Day Zero - C. Robert Cargill Page 0,80

belted out Snugs. His minigun spat hell into the sky. A second later, the reverberation of the explosion rattled the bus even more than the BRRRRRT had.

“Yes, you did,” said Benny. “Wait, bogey number two.”

BRRRRRT.

BOOM.

Missile number two had been loosed and downed. This model of drone carried only two, which boded well.

The drone raced overhead and was now in front of us, probably leaving to rearm. We would be long gone and out of the bus by the time it did.

“What about the buses behind us?” asked Indiana.

Ziggy unshouldered his sniper rifle and moved toward the back of the bus. Snugs stepped aside, swinging the large barrel of his minigun over Ziggy’s head.

Ziggy took a knee, steadied his rifle, and took stock of the situation. “I can’t make anything out,” he said. “There could be one bot on a bus, there could be fifty.”

He fired a shot.

He shook his head. “Tires are solid. I’m not stopping that thing with this, and the minigun isn’t going to do the trick at this range.”

“We’ve got to drive faster. Pounce, hit the—”

“Wait,” I said. “We’ve got a problem.”

Ahead of us, the drone banked around, turning back our way.

Ferdinand looked out the windshield. “It doesn’t have any more missiles,” he said.

“It is a missile,” I said.

Everyone exchanged looks, suddenly fully aware what was happening.

“Snugs!” called Ferdinand.

“On it!” Snugs made his way toward the front of the bus, his minigun swinging wildly over the heads of ducking children.

“If you miss,” I said, “or don’t hit it far enough out . . .”

“Yeah,” said Snugs warily. “I know.” Then he steadied himself and kicked the windshield. It cracked but didn’t shatter. He kicked it again. This time it buckled.

Snugs leveled the minigun at the glass. “Everybody down.” He let out a short burst—less than a second—and the glass shattered, some spraying out, some blown back in by the wind. Snugs then took aim, the drone getting closer by the second.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT.

Searing hot metal screamed into the sky as the drone jinked and wove, trying its best to avoid the hail of bullets.

Then the stream struck true, sawing one of the wings off.

The drone immediately spun horizontally in the direction of the torn wing before tilting on its axis, flipping head over heels.

The drone came down, slamming nose first into the highway, exploding, shrapnel and fire filling the entirety of the road ahead of us, far too close to avoid.

The bus tire caught the body of the drone, bouncing the left side of the bus quite a bit into the air, tilting on its right side.

I immediately tried to correct by turning the wheels into the skid while sidestepping to the upended side of the bus, but it was too late. Everyone, child and Mama Bear alike, was tossed to the right side of the bus as it slammed into the ground, skidding, sheering metal, and shattering glass before finally coming to a stop.

Fire and smoke from the drone filled the bus.

We sprang into action within microseconds, grabbing the children and getting them out of immediate harm’s way.

Ezra lay twisted against the exposed highway in a pile of broken glass. I lunged over, scooping him up into my arms. His face was scraped, a piece of glass sticking out of his cheek. He looked at me, a bit stunned.

“Pounce?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Yeah, buddy. Let’s go.”

“Fall in and call out!” Ferdinand bellowed.

“All the kids are good,” said Indiana.

“Operational,” said Snugs.

“Good to go,” said Benny.

“I’m good,” said Leo, while signing the same into the air.

“We’re good too,” I said.

A brief quiet.

“Ziggy?” called Ferdinand.

Nothing. No response. Quickly, several of us moved over to find Ziggy, his torso crushed beneath the bar between two bus windows, legs hanging in from one window and head and arms dangling in the next.

No.

“Goddamn it,” said Ferdinand.

“He was a good boy,” said Indiana sadly.

No one said it, but we all thought it: if we had to lose one of us, the one without a child to comfort was the one who would save us the valuable moments we needed to get out of this alive. We took a few milliseconds to mourn.

And that was all the time we had to recover. The facets would be on us in seconds.

“Snugs,” said Ferdinand. “Suppression fire.”

“Copy that.”

Mister Snuggles bounded atop the sides of the school bus seats toward the back door. He bounced out and the bus rattled as the bear immediately opened fire. The front entry was closed, so we’d have to get the kids