A Better World

CHAPTER 44

Cooper hit the ground hard, the impact ringing his shoulder and sending a sick tearing sensation through his chest, a boiling-water shock of pain. Gunfire cracked the afternoon,

three-round bursts like God stuttering. The window of the cabin exploded.

The pain was enormous, a razor-beaked creature inside his body, but there wasn’t time, and Cooper forced himself to roll to his side and then into a crouch. They’d landed behind the pickup truck; Ethan Park lay prone with his hands laced over his head, but Cooper didn’t see any blood. He pressed his back against the tire and craned his head up to peer over the hood of the truck. Bright flashes burst from the woods, and bullets pinged off the truck just as he yanked his head back—

Muzzle flashes from two positions about thirty degrees apart.

If the shooters were prone, the flashes probably wouldn’t have been visible.

Ending up behind the truck was a bit of luck, but it won’t hold. Assault rounds will punch right through sheet metal. The engine will absorb some of the fire, but not all.

You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.

—then dropped to the ground with the pistol aimed in front of him. Took a deep breath, said a silent prayer, and rolled, trying to fix exactly where he’d seen one spot of brightness, pine needles poking through his clothes, the smell of dirt and the cold of the ground, the gun held in his left hand and braced on his right wrist, the truck bumper, the sky, trees, a line of dense bushes, a tall man duck-walking toward them with an assault rifle at his shoulder, the guy spotting him, tracking his motion, sighting, dirt exploding ahead, and then Cooper exhaled and double-squeezed the trigger, one-two.

Part of the man’s head sheared away, and he spun as he fell, muscle twitches making the rifle fire another burst into the sky.

One down. Not bad for a righty.

Cooper scrabbled back to the cover of the truck as bullets tore divots in the spot where he had been lying. No surprise, but these men were good. And Soren was out there somewhere.

One thing at a time.

“Doc, are you okay?”

Still prone, the scientist gave a quick nod.

“You want to stay that way, do exactly what I tell you.” Cooper wriggled his back up the truck, ready to move. “When I say, stand up, run for the house, and jump through that broken window.”

“What about the door—”

“Too slow. Ready? Now!” He stood up, exposing his head and chest, but he was already moving along the truck from the front to the bed, three quick steps chased by bullets, the windshield shattering, side windows blowing out. When he reached the rear tires, he pointed the gun and fired twice, snap shots with no chance of connecting, but they had the desired effect, made the other guy take cover. Cooper risked a glance over his shoulder in time to see Ethan take a Superman through the bay window, arms in front of his face to protect from what glass remained.

He turned back, braced his hands on the lip of the truck’s bed, aiming carefully. If the guy was macho and came out trying to aim, Cooper would have a slight edge on him. It was a terrible mismatch, a .38 revolver against a fully automatic assault rifle, but if there was a better move, he couldn’t think of it.

Come on, come on.

The gunman leapt from behind his tree. Cooper aimed, but the guy kept moving, sprinting diagonally forward, daring Cooper to shoot. Thin trees screened his progress, and then he reached a towering pine, the trunk two feet across, good cover, only Cooper could read his intention, the strain of his muscles and his forward momentum, and he knew the man didn’t plan to stop behind the tree but on the other side of it. Gotcha. He put the gun there, and when his gift told him to fire, he double-squeezed the trigger.

The hammer snapped back twice, but the revolver didn’t fire.

Oh shit.

Cooper was a professional, had been counting his shots, four fired. But in the pressure of the moment, he’d forgotten that Ethan had already shot twice at him. The gun was empty.

For an endless fraction of a second, he and the other soldier stared at one another. Gazes locked like lovers. The man was bearded and stocky, with thinning hair and thick eyebrows. Cooper watched as the man realized that he should be dead, and watched the beginnings of a smile pull at his lips. The barrel of his rifle came up. Cooper told his body to move, to read the vector of his aim and dance away, but he was so tired, his body so sore and beaten, and even if he’d been in perfect health and well-rested he doubted it would matter, because it was one thing to know roughly where someone was going to shoot and another to dodge bullets. A blur of red marked the laser sight, and Cooper could almost feel the dot on his forehead, and for the second time in two days, he knew he was dead.

