A Girl Called Badger

FIFTEEN



Jack took half the night to walk back to the Silver Spur. He napped a few hours then called WPPD to report a stolen vehicle and his missing Model 70.

“We’ll look for it,” said the duty officer, his voice the tired crinkle of an empty cigarette packet. “But honestly, we’re short of people. Half the force is out with the flu. Hell, I’d leave if there was anyone else to work the phones.”

Jack didn’t know if what he’d just heard was good or bad.

He rode his motorcycle to a hunting supply store in Woodland Park. The owner was boxing up everything. He knew Jack had been in the war, though, and let him buy some clothes.

“End of the world,” said the owner. He shook his head. “This’ll be the first place people will run to. They’re not getting my guns, I tell you that for free.”

“Where will you go?”

“Got a cabin up north.”

Jack changed his clothes then called Mike to let him know he was coming. He made sure Parvati was already at Altmann too.

Joanie didn’t answer her phone and he hated voicemail.

“Call Colleen.”

“Dialing.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Where are you?”

“Mom wants to check on Granpa. We’re on 24 right now.”

“Why aren’t you in school?”

“No classes today. Don’t you watch the news, Dad? It’s the flu thing.”

“Colleen, turn around and drive home.”

“Why? We’re just going to Granpa’s.”

“Trust me for once, okay?”

“All right. Bye.”

Route 24 was packed with cars traveling west. Everyone was behind the wheel and Jack guessed the traffic net was down. The few Sparrows he passed were all driving like normal cars and not flying. Had to be for the same reason. Jack threaded his bike through the stopped traffic and slowed down near the fender-benders. He saw only one trooper the entire way and no state police in the sky.

After an hour of driving he turned off on the gravel road leading to Altmann. He wound up through the pass and stopped at the guard shack. A man in civvies held an ACR rifle uncomfortably.

“Don’t point that thing at me,” said Jack.

“What?”

Jack flipped up his helmet visor. “I said, don’t point that at me. You’ll destroy all the beautiful feelings between us.”

“What feelings?”

“Exactly.”

Jack parked near his old building and took the elevator underground. Handguns and parts from an ACR covered Mike’s desk. He was behind it reading a yellow sheet of paper. Jack set down the wooden box with the .357.

Mike looked up. “We’re at DEFCON 3.”

“Shit buckets. When?”

“Twenty minutes ago.”

“Is this place secure? There’s only one half-cocked idiot at the front gate.”

“I’ll try to get a couple more. They’re good people, not idiots Jack. If we’re not on lockdown now, we will be.”



MIKE HAD FOUND A dozen of the staff who could handle guns. He inventoried the armory cache while Jack talked about gun safety and the basics of the K12 rifle.

Jack would have preferred a lighter and more dependable weapon like the ACR but the K12 was easy for beginners. Along the top rail was a big and boxy optic system with integrated targeting assist. Basically, point the camera at the target and pull the trigger. Below the main barrel was a launcher for 20mm air-burst grenades that also targeted the same way. The Army called them “fire-and-forget” rounds, but to Jack it was more like “forget-to-fire.” Mike had found a six-round clip and Jack kept it for himself.

The base didn’t have a range. Jack took them to a field with a good backdrop and let each of the newbies empty a thirty-round clip into cans. Some of the rifle cameras hadn’t been zeroed-in. Jack showed how to reset the targeting computer.

Half knew how to use the 10mm Taurus pistol. Jack let everyone fire a few rounds and corrected hand positions. He gathered everyone in a circle and talked about fields of fire, establishing a perimeter, and target identification.

Parvati walked up after an hour of practice. “Jack, there’s a meeting in the conference room.”

“I don’t even work here anymore. I’m just helping Mike.”

“Helping or working, Cinderella, you and your little birdies are wanted.”

Jack and the trainees secured their weapons in Mike’s office and walked through the empty building. Voices murmured in the hallway and grew loud as Jack opened the conference room door. Uniformed and civilian staff packed the room, all standing. Dr. Allen was speaking at the front of the room but Jack couldn’t see through the mass of people.

