“Damn right I’m tired,” Darla replied and she lifted her legs and rested them atop the desk. “But could we stop with the pity party? I cared about that kid long before you showed up.”
“Dean is right,” said Doctor Krause in a loud voice and Dean turned at the mention of his name. “Making him comfortable is the most important thing.”
“Mom—” Ainsley challenged. But her argument was cut short by the sound of the front door slamming shut. Spencer rounded the corner, and he banged his hand against the door to the den for emphasis.
“Quiet!” he yelled, putting a finger to his lips. “Everyone shut up.”
The group turned to him.
Joey appeared on the landing from upstairs, fresh from an afternoon nap. His brown hair stuck up in a clump along the crown. He stretched and yawned; then his head slowly rose and he peered at the ceiling. His hand rose and he pointed. Then he opened his mouth to say something, but Spencer raised his hand to silence him.
“It’s them,” Spencer whispered. “I thought I heard a plane overhead about an hour ago. But now…”
“Helicopters,” finished Dean.
Spencer nodded. “Two. From the west. And close.”
After months of silence—no sirens, no engines, no roar of engines in the sky—the whirl of the helicopters was upon them and they were as loud as a clap of thunder in a Midwestern storm. It was difficult to hear anything else.
“How do we know it’s them? The Nebraska group?” Doctor Krause asked in a whisper.
“Who else could it be?” Spencer spat and he reached for his gun, checking it and readying it. “Go. Go. Everyone into position.”
Ainsley hesitated and looked between Ethan and the group. “Let me stay with him,” she begged Spencer. “Please let me stay with him.”
“Positions!” Spencer yelled again and as the helicopters gained ground.
“I want to stay—” Ainsley tried again, approaching Spencer, her curly hair flying.
“We had a plan. And you will honor the plan,” he said in a hushed voice. Then he raised his gun at her and held it steady. “Non-negotiable.”
Joey rushed into the closet bedroom upstairs and grabbed the sleeping Teddy. Tucking the child into his arms, he bounded down the steps.
“What’s happening, Mama?” Teddy said sleepily.
Darla took her son from Joey and kissed his head.
“Buddy, remember what we talked about? You and Ainsley are going to hide in the dark for a bit. It’s a game and you need to stay quiet,” Darla said to him, her voice catching. She swallowed and watched as Joey and Spencer moved their arsenal of weapons into reach. Darla shook her head. “I love you. Be good.”
“No,” Teddy whined. “I want to stay with you.”
“You can’t, Theodore. You can’t stay with me. It’s dangerous.”
Ainsley walked up to Spencer and touched his arm. “Please,” she said in a whisper. “My mom can sit with Teddy. He’d want me to stay. I want the chance to go with him…it’s only fair—”
Spencer raised his gun. He held it steady against Ainsley’s head, pushing the metal barrel between her brows. She flinched and a single tear rolled down her face; her breathing became rapid and unsteady. The whirl of the helicopters had died down. Close-by the enemy had landed. Ainsley stared down into the barrel of Spencer’s gun, and she took a step backward. Then without another word she grabbed Teddy’s hand and together they rushed into the basement.
Darla watched her son until he had disappeared. She gripped the banister tightly, and pressed her eyes closed for a single second, before spinning around and sprinting upstairs to the second-story.
Spencer’s plan was detailed. It involved a meticulous action plan, and each of their roles had been drilled into their heads. Spencer and Dean’s incessant distrust had seeped into daily conversations and during their days and evenings they plotted against this unknown enemy who they singularly held responsible for the death of mankind. Only Darla, fueled with loyalty for Ethan, challenged the plan. But in the end, she was outvoted and outnumbered and tired of feeling like she was the only voice of dissent, she abandoned her rebellion and settled into her role.
It was a simple course of action: Spencer would put himself front and center. Joey would act as his backup. They would lead or keep the enemy in the front yard, where Darla and Dean, positioned as snipers in the upstairs windows, would respond to any act of insurgence by unleashing violence upon them. Ainsley and Teddy would hide in the fruit cellar until given the all clear.
Ethan, unable to be moved, would stay in the den, with Doctor Krause by his side.
Spencer’s entire plan was to negotiate Ethan’s release. Darla saw the flaws in this logic: it made the Oregon survivors enemies from the start and assumed that those coming from Nebraska were both terrorists and reasonable negotiators.
Now, with Teddy gone from sight and the impending threat bearing down on them, Darla felt more than just anxiety crawl across her skin—her instincts told her to run, hide, leave everyone else to deal with this on their own. She and Teddy could make it on their own out there. There was a small wooden door in the basement that opened up to the backyard; she could easily leave Dean, overpower Ainsley, and take her child and run.
She couldn’t. Despite the growing anxiety, Darla was loyal.
Reluctantly, she took her position in the upstairs bathroom, arranging the blinds at an angle and scanning her vantage point.
“I’ll be right next door,” Dean said by the door. “We both take a shot or no one takes a shot. One knock for ready, aim. Then a long three count and fire.”
“Just go,” she snapped. “I got it.”
He looked like he had wanted to say something else, but instead he just took in a deep breath and disappeared in a flash.
Down in the yard, Spencer stood at the edge of the King’s lawn—which was now shaggy and long, with myriad stocks of dandelions blowing in the wind.
“Helicopters landed,” he shouted. “Down at the park two blocks away. Arrival immediate.” Then he discussed something with Joey, who paced along the edge of the driveway, hitting his free hand against his leg.
From her second-story window, Darla saw the crowd first.
Tiny specks of black and brown, crouching and running in formation along the sidewalk; the sound of their shoes hitting the pavement echoing up the road like little bursts of gunfire. Clap-clap-clap. They moved like military, tight together, ducking and using the area as their shield. This was no rag-tag group of civilians.
She counted.
Seven. Eight. They moved so quickly that she couldn’t tell. There was no way that she could take them out before they saw her; and even though Dean had been using his afternoons to target practice, she didn’t trust his shot either.
“This is going to end poorly,” Darla whispered to herself and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her thoughts went to Teddy. “Keep him safe. Just keep him safe,” she whispered to no one in particular. She forced herself to keep her gun steady on the approaching storm.
Three houses down, Spencer saw the visitors and he called for Joey to get back. The two of them backed themselves up onto the King’s front porch. And they raised their guns as a welcome.
Then the men stopped moving. From the back of the group, an unarmed man made his way to the front; he looked at the King house, his eyes scanning the yard, making note of the two men waiting for him, and as he looked upward, Darla ducked, careful not to disturb the blinds. She hoped he had not seen her, hoped she had not immediately blown their cover.
Through the open window, the conversation drifted to her.
“Lower your weapons. Disarm,” the man called. “I am General Charles. We are here for Ethan King. We have no beef with you. I repeat, lower your weapons.”