Families First: A Post-Apocalyptic Next-World Series Volume 6 Battle Grounds by Lance Ewing (ereader for comics .txt) 📕

“We’re leaving,” blurted Jake out of nowhere. “I was going to tell you yesterday but didn’t, I guess. Now I want you to know. We’re headed back to Boulder after this is done. Whew! That was hard to get off my chest,” he added, taking in a deep breath.

“People say all kinds of things when under stress, but I always knew you would, my friend. It’s why you decided to come along in the first place. I remember from our first conversation, heading to your house in Plano and packing your stuff. Your family is there, and you all should be too. I’ll pull every string I have to see we get you and your family home safe. You’ve come this far, and it’s the least I can do. Plus, who knows, in a few years we may be able to take a motorcycle ride to visit! It was only about 45 minutes before the day.”

“Thanks, man. I’m glad you understand,” replied Jake. “Now let’s get this done!”

* * * *

I looked up at the top of the ridge and saw the first of Baker’s men cresting the top. The fire we set wasn’t halfway up yet, and I watched nervously to see if it would gain steam or die out.

“At least it’s headed in the right direction,” Jake told me.

“Come on, come on!” I said aloud. “Keep going…that’s it.”

A quick glance behind me showed the plane fire nearly out in the middle of the field.

Vlad and crew had Bert at the northern border in minutes—and not a second too soon, as Baker’s large trucks bashed the barricade, sending most of our men running, or at least pushing them back.

“Let’s do this!” Vlad called out, firing the first shell, hitting the lead truck with a Boom! followed by gunfire from our Saddle Ranch barricade guards. Samuel’s men were steadfast and would not touch a weapon, if it meant their very lives. Vlad didn’t understand it but respected their decision, and even from the tank saw they were pulling their weight in other ways.

The lead truck burned, spilling dark black smoke into the sky, and all was still for a moment. Vlad could hear men shouting and his own heartbeat as if his ear were to his own chest.

“Where are you, Colonel?!” he shouted out loud.

“Incoming!” came the radio call from the barricade…from the sky!”

Vlad could only hear the commotion from the north, like those old movies with the B-52 bombers all flying in pattern and the steady hum of war to surely come. A hail of bullets came from the first plane, peppering the barricade and Bert’s front hull and turret.

“Where are you, Colonel?!” repeated Vlad aloud, but this time into his radio. “We need you!”

Jake and I both heard the planes and couldn’t believe there were ten or more, all circling now and firing rounds at anything that moved. Remembering what the Colonel had said about not firing at anything in the air, I was pretty sure he didn’t mean these planes. I couldn’t just let them mow us down, like shooting wild hogs taking over a farmer’s ranch.

Crack! Crack! Crack! I fired as fast as I could, trying to hit anything shooting towards us. I fully expected to see not one but two or more planes smoke and dip from my well-placed shots, crashing into the ground. That didn’t happen, although I was sure I had hit something, with most flying within shooting range.

“That’s not going to work,” called Jake, as the planes did a wide circle around for another run. “Get to the fire truck! Go! Go! Go!” Jake said, grabbing me by the collar and running.

A hundred yards doesn’t seem that far when a football team is moving the chains ten yards at a time, but running it full out with a pack and rifle and not looking up was another story.

I ran with Jake, refusing to look up. “Where are you, Colonel?!” I yelled aloud.

We had a reprieve of sorts as the planes arced across the end of the Valley. With no shooting close, we just ran. I had forgotten about the Rimrock fire and those trying to come over on foot, now concentrating only on what I heard above.

My lungs were on fire, and I could see the truck 60 yards ahead…50 now…40…30...before I heard it—the low and slow sound of being stalked by a killing machine, with nowhere to hide. Thump! Thump! Thump! the rounds hit the dirt around us. I was in the lead, with Jake following close behind.

Against my better judgment, I did look up and behind; we both did, and I’ll never forget the scene as long as I live. The silver monstrosity had us in its sights when the first shells were fired.

The constant fire tracked us from behind, first ten yards back as we ran, then five…then...

Something hit me from behind that I couldn’t see, knocking me facedown into the dirt. I must be shot, I thought, trying to take stock of all my parts and waiting for the inevitable pain that would surely follow.

The men, already under the fire truck, scrambled out instructions I could not hear.

The pressure on my back felt like a 200-pound pack pinning me down. Thump! Thump! and one more, I could feel as the rounds hit my pack.

Why am I not feeling it? I thought.

* * * *

My mind flooded with visions of Joy and our boys growing up without a father. All the sacrifices we made just to get here, and now I wouldn’t be around to watch my boys grow up or to see my wife smile again, finally at home on free land. For a moment, the sound of the aircraft lessened as it made a wide circle over the Valley.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” they called from under