She shivered, body too weak to generate heat. Wrapped tight in the thermal blanket, she rested her head against the wall of the van. Pre-dawn was always the coldest, but it was also their only window.
He joined her on the seat, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "You all right, darling?"
With a grunt, she managed to shift and get her head on his shoulder. He was warm, and she basked in his warmth, his love, his determination. Her sickness had only galvanized the movement, put them all to task.
If only she were still strong enough to help. "Once I see the explosion, I will be."
He ran his hand through her thin hair. It had once been so long, thick as her wrist when braided. He'd brushed it for her, spent half an hour a day just to make it shine, all because he loved it so much. He'd been the one to notice it was falling out, long strands brittle and weak as they came off in his hand.
"Everything's going to be all right. They'll finally listen to us now. No one else will ever be hurt." Anger filled his voice, but he held her with utter delicacy. Years of love between them, and they'd never thought they wouldn't have all the time in the world.
Time was the thing they had so little of right now.
She stroked his chest, thrilled by the beat of his heart. Fifteen years she'd fallen asleep to this rhythm. It had come to mean the world to her. Even in these stressful day, the endgame, it was strong and comforting. The best noise in the world. "It's about time."
Moments passed in silence. He held her close, kissing her forehead. She dozed, relaxed despite the pain of her ravaged body. They enjoyed their time together, neither worried about the chemtrails, or the aluminum and strontium poisoning that was stealing her life. Neither thought about the attack, or how they'd be labelled terrorists.
The sun finally rose, golden light spilling through the front windows. "It's time," he whispered. She nodded and let him slip from her embrace. He grunted as he opened the crate of the grenade launcher, then stepped out of the van.
Innocents were going to die, but there always needed to be sacrifices when making a statement. Plenty of innocents had already died, but no one listened. Chemtrails spread through the sky, disseminating aluminum and strontium and barium onto unsuspecting citizens. Plants and animals died, people got sick, and the rich simply got richer. Anyone who spoke of the danger was called crackpot.
Too bad for the shadow rulers that these crackpots were well-connected. There were plenty of people who knew there was something deadly in the sky, and they weren't satisfied with emailing their senators.
A hundred co-coordinated airplane attacks should get people to ask what the hell was being sprayed.
He stood by the van, RPG launcher at his side. Squinting against the sun, he saw his target beginning final approach. He was to shoot down one of the unmarked planes that flew out to a government installation in the desert. Not everyone else had similar targets this morning. Some commuter flights were going to die.
But it was what was needed to shake the world up. They'd be labelled terrorists at first, seeing as that was the buzzword of this generation. But once the facts came out, and the chemtrails were revealed, they'd all be hailed as heroes. Revolutionaries.
Lifting his weapon, it didn't matter what he'd be called. When she passed on, he'd never be called love again. Even if no one else died from the aerosol toxins, this felt like an empty victory.
Glancing once at her, he started the revolution.
