The jeeps brake and park in much the same formation they had at the top of the hill, and the soldiers, rifles ready, file out of them in less time than it takes to draw breath. They’re standing in small groups, their guns trained on whatever they can see. They’re moving out, I guess to maximize the area they’re covering, to maximize the number of things they can kill.
We have no idea what’s coming, but we can guess. I flash back to all the conversations Mimi and I have had while marathoning movies about the end of the world, the conversations about how stupid it is that, when people think about the end of the world, they imagine themselves in the shoes of these characters who are surviving despite all the plagues and zombies trying to wipe them off the face of the earth. When in reality, it’s so unlikely that the people who are sitting around in the suburbs watching end-of-the-world explosion-death dramas are the same ones who would have what it takes to fight through an actual disaster. So Mimi and I made a pact that in the event of a zombie apocalypse, we’d just do each other in, because there’s no way in hell we’d make it past the first wave. But now that I’m here, staring at what looks very much like the opening of the gateway to hell, there’s no part of me that thinks anything other than surviving—for my sister, for myself—is an option. And I know that if I give in to the terror being forced upon us, if I end up like that guy wetting himself and going into shock, then I’m done. Callie’s done. It’s over. So I push all that fear to the deepest part of my soul, and I clear my head and let go of Stan’s hand, because it’s time to think our way out of this. I know that I might die. That this sad little act of bravery might be my last sad little act ever. I’m not okay with that, not at all, but at least I know I’ve tried hard to be a good sister to Callie, to this plant person whom I love more than I really know how to say.
But none of this—not my love for Callie, who might not love me back, nor my proving that love by driving all the way up here to face this awful massacre—matters to anyone but me, because to the rest of the world, Callie isn’t a person. Any love anyone has for her or anyone like her is rendered invisible, misplaced, insane. And that thought has never been clearer than now, as this wing of the U.S. military calmly walks past us with their assault rifles raised. They make their way through us, shoving us aside and ignoring our cries of surrender. They are, essentially, ignoring us.
“Stay back,” one of them says, shoving at us. Nobody does anything about it. You want to think you’d fight back, but they’ve got assault rifles and U.S. flags on their arms, with the letters E.T.R. stitched underneath. They march onto the ice field and start firing, small mechanical bursts aimed toward the ground, at what remains of the pods.
The drones are backing off, maybe because the soldiers are down here. And it actually seems like maybe someone made a mistake, which is the only reason the soldiers are down here now. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking. The soldiers are unloading what I recognize as flamethrowers. They’re tossing them on like they’re backpacks or some kind of trendy vest. Through the smoke and the chaos I can see some of the Icelings wringing their hands as they watch, tears streaming down their faces and turning to ice before hitting their mouths. Stan taps my shoulder and points. I follow his hand, and my eyes find Ted again. He’s still fighting back, and now he’s got a gang of likeminded Icelings with him, all lined up with their fists clenched, running at those troops like they’re about to tear their heads off.
Because I guess what happened here is that the Icelings were coming home to greet the new generation. To welcome them into this world like no one else was able to welcome them. And they got here, and they were ready. They knew, their bodies knew, what they needed to do. And they got here, and all the babies were dead dust.
And now there are soldiers marching among the corpses of the next generation and shooting them and burning them. Ted and his gang are hitting these soldiers in the faces. I don’t know whether the soldiers were prepared for what happened here today or for the strength of these Icelings who are pissed about what didn’t happen here today. The first wave catches the troops by surprise, but then, once the surprise is over, they start firing. Ted’s gang starts picking up the fallen bodies, soldier and Iceling both, and hurling them at the troops, trying to knock them down.