Overrun (29 page)

They moved within the shadows of
the storefronts and kept away from the few working lights that lined the sides
of the street.

Mel followed Brandon listlessly.
Her hands hung limply at her sides. The area was sinister and dark. They
traveled in silence back towards the center of town. Neither of them spoke.
They just quietly walked.

Brandon clutched his bloody tire
iron tightly in his right hand. Mel lowered her head and plodded along quietly
after him. She pulled the tattered jacket she still wore more tightly around
her thin shoulders. She wiped away the last of the blood that had stopped
seeping from the wound across her face with her sleeve.

Walking around a corner, they
could see headlights dimly in the distance two blocks further ahead. Brandon
pressed his back against a storefront and pulled Mel next to him. The empty
roof ledges of the surrounding stores loomed menacingly over their heads.

"Let's rest here for a
bit…," Brandon said sliding his back along the wall towards the storefront
door. "…before we go back to find him."

Mel nodded in the darkness and
looked toward the ground. Brandon swung his tire iron in a delicate motion and
carefully broke the glass at the center of the door.

He reached through the opening
to finger the lock when a sudden cloud of brilliant light appeared ahead of
them through the dark. The angry sound of manmade thunder soon followed
violently battering the empty rooftops.

Glass from many of the nearby
buildings shattered and fell from their frames.

Brandon grabbed Mel roughly by
the arm and pulled her after him as he ran towards the blast. They no longer
crept through the shadows but ran at a full sprint down the center of the
streets. The brilliant light and booming sounds of explosions increased the
further they went.

They ran towards the fire that
licked straight up into the night about ten blocks ahead. When they finally
came upon roads heavy with military traffic, Brandon pulled Mel back inside the
shadows of the storefronts.

Following the flames visible
across the rooftops, they turned a corner and found themselves two blocks away
from the source of the blast.

"He got in there,"
Brandon said less to Mel but more to himself. "He made it in there."

"Where do you think he is
now?" Mel asked timidly following Brandon closely down the length of the
street.

Tanks and trucks rushed past
them towards the flaming buildings ahead. They pressed themselves hard against
the walls of the storefronts each time a vehicle raced past.

The exploded fires scorched the
surrounding air until it was almost uncomfortable to breathe. They gagged and
choked from the sudden surge of heat that seared their throats and threatened
to ignite the tender tissue lining their lungs.

When they were less than a block
away from the old bank, Brandon dove to the ground beneath the back of a large
truck and pulled Mel after him. They squirmed side by side through the hot sand
until they were directly beneath the engine.

Both spitting sand from their
mouths, they cautiously looked out from beneath its front. Straining their
necks as far out as they dared, they both mesmerizedly watched.

Twisted burning steel from the
destroyed bank jutted out towards the sky. The top two floors of the facility
had been blown completely away by the blast. Smaller explosions spewed pieces
of concrete and stone into the sides of nearby buildings and consumed every
surrounding rooftop with a blanket of raging fire.

Trucks and jeeps raced to the
exploded armory. Soldiers leapt from their cabs and cargo areas even before
their drivers brought them to a stop.

Brandon and Mel covered their
ears when the engine of the truck they hid beneath suddenly roared to life.

"C'mon," Brandon said
crawling back through the sand and pulling Mel after him. Before they were
completely out, it pulled away leaving them lying fully exposed in the openness
of the street’s center.

"This way." He tugged
at her arm and ran closer towards the flames. Through the confusion and chaos
spilling across the streets, Mel and Brandon moved further down the block. They
were almost directly across from the facility when a convoy of vans and supply
trucks barreled down the center of the roadway forcing them to dart for cover.
They hid in the back of an empty jeep until the procession had completely
roared past.

They were about to jump out and
move again when a second blast sounded through the night.

They both carefully lifted their
heads and stared across the street towards the source of the explosions and
flames. They covered their heads with their arms as pieces of the building
dropped down around them.

"Oh my God," Mel said
to herself and pulled at Brandon's arm.

The top third of the building
had been completely ripped apart. Falling concrete and steel crushed dozens of
troops and completely covered the entrance to the compound. Soldiers jumped
from the rushing vehicles and frantically scaled the rubble to search for those
buried beneath.

