Near the east side of the city, Chris mounted his bike outside the Leikes’ residence. They huddled inside with a mattress and a couch pressed against the doors and windows. He smiled as he recalled the look on their faces when he walked in with Heaven. Worth it. Even with her little bubbles of misfortune and bad luck. It had taken him three hours to get there.

Traffic was atrocious. Fucking assholes everywhere. No one gave a damn about a man on a motorcycle with a papoose strapped to his chest. The entire time Heaven had gurgled and fizzed. At least she was magnanimous enough to only spit up on Chris once.

He’d meant to head back to the hospital by now. Nighttime would suck without a headlight. He placed his earphones on and cranked up the volume on the CD player. He made sure the gear shifter sat in neutral, turned on the key, and fired up the engine. Go time. He rumbled the motorcycle up to the edge of the driveway and pulled out. The song changed at the same time he heard the horn.

An enormous convoy truck knocked Chris back onto the pavement with its fender. And then the son of a bitch kept going! “Motherfucker!” He pushed the bike off him, tearing a hole in his scrub bottoms. “Hey!” He made it curbside and caught their plates just before they took the corner.

Iona-01.

The airline? Why the hell would an airline have a convoy vehicle?

Chris got back to his motorcycle and checked it. “Baby, what did they do to you?” There were some scratches, but no structural damage.

The airline in question operated out of an installation about three blocks from where Chris stood. It was worth a side trip before he headed back to the hospital. He hopped back onto the Honda Shadow and gingerly approached the road. No music this time. No big ass trucks, either. He made his way about two blocks down the road and stopped.

The entire complex was lit up. People milled around the exterior like ants. Trucks, planes, and ATVs worked around forklifts carrying massive loads of equipment on and off the planes. Intrigued and exhausted, Chris rolled up to the front gate. A man in coveralls holding a walkie talkie approached him.

“Sir, can I help you?”

Help me? At the beginning of the fucking apocalypse…

Chris said, “Why, yes. A truck came through here a minute ago and hit me. It had Iona on the plates.”

The guy said, “We’re sorry about that, sir,” then stood there. Nothing.

Chris demanded, “Okay, so I need new pants and someone to buff out my bike.”

The guy straightened. His neck and shoulders went rigid. There, at his neck, was a tattoo Chris recognized. “Were you in Bosnia?”

The dude nodded with no other reaction.

Chris said, “Me, too.” He showed him a similar tattoo, almost a match, on his neck. It was on the same spot.

The guy glanced at it, checked out the scratches on the bike, and then walked away, putting the walkie to his mouth. “Wingmaster. This is Cypher. We’ve got company. Over.”

A voice crackled, but Chris missed what they’d said. What kind of code name was ‘Wingmaster?’

The former soldier answered, “Negative. Friendly. Over.” This time he understood as the voice said, “Let him in. Over and Out.”

“Can I ask you to get off your bike, sir?”

Chris’ intuition told him entering that building of glass and concrete might change his life. Did he want that? Curious, he left the motorcycle and let the guy frisk him. Thorough. Professional. Not an inch was missed. Not that Chris had many places to store weapons in scrubs. Ah, but the guy was smart. He checked the saddlebags and went through the backpack.

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Cypher signaled at someone in the gate tower. To Chris, he said, “Walk the bike in.”

The gates parted, and Chris grabbed the handlebars.

A weird wave of foreboding and excitement crashed into him. It was exhilarating anticipation. He glanced back at the soldier in coveralls and asked, “What’s it like in there?”

“Organized chaos if you know what to look for,” he answered and turned his back on Chris.

Chris peered at him another minute as Cypher went back to his post. Chris shrugged and started pushing the bike into the gates. Another coveralls dude met him on the other side. “I’ll escort you to the garage bay over there.” He pointed.

Chris followed. New coveralls lacked any identifying marks. Not even scars. There was nothing to click with. At the bay doors, he said, “Leave the bike. You can keep your keys.”

Like hell! “And why would I—” Before Chris finished his sentence, a guy showed up with a drill and buffing attachment.

