks and finally came to a stop at the building one over from where I stood.

I hurried along the roof to get a closer look at this new arrival. My fear was that the bus was bringing Retro reinforcements with heavier artillery to put an end to the midnight protest. I ran right up to the edge of the roof, peered down, and saw that I couldn’t have been more wrong. The bus was empty. What was it doing there?

The answer came soon after.

Several orange-clad prisoners hurried out from the barracks next to the bus and quickly boarded. They moved without a word as they quietly filled the vehicle.

The true purpose of the demonstration now became clear. It wasn’t a protest. It was a diversion. The bombs, the chanting, the standoff . . . it was all to draw the attention of the Retro guards to the other side of the camp so that these people could load onto the bus.

It was a prison break after all, and the Retros didn’t have a clue.

The people in the courtyard were sacrificing themselves in order to help a handful of prisoners get away.

Up until that moment I thought that the prisoners in this Retro camp had been turned into mindless workers who had given up and accepted their fate. It now appeared that Major Bova’s rules did nothing to stop them from communicating and working together to fight back against their tormentors. It gave me a rush of pride and excitement like I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

This was definitely a well-rehearsed plan. The prisoners moved quickly out of the building and entered the back door of the bus. Part of me wanted to jump off the roof to join them, but this wasn’t my show. All I could do was watch and root.

I looked back at the action in the clearing. Even more Retro soldiers had arrived. They now stood two deep. It was an intimidating show of force, which meant there were fewer of them back in the camp who might happen upon the real event. The plan seemed to be working perfectly.

I looked back to the bus as the last few prisoners scampered out of the dark barracks . . . and nearly fell off of the roof when I saw a girl among them.

A girl I knew.

There was no mistake. The long waves of curly black hair were a dead giveaway.

It was Tori Sleeper.

Alive and well.

“Tori!” I called out and immediately regretted it.

I was so surprised to see her that it came out before I could think.

Tori froze and looked back to see who had called her name.

Several prisoners stopped abruptly and turned to look up at me. They seemed horrified that somebody would have called out like that, inviting attention.

I wasn’t so happy about it myself. I could have blown the whole plan.

At least my dumb move confirmed one thing: It really was Tori. I was so excited that I wanted to scream out again and say, “It’s me! Tucker! I’m alive too!” But I’m not that much of a fool. All I did was give a small, embarrassed wave.

The other prisoners snapped back to their senses and pushed her onto the bus. They moved with urgency, thanks to the screaming fool on top of the infirmary. I scanned the area quickly but didn’t see any Retro soldiers running their way. No sooner did the last escaping prisoner board than the back door closed tight and the bus began to roll.

It seemed as though every Retro guard in the camp was facing off against the protesters. None of them had any idea that they were in the wrong place looking the wrong way. I actually punched the air in triumph and would have shouted “Yeah!” but I’d learned my lesson.

The next day there would be hell to pay. I didn’t even want to think about what punishment Major Bova would condemn the rest of the prisoners to for helping the others escape. I had to believe that they had all considered this and chose to go through with it anyway. These were incredibly brave and selfless people. Once again it gave me hope that the Retros hadn’t completely triumphed.

Best of all, Tori was on her way to freedom. It was a very good night . . .

. . . until I heard a sound over the distant protest chants of the prisoners. It was music. The kind of music I didn’t want to hear.

Near the steel dome, three black fighter planes on the ground had come to life. The ground beneath them lit up. The planes were about to take off.

What were they going to do? Was this why the Retro guards hadn’t moved on the protesters? Were they going to bring in the heavy guns and attack the mass of prisoners? I thought about running to the far end of the building to scream out a warning, but it wouldn’t have done any good. The protesters were chanting too loudly. They wouldn’t hear one lone voice. . . . They couldn’t even hear the music of the planes.

I was totally helpless.

The three planes lifted slowly into the air and hovered near the dome.

Three planes.

The situation was even more dire than I thought. It was dark. The laser weapon the Air Force used to wipe out so much of the earth’s population only worked in the dark. It took the combined power of three planes to make it work. I couldn’t breathe for fear these three planes would hover over the protesters and fire their deadly light on them. Every last one of them would be obliterated in seconds.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to do something. I ran to the far end of the roof screaming, “Run! Get out of there! They’re coming!”

It was futile. I was a lone voice lost in the wind. These brave people were all about to die. I wanted to think they were prepared for the worst, but how could anyone prepare for something like that?

I looked back to the dome where the three aircraft continued to hover. It wouldn’t be long before they drifted over the crowd and each shot a ray of light that would combine with the others to sweep the ground and wipe away everyone there. I’d seen it happen before.

It was how Quinn died.

“Run!” I yelled one last time.

I needn’t have bothered because they couldn’t hear me . . .

. . . and the planes were on the move.

In the opposite direction.

My brain didn’t comprehend at first. The planes weren’t going for the protestors. For one fleeting moment my hope soared that they were headed somewhere else. Planes had been coming out of that dome and leaving for parts unknown all day. This might be just another scheduled departure. The protestors, at least for the moment, were safe. I had a brief moment of total relief.

Very brief.

The planes banked and moved off in unison. They weren’t headed toward the protestors. . . .

They were going for the bus.

“No!” I shouted and ran back in the other direction.

I sprinted along the length of the building, getting no closer to the planes as they moved away from me. In the distance I could still see the bus. It was a dark spot moving between buildings with Tori Sleeper on board . . .

. . . being stalked by three flying marauders.

The dark planes were in no hurry. They didn’t chase so much as drift ever closer to their quarry.

“Tori!” I shouted in absolute futility.

I couldn’t bear to watch, but I had to. The three dark shapes moved closer to their prey. In seconds they would be over the slow-moving bus. I hoped the people on board that bus had no idea of what was about to happen and that their end would be quick and painless. They had all suffered enough already.

Especially Tori.

I stood with my legs locked and my feet planted firmly. I wanted to witness it. I wanted to remember it.

The three planes stopped advancing and floated in place directly above the bus. I knew what would come next. I saw it over the ocean when Quinn fell victim to this kind of ruthless attack. Now I would have two memories to haunt me . . .

. . . and add fuel my rage.

A narrow, intensely bright beam of light shot from each of the three stingray-shaped planes. The lights joined together and continued on as a single more-powerful beam that hit the bus. The vehicle was instantly enveloped in light and began to glow brightly, lighting up that section of the camp as if it were daytime.

Though my knees went weak, I managed to stay upright and focused. I had to see what happened next.

The glowing bus continued to move for another second. That was all. A moment later, it was gone. Vaporized. The light dissipated to reveal there was nothing left. There was no wreck, no scorched ground. No bodies. It was as if the bus and its passengers never existed.

But it did exist. So did the people on board.

People who were now dead and gone.

Including Tori.

The beams of light retracted and the planes flew off. Their job was done. They had deadly business elsewhere.

My legs couldn’t hold me anymore. I fell to my knees, too stunned to know how to think. Or feel. I stayed that way for longer than I can say. I was in shock. In a single few minutes I had gone from feeling the joy and relief of learning that Tori was alive to witnessing her execution. Was it my fault? Had I called the attention of the Retros to the bus? I hoped not. It had happened too quickly. They were all dead. Tori was dead. With all that I had seen and been through since the invasion of Pemberwick Island, I had never cried. This time, I had no choice.

I sat there, alone, and let the tears flow.

Tori had survived the helicopter crash after all. Freedom was within her reach. Now, no amount of healing miracle-medicine would bring her back. I had lost another best friend. My hope was that she died with the confidence she was about to escape and had no idea of what had been hovering in the air above her.