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think that makes everything I do and say the new pop-culture. Okay, Cream Cheese?”
    “Cream-what?”
    “Your callsign,” he said. “You called me Overwatch. I’m calling you Cream Cheese.”
    “Like hell you are.”
    “Okay, then. You tell me what to call you. You had a callsign, right?”
    “Yeah...”
    “Annnd?”
    “Ricochet.”
    “You named yourself Ricochet?”
    “Callsigns are given, not chosen. I was Ricochet...because bullets bounced off me. Which wasn’t true. The enemy just had really bad aim.”
    “Huh,” Jakob said. “That’s kind of awesome.”
    “You wouldn’t think so if you were the one being shot at enough to get the name.”
    “I supp—”
    Three loud knocks sounded from the front door.
    Both men held their breath. Peter stood slowly and moved to the window, shotgun in hand. When he peeked out, the porch was empty.
    What the hell?
    “What is it?” Jakob asked.
    “Nothing’s there.”
    “Seriously? We’re being ding-dong ditched?”
    While the answer was technically ‘yes,’ Peter didn’t like the implications. A predator... an animal ...would never think to do this, formerly human or not. But a person...
    Peter let the shade shut. “I’m going out.”
    “What? Why? That’s obviously what they want, right?”
    “But not what they’ll expect.” Peter realized that they were both now using the plural for whoever was outside. He had no idea what was waiting outside the door, but he’d rather face it head on, in the open, instead of waiting for it, or them, to barge their way in. Opening the door now wasn’t that big a deal. The wheat outside was still flowering. Would be for a few more days until it hit the ripening stage, shed its seeds into the wind and started all over again. It was a cycle the crop went through monthly . Like the post office, the world’s crops weren’t stopped by snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night, nor pretty much anything. The roots were just too deep.
    But if the outer shell of the house was compromised, and seeds made it inside, they’d pretty much be screwed without the power to run the fans in the decontamination room, at the biodome’s entryway. The powerful turbines would be more than the solar-panel battery could handle.
    “Come over here,” Peter said, standing at the front door. When Jakob joined him, he continued, “The moment I say so, I want you to turn on the front floods. The light will stun and blind whatever’s out there.”
    “Won’t that drain the solar battery?”
    “We have enough water stored for a week. We’ll survive one day without running water, and there’s more than enough air for us to breathe. We’re only going to get a few minutes out of the halogens, so wait until I say so, and shut it off the second we’re all clear.”
    “Okay,” Jakob said, but there was a quiver in his voice.
    Real life was nothing like video games. Jakob would learn that lesson tonight, but he needed the boy at ease, or at least not freaking out. “You have my six, Overwatch?”
    “Copy that, Ricochet.”
    Peter saw the hint of white from Jakob’s smile.
    “Let’s do this,” Peter said. “On the count of three. One.”
    The door rattled with three loud knocks. Both men held their breath while Jakob gripped his father’s arm. He was no doubt terrified, but the fact that he hadn’t screamed at the knock meant he had potential. There were three things every soldier needed. Brains, which could be taught. Physical ability, which could be honed. And nerves of steel, which you were either born with, or not.
    “Two,” Peter whispered.
    Jakob pulled his hand way from his father’s arm and stood to the side.
    “Three.”

 
     
    7
     
    The heavy front door swung inward, forcing Peter to take a step back before stepping out. Flood lights cut through the night. Peter lunged through the door, leading with the shotgun, finger on the trigger. The deep thud of his work boots striking the wooden porch felt foreign, like a