Departure(30)

What happens next confirms my worst fear. The figure leading the charge raises an arm, there’s a popping sound, and I hear a crash, something large falling to the ground somewhere in the forest. I scan feverishly through the binoculars, trying to identify who or what they’re shooting at. Finally I see a man, middle-aged, slightly overweight, writhing on the ground as if he’s being shocked with a Taser. The last time I saw his face was yesterday morning—when I sent his team northwest to search for help. That team must have been returning this morning as well. One by one the suited figures hunt down the three of them, shooting each with some weapon I can’t make out. The invaders hoist the limp bodies on their shoulders and turn, making their way to the domed plastic tents—and directly toward us.

In unison, Mike and I sink to the ground behind a rocky outcrop. A few minutes later, I risk a glance.

The figures carry the three search-team members into the nearest tent and emerge a minute later, carrying a stretcher with an unconscious passenger: Sabrina. They take her to the middle tent, then bring out another passenger: Yul Tan. And a third and final: Harper. A round white cylinder encloses Harper’s right leg from her knee to her ankle, and a bag hangs above the stretcher.

I take the handgun from my jacket, prepared for anything.

Mike’s eyes lock on the gun, then drift up to me. “What’s the plan?” he whispers.

I’m about to tell him that I don’t know when I hear a rapid pop behind us, like an air gun.

Mike’s eyes go wide as he seizes, and I dive for him. The rock where I was just crouched echoes as the shot meant for me slams into it.

I hold the gun out and fire blind, in the direction I think the shot came from. Then I scurry around to the other side of the rock, scanning the woods all the way to the plastic tents. Yes, the figure’s on the other side of the rocks. I peek above the rock and spot it, staggering through the woods toward me. It’s hit.

I raise my gun to fire again, but I never get a chance. The ground behind the figure explodes, sending it flying through the air and knocking me to the ground. I roll through the woods, finally slamming into a large oak tree. My ears ring and nausea sweeps over me. Pain starts in my ribs and surges through my body, causing me to convulse. For a moment, I think I’ll throw up, but it passes as pieces of dirt and splinters shower me.

When my head finally clears, I hear more blasts in the distance, a relentless barrage. Through the canopy I see an airship hovering over the crash site, firing into the woods surrounding it, in the direction of the clearing and the two other ships.

I spot their targets a second later: four suited figures running toward their ships, zigzagging wildly as they try to dodge the fire from the airship above.

Mike.

I make my way back to the other side of the rocks and roll his limp body over. He’s alive, his breathing shallow but steady. A spidery metallic burr is dug into his back. I try to pry it off, but I can’t get a grip on it.

In the distance the cadence of the firefight changes. Earlier the firing was targeted, like laser blasts, but now it rolls over the treetops like thunder. The explosions shake my chest and deafen me. The sensory overload is disorienting, and I fight to focus.

The fire from the incoming airship is now being returned. The two ships hover in the air for a long moment, neither budging, drilling each other with shot after shot. A column of smoke rises from the field, almost hiding the far ship. I bet one of the ships on the ground was destroyed.

Focus.

I attempt to rise, but collapse again. The ground shakes. Around me the forest rains limbs, twigs, and shattered trunks.

I stand, staggering on wobbling limbs, my equilibrium gone.

The camp. The tents. They’re open. The arched metal frame has retracted into a series of small boxes on the ground. The plastic sheets that were stretched over the frame blow through the disintegrating forest, bunching, turning cartwheels like milky plastic tumbleweeds. They collect bits of falling wood and leaves as they go, taking on the colors of the forest, slowly camouflaging themselves, making their escape.

Escape.

Rows of hospital beds lie open to the elements and falling debris. The passengers are waking up.

The retreating invaders . . . they set the passengers free. Why? I bet it’s so that we wouldn’t fall into enemy hands. It has to be. We’re the prize here. Bob was right. The . . . things in the bulky suits brought us here, and they seem to be at war with someone.

In the air the tide is turning. The incoming aircraft’s beating the defender back, out of the black cloud of smoke, but it keeps firing. How long do we have?

Harper.

Through the trees and slowly falling debris, I see her sit up in her bed and look around, confused. I race to the tent, falling three times as I go, but I feel no pain. Adrenaline carries me on.

When I reach Harper, her eyes go wide. I can’t imagine what I must look like. I grab her by the shoulders. “We have to go!” I shout, but I can’t hear my own voice. I can’t even hear the exchange of fire above anymore, only feel the rumble. My hearing might be permanently damaged.

Harper shakes her head and mouths, “My leg,” but then suddenly looks down at it, shocked. She whispers a phrase I can’t make out, then swings her legs over the side, planting her feet on the ground, smiling.

I start toward the woods, but she catches my arm, her grip strong. It’s a good sign.

She points to Sabrina and Yul, who are just getting up. Slowly, so I can read her lips, she forms words: “They. Know. Something.”