Revolution (7 page)

“Stand by,” said Danny.

“Problem?” asked Zen, who'd heard the conversation over the radio.

“Maybe a car accident out on Road 2.”

“Why don't we go check it out?” said Zen.

“Just what I was thinking. But—”

Zen knew what that
but
meant. He didn't bother to answer, pushing his head forward and sliding the power reading to 15.

“Major, I really believe you should wait until you're fully checked out,” said Annie from the ground.

“Thank you,” Zen replied, as if she'd paid him a compliment.

There were four access roads to Dreamland, but only Road 1, which ran from Nellis Air Base, was paved. The others were
hard-packed dirt, or as his wife Breanna liked to say, hard-packed holes with rocks scattered in between. But even though it was about as smooth as a battered washboard, Road 2 was often used by base personnel as a shortcut. Not only was it a few miles shorter than Road 1, but its horrible conditions restricted traffic to those in the know, lowering the wait at the security post where it entered the main road. That could save as much as an hour during the busy times of the day.

Road 2 came off the southeastern end of the base perimeter and ran due south for a mile and half before jogging lazily east. Zen started in that direction, then increased his speed as Danny shot ahead.

“Security Command, this is Freah. I'm on my way via Exo3. Major Stockard is with me. Alert the perimeter system—I don't feel like being shot down.”

Friend or foe identifiers in the gear would prevent the Razor antiair lasers from firing on them, but any uncleared flight over the perimeter fence would elicit an armed response from the robot Ospreys, which would force them to land or simply shoot them down.

The surveillance UAV zipped ahead from the west, dropping into a hover over the road three miles from the perimeter fence. The small aircraft—its rotors would have tucked neatly under the deck of a household lawn mower—was flying about twenty feet below Zen. It looked like a hive supported by a swarm of bees.

“Car is upside down,” reported the security supervisor.

“Roger that, I see it on my screen,” said Danny. “I have a smart helmet. Have the aerial back off.”

“McDaniels and Percival are en route from the guard station. They're ten minutes away.”

“Roger that.”

 

A F
ORD
E
XPLORER LAY ON ITS ROOF ABOUT THIRTY YARDS
from the side of the road.

“Zen, check your fuel,” said Danny as they approached.

“It says ten minutes, plus reserve.”

“When you hit reserve, go back.”

Of course Danny wanted him to go back, Zen thought—he couldn't be useful on the ground. “We'll take it as it comes,” he replied. “I'm going to check the area and see if anyone was thrown out.”

“Roger that. Good idea.”

 

D
ANNY WAITED FOR THE
UAV
TO BACK OFF BEFORE TUCKING
his arms into a U-shape and sliding his power down. He settled onto the dusty road about fifteen feet from the spot where the Explorer had gone off. The truck had traveled a good distance before stopping, and the marks in the desert made it look as if it had flipped at least twice.

Dropping to his knees, Danny unlatched the wing assembly to keep it from getting damaged. Then he hopped up and ran to the wreck.

The front of the SUV was crushed. He could smell gasoline as he got down on his hands and knees to peer inside. The driver was suspended in her seat, wedged against the roof and wheel, a deflated air bag wrapped against her face and torso. He couldn't tell if she was alive.

The driver's side window had been smashed, but the metal was so mangled it was impossible to reach her. He went around to the other side. There was a bit more room there, but it was still a very tight squeeze just to get his hand in.

Danny smelled gasoline as he groped with his fingers, trying to reach her neck and get a pulse. He snaked his arm back out, then took off his helmet, hoping he could reach in farther without it. As he started to slide his hand inside the car, he saw the woman move her head.

Alive!

He grabbed his helmet.

“Security Command, this is Danny Freah. I have a very injured woman trapped in the vehicle. Send Team 2 immediately. Order the test ranges closed down.”

“Roger that, Captain.”

“Give them a sitrep. Tell them to be ready with the Jaws of Life.”

“Yeah, roger, roger, Cap. I'm on it.”

