previous confrontation. On her part, Taylor was willing to let the past be the past.
“I was in the field early this morning but…” she paused to reach in her left pocket and glance at her cell phone, “…that was six hours ago. How does it look now?”
“It’s crazy out there, take a look at this.” The boy exchanged the bench he was on sitting beside the captain to maneuver his bulky, body-armored frame across the narrow walkway.
Taylor smiled as Frank wobbled like an emperor penguin. Even though it was only a few feet to her bench, Frank had to take a dozen small steps to make the journey.
“A friendly suggestion, Frank. You may want to sacrifice a few pieces of that Kevlar for more maneuverability. If we have to run, you’ll regret wearing that thing. We’re not going to diffuse bombs.”
Frank reached his destination and plopped down beside Taylor. “Thanks for the recommendation but I’ve seen what those things can do. I’ve read the reports and if we come face-to-face with whatever those things are, I don’t want any of my skin uncovered.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
Frank turned the screen of his laptop in her direction. There were too many windows open for Taylor to track at once. Nine individual boxes were open like a single side of a Rubik's Cube. Each screen was following a different story. Male and female news anchors from around the world spoke through television stations, relaying the events taking place both locally and abroad.
There was no volume, only text mirrored the words spoken on the bottom of each window. Taylor didn’t need to hear voices, didn’t even need to read the words scrolling across the bottom of each screen to know what they were reporting. The expression each reporter wore on their face was enough. Bloodshot eyes, rumpled clothing, the constant nervous twitch of licking lips, blinking, and fingers tapping on tabletops were all signs.
Images changed from pictures of news anchors reporting in clean, visually appeasing offices to pictures of chaos in the streets. Imageries of riots, looting, hospitals packed to the brim were only a few of the stories the news was reporting. Taylor’s eyes maneuvered around Frank’s screen at a pace that could match his typing skills. She couldn’t look away. So much was happening throughout the country. So much death, and if they couldn’t stop it soon, this was only the beginning.
“You two ready to look the devil in the eye?”
Taylor looked up into the firm gaze of the captain. He was studying them both, measuring them, weighing their worth. His right hand was pressing his earpiece in place, his left holding the barrel of his black assault rifle across his lap.
“Let’s get this done,” Taylor said.
“Onward and upward,” Frank said around a wad of gum.
The captain clicked a few channels on the radio strapped to his right front vest pocket. “Archangel Two to Archangel One and Three. We are greenlighted to go. Keep in tight formation. We have information from Mother that it is already Armageddon out there.”
Taylor couldn’t hear the responses that fed back through the captain’s earpiece but she imagined they were positive receptions to his order. Their vehicle began to move forward. Even beyond the rumble of the truck, she detected the grating noise of the large garage door being opened, like someone pulling a heavy chain across a steel panel.
The truck they rode inside was intended first and foremost to transport its passengers in a secure manner. This meant the windows the truck did afford were narrow openings with thick, double-paned, bulletproof glass. Above the benches on either side of the truck were two thin windows placed side-by-side. The rear doors sported two larger square windows. The piece of steel connecting to the front of the cab was fitted with a sliding window affording direct communication to the driver and passenger riding shotgun.
It was through these windows that Taylor
“I was in the field early this morning but…” she paused to reach in her left pocket and glance at her cell phone, “…that was six hours ago. How does it look now?”
“It’s crazy out there, take a look at this.” The boy exchanged the bench he was on sitting beside the captain to maneuver his bulky, body-armored frame across the narrow walkway.
Taylor smiled as Frank wobbled like an emperor penguin. Even though it was only a few feet to her bench, Frank had to take a dozen small steps to make the journey.
“A friendly suggestion, Frank. You may want to sacrifice a few pieces of that Kevlar for more maneuverability. If we have to run, you’ll regret wearing that thing. We’re not going to diffuse bombs.”
Frank reached his destination and plopped down beside Taylor. “Thanks for the recommendation but I’ve seen what those things can do. I’ve read the reports and if we come face-to-face with whatever those things are, I don’t want any of my skin uncovered.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
Frank turned the screen of his laptop in her direction. There were too many windows open for Taylor to track at once. Nine individual boxes were open like a single side of a Rubik's Cube. Each screen was following a different story. Male and female news anchors from around the world spoke through television stations, relaying the events taking place both locally and abroad.
There was no volume, only text mirrored the words spoken on the bottom of each window. Taylor didn’t need to hear voices, didn’t even need to read the words scrolling across the bottom of each screen to know what they were reporting. The expression each reporter wore on their face was enough. Bloodshot eyes, rumpled clothing, the constant nervous twitch of licking lips, blinking, and fingers tapping on tabletops were all signs.
Images changed from pictures of news anchors reporting in clean, visually appeasing offices to pictures of chaos in the streets. Imageries of riots, looting, hospitals packed to the brim were only a few of the stories the news was reporting. Taylor’s eyes maneuvered around Frank’s screen at a pace that could match his typing skills. She couldn’t look away. So much was happening throughout the country. So much death, and if they couldn’t stop it soon, this was only the beginning.
“You two ready to look the devil in the eye?”
Taylor looked up into the firm gaze of the captain. He was studying them both, measuring them, weighing their worth. His right hand was pressing his earpiece in place, his left holding the barrel of his black assault rifle across his lap.
“Let’s get this done,” Taylor said.
“Onward and upward,” Frank said around a wad of gum.
The captain clicked a few channels on the radio strapped to his right front vest pocket. “Archangel Two to Archangel One and Three. We are greenlighted to go. Keep in tight formation. We have information from Mother that it is already Armageddon out there.”
Taylor couldn’t hear the responses that fed back through the captain’s earpiece but she imagined they were positive receptions to his order. Their vehicle began to move forward. Even beyond the rumble of the truck, she detected the grating noise of the large garage door being opened, like someone pulling a heavy chain across a steel panel.
The truck they rode inside was intended first and foremost to transport its passengers in a secure manner. This meant the windows the truck did afford were narrow openings with thick, double-paned, bulletproof glass. Above the benches on either side of the truck were two thin windows placed side-by-side. The rear doors sported two larger square windows. The piece of steel connecting to the front of the cab was fitted with a sliding window affording direct communication to the driver and passenger riding shotgun.
It was through these windows that Taylor
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