“I’ll do the best I can, but I can’t promise she’ll be as pretty as she was,” the drill guy assured.

Chris pocketed the keys. After an awkward pause, he said, “Thanks,” and followed Coveralls 2.0 into the hangar.

His chaperon pointed in a compact room and explained, “The boss is busy, but you can talk to Lucas.”

Chris asked, “Am I talking to him about repairing my bike and offering me some pants? Cause that’s all I came here for.”

Coveralls 2.0 nodded. “He’ll be here, and then we’ll see if that’s all you want.”

Chris looked him upside the head as he walked into a tiny cell of a room with a table and one chair on either side. Chris sat down. The door closed. He called, “It better not be too long!” While he waited, he picked at the fraying hole in his scrubs seam. What the hell was this place? No airfield needed a small militia. Something wasn’t sitting right.

The door opened. “Hello! I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.” A sandy blond man about an inch shorter than Chris walked into the room. He wore a business suit sans tie with the collar and cuffs undone. “It’s been a bit stressful here, today.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Chris asked, half-dazed. The man’s genuine smile and super pale skin unnerved him during a fucking apocalypse.

“I’m Lucas.” He held out his hand with long fingernails. It looked cold and clammy.

Chris declined. “Sorry, man. I just…” At a loss for words, he crossed his legs at the ankles and stretched out in the chair. He appeared casual as he scanned every square inch of the room, including the stranger.

“Well, I won’t waste anymore of your time. Iona is recruiting. We need some extra help with the alien onslaught. I’ll be upfront with you right now: I’m an alien.” Lucas just laid it out on the table. The entire time he kept the same smile upon his face.

Chris wanted to jump out of his skin. But after today… “Recruiting for what?”

The smile converted into a smirk as Lucas said, “Cypher needs a raise. He certainly has an eye for talent. No wonder the Boss trusts him to be in charge of the installation.” He sat down across the table from Chris.

So many of the words washed over Chris. But ‘talent’ stuck. He said, “I’m a veteran. Cypher and I served the same time.”

Lucas said, “Very fortunate, too. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. We’re sending a convoy to help at the State Capitol. We’re setting up a shelter there.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”

“Good. And you have emergency personnel experience?”

Chris resisted pointing to his ripped scrubs. “I’ve been a tech at a few hospitals. I suppose I could be of some use. But, before we go any further, what the fuck is happening out there?”

Lucas explained it all. Including the fresh arrival of a super unit code name: Shadow Progeny.

“So, our General is an eighteen-year-old?” Chris didn’t bring up the fact that she was a girl. That was unrelated. Women could lead armies. But eighteen?!

Lucas nodded with that genuine smile plastered on his face. “Yes, she is quite capable. We are in excellent hands, but let’s talk more about you. Are you willing to help the convoy? You’ll also take charge of a valuable asset. A more difficult undertaking than you might assume. That’s if you pass the physical and mental screenings.”

Chris cracked his neck and said, “Shoot.”

Lucas beamed. “A young man. His name is Jack. Fifteen-years-old. He needs your protection and guidance. In the words of our boss, ‘Die before he does.’”

They were asking Chris to lay his life on the line for some young man he hadn’t even met yet? Should he help these people out at all? He thought about the state of the hospital, and how shitty everything had gotten so fast. He thought of the Leike family earlier and how happy they were to get their daughter back without a car to retrieve her.

Chris said, “I have a request.”

“Of course.” Lucas nodded sagely.

“There’s a family just a few blocks away. I was helping them out, but they’re pretty terrified. They don’t have a car to get to any shelter—”

“Say no more. It will be done,” Lucas promised. “You can point out their home to the convoy on the way through. They are most welcome.”

Still suspicious, Chris asked, “Your boss won’t mind?”

Lucas’ smile softened. So this was his actual smile. “There’s no one he wouldn’t save if he could.”

Chris startled at the sincerity of the statement before asking, “Is he an Icarus as well?”

“He is. The best of us,” Lucas said, as if stating a fact.

“Okay, now what?”

“Now, we get you into some clothes that don’t have any holes and test your mettle.” Lucas stood and held out his hand.

This time, Chris shook it.