Helen Forester crawled out from the pillow fort just as the goblins crashed through the front doorway. Marty was trying to pull a Tylenol from a fanny pack and only succeeding in spilling them onto the carpet.

“Get back to the hall!” Barb called. “We need to block them. Stand strong!”

She felt like her favourite actor, Russell Crowe, in Gladiator. Jeff loved the movie for its action, though Barb insisted she was only there for the soundtrack. Now she was starting to wonder if Jeff had been right. It was certainly good inspiration.

Herself, Mei, Loretta and Kimberly lined up in the hallway, shoulder to shoulder. They pointed their weapons at the approaching tide of monsters. Barb felt her heartbeat quicken, probably sending her pacemaker wild, then stole a glance at the others. Loretta seemed okay. Mei had seen Barb take down a goblin only a short time ago and looked confident. Kimberly, having come from the south-east of the village, was encountering the fierce, stinking goblins for the first time.

“I don’t know if I can do this!” she shouted. Her poleaxe was wavering. “There’s too many for us!”

“You can, Kim! Don’t let us down!”

The first of the goblins skewered themselves on their weapons, pushed forward by the weight of their brethren behind them. Barb felt her spear shift in her hands, guiding itself as though the spirit of some long-dead warrior was embedded inside. The shaft retracted in her grip, then pounced forward and jabbed into a goblin trying to clamber over the top of the fallen bodies. Loretta shrieked while her weapon jumped and leapt in her hands. She spat and wiped at her face as a splotch of something ghastly sprayed onto her.

Barb could hear Rory and the other drivers speeding back and forth outside the house. He must’ve hit the gas when he saw the swarm, but he hadn’t left them behind.

“Unblock that side door!” Mei yelled. “Get back to the van and bring the shortbread!”

A group of reserve fighters grabbed the necessities and pulled the rickety stack of dining chairs apart. The door opened onto a tight sidewalk where a fold-out washing line betrayed Helen’s expansive collection of lingerie.

“Don’t look at that!” she called. “It’s not mine, I swear!”

The ladies made their way out, supporting one of the centenarians who had hurt her leg. Marty was swept up in the frenzy, still trying to read labels on his little orange pill bottles. Once the hall was clear of fighters and the flock of goblins had lessened, Barb called for their line of defence to break so they could escape with the others. They backed out onto the path, remarked at Helen’s taste, then followed the others.

“Rory’s coming round! The other three, too!”

There were less goblins out the front, though some trickled from the open front door. A few fighters were holding them off while the rest pushed forward to Rory’s van, which was parked with two wheels up on the kerb. Rory was dashing around the vehicle, opening doors and squishing people in. He seemed to have things under control, but Barb wished he’d just sit in the driver’s seat and get ready for a quick take-off. For all they knew, there could be a second goblin dwelling nearby, packed with bloodthirsty monsters.

“We’re almost in!” Barb called. “Rory, get back to the driver’s seat. Mei, can you help Shelley in? You and Kimberly hop into Miranda’s van, I think we need the space. She’ll squeeze you in somewhere.”

The other vans parked behind Rory, and Barb’s girls filed in. There was some difficulty getting the longer weapons packed away, but this was remedied by handing each weapon to one of the nurses. A six-foot spear became an everyday straw broom. Kimberly’s poleaxe reverted to a retractable paint roller. The fleet peeled away from the kerb, the suspension jolting as Rory bumped down off the sidewalk.

Barb sat back in the passenger seat, puffing. “We did it. I can’t believe it worked.” She looked across at Rory, who only shook his head and looked relieved. “Let’s get back and give them the good news.”

***

Barb’s jubilance was short-lived. They arrived back at the main building to find it in disarray. Rory and the other drivers deposited the fighters at the front door just in time for them to carve through a group of goblins assaulting the entrance. Barb strode though into the foyer, finding that several of the wheelchair-bound women were gripping bloodied weapons, having been forced to join the fight.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? You left, and those monsters came for us.” Florence sat on a folding chair just in front of the reception desk, sneering at Barb. “We had to lock up the East Wing. I was nearly killed!” The haughty woman showed off a light graze on her forearm.

“Is everyone else okay?” Barb couldn’t stand to think of anyone being hurt, or, as Florence suggested, killed.

“Well, there may be some faulty hearts after the shock they gave us. I suppose that’s no different from before, though.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Barb ignored Florence’s complaints and went to the east wing. She held her ear to the door. Nothing. She assembled a group of five fighters and eased open the locked door, peeking down the hall. Her eyes made things blurry after twenty metres or so, but she could see light at the end of the tunnel. She briefly thought that might be a metaphor, then shut the door.

“It’s clear now, but let’s keep it locked. I need to talk to Miranda. Has anyone seen her?

***

After a stressful quarter hour of searching for her favourite nurse, Barb heard word that the young lady was sitting in a consultation room about halfway down the west wing. She made the journey down the hall, accepting a wheelchair from a nurse who decided enough was enough. Their general was working herself too hard, and it was time she took the weight off her feet.

Barb was worried that others might see her and think something was wrong, but once she finally slumped down into the chair and made herself comfortable, she realised how close she was to sleep.

