The Pieces of My Self

49 - Attack

LILLIAN

Île Sauvage, 21 Jun 2174, Tuesday, mid-afternoon

The gale, when it came, would probably destroy my rickety Covington home with wind, rain, and storm surge, and wreak havoc on the stressed ecosystems of Île Sauvage. Places like New Houma could be flooded out of existence. There would be no escaping this force of nature. And now, it signaled its intent, with a darkening sky and sputtering raindrops.

The robot was off somewhere. I left Grady and Amara in the camp's main hall and searched for Zeke, concerned about the children's safety. We still had a day or so before the storm hit, but conditions may have changed in the last 24 hours.

I couldn't find Zeke in the camp. But near the steps leading down from the decking, I heard voices.

The speech grew louder as I stepped down into bare mud, now pockmarked by a gentle rain. The path through the brush led to the camouflaged bioreactor. Beyond it was a place I recognized—a small clearing that was featured in Knightly's Last Will and Testament video.

Zeke and Usher were talking. Behind them was an Indian totem pole, and behind that was a bunker-like structure. A thicket of vines partially cloaked the yawning metal door.

I interrupted them. "Hello! Is this where we'll take shelter?"

Zeke stopped talking and looked my way. "If we stay here, then yes. This is probably the safest place. We've been through three hurricanes in the bunker, but none have been Cat 5. I won't lie to you. I'm concerned about the storm surge."

I looked at Usher. "If your mission is to protect me, what are my options for keeping the children safe?"

"They could drown on Île Sauvage," the robot said. "The surge could be 20-25 feet. The second option is Baton Rouge—the highest ground, but farther away. You might not make it in time, and the seas will be very rough. The third possibility is the Dome—a government prison that can survive the storm. It is protected by Sentinels, but you can turn them using the ring. By going there, we could defeat President Mangalotte."

"I'm thinking we try for Baton Rouge," I said. "Zeke, can one of your fast boats get us there before the storm hits?"

"You don't understand," Zeke said. "As long as Mangalotte is in power, you and your children aren't safe. To bring him down, we need to go to the Dome and get a key the avatar needs. You have the ring for protection."

"Too risky for the kids. I want you to get us to Baton Rouge, otherwise—"

A clanging bell stopped me in mid-sentence. Zeke looked toward the complex. "We have to go. We could be under attack."

Usher and Zeke rushed away, and I followed the sound of a bell, ringing with urgency, obligation, and danger.

* * *

One thing was obvious to me as I climbed back to the wooden decking: I would have to leave today with the children to beat the storm. I wanted to be ready to go once Zeke's men got back with the fast boats.

On the camp's deck I saw Debra, still wearing her black dress, and the children, in the same clothes Zeke had provided. They were all racing toward the boathouse behind the main hall—the source of the commotion. I ran after them.

Zeke and the robot were already there, tying up the Heloha, a 21-foot boat with a dull gray finish. The craft now had a wavy line of bullet holes across its fiberglass hull, and three crew members bleeding out on the foredeck.

A second boat, the Melatha, entered the bay. Two of its crew hopped out while it was still moving. The third man steered to a mooring. The men raced to assist Zeke and Usher, lifting the wounded out of the first boat while jabbering in Spanish, French, and English. Es neta? No mames! Can you make a tourniquet? Nous le perdons!

I gathered from the conversation the silver-haired man lying on his back, guts strewn across the deck, was Paco. It was a sight children shouldn't see—a sight no one should see.

I yelled to Grady, "Get Amara out of here! Go to the cabin and stay!"

"He's gone," one crewman said. His hands were bloody from trying to compress Paco's heart and hold together organs exposed on the man's side.

"They've tagged the boat!" Zeke yelled. He held up a wire that snaked through a hole punched in the hull. "Leave the body. Prop it up in the captain's chair. Lash the hands to the helm. Take the boat to the western inlet and let it drift. They'll be tracking it. After that, hide the Melatha in the bioreactor bay where it's shielded and camouflaged."

The men scurried to make it so. One of them moved the damaged boat out of the bay. The other boat followed, emitting a low buzz as it accelerated.

Zeke looked at me. "I can get Dirk and Landry into the bunker with the robot's help, but Lillian, you'll need assist Martin. And Debra, can you get the children? Bring them down the steps in the back and follow the path."

Martin was one of the crewmen lifted from the Heloha—a gaunt man with a neatly trimmed goatee, who wore a polo shirt over jeans. "I can walk," he said, as he hobbled toward me and leaned on my shoulder. His injured foot seemed to be unresponsive and dragged on the ground. He made a hopping, stumbling walk across the decking, where a light rain erased his bloody footprints. We made slow progress descending the steps into the swamp, and the mud below our feet was now thick and slippery. By the time we hit the path, Debra had caught up to us with the children. She was wet and struggling, trying to carry Amara.

"Your little girl is having some issues," she said.

I wiped the sheen of water away from my daughter's face. "What is it, sweetie?"

"I'm really tired and it's hard to see."

I kept my voice calm, but authoritative. "Grady, can you help Martin? Go straight ahead on the path. Not far." I watched my son and Martin hobble toward the bunker. Then I looked at Debra. "You probably didn't grab her medicine, right?"

"What medicine?"

"There are pills in my backpack." I looked back toward the deck. The beat of a rotor-wing aircraft—barely noticeable at first—grew steadier, stronger. "I'll run back and get it if you can manage with Amara."

Debra dropped the girl. "Sorry. She's too heavy. I can't go any further. You take her to the bunker. I'll go back for the pills."

I nodded. "Better hurry."

She left at a fast walk.

I struggled to pick up Amara's limp form. "Can you help me, hon? Can you stand up?"

"I'm too tired," she said.

She was going limp, so I had to cradle her on my shoulder like a sack of grain. "We'll get you back, don't worry."

We arrived at the bunker, with Zeke motioning us inside. He wanted to close the door, but I stopped him. "Debra's getting Amara's pills. She'll be back in a minute."

The ground rocked from an explosion. It appeared to be coming from the south.

"They've targeted the boat," Zeke said. "They'll come here next."