“Just leave it, Park,” Murphy ordered. “We’ve got more important things to do this morning, and we’re already behind schedule.” He said the latter with a glance towards Emily.
Yeah, sure. We’ve got rush hour of the dead going on out here, and a bunch of wacko civilians driving around like they’ve gone mental. But the reason we’re behind schedule is that Hill doesn’t know how to handle a coach!
Jang-Yu Park replaced the handset with a small shake of his wide face. He shot Emily a dark look.
What. You too?
Collins was the only person not pissed off. Emily could hear him chuckling. “Hey, Durant. I don’t know how you do it down in Louisiana”—he put extra emphasis on Durant’s name and home state, dragging out the letter “a” each time he said it—“but up here we don’t jump on top of girls. We start off by making small talk.”
What a tosser! Bloke probably never even kissed a girl himself.
The sound of the radio chirping in Park’s hand and a siren up ahead interrupted her thoughts. She looked forward and saw that the Humvee, usually about a block ahead of them, had come to a complete stop. Somebody had popped up from the hatch and was manning the mounted machine gun.
“Slow her down, Hill,” Park instructed.
Emily slowed down the bus, stopping a good thirty yards away from the Humvee. The trailing Humvee sped around the side of the bus and came to a screeching halt beside the lead vehicle.
Somebody was using a bullhorn.
That’s us, I think.
The person kept shouting something. Emily could tell something was about to go wrong when that person’s voice rose several octaves. She heard a single gunshot.
The response was immediate, and overwhelming. Two machine guns roared to life. It was loud, even from this far back. The firefight was over quickly. Ten seconds, tops. Their security escorts scanned the surrounding area but apparently there were no other challengers, as the rear guard executed a three-point-turn, tires screeching, and sped by the bus going the opposite direction.
Typical. Why are all these Americans constantly trying to show how macho they are? She heard the Humvee squeal behind them, getting pointed in the right direction once more.
The radio in front of Park squawked. “All clear. Moving on.” The convoy started moving once more.
Emily was just about to call out to Murphy, telling the sarge that he couldn’t blame her driving for this particular delay, when a sight stunned her into silence. She couldn’t help but slow the bus down as they passed a truck and a minivan.
Both vehicles were riddled with bullet holes. A gray-haired man lay dead just to the front of the van. A hunting rifle lay several feet from his outstretched hand. Another person had never made it out of the truck and was a bloody mess. The bus crept forward. The minivan was smoking. A woman occupied the passenger seat. Emily thought it was a woman. There was not much left of her face. A dead man lay a few feet away, on the sidewalk. The worst was yet to come, though. The van’s sliding door had partially opened during the firefight. She was sure she could see at least one pair of small feet in there.
“God have mercy on our souls,” Murphy uttered as they passed the carnage.
Emily watched the sergeant cross himself. Everybody on the bus looked on in shock. The only one not showing any emotion was Brown. The soldier sat stone-faced, eyes forward.
How odd...
BY THE TIME THEY GOT back to home base, they were two hours behind schedule. They pulled into the lot opposite the fenced-off safe zone and led a group of confused and scared civilians towards the main gate. The group almost broke into a panic when a lone gunshot sounded in the distance. Emily knew that those were the pickets set up around the area.
They had barely made it to the gate when Murphy got called over by a stern-looking officer. She stood in front of the administrative building, awaiting his presence. Her expression was anything but pleased. Murphy instructed his team to continue to drop off the civilians at the testing center next door before jogging up to the LT.
“Fuck. Sanderson’s pissed,” Collins said under his breath.
“Yep.” Durant agreed. “But don’t cha know? Shit, it always rolls downhill. Collins, you better be ready to catch some!” His wheezing laughter reminded Emily of some cartoon character.
Muttley! Huh. How did I remember that?
They dropped off their charges and returned to the marshalling area. Murphy returned from his ass-chewing and told the team that they would only have forty-five minutes for lunch today. They all grumbled but knew that there was nothing to do about it.
Probably the most redeeming building in the safe zone was the mess hall. It was well-equipped, and huge. The building was meant to service up to a thousand diners at the same time. Park led the team into it.
“Fuck, yeah! You smell that, Durant? Hush puppies and fried chicken,” he announced, grinning over his shoulder. “Makes you feel right at home, don’t it?”
Emily didn’t know it, but Park was rarely wrong when identifying food by smell. He got it right this time, too, although he could have listed half a dozen other food items with the smorgasbord of choices they had. The soldiers hustled to the buffet area like a stampeding herd of bulls.
And one cow.
They loaded up their plates and sat at the nearest table. Emily had a quick look around. There were hardly more than a dozen people around, other than the handful of personnel that manned the mess hall.
“I’ll grab us some drinks.” Brown dropped his plate on the table and turned towards the pop dispensary. The rest hardly responded, intent as they were on their meals.
Soldiers are the same everywhere, Emily realized as she looked at her new squad. Eating and sleeping
