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People around me scattered in all directions, screams and shouts drowning out everything else. A loud siren blared. Another explosion followed the first. I ducked as debris rained down. My pulse thundered in my ears. A third fuel tank ignited. The concussion of the blast blurred my vision. I scrambled to my feet, but the dirt bike lay beneath a pile of stone. Dizzy, I tripped over the rubble and then found myself caught up in a flurry of screaming people. Being pushed and bumped by the retreating crowds made orienting myself impossible as I was forced away from the direction of the explosions.
I was swept along as if on the crest of a wave, my focus on not stumbling over bodies writhing on the ground. If I fell, I too, would undoubtedly be trampled. I wanted to stop and help the fallen, but it was futile. People pressed in against me, propelling me forward. My mind reeled and my thoughts shifted to Will and the people in the RV. Had they escaped before the explosion? If they had still been parked in front of the building when the first bomb hit, they would most certainly have been incinerated by the blast. My throat closed and tears from shock, smoke, and grief ran down my cheeks.
My next question was answered when a small fleet of drones buzzed overhead. More explosions followed, another fuel depot detonated, and the sound of screams melted into the blazing infernos that dotted the Gettysburg battlefield. A smoky haze filled the air and further clouded my vision. It was no use trying to make my way back toward the Visitor Center, which would have required me to go against the throng of people that rushed for the tree line and higher ground. I zigzagged laterally through the crowd, seeking a way out of the chaos.
Another round of explosions went off and my ears rang to the point of deafness. Staggering as I tripped over a severed limb on the ground, I felt as if I were a sinking ship in a horrible storm. Blood rained down, splattering my face with warm droplets. Visions of my latest nightmare came back in a flood. The coppery scent filled my nose and an acrid chemical smoke from the drone’s missiles left me choking.
Malevich had won again.
∞∞∞
I clawed my way upward and suddenly two sets of strong hands pulled me out of the river of people and lifted me toward a light. When the smoke cleared enough that I could see, Tyler and Luke were dragging me through the crowd, muscling their way through and shouting for people to move. Luke held a beacon in one hand, lighting the way before us. With each of them putting a shoulder under me and at least one strong arm hooked around my waist, they all but carried me to safety.
My feet hit pavement, I sucked in a clean breath, and my vision cleared to what was ahead. We crossed an access road, maneuvering through the long string of cars inching their way forward, horns blaring. On the other side of the road, under a copse of trees on a hill, was Joe Johnson armed with a rifle and at the ready to pick off anyone who tried to overtake his vehicle. Tyler and Luke, still supporting me, negotiated through the traffic. Luke raised the light in his hand to stop a car piled high with supplies tied to its roof. The irate driver screamed and shook a fist out the window but stopped to let us pass.
“I don’t understand...how you found me,” I said, my words sounding muffled in my ears—which still rang as if a high-pitched whistle were lodged in my head.
“I spotted you trying to break out of the crowd,” said Tyler. “I had to help you.” He flashed a quick smile and yelled above the noise. “Let’s get out of here.” The boys led me up the hillside until the land flattened out. I recognized the site as Little Round Top from the worn placard on the monument and the maps I’d studied of the area. I looked down upon the chaos and destruction, acutely aware I was looking into the Valley of Death, the irony of history repeating itself coming clear in a crushing reality.
The drones would surely be back to make another pass and all I could do was stand and stare at the battlefield covered in smoldering debris from the destruction of centuries-old monuments and the remains of hundreds of people fallen in the attack, their belongings littering the field in charred heaps. Joe Johnson spoke up, his powerful voice booming loudly enough to break through the fog of shock that had me frozen.
“We’re waiting it out. There’s no way through this crowd and once we get into line, we’ll be sitting ducks in another attack.” He pointed to the main road leading out of the encampment—now a crawling parking lot of blaring horns and panicked people on foot trying to catch any ride they could. Injured, shell-shocked victims staggered along beside the procession of vehicles escaping the scene, begging for help—many bleeding and sobbing hysterically. The sobering thought that we were essentially stuck in a war zone snapped me out of my daze and I immediately tried to calculate another way out. My brain clicked to autopilot as I recalled the layout of the city and the battlefields beyond.
There was no going back across the devastation I’d just come from, and as far as the eye could see in the direction of the Visitor Center, fires blazed, lighting the predawn darkness. I checked to the south where a thick tree line would cover our escape if we were on foot, but traveling in the massive truck we had only the option of an open road. If we made it to a nearby crossroad, we might be able to get back to the military bunker and get help. Before I formulated my plan and voiced it to Mr. Johnson, the sound of a Condor flying overhead made my heart leap. Two more joined it.
“It must be Agent Simms and her men,” I yelled above the noise. “I knew she would come with reinforcements.” Sam and Dalton had to know by now that the encampment had been attacked. If they’d figured out that Will and I had left the bunker, they would have also figured out this is where we’d be. My heart plummeted again at the thought of Will, Neri, Baxter, Mr. and Mrs. Higgins...and Maggie. How would I tell Nora? And what about everyone else who might have been obliterated? Where were the Slates? Tears streaked down my cheeks, but I wouldn’t give in to the urge to fall apart.
The Condors set down one after the other in a nearby open area of the battlefield below, and men poured out. But just as I was ready to give a cry of relief and wave them over, one man stepped off the aircraft. My blood ran cold. Flanked by several well-armed mercenary types, Agent Graves approached, taking the hill with a look of triumph lighting his face.
“It’s good to know you’re still loyal to the Industry, Joe.”
Tyler, Luke and I spun our heads to see Joe Johnson, his face like stone, acknowledge the man as he drew closer. “I told you I’d get her for you.”
