They all scrambled into the back of the van while Mikey ran forward to the driver’s seat. It was crowded in the back—there were no seats, just boxes full of guns and candy bars. Tim crowded up against the passenger seat and had Pat’s head shoved into his lap—Tony having decided they couldn’t just leave their friend behind. “Drive,” he shouted at Mikey, and the big guy got the van moving but suddenly there were people shouting on every side of Tim and he couldn’t make sense of any of it.

“What the fuck did you do, Tony? What did you fucking do?”

“It was self-defense, you saw—”

“Those were just boys—two of them, two boys!”

“Self-defense!”

“And the old guy? He looked important, Tony. Like somebody you don’t fuck with!”

“I was defending myself and—”

“And now Pat is dead!”

“We came here for one reason, which we have now achieved. Yeah?”

“For this idiot? For this idiot we came here and killed those people?”

“And who the fuck is that one?”

“My name’s Buzzard, we’ve actually met.”

“Shut up!”

“It was self-defense, everybody saw that,” Tony wailed, louder than anyone else.

“Guys,” Tim tried to break in, “I’m really grateful that you came for me, but I wonder if we didn’t just create some new problems where—”

“You shut up!”

Mikey craned his head around the back of the driver seat. “Where am I going, Tony? Back the way we came?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, even as Sasha screamed no. Everyone looked at her.

“We got through because they didn’t expect anybody coming from that direction. Now they will all expect us to go back that way. You get us turned around, Mikey, and head north, that’s best, alright?”

“Fucking ignore her. Back through the fence,” Tony announced.

“She’s right,” Tim tried.

“Shut up!” someone screamed, right in his ear.

Tim wouldn’t let it go. “She’s right—the Colonel sent soldiers back the way you came, it was pretty much the last thing he did. If you go back you’re going to find serious resistance.”

Tony glared at him, then at Sasha. “Okay,” he said, finally. “Fucking okay! Go north.”

A hole opened up in the right side of the van, a circular hole about an inch across. It made a sound like a tin can being pried open and sunlight jumped in through the new opening. A moment later another hole appeared, and then a third.

For once Tim had no idea what was happening. Then he realized they were being shot at. “Change of plans—head left,” Tony shouted. “Get away from whoever’s shooting us up!”

The van veered to the side and nearly rolled over. Pat’s body was thrown off of Tim’s lap and it slapped up against Sasha, who was plastered to the side of the van. As Mikey brought them back down onto four wheels Pat rolled away to hit the floor and Sasha slapped at her jacket maniacally, as if it were full of roaches.

Tony laughed. “He’s dead, bitch, he ain’t gonna bite you!”

“Fuck you, asshole—and don’t call me bitch. His face was all wet and he got that poison shit on me, that’s all,” Sasha told him, shaking one of her revolvers in his face. Tony grabbed the barrel and tried to pull it away from her.

“Guys, relax,” Mikey shouted from the front seat. “We’ve got bigger problems.”

Tim climbed up the back of the passenger seat and jumped into it, then fastened his seat belt. He felt a lot safer than he had in the back, even though through the windshield he could see what Mikey meant. There were soldiers in khaki uniforms all over the runway—some of them just kids, some full grown warfighters. All of them were armed. Tim started to point toward the nearest group, a squad of four teenagers who were down in firing crouches, when the van jumped around him. A bullet had hit the radiator grille and white steam shot up out of the sides of the hood.

“Shit,” Mikey spat, and threw the van into another swerve. From the back came noises of protest and hurt. “This was supposed to be easy! This was supposed to be a lightning raid,” he panted. “No muss, no fuss.”

“The best laid scheme of mice and men,” Tim said. “Look, over there—”

A flurry of shots hit the van all at once, rocking it back and forth on its wheels. One of the tires exploded with a noise far louder than the gunfire, and suddenly the van was leaning over, curving hard to the left, barely on two wheels. Tim was thrown one way then the other in his seat belt. Mikey wasn’t wearing one.

The van didn’t have airbags, either.

Mikey’s head hit the top of the steering wheel with a sickening crunch, then slammed against his side window hard enough to star the glass. When he slid back down in his seat he left a bloody imprint on the broken window.

“Mikey,” Tim said, his own head none too clear after the violent shaking he’d received, “wake up. You’re—you’re asleep at the wheel.”

“Jesus,” Tony said in the back. “Jeeeessssus. My arm.”

Tim tried to turn around in his seat but his seat belt had frozen in place, binding him tightly where he was. “Sasha? Tony? Are you okay? Buzzard?”

“Fuck no!” Tony said. “Mikey, I’m going to personally kick your ass for driving like that, you fuck.”

“I’m okay,” Sasha said. “I just bounced off Pat a couple of times. Buzzard’s fine, he bounced off me.”

“I think my arm’s broken,” Tony said. “It feels like somebody tried to tear it off. Mikey, did you hear me? Did you hear me you little fuck?”

“No, I don’t think he did,” Tim said. He reached over and grabbed the driver’s wrist. There was no pulse.

Outside the soldiers had formed a ring around the van, and were moving in, weapons at the ready.