He thought about closing his eyes, decided he’d rather go with them open.

A fast cluster of gunshots blasted, the weapon on full auto. He marveled that he could hear them before he felt them.

Then the bearded man collapsed like a giant hand had squashed him.

Cooper stood with his mouth open. Not processing. Behind him, someone laughed. Slowly, he turned.

Shannon stood at the edge of the cabin, the stock of a submachine gun braced against her shoulder. She quirked her half smile. “Hi.”

Natalie wanted to scream.

The room was unlike anything she’d ever seen. The closest parallel she could think of was a planetarium, only bigger, and instead of stars, holographic images hung in space. Charts and graphs and rainbow-colored diagrams. Pictures replacing each other in a sequence that seemed nonsensical: a smiling blond child, a macro close-up of a flower petal, a bombed-out concrete structure in some gritty country. Live feeds from news drones throughout New Canaan showed the world outside, massing troops, people staring open-mouthed at fighter jets streaking above, a line of tanks rolling across the desert trailing clouds of dust. Information piled on information, all of it moving and changing, swapping in and out according to the whims of their strange ringmaster, Erik Epstein, the richest man on the planet dressed in a hoodie and sneakers.

The glowing light washed in pale colors across the pale skin of her only son, and Natalie wanted to scream.

Moving here from the clinic had been Erik’s idea, no sooner voiced than a team of efficient techs were rolling the bed through the private clinic, Natalie trailing behind.

“Are we hostages?” she’d asked, and he’d reacted like she’d bitten him.

“No. Safer. The clinic is good, good walls, good security, but this is my world. The safest place.”

From what Nick had told her, Epstein did nothing without calculation, and she wasn’t sure that she believed that was the only reason for their presence. As a lawyer, she knew that negotiations weren’t about what was said, but about the cards all parties held, played or not. If the war started, there might be some benefit to Epstein to have the ex-wife and children of an American diplomat close by.

In the center of the room, Epstein said, “Quads two to ten, nix. Replace. Video, Tesla drone composite,” and the data wavered and changed.

In her arms, Kate said, “We don’t have to be scared, Mommy.”

Natalie had grown to accept that her daughter, like her ex-husband, was forever going to be able to know her mind before she spoke. Often there was something sweet in it, like the two of them shared a private language. But there were other times when being a parent meant not letting your five-year-old know that you were terrified. Terrified that her father was out somewhere, in danger, that her brother might not wake up, that your world had already fallen apart and that the rest of the world seemed like it was about to follow suit. That you wanted to scream.

“I’m not scared, honey. I’m just tired.”

Epstein said, “Decode intercepted data packets from Ellsworth AFB to F-27s, Leopard Wing.”

Kate wrinkled her brow. “We’re safe here.”

“I know, baby.” Except that I can see troops on a dozen different screens. Jets blasting over this city, bombs on their wings. Armored tanks rolling this way.

And in the center of all of this destruction, my children.

“No,” Kate said. “Of the soldiers. We don’t need to be scared of them.”

Epstein said, “Natalie? Listen to this?” in a voice like he was asking her to the prom.

“What? Sure.” She shifted Kate to her other side.

Over hidden speakers came two voices in an argument:

“Ground, can you confirm this order?” A woman’s voice.

“Roger, proceed with Delta One.”

“What? No. Ground, this is an attack order.”

“Roger. Proceed.”

“Ground, I’m seeing civilians everywhere. Those buildings have not, repeat, not been evacuated.”

“Understood. Proceed with attack protocol Delta One.”

“There are thousands of people—”

Natalie said, “Is that—”

“Yes. The jets. Above. Your government has ordered them to destroy the complex we are in.”

“What? You said we were safe!”

“Mommy,” Kate said.

