Prig turned to address the rest of the room. “Okay, guys, this room is what the mercenaries want. Everything else had led to this. They will try to get in here, no matter what, and I can’t emphasize this enough: the defense of most of the West Coast depends on keeping this system up and running. If the mercenaries manage to get that door open, I need everyone, Marine and civilian alike, to keep them out. Just don’t shoot each other. Aim carefully. With the satellites up and running, we can restore communications across the West Coast, access missile defense, restore network functionality for computer systems. It’s going to be huge, guys, but you have to defend this place at all costs. Got it?”
“Got it, Staff Sergeant,” Norman said, the look on his face more serious than it’s ever been.
“Look, guys, they don’t want this place, or any place like it, to exist,” Prig said. “The whole purpose of all of this, from the EMP on down to our current circumstances, was to plunge the United States back into the Bronze Age and keep us there as long as possible. It was intended to shift the balance of power permanently, but it’ll only work if they can keep us from reestablishing contact with communication satellites. More hinges on the survival of this room than I can possibly explain. Every risk we’ve taken, every life we’ve lost, will have been worth it if we can defend this place and drive the mercenaries out. We’ve called for help, but no one’s going to get here in time to save us from these guys. It’s up to us. Am I making my point?”
“Loud and clear,” Elna said.
Elna, Malin, Norman, and Cat formed a line at an angle in front of the door, each holding a handgun and aiming it the door. Raymond, Daniel, and Pop lined up behind them, like a second line of defense. Elna could feel her heartbeat in her throat. There was no comfortable position. Standing, kneeling, sitting, it all made her back, shoulders, and neck hurt. Everything hurt, so she tried to focus through the pain. Her hands were shaking, and she saw the barrel of the handgun bobbing up and down. The room wasn’t particularly big. The walls were covered in metal panels. It was dimly lit, and the fluorescent bulb overhead was flickering in a way that was disorienting. There were far too many people packed in together.
You couldn’t design a worse place for a gun fight if you tried, she thought.
32
A terrible quiet filled the room, and for almost a full minute the only sounds were the humming of fans from inside the console, the clack of keys as Golf typed on the keyboard, and the occasional grunt or pained breath from the people huddled in the room. Elna tried adjusting her grip on the gun, but she couldn’t stop shaking. Her whole body felt like it was collapsing, and no amount of willpower could force her hands to hold steady.
Finally, she had the idea to kneel and balance her right elbow on her right knee to provide some support. Just then, she heard voices in the hallway beyond the barred door. One voice was deep, like someone pounding on a bass drum. She couldn’t make out what was being said, but a second and third voice answered. Then she heard heavy footfalls on the hall floor.
“You think they’ve figured out the room we’re in?” Norman asked, speaking so softly Elna barely heard him above the hum of the console cooling fans.
“Just be ready for anything,” Malin replied.
Prig shifted position, placing himself between the door and Golf’s chair, as he drew his own gun and aimed it at the door. Something clanked against the door, and then the deep voice spoke again. This time, Elna made out a few of the words.
“Two charges should be enough.”
The words sank in. “They’re planning to blow it open,” she said.
Prig rose and ran to the door. He put his ear against the wall beside the doorframe and listened for a second. Then he turned suddenly and waved at the others.
“She’s right,” he said. “Take cover!”
Everybody scrambled, but there wasn’t really any way to take cover in the room. The consoles were against the wall. There were a few folding metal chairs and one small table, but no large pieces of furniture. Still, she motioned her father toward the far wall and followed him, moving in a crouch. He huddled against the wall, and she placed herself in front of him. Malin then placed himself in front of her, spreading his arms wide, as if he intended to absorb the impact of the blast. Cat pushed the Dulles into another corner and slid one of the chairs on front of them—it seemed like a futile gesture.
Golf was still typing away, but Prig grabbed his chair and turned it away from the door. Then he planted a hand against the back of Golf’s neck and pushed him down until his face was against his knees. Elna heard more footsteps in the hall. They were retreating.
“Here it comes,” she said, putting her head down.
Just as she said it, the charges went off. A shock wave went through the room, awakening every already agonized nerve ending in her back and shoulders. Despite herself, she screamed, pressing her mouth against the back of her arm to muffle the sound. The big locker against the door did a strange dance and fell away from the door with a crash, and dust and rust filled the air.
A second charge
