The Conrell Clan

Chapter 11

The night was pitch black, but on the ground below, it was anything but. The fires from the explosions and such had not completely gone out, but they only gave light to the pale on the ground below.

There must have been seven hundred of them. I couldn't tell what they were doing, but I soon saw human beings with them. They were all by their ship, some being taken in, others being led away.

I shook Scott awake. He groaned in pain. "Scott, you need to see this." He got up, alert now.

Wincing, he walked to the railing, passing the start of one slide in the process. He looked over and gasped.

A ship took off, taking people with it. It was one of two ships not destroyed in the explosions. The other was not being loaded. What was going on? Where were they going? They had a occupation on the island? This was so much bigger than I thought. We thought. My dream had said only a small task force was coming, and if this was small, what was big?

"We have to contact the others. See if they're safe!" Scott reached for the walkie-talkie, having to use his left arm because of the damage to his right one.

"No," I commanded. "We could compromise our safety, or theirs." Scott put his hand down, looking on still.

Our next course of action had to be diligently planned. Very diligently. An error could hurt more people, and frankly, feelings aside, I thought, we'd need them to be out of the way, unless they can help. This is a military operation, not a simple escape. We can't handle this. How are we ever going to even survive, let alone win? This is the island at stake. And that is why I have to keep fighting. For these people. For my brother.

We waited in the cold night until dawn, and ate a few granola bars, mouths painfully dry as we did. I assessed Scott's wound, taking off my shirt and putting it back on, needing it, even if it was covered in old blood. His arm was still not good, but better. It wasn't pouring with blood, so there was a plus. But it looked terrible, and I was not a medical expert enough to go into much more detail.

As the sun came up, the Dreadmen mostly retreated back into their grounded mothership and did Dreadmen things. We looked at our perch for a solid fifteen minutes straight, but saw no signs of any humans. There were two patrols of Dreadmen going around, one coming to us about every five minutes.

Scott and I formulated a plan to move out. I packed up the last five granola bars into both of our pockets, and we got ready.

Not all successful operations begin with a waterslide, but this one was hopefully going to. Both of us went down at once, in the same slide, trying to lessen the noise made as much as possible.

It worked. The timing was great, too. They were just out of earshot as we got in the water, and rapidly got out. Our clothes were soaked, of course, so we had to run. The washroom was close, but we only had my machete and a guy with one injured arm to defend ourselves in the event of a fight.

We made it about halfway until the other patrol met our path. We were hugging the one end of the park, and so we made it by them, but it was hard to stop myself and even harder to stop Scott from killing them on the spot. Or worse.

"I swear, the moment I get my warhammer back." Scott muttered under his breath, and I couldn't blame him. I felt bad for him, for these people, all of them. And then it hit me. Denver.

"Scott, where do you think they put Denver?" I asked as we got closer and closer to the washroom. Without incident.

It was clear the thought hadn't crossed his mind, as he remained speechless, not knowing whether to shrug or actually care. Or look like it. I knew he cared.

"We'll find her. Find them. Free them all. Save them. We just need to get it started." He was eager, excited. Bloodthirsty. And I hoped he understood that he was in no condition to be fighting anyone. I could've lasted maybe another day up there, with my granola bars and avoiding sun, but it was mostly for Scott that I made sure we left. Sure, time was so precious, but he needed to have that looked at. And I was hoping and praying that there were still people. Somewhere.

We reached the washroom after another minute, but stopped to hastily drink at the fountains, which had not been turned off, but had next to no water pressure. Water was water though, and I was not complaining. As long as this got rid of my headache. And pain. And raspy throat. And overall crappiness.

With that, we reached the washrooms, and we both went to the men's room in a rush. There we saw them. Eight people, one with a gun, almost shooting at us, and all of them armed in some way. I recognized Brenda and the chef, and a few people from the lobby and the people we left here originally.

"Do you have food?" Brenda lowered the gun. I dropped my hands from where they had been, and nodded.

"Reaching for the food," I told her. My hands went down to my pockets and pulled out the granola bars, throwing one to each of them. Scott threw his too. "There are only five, so you will have to split them."

They all ate what we gave them, and we talked about what had happened. Brenda started. "As you would know, by your walkie-talkie, we were ambushed in the room we had barricaded. In the surprise, a few of the guards gave their lives to help us get out. The leader of them, the one who had this gun, Officer Dabney, took them all on. She could still be there. I don't know what they are doing. But more importantly, what are we going to do?"