“One second, honey. Erik, you promised we were safe here.”

“Yes.” There was a note of something like sadness in his voice. “I wanted you to hear so you would understand.”

“Understand what? Erik, my God, surrender, do it now, maybe you can—”

“Computer,” Epstein said, “activate Proteus virus.”

“Yes, Erik. Spectrum?”

“All of them.” The words almost a sob. “Do it to all of them.”

Before Natalie could ask what that meant, the voices from the speakers were back.

“Ground! Ground! I have lost instruments! I repeat, I have lost HUD. Ground, my computer is shutting—” The woman’s voice cut off.

Motion in one of the screens caught Natalie’s eye. A camera mounted on top of a building was tracking the three jets blasting over the city.

All three were spinning out of control, tilting at angles that couldn’t possibly be intentional. As she watched, one of them did a lazy flip, spun too far, and crashed into another. They exploded in a rain of fire.

“See, Mommy?” Kate said. “I told you. You don’t need to be scared.”

Cooper stared at Shannon. “How?”

“Epstein. The phone he gave you has a tracker. I thought you might need a hand.” She smiled, and he felt something stir in his chest that had nothing to do with his wound. He thought about storming over, putting one hand behind her neck, and pulling her into a kiss that would mash them together. But.

“Soren is still out there.”

“Soren?” She jumped, spun a fast circle. “He’s here?”

“Yes. Come on.” Cooper turned and sprinted for the house.

He made it two steps before he fell down.

“Nick! Are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” he said, and pushed up. “Come on.”

The door to the cabin was ajar, and he pulled it open, stepped in quickly. “Dr. Park?”

The television was on, scenes of troops in Wyoming. Ethan was picking glass out of arms streaked with red. There was a wail, and Cooper turned to see Amy Park holding a crying baby. A tiny thing; he’d forgotten how small they were at this age. The woman looked at him and asked, “Is it over?”

“No.” He turned to Shannon. “Where’s your car?”

“On the road. I heard gunfire, bailed, and ran through the woods.”

Shit. “Okay. Everybody in the pickup truck. We’re getting out of here.” That’s assuming the old piece of shit will still run. It took a lot of rounds. And what if—

“No,” Ethan said.

Cooper and Amy said, at the same time, “What?”

The scientist looked at his wife. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you before. We need to split up.”

“Ethan—”

“They’re coming for me. They don’t care about you.”

Cooper said, “Doc, that’s noble and all, but we don’t have time.”

“This is my fault. My doing.” Ethan turned to him. “You said it yourself. It’s me they want. If we run, will they follow?”

Slowly, Cooper nodded.

“Fine. Get my family out.” The man’s voice was calm. “I’ll stay here.”

“Doc, the guy coming, he’s not here to talk.”

“I don’t care.” Ethan walked to his wife, put an arm around her, and pressed his forehead to hers. He whispered softly. Cooper couldn’t hear him, but he could read her body language, her reluctance—

If he stays, you and Shannon can get his family out. And Soren will kill Ethan.

But what can you do about that? Sorry to be blunt, buddy, but Soren already kicked your ass once. And now your right hand is useless, you can barely stand up, and you’re out of bullets.

What hope do you have against him? How can you beat a man who has no intentions for you to read?

Time to choose, Coop.

—and said, “He’s right.” He turned to Shannon. “Get Amy and the baby out of here. Go out the back, and be careful. Soren will come for us, but there may be more.” When she hesitated, he said, “Shannon. Please. They’re coming.”

She grimaced, then hoisted the submachine gun and turned to Amy. “Let’s go.”

Tears streamed down Amy’s face, and Violet was still screaming. “No, no, you can’t—”

“For your baby.” Shannon put a hand on her arm and pulled. “Come on.” She tugged again, harder, and without taking her eyes off her husband, Amy moved.

“I love you,” Ethan said.

And then they were gone. Cooper could hear them hustle through the next room, then the sound of a door opening.

