Page 6 of Night in a Waste Land

“Yeah, well, the real thing isn’t something for you to practice on,” Lance said, more harshly than he’d intended. He pocketed the sphere, and he would have rather had a real grenade, or any sort of live ordnance, resting there in his tac vest, right over his heart. “The helo’s waiting. Let’s move out.”

~*~

For general travel, the Walkers relied on old, pre-Rift technology. Blackhawks, and ancient Hueys; Lance had been on more C1-30s than he cared to remember. Newer, more efficient technology was used rarely, and then, only if absolutely necessary. Too scarce and expensive to waste on something as simple as travel.

Today, this mission, was one of those absolutely necessary moments.

The Nighthawk Challenger 1-11 could hold up to ten passengers, excluding the gunner and pilots; its blades were near-silent; it had to be right on top of you before you registered its existence. It evaded radar, and its hide was a reengineered, conduit resistant kind of carbon fiber that could resist even the most extreme temperatures, its belly shielded and armored.

From headquarters, they flew up and over the low mountains, rotors cutting through the mist, the helo holding a steady elevation beneath Lopez and Chandler’s expert control. They rode with the doors rolled back, the chill, damp mountain air pouring all around them, buffeting their clothes and chafing their cheeks.

Lance gripped the overhead bar and watched Rose, stationed beside him, searching her face as the cloud cover broke, and the helo dropped down into the outskirts of what had once been Salt Lake City.

He could tell that she tried hard not to let her reaction show; but a tightening of her jaw, and a rippling of her throat as she swallowed betrayed emotion.

He’d flown this route a dozen times now, and it still tickled his belly unpleasantly. He couldn’t blame her.

In the months after the Second Rift, the city’s population had come down off the ski slopes; come in from the more remote suburbs, congregating in the heart of the city. Conduit fire had laid waste to buildings; the blackened, skeletal remains of shops and homes and restaurants edged an ever-shrinking heart of overcrowded, sunless, rain-drenched humanity, huddled in crumbling, mildewed homes and apartment buildings, and high-rises. Business no longer existed here. Not the above-board, legal kind.

Ought to abandon it altogether, Tris had said, on their last mission in.

Lance had protested – but it was a protest he found harder and harder to offer.

The clouds rode low and white-gray this morning, blotting out the sun, though it wasn’t raining. Yet. A storm system was moving in on radar, which meant they had maybe an hour before the weather made flying back over the mountains impossible.

As they drew closer to their destination, Lance spotted the troop transports, stationed a few streets over below, ready for their call.

The Wraith Grenade in his pocket felt heavy enough to pull him over the edge and out into the open air; a deadly free fall.

The building appeared, and Lopez circled it, bringing them lower. It wouldn’t land; they would rappel down to the roof, and enter the building that way.

He touched Rose’s shoulder, briefly, before he got into position. When she glanced toward him, he was shocked to register something like excitement in her expression.

The rotors droned overhead, and he leaned in close to say, “Just stay by me. It’ll be okay.”

For a second, he thought she would smile. But then she nodded and turned away, and it was time to disembark.

~*~

If asked, Lance would have said that nothing had the power to surprise him anymore.

The scene they found in the lobby of the building proved him wrong.

They’d hustled down through the building, doing sweeps of each floor. Frightened civilians peeked out of doors; some stared, some retreated right away, some begged for help when they spotted the flags and rank insignias stitched onto their tac vests.

Gavin brought up the rear, and waved them all back. “Lock yourselves in. We’ll send someone for you. Go back inside, please. Wait here.” Sometimes, some brave soul would try to take up a bat or a shotgun and come with them, but today, that blessedly didn’t happen.

Lance was aware of Rose just behind him, her silent steps, her quiet breathing. He could feel her, though: all her coiled excitement and readiness.

On the first floor, he heard sounds below. Muted shouts. Thumps and bangs.

Gallo had their thermal scanner out. “It’s really hot below,” he murmured.

Their conduit. And someone challenging him, apparently.

But when they got to the bottom of the staircase, they found two humming, heated, glowing figures squared off from one another in the open expanse of the lobby. The man, as expected: a scraggly ex-junkie sort with tangled beard and patched clothes.

The other was a woman. A girl. She looked maybe twelve, knobby and gangly, dressed in a flower-printed dress, her hair a sleek, pale bob that framed a childish face with big eyes. Big, glowing eyes, pulsing blue-white and crackling with inhuman power.

---