“As I said, we’ll make every provision to allow family members into the base. Simon has taken over Building 61 as a quarantine zone and we think the new test will detect the beta-virus.”

“You think?” shouted a man with a gravelly voice. “What if they fail the test?”

“The quarantine area has living areas and everyone will be kept separate to avoid cross-contamination.” Dr. Allen paused. “You’ve all heard news from Denver and back east. I’m not going to sugar-coat the situation like the media. Most of the big cities––L.A., Chicago, New York––are ghost towns. The beta-virus has a 95% mortality rate once symptoms exhibit. Death is a direct result of cellular wall breakdown and organ failure, and follows three to four hours later. We don’t know the incubation period. As you’ve probably read, it’s transmitted through the air, usually through exhaled water vapor.”

The lights in the room flickered. The room went dark then brightened a few seconds later.

“Initial symptoms are the same as a bad flu: chills alternating with fever, sweating, shivering, nausea, and expectoration. Anyone contacting a person showing symptoms without wearing a mask or protection will be considered infected. If you leave the base, consider that. No one leaves without masks and direct permission from a division head or Dr. Ming.”

A woman coughed and Dr. Allen glanced in her direction.

“If you haven’t realized how serious this situation has become, let me remind you. Washington pulled their diplomats from Beijing yesterday and ordered all Americans to leave the country. The feeds on the net have been going crazy with rumors of the beta-virus as a direct attack from the Chinese. It’s not our job to spread these kind of rumors. Our job is to protect the integrity of this facility and the research we’ve been developing for decades.”

The room filled with murmurs and a few heated questions. Jack stepped into the hallway and called Colleen but the phone was busy. Joanie didn’t pick up either.

Parvati leaned against the corridor wall. “So what do we do now?”

“I guess we stick around. I need to find some clothes.”

“You could use a nap, too.”

They snooped around the armory and found Army fatigues in Jack’s size. Parvati had a sofa with a pull-out bed and Jack slept for a few hours. He woke up hungry and the pair of them walked outside to the main cafeteria. A robo-hauler with a train of long black rectangles whirred by on the way to an underground storage area.

They were still eating when a chorus of tones sounded and the speaker system clicked.

“Facility alert DEFCON 2. Repeat, DEFCON 2. All personnel report to duty or shelter in place. This is not a drill. Facility alert–”

“Is ‘2’ good or bad?” asked Parvati. “I can never remember.”

“Bad like a house on fire,” said Jack, standing up. “DEFCON 1 is next. Those idiots back east are going to pop nukes.”

He tried to dial out as they left the building. The network was down and he couldn’t find Colleen’s auto-post to see her location.

“Number unavailable,” said the phone’s female voice.

“Hell and spit,” said Jack.

“What’s the matter?”

“Colleen went to the city and her phone isn’t working.”

Jack dialed a few more numbers but the system was overloaded or down. Back at Parvati’s office he tried a gray military phone but got the same result––number unavailable. He set down the handset with a curse and it buzzed.

“Both of you get to my office,” said Mike’s voice.

Jack and Parvati took the elevator deeper into the mountain. Mike was in his office with Dr. Allen.

“Good to see you, Jack,” said Dr. Allen. “Under better circumstances–”

“Doc, I’m in a hurry.”

Mike cleared his throat. “We need someone to go to Schriever.”

“Why are you both looking at me? I’m not even supposed to be here.”

“We need special equipment for an implant procedure and Schriever has it,” said Dr. Allen. “Mil-com is down, phone service is out. Someone has to physically drive down the mountain and get it from their lab.”

“You know we’re at DEFCON 2,” said Jack.

“That’s why it has to be done now, before it’s too late. I can’t send Mike. We’re short-staffed and Ming has shoved the contingency plan down my throat. You’re the best guy available.”

“I don’t have time.”

