Free Rise of the Huskers (The Raven Falconer Chronicles) by Dennis Larsen

the night sky with acoustic squalls and guttural vibrations.
    “What’s he waiting for?” Bobi asked, half-hanging over the front seat, her head below the rearview mirror and looking toward the lead car.  “Oh . . . oh . . . Huskers,” she said, pointing beyond the cruiser at the agitated crowd.  “Shouldn’t we be . . . like . . . moving or something?”
    “I’m sure he’s just being careful, waiting to see what they’re going to do,” the school teacher suggested vocally while offering a quick, silent prayer on their behalf.
    “Bobi, please tell me you’ll be okay with that machine gun,” Hannah whispered though her thin, linen mask.
    “You doubt me?” she asked, dropping back into the rear seat and clutching the AK-47 in her tiny hands.  “What’s going on up there?  Shouldn’t we just roll right through them?  Maybe they’ll just part and let us go.”
    “Oh hell!” Hannah yelped.
    “That’s not happening, Bobi.  They’re charging.  Get ready back there.  God, help us.” Mick screamed, as Hannah matched the police cruiser’s speed, roaring towards the mass of virally-crazed Albertans.
    Most of the Huskers had enough sense to dodge the oncoming battering ram but there were those who stood their ground, taking the reinforced bumper and grill head on.  “Damn it, get out of the way!” Ziggy yelled, doing his best to avoid the bulk of the attacking horde.
    Suddenly the ringleader appeared at the side of the car, swinging his carnal weapon and smashing the mirror on Raven’s side.  She jumped, the action taking her by surprise as most of her attention was glued to the front of the car where two women had just bounced over the hood and into the windshield, cracking, but not destroying the barrier.
    “Get us out of here, Zig!” she cried.  Pandemonium reigned supreme for the few minutes they were trapped in the throng.
    “How they doing back there?” he yelled, whipping the wheel right, then left, as bodies careened off the cruiser.
    “They’re good . . . staying close,” she replied, after assessing the scene behind them.
    Suddenly a sharp turn appeared in the road ahead.  “Not what we need right now,” the officer said, unsure if he’d spoken out loud or not.  He promptly applied the brakes, causing the rear end to spin sideways on the wet asphalt.  The action threw Raven against the dash and she fell to the floorboards, her side colliding with the console.  She scrambled to regain her position on the seat, the rifle’s barrel awkwardly prodding the cushion, then ceiling, as she tried to get her bearings.
    “You okay?” an energized Ziggy shouted out.
    “Fine.  I’ll be fine.”
    The officer hit the accelerator, righting the backend but not before Raven noted that her friends were in trouble. Positioned broadside in the street, the Jeep was stopped, an easy target for a bunch of angry Husker’s who had surrounded Mick’s SUV.
    “Hannah, don’t hit ‘em!” Mick hollered.
    “I’m trying.  Believe me, I’m trying,” she shouted back.  The dental assistant brought the Jeep to a standstill a few meters behind the police car.  “Ziggy, get going!”
    Before they could restore their momentum, a reinvigorated body of Huskers descended on the Jeep, hanging from and bashing at the body and windows.  A toothless, middle-aged man smashed his face against the glass closest to Bobi, causing her to scream.  He repeated the act, slamming his forehead against the hardened glass until it fractured but did not give way.  “Hannah, Mick!” she screamed.
    Mick looked over the seat to see Bobi on her back, the AK-47 aimed at the window.  “Don’t shoot unless they break through!”  Her attention was immediately brought to her own window where a burly young man glared in at her, his brown eyes streaked with red and his mouth curled into a menacing grimace.  Without warning, he leveraged his arm behind him, swinging it wildly and brought a large bone to bear on the