The Black Hawk came shrieking toward them, miniguns lighting up.
Time stopped.
Quinn saw everything in terrible slow motion, with technicolor clarity.
The helo fired again and again. It strafed the road, aiming at the remnant of townspeople scrambling to escape. It released salvo after salvo upon U.S. citizens.
Every sound that ever existed sucked into the maw of that roar. A great thundering death bearing down on them.
Quinn swayed, momentarily stunned.
It was like falling into freezing water. The absolute shock of it.
The thud thud thud shook the ground as powerful rounds struck their targets. Concrete sprayed from buildings, bricks flying, chunks of asphalt exploding.
The Schwan’s truck rattled. The pavement seemed to judder beneath her feet. The air itself heaved from the aftershocks.
There was no escaping it.
No time to run. Nowhere to hide.
Something heavy smashed into her. She fell sideways, falling hard to her knees behind the truck. Joey shrieked in startled pain.
Quinn flattened herself against the pavement. The child was still in her arms. Instinctively, she curled herself over his small body, shoving him beneath her chest.
Pebbles and dirt scraped her cheek, her whole body shaking. The rotors thundered. The wind whipped her hair, her clothes.
Debris and dust exploded. Glass, twisted metal, and masonry pelted her body. The grinding, pounding noise vibrated through her bones, through her cells, in her teeth.
The terrible pounding abruptly ceased.
Stunned, she lifted her head, skull throbbing. Her thoughts came frantic and disjointed.
She tasted dust in her mouth. Coppery blood. Her ears rang.
Another thunderous roar. Her chest seized. It wasn’t the helo. The ragged boom of the Browning M2 filled the air as it fired from the school’s rooftop. Reynoso was up there, protecting them.
Heavy rounds exploded as the M2 opened up on the Black Hawk. Tracers streaked through the sky.
The helo spun and flew rapidly south, abandoning its attack.
Beneath her, Joey was shrieking, mouth open in a red circle, face blotchy and red. But alive. Alive and unhurt but for scratches on his hands.
She levered herself to her knees. Her eyes watering, she coughed, desperate to breathe. The dust choked her lungs.
Dust everywhere. Dust on her skin, inside her clothes, gritty in her eyes and mouth, stuck to her tongue.
People coughed, sobbing and screaming. Someone moaned. Shapes on the ground appeared through the haze. Figures moved, struggling to rise. Some didn’t move at all.
“Gran,” she croaked. And then louder, “Gran!”
41
Quinn
Day One Hundred and Thirteen
Somehow, Quinn pulled herself to her feet, pushing against the pavement with her stinging hands, gasping, chest heaving, until she was upright.
The Black Hawk flew several blocks west, driven away by the machine gunfire. The great bird wheeled over Main Street, firing occasional bursts at empty buildings.
She dropped her gaze from the sky to the street. Her rifle had been flung several feet away. It seemed like an impossible distance. Her thoughts came thick and slow.
Jonas was there beside her, dust in his blond hair, streaking his face. She didn’t know how he’d gotten there, hadn’t seen him coming. Maybe he’d been there all along.
She thrust Joey into his arms. Jonas stared at her with a stricken expression. His blue eyes were huge in his face. He mouthed something she couldn’t hear.
“Take him,” she said, her only thought for Gran. Gran who’d pushed her out of the way. Gran who’d taken the hit, not her.
Jonas took the squalling child. “Quinn, we have to go—”
“Not without Gran!” she screamed.
“But Quinn, she’s—”
Quinn didn’t want to listen anymore. Didn’t want to hear what he had to say. The thing she feared in the deepest recesses of her soul. “No!”
She turned, her legs unsteady, and made her way around the delivery truck. Gaping holes punctured the sides and rear, holes that hadn’t been there two minutes ago.
Dread curdled her stomach, her guts turning to water.
Two yards away, a shape lay in the middle of the road. Small and gray. A listless lump shrouded in dust and debris. Gran’s cane rested beside it.
“Gran!” Quinn collapsed on her knees beside her grandmother. Bits of rock and debris dug into her knees.
She blinked grime from her eyes and felt frantically for a pulse. Gran’s wrists as fragile as bird bones, her skin thin and papery.
A thready pulse beat faintly against her fingertips. Gran wasn’t moving. Blood streaked her gray hair. Dirt and soot smudged her face and throat. Her legs twisted beneath her at an impossible angle.