The Black Hawk swooped low.
The townspeople shrieked and ducked as the great mechanical beast beat the air above them, casting a menacing shadow.
From the sandbagged rooftops, Fall Creek’s shooters fired at the helo. At least two of the stolen M60 belt-fed machine guns opened fire.
The Black Hawk swerved and kept going. It soared past them to the end of the road before banking sharply and heading back in their direction.
It pitched back and forth, avoiding the small-arms fire, veering to and fro like a dragon. Like some prehistoric monster hunting them, attempting to flush them out like frightened mice.
They hadn’t fired yet. Didn’t mean they wouldn’t.
Quinn sprinted toward Gran and the kids, running against the flow of frantic people, elbows and knees bumping and banging into her. Her sore muscles ached, her ribs throbbing.
Above her, the Black Hawk leveled out. Then it shot forward a couple hundred yards and hovered over the Clothesline laundromat on the corner. AK and AR rounds pinged against its armored belly.
With a great boom like thunder, its miniguns opened up.
The helo unleashed a stream of firepower and tore into the building. A 70mm rocket streaked through the sky. It exploded and blew off half the roof.
A sound like the fabric of the world ripping apart. The great tearing noise shredded her eardrums.
She reached Gran at the abandoned Schwan’s delivery truck.
Gran had slowed to a shuffle. Her back bent almost double. Without her cane, the toddler’s weight was too much for her old bones.
Quinn held out her hands. “Let me take him!”
Gran thrust the child into her arms.
His name was Joey. He carried a blue stuffed bunny everywhere, but he didn’t have it now. Maybe that explained his screaming.
He was heavy and squirming. His hands and face were sticky with snot and tears. The cuts on her hand stung so badly, she nearly dropped him.
“Get out of here!” Gran wheezed, waving her away.
Ignoring her, Quinn spun to the three boys. “Run! Come on! Run to the school!”
Their eyes wide with shock and fear, they obeyed. Tina Gundy sprinted past. She caught sight of them and slowed, motioning for them to follow her. Together, they ran for the school.
Over downtown, the Black Hawk circled higher to avoid the small-arms fire. Various security teams popped out of hiding to fire up at it with their ARs and AKs. More M60s shattered the air, driving the bird upward.
With a roar, it swung back around, aiming its 7.62mm miniguns to take them out. A brief burst. One of the M60s fell silent.
Their long guns seemed incredibly flimsy in comparison. Like water guns. Children’s toys.
“Go!” Quinn cried. “Go! Go!”
Gran stumbled. Her cane clattered to the asphalt.
“Gran!” Quinn reached for Gran, struggling to maintain her hold on the shrieking toddler. With her free hand, she yanked Gran to her feet. “We have to go!”
They were still a hundred yards from the school.
Gran swayed unsteadily. “You go—”
“I’m not leaving you!”
The Black Hawk turned and swooped back for another lethal run. It headed straight toward them. Incredibly loud, its engines roaring. The rotor wash beat at them with the fury of a mighty wind.
It was so close. Close enough to see the pilot through the windshield. Close enough to make out the twin miniguns swiveling toward them.
“Gran!” Her mouth was open; she was screaming but she couldn’t hear the sounds emanating from her own throat. “Gran!”
The Black Hawk came shrieking toward them, miniguns lighting up.
Time stopped.
Quinn saw everything in terrible slow motion, with technicolor clarity.
The helo fired again and again. It strafed the road, aiming at the remnant of townspeople scrambling to escape. It released salvo after salvo upon U.S. citizens.
Every sound that ever existed sucked into the maw of that roar. A great thundering death bearing down on them.
Quinn swayed, momentarily stunned.
It was like falling into freezing water. The absolute shock of it.
The thud thud thud shook the ground as powerful rounds struck their targets. Concrete sprayed from buildings, bricks flying, chunks of asphalt exploding.
The Schwan’s truck rattled. The pavement seemed to judder beneath her feet. The air itself heaved from the aftershocks.
There was no escaping it.
No time to run. Nowhere to hide.
Something heavy smashed into her. She fell sideways, falling hard to her knees behind the truck. Joey shrieked in startled pain.
Quinn flattened herself against the pavement. The child was still in her arms. Instinctively, she curled herself over his small body, shoving him beneath her chest.
Pebbles and dirt scraped her cheek, her whole body shaking. The rotors thundered. The wind whipped her hair, her clothes.
Debris and dust exploded. Glass, twisted metal, and masonry pelted her body. The grinding, pounding noise vibrated through her bones, through her cells, in her teeth.
The terrible pounding abruptly ceased.
Stunned, she lifted her head, skull throbbing. Her thoughts came frantic and disjointed.
She tasted dust in her mouth. Coppery blood. Her ears rang.
Another thunderous roar. Her chest seized. It wasn’t the helo. The ragged boom of the Browning M2 filled the air as it fired from the school’s rooftop. Reynoso was up there, protecting them.
Heavy rounds exploded as the M2 opened up on the Black Hawk. Tracers streaked through the sky.
The helo spun and flew rapidly south, abandoning its attack.
Beneath her, Joey was shrieking, mouth open in a red circle, face blotchy and red. But alive. Alive and unhurt but for scratches on his hands.
She levered herself to her knees. Her eyes watering, she coughed, desperate to breathe. The dust choked her lungs.
Dust everywhere. Dust on her skin, inside her clothes, gritty in her eyes and mouth, stuck to her tongue.
People coughed, sobbing and screaming. Someone moaned. Shapes on the ground appeared through the haze. Figures moved, struggling to rise. Some didn’t move at all.
“Gran,” she croaked. And then louder, “Gran!”