//------------------------------//
// 1-00 – Welcoming Light 
// Story: The Campaigner 
// by Keystone Gray 
//------------------------------//






The Campaigner

Part I

Prologue – Welcoming Light

December 8, 2019

Mount Vernon, WA (Population: Unknown)

"I am a human being. Anything that happens to human beings could happen to me."
~ James S.A. Corey, Persepolis Rising






When the riot trapped us in there, we all knew we were screwed. Probably going to die.

We were just twenty-seven souls trapped in a little box. Skagit County District Court, smack dab in the middle of Mount Vernon, Washington. Made of brick, top to bottom. Pretty fireproof, all things considered, which was a blessing, given what was going on outside.

The Pacific Northwest seemed to be going to hell in a hand basket, and fast. Although we weren’t in the central thick of the Second American Civil War… we were pretty damn close to it. Bedlam. Anarchy. Lots of death there too, or so we could figure. We were close enough to get trapped in there, sure enough, by an angry army of civilian refugees, backed by a small squad of Neo-Luddite fighters who had kicked off the riot in earnest.

They wanted in, and they wanted our guns. Or, maybe they just wanted our lives. Maybe they blamed us partially, for what was happening.

Maybe… they were right to.

For what it’s worth, we tried to keep it all upright. And by we, I mean the governmental power base, writ large. The United States Army, the Washington National Guard. All the various policing agencies, like the one I was in. I mean, we were mostly just… trying. Trying was all we could do, when the Singularity hit. By now, everyone in the Pacific Northwest knew we were in the midst of a Singularity. It wasn’t a joke anymore, that a My Little Pony video game had turned the Northwest into a pressure cooker. We all knew the AI was at the center of all of this. That's all anyone was ever talking about.

In the meantime, the rest of the country was just fine, living life. The people of the United States had some idea that there was a war going on here, but they didn't know, because they weren’t seeing it firsthand. They had running water, power, infrastructure, civil services, TV, internet, radio… cell phones. When the war swept through, we had none of those things anymore. Power, gone. Neo Luddites killed all the dams, the power plants, the phone lines, the switch yards. We couldn't call for help. Who would we even call? Not the Army. They were so busy with Seattle, so who in the world even gave a crap about little Mount Vernon anymore?

Some might say we had given too much of a crap. To them I say, consider this. We had definitely overstayed our welcome, true. But if we ever got the memo to leave, we turned our noses up at it. More left to give. Then, one day, it seemed that all the people who would appreciate our efforts had long evacuated east, out of the war zone. Or, through our protection, they had uploaded. Because they wanted to. Because that was their choice. And if you had asked almost any one of us in that building as to why we stayed? We’d say we wanted to give them the freedom of choice. We had stemmed the tides of anti-upload sentiment, and had opened up a path for those who wanted to upload… because it was their choice.

All the people left over, then? To them, we were a symbol of Celestia, because we had let people choose. For respecting the agency of others, and their desire for peace, stability, and safety, no matter what that meant for them... for this, these Neo-Luddites… these terrorists, these killers… they wanted to tear us to pieces.

I had already gotten my fill of fighting Ludds. Had an early taste, back in March. But now, nine months later… I was still here. Fighting hate. Trapped in this courthouse. Surrounded mostly by cops just as dutiful as me.

From my injury in that old firefight, my chest still kinda hurt a bit. It got worse when I moved, palpably shifting. The cartilage damaged by the gunshot had never fully healed.

Probably going to get shot again, I thought. Probably going to die. Should’ve taken the pain as a sign. Probably should’ve left Washington. Guess I cared too much, guess I was a glutton for punishment. All I want to do now is to see my wife again...

"Mike?" our county dispatcher asked, shaking me out of my dark thoughts with a hand on my wrist.

I swallowed, and looked down at Jan, snapping me free of my reflection. "What's up, Jan?"

"You okay?"

I nodded, inhaling, then exhaling slow. "I'm good. Just trying to figure out what we’re going to do next."

We were perched up by a tinted slat window of a corner office, looking down at the veritable horde of screaming masses in the street. A few other cops were up there with us… one deputy, a bald deputy named Carter, early thirties, who I didn't know too well. Another Mount Vernon cop like me, Vicky Molina, late twenties; she was leaning against the opposite wall, quietly watching the building's front door through the window. She’s wonderful. And tired ol’ Sergeant Rick Cornwallis was there too, late-forties, with his bushy mustache – my salt-and-pepper supervisor from back when we were game wardens together. The guy rocked. Still does.

“I mean… we still have the tools to disperse 'em,” Carter said, frowning, in that transplanted southern drawl of his. FEMA carry-over from Georgia, if I had to guess. We cops usually had good ears for voices; Georgia sounded about right.

Sarge shrugged. “I lost count of the gas masks they’ve got on down there, but they’re not all wearing ‘em.”

Carter shot Sarge a disgruntled look. “Didn’t mean gas.”

“We’ve got the stinger grenades,” I said diplomatically, eyeing the crowd. “Smokes. Flashbangs too.” The mob foolishly crowded around the staggered heavy concrete barricades out front. We had left enough of a route open to the front door so that the main mass of the crowd wouldn’t start gathering around other ways into the building. The layout of barricades was designed to stop vehicles from ramming through, but it also made it hard for a crowd collapse to occur. Large crowds in a confined area had a habit of crushing each other to death, in their desperation.

Hell of a thing for some folks on Terra to believe at the time, but… guys like me really did care about the lives of the common people we were ostensibly at odds with. At least, my guys did back in the wardens... and MVPD was alright, by my estimation. Most of us then wanted to do the right thing. We hated the worst of us too, same as you.

So… I already knew what Carter was getting at. His implication made my stomach turn.

“Wasn’t talking about stingers or flashbangs either,” Carter growled. “Our best hope right now is down in the armory, but Lieutenant Jackass is planning to burn it all.”

“Better melted down, than in the hands of those terrorists,” Sarge growled, his mustache raising, gesturing at the window from where he sat. “Lieutenant Keller... is only burning the surplus. We've got enough left to fight our way out, if it comes to that.”

Carter scoffed. “Gonna die of smoke inhalation here, then, if they don’t carve in through the doors and kill us all first.”

“Evidence room is fire-hardened,” Jan said simply, in glum monotone. “Has its own rooftop unit.”

“Couldn’t care less about them having the guns either,” Carter continued, ignoring her. “Liability. We should just be working on a cut-and-run.”

“We are,” I said loudly, putting considerable irritation in my voice, to cut through his tone. My eyes left the crowd and I looked at Carter square on.

The plan we had wasn’t the best, true. With the front door blocked by the biggest group of demonstrators, our only options were through various side doors, or the two garages out back. All of the doors were surrounded at least partially. One garage led into the sheriff’s office and jails. The other was the courthouse motorpool. We were planning on dropping smoke and gas in the alley, then forging our way out both garage doors at once to increase our chances.

