She heard her patient exhale heavily, as if he had beenholding his breath for a long time. His face matched the fear that Joan felt atlosing power. Joan attempted to calm him down by saying, "Freaky,right?"
The man looked as if he was on the verge of tears. Hiseyes were filled with a watery shine that could spill onto his cheek at anymoment. Without warning, Clara appeared, skidding to a stop on the concretefloor. From the corner of her eye, she saw the patient reach up to his face andwipe his eyes.
Clara strode across the floor, oblivious to the presenceof the patient. "This is not good."
"I'm sure it will come back on in a second. The Armywill figure something out," Joan said, more to calm the patient thananything else.
"Are you blind, Joan? They are barely keeping thisplace together. What makes you think that they can get the power back on?"
"She has a point," the man said.
Joan didn't bother to acknowledge his presence."What do you want me to do about it?"
"We've got to get out of here."
Joan had heard this before. As soon as they had made itto the Coliseum, Clara had started working on figuring out a way out of theplace. "There's no place to go, Clara."
"Any place is better than here. What happens when werun out of food? What happens when those fences come down? What happens whenthose soldiers go from being assholes to being sadistic assholes?"
Joan shrugged her shoulders and admitted defeat."You're right. Of course, you're right. We'd be better out there on ourown, fighting off the thousands of dead with our bare hands. Is that what youwant?"
"I may know a way out," the man said. Theylistened as the man, whose name was Rudy, detailed the plan that had been toldto him only that morning.
"Do you think they'll let us go with you?" Joanasked.
"I don't see why not," he said.
"It's worth a shot. It's not like anyone else isoffering us a chance for survival."
"Great," Rudy said. "Follow me."
****
The night deepened, and outside the Coliseum, a soundcould be heard over the thousands of dead, wailing. It was a harsh sound,starting faint at first. Then as the sound came closer, those inside theColiseum could hardly believe what they were hearing. It was music, the harsh,distorted twangs of a guitar being played at lightning-fast speed. The soldiersstood dumbfounded as one of their own vehicles approached, a train of carsfollowing behind, the vehicles' headlights shining in their eyes.
They stopped at the edge of the sea of dead, and the manstood on top of the vehicle, playing like a mad man. The music built, until itseemed the man's hands would fall off. By now, refugees from inside had filedout to see what the commotion was. No one noticed as a group of people splitoff from those watching the impromptu concert. No one cared.
The man played and played, and the dead began to shiftaway from the fences, drawn to the skinny man in the leather jacket, standingon top of a Stryker and giving the performance of his life. The soldierscheered, causing a scattered handful of the dead to turn in their directiononce more. But the main mass of the dead continued heading towards theguitar-playing madman. He smiled at them, lit up by the massive, generator-poweredspotlights that the soldiers had erected just in case the Coliseum lost power.
Then the song was over. The soldiers stood, looking atthe man... wondering what he was going to do next. They didn't have to wait forlong. As he popped back into the Stryker, a voice came over the loudspeaker ofthe vehicle.
"Martial law is over. We, the people, declare ourindependence."
Major Miller was standing in the courtyard, trying tounderstand what was going on, when the turret on the Stryker erupted. Brightflashes appeared from the muzzle of the fifty caliber machine gun, and theStryker accelerated. The machine gun sent rotting body parts arcing through theair, and the Stryker's wheels bounced over the dead that it mowed down.
With the aid of the machine gun and its own crushingmomentum, the Stryker cut a swath of destruction through the dead and was atthe fence in no time. It didn't stop at the fence as the crowd in theColiseum's courtyard expected. Instead it barreled forward, fifty calibershells ripping through the fence, the soldiers, and the refugees on the otherside.
The soldiers opened fire on the Stryker as it lurchedacross the courtyard, launching the bodies of the living into the air. TheStryker turned in a tight circle, sparks erupting from its armored plating assoldiers fired at the vehicle. Then it plowed through the other side of thechain link fence, ripping it down, and opening up a hundred-foot gap in theColiseum's defenses. The vehicle was a knife, slashing its way across therefugees' throats. Then it was gone, shooting off into the night, drippingblood and leaving the soldiers scrambling to plug the hole as hordes of thedead poured through the gap.
****
Lieutenant General McCutcheon was in the comms room whenhe heard Major Miller's panicked communiqué. It was hard to hear the words overthe machine gun fire in the background, but he understood the gist.
As soon as the Major was done talking, McCutcheonscrambled his troops. The choppers wouldn't be much use in the dark, but at thevery least, they could get some of his men, and maybe the refugees out ofthere. McCutcheon stood on the apron of the terminal, squinting his eyes toprotect them from debris as he watched the choppers take off.
****
When the guitar-playing madman had first shown up, Blakehad tapped Mort on the shoulder and pointed at a group of people hurrying awayfrom all of the commotion. Blake hastily scribbled the words, "Let'sfollow," on a notepad. Mort nodded his agreement, and as usual, Blake tookthe lead.
Blake had been mostly silent for the entire day. To Mort,he seemed like a man trapped inside of his
