At the End - a post-apocalyptic novel (The Road to Extinction, Book 1) (32 page)

“I will try, sir. Thank you.”

A smile lit up my face. Tortilla showed all
his white teeth.

“Private Albores, tell the civvies a team
will be by to extract them shortly. Send me the locator
frequency.”

“Done, sir. So you found the ships?”

“A whole company’s worth. But first,
private, explain to me what happened at the compound. You said you
were attacked.”

“Yes, sir. We were. Heavily. They broke
through the wall and made it into the first level, one even made it
here, into the communications room, but don’t worry, we got ’em
all. No civvies in the lower levels were touched.”

“Sounds like quite a battle. I’m glad to
hear operations are still running. Inform General Kramer that we
have found 221 drone space fighters and three manned ships. Wish us
luck; we’re going to need it. Over and out.”

“I will have the message relayed, sir. Good
luck. Over and out.”

Henderson replaced the radio and drew her
PocketPad from a pouch. “Sending you the frequency,” she told
Burnhammer. “All right, so that leaves Rivera, Fox, Lakes, and
Tasper with me. Hopefully the controls of the ships were designed
for grade-schoolers too.”

Geisler winked at his commander. “With some
luck, sir. You’ll need these.” He handed Burnhammer and Henderson
each a keycard he had found. “Radio me when you’re in the
cockpit.”

The eight of us left the four soldiers
sitting at the consoles, as Geisler instructed his comrades what to
do.

When we were close enough, I could make out
the etchings on the manned ships: USAF SF-1 Spacefalcon. The white
bird looked eager to see some action.

Burnhammer lowered a ramp at the rear of the
ship by sliding the keycard through a scanner. She waved for us to
find a seat. The six-seater cockpit was arranged with two seats to
the right, two at the front, and two to the left. After inspecting
the rest of the ship, she took a seat at the helm. I sat to the
right of Burnhammer. Tortilla sat in the closest chair at my back
on the right.

All of the buttons had labels, detailing
what to do, and in what order to do it. “This looks easy enough,”
Burnhammer uttered.

“What’s the plan?” I asked her.

“We’ll hang back with the squad for a bit,
as they head for the International Space Station, then we’ll break
off. There’s a spacesuit, some cutting tools, and a sealing tube in
the back, so I think the best plan would be to land on the alion
ship and cut a hole big enough for a person, then connect the
sealing tube from our ship to the alion’s ship.”

I stared at her, amazed. “How do you know
how to use the sealing tube; I’ve never even heard of a sealing
tube.”

“I don’t really. I watched a documentary
about them: space operations use them to save crews with damaged
suits.” She flipped a line of switches and the engines powered up.
Before I could reply, she grabbed her radio. “Geisler, I’ve got the
bird roaring, how about some sunlight?”

The massive door behind us started to
withdraw to the ceiling. Without warning, all 221 of the unmanned
space fighters turned on in unison, generating a boom that
thundered in the hangar.

I gazed out at all the white fighters,
disbelieving my eyes.

“Cool,” Tortilla said.

“Way cool,” I agreed. I turned back to
Burnhammer. “We’ve never been in space; don’t you have to be
trained to use the suits?”

She nodded. “You also have to be trained to
fly one of these, but all of those people have been taken. We’ll
just have to wing it.” She winked at me. “You two ready?”

I nodded hesitantly.

“I’ve always wanted to go into space,”
Tortilla said, smiling. “I can’t believe we’re going into space . .
.”

“Burnhammer, we’re all ready,” Henderson
said over the radio. “How’s your team?”

“Good to go, sir,” Burnhammer replied.
“Ready to find their friends.”

“I hope that you do. Good luck.” Henderson’s
ship rolled forward into the sunlight. We followed, giving the
planes some distance.

“What do you think these things run on?” I
threw out the question.

“I have no idea,” she responded. “But my
guess is something new and experimental.”

“Hopefully not too experimental,” Tortilla
said nervously.

We watched as Henderson’s plane started
driving down the runway, picking up speed at an unimaginable rate.
Within moments, the ship was racing to break the atmosphere.

Burnhammer glanced over at us. “Here we
go.”

“Engage,” Tortilla said. He burst out in
laughter.