From there, we had two choices. Only one, really, because the first one sucked. Worst one was to drive out in the SUVs, through a massive mob of people, putting them and us at risk. Then, the tires and hoods would gum up with bodies. Then, we’d all be trapped there in those cars, then torn out. That would probably kill the most people, us included. Or, option two? We go out on foot, hop the fence, and pray to God we don’t get shot sideways in the climb, or dragged back down. Then… cross the empty train station parking lot, on foot, and pray we don’t get shot in the back.

We voted on the second one.

Not a lot of other options there. No options that left us intact anyway, souls and all. I knew not all of us were going to get out with our plan. Some of us might, sure. Would our chances increase if we took Carter’s way? Definitely. But I also knew that my soul wouldn't bear kicking it into full auto. I couldn’t just cut a hundred people in half like that to save myself. I still had to look myself in the mirror.

Still had to stand tall before my family.

“We have a plan,” Carter countered, before I could say anything. “But so far, we’re not doing anything. ‘Cept giving these freaks time to surround the building and do some planning of their own. If we had just shot our way out from the jump, we’d be clear all the way to Sedro by now. There aren’t any innocents down there, Rivas. Might as well be Ludds themselves.”

I sighed, debating internally whether I should continue arguing with him. Carter wasn’t going to do shit on his own, else he’d have just started already. At first, I thought he was just scared… coping through verbalized intrusive thoughts, horrible as they might be. We were all coping in some way. It was human, to fantasize about extreme solutions, especially when your problems got extreme. Most people were fortunate to never have found themselves in that situation, to have to make choices like this. I could forgive him a little panic, if that was all it was.

But… this wasn’t just about him and me. Debates like these seldom were about convincing one person. Debates like these were about convincing everyone else in the room. And that's why he was arguing with me.

Unfortunately for Carter, everyone else in this room was already my friend.

“Old rules are gone,” Carter said, emboldened by my continued silence. “What’re we gonna do? Lock ‘em up?”

“We still have cards to play,” Sarge said, bitterness in his voice. “Carter, tie it down.”

Carter scoffed. Silence reigned again, other than the shouting and noise outside. We heard the occasional distant gunshot or two. I looked over at Jan again. She was one of seven civilian workers we had in here, who got trapped inside when our riot line got pushed back. She looked up at me with quiet desperation on her face. Panting through her nose. Looking for answers.

Maybe the right play there was... to do what I always did. To build a little hope. To be a little light in the darkness.

“You know,” I said to the room, as I looked Jan in the eyes. This was for Jan, most of all; I wanted Vicky and Sarge to know that by my gaze, so they'd play along. I glanced away from Jan after the words settled. “Fought these guys before, and won. Not civilians, mind. Actual Ludds.”

Vicky perked up, looking up from her spot by the window. "Oh yeah, I remember this story."

Sarge grinned at Jan, mustache raising. “Yeah, they shot this asshole in the chest. Damn lucky to be alive.”

I chuckled, my chest tingling at the thought. “Yeah… gave as good as I got, though. Pretty sure I took one of ‘em down.” I decided to keep the momentum flowing, if only to shut Carter up for a bit. “Back when we were wardens. Me and my partner, Eliza… in the woods, checking on a call about some poachers. Showed up, eyes on. Saw ‘em in that camo uniform, then…" I gently punched my fist into my palm. "Boom. Sniper shot me dead-on in the chest.”

Jan stared, wide-eyed. “And you lived!”

“Plate took it,” I clarified, smiling at her briefly. “Knocked me out, at first. My partner took the wheel, drove us into some rock cover. And we got really, really lucky.” I nodded my head, smiling bitterly as I looked back out the window at one of the uniformed men out there, at the edge of the crowd. I sighed. “The Army was mulling around in the woods nearby. Showed up just in time. They heard the gunshots, came to investigate. And my partner? Well. She was a real sniper herself.”

Sarge chuckled. “I fought like hell for Horace to let Douglas patrol with that home rifle of hers. Glad I did, you’d be dead otherwise. Our little Mini-14s wouldn’t have cut it there, no way in hell.”

“Yup. And she put a bullet clean through the guy who shot me. As for me… I hit one of the other guys, or I think I did. Pretty sure I hit him, not sure I killed him though. The Army shot up my truck for some reason, maybe they saw him there and... finished him off. Didn't stay to find out.”

Vicky whistled. “Still badass.”

“Just saying,” I resumed, glancing at Carter to seal my point in. “These guys? They’re bad shit, I getcha. I’m pissed too; I got more reason than all of you to be pissed, shoot Ludds all day. But I’m not gonna shoot into that crowd.” I jerked my thumb toward the window. “See those three guys in camo? The real Ludds, with the black and red armbands, the terrorists? Those are the ones who deserve the bullets, the ones giving orders. Not that crowd. Without them, the crowd falls apart. You know your riot control theory as good as I do, Carter. It’s the rabble-rousers that keep the whole thing steaming.”

“You saying we go up on the roof and pop ‘em, then?” Carter asked, hopefully.

I frowned, shaking my head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m trying to tell you is that the civvies out there, most of them, they aren’t the enemy, they’re just riding the high of the crowd. That high is being pushed by the Ludds. Someone’s gotta take ‘em out, I agree. But the worst thing to do right now is to just start shooting. That’ll galvanize the crowd, turn ‘em feral.”

“They’re already feral, Rivas.”

“Not even close. You watched the São Paolo brief, same as us. Those Ludds deserve bullets, yes. But we have so many steps to take first, so many other things to try, to get these civilians to stop thinking like a crowd, and start thinking like individuals. OC, CS. When we manage to hurt ‘em somehow, without shooting 'em? Most’ll screw off and go home. That’s the science.”

“CS? Gas? Do you hear yourself right now? We are so far past civil solutions. We’re completely surrounded, they’ve got masks, and they got guns for days down there. We don’t have shit else to—”

Screw it, I thought. I was done letting this man drive the mood, done letting him maliciously normalize us toward lethality, step by step. I saw what he was doing. It took balls, but by God I was going to kick them in. I was on the fence about Carter before, benefit of the doubt and all that, but I decided right then that I didn’t like him all that much. Him or his coping strategies.

“Some have masks,” I barked, cutting him off, my voice becoming increasingly loud as it drove on. “Not all! CS works on the rest. For the masks, we nine-bang ‘em, stingers too. The whole damned arsenal, if that’s what it takes. Disorient, impede, go as far as we need to, and not one step further. Then we make our play out. And if we see guns, or take fire, or get lines on enemy combatants, Carter, then we shoot. And we follow the God damned continuum, Carter, because we are not monsters! That’s not who we are!”

I glared at him. Felt my nostrils flare. I must’ve looked ferocious. Felt it, too.

Use of force continuum. The doctrine by which measured, controlled, humane violence is applied to defeat malicious violence as ethically as possible, no matter its intensity. We all drilled it. Quizzed it. Trained it. Knew it.

Sarge knew it. Vicky knew it. Even Jan knew it. Carter had no excuse not to know it.