“Jack, one of my patients will die if you can’t do it. Probably more. This is critical for the project.”

Jack stared at a spot on the gray-painted wall for a moment.

“Fine. But I’ll need a HUGO from the lot.”

“No problem.”

Dr. Allen scribbled lines on a sheet of paper. He took out a small seal, pressed down hard, and handed the paper to Jack. “You’ll need this to get into Schriever.”



Relevant Personnel:

The bearer of this document is USAF Captain Jack Garcia. He’s to be granted full access to Schriever AFB under authority of Special Advisor to the Joint Chiefs of Staff Doctor Zhang Ming. He’s cleared for SWORD.



Dr. Greg Allen

Altmann Research Station



“You’ve got this wrong. I’m not an officer and I wasn’t in the Air Force.”

“I know that, but it’s the only way I can give you a war commission. You might have fewer problems this way. Now raise your right hand.”

“This is too stupid to be true,” Jack muttered. He repeated everything from Dr. Allen.

“Now can I leave?”

“Immediately. What we need from Schriever is called an RS3, or simply a ‘sequencer.’ It’s in the basement of the 4th SES building. Here are orders allowing them to release it. It’s only a medium-sized cylinder, you won’t need help.”

Mike gave him a protective NBC suit with helmet, a few facemasks, a Milcom radio, and a K12 with three clips. Together they took the elevator to the vehicle lot. Dr. Allen swiped his fingertip and the bay doors rolled up.

An armored truck the color of wood ash waited inside. Low and wide, HUGO trucks carried up to six troops into combat. The armor wasn’t thick but could stop most small arms. The undercarriage was high and the truck could drive over just about anything.

Dr. Allen opened a lockbox and gave the keyfob to Jack. “Good luck.”

Mike shifted his weight from one foot to another until Dr. Allen had gone. “Jack, check on my house, okay?”

“I’ll bring Gina and the kids back with me.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

Parvati gave him a tight hug and a kiss. “Just bring yourself back. In one piece.”

“How about a piece that glows in the dark?”

Jack pressed the starter button and the twelve cylinders roared to life. Mike and Parvati didn’t wave as he drove out the vehicle bay and neither did Jack.



HE KEPT HIS FOOT down and sprayed brown dust and gravel through the winding pass to the highway. A steady stream of vehicles packed the road heading west but the eastern lane was clear. Many of the cars and buses he passed had a large “Q” spray-painted on the side in yellow or white.

Jack drove off the berm to pass a few abandoned cars and traffic collisions. He cracked his knuckles to re-boot the phone and the network still didn’t come up. This made his foot stick to the floor even harder.

He saw a line of cars at a roadblock outside Divide. He turned off to a dirt road then bumped through a field of cut alfalfa until he’d passed it. He jerked back onto the smooth blacktop going west and kept his eyes in the mirror. The cops must have seen the HUGO but no flashing lights came after him.

Apart from a few speeding cars and wandering dogs Woodland Park was empty. Joanie’s minivan wasn’t in the driveway. Jack knocked on the front and back doors and nobody answered. She’d changed the locks a while ago. He didn’t know why he kept the key.

Jack jumped for a boxy old air cooler and pulled himself to the second story. The upstairs bedroom window still hadn’t been fixed and he jiggled it open.

Nothing looked out of place inside. No clothes or suitcases were missing. A light flashed red in the living room and Jack remembered the house had an old relay for the network. It amplified signals and saved money on phone bills until the new tower had made it obsolete. Joanie was just the kind of person to keep using it.

“Check messages,” Jack said.

“Jack has zero messages,” said a female voice with a prim British accent.

“System override. User: admin.”

“Your password, sir?”

“Foxtrot.”

“Access granted.”

“Check messages for Joanie.”

“Joan Garcia has two new messages and seven saved messages.”

“Play new message.”

White noise crackled the air for a second.