Bloody hands and limbs protruded
from the piles of rock. Shrieks of pain filled the air.

The pandemonium of the moment no
longer made it necessary for them to hide. Soldiers rushed in every direction.
Flame and smoke made it difficult to see.

Brandon stepped out of the jeep
and led his sister closer to the building. Mel stared into the blazing fire and
began to quietly sob.

Brandon took her hand and pulled
her after him as he climbed up a large pile of fallen rubble at the far side of
the compound.

When they were at the top, Mel
turned slowly around just in time to witness the next blast. As she raised her
hand to shield her eyes, a movement coming from one of the windows near the
middle of the building caught her gaze.

It obliterated in an instant
just after the explosion and a dark body sailed through. Arms and legs flailed
about as the figure plunged to the flaming earth inside a rain of disintegrated
concrete and smashed glass.

She strained her eyes trying to
better see through the smoke when in the next instant the last undamaged
section of the building also exploded. A mountain of fire and heat erupted from
what was left of the bottommost levels of the old bank. The darkness of the
night became like day as more flames raged across the already scorched terrain.

The force of the blast punched
both Mel and Brandon hard across their chests sending them tumbling over onto
their backs. Brandon rolled over on top of Mel and did his best to protect both
of them from the falling debris with his arms.

After the latest onslaught of
destruction settled, Brandon raised his head through the heavy layer of dirt
and grit that had just fallen across where they had stood. Mel brought herself
slowly up next to him and wiped desperately at the hot sand and building dust
that filled her eyes.

Trying hard to see through
stinging tears, she looked back towards the building for the figure that had
fallen in the shower of glass just before the blast.

"Oh, my God, Brandon,
look," Mel said pointing with her arm.

Smoking wood and steel
completely covered the area in front of them. Large and small flames ravaged
the entire ground. And not more than a few feet in front of them, a single man
on unsteady legs did his best to run through it.

Mel felt her breath catch in her
throat as she watched his feet catch and his body tumble into the flames. But
the figure stood and staggered doggedly towards them again.

The man had not seen them and
didn't move purposefully in their direction. He was only trying to get away.
His hair and most of his clothes were on fire. Holding his hands out in front
of him, he tripped and fell forward another time.

With his arms raised over his
head to protect against the continued fall of debris, Brandon ran toward him.

* * *

Kirken hobbled towards what he
hoped was the outside of the compound. Concrete and steel fell around him. His
body screamed with agony from the licking flames. He could barely see through
the intense smoke and heated air.

Drawing from every ounce of
power and will his body had ever contained, he forced his legs to limp faster.
If not to escape the reach of the flames, he fled the chase of the J.G.U.
soldiers. He wanted to at least die with the satisfaction that he did get away.

He clawed at the flames on his
back and the top of his head until two hands seized him from the smoke and
tackled his body to the ground. Kirken's shoulder screamed from the impact and
the new pain.

The arms and weight of his
attacker rolled him twice over in the sandy dirt. With all the might he could
muster, Kirken swung with his good arm at the person on top of him.

He didn't notice that the flames
eating his clothing and exposed parts of his skin had been extinguished and
ignored the familiarity of the face into which he was now driving his fists.

None of it registered. His
senses were completely fried. His nerves could no longer contain the fear and
rage swelling inside. Everything erupted from his clenched jabbing hands in a
vicious vengeful fury.

Kirken buried his fist into his
attacker's face and felt small bones break along its cheek.

Their bodies rolled intertwined
through the burning rubble until Kirken emerged on top and swung again. He
landed two more punches, one across his attacker's chest and the other square
across his face.

Only then did he finally see who
it was beneath him. Whose face was stained dark red by a deep cut along the
left side of his jaw. But the recognition did not make the rage or hate go
away.

Kirken still saw the demon that
flickered behind the boy’s eyes. He hammered again without mercy trying to beat
away the horrific evil that had overcome and taken his son.

A sudden piercing scream through
the air and flames finally made him look up. He relaxed his grip on the form
twisting below him and stared away into the flaming din.

There a second figure appeared
from the fiery shadows, and a new pair of hands reached toward him to pull him
away. When he felt their touch, Kirken relaxed his fists and finally let go.