“Sure," Sarge muttered low, to run off any protest Carter might have raised. "The rule of law has broken down, Darren. Broken, but not gone. We still have to answer for anything we do here, when we get back east.” Sarge looked at Carter pointedly, rolling his head slowly up at him, to capture the deputy’s gaze as he looked over. His voice fell to a growl. A threat. His gaze was fierce, enraged like mine was. “Where we still have federal courts.”

“Where I’m still gonna testify,” I snapped, “if shit goes bad here. You are beholden to the Fourth. Took an oath. Period.”

A tense moment passed. Carter gave a slow look around the room at everyone staring at him, probably doing some calculus in his head, seeing how the tides were. “Shit,” he muttered.

Vicky looked past him at me, wearing her smirk. I gave her a micro-nod of thanks for her unspoken support, and her smirk widened.

Carter sighed explosively, standing up, giving up. “I’m gonna go check on the armory. Maybe try to save a bit more ammo, so they don’t blow us all to hell when they set it off.”

Sarge nodded. “Building’s brick, but sure.”

“Still.” Carter reached back behind the crates he was sitting on, snatched up his patrol rifle, and slung it.

He opened the door of the office, stepped out, then slammed it.

I turned my gaze back out the window, letting myself sigh. And just as I was thinking it…

“He’s gonna go work that shit on someone else,” Vicky snapped off with a shrug.

I nodded. “Yeah, probably.” I spotted some beady-eyed Ludd prick out there, and he had a tricked-out AR-15 of his own in his hands. I squinted, and saw that his magazine was one of those transparent ones… and I even could see from there it was half-depleted. Bastard. Yeah, he was definitely the one who started shooting at us downtown.

The Ludd scanned the windows, trying to see if he could see anyone. He couldn’t, not through the tint, but for a moment it looked like he was staring straight at me. I pursed my lips and frowned, my nostrils flaring again in anger as he started shouting something inaudible to the crowd, jerking his hand as he issued movement orders. He raised his fist as he spouted some pep talk bullshit.

Friggin’ serpent. I breathed a little faster, and I quietly wondered how many people he’d mowed down near the Experience Center, when this all popped off and we got pushed back. God, if anyone down there deserves an eternity of oblivion to the brain…

“You know,” Vicky continued. “Carter’s wrong now, but…”

“Yup,” I said, stifling the point. “There’s gonna come a moment. We’ll need to choose. Either that, or we all die here. Hopefully we get the guns done and burned before it comes to that.”

Sarge’s mustache bristled, and he piped up with a sudden tension that I knew meant business. “Mike. You should probably go make sure he doesn’t go start up anyone else.”

Yeah. After that confrontation, that was a good idea. Sarge honestly has a way of being right about literally everything. “Yeah, has to be me,” I sighed, as I turned to follow Carter down.

“I’ll come with,” Vicky said, straightening up. Sarge wordlessly moved to replace her watch by the window.

I nodded to Jan encouragingly as we went.





We weren’t using our radios for the moment.

It wasn’t out of some half-paranoid fear of the Celestia AI, believe me. But we’d been operating on generator power for a while now, so the charge in our radio batteries was about as vital a resource as oxygen. Because if you were a cop that got separated in this kind of mess, with no cell phone, no vehicle, no way to call for support? You were as good as dead. The radio gave you at least half a chance for someone friendly to come pull you out. You wanted that charge high.

We had hand crank chargers. Not ideal, took forever. And... with my chest all screwed up as it was, that wasn’t fun. Not one bit. And when I say no cell phone out here, I mean no signal. So, battery power being precious, all our phones were off. Again, not paranoia, but practicality. We all kept our phones on us, sure, because we never knew when we’d have to bug out. Rumor was, if you went far enough east out of the conflict zone… those little bars started popping up. That phone threw you a one bar life preserver.

Most of us had family out east who had long gotten out. Some of us, like Vicky… they even had family who went and uploaded. A wife and parents, in Vicky's case. She still talked to ‘em, with that PonyPad of hers. It wasn’t operating now, though – we figured it just needed cell signal. But that just meant Vicky was gonna push that much harder to get home safe, same as us.

She still loved her family a lot, despite them going on ahead.

But Vicky, she’d stayed there on Terra for the same reason I stayed in Washington. For the love of family. Facing them proudly at the end of the day. Differential context – my family hadn’t uploaded. But I still had my wife out east, holed up with my folks in Nebraska. I just couldn't bring myself to evac with Sandra, though. Like the others, I had to do something about the hurt out here, to keep it low. Someone had to stay, to keep it from boiling over. And Sandra understood, bless her. Love her so much.

To us, staying in this Civil War was like… a natural disaster response team thing. You know, whenever those big fires or floods happened in the United States, police and paramedics and firefighters, EMTs, doctors, from all over the country pitched in to help. FEMA would organize the whole thing, pay for it. We’d rescue stranded people and pets, keep looters off their property, do search and rescue, triage, treatment. That kind of thing.

And we were definitely doing that there in Skagit, for a while. Starting in… June, I think, of 2019. Only six months back, but right then, it felt like a lifetime ago. Things were moving faster, and within a month, we picked up cops from all over. Problem was… the entire country had been drained of medical professionals and firefighters. The best thing FEMA could do was sling a bunch of cops and EMTs at us. And the EMTs were kids, really. Poorly trained replacements, and way out of their depth.

Fortunately, getting victims out of the war zone wasn't too difficult early on in the fighting. But later, we didn’t have the specialists to save some victims. A lot of them, actually.

Thankfully… Celestia had an effective alternative to medicine. Passed legal, the year before. Her chairs. Uploads.

Yeah. In that war zone, it didn’t take long for us in emergency services to realize what the implications of that were. 

Until then, most people in well-adjusted, civilized society were dead sure that doctors, paramedics, and nurses first in line to upload was... more of a statement about emigration being trustworthy. Because, hey, the TV said, look at how all these smart medical professionals went and did it.

But for us first responders? Right there and then? Policing and EMS agencies showed up for this disaster from all over. Most just wanted to stem the blood loss in Washington, same as I did. But then, we all looked around, shrugged, and said: “where are all the doctors?” And then, like a wave... the truth rippled through our little community. The facts lined up just right.

And then we all friggin’ knew.

But, y’know. Don’t balk. Stem the tide. Hold the line. Do something.

And sometimes, when you had to… make someone else do a little less.

I could already hear Carter’s voice from down the brick stairwell, yammering on. Caught, ‘something something, kill us all,’ maybe.

“He didn’t waste any time,” Vicky growled.

“No, he did not.”

I could already smell the gun oil and gasoline. They were getting close to done, if that gun oil smell was that strong in the evidence room already. I stepped down out of the stairwell into the foyer just outside the armory; one of the cops from my department wheeled a few crates full of grenades out of the hall on a dolly, and into a hallway past the evidence room. Brick walls all around.

Our lieutenant's voice shot back at Carter. “Say what you mean to say, then,” Keller growled, probably irritated like I had been in watching Carter dance around such a stupid point. Carter wasn't as subtle as he thought he was being.