“This is not a test. This is a message from the Emergency Broadcasting System. The city of Colorado Springs is under a protective quarantine. Shelter in place and do not leave your homes. Do not approach military personnel or you will be fired upon. Repeat, this is not a test–”

The next message was from Joanie’s mother.

“Don’t come to the city, dear. It’s too dangerous. I’m driving us to the hospital now. Stay where you are and I’ll call you. I love you.”

“End of new messages. You have seven saved messages.”

“Play the first one.”

Her mother’s voice filled the room again.

“Joanie, can you come help me? Your father has the worst case of flu. I tried to call 911 but they’re not answering. Imagine that! Call me back, dear.”

Jack ran outside and gunned the engine back toward the highway. He passed Padre’s bar and squealed to a stop.

The “Closed” sign was out and the front was locked. Jack walked around to the back and knocked on plastic frame of the screen door. The sound of gunshots and squealing tires came from inside, and Jack could see the glow of Padre’s old two-dee set.

“I’m closed.”

“It’s me, Padre.”

“Come in.”

Cases of chips, peanuts, and pickles lined the shelves of the stockroom. Padre leaned a pump shotgun against the wall and settled back into his La-Z-Boy.

Jack pointed to the two-dee set. “Is that a broadcast?”

“No, it’s off a disc. All my channels went black this morning. Guess I’m not paying that bill.” He looked up at Jack. “Wait––what are you still doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” said Jack.

“Nowhere else to go. I may not have an escape plan but I got food, booze, and guns. And who wants to die in a traffic jam?”

“I need your help. Joanie and Colleen drove to the city.”

“Say no more.” Padre stood up and grabbed his shotgun.

Jack stared open-mouthed. “That’s it? No questions?”

“When a friend needs help there aren’t any questions to ask. Unless the question is, ‘why are we standing here?’”

Padre took his Bible and a jacket before he locked up, and followed Jack to the HUGO. He whistled in appreciation at sight of the armored vehicle.

“Jack, who did you kill for this baby?”

“Nobody yet. It’s borrowed from Altmann. That place I used to work, remember?”

Padre set his gear on the floor and strapped in. “I guess it pays to know people.”

“Don’t speak too soon. To get this cherry ride I had to promise I’d drive to Schriever Air Force Base.”

“Indeed. Drive onward, Christian soldier!”

“Don’t push me. And don’t sing.”

Jack drove the HUGO through Woodland Park. He hit the brakes hard and Padre grabbed for the panic bar.

“What’s wrong?”

Jack shook his head. “Forgot something.”

He turned the truck around and a few minutes later stopped at Mike’s house. Their Hyundai was in the driveway and the front door was open.

“Stay here and don’t talk to strangers,” said Jack. He put the NBC hood over his head and grabbed the K12 rifle.

The house had been ransacked. The TV and net receiver in the living room were gone. The patio door had been shattered and Jack spotted a speaker cabinet in the backyard. The NBC filter clicked on and off with each breath. He stepped over children’s toys and broken glass. In the hallway blood had sprayed one wall and dark spots led up the carpeted stairs. Jack kept the K12 ready and followed the trail. Mike’s wife Gina lay on the floor of the master bedroom, her brown hair and the carpet around it matted with blood. Jack touched Gina’s neck but didn’t have to. Her skin was a pale yellow, like rendered fat.

The two kids were in their beds, covered with blankets. Both were still and cold to the touch. Jack blew a ragged sigh through the filter and left quickly. Before he walked out the front door he took a photo from the wall. Mike had his arms around his wife and kids. Everyone was smiling. Jack remembered taking the photo, the last time he and Mike had climbed Red Rock.

“You got one of those masks for me?” asked Padre.

Jack tossed the NBC hood to him and roared the HUGO’s engine out of the neighborhood.

“What’s wrong?”

“Mike’s family. They’re dead.”

Padre whispered a prayer as Jack whipped the big truck through town and onto the highway toward Colorado Springs. They passed a long line of cars, family vans, and school buses. All were pointed west.

“Still believe in God?” asked Jack.

