TWENTY-THREE

Kenny Sokol and his team of commandos strolled casually out of the Bridge into the twenty-first century. None gave any warning as to the mayhem they intended to bring to the camp.

A few Retro soldiers were in the mostly empty dome, performing guard duty they felt was a waste of time. When they saw the team of badass soldiers appear out of the light from the Bridge, they straightened up. Not to defend themselves, but to give the appearance that they too deserved to wear the uniform.

“You’re early,” one of the guards said.

“You’re done,” Sokol shot back.

He raised his pulser and knocked the guard off of his feet. The second guard wasn’t standing for much longer. A commando took him out. Without a word, two of the commandos dragged the bodies to the side of the open door, out of sight from the outside.

“Thompson, Shaw, and Goodlad with me,” Sokol ordered. “The rest of you stay here. Keep the doors open until 17:55. If it starts getting hairy before then, use your judgment and lock it down early. Understood?”

There were quiet nods of acknowledgment all around.

“Help may be on the way, but don’t count on it,” Sokol said. “Good luck.”

There were no other pleasantries. They were professionals. They had a job to do. There was no room for emotion. Sokol and the three Sounders strolled to the mouth of the dome and stopped there.

“You two okay?” Sokol asked Goodlad and Thompson.

They nodded but their eyes were wide with anxiety. These two were not trained commandos. They were pilots. If the Sounders were to take control of the black drones, they needed experienced pilots who knew how the systems worked.

“Try to stay calm,” Sokol said. “This isn’t about us, it’s about you. Stay out of harm’s way. We’ll get you inside.”

The two pilots nodded in unison.

They were terrified.

“Here we go,” Sokol said and led the group out of the dome.

Again, they did their best to appear as if nothing out of the ordinary was about to occur. Surprise was their most powerful weapon.

They walked casually but quickly to the aboveground bunker that served as the command-and-control center for the drone fleet. None of them had seen it for themselves, but they had studied the diagrams. Besides the dome, it was the only building in the camp that was built to withstand an attack.

It was also the only building that was guarded.

Outside of the bunker stood two armed guards who looked every bit as dangerous as Sokol’s commandos. These were not low-level administrators. They were charged with guarding the most valuable asset the twenty-first-century Air Force had. The drones. The eradication of an entire world’s population was being carried out from this bunker.

It didn’t matter how casually Sokol and his men approached; the guards went on instant alert.

“Halt right there!” one guard called.

Sokol answered by raising his pulser and firing.

The camp was now on alert. They were under attack.

The shot missed the guard and he fired back, dropping Shaw. The guards went flat on their bellies to make difficult targets, but it did little good. Sokol and the pilots unloaded on them. One guard was knocked out instantly. The second guard, realizing how futile his position was, threw himself back toward the bunker and hit a control switch. The move released a steel door that closed over the regular wooden door, sealing the bunker. A second later the guard was hit by a pulser shot and slammed back against the wall. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Sokol didn’t break stride. He reached into the cargo pocket in his pants and pulled out a black disk. He slapped the disk onto the door, then spun away to take cover.

With a quick but powerful explosion, the door blew down.

“You’re on,” Sokol said to the pilots.

The Sounders were in.

I lay in the dirt next to Tori, sweating like I was in a sauna. Between strained nerves and the heat, I thought I might pass out. I kept looking to Granger, waiting for some sign that we were going to do something other than lie there and bake.

The guy hadn’t budged in forever. His eyes were glued to his binoculars, his attention riveted on the horizon and the Retro camp that was just beyond.

I looked at my watch for the millionth time.

5:25.

To say we were running out of time was an understatement.

We were surrounded by hundreds of SYLO fighters. None moved. None said a word. It was like they had become part of the terrain. The vehicles sat behind us, silently. After the incredible flurry of activity that rallied us for the attack and dropped us here in the desert, we had come to a complete standstill.

All eyes were trained on the horizon.

All ears tuned for the go-word.

I leaned over to get a look at the communicator that Tori was clutching. The screen was blank. She gave me a nervous shrug.

The only sound was the desert wind blowing across the dry, flat terrain . . .

. . . and the faint musical notes that foreshadowed the arrival of the black drones.

They first appeared in the sky far in the distance, rising up from the Retro camp. It was followed shortly after by another. Two drones were in the sky.

“Damn!” Granger spat.

He picked up the walkie-talkie and said, “Hold your positions.”

The black drones stopped rising, turned, and looked to be moving our way.

“They know we’re here,” Granger said to nobody, but I was sure it was directed at us.

