The 5th Wave

Chapter 18

"THIS WAY, SIR," the corporal said politely, and we followed him back to the compound. Two Humvees had left to escort the buses back to Wright-Patterson. The remaining Humvees sat facing the barracks and the storage shed, the barrels of their mounted machine guns pointing at the ground, like the dipped heads of some metallic creatures dozing.

The compound was empty. Everybody—including the soldiers—had gone inside the barracks.

Everybody except one.

As we walked up, Hutchfield came out of the storage shed. I don't know what was beaming brighter, his shaved head or his smile.

"Outstanding, Sullivan!" he boomed at Dad. "And you wanted to bug out after that first drone."

"Looks like I was wrong," Dad said with a tight smile.

"Briefing by Colonel Vosch in five minutes. But first I need your ordnance."

"My what?"
"Your weapon. Colonel's orders."
Dad glanced at the soldier standing beside us. The blank, black eyes of the mask stared back at him.

"Why?" Dad asked.
"You need an explanation?" Hutchfield's smile stayed put, but his eyes narrowed.

"I would like one, yes."
"It's SOP, Sullivan, standard operating procedure. You can't have a bunch of untrained, inexperienced civilians packing heat in wartime." Talking down to him, like he was a moron.

He held out his hand. Dad pulled the rifle slowly from his shoulder. Hutchfield snatched the rifle from Dad and disappeared into the storehouse.

Dad turned to the corporal. "Has anyone made contact with the . . ." He searched for the right word. "The Others?"

One word, spoken in a raspy monotone: "No."

Hutchfield came out and smartly saluted the corporal. He was neck-deep in his element now, back with his brothers in arms. He was bursting all over with excitement, like any second he would pee himself.

"All weapons accounted for and secured, Corporal."

All except two, I thought. I looked at Dad. He didn't move a muscle, except the ones around his eyes. Flick to the right, flick to the left. No.

There was only one reason I could think of that he'd do that. And when I think about it, if I think too much about it, I start to hate my father. Hate him for distrusting his own instincts. Hate him for ignoring the little voice that must have been whispering, This is wrong. Something about this is wrong.

I hate him right now. If he were here right now, I'd punch him in the face for being such an ignorant dweeb.

The corporal motioned toward the barracks. It was time for Colonel Vosch's briefing.

Time for the world to end.

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