A laugh was pushing its way up when
Burnhammer punched it. The ship sped away and my gut sank in,
roiling. The next thing I knew, I was staring at the sky and
swirling white clouds, flying straight up.

Then a barrier of color folded over the nose
of the ship. Red dominated my vision. Then the hard vacuum of outer
space engulfed my eyes, black speckled with dots of white. Dozens
of satellites flew by us, circling the planet.

Burnhammer pressed a button labeled Gravity
Stabilization.

My butt instantly sank into my chair while
my arms and legs dropped like bricks. “Genius.”

She tittered. “I guess it beats floating
around all day.”

“We’re in space . . . we’re actually in
space,” Tortilla said, astonished. “I think we’re the first
teenagers in space.”

“What about Jelly and Penelope?” I
asked.

“They don’t count,” he replied. “They were
abducted. We came into space in a man-made craft by our own free
will.”

“Then we’re the first teenagers in space . .
.” I gazed out the front window. “It’s even more incredible than I
imagined it to be.”

“You two are pretty fascinated with space,”
Burnhammer observed.

“Aren’t you? You said you watched
documentaries,” I said.

“I like to see technology, but I never
wanted to go into space—”

“The mother ship,” I gasped. I pointed to
the right where the alion spaceship orbited, red against the
blackness. “It’s the biggest machine I’ve ever seen.” It was
similar to the smaller ones hovering above the cities, but redder
and instilling more trepidation.

“It’s the scariest machine I’ve ever seen,”
Tortilla stated.

“Just imagine how many alions are waiting
for us,” Burnhammer said, as if trying to frighten us in a joking
manner.

On a display hanging between Burnhammer and
me, a hundred triangles appeared behind us. “Can you turn the ship
around?” I asked.

Burnhammer rotated the controls and we spun
around, finding an array of white ships tailing in formation. It
was a remarkable sight.

“How are the birds doing?” Geisler asked
over the radio.

“They look beautiful,” Burnhammer said. “I
just hope they’re enough.”

As if in response to her statement, an alarm
drew our attention to the display. Dozens of unidentified objects
were approaching fast. She spun the ship so that we faced the alion
mother ship. From it, fighters launched from two hangars, zooming
our way.

“We have company,” Henderson announced over
the radio. “Geisler, engage the drones.”

“Yes, sir.” The drones burst ahead. The
Whitedragons shot hoards of missiles. The alion fighters launched
the yellow balls of death. Ships exploded in huge clouds of fire
that evaporated an instant later; shrapnel was ejected from the
detonations, cutting into the frames of nearby ships. The drones
performed with precision, dodging attacks and returning fire,
pursuing alion fighters in tight well-formed packs.

“We have to help them make it to the ISS,”
Burnhammer yelled. “Find the weapon systems.”

Frantically, I searched the console, but
there was nothing. “Anything?” I glimpsed at Tortilla.

“No, nothing over here,” he replied. He
jumped to the other console. “This says laser over here.”

I dashed to the seat beside him. “Laser,” I
exclaimed. I scrutinized the labels on the console. There were
missile and laser controls, along with machine gun cannons.

“So you have the laser and I have the
machine guns . . . wanna switch?” I asked him, but I already knew
his answer.

“Switch a laser for a machine gun?”

“Just thought I’d ask, you know, to make
sure.” I smiled.

He laughed as he gripped the controls,
examining the screen in front of him.

The screen before me presented ten alion
crafts near us. I grasped the wheel that controlled the turret. The
bullets shot out in a flash of light. I only managed to damage two
of the targets, the rest raced after Henderson’s ship.

Two more disappeared off the display,
signaling that their ship was in the fight. “We’re nearing the
station,” Burnhammer informed us. “There are still six ships
tailing them.”

“On it,” Tortilla shouted. I watched as he
pressed a button that targeted a ship with a laser, then he fired a
beam of light where the other laser directed it. The ship vanished
from the display. “Got one,” he announced.

“Still five more,” Burnhammer said.

I found the button that switched the machine
gun display to missile controls. I let five fly.

Burnhammer cheered at the explosions. “Took
them all down.”

“Burnhammer, we are set to dock with the
station. Cover our asses,” Henderson requested.