The words, “Daddy please…”,
gently pleaded into his ear.

Kirken closed his eyes against
the sting of black smoke.

He allowed the figure he held
beneath him to get up and scramble back into the surrounding roar of the
flames. He felt two sets of arms pull him from the ground and allowed them to
lead him away.

When they had stepped from the
compound back onto the street, he looked down to see that his daughter, Mel,
was one of the figures that supported his weight. He stared at her sadly. The
relief he thought he’d feel upon seeing her again did not come. The guilt that
had been driving him lingered heavily in his heart and did not go away.
Thankfully, however, it no longer pressed him to go on.

He sensed pain and fear in her
own eyes. And felt his body take it on as his tortured own.

He allowed the vague shapes of
the figures that held him to lead him away from the raging fires consuming the
compound and back towards Beuford.

Smaller blasts punched at their
backs knocking them twice to the ground as they went. Each time they picked
themselves from the dirt and continued steadily toward the haven offered by the
shadows just beyond.

Held by his children on either
side, Kirken tried to will his body to keep moving.

Each time they fell, he prayed
from the far reaches of his soul for the strength to haul himself back up and
continue on.

Kirken looked out across the
sandy plateau towards the flames of Beuford about a half mile out from where
they sat.

Smaller explosions still rocked
the area they had just left. Hundreds of headlights from approaching vehicles
lined the few roads cutting across the blowing sands towards the city. Even as
far out as they were, they could still hear the faint shouts of the soldiers.

Kirken looked away from the
approaching troop force towards the small campfire burning in front of them.
When they had escaped a safe distance away, Kirken had kindled the fire not for
warmth but for some sort of solace, comfortable illumination to protect them
from the nightmares lurking in the surrounding dark.

To his left, Mel sat unmoving
and stared thoughtfully into the flames. She had not uttered a word since
Kirken had rejoined them. She responded only slightly when either he or Brandon
addressed her.

She hugged her legs tightly
against her chest and didn’t speak. She kept her gaze straight ahead until it
was ultimately lost in the fire.

Brandon leaned over and tugged
at the pieces of straps from his pack he had used to bind Kirken's shoulder.

Kirken shifted uncomfortably in
the makeshift sling. He tried not to look too hard into the deep hateful rage
that lined Brandon's face while his tattered and bloody frame stepped in front
of him separating him for the moment from the comfort of the small fire.

Kirken winced twice at the
pressure of the straps and averted his eyes down and away.

The bloody tire iron still hung
at the side of Brandon’s belt. When Brandon leaned toward him, its slightly
warm metal swung out and touched lightly against his cheek.

Kirken leaned over and turned
his head from the fire his mind racked by the sight and his limbs overcome by
pain. Bile and vomit erupted forcefully from his mouth for the second time that
night.

When he had straightened himself
again to look at the fire, a tired beep sounded from the darkness.

Kirken's eyes rolled across the
remnants of broken equipment and remaining supplies strewn haphazardly about on
the rocks near the fire. The beep came faintly again.

Brandon turned away and bent
down to pick up a small flame-charred pack. He brushed closely past Mel as he
carried it over to Kirken. Her eyes didn't register his near presence, and her
body didn't move at the sound.

Kirken took the pack from
Brandon's hands and pulled out the small rectangular device that again emitted
its exhausted and battered tone. Broken pieces of plastic and metal crumbled
lightly away at his touch.

Kirken set the damaged holovid
near him along the rock and flipped a small switch. It made a soft hum as
energy converted itself from its badly burned power pack. Kirken stared at it
intently hoping desperately for it to come on.

A few seconds passed and the
faint blue light appeared. The grim expression of a harried-looking man stared
up at him from the damaged screen. No one spoke across the transmission while
the image focused completely into view.

Brandon tugged one last time on
the straps of the crude harness holding Kirken's shattered shoulder in place
and walked away to sit on the other side of the fire.

"Commander Kirken," a
man addressed him coolly. Kirken sensed the great effort it took for him to
keep a calm expression across his face. "The armory has been successfully
destroyed. In fact, the subsequent explosions from your blasts crippled or
eliminated most of their forces within that city block. Congratulations on
accomplishing what we sent you out to do.”

The man paused for a moment
while his eyes took in the bloody view of Kirken and his son sitting behind
him.

