Mostly, the Pepsi Center was concrete and plastic, so salvage monkeys had left it alone. Or the trouble with Elitch Gardens had spilled over to the arena. Either way.
The Pepsi Center was filled to busting. The noise was incredible inside the building as the twenty-five thousand soldiers meandered to their seats.
My sweat dripped from every pore. I was nervous about being caught, but my pounding heart and shortened breath told me it was more than that. All the people, the ceiling above me, the smell of the wet concrete, it was getting to me. My newfound claustrophobia was turning out to be a real problem.
We kept ourselves lost in the crowds. At one point, we threaded our way through the entrance and into the main arena. A stage had been set up on the floor in the middle of the place. Everything else was seats and soldier girls. Sapropel lanterns threw light as did rips in the roof giving us a view of the sky. The snow still fell, but you could tell the worst of the storm was over. Weak light filtered in.
We broke from the lines and found a door, backstage. It seemed unguarded so we went through it and downstairs, down, down, down. Every step made me sweat all the more. The sky seemed forever away.
At the bottom of the stairs, we hit two Megs, military police, holding M21s and guarding another door that said in no uncertain terms: NO ADMITTANCE. Those MPs weren’t about to let us pass.
Then things got interesting.
(ii)
Baptista walked up to the MPs guarding the door. “I’m Sergeant Jen Baptista, and I’m here to talk with Sanders. Is she here?”
The guards exchanged glances. Then focused back on Baptista. “No one is admitted beyond this point.”
Then one caught a look at my face, and the recognition was clear.
June Mai surged forward. In her hand was a can of pepper spray. The stream struck one of the women’s faces. She went down, hands to her face. Baptista socked the other girl in the stomach, bending her over. The outlaws with us picked up both, and we crashed through the door into a blissfully empty hallway.
June Mai ordered two of her girls to stay at the door at the bottom of the stairs and play the guards. They left. Our strike team was down to ten.
“Cut their throats.” June Mai gave the order to her outlaws.
“No,” I said. “We can zip tie and gag ’em. They aren’t our enemy.”
June turned on me. “Cavatica, we’re not going to get out of this without killing American soldiers.”
“We’re going to try,” I said.
Sharlotte nodded. “I agree with Cavatica.”
We zip tied our prisoners, and we fixed gags so they couldn’t talk. My sister made sure the one we’d pepper sprayed could breathe ’cause again, the Americans were being duped, and I didn’t want to kill anyone innocent and human.
The ARK’s cloned troopers? Different story.
Not a second after we stowed the prisoners in a closet, a dozen soldiers turned the corner and marched passed us and out the doors.
We all froze, expecting gunfire, but they must’ve walked right by our fake guards. So far, so very, very good.
Our footsteps echoed through the corridor and the scent of sapropel never smelled so vile. The walls closed in on me and the ceiling lowered. The pipe, the tube, spiders in my nose, and Crete behind me, dead but not dying.
Sharlotte noticed my color and sweat. “You okay?”
My breath came in gulps. I had to get out of there. I had to find a door out to the world. Panic seized my soul and wouldn’t let go.
I sprinted forward fast, not listening to their hissed warnings.
More troops and brass and this time, they saw me and wanted to stop me. I fled into the middle of them.
All their mouths were moving, but I couldn’t focus on anything, except getting away, until one grabbed me. Another snatched away my G18 and my Colt Terminators.
An older woman, a general, by the rank on her epaulets, got in my face. “What’s the matter, soldier?” she demanded.
Someone else said a name, Cogburn, and I realized it was the name on my uniform.
“Cogburn, take it easy.”
I’d never felt so panicked and sweaty. My own stink filled my nose, and somehow, I connected it to horses. When a horse went off, you took control of them, ’cause a horse will throw you if you don’t rein her in.
I had to pull on my reins, or I’d gallop farther into trouble.
Distantly, I noticed weapons turned my way. They weren’t pointed at me, exactly, but still, I was close to getting shot.
Then that spark of creativity, that little piece of brilliance that I had every now and then, took over.
“Is President Jack here?” I asked. “I have to meet him. You don’t know what he means to me and my family. He was our everything during the Sino. My daddy was KIA, and President Jack sent us a letter. To Kansas, which is where I’m from. Topeka. And I just have to see him.”
General Eibling, she was the woman in charge, only let a little of her grin raise her lips. “Ease up, Private. He’s on his way in. And yeah, stick with us, and we’ll get you to him. But how did you get this far? This is a secure area.”
I gripped the reins on my emotions, and I made my face into a mask of blushing and shrugging. I recalled Wren’s play acting in our run out of Cleveland, and how she must’ve had to act when she was a dancing girl in Amarillo. When your life is on the line, theater comes easily.
“Gosh, General,” I said, going slightly hillbilly, “I guess I kind of called in some favors with some of our girls. I guess I couldn’t really follow orders when it was President Jack. I guess you caught me.”
“You’ve done a lot
