48 | THE COMING OF THE WAR
The wheels of the golf cart kicked up a squall of deadly Vegas dust, which was caught by the gusting breeze and pattered against the fabric of Sam’s hazmat suit. Vienna sat beside him, holding the Geiger counter. It began to buzz but subsided rapidly as the gust of wind fell away. Sam found he had held his breath instinctively, although he knew the mask was protection enough.
They’d found a whole garage full of the golf carts. They were small, quick, and nimble, ideal for maneuvering around the city, especially on short expeditions like this shopping trip to stock up on supplies for their run to Cheyenne Mountain.
A strip mall, almost intact, rose on their left, and Sam gazed up at the broken billboards above, then at the scattered shelving in the first of the stores. A minibus lay on its side in the street, and he skirted around it.
They drove in silence. It was strange, Sam thought, to be so close and yet so distant. He was merely inches away from her but was separated by the gulf of the hazmat suits and the particles of radioactive dust that swirled around and between them. “Vienna,” he started, a little uncomfortably.
“Yeah?”
“The other night, when we were watching the planes …” He paused, unsure how to continue.
“It was your birthday. I gave you a birthday kiss. Don’t worry about it,” she said brusquely, but a turn of her head revealed a coy smile through the face mask.
“I really—”
“Stop!” Vienna said, and Sam took his foot off the pedal, activating the brake automatically. The cart skidded a few feet in the dust and stopped.
“What?”
“Shh!” She looked up.
A strange distant humming sound deepened and turned into a roar overhead. “Jets!” Sam said.
“Get out of sight!” Vienna yelled as three jet fighters flying in tight formation appeared in the distance. They were flying low, beneath the omnipresent haze of the oil fires.
Vienna dived for the cover of the wrecked minibus. Sam leaped off the cart and ran into the entranceway of a store.
Vienna called, “Stay under cover. We can’t risk being picked up on reconnaissance cameras.”
At that moment, a second set of jets appeared, emerging from the smoky sky as if materializing from another dimension. Four planes in this group, in a V-shaped formation, on an intercept course with the other fighters.
Must be joining up with the group, Sam thought, although that thought shattered as the first group broke and scattered, turning toward the oncoming fighters.
A moment later, there were bright flashes from the first planes and tiny trails of smoke streaked out from their wings.
One of the oncoming jets exploded in flames, but the others managed to dodge the hail of fire and responded with missiles of their own.
The jets jinked and dived or rocketed toward the heavens, avoiding the missiles and each other by what seemed like inches.
It was all over in seconds as two of the first group of jets exploded in fiery balls, debris raining down over the city. The remaining fighter turned tail and ran, hotly pursued by the remaining three from the second group.
“Someone has started a war,” Sam yelled out as the thundering crashes of the explosions finally reached them. But who was winning? he thought.
Vienna stood up behind the minibus, watching the departing jets.
Sam, however, stayed put, not yet daring to emerge from his hiding place in case the jets should return. His eyes scanned the horizon, watching the shrinking dots until they disappeared into the haze.
The danger, when it came, though, was not from the sky but from the land.
Two gray vans were sliding to a halt in front of him before he even knew they were there, his eyes still focused on the sky.
Tactical team soldiers poured into the street in shiny silver radiation suits and full face masks.
They were heading for Vienna and hadn’t yet noticed Sam, crouched and unmoving inside the ruined store. Sun reflected off visors, silver flashed, and black boots kicked up dust as they ran past his hideout.
Vienna saw them and turned to run, but it was already too late.
Sam saw her struggling in the arms of one of the soldiers, his arm up around her neck.
She twisted and scratched, and suddenly she was free, her hazmat suit tearing and the hood, complete with the mask, coming off in the soldier’s hands.
She ran into the maze of broken and crushed buildings, through the billowing cloud of dust kicked up by the tires of the vans, as shots rang out and puffs of masonry powder punched out of the rubble around her.
Sam watched helplessly as Vienna ran through the clouds of radioactive dust without her protective hood. Without her mask.