My mind barley could barley comprehend what had just happened. My father was the most influential man I knew; I believed him to be infallible, indestructible. It turned out he was as mortal as the rest of us.
"Dad!" I screamed, reaching him just when the bastard soldier that had killed him jumped down into the ditch. I bent over and picked up an SMG dropped by one of the Combine and with a savage war yell I emptied the entire weapon into the soldier's face, watching with grim satisfaction as the bullets tore through his mask and out the back of his skull. No mercy for them. I knelt down next to my father, feeling his face, finding it colder than a slab of marble. If my eyes weren't so dry from the fighting, I would have cried. Another militia fighter knelt next to me, examining my father.
"Fredrick has fallen…" I whispered. The soldier nodded.
"Aye," he said. "We are losing this fight. Our ammo supply is low, and the Combine have many reinforcements and armor on hand." Being my father's son, I gave the only order I thought was proper at the current time.
"Order all of our Militia to evacuate. We run for the lots and drive our way out of here."
"But-" the man started to argue.
"Do it!" I growled. "We can't win! Throw cocktails to hold them off! Now!" The man nodded shakily and ran off yelling into the air, "Make for the lots! Make for the lots! Evacuate!" I felt like lying down and dying with my dad, but somehow I knew that's not what he would want. Instead, I picked him up and carried him like a wounded man, hoisting him out of the ditch on the opposite side of where the Combine was charging from. I made out the figure of Blake coming at me through the dust and smoke. When he spotted my father lying in his own blood, he cursed loudly under him breath.
"I'm sorry, man…" was all he could choke out.
"Just help me," I growled. Blake didn't ask any questions as he hoisted my dad onto his shoulder with me. As we were making for the lots, were all of our vehicles were located, an explosion erupted behind us, and as did agonized screams.
"Good, they've thrown the Molotov Cocktails," I said. "That will hold the Combine while we escape." We made it to the lots with little opposition, but also with so few families. Out of the 300 militia we had, only about 100 remained.
"Get into the cars!" I yelled. "Flee!" I didn't need to repeat myself. Everyone ran like scattered ants into the vehicles and started them up, some not waiting for others and just driving right out into the wastes. I set my father in the backseat of an old and battered Honda with a broken sunroof, and climbed in the driver's seat.
"Great, a stick…" I muttered, fiddling with the stick shift as Blake jumped in the passenger's seat.
"What, humor?" he question, to which I simply shrugged. I didn't start the car; Instead, I looked around the crowds of people gathering into cars. Blake followed my gaze and caught up on what I was thinking.
"Don't worry, he said, resting a hand on my shoulder. "The… rest of our families are already gone. They fled a couple of minutes ago together." I nodded apprehensively.
"Of course," I said. I started the car and revved the engine, just to make sure this pile of junk would make it out of the Combine's reach. Unfortunately, I had made another mistake regarding the Combine's power. Another explosion erupted behind us as several of the vehicles in the back of the lot exploded.
'How could have I forgotten about those Goddamned tanks!' I thought. "Hold on!" I floored the gas, blasting out of the lot and into the wastes of my former home. Dust billowed out from behind the wheels of the car I was driving. I caught up to the group of about 25 cars, which were all rampaging across the wastes to who knows where. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that we were away from the danger.
Of course, I was wrong again.
The car driving next to mine burst into a flash of flame and light, sending suffered screams echoing across the dusty plains. The Combine APCs were perusing us, intent on making sure none of us survived.
"I fucking hate those things," I yelled to the world, jerking the wheel in order to avoid a second missile. "Blake! Tell me which way to turn! I can't see anything!" Blake stuck his head out the sunroof and yelled me directions based on were the tank's missiles were being fired.
"Left! Right! More right! Look out! Left! Left! Your other left!"
The ground flared next to me.
"Whoa!" I exclaimed, jerking the wheel again. "We can't hold like this!" Blake was silent. "Blake?" I asked tentatively. Suddenly, one of the tanks trailing us was blown into smithereens by some unseen force.
"What in the world is going on up there?" I yelled, trying to see behind me.
"There are jeeps!" Blake hollered excitedly. "They're shooting rockets at the tanks! We're saved!" I looked out my side window to see a small buggy with two men in it: one driving, and the other sporting a large shoulder rocket-launcher. The jeep drove out of my view just as the man propelled a rocket, destroying another of the tanks following us. Thrilled families and militia gave shouts and whistles from their cars as the Combine armor was disintegrated in minutes. I rested my forehead on the steering wheel of the car and let big, wet tears fall down my face. We were finally safe.