The Jaws of Life was a special tool that worked like a hydraulic pry bar; in this case, it would be used to pull the squashed door away from the cab so the victim could be extricated. Danny took a step back from the wreck, frustrated that he had to wait, even for a few minutes, and worried that the gasoline he smelled meant there was a dangerous leak.

He could use the exoskeleton to help him open the door. He crouched back down by the vehicle, trying to find a grip.

“What's going on?” asked Zen, who was hovering above.

“Trying to get her out,” grunted Danny.

His first try failed: The mechanical hand gripped the metal of the crushed door so hard that it gave way as he pulled it off.

“Need help?” asked Zen.

“If I can figure out how to open the car without breaking it into pieces, I'll be fine.”

“Maybe I can hold one side,” suggested Zen.

“I'm afraid that we'll end up jostling it too much,” said Danny. “Hang on.”

He pushed his left arm against the crushed top of the car, and then positioned his right against the door. The smell of gasoline was strong now. The car radio was on—he worried that the slightest spark would set off a fire or explosion.

“One, two, three, push,” he told himself aloud, flexing his arms. The sensors in the exoskeleton felt the resistance and ramped up the power to help. It was designed to supply a slow, gradual push—moving too fast under certain circumstances could pull his body apart.

The crushed car parts moved about eight inches apart before the carbon skeleton began to pull through the metal.

“I think I'm almost there,” Danny said, repositioning himself.

 

W
HAT
Z
EN THOUGHT WAS A BODY TURNED OUT TO BE A TIRE
, which had left the SUV as it careened off the road. He turned to the north and did a slow circuit around the wreck, making sure he hadn't missed anything. The bumper and part of the fender had fallen off, and there was glass back near the road. A man's jacket had tumbled out as well.

Hearing Danny talking to himself, Zen came back over the SUV.

“Danny, you need help down there?”

“Think I got it,” grunted the captain.

Zen saw the security team's black SUV driving up the road in the distance, dust spewing behind it. A moment later he heard the heavy beat of an Osprey approaching. He backed off, watching cautiously as the aircraft landed on the other side of the road and disgorged its team of pararescuers. He'd never felt quite so intimidated by the aircraft's huge rotors before.

 

B
Y THE TIME THE
PJ
S REACHED THE TRUCK
, D
ANNY
F
REAH
had pried the vehicle open enough to lean in and examine the driver. She was breathing, with an irregular though strong pulse.

While the PJs went to work stabilizing her body and removing her from the wreck, Danny walked to the back, trying to find the source of the gas leak. The roof of the car, now the closest part to the ground, was soaked with fuel.

He bent down, then heard a groan from inside.

He thought at first that it was the driver. But a second groan sounded more male than female. He stepped back, took out his small LED flashlight, then went back and peered inside. He saw a leg on the back floor.

His stomach turned.

Then the leg moved and Danny jumped back. It took a second before he realized the leg hadn't been amputated by the crash and that he was seeing someone trapped under the car, his leg sticking out through a rear sunroof.

“We got another back there!” shouted one of the PJs.

“Yeah, I see him!” yelled Danny. “He's trapped underneath. His leg is moving.”

Trying to clear his head from the gas fumes, Danny walked a few feet from the wreck. Watching the PJs set the driver out on a stretcher, he recognized her as one of the women who worked in the all-ranks cafeteria. He knew she had at least one kid at home.

“She's pretty bad, Captain,” said the sergeant in charge of the rescue team, Gabe McManus. “We need to get her over to the med center stat.”

“Go,” said Danny.

“What about the other guy?”

“We're going to have to lift the truck to get him. That'll take a while,” said Danny. “We'll need to hook the Osprey up. Let's save her first.”

McManus nodded. The others had already immobilized the driver and lifted her gently onto a stretcher.

It would take at least ten minutes for another Osprey to arrive, and a good ten if not more after that to secure a chain and lift the truck safely. Twenty minutes wasn't a lifetime—but it might be to the trapped man.

“Maybe we can jack the truck up with the gear in the Jimmy,” McManus said.