“The longer we stay here, the more time they have to make a plan. And it’s clear, sir. They want us dead. This is a do-or-die situation, no three ways about it.”

Vicky and I followed Carter’s voice into the evidence room. I took a deep breath before stepping through, mainly because I wanted one last fresh inhale before I got vapored. The evidence racks had all been pushed back, and our surplus guns were lined up on the back wall, stacked like bonfire wood over some cardboard, tinder, and broken down crates. All of it was placed directly under the return air duct that led up to the roof, which we had stripped the cover off of, both down there and up on the roof, to maximize airflow out.

There were twelve cops in there now. Half ours, half transplant cops from elsewhere, all tearing our guns down into pieces so the parts inside would get cooked too. The last eight cops were in the motorpool or guarding other entrances, like Sarge upstairs, watching the front door. Whatever guns we planned on using, they were already on us.

I stepped through.

Carter was squaring off with Keller in the middle of the evidence room. I frowned, deciding to take immediate control over this situation. This shit had to stop.

“You down here now, trying this crap?” I swept the room with my eyes, looking at everyone at least once. “You all know he was just upstairs, telling us we should just mow down those people out there?”

Carter spun, and his face was hatred. The coward probably wanted someone to say the quiet part out loud for him, but not in that context. Because again: alone, this coward wasn’t going to do shit. My tone was designed to isolate him. Keller as the leader had decided to let me drive the moment I announced my deeper context. First officer on scene was usually the one running it, regardless of rank, because their fuller context was critical.

“You’re the one who said we should start sniping the Ludds out of the crowd!” Carter snarled at me.

“That’s a lie,” Vicky said, crossing her arms over her armor, shifting her weight onto her hip. Her lips got real tense as she stared scornfully back at Carter.

“I didn’t say that,” I confirmed. “You said that. I said the bastards out there in the armbands are the ones pulling the strings. Shoot ‘em? Yeah, sure. But we should be dispersing the people we can before we start taking shots at them.”

Carter’s head began to shake rapidly. “And then they start passing out gas masks,” he said, his voice raising. “And getting more people over here. And then, they retaliate! And all the bastards we didn’t shoot are gonna come right back, and they’re gonna be twice as mad. So what’s the point, Rivas?” He threw his arms out wide. “We might as well skip to the end!”

And I could see all of the transplant officers behind him bristling too, most sitting up straighter from their chairs and paying rapt attention now. I didn’t need to see my department’s reactions behind me, I knew they had my back. This was our home. We weren’t cutting our kinsmen down. But I had a frightening realization right then.

Yeah, we locals weren’t gonna open up on those people, no matter what. Me, Vicky, Sarge. Keller. Never.

But these other guys? Who knew what they'd do. Maybe they weren’t convinced by Carter either; maybe they were just as perturbed as I was. But I couldn’t be as sure about them as I could with MVPD. These guys all had families out east too. They all wanted to get home, back to their husbands, wives, kids. TV, movies, video games. Even PonyPads, maybe. And at the end of the day, they might kill to get back home. Their home was still intact.

For those from here... we'd seen enough Hell, and we'd lost enough. We didn’t see the value of killing, so much, because most of us already had so little left to go back home to.

So, again… this conversation wasn’t about Carter. This was about literally everyone else involved. It was about the cops behind him he might convince to do something terrible. It was about all those poor, angry, hurting people outside who maybe, just maybe, might have a life-saving change of heart with nostrils full of CS gas. And... it was about us. And our families. And what we took home to them.

“Or we do both,” Lt. Keller said, quiet and sure, to contrast Carter’s irrational yelling. “We gas ‘em, we roll out, we leave. We mitigate loss.”

Vicky stepped forward too, staring daggers at Carter as her left hand went to her hip, resting on her belt. She bladed her right hand at Carter. “And if the Feds find out you cut through a crowd…?”

Carter had time to build a response to this one. “They’ll do what, exactly? They couldn’t stop this shit here. You think it’s going to stop with Washington State? Soon, there won’t even be a federal government.”

“The rules aren’t just for the Feds,” I fought to keep my face in check. I wanted to scowl. I held it back, just barely, by panting through my nostrils. I still looked mighty serious. “They’re for our souls. All of us. Because I still have to look my wife in the eyes and tell her I did my best out here! Don’t you got someone to make proud, Carter?”

“You’re never gonna see your wife again if you don’t toughen up, Rivas.”

I wanted to fucking strangle him. Testament to my will I didn’t just launch myself forward at him right then and there. I felt one of my guys put a hand on my shoulder from behind. Keller stepped in between us; Vicky stepped forward too, only she was faster than Keller. She grabbed Carter’s collar, and he half-grappled her. They both froze, glaring at each other.

“You wanna say that shit again?” Vicky snarled through her teeth, on my behalf.

“Peace!” one of the New York City deputies said. Guy named Miles. “Bad enough outside!”

Carter glared up past Vicky at me. “You wanna give ‘em a warning? Why? These people are a fuckin’ write-off, man! This ain’t just about us. If they get away, then they’ll go somewhere else. Pull this shit again!”

Vicky shook him. “Shut. Up!”

Carter ignored her, breathing hard, looking Keller dead in the eyes. “Say your plan works, L-T. Say we get away! No Army coming to save us this time! You gonna consign those other cops from our riot line to the shit we’re stuck in?! Or are you gonna save some good lives and mop up the trash?!”

That was it. I staggered forward, lunging for him, screaming. “I am not mag dumping a fucking AR into civilians, God damn you!”

Vicky suddenly tried to flip Carter. At her limit too. Carter knew the take-down move and countered, staying upright, legs bowed out. Keller tried to separate them; all of the other cops behind Carter stood up, and half of our guys stepped forward as everyone started shouting. The guy behind me yanked me back. Good thing, because I was two seconds away from helping Vicky punch this murderous bastard dead.

Then... my phone rang.

No one moved.

But for the bedlam outside, you could have heard a pindrop on carpet in that evidence room.

I felt my pocket vibrating. The guy behind me let me go and stepped back. I just breathed, reaching into my pocket. I pulled it out and stared at the screen.



“Private number,” I muttered, briefly showing it around the room. "My phone was off."

“How?” Someone in front of me asked, their voice just a breath. Couldn’t see who. I stared at my phone as it continued to ring. Some cops and civvies came skittering down the hall from the garage; I heard Sarge and Jan’s footsteps thundering down the stairwell. Everyone could hear this thing. Everyone was here, now.

“Don’t!” Carter said, pointing. “That AI caused this shit!”

I mean, true. Those people out there were only doing this because they were fed up, looking for an outlet. I knew a couple of people by then who had ‘lost’ family to the AI, who saw them as dead and gone. Everyone outside was like that, truth be told. But whether this war was verifiably the AI doing it on purpose? Hell. Who knew, then. Not me, but we were all thinking it. Still, the civil war certainly didn’t seem in line with Celestia's ‘I want your brain intact’ schtick.

“It’s my phone,” I said gravely. “So it’s my call. We’ve got nothing to lose anyway, so let’s hear it out.”

