Vanguard | Post-Apocalyptic YA

Part 26: Everything is Under Control

After the pack has been broken, it's easier for the rest of us to regain focus. Nelly and I take the two on the left, while Dunstan and Dad go for the two on the right. I make sure to knock the stunner out of my opponent's grip before engaging in hand-to-hand combat. A fist makes contact with a jaw; too bad I'm the one on the receiving end of the blow. I counter with a knee to my attacker's groin, and he doubles over in pain. Nelly uses a fancy kick in the stomach to catch her opponent off-guard, sending him sliding on his butt down the floor.

From what I can see from the corner of my eye, the two adults with us are having a harder time. Neither Dad nor Dunstan is a fighter. They haven't had to train like the rest of us, and when Dad screams, I know he's gotten acquainted with the stun gun. We're now five on four, until Ray punches his guy so hard that the peacekeeper goes lights-out. Nelly is also quickly able to take her opponent out with his own stunner and I've got mine in a choke hold to come out on top, too, when the rhythmic pounding of footsteps getting increasingly closer draws our attention to the corridor.

Another group of peacekeepers in their dark uniforms is running toward us, but this time, we're clearly outnumbered at least two to one, maybe more.

"What do we do?" I ask of no one in particular, throwing the question out there for suggestions as I drop my attacker, now out cold.

Dunstan, who has been using his sheer size to fend off his smaller opponent, slides his tablet across the floor to me. "Code 1-2-9-3-2."

Without asking what the command will trigger, I pick up the device and punch in the numbers. Within two seconds, the fire alarm goes off again. The dozen or so peacekeepers are still advancing, but now with the added bonus of wailing sirens and flashing lights.

"What did you do that for?" I ask the mechanic in confusion.

Before he answers, the civilians who had just gotten far enough away to be ignorant of our ruckus start fleeing to the ferry again. Heeding the warning signals for the second time in mere minutes, they swarm the gangway from the spoke-like hallways off the main corridor or exit from stairwells. By returning, they've put an effective barrier between our advancing attackers and us.

"That's why," Dunstan mutters, clearly tired of my slowness to pick up his strategy. "Now open the hatch on the ferry, and let's get out of here."

While Ray and Nelly take care of the last two peacekeepers from the original bunch, I run to the end of the mobile tunnel connecting Vanguard to the submersible personnel carrier tethered to it. There's one more door here we need to get unlocked before we can take command of the vessel, but this—like most others on the base—is secured with a telemetric scanner coded to our embedded microchips. I'm tempted to question Dunstan's command again especially after Dad's chip failed to open the outside door, but decide against it. He must have fiddled with the security before passing me the tablet, or at the very least, have some sort of backup plan. When I swipe my wrist in front of the electronic pad on the wall, sure enough it flashes green momentarily before the doors slide open.

But there's no time to celebrate. This is still just one small step closer to our ultimate goal, and the rush of people evacuating is getting bigger by the second. There are many familiar faces, mostly the youngest and oldest residents of the base who are fleeing first. If this were a real emergency, the more able—both physically and through their technical know-how—would need to stay as long as possible to avert possible catastrophe. Little do they know that today is only a ruse.

Nelly and Dad emerge from the mêlée first. She's propping him up, hurrying past me and onto the ferry with a group of pre-teen kids. Craning my neck, I scan the crowd and also easily spot Ray towering over the increasingly chaotic scene. Behind him, Dunstan is pushing his way through, as gently as his bear-like stance will allow.