He spun around, sprinting back the way he’d come. A clatter of red darts followed him across the pavement.
What the hell? He risked a look over his shoulder. The soldier held two large weapons. The first was a machine gun; the second held a large cartridge that was loaded with the small red darts.
Dal tore back around the corner. “Don’t go that way!” he shouted at a group of students rushing past him.
No one listened. They streaked past him in a big clump.
He heard their screams as they ran into the soldier. Dal didn’t turn back around.
Lena. He had to get to Lena. If anything happened to her, it would break Mr. Cecchino.
He vaulted over a hedge, cut around the cafeteria, past the science building, and bolted into the parking lot.
Soldiers were everywhere. Dal dropped to his knees and rolled beneath a car. Right before his head disappeared beneath the Chevy, he saw the large red star, sickle, and hammer emblazoned on the back of a soldier’s fatigues.
Russians. Soviets. We’re under attack.
His panic ratcheted up several more notches. Lena.
Everyone had been so focused on nukes. Yet here were Soviets on American soil, launching a ground assault.
His car was three rows away. There was screaming and gunfire. Several bodies were on the ground, bleeding all over the blacktop. Dal army-crawled his way through the parking lot, staying beneath cars when he could.
Two pairs of Vans-clad feet raced by in front of his face. Seconds later, dark military boots raced past. Dal poked his head out in time to see the Soviet fire red darts at the fleeing students. He dove beneath the next car, continuing his way across the parking lot.
Russians attacked with both regular guns and dart guns. There didn’t seem to be any method to the attack, except to sow fear and chaos. He wasn’t sure which fate was worse: being gunned down or being hit with a Russian dart that contained who-the-hell-knew-what.
His elbows were bleeding by the time he reached his blue Beetle. The knees of his jeans were ripped. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his backpack. Thank God he always kept his keys in his pocket. Crouching beside the car, he fumbled them into his hands.
Once inside, he bent below the steering wheel and assessed the parking lot. It was pandemonium. Soviets were everywhere. Students raced every which way in a blind panic, many of them plucking red darts out of their bodies. There were dead everywhere. The campus parking lot was a slaughter house.
He shifted his gaze away from the junior college. He looked in the direction of the downtown plaza, where he’d left Lena. It was no more than ten blocks away, but soldiers were everywhere.
He swallowed. He might not make it. He was going into the lion’s den.
Dal pursed his lips. It didn’t matter if he died. If anything happened to Lena, he couldn’t live with himself. And what about Mr. Cecchino? Dal didn’t think he’d survive the loss of his daughter.
He was going to find her. Whatever it took. He would find her, protect her, and get her back to the farm.
Mind made up, he jammed the keys into the ignition. He threw the car into reverse and zipped out of his parking space.
Two Soviets stood in the aisle. They turned at the sound of Dal’s Beetle. He shifted into drive, ducked low, and floored it. He drove straight toward the invaders.
Bullets ripped into his windshield. Glass flew everywhere. Dal didn’t take his foot off the accelerator.
He crashed right through the invaders. The fatigue-clad bodies flew up into the air.
Dal didn’t look to see where the Russians landed as he hazarded a look over the steering wheel.
The rest of the aisle was clear. The Beetle continued to rumble forward.
As soon as he reached the end of the row, Dal drove right over the grass and sidewalk that bordered the parking lot. Glass shook free of the broken windshield as the Beetle bumped over the curb. Dal noticed his hands were bleeding, but he felt no pain. All he felt was the adrenaline firing through his veins.
He aimed for the road. The Beetle rumbled over the sidewalk and thunked onto the street. Someone laid into their horn as Dal cut into on-coming traffic.
Bullets rained down on the cars. Dal realized there were Russians on the buildings. They fired directly into the traffic.
Shit! He swerved as the car in front of him veered to the right, cutting him off. His tiny car zipped past the vehicle as it crashed into a light post. He had just enough time to absorb the dead driver before his car shot past.
His panic mounted. They’re gunning us down like cattle.
He’d gone no more than two blocks when a nearby minivan hit the curb and flipped. Breaks squealed all around him.
Dammit. He threw the Beetle into reverse. To his left was a narrow alleyway. It was empty, too narrow for most cars. He wasn’t even sure his Beetle would fit.
Screw it. He had to try.
Horns blared as he made a hard left, sending the Beetle careening through on-coming traffic. A Datsun clipped his fender. The Beetle fishtailed. Dal yanked on the steering wheel to straighten it out, then floored it.
The little car zipped into the alleyway. The sideview mirror on the passenger’s side snapped off. Sparks popped from the mirror on the right side.
Bullets sprayed into the alleyway from the rooftops. Dal jerked his body sideways, attempting to steer and keep one foot on the accelerator at the same time. Several bullets punched into his seat, mere inches from his left ass cheek.
The Beetle burst from the alleyway and onto a downtown street. It was chaos to the power of ten. Invaders were in the streets and on the rooftops, shooting at anything that moved. The road was clogged with cars and pedestrians, traffic at a standstill. Dal searched the scene, looking for a way through.
It was no use. Unless he