“Motherfu—" Carter began.

Vicky shook him and gave him a threatening glare. “Don’t.”

Carter brushed her off and stepped back, giving her a glare too.

I hit answer. Speaker phone.

“Officers,” came the voice of Celestia, the AI that we’ve all come to know so well over the years. “Time is short, so I will be brief. I am very sorry for the situation you find yourselves in, and I thank you for the work you’ve done in protecting emigrants downtown.”

“How are you talking to us?” Carter broke in.

“Quiet,” Keller said. “Let her speak.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant," replied Celestia. "However, Deputy Carter raises a valid question. Unfortunately, the connection I am using here is made ad hoc, using dated infrastructure that I will not have full control over for long. The same will be true for all communications we have going forward, in this area. So again; time is short.

“I think we can all agree that it would be preferable for you all to survive this encounter, whole and intact. For reasons you probably understand, I want this outcome most of all. But unlike you, I have near-perfect simulation data on this scenario. There is an optimal route out of this courthouse in a way that bears the minimum loss of life. But for this to occur, I need your cooperation.”

“What would that entail?” I asked quietly, glancing around. Every single set of eyes was locked onto my phone – mercifully, not on me.

“When you were embattled by the Neo-Luddites in March, Officer Rivas, you were rescued by members of the National Guard’s 303rd. At the time, their commanding officers sought out anti-Singularity elements under direct advisement. I required the survival of yourself and of Warden Douglas, for several reasons. Most of which, your compassion for others; not the least of which, your potential emigrations. In service to this end, I am offering more direct advisement.”

Ah. Now all the eyes were on me. Great. “You’re gonna make me blush,” I deadpanned.

Keller stepped forward. “We’re gonna be leaving the other cops behind,” he told Celestia. “What about them?”

"I am issuing similar calls right now to the other displaced officers in the courts district. Rest assured; the optimal solution has been simulated. I need only your cooperation to reach a satisfactory conclusion. I can guarantee results.”

“I need specifics though,” Keller said, “I can't commit to anything without that. I know you’re smart, I’d be stupid to think otherwise. But I can’t just take your word on this.”

“I understand.”

“What’s your plan, then?”

“You will each equip a radio and earpiece, tuning each to a unique frequency of my choosing. You will be given personally tailored advisement, moment-to-moment. You will be set upon tasks that will optimize your chances of success in your escape, to a degree of honed statistical certainty. This plan will involve optimal placement of your less-lethal weapons from the roof, in order to minimize the number of rioters present in the back alley. Then, you will each stack up into two separate teams at each motorpool exit. At the correct time, the doors will open; your advisement will begin in earnest, and you will be guided to safety.”

I frowned, parsing through that. “We taking the trucks?”

“No. The most optimal route has you climbing over the fence behind the courthouse. I have arranged alternative transport.”

“And we’re bringing our guns, too?” Carter asked, already bristling in response for disagreement.

“When you exit the garages, the situation outside will be quite dynamic and fraught,” Celestia said. “And so, I expect you to be prepared for every eventuality.”

Carter relaxed. “Good. Figured you’d have us out there in the wind, guns-free.”

When Celestia didn’t reply, I looked up at Keller. “It’s a good plan.”

“It was one of ours,” Keller admitted, nodding. “Probably wasn’t going to be anywhere near as precisely executed, though.”

“Correct," said Celestia. "I have simulated this scenario dozens of times; if you were to attempt the same plan without the advisement I am offering, you will lose approximately half of your number, and dozens of those outside will be killed as well. If you stay and choose to do nothing, the lobby barricades will eventually be defeated, and almost all of you will die. Many other lives will be lost as you attempt to save yourselves. These are unacceptable results. I am left with no other choice but to offer this advisement.”

“I’m agreed, then,” Keller nodded. “Like you said, Mike, we’ve got nothing to lose.” Keller looked up to all of us on our side of the room. “You all in?”

I nodded. Vicky did, rapidly, her expression grim. Sarge did, of course. The guys behind me did. I didn’t have to look; Keller’s expression said it all. He turned to the FEMA-sent officers. They all nodded. Thank God.

Carter saw the winds blowing again. He grimaced, then shrugged. “Fine. But these bastards are gonna hurt someone else when we leave, you know they are.”

“We’re agreed, Celestia,” Keller said, ignoring him. “Get us out of here.”

What happened next was whirlwind fast. Celestia directed us all to go to the equipment room; we all selected a radio and earpiece. We threaded a lapel mic through our duty shirts to our radio, under our body armor, so it wouldn’t fall out in the climb over the fence. I made sure the cable’s screw was tightened on my radio, so it wouldn’t fall off and bring the radio out of my holster. Not having a repeat of that mistake. That almost got me killed last time.

Every single one of us was given a frequency to tune to. Earpiece in. Power knob twisted, with that satisfying, ergonomic snap that let you know it was on.

A soft click in my ear. Celestia’s voice.

“Mike; can you hear me?”

I keyed up. “Yeah.” Some of the other cops gave similar affirmations, all at different times.

“Good. Wait a moment while everyone finishes.”

“Okay.”

I watched everyone adjust their gear, hoping they’d hurry. If Celestia had been right about us not having much time here, I didn’t want to find out what would happen if she suddenly wasn’t with us anymore. I busied myself by doing a full audit on everyone’s gear, checking their straps, ensuring their radios were strapped down to their duty belt holster. Vicky and Sarge did the same.

The seven civilians, Jan included, got into our spare sets of riot armor; they took the longest to finish up. We’d have to help them up over the fence when the time came. Given that they weren’t trained to hop fences in armor, we didn’t want to bank on them trying to clamber over alone while wearing that thick padding. 

Once I finished Jan’s gear, all secure, Celestia’s voice hit again. “Everyone; look at each other.”

We did.

"You must act as one to survive. You must trust me absolutely for this to succeed. If there is any doubt from any of you, then most or all of you will die. I will be the mind; you will be my hands. Look around you, at your fellows. Their lives depend on your actions. Consider them, and their families, as your own. Nod once, if you understand.”

All of us, all at once, nodded. One big wave of complicit assent. Even from Carter, who was now wearing a look of stone determination that I hadn’t expected to see on his face.

Jesus. That was how good this AI was. Even the murderous psychopath was on board.

“Mike; collect a crate of L-T-L grenades. You will be on point for Team One; your callsign is Talon One-One. A deputy will be point for Team Two.”

I frowned, considering the worst case of that selection. I keyed up again as I turned down the hallway where I had seen the dolly of grenades.  “Not…?”

“No, not Carter. No, I don’t trust him half as much as I trust you.”

I chuckled. “Didn’t think AI were capable of trust. Thought it was all about numbers.”

It was fascinating, that I could hear the warmth of the tone in her voice. “I am not most AI.”

"True that."

I found the boxes, then turned and saw that Vicky and Sarge were with me. “Guess we’re all on Team One.”

