Desolation

“Okay, Maria, let me hold Ana and you climb up. Then I’ll hand her to Miguel.” Bill was working it out as he spoke, not really sure how he would ascend the ladder while carrying a howling baby. He looked at Lisa, who seemed outwardly steady, but he knew she was terrified. Bill smiled and received a tepid one in reply. Maria was almost all the way up, Miguel already grabbing her arms and pulling her through. “Lisa, help me get the baby up there.” He handed Ana to his wife, who slung her weapon around her back like she might have tossed on a purse only days ago. Pushing the A-frame directly under the rope ladder, Bill hopped up a few steps and took the baby from Lisa, then turned and carefully mounted two more steps to hand her off to Miguel, who was already hanging down at the ready. He cradled Ana in temporary safety.

“Give me the rifles. You go after me.” Needing no urging, she did and he disappeared through the hole with them. Lisa scurried up the rope ladder after him. Half way, she paused and watched the fire-monster consume their flat-screen in the living room, and begin working its way to them. No time to be sentimental, not with the heat baring its teeth in warning. She clambered through the opening.

Bill was already at the back corner of the roof, bringing his rifle up and leveling it on Clyde, who was poised to fling another one their way. Bill squeezed off a hasty shot, knowing he missed before the report even hit him. However, the shot did the trick, grazing and startling Clyde, who dropped his Molotov cocktail on the backswing. It crashed into a box holding several more, broke the others, and the box exploded in flames, some of which jumped onto the splattered liquid covering Judas. The flames flew up one arm and down one of his legs. “I’m on fire!” he screeched as he jumped up and down, patting at the flames searing his skin. He flopped into the sand writhing in pain and panic. Clyde hid behind the sea wall, away from the danger.

Bill ran back to the skylight and tugged the ladder toward the eastern edge. “Help me, Miguel. Grab that end and hold it.” Bill yanked on the ladder, elongating it to almost twenty-five feet, until he was at the roof edge. Bill hoped that was enough, if he remembered the numbers correctly. “All right, we only have one shot at this,” he said as he walked toward Miguel midway along the ladder, pushing the base into the parapet. “Lift it and then walk toward me.” Miguel did so as Bill held the base down until they had it standing upright, as if they were planning to climb up into the heavens.

Two loud noises toward the front of the house caught their attention. Lisa had unloaded a couple of shots towards the armed men out front. Shadows scurried around trying to gain cover. Brilliant, Bill thought.

Bill steadied the ladder while Miguel tightened his grip on the bottom, planting his feet against the parapet base, butt on the ground and hands holding the second rung; he looked like a water skier waiting to be launched. “All right, here goes. Whatever you do, don’t let go,” Bill said as he pushed it forward, towards Max’s house. Like a tree felled by a lumberjack, it slowly listed at first and then rapidly raced to the other house, its bulk and gravity causing it to tumble, until finally it crashed onto Max’s roof. The force lifted Miguel two feet, but his hands held tight as Bill threw all his weight on their side of the ladder to keep it from bouncing off. Momentary silence… It held!

“Miguel, you first. Lisa, you still watching the front?” He sat on the ladder, straddling the wall ledge, while Miguel shimmied across the void of their side yard below.

“They’re hiding, staying out of sight,” Lisa responded. Bill watched the rear of the house. Both Judas, who must have been close to dead, and Clyde were gone. He turned back to see where the other men with guns were. Where were they, and more importantly who were they?

“Ta bien,” Miguel called out.

“Maria, you next,” Bill ordered gently, once again taking her baby. This was going to be much more difficult.

32. Big Guns

Laramie, Wyoming

“Oh my God.” Sherriff Ralf stood statuelike, still unprotected, staring north toward the University of Wyoming. Coming down the road was something Laramie has never seen, except at its museum.

“Is that a fricking ta-tank?” Edgar was hyper-ventilating again. “It is, and it’s moving. Sheriff, how is that possible? I thought cars and trucks won’t work ever again. That’s what Dr. Reid said. How can they…” he trailed off, needing all his focus to keep breathing, having none to spare for chit-chat.