Beau inspected the possible entry points for a search and clear mission.

  As they sat parked in their vehicles, in the driveway of 321 Black Apple Lane, the red studio barn house loomed above them. Its gabled roof stood tall like a mountain. Its front windows were dark and unreadable. The house, like all the others in the neighborhood, and the world for that matter, was completely empty of human life.

  From atop the dashboard command post of the 12V Jeep, Beau stood tall against the wind. His black P-1 armor was slick with dust. He scanned the towering home with a soldier’s eye. He notated overgrowth under the front porch which extended deeper under the raised house. There was no telling what nested under there. The swing on the front porch swayed and creaked. The screen door from the neighbor’s house slammed open and then closed from the wind. Tessa stood beside him and gazed up at the rolling storm clouds. They were thick and purple. They swelled, ready to burst at any moment.

  “There it is,” Beau said. “It might be a death trap inside. We have to find a way inside and clear it.”

  The name of the street felt surreal—Black Apple Lane. It was like something from a fairy tale. It wasn’t just a house to them, it was a fortress of possibilities. It was their territory. It was their future home. But first they had to claim it for themselves. They had to clear the interior and raise the Black Bird flag.

  Some of the militia in the Escalade behind them cheered. A few clapped. A couple of civilians let out nervous whoops.

  Beau raised his fist. “Knock it off,” he said, sharp but not cruel. “Don’t celebrate what you haven’t survived. That house might be our shelter. Or it might be our end. Either way, nobody moves until we clear it.”

  The laughter died instantly.

  A new silence fell over the convoy—one shaped by Beau’s warning. He looked skyward. The clouds weren’t just rolling. They were converging like a clenched fist. Sunlight broke through the dense clouds in angled shafts. The wind picked up slightly. It whispered through the overgrown yard and rattled a set of wind chimes on the front porch.

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  “Storm’s coming,” Tessa muttered, squinting up. “Ten minutes. Maybe less. At our size, rain is bad news.”

  Beau didn’t respond at first. He watched the sky like it might fall.

  He knew that the rain, at their scale, might not kill them, but it could topple and injure them. It could drown them. It would make visibility a challenge. They would have to be quick to avoid it. But the rain wasn’t the only problem. The neighborhood was covered in mature oak trees. A falling acorn might kill someone. And they were in season. The whole neighborhood smelled of damp oak leaves and the breath of the oncoming storm. Wildflower pollen clung to the breeze as the first raindrops darkened the dry ground and released the musky perfume of fallen leaves and sun-baked soil.

  He turned to the militia. “We don’t have long,” he called. “We’ve got five hundred soldiers and that house needs clearing. I want four platoons of fifty. The rest stay behind and protect the colony. I’ll assign quadrants for the assault squads breaching the house’s interior. Each quadrant gets a commander. Chief Mahoney, take northwest. Rena, take northeast. Tessa, take southeast. I’ll take the southwest.”

  Each commander wore their gleaming black P-1 combat armor as they stepped in front of their rallied squads. The militia behind them wore their usual navy blue plastic P-1 combat armor. Each platoon raised their Vindicators. They toggled their flashlights and clicked fresh magazines into place.

  “Mayor Carnie,” Beau continued, turning. “You hold the line, outside. Guard the vehicles. Patrol the street. Keep the vehicles moving if it gets too hot. If you see birds in the sky, you move. You see a cat, you run. You see anything that shouldn’t be here—circle the neighborhood and come back once it’s clear. Got it?”

  “Got it, Commander. I’ll keep everyone safe.”

  Beau nodded and dropped from the Jeep onto the pavement. The ground felt gritty beneath his boots. A curled leaf blew past him like a sheet of rusted metal.

  He raised his hand again. “We don’t have comms. So, if anything goes wrong, we fall back to the driveway. This is the rally point. We’re going in. Watch your spacing. Check your targets before firing. Otherwise, you kill if you need to. Now, MOVE OUT!”

  The four platoons fanned out toward the massive barn house. Beau led his own platoon around the left toward the backyard. The house loomed above them like a castle. Every board of its siding was thick as a boulder. Every window was black and reflected the storm clouds. The backyard sloped downward. It was slick with clumps of soil and rotted mulch. Ant trails crisscrossed in the mud. A green garden hose sat coiled and cracked from sun exposure. It blocked part of their path like a dead serpent. They climbed over it. A long sigh of wind moved through the trees above. In the distance, he could hear the first rumble of thunder.

  “Let’s find a way in,” he said. “Before the rain tries to kill us.”