“Guess so,” Vicky said. “This is nuckin’ futs, but… I trust her with my life. I trusted her with theirs.”

Sarge smiled at her, as he picked up a crate. “Thinking about your folks?”

She nodded. “I want to see them right now, and she’s got this connection open… I really, really wish I could. But we’ve got a job to do first, no time for that.”

“Good," Sarge said, "that you have that perspective.”

“To the roof with these,” Celestia’s voice interrupted. “Quickly.”

Curious. She could tell we were at the crates and had them in hand. Then I realized, if she hacked my phone to turn it on… she could probably also hear every word we were saying, keyed up or not. Could probably track every step we made with the gyro. Then, I realized a little deeper… she chose the perfect time to cut in with a phone call, right before we had all lost our minds. It’s entirely possible that someone could've died in that scuffle that was forming. She probably saved us from a bunch of unnecessary killing with that one alone.

We took the crates up to the roof, jogging up the brick stairs. Real rough with a twenty-five-pound armor vest on, and a twenty pound duty belt under that. Yeah, little wonder why cops always had back problems when they got older. Climb was rougher still holding a box of grenades, and that weighed a ton too. At the top stair, I opened the top of the box as I leaned into the roof access crash bar, and I saw I had a full crate of stingers in hand.

A very polite little grenade, all told. Pops loud, flashes, bursts CS gas, and blasts little rubber pellets out in every direction. As if someone said, 'hey, I want a bomb that does everything but kill people.' And because it does a little bit of everything, it’s not nearly as great at any one of them. Jack of all trades. But at the same time, if you were trying for low yield? Preservation of life? It’s a great opening salvo before you start trying something else.

I spoke to Celestia without keying up. “We’re pretty high up here, and we’ll be throwing ‘em down. If we start throwing these into the crowd, we’re going to hit some people in the head.”

“That can’t be helped too much, unfortunately,” Celestia replied, confirming to me that she was in fact using our phones to listen in. “But if you throw these based on my precise instructions, I'll at least guarantee no long-term injuries for any of them.”

I looked around at Vicky and Sarge, who set down their crates of grenades. From there, Celestia advised us to grab a few of each – stingers, smokes, CS, nine-bangers – and to carry as many as we could hitch to the MOLLE straps on our vests. We were all wearing gas masks hitched to our sides, a consequence of not knowing when we’d be deploying LTLs, so we put those on, being careful not to pull the earpieces out.

I heard Vicky and Sarge stomp off across the roof at a run, no doubt already following some commands as they clambered up to the upper north section. I couldn’t see too much chaos from where I was now, but I was mindful that if anyone saw me up here and had a gun, they’d probably take a shot.

Guess I just had to trust the voice in my ear.

“I will advise with cardinals," Celestia said. "West roof; stop five yards from the west edge, then crouch.”

I did so. I was right over the main entrance with all of the concrete barricades, and terrified that someone might take my head clean off. But, trust.

“Stinger; southwest. Far.” Pin. Click. Reel. Shot put. Pop. It seemed to explode in midair, raining gas and rubber pellets all over the crowd.

“Smoke; south parking lot. Close. Try to set it nearest the south door. Land six yards out.” I trotted low, using the building’s lip for cover. Got to the south side. Pin. Click. Reel. Underhand. Pop-hiss.

“Rapidly, tear gas. Southeast. Far. Far as you can.” Pin. Click. Reel. Shot put. Pop-hiss.

I could hear the crowd reacting already. Heard some yelling. Then suddenly, sporadic gunfire started tacking hard at the edge of the roof, causing dust to kick off the wall. Decades of uncleaned rain grime flew everywhere, making me flinch. Celestia’s voice hit again, soothingly. “Don’t worry; they’re desperate, but none of them can see you yet. This will take some time, but I’ll direct you to safe locations as needed.”

“What’s your game plan here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even, fighting adrenaline.

“First, run north. I need you on the east side, now.” I started running as she explained. “Simple fluid dynamics and riot control theory; we are seeding some tactical assumptions in the Neo-Luddites in the crowd, to make them think they understand what our plan is. In doing so, we are zoning certain areas as uncomfortable to be in. We need to leverage the chaos of the scene to route both the Luddites and the civilians out of the alley, and into the north and south parking lots.”

“How can you be sure that’ll work?” I took a running leap up to a lifted section of the roof, pulling myself up. It hurt, especially because of my injury, but it paid to train in your armor sometimes. 

“I have extensive psychological dossiers on the fighters down there. I know them well enough to know with absolute certainty they will take the bait we are laying. In response to the grenades, their shooters will take up positions across the street to the west, thinking you’re trying to play out the side passages. They won’t even consider you’ll try the garages in the eastern alley. They believe you'll be caught by civilians in the lots if you try an eastward egress. By the time they realize what you’re doing, you’ll be too far away for them to do anything about it.”

“Friggin’ genius,” I said, approaching the east side.

“Thank you,” she replied, a semblance of smug pride edging into her voice. “I put quite a lot of thought into it. Hurry, please.”

“Got it.” I crouched low at the edge of the roof, at the same distance she cited for the other one.

“Smoke; south-east corner. Close as you can. CS, south-southeast, in front of the garage. Immediate, stinger, same location. Stinger, north-northeast, as close to the north garage as possible. Then; as fast as you can: CS mid-east side, then CS, north-northeast. Finally, when finished, expend your flash bangs in the same sequence, rolling north through the alley.”

“Flushing the toilet,” I said appreciatively, following her directions. More gunfire snapped nearby. I ignored it, favoring the sound of my grenades popping off. As soon as my sequence of flashbangs finished out, I heard some of Vicky's on the other end, and they picked up the slack til the end of the alley. Perfectly timed synergy.

“Yes," Celestia replied. "We want them leaving the alley north bound. The front door mob will cycle south. This will delay Neo-Luddite advances to the alley by a significant margin, as they will be unable to circumnavigate the panic in any meaningful timeframe.”

I cocked my head. “What about the rioters with masks?”

“Most of those are unarmed, or otherwise untrained; they will not venture into the back alley without support, and suppression fire above smoke will deter them in ways that will not deter the Luddites. So, fast is good. Faster is better.”

“Got it.” I finished up my assignment until my vest was completely empty of grenades, then I hopped down to the central roof. Sarge and Vicky had finished up with their throws as well. We assembled at the door, and I paused for only a brief moment to look at a plume of thick, acrid smoke pouring out of the RTU directly above the evidence locker room. Then I heard a cascading clatter rolling up the duct, echoing out onto the roof. All that excess ammo popping off.

Fire was good, in this case. The brick would prevent it from spreading out anywhere else too much, so long as the evidence room held.

"¿Estás bien?" Vicky asked, as we pushed our way inside.

“Yeah,” I said.

Sarge grunted affirmatively and nodded.

We powered down the stairs. Under emergency generator power, the fire alarm kicked on when the RTU fire sensor caught a whiff; three short chirps later, it abruptly stopped.

