Page 70 of Mayflower

“Bullshit. It’s Archer’s call.”

We can’t take our eyes off the screens, stepping forward, bumping each other’s shoulders, squinting as we try to figure out what’s happening.

There is no mistake though. It’s there, right on the screen. The moving shadows are smaller than any soldiers would be. And there are shiny flickers here and there.

“What the hell?” someone murmurs.

“Those look like night flares?”

“Reflectors?”

“Why?”

“Holy shit,” Marlow says. “There are no adults leading them. None. We can’t shoot!”

“No fucking shooting!”

“They are kids!”

Then we see more of them, dozens of little shadows with neon flares crouching through the jungle, now in full view of the cameras.

“It’s Garrick,” Sonny says meekly from behind me. “Garrick! I know him!”

I snap my head over my shoulder.

I forgot he is still here.

“It’s Garrick,” Sonny says, his eyes full of tears, widening in horror at the screen. His hands are clawing at his hair. I’ve never seen him like this.

My heart slams in my chest. “Your friends?”

He doesn’t look at me, his teary eyes on the screen, his fingers raking his hair. He’s in a trance. “Yeah,” he croaks, his voice breaking. “Garrick,” he murmurs. “That’s Garrick and everyone.”

I glare at his guard. “Take him to the conference rooms.”

“No!” Sonny snaps. “I wanna watch!”

“Take him,” I bark, then tell him, “It will be all right.” Then I turn to the screen. “We can’t shoot. Those are homeless kids from Port Mrei. We can’t. Give the order to cease fire until further notice.”

“Fucking scumbag,” Ortiz snaps. “Butcher got an army of little kids and sent them to the slaughter. Fuck.”

The silence is deafening.

But then the Commander gets up. “We got an order to eliminate anyone who comes close to the Ayana perimeter. The Center’s and Lab’s safety are at stake. We have the permission to shoot.”

“No!” Archer shouts. “You don’t fucking shoot! No permission! No permission granted!”

“It’s not your call, sir. Gen Alpha is jeopardized.”

Other guards are pressing their fingers to their earpieces, getting orders from someone we can’t see.

My eyes widen in shock as I stare at the screen. A chain of guards, dark uniforms, guns pointed ahead, step out of the jungle into the camera view. There’s a line of them, like a wall, pushing toward the children in the distance. The flares now and then burst between them, but we know those are Molotovs thrown by little kids who don’t know the combat rules. They are just throwing stuff they were given.

“What the fuck?” Ortiz rasps. “Stop the fucking guards! Who gave the fucking order?”

“No shooting, I said!” Archer roars, his hands on his hips, his face red. “It’s my fucking island! Hold! The fire!”

He starts walking toward the Commander, but several guards step in, blocking him.

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