RONAN I felt it first in the armrest. A low hum started there, subtle at first, but it traveled through the metal frame of the truck and into my bones. The vibration grew stronger with each passing second, spreading through my arms and chest. Then it sharpened into a harsh, almost painful shaking. My teeth rattled. The truck lurched as if it had a life of its own, sliding from side to side across the road. Then the scream came. High-pitched. Ear-splitting. The sound rose above everything else, overwhelming the engine, the wind, and even the trees along the road. From behind, a massive transport roared past. Jet engines burned bright and loud, blasting a wave of air that slammed into our truck and spun us nearly off the road.I grabbed the dash and tried to hold myself steady. Trees bent violently in the gust, their branches snapping. Dust and pieces of debris skittered across the asphalt like tiny missiles. “Shit, that’s loud!” I yelled, my voice nearly swallowed by the roar. Nguyen didn’t say a word. He just nodded. The noise faded as the transport shot ahead, cutting the distance to Blackstone International Terminal. Its massive frame disappeared toward the runway, leaving only the echo behind. The truck went wild with warnings. Lights flashed across the dashboard. Alerts screamed from the speakers. The system labeled it a hurricane event. My fingers moved fast, clearing the alerts and bringing the truck back under control. A grin worked its way across my face. The truck was mine again.I reactivated our previous route. Tires screamed against asphalt as the truck leapt forward, following the same path the transport had taken. Minutes passed, and then the sharp crack of artillery returned. One, two, three shots, then a constant barrage. The earth beneath the wheels seemed to tremble with every shell. “Guess the plane landed,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Nguyen glanced at the distant horizon. “They were playing it close. Firing that much with a transport still in their airspace is dangerous. They weren’t taking chances.” “Does that mean something?” The question slipped out, but I already knew I didn’t want the answer. Nguyen’s smirk didn’t reach his eyes. “What do you think?” The silence that followed was heavy, thick like fog pressing down on my shoulders. Each distant boom of artillery made it worse, heavier, more impossible to ignore.The truck slowed, slowing itself as it hit the line of traffic ahead. Cars, trucks, and cargo haulers stretched into the distance. Passenger vehicles were stuck in between. Everyone waited. Some were heading past the checkpoint, some probably hoping for aid from the military. The line moved so slowly it felt frozen in time. Nguyen shifted, impatience clear in the tension of his body. He scanned the vehicles ahead and beyond. “Time to walk,” he said. The door opened, and the cool air hit my face. My boots met the asphalt of the Transit Walkway. Every step felt deliberate, measured, but the ground still trembled beneath me. Eyes followed us as we passed, but no one questioned our presence. Nguyen’s uniform answered for us. Driverless cargo trucks didn’t notice, didn’t care. I followed Nguyen, scanning every face, every movement, every window. “Supplies are still moving,” I said quietly. “I didn’t expect that.” Nguyen didn’t slow. “Bandages and food don’t appear out of nowhere. Someone has to move them, no matter how bad things get.” Logic kept my legs moving. Then a minivan caught my attention. Three children ran and laughed inside, chasing each other through the cramped space. I could see their little feet pounding against the floor. Their parents slumped in the front seats, exhausted beyond caring if the kids fell or tore up the interior. Laughter and shouts carried through the glass. It hit me like a punch to the chest. That used to be life. That used to be my life.Chaos. Noise. Family. Togetherness. None of that would ever happen at the Ashcroft Estate again. Nguyen’s hand on my arm pulled me back. “We have to keep moving.” A nod was all I could manage. Legs forced themselves forward. Each step carried us closer to the booming artillery, closer to danger we couldn’t avoid. Out here, unprotected, the firing of the distant guns was a physical force. My chest heaved with every explosion. My ears rang, my skull throbbed. Amid all that, I barely noticed the drone until it hovered almost on top of us. Instinct made me turn away. The spinning rotors blurred as it came closer. No clue who controlled it, no intention of provoking another attack. “Identify yourself,” the voice demanded, cutting through the roar of artillery like a knife.Nguyen’s eyes met the drone. Its propellers were invisible, spinning too fast to focus on. “Sergeant First Class Nguyen. First Battalion. Bravo Company.” The drone hovered, scanning us. Slowly, deliberately. Every sensor made me feel exposed. “Who’s your shy friend, Nguyen?” Nguyen smacked my arm lightly. “It’s an army drone. You tell them who you are.” I ground my teeth but lifted my gaze. One of the lenses had to be watching me. “Ronan Ashcroft,” I said. “National Security Agency. AI Interdiction.” The drone descended a few feet and hovered in place. A long pause followed while someone checked my identity. Retinal scans, cross-references, verification. I could feel my pulse in my throat. Then the voice came again, sharp and cutting. “AI interdiction, huh? You really shit the bed on that one.” The words hung in the air. The artillery’s boom didn’t stop. The line of vehicles didn’t move. Only the drone’s gaze pinned me to the spot, cold and judgmental.