"Soon ground teams will be
launched in.”

“Reinforcements are coming in
too fast, General," Kirken said wearily. “There's lines of vehicles coming
from every direction both on and away from the main highways. Some aren't even
travelling along the roads. Once they arrive and set, they'll put a permanent lock
on this town."

General Tuttle's holovid image
did not immediately respond.

"The air team still needs
to be sent in," Kirken said lowering his voice. He then turned his head
from the screen toward the stony expression etched across his daughter’s face.
"It wasn't enough. With all they’re bringing in, it’ll only be a matter of
time before they discover the dome. Forget about the ground team and launch the
air strike in now. All we did out there was add time to what will inevitably
be."

"An entire air squadron is
being loaded as we speak," Tuttle responded gravely. "We're going to
keep launching them until that entire city is completely gone. It will be only
through what you've caused that we'll even be able to get them close enough in.
What you may have sacrificed made this possible. Many will remember that."

Kirken picked up the holovid,
turned his back from the fire and faced away. Neither Brandon nor Mel looked up
as he did. The blue flicker of Tuttle's somber holovid expression was the only
thing he could see in the surrounding darkness of the sun-wounded hills.

"Tell me when they're
coming," Kirken commanded softly. "We both know we'll never be able
to get far enough away on foot to avoid the attack. And even if we could, we
can’t stay hidden for long. Not with everything they’ll be launching in. It’s
no longer possible for us to escape. We both know that, General."

By now, Brandon had picked
himself up from where he sat. With the bloody tool clanging softly from his
belt, he walked over and stood at Kirken's side. Kirken felt the hairs on the
back of his neck stand on end when he did.

"Commander, that is
something that will not happen," Tuttle glanced up briefly at Brandon
staring over Kirken's shoulder. "If we launch now, an extraction is
feasible. We estimate at least an hour before their forces, present or
arriving, can lock the city down again. It'll take them just that long to push
through the dead. Their ground force will not be able to prevent an air strike.
At least not for awhile. We're going to send a chopper transport in."

Kirken remained silent and
fought the urge to rip away the tire iron that dangled next to him and brushed
again at his cheek.

"Even in this war, some
humanity still does exist," Tuttle finished compassionately.

With the bloody weapon dangling
just within the sight of his left eye, Tuttle's words festered furiously in
Kirken's stomach and threatened to again make him sick. He did not share
Tuttle's belief in this claim. At least not anymore.

He looked away from Tuttle toward
his daughter and fought an overwhelming urge just to cry. His battered body
felt hollow. His beaten senses seethed with bitterness and defeat.

"Do you know the location
of the shopping mall just on the outside of town?" Tuttle spoke louder
through the crackle of the damaged holovid speakers bringing Kirken's attention
back around. "That is where we want you to go. From what we can tell, that
area is relatively accessible.

“Existing troops are being
pulled from the roads and air fields to center on the blast site. All
reinforcements entering the city are also being directed there. You shouldn't
have a problem getting to the shopping mall site or getting inside. The area
around, from what we can now see, is relatively clear. There we think we can
slip in the air transport."

"We know where it is,"
Brandon answered Tuttle this time. Kirken looked away from the holovid screen
toward his voice which sounded sinister, unfamiliar and deep. "We're not
that far."

"That's good," Tuttle
said. "The chopper team will launch within the next half hour. At 2200
hours, it will touch down on the mall roof. If you're not there at that time,
it won't be able to stay long to wait."

"We understand,"
Kirken whispered hoarsely. A faint surge of energy lit deep within himself and
itched his body to move. "If you don't see us up there, don't even bother
to set it down."

"Commander," Tuttle
said sternly. "You've come too far not to get out. You've earned yourself
and your family…," Tuttle's eyes looked up at Brandon. "…an exit from
this war. Get yourselves up to that roof, and we will get you out. That to you
I swear, Commander."

Kirken nodded his head at Tuttle
and switched off the holovid.

Brandon jumped into motion as
soon as he did. Without moving, Kirken watched him pick up what was left of
their broken gear and dump it across the fire. The flames roared themselves
into a larger life as they attached themselves to the new debris.

