Billy continued to fire into the guards as rapidly as his finger could pull the trigger, and I saw several men fall as a testament to his aim. Wayne had evidently discovered, as I soon did, that there wasn’t nearly enough room for all of us to sit and fire from the same corner; he was already heading back down the street and around the corner to another position. I scrambled to follow him.
Halfway down the street, I heard Billy’s rifle go silent.
“Get out of there!” I yelled. “Pull back!”
I saw him raise his rifle for one last shot before he bailed from his position, legs pistoning wildly as he ran.
He was about thirty feet away from me when the corner where he had just been kneeling disintegrated in a deafening blast that knocked me off my feet and set my ears to ringing. Bricks, bits of sidewalk, and burning wood flew in a deadly whirlwind, and Billy was suddenly airborne, flying amidst the maelstrom, until he landed in a tangled heap, unmoving as the debris fell on him.
“Billy!” Sprinting, I reached him just as the front of the building across the street where Sam and the others were hiding exploded in a similar, deafening fashion. I dove to cover Billy’s body with my own as the cloud of masonry and fiery lumber pummeled us.
Wayne tugged on my arm and yelled. With my ringing ears, I couldn’t tell what he was saying, but he yanked the ring from his smoke bomb and dropped it in the street before helping me pull Billy from the rubble. We dragged him by his arms as we ran down the street to where I had stashed the detonator.
Once inside, I saw Wayne trying to tell me something, but I still couldn’t hear a thing through the ringing in my ears. “I can’t hear you!”
He looked concerned and turned my head from side to side, examining my ears. I felt him touch the skin beneath my left ear and watched as it came away dark and wet. Before that moment, it had never occurred to me just how black and forbidding blood looked by firelight.
My stomach clinched at the sudden realization that I might be deaf for life, but there wasn’t time for the thought to scare me too much. If the next few minutes didn’t turn out better than the last few had, my life wouldn’t last long enough to worry about it.
Wayne grabbed my shoulders and pointed me at the detonator setup, then turned me back to face him. His mouth moved, and he pantomimed and pointed. It looked like he wanted to get across the street to set up a crossfire.
I nodded. “Okay, I got it. Go!”
He reached into my belt pouch, pulled out the last smoke bomb, clapped me on the back, and poked his head out of the doorway. Then, he sprinted across the street. I saw him duck into a storefront on the opposite side and disappear into the shadows.
Peering back down the street, I saw three of Larry’s men emerge from the dissipating smoke. They hugged the shadows and searched through windows, searching for us. It was eerie seeing them creep closer, yell at one another, and occasionally fire into one of the empty buildings, but unable to hear any of it. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flicker of movement, and the last smoker landed among them. Wayne.
Some of them must have seen the direction it came from because they dropped to the ground and fired at the building where he had disappeared. I raised my rifle and fired into the group, but I hastily ducked back at the sudden appearance of several bullet holes in the wall beside me. I whirled to find Wayne pointing his rifle at me.
Why was Wayne shooting at me? He saw me looking his way and dropped his rifle to pantomime touching the wires together.
He must have seen the tank. It must be time.
Then I saw him jerk once as a bullet spun him around. Two more found his back, and he dropped from sight just before the front of the building disintegrated in another blinding explosion.
“Wayne!” I could feel the rawness of my throat as I screamed, but my ears were still useless. The only sound I heard was my voice echoing faintly in my skull.
The ground still trembled from the explosion as I dropped my rifle and dove for the detonator. A silhouette in the doorway warned me that I wasn’t alone, and the muzzle of a rifle sought me out in the relative darkness of the building.
My movement gave me away, but there wasn’t time to let whoever it was distract me. I had to connect those wires. Ours was a macabre, slow motion race-me fumbling to connect wires to battery terminals, and the thug in the doorway struggling to find me and shoot.
It was a close thing, but he won the battle.
I won the war, though, as his shot went wide hitting the wall nearly three feet in front of me just a split second before I made the connection. The world shook, and my attacker flew forward-within reach.
My fear and rage at losing my squad, the people who had trusted and depended on me, now had a target and was unleashed in a moment’s insane fury. My next actions involved a gouged eye and crushed esophagus, but everything else was lost in madness.
At some point, I realized that the man was dead, and my throat was raw.
Stumbling over masonry and dirt, I made my way to the door and peeked around the corner into the street, into carnage, into the aftermath of an explosion powerful enough to blow a hole in the bottom of the tank and mangle the tracks. It had been enough to shred every exposed person within a city block with asphalt and nails.
No one moved on the street as I staggered outside. Dust drifted, and flames danced in small scattered groups, but there wasn’t a hint of life. A slight popping in my right ear hinted that at least some of my hearing was returning, but it took a moment for me to realize I was hearing the sounds of gunfire.
I decided that Ken’s group must be moving.
Four weary minutes and two long blocks later, I found myself approaching the outskirts of another battle.
Sarah led a massive wave of people who had made it halfway across Stadium Drive before a few of Larry’s men had caught on to what was happening. When those men turned their guns on the emerging crowd, the folks still inside the stadium had no idea what was going on in the darkness ahead, only that freedom waited beyond the gates. They pushed forward, while those in front pulled back, seeking shelter from the deadly crossfire. The great press of escaping Rejans stalled-and died.
By the light of trashcan fires, I saw our people stumbling over their own dead and wounded, surging to and fro like some panicked horde of lemmings, shoving one another into the waiting crossfire of Larry’s men. One silhouette stood out from the others, its appearance inhuman in the firelight. It was Sarah, wearing the goggles she had worn into the stadium the previous night. She frantically directed a small knot of people armed with rifles and handguns by pointing and gesticulating to help them pinpoint Larry’s guards, but the darkness worked against her. Although the targets were plainly visible through her goggles, Larry’s men were nothing more than shadows to those she was directing.
My right ear was working at about half capacity, and I could hear the screams of people over the gunfire. Where was Ken? There should be more support.
Seeing Sarah reminded me that I had my own goggles on my belt, and I slipped them on, praying they still worked. They did.
Scrambling closer, I could see that there were actually only two groups of snipers shooting at the crowd. The first group consisted of two men with their backs to me ducked behind a rusted-out abandoned Dodge. Suddenly, I realized I had left my carbine lying between Billy and the nameless soldier I had killed.
I drew my machete and Bowie and, once more, I attacked from behind and killed before my victims knew I was upon them. So much for honor in combat.
Grabbing one of the dead men’s rifles, I looked up to see the muzzle flashes of two rifles from the ground floor window of a building across the street. The angle was wrong, and I couldn’t get a clear shot at the owners,