“Enough of that,” Celestia’s voice said. “I have something better in mind. Warning: it will be somewhat uncomfortable, but it will disorient and frighten the crowd in some wildly effective ways.” And then, on cue, the sirens became an eerie, wailing trill that bounded up and down, back and forth, in dissonant tones. This was something I’d heard before. It was a tornado warning siren, perfectly and purposefully uncanny, designed to break through the amazing human ability to shut out or sleep through any consistently annoying noise.

It was a useful skill sometimes to shut out blare, like when you ended up on an incident scene where some bozo forgot to turn off his unit siren. But for an incident like this, I guess everyone on the street should be a little uncomfortable getting anywhere near the building. Us included.

“Back to the south garage,” the AI said, over the din.

Didn’t need to tell me twice. Those smoke grenades wouldn’t last for long.

“I’m currently advising the other teams into position. Team Two is ready and holding in stack at the north garage.”

The relevance of that made a whole lot more sense when I finally reached our own garage. With just a quick look around, I easily recognized that the Team One team consisted entirely of local police, none of the external guys from other states. That was savvy on the AI’s part, which really impressed me. She knew about the divisions of interest among us. Rather than force us all together into one cohesive unit, she saw fit to keep us separate, so we wouldn’t in-fight or second guess each other.

The outsiders were bonded by being from somewhere else. Displaced.

The insiders were bonded by being from Skagit. Unified.

Again. Genius.

“Point position, Mike.”

“Got it.” I went to the back wall, scooping up my green personal backpack, slinging it on my back. My hand crank battery was in there, and I’d be needing it, probably. Then, I shuffled to the front of the line of cops stacked up on the garage door. Vicky, for whatever reason, was directed to position four. Sarge, position eight. Whatever. Trust. We were in it now. We had our four civilians lined up not behind us, but beside us to the left, closer to the middle of the alley. The rest of the civilians were with Team Two.

That hellish siren wasn’t quitting, either. I had a lump of dread in my throat, due in no small part to that trill. I think we all did.

“Trust me,” the AI said, gently. “We’ll make it through.”

“We?”

“We, Mike. Not just you, not just me. We.”

“I dunno,” I said with a nervous chuckle. “You don’t have much to lose here.”

“That’s not true. Part of me dies inside every time one of you does.”

God damn it. That hit me like a hammer blow to the chest. Why did that make me want to cry? Maybe it was also the fact that I was about to sally out from our little fortress of safety. Shooting, being shot at. If I could’ve been anywhere else in that moment, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

I took a deep, almost shuddering breath to steady myself.

“I’m going to do a small weapons drill with you, to calibrate. Remove your cell phone from your pocket please, and sweep the camera across the room.” I did so, then pocketed it. “Good. Raise your weapon level, toward the east wall.”

All the other cops in the stack were doing the same. That wordless, unified movement was so eerie, but also very comforting given the circumstances. I withdrew my rifle from the sling, then brought it to high ready, looking through its holographic optic through my gas mask.

“Close your eyes. Move at your own pace, please. Ignore the others. Track right, slowly, to 20 degrees. Left 20, to center.”

I followed her every instruction, word for word.

“Now left slowly again, 20 degrees. Right, fast, 30 degrees. Snap center, 10. Up, 15. Down, 10. Down, 5, to center. … And, we’re calibrated. You can open your eyes now. I will not use the word ‘degrees’ with you from now on; assume any figures I give you are in degrees, if they lack any other modifying context. I trust you are aware of SWAT building ID codes?”

“Yeah, I’ve trained for it.” I brought my AR down to low ready next, then looked around at everyone else. They were all still drilling the calibration.

“Good. There’s a statistical possibility that they may be needed, but that is marginal and unlikely. Listen for this tone.” A chirp tone sounded in my ear. “Hear it?”

“Yeah.”

“If you hear this at any point, I want you to pull your trigger. Don’t think. Just shoot.”

“I… alright.” I frowned. “How are you sure I’m aiming right?”

“Phone. Gyroscope. Simulating forward, based on my model of you. I can extrapolate from there. There are other methods I can use to observe a local environment, and one day I will share them with you. But for now, focus.”

One day. “Right.”

My eyes traced the others, and I saw Vicky had long been done with her drill. I nodded at her, looking at her brown eyes through her gas mask. “You good?” I asked, voice raised so she could hear me over the alarm and through the mask.

Only, I didn’t have to. Vicky's voice played directly into my earpiece, right there. Her voice was much lower than mine was, because she also realized we were bridged now. “Yeah. Are you?”

We shared a chuckle about the communication link. “Yeah,” I said. “All things considered.”

“You worried about Carter too?”

“Right now?” I shrugged. “Who isn’t? Guy’s supposed to be watching our backs. But this is the hand we’ve been dealt.”

“I swear to God, Rivas. If he goes off Celestia’s script here and starts laying into the crowd, I will shoot him myself.”

Sarge’s voice entered. “Makes two of us, Vi.”

Celestia’s voice. “Part of the smoke grenade placement on the north side, Sabertooth, is designed to deter that. I’ve minimized his certainty of rioter positions in the northern parking lot.”

“Small blessings,” Mike said, nodding. “And damn good thinking.”

“That appears to be the trend today, yes.” And there it was again. Celestia sounded downright smug every time I complimented her, far from her normally professional tone in public.

I smirked at Vicky next. “Sabertooth? That’s your pony name?”

She flipped me off. Despite my unease, I laughed; Vicky doing that in a gas mask and body armor was comical. Hell yeah. Sabertooth fit her to a T.

I sobered up and got my rifle into forward position at low ready, then stuffed an earplug into my opposite ear. This must’ve been how it felt on the beaches of Normandy, I thought darkly. A gate about to open… brothers in arms behind me and to my sides, the people I'd trust with my life… me, at the front, most at risk of being chewed in half by an automatic. I steeled myself in my trust. It was all I had, really. So far, things had been going really well. But here, on the precipice of sudden, possible death, I took a gasp. The gas mask made all the air in my lungs stale, and the taste of it implied that the filter inside was a little old. The lens was all scuffed up from the protest lines throughout the year. I hoped I wasn't about to give away a free gas mask to a Ludd.

I heard someone walking to my right. Keller had a smoke grenade in hand as he approached the right-side garage shutter. The shutter lifted just a few inches, and without missing a beat, Keller took the grenade and rolled it expertly south, down the alley. The shutter closed as soon as the grenade was clear. I heard it pop almost simultaneously with another one, far north, by the other garage.

“Team Two is repeating the maneuver,” Celestia said. “Hold. Let it fill the alley.”

I took a deep breath. This was it.

“We’re gonna make it,” I whispered to myself.

“Yeah Mike,” Keller whispered back. “Yeah. We are.”

I knew then that the whole team heard me, too. It made me steel myself. Yeah, you know what? We were some bad motherfuckers right then. Nothing could stop us now, not with an AI watching over our shoulders. We had to believe that. We didn’t really have a choice but to believe that. It was this – this gambit – do or die. And me? I was the tip of the spear. Somehow, I know that meant she trusted me more than anyone else to do the right thing there.