“I’m not smarter or better than other men,” said Padre. “Never was. But I’m telling you, don’t point the finger at God for the virus. It’s like a possum blaming Him for cars.”

“Those were dead kids back there, not animals!”

“I know. What I mean is, the possum has a better chance of driving a stick-shift than we have of understanding God and the world.”

“Wrong,” said Jack. “I’ve got an idea about what’s happened.”

“You’re like most people and believe in fairness and karma,” said Padre slowly. “That’s been shaken now, and I understand. But don’t blame God.”

“Right now,” said Jack. “I blame anyone that gets between me and my daughter.”



HE WHIPPED THE HUGO through the pine forests of 24 and passed an unending line of cars. The highway rose over the pass and dropped through the mountains. The white cone of Pike’s Peak nosed up from the south. In the foothills below lay Colorado Springs, a grid of streets, trees, and sprinkler-green lawns. A dozen pillars of black smoke spiraled up and bent sideways at the inversion layer. Beyond the city, yellow plains stretched to the east.

At the city limits they met a roadblock and a line of cars turned off to the side. A sage-green battletank and two HUGOs blocked the road. A dozen soldiers stood around in old desert gear and white masks. One with an ACR and red armband waved Jack forward.

“The city’s closed. What unit are you?”

“I’m from Altmann,” said Jack. “I’ve got orders to get through.”

“I don’t need no orders, chief. If you’re going east, don’t stop and don’t get out. It’s like Karachi in there. Looters are popping off at everything.”

The soldier turned to look as a few pistol shots cracked in the nearby streets. An automatic rifle fired in the distance, long and grinding like a dead transmission.

“Message received,” Jack said.

“Good hunting,” said the soldier. “And wear a mask.”

Jack thought the HUGO had air filters but he snapped a white mask over his head and Padre wore the NBC hood.

The pavement vibrated as the huge tank moved backwards on his steel treads. Jack floored it through the gap. On the other side of the highway a line of cars waited to get out. A few guardsmen in full NBC suits stood around the first car in line. One held a small gray box in front of a passenger’s face. Another waited with a can of spray paint.

Padre tapped the map display in the console. “How is this still working? Is the network back up?”

“It’s on a secure military band, separate from the civvie networks.”

“Can we call your ex-wife on it?”

“It doesn’t work that way, even if her phone was online.”

A couple of rounds banged into his door as Jack took the off-ramp to Circle. He kept going full-speed up Airport. Some enterprising young man had blocked the street ahead with a tractor-trailer and stopped a few cars. A dozen civvies stood near the trailer, some with rifles.

“Roll up your window,” said Jack.

Between the two front seats was a flat console with a dozen switches. All were labeled and shielded with colored plastic tabs. Jack flipped up a red tab and hit a silver toggle switch.

“CMS armed,” said a deep male voice.

“Aim ten degrees and fire,” said Jack.

Something thumped like a tennis ball on the roof of the HUGO and a ball of cotton-wool smoke puffed in the middle of the crowd. Most held their mouths and bent to the ground as the smoke rapidly expanded.

The HUGO smashed through the end of the trailer and barely slowed down.

“What was that?” asked Padre.

“Tear gas.”

A pair of car fires burned on the street where Joanie’s parents had a condo. Jack fired tear gas at both ends of the street and stopped the HUGO beside Joanie’s minivan.

“I’m going inside,” he said. “Sit here in the driver’s seat. If you see anyone besides me or Joanie, floor it around the block and come back. That includes cops. Especially cops.”

“But what if–”

“If I don’t come back in five, this will take you to Altmann.” He pressed symbols on the map screen. “Just say ‘take me home’ and you’ll get directions.”

“But don’t you need the net for auto-drive?”

“You would but this isn’t a civvie car, remember? It’s an old system.”

Padre jumped into the driver’s seat and Jack ran up the steps of the condo with the K12. He looked up and down the street then knocked twice on the door of the condo. No sound from inside. Jack fired a three-round burst at the lock and kicked the door open.

