Prepper

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Benito, get the hell back in the trunk!" I hear Jake scream over the radio.

Sure enough, when I glass over to the late model Buick I can see Ben's stubby leg dangling out.

"Where the fuck does he thing he's going?" I say to Hartt.

"Connor, if he gets out, shoot him." Jake says over the air. He's dead serious. Jake would shoot him. I'm not Jake. But in this case, I might be close enough.

I key the mic, "Ben, stay put. This ammunition is like four bucks a shot and your dumb ass is only worth like seventeen cents."

Hartt has a good chuckle at Ben's expense. I think we all do.

"Something exploded!" Ben wails through the radio, I can hear the terror in his trembling voice. "I got to get out of here. I'm gonna die."

Heather's soothing voice cuts over the airwaves, "Bennie, stay put, you are safer in the trunk. I can see you from here, you're fine."

"She's right Ben and it's gonna to get a lot noisier. Just hang in there and wait for the signal." Jake adds, calmer now. "You're best bet is to stick with the plan."

"Oh, oh, okay." He stammers.

A G-Wagen races back and forth across the overpass, dodging the fiery debris that was a Coyote only moments before. The brave occupants of that green SUV currently provide our only eyes-on the GFA's progress and the position of the tank. Hartt and the RSM are in constant contact with them. They lost radio contact with another Coyote that is playing cat and mouse with the tank, luring it closer to our trap and hopefully staying away from that big gun.

"Take the bait you son of a bitch." I hear Hartt say under his breath.

Another loud boom echoes over the mall. Smoke rises to the south beyond the overpass.

I cringe.

"Did we lose the bait?" I ask, envisioning another destroyed Coyote.

"Nope." Hartt answers, his hand on his earpiece. "They are en route and in a helluva hurry."

A Coyote roars through the underpass faster than I believe is possible for something that size. The hull is scorched and scarred in places. They brake hard, jump the curb and launch over a small rise into the parking lot, clipping a Toyota, sending it skittering across the asphalt like a toy. The Coyote makes another sharp turn before disappearing from my view.

The G-Wagen dashes across the overpass, swerves madly, slides to a stop and then pulls a u-turn and races back toward the mall.

"He's right fucking there!" Someone yells over the Net, forgetting all established radio protocol.

"This is Black Gallow, do we have eyes on?"

"Black Gallow, Two Delta - Tin Man in sight, just far side of Golden Gate. He's just sitting there... Strike that, Tin Man is on the move!"

I stare through my scope, transfixed on the darkened underpass. Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, the Abrams looms into view. The whine of it's turbine engine sends a shiver down my spine.

The tank turret suddenly swivels and fires, the muzzle flash briefly illuminates the parking lot with a garish light, followed by a thunderous boom. The machine gun position to our right disappears in an explosion of fire and smoke. Debris rains down on our position as I cover my head and scream obscenities.

"Hold!" The RSM warns over the 'Net.

"BENITO!" Jake yells again, louder.

I pop up in time to see Ben spring from the trunk like a startled rabbit. He runs from the car, away from the tank and away from the dozer. The coaxial gun on the tank lets out a long burst, sending a deadly spray of bullets in Ben's direction. Benito dies in the mall parking lot next to a bullet rittled BMW.