She rolled in to find Miranda sitting on the cold linoleum floor beside a power outlet. She had a stack of extension cords and power boards next to her, all looped up like a bird’s nest. Beside those was a collection of magnets, nails, and one of the big lamps that the doctors used when they needed both hands free.

“Miranda! I thought we’d lost you somewhere between Helen’s and here.”

“Oh, Barb, sorry for worrying you! No, I dropped off Mei and Kimberly then scurried in here. I’ve had an idea.”

That interested Barb. She was all out of ideas at this point. Being the Granny General was a tough job.

“Go on. I’m guessing it involves all that electrical gear?”

Miranda grinned. She cleared her throat as though she were presenting a product pitch. “It does. Have you ever wondered what would happen if you took a power board like this—” She held up a four-slot power board by its fraying cord. “—and plugged another power board into that? Then another? And another?”

“Bad things, I’m guessing?”

Her smile widened. “Pretty much, yes. It’s called daisy-chaining, and if you do it right — or wrong, I suppose — you can get enough power to flow through the first power board that the whole thing goes poof.” She emphasised the point by mimicking an explosion with her hands.

“You’re saying you want to blow up the goblins?”

“Barb! No! No, sorry, I forgot the important part. You might remember it, actually. I mentioned to you and Mei, I think, that when I flicked off a power outlet earlier, it kind of fizzed?”

Barb nodded, rolling herself further into the room and closer to Miranda. The act of moving stopped her from nodding off. Who knew a wheelchair could actually be comfortable?

“Well,” Miranda continued, “Those plugs don’t usually fizz or spark or anything. They’re tested four times a year by this mousy-looking guy in high-vis. He’s got this itty-bitty goatie that is so cute.”

Barb hurried her along.

“Sorry. Anyway, I thought it might have something to do with the dome, so when I was waiting outside Helen’s, I tried the daisy-chaining thing on a smaller scale, using the phone charger in the glove box. And here’s the thing. I actually got radio for a second. Frank Ocean sang me half the chorus of Lost before the whole thing when kaput. Mei asked me what the burning smell was when she hopped in.”

Barb chewed her lip and gestured to the power boards. “So you’re saying the dome is some kind of advanced electromagnetic field? And a big enough short-circuit might topple it?”

“Maybe. But I don’t think daisy-chaining is gonna cut it. So here’s the fun part. I read something in Stephen King’s memoir—”

Oh god, Barb thought. What’s she gone and learned from the King of Horror?

“—it was a cute story, actually, but I won’t bore you with the technical details. Basically, I’d like to try frying the transformer out the back. I hope you unplugged your kettle and toaster at home, cause it might get them, too.”

Barb rubbed her forehead. She wasn’t even sure why Miranda was telling her this. Barb had worked as a court stenographer, not an electrician or an engineer. The only input she could possibly give was that jamming a fork in the power outlet was liable to give one a frizzy new hairstyle and a stay in the hospital. Past that, she was in the dark.

“Will this ruin my pacemaker? I’m definitely not the only lady with one of these — there’s no point breaking the dome if you send half of us into cardiac arrest.”

Miranda looked concerned. “Ah. Hadn’t thought of that. Do you think we could get everyone out of the building? The transformer is out back with the bins. If we stay away from there…”

“Then our tickers might stay ticking.”

“Exactly.”

Barb sighed. She had another speech to make.

***

At least the platform wasn’t required this time. Most of the residents identified Barb as someone to listen to. It helped that Miranda got on the intercom and announced there was a plan in the works.

“This should be the last time you have to hear me whine at you,” Barb began. The once-orderly rows of seats were abandoned. The residents and staff sat or stood wherever they’d landed in the mess of the invasion, listening. “Miranda and I have come up with a plan, but it has some risk. We believe we can destroy the dome, but in order to do so, anyone with a pacemaker or some other electrical device keeping thing going will have to leave the building. I suggest we all leave as a group, for security.”

“What about those in palliative care?” called Florence. “What about them?”

“The nurses have arranged for them to be shifted. The village has vans with portable life support systems for those that require it.”

“And what if we’re attacked? I do not wish to fight anymore.”

Barb could’ve throttled the woman for making this all so difficult. Florence occupied the grandest mansion in the village, and she seemed to inherit the arrogance that it exuded over the more modest houses. She half hoped that the goblins would make it their new abode, thoroughly trashing the place.

“We have enough fighters to keep us safe. More than enough, in fact. For that reason, I suggest we head north, to the goblin’s dens. Even if the dome comes down, the goblins still need to be destroyed. Rory says the ones he hit in the van weren’t killed. It’s a real possibility that only our weapons can destroy them. We can’t wait.”

Many of the attendees were apprehensive, but it was the best she and Miranda could muster. The prospect of a final battle — one last hurdle before they could return to lawn bowls and the peaceful existence of retirement — was satisfying for some, however, and enough to garner support for their plan. It was just a few nodding heads, but it was enough.

“Alright, then. Drivers, if you could park out the front once again? Those in wheelchairs can line up first. Let’s get everyone out.”

People started moving. Rory walked past with his keys in hand. “This is a lot of people, Barb. We really could’ve done with those buses.”

Barb sighed. “I know, Rory. And you know what else I wish we had?”

He paused and looked back. “What?”

“The people on those buses. I miss my husband.”