Read Invasion: Alaska for Free Online Page B

it—he paused. There was something final in her words, something almost fated. He picked up his helmet, managed to give her a nod and turned toward the candy wagon. Mikey was racing back with a bag of gummy bears clutched in his fist. His son was laughing. He liked that.
    “Run harder, little man!” shouted Paul.
    Mikey put his head down and he ran full out. The tennis shoes slapped the floor as he approached. Paul dropped his helmet, grabbed Mikey under the armpits and threw him into the air above his head. Mikey squealed with delight. Cheri had never liked him doing that, but who knew when he’d see his boy again. Paul caught Mikey and hugged him tightly.
    “I love you, big guy.”
    “Me too,” Mikey said, breathlessly.
    Paul set him down and knelt on one knee. “You take care of your mother, okay?”
    “I will.”
    “I’ll visit you in a few months when I have some time off.”
    “Promise?” Mikey asked with something close to desperation.
    “Of course I promise,” Paul said.
    “And call, Daddy.”
    “I will,” Paul said, standing up.
    “Wait, Daddy!” Mikey said. He opened his striped bag of gummy bears. “You have to eat one of these with me first.”
    Paul recognized the delaying tactic, and for a moment, there was a stab of pain in his heart. If he were a better person, things might have worked between Cheri and him.
    “Thanks,” Paul said, smiling at his son as he took an orange gummy bear.
    “Eat it, Daddy.”
    Paul did, hardly tasting a thing.
    “Take some with you for the road,” Mikey said.
    “You be a good boy,” Paul whispered.
    Mikey nodded.
    The striped bag crinkled as Paul dug out some more gummy bears. Then he turned away, heading out. He couldn’t take any more of this.
    “Bye, Daddy!” Mikey shouted.
    Paul turned back one last time, lifting his motorcycle helmet, waving goodbye. He waved an extra time for Cheri, as she stepped up to Mikey. Then Paul Kavanagh was stumbling for the mall entrance, oblivious to the gang members he brushed out of his way.
    Someday, he was going to do things right.

HANZHONG, P.R.C.

    The growing, seething mob chanted angrily. Many waved their fists at the video cameras, the ubiquitous cams that hung from streetlights, buildings and sometimes from tethered balloons. A few of the rioters shook rocks or sticks. The glass buildings surrounding the street reverberated with their chants. The packed mob—they filled the street and sidewalks like rush-hour pedestrians in any major Chinese city. Chest-to-chest, shoulder-to-shoulder, they swayed with repressed power. They were hungry, cold and bitter.
    It was blustery, and most of the crowd wore gray overcoats. Over eighty percent were men under thirty and they were uniformly thin. They pressed against each other, shoving at times, often asking if it was true. Were the trucks leaving with their rice?
    The front of the shuffling horde stood before the main gate to the massive rice processing plant. Several years ago, the institute had installed an iron fence, bars ten feet tall and with barbed points on top. Some chanters thrust their arms between the bars, shaking their fists at the militiamen on guard or recording them on their cell phones.
    The thin line of militia behind the main gate stirred uneasily. It was supposed to be a routine shipment. The militiamen had arrived early this morning to provide security during transport and hadn’t expected anything like this. The eighteen militiamen gripped shiny rifles. Despite the chill, most of their faces glistened with sweat. Behind them rumbled a fleet of hidden semis, big ultra-modern haulers filled to capacity. They planned to transport the rice to the coastal region.
    There was another man listening to the semis rumble. He was a former American. He stood at the front of the mob. At times the pressure from behind pushed him against the gate. He didn’t know it, but more people kept arriving. They joined the throng and packed the street as they added their