The Waters: A Short Story

“But others believe ‘The Waters’ stems from the Gulf of Mexico or the Caribbean,” Walther added. “Whatever the case may be, securing the bridge in Carthage is critical.”
“What makes it so special?” asked Chandler.
“For almost three weeks, we had fought countless engagements in the Dweller World,” Walther explained. “All of those battles occurred beneath Ohio and western Pennsylvania. Tonight marks our tenth battle and the enemy’s starting to get desperate.”
Margaret addressed her suspicions. “Are you saying that they’re planning to blow up the bridge, Walther?”
“The Underground and the IDA are retreating,” Walther replied. “Each day, we are taking countless miles from them. Desperate to stall our advances, they’ve begun to play scorched earth

Passing by an intact coffeehouse, they grew bemused over the lack of human life amidst the suspenseful peace. Wrecked cars and debris from collapsed buildings blocked off certain roads. On other roads, the roadblocks consisted of barbed wire and concrete dragon’s teeth barriers. They knew that the enemy was hiding somewhere. But nobody realized that one of them was already inside someone’s crosshairs.
On the approach to the town square, a loud gunshot rang out. A speeding bullet struck Lance’s shoulder, grazing it before ricocheting and disintegrating on the Hanomag’s armor. While Lance screamed in pain, Walther shouted, “Sniper, keep your heads down!”
“Driver,” Harold yelled at him, “Stop the halftrack!”
The driver slammed the brakes, bringing the Hanomag to a complete halt. As the sniper took potshots at the halftrack’s armor, the driver deployed smoke canisters. While the driver was reversing the vehicle, Chandler examined Lance’s wound. He slapped Lance’s cheek, quieting him.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” Chandler shouted, “The bullet went right through, so calm down! You’re going to be fine!” With hypodermic needle, he injected a shot of codeine into Lance’s arm. The pain subsided, calming Lance. “Does that feel better?”
“Thanks,” Lance thanked him, “I think I owe you one,

Isolde nodded. “It’s worth a try.” She reached into a satchel and prepared to toss a smoke grenade at the street.
Margaret stopped her. “Wait, before you do that,” she advised, “Let’s coordinate a diversion with Representative Accardo first.” As the one carrying the field radio, Margaret tried to radio Accardo. “Action Andy,” she spoke into the telephone, “This is Margaret, callsign ‘Godmother’. Please respond, over.”
A response from Accardo came. “This is Action Andy,” he declared. “We’re in position near the northern avenue. Awaiting further orders, over.”
“Excellent,” Margaret cheered, “We need you and some of your Adelbu Nightingales to distract the sniper for us. Get his attention away from the southern avenue.”
“We’ll do what we can, Action Andy out,” Accardo responded.
Margaret switched frequencies and contacted Drusilla. “Dewy-Princess, I need you to deploy your Ingrid. Once you’re ready to roll take the main road south of town square.”
“Roger that,” Drusilla retorted, “Dewy-Princess out.”
“Godmother out,” Margaret put the telephone aside and signaled Isolde to throw the smoke