The 5th Wave

Chapter 17

THE LAST REMNANT of the world I knew ripped apart on a sunny, warm Sunday afternoon.

Heralded by the growl of diesel engines, the rumble and squeak of axles, the whine of air brakes. Our sentries spotted the convoy long before it reached the compound. Saw the bright sunlight glint- ing off windows and the plumes of dust trailing the huge tires like contrails. We didn't rush out to greet them with flowers and kisses. We stayed back while Hutchfield, Dad, and our four best shooters went out to meet them. Everyone was feeling a little spooked. And a lot less enthusiastic than we'd been just a few hours before.

Everything we'd expected to happen since the Arrival didn't. Everything we hadn't did. It took two whole weeks into the 3rd Wave for us to realize that the deadly flu was part of their plan. Still, you tend to believe what you always believed, think what you always thought, expect what you always expected, so it was never "Will we be rescued?" It was "When will we be rescued?"

And when we saw exactly what we wanted to see, what we expected to see—the big flatbed loaded with soldiers, the Humvees bristling with machine gun turrets and surface-to-air launchers— we still held back.

Then the school buses pulled into view.
Three of them, bumper to bumper.
Packed with kids.
Nobody expected that. Like I said, it was so weirdly normal, so shockingly surreal. Some of us actually laughed. A yellow freak- ing school bus! Where the hell is the school?

After a few tense minutes, where all we could hear was the throaty snarl of engines and the faint laughter and calls of the chil- dren on the buses, Dad left Hutchfield talking to the commander and came over to me and Sammy. A knot of people gathered around us to listen in.

"They're from Wright-Patterson," Dad said. He sounded out of breath. "And apparently a lot more of our military has survived than we thought."

"Why are they wearing gas masks?" I asked.

"It's precautionary," he answered. "They've been in lockdown since the plague hit. We've all been exposed; we could be carriers." He looked down at Sammy, who was pressed up against me, his arms wrapped around my leg.

"They've come for the children," Dad said.
"Why?" I asked.
"What about us?" Mother Teresa demanded. "Aren't they going to take us, too?"

"He says they're coming back for us. Right now there's only room for the children."

Looking at Sammy.
"They're not splitting us up," I said to Dad.
"Of course not." He turned away and abruptly marched into the barracks. Came out again, carrying my backpack and Sammy's bear. "You're going with him."

He didn't get it.

"I'm not going without you," I said. What was it about guys like my father? Somebody in charge shows up and they check their brains at the door.

"You heard what he said!" Mother Teresa cried shrilly, shak- ing her beads. "Just the children! If anyone else goes, it should be me . . . women. That's how it's done. Women and children first! Women and children."

Dad ignored her. There went the hand on my shoulder. I shrugged his hand away.