The others, including Marvin, looked at Bell as if he’d gone mad.
“Lieutenant, you’re not making any sense,” Quentin said. He turned and looked at Poole.
“You just have to trust me,” Bell said. “At least let me take Lacy. Please. There isn’t much time. I’m telling you. And they have drones. They may already be above us, watching.”
“Did you say Tyson, Patty Tyson?” Dillon said.
“Yes. I took her and Rebecca to the cabin. It’s not far away, about fifteen miles. It’s very high up in the Sierra, over 10,000 feet. It’s safe for the time being. There’s no road to it—they flew everything in to build the place. The government doesn’t know about it. The New Freedom Army, whatever they’re calling it. At least I don’t think they do.”
“He’s crazy,” Poole said.
“I’m not crazy! I know it’s all difficult to believe. Do you have a TV, or a radio? They’re asking people to turn in their guns. I’m not crazy. Who would ask that?” Bell said.
“No TV or radio. They’re down in the bunker. But we’ve been locked out,” Quentin said. “We’ve had no news since right after we got here. Is it bad? The Howlers?”
“I can take two of you. I’ll come back—if I can,” Bell said.
“What do you mean ‘if I can’?” Dillon said.
“You’ll have to neutralize the tank. It won’t be easy. But they’ll shoot me down otherwise. They’ve got a fifty caliber on that thing and the cannon. I’ve got nothing on that helicopter. It’s a civilian helicopter,” Bell said. “It’s a sitting duck.”
“We’re supposed to stop a tank?” Dillon said. He’d been in the 101st Airborne right after leaving high school, and dishonorably discharged for striking an officer. He knew what Bell was asking. “How the fuck do we do that? They’re eight-fucking-feet high!”
“We’re running out of time,” Bell said. He turned and looked out the bulletproof plastic window, scratched and smeared with blood. It was noon. The sun had crept out and was lighting the top of the pine trees. If the tank got into range of the helicopter, they would destroy it, and he and Lacy would be trapped here.
“There’s also several hundred Howlers on the road. I just saw them. There’s no escape,” Bell said. “You have to fight. The Sierra climbs steeply just behind the cabin. There’s no escape, that way either.” Bell felt like grabbing Lacy and just running out the door. On the way to the cabin he’d realized how much he cared about her.
“Takeover, you say?” Quentin said.
Lacy’s father looked horrible, Bell thought. He had a bad cut on the side of his head that Poole had stitched closed. The man seemed unsteady on his feet.
“Yes. I don’t know all the ins and outs, but—yes. It’s some kind of Fascist government. They’re crazy. Please let me take Lacy out now, while I still can.”
“I won’t leave my father,” Lacy said.
“Okay,” Quentin said. “All right. I trust you. And we don’t know what’s going on. It’s true, we’ve had no news at all here.”
“I want to go, too,” Dillon said. “That’s my wife up there. Patty.”
Bell looked at him. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go. There’s room for one more.”
“I’ll stay. Let Quentin go. He’s injured,” Miles said.
“Not so fast,” Poole said, looking at Dillon. “We need you here—if the tank does come.”
“Fuck that. How are you going to kill a tank? You need an anti-tank weapon for that, you stupid asshole! And Patty needs me,” Dillon said, looking at Quentin. Their eyes locked. For the first time, he could see that Quentin was jealous.
“Let him go,” Quentin said. “It’s all right with me. Lacy, you go. He’ll come back for us, you heard him. It’s what your mother would want. Please.” Quentin looked at his daughter. “Don’t make me beg you. I can’t lose you, too.”
Lacy ran into her father’s arms and held him. They held onto each other. Dillon got one of the remaining boxes of ammo, picked up a FAL and headed for the door, ready to leave.
“If you want to save your wife, I would stop that tank. If they capture any of you alive, believe me, they’ll find her soon enough,” Bell said. “I promise I’ll come back for you all. You have my word.”
“How the fuck do we let you know it’s safe to come back?” Dillon said.
“Because when I come back, I’ll either be shot down—or it will be safe, won’t it?” Bell said.
“Miles, you go then, with Lacy,” Quentin said. “Someone should fill the other seat.”
“What about Howard?” Miles said. “He’s on the way here.”
“If your friend manages to get here, we’ll take care of him. You have my word on that. Go on, the both of you,” Quentin said. He didn’t say it out loud, but he was glad to see the young people leave. Something was hopeful in the idea they would survive this nightmare.
Miles and Lacy grabbed their coats and headed for the door. Lacy came back and held her father’s hand, tears pouring down her face. Bell had to come and pull her away. Dillon stared out the open cabin door, his rifle slung over his shoulder, the box of ammo in his hand.
Bell, Lacy and Miles ran out the door. Quentin thought Dillon would follow, but he didn’t. He stood frozen in the doorway.
They watched the helicopter’s blades start to turn and the powder snow under them being kicked up and whirled around it. The helicopter finally lifted off and headed east, just missing the tree tops, and finally disappeared into the clouds.
For a moment none of the three men left behind said anything.
“We got to get into that fucking bunker,” Dillon said without turning around. He ran out the open door without explaining, the FAL over his shoulder. Marvin and Quentin watched him trot through the snow toward the county road. They could see several Howlers in the distance coming toward him.
Poole turned and saw Quentin drop to the floor, writhing horribly. He rushed to his side. Quentin’s whole body began to jerk violently, an ugly white foam building on his lips.
* * *
Howard picked up the box with the medicine. It had stopped snowing. Rivers of blue showed in the sky where the clouds had parted. Sunlight hit the town and was reflected off its metal roofs.
The tank stopped in the middle of Main Street. It had crushed several cars that had been in its way, the tank powering easily over them and smashing them flat. The tank, fourteen feet wide, stopped directly in front of them, its cannon parallel to the ground.
“We’re saved,” Jon said. “God damn it! I knew it! I knew we’d be okay!”
The old man stepped out into the street and waved his hands in the air. Several people came out of the camper now that they thought it was safe. Howard watched them pour out of the passenger-side door. They were all kinds of people: blacks, whites, Latinos, children, young mothers. Jon slapped Howard’s back with excitement. The old man stepped toward the tank, waved his hands high in the air and whooped.
“God Bless America!” Jon yelled. He turned back to Howard, smiled and did a little dance. He pulled his sidearm out and shot a round into the air. A black woman came up, hugged Jon and then hugged Howard, then took off and ran toward the tank.
Howard turned his attention to the tank again. He didn’t smile. Something was wrong, he thought, about the way the tank just sat there, as if it were watching them. Why didn’t they acknowledge the celebration and open the hatch? He’d been in the Army. That would be the first thing a young soldier would do under the circumstances.