“Colleen? Joanie?”

The smell of bleach and smoke penetrated his mask. He stepped into the living room and the wall next to him exploded in plaster and framed photos.

“Don’t shoot, it’s me!”

Joanie lowered the shotgun. “You didn’t exactly scream hello, did you?”

Jack thought it stupid and strange how he could love and hate her at the same time. She was fit and looked good but there was always that sarcasm in her voice. Their last vacation to Mexico flashed through his mind. A good time.

“I knocked. Why didn’t you answer?”

Joanie looked at him like he’d turned into a goat. “You know what’s going on, Jack. If you were a woman, would you open the door?”

“I see your point. Where’s Colleen?”

His daughter leaned out of the kitchen. “Here, Dad.”

“All right, let’s go.”

Joanie spread her hands. “The last broadcast said to stay inside.”

“I know. Because of the virus. They’re not telling you about the nukes. All the bases have gone to DEFCON 2. Before you ask, that’s one fingersnap from nuclear war.”

“Somehow I want to blame you for this, Jack.”

“This is above and beyond even my extreme ability for screwing up. Can we go?”

“What about Mom and Dad?” she asked.

Jack sighed. “I heard the messages from your mother. They’ve got the virus. Even if we find them, it could spread to us. Is that what you want?”

Joanie shook her head. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I have to drive east for something then we’ll check the hospital, okay?”

Joanie grabbed a few items and followed Jack and Colleen out the door. The HUGO was gone and a pair of men in ripped jeans and sweatshirts walked across the street a block away.

Jack pushed the two women back. A burst of automatic fire snapped across the doorway like supersonic wasps.

Jack pulled off the K12’s square eyepiece. A half-meter cable linked back to the rectangular optic system. He clipped the eyepiece onto his sleeve and pointed the assault rifle around the corner.

Three men in hooded shirts and dark clothing ran toward the camera. In their hands were old surplus M4s. Jack toggled the launcher and fired.

The grenade hit the first hood and burst into a cloud of shrapnel. Jack counted two bodies on the sidewalk and snapped the viewfinder back onto the K12.

The HUGO roared around a corner and stopped nearby. Across the street a pair of civvies burst out of an apartment door. One fired a wild shot with his pistol. Jack fired a series of three-round bursts and the civvies scrambled back inside. Jack kept the crosshairs aimed that direction and waved Joanie to the HUGO.

“Get in!”

“I can’t leave my car!”

“Oh for the love of ... just give me the keys.”

Joanie and Colleen slid into the HUGO. Jack fired another burst and ran to the passenger door.

“I’m taking the minivan,” he yelled to Padre. “Just follow me.”

Padre nodded. “Got it.”

A shot whizzed past his head. The two pistoleers had run out and now hid behind an ancient Camaro with two flat tires. Jack fired a grenade on half-second air-burst. It exploded behind the car in a woolen ball of glass and smoke.

He drove the minivan to the highway and took the east-bound ramp with Padre right behind. Jack gunned maximum RPMs from the old Chinese death trap. He avoided another checkpoint near the airport by driving north and taking a short and bouncing route overland to 94 and the plains.

Schriever cut a square stamp from the dry plains and was fenced like a white-collar prison. A chain-link gate and metal bars blocked the main entrance.

Jack left his rifle in the minivan and walked to the guard post. A soupy, acid smell trickled through the filter of his mask. Two MPs were curled in the fetal position on the floor, stiff and silent. Black bloodstains covered the chin and blue uniform shirt of the one closest to Jack. He stepped around the bodies and searched for a gate switch. After a few seconds he found it and heard the metal barricade grind across the asphalt.

Jack drove slowly, like the first car in a funeral. Vehicles were stopped carelessly in the streets and parking lots. Nothing moved. Bodies slumped sideways inside in the cars or rested heads on the steering wheels. A white, unmarked schoolbus rested nose-first against a building. Scores of uniformed bodies lay in a ghastly siesta on the bright green of the parade ground.

