Counterattack by Sigmund Brouwer Page A

haven’t told me where you need to go.”
    We didn’t know yet. But this wasn’t something I wanted to tell him.
    With the robot over his shoulder, Nate turned and disappeared up the path. Thirty seconds later he reappeared and did the same with the second robot. He came back for a duffel bag with his own supplies. Then for me and Ashley.
    To get me off the boat, he first lifted me and then set me on the ground. Next he went back for my wheelchair before setting me in it and rolling me forward on the path toward the rumbling noises.
    Ashley followed, carrying our gear.
    When we reached the end of the path, one row of trees screened us from what lay beyond. Both robots and Nate’s duffel bag sat nearby.
    Finally I saw the source of the rumbling noise.
    â€œTrucks!” I said in triumph, recognizing them from the DVD-gigaroms. There was a parking lot filled with huge trucks and trailers. And on the other side was a highway, with vehicles rumbling down the pavement at high speeds. I never would have guessed they’d be so big.
    â€œYou sound like you’ve never seen a truck before.” Nate again eyeballed me.
    I didn’t answer.
    Ahead of us, a truck had backed up to the edge of the parking lot. The back trailer doors were open. That, I guessed, was our destination. A truck stop. As Nate had explained, it was a rest area off the interstate where trucks fueled.
    There were probably 50 trucks, so I wasn’t too worried that we would be noticed. Until I saw the Combat Force soldiers guarding trucks with Federation colors. Would they see us as we loaded our stuff onto the truck?
    Before I could say anything to Ashley, there was a loud explosion.
    And the front end of one of the military trucks blossomed with smoke.

CHAPTER 14
    â€œHurry! Hurry! Hurry!” Nate urged Ashley. “As soon as they figure out it’s only a smoke bomb, they’ll start wondering why. And we need to be gone by then.”
    Ashley ran toward the back door of the trailer, carrying what she could.
    Nate helped her up.
    He ran back for the robots. One by one he lifted them into the trailer. He threw her his duffel bag. That left only me in the wheelchair.
    Nate rolled me forward. With a loud grunt he picked both me and the wheelchair up and hoisted me into the trailer. Then he hopped in and swung both doors, putting us into temporary darkness.
    â€œI think we’re safe.” His voice echoed in the trailer.
    A lurch told us the truck was moving forward.
    I held my breath. If any of the soldiers were going to stop the truck, it would be in the next minute as it left this parking area.
    I heard rumbling as the truck gained speed.
    And finally, when I could hold my breath no longer, I relaxed.
    We were on the highway.

    Light hit us from the front of the trailer as a door opened.
    It revealed stacks of heavy crates between the front and us. The outline of a man showed in the light. The man walked toward us on a small catwalk that led from the cab to the trailer. Nate had told us earlier that these newer trucks included sleeping quarters in the trailer.
    â€œNot even close, Nate,” came his deep voice. “No hitches. Just like the old days. Nothing like a good old smoke bomb to distract the enemy, huh?”
    â€œWhistler was one of the best bomb guys I had,” Nate said quietly. “We called him Whistler because he whistled all the time but couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Still, I’d trust him with my life.”
    Whistler reached us. Nate shook his hand. In the dimness I could barely see his face, but I could tell he was African-American.
    â€œAshley and Tyce,” Nate said proudly, “this is Whistler.”
    Whistler’s white teeth showed in a wide grin as he shook both our hands. “Ee-yew. You guys don’t smell that pretty, let me tell you. How long you been in the swamps?”
    â€œToo long,” Nate said with a laugh.
    â€œIs there another