They did an impressive job on the car. Corrugated on top of a roll cage, heavier plate around sides, even if it wasn’t very well secured. Only a few points of welding holding it all together. It would hold for the journey, they assured me. There’s nothing like going headlong into known danger with such assurances, something like a duck and cover exercise in case of a nuclear explosion, it wouldn’t do you much good, and you all know it, but somehow dying in a group like that made it seem better. She’d spraypainted the group’s logo on each side, a dolphin on a wave, a crude rendition, but it would serve.

We set out a few hours after the sun rose. Pawel driving, Oleg with me in the back seat. Delacruz in the front passenger’s seat, but more  standing in the peak of the corrugated where he got the best visibility. Monica had made some small windows with flaps, about three inches high and with full 360 visibility. Of course, if anything got into one of those windows, a bullet would bounce around, anything more explosive, well, let’s hope they aren’t armed with grenade launchers. We each had a firearm, two rifles, three handguns between us.

Once out of the gate, we headed along our chosen path. We drove in silence until we were past the neighborhood. That’s when Delacruz looked down, despondent.

“I don’t like it. I didn’t see anyone.”

Oleg turned to me to explain.

“This is an active area, a community. There should have been people around, friendly people. They were always out, scavenging or tending crops. Now, you can see the weeds. Nobody has been around.”

“Not for a long time.”

“We’ll get answers.”

The drive turned out to be uneventful in itself, which was a good thing. That armor was a psychological thing, but impractical. I felt caged, knowing if death would come, I’d never see the attacker. It was also a little too Mad Max for my taste, but this was their choice, and I was along for the ride.

You could see signs of the Navy base from a mile away, not like you’d see guys in uniform out on leave, more like anchors placed at intersections, old deck top artillery used as statuary, a helicopter mounted outside what used to be a VFW hall. There were some people, they were out and looking like they were in good shape, clean and well-fed. A handful of people, not like a large community.

My chest was hurting. The roads weren’t exactly in great shape and I was already uncomfortable. No good position in this rattle-trap. I made do, breathed deep, meditated, squeezed my fist, but the pain was getting to me. Wasn’t this supposed to get better after a couple days?

The approach to the base was a different story. Building had been razed, the rubble cleared, an open field of vision. Nobody could get within a half mile of the place without being seen from the guard towers. The rubble had been pushed back at a consistent radius, a berm of concrete, brick and wood fifteen feet high and at least as much thick surrounded a scorched earth half circle, looking like a blast radius. They must have just driven bulldozers straight through every building in the area. There was one way through if you were a vehicle, one hole in the wall, a bottleneck.

As we passed through the gate, we slowed, and once we were 500 feet in, we stopped.

“Protocol,” Oleg said. “Far enough in that nobody’s going to ambush from behind, far enough away that we can’t make an effective attack. Let’s get out.”

Pawel opened the one functioning door to the vehicle, and got out, hands up. We all followed. Four Jeeps approached.

“Weapons,” Oleg said. He kept one arm up, and with the other pulled his gun out, laid it on the ground.

“Go on. Nobody’s going to attack us now.”

“Except them,” Pawel said.

They were already upon us when I drew mine. The Jeeps slammed on their breaks, grinding to a halt on the gravel road. A dozen Navy men were out of the vehicles and in firing position in a heartbeat, all guns aimed at me.

“Put the weapon down!” they yelled, but so many of them yelled other orders, information about us, how many, the vehicle, the other guns that had already been set down, telling all of us to get down, none of us understood a word of it, it was coming so fast.

“On the ground now!”

I didn’t know if they meant me, or the others or the gun, I should have, it’s obvious what I should have done, but I was still in shock, I was exhausted, I was dumb. One of them got around me, threw me to the ground. The wind went right out of me.

“She’s injured! Be careful!” Oleg said.

“Shut up!”

He put his knee on my back, two more had guns on my head. He stepped down hard.

“Take it easy! We’re from tidewater. She’s hurt.”

My vision went red, then black.

Lori Kim is written by Bryan Lee Peterson. Find more at The Mindofbryan

Up to the command center, then, to plan the mission. There’s only a couple routes to the naval base that make any sense, one skirting the neighborhood where we had the encounter, one going through a part of it. To skirt it would be easier driving, but more out of the way, use more fuel, fuel that could be put to other use elsewhere. We decide to take that route with little discussion. The estimate is about 6.5 gallons of fuel, about one less of we travel through the neighborhood. To risk a person is worse than risking fuel. We go, we make it fast, we make it back alive.

The next problem comes with the destination itself.

At this point I was confused. Weren’t we going there for a little intel, nothing more?

“Thing about navy boys,” Oleg said, “is they don’t really behave like they used to. This is an isolated base, but they have all the munitions and ships they need for a very long time. That kind of thing, it goes to your head. There is no such thing as command anymore. Their senior officer is all they have to lead them, and all that firepower. And he’s a real prick too. That base is one of the most powerful places in the world right now, with access to things we could only dream of for here.”

Pawel spoke up. “Just watch yourself. You’ll want to be conservative in everything there, every glance and gesture. Don’t provoke anyone, follow orders.”

“Monica isn’t allowed.” Ricardo chided.

She gave him the finger.  ”We had a couple of incidents,” she explained to me.

“Monica, are the vehicles ready?”

“They’ll run fine. Been working on the solar arrays, so they aren’t very fortified.”

“What can you do?” Oleg asked, in all seriousness.

“By tomorrow? Shit. You’re kidding me, right?”

“We need information and alliance immediately.”

“Alliance?” I asked.

“The Navy boys aren’t entirely friendly. They can afford not to be. But they aren’t unfriendly. They’re the playground bully. Every time we go there, it’s a matter of breaking down barriers of diplomacy. So Monica? What can you do?”

“Batteries are low enough, I won’t be able to get much going unless you want to get on the bike all night.”

Pawel jumped up. “I’ll take the first shift.”

“We leave at dawn.”

===

Can I say how much I miss painkillers? Sleeping with broken ribs means you don’t sleep, so much as work to find a comfortable position for a few minutes, doze off out of exhaustion, then wake up from the pain of breathing. Maybe I shouldn’t go. Judgment clouded by pain and sleep deprivation can get you killed.