He followed signs through the base and stopped the mini-van next to the 4th SES building.

“Back in a minute,” he said to Padre.

Jack walked inside the building with the K12 and wondered how he was going to find this stupid sequencer if nobody was around. He followed a stairwell down to a steel security door labeled “Restricted.” A keypad and display were built into the nearby wall.

He pressed a worn red button. “Anyone there?”

A moment later the screen crackled to life. A wild-eyed young man with a shaved military haircut stepped into view.

“Who’s out there? We’re under quarantine.”

“I’m from Altmann,” said Jack. “I’ve got orders to get equipment.”

“Hold them up.”

Jack held the paper in front of the display camera.

“Show me your ID.“

Jack still had his unit card and pulled it from his wallet.

The man on the display sighed. “All right. Put your gun on the floor and stand back. Try anything and I’ll shoot.”

Locks clicked inside the metal door and it whirred open. Inside the large engineering lab were four men and two women in civilian clothes.

The young man from the camera stood nearby. The 10mm Taurus in his hand pointed at the floor.

“What’s going on outside?”

“Son, what’s your name?” asked Jack.

“Dan.”

“Okay, Dan. Here’s the good news and the bad news. You probably know the bad news. Some kind of virus has spread through the country. Lots of people are dead. The good news is we’re at DEFCON 2. And soon, DEFCON 1.”

“How is that good news?”

“Because we’ll be dead too and all our problems will be over. Now, I don’t have time for tea and polite conversation. I need to get that equipment back to Altmann. You’re the first people I’ve seen alive here so you’re welcome to come back with me. The virus hasn’t reached Altmann and they have medical staff and nuclear shelters.”

The technicians packed a few instruments in foam-lined metal suitcases, including the sequencer. Jack carried it upstairs and secured it inside the armored supply cabinet at the rear of the HUGO. Dan and four of the lab technicians squeezed into the mini-van and one went to the HUGO.

“What about those roadblocks and traffic going west?” asked Padre.

“The problem will be getting out west on 24,” said Jack. “If anything happens and we get separated, just do what I said before and follow the map screen.”

Colleen touched his arm. “Dad, why can’t I ride with you?”

“We’re going downtown to check on your grandparents. It’s safer in the HUGO.”

They left the base and drove toward the setting sun. Jack headed straight for the first checkpoint on the eastern border. It was a roadblock of three HUGOs and a tank.

Jack glanced back at his passengers. “They’ll let us through. Might have to wait a bit. Anyone got a smoke?”

One of the men opened the crimson cellophane on a pack of Chunghwa and handed one forward.

“Something’s wrong,” said Dan.

The soldiers had abruptly piled into their trucks and the battletank was turning in place.

“I wonder why–”

Jack rolled down his window and heard the low, mournful howl of air raid sirens.

“There’s your answer. Hold your purses, boys!”

He crossed into the opposing lane and blew past the tank with Padre right behind. The old six-cylinder roared and wind rattled the side windows. They crossed the city and made it to the foothills below the mountains when the first one hit. A white-hot bulb from God’s camera in the north, probably the Academy. The second flash was closer and the shockwave ripped the wheel out of Jack’s hands. The minivan spun down an embankment and rolled in a shower of glass and metal. It stopped at last, surrounded by a cloud of orange dust. Jack felt pin-points of shattered windshield in his face and grit in his mouth. He tried to move his arms and legs but couldn’t feel them.

A man’s voice whispered from somewhere in the minivan.

“Bury me not ... on the lone prairie ...”

Jack tried to turn his head but pain jabbed through his neck. A hand covered in blood lay on his lap and Jack and wondered if it was his. A hot pressure spread through his chest.

“You’ve failed, old man,” said the hoarse voice. His voice.

Jack’s eyes were wet. He couldn’t pretend it was because of the dust and he couldn’t wipe the tears away.