Divided We Fall by W.J. Lundy Read Free Book Online

the
street, slowing to avoid another column of fast-moving trucks. He hit the
sidewalk on the far side and moved briskly, wanting to run, but not wanting to
aggravate his healing injuries. He turned onto a sidewalk that led to the old
officers’ quarters—a small stack of what would more closely resemble college
dorms or an old-style motor lodge. Shane’s unit was located on the end of a row
of five units. As Shane passed the fourth door, it swung open and a young
soldier in full uniform with captain’s bars on his hat rushed out. The soldier
shut his door and, after nearly colliding with Shane, lost his balance and tumbled
forward.
    Shane reached out
his arm, helping to steady the man. “Sir, do you know what’s going on?”
    The officer took a
pack he was carrying in his left arm and shouldered it as he spoke. “There is a
unit in contact a couple miles out. They are in trouble, calling in everything
we got to support them.”
    “Primals?” Shane
asked.
    The captain shook
his head and stepped back. “No, it’s contact with an enemy force. They got
ambushed on the road—some of the other patrols are taking fire too. Sorry, I
gotta go.”
    Shane watched the
officer run down the sidewalk in the direction the soldier-laden trucks had
traveled. Enemy contact? Shane said to himself. Why… who would attack
an Army base?
    He moved back to
his apartment’s door and entered the space. Shane’s room was small and arranged
like a hotel suite: a small bed on a long wall, a bathroom at the end, a small
kitchenette in a corner, and the opposite wall filled with a dresser and
wardrobe.
    Shane always kept
his bag packed; he found it at the end of the bed and lifted it with his right
arm, feeling the scar tissue protest under the weight. He pushed an arm through
a single strap then opened a top drawer on the dresser and removed his M4
rifle. He then took several full magazines, which he dropped into the cargo pockets
on his pants before he grabbed the last magazine, loaded, and charged his
weapon. With his gear, he turned and left the room, moving back to the
sidewalk.
    More men loaded
with gear were leaving the units and running in the direction of the trucks; Shane,
growing more concerned, picked up the pace back to Chelsea’s house. More
gunfire erupted, this time closer, near the gates—small arms and explosions,
possibly grenades. Shane began jogging across the street; he saw movement in a
far tree line and paused. Silhouettes cut through the thin trees, the fading
sun creating deep outlines of their forms. Not the hasty or primitive movement
of Primals, but something else. He identified two distinct figures. Shane ran
forward and pressed against the corner of a neighboring home one away from
Chelsea’s house. He peered around the edge of the home, still listening to the
truck traffic moving behind him and the steady echo of small arms fire.
    Shane focused on
the figures and watched them step along, stalking their way through the trees. He
saw more file in just behind the first two. “Maybe a roving patrol,” he
whispered. Shane quickly sprinted to the next building; he passed the door,
hoping Ella and Chelsea were locked in as he’d asked. Shane dropped on his belly,
low crawled to the corner, and peeked through the tall grass.
    Who are they? Shane
thought as he watched the man at the front of the column approach the edge of
the field that formed the backyards of the homes. The man stepped a few feet
into the tall grass and dropped to a knee. Shane saw the man raise a fist,
halting the rest of the patrol, then lift a small rifle to his eye—presumably
using the optics to scout ahead. Shane’s heart skipped a beat when he
recognized the black uniform.
    It can’t be… not
here. His stomach filled with fear.
    The sound of
vehicle wheels screeched as it skidded to a stop behind him, and Shane turned
to see a Humvee; a soldier stood in the turret looking directly at him. The
front door of the Humvee opened and a