“Yes, sir.” Burnhammer circled the great
silver station, maneuvering between two more fighters.

I switched back to the machine gun, blasting
round after round. I caught the wing of one, and it collided into
the second, blowing them both to bits.

Tortilla fired the laser again, targeting
the rear of a fighter, and the crimson gas that jetted out behind
it; it exploded into fragments.

Burnhammer dipped the craft, and I briefly
lost focus, as my eyes drifted from the screen. Once my eyes
adjusted, I found a new target, destroying the fighter by clipping
its fuel source. Our ship dipped again, then twirled, dodging a
yellow ball that combusted on a drone.

“Our ship is secured to the station,”
Henderson informed us. “Go get those civvies. The drones will get
our backs.”

“Copy that,” Burnhammer replied. “On route
to the mother ship.”

We flew through a melee of fighters; it was
a field of short explosions, as dangerous dogfights blasted each
other out of existence.

“We have four on our tail,” Burnhammer
yelled back to us.

I licked my lips and pulled down the machine
gun trigger. “Got one.”

“Got another,” Tortilla called out.

Then suddenly we flipped over. I about threw
up, but it stopped halfway up my throat, rushing back down, burning
as it descended.

“Sorry. Not familiar with the controls,”
Burnhammer said. “It’s easier than I thought it would be but still
difficult. I’ll get the hang of it though, don’t worry.” She dodged
another attack. Her reflexes were impressive to say the least, if
only my stomach could keep up.

I fired two missiles to finish the chasing
fighters.

Eventually we left behind the fray. No more
fighters hunted after us. I was glad for that, but I didn’t drop my
guard, eyeing the screen as it continuously updated.

“Look at that,” Burnhammer gasped.

My gaze was drawn for a moment. A colossal
hole, only now visible, stretched across the far side of the mother
ship. Blue lights sparked all around the damage. We flew close
enough to see alions in suits performing repairs on the devastated
section. “What do you think caused it?”

“Hard to say,” Burnhammer said. “Maybe a
missile attack. Whatever it was did some serious havoc.”

“This could be good for us,” I said,
assessing the situation. “One thing we never thought about was if
they have proximity or anticollision alarms.”

“And you’re just thinking of this now?”
Tortilla said.

“
None
of us thought of it.” I gave
him a nasty look. “Anyway, let me finish. Maybe since they’re doing
repairs, maybe those systems are down, taken out by whatever caused
the hole.”

“We’re about to find out.” Burnhammer found
a flat surface large enough to land on, and she touched down the
Spacefalcon as gently as she could, but it still jolted my body.
“Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” I told her. “We’re still
alive, and the ship is running, so I’d say you did a hell of a job
piloting.” I unbuckled the seatbelt that strapped over my
shoulders, chest, and waist, hopping out of the comfortable chair.
“It does feel good not to be moving so fast.” I smiled at her. “I
thought you would wait for me to finish telling you my
reasoning.”

“Whether their systems are down or not, this
is our mission, to risk our lives to save your friends. Was there
another option?”

“No,” I replied. “No, I guess not. Let’s
just hope they’re not right there waiting for us.”

She grabbed my shoulder and squeezed.
“That’s all we can do.”

Tortilla stood and wobbled a couple of
steps. “Whoa. That’s weird.”

“That’s certain,” I agreed. “Messes with
your system.”

Burnhammer rushed to the aft compartment. We
followed behind. “I’ll need some help putting on the suit, and it
might take some time, but don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll need any
help out there.”

I nodded as she started to garb herself in
the spacesuit.

Tortilla counted the minutes going by,
arriving at thirteen when the suit was finally all put together,
hopefully the correct way. “All right, head back to the cockpit,
I’ll communicate with you with the ship’s radio.”

“Okay. You sure you can do this by
yourself?”

“Not entirely, but I think it’s for the
best,” she said. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Good luck,” Tortilla said.

I echoed his words.

She nodded. “Thanks.” She waited to make
sure our door was sealed before she opened the hatch in the middle
of the compartment. We watched, as she held on tight to a bar while
the room depressurized. A mechanized ladder lowered a meter from
the hatch. She waved to us before she disappeared into space.