“Ground's kind of loose,” said Danny. “I'd worry about it slipping.”

“Yeah,” agreed the sergeant. “But it might do that when we hook up the Osprey, too. Car looks like it's kind of perched on some of the rocks there—slip a bit too much and he's in even worse trouble.”

McManus dropped flat and peered underneath. “All we really need is about two feet,” he said. “We might be able to get a couple of guys on the side, lift gently—”

“I have a better idea,” said Danny.

 

Z
EN SAW
D
ANNY STANDING NEXT TO THE TRUCK
. H
E LOOKED
like he was trying to gauge whether he could push it over. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“We have another guy underneath. I think I can use the arm to lift it.”

“You want help?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

Zen came over slowly, his power at seven percent. “We can lift it straight up,” he said.

“We're going to have to pull up together,” Danny told him.

“Just tell me what to do.”

Danny explained how to use the skeleton's fingers as clamps, then coached him on slowly revving the power. They'd have to work as a team, each clamped on one side of the vehicle.

The ease Zen had felt just a few moments before had evaporated. He jerked to the side, unable to get into the right position. His legs dangled uselessly below him. He forced his arms closer together, slipping back on the power. Sweat poured out of his body. It wasn't the heat, though it was plenty hot. His nerves were melting.

It's easy,
he told himself.
We're going to save this guy, save his legs. Don't let him end up like me.

His own feet were touching the ground. He edged closer to the SUV, trying to find a good place to grip.

“Got it, Zen?” asked Danny.

“Hold on. I'm still new at this.”

Zen hooked his arm under the chassis and found a solid hold for the body. The finger extensions on his arm seemed too weak to hold, and left part of his hand bare—he could feel the grease and grime from the chassis.

I hope I don't crush my hand, he thought.

“Ready,” he told Danny.

“Ramp up slow, real slow. On three. One, two…”

Zen twisted his wrist as gently as he could, as saw the
power move up to 15, then 20. The exoskeleton was straining, but the SUV didn't budge. He twisted his hand on the throttle, fighting the urge to rev it as high as it could go.

“That's it, keep steady!” said Danny. “
Steady!
Just hold it there. You OK, Zen?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

The PJs scrambled to brace the man and get him out. Zen could hear them talking through their radios. They were near the victim—he was conscious, answering them, complaining about his legs.

At least he felt pain. That was a good sign.

A tone sounded in Zen's helmet. He was into his fuel reserves.

“Danny—”

“Yeah, I heard it. Let's move it, you guys. McManus—you have two minutes.”

It took nearly three. Zen and Danny held the truck up together for another minute and a half; by then it was too late for Zen to fly back. Instead, he fluttered down to the ground, exhausted, landing ignobly in a heap. Before he could say anything, two of the PJs grabbed him and hustled him into the back of the security Jimmy.

“Way to go, Major,” said the man on his left as they slid him into the back.

“Yeah,” said Zen. “Thanks.”

The truck started to move. The passenger they'd pulled out was laying on a flat board across the folded-down seat, his ride cushioned by four large balloonlike buffers. The truck moved slowly down the road, avoiding the worst of the potholes.

“Major, am I going to be all right?” the passenger asked.

Zen glanced at the parajumper behind him. He was a certified combat medic, the closest thing to a doctor you could find on the front line, and more experienced in dealing with trauma injuries than many emergency room specialists. The
PJ made a slight movement with his eyes, signaling to Zen that he didn't know.

“Yeah, kid,” he said. “I think you're going to be cool. I'm pretty sure you are.”

“Wow, that's a relief,” said the young man.

Zen recognized him as a maintainer, one of the engine specialists responsible for the EB-52 power plants. A crew dog who'd worked on his aircraft many times, he was sure.

“I wasn't wearing my seat belt,” he continued. “We went off the road—there was a jackrabbit or something weird. I bounced up and down and the top flew open. The next thing I knew, it felt like the whole world was sitting on top of me and I was being pulled apart. I am gonna make it, right?”