Brandon gathered what weapons
that remained and set them in a small pile near the burning wood and equipment.
Kirken stood slowly and allowed Brandon to take the holovid from his hands.
With a quick flick of his wrist, it also fell across the crackling flames.

A full moon appeared from behind
the poisoned clouds and further pushed away the darkness that the growing fire
had not yet dispelled. Kirken reached down next to Brandon to root through what
remained of their weapons and equipment.

He looked over at Mel who
continued to stare silently into the center of the flames. He gazed sadly upon
her motionless figure while he strapped on the remaining gear and prepared his
battered body to move out once again.

He bent down close to the ground
and waited for the sick feeling in his stomach to again pass.

* * *

Tuttle watched Kirken's bloody
face slowly fade and finally disappear from the control room screens. For a few
moments afterward, the hundreds of screens at the front of the room were empty
and dark. He walked to the nearest console, and leaning across its operator,
punched its communication switch.

"Hangar Bay. Hangar Bay.
Code 2B Blue Authorization," he barked. "I want the planes to stand
down. Repeat. The firebomb air assault is to stand down. Code 2B Blue
Authorization. Keep them on the ground until the next half hour."

"Sir, this is Hangar
Bay," a small unobtrusive voice answered back almost immediately through
the overhead speakers. The voice was heard easily by everyone within the
confines of the suddenly silent room. "Launch code authorization was given
five minutes ago."

"No code has been
authorized or given," Tuttle said sharply. A slight twinge of apprehension
jittered within his stomach. "I want those planes, for at least the time
being, to be kept down. Launch will be shortly forthcoming, but only on my
direct voice command."

"General, War Minister
Faulken served an immediate launch command just before his air transport lifted
off. Confirmation coding came from the Administration Dome."

"What?" Tuttle asked
incredulously. His mind felt lightheaded and his body weak as if a bodiless
fist had just smashed into the center of his stomach.

"The first three
identification prefixes came from the President," the voice spoke
carefully sensing the tightness in Tuttle's voice.

"Oh, my God," Tuttle
said. His knuckles gripped white across the chair in front of him. "Get
him back. Get him back," he barked to the nearest communication officer
and pointed to where Kirken's face had recently disappeared from the screen.
"Bring that signal back."

Tuttle pulled the chair out and
sat down at the console. His body was numb and his soul felt sick from what he
had just pledged.

"When was the launch?"
he asked the man speaking through the console.

"The first planes were in
the air ten minutes ago."

"We can't get the
signal," the communication officer said. "We no longer have a
source."

"Find it!" Tuttle
almost screamed. His body shook with the guilt he felt more than any type of
anger. "I want that signal back!"

"Sir."

Tuttle sensed the large frame of
Com Chief Mick Piper approaching from behind. He looked up at the large hand
that grabbed him firmly by the shoulder.

"Those planes are making a
high altitude roundabout run," Piper said staring hard and straight into
Tuttle's eyes. "They have to in order to ensure complete protection and
avoidance of detection. Their mission to be successful still depends on
surprise and will take time to assemble, especially coming in from up high.
There still might be time for a transport. If it’s flown straight in."

Tuttle quickly stood and
followed Piper out the door.

* * *

Mel sat in front of the small
fire with her arms crossed and her legs pulled tightly against her chest. Even
when her father reestablished contact with someone on the holovid, she still
kept her eyes and mind riveted deep within the mysterious depths of the dancing
fires.

She watched their movements
closely and tried not to look at the small boy who moved quietly about directly
across from her on the other side. She sensed his eyes falling heavily upon her
through the corners of her own.

She watched him add more wood to
the dying fire. His face never turned away.

She moved her lips up and down,
but couldn't find anywhere within her body the energy or even the courage to
let out a scream. The sound would only bring him closer. She feared the blame
and guilt his touch would bring.

Mel longed for a return to the
tunnel and another chance to hold his hand. This time she would not let go. She
would be with him to the end. No matter who happened along or how many soldiers
came.

The boy backed away and moved to
gather more wood. He damned his death upon her with the accusation of his gaze.

Mel's heart hammered against her
chest, and her eyes stayed fixed across the fire. She prayed for the power of
release and escape from the vision. She hoped against hope for anything that
would take the sight of the small boy forever away.