The Exodus Towers by Jason M. Hough

truck and sprinted to the improvised headquarters. In a former life, the structure had served as a shipping container. A doorway and window had been cut out of one side, and given the darkness within, Skyler assumed the place was empty.
    As the commotion in the camp escalated, he ducked inside and closed the door.
    “Who’s there?” someone called.
    Skyler swung his gun around and flicked on the light. The bright beam lit up the face of a black-clad stranger, lying on the floor atop a sleeping bag. Halfway to a sitting position, the man froze at the sight of Skyler’s gun barrel just centimeters from his face. With the weapon so close, the beam from the mounted light only lit a circle around the man’s mouth.
    “Not a bloody peep,” Skyler whispered. He moved the light to the man’s eyes, and the off-duty guard squinted and blinked, turning his face partly away.
    “Okay, relax,” he said.
    “I need answers. Who are you people?”
    “Survivors,” the man said, his voice faltering. An American, judging by the accent.
    “Do better than that. Quickly now. How’d you come to be here? Who’s your leader?”
    Fear radiated from the poor man’s face. “Please. They’ll kill me.”
    “I’ll kill you,” Skyler hissed. “ They don’t need to know we ever met.”
    Eyes closed, the man swallowed hard and managed a terse nod. “I ran a factory in São Paulo. Everyone started dying, or … worse. I hid for a while, and when things quieted down I decided to make my way back to Colorado.”
    “Skip the life story, okay?”
    The man went on. “Gabriel found me on the freeway, near Rio. I could barely walk I was so hungry.”
    “Gabriel?”
    “Our leader. He brought all us survivors together, ever since the … He’s building a new society from the ashes.”
    Skyler took a second to digest the information. The man’s voice held a reverence that could mean nothing good. “Why did you attack our camp?”
    The man opened one eye, trying to see Skyler and failing in the face of the flashlight. “What would you do, if you came across a scene like this?”
    “I’d probably cheer at the sight of so many more survivors.”
    “You spacemen are not true survivors.”
    Skyler had opened his mouth to argue when the blade of a knife flashed inches from his face. He leapt backward as the man slashed again. Blinded by the bright flashlight, the invader misjudged the distance on both swings.
    A gunshot here would have the whole lot of them bearing down on the room, so Skyler flipped his gun around and smacked the butt into the man’s face. He heard the sound of bone breaking as the weapon hit.
    The man roared and fell back, clutching at his ruined nose. Skyler darted forward and lunged with his weapon again, then a third time, until the American fell silent.
    He had no doubt the entire camp heard the man’s anguished shout. Skyler turned and fled, stopping just shy of the door. Linked pairs of handheld radios lay in a tray bolted to the wall. He grabbed a set and knelt, placing his gun on the floor so he could work with the light it provided.
    A strap of Velcro held the two devices together. He ripped the material apart and set one device aside. Fingers dancing, he turned on the radio in his hands and then wrapped the Velcro strap around twice, pulling it tight so that the transmit button remained down.
    He turned and scanned the room. Prompted by a nearby shout outside, Skyler knew he had to leave. He slid the modified radio across the floor and it vanished beneath the table where the comm terminal sat. He could only hope it would remain unfound.
    Skyler snatched the other radio and ran from the room. He ignored a cry of warning from somewhere behind him, taking a zigzag pattern around the truck he’d hidden under before. A deafening report from an assault rifle made him duck and change directions again, as bullets thudded into the side of the truck.
    He didn’t bother to turn and look. There were too many of them.