Free Independence Day: Crucible (The Official Prequel) by Greg Keyes

do. They had what they wanted, his father in front of them. He felt their minds all bending in the same direction, toward the
leader
.
    He heard a savage cry, and realized it came from Bakari, who bodily threw himself at the alien attacking Dikembe. Bakari slammed his head into the alien mask—once, twice, again. It staggered back, and Bakari went after it, his eyes empty of sanity, fists swinging like sledgehammers.
    Bullets began to spray all around them. Dikembe desperately tried to pull his twin down, but Bakari was pushing the monster back, slamming it to the rough earth of the savanna. An alien reaching for Dikembe staggered as bullets smacked into its exoskeleton.
    “Bakari!” he shouted. He finally got hold of his brother and pulled him to the ground. A mortar shell went off, not too far away.
    Dikembe rolled over and saw an alien weapon pointed at his face. He lurched up, finding more strength than he thought remained in him, and took hold of it, pushing it so the blast went over his head. He hurled the monster back and staggered away as AK-47 rounds chewed it up.
    Then all of the aliens near them—all of the aliens, period—rushed toward the army, toward his father. Dikembe sagged back against the spaceship and slid down to the ground.
    “Brother,” Bakari wheezed. He was lying on his back, a hand on his chest. Blood was leaking through his fingers.
    “Bakari!”
    “Hold my hand,” Bakari said.
    Dikembe did so, although his own was trembling. He glanced at the front, where the aliens were piling into Umbutu’s forces.
    “Let me try and find a medic,” he said.
    Bakari only gripped his hand more tightly.
    “Papa is wrong,” he said. “There is use in beauty, in creation. Leave this place, big brother. Go far away. Do what you were meant to do.”
    “Maybe we should go together,” Dikembe said. “I know a good pub in Oxford…” He trailed off, feeling helpless and numb.
    Bakari nodded, but he didn’t say anything else. Blood frothed on his lips and Dikembe sat with him, his heart breaking, afraid to leave him.
    Long before the fighting was over, Bakari’s fingers relaxed and began to grow cool. The rain came, gently.

6
AUGUST
    Steve Hiller was just giving the sauce another stir when Boomer lazily pricked his ears up and offered a muted
woof
.
    “Ah, yeah,” he said to the yellow Labrador. “Is it that time?” He glanced at the clock, then went to the front door and opened it just as Jasmine and Dylan were getting out of the car. Dylan made a beeline for him. Hiller scooped him up and spun him around. He felt a twinge in his ankle, a souvenir of his time in Russia and the last active fighter mission he’d flown.
    “Ah, shoot,” he said, setting him down. “What’s your mama been packing in your lunch, bricks? I can hardly pick you up anymore.”
    Back on the ground, Dylan looked around with a slightly worried expression—probably hoping none of the kids in the neighborhood had seen him hugging Hiller. He was getting to be that age, wasn’t he?
    “Go on in and put up your backpack and lunch box,” he told Dylan. “Do you have any homework?”
    “Yes sir,” he said.
    “Take an hour of downtime, okay? And then we’re on that sh—
stuff
. You and me. Okay?”
    “Okay,” Dylan said, and he scurried off.
    “I hope it’s not sentence diagramming,” he told Jasmine as she put her arms around him. “It really ain’t my strong suit.”
    She kissed him, and he gave his full attention to that for a bit—and he didn’t care who was looking.
    “You’re home early,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you until Tuesday.”
    “I could tell,” he said. “That dude I found here when I showed up was surprised, too. I had to put a whoopin’ on him.”
    “Well, good,” she said. “I’m glad to know you’ll still fight for me.”
    “Every time,” he said.
    She crinkled her nose.
    “What’s that I smell?” she asked.
    “Mama Hiller’s house special spaghetti,” he said.