On the way down the freeway near the outskirts of L.A., Summers and the other Comfort Boys, saw a billboard, brand new and glossy. It read:

FATHERLAND FIRST!

SERVICE, HONOR, DUTY!

WE WILL WIN!

Drawing on everything he’d been taught from the moment he was born, Gary Summers decided to be the best possible Comfort Boy he could be. By conforming—as he would later that evening for a bloated, gin-soaked, and Viagra-fueled general—he hoped his new masters would approve and favor him, that they would see that he was worthy.

CHAPTER 29

Lieutenant Bell had landed the “executive model” blue and white Sikorsky S-76D helicopter, intended for six people maximum, in the snowy and body-strewn field in front of the Phelps cabin. He’d run over the ground littered with hundreds of dead shot-to-hell Howlers and onto the burnt-black and charred porch to the cabin’s door.

“There’s very little time. There’s an M-1 Abrams on the way here. They intend to make this location some kind of headquarters,” Bell said as soon Quentin had let him in the heavy front door.

Bell and Lacy embraced spontaneously, surprising Quentin. “I’ve dropped Rebecca and Patty Tyson at another Prepper cabin. It was built by some millionaire. It’s unknown to the authorities, I think. It’s, well—it’s in a whole other league from this place.”

“You said a tank?” Quentin said.

“Yes. And it’s coming here. It’s only about five miles away, if that.”

“Then we’ll be rescued soon,” Quentin said.

“No, you don’t understand,” Bell said.

“Why should we run away? It sounds like the Army has come to rescue us,” Quentin said.

“It’s not what you think,” Bell said. “There’s been some kind of takeover—of the government. You don’t want to be here when they get here.”

“I don’t understand,” Miles said. “What do you mean, takeover?”

“I’m not sure. We were going to be made slaves. Rebecca was branded—they were going to make her a prostitute. It all happened at the hotel,” Bell said.

The others, including Marvin, looked at Bell as if he’d gone mad.

“Lieutenant, you’re not making any sense,” Quentin said. He turned and looked at Poole.

“You just have to trust me,” Bell said. “At least let me take Lacy. Please. There isn’t much time. I’m telling you. And they have drones. They may already be above us, watching.”

“Did you say Tyson, Patty Tyson?” Dillon said.

“Yes. I took her and Rebecca to the cabin. It’s not far away, about fifteen miles. It’s very high up in the Sierra, over 10,000 feet. It’s safe for the time being. There’s no road to it—they flew everything in to build the place. The government doesn’t know about it. The New Freedom Army, whatever they’re calling it. At least I don’t think they do.”

“He’s crazy,” Poole said.

“I’m not crazy! I know it’s all difficult to believe. Do you have a TV, or a radio? They’re asking people to turn in their guns. I’m not crazy. Who would ask that?” Bell said.

“No TV or radio. They’re down in the bunker. But we’ve been locked out,” Quentin said. “We’ve had no news since right after we got here. Is it bad? The Howlers?”

“I can take two of you. I’ll come back—if I can,” Bell said.

“What do you mean ‘if I can’?” Dillon said.

“You’ll have to neutralize the tank. It won’t be easy. But they’ll shoot me down otherwise. They’ve got a fifty caliber on that thing and the cannon. I’ve got nothing on that helicopter. It’s a civilian helicopter,” Bell said. “It’s a sitting duck.”

“We’re supposed to stop a tank?” Dillon said. He’d been in the 101st Airborne right after leaving high school, and dishonorably discharged for striking an officer. He knew what Bell was asking. “How the fuck do we do that? They’re eight-fucking-feet high!”

“We’re running out of time,” Bell said. He turned and looked out the bulletproof plastic window, scratched and smeared with blood. It was noon. The sun had crept out and was lighting the top of the pine trees. If the tank got into range of the helicopter, they would destroy it, and he and Lacy would be trapped here.

“There’s also several hundred Howlers on the road. I just saw them. There’s no escape,” Bell said. “You have to fight. The Sierra climbs steeply just behind the cabin. There’s no escape, that way either.” Bell felt like grabbing Lacy and just running out the door. On the way to the cabin he’d realized how much he cared about her.

“Takeover, you say?” Quentin said.

Lacy’s father looked horrible, Bell thought. He had a bad cut on the side of his head that Poole had stitched closed. The man seemed unsteady on his feet.

“Yes. I don’t know all the ins and outs, but—yes. It’s some kind of Fascist government. They’re crazy. Please let me take Lacy out now, while I still can.”

“I won’t leave my father,” Lacy said.

“Okay,” Quentin said. “All right. I trust you. And we don’t know what’s going on. It’s true, we’ve had no news at all here.”

“I want to go, too,” Dillon said. “That’s my wife up there. Patty.”

Bell looked at him. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go. There’s room for one more.”

“I’ll stay. Let Quentin go. He’s injured,” Miles said.

“Not so fast,” Poole said, looking at Dillon. “We need you here—if the tank does come.”

“Fuck that. How are you going to kill a tank? You need an anti-tank weapon for that, you stupid asshole! And Patty needs me,” Dillon said, looking at Quentin. Their eyes locked. For the first time, he could see that Quentin was jealous.

“Let him go,” Quentin said. “It’s all right with me. Lacy, you go. He’ll come back for us, you heard him. It’s what your mother would want. Please.” Quentin looked at his daughter. “Don’t make me beg you. I can’t lose you, too.”

Lacy ran into her father’s arms and held him. They held onto each other. Dillon got one of the remaining boxes of ammo, picked up a FAL and headed for the door, ready to leave.

“If you want to save your wife, I would stop that tank. If they capture any of you alive, believe me, they’ll find her soon enough,” Bell said. “I promise I’ll come back for you all. You have my word.”

“How the fuck do we let you know it’s safe to come back?” Dillon said.

“Because when I come back, I’ll either be shot down—or it will be safe, won’t it?” Bell said.

“Miles, you go then, with Lacy,” Quentin said. “Someone should fill the other seat.”

“What about Howard?” Miles said. “He’s on the way here.”

“If your friend manages to get here, we’ll take care of him. You have my word on that. Go on, the both of you,” Quentin said. He didn’t say it out loud, but he was glad to see the young people leave. Something was hopeful in the idea they would survive this nightmare.

Miles and Lacy grabbed their coats and headed for the door. Lacy came back and held her father’s hand, tears pouring down her face. Bell had to come and pull her away. Dillon stared out the open cabin door, his rifle slung over his shoulder, the box of ammo in his hand.

Bell, Lacy and Miles ran out the door. Quentin thought Dillon would follow, but he didn’t. He stood frozen in the doorway.

They watched the helicopter’s blades start to turn and the powder snow under them being kicked up and whirled around it. The helicopter finally lifted off and headed east, just missing the tree tops, and finally disappeared into the clouds.