Kirsten’s hands are trembling, and she feels a cold runnel of sweat as it slips between her shoulderblades. “Goddam,” she breathes. “Goddam.” Her heart lays down a rapid, thready beat, counterpoint to the rhythm of her shocked lungs.
What the hell was that?
Who the hell was that?
But she has no answers. She has seen wolves before, camping in Yellowstone with her parents when she was a teenager; she is in no doubt at all that a wolf is what she has dreamed. She tries to call up the Psych 101 lectures that bored her straight into an afternoon nap more often than not, but other than a vague recollection that almost everything, according to Dr. Werbow, signified either sex or death, she cannot connect the blue-eyed wolf with any standard interpretation.
Eventually she steadies and lies down again, yawning. She has no idea where the dream came from, though she is fairly certain that it was not something she ate. Dinty Moore’s psychedelic stew, oh yeah.
She slips off to sleep again with unexpected ease, and does not wake until the morning.
2
The big truck shakes, rattles and rolls as it bounds over the ice rutted roads, last in a fair sized convoy of impressive military vehicles. Manny sits beside his cousin, a military handset in his lap, and a machine pistol at his side. He eyes Dakota at odd intervals, trying to discover without asking exactly what is different about his cousin this morning. She seems…relaxed somehow, as if she’d spent the night….
His eyes widen, but then he gives himself a mental shake.
Nah. Couldn’t be.
Could it?
“See something interesting?”
The low voice startles him, and he blinks, then blushes at being caught out. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he shakes his head in the negative. “Just woolgathering.” He smiles weakly. “Really.”
“Mm hm.”
They both fall silent, listening to the military radio as it crackles out its continuing stream of routine messages from members of the caravan.
Suddenly, the taillights in front of them flash once, twice, then stay on as the troop carrier comes to a quick stop. Koda works her own brakes. The truck wants to skid, but in the end, it behaves and rolls to a stop, front bumper inches away from the rear of the carrier.
The radio crackles to life.
“Chief? You might wanna come look at this.”
“Everybody DOWN!!!”
The sound of gunfire shatters the morning. Dropping the radio, Manny grabs his gun and levers himself outside the passenger door.
Only to duck back inside again in order to keep his head from being blown off of his neck. He stares, wide-eyed, past Dakota and out into the brightness of the morning. His jaw drops. “Great Father, protect us,” he whispers.
Koda turns her head and sees a scene out of an Orwellean nightmare.
A long line of military droids block the roadway and the areas beyond. These are not the generically handsome, lantern-jawed, poster children for America’s Idealized Infantryman that have filled newspapers and news broadcasts to the brim over the past several years. Instead, they resemble nothing so much as a mechanized creature straight out of a 1980’s blockbuster sci/fi action/adventure movie.
Shining a blinding, mirrorlike silver, the only humanoid resemblance is in the head and torso region. The “legs” end below the knees, and are replaced by the thick treads usually seen propelling heavy tanks over uncertain ground. The “arms” end in lethal weaponry currently pointed at the convoy.
Dakota turns to her cousin. “You ever seen them before?”
“No. I heard they existed, but no. Never. Jesus.” He runs a hand over his short, buzzed hair in a gesture of nervousness familiar to Dakota.
The radio crackles to life. Maggie Allen’s voice is terse. “Check off, people!”
“Rivers here, Colonel,” Manny replies, keying the handset.
“Manny? We’re gonna lay down a line of grenade cover. You get the civvie out of here. Go back the way you came and don’t stop until you’re sure you’re out of danger.”
Dakota grabs the radio away from her cousin and holds it up to her mouth. “Sorry, Colonel, but the ‘civvie’ is the one driving this beast, and the only direction I’m going is forward.”
“Dakota!”
“Can’t hear you, Colonel. You’re breaking up.”
“Rivers!!!”
Releasing the talk button, Dakota tosses the handset down on the floorboards at Manny’s feet, pinning her cousin in place with a look. “Don’t even think about it,” she warns.
“Who, me? Not a chance, cuz. I’ve still got bruises from the last time you pounded me, thanks.”
The two listen momentarily to Allen’s increasingly irate squawking.
“She’s gonna bust me down to Airman for this, you know.”
Pulling down the mirrored lenses of her sunglasses, Dakota gives him a look that makes him laugh.
“Alright, I get your point, Koda. So…what do we do now?”
As if hearing the question, the radio crackles back to life. “Alright, listen up, everybody. This means you too, ‘Airman’ Rivers.”
Dakota winces.
Manny gulps.
“Alright, here’s the deal. These bastards aren’t like anything we’ve faced before, and we’re gonna need to be creative in figuring out a way to get past them without getting ourselves fragged to Canada in little pieces. Rule number one, people. No shooting at them. They’re bulletproof and anything you fire at them will ricochet god knows where. We can’t risk it, so put your guns away for another fight, understand?”
Affirmatives buzz across the radio.
“Our friends from the Guard were kind enough to bring along a few little toys we’re going to try out instead, so everybody just sit tight for a bit and I’ll get back to you.”
Since Koda and Manny can see very little from behind the massive troop carrier they are following, they do exactly as Allen suggests and cool their heels while keeping a wary eye on the metallic monstrosities lined up across the roadway and beyond.
A loud, whooshing roar is followed immediately by an explosion so powerful that Dakota and Manny are tossed about like rag dolls as the truck bounces and rolls on its springs.
The shaking no sooner stops gunfire erupts from all around them. The distinctive sounds of bullets hitting the metal of the truck cause the cousins to duck down again. The driver’s side window shatters, raining glass over them both. The roar of gunfire is punctuated here and there by the horrific screams of men and women in agony.
Unable to lay passively by and do nothing, Dakota reaches over and unlocks the passenger’s side door, then begins to crawl overtop of Manny, who grabs her by the waistband of her jeans.
“What the hell are you doing, cuz? They’re killing us out there!!”
“Exactly,” Dylan replies, prying Manny’s hand from her waist and continuing to crawl until she is out of the truck. Coming up onto her haunches, she surveys the damage. Men and women are scattered like tenpins, many of them bleeding their life into the snow and pleading with an uncaring sky to save them. As she watches, a soldier becomes a corpse, jittering like a puppet on the hard-packed snow under the constant, unremitting onslaught of artillery.
Taking in a deep breath, she lowers her head and charges out into the fray. Bullets slice the air around her, but she keeps her head down and keeps running, sinking past her knees in the snow. Reaching the first two injured soldiers, she lowers her arms and grabs them by their jackets, dragging them until she is behind the cover of a military vehicle.
Another whooshing roar sounds from very close by, and the resulting explosion knocks her to the ground. A shadow falls over her, and when she looks up, Manny is there, two more injured soldiers in his grasp. His face is grim, but his eyes are shining.
“Couldn’t let you have all the fun,” he grumbles, voice almost lost within the continuing gun battle.
Getting back to her feet, Koda pounds on the panel of the vehicle before her, then pounds harder when there’s no response. “Watch them!” she commands over her shoulder as she makes her way up to the cab of the vehicle. Two men lay in the cab, dead beyond any possibility of resurrection, destroyed beyond any possibility of recognition.