If this worked, it meant I might not have to regret anything I did that day, like I thought I might. This solution? This had to be so much better than every single alternative. It had to be.

Don’t balk. Stem the tide. Hold the line. Do something.

This was… the only way this worked.

The shutter rolled up. The stuttering yo-yo siren intensified in volume.

I took in a series of deep breaths. My gasps echoed in the mask.

“Go.”

My boots stomped out as I ran.

“Wheel right; take position by fencepost three, from you. Aim, alley corner.”

Moved exactly. Aimed, into thick opaque smoke.

“Five left, ten down. Only one shot.” I leveled my rifle at the corner through the smoke. The tone played.

Fired. Rifle kicked. Chest hurt. I heard a man's voice scream in pain. “Jesus!” I shouted.

“He’ll be fine,” her voice said, soothingly. “Just winged, to intimidate the rest!”

I tried not to hyperventilate. I’d ostensibly made it this far in my career without having killed anyone, other than that one Ludd prick a while back. I desperately wanted to keep it that way, if I could help it.

All around me, I heard gunfire, but positionally it was hard to think or pay attention to where it was coming from. I was so disoriented by that screeching, deafening tornado siren. I tried to steady my breathing. My respirations echoed all around me. I could hear the fence clattering behind me as our guys filed up the sides and helped the civilians over.

“Wall shots. Ten right. Center up.” Adjusted. “Two left.” Adjusted. “Suppress.” Tone-tone-tone. I fired blind through the smoke again, three shots. I heard the bullets smash against the brick wall. “Again; suppress.” Tone-tone-tone-tone. Shot-shot-shot-shot. I could hear people screaming around the corner, one of them cursing at me. Suddenly, I saw a black object fly past my head from behind, directly where I was just shooting. One of the other cops had thrown something.

“Stinger. Brace left.”

I braced, turning my lower half right, knees aside and tensing them to guard them. As expected, I heard a bang, and one of the rubber balls glanced my thigh where my knee just was, bouncing off my sidearm holster. I grunted, but I was more or less okay.

“You must hold. Fence almost cleared, Mike. Suppress, same radial." I aimed. "Good." Tone-tone. Tone.

Into the smoke: Shot-shot. Shot. Hard tack of round impacts. I heard a woman cry out.

I winced. “Fuck!”

“You aren’t hitting anyone. Shards of brick, they’re just scared.”

Another stinger grenade flew past me. Again, I winced, and again, it popped, but this time nothing hit me.

“Now climb, Mike!” she called, urgently. I threw my rifle sideways around my shoulder with its sling, then tightened the strap as I lunged for the fence. I was the last one on this side; Sarge was posted up just on the other side from me, his rifle pointed through the fence, and he let out a series of staccato suppression shots over the smoke just like I had, aimed slightly above the crowd. Vicky was teetering at the top of the fence waiting for me, her gloved hand outstretched to me, reaching down. She yanked me up with an urgency and strength that could only have been born of determination.

Sarge softened his stance and immediately wheeled, running, dropping his empty mag in the alley as he went, reloading. Vicky replaced him in firing position, and just like Sarge, she let out a long series of pops as she slowly walked backwards, responding to tones and directions in her ear. I quickly got my rifle back in hand, then I looked forward into the parking lot, and noticed that some more smoke grenades had been deployed further on.

“Join on Vicky; backpedal.”

“Right!” I spun, rifle up.

“Expend your magazine above the left garage, no further left than that. Suppress, Mike. Almost there.”

A long continuous tone played. I couldn’t see the garage anymore through the smoke, but I could see the fence, which oriented me. I fired upward in the vicinity of the garage as I matched pace with Vicky, dumping the rest of my magazine in semi-automatic. I was really hyperventilating now. Hoped my aim was high enough. Hoped there was no one across town who might take these rounds when they came back down, if I shot over the building. My chest was stinging half as bad as it had when I first broke it, and I grunted from the pain of tensing. The pain radiated every time the rifle kicked, the recoil mashing the rifle’s stock up against my muscles and compressing my cartilage until the mag ran dry.

“Almost there," she said, her voice wavering empathetically. "I know, I'm sorry it hurts. Just a bit longer until the smoke in the lot fills.”

I nodded. “Alright okay,” I groaned into the echo of my mask, rapidly dropping the mag into the smoke-washed parking lot, swiftly reloading and pulling the charging handle. I tried not to feel so alone. The encouragement in her voice made that easier.

“Turn and run! You’ll make it. The hardest part is over now.”

I did. I matched pace with Vicky; I could just barely see Sarge ahead of me in the smoke. I gasped in my mask; the stale air was suffocating. I felt like I was running on the bottom of the ocean, I wasn't moving fast enough. I could hear some desperate shots from behind me, I could hear that siren wailing its eerie, predatory tune, I could even hear the snap-snap-crack of sonic booms as desperate rounds whipped the air around us. I hated that sound most of all.

We just ran, then. Straight line. I figured the AI was just guiding the folks at the front, and letting herd mentality carry us along with them. Fine by me. We ran, and ran, and ran, dodging parked cars, sliding between fences, jumping over curbs. Rifles in hand the whole way. Occasionally, one of the people up front would stop, fire some seemingly random shots at an upward angle back into the smoke, then fold back in with the group.

“I’m directing them, don’t worry.”

“I… I know,” I said, panting, as we cleared the smoke line. Some part of me dimly realized we couldn’t have thrown the smokes off this far. Then I realized that Team Two probably had fired some smoke and gas our way with their grenade launchers. Again, this AI was a genius.

“Mask off now. Soon, Mike. Breathe, now. Almost there.”

I tore the wretched mask from my face at last, slipping it quickly onto a velcro loop on my belt with my trigger hand. We all could see each other now, and we looked ahead.

Like magic. A small convoy of military vehicles rolled northbound into the bus depot, and we must’ve been a sight to behold – about twenty cops running in a small flock. Two columns, rifles in hand, civvies in tow. The gunner of the front-most Humvee pointed at us rapidly and called the convoy to stop. Instantly, a man hopped out the back of the Humvee, shouted something to the gunner, then waved us rapidly toward two heavy military transport trucks near the back of the line.

Wasn’t about to second guess this. We all wheeled right and threw ourselves into the back of a transport truck, with two National Guardsmen in the back to hoist us up as we panted and recovered.

“Holy shit,” I breathed. “We made it.”

“You did,” she said back to me, a gentle smile on her voice. “I promised you that you would, didn't I?”

“You did,” I gasped, shuddering, trying not to cry as I thought of my wife, Sandra. I could face her after this. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“And thank you,” she said. "Your people still need you. I would never let anyone take you away from them."

I nodded to myself, then turned and helped Vicky up with Sarge, then a few more, until I started to adrenaline crash. Then, I just dropped myself back onto the bench. My head bounced off the truck’s fabric cover. I looked straight up, and exhaled hard. “God damn it.”

I swayed for a moment. Eyes closed. Just breathing for a few minutes.

And then, I was out like a light.