Okay. Now what?

“You don’t have to stay,” Ethan said. “No point in both of us dying.”

“I told you, Doc. I have children too.” Cooper stalked around the room, looking for a weapon, an idea, a prayer. “Besides. Who said anything about dying? Maybe we’ll win.”

Now if only you believed that.

Sirens screamed as Holly Roge fought the controls. The stick was loose in her hand, the plane unresponsive. Outside the cockpit glass, the world flipped and twisted. Her stomach tightened like she was pulling a full-speed unloaded extension as the nose of the Wyvern dipped down. All the displays were gone, and ground control had vanished.

Her mind conjured a scene from the academy, an instructor explaining modern jet fighters. The thing to remember, he’d said, is that they aren’t airplanes. The wings won’t hold you up. This is a rocket. It doesn’t fly, it blasts, and you and your computer work together to harness that.

Now, with her computer down, with control dead, her rocket was subject to the whims of wind and gravity.

They’d run a thousand simulations, including ones for failed computers, even though that was a practical impossibility. The systems were triple-redundant, and even if the advanced systems glitched, basic control was supposed to—

Out the glass, Leopard Two tipped into a nose-down kite, flipped over, and crashed into Leopard Three.

“No!”

She felt the collision as a wave of heat and a sudden kick, and then ground and sky lost all perspective, her jet completely out of control, sirens screaming, everything dead, and a building ahead of her.

Training took over. Holly crossed her left arm over her chest, tucked her head down, and pulled the eject.

An explosion beneath her, a blast of light and noise, her stomach yanking down to her knees, the wind hitting hard and cold, everything spinning, no horizon line, and then a jerk at her back and the woof and snap of the parachute opening above. She swung in a wide arc, momentarily level with her chute, and then swung back down as nylon caught the air.

Hyperventilating, shivering, she hung in the sky.

There was a crash beneath her, a crumpling and shattering louder than thunder, and she looked down and watched the tail of her Wyvern snap off in a gust of fire as it collided with one of the mirrored buildings, the one she had been heading toward. Flames blew out the side, a rippled shock wave shattering every window.

Breathe. You have to breathe. What’s your situation, pilot?

She concentrated on drawing shivery lungfuls of air and tried to evaluate. Forced herself to be mechanical, not to think or feel, simply to collect data.

Explosions continued in the building below her, gusts of flame shooting out the windows.

On the ground she could see the twisted remnants of Leopard Two and Three strewn for half a mile. She scanned the sky, saw no other parachutes. She’d been friends with both pilots, had gone drinking with Josh and given dating advice to Taylor, and now they were both dead, burned or blown apart.

What about the rest of the troops?

She tore her eyes from the burning planes and looked to the horizon.

While the military forces had been split into three positions, by far the largest was near Tesla, an arc of forty-five thousand troops that spanned two miles.

Two miles where a pitched battle raged.

Smoke rose in billowing towers from a hundred locations. Explosions flickered like distant fireworks, constant and bright, the dull thump of the sounds coming seconds later.

The armored division was at the front, a ragged line of tanks and troop transports half a mile from the city. Tiny toys in the dust. As she watched, flashes of light sparked amidst them, over and over. They were firing.

But at what?

She couldn’t see any enemy forces, no opposing line of armor. So what were they—

As she watched, a tank rocked up on its side, hung for a moment, and then toppled upside down. It took a moment before the sound reached her, a faint punch at this distance.

A troop transport exploded in a fireball, tiny specks riding the edge of the blast, specks she knew were soldiers.

The desert lifted up and consumed a formation of Humvees.

How? Where is the fire coming from?

It could be mines, or—

As she watched, one of the foremost of the tanks spun its barrel in a lazy arc. Light blew from its barrel.

And the tank next to it exploded.

My God. They’re attacking each other.

Somehow the machines have been compromised. Like your Wyvern.

And now they are killing your comrades.

Freezing, lost, Holly Roge hung helpless three thousand feet above a view of hell.