Gasoline | Ben Parish

33

BEFORE the waves, I never thought I would ride in a helicopter. It's not that I was afraid of heights. I just never thought it was something I would do.

The waves changed everything, though. The aliens re-wrote all of our futures to fit their agenda.

I'm sitting in a Black Hawk, squashed beside Teacup. The heavy pants of the blades forcing themselves through the air resonate in my chest. The wind is loud and insistent. The sharp cool air rushing past dries my eyes and stings my cheeks.

The few times I dare to squint against the wind, I make out thick clouds of smoke billowing up from destroyed cities. During the mission briefing, we were told that lightning from severe storms had started fires. I wonder if the aliens fucked with our weather.

A light snow has also fallen. It reflects the small rays of winter sunlight. Some small patches are dense enough to cover the black soot that coats most of the streets.

I turn away. I don't want to see it. Thinking about all that we've lost, all that's happened, will distract from the mission.

Ringer is right across from me, neck craned as the pilot yells something to her. She nods, turns her head to look down the small aisle, and shouts, "Zombie!"

He doesn't hear her. Our squad leader – or should I just call him our sergeant? – is stationed on the very edge of the chopper, staring out over the destruction of our home state.

I bump Teacup's shoulder, and she passes the nudge down until it reaches Zombie. When he meets Ringer's eyes, she holds up two fingers.

Two minutes 'til we reach the drop zone.

My stomach churns. It's not out of nerves. My fingers clench around the grip of my rifle, eager to feel it warm from decisive shots.

I'm not nervous. I'm beyond ready. I've been ready for this since the first wave. I have people to avenge and bloodlust to satisfy.

I remember what Zombie told me in the dim hallway of the base, his feverish eyes and tense tone. "There's the possibility that UnTeds will be there. And I think Vosch wants us to shoot them."

During our briefing, we were reminded once again that Teds will show up green in our eye pieces. We shoot green. Civilians will be red. We don't shoot red.

Zombie must've misunderstood what Vosch was saying. That's got to be it. There's no way the leader of the fight for humanity would want us to mow down any surviving humans... right?

Then I think of Nugget's father and sister. They never showed. First priority. Did that promise mean what we were all led to think?

Zombie's not stupid. He has more of a soldier's heart than I do. If he's finding a reason to doubt our superiors, or even question their motives, then shouldn't that be a red flag?

My eyes wander to Ringer, who is checking over everyone's gear with her steady gaze. She's one of the smartest people I have ever met. Does she have any suspicions?

This really isn't the time to be debating this. I don't have time to think about it, anyway. The chopper is lowering, powerful blades sending the nearby puddles rippling.

A green light comes on by the door.

It's time.