Tori grabbed my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could say.

We both looked at her communicator, willing it to show us the news we were so desperate to see.

It didn’t.

It looked as though our battle was over before it could begin.

“Look sharp,” Granger spat into the walkie. “When they start shooting, scatter. Do not enter a vehicle. It’ll be tougher for them to target individuals.”

The two drones had gotten close enough that I could make out their stingray shape. They both dropped down low to begin their attack run.

“It can’t end like this,” Granger said, more to himself than anyone else.

The drones were nearly on us. I tensed up, ready for the first blast.

“Stand by to scramble,” Granger ordered.

The drones were so low they were nearly on the ground. They knew exactly where we were. The sound of their musical engines was a familiar and frightening prelude.

I put my arm around Tori.

Kent pushed himself closer to her from the other side.

The drones arrived . . . and flew right over us without firing a single shot.

“What!” Kent exclaimed.

We turned and looked back to see the two dark drones continue past us.

“What’n hell?” Granger said.

Tori’s communicator beeped.

Granger snapped a look to her.

We all did.

Her eyes went wide as she stared down at the device. She took a second to register the message.

“Well?” Granger said.

“Just one sentence,” Tori said, her voice quivering.

“What is it?” Kent asked, impatiently.

Tori took a deep breath and said clearly and precisely, “We own the sky.”

Behind us, the drones began to make wide arcs in opposite directions.

“I just got the same thing,” Kent said, staring at his communicator, wide-eyed. “They’re in.”

“And we’re on,” Granger exlaimed. He lifted his walkie-talkie, keyed the mic, and shouted, “This is it! Fire it up! Strike! Strike! Strike!”

There was an instantaneous explosion of activity. The SYLO soldiers jumped to their feet. The vehicles roared to life. The stillness of only a few seconds before was shattered by the sounds of an invading army on the move.

Tori, Kent, and I stayed still, too stunned to react.

“Is that really it?” Tori asked, nervously. “Do we trust that one message?”

I looked around at the blur of activity.

“Too late now,” I said. “It’s on.”

The three of us were still flat on our bellies when Granger strode back and stood in front of us.

“You all coming or do you prefer to stay here?” he snarled.

The three of us jumped to our feet and ran for the vehicle that was right behind us. It was an open troop carrier that offered little to no protection. It might have withstood driving over a landmine, but if we were attacked from the air, we were dead. At least twenty soldiers were already packed inside with their rifles between their knees.

We started for the back but Granger barked, “In the cab. I want to know if any more messages come through.”

We all piled into the enclosed cab. It was tight but that was the least of our worries.

Granger barked into his walkie-talkie, “Move, with all possible speed.”

The driver hit the gas and we charged forward. Once again we were moving over the flat, dry desert at breakneck speed. The truck wasn’t built for comfort. We bounced over the rugged surface, banging our heads into the ceiling.

“There it is,” Kent declared.

The peak of the dome appeared on the horizon.

Granger stayed focused ahead—not on the dome, on the sky.

On either side of us were dozens of transport trucks speeding together toward the camp. Their mission was to get there, fight their way through the Retro army, and secure the dome.

Mine was to find my mother and get her out safely. It meant I had to get my head together and figure out a plan to do it. I hadn’t thought much about it until then because I didn’t believe we’d get that far. But there we were, only a few miles away and closing fast.

The drones flew over us again. They had made a full arc and were headed back toward the Retro camp. Both dropped down low, speeding across the desert floor, headed in the same direction we were.

“What are they doing?” Kent asked.

Granger watched them intently, then smiled as if the answer had just come to him.

“Those boys really do know the score,” he said. “We do not own the sky. Not yet. But we will.”

The drones started firing. Not at us. At the ground.

“The antiaircraft guns,” Kent exclaimed.

The Retro camp was surrounded by antiaircraft weapons that had been used to help repel SYLO attacks from the air.

That wouldn’t last.

We were still too far away to pick out detail, but we could see the explosions erupting all around the camp as the weapons were destroyed by the attacking drones.

“Sokol’s clearing the way,” Tori said.

Granger got back on the walkie and shouted, “Bring ’em in. Now. Every last one.”

“Bring what in?” Kent asked.

“The kitchen sink,” Granger said with a smile.

Seconds later, helicopters thundered over us, headed straight for the camp. It was like watching a dense flock of migrating birds, all headed in perfect formation to a single spot.

“Now we own the sky,” Granger said to us. “And soon we’ll own that dome.”

I glanced at my watch.